#patchwork&bandaids

[jesterpanic]

Chapter 1 of patchwork and bandaids is up on a03!

[henricosaysstuff]

yeah look I knew Australia was racist, but fuck me, the racist maggots are really crawling out of the woodwork and making themselves known with this whole stupid fucking voice to parliament bullshit.

but thank god we're having a vote, the country realllllyyyy needed another reason to be divided.

[mysteriesmuse]

“Sorry love.” Douxie, the British sounding waiter, comments. Your eyes are still fixated on the welting red pin pricks of blood on your forearm. Your other arm sits in your lap fiddling with the frayed denim strands on your shorts, as Douxie - the kind waiter who just watched you completely eat concrete outside the restaurant while serving some customers outdoors- decided to to intervene, and is how you now found his fingers firmly pressing into the skin of your bicep as he helped clean you up. The waiter has cradled your elbow against the tabletop. His hand warm and calloused as holds your arm in place as he’s gently dabbing at it an alcohol wipe.

Holding tight onto that wad of denim in your fist as he wipes away the dirt. You bite your cheek at the sting. Although, it looks like he takes no pleasure in doing so as this notedly kind good-looking stranger has his eyebrows furrowed as he gently dabs at your arm.

He looks up from your arm and a subdued hazel meets your eyes. You blink.

The waiter, Douxie, chuckles. The glimmer of his lip piercings against his olive skin makes you feel warm. He grins, “Can’t risk an infection on such a lovely arm and an even lovelier owner.” “oh—“ you unclench your sweaty hand. This is not what you were expecting. He shakes his head a mop of raven hair bouncing and falling into his kind hazel eyes, “you should really invest in protective gear if learning to skateboard is on your summer schedule.” you watch as he grabs some ointment and starts to gently swipe it across your forearm with his fingertips. “I’ll certainly rethink the skateboarding after this—“ An involuntary shiver runs up your spine his calloused fingers having just skimmed over your scrape, he pauses —briefly as he begins to fiddle with placing bandaids all over your arm. you huff a silent laugh as he fixes a Care Bear sticker on your arm. Douxie looks up, smoothly out the edges with his thumb — and his large warm palms, “What is it?” The heat is soothing on the scrape. You hastily shove your fingertips into the pocket of your jeans and peel your eyes to stare at something other than this stranger whom is exactly your type — “oh they’re exactly the same brand that one of the girls I babysit insists on having — just because it looks cute.” A look of recognition flash across Douxie’s face and the smile lines at the corners of his eyes deepen, “Ah Lou’s daughter.” You smile as he patchworks another bandage on, “She’s learning how to roller skate and —“

“you need a way to keep up with the wee booger, then?” “— exactly,” you smile. your eyes flash back to his and you’re not sure if it’s the summers heat and some dehydration that’s gotten to your head, but Douxie slides his hands along your forearm until they come to grasp your hand where he rubs his thumbs over your knuckles … His lips start moving, and you think you catch a flash of a tongue piercing as well. And suddenly his fingers are in your hair combing over it every which direction, “Are you sure you didn’t bump your head as well?” The hair along every part of your body stands up as his touch floods your senses. It takes everything in you not to close your eyes.

His retracts his hands from your scalp. And suddenly that electric sensation is gone, you swallow, and answer honestly with your dry cottony mouth, “I’m not sure.” You don’t think you hit your head …

Douxie practically pouts before going about arranging the contents of the first aid kit back into the box.

“Maybe you’d ought to get yourself checked out by a real doctor before heading home.” He throws a thumb over his shoulder, probably motioning to a landline in the back.

“Let me call you a taxi real quick,” Douxie says getting up and giving a little pat to the top of your knee before disappearing behind the counter.

