#I wish my wool suit fit my bottom half

[mycological-mariner]

Wool coats are literally the best inventions in the world. Standing in a cold, wet field for 3 days and I’m unbothered, I’m dry, I’m comfy. I live next to the sea and around this time of year the weather gets Wild. Besides the ocean spray, the mist from the river, there’s hale, pelting rain and chronic Dampness. But when I’m in my big Navy peacoat, I’m untouchable. Comfy, warm, it’s 20lbs, dries easily and the best invention ever

#which just leaves my legs to be completely soaked…. #I wish my wool suit fit my bottom half #wool blazer coat AND trousers #but alas. i must deal with Cold Leg Syndrome forever #it IS an old navy coat actually #American but STILL! #it’s extremely comfy #it’s like wearing a weighted blanket #it’s only about 10 degrees rn #and the rains haven’t REALLY gotten serious yet #maybe mid or late october #November will be wool all day season though #BRING BACK WOOL COATS

[crowtoed]

Sybil’s 1740s Stays Build: Part 1, Drafting/Fitting

Tumblr is a WAAAAAY better format costuming posterity tbh, so here’s a bit of a slapshod build... log? (They’re like 2/3 done, whoops) for these stays. While I based my Molly Grue cosplay on an 18th c. silhouette, I’ve wanted to give a proper, historical set of stays a try for a while, doing as much by hand as possible to prove that I’m capable of making something even the reenactor crowd could respect. (INVITE ME TO JOIN YOUR WEIRD WOOL-CLAD CLUB) But I also wanted PRETTY UNDERPINNINGS, the kind of thing silkbaron features or something. Kind of thing that gets an ‘ooh’ represented by high def pics in a costuming portfolio. Ah, projects equally rooted in petty ambition and artistic curiosity... anyway... Since I’m working on a cosplay for ‘dragonkeeper’ Lady Sybil and drawing on a lot of 18th c. influence (and my Molly set are SUPER comfy) I looked for a historical pattern that I liked. Being a Ramkin, surely Sybil could afford a set of elegant, albeit indestructible stays?

Hot shit, my dudes. (From Norah Waugh’s ‘Corsets and Crinolines’, which I’ll actually buy when I can afford a copy. THANKS PINTEREST)

I’m in a weird place between straight and plus size. Honestly I could get away with a half-boned set of stays like what Redthreaded sells, but MAN I love the sturdy, exoskeleton-like, all over compression of fully-boned ones. As we’ll see later, the downside of this is that you need a metric crapton of boning channels and a similar amount of stiffening. This is also when I’d heard about that newfangled ‘artificial whalebone’ stuff the skinny costumers on the youtubes were aflutter about (I’m not just being salty, this will come into play later as mistakes are made). So step one: Drafting

Norah Waugh uses a perplexing non-gridded scale in C&C Underpinnings Factory (something that will make you want to kiss the feet of Ninya Mikhaila and the Tudor Tailor team). I could have had my photoshop wizard of a spouse blow up the pattern and through a little trial, error, and sharpie-ing fitted the pattern accordingly- but I’m a goddamned spite gremlin who needed a self-esteem boost in he middle of a pandemic. So I used math.  First I figured out the measurements of the original garment by cutting out the thumbnail pieces and using the scale legend as a ruler. I took my own waist and bust measurements to figure out the ratio of the original wearer to me and used that as the general equation to plot my pattern points. Fudging to fit my own numbers (slightly different waist-hip proportions) or to make the pattern ‘make sense’ happened, but I got over it. Humans struggling to clothe their meat suits and doing a little handwavey geometry in the process is historically authentic. I wish I could turn this in as very overdue schoolwork for math credit.

Another adaptation I made were areas that weren’t as boning dense to cut costs. In hindsight this didn’t help the bottom line much, but it was going to happen anyway since I changed up the angles of the original pattern (and therefore the channel layout). To make my life easier mocking up, I wanted to try the cardboard and duct tape stays method that made its way around the internet a few years’ back. I used 2mm chip board, a roll of the silver stuff, and some cord and.. it was an utter goddamned disaster. You know when there’s a hole in the bottom of a rowboat and you’re just bailing and bailing, but more water just keeps seeping through. Then eventually the whole thing floods and sinks, forcing you to abandon ship? That was my experiment with cardboard stays. (Note: Cardboard as an analogue for the stomacher panels, however, worked great.)

Then I switched to a sparsely-boned mockup cut out of bits of cotton duck/canvas I had lying around and cable ties. As you can see, there are Problems. The back’s too long, the tabs don’t spread out from my natural waist, there was a massive sideboob spillout, and the waist was too tight- creating that bowed gap in the lacing. Not great, not terrible. Fixed it in the next draft. Since I was feeling a bit confident and o-so zesty, I did v2 out of two layers of (again) sparsely stiffened canvas. If this version fit with minimal tweaks, I’d use it as the boned ‘core’ of my stays. I cannibalized the columns of grommets from v1 and basted them to the mockup to save time (and potentially my interlining, since I’d be doing hand-bound eyelets on the real thing). 

(Caption: I am absolute shit with a tracing wheel- nobody one ever taught me. Above is some semi-successful grinding.)

No pics because I was by myself, but it fit pretty well! In fact I only ended up replacing one of the panels since that side-boob issue hadn’t completely resolved. 

With the mockup canvases good to go, I went ahead and machined all of the boning channels. Then I steeled myself for the next stage: handsewing ALL of those channels through the nice outer fabric I’d chosen. Of course more mistakes were made, but we’ll get into that in part 2...

#costuming #18th century #discworld cosplay #sewing #pattern drafting #stays #corsetry #Lady Sybil Ramkin-Vimes cosplay #contains math

[thesingersews]

Patterning a 16th Century Bodice

This is the first post about my recently completed Historybounding Kirtle. It is inspired by the paintings of Aertsen and Bueckelaer from 16th century Flanders. It’s also inspired by Rosie Cotton of the LOTR movies. It is made of 90/10 wool/nylon twill-weave suiting, and flatlined with 2 layers of cotton duck canvas in the bodice and one layer of linen in the skirt. Much of the dress was hand-stitched, including the embroidery at the front and back neck.

To pattern the bodice, I used suggestions from this tutorial: Shape Matters, by the Sempstress. I was so excited to get into drafting this that I forgot to take photos along the process, so you get something cobbled together from after the fact. Also disregard the extreme messiness in literally all of these photos!

To find the arc for my curvy cone body, I made a rectangle using my bust measurement and my bust-to-waist measurement. I then marked 1/2 my bust measurement, and divided each of the resulting sections in half. I took the difference between my bust and waist measurements and divided this result by 3. Along the lower edge of the rectangle, I centered this measurement over the vertical lines I had drawn. Then I cut out the rectangle and folded darts to get a rough outline of my arc.

When I had traced the arc, I spent quite some time agonizing over how to guesstimate what shape I should draw, and I eventually ended up with something like this:

You can see I took these pictures after having futzed with the pattern post mockup. Also be advised the back bodice strap was actually square at the end in the mockup. This pattern resulted in this single-layer canvas mockup:

Check out that awkward grin y’all!

I was quite pleased with how close I got to my desired silhouette on the first try, but there were things I did not like, such as the excessive wrinkling under the bust, the buckling at the back waist, and “what the heck is going on with the straps?”

I consulted the friendly Bees of Elizabethan Costume on Facebook, most of whom have more experience than I do with 16th century clothing, this being my first vaguely Elizabethan item. They suggested raising the back waist to meet my natural waistline and eliminate the wrinkle there. They told me the front had too much fabric all over the place, and I needed to raise the waistline and remove some fabric from the center front. And someone suggested I put the front straps on the bias instead of with the exaggerated curve I had drawn.

When I tested this on my original mockup, by folding the waist up, tapering the center front, and trying some bias straps, I got this:

A LOT better, but not quite there yet.

I kept the new waistline but took the rest of this a little further: I pinched some fabric out where the straps met the front neck, and took two inches out of the center front all the way from top to bottom. I cut new front straps out almost on the straight of grain and brought the shoulder seam forward, and it ended up like this:

You can see from the photos just how pleased I was! I look like a crazy. With these changes to the original mockup, I made a new paper pattern, and cut out a second mockup just to double check the fit. It was just about perfect, so this became my final bodice pattern! The one thing I wish I had done was cut the front straps entirely on the straight of grain. They sit smoothly on my shoulders, but there is an slight curve away from my neck that makes them look a little off. This made it into my final dress, but now I know for next time! Front straps on the straight grain and back straps on the bias would have been just perfect.

#sewing #the singer sews #historybounding #kirtle #fantasybounding #birthday dress #me made #sewist #16th century #Flemish #rosie cotton #hobbit #mockup #pattern #self drafted #pattern drafting #fashion #costume #costube #historical costume

[artificialqueens]

Bring It On: Eyes On the Prize (Branjie) - Ashley

A/N: This is the last chapter of Bring It On and I just wanna say thanks to everyone who sent a lovely comment my way - it really does motivate. I’ve loved coming back to AQ and writing and maybe I’ll explore that some more in the summer - in the meantime you know I’ll be here reading as much Branjie as you lot wanna give me. Happy bank hol to my fellow Brits and just happy day to everyone else! Hope yous like reading this chapter as much as I liked writing it. Hopefully I can focus more on my A Levels now oops….xoxox Ashley.

Brooke woke to a foreign stream of sunlight forecast across her. Initially, she was panicked, used to her rigid alarms and blackout blinds, the initial unfamiliar scaring her - until she saw Vanessa.

Looking down at her chest she saw the brunette’s head nestled below her shoulder without flaw, slotting into her own body as though they were a lock and key. Two continents bound apart by continental drift now slotted back together with a satisfying alignment. Vanessa’s caramel arm around her stomach, Brooke felt like she’d woken up in heaven, the pair of them entangled in a field of white sheets. Something about seeing the girl who was always on the defence being so serene and calm as she burrowed into Brooke’s body gave her the urge to kiss the top of her head. Brooke didn’t want to leave the celestial city - or the empress who ruled it. She wanted to stay in the clouds with her forever, Vanessa’s bed a safe haven from the outside world.

Like usual, it didn’t take long for the clouds to part and for Brooke to come crashing back down to earth.

The time it took for someone to knock on a door three times if she was being exact.

“Vanessa?” the instantly recognisable tone of Jovan’s voice rang through the room like a panic alarm.

She watched in dismay as Vanessa’s eyes shot open and adjusted to the scene in front of her.

“Shit,” Brooke whispered, leaping out of bed and making a dive for the pile of discarded clothes from the night before.

“Under the bed!” Vanessa mouthed to the girl frantically, pointing her perfectly manicured nails downwards.

About to throw herself under Vanessa’s bed, Brooke stopped in her tracks, seeing a row of red draws where there would normally be a gap.

“It’s a box spring!”

“Vanessa!” he started to bang on the door louder.

“Closet,” Vanessa pointed again - resulting in a deadpan glare from the other girl.

If she’d thought that her life had resembled an Alanis Morissette song earlier then she may as well have thrown on a red beanie and hung out of a car window at this point - bundling her clothes into her arms and plunging into the closet of the lesbian head cheerleader.

“Come in,” Vanessa shouted, her voice still shaky from the near-miss.

Although she felt a twang of pain at the thought of hiding away, as though Vanessa was embarrassed by her, Brooke couldn’t deny that the rush of sneaking around turned her on a little, flashbacks of the night before jolting through her brain and she huddled her knees to her chest and eyeballed Vanessa through the slit in the doors.

“Why are you still in bed - we’re gonna be late!” he picked a sock from the floor and threw it at his sister’s head. Brooke’s sock.

“Sorry, I’ll not be long,” she started to get up and brush her hair, her brother rolling his eyes at her dishevelled state.

“I’ll offer Brooke a lift, I know she’s free first period,” Jovan grabbed his phone to dial.

“Don’t!” Vanessa grabbed it from his hands, quickly glancing at her bedside table where Brooke’s phone was sitting.

“So that’s why she’s been avoiding me,” he snatched his phone back from Vanessa, “You know Vanessa it would be nice if you didn’t fuck around my friends with your cheerleading drama. What was it this time, she didn’t throw you high enough?”

“Something like that,” Vanessa mumbled - Brooke constraining a laugh from inside the closest, the sheer awkwardness and irony of the situation once again making her life a satire of itself in the form of a teenage coming of age flick.

“Well, you better make up soon because I did not buy a ticket to nationals to watch you two scraping.”

“Don’t worry about us,” Brooke could see Vanessa smiling through the gap, visibly excited at the thought of her step-brother coming to watch her cheer.

“Go without me, I’ll head in later,” she motioned for him to exit - Brooke releasing a heavy sigh of relief that she wouldn’t have to be stuck making friends with Vanessa’s shoes for much longer.

