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fashiondesigninstitute · 6 months

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From Concept to Collection: Strategies for Managing a Fashion Line

In the world of fashion, bringing a concept to life and creating a cohesive collection is a multi-faceted process that demands creativity, precision, and effective management. Managing a fashion line involves a range of tasks, from designing and production to marketing and distribution. In this article, we'll explore the essential strategies to guide you from the initial concept to a successful fashion collection.

Conceptualization and Design

The journey of a fashion line begins with an idea. It could be inspired by a theme, a specific style, or a unique concept. Start by sketching your ideas, creating mood boards, and gathering inspiration from various sources. Remember, the key to a successful collection is a strong and cohesive concept that runs through every piece.

Research and Market Analysis

Before you delve into production, it's crucial to conduct thorough research and market analysis. Understand your target audience, their preferences, and the current fashion trends. Identify gaps in the market that your collection can fill. This research will help you tailor your designs to meet the demands of your intended customers.

Budgeting and Financial Planning

Managing a fashion line involves substantial financial considerations. Create a detailed budget that accounts for design and production costs, marketing expenses, overhead, and other financial aspects. Staying on top of your budget is crucial to the long-term success of your collection.

Sourcing Materials and Production

Selecting the right materials is a pivotal aspect of creating a successful fashion line. Partner with reliable suppliers and manufacturers who can provide the quality materials you need. Ensure that your production process is efficient and maintains high standards to meet the demands of your collection.

Quality Control and Testing

Rigorous quality control is essential to maintaining the integrity of your fashion line. Regularly inspect your pieces for any defects or inconsistencies. Test your designs to ensure they stand up to wear and tear. Consistently high-quality products are key to establishing a strong brand reputation.

Branding and Marketing

Once your collection is ready, it's time to promote it to your target audience. Develop a strong brand identity and marketing strategy. Utilize social media, websites, and partnerships to create buzz around your fashion line. Effective branding and marketing can significantly impact your collection's success.

Distribution and Sales Channels

Decide on the distribution channels for your fashion line. Will you sell directly to consumers through your website, collaborate with retailers, or explore other options? Each channel has its own requirements, so choose those that align with your collection's goals.

Inventory Management

Efficient inventory management is crucial for both cost control and ensuring you meet customer demand. Utilize inventory software and strategies to track stock levels and make informed decisions regarding restocking or discontinuing specific items.

Customer Feedback and Adaptation

Listen to your customers. Collect feedback and reviews on your fashion line. Use this information to adapt and improve your designs and offerings. Customer satisfaction and loyalty are essential to building a successful brand.

Sustainability and Ethical Practices

Fashion consumers are increasingly concerned about sustainability and ethical practices. Consider how you can incorporate sustainable materials and ethical production methods into your fashion line. This not only appeals to conscious consumers but also contributes to the long-term health of the fashion industry.

Managing a fashion line is a multifaceted endeavor, requiring a combination of creativity and business acumen. By conceptualizing your vision, conducting research, managing your finances, producing quality items, and marketing effectively, you can navigate the journey from concept to a thriving fashion collection.

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Remember, the key to success lies in meticulous planning, dedication, and a commitment to delivering high-quality fashion that resonates with your target audience. With the right strategies and a passion for your craft, your fashion line can make a significant impact in the ever-evolving world of fashion.

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blurredcolour · 7 months

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The Night Moves | Part One

The Night Moves Masterlist

Alternate Universe

supernatural!Bradley Bradshaw x Female Reader; supernatural!Jacob Seresin x Female Reader

Summary: An internship with the Smithsonian’s National Museum of American History should have been the highlight of your academic career. The perfect addition to your resume while you worked on your doctoral thesis. An interdepartmental assignment, however, sees your reality ripped apart by incomprehensible forces. Five tumultuous days will leave you forever changed and inextricably linked to two men born centuries apart.