And you want to swear because you nearly jumped and you just peeled the skin of your thighs off this stupid specific leather cushioned restaurant chair as you pushed yourself back —

You busy yourself with placing a hand on your forehead definitely dehydrated and maybe a bump to part of your head. Though, you didn’t feel any pain while his hands were on you. It’s not your skull that’s suffering, which explains all the heightened sensations you’re experiencing… Douxie returns, he looks taller than you remembered outside, sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck, “it seems once again Arcadia is lacking in taxis, but the bus should be coming around the block here soon.” You grin waving your arm, “thanks, I think the maybe heat the heat is getting to me …”

At that Douxie seems to remember something and deflates a little. “ I’ll be right back.” And he tears off behind the servers door again before coming back with a pitcher and glass of water setting it down in front of you, “here love.” he places it under your nose the beads of condensation dripping into the counter, “if you and the skate board ever reconcile let me know.” you shake your head, “I’ll think about it.” You grab the glass and after downing it. You grab the skateboard and head back out. The warmth of the sun helping to clear your head as you walk back towards your apartment.

——————

A terrible thud catches the attention of his customers as he places down their burgers and fries. Douxie follows their gaze to the young lass about his age down the block from Benoits Dinner. “Here’s those meals, enjoy!” He blurts turning round. He waves his hand, “Oi! Are you alright there love?” As he approaches the girl in question shakes her head and gives a loud hiss of pain. Douxie marches over and decides to pick her up about to give her a once over, “here I’ve got you.” and he’s before he can fully do a once over he gets caught in a bit of a trance hold. The odd off-putting magic taking hold of him when he meets your eyes. He goes to subtly read your palm. The heart line— before you whine at the contact. He looks down and see the giant welting scrape across your arm right where’s he’s touching. He frantically retracts his hands, “Ouch, let’s get you cleaned up. Follow me we’ve got a first aid kit inside and we can help patch that up.”

That’s surely gonna get infected. He’d been out here last night fighting off another goblin gang. There had to be residual goblin goop all over this street.

As he rushes you over to a chair he goes back and retrieve the kit from the kitchen. “Excuse me mate, I’ll be right back in a jiffy.” The chef on duty shifts his stance to let him pass, “No problem D.” His call reaching him as he breaks through the double doors. “Ah,” he stares at the girl for a minute decked out in shredded denim shorts, blue converse, and an Ash Dispersal Pattern tee. A wrist full of friendship bracelets and downright gorgeous set of neon green highlights. Douxie rubs at his neck, his throat feels dry and his teeth metallic. Nothing seems unsettling, but perhaps he isn’t seeing the right face or anything. He slides into the seat opposite the girl and Douxie chooses to grab hold of her arm slightly forcefully before pulling out the alcohol to clean it. The small pooling flecks of blood crusted in dust and flecks of concrete. “nasty bugger,” he muttered, and would get much worse if he didn’t clean it up well enough to flush out any goblin guts. he grabs a stronger bottle with a bigger punch to dab on. You give an another painful hiss, “Can’t risk an infection on such a lovely arm and an even lovelier owner.” your mouth purses into a little silent ‘o’ and Douxie almost wants to chuckle. If he weren’t suspicious of magic amuck. “You should really invest in some protective gear if learning to skateboard is on your summer schedule.” He adds. Can’t have people going around getting trollish infections in his town. he looks back up and notices your pupils seems oddly displayed. He squints further they’re almost … they’re almost ovular in shape. You blink back and it’s gone. It’s normal. He puts his head down and focuses on cleaning the wound. Something for him to fixate on while his mind is spinning… he’s never meet a young changeling before. it could be that you’d hadn’t gotten a full handle on your transformations and in times of elevated distress that would likely cause a bloody shift … in daylight though? Douxie looks back up at the girl. That California glow and strong brow bone that overlooks those mysterious glazed eyes surrounded by those — those thick lashes. Fuzzbuckets! Get a grip! He’d have to hit the books tonight with Archie. If there were a young changeling in Arcadia it wouldn’t be much of a problem; except for the potential exposure of trolls and magic — which was the purpose of his very existence. Once he hailed a cab, waved you out the door, and promptly stood with his back against the storage room closet to run his hands down the side of his face as he thought about cradling her beautiful skull and combing through her strangely soft changing hair before going back to finish his double shift.

[bruisedboys]

hey, congrats!! totally deserved AND your celly theme is super cute!! So so so sorry this is super long

SPIDERHEAD, drabbles ─── send in a thought/headcanon you have about a character and I’ll expand on it in a drabble!

