fabric blocking

BROCADE: You are a very grand lady. You are of royal blood, whether or not you know it. It is obvious in your regal bearing and your masterful wearing of brocade, that most monarchical of textiles. Brocade makes even velvet look like a commoner. It turns its nose up at taffeta and gives tweed the finger. Brocade is the grandest fabric on the grandest block. So when you see it, think not of sofas or suburban wallpaper. Think instead of world domination, throne rooms, boar-hunting, popes, aspic, tapestries, sceptres, inbreeding and your own undeniable majesty. You can wear brocade. And you should.
—  strangely uplifting advice from Tatler’s fashion pages
Partners in Crime (I)

Originally posted by lullabyun

Exo x reader fanfiction

Genre: Romance, Fluff, School AU!

Note: Everything recorded are your thoughts and what you see. Everything is monotone at this point but please be patient until later. ^^


Scene 1: Not Enough


I awake from the sounds of the window creaking. I grudgingly carry my weary weight to the shades and clasp on to the curtains. I hiss in reaction to the morning sunlight and swing across the fabric to block out any access rays of the sun. I groan in frustration. My pale arms fling around, only meeting to my eyes where I sigh deeply. I shifted my attention towards the alarm clock, that read 6:17. Twitching an eyebrow, I rise up from the springy bed. My blurred eyes only make me knock over stacks of video games and comic books scattered amongst the carpet floor. I enter the dusty wooden hallways of my spacious house and swung open the bathroom door. After taking a light shower, I rushed putting on my attire. After snatching my phone, I plug in my earbuds and head to the porch. Eying the coatrack, I slinged my leather bag over my shoulder and sink my feet into my shoes.

As I rode on my rusty bike, I notice something different. Petals. I pulled on the brakes and jumped off the leathery seat. I chained my bike to the school’s fenced areas. I glance at my watch. Early. Too early. Taking out the teared envelope from my satchel, I took a breath. As I take a step across the wide solid concrete pathway, I begin to read the following.

To: (Y/N)
From: Anonymous
At 7:15 am, please arrive at the Sreya Academy’s Chairman Office.

I shoveled in the note inside my satchel and headed towards the school. Silent. Too silent. I paced myself around the blue and white tiles of the corridors and noticed a header in the wall with gold imprinted letters. Without any resistance, I twisted the metal doorknob and entered. A writing desk, leather chairs, and bookshelves were placed inside the office. It resembles much like a study room but more ample in terms of space. I waited, and happened to take a seat. Tapping my fingers impatiently, I held my white polymer watch. 7:15. I begin to part my lips when I was interrupted by a tap. I don’t flinch but out of curiosity, I look up. A tall structured man, with a fashionable suit greeted me with a smile. I responded with a calm stare.

“Welcome, (Y/N),” He said, as he strolled in front of the desk.

“State your purpose and why I am here,” I retorted back.

The unidentified male scowled. “No need to be rushed. Let me explain first.” He replied.

I maintained a poised posture and stayed silent.

“This Academy was built for intellectual students who are capable of a certain category of either Academics or Performing Arts. Although we have behaved students, it turns out a certain uproar has been occuring,” He gave a pause and looked at the dusty globe on the right of him. “Would you care to know what the incident is?”

I nodded silently.

“A female student has been tragically dead, and the death was caused by a student. We want you to find out who caused it, (Y/N).” He stated.

I stared at him blankly. Being the world’s secretive and youngest female detective, I was appointed with serial cases and other crimes to investigate. However, this was the first task given regarding with a school.

“Why wasn’t this case handed to the police and why do you think it was caused by a student?” I question.

He chuckled. You only raise an eyebrow. “The police couldn’t deduce the suspects and were left with useless clues. One of the clues left had shown a letter, that stated, ‘I am young. Though I have reasons.’ They suggested you would be able to find out.”

“What’s the price?”

“150.”

I shook your head in disagreement. “300.”

“Fine.”

“You will be given 1 month to figure out the culprit, in the meantime you will be attending our school during your investigation. Report to my office for any questions or instructions. Here is a copy of your schedule and other resources. Funds and other bills will be concerned with the school staff. You may not tell anyone what you do, starting from tomorrow. However you may interrogate anyone. Meet me here the same time as today, I will discuss the suspects given.” He explained.

