tailored skirt



✶  Tailored skirt and blouse co-ord  ✶  Crossbody satchel  ✶  Clog sandals  ✶ Unique Vintage umbrella {similar, with cats}  ✶  Velvet ribbon  ✶

Today I’m wearing yet another one of my own designs! I got this co-ord tailored last month using two different types of indigo dyed fabric. I’m having a bit of a love affair with indigo dyed cloth at the moment - it’s so vibrant and unique, even though the dye will stain anything it comes in contact with (I learned that the hard way!) This is a more vintage inspired look than I’ve been going for of late, but then I find colder weather to be more conducive to retro looks like this. There’s something a bit 40s about the cut of the skirt and blouse, and with my old Unique Vintage umbrella in tow, I rather feel like singing in the rain! 

Although vintage and vintage inspired fashion has forever been my jam, I’ve never been too fond of the styling that typically accompanies 40s and 50s inspired looks. Here’s my top tip for rocking mid century inspired ensembles without going all the way into pin-up territory: keep your styling simple. I’ve styled this co-ord with a minimalist crossbody satchel and equally pared down clog sandals - both timeless, classic pieces that can blend in with any era. And instead of the standard pin-up coiffure, I’ve pulled back my hair with a velvet ribbon and let my natural curls do their thing. So the overall look has a vintage air while remaining timeless and contemporary. 

I’ve linked to some of my favourite plus size co-ord sets this season in the widget below. Just swipe through to see my picks! 

A Preponderance of the Evidence: Prelim (Part 3 of 3)

Author:  KatEyes224
Rating: R (For adult themes)
Timeline: Post-ep for Never Again and Memento Mori.

A/N: @piecesofscully, you are the peanut butter to my jelly, and I love you more than you know.  If you missed it, read part 1 here, read part 2 here.

Mulder tosses and turns as minutes trickle into hours, entertaining himself by memorizing the way shadows dip and swirl across the ceiling to the sound of traffic gradually overtaking the steady metronome of Scully’s breathing.  He kicks the sheets off at one point, frustrated when they cling to his legs with a crackle of electricity, his body still charged with the current of all the things he hasn’t said.  

Morning finally comes.  

The late winter storm has retreated overnight, leaving the sun and blue sky to glare into the room as if demanding the two of them acknowledge that day has dawned.  They’ve ended up facing one another on their respective beds, and Mulder is watching Scully’s face when her eyes snap open seconds before the alarm goes off.  He sees her focus as the haze of sleep retreats, and doesn’t bother to look away when she finds him staring at her.  

Slipping past one another in the bathroom and their room, they’re comfortable enough with the dance of the other’s morning routine that they don’t even need to speak.  Mulder shaves while Scully showers; Scully leaves the water running when she steps out with a towel wrapped securely around her body.  She finds that Mulder has wiped the fog away from the mirror in a perfect circle where she can stand to apply her makeup; Mulder discovers that Scully has hung his suit and tie from a hook on the back of the bathroom door.

They catch a cab to the courthouse and arrive almost half an hour before they’re supposed to meet with ADA Venegas.  At a small coffee cart out front, Mulder buys them both coffees and wordlessly hands a banana nut muffin to Scully.  He frets until she rolls her eyes and eventually nibbles the top off before handing him the rest.

They’re sitting outside a long row of courtrooms when Scully makes eye contact with a young woman in an impeccably tailored grey skirt-suit who’s speaking animatedly to a uniformed police officer.  The woman nods at them, and they both stand.

“Agent Scully?”  

Clicking her way towards them in towering high heels, the petite brunette smiles and extends her hand.  She’s even shorter than Scully by a good two inches, although her shoes bring them almost eye-to-eye.  

“I’m ADA Regina Flores-Venegas.  Thanks so much for coming down on such short notice.”

Scully nods and takes Venegas’s hand, shaking it firmly.  “This is my partner, Fox Mulder.”

Venegas looks up at Mulder and her lips quirk into a bashful smile.

“Ah, Agent Mulder.  Nice to finally meet you.  Sorry for being so curt with you on the phone the other day.  I was…a little stressed out.”  She shrugs and holds her hand out to him.

Mulder grasps it and narrows his eyes, frowning at her.  “Not a problem, I understand.  If you could get Agent Scully on the stand first thing, we’d really appreciate it.  She has a doctor’s appointment back in Washington this afternoon.”

Venegas looks back to Scully, curiosity flashing in her eyes as they study one another.  “No problem.  I can call you out of order and get you up on the stand first thing.  Have you had a chance to review your report?”

Nodding, Scully sips her coffee and waves a few stapled sheets of paper up as proof.  “Yes, I have.  I’m good to go.”

Venegas glances over her shoulder as the bailiff steps out of their courtroom and catches her eye, motioning to her.  “Great.  That’s me.  Just have a seat in the hallway where I’ll be sure to see you, and I’ll have you in and out of here in a jiffy.  You’re free to go once you’re done with your testimony.”  Tilting her head in close to Scully, she lowers her voice so that Mulder has to crane his neck to hear over the din of the hallway.  “And Dana, remember what we talked about on the phone.  Expect some pretty…intimate questions from defense.  I’ll be doing my best to make sure they don’t overstep their bounds.”

With a toss of her long, wavy brown hair over her shoulder, Venegas clips away and disappears into the courtroom.

Keep reading

A Century of Glamour Ghouls: 1940s

Irena Dubrovna in Cat People (1942)

The Movie

If the 1930s witnessed the birth of the horror film as a genre, the 1940s was the genre’s coming of age. Under producer Val Lewton, many of the most notable and enduring horror films of the 40s refreshed and advanced the motifs already finding firmament in the genre. At the same time, Lewton, Jacques Tourneur and other filmmakers established new conventions still used today.

Cat People (1942) was Val Lewton’s first big hit and it’s no wonder why. The characters feel fully modern and there is greater focus on how characters cope psychologically with the horrors that beset them. The costuming and visual design is tight and makes the most of a small budget. The cinematography was done by Nicholas Murasca, who also shot the stellar Out of the Past (1947) and was nominated for an Oscar for his work on I Remember Mama (1948). Simone Simon’s performance as Irena is convincingly lonely, brooding, and neurotic without ever going over the top.

The film begins when Irena Dubrovna, a sketch artist, runs into Oliver “Ollie” Reed, a marine engineer, while working on sketches of a black panther at the Central Park Zoo. They hit it off and she invites him to tea. Irena lives alone in a beautiful brownstone apartment in Manhattan. She admits that her only friends are her coworkers, who we never see in the film. Irena relates a legend about her village in Serbia. When her people were enslaved, they turned to witchcraft and satan worship. King John freed them from slavery and killed the satan worshippers, but it’s rumored that the most wicked survived. Irena and Ollie quickly fall in love, though, oddly, they never even kiss. They marry and still Irena maintains a distance. Ollie worries that Irena is obsessed with old-country folklore and it’s keeping her from committing fully to their marriage. Irena becomes increasingly upset that she isn’t able to be like other women. Her jealousy and neuroses are gradually building up. Ollie’s co-worker, Alice, suggests she go to see a psychologist Dr. Judd. Dr. Judd’s therapy seems to help but it’s too late for Irena and Ollie’s marriage. Ollie has fallen in love with Alice and Irena’s paranoia has been borne out. Can Irena cope? Are her fears about ancestral legends rational after all?