Warnings: Angst, Language, Violence, Blood, Gore, Supernatural Themes, Historical Inaccuracies, Institutional Inaccuracies, Mature/Explicit Themes - 18+ Only

Author's Note: Typically I provide sanitized versions of my more violent scenes however they are rather crucial to this entire series so please heed my warnings and do not engage with this series if you are not interested in reading blood and gore. Thank you for your understanding!

Word Count: 4053

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-Tuesday-

The sound of fallen leaves skittering across the pavement behind you would have brought a smile to your face if the card reader at the staff entrance of the National Museum of Natural History would only function properly. You had tried sliding your personnel card marked ‘intern’ through it quickly, slowly, repeatedly, and every attempt ended in two buzzes and a red-light signaling failure.

You were expected in the lab in five minutes and at this rate you were going to be late – not the impression you were hoping to make on your first inter-facility project. You took a step back and inhaled deeply, turning your head to your right to appreciate the brilliant orange leaves tipped in red barely clinging to the trees on the boulevard. The days had been unseasonably warm lately, though the arrival of a crisp north wind was heralding a change. Grounded and refreshed you approached the card reader once more and pulled your keycard forward, the lanyard around your neck taut, trying a slow, smooth slide through the slot. The resulting chirp and green light had you sighing in relief.

“Finally…” You uttered and wrenched the door open, hurrying down the stairs and through the corridor to the room number that had been provided via email. Stopping just outside, you took a moment to fill your lungs with air and smooth your lab coat before stepping inside calmly.

While you had reviewed the parameters of the assignment numerous times, nothing could have prepared you for what was waiting in that room. A catastrophic fire in a Virginia church two weeks ago had unearthed a lead-lined sarcophagus, which initial investigations had determined dated from the War of Independence. It had been delivered to the department of forensic anthropology for examination on Thursday of last week and as the initial scans of the vessel revealed there were artifacts contained within, the project had expanded to involve the National Museum of American History as well.

While your position as an intern had not garnered you an invitation to the opening of the sarcophagus, you had been fortunate enough to be assigned with the initial cataloguing of the items found within. Nonetheless you were still taken aback by the sight of a mummified corpse laid out on a wheeled exam table with the rest of the artifacts set out on other tables beside. The most striking thing of all, however, was the utter lack of damage to the artifacts one would expect from them being locked in a box with a decaying body for two-and-a-half centuries. From your vantage point they appeared aged and worn, to be sure, but otherwise very much intact.

A chill rolled through your body as you stepped further into the sterile room, and you heard a poorly smothered laugh. Turning quickly toward the sound, you spotted two forensic anthropology interns, Brett and Raj, whom you recognized from the Smithsonian-wide orientation meetings in the spring.

“It’s freezing in here to keep the smell down.” Brett, a strawberry-blond with a smattering of freckles across his nose, explained with a hint of apology in his voice. “We don’t often get remains like this…”

“With so much meat on them, he means.” Raj, with his black hair falling carelessly into his eyes, clarified.

“Ah.” You replied simply, not entirely certain how to reply to a statement like that.

“There is clothing on the remains to be catalogued but we have a few more scans to run, would you mind starting with the other items while we finish up?” Brett continued, despite the callous nature of his colleague’s words.

“Not at all, the majority of it seems to be on the tables anyway.” You nodded, gesturing to the objects that had been unpacked by people high above your pay grade.

You stepped aside as they rolled the table past you and through the doorway, murmuring their thanks as they pulled a sheet over the body respectfully. Brett’s sneakers squeaked slightly on the tile floor, the sound fading as they grew further away.

Accustomed to working with their belongings rather than the long-dead directly, you immediately found it easier to breathe as soon as you found yourself alone. You grabbed an unoccupied chair from the corner of the room, reaching down to pull the lever beneath to seat and raise it to its highest setting. Retrieving your laptop from your bag, which you left hanging on one of the racks of hooks in the corner, you set it on your makeshift workstation. You walked along the row of tables filled with items awaiting cataloguing to the furthest from the door planning on working your way back to the gap the remains would eventually return to.