Moving out of the closet still semi-naked, Brooke was anything but enthralled by Vanessa’s reaction - scrunching her nose at the girl’s cackles.

“How do you not know what type of bed you have?” Brooke asked the girl, utterly flabbergasted at how they managed to pull the wool over Jovan’s eyes.

“I panicked, it’s what they do in the movies,” Vanessa started to laugh even more until Brooke couldn’t help but join in.

The morning after the night before had always been awkward for Brooke; from the surface, she’d have assumed it would be today but something about Vanessa and her laugh made her feel more at ease than ever, floating above all the unspoken pleasantries.

“Hey, if my ass is big enough to form its own Insta then I doubt it’s gonna fit under there!” Brooke giggled as she pointed to the tiny gap between Vanessa’s bed frame and carpet.

“I’m sorry about that,” Vanessa visibly grimaced, “I just get so defensive and on guard - I shouldn’t have been so rude. I can’t explain it. Like this big fear just comes looming over me, I was petrified everyone would know, that they could see it all over my face,”

“There’s nothing to be scared of,” Brooke grabbed the girls wrist.

There was that fire, back again to swallow her up and cut off the outside world.

“Brooke, you can’t tell anyone about this,” Vanessa dismissed her reassurance, giving Brooke a death glare that made her want to run away afraid and pin her down longingly at the same time.

“I won’t. But you can’t treat me like shit whenever you get scared. And you can’t mess the squad about either, going back and forth with our routine like that so close to nationals.”

Brooke was serious - ever since joining the squad and moving to Tampa those months ago she had channelled almost everything she had into winning nationals; her feelings for Vanessa, her homesickness, her anxieties - they all lead up to that moment and she wouldn’t allow what she had with the girl to mess it up, despite not caring whether it would mess herself up in the process.

“Prom,” Vanessa held a manicured finger to Brooke,

“I need a full promise,” Brooke teased her, raising her eyebrows.

“I promise.”

“I best be going then,” Brooke looked at her phone, wishing she could stay longer but not willing to risk exposure for Vanessa’s sake,

“Yeah, don’t want my brother to think you’ve been held captive by some psychopath.”

“The truth?” Brooke grinned - her heart shattering into a million pieces on the floor at the sight of Vanessa’s toothy smile in response.

“Shut up,” she responded, Brooke proud of herself for out-whiting the sassy cheerleader. “I’ll see you at the fundraiser!”

“Yes, the car wash. The car wash I definitely didn’t forget all about,” Brooke cursed internally and began to text Jovan with a proposal to skip double English that afternoon for a trip to the mall.

“I didn’t,” Vanessa winked as Brooke left.

Shaking her head to herself, Brooke decided that this had been the most clinically insane week of her life. Vanessa kissed her. Vanessa had feelings for her. Vanessa wanted to see her in a bikini. All that had crossed her mind since moving to Tampa, every lustful thought she tried to repress and dismiss as fiction was now beyond belief fact, and Brooke knew she would bask in every minute of it even if it meant lying to the whole world around her.

***

“What about this? It’s kinda Amazon-esque,” Brooke held up a half cobalt, half snakeskin print bikini with high-waisted bottoms to her absent-minded friend.

“I might just go naked,” she tried to get Jovan’s attention as he mumbled in agreement, unable to take his eyes away from his phone; “It’ll save me some money at least!”

Rolling her eyes at his inability to be present, she looked over his shoulder and sighed, “Jacob again is it?” - his head perking up at the mention of the boy’s name.

“I’m sorry,” he pleaded with her, “He is waaay out of my league and I don’t want to seem weird!”

Brooke knew the feeling.

“He’s not and you seem more weird hanging onto your phone every second - let him wait for you,” she snatched it away and shoved the swimwear back in his eyesight.

“Who are you trying to impress with that! My, my mami. Can’t imagine our Canadian princess getting down and dirty in that,”

“No one,” she panicked, Vanessa’s words ringing in her head as she threw the suit back on the rack.

“Get it, I’m kidding,” he picked it back up, “You have the boobs for it and you aren’t in Canada anymore Dorothy. You wanna make enough money to get that extra day pass for nationals and as awful as it seems you ain’t gonna be making it hiding away those twins.”

Turning a deep shade of red, Brooke’s mind couldn’t help but revert back to Vanessa - she figured it wouldn’t hurt to show up to the fundraiser in the bikini to impress her along with making more money. Brooke was adamant that her good intentions certainly outweighed her skewed motive.

***

“BIKINI CAR WASH!”

Like usual, Brooke heard Vanessa before she could see her - always finding something amusing in the contrast between the tiny beautiful girl and her loud gravelly yell. She longed to hear her record an audio book or narrate a ballet - a recording Brooke wouldn’t be able to stop replaying.

Clad in a leopard print kaftan with her dark hair slicked back, Brooke could see the clear frustration in the girl’s face as she tried to draw people into the car wash, taking pride in the quick flash of a smile that ran across Vanessa’s first when they first noticed each other.

“How much we made so far?” Brooke asked the girl, trying so hard to ignore the way in which Vanessa’s eyes did a once over of her body in the bikini.

She still hadn’t fully adjusted to the fact that whatever they had going on was real, that their night together hadn’t just been a fantasy and that Vanessa had felt the same way all along - so moments like this were still surprising her and giving her the urge to kiss Vanessa then and there, her years of disciple training from ballet having the most unexpected use.

“Hardly anything. I knew we should have done something else, I just didn’t want to stray away from tradition. I just wanna make sure we get the best passes,” she started to vent to Brooke whilst she counted the little money they had made.

“We’ll get there,” Brooke smiled as she started to gather her bucket and sponge.

“Maybe the money will come flooding in now we’ve got some snow,” Vanessa grinned at the girl, catching her off guard by throwing a dry cloth in her direction.

Rolling her eyes in the process, Brooke made sure to use her flexibility to her advantage as she bent over for the cloth, earning hollers from the other students around - but there was only one she cared about, the one shaking her head playfully at Brooke; touche.

***

Brooke’s jaw nearly hit the floor when she saw the car in front of her.

Drenched bonnet to boot in mud - she was already having a mini panic attack and examining her nails before even speaking to the driver.

Purple dreadlocks and sharp eyebrows, the girl wound down her window and gave Brooke a quizzical once over.

“You’re an Amazon?” she asked, clearly picking up on Brooke’s different appearance to the squad, something she herself had felt self-conscious about before moulding into the family like nothing was different. The teens in the shotgun and back laughed as they handed the girl a clear bag bundled with cash. Probably the most cash Brooke had seen in her life, she thought to herself as she scanned the parking lot for Vanessa.

“$1000 to clean this thing?” she waved the bag in front of Brooke’s face.

Confused as to what to say, Brooke stood bewildered a moment before Jaren came to her side.

“Vicky, what you doing here? Vanj will flip,” he asked the girl with a gloss of panic on his face.

“I’m here for this lovely girl to wash my car,” she motioned to Brooke who was starting to assemble the missing pieces to the puzzle - before her sat the captain of the Amazon’s rival squad for nationals, Vanessa’s arch-rival.

“She’s not laying a finger on this piece of trash.”

There she was, Brooke’s knight in a leopard print bikini.

The superhuman who protected her from the cruel realities of Earth.

“Hey, miss Vanjie!” The girl waved with a splinter of sarcasm that could impale metal.

“Don’t tell me you’re here to fight,” Vanessa looked down at the girl with her usual fierceness.

“The opposite,” she tossed the bag of money out of the Amazons - green rain at their feet. “I wanna help you get all the funds you need to compete to your best standard at nationals. That way it will be even more satisfying when we wipe the floor with you again, we can win from a level playing field.”

Brooke instantly understood why Vanessa’s nose flared at the mention of the girl, seeing her first start to form a ball in her hand a la Arthur. Her acrylics digging hard into her skin.

Brooke placed a reassuring hand on Vanessa’s arm, slipping a whisper in her direction; “She’s not worth it.”

“We don’t need your dirty money to get on the same level, it doesn’t cost shit to go downwards,” Vanessa kept her cool with a reassuring squeeze from Brooke.

God, Brooke couldn’t wait to compete.

“Take it, don’t take it,” Vicky gave Vanessa an obviously fake smile, “I doubt all the help in the world can get rid of your curse.”

And with that they were gone - Vanessa left a cartoon character with steam blowing out of her ears.

“I’m not fucking cursed,” she started to ball up the money that blew across the car park, gaining attention from others. “We can take all of this to a charity, we don’t need it. It doesn’t matter how many nights we stay at nationals or how new our Pom Poms are, we’re gonna fucking destroy them.”

“It’s okay, she’s just trying to rattle your cage,”

“Well, it worked. I hate the thought of her pitying me,” Vanessa started to run her hands through her hair with frustration. Brooke wanted nothing more to hold them and tell her it was all gonna be okay. “I only did this stupid thing cause it’s a tradition, I’m sure there are better ways of making money than whoring ourselves out washing cars!”

“I’d ask my parents but there’s a reason we moved down here,” Brooke looked down at the floor.

“It’s fine B, we’ve got enough to get by we’ll just have to skimp once we’re down there but it doesn’t matter. We ain’t gonna care what new shit we had and how many days we had passed for once we win,”

“That’s my girl,” Brooke smiled; Vanessa’s sense of determination always sending her head into spins. Her fiery way’s sending Brooke insane.

“You wish, Brooke Lynn.”

She did more than just wish.

***

Brooke couldn’t help but gain a rush from sneaking around with Vanessa. The nights she waited till Jovan was asleep and crept down to the bottom floor bedroom - his new relationship giving them ample time to roam free together. The walks they took to far away parks, buying ice cream and milkshakes - Vanessa was always cherry. The stolen glances they had in practice. It was more than a lust for someone commanding, someone beautiful - it was the way she clung onto every one of Vanessa’s words, the way in which she knew just what made Brooke laugh. It was her vulnerable side, the side she only showed to Brooke. It was all the different layers of her personality in one big ball of sunshine. Around Brooke, Vanessa was irrevocably herself and Brooke was the same.

There was something special about what they had - their little secret away from the world. No one knew about the things they did, no one knew how special Vanessa really was. How she cried at the end of Pocahontas when she waved goodbye to John Smith and chose to stay with her people. How she couldn’t take one bite into a hot pepper without demanding water and screaming at Brooke to help. How she stayed up all night on the phone to Brooke - asking question and question about her old life, wanting to know the girl the best she could, genuinely interested in her stories of ballet and boys. No one knew about them and Brooke didn’t mind because it just felt right - why let the world in when what they had was so perfect just with the two of them. Yes, she sometimes longed to tell the world that Vanessa was her’s, to shout from the rooftops that she chose Vanessa over everything - but she knew in the back of her head that things wouldn’t be the same. That behind the stormy captain there was a small girl afraid of one drop of rain. Although it lingered in the back of her mind that they couldn’t stay this way forever - Brooke knew she would go as long as she possibly could hiding with Vanessa if that’s what it took to be with her - she would wait as long as it took for the girl to be ready so long as she could keep holding her hand, laughing with her and kissing her along the way.

She just didn’t know that their own movie-style romance would be cut short by an ad break they were unable to skip.

“Everyone’s gonna be here soon,” Brooke muffled as Vanessa made for her neck, leaving smooches down to her clavicle as Brooke sat in her tank and shorts ready to practice.

“It’s fine, I told them to come a little later,” Vanessa grinned before kissing the girl.

“Wait,” Brooke pulled away, teasing the girl, “You postponed practice one week from the biggest competition of the year just so you could get something warm between your legs? What kind of captain are you?”

“Well it was just to spend time with you, not sexually driven but if you’re that way inclined,” Vanessa raised an eyebrow and started to kiss Brooke again, deeper, with more passion.

At first, Brooke could tell it had been hard for Vanessa to say things like that aloud, to admit that she wanted to spend time with Brooke, that she wanted her body, but as times progressed she had become more open around the girl and started to throw her inhibitions out the window.

She hadn’t even registered that her top was off, and so was Vanessa’s until they heard it - the almighty boom. The fatal voice.

“Vanjieee!” Silky burst into the room.

Glass shattered. Shelves collapsed. The sound of distant cries rang in her ear.

Her whole world was now upside down and the gravity that once pulled her to Vanessa now pushed her away even further.

“Shit,” Brooke cried, pulling the covers over herself quickly.

Vanessa stayed silent, a blank gloss over her usual heightened expressions.

Brooke didn’t know where her mind had gone, but it wasn’t there.

“Holy shit,” Silky laughed to herself as she looked back and forth between the pair in disbelief. “Vanjie, you rug munching?”

“Get the fuck out,” Brooke avoided eye contact with the girl as she raised her voice, her concern about Vanessa taking over her embarrassment.

