#the critique on the top two is unusually harsh for me but that because i didn't like Either of them when i finished jhsjhs they fought me | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

freshwoods · 6 years ago

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Three-Piece Suit

This is 100% inspired by this picture of Chris Evans. Enjoy.

Posted on AO3.

Bucky never thought that working for Mr. Steve Rogers would be quite like this. Sure, he’d heard the stories, just like everyone else—that Steve Rogers was cold and brutally efficient, that his job was his life, that he didn’t associate with anyone outside of the office, that he was a stoic bastard, too full of righteousness, that he was blinded by his stubbornness. The list could go on and on, really. Most of the gossip surrounding him was unflattering, bordering on rude. And Bucky had heard just about all of it.

And it’s pretty much all true is the thing. Bucky had learned that the hard way when he started working as Mr. Rogers’ assistant about six months ago. The first month had been a lesson in biting his tongue until it bled, in learning that late nights and little sleep were the new normal, that Steve Rogers in real life lived up to just about every expectation Bucky had of him. He had been so critical of everything—from Bucky’s suit (calling his $300 jacket ‘cheap’), to the way his hair had been styled (“cut your hair into something that won’t embarrass me”), to the volume Bucky typed, the way he organized files, how he answered phone calls, the scheduling of Steve’s meetings.

It had been so much, and Bucky hated him those first few months. But the pay was nice, and being able to look at Mr. Rogers when he wasn’t paying attention was even nicer. Because, prick he might be, he was also sexy as hell dressed in his very nicely fitting three-piece Tom Ford suits on the daily.

If Bucky’s being honest with himself, seeing Mr. Rogers in those suits, bossing him around with that trademark cool look on his face, did things to him. Bucky found himself by the end of the second month actually trying to improve himself—saving up for a nicer suit, going to a nicer joint for his monthly haircuts, trying to be more organized, seeking out Mr. Rogers’ approval.

The first time his boss had given him the approximation of a smile, Bucky had felt like his heart was going to beat out of his chest. It had gone on from there, Bucky trying desperately to get what little recognition and praise he could from Mr. Rogers, until something changed about two months ago.

Bucky stayed late because Mr. Rogers stayed late. That in itself wasn’t unusual, but Steve calling Bucky into his office, telling Bucky with all the poise afforded him, for Bucky to kneel down beside Mr. Roger’s desk—that, that was new. Bucky had done it without question, dropping down by the large wooden desk, the hardwood hurting his knees, but he’d stayed there for a little over an hour, until Mr. Rogers had reached out to pat at the side of Bucky’s head, telling him he did well, that he could go now—and to call him “Steve”.

It was innocuous, a one-time thing that Bucky spent way too much time over the next few days daydreaming about while sitting at the desk outside of Steve’s glass office doors, peeking at the other man from the corner of his eye.

But then it happened again at the end of the week, after everyone else had gone for the night, the floor just as hard and unforgiving as before, but this time, one of Mr. Rogers’—Steve’s—hands lay on the back of his neck the entire time. It soothed Bucky in a way, cleared out all of the tension and anxiety from the day’s work. And at the end of the night—two hours this time—Steve escorted Bucky out of the building, giving him a parting “Good night,” that Bucky thought about all the way home, until he finally collapsed into his bed.

It started happening more often after that, almost every night, Bucky on his knees beside Steve, Steve always touching him in some small way, showing him kindness that had eluded the other man all day, him barking out orders and critiques just like normal. And then it had started becoming more.

The first time Bucky sat under Steve’s desk between his legs, Bucky had been nervous. He wasn’t sure what to expect, because this—this was new, was different in whatever silent game they played. And then Steve had reached out—so gently, to bring Bucky’s face to rest against his thigh, his fingers just lightly pressing on Bucky’s cheek, and Bucky could’ve ended it there, could’ve stood up, walked out. But the fingers stroked back into his hair, sweet and gentle, and Bucky had just closed his eyes, leaning further against Steve’s strong thigh, the material of his suit pants softer than Bucky expected, and all the nerves had gone away, even when Steve eventually took his hand back to do more work.

It didn’t turn sexual right away. In fact, the first time had almost been an accident. With Bucky’s face pressed against Steve’s thigh, he’d shifted—his knee had been a little bruised from all the time on the floor, and he’d accidentally moved his head with the rest of his body, shifting up ever so much, until he felt the firm press of something against his jaw, and had stopped moving completely, freezing at the error he’d made.

And Steve had frozen too, legs going rigid under Bucky’s head. But when Bucky had tried to pull his face away from the juncture of Steve’s strong thighs, the other man reached a hand down to cup the back of Bucky’s head, keeping him in place for a moment. And then Bucky had felt Steve’s erection grow against the side of his face, and heat had flooded his entire body. It left him breathing raggedly while he waited for what came next.

And he was not expecting Steve to work his dick out of his thousand-dollar slacks and guide Bucky’s mouth to it.

“Don’t touch yourself,” his order was quiet, fierce, and Bucky had let out a shaky breath right before Steve guided himself between Bucky’s lips.

Steve had done most of the work, fucking into Bucky’s mouth with a hand still cradling the back of his head, keeping him still for Steve’s thrusts. Bucky opened his mouth wider, sucked as hard as he could with little movement, worked his tongue around the head every time Steve pulled back enough for him to, used his lips and tongue to play with the slit at Steve’s head, tasting him on his tongue, swallowing as best he could when Steve pushed into his throat, again and again, even when Bucky’s eyes stung with prickling tears, Steve using him for his own pleasure.

It was impersonal like this, Bucky never seeing Steve’s face, but the heat of the other man, the way his hand curled tightly, achingly, in Bucky’s hair, the way he pressed two fingers to Bucky’s cheek, tapping frantically to convey he was close, as his body started to go rigid once again, as the stoic, harsh breaths from above the desk turned to the softest moans—it went to Bucky’s head in a way he didn’t expect, in a way no one had in longer than Bucky could remember.

He’d come into his dress pants long before Steve came into his mouth, Bucky stubbornly not pulling back, despite Steve’s warning. And Steve had moved his other hand down, then, both hands tugging at Bucky’s hair, holding him on his cock as he came onto Bucky’s tongue, down his throat, filling Bucky’s mouth.

And then, when Bucky had still been blinking stupidly, swallowing the remains of Steve’s orgasm from the corners of his lips, Steve had backed up, hauling Bucky up to sit on Steve’s lap, looking at him in a way Bucky had never seen Mr. Rogers look at anyone, anything.

And then he’d reached toward Bucky’s pants, but Bucky sluggishly shook his head, biting his lip—Steve’s eyes tracking the movement—as he looked away, embarrassed that he’d come like that, like he had a hair-trigger connected to his dick.

Steve’s hand on his chin forced him back, forced their eyes to meet, Bucky face-to-face with that cool look he’d come to know so well once again, but before Steve could open his mouth, could think to say anything, Bucky did.