Sliding on a pair of gloves from a box on the counter that ran the rear perimeter of the room, you carefully picked up a pocketknife from the exam table, turning it in your fingers slowly to search for any unique characteristics. The initials ‘J.S.’ were carved into the wooden inlay on the underside, which you quickly added under the item’s notes on your laptop.

Retrieving the digital camera from the deep pocket of your lab coat, you took several photos of the knife before repeating the process with a pile of British notes and coins, a clay pipe, a pouch of tobacco, and a small black ledger with pages of accounts that would need further study, before coming to stand in front of a British regular’s uniform jacket. A private’s rank from what you could tell at first glance. Looking back toward the door, you furrowed your brows in confusion having sworn that the corpse was wearing a South Carolinian infantryman’s jacket.

“Odd…” You murmured in puzzlement, turning back to the task at hand.

You were nearly through with the loose items on the tables when the rattling of caster wheels from the hall announced the return of Raj and Brett with their charge. They replaced the exam table to its original spot in the room, locking the wheels with a series of clacks before folding the sheet back to lay at the corpse’s feet.

“You’ve got it from here?” Raj asked halfway out the door, not waiting for an answer before he was gone.

Brett scoffed, shaking his head as he signed off for the both of them on a clipboard, setting it down on the counter beside the body before looking to you. “Don’t forget to fill out your portion of the paperwork. We’ll lock up when you’re finished.”

“Will do, thank you.” You nodded before taking a fortifying breath, reluctantly moving over to the exam table.

Your eyes immediately fell upon the blue coat with red lapels, confirming your initial glimpse. Dressed in the uniform of the South Carolina Continental Army, with the ivory breeches and tall black boots to match, the presence of the red coat in his rucksack was all the more mystifying. But the shape occupying the artifacts, though desiccated, was still undeniably human – a fact that was deeply unsettlingly.

Embarrassingly, your hands took on a slight tremble above your keyboard and despite all wisdom to the contrary you found your eyes drifting towards the deceased soldier’s face. Logic told you the twisted expression resembling pain was from the contraction of muscles as they lost their moisture, but it nonetheless evoked a sense of deep suffering. Yet despite the years spent in that metal box, silken strands of golden hair still framed his face, the longer pieces pulled back into a tight plait at the nape of his neck, barely visible from your current angle.

The only sound in the room came from the faint hum of the fluorescent lights and light-headedness washed over you as you realized you were holding your breath. Wrenching your eyes from that tortured look, your gaze ricocheted about the room for something safer to focus on before landing on the dull, mud-splattered leather of his boots. You took a breath and slowly typed the color ‘black’ before exhaling slowly and describing the worn condition of their soles. Another inhale and exhale bracketed your estimation of the shoe size.

Employing similar tactics, you worked your way up the articles of clothing, one by one. Inhaling, exhaling, typing, photographing. Given that you were not authorized to touch the remains, you had to rely on the visible angles of the clothing, crouching and stretching, craning your neck and circling the table to take in as much detail as possible. It was yet to be determined if further investigation of the remains, including cleaning of the bones, was warranted and it was entirely possible these clothes would remain on the body for reburial, so you were diligent in your work.

Well, as diligent as the oppressive feeling of ill-ease that was cloying at your senses would allow. So grateful to be finished your work, were you, that you ripped off your gloves and were almost halfway out the door when you remembered Brett’s instruction to sign off on your portion of the paperwork. Swearing under your breath you clenched your fists and forced your feet to turn back toward the body and retrieve the clipboard from the counter beside it. You hastily flipped through the pages, willfully ignoring the seemingly anguished face to your left.

The careless speed which you employed in desperation to remove yourself from that room was not without consequence; the fine edge of the top sheet of paper catching the plush edge of the pad of your index finger. You hissed at the sting as blood welled up immediately, snapping your wrist in a self-chastising movement, unaware of the scatter of droplets you sent through the air before pulling the wound between your lips to stop the bleeding. Setting the clipboard down on the countertop with a clatter, you rapidly initialled through all the sections pertaining to you before noting the time of ‘7:05 pm’ and signed out.