This is totally self indulgent but!! Hobie is such a craft guy. It’s totally punk, obviously, DIY that shit!! He maybe won’t call them dates out loud, because labels or something, but he invites you on crafting dates, he’s got boxes of materials and trinkets—beads, buttons, bottle caps, sewing supplies, glue, you name it. Crafting dates are the greatest because making things with/for people you really like can be so intimate

I’ve also been spending my last few days making pins, and tonight, I accidentally sliced my fingertips with an exacto—I think Hobie’s crafting supplies and his suspiciously well-stocked first aid supplies are near eachother for convenience when crafting and totally not because he has a super secret spider-man alter ego

no because ur so right anon

hobie brown is such a crafty guy!!!! you would think he thinks it’s lame and nerdy cos he’s such a cool guy but honestly he thinks it’s totally punk. he for sure is always cutting up his clothes, adding pins to them, making them look better and more unique because why would you want to dress the same as everyone else? he has a bunch of unfinished projects around his place, a vest he was adding patches to or a pair of jeans he was drawing spiderwebs all over in permanent marker but never got round to finishing. sometimes he’ll buy something just for the sake of cutting it up and ruining it (aka, making it better).

when he finds out you’re into crafts too — maybe he compliments a piece of jewellery you’re wearing and you beam, all thanks!! I made it!!! — hobie is immediately smitten. he’s like woah! that’s sick, can you teach me? (cos he’s totally smooth like that. he’s been watching you from across the pub all night and this is the perfect excuse for a ‘date’), and of course you say yes — if a pretty boy like hobie is asking to spend time with you you’re not gonna deny him.

you end up going to his place, and you bring some of your own supplies of course, but he surprisingly already has so. much. stuff. beads and wire, buttons and string, scraps of fabric, a janky old sewing machine that was probably second-hand but it does the job!! you teach him how to make earrings and you both end up making a whole bunch of them and then when you’re done he gives you his favourite pair, claiming pretty jewellery needs a pretty face to go with it :))

after that, craft dates become a regular thing with you and him. you make all sorts of things together, taking turns teaching each other the skills you already have. or sometimes you’ll be doing your own separate projects but in the same room, hobie’s music playing in the corner while he works on a pair of patchwork jeans and you work on a crochet top. after a few of these ‘dates’, hobie asks you out with a handmade necklace that holds one of his guitar picks on the chain. of course you say yes and keep the necklace forever and ever!!!!

also yes he absolutely has a first aid kit on hand. not so much for himself, usually when he cuts himself or pokes himself with a sewing needle he’ll just let it bleed lmao. but once you start coming over more he’ll make sure it’s always fully stocked. and when you hurt yourself, even if it’s just a tiny paper cut or something, he’ll dote on you, kiss it better, and wrap it in a spiderman bandaid <3

[swifty-fox]

mr predictable in with "did you eat today?" however benny/ johnny to really keep u on ur toes

for those who do not know this is for OP's punk au that I'm literally waiting for like the rapture

cw: self harm, eating disorders, John Brady being a Mess, discussions of drug abuse, ocd in connection to food contamination

"Stop picking at it."

Johnny pauses, fingers curled under his shirt and a faint stinging spreading across his stomach. His fingertips feel damp and he shoots Benny a moody look. The pillows on their bed are soft and smell clean which means Benny's done laundry sometime in the last few days because Johnny sure as hell doesn't remember doing any.

"M not," He says, pulling his hand out and rubbing the blood from his nails

"You're gonna feel stupid if that scars," Benny says, pulling his head from blowing smoke out the window.

It wasn't that either of them really cared about smoking inside, but the landlord had threatened them if they took the batteries of the smoke detector one more time

"I'm not touching it," Johnny repeats stubbornly, rolls onto his stomach and tucks a pillow under his ribs, pressing against the scratched letters on the skin.

HOLLOW.

He felt a little stupid now, but it's not something he'll admit to anyone because if he was gonna snort whatever shit John put in front of him without asking what was in it he was going to take it like a man. Probably, it felt very existential and profound and stick-it-to-em at the time and he's pretty sure he even sterilized the pin. But now, his stomach just stings whenever he tries to wash in the shower and Benny keeps giving him concerned looks whenever they fuck and really it's more trouble than it might have been worth

"What'd you think of John's new groupie?"

It's a little bit cool. Richey Edwards had done it, so maybe it was kind of cool. A spiritual ode to the greats.