“I didn’t touch myself.” And damn, his voice sounded wrecked, throat sore and scratchy. But Bucky didn’t hate the sensation, liked knowing he’d have something more tangible than memories to remember this by when the night finally ended.

Steve blinked at him, off-guardedly, until something in his expression shifted—once again back to that unknown expression. “Fuck,” he mumbled, feelingly, and then he’d kissed Bucky, hard and deep, before he pulled back, looking at Bucky for the smallest moment, then kissed him once more, a chaste point of contact, their lips barely touching before he pulled away, tucked himself back into his pants even as Bucky continued to sit on his lap, dumbfounded, lips still tingling.

They didn’t do anything like that again for a while. Bucky went back to sitting silently between Steve’s knees under the desk, added by the addition of a small pillow that Steve brought the day after Steve’s blowjob. It helped a lot. Bucky thought he might be able to stay like that for a full work day, if Steve would ever let him.

The next time, though, when Steve called Bucky into his office, telling him to lock the doors behind him—Bucky knew something would be different. This time when Bucky kneeled down, Steve sat back from the desk, pulling out an extra tie from his top drawer. He’d looked down at Bucky, a question in his eyes, a heat there, and Bucky had nodded without thinking. Steve tied the slip of material around his wrists, keeping them behind Bucky’s back as he reached down to undo his pants. Bucky licked his lips at the sight of him, wanting so desperately to feel Steve in his mouth.

But as Steve rolled his chair closer, he gave Bucky a hard look. “Don’t make me come. I have work to do. And don’t come until I do.” And then he’d slid himself once again into Bucky’s mouth, already half-hard.

And Bucky wasn’t sure exactly what he should do—if he should suck or not, take him all the way in, nurse the head of his cock or the shaft. So he just opened his mouth, let Steve make the choice for him—he liked when Steve made the decisions, honestly.

His jaw ached by the time Steve decided he’d had enough. Bucky had been drooling for a while now, discovering that swallowing the mixture of spit and precome in his mouth had been a bad idea when Steve hissed when he had, hips thrusting, his taste getting stronger. So Bucky slacked his jaw, moving to gentle suckles and Steve had relaxed back into his work. He knew the spit covered his chin, must be a little puddle on the floor in front of his knees by now, and his wrists felt a little chaffed from the tie, but Bucky cared about none of it, especially when Steve rolled back, looking down at Bucky after a few hours, and started stroking his cock, Bucky’s saliva wetting the way.

Bucky didn’t think he’d ever forget that view, Steve looking down at him, his fist closing over his erection, dragging up and down so tightly Bucky’s own cock ached in sympathy, throbbing between his legs. And when Steve’s thighs started to tremble, when his strokes became more erratic, his throat emitting those small, soft moans that Bucky already couldn’t get enough of, Bucky just tilted his head back, opening his mouth.

As if that had been all Steve was waiting for, he’d come, letting himself go above Bucky’s face, coming into Bucky’s open mouth, on his cheek, his jaw, a few drops sliding down toward his neck.

And fuck, Bucky wanted to come so bad, wanted anything Steve would give him, swallowed down his come like it was the best thing he’d ever tasted, so, so desperate for any little thing from Steve, from this gorgeous, amazing man above him.

When Steve caught his breath, he reached out a still-sloppy hand toward Bucky, pushing it into his hair to grip the locks. “Can you come like this?”

Bucky nodded, feeling the desperation, the heat pooling in his gut, the way the front of his pants were so slick, ruined now, just like his other ones, pressed against his dick, trapping it.

Steve’s hand moved down to caress Bucky’s sore jaw. “Then do it. Come for me.”

Bucky did, moaning loudly, hips stuttering against nothing, his knees trembling, giving out on him as the orgasm overtook him. But Steve caught him, let Bucky fall against his open legs, trailed his fingers through Bucky’s hair, down to the back of his neck.

“That was so fucking good, Bucky. You’re so good for me. Thank you.”

The words had been soft, almost sweet, sounding like that expression Steve wore last time on his face. It didn’t escape Bucky’s notice that Steve’s still-exposed cock had hardened a bit at Bucky’s display, but the other man didn’t at all seem concerned with it. Bucky closed his eyes, never wanting the moment to end, and Steve seemed posed to let him.

It didn’t go beyond that for a while, until that one time that Steve had sat Bucky down on his lap, his knees on either side of Steve’s thighs in the chair, Steve’s hands on Bucky’s hips, their cocks rocking together through the material of their pants, Steve panting harshly against Bucky’s throat as he thrust his hips up, working himself off against Bucky. He’d come embarrassingly quick that time, moaning what might’ve been Steve’s name as he did. And then Steve had groaned—an actual, real sound, so different from the small noises Bucky’d become accustomed to—and his hips stuttered against Bucky’s.

Of course, that was when Steve had told Bucky to get onto his knees before he went to the bathroom, coming back out in just his crisp white shirt, jacket, vest, and tie all gone, and wearing different pants. He’d tossed the pants he’d been wearing at Bucky’s feet and told him to get rid of the come before it stained.

So Bucky had, tonguing the material for all he was worth, until Steve was deemed satisfied.

It happened with more frequency following that. Bucky never quite knew what to expect—sometimes he sad under the desk, innocently, sometimes with Steve’s cock in his mouth—one notable time with Bucky sucking on Steve’s balls—and sometimes Steve sat Bucky on his lap, Steve’s exposed erection sliding against the seam of Bucky’s pants as Steve somehow still managed to get work done even as he destroyed and remade Bucky’s existence, so painfully hard with the feeling of Steve’s warm cock sliding against the most sensitive parts of him, over his covered asshole, all the way down to where his balls had drawn up tight inside of his pants.

Bucky ruined more pants than he ever thought possible, until little, unassuming boxes started showing up at his desk in the mornings after they ‘worked late’ together, with high quality suit pants in varying styles and colors, the measurements just a little smaller than what Bucky wore—and when Steve started casually grazing his hand over Bucky’s ass during the work day when Bucky would bring him a file here, or a coffee there, Bucky understood exactly why that was.

He didn’t feel nearly as bad about ruining the pants Steve gave him. It was all his fault, after all. Until one of them had the smart idea to start actually undressing in advance. Bucky’s not sure if it was him or Steve, but the next thing Bucky knew, his pants had been taken off, lying in a puddle on the floor, abandoned.

Of course, Bucky forgot just about everything when Steve had then laid Bucky down on his stomach over the desk in front of his chair, ass exposed, on display, not at all expecting it when Steve started to eat him out, licking and nibbling and working his tongue in and out of Bucky’s body until he was a moaning, writhing mess, shirt sticking to his back with sweat, Bucky’s fingers clutching at the edge of the desk in vain, willing himself to be good, to stop moving for Steve, the man’s iron grip on his hips seeming to do nothing to keep him still.