“I guess I’ll be in the garden then,” Silky gave the girls another sceptical look before leaving the room.

The door shut in place.

Barely 2 minutes had passed and what had felt like an eternity of the relationship between Brooke and Vanessa was gone with the click of that door.

“Vanessa, it’s okay,” Brooke wrapped her arms around the girl after putting her shirt back on.

“Just go,” Vanessa looked straight ahead - Brooke didn’t know where she was, but it wasn’t there with her.

“You don’t have to be defensive, it’s fine,” Brooke tried to hold the girl’s hand.

“Go,”

“Vanes-”

“Go,”

“It’s not the end of the world, she’ll understand, I l-”

“I can’t believe we let it get this far.”

“Vanessa,” Brooke’s eyes pleaded at the girl, waiting for her Vanessa, her soft Vanessa who smelt like cherries to come back.

“Just go.”

So she did.

She walked straight out of the house and kept walking until she was running, sprinting. Sprinting away from the pain, away from her problems. Sprinting until her legs hurt and she was going to be sick. Sprinting til her chest leapt up and down with each heavy breathe - letting the tears hit the ground like black rain on her wedding day. Sprinting till it was dark and late and she didn’t know where she was. She was scared to stop because once she stopped it was all real and she had to think about it. When she stopped, she was alone.

Her fingers were numb and the streets unfamiliar. Pulling out her phone, she almost called Vanessa as she went onto her recent conversations, forgetting that her usual saviour was the one who had banished the damsel this time. She flicked past her parents, they would ask why she was there, what was wrong. Even though she knew Vanessa would hate her for it, Brooke called the only person she knew that wouldn’t pressure or pry, the only person here who had seen her anxiety at its deepest and darkest.

“Hey girl, I’m kinda in the middle of something,” he hinted to her.

She tried to find the words but couldn’t and let out a panicked breath.

“Brooke, you okay?”

“Just breathe okay, it will pass. It always ends Brooke, it’ll pass.”

Brooke tried her hardest to listen, to home in on his words and let them overpower the negative.

“Just breathe nice and slow Brooke, it’ll be over soon,”

Counting to ten and doing as he said, she managed to find a part of her voice that hadn’t be stolen by Vanessa.

“I don’t know where I am,” fear started to set in more when she said it out loud.

“It’s fine, I can see on snap, okay?”

“Can you stay on the phone?” she asked, trying hard to let anything else take over her mind - a distraction from the voice in her head telling her she wasn’t good enough.

“Yeah, Jacob can drive and I’ll stay on the phone. We’ll be 20 minutes. It’ll be over soon Brooke, we’ll get you some gravy and fries, yeah?”

She could hear some shuffling and muffled conversation, a thank you, the shutting of a door.

“I’ll even let you add the cheese on top,”

“Yeah,” Brooke started to return back to reality ever so slightly - trying hard to breathe naturally and think about the end when things would go back to normal - her voice still hoarse, fighting its way to be heard, that one syllable a small step to victory in her mind.

***

“Oh god, your boy is waiting in the car!” Brooke exclaimed, only remembering after Jovan had helped her return to normalcy.

“I’m so sorry, I interrupted your night and dragged you out here,”

“Don’t apologise,” he shook his head at her, “I’d much rather know you’re okay then get a bit of D. He can wait.”

“Well thanks anyway, for understanding,” Brooke pulled her friend into a hug, grateful to have someone who would help with her without asking what lead her to that state, still weighed down by the embarrassment that came after a panic attack.

“Anytime,” he grinned, “I’ve been meaning to introduce you to Jacob again anyway, I think it might be getting serious.”

Although she was happy for her friend - Brooke couldn’t help but feel a pang at her chest at the thought of Vanessa - the girl she would give the world for telling her to go. Telling her it had gone too far.

“You better not make anything official without making sure he likes our lunch combo first,” Brooke smiled for what felt like the first time in forever as she made her way to the car.

“I guess we can stop at the 7/11 and see what they have,”

“I believe I was promised cheese on top too,” Brooke curled her lip at the boy jokingly - trying her hardest to think of anyone, anything other than Vanessa, about ‘I can’t believe we let it go this far.’

When was too far? Was it when they kissed in the street after Akeria’s party? When Brooke showed up at Vanessa’s window and gave herself to the other girl. When they stayed up late eating takeout, planning routines and Vanessa fell asleep in her lap. When they walked by the river and talked about plans of sailing away together to their own little island away from everyone else. Or was it when Silky saw them. When Brooke went to usher the 3 words she had began to realise she meant more than anything and Vanessa stopped her.

She didn’t know and didn’t want to.

All she wanted was to have it all back - she knew she would keep the secret forever if it meant having Vanessa.

***

Once again, Brooke had thrown herself head first into cheerleading - yes, she wanted to beat the Vixen’s and come first place, but she had a more important prize in mind. She would stop at nothing to show Vanessa what she had let go. Wanting to perform with the girl one last time before she could walk away and drop it - she needed to show Vanessa that she wouldn’t give up that easy. No one told Brooke Lynn Hytes to go and didn’t expect resistance. The past week had been hard, knowing she’d have to spend time with Vanessa in practice, constantly keeping her head down, avoiding eye contact, knowing that if she saw the girls face she would just crumble. She spent most of her time with Jovan, her solid rock there to catch her when she fell - figuratively and literally - she had never been so grateful for all the times he had watched her routine and helped her through, her gratitude only amplified knowing that he himself had never been given the chance to cheer.

She began to doubt even going to nationals however, once she made her way onto the bus there.

One of the school gym teachers greeted her, ticking her off a sheet and giving a generic rundown of the following days; when they would arrive, what time was free, who’d she’d be rooming with. A surge of sadness welled over Brooke at the thought of all the plans she had made with Vanessa. All the talking they had done about their trip had boiled down to this - to sitting at the back of the bus barely making out her dark ponytail above one the seats. They were going to go to sneak away to the rides in the daytime, Vanessa said she wasn’t a screamer and Brooke knew this was a lie. They would share a room on the night and fall asleep in each other’s arms before waking up the next day ready to kick ass with all their competition. The difference in expectation and reality hit an all-time high to Brooke at that moment. She was only just learning how quickly things can do a 180 from their original path and smack her right in the face.

The energy was immense; everyone happy and excited, the moment they had waited for all year was finally coming but Brooke couldn’t help but sulk back and hide away from it all, building her own fort of loss and longing to comfort her. She closed her eyes in a bid to fall asleep despite knowing she wouldn’t be able to; even the top of Vanessa’s head proving to be too much for her.

“You alright?” she felt the seat beside her dip.

No, she wasn’t. Brooke hated the bipolar captain who was too caught up in her own feelings of self-loathing to give a thought to hers. She was also in love with her, but that was neither here nor there, she lied to herself. She wanted nothing more than to go over and slap Vanessa for being a bitch, to show her that she wouldn’t be trampled on by her sparkling white trainers. She also wanted to slip her the tongue. She really really wanted to slip her the tongue.

“Fine,” she told Jay, feeling reassured that someone had noticed her off-kilter demeanour, “Just nervous, you know?”

“It’s natural,” he smiled, “But once you’re in that moment, everyone cheering for you, the judges right there, it’s all in the flow.”

“Thanks,” Brooke responded, starting to wish she’d spent more time getting to know the other Amazons - her infatuation with Vanessa had kind of put them on the back burner.

“Just enjoy yourself - have you been to Disney before?”

“Not my scene,” Brooke responded, and it hadn’t been, or at least it hadn’t been until she’d pictured herself there with Vanessa.

“That’s what everyone says,” he laughed.

Maybe Brooke wasn’t as alone as she thought.

***

“Oh my god girl, get up!” Monet motioned her arms around the room. “We are in Disneyland, it’s your first ever nationals and you gonna tell me you’ve spent all of today looking at these 4 walls,”

“Yes,” Brooke responded bluntly, turning back over onto her side like the sullen teenager she could be.

“Half of the fun is in the atmosphere. You should have gotten yourself down to the Sports Complex - all the teams practising, doing their little talks, ESPN cameras everywhere. It’s mad.”

“I’m just not feeling well,” Brooke looked at her roommate apologetically.

“I call bull,” she shook her head at Brooke whilst pulling out a makeup bag from her suitcase, “There’s a special UCA night at Hollywood Studios tonight. The Vixens are gonna be there so we can psych them out, and have a little fun before the big day too.”

“I’m good,” Brooke responded, the thought of being in a social environment with Vanessa driving her crazy, she didn’t know if she’d be able to control herself face to face with the girl, she just wanted to be out there performing.

“I wasn’t asking!” Monet pulled a blending sponge from the bag, “And I’m doing your makeup, get over here.”

***

A purple lip and smokey eye later, Brooke was starting to get paranoid about standing out as the squad began to gather piece by piece at the studios. She watched as one Amazon after the other came and said hello - until there was just one piece of the puzzle left to be fitted.

“Vanj just texted,” Silky announced, “She ain’t coming,”

Brooke piping up at the mention of Vanessa, Silky only gave her a dirty look as in to say ‘it’s your fault’. She had spent the past week walking on eggshells around Silky, desperate not to get on her wrong side but also longing to pull her aside and ask about Vanessa; what did she say? Is she okay?

As if on cue, Vicky Taylor and her secondary Vixens strutted over to the squad.

“Where’s miss Vanjie? Too scared to fight?”

“What’s it to do with you?” Akeria stepped forward, giving the other captain a stare that would give Cerberus a good scare.

“Hey Jaren,” she smiled and waved, ignoring Akeria entirely, “you decided to move to a better squad, yet?”

Jaren looked down embarrassed, clearly torn in the battle between his friend and team. “I’m good here Vic,” he responded politely, ignoring the taunting nature of her tone.

“That’s alright, my girls can wipe the floor with you either way,” her eyes scanned the group dismissively, landing on Brooke. “You know, I gotta hand it to you, I really thought Vanjie might bring the slightest bit of competition this year, guess I was wrong for once,” she smiled at one of the girls next to her.

If Brooke had guessed where she would be a few months ago - it would certainly not have been having a dissing war with cheerleaders in the middle of a Disney park but she couldn’t help feel a sense of pride and protectiveness over her squad, over Vanessa’s reputation.

“You know if Vanjie was here you’d be quaking in your boots,” Brooke looked the girl up and down sourly, “She may be half the size of you but she has ten times the bite and you know what Vicky, I think you need to find a dictionary and look up the word insecure cause you’re gonna need it when all your smack talk means nothing on the mat tomorrow.”

“Who are you, her lap dog?”

“No, I’m your worst nightmare. And you better bring it tomorrow or you’ll be crying in your sleep,” a confident side of Brooke emerged and the thought of Vanessa being unable to defend herself to the girl. She may have been furious with her, but she understood better than anyone the fights and effort Vanessa had put in to get to this moment, and Brooke would be damned if she let some sly foxes try and take it away from her.

With the flick of her blonde hair, she walked away triumphantly, only wishing she had the confidence to speak up to Vanessa in the same way - to tell her everything she was feeling and more - the good, the bad and the ugly. The nerves she’d felt in her stomach since getting on the minibus were starting to fade away - Brooke once again knew what she was there to do and she was gonna do it right.

***

Brooke couldn’t help but notice the overwhelming smell of hairspray as she walked into the Sports Centre. Everything was bright and colourful - red to the left of her and purple to the right. Girls scattered everywhere in the most organised chaos she had ever seen. Monet was right, something about walking through the building, hair curled and scrunchies in place, not a wrinkle in anyone’s uniform, cameras all around made her feel like she was on the set of a movie.

Backstage ballet was always reclusive, girls sat at their mirrors focused silent. Here, cheerleaders flipped their way across the room, competitive banter being spat across the room like water. Following the teacher from their school, she walked alongside Monet, taking the place in like a little kid in a costume store - drawn by every sequin and bow.

Near the front of the group, she heard Vanessa and Silky mutter in hushed tones - Brooke having spent the night before laying in bed, willing herself not to pick up the phone and dial the number of their room, or walk up there herself. She knew that her words were wasted on Vanessa at this point, all that was left to do was to throw her heart and soul into the routine and let Vanessa know that she was a fighter.

Adrenaline pumped through each and every one of their veins as they waited in the dressing room. Every lace tied, every t crossed and I dotted, the squad had nothing more to do but wait for the competition to start, an angsty Vanessa pacing back and forth between the seats. All Brooke wanted to do was to hold her and tell her she was going to kill it, but once again she knew that the glossed over Vanessa in front of her was not the one she had grown so close to, the fear of rejection taking over the girl completely. She knew that soon the competition would start and they’d be waiting at the sidelines watching the other teams - and then they’d be up there. Months of practice, months of fear, months of love, months of heartache all bundled into 2 and a half minutes. Her parents, Jovan, all the audience focused on them. A shiver ran down Brooke’s spine at the thought of baring her soul to all those people. Even though she’d performed with more emotion in ballet, there was something about the big open space, the way she could see the judges and the audience that she found more daunting than any theatre stage.