“What if I don’t make it by the deadline and why is there even a deadline?”

“Well we couldn’t afford to have people stop attending our school. Also, there’s no price if you don’t make it,”

Seems self explanatory. I have the rest of the day to myself then. He mentioned something about keeping my purpose of attending. I rode my bike towards a local stationary store and bought school supplies, that were essential for the sake of the regulations restricted at the school. I then decided to head home, where the maid already finished her curfew and left. I enter my immaculate house and hung everything back in place. I kicked my shoes away and scrambled towards the bedroom. I tossed away my satchel and watched as it lands on the wooden table. The notebooks slide out correspondingly and reaches to the carpet floor. A folded parchment note slips by  I spread my legs out and grunt.

I am a 15 year old, abandoned by my deceased parents. They were murdered, and no one found the cause. I ended up running away from local officials who forced me to attend a foster care after the incident. I didn’t want to inherit the title of Chairman of the company of my parents. Instead, I used my parents’ money to supply myself basic necessities and worked as a full time detective. A child prodigy they would say, but really, I  shut away myself from the outside world, desperately trying to hold on into living. I pity myself becoming someone lower than an average human.

The thoughts of it just haunted over me and I sigh in exasperation.
“Tomorrow is going to be hectic,” I said

I woke up throwing a fit from the rays, and happened to do my normal routine after giving in. However I still felt uneasy about every action. I wore a chic black skirt that flows towards your knees, and collared white blouse. A cardigan was paired with it. Black stockings were pulled toward my knees. I stole a glance at the mirror. My wardrobe has nothing but white and black attire. I grabbed my satchel and headed out. Arriving at the academy, I enter the office.

“You’re here.” The mysterious man said.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” I said as I smirked.

He laughed menacingly. The male pulled out 7 beige folders and handed them to me.

“I suppose so, here are the files of the suspects. Take a look at them, feel free to look around the campus. I hope you know what classes you have and where they are.” There is also a file of the incident and crime information are filed here.“

“Thank you, Principal.” I replied coldly.

“I see you already know me,” He said.
I tugged the end of my lips and formed a smudged smirk, “I’m a investigator. Of course I know,” and I walked out.

I managed to grab a slip of paper that showed the overall blueprint and layout of the school. The incident took place in the art room. Around 8:20 pm, a young female had been laid unconscious on the floor. The first witnesses was a two males. The crime scene is secluded with titanium walls so no one would enter. Titanium walls? That’s a bit overboard.

Then you heard children laughing and the gate being open. I smiled.

“It’s time.”

“I am here to introduce a transfer student, please treat her with great care. You may introduce yourself,”

“I am (Y/N), please take care of me,” I said as I calmly stated.

The stocky man weaved his eyes in the classroom and darted his eyes on one seat. The classroom became subtle and serene.

“You may sit at the third row down the end,” He said with a low raspy voice.
As I hang my satchel, I plopped down on the wooden seat. I focused on the lesson in the meanwhile. Suddenly I froze. A memory flashes by, revealing a frigid dark room with only me in it. The atmosphere is tense and I focus on the sheet of paper in front of me. I am glued to a cold concrete chair, unable to escape.


“I expect a lot from you, do your best and don’t disappoint me,” A man said with a sinister smile.

“Why aren’t you holding your pencil, dear? My daughter can’t do much anyways,”

Laughter. Pain. Everything returns just like everyday you would spend in that room. Alone.


You snap a led from your pencil.

This atmosphere is harder to handle.

The day is halfway over, and I pull out the files of the suspects. But a hand snatches them to my surprise.

I look up to see a porcelain face with dark beady eyes that pierces through mine. His hair is jet black, that curves and flows through the air. His height adds to his masculinity but his abnormal ears sticks out from the rest of his essential points. He had a bright red plaid jacket draped over his wide shoulders, that shined like a fire truck. A white t-shirt that complimented his figure and black ripped jeans.

“Hi, My name is Chanyeol. Nice to meet you,” He starts.

“I don’t accept introductions.” I state.

He chuckles, and pretends he didn’t hear my statement. “Anyways, what’s in here?” He said as he waved the file.