He’d come clenching his ass around Steve’s tongue, moaning loudly, throat raw from begging for the orgasm every time Steve had pulled away, had pressed a thumb or a finger inside, until Bucky felt like he would go insane from the pressure building up inside of him.

And then Steve had stood up, looming over Bucky’s back, sliding his cock along Bucky’s slickk crack, over his hole, head almost catching on it with each slide, stealing what little breath Bucky could drag in, until Steve came over his ass cheeks, slapping his softening cock against Bucky’s hole once he finished as if to punctuate that he would try that out next.

They didn’t really talk about penetration—didn’t really talk about anything. Neither one mentioned their late night sessions, nor their one-time kissing; they simply went about as if things were normal. And then one day, just like the small boxes appearing at Bucky’s desk, a folded piece of paper greeted him, telling him Steve was clean in so many words.

Bucky left his own on Steve’s a few days later.

Everything since then had been a waiting game, amping up this thing between them to a new level. Each night, Bucky wondered if it would be tonight. He’d made sure to be thoroughly clean each evening just in case.

And then, one night, the waiting finally ended.

The intercom buzzed like normal, as soon as everyone else had left, and Bucky abandoned his desk, walking through the doors to Steve’s office without a word. Steve didn’t sit at his desk, giving off the pretence that this might be anything other than what it was. Instead, he stood in front of it, hands in his pockets, hips cocked, head tilted, that intense, unreadable look in his eyes, watching Bucky’s every movement.

Bucky stopped in front of him, their eyes locking for a long moment before Bucky dropped to his knees in front of his boss. When Bucky reached out to undo Steve’s pants, Steve didn’t stop him, just kept looking down at Bucky with that heavy gaze, watched him as Bucky took Steve into his mouth, as he started sucking Steve off for all he was worth, using every trick he’d learned over the last few months, knowing exactly what Steve liked and giving it to him. He wanted this to be good for Steve, wanted to be good for Steve. He swallowed him down, until his nose pressed against the soft hairs that trailed down Steve’s torso from his belly button, swallowing convulsively around the head of Steve’s cock before pulling back, tracing the vein on the underside of Steve’s cock with his tongue, worshiping the other man’s dick like this might be the last time he gets to do this, gets to feel the heavy, silky-hard length on his tongue, gets to taste his precom, feel how hot and hard Bucky makes him.

And then all too soon, Steve pulled Bucky off him, pulled him up to standing, surprising Bucky with a kiss that Bucky thinks might have flayed him alive, since he can no longer feel his own body.

The kiss didn’t last long before Steve reached out to strip Bucky of his clothes, those strong, steady fingers working at his buttons, pushing his jacket and shirt over his shoulder for the first time, his eyes hungrily raking over Bucky’s chest, even as his hands moved down to work Bucky’s tight pants from his hips, down his legs, until Bucky cursed at his shoes and did his best to step out of them along with his pants and underwear.

Steve began to undress then, taking care to fold each piece of his suit after it had been taken off, setting his cufflinks, watch, and tie down on top of the small pile when he finished. And then Steve reached behind himself, arm outstretched over the desk, and pushed all of its contents to the floor. Pens skidded across the hardwood, papers went everywhere, Bucky thought he heard the shatter of a paperweight. But Steve didn’t seem to care, just looked at Bucky as he sat atop the oversized desk, spreading his legs, his hard cock bobbing.

Bucky moved, almost pouncing on the other man, climbing up on the desk, his thighs cradling Steve’s hips, sitting back so Steve’s cock rubbed against Bucky’s ass, his arms wrapping around Steve’s neck, keeping them both upright.

Reaching back, Steve dug in a drawer, coming away with a bottle of lube—and Bucky felt his face flame at that, at Steve being so ready to take him. Steve’s eyes met Bucky’s again, leaning his head back to bring their lips together in something more bitey than sweet, even as he popped the cap of the lube, then brings his fingers to Bucky’s rim. Bucky shivered at the coolness, at the way Steve’s fingers circle his rim, warming the lube and Bucky’s body with his ministrations.

Bucky let out a long sigh when Steve slid the first finger inside of him. Steve had only done this the one time he ate Bucky out—memorable as it was, Bucky was ready for something more, had taken to stretching himself out every morning before work.

He told Steve this, felt the other man’s erection twitch against him, ground down on it, even as Steve added a little more lube and pushed in with two fingers. Bucky moaned at the feeling, Steve’s fingers filling him up better than his own could, getting to work at stretching him for Steve’s cock, working wet and firm inside of Bucky’s body, twisting and scissoring until he managed to push a third finger in. Bucky squirmed back against them, wanting them deeper, chasing the ghost of sensation when Steve dragged his fingers over Bucky’s prostate.

And then Steve’s fingers left, hands moving to guide Bucky down, Steve’s cock sliding again against him, catching at his rim, but this time sliding in, stretching Bucky out, filling him up until he’s so full, unable to move with the pleasure of finally, finally having Steve inside of him.

Bucky only came back to earth when Steve lifts his head, gazing at him, eyes dark, heavy-lidded. “Don’t touch yourself.”

And it’s like a repeat of their first time—Steve holding onto Bucky, taking his pleasure from him, chasing his own release. Grabbing at Bucky’s hips, Steve worked his hips up as he pulled Bucky down, taking him in hard, deep thrusts, rubbing relentlessly at Bucky’s prostate once he found the spot. Bucky clutched at Steve’s neck, fingers digging into his shoulders as Steve maneuvered him up and down, rocking their hips together in an almost desperate drive that left them both gasping into the space between them. Steve’s hands move eventually to splay over Bucky’s ass, pulling his cheeks apart, continuing to thrust, long, hard strokes that Bucky felt all the way to his core. He all but keened when Steve pressed a finger to his rim, to where Steve’s cock stretched him open, filling him up, rubbing at the rim until me managed to press just the tip of his finger inside.

Bucky came with a shout, his orgasm taking him by surprise, the heat flooding his body at being so full—so full of Steve—overcome by the feeling of Steve surrounding him, giving Bucky everything he wanted.

“Fuck.” Steve hisses, “Shit, Bucky—” And then Steve moved both hands back to Bucky’s hips, thrusting in earnest now with rough, long strokes, hips stuttering, his breath ragged, moaning, eyes closed as he gave himself over to it. Bucky watched in fascination, panting, their bodies slick with his come where they’ve pressed together. Steve’s mouth opened on a groan and Bucky didn’t think anything of leaning forward, closing the distance, of covering Steve’s mouth with his own.

This kiss was different—tender, almost. Steve cradled Bucky’s jaw in one of his palms when they’ve finally pulled away from each other.

Still panting, Steve opened his mouth, eyes open and staring into Bucky’s. “You’re fucking perfect, Bucky.” Steve pressed his forehead against Bucky’s, neither one of them in any rush for Steve to pull out, even as the sweat and come starts to cool on their skin. “I can’t believe I get to have you.”