The day had melted through your fingers, and it was now well past the normal time you went home. Your feet carried you back up the stairs, moving just as rapidly as you had hours before, this time driven by a desire to leave that room and its corpse behind. The air outside was anything but fresh, the humidity so close to one hundred percent that moisture hung in the form of mist, thunder rumbling ominously in the distance. Yet you had never been so grateful to be outside. You eased the pace of your aching leg muscles, making your way down the street towards your regular building to hang up your lab coat, collect your things, and head home for the evening.

The tension in your shoulders eased with each step, the heaviness in your chest feeling lighter as the staff door to your usual place of work was in sight. You were nearly there when a hand fell heavily upon your shoulder, making you yelp and whirl back defensively.

“Where the hell is my body?” Raj sneered at you petulantly, the question so preposterous that you blinked up at him not fully comprehending it for several seconds.

“What are you talking about?!” You finally found the wherewithal to answer. “Right there on the exam table where I left –”

“This sort of thing might pass as humor in your building, but it is most certainly not funny, come with me.” He interrupted coldly and thrust an authoritative arm forward in a commanding gesture, leaving you no choice but to turn back toward the basement you had just escaped from. You had been so close.

Retracing your steps, with Raj’s furious form at your back, you were filled with a sense of foreboding as your keycard once again acted up. With an infuriated huff he swiped his card aggressively from behind you. Even the door bowed before his rage and promptly unlocked. He flung it open, and you flinched out of the way reflexively before darting through the opening, not wanting to fan the flames of his ire any hotter. You flogged your brain, begging it to produce a reasonable explanation for the problem he was presenting you with but all it produced was the unhelpful buzzing of fear in response to Raj’s threatening presence behind you and the memory of that tortured soldier’s face in the basement.

Yet he had spoken the truth. When you stepped into the room, the exam table was empty, the sight making your stomach fall straight through the floor. All the other artifacts remained saved the most pivotal. You turned quickly to defend yourself.

“I swear to you, I signed out at 7:05 and got the hell out of here. I couldn’t bear to spend one more minute with that body…” Your palms grew damp as you spoke, trying to focus on any possible, rational, logical explanations. There were few.

His dark eyes narrowed, looking you over, calculating for a moment before he nodded. “Well, your signature is the last on the sheet and now it’s gone. So, you’re going to help me find it. And if it wasn’t your poor taste then it most certainly had to be Brett’s. You take this corridor and I’ll take that one.” He gestured in opposite directions as he spoke, making your throat spasm anxiously.

“Are you sure, I don’t know this building very well –”

“Just get on with it, you’ve already kept me here late.” He snapped and turned, walking off in his chosen direction, leaving you to yours.

Swallowing dryly, you turned with trepidation before forcing one foot in front of the other, trying doors as you went. The majority of them turned out to be locked, your key card of no use in the face of a traditional keyhole, so you continued on further and further away from the stairwell, from Raj, from the exam room. Reaching what you assumed was the end of the building you turned the corner and felt the shock of ice water in your veins. A pair of legs, lying prone on the floor, sneakers on their feet, peered out from around the next corner in the distance.

“Brett…?” You called out hesitantly, voice cracking, as your memory summoned the image of his footwear from earlier in the day. Clearing your throat, you hastened your steps and tried again with more volume. “Brett?!”

Rounding the second corner the air was punched from your lungs as the torn flesh of his neck and the gush of blood from the wound filled your eyes.

“Oh fuck!” Your voice was high pitched and you would have mortified you in normal circumstances – yet these were anything but. You dropped your bag and yanked off your lab coat, viciously fighting with the sleeves as they snagged on your wrists until you finally wrenched the fabric free. Balling it up, you pressed it tightly against his neck in a pathetic attempt to staunch the bleeding and started shrieking for help.