“Everyone go run about; get some fresh air, a snack, a drink, have a stretch - we’re no good cooped up in here,” Vanessa announced to the group with her powerful command. Brooke didn’t know if she’d seen her start to get anxious or not but took the break nonetheless - afraid of the dead air that lingered between her and Vanessa, the noticeable heaviness that hung around whenever they were in the same room.

***

3 bottles of water in her arms and waiting at the door, Brooke was growing impatient at the boys’ messing around; “C’mon guys we gotta get back!”

“Lighten up Brooke, you’re so tense, you gotta go out there all loose.” Jaren pulled a face at her before leaping into a back handspring tuck.

And then she heard it, the death-defying crunch.

It almost happened in slow motion, the way his foot twisted one degree extra to the right, all his weight resting on that extra turn. All that pressure cracking down hard on his ankle.”

“Fuck,” he cried, falling to the ground.

Jay ran to his side.

And Brooke ran to the only person she could think of, the hero who always knew how to pull her and the squad out of the murky waters and into the clear tracks.

“You have to come quick,” Brooke half-shouted when she found her, “It’s Jaren, I think he’s broke his ankle.”

And then they were holding hands.

Brooke didn’t even have time to think about the spark because she was jumping at high frames per minute - someone pressing fast forward one, two, three times on her and Vanessa until they were in the room. Paramedics already at Jaren’s side.

“No,” she looked ahead, “No.”

“I’m sorry Vanjie,” he grimaced with shame as he was helped into a chair.

“The fucking curse,” Vanessa crouched down on the floor in disbelief.

“It’s fine we can get everyone around, we can figure out how to do it without him,” Brooke put a hand on her back and felt like she’d returned back to their little safe haven, her fear and resentment for the girl sizzling away when she saw her looking so defeated.

“We entered with 20, so we have to perform with 20. They have that routine on record we can’t show anything else. You can only change who is competing and your routine if you phone like months in advance,” Jay winced at Brooke.

Brooke watched as the tears streamed down Vanessa’s face - heavy tears of frustration. Years of hard work and she had slipped at the very last hurdle.

“What if we had 20,” Brooke asked, looking pleadingly between the two of them, wanting desperately to make things right for them, to make them right for Vanessa.

“People can’t compete on two teams, and you’re not gonna find some secret cheerleader hidden about who can learn our routine within the hour,”

And the missing piece of the puzzle all clicked into place in Brooke’s head.

“I’m gonna fix it,” she knelt down to whisper to the girl she loved, “I’m gonna fix it all.”

***

“What?” Jovan looked at her blankly, His parents and Jacob either side giving Brooke equally quizzical looks.

“Please, Jovan. Not for me, for Vanessa. You know how hard she’s worked, how much this means to her,”

“I don’t know what I’m doing!”

“You do, think of all the times you’ve helped me practice, watched us in your yard. We have an hour,”

“I don’t exactly scream enthusiasm though do I,” he looked at Brooke, highlighting the flaws in her plan - but she didn’t mind because this was her only chance.

“I know you used to when you first auditioned. Now’s your chance to prove to those stupid bitches what they missed out on and to stitch up that open wound with Vanessa,”

“You owe me like a thousand favours,”

“Thank you,” she pulled Jovan into a hug before grabbing his hand and practically dragging him towards their dressing room.

***

The tension in the wings was undeniable. Everyone had spent the past hour giving it their all, showing Jovan where to stand, who to hold, how to present himself and their routine was now a ticking time bomb that could blow at any minute. Any wrong step would put them at an automatic point disadvantage compared to the Vixens who they had just watched perform flawlessly.

They all huddled together, Vanessa giving the usual pep talks and chants, but Brooke could tell she was scared, she could see the anxiousness in the other girl’s eyes, watching her looking back at Jovan as he went over all the steps in the wing.

They made eye contact across the group, and Brooke was surprised to see a smile from across Vanessa’s face; a hopeful smile; ‘oh, there you are’ it read.

Brooke gave a reassuring smile back; ‘I’m always here for you.’

She watched as Vanessa made her way towards her and just stood in silence, looking at Brooke.

Brooke felt a familiar twang of reassurance. For one of the biggest performances of her life that she had stressed about so much, at that moment, in the wings with Vanessa, she was completely calm.

“Your parents have come to watch you,” Brooke smiled at her, knowing what it meant to Vanessa.

“Jovan told me,” she smiled up at Brooke. God had she missed waking up to that toothy grin.

Before Brooke could begin to respond she blurted out to her: “I fucked everything up Brooke,” sincerity in her voice, “but I’m not gonna fuck this up. This is the last thing I have”

“You gonna bring it, Vanessa?”

“I’m gonna bring it, Brooke Lynn.”

And then they were running out, the energy vibrating through her ears, the crowd going wild.

This moment was Brooke’s and no one would take it away from her.

“The R. A. Charles Amazons!” The announcer bellowed as they pumped up the crowd at the start of their routine, adrenaline seeping through every pore.

And then the music started.

They all started to walk backwards before flipping around - Vanessa front and centre, Brooke could see her shine.

They moved like parts of a finely tuned design. Not a wasted through, not a toe across the line. She looked around the group, Jovan killing every move, Vanessa flying higher than she’d ever seen her before. Brooke knew that second place was no such category. She pushed herself further and further into every tumble, emphasised every beat that little bit more. At that moment, it wasn’t just Vanessa who she thought was superhuman, she was starting to think it about herself. She looked the judges in the eye as they added their quirks, making eye contact as she grand jete’d her way across the floor, as Vanessa did a death drop between their routine.

Brooke could see Jovan beaming through every move, smiling more than she even figured was possible for him to smile. A satisfying warming formed in her heart at the thought that he had finally found his dream again years after it was tossed aside.

By the end of the two minutes, the crowd were roaring for them and everything with hazy for Brooke, surrealness taking over.

She felt someone grab her hand as they all ran to the edge of the boundary, throwing their arms in the air and cheering for the crowd, showing that spirit that they all possessed.

Brooke was elated, with Vanessa’s hand in her own, she was grinning from ear to ear and wasn’t even trying to but when she looked to her side she noticed that Vanessa looked more serious like she was thinking about something.

“I love you.”

Brooke did a double take, about to ask her what she said over the roaring crowd.

And then Vanessa grabbed the back of Brooke’s head and kissed her. She kissed her in a way of telling the world ‘this girl’s mine.’ She kissed her with an apology, with regret. She kissed her with happiness, with cherries. She kissed her with all the build-up from the past few months. She kissed Brooke with the look she’d given her that day in the canteen, the time in the kitchen. She kissed her with everything she had and Brooke gave it all in return. She kissed like she didn’t have a care in the world what people were thinking of her because none of that mattered when she was in Brooke’s arms.

Brooke didn’t know and didn’t care how the squad and the crowd were reacting, because all she cared about was Vanessa.

She didn’t care whether they had come first or not, because she knew that she had her prize either way.

She didn’t think all those months in that car journey that she’d be a cheerleader let alone be in love with one, but she knew that this was right, she’d finally figured out what she was there to do.

“You really brought it, Brooke Lynn,” she smiled at her as they pulled away, tears starting to well in her eyes.

“I learnt from the best didn’t I?”

It was true. Vanessa was all of the best parts of Brooke bundled into a little dark-haired firecracker - and she was finally ready to be open and burst into flames for everyone to see.

“Maybe next year we can do this trip how we planned it?” Vanessa asked.

Next year. Brooke’s heart just about melted. How we planned it.

“We still have tonight!” Brooke pulled the girl back into another kiss as they made their way off the floor.

She knew they had tonight, and the next night, and every night because Vanessa “Vanjie” Mateo loved her and she wasn’t going anywhere.

She knew that whatever battles they faced, the two of them were now going to face them together, telling anyone who dared to cross them to bring it on.

#rpdr fanfiction #brooke lynn hytes #vanessa vanjie mateo #yvie oddly #branjie #high school au #lesbian au #cheerleader au #angst #bring it on #ashley #submission #s11

[ambroseblack]

In continuation of my improvised story/ first attempt at something horror-paranormally, here is chapter 2 to whisper. If you haven't read the first chapter, you can read it here now!

Stay spooky beloved friends!

Love and Peace,

Ambrose

Chapter 2: Daylight

I woke up with my face nearly glued to the wooden table in the dining room. I apparently had a fair amount of liquid in my body at one time, being that my face was surrounded by a pool of drool and sweat. My mouth was terribly dry, making my tongue feel like a cat's, as I licked my lips with no apparent gratification.

The soft gray light of a rainy fall morning drifted through the half-open burgundy curtains that the previous owner had left on the main floor. They were much nicer than anything I would have bought. I would have been happy with some sheets to be honest. But they did give the large house a touch of grandeur. It was fitting, being that the house was so old and well maintained. A museum of sorts. Walking through the front door was like walking into a different time.

The soft tapping of pouring rain echoed throughout the house. I always found the sound to be soothing. It was a sound I had missed in my apartment in the city. It reminded me of rainy days when I was a kid. The kind of days where one is at peace just laying in bed thinking, as the cool water pours down around the world outside.

I looked at the laptop that was resting untouched in front of me. The screen was still up at attention, but black from not being used.

I must have dreamed everything. The shadow. The whisper.

I chuckled to myself as I stood up from my seat to go make coffee in the kitchen. My knees ached quietly. They probably just hurt from being bent all night long. At least, that is what I told myself. It's always far easier to write off the truly unexplained. We are always happy remaining ignorant.

I slowly trudged into the kitchen. My crocs quietly squeaked on the tile floors. They were horribly ugly things to have on your feet, but goddam...they were comfortable. Besides, I was a writer. I had nobody to impress.

I grabbed the tarnished silver teapot that sat on the stove and filled it with cold water from the tap. The teapot, just like the drapery in the house, had been left by the previous owner. In fact, there were a lot of remnants left behind. A large grandfather clock that rang out in the most frightening of ways. An old, apparently never touched couch in the front room. A baby grand piano in the foyer with worn keys. I felt like I was living in someone else's house, being that I had barely unpacked any of my own belongings. I kind of liked it, to be honest. It was like I had stepped into the story where another left off. Or died off...I had no idea. Who really cares?

I placed the teapot on the stove and lit the burner. Bright blue flames licked the bottom of the silver, slowly tickling the water held within. I fumbled through the cabinets looking for the coffee and french press. I had still not really organized the cabinets, so I would always find things in different places each day. At last I found my treasures next to a half-eaten box of frosted flakes. The box itself wasn't eaten, however the cereal inside was. Next to the box was a gallon of milk that I must have put in there by mistake. What can I say...I enjoy frosted flakes after indulging in some fabulous things. The kind of things that open your mind up to be able to do things like write. For all you know, I'm eating frosted flakes right now as I type these words. You don't fucking know. I mean, I'm not. But I could be.

I unscrewed the cap to the milk and took a faint whiff to see if it had gone sour. It was fairly decent. Could have been worst. I took a nearly-clean bowl out of the sink, poured some of the thickening milk into into it, and sprinkled some of the flaked cereal into it. I thought about finding a spoon, but who needs a spoon when you really don't give a shit. I would slurp it like the animal I was.

The teapot began to whistle its horrible song as steam spewed out of the spout like a stoner exhaling at a Phish concert. I scooped some coffee grounds out of the bag with my hand and poured their fragrant particles into the french press. I used to use a coffee pot like a normal person, but once I found the french press I never looked back. Very honestly, it's a completely different coffee experience. Like the difference between having sex when you are a teenager versus sex when you have an understanding of what the clitoris is. Or prostate. Whatever tickles your fancy, really. Like mind-blowingly different. I'm not sure "blowingly" is an actual word, but I guess it is now. Never mind...it is...I just googled it. Feel free to use it.

The smell of coffee began to fill the kitchen immediately after I poured the steaming water into the glass beaker. The smell brightened the gloom of the gray filtering in through the windows from the outside. I was beginning to feel better. The nightmare was slowly slipping away from my thoughts.

<<<:>>>

I half-hazardly carried the bowl of soggy cereal and the mug of piping hot black coffee into the dining room. Splashes of both semi-cold milk and scalding liquid both found their way onto the flesh of my hands. On one hand, it hurt. On the other, it didn't. Pain and indifference, really. The joys of life.

I sat down at the table and coaxed my laptop to wake up with a gentle touch to its mouse pad. I nearly spit out the mouthful of cereal I had just poured into my mouth from the bowl when I read what was typed in bold capitals on the shit story I was working on. There, in the middle of the screen of the electronic page were two words.