Like with Dracula’s Daughter (1936), which I covered for the 1930s, Cat People deals with similar conflicts of identity. However, unlike the Countess Zaleska, Irena isn’t sure who she really is and we follow her through the film on her journey - and get lost with her between the lines of reality and the imagined. It’s a fascinating and a modern feeling movie.

The Look

The costuming and styling in Cat People is incredibly consistent. The costumes were done by Renie, a very prolific costume designer primarily for RKO. Irena is a professional woman and her wardrobe reflects that. She’s always in suits and stylish dresses that keep a to the menswear-inspired silhouette popular in the 1940s that reflected the increasing commonality of women working outside the home. 

Irena’s stylish suits set her clearly as a modern working woman living in a very fashionable city but she’s always fitted with a few elements that put her just a touch out of step. Irena’s trademarks are large decorative brooches or corsages on her lapel, never wearing hats, and always wearing sling-back heels, even if there are inches of snow on the ground.

Cat People also uses one of my favorite conventions in horror movies, altering makeup, hair, and costuming as a character descends into whatever curse, thrall, or old evil is encroaching on their identity. It’s done quite subtly in this film. They take advantage of the season changing to have her whip out a winter coat of a dark fur-like material to evoke the black panther she has an increasingly morbid connection to. Following Ollie breaking up with her, her eye makeup gets just a bit darker. As Irena’s curse overtakes her, her hair gets a little less well-kempt and she’s seen less often with her previously ever-present head scarf.

The Clothes

The key elements of Irena’s costuming are her headscarf, tailored skirt suits with long-sleeved blouses and jackets, low slingback heels, and an ostentatious piece of jewelry on her lapel. And, of course, the black overcoat.

Since the costuming is pretty conservative, there shouldn’t be much difference between a closet and full cosplay. So this will just be one look with suggestions on how to ramp it up or down.

The Makeup

Makeup in the 1940s was relatively natural. One the US was involved in WWII, many products were unavailable so minimalist looks were in. However, wearing red lipstick was a must and considered a patriotic gesture.

First I laid down a base with foundation and powder for a matte look. Powder alone would be more accurate for the character IRL because foundation was still not a product most women would have worn in the 1940s. Do what you’re most comfortable with!

Irena’s eye makeup is minimal, focused primarily on lashes. I covered my eyelids with a neutral shade not too different from my skin tone. Then I took a taupe grey and ran it across my mobile lid, blending it very lightly above the crease. I took what was left on the brush and ran it along my lower lashline. I mixed a little bit of green in with the taupe and brought that only over the mobile lid to deepen the shadow. Green was one of the eyeshadow colors available on the market in the 40s and it was trendy to use shadows that matched your eye color. 

The lashes are one of Irena’s most striking features, so I went into the upper waterline with black liner to make my lashes look thicker.

I then applied a few generous coats of black mascara. If you don’t want to use false lashes, I’d recommend a good fiber mascara. I thought the falsies were a little too dramatic for Irena so I went without. Either way it should look reasonably natural.

Brows should be lightly filled with powder just slightly darker than your hair and not too blocky at the head. Irena’s are sharply tapered at the ends, so I used brow pencil for that.

Irena’s lips are small and pouty with a well defined cupid’s bow. I blended concealer into the sides of my lips and reduced the size of my lower lip just slightly to make them look more even. It’s the 1940s so of course I went for red lips starting with a lip brush to carve out the shape and filled it in with lipstick from the bullet.

To get matte lips that will stay for ages using a traditional lipstick, this is my great aunt’s method: Apply a full coat of the lipstick, use tissue to blot, then hold a piece of tissue to your lips and take a transparent setting powder on a fluffy brush and blend across the lips, lastly, apply another light coat of the lipstick to bring the color back up. 

The 1910s | The 1920s | The 1930s | The 1950s | The 1960s | The 1970s | The 1980s | The 1990s | The 2000s

90 fashion tips
  1. Smile — we are all occasional victims of BRF, but there’s no need for it to be chronic.
  2. Wear it in black.
  3. Large, dark sunglasses are always chic (just never wear them inside).
  4. Denim is always in style.
  5. Find a tailor and visit her often.
  6. Do not splurge on trends (ever).
  7. Nude pumps are always a good idea.
  8. Loud, oversized logos are not okay after age 18.
  9. Don’t charge clothing to a credit card.
  10. Invest in a nice blazer.
  11. Show skin strategically.
  12. Wear colorful accessories.
  13. Take a skin, hair, and nails vitamin every day.
  14. Avoid ruching.
  15. Do not underestimate the power of a fashion scarf.
  16. Buy your size.
  17. Don’t shop with a friend. You will inevitably purchase something you don’t like.
  18. Always have a lint roller.
  19. Wear the right undergarments.
  20. If you don’t like it, don’t wear it.
  21. Embrace your personal style.
  22. Don’t buy something just because it’s on sale.
  23. Pack emergency flats.
  24. Don’t dress for men. Just… don’t.
  25. Before you leave the house in white — do a light check. See-through stinks.
  26. Layer your accessories.
  27. Buy a nice pair of riding boots, you will wear them forever.
  28. Don’t criticize yourself. You’re a hot chick.
  29. Sundresses with pockets are the best kind of sundresses.
  30. Mix prints.
  31. Leopard print flats, buy some.
  32. Add an element of surprise to every outfit (even if it’s lacy undies).
  33. Polyester is a cruel mistress, avoid her if you can.
  34. Pair loose clothes with tight ones for a balanced look.
  35. Never wear loungewear to the airport.
  36. Own a killer LBD.
  37. Don’t be afraid of bold patterns.
  38. Get out of your fashion rut and try something new for a change.
  39. Dress for your body, not your age.
  40. Great coats are always in style.
  41. WWKMW — “What would Kate Middleton wear?”
  42. Check your backside before you head outside.
  43. Special events are no time for something new — wear what you know looks good.
  44. Own plenty of crisp white tees.
  45. Mix your girliest pieces with your most casual pieces for a great look.
  46. Cuff your boyfriend jeans and wear them with pumps.
  47. When in doubt, buy denim smaller — it will stretch.
  48. There is no excuse for pajamas outside.
  49. Leggings will never be pants.
  50. Buy fun tights (but they should always be mostly black).
  51. Go see a cobbler — make your favorite shoes last.
  52. Black bathing suits hide a multitude of sins.
  53. Dress in color themes, don’t worry about matching perfectly.
  54. Confidence is the best accessory.
  55. Jazz up an outfit with red lipstick.
  56. When it doubt, overdress.
  57. Don’t wear jeans to a wedding — even if it is “casual”.
  58. Speaking of jeans — they should always be dark wash.
  59. Layering is your friend.
  60. Clean out your closet every year.
  61. Double sided tape can save a girl’s dignity.
  62. If you feel uncomfortable in the morning, you will feel uncomfortable all day. Change.
  63. There’s no excuse for not owning an iron.
  64. Tide To Go pens (just saying).
  65. Get your white button down shirts starched for an extra polished look.
  66. Uggs are not for grown women.
  67. Invest in a good wallet.
  68. Know what neckline looks best on you.
  69. Shorts can be sneaky buggers, skirts are always a safer option.
  70. Get your pencil skirts tailored for an knock ‘em dead fit.
  71. Go easy on the sparkle — less is more.
  72. You can be comfortable without resorting to pajamas or hoodies.
  73. Know your measurments.
  74. Organize your closet.
  75. Pick your outfits the night before.
  76. Don’t feel compelled to listen to your mother — get your own style. Let her have hers.
  77. Don’t wear anything too flashy on a first date.
  78. Good posture will make any outfit look better.
  79. Only wear heels your can walk in comfortably.
  80. Strapless is a very unforgiving neckline, choose wisely.
  81. It’s okay to skip a trend (even if “everyone” is wearing it).
  82. Know when it’s time to throw something out.
  83. Dress for the weather, colds are never cute.
  84. Learn from your fashion mistakes, don’t wallow in them.
  85. Only buy one special occasion dress per year.
  86. Don’t buy something just for the label.
  87. Don’t let your insecurities rule your shopping decisions (again, you’re a hot chick).
  88. Smile when you try something on. Even if you don’t like it.
  89. It is so easy to buy great clothes for less. Don’t buy things you can’t afford.
  90. Be your best-dressed self every day.