Or something.

"Think he's doing a great impression of a snow plow," Johnny says.

Benny snorts, and theres a dip in gravity and a creak of cheap boxsprings as he crawls onto the bed with Johnny. Something cold and beaded with condensation touches the back of his neck and he hisses, swiping back against the water bottle. Benny snickers and settles on Johnny's thighs, knees caging him easily. His fingers run up Johnny's sides, bumping along his ribs and cool lips press against his neck in replacement.

"If he's a snow plow what're you?" a finger hooks around Johnny's chain necklace, tugging lightly against the broad links.

"Tired," Johnny mutters.

Benny turns him, lifting onto his knees to allow for the movement of Johnny's body. Johnny huffs, going with the movement. He keeps his arms crossed above his head, frowns at Benny for all of a minute before he feels it shift so something a tad more gentle. Benny bends down to kiss him, tasting of menthols and cold water. Johnny opens up for him like he has for longer than it felt easy to think about.

Hands slip under Johnny's Ranger's hoodie, seeking and assessing and he nips Benny's lip in irritation but Benny's already abandoning him, pushing the blue fabric up to his armpits and tsking.

"I knew you were fucking with the scabs."

The neosporin is still on the nightstand where they'd left it, along with a half-finished packet of disinfectant wipes and an ashtray so caked with tar it had half molded to the cheap particle board. The wipes are as cold and stinging as Johnny remembers. He hisses, stomach jumping away from Benny's touch but the heavier man just holds him still.

Johnny watches him spread the neosporin, watches his frown deepen, eyes traveling over his skin. Johnny casts his eyes to the headboard, breathing through his nose with intention. His heart is racing and it makes him dizzy, it beats against the wall of his sternum with almost bruising force.

"Did you eat today?" Benny asks casually, placing a patchwork of bandaids over the worst of the irritation.

Johnny's hungry, in the sort of way where you feel it in your head rather than a physical pain. Crystal clear but surrounded by cotton. Where he felt sharp and horribly relaxed. It was better than checking every piece of food before it passes his lips, picking it apart into tiny pieces like a toddler might in the off chance there was something in it.

By the time he got through a meal sometimes it felt like he'd already digested the start of it.

He sits up, shoving Benny off him. The other man goes easy, never one for fighting back. He stood his ground sometimes, but somehow did it without ever putting up a fight. Johnny swings his feet over the side of the bed. He doesn't like lying to Benny, found it difficult to lie to most people really, but Benny especially was hard because he's pretty sure Benny wouldn't resent him for it. And that just made the whole attempt unsatisfying.

"I don't -" He clucks his tongue, feels a few bandaids loosen and peel away from his stomach, "It's-"

"Jack."

"Can't you just leave it be?"

Benny's thumb smooths behind the shell of Johnny's ear, brushing the short hairs there. He shoves the other man off, takes a ragged breath.

"If you don't want to be with someone sick the door is right there."

He says the words before they're really considered and part of him doesn't know where they come from. It's not something he'd been ruminating on, really. He gave Benny enough self-agency to know the man wouldn't be here if he damn well didn't want to be. But even that doesn't erase the simple fact of the matter. John Brady was not a simple kind of person to share a life with.

"That," Benny says slowly, "isn't even remotely the conversation I was trying to have here."

Johnny stands, resting a palm against one of the brick support beams of the apartment at the sudden headrush, "I'm not changing, so if that's not-"

"I'm not asking you to change, I'm asking if you've eaten today."

"Does it turn you on to have this same fight every couple of weeks?"

"I'm here," Benny answers. "Having it."

Johnny exhales sharply, taps quick fingers against his thigh.

"If you want to sit here and argue about it all night I can do that. If you want to sit here and pick apart every speck of food until it's safe I'll put on Band of Brothers or some other war documentary you like and we'll make a night of it."

Johnny groans and tips his head to the ceiling, presses the hells of his palms to his eyes and claws desperately at the fading threads of his anger.

Benny shrugs, "Your choice. But I'm definitely not walking out that door, asshole."