Your voice was hoarse by the time you, at last, heard the sound of quick-paced footsteps and heaving breaths growing closer. The security guard who appeared from around the corner might as well have been a fleet of medics, for all the relief his arrival brought you. He quickly summoned an ambulance using his radio and dove in immediately to assist you in trying to stop the bleeding.

“Help is coming, Brett, hold on…” You tried to soothe the wide-eyed man, who’s mouth was gulping for air not unlike a fish out of water.

Futile gurgling sounds were coming from his throat, blood bubbling at the corner of his lips and you felt hot tears pricking at your lash line as you got a solid look at how dire his situation was.

“They’re almost here, just stay still…” You choked out, regretfully registering the splatter of blood droplets that had infiltrated the cheerful freckles across his face. “We’ve got you.” The acrid tang of panic flooded your mouth as his noises grew faint, the light in his eyes grew dim, his body grew still. “Nononono…Brett…” Your voice fractured as the tears you had been thus far keeping at bay flooded your eyes.

“He’s stopped breathing, there’s no pulse in his wrist.” You vaguely registered the voice of the guard behind you. “I’m starting CPR.”

As he began compressions there was a sickly crunch as Brett’s ribs snapped, a wave of nausea roiling through you before his body convulsed with each successive blow. All the manual beating of Brett’s heart achieved was to drive more blood from his neck wound, rapidly soaking through the wad of your lab coat and onto the institutional tiles of the floor.

Silent sobs wracked your body as you struggled to maintain pressure against the wound, the fabric in your hands quickly drenched as a flood of humanity poured down the hall. A firefighter was hauling you and your bloodstained hands out of the way, sitting you against the opposite wall beside the sweat-drenched and dazed security guard. It was not much longer before pair of paramedics arrived, all manner of life-saving tools employed on the horrifyingly motionless figure on the floor until the flurry suddenly stopped. They started pulling away.

You watched, numb, as two of the firefighters draped a sheet over Brett until one of the medics – a woman with kind eyes and an angular face with the name patch ‘Zambrano’ on her chest – was right in front of you, asking your name. You murmured it robotically before swallowing tightly.

“Is…is he…?”

“I’m so sorry. Can I give you a look over? Are you hurt at all?” She eyed the blood on your hands, and you shook your head quickly.

“It’s… it’s all… his.” You stuttered and wiped your eyes on your sleeves. “Oh god…” You whispered, looking up as several police officers crowded into the already cramped hallway.

The next few hours passed in a blur punctuated by brief moments of clarity – the medic helping you wash your hands, one of the firefighters wrapping a blanket around your shoulders when you could not stop shaking, Brett’s body being wheeled down the hallway, a series of questions from the police. It was past midnight by the time you found yourself leaving your building, forcing a half-disintegrated granola bar from the bottom of your work bag down your throat – not from hunger but because the rational side of your brain dictated you needed nourishment.

You barely registered the splash of water as you stepped off the curb onto northwest Madison Drive before frigid water seeped into your shoe. You looked down and sighed deeply as the moisture quickly dampened the fabric of your sock, lurching forward to avoid the puddle with your other foot. The Mall was eerily quiet, the only evidence of the tourists that normally occupied the space was the scattered trash in the process of being collected by a handful of sanitation workers.

The Washington Monument was illuminated a ghostly white in the distance as you came to the top of the escalators leading down to the Smithsonian Metro Station when your faculties at last returned to you; finally processing the fact that there were no trains after midnight.

“Fuck me…” You breathed and turned to trudge back to the street, shoving a hand into your jacket pocket to retrieve your phone, crying out as you crashed into the muscled bulk of a man clad in a brown suede jacket. You jerked back, feeling your centre of gravity tilt off balance as your body erupted once again into the shakes you had eventually subdued an hour ago.

“Whoa, sorry!” Came his gravelly exclamation as his hands gripped your shoulders, pulling you closer lest you fall backward down the escalators. “You alright there, sweetheart?” He asked as he guided you over to the safety of the grass, tilting his head to get a better look at you, revealing his face in the process.