highfunctioningsassiopath  asked:

Dear Auntie Jillie, First, thank you for your lovely blog. Seeing your posts always brightens my day. Secondly, I work in a rather conservative field (law) where Goth dress isndiscoursged and frowned upon. Do you have any suggestions as to how I could incorporate subtle Goth elements into my wardrobe? Thank you! 🖤🖤🖤

CorpGoth! Wear very businesslike apparel (suits for any gender, tailored skirts, blouses, and cardigans for the more feminine-presenting folks), but in all black. Or black with some jewel tone accents, like a tie or shirt. 

Are your ears pierced? If so, look for small earrings that have goth style: I don’t have links to hand (I’m typing this with a migraine, because I am foolish), but I’ve seen tiny skulls, tiny bird skulls, rose thorns, and suchlike on Etsy. If you wear shirts that require cufflinks, you can find similarly styled pieces.

Do you wear makeup? If so, go for super-sharp cat’s eye liner, and a slightly darker lipstick than the rest of your coworkers wear. I’m not suggesting black, blue, purple, oxblood, or any of the other really dark shades, but a nice deep berry or subtle wine color will help add a tinge of goth. 

j-b-jones  asked:

Beverley: Eddie? After all this time? Richie: Always.

So, this is probably not what you expected, but here you go:

Beverly Hanscom, age 67, found herself in front of a white mansion behind a tall gate and palmtrees in upscale LA. Her driver opened her door for her and helped her out of the car. Beverly looked younger than she really was. Her fiery hair had turned strawberry blonde and there were fine lines in her face, but in her smartly tailored pencil skirt and blouse she looked closer to 50 than 70. Her joints, however, disagreed and she was grateful for her driver’s assistant.

“How long will you be, Mrs Hanscom?” The driver asked her.

“I’m not sure, David, I will call you when I need you.” She answered, and David left with a nod.

Beverly walked up to the tall gate and rang the intercom. There was a dull *click* and the gate opened. She walked along the driveway. A collection of expensive sports cars was parked to her left. Their shiny surfaces glittering in the LA sun. Beverly and Ben were more than well-off, but she had never understood the attraction of sports cars. Her husband, however, did own a private plane so she could hardly judge. When she arrived at the porche, she was greeted by her dear friend with extended arms.

“Mrs Hanscom, you are a sight for sore eyes.” 

“Richie.” She beamed, falling into his embrace. She was shocked by how thin he had gotten although he had hidden it well underneath his clothes.

 “Spare me the compliments, Bev, I look like death and I know it.”

Beverly had seen Richie just a few years ago on television when he recieved his Life Time Achievement award. Age had done him good and she remembered thinking how handsome he looked. Today, however, Richie seemed at least ten years older than he was.

“How bad is it, Rich?” She asked, cupping his face. She noticed that even now he was wearing his contacts. 

“Spread throughout, everyday might be my last.” He answered coolly as if she had asked him about the weather.

“Richie, I’m sorry.” Bev said, pulling him into another embrace. This time they held each other a little longer. She understood now why he had asked her to visit him. He was dying and he wanted her to be the last person he saw. She held Richie until he pulled away. His eyes were moist but she pretended not to see.

“Let me make you some tea.” She proposed, but Richie shook his head with a familiar smile.She notice d that his teeth had been recently bleached. 

“No tea. I want whiskey and a cigarette.” He told her, before he led her into the house. Richie’s mansion was a work of modern art. It was large and airy with white walls and high arches for doorways. There were paintings and sculptures across the rooms. She saw pictures too of Richie and people he had worked with. 

He walked over to the liquor cabinet and poured whiskey for them and offered her a cigarette. She accepted both for old times sake. Richie took one sip of whiskey and a drag from his cigarettes and the words came pouring out.

They talked about everything. They talked about his career, about the movie he had been working on when he got sick. They talked about Richie’s ex-wives, how they were still haunting him for money. They talked about her too. She told him about Ben and about her children. She told him about the business which she had sold years ago. Richie made jokes and did his voices and they had some good chucks as he would have said. When the evening fell, however, she could see that Richie was beginning to grow tired.

“Bev, will you walk me to my room?” He asked her embarassed. She agreed of course and offered him her arm. She found him leaning heavily on her, but she knew it was not the alcohol.

“It took me 50 years to get you into my bedroom, but I finally made it.” He joked, but his eyes weren’t laughing. She smiled nevertheless. 

Beverly helped him into his large canopy bed with its pristine white sheets. She opened the curtains so he could sea the ocean from his window.

“Thank you, Bev.” Richie’s voice sounded tired.

“Of course, Rich.” She smiled, sitting down on his bed. She held his hand, drawing circles with her thumb on his skin. He was quiet for a moment. She saw tears in his eyes and he was struggling to tell her something.

“C-can you hand me that picture, doll?” He asked, looking at the frame on his nightstand.

Beverly reached for the frame and looked at it with heartwrenching nostalgia. 

“I just hope there’s something, that I get to see him one last time.”

When Beverly spoke again there were tears in her eyes as well. The frame had two pictures in it: one of two boys and one of two men 27 years later.

“Eddie? After all this time?” Beverly asked, holding onto Richie’s hand and feelings his grip grow weaker.


Hockey Camp - Auston Matthews (Part 17)

Auston Matthews x Reader

Word Count: 2211

Warnings: Minor swearing

A/N: Thank you all for being patient with me, I really enjoyed writing this bit, and I hope you like it!

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [Part 4] [Part 5] [Part 6] [Part 7] [Part 8] [Part 9] [Part 10] [Part 11] [Part 12] [Part 13] [Part 14] [Part 15] [Part 16]


This is it. The day has finally arrived. After weeks of training, of pushing yourself mentally and physically to the limit, after years of working towards and dreaming about this opportunity, you have your shot at being offered a contract for the CWHL.

You spring out of bed, trying not to wake a still-sleeping Steph, and quickly get dressed.

The morning greets you a little colder than normal, damp and overcast. A thick blanket of fog covers the entire camp, and you can hardly see a couple feet in front of you. You don’t mind the cooler weather, however. If anything, it energizes you, and you feel fresh as you walk cheerfully down the path to the mess hall.

As you’re heading around a curve, a large shadowed figure emerges from the fog. You stop dead in your tracks, unsure if a bear has accidentally wandered into camp. The figure moves closer, and you hold your breath. You’re trying to remember what to do in the event of a bear attack. Run? Play dead?