I stood up. “Didn’t someone ever tell you to keep your hands to yourself?”

“Fiesty, much?”

“I would say the same to you,” I retaliated.

The file was then taken from a slender figure, almost at the obnoxious person’s height. His ashy blond bangs was parted neatly with gel. He also had well toned skin. He seems a bit familiar and yet, you are quite unsure about you knowing him.

“Stop fooling around, Chanyeol.” He said as he gave the folder back.

The giant widen his eyes in confusion and finally snapped out of his trance.
He stuttered, and let out a sigh in defeat. “If you say so, Kris.”

“You ain’t fooling me,” Chanyeol said as he was being dragged out by Kris.
I returned to my seat and carefully opened the tidy files. My eyes widen at the name.

Suspect 1: Park Chanyeol

I smirked. “Well this is going to be fun,”

10

保護者, 紅雀, 獣  (Protector, Red Sparrow, Beast)

Here is Koujaku’s quilt!  I’m really happy with how his quilt turned out, and I had a ton of fun picking fabric for it!  I designed Koujaku’s quilt with three blocks using the Snail Trail block pattern (it was supposed to represent his peony tattoo but oh well): one to represent his route within the game, and one each for his good and bad endings.  I intentionally picked fabrics so that each block would get progressively darker, because each end of the quilt is such an extreme.  All of the fabrics in this quilt are Asian-themed fabrics by Robert Kauffman, Red Rooster, Kona, and Timeless Treasures, except for the scissor-print in the back (it’s a Moda, which I’ll get to!).  I tried to stick with more traditional-looking fabrics, without going too modern because a. Koujaku is very traditional and b. he’s an old man! (sorry Koujaku, I say that with love! ^_^) The name of this quilt is written in Japanese Kanji on the front lower right corner of each block.  Before I really start rambling, I’ll start with the center block, as it’s really the focal point of the quilt. 

This block represents Koujaku’s main route in the game.  The Japanese Kanji written on this block is Koujaku’s name, which means “red sparrow”.  I used a mixture of light and darkish fabrics, because of Koujaku’s happiness at seeing Aoba again, but throughout his route having to face his tortured past and those responsible. I’m especially proud of the gold-print fabric and the bird-print fabric I found.  The gold print fabric is supposed to mirror the belt that Koujaku wears around his waist, and upon seeing the bird fabric I immediately thought “BENI!”. Also, you’ll notice that within this block, there are two fabrics used that are also used in the “good end” block, the prints are exactly the same, just the colors are different :D Now, depending on the choices you make for Aoba in Koujaku’s route, you end up with either: 

Koujaku’s good ending: I chose the name “protector” for this block because of how much Aoba means to Koujaku.  After Aoba saves Koujaku from the tattoos completely controlling him, Koujaku finally opens up to Aoba and he can begin to move forward.  As they build their life together, Koujaku will be fiercely protective of Aoba, and Aoba will be there every time Koujaku begins to doubt his worth as a human being because of his past, no longer having to suffer alone.  I wanted no darkness in this block, only bright and colorful fabrics, because Koujaku finally, for the first time in several years, has a real chance to find happiness and peace.  

Unless of course you’re like me and find BeastJaku incredibly sexy so you prefer: 

Koujaku’s bad ending: I immediately knew I wanted this block to be devoid of any brightness or happiness, because unfortunately both Aoba and Koujaku lose themselves in this ending, and both suffer (though Shiroba might believe otherwise).  However, when I saw the cherry-blossom print, I thought it fit oddly well with the rest of this block’s fabrics, even though it shines because of the gold.  In a way, this can kind of be interpreted as being fabric for Shiroba, because he loves this version of Koujaku.  The black and grey fabric is a Kona and the print is called “Good Fortune”, which I thought was a delightfully cruel twist for this block, as Koujaku’s bad ending is anything but good fortune.  To finish it off, I splattered red paint all over the block, as it tends to get a bit bloody in BeastJaku’s cell.  I gave serious thought to taking my scissors and actually carving a little bit into the block to make it look as if BeastJaku himself sliced into it , but I didn’t want to weaken the integrity of the stitches.