Bucky wasn’t sure how, but he managed to find his voice, pressing one more chaste kiss against Steve’s lips. “Only you, Mr. Rogers. Just you.”

Steve swore again, bringing his lips back to Bucky’s as his hips rocked just the slightest bit inside of Bucky, making them both moan into the kiss. Bucky couldn’t wait for the next round.

No, Bucky never thought that working for Mr. Steve Rogers would be quite like this.

#stucky fic #stucky smut #stucky #freshwoods: fic #a whole lot of suit kink and some D/s if you squint #buckystan-plums

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svubloods · 8 years ago

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Imagine unknowingly meeting your Dad, Rafael Barba, for the first time (TPELB PART ONE)

Masterlist With all the Parts HERE

Imagine unknowingly meeting your Dad, Rafael Barba, for the first time

“Hey Sonny,” You smiled as you walked into the squad-room and consequently into his sight.

“Y/N?” He asked, recognizing your voice, looking up and consequently seeing you walk in, “What are you doing here this early? You know it’s Wednesday, right?”

“My violin lesson was canceled,” You shrugged and you dumped your bag on the floor and sat down heavily at your uncle’s desk, “So here I am,”

“Well, your uncle Joe is an interrogation, right now,” Sonny informed, chuckling as you pulled your homework out your bag and dropped it loudly on your Uncle Joe’s desk, right on top of all of his freshly completed paperwork.

“Can I watch?” You asked suddenly extremely eagerness.

“Ah…no,” Sonny replied, with initial fake hope, just to mess with you.

“Come on,” You whined, spinning around dramatically in the chair, “Why not?”

“Because last time I let you watch an interrogation, you started slipping the poor detective notes on how to do it better,” He reminded, sternly but he was smiling at just the memory of it.

“The only thing poor about that detective was his interrogation skills,” You commented, with a sigh, flipping open your advance algebra book.

“Which is exactly why you can stay at that desk,” Sonny added, still chuckling.

“Hey, I wouldn’t be as harsh on my uncle Joe,” You defended.

“We both know that isn’t true,” He smiled, “And I’m pretty sure he’s going to be a while though, so you better start that homework. You’d get bored of critiquing him”

“Already on it,” You grinned, holding up your book so he could see it, “And never do I get bored of critiquing,”

“Good so listen,” He said getting up and putting on his coat, “I have to run to see one of my victim's families, you stay put until your uncle finishes okay. Do not move from that desk.”  

“Why, do you not want me accidentally solve any of your cases again?” You smirked.

“Hey, I thought we had a deal,” He hushed jokingly, walking over to you and whispering by your side, “We weren’t going to mention that, remember?”

“I know I wasn’t going to say anything if you kept your side of the deal,” You reminded, looking up at him.

“First draw on the right,” He sighed, shaking his head, stifling another chuckle, “I keep all my candy there so help yourself,”

“Thank you,” You grinned, pleased with yourself.

“See you later,” He waved, heading off.

“Bye,” You called after him.

Once he was out of sight, you sighed to yourself. You took a glance around the room, nobody from the squad was here. Not even, Lieutenant Benson in her office. Though there were still police officers, detectives and other people milling in and out, most of which you knew as well. But nobody on your uncle squad or who worked closely with them.

But for the most part, it was quite quiet. Unusual for a place like the Special Victims Unit.

Saying that you were rarely here by yourself. It was hardly a place to leave a thirteen-year-old like yourself. You only ever came here after school and it was only ever for a couple of hours maximum. Your uncle Joe insisted on that. Even when you were here he was usually with you while you did your homework and he made sure you wore headphones whenever group discussions about cases were taking place but that was a habit that was dying out as you were getting older. It happened a lot when you were younger though.

It wasn’t the ideal situation but then again your situation wasn’t ideal.

You couldn’t help that though and nobody else could either.

Your life was complicated, to say the least, but your family tried to make it as normal as they possibly could. The reason you had to come to the station after school despite doing almost every extra circular available was because you lived out in Staten Island but went to school in Manhattan. Which was because you were enrolled in a special school for academically gifted children in the city so every day you had to wait for one of your family members to take you back to Staten Island. It would have been impractical for you to take the train and you don’t think any of your family members would have allowed you to anyway.

Which wasn’t surprising considering who your family was. You were a part of one of New York’s most well-known cop families, the Reagans. Who seemingly produce some of the most protective people in the entire world, which is understandable considering what all of them did or do. They saw some of the most awful things in the jobs that they do so you can’t really blame them for being so family orientated and protective. You were all part of this amazing unit that was always looking out for each other and putting each other first. That supported each other no matter what life threw at all of you, and recently it had been a lot.

You always considered yourself quite lucky despite your circumstances. You had an amazing family despite how loud and argumentative you all are. Love was at the core of your family and nothing mattered more than each other. And that was especially true with them in regard to you. They have done everything in their power to make sure that you never felt that you were missing out on something. You always had someone with you and therefore someone to talk to. They tried to make sure that you never felt alone and you rarely ever did.

But sometimes you couldn’t help it and neither could they. They couldn’t protect you all the time, it was beyond their capabilities. Whenever you thought about it for too long. You felt that wave of realization that in the traditional sense. You were alone. You didn’t have what all you friends had and the rest of your family for that matter.

If you took the word by its standard meaning, one could say that you were an orphan.

Your Mom had passed away when you were three in a car crash while on the job, she was a cop. And your Dad, well, you had no idea. In fact, you knew nothing about him, nobody did. Apparently, your mom didn’t tell anyone about him so he was a mystery. So maybe you weren't an orphan but you definitely felt like you were.

Your legal guardian now solely was your Grandfather, Commissioner Frank Reagan, but before when you first moved in, you lived with your Grandpa and Grandma, so they both were. So now you live with your Grandpa and your Great Grandfather Henry. When you Aunt Erin enrolled you in the school you were in now there were suggestions that you should live with your Uncle Joe who lived in Manhattan but both you and your Grandpa were adamantly against it. You loved living with him and Pop, you didn’t know anything else. Also, you loved it that house. It was the only place you were constantly that made you feel connected to your mom. When you moved in apparently your Grandma wanted to move you into your Mom’s old room but your Grandpa moved you into Danny’s. One because it was bigger and two he didn’t want to touch anything in it. Your Mom’s room was in the exact same state to the day she moved out. It was filled with all of her childhood and teenage stuff. Nothing moved, you could really feel her presence in there. You sit in there sometimes and just to think. And you knew you weren’t the only one. You think that everyone goes up there from time to time, just to remember what it felt like when she was here. It’s understandable really.

They all lost her too.

You thought about your parents a lot, for different reasons. You don’t remember much about your mom. You have a couple of vague memories that your family members have helped you understand but for the most part, everything you knew about her you had been told. Your family made it a priority to tell you about her. They wanted you to know what she was like, so at least you had some sort of connection to her. Your Dad, on the other hand, you knew nothing so you could say anything and there is still a possibility that it could be correct. He really could be an astronaut like you thought when you were seven or even a doctor which you hoped now. It was the biggest mystery of your life and it was normal for you to be curious about him.