KEEP WRITING

"Fuck man..." I quietly said out loud to myself. Even though I convinced myself I must have just written that as a message to myself in my sleepy/high state the night prior, it still gave me chills. I thought back to the dream. The sharp whisper I had heard. There it was again; that unsettled feeling in the bottom of my stomach. But that too could be explained away by the half-spoiled milk I was consuming.

I had to get out of that house for a little while. I felt like I had given myself cabin fever.

<<<:>>>

I found my old black boots by the front door and rummaged through a box to find my long black rain coat that was still packed away. I opened the large oak door that squealed when moved and was smacked in the face with a brisk wind. Deciding that I needed to re-think my outfit (which included dirty sweatpants, a faded Tenacious D t-shirt, the boots, and the coat), I made my way up the wooden staircase to find an outfit better suited for the elements. I had also worn the same sweats and t-shirt for over a week... if not, longer. Thinking about it, I had not really left the house for probably two weeks. That is just sort of my brand of a writing lifestyle I guess. Disgusting? Absolutely. But it bought the house and the things I needed just the same.

I pulled a tattered black sweater over my head and over the Tenacious D t-shirt. The fabric of the sweater was stretched in odd places, but it was comfortable and warm. I pulled off the stinking black sweat pants as well as the crispy boxers. I thought for a moment about showering and then decided against it. What good was deodorant if it couldn't cover up the smell of filth? Besides, the cigarette I planned to smoke when I got out on the porch would provide a strong enough fragrant blanket to cover up the sweaty ass smell. And if it didn't...so be it.

After completing my outfit with a fresh pair of boxers, stained jeans, thick wool socks, long striped gray scarf, and an olive-green knit hat, I was ready to be off on my way to do whatever I was going to do. I didn't really have a plan. Maybe a walk to the tiny downtown. Anything that would get me out of the house. I couldn't bring myself to really care.

As I turned to leave the enormous bedroom my eyesight caught something on the wall just above the headboard. There, on the white wall it looked like a symbol was leaking through the paint. You know how when your paint a lighter color over a darker color and sometimes it kind of comes through? It's always faint, yet always noticeable.

It was hard to see, but it definitely wasn't my imagination. A red symbol shaped like an eye was coming out of the white. Just enough to be seen by me at that moment despite the depressing light filtering in through the wall of windows.

I felt myself want to approach the wall to examine the symbol more, but found myself caught by a momentary feeling of fear and hesitation again. I couldn't stand there any longer and ponder its meaning. I had to fucking get out that house just for a little bit of time. It wouldn't take long for me to recharge.

Get out of the house.

I nearly tripped down the staircase as I feverishly fumbled to slip on my coat to get out of that prison-like space. I yanked open the heavy oak door with haste and nearly let out a scream as I found myself face to face with a tiny old woman. She let out startled gasp at my rapid presence. She was standing on my porch nearly lost within a bundle of winter coat and scarf. She had a plastic bag over her hair which I found both funny and alarming. I assumed it was to keep her hair dry. Or, at least I hoped.

"I am so sorry for startling you honey," the woman said with a sweetly calm voice.

"Uh...yeah...likewise..." I said in an almost whisper. I was internally trying to convince my heart to stop beating itself to death.

"My name is Emma," the woman said with a smile, "I live just across the street." She pointed to the historic home directly across from my house. It was in pristine condition. The beam across the woman's face as well as the intricately manicured landscape across the front of her yard revealed that she was proud of her dwelling. "I've lived there over 50 years. My husband and I..."

"Nice to meet you. I'm Ambrose," I said, cutting her off. I said it in a pleasant tone, but I secretly wished she wasn't there. I needed to get the hell away from that space. For the love of God, I silently thought, shut the fuck up...

"Oh Ambrose, what a pretty name..." Emma said with a smile.

"I thought so too when I picked it out..." I said. Annoyance peeked through the pleasantry of my tone. I needed to work on conversation and people skills. My response obviously confused the woman. She didn't know Ambrose wasn't my real name. How would she? And I wasn't about to explain how I was a writer who came up with some bullshit of a name to write under. It was far more humorous to watch her try to work it out in her head how I had named myself when I was a baby.

"I hate to rush you," I said while coaxing myself out of the door and onto the large porch, "but I'm running a bit late for an...an appointment. Big client. You know...things to do and places to be."

The woman's smile faltered for a second and then found itself back; stretched across her face as if hiding a grimace.

"Oh, I'm sorry honey. I won't be keeping you," she said while patting my hand with her pink gloved hand. " I just wanted to pop on over and introduce myself real quick. I figured you have been here long enough to settle in. I didn't want to come over prematurely...didn't want you to think you were being watched or anything...."

The way she said "watched" was horrifying, because what she really was saying was that she had been watching me. Lonely old hag just watching the new guy. Trying to spy and see what he was up to. Nosy bitch.

I faked a smile.

"Well, it was great to meet you Emma. Thank you for stopping by. Maybe one day soon we can sit down for some coffee or something. It would be great to chat with you...I'm sure you have a lot of stories of this town that I would absolutely love to hear!" I lied.

"Oh of course, of course sweetie!" She said with that same forced smile and overly sweet tone. "I brought you a little house warming gift...nothing big...just something I think everyone needs..." Emma reached inside her cartoonishly large flower-print purse and pulled out a neatly wrapped gift. It was complete with a large pink bow on top. Fucking gag.

"Oh, you didn't have to do that," I said, faking surprise and gratitude. I know she was being nice and all, but something just felt off. Like when a dog growls at one person but not the next.

"Oh, it's nothing my dear. I just hope you get some use out of it," the old woman said, handing the wrapped gift over to me. Immediately when my hands held the package I could tell it was a book. A fairly large one. My curiosity was momentarily tickled as I pondered what book it could be.

And with that, the woman was off. Not in a speedy way. She was old as shit. But at least she was making her way off my porch to leave me in peace. Wrapped book still in hand, I pulled a cigarette out of the pack that was nestled in an interior breast pocket of my rain coat that I had found earlier. I lit it with the tiny green bic that I kept in the mailbox attached to the brick by the front door. I breathed in that familiar smoke. The smoke that reminded me I was alive, even if I sometimes wished I wasn't.

I looked at the gift Emma had given me in my hand. The paper wrapped around was perfectly pressed and folded. It was a print of lavender bunches, all repeated over and over. The bow wrapped around it had been painstakingly tied. Almost too perfect. Like something a robot would do.

I exhaled a puff of smoke through my nose as I fumbled to untie the artwork. I couldn't see her, but I imagined the old woman was watching me through one of the windows of her house. I imagined her beady little eyes watching my every move. Just the thought made me shudder a little, despite the warmth of my attire.

And then there it was.

"Jesus fucking Christ..." I said out loud to the rainy world around me as I realized what the gift was. "A fucking bible?"

Yep. A bible. And not like the little orange ones the weirdos try to force in your hands at festivals. No, it was a big-ass one bound in soft brown leather. It seemed to be fairly new; the pages still stiff. I opened the front cover and found a note perfectly written in black ink on the first blank page. The letters were scripted in cursive; beautiful calligraphy etched on the paper.

The Lord is faithful, and he will strengthen you and protect you from the evil one.

2 Thessalonians 3:3

My heart skipped a beat when I read "evil one". Those two words were written thicker than all of the other words, making them bounce off the page and into my face.

"What....the actual FUCK!?" I whispered in horror out loud to myself.

The rain continued to pour as I stood on my porch with the half-smoked cigarette hanging out my mouth and leather-bound bible in my hand.

Maybe moving there wasn't the right decision after all.

#prose #writers #writers on tumblr #spilled words #literature #my writing #short fiction #short story #horror #thriller #paranormal #halloween #all hallows eve #improvisation #demon #detroit

[no-birdstofly]

12?

12. We were pretending to be lovers but I’m not pretending anymore and I have to know if you feel the same way

[very loose James Bond/Casino Royale AU]“Mr. Vietor, so glad to have you join us!” The old man who speaks with a wide smile is the definition of a gentleman, as far as Jon knows at least. His bowtie is perfectly knotted, his posture impeccable, his shoes so shined they reflect the lights.

Next to Tommy, he looks like a commoner. Tommy holds himself better, less like he’s trying and more like he’s never known another way. His casual half-windsor looks sleeker, his perfectly fitted dinner jacket looks richer, and the way it flows like liquid with the movement of his shoulders when he reaches out to shake the man’s hand, yet doesn’t expose his shoulder holster, makes it seem almost bespoke.

Tommy looks every inch the born and bred gentleman. The kind who could walk into a Swiss bank and surprise them with the number of digits before the decimal that his account number pulls up, the kind who has a penthouse in every major city, the kind who’s of the highest caliber, and who’s never had a rough day in his life. He looks perfectly at home in this room full of absurd wealth, all the custom suits and designer gowns.

Jon’s glad the calluses on Tommy’s hands aren’t noticeable in a handshake, that the healing bruises from his last mission are hidden under his crisp oxford shirt, and that his fake smile is convincing and warm so long as you don’t know him.

The old man introducing himself is the one who runs the game, and he’s saying something about it, how many rounds there’ll be, the breaks in between, the buy-in and all the ante amounts. Jon tunes him out in favor of taking in their surrounding and the other players, keeping an eye out for the target.

Tommy’s arm wraps suddenly around his waist, hand on his hip under his jacket. Jon tunes back in enough to hear Tommy say, “–my, um, friend, yes.”

Jon knows that slip up is purposeful, meant to make Tommy seem like he’s off guard, or embarrassed. So is his use of friend, instead of boyfriend or partner. Tommy’s playing up to the old money expectation, and this idiot is eating out of the palm of his hand. The euphemism is useless when he’s holding onto Jon like this, yet it sets the man at ease.

“A pleasure to meet you,” the man says, and offers his hand to Jon easily. His handshake is light, nondeclarative. He either doesn’t take Jon seriously, or he’s got a weak handshake. Or both, frankly.

“The pleasure is mine, sir,” Jon says performatively in perfect French, batting his eyelashes a little in the way that Lovett says looks ridiculous but everyone else seems to fall for.

“Oh, he’s a good one,” the man says, winking at Tommy.

“He is indeed,” Tommy responds, pulling Jon closer. Jon hopes the hitch in his breath isn’t noticeable.

When Tommy steers them away, still with a firm hand on his hip, Jon hisses, “Thought they weren’t supposed to know your real name, what the fuck.”

“And I thought I told you they already did,” Tommy says smoothly.

“Yeah, after you announced it to the entire hotel staff.”

“Calm down, dearest, and have some champagne,” Tommy says, grabbing a flute from a passing server’s tray and pushing it into Jon’s hand, stopping his angry gesturing. “You know I can’t bear it when we fight.”

In Jon’s ear, and presumably in Tommy’s, Lovett snorts. “He’s right, they already knew,” Lovett says. “Have a drink, Jon. You’re much more charming when you’ve had a few.”

Jon pouts, a little offended, and Tommy’s hand tightens briefly. Jon sighs and downs his champagne in a few gulps. Tommy laughs brightly and procures another from somewhere, releasing Jon from his grasp. Jon doesn’t feel any way about that at all.

“Can’t believe you’re encouraging me to drink on the job,” he mutters.

“Long as you don’t get too drunk, we’re set,” Lovett says in the earpiece. “Feel free to get as blushy and giggly as you want, it’ll make Tommy seem like less of a threat.”

“Besides,” Tommy says into Jon’s ear, putting his arm back around Jon as their target approaches, “even if you do, don’t worry. I’ll take care of you.”

Jon suppresses a shiver at that, and makes sure there’s a charming smile on his face as the French man he recognizes from the (extensive) file steps up to them. The man is terrifying, all sharp, controlled smiles, like a monster is hiding just below the surface, clawing to get out. Jon knows there actually is a monster, that this man is a war profiteer, that he works with terrorist organizations and has indirectly caused hundreds–if not thousands–of deaths.

Jon is thankful for Tommy’s arm around him, especially since it’s gotten tighter. They’re supposed to bring the target in for questioning, but they’re both not-so-secretly hoping he gives them a reason to shoot him first.

Well, gives Tommy a reason. Jon can shoot just fine, but he’s not armed, and that’s not his job. The only reason he’s along for this mission is because he speaks French and can provide a distraction (eye candy, according to Lovett). He goes on missions and all, he’s not a total desk jockey like Lovett sitting down in R&D, but he doesn’t have the allowances Tommy gets. He doesn’t have a blanket license to kill.

The target gives him an obvious up-and-down, and all Jon wants is to hide behind Tommy, or at the very least shudder. Instead, he forces himself to duck his head and look up at the man through his eyelashes, tapping his half-full champagne flute against his bottom lip. If they need him to play the tipsy flirt, he’s got that down pat.