You swallowed roughly taking in his kind, coffee-colored eyes, the curl of his chestnut hair, and the way his mustache caressed his upper lip. There was something soothing about his very presence – the warmth radiating from his hands on your shoulders, the hint of sandalwood in his cologne. The effect was calming, fortifying. You exhaled deeply in response to his question, the quivering in your muscles subsiding.

“I’m sorry it’s…it’s just been a day.” You shook you head at the inadequacy of your statement, watching his lips quirk up slightly in response.

“It hasn’t been day for quite some time.” He teased gently, releasing your shoulders now that you were steadier on your feet.

“Ha,” You laughed once and nodded in agreement. “You’re telling me.” Resuming your quest to pull your phone from your pocket, you finally succeeded, pulling up your rideshare app. “Missed the last train, and now…well my luck is consistent. The next available car is fifteen minutes away.” You submitted your ride request and let your hand drop to your side in defeat.

“Let me wait with you, it’s a lot quieter out here than I expected.” You eyed with warily a moment until he offered his hand to shake. “Bradley Bradshaw, pleased to meet you.”

You glanced between his face and his broad, extended palm before placing your hand in his, replying with your name as he wrapped his fingers around yours. His handshake was the right mixture of strength and confidence; not too aggressive but firm enough to raise the temperature of your skin.

“Let’s go sit on that bench at the bus stop so your driver can find you easily.” He gestured before guiding you in that direction with his hand at the small of your back.

“So, you expected it to be full of tourists out here even at midnight?” You asked, mimicking normal human conversation despite the weariness you felt all the way to your bones.

He chuckled and shrugged. “Not sure what I expected honestly, just moved here and came out to get the lay of the land.”

You sank down heavily onto the bench the instant the pair of you reached your destination and looked up at him with a tired grin. “Well, if you want to see the museums you’ll have to come when we’re open” You laughed, a thrill fluttering through your stomach as he grinned in response.

“Might just have to take you up on that.” He sat on the bench beside you, legs spread wide enough that his knee brushed against yours. “The way you said ‘we,’ I take it you work in one of them?”

“American History.” You nodded, clearing your throat as your voice still bore the aftereffects of prolonged shrieking.

He looked up at the row of buildings across the road before glancing at the same behind you, across the Mall, before mistakenly pointing at the Museum of Natural History.

“So close…” You smiled and gently guided his forearm to point at the correct building, swallowing tightly at the firmness of his arm, palpable even through the layers of his clothing.

“Aha, right next door to that one then. I was close. What do you do there?”

Unwelcome images of dead bodies and dying colleagues and lab coats soaked with blood flooded your mind and you shook your head, trying to clear it.

“It, it varies but I mostly deal with historical artifacts and do research for the permanent staff as needed.”

He nodded thoughtfully, looking up as a set of headlights illuminated the pair of you. “Your ride?”

You compared the license plate number on the car with that in the app before nodding and forcing yourself to your feet. “Hey thanks…thanks for waiting with me, you’re ok to get home?”

“Oh yeah, it’s a short walk.” He nodded reassuringly, leaning forward to open the car door for you.

Smiling weakly, you slid in, confirming your name with the driver as Bradley shut the door behind you. The car pulled away before you realized you had neglected to exchange numbers with the handsome man who had not only kept you from falling to your death, or at least grievous injury, but also waited in the dark with you until your ride showed up.

“Dammit! I just cannot win today…” You hissed, knocking your head back into the headrest in frustration.

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Read Part Two

The Night Moves Masterlist

#top gun maverick fanfiction #rooster x reader #hangman x reader #bradley bradshaw x reader #jake seresin x reader #rooster x you #hangman x you #bradley bradshaw x you #jake seresin x you #bradley rooster bradshaw x reader #jake hangman seresin x reader #vampire au #vampire hunter au

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