Deciding on the latter, you drop to the ground and curl up into a fetal position, peeking out from between your fingers.

But as the figure approaches, you realize it’s human - just concealed underneath a dark, baggy hoodie. As the person takes a step closer, you recognize the familiar tired brown eyes and chubby cheeks.

“Y/N, what the hell are you doing?”

“Jesus, Auston - you scared the crap out of me! I thought you were a bear,” you exclaim, scrambling to your feet.


“You looked like a bear, coming from the fog out of nowhere like that. I was trying to play dead. At least, that’s what I think you’re supposed to do.”

He smiles and shakes his head. “Of course your first thought would be to play dead.”

“Oh, shut-up.” You push him playfully. “It’s called survival instinct.”

“Yeah, I know - it’s called running and getting the fuck out of there.”

“No way you could outrun a bear.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure,” he says, giving you a smug grin. “My fitness test results today will say otherwise.”

You raise your eyebrows. “Fine. Ten bucks I beat your agility score.”

“Twenty I beat you in the wingate test.”

“Mean or peak power output?”


“Cocky much?”

“Just confident.”

You roll your eyes. “Okay there, hotshot. We’ll see what happens.”

“Alright, just try not to cry when I beat you.”

“Oh, I won’t be the one crying, rest assured.”

Auston pushes open the door to the mess hall, stepping to the side. “After you.”

“Why thank-you,” you say graciously, walking through the entrance. “Winners first, losers second.”

“That’s not what I-”

But you skip ahead into the hall, not hearing the rest of his sentence.

After a light, nutritious breakfast (there were no pancakes today, much to Mitch’s disappointment), you and Auston head over to the parking lot where everyone has gathered. Some people are milling around, jogging or hopping on the spot to relieve nervous energy, while others look half-asleep, yawning like they just rolled out of bed.

You both find Mitch and Steph in the crowd, and stand next to them while you all wait for the coach to show up and give further instruction. Mitch is an energizer bunny, hopping from foot to foot, his blue eyes widened with a slightly crazed look to them. Steph couldn’t be more the opposite. She’s staring straight ahead with a determined expression. You know she won’t break focus until everything is over, regardless of how many bad jokes Mitch tries to crack.

“You guys ready?” Mitch asks.

“Yup,” you say as Auston nods. You’re both fairly calm, knowing there’s no reason to waste unnecessary energy stressing out beforehand. You take a deep breath in and then exhale, pushing out the nerves in your stomach.

“What do you think our first test will be?” Mitch asks.

“I’m not sure,” Auston replies, disinterested. He may be even more focused than Steph.

“I think it’ll be the plate jump thingy. Or maybe the anaerobic test? I just hope it’s not the bench press, because I like to warm-up my-”

“Mitch, babe - relax,” Steph says, placing a hand on Mitch’s arm. “They’ll probably do our measurements first.”

“Oh.” He stops bouncing for a second to consider this. “You’re right.”

The coach steps up in front of the crowd, calling out for everyone to quiet down. Several other men and women stand off to the side, all smartly dressed in suits or tailored skirts with crisp collared shirts.

“Hello everyone, and congratulations for making it to this year’s scouting session. I’d like to give a warm welcome to our panel of scouts and evaluators this year.” The coach motions to the people off to the side as everyone claps politely. He introduces each scout, taking the time to explain who they represent, and allow them to make a statement on what they are looking for.

A strong looking woman in a grey pantsuit steps up to speak into the microphone the coach passes to her. Her expression is blase, her eyes cold and serious. “Hello everyone, my name is Catherine, and I am representing the CWHL. Today, my fellow associates and I are looking for a well-rounded player that will bring aspects of leadership both on and off the ice, particularly someone who leads by example, and who has a passion for the game that surpasses everything else.”

Auston nudges your arm. “She basically just described you,” he whispers.

“No, she didn’t,” you deny, feeling your cheeks flush.

“Sure. You can keep lying to yourself, Y/N, but you know you’re going to make the Toronto Furies.”

“I don’t want to get my hopes up.”

“Alright, I get that - but I truly believe that you’re going to make it.” He takes your hand and brings it up to his mouth, pressing a kiss to the back of it.

You smile softly at him, leaning your head against his shoulder and relaxing into him as the rest of the scouts make their statements.

You stay with Auston all the way until you get to the arena, where they split you up into boys and girls, shuttling you to opposite ends of the rink. They’ve taken out the ice from one of the arena’s pads, leaving space for stationary bikes, jump plates, long jump pits and other various fitness equipment to be placed out along the concrete floor.

You check in with one of the many officials wearing red shirts and lanyards, and she directs you over to the measurement centre. You’ve given a shirt with the number 23 on it, and you slip it on and line up behind a girl wearing number 22.

When it’s your turn, they ask you to stand against the wall, barefoot with your heels together and arms spread, measuring your wingspan and height.

Once they’ve gathered your data, you move on to the next section - the pull-up station. You stretch your arms while you wait, looking around at everyone else. William catches your eye from across the rink and smiles nervously.

“Good luck,” you mouth to him. He nods and gives you a thumbs up in return.

“Y/L/N, Y/N,” one of the official calls your name, and you step up onto the box, positioning your hands along the bar. Your eyes slip to the scouts panel, where Catherine from the CWHL is staring at you intently. You nod your head slightly at her, before shifting your feet up off the box and beginning to pull your body up and down, your arms straining with effort. You manage to do ten consecutive pull-ups before jumping down from the bar.

Your name flashes to the top of the leaderboard, where you hope it will stay, but there are at least fifty more girls that will complete the test after you. Trying not to think about it too much, you head over to the grip station, where they have you hold onto a dynamometer and squeeze as hard as you can, first with your left hand, and then with your right.

After you complete that, you walk over to the long jump, and then to the jump plate, the bench press, and finally to the agility test. You glance at the leaderboard, where your name has slipped down to the second spot. Your bench press hadn’t been as good as you hoped. You need to do well on this test to move back up to the top, and also because ten dollars is on the line.

You search around for Auston, and find him leaping into the long jump pit, completely focused on his test. You smile to yourself at his intense expression. You’ll talk to him later to compare scores, and see who owes who.

The official calls you up to the start line and then blows a whistle, signaling for you to begin. You dart to the right, running 15 feet, and then squat low, touching the ground by the pylon, before crossing over and sprinting to the next pylon. You fly through the exercise, not putting a foot wrong. This will probably be your highest score out of all the tests. As you cross over the finish line, the scouts glance at each other and scribble down notes on their legal pads. You’re given a minute to rest before you complete the same exercise, but crossing over to the left instead of the right this time.

The official calls out your score. “Number 23, Y/L/N, score of of 4.33 on the left, and 4.41 on the right.”

You hear a whoop from the stands, and you glance over to see your family cheering, your mom hollering, “way to go,” at you. You smile and wave back at them, pleasantly surprised by their arrival. Your dad had texted you last night, mentioning that they would try to make it in time for the fitness test, but they weren’t sure if they could get there in time because your little brother had a hockey tournament yesterday in Orillia. Your mom cheers again as your name pops back up to the first spot. You grin widely. Now, all you have to complete is the cycling portion of the test and then you’ll be done.

You wait in line, shifting and hopping from side to side, trying to keep the blood flowing through your legs. This is supposedly the hardest bit. When the official beckons you forward, you take a deep breath, readying yourself. You climb onto the bike and adjust your seat and pedals.