“Welcome, Mr. Beach,” Le Chiffre says, refocusing on Tommy. “Or, should I say, Mr. Vietor? Apologies, I’m a little confused.”

“It’s fine,” Tommy says gregariously, shaking his hand, like Le Chiffre actually messed up and doesn’t already know his secret. Like everything’s fine. Jon’s skin crawls as Le Chiffre smiles.

“And this lovely creature is…?” he asks, the smile stretching the unsettling scar around his eye a little as he looks back at Jon.

Jon obediently reaches out a hand, with what he knows is a winning smile. He pushes for using real first names whenever possible, so there’s no slip-ups during the stress of fieldwork, and the department backed him this time. “Jonathan Cote.”

Le Chiffre’s eyebrows shoot up, and he asks Jon in French if he speaks the language. He’s pleased when Jon responds in the affirmative, and they have a brief conversation that Jon’s positive is meant to exclude Tommy and put him on the wrong foot all at once.

Tommy doesn’t walk away, though. He smiles blandly and looks unperturbed, and he keeps a claiming arm securely around Jon. Jon wonders if Lovett is feeding him a rough translation through the earpiece, running their talk through a program back at the office.

“Delighted to make your acquaintance, mon cher,” Le Chiffre murmurs, switching back to (mostly) English and giving Jon another once over before briefly glancing at Tommy. “And you, Mr. Vietor. I look forward to meeting you at the table.”

Jon makes himself smile, open mouthed and easy, as if he’s not sickened by Le Chiffre’s cold grin. Tommy lets go of Jon to shake Le Chiffre’s hand, and Jon feels suddenly cold. Like there’s a draft in the ostentatiously decorated game room.

“Drink?” Tommy asks, his hand low on Jon’s back as Le Chiffre finally walks away.

“God, yes,” Jon says in a rush, almost a groan, and it shakes a low laugh loose from Tommy’s chest. Jon joins in, glad to have something else to focus on.

Tommy orders some ridiculous martini for himself, something with too many fussy details in Jon’s opinion, and he hands Jon another glass of champagne. Or it might be cava. Jon’s not positive, but it’s pretty dry.

“What did he say?” Tommy asks, fixing his laser focus on Jon.

Jon looks around them for discretion’s sake, but of course Tommy’s already checked the area. “He, uh.” Jon laughs, looking down. “He invited me out on his yacht.”

Tommy snorts and takes a large swallow of his drink. “What’d you say?”

Jon looks up and meets his eye. “I told him I was here with the best sailor I know.”

Tommy’s expression softens a little. He leans in closer, so Jon can feel his breath on his cheek. In the middle of the room, the game handlers are calling for everyone’s attention. Tommy needs to join the other players. Jon can only think of how close he is.

He brushes a kiss against Jon’s temple and says, “I’ll see you soon,” before he downs his drink and heads off to the table.

“Good luck,” Jon croaks, and he didn’t think Tommy would hear him, but he turns his head and winks at Jon as he strolls up to enter his personalized password for the winnings.

Jon feels a little lightheaded, watching the tight, tight fit of Tommy’s pants, and he decides to switch to club soda after this drink.

“That was really smooth,” Lovett’s voice comes suddenly in his ear. “Get him all hot and bothered by speaking en francais, then swoon over his gross New England WASPy swag.”

Jon has to keep his voice down, but, “Swag?”

“You know what I mean,” Lovett grumbles.

“Uh huh,” Jon says, watching Tomy settle at the table with the other players.

“God I wish I had a video feed so I could watch you be an idiot, too.”

“Oh, is that why? Not because you want to watch him in that suit?”

Lovett’s quiet for a suspiciously long time. “It is a nice suit,” he finally concedes, and he sounds annoyed by it.

Jon buries a laugh in his champagne and watches the stretch of wool over Tommy’s biceps as he pushes chips into the pot. “Yeah, it is.”

At the first break in the game, Tommy beelines directly to where Jon’s perched on a barstool. He orders a drink and leans in close to Jon, laying a hand on his thigh. Jon swallows and tries not to make a noise.

“Come on,” Tommy murmurs, drinking his martini in a few long gulps. “I dropped the tracker, we need to go.”

There’s only thirty minutes before play resumes, so Tommy hustles him into the stairwell as Jon takes out his phone and asks, “You got him, Lovett?”

“Yup, should be pulling up… now!”

A 3D grid of the hotel’s many, many floors pops up on the screen, and they watch as the program narrows in on the blinking red light of the tracker. It rises in an elevator before it stops moving vertically and slides horizontally to what must be Le Chiffre’s room.

“Twenty-second floor,” Tommy says, pulling out his gun and chambering a round before flicking the safety back on and re-holstering it. “Let’s go.”

When they’re a few doors away from Le Chiffre, they hear shouting. “Go up to the room, now,” Tommy tells him. Jon turns to run to the elevator as Tommy strides to the room door. Just then, the elevator dings.

“Stairs!” Tommy hisses, but the voices are getting closer. Someone is about to walk out of Le Chiffre’s room.

Jon freezes, staring helplessly at Tommy. They’re going to be surrounded. Tommy rushes him just as the elevator doors are opening, pushing him back into the little alcove surrounding the nearest room door.

“Wha–?”

“Go with it,” Tommy says, and that’s all the warning Jon gets before he feels Tommy’s warm breath on his lips.

It takes him a minute to come to terms with that and realize that Tommy’s pressing his mouth to Jon’s now. He brings up his big hands to hold Jon’s face, tilting his jaw slightly to get a better angle, taking advantage of Jon’s gasp to push his tongue inside. Jon moans and clutches at his lapels, hoping the silk won’t wrinkle too badly.

“Oh,” he hears Lovett say in his ear, low and a little throaty. Lovett must be able to hear the sounds he’s making, he realizes with a jolt.

Tommy kisses down to his neck, and Jon can hear the footsteps of whoever came off the elevator getting closer. Jon knows he moved so he could look away easier, keep an eye out for their target and any danger, but Jon’s not complaining. It sounds like just one person, thankfully, and Jon rests his head back against the wall, both because then he can look out through his eyelashes at the man approaching, and because he’s a little overwhelmed.

The man is obviously armed, Jon can see the bulge of something below his jacket, not nearly as well tailored as Tommy’s. Jon moves his hands to clutch at Tommy’s neck, and Tommy meets his eyes briefly and nods the slightest amount. He dips his head to mouth at Jon’s throat.

“Get out of here,” the man says gruffly, his hand hovering near his lapel. Jon can’t place the accent, but he’d put money on Ugandan based off Le Chiffre’s recent involvement with the LRA.

“Sorry,” Jon says, and he has to put very little effort into making his voice sound breathy. The shouting from Le Chiffre’s room has quieted.

“Yeah, sorry,” Tommy says, pulling away from Jon’s neck and not sounding sorry at all. “Just got carried away, you know how it is.”

The man’s scowl deepens, and he pulls out a gun, pointing it at their heads. Tommy moves the slightest amount, like he’s just nervously shifting his weight, but he effectively shields Jon with his own body. Even as it puts Jon slightly at ease, it’s frustrating. Tommy doesn’t have body armor on, either. They’re both sitting ducks here.

Well, technically they’re better off, seeing as they’re both secret agents.

Jon slips his hand into Tommy’s coat, moving carefully so the fabric won’t rustle. He’s very thankful in the moment that they’re both left handed, so the gun is conveniently close in its holster. He’s not a terrible shot with his right, but they don’t have time for anything less than precision.

He sees Tommy’s eyebrows raise as Jon slips the gun out, still hidden by Tommy’s body. He ignores him, keeping his eyes on the man, watching for any movement. It feels like everyone in the hallway is holding their breath, and he’s glad to feel Tommy’s hand at his ribs, warm through the fine cotton of his dress shirt.

Tommy kisses him, soft and quick, both of them keeping their eyes open.

“I said go!” the man yells, taking a step closer.

Jon tenses, but then the door to Le Chiffre’s room flies open. The man looks away, his gun hand instinctively moving toward the action. Jon takes the opportunity and shoots, dropping him with a single shot.

He hears Tommy hiss in a breath, and then two more men come out, screaming about their dead comrade who’s falling to the ground. Jon barely manages to get off two more shots before they’re returning fire. He definitely hits one of them, but he’s not sure if it’s fatal. Le Chiffre’s door slams closed, trapping the other men in the hall with Jon and Tommy.

If these men are the LRA goons Jon assumes they are, they’re pissed at Le Chiffre for losing their money. Which, to be fair, was Tommy’s doing. It makes sense Le Chiffre would leave them to their own devices.

Tommy moves, quick and sure, to disarm the injured one, and then shoot him with his own gun. Jon drops into a crouch and fires back at the other guy, but he makes a run for the stairs. Tommy reaches out at a hand, and Jon instinctively hands over the gun. Jon’s a good shot, he’s required to be, but Tommy is amazing.

The survivor, who Jon IDs as the ringleader from their briefing, is just opening the stairwell door when Tommy shoots. It grazes the side of his head, causing him to duck and fall through the doorway. Tommy’s off, sprinting after him, leaving Jon to follow.

Tommy tackles the man on the steps, and they crash together down two flights and onto a landing, both their guns out of reach. Jon races down, trying to get past them to the fallen weapons. Before he can make it, Tommy has the man in a chokehold, and Jon watches as the life drains from the warlord’s eyes.

He stands, mouth agape, watching as Tommy checks the man’s pulse, shoves him away, and stands. He shakes out his arms and then straightens his jacket, like nothing’s happened. “Lovett,” he says, voice crisp, “get clean up to the stairwell between the twentieth and twenty-first floors.”

Lovett sighs loud in their ears, and Jon knows it’s because he’s relieved. “Aye aye,” he says. “Change of plans, by the way.”

“What’s that?” Tommy asks, slowly walking up to Jon. He puts his hands on Jon’s shoulders and runs them deliberately up and down his arms.

Jon is shaking from the leftover adrenaline. He’s killed before, of course he has, but it’s been awhile. He meets Tommy’s eye and nods. He’s okay, he can do this. Frankly, he doesn’t mind watching Tommy at work. Not even in the slightest. Not that he’ll ever tell Tommy that. Or Lovett.

“He doesn’t seem to have seen you based on the chatter, but new orders are to bring the asshole in alive,” Lovett says. “No matter what.”

Tommy makes a sound that’s not far from a growl. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

“Why, Agent Vietor, I wouldn’t dare,” Lovett says, completely deadpan.

In spite of everything, Jon laughs, the sound echoing in the stairwell. Tommy looks at him and grins, squeezing tight to his elbows.

“Clean up in twenty,” Lovett says. “I’m taking this lull as an opportunity to finally eat my fucking burrito. This time difference is insane. Do you know I missed lunch already?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Tommy says, smiling fondly. “Talk to you soon.”

Lovett goes quiet in their ears, and Tommy still hasn’t moved away. Jon doesn’t know what to do. This has been a part of their cover all night, but no one’s around to see it now. At least, no one who’s still breathing.

“You okay?” Tommy asks, and Jon wonders if he’s purposely blocking the view of a dead body behind him.

Jon nods, and Tommy tilts his head down to kiss him again. Jon loses himself in it for a moment, forgetting where they are and what they’re here for. One of the lights in the stairwell flickers and it brings him back.

He pushes at Tommy’s chest. “You have to get back, the game’ll be starting back up any minute.”

“You’ll wait for the clean up crew?”

“Of course,” Jon says. “Try not to lose all our money.”

Tommy smiles, bright and sharp, and disappears through the door. Jon sags against the railing and stares at the strangled guy at his feet.

“Rough day, huh?” he says to him, and then laughs a little hysterically.

The clean up crew is early, thank god, giving Jon plenty of time to go back to their suite, shower, and change his sweat-soaked shirt before he goes back down to the game room. Tommy’s up, and he and Le Chiffre seem to be going for each other’s throats. It’s no surprise, and it’s satisfying to see Tommy’s stack of chips get higher than their target’s with every hand.

When the next break is called, Jon is nicely tipsy. Lovett’s fed him information on the LRA goons they killed, and reassured him that one of Le Chiffre’s men will be framed for the crime. Now they’re trying to think of ways to pass the time, Jon whispering answers to Lovett’s wild guesses for Twenty Questions.

“Ugh this is so much easier when you’re in the office,” Lovett says, because Jon knows he’d never say, I miss you. “We should’ve played Fuck, Marry, Kill instead.”

Jon chokes on his drink, laughing, when a warm hand slides under his jacket. He jumps, but it’s just Tommy, grinning slyly at him.

“You good?” he asks.

“Just Lovett,” Jon answers, so he gets to hear Lovett scoff indignantly in his ear.

“Let’s go,” Tommy says, taking the glass out of Jon’s hand so he can finish it himself. He steers Jon to the elevators and all the way to their room, hand hot and heavy on Jon’s lower back.