Whoever he is.

You had about fifteen minutes to yourself before a somewhat familiar figure came striding into the squad room, his head down as he texted on his phone. You’d only had brief passing encounters with the Special Victim’s Units new ADA. You knew his name, Rafael Barba and you had seen him in court once when you were with your Aunt Erin, he was a pretty good lawyer, very entertaining. But besides from that, you didn’t know much about him except for what your Uncle Joe had told you, he was a sarcastic hardass but he was one of the good ones. Which you can only assume is a good thing.

“Hi,” You greeted after he instinctively headed over to your Uncle’s desk, he hadn’t looked up from his phone so when he was finally done he was surprised to see you as well as the emptiness of the squad-room, you had watched it all silently until he reached the desk.

“Hi?” He responded, confused, looking you up and down and asking bluntly, you noticed “And who are you?”

“Y/N Reagan,” You smiled, putting out your hand for him to shake.

“So you must be Y/N that Detective Reagan is always talking about,” He commented, shaking your hand.

“I guess so,” You shrugged, unaware that your uncle discussed you so much.

“I’m Rafael Barba the…” He began to introduce himself.

“ADA,” You finished for him, before looking up and seeing his surprised expressed, then adding, “Detective Reagan talks about you too,”

“Does he now?” He smirked, sitting down in the chair beside your uncle’s desk and you noticed that he glanced at as well as scanned the homework you were doing as he did.

“But it’s mostly my Aunt Erin,” You elaborated, “She likes talking about her new hires,”

“What does she say?” He inquired.

“I’ll just say if it was bad you would already know,” You smirked.

“Do you know where any of my detectives are?” He finally asked.

“Sonny just left. I don’t know where Amanda, Fin and Lieutenant Benson are. But my Uncle Joe is in interrogation,” You informed, accompanied with a point in the direction of the interrogation room.

“Thanks,” He nodded but with a confused expression on his face which confused you as well.

He looked like he was about to say something but he kept on walking. You watched him walk off down the corridor before returning to your work. In the five minutes he was gone you finished up all your problems. And when he returned you were tucking your homework neatly back into your file which was in your bag as he sat back down beside you with a flourish.

“He’s going to be a while,” He announced to you.

“So it seems like we’re both stuck here waiting for him then,” You added.

“Hmm,” He agreed inaudibly.

“So why do you want to talk to him,” You persisted.

“Just going over his testimony for a case,” He sighed, eyes glued to his phone.

“Which case?” You continued.

“I don’t think I can tell you that,” He hesitated, finally putting his phone away and actually looking at you.

“Why not?” You countered, “I know about most of them anyway,”

“You do?” He questioned, furrowing his eyebrows.

“Yeah, he tells me about them in almost a holistic way to stop me from reading the actual case files,” You explained.

“Your version of a compromise?” He smirked.

“I let him think so,” You half-agreed before going in close and whispering, “But I always get more out of him though so not really,”

“How do you that?” He asked, intrigued.

“Same tactics that you use in court,” You stated simply.

“You’ve seen me in court?” He inquired.

“I watched one of your cross-examinations when I was with my Aunt Erin,” You responded, “I’m pretty sure it was the Grant case,”

“That was a tough case,” He reminisced.

“You handled it well,” You began.

“Thanks…” He interrupted, you assume that he assumed that you had finished.

“But…” You continued.

“But?” He countered.

“If it were me I would have done some things differently,” You finished.

“Like what?” He prompted, holding his arms and leaning back, staring at you.

“I think you probably would have gotten that confession on the stand if you had taken more an emotional tactic, you know? Shown him pictures of his kids and asking him stuff like what’s going to happen to them. He was a cold-blooded murderer but he loved his kids. You should have played on that weakness,” You explained, “I know your ‘bulldog’ tactic eventually worked but it probably would have happened faster my way,”

“Do you spend a lot of time with your Aunt Erin?” He asked suddenly, an impressed expression on his face.

“Not as much with my Uncle Joe, but yeah, I do,” You clarified.

“It shows,” He commented.

“Is that supposed to be a compliment?” You questioned.

“What do you think?” He sighed.

“That you’re too proud to admit that you agree,” You replied.

“You’re a funny kid,” He said, “You don’t happen to want to be a lawyer do you?”

“Maybe, I lead my school's law society, but I still don’t know yet,” You shrugged.

“You should consider it,” He finally confessed, “I have a feeling that you’ll be pretty good at it,”

“I like to think so,” You smiled as you as you placed your bag back onto the floor right beside your chair and persisting once again, “So which case is it?”

“You’ve finished all those questions already?” He asked, surprised but also tactfully distracting you, which you noticed and allowed, might you add.

“Yeah,” You shrugged casually, going along with it, “It’s just advanced algebra.”

“Just advanced Algebra, huh?” He repeated chuckling, amused, “I can see why you go to Preston,”

“Did my Uncle Joe tell you that too?” You countered.

“Hmm,” He nodded before a confused look flashed across his face, “So Joe is your uncle?”

“Yeah,” You confirmed, intrigued, “Who do you think he was?”

“I just always thought he was you your Father,” He confessed, “He talks about you like you are,”

“Yeah, we are pretty close. I can see why you might assume that ” You agreed, smiling sadly to yourself.

“So whose are you?” He inquired, clearly intrigued by you.

“I’m sorry?” You countered, confused.

“Which one of the Reagans do you belong to?” He clarified, “I know you aren’t Erin’s daughter or Joe so? You aren’t one of Danny’s are you?”

“Oh no,” You giggled, “How do you know my Uncle Danny?”

“We had some encounters when I helped out the Major Crimes department,” He informed.

“He’s much nicer when you’re related to him,” You reassured.

“I would hope so,” He half smiled before persisting, “So…?”

“I’m Erika’s kid,” You admitted, you voice going quietly.

“Erika?” He questioned confused, “There is another Reagan?”

You nodded.

“I didn’t know Erin had a sister,” He commented.

“She doesn’t talk about her a lot.” You concurred.

“So which one is she? Cop or Lawyer?” He questioned, unknowingly.

“She was a cop,” You responded with another small sad smile.

“Was?” He picked up on immediately and suddenly becoming hesitant.

“Yeah,” You nodded, averting gaze and tugging on your sleeves, “She was killed in a car crash on the job about nine years ago,”

“I’m so sorry,” He instantaneously apologized, “I shouldn’t have asked.”

“No, it's fine. Really,” You reassured, “It’s quite nice to meet someone who isn’t too scared to actually ask me about her.”

“Well, in their defense, I had no idea. I really did think that you were just Joe’s daughter,” He reminded before adding and an observation, “You look quite similar you and Joe,”

“That’s because he and my Mom were fraternal twins,” You informed, “It’s a funny story actually. My Grandparents thought they were having twin boys and then she came out a girl so instead of Erik they called her Erika,”

“Is that why you and your Uncle are so close,” He asked gently.