Finally, when I saw the Moda scissor-print, I immediately knew this was going to be the back fabric for this quilt!  Koujaku works as a hairdresser, so I thought this would complete the quilt nicely.  I know the scissors printed on the back are craft scissors and not hairdresser’s shears, but I still think it works, hehe!

This quilt has simple quilting lines, with one line going through each of the black strips surrounding the three blocks, again symbolizing the choice the player has to make throughout the game.  

I bought a ton of fabric to make this quilt, so I’m offering this one for sale! :D It measures 52.25 inches long by 18.25 inches wide (or 132.7 cm x 46.4 cm) If you would like to purchase this quilt, please send me a message.  

I would like to give a huge thanks to @lintmaster1989 for letting me pester her with progress pics of this quilt, in addition to helping me name it!  Also a huge thank you to @impulsive-temper, I used this beautiful fan art of yours to help with the color palette for each of the blocks.  Finally, I want to thank everybody in the DMMD fandom for liking and reblogging all my progress pictures of this quilt!  I really appreciate it!!!  

One more thing:  This is a super interesting post about Koujaku’s peony tattoo and it’s real-life application to Japanese yakuza.  Thank you @ayuuria for this awesome read!  It really helped me when designing this quilt!  

Lights Out(Villain!AU)
  • *the power goes out in the Villains' home as Saitama stumbles around in the dark*
  • Saitama: Genos?
  • Genos: *his red eyes shine in the dark before his biolights glow brighter for Saitama to find him* over here, master
  • Saitama: *walks over*....maybe you should take your clothes off so the fabric doesn't block your lights
  • Genos: *muffled sound of him smacking Saitama's arm as his biolights fog with steam*
  • Saitama: *laughs*
2

Unfucking an invisible corner, before and after. Unbelievably this took a whole ruddy day of 20/10s, because in all those boxes was a year of paperwork, which is now filed in date order according to subject. Motivated myself by finally watching the Walking Dead. Am 100% in love with Andrew Lincoln right now. He has such lovely calves and a nice mouth…

Ok. The black thing in front of the tele is not knickers, it’s black fabric to block out the little red light - reckon I could do a better job though.

Threw out a whole bin bag of rubbish and a sack of recycling. Odd socks, random bits of plastic off a thing but not sure what. Gone.

Please excuse the super gross carpet, it is 11pm and too late to vacuum tonight. New carpet is coming soon! I actually feel much healthier being able to see the corner of the room. I feel like in a Doctor Who episode where the humans have been living with a monster in the corner of their eye, which for some reason they don’t perceive. And the fucker is gone.

Still very much a work in progress, pictures to hang and going to restack the bookcase to make it look more orderly. Contents of 3 more small boxes (not pictured) to be decanted to various regions of the flat, but contents have been sorted and the final can probably be done in a single 20/10.

Could You Be Happy Here With Me?

Moonlight streamed through the curtains, the sheer fabric doing little to block the light. The stars glow hid behind the full moon but the small specks were still there, still watching over him. He could feel the heat as it pumped from vents under the bed. He could feel her skin, the soft curves of flesh so soft. He could feel the beat of her heart, so strong and steady. The scent of her shampoo like freshly cut flowers and ocean waves. Gentle puffs of her breath were ghosting the arm he’d sprawled out underneath her head, her hand tangled with his calloused fingers. She’d shifted so her body had pressed to every inch of his revealed skin and he had never felt so in love as he did in that small studio apartment.

Takeout boxes stacked up on the counter because neither of the could cook more than cheap frozen pizzas. Open books with highlighted, noted lines that intersected like the masterpieces hanging in the small art studio their friend had bought cheap laid on the rickety coffee table. Her shoes and clothes were so meticulously hung up, prepared for the next day while his were strewn at random, unwashed and wrinkled.

They had said the two of them could not, would not, work. She was high class to his empty bank account, she was Gucci and he was Goodwill. She had dreams, aspirations that didn’t need a struggling musician to bring her down and he questioned every day why she didn’t leave. Find a man wearing suits that cost more than all of his existence, marry him and have children that had pretty smiles and brains that could understand what she would say when she talked about her passion for learning.