“Just warm up your legs for two minutes, I’ll keep it on the low resistance,” the official explains, turning the dial on the bike slightly.

“Okay, thanks,” you reply politely and cycle for a bit, getting your heart rate up.

The official’s timer beeps, and he turns to you. “Alright, now you want to start pedalling harder, gradually moving up to maximum effort. When you hit max, I will let you know, and you’ll maintain that effort for a total of thirty seconds, okay?”

You nod and he clicks his timer. “Go!”

You push into the pedals, spinning your legs faster and faster. Your thighs and lungs burn as you push yourself to go harder.

“Max!” the official yells, and you try to keep pedalling at the same rate. “Thirty seconds starting in three..two..one!”

You can feel that your leg muscles are fatigued, but you push past the burn of the lactic acid building up and continue to pedal.

“Fifteen seconds!”

Your breath comes in short gasps, and you can feel the sweat rolling down your spine.

“Ten seconds!”

You’re not sure if you can make it. You feel your legs hesitate for a second, and you think you’re going to have to stop, but then you hear his voice call out to you.

“C’mon, Y/N!” Auston shouts, and you glance up briefly to see him standing off to the side, urging you on. “You can do it!”

A rush of motivation fills you, and you force your legs to pedal, pushing through the last few seconds.

“…and done!” the official yells and you immediately cease your effort, gradually slowing your legs down until the wheels stop spinning.

When you hop off the bike, Auston is waiting for you.

“That was amazing.” He pulls you into his arms.

“Auston, I’m all sweaty,” you whine, trying to escape from his grip.

“I don’t care,” he says and squeezes you tighter. “I’m so proud of you.”

“Thank-you,” you mumble against his chest. “I’m proud of you too. You looked great doing your long jump.”

“Eh, not my best, but I tried.”

“Auston, you’re holding first spot by a mile. I doubt anyone will catch up with you.”

“We’ll see. Will and Mitch still have to go through the wingate, and they might knock me down.”

“Well, regardless, you’ve done your best. Like I said yesterday, that’s all that matters.”

He smiles and presses a kiss to your forehead. “Do you want to go grab some lunch while we wait for the final scores?”

“Yes, I’m starving.” You take his hand and walk out of the arena.


Max.Tan – XY

With London on fashion alert as Selfridges launch their much anticipated A-Gender clothing department, Max.Tan sets his gaze upon the ‘Post Gender’ generation for AW!5. Crafting a collection of gender-neutral garments that go beyond the concept of cross-dressing and erase the stereotypically archaic confines of gendered clothing to create the ultimate boyfriend aesthetic for his legions of female followers.

Drifting between opposites with transmorphic ease, Tan’s ‘XY’ collection reinterprets traditionally masculine garments into a state of gender neutrality. Reimagining the calculated creasing of pocket squares as asymmetrically pleated tunics or delicate origami style skirts. Reconstructing men’s tailored pieces through ‘splicing’, in order to bring the classics into a more contemporary mode of existence.

anonymous asked:

NC - Supercat short - 1940's Noir style - Kara is a private detective and Cat comes to her after her husband goes missing.

There was something deeply unnerving about that woman, Kara thought as she studied the petite silhouette conventionally folded in one of the armchair across her desk.
She couldn’t figure out exactly what it was but it made her feel restless and somehow, guilty.

Cat Grant was a name people knew very well, whether it was for her husband’s sordid and not so private affairs or for her own scandals, for it was often splashed across the first page of the Boston Globe. Cat Grant’s reputation was unique and complex.

She was the first woman to effectively work amongst the men whose names were well-known for belonging to different factions of one the two mafias that ravaged the city in some kind of never ending war. Rumors had it she only married to get closer to those names, since her husband was very tied to one of the right arms of the Boss, the ruler of the whole mob whose name was kept a secret even amongst his very organization.

“Miss … Danvers, is it? I would appreciate if you could stop staring at me like some kind of fish pointlessly gaping in a fishbowl.”

The tone was dry and cutting, the words slipping out between two perfectly red-painted lips without missing a beat and there was a fire in the woman’s hazel eyes. She was looking straight into Kara’s eyes and a perfectly sculpted brow was arched in a way that blatantly betrayed what little patience she had left.

Oddly enough, Kara’s first reflex, faced with such a judgmental and clearly impatient expression, was to apologize and it annoyed her to no end. She didn’t make it all the way up to being one of the best Private Investigator in Boston by plying under the glare of angry customers, imposing politics, threatening mafioso or wounded wives. It was bad enough that she was a woman in the first place and the path she had chosen for her career had been paved with nothing more than judgment, bewildered looks and dismissing snarls from all kind of people who were today in her debts.

“Miss Grant, I assure you am no fish, thank you very much. Let’s cut to the chase, shall we? I know who you are and more to it, I know what kind of people you work with so please, enlighten me. Why would someone like you would need someone like me in the first place?” Kara retorted, making an effort not to shift in her leather armchair, to avoid showing any kind of annoyance to the woman in front of her.

“Brazen,” Cat said and Kara saw the shadow of a smile twitch at the corners of the woman lips. The ostensible pearls she was wearing seemed to glow in the dim light of the office but Kara silently noticed it was the only visible piece of jewerly, and she made a mental note of it, without exactly knowing why.

Every detail was important, she had learned that early on in her career.

For now, Cat looked positively satisfied and Kara didn’t understand why, given the fact all she had done was to reply a little sharply to a comment that had been rude.

“I am here because you have a stellar reputation, for a Private Investigator,” Cat started and her blond curls waved softly above her shoulders, glistening with whatever product the hairdresser had used on them earlier during the day.

There was a distinctive smell wafting through the air whenever Cat moved her head a little too quickly.

“I am also here because you are a woman and as such, I am guessing you are even more dangerous than a man in your line of work,” Cat continued, obviously unaware of all the small details Kara was mentally filling away for later.

“Most people are usually not trusting a woman to do a man’s job, Miss Grant,” Kara interjected and she studied the way Cat gritted her teeth for a second.

“Oh believe me, Miss Danvers, I am more than aware of how the world work and I don’t need you to remind me. Now, if you are quite finished with your incessant interruption, I would like to explain why I am here,” Cat let out and the words were as blunt as a street fighter’s blows.

“No need, Miss Grant. I know exactly why you are here. Your husband has been missing for close to forty eight hours and you want someone to find him,” Kara cut her off with a few blows of her own and she savored the taken aback expression etched all over Cat’s sharp features. “What I still don’t understand, Miss Grant, is why me? You could have gone to any of the PI in this godforsaken city but more importantly, since your hubby is linked to the Boss himself, you could have called any of your work buddies to ask around and find out for yourself so, let me ask you again, why did you come here today?”

Kara casually threw the silver pen she had been playing with since the moment Cat had sat down across the desk and stared right into the hazel eyes that showed nothing but surprise, and maybe some hints of awe.

“You’re even better than what your reputation led me to believe you were,” Cat spoke, softly this time.

“Yes indeed,” Kara acquiesced with a curt nod but she didn’t explain any further, instead choosing to stare at the woman while waiting for an answer.

“Christopher has indeed gone missing and I can’t reach out to my work buddies, as you so eloquently put it, because I am fairly certain they are the one behind his sudden disappearance. I’m afraid this time, he chose the wrong milk in which to put his biscuit in,” Cat explained and Kara barely arched a brow at the explicit picture.