“I think so,” You agreed, “I’m the only part of her that they have left.”

“I know that feeling,” He confessed.

“You do?” You asked.

“I do. My Dad died when I was a teenager,” He admitted.

“I’m sorry,” You offered.

“Don’t be. It was the best thing that could have happened for me and my Mom,” He continued.

“So is it just you and your Mom then?” You probed.

He nodded before asking, “So what about your Dad, where’s is he?”

“I actually don’t know,” You responded honestly, “I don’t know who is he,”

“You don’t know your Father?” He asked you noticed that he seemed surprised by himself, almost like that he was surprised that he was so interested in you.

“No,” You replied.

“Now I’m sorry,” He offered this time.

“Don’t be,” You reassured, “I’ve lived like this for thirteen years. I haven’t known anything else. You can’t miss what you never had.”  

A silence fell over you as you both thought about your lost parents. You glanced at the pictures on your Uncle’s desk and behind your Uncle’s monitor coincidentally was a picture of your Mom. It was probably hidden because you knew that your Uncle couldn’t look at it for too long without starting to miss her.

“Here she is,” You smiled as you picked it up and gave it a quick glance.

It was a picture of your Mom and Uncle Joe, both of them in the police uniforms, clearly taken when they were both in the academy.

“Here,” You offered, showing him the picture.

You watched his expression as his eyes locked with the image presented. Shock and realization washed over him.

“I know,” You understood, “We look exactly the same,”

“Yeah,” He finally let out, not looking away from the image and shakily adding, “You’re the spitting image of her,”

“Except for the eyes,” You reminded, “I must have my Dad’s”

“What did you say her name was again?” He questioned, finally looking at you.

“Erika but actually she used her middle name a lot because she didn’t like it that much,” You informed.

“What’s her middle name?” He asked.

“Rosaline, after my Great Grandmother but she used to go by…” You started.

“Rosie,” He interrupted and therefore you said it simultaneously.

“Not very original, right?” You chuckled sadly.

He went to say something but you Uncle suddenly appeared and apologized to Mr. Barba for keeping him waiting.

“What about me?” You demanded, playfully, “You made me wait too,”

“I wait for you every day,” He remarked before gesturing for you to move out his chair.

You rolled your eyes at Mr. Barba which earned a chuckle as you jumped out of his chair and headed for the candy draw of Sonny’s desk. They started talking as you browsed the draw that was brimming with candy. Sonny had a sweet tooth, just like you. Mr. Barba got up to leave.

“It was nice to meet you, Y/N,” He said, his tone still shakier than before.

“You too,” You grinned before holding up a chocolate bar, “Do you want a Butterfinger for the journey,”

“Sure,” He chuckled, catching it barely after you threw it to him, “It’s my favorite,”

“Mine too,” You agreed.

After that, he left and you turned to look at your Uncle who was watching you with his head playfully in his hands.

“How much did you embarrass me?” He asked jokingly as you took a seat and took a bite of your own chocolate bar, grinning evilly.

A couple of days passed, including the weekend and you found yourself walking done a busy lane in the park by yourself. It was one of the only times you had where you were truly alone. Your school allowed you to leave the grounds for lunch on Tuesdays because of your high grades. You always went alone even though you could take a friend if you wanted too. You just needed some alone time. True alone time. Without supervision and with people you were close too. You just needed to think and what better place than a nearby park where you could just watch the busyness of everyone else’s lives instead of experiencing your own. And that usually happened each time you did it, well…expect for today.

“Y/N…?” A familiar voice behind you suddenly said.

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egregiousderp · 8 years ago

Text

@gayrazeb

Being polite isn’t a problem! I don’t think you said anything rude. And I only noticed a bit late that your was tagged “personal” so I hope it’s okay I reblogged. ^^;;

I tried to put this up in a separate post just in case.

(I’m also on mobile so I can’t really do a readmore. Sorry, my dash! I’ll tag this with “long post” and hope for the best. Lotta rebels talk and tangential talk about Kalluzeb as a ship.)

I was kind of confused by the “problematic” ship label is all. And most of what you’re saying in the follow-up sounds like a critique of Kallus’s character. Not the ship itself?

My thoughts on that are actually that both characters are traumatized. Assuming you think Kallus was telling the truth about the incident with the Lasat Mercenary and his first posting. (Which isn’t to say it’s an equal level of trauma, but I think both of them handle trauma differently?)

Kallus’s reactions when under pressure afterwards COULD be interpreted as a reaction to that trauma, or as a speciesism in the aftermath.

Even Zeb reacts with shock hearing one of his own cut down helpless people, which in my mind means either Zeb’s a straight-shooter a little naive about his own people (possible. He was very young when he was the honor guard captain.) or that that kind of thing IS NOT DONE.

There’s subtle stuff in watching Kallus get thrown around in episodes and how quickly he gets up. There’s subtle stuff in the sheer panic on his face when he’s injured, weaponless, and Zeb has a rifle trained on him.

He’s filmed as a traumatized character pretty clearly in my mind, anyway.

Kallus got out on Lasan AFTER the thing on Onderon. If you hold that he’s traumatized as a result, then…

Strategically speaking if this is a man who “knows” he’s up against a bigger, stronger creature. He also has every reason to believe they slaughter even the helpless.

Zeb we know is a more honorable character but he still tears through stormtroopers like they’re wet paper, and talks about how he likes punching them. That’s ZEB. Zeb is one man.

So…you’re a human being being deployed against an army of creatures, any one of which if they close will tear through your entire platoon in moments.

Wookiepedia gave me a lot of Kallus info.

For one he’s quite tall. Small next to Zeb, but huge next to everyone else.

He’s trained in both heavy and riot combat. (Think fn-2199 in Force Awakens. Nines is a riot trooper.)

And he’s actually turned down a promotion I think so he can stay active in the field. So he’s very physically fit and powerful for a human but his troops are NOT.

If that’s your situation your only hope is to range your adversary and not let them close (since close combat gives a very clear advantage to the Lasat.) You’ve got to show it as little mercy as it would show you or it’ll tear you apart.

What Kallus’s use of the disruptors does is it takes a metaphorical fight between Lasat as Cavalry and Imperials as Infantry, and essentially pulls a Rommel. Rommel turned his anti-air weapons on tanks during World War II, and ranged them.

So it depends on how you look at it.

In the course of Imperial Propaganda, what Kallus does, if he’s the man who gave the order (which I think he is) actually saves thousands of trooper lives.

…By massacring a planet full of Lasat.

What I find really interesting and can’t find info on is how Kallus ended up on Lasan after the incident on Onderon. Did someone literally assign a PTSD guy to a planet of people he should be terrified of? Did he volunteer for revenge? (Either would give you a lot of detail about his character, yeah?)