She could be happy, doing what she wanted whether it were staying at home or working the job of her dreams. She would have options that she could never have with him, the boy whose music was the only skill he had. She would not be studying at night and working to jobs to afford food and a place to live while he played on streets for people who would never respect the depths of depravity his music came from. She never faulted him for it, encouraging him if anything with her soft whispers of The music you make is as important as the books I read, music is a language that the entire world can understand. It saves people mentally and that is something medication can’t always do. She never complained besides occasionally the rare I’m tired that had him on his knees, rubbing along the muscles of her feet and calves that she always seemed so grateful for.

Her I love you’s always were real whether whispered into the dark or giggled through laughter he’d caused. They greeted him in the morning and never disappeared through the day. She supported him in every and any way that she could, promising to love him through the unpaid bills and sleep deprivation as long as he loved her through it too.

He tried.

He tried being as supportive as she was, the depths of her niceties that were given freely and never for reward were unmatched but he did try.

Picking her flowers just so she would smile, laughing while she explained that it was illegal to take these from the park garden but she almost gave him a smile and he didn’t care. He’d stay up into hours that no sane human being should have to be awake at to throw out quiz questions, kissing her for every right and sometimes the wrong, ready to send off congratulation and I never doubted you texts when she sent pictures of passing grades.

He supported her when she had breakdowns, thinking that maybe she couldn’t do it, any of it. Not this time, not ever but gentle hands that were as strong as his love, held her. Whispered words of encouragement, promising her that she could do anything she wanted to because she was her. She would always apologize for it, the way she broke down but he promised her he was as much a safe place for her as she was for him.

He could never be open like her, as free with his affection because he didn’t know how to do that when he was still waiting for the other shoe to drop. When he was waiting for her to decide she’d made a mistake choosing him, waiting for the decision she would inevitably make of herself or him and who could fault her for choosing someone as wonderful as herself over him?

Those were typical worries of his, things he questioned, waited for but tonight was different. The call had been more than interest, it had been a promise from a major record label that received the demo she paid for working in the small café for a year, scraping up tips with smiles and niceties even though she wanted to go home and sleep but bringing home the earnings and placing them in a jar she had labeled Calum’s Demo with hearts and smiley faces.

The shoe he had been so afraid would drop, the cutting of such fragile strands that held them together, was something he couldn’t fear. The fourth song of five had the studio in tears, had them scrambling to draw up the documents for the talented young boy who felt more like a man now that a salary was being offered all because of the song he had written for the woman he pulled closer as she slept, smiling at her soft snort before she rolled to press her face in his shirtless chest. Her hair tickled his nose, her feet so cold that he could feel shivers racing up his spine but he couldn’t have moved her if he tried. She was holding onto him like she never wanted to let go and he knew she wouldn’t.

He hadn’t told her yet, the adrenaline racing through him had halted when he saw her wrapped up in blankets, cocooned and safe from the world so he shed his clothes, showering so his cold body would not disturb warm sleep before he crawled in beside her and simply watched her rest. He couldn’t wait to tell her she could do that more often because it was his turn to take care of her.

She shifted in her sleep, the sound of a horn from the streets below knocking her from peaceful sleep and she snuffed against skin that was glistening with a slight sheen of sweat and the moonlight that caught its glisten.

She simply caught his eye, the spark of adrenaline obvious and he could feel as her heart skipped a beat where she lay pressed against his ribcage. He didn’t need to tell her that he had gotten the call as she scrambled to sit up in the covers, the silent communication something all of their friends had been jealous of. She pressed lips to his with a purpose, his warm laughter filling her whole body with contentment as she could feel the pieces of their puzzled life falling into place.

He pulled her closer, remembering a night like this not too long ago when he had penned that fourth track for his demo that got him his record deal, her lips pressed to his with no intent other than closeness, feeling connected as if they were one person sharing the same heart. The way she curled up, the feel of her body so familiar, similar to now when she had held onto him with unspoken promises that all but forced him to retrieve the black notebook from under the mattress.

Writing the words in ink as permanent as her love mingling with his in the air, he penned the title to the song that would change everything, the only question he felt he could never ask her.

Could you be happy here with me?


Blurb List here. :)

-TheHuntersHuntress xx

Request here. Masterlist.