“Miss Grant, why would you go to all the trouble to find him, if he is indeed the kind of man I suspect he is?” Kara inquired and if Cat was impressed by how bold the question was, she didn’t show any of it.

“I don’t need him, I never did,” Cat stated and the words seemed to stir some anger beneath her calm demeanor. “I simply need to know what happened to him, to know what I should tell my son. I owe Carter the truth and since I can’t exactly go to the mafia, given all the ties existing and their possible involvement, I am bringing the matter to you.”

“What makes you think I have no tie with the mafia, Miss Grant?” Kara asked, hiding her surprise at the mention of a son. Cat Grant was a very public figure and the volatile husband was as well but no one ever mentioned a child in the middle of this strange and disparate couple.

“I’ve been told you don’t, but I have of course no way to be certain,” Cat admitted and Kara nodded, accepting the answer graciously.

“May I ask who gave you my name?” She chose to ask instead and Cat smiled.

“Lucy Lane did.”

Kara’s eyes widened slightly, before she could regain her composure.

Lucy Lane was working for the anti-corruption unit that had been formed a few years ago, when the civil war dividing Boston had reached it peaks. For Lucy to have been in contact with Cat Grant, of all people, could only mean one thing and suddenly, realization flooded Kara’s mind.

“You’ve been working undercover for the anti-corruption unit this whole time, haven’t you?” Kara whispered and Cat nodded, not at all surprised by the deduction.

“Alright then, Miss Grant. I am going to find out what happened to this husband of yours,” Kara said and this time, Cat looked a little thrown off.

“That easy?” She couldn’t help to ask and by the way she was biting her perfectly red-painted lips, Kara could tell she was regretting the question.

“Yes. I trust Lucy with my life and since she’s the one who gave you my name, I don’t see any reason why I shouldn’t work your case,” Kara answered with a nod and she then stood up, adjusting the reverts of her suit’s vest over her white shirt.

Cat stood up as well, distractedly flattening some crinkle across her tailored Grey pencil skirt and matching vest. The black shirt underneath the Grey fabric looked impeccably ironed, Kara noticed. Cat grabbed her purse and walked towards the exit and Kara grabbed her hat before following her.

“Very well, Miss Danvers. Thank you, for taking the time to hear me out,” Cat said as she opened the office’s door and Kara bowed her head slightly.

“I can’t exactly say it was my pleasure, but it’s been quite and interesting meeting, for sure. I look forward to seeing you again, Miss Grant,” Kara smirked and she saw Cat roll her eyes in a gesture that looked very practiced.

“I return the sentiment, although I am not sure why,” Cat admitted and she held out her hand for Kara to shake it.

The detective firmly shook the strangely soft and warm fingers and then, something odd stirred in the pit of her stomach when they pulled out their hands. It was as if her skin was already mourning the contact but she chased the sentiment away and focused on the present.

“Good night, Miss Grant,” She said and Cat didn’t answer but something strange sparkled in her eyes, something Kara didn’t want to dwell on.

Eventually, the woman strutted away and Kara watched, entranced, until Cat disappeared around the corner of the hallway.

“You’ve got it bad, boss,” A voice chimed in to her left and she sighed before facing the sparkling green eyes of the man sitting behind a desk which plaque said ‘secretary’.

“Shut up, Winn,” Kara grumbled and she then closed the door of her office before walking away, to the sound of the man’s amused laugh.


“I’m stunning; You’re dead!”

Forrest, Leo’s son. He spent most of his time in the deeprealms learning to sew and tailor, becoming enamoured with skirts, dresses and frills.

Ryoma | Hinoka | Takumi | Sakura | Mikoto

Xander | Camilla | Leo | Elise | Garon

Corrin/Azura | Neutral | Anna | Izumo | Village | Kohga

Fire Tribe | Kitsune Hamlet | Wind Tribe

Northern Fortress | Cheve | Nohrian Border | Mt. Garou | Outskirts

Kana | Shigure | Dwyer | Midori | Sophie

Shiro | Kiragi | Rhajat | Asugi | Caeldori | Mitama | Hisame

Siegbert | Forrest | Soleil | Ophelia | Ignatius | Nina | Percy

Capture The Moment | 1 |

word count: 4.4k

genre: fluff (slow burn); idol-verse!

pairing: reader/seokjin

summary: because of certain circumstances, you’re faced with the opportunity to help run a fansite focused on jin of bangtan sonyeondan. despite not knowing them well, this opportunity starts to bring a new light to your eyes as you get to know the boys through the lens of a camera, your eyes constantly on their oldest member.

a/n: i know absolutely nothing, outside of a couple of articles & speculations, about fansites and how they’re run so most of this will be made up, with a lot of common sense being the grounds of my assumptions.


Originally posted by jinblond

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P.A -CEO!Luke:

Originally posted by lipringsandsnapbacks

A/N: and yes, another ceo thing bc i’m simply obsessed. hehe  enjoy snowflakes! oh and this is highly based on this Turkish series “rental Love” kiralik ask, so yeah and italics are a flashback

Word count: 3338

Plot line: Your ex-boss, Luke Hemmings pays you a visit at your new work place

“Table 12!”

You rushed at your manager’s cue towards the empty table, quickly picking up the empty cups before tending to another table. You were flying from side to side, serving the costumers and cleaning up the tables. Your rushing had not stopped since your shift had started a couple of hours ago. Oddly enough, you had grown accostumed to the constant hurrying.

Your average day consisted of serving costumers who were in a hurry themselves, rushing around in their tailored suits and pencil skirts, professionalism showing from their attire. They were always fast to come in and go, carrying their hot drinks as their cellphones remained attached to their ears, their eyes never losing concentration.

You too were part of that world, at a point; you too had taken part in their world filled with maddness and constant hurrying. Surely, you weren’t placed as they were; you didn’t have your own investements or company to uphold. However, being the personnal assistant of one of the most known and wealthiest CEO’s was your portal to the business world, your boss’s title allowing you to cross many doors along his side –doors that weren’t yours to cross on your own. Truly, your first weeks working for him were quite the nightmare. There were so many things to learn aout him and his habits; things you were expected to learn but was never taught. You had found it fairly hard to juggle the tasks at hand as you rushed after your boss, attempting to match his fast strides in your ridiculous high-heels. Never had you thought that you’d be missing the shoes you had cursed every now and then for being so uncomfortable, as you were back to your usual sneakers.

You quickly shook your head before your thoughts took you any further. You didn’t like dwelling on the past, and you certainly didn’t like reminiscing your time at the firm. You no longer worked there, all for a good reason you reminded yourself.

Your head shot up at the ringing sound, the doorbell alarming you that a new costumor had gotten in. As soon as you had recognised the face behind that expensive and well-ironed suit, your heart nearly stammered out of your chest. Why the hell is he here? You mentally screamed, abruplty turning around. Your wide eyes scanned the room until they found your co-worker, your feet instantly dragging you towards him.

“Adam! Cover for me? Please? I’ll be right back.” You pleaded him in a hushed tone, running straight into the kitchen as he nodded a yes.

Your mind was a total blurr, your thoughts juggling all over the place. Certaintly, you hadn’t expected to see him after three weeks. It could all be a coincidence you thought; many businessmen come in everyday due to the close location of the café, so maybe he wasn’t even aware that you worked there.