You could say his entire drawing Zeb away during the first season antics could be to protect his men. Although it might be a bit of a stretch and I understand if that doesn’t sit with you.

What Kallus does makes perfect sense to me from a strategy perspective though.

It’s ruthless, but he’s a soldier in a war.

There’s more than one way to read Kallus’s early actions, I mean. Especially if he’s deep in the Imperial Propaganda and thinks what he’s doing is the only thing he can do.

What he does that makes him a remarkable person is he turns these situations consistently and elegantly to later advantage.

Using an unconventional weapon on an organic being is grisly but decidedly brilliant.

Turning a defecting colleague into a martyr to stir up people to hunt the rebels themselves is also brilliant and effective.

Withholding supplies from a planet in order to whittle down the limited rebel ships attempting to run supplies in is likewise kind of harsh but ultimately very well suits the goal, AND if Imperials show up later with supplies it makes the Empire look absolutely great, yeah?

He uses his past trauma as a weapon.

Rebel activity’s been going strong for a while by the time you meet Kallus in season one, so his empathy for others has been deadened to almost nothing when we first see him.

As such he feels nothing when straight-up murdering colleagues or goading an enemy into an angry opening by talking about genocide. Those are means to an end and his primary goal is to serve the Empire. To “do his duty”. Because this is what Kallus does.

If you read him in as a character who has always believed he was in the service of doing good even by dubious means then the progression isn’t so unusual.

This is a person who believed that competence and loyalty in executing a duty was enough to assure you of a place in the Empire.

Then…

He flinches when Tarkin executes two of his colleagues for incompetence.

He executes Tua for disloyalty.

The Empire is not loyal to him when he’s lost on the ice moon.

There is…a progression.

On top of that you have his interactions with Zeb, who is honorable even when it puts him at a serious disadvantage. Zeb, who preserves even the life of an enemy he has every reason to hate.

Zeb, who is traumatized too.

But while Zeb is traumatized he also seems to run from it by “forgetting”. He forgets his own title and rank, even. He says nothing about his past or his life. Barely interacts with his own people even after rescuing them because it’s easier to run than to face those things.

He oscillates between anger at Kallus, I think, and refusing to touch the elephant in the room. It’s in how he handles the disruptors issue in the first episode.

Running from trauma and “forgetting” is a valid way people deal with such things. But it usually comes out later and there are consequences in roundabout ways.

I look forward as much to Zeb snapping and hitting that final straw, that one last thing that sends him over the edge.

I’m also down for potential Rebel!Kallus encountering the Mercenary again.

And for Zeb, who said he’d show the way home for his people to have to deal with the members of his people he doesn’t like, that he doesn’t think are worthy of being among his people again.

There are…schisms among the rebels themselves I mean. And whether or not the show wants to get into that or not is another question but…

I haven’t found the takes on either of those character’s personal traumas particularly badly done. I just expect Zeb’s has a slower fuse and it’s going to be ridiculous when he finally does face it?

Plus there’s some stuff within the warrior/child/fool Dynamic that suggests the roles shift.

There are two people with bo-rifles.

And we still haven’t seen one give himself up for the others. (Though Kallus seems more than set to try.)

IF this is what’s going on but it’s going on kind of behind the scenes and from a place of genuine admiration? Of…wanting to be more like what Kallus thinks Zeb is? What Kallus thinks the rebels are? Does that…work a little better for you?

#I'm not really sure what to tag this with for you #but I really wanted to reply to it.#if there's sideways stuff going on in here or material about Kallus I don't know please feel free to tell me?#I don't always know where I get the material from these days.#long post #not intended as discourse I just don't think I should be PMing someone I don't know?#sorry I am awkward and like to talk character theories

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thiswillbereportedtomanagement · 7 years ago