By the time Tommy twists the deadbolt, Jon is incapable of thinking about anything other than how his mouth had felt on Jon’s skin earlier.

Tommy bends to whisper into his ear. “I’ve got two hours until the next hand. You should take off your clothes.”

Jon moans lightly, and immediately starts to shrug out of his jacket.

“Huh,” says Lovett, startling a laugh out of Tommy. “Feel free to, uh, leave the earpieces in. I mean, if you want.”  

“Maybe next time, Lovett,” Tommy says dryly, removing his and holding out a hand for Jon’s.

Jon hands his over, but he can’t stop his shiver at the idea of next time.prompts are over here

#ask #anon #favs is a total bond girl fight me #fic

[tomsfashion2019-blog]

Best wonderful summer special Variety of clothes for men offers by Bangkok Tailors

Wear lightweight colors within the summer. Lighter colors can keep you cool as they mirror the foremost light weight. So white, light blue, light grey, and tan / khaki are all “neutrals”. Navy and olive additionally fall under the neutrals class, however since they’re not light-weight colors, in warm weather, summer-weight or light-weight wool, linen, and cotton are going to be your best friends. Loosely-woven materials like these can keep the air flowing freely whereas still looking sharp. Also, good tailor in Bangkok makes all type of latest style exclusive men’s clothes for summer special. Bangkok Tailor offers range of best fabrics with reasonable prices. 

Here are some summer special clothes of men

Printed Shirts

Shirts simply got a full ton additional fascinating. It’s all regarding prints now: abstract, figure and most significantly, floral. Otherwise you can even “say greeting to my very little friend” by obtaining retro with the newest Cuban style shirts.

Bold Striped Suits

Designers are swing a twist on your typical patterned suit with perceptibly daring stripes. There’s all totally different takes on this trend, starting from Diesel’s black and white jacket, paired with leather pants (standing standing ovation for this one) or there’s Berluti’s dandy theme with their transport red, white and navy version – suppose1920’s rich person on a yacht. Thailand Tailors give guarantee for their making clothes and their sewing thread remain long time.

Pleats in Your Trousers

It’s particularly ingratiating if you’ve got string-bean legs and you would like to bulk up your bottom half. You can dress them up or down, carrying them nonchalantly with a belt and shirt or or else, with a suit jacket to lift the bar a small amount a lot of.

Ripped Light Denim Jeans

D-Squared, John Elliot and Saint Laurent created it quite clear ripped denim remains going robust. Prepare to plunge into all reminder denim this summer. The runways displayed the complete spectrum of washes, starting from bleached varieties to indigo. You’ll wear the lighter versions for daytime and also the darker ones for evenings out.

Longer Shorts

Every season, shorts will ne'er appear to stay to a hem length. Well now, designers are selecting shorts that fall some inches below the knee. Key designs feature abstract patterns or jazzy daring colors with a relaxed fit every day wear. Best Tailor Bangkok have very good skill to make longer shorts. They are one of the best professional tailor of Bangkok.

Wide Leg Linen Trousers

Luxury meets comfort with wide leg linen trousers. You get plenty of way, and the comfy feel of the soft linen.  You’ll be able to choose versions with a fitted band if your physique desires additional structure or there’s perpetually the relaxed waist tie for an additional subdued ambience.

White Chinos

Thanks to white chinos, you’ve currently got the effortlessly well-groomed issue bolted down. Speaking your language? With its clean-cut match and light-weight feel, it’s your final styling hack. You’ll be able to conjointly strive rolling up the ankles for a lot of casual look.

Statement T-Shirts

These shirts will be political, as seen with the “Fall infatuated and Be additional Tender” shirt by Ashish, or they willget super weird, as modelled by Gucci’s “Future” shirt. They can conjointly feature wild or jokey prints, making statements that build completely zero sense, just like the pineapple and horn shirt by Dolce & Gabbana.

Seersucker

Seersucker is that the all-cotton material of selection for summer. With its breezy texture, accented by skinny puckered-up stripes or checkers, it helps you to beat the sweat in vogue. This material works nice with shirts, shorts and blazers – or any jacket, really, for once you want a straightforward, lightweight layer for those dressier occasions.

T-Shirts, Henleys and Polos

You can opt for a crew-neck or a V-neck. I in person like the latter, however it’s a matter of style. Another nice choice square measure Henleys (a.k.a. Y-necks). Not chuck polo-shirts.  I feel each guy ought to have many polo-shirts in their wardrobe. They’re as comfy as easy tees, however they need a collar, and a collar forever adds grade of favor to a garment.

   Shorts

Probably the one garment most related to summer are shorts.When the sun starts hot, everybody’s fast to grab a try of shorts, however few glorious the way to pull them off with style. You can definitely keep your color decisions straightforward with shorts — and it’s knowing have a minimum of one or 2 neutral choices — however shorts provide you with a good chance to possess some fun with color. They’re therefore casual, you'll simply flee with louder colors and even prints.

Shirts

Shirts are a classy boost up from plain T-shirts. They’re simply classier. I don’t suppose you usually ought to wear a shirt, however undoubtedly after you wish to create an honest impression on somebody. Many shirts are made of less-breathable materials and they’re not as comfy once the temperature starts to boil. A minimum of notice one or 2 linen shirts to feature to your wardrobe.

#Best Tailor Bangkok #good tailor in Bangkok #best suit tailor in Bangkok #top 5 tailors in Bangkok #top tailors in Bangkok #best tailor in bangkok

[topicprinter]

Hey - Pat from StarterStory.com here with another interview.Today's interview is with Ray Li of Sene, a brand that sells custom tailored clothing.Some stats:Product: Custom tailored clothing.Revenue/mo: $40,000Margin: 60-65%ROAS: 2.5-3xStarted: January 2017Location: Los Angeles, CAFounders: 1Employees: 3Hello! Who are you and what business did you start?My name is Ray Li and I’m the founder of Sene. We take the classic idea of custom tailoring and modernize it with minimalist design and a sleek collection of styles for every day of the week.Our flagship products are our Men’s Field Jacket and Women’s Montmarte Coat. They are minimalist versions of classic styles, and then we custom-make it to fit with luxurious Japanese materials.We have a unique fitting process - we use calibration garments in your standard size to get your feedback on what you wished fit differently, then we cut the garment to order in 1-2.5 weeks. All alterations and remakes are included in the retail price.Our belief was if you combined beautiful design with a stick advantage (custom), we could create extreme loyalty. Two years in, we’ve proven that with 52% annual repeat rates on some of our top categories. We’ll do a little under half a million this year and we’ve accomplished this with very little capital.Our collection for men and women currently spans custom shirts, custom pants and bottoms, custom outerwear, custom basics (i.e. made-to-measure t-shirts), custom suits, custom tuxedos and custom blazers.What's your backstory and how did you come up with the idea?After graduating from Cornell, I was in management consulting at Deloitte doing global process transformations.Then I wanted to experience the other side of the coin, and went to Interbrand and helped companies define their global brand strategy. During my time there, I won a Rebrand100 award for the strategy work for turning around what used to be The Yellow Pages.I was fascinated with the idea of building a brand from scratch. Personally, there were a lot of brands where I loved the aesthetic but being a slim asian guy, the cut usually didn’t work on me. And I’ve had custom clothing made before, but the experience just never felt that special or elevated. The idea was - what if there could be a marriage of the luxury experience of a high-end brand, but the clothing was all custom fit instead of off-the-rack?My wife and I had just gotten married and we were excited to dig into the adventure. We started playing around with the idea on nights and weekends, and we love looking back at photos of us shipping some product from our tiny studio apartment in NYC.Take us through the process of designing, prototyping, and manufacturing the product.Fashion manufacturing is incredibly hard, to begin with, and we layered on the difficulty of the data and precision of making clothes custom accurately every...single..time.Though we now use a sophisticated online platform to manage all our orders, we started out placing orders with our first manufacturer by literally sending over PDFs we made in PowerPoint with details on each order! It’s hilarious how little we knew to start, but we figured it was better to get started and despite how messy the back of house was, the front of house AKA the brand really resonated with people.Here's a grungy Facebook photo my wife posted back in the early days:“My guy, dropping off 17 custom orders in the mail to a few of his customers.”We went through two manufacturers before we found the current two that we work with now. The lesson learned is - you get what you pay for. And if you want to create world-class product, you have to work with world-class manufacturers.For us - it wasn’t just making a beautiful clothing product, we had to figure out how you get people who would never shop custom to buy into custom clothing. And we’re not just talking suits, I’m talking about raw denim joggers and wool/silk blend field jackets. This is a radically new way to shop, and we experimented with a ton of different formats.We quickly went to omni-channel and now have our retail flagship store in LA. That was scary because most brands are digital-only for many years until they open a store.For us, because we were creating a new category, the store was like a research laboratory where we could learn about our customers really quickly. I remember signing that first rent check - it was the most money I had ever given away and it freaked me out.We also had to build a ton of technology to manage the data. We need body data, fit data, and order history data as well as how their fit evolves over the lifetime of doing business with us. We initially worked with a developer that was way too cheap and wrote really messy code and did a terrible job with QA, then we worked with a fantastic developer but unfortunately was too expensive for us. So you have to do what makes sense for where your company is and decide what you can afford, as well as what you’ll be really good at and what you’ll outsource.Describe the process of launching the business.Shopify has made the world a lot easier for entrepreneurs. I started with Wordpress, which is much better suited for blogging. Any sort of e-commerce business requires a lot of software integrations (i.e., email, app reviews, social) and Shopify is the best at this. It was a nightmare and we quickly switched over to Shopify, which today is a no brainer.We raised a 300K friends & family round and use it to launch a Los Angeles flagship store, develop a collection, and define a new way to shop. We were super frugal since we didn’t have the luxury of raising a bunch of venture capital money.Our advisory board includes the Retail Design Lead at Google who used to also lead environmental design at IDEO. He helped us create our retail concept, so we were able to launch a beautiful store from the start.At our launch event, it was pouring rain in LA and I was bummed that no one was going to come (yes LA is flaky). However come evening, we had almost 300 people show up to the flagship store. You could hardly move and people were overflowing into the street and the back alley. It was electric. We had a pretty big email list and just invited everyone who was in LA to come, and we partnered with Malin + Goetz and Hendrick’s Gin to offer free cocktails and products. A launch event is always a great way to get press, and can be cost-efficient if you can have vendors sponsor the food & beverage.However, the challenge was I had no idea how to run a store. In the first year, we went through several retail staff since I didn’t know what we were looking for and I spent a lot of time on the sales floor myself on weekdays and weekends just to learn the ropes. We learned that as a young brand that most people don’t know, the product really has to be sold - meaning you need strong sales associates who really tell the story of the brand and build relationships with customers. We’ve seen a 3x difference between really great associates who love the brand and champion it vs associates who are happy to sit on a chair and surf the internet.Since launch, what has worked to attract and retain customers?We tried most marketing tactics (that we could afford).Here’s what didn’t work:Hiring a paid marketing agencyWe hired a paid marketing agency but it didn’t work out well - our price point was too high to rely on Facebook Ads as the primary way for people to learn about us. Since most of our customers have never shopped custom, they really either needed to learn about us from sources of trust - friends, influencers and press.Hiring a PR personWe hired a PR person for a below market rate - but that person didn’t get much in terms of press hits. Then we started doing desktop research, just looking up journalists and sending them our story, and that’s when we started getting our best press stories (i.e. LA Times, WWD, Fashionista, etc).Here’s what did work for us:Influencer partnershipsWe focus heavily on influencer partnerships where we gift people free product to talk about the experience, and that started to perform quite well. For example, we worked with Sonja Rasula, the CEO of Unique Markets, to document her experience of getting suited up, and her wearing it at a wedding.Our business is very visual, and this allowed customers to see how simple it was to get custom, which most people think takes forever.Photo and video contentWe focus on creating photo and video content that is entertaining and creates value for the person. We will be releasing our first season of video features in Jan 2019, showcasing the entrepreneurial journey of someone from Death Cab For Cutie, the director for HBO shows like Insecure, and the CEO of Violet Grey.WholesaleAt this point, we’re not doing wholesale. Since we’re direct-to-consumer, we pass on the margin in the form of savings to the customer.Channels like Amazon also aren’t relevant since the process is more complex and can’t be managed on a traditional marketplace platform.How are you doing today and what does the future look like?We are pretty close to being consistently profitable, and that’s because we’re super frugal on our spend.Our business is very capital efficient. Our gross margins are 60-65% after shipping and fulfillment, and we make all of our products to order, so we hold hardly any inventory except that which goes toward the try-on experience in-store and online.My cousin Mark Zheng joined as my business partner at the start of this year and we hired Victoria, who is an amazing Retail Experience Lead, in Q2 this year. Massive positive impact on the business to round out the leadership team with people with strengths that are quite different than mine.On influencer campaigns, we see a 2.5-3x return on spend depending on the influencer, so we’re working hard to optimize our criteria on influencer selection. We have pretty high average order values, so that really helps us in terms of what we can afford to acquire a customer.Our plan in the next 12 months is to double-down on the LA market while significantly scaling our ecommerce business.Through starting the business, have you learned anything particularly helpful or advantageous?It helps tremendously to have a business partner. Before my cousin Mark joined, I ran a test with him helping out on a contract basis. We are very close and I knew it could either be amazing or horrible. I also prayed a lot about it and asked for advice from friends, and felt a lot of peace about the decision. It’s made a world of a difference to get to share the highs and lows of the journey with him.The theme is - take your time to work with the right people. In the early days, if you bring on the wrong person, it can kill the business. As an entrepreneur, you’re desperate for help and it’s easy to grab help wherever you can get it but it’s often better to wait and make sure.For consumer products, it’s also important to partner with the other companies with tight brand fit. It doesn’t matter whether you like a company personally. We had this one experience where we ran a multi-month brand partnership with a shoe brand where we personally loved the product but their customers felt our products were too expensive and it didn’t pan out.Finally, I’ve found that strong personal rhythms are important to keep you level-headed. My wife and I are part of a community group through our church and we also try to do date night often. Mark, his gf Cathy, my wife Krista and I often go out and do fun stuff together too.What platform/tools do you use for your business?E-commerce: ShopifyPersonal Email Mgmt: FrontCustomer Emails: KlaviyoCustomer service: FrontSocial Media: PlanolyAnalytics: Google Analytics, MozCollaboration: SlackUX: Sketch, InvisionContent: Adobe Creative SuiteWhat have been the most influential books, podcasts, or other resources?PodcastsHow I Built ThisBusiness Of FashionWell MadeBooksGritNever Split The Difference: Negotiating As If You’re Life Depended On ItThe Hard Thing About Hard ThingsThinking In BetsAdvice for other entrepreneurs who want to get started or are just starting out?It is not about how smart you are, it’s about the grit to stick it through the darkest and loneliest times.You may be smart, but you are not smart enough. Surround yourself with people who are better than you.Honesty and integrity matter.You run your business, your business shouldn’t run you. Never blame your business for not being able to accomplish things - take responsibility.Are you looking to hire for certain positions right now?We’re looking for a technical design lead and a content lead.Where can we go to learn more?senestudio.cominstagram.com/senestudioLiked this text interview? Check out the full interview with photos, tools, books, and other data.Interested in sharing your own story? Send me a PM