Your eyes shot up as Adam barged into the kitchen, his eyes sending you a sheepish look as he spoke quietly, “Some guy came in, and he’s asking for you. I’m so sorry; I really didn’t know what to do.”

His apologetic tone was met by your sigh, your fingers pinching the bridge of your nose. So, you were wrong; he had known you worked there. You sent Adam a quick nodd, knowing that you had no way out of it unless you spoke to him. Smoothing down your work uniform, you walked out of the kitchen, avoiding the hurrying waiters that blocked the path, your eyes instantly finding him. There he stood, Luke hemmings, in his usual tailored suit and stern look. You were instantly filled with the urge to turn around and walk away, dreading the encounter with your previous boss.

But his eyes had found yours just as quickly, and he was quickly making his way towards you. And as he opened his mouth to speak, you were already spitting out your dismissal.

“I’m sorry sir, but you have to be seated for me to take your order, or you can go to the front counter,” Your words earned a eye-roll from him, your tactics very well known by him.

“I’ve already had my drink, loo-“

“Well then I hope you were pleased, sir. And I hope you’ll be back,” You sent him the most obnoxious and fake smile you could muster, your manager’s eyes burning holes into your back. You knew that you’d never hear the end of it if you let a name like Hemmings walk out unsatisfied.

“(Y/n)!” Luke spoke up in a firmer pitch, his behavior showing you that he was not going to buy your fake act. And when did her ever? You were aware that Luke knew your every move, and that your behavior was in way close to fooling him.

“Can we talk? It won’t take long,” Luke walked closer, making you divert your eyes way from him.

“I can’t, I’m working” Your voice was quiet, as every fiber in you hoped that he wouldn’t push it.

Only, Luke liked pushing things until he no longer could.

“I believe I can convince your manager.” His tone was assertive, and you knew –just as well as he did- that his words were true.

Your eyes scanned the crowded room anxiously, whispering “Not here,” to him before you walked out to the empty balcony. Finding that it was vacant, you took a seat at one of the table, gesturing for him to join you. And as you watched him take a seat warily, you couldn’t help the memories that began flooding your mind.

Your first few weeks working for Luke were quiet the hassle; he was known to be very strict and picky when it came to his Personnal Assistants. None of them ever stayed for more than a couple of months, finding his behavior unbearable and the load of work hard to handle. But as you had crossed he two months milestone, the staff knew that you wouldn’t be leaving like the others.

Oddly enough, during the amount of time you spent together, you had grown very fond of each other. There was no denying that the relation between the two of you was no entirely planotic; yet, you both didn’t need any verbal confirmation of the fond feelings you beared for the other. You didn’t need to hear Luke’s words to know that he cared for you –he was never good with voicing his feelings anyway; but it showed, it always did. It showed through his constant check-ups when you were feeling sick, him urging you repeatedly to take a few days off. It showed through the quiet giggles and smiles you both shared, his CEO demeanor faltering every now and then when you were left by yourselves. It showed from the way he’d always look back to make sure that you weren’t swallowed in the sea of aggressive papparazzi. It showed through the warm blanket he’d drape over your sleepy body as you accidently fell asleep on his couch while working with him until the late hours of the night, waking up to him making breakfast for a change.

Quite frankly, it wasn’t that hard for you both to become as close as you were; you were basically spending every hour together, from when you’d get to his house at morning to make him his usual healthy breakfast, and then drive together to the company to work all day, until the late night when you’d bid him goodbye before going home.

The staff had noticed too; they saw how you both worked with total understanding of the other; they saw how you were always backing up his decisions and giving him the reassurance he needed, but was never scared of giving him a reality check and scolding him when he needed it. That was probably why you lasted as long as you did; you were compliant, hard-working but you were also stern and fierce when needed. You’ve never feared to look at him in the eye and spill out exactly what he needed to hear. You were a burning fire that matched his strong drive.

You cleared your throat as the uncomfortable silent, your eyes darting to meet his. “What was it exactly that you wanted, Mr. Hemmings?” Luke winced at your choice of words, a barrier set between the two of you by your use of his surname.

Of course, he knew that he only had himself to blame.


You rushed into the office as fast as you could, silently scolding yourself for sleeping in so late.

“Morning Annie,” you greeted the receptionist who was practically running your way.

“Quick, Mr. Hemmings is asking for you! Gosh- he’s in such a bad mood,” Her face was filled with worry, her eyes giving you a pitiful look that you shrugged. You knew that the staff hated it when their boss was in a bad mood, but surely it couldn’t be something severely bad.

“How do you know he’s mad?” you questionned as you walked in, the short girl following you.

“Marc said that when he came in this morning, he was already here and still in his jogging clothes. He’s been screaming since he came in and has asked for you every five minutes.”

That was bad, clearly bad.

Nodding at her words, you made your way into his office in hopes of finding out what was wrong. Luke’s back was facing you, his hands running through his hair. Just as Annie had said, he was still in his joggers, and you concluded that he hadn’t changed from his early morning run. Whatever was bothering was definitely bad if he came straight in.

“Calm down, Luke. Calm down –Fuck, I’m gonna lose my mind!” his mumbles were incoherent to you, only noting that his breath was rigid and his posture tense.

“Uh- you asked for me?” You spoke up to gain his attention, Luke instantly truning around at your words, a wild look in his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” You quickly added, earning a stare from him as he silently asked you to clarify, “For not coming to your house this morning, I mean. I slept in because of last night’s event and couldn’t make it in time.” You sheepishly explained, guessing that he mad at you for not showing up.

“(Y/n)! Don’t play games with me!” his voice was hoarse, signaling that he was indeed yelling all morning. His hands were set on his hips as he walked closer to his colossal desk. “Where are the files I’ve given you?” His tone was dangerously low, warning you that he was trying to tame a hurricane raging underneath.

“I put them on your desk last night,” You immediately answered, you eyes scanning the large desk for the papers.

“(y/n)!” your name left his mouth in an angry growl, almost hinting that if you were to say the wrong thing you wouldn’t like it.

“I- I promise! I printed them as you asked, got your tux from dry-cleaning and put them here before leaving for the soiree,” You shakily recalled the events from the night before, stating them as clearly as you could.

“Then why the hell aren’t they here!!” Luke’s fist banged repeatedly his desk, his voice furiously shouting, anger burning in his vains like acid. You unvoluntarily stepped back at his outburst, your hands fisting the egde of your dress as you tried to make sense of the situation.

“You -You’re not really accusing me of- I would never, Luke..” You began explaining, only to be cut off by his bark.

“Mr. Hemmings!” He corrected you, his dismissal burning down every bridge that had led you to using first names.

“That’s Mr. Hemmings for you,” his words were no longer laced with anger, for they held a deeper pain. The thought of your betrayal was inconceivable to his mind, and most distressing and damaging to his heart.  But you did not notice the shakiness in his voice as he urged himself to stay strong; you were too caught up in the numbing pain that made its way to your chest.

“Mr. Hemmings, I did not take those files.” You struggled to keep your voice even, tears stinging your eyes as you could no longer fight them. You knew that Luke Hemmings did not forgive two things; betrayal and lying.

He was accusing you of both.

“Do you have any explanation on where they’ve gone?” Luke’s eyebrows shot up in frustration, his voice breaking as he spoke. It was understandable; you knew just how important those files were. They contained everthing from his company statistics to his latest project plan. Only a few knew about them, and you had been the only one to see them –aside from him.