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The Streetwear Startup forum lets aspiring creative directors figure out whether their graphics are cool—and where they can get blank tees to print them on.There is absolutely no good reason the words “yo pierre, you wanna come out here?” should be here pinned on the page for Reddit’s Streetwear Startup subforum. Clicking on the words leads you nowhere, and the phrase—first heard on the Jamie Foxx Show and more recently popularized by hip-hop producer Pierre Bourne—doesn’t have anything to do with the page’s function: convening an unusually friendly online community to help burgeoning streetwear designers launch their brands. But it turns out that “yo pierre” is a perfect symbol for a genre of clothing that thrives on coded imagery—ranging from Coca-Cola to Dragon Ball Z—to signal to other people you’re hip, you’re in the know, and yes, you would like to come out here.The streetwear startup aims to dissect the very concept of cool. Can the designs and signals that have catapulted brands like Supreme and Kith into the fashion stratosphere be focus group-tested until you’ve found the thing that resonates with customers? After all, if the almost-14,000 users on the page think your piece is a must-cop, it’s also possible that Miami Dolphin Jarvis Landry will too, and will then wear it on ESPN, like he did with streetwear startup success story Rude Vogue. And if this chorus of voices say fire, there’s a decent chance the streetwear press will join in, like Hypebeast did with the brand Deadnight.Anyone with an Instagram account would be forgiven for thinking that the streetwear market is oversaturated with streetwear brands. But others see the endless stream as a siren call to jump into the fray. But the rush with coming up with a catchy name—seriously, it can be anything; the most popular streetwear brand in the world is called Supreme—can make you forget there are logistics to be dealt with. How do you get your vision on the screen? How do you make other people fuck with that vision? How do you get that art on a T-shirt? And, wait, where do you even get those T-shirts from? And once you have the T-shirts and someone willing to shell out the cash for it… what then?How do I get these printed?Streetwear Startup is built to answer those questions. “I want to keep it as open as possible and for it to be for anyone curious about brand startup as a whole,” says Dustin Wilkie, a recent UNC-Asheville grad who moderates the subreddit. The subreddit was formed, in November of 2013, and Wilkie, who was working on a brand of his own at the time, joined almost immediately. Wilkie says the person “who actually made it just doesn't use it, and I don't even have contact with them any more”—a poetic start for a page that’s all about trial and error. Wilkie was put in charge because he was the longest-tenured member.The subreddit’s main services can be broken down into two parts: beginner questions (What’s the best ecommerce site?) and brand feedback (What logo do you like most?). Wilkie’s goal is to eradicate the first part by compiling a How to Streetwear 101 handbook that will contain everything you need to get from idea to brand. “We have a pretty big problem with people posting the same beginner question over and over,” Wilkie laments. The ”wiki” currently covers four topics but “we're creating a how to beginner's guide that should handle all of those questions,” Wilkie says.“The subreddit is filled with people who are grinding away every day in the same way as me,” says Slade, a 20-year-old college student studying graphic design in Missouri who founded the brand VVID. “Oftentimes, they've stumbled and had to learn during their journey, too, and they're nice enough to impart that knowledge to me, and in turn I get to circumvent those mistakes.”Wilkie says the page has been growing quickly recently, though he can’t pinpoint the exact reason for all the newfound subscribers. Jaffry Mallari, a 19-year old Geomatics Engineering Technology student at the Southern Alberta Institute of Technology, says that when he joined almost two years ago, there were only around 2,000 followers. He took a break after his first brand went to that friendly Shopify site in the sky, but when he came back around a year ago the number of subscribers had tripled to 6,000. Now it stands at around 14,000 members—and more people means more voices. “There is more information now,” Mallari says. “So now it's like more of a struggle [to get to the top post] but since there's more competition now it made me push harder on my designs.” Mallari dubbed his new brand Resurgence: “To fix the mistakes that I’d made and to do twice as well as before—that's the meaning of the brand.”When I catch Slade on email he tells me he was getting “sewing 101 tips.” Others start by sponging up even more rudimentary knowledge. Mallari recounts his first experience on the page: “I just kept putting in designs and kept asking questions, like, ‘What websites do I use? How do I get these printed?” Mallari says that the first brand he made “crumbled and fell off” after a bad business decision. “But back then I was still new to it and I thought [I’d found] an easier way. That's when I learned the hard way that's not how you need to run something.”Everyone started from the bottomBuilding a career in fashion takes time: Alessandro Michele worked anonymously for more than a decade at Gucci before being handed the reins. Building a career on r/StreetwearStartup is a considerably quicker process. “I have been posting in the subreddit showcasing my collections for about 18 months now,” says Sam Hall, a 27-year-old living in Manchester. In that span, his brand Deadnight has been featured on Hypebeast. Well-followed DJs like Example and KuruptFM requested clothing from him. Now, he says he’s in talks to be stocked “across Asia for a very large organization.” That’s thanks to the subreddit, he says: “Each time I have received high praise from members, but most importantly vital feedback which I have used each and every time to improve.” And therein lies what’s truly one-of-a-kind about this page: unlike most internet enclaves, most people on Streetwear Startup aren’t total assholes.A large percentage of the posts request feedback on a design. Amateur designers posting their best efforts to an audience granted internet anonymity should be like throwing red meat to a pack of hypebeasts. But the group on Streetwear Startup is almost entirely supportive, and only intends to nurture when it does give feedback. Compare the top comment on a recent Hypebeast article—”Looka ma stickers bruuuuuuuh. Fucking f*****s”—with a comment the brand Anomaly received when its founder asked for feedback on a tee: “I really like the original to the point where I'll cop rn if you release.”And that’s just one of the 33 comments offering advice on what the graphic should look like (“If you're going for the water reflection look, I feel like you should make the water a little more recognizable,” writes one commenter) and ways to add small details (“Would like to see something really simple on the back of the shirt,” reads another post). Anomaly’s founder Adam has been on the subreddit since 2015 and describes it as a key resource in building his brand. “It's the first place I turn to whenever I need feedback on a new design, tips on marketing, or just advice in general,” Adam tells me via email. “I'm not exaggerating when I say I wouldn't be here if it weren't for the supportive, albeit critical, community.”That sentiment is echoed by other users. “I personally value when people on the sub are a bit ruthless,” says VVID’s Slade. “It may often hurt my feelings at first reaction, but I also find harsh critique to give my subconscious a new perspective when approaching design.”What feeds the harmonious atmosphere is the fact that everyone has some skin in the game. “Everyone has the same perspective,” says Mallari. “So it's much easier for them to praise others, keep it up, this is good. It's a supportive environment because everyone started from the bottom.” Wilkie says he’s only ever banned one person.The whole community is reliant on this continuous feedback loop. “If you give to the community, we're going to try and give back to you,” says Wilkie.But this isn’t just a fun hobby; those who stick with the subreddit are serious about their success and the page can act as a fast track to it. “This is the future for me,” says Slade of his brand. “I'm hoping when Volume 3 releases I'll be able to drop out of school and do VVID full-time. I don't think it’s a long shot.”Adam, a 17-year-old who runs a brand called Anomaly with his friends Omar and Abdullah, echoes that thought. “Every brand owner within the subreddit wants the same thing: to make it big,” he says.It’s the amount of experience that all of us combined can bring to one person's ideaThe subreddit’s greatest strength, though, is the sheer number of voices and people it can bring to bear on an issue. “We have [14,000] people now but even if 10 people talk to you about a design that may help you decide to start over or decide that, ‘Wow this is really something I can work on.’” says Wilkie.When I ask Slade what the most valuable thing he gets from the subreddit is he says opinions. This is what’s most disruptive about the page: it lets burgeoning designers to crowdsource their designs rather than coming up with designs in isolation, investing the money, then plopping them on the web in hopes of finding an audience for the work.The process by which the clothing is made is different, but the resulting products have a lot in common with brands we’re familiar with. In the world of streetwear, the difference between what we consider hot and not oftentimes has a lot to do with the name behind it, rather than the strict aesthetic appeal of whatever’s on the front. The reasons we lose our collective shit over a white tee with a red box on it isn’t because of its unprecedented design quality; it’s because of everything that red box signifies. Anomaly recently featured paintings that were criticized for looking too similar to those used by popular streetwear brand Heron Preston. The factor that makes one cool and another unoriginal can often come down to the name. There’s nothing inherently uncool about the brands on the streetwear subreddit except maybe that they’re just not cool yet.Sorting out all the signals is why the streetwear startup can be so helpful. “I needed a place to gauge the response a larger audience would have to the collection and I wanted to know if it would stand out the way I wanted it to,” Slade explains. “What better way to test that than post in a community of people who look at or create streetwear designs all day, and see what they think?” You can feel out a customer base before needing, you know, a customer base.And because these are people who also have brands, it makes them the perfect target market. “If the majority of them like it, it will mostly likely at least sell a few pieces,” says Mallari. Streetwear Startup offers people a testing ground for items and designs before they ever put real monetary investment into anything. And you can keep taking the community’s advice until you’ve smoothed out the edges enough that someone—probably a number of someones on Streetwear Startup, who have now all helped you make a garment closer to their tastes—might actually buy your product. Fashion isn’t a science, but in Streetwear Startup you can play a game of addition and subtraction based on feedback until you’ve got something at least one person will wear.And you can keep adding and subtracting until someone like Jarvis Landry wears your clothes on ESPN. Matt Nicholas, a 30-years-old supplement store manager in Saskatoon, Saskatchewan Canada and the designer behind Rude Vogue, says that the subreddit vaulted him in front of a larger audience, but the Landry placement is on a different level. “It was a pretty amazing feeling, just growing up always watching ESPN daily and then to see your brand you've worked so hard for making a cameo on SportsCenter,” Nicholas says. The rest of the subreddits users are hoping to find the same kind of streetwear success — with a little help from their 14,000 friends.Watch Now:How Kinfolk Became One of the Coolest Designers on the PlanetMORE STORIES LIKE THIS ONE

https://www.gq.com/story/reddit-streetwear-startup

#IFTTT #Feedly

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