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[olivereliott]

Road tested: Gear from Aether, Saint and Shoei

Today I’m breaking down three pieces of gear that have very quickly become staples in my closet. Say hello to the helmet that’s converted me to modern lids, a jacket that I’d wear to meetings, and my new favorite jeans.

Let’s dive right in…

Shoei RYD Helmet I’m a dyed-in-the-wool retro helmet guy. Call me a hipster or a slave to fashion, but I really like simple, stylish helmets in classic styles, and I think they suit the bikes we feature here more than modern lids do.

Here’s the problem though: retro helmets are great for cruising around on scramblers or cafe racers. But on faster bikes, or over longer distances, they pretty much suck. They’re noisy, not very aerodynamic, and often don’t vent well. So when I got an invite to tour Eastern Europe on a bagger, I knew none of the old-school helmets in my humble collection were going to cut it. Luckily Shoei Helmets UK came to the rescue, hooking me up with the new Shoei RYD (sold in the US as the RF-SR, with a breath guard).

Let’s get this out the way immediately: I love this helmet, and I’m not ashamed to admit that that’s fifty percent down to its looks. Shoei kept the RYD’s aesthetic subtle and understated, with a lack of excessive contours, and proportions that are vaguely reminiscent of old racing helmets. So it cuts a neutral silhouette that complements my Kawasaki W650 as much as the Ducati Monster 797 I was hooning around on the other day.

The RYD comes in at £350, and is only available in solid colors. I opted for the matt blue metallic finish paired with a tinted visor, and was floored by how good it looks in the light of day. The combination of metallic paint and a matt finish is every bit as stunning as it sounds, and the overall build quality is stellar. (But be warned—that matt finish is a real pain to keep clean.)

The other half of my love for the RYD is all about how good it feels. My pip measures 62cm, which puts me at an XL for most manufacturers, including Shoei. Straight out of the box the XL RYD fit snug and comfortable, with no hotspots and no need to break it in. The interior might not feature the sort of quilted leather touches that you’ll find on high-end retro helmets, but it has marshmallow-like levels of plushness.

It’s also removable and washable, and the cheek pads have a quick release system to help medical personnel get your helmet off safely in an emergency. I don’t use a Bluetooth comms system myself, but it looks like there’d be enough space to fit one, and I can get my sunglasses on without much fuss.

The outer shell uses Shoei’s ‘Advance Integrated Matrix Plus’ design, which is basically just a mix of fiberglass and organic fibers, but makes for a pretty svelte helmet at a hair under 3 lbs. There’s also a multi-density EPS liner, and it’s probably worth noting that Shoei use four shell sizes across the size range, which is reassuring for riders with smaller heads. Keeping the helmet in place is a standard issue double D-ring system, padded for comfort and kitted with a press-stud for stowing the end of the strap.

Plush and light are two major boxes to tick, but the RYD also scores high in other areas. It’s pretty quiet, even on naked bikes, with little to no buffeting at speed. It’s well ventilated too, with three front vents (one at the chin and two up top) that are all easy to operate with gloves, and two ‘spoiler’ exit vents at the back.

Noise levels are obviously a touch elevated with the vents open, but not unbearably so, and there’s a little chin curtain too to help keep things peaceful.

The visor is another standout feature: It’s the same CWR-1 shield used on Shoei’s RF1200 and NXR helmets. The eye port is nice and wide, there’s zero optical distortion, and the anti-fogging Pinlock system is highly effective, even when stuck at traffic lights.

The visor goes up and down in incremental clicks, and clips closed via a neat carbon fiber notch on the left. It also forms a pretty tight seal: there’s a clever spring-loaded hinge system that ‘hugs’ it against the helmet. Swapping shields is insanely easy, and as a bonus, the base plate that the shield attaches to on each side is carbon fiber.

Any nitpicks? Yes, one: I don’t like the look of the top vents. I think the aggressive ‘V’ shape messes with the RYD’s subtlety. But that’s my only gripe, and it hasn’t stopped the RYD from becoming my go-to helmet on any bike. [Buy]

Aether Apparel Rally jacket Aether’s approach to motorcycle gear is the same as its technical apparel. The LA-based company makes high-tech, highly functional stuff, with minimalist styling. And that philosophy is in full effect in their new Rally jacket.

It’s fully waterproof and armored—as you’d expect at $550. Fortunately everything feels primo, right down to the packaging. My Rally came neatly folded in a suit bag, wrapped in black tissue paper, with the relevant paperwork and Aether’s ‘Journal’ stashed in a zippered pouch. I realize this might seem frivolous to some, but it makes for a wicked first impression. Other cute touches included an emergency whistle, and a small aluminum key ring stash tube with a pair of earplugs.

More notably, there was also a full complement of D3O® armor in the box, including EVO XT elbow and shoulder pads, and a Viper ST back protector. Aether did a great job with the pockets for these, and getting everything in (and out) was a cinch. Also included: Aether’s lifetime guarantee, something you seldom get with bike gear.

The Rally jacket’s outer shell is a three-layer abrasion-resistant nylon. It’s seam-sealed to be fully waterproof and wind-resistant without the need for any additional liners. (Since Cape Town’s currently experiencing a drought, I haven’t yet been able to test the Rally in adverse conditions, but I’ve put many rainy miles into Aether’s similar Skyline jacket and it’s held up for the most part.)

The overall styling is best described as urban workwear with a hint of adventure riding influence (hence, ‘Rally’). It’s a slightly longer cut than usual, with a slight drop in the tail for maximum coverage when riding. The main zipper is a heavy-duty, two-way affair—so you can open it from the bottom if the extra length bugs you while riding.

There’s a storm flap behind the zip, and an outer flap that seals up via press-studs. The attention to detail here is next level—each press-stud has a ‘loop’ behind it that helps you get a gloved finger in to snap it in place, and the outer bits are rubberized to prevent tank scratches.

Aether tend to cut their gear for a more athletic build, so the Rally has a pretty slim fit, with no waist adjusters to tailor it. I sized mine according to my chest measurement, so it sits a little tight around my podgy gut, forcing it to pull up at the back a bit. If you’re pear-shaped like me, you might want to size up or consider other options.

Personally, I wouldn’t mind seeing some more give around the waist with some basic adjustment, but my guess is that Aether wanted to keep the overall layout as uncluttered as possible. A belt loop attachment—similar to the type REV’IT! supply on their Stealth hoody—would also be useful.

The outside of the Rally features a chest pocket, two zippered hand warmer pockets, and two press-stud pockets that seem to be purely for decoration. There’s a zippered Napoleon pocket on the inside too. Each pocket is lined with the same fabric as the main jacket body—a plaid cotton that not only looks amazing, but is ridiculously soft to the touch.

That little bit of extra refinement and comfort means that my Rally might even end up doing casual duty from time to time. It also doesn’t hurt that there’s barely any branding on it.

So it’s stylish, functional and comfortable—if you stay off the pies. But how many months of the year is it useful? My money’s on most, if not all, of them. Aether have kitted the Rally with long, dual zipper armpit vents (with tabs to make them easier to grab with gloves), and two exit vents at the back.

Spring has sprung down here, and I’ve already had the Rally out in some pretty toasty weather—as simple as the vent setup is, it’s highly effective for directing fresh air where you need it. And on colder days, I’ve found Aether’s claims of wind-resistance to be valid, simply adding a layer when temperatures really dropped.

Best of all, the Rally comes in three colors, one of which is black. Which, as we all know, goes with everything. [Buy]

Saint Stretch jeans We’ve profiled Saint jeans a few times here on Bike EXIF, and keep coming back to the Australian brand for one simple reason—their denim. Let’s recap: instead of layering their jeans with ballistic materials like Kevlar, Saint use a denim woven with an ultra-strong fabric called Dyneema. The result is single-layer (read: supremely comfortable) denim that’s highly abrasion-resistant.

Now they’ve taken the concept a step further, with a new stretch version of their ‘Unbreakable’ denim. By adding 2% Elastane to the mix, the jeans now have 180-degree stretch, but the fabric is still CE Level 1 approved. The claimed slide time/distance is four seconds/50 meters (160 feet). The jeans aren’t armored, so you’ll need to figure out where impact protection lies on your priority list.

These jeans are cut to a very specific style that won’t appeal to everyone—and that’s OK. But stretch denim, generally speaking, is ridiculously comfortable. My go-to jeans are a pair of black stretch Levi 511s, and I’ve long wished for riding pants that felt the same. Like some genie from Down Under, Saint granted my wish.

The fit is slim but not too skinny, with a standard five-pocket layout, a tapered leg, a mid-waist and low rise. That last part means that they hang lower in the butt than what I like when I’m riding, but since the alternative is high-waisted dad jeans, I’ve learnt to just tuck in my T-shirt and get on with it.

Size-wise, I’m a 38 in just about any jeans and these are no exception—except that Saint only make them in a 36 length, which means you’re going to end up cuffing them. They also break in quickly, and stretch almost a half size within the first few hours of wear, so consider sizing down if you’re on the cusp of two sizes.

If you like geeking out over denim, this next bit’s for you. Saint use 12 indigo and two black dye baths to dye the Stretch jeans, before washing each pair. They call the finish Jet Black Indigo which, in the flesh, looks exactly like you’d imagine: a really, really, really dark blue. I’ve been putting the hours into my pair on and off the bike, and I can already tell that they’re going to fade beautifully over time. General details are subtle, with minimal branding and a nice Saint ‘wing’ embroidered on the back pocket.

There are a couple of things bugging me though. I’ve already had to snip a few renegade threads, none of which have caused anything to unravel. But more concerning is that the zip has felt snaggy from day one, and I’m pretty sure I’m going to have to replace it sooner than I should need to. Considering the AU$399 price tag, I’m hoping these are just early run niggles, and not indicative of Saint’s overall quality.

That aside, Saint’s Stretch jeans are fast becoming my new go-tos. I’ve worn them more off the bike than on it, and when I am on the bike, their stretch qualities make for riding jeans that are supremely comfy, all day long. I think of them less as riding jeans that can pass for casual wear, and more as a great pair of denims that will hold up when things go random. [Buy]

Note: Saint will have these in two women’s cuts soon as well.