“No,” you croaked out, truly finding no answer to how the papers disappeared.

“Please, go to the reception to get your dismissal and the rest of your payment.” Luke sighed as he turned his back to you, finding his words hard to say but necessary nonetheless. You quickly wiped your face at his words; you weren’t going to beg for him to believe you or ask to keep your job; you were walking out with your dignity.

“I did not betray you, Mr. Hemmings.”  

And those eere your last words to him.


“If we’re not talking, then I shoukd probably get back to work,” You snapped once you got fed up with the silence, bolting out of your seat but a cold hand was already stopping you.

“Wait- wait, I’ll talk. I’ve been looking for you for the past weeks, can you please just hear me out,” Luke’s eyes were giving you a pleading look, his hand wrapping around your wrist ever so gently, and you knew that you weren’t about to turn him down. So, with a small nodd, you sat back in your place.

“I’m sorry, for what I’ve said. I realise that my actions might have hurt your feelings…” His words were cut off by your scoff. His eyes anxiously raised from his lap, finding your rigid poster as you folded your arms over your chest, your eyes staring at him with as much ferocity as you could.

“You still don’t get it, do you? This is not about my feelings getting hurt or you bruising my ego by dismissing me the way you did! I’ve been the first one you’ve thought about accusing, you actually believed that I’d do such a thing! You shouldn’t have! Not after all the time I’ve worked for you, not after everything we-“ You cut yourself off, taking in a deep breath to calm down, “You don’t get to come here and apologize, after you’ve found the real thief and realised that I’m innocent.”

“Actually,” Luke carefully said, “We still haven’t found him yet.”

You had to stop yourself from smiling at his words. He believed you. A little late, yes; but he believed you nonethess. You quickly stopped yourself, not ready to cave in just yet.

“Well, that’s terrible to hear, but I have to get going.” You excused yourself, but you haven’t even reached the door before his hand caught you again.

“Look, I know I can be irritating, and quite rude and an extreme workaholic. And I know that you’ve been bearing with my arrogant ass for so long,” Luke breathlessly spit his words, finding no way to express what he needed to.

You stopped walking at his words, your eyes staring at him as your eyebrows knitted in confusion. Luke Hemmings was willingly admitting to his flaws? That wasn’t usual.

“I’m sorry, alright? I don’t think I’ve ever felt this sorry before –it’s crazy. I know I was wrong, I know! I should have never even thought about it, not for a second. Some- Some things I can deal with; like work and interviews and such; but some things like trust and dependance, I’m still struggling with,”

You couldn’t help but nodd at his words; you knew he was right. A downfall of being a young CEO in the business world is the difficulty to find people to trust. Everyone was after after him, hoping that he’d be the easy pray to fool. You knew about his history of –so said- partners who tried to lure him into a losing deal, you knew about the list of employees that betrayed his trust and leaked his secrets. You were always one to notice how extra hard he was on the new empolyees, and how he was so charismatic and polite during meeting but his smile would never reach his eyes until he was sure of their intentions.

“But I know that I trust you, I honestly do. I would have never given you those files if I didn’t wholeheartedly trust you. But when I didn’t find them and you didn’t show up that morning, I got scared and I started doubting –and should never have! I –I understand that what I did is unacceptable, I do, but I’ve been looking for you ever since that day because I need you to know that I believe you, and I trust you.” Luke was almost convinced that his words wouldn’t do much; after all, he was never capable of truly saying what he meant. And he feared that you wouldn’t really know just how horrible he felt.

“Ok” You quietly spoke, a smile making its way to your face.

“OK? As in- ok? So you forgive me?” Luke’s eyes widened at your words, his mind not precessing your words entirely. And how could you not accept his apology when be was exposing himself to you in a way not many people could witness?

“Yes, as in it’s all forgiven,” You comfirmed.

“So, you’ll go back to work?” Luke eagerly asked, exited to have you back. In all honesty, the past weeks were hard for him as well. In three weeks, he’s had four different PA’s, unable to work with any of them. Soon he realised that it was simply because none of them were you.

“No,” you answered him, feeling guilty at the hurt showing on his face,

“What? Why- You- you said that we were ok?” He couldn’t understand your behavior, only knowing that you had turned him down.

“We are!” You quickly reassured him, “It’s just that- I never meant to stay a PA forever, and even my work here is just to keep up with the bills. Working with you has shown me what I really wanted to do. I kind of want to start my own thing, you know. I don’t know, I mean I’m taking a few classes here and there and trying to prepare what’s needed, but…” Your nervous babbles were cut short by his reassuring hands on your shoulders, a warm smile adorning his stubble-clad face.

“You’re a hard-worker; you’ll do great.” You smiled back at his words, your eyes looking down until he spoke up again.

“Say,” Luke started, lifting on of his hands to rub his neck, “I kind of had my whole day cleared, so if you’d like, we can go grab lunch?”

“You don’t have to, really! It’s all good,” You wanted to say yes more than anything, but you didn’t want him to feel like he still needed to redeem himself.

“It’s not like that. I kind of meant it as a date, if you’d like,” Honestly, Luke would have asked you a long time ago, hadn’t it been for the business relation tying you.

“Oh- Sure then. My shift ends in like ten minutes, if you don’t mind waiting,” You explained, Luke nodding at your words as he took a seat back

And as you’d come back ten minutes later, mumbling “Are you ready, Luke?” to him, his face would instantly break into a wide smile. He would ask you to say it one more time without being sheeky with him, and his name would softly escape your smiling lips. And Luke’s heart would instantly speed up, because he has never been highly fond of his name until he had heard you say it.


queer film meme ‖ [2/5] things that i want to see more - ladies in suits

“they were dressed, not strangely, but somehow distinctly. they wore skirts - but the kind of skirts a tailor might design if he were set, for a dare, to sew a bustle for a gent. many seemed clad in walking-suits or riding-habits. many wore pince-nez, or carried monocles on ribbons. there were one or two rather startling coiffures; and there were more neckties than i had ever seen brought together at any exclusively female ensemble.”- tipping the velvet.

in order of appearing: tipping the velvet; bye bye blondie; a perfect ending; gigola; the night watch;


Last week, I went out of the house more than I have in a month. And it’s actually been really good for my mental health but hard on my back. It sucks when I actually want to go out and do things but my body doesn’t cooperate – then again, that’s hashtag spoonielife for you. (For those who might not know: I have scoliosis and it’s a. lot. of. pain. I don’t like to talk about it a huge deal.) Pain issues aside, it’s been quite lovely getting all the sunshine and feeling productive, even if it’s just taking outfit photos! I was feeling sunnier than I look here but it’s easier to get self conscious when shooting alone in a park with people. I’ll just let the chrysanthemum blooms make up for my wistfulness instead.

A little about my outfit: both the top and skirt are by Junarose, sent to me, once more, by Lianca from Love, Lianca boutique. Both pieces are lovely and the rosette top isn’t atall scratchy as I’d feared it might be. One thing about Junarose’s sizing - it seems to run really quite big. I normally don’t find it necessary to size down, but in this instance I wish I could have! (I got both the top and skirt in a UK18, which is the smallest size Junarose does.) I ultimately got the skirt tailored to fit before wearing it in these photos.

WearingJunarose rosette top and suede skirt c/o Love, Lianca boutique ♥ Brit Stitch saddle bagASOS pointed flats {similar here

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