[jellogram]

What they don't tell you about ADHD is that you will likely realize that everything you've been taught about how to be a functioning human simply isn't true for you. It doesn't work. This is not just having a hard time studying, or needing fidget toys, it's every single aspect of adulthood. Everything. The way you were taught to do chores doesn't work for you. The way you were taught to cook and eat doesn't work. The acceptable sleep schedules leave you either wired or exhausted. It affects you at work. It affects you socially. It affects every tiny little aspect of your life.

And it's infuriating, because you experience failure over and over in every second of every day. The advice you look up doesn't help. Your parents' voices in your head haunt you. You suck! You're a failure. You can't do anything right!

But that's not true!!! You just can't do it the way you were taught. Other people seem to grow up being shown how to cook and clean and keep themselves alive and they take those lessons and succeed. But you have to teach yourself. That is your lot in life. You have to actively contradict everything you were taught. You have to learn that there are ways to do those things, and they might seem stupid or sloppy or weird to someone else, but for you they will work.

And once you accept that these solutions exist, everything gets a lot easier. You still can't make yourself get everything done, but you no longer feel hopeless. One by one you discover these solutions. Sometimes they work permanently and other times you go blind to them and have to try something new. Your life is a series of patchwork, bandaid solutions macgyvered together into a functioning lifestyle. And that's okay.

[50cal-fullauto-astarion]

My thing with writing König is trying to find the sweet spot balance point of like 3-4 different angles that are integral to the characterization I want to put out there.

I want him absolutely riddled with the kind of dangerous loser vibes that start the first day of kindergarten as almost an leprotic aura of Contaminated: Do Not Touch that everyone he comes into contact with wordlessly picks up on and carries for his entire life.

Just borderline violent othering that he struggles to fight, embrace, and figure out without ever getting a clear answer or mitigation method. He gets older and becomes a problem, a human toxic waste dump, and the avoidance is tinged with alarm. He figured out how to cover it, though, like he’s pulling on a patchwork person suit.

I’m a real boy, I’m like everyone else, nevermind the seams. Yeah, they’ll split the longer you’re around, but maybe this time—this time—I will have become an endeared thing and I will be understood instead of left.

Skin-splitting horniness, which is ha-ha on the surface, but Jesus Christ, it’s starvation, straight-up. Man is a fucking alien, he doesn’t get people, his veneer of normality is quick to shatter, and he just wants-wants-wants to be wanted. To be needed is a pipe dream. He’s like a dog taken away from mom and litter mates too soon—the need for closeness is set at so high a threshold it’ll never be met, never be fixed.

Fucking is a quick fix for this desperation. Bandaid over a bullet hole, finger in a cracked dam. Gets sharper teeth and longer claws the lower the fuel gauge is, and he’s been running on fumes for years. He’ll eat any scraps given to him at any table. Any even mildly kind word, any mote of attention, approval, or acceptance.

Even in his worst mind, he knows he’s not owed, he is not dying because he is not getting fucked or loved or befriended, but god fucking dammit, what he wouldn’t give for company to cut the bleakness, to not be fucking flinched at or eye-rolled. He wants to eat someone piecemeal as they eat him piecemeal, and the brutal symbolism of cannibalism is the best way he can understand the depth of this fragile-skinned desire.

A level of jaundiced, yellow-eyed sweatiness that pervades every aspect of his life. This is more difficult to describe. It’s literal sweat—from flop or exertion, it doesn’t matter—it’s also a state of being. It’s having not a flicker of volume control—indoor yelling or outdoor muttering. It’s being exhausted and anxious to the point of hysterical cry-laughing at hallucinations after 3-4 days sleepless. It’s saying the wrong fucking thing at the wrong fucking time and chasing yet another person off and wanting to kill himself for it.

It’s surviving on 4 hours of sleep and cigarettes and any kind of caffeine and below-board military amphetamines he can get his hands on for the last ten years because he feels like he’s wasting time. It’s getting smacked because his monstrosity of a body fucking hurts and being borderline greened-out makes it easier to go grocery shopping or to the gym or outside. It’s showering and then cutting his hair over the sink and not giving a fuck what it looks like as long as it’s not getting caught in his collars.

He doesn’t blink, he doesn’t sleep, he’s constantly spilling hyena-pitched stupid nervous laughter, and he bites when he’s overdone, and his teeth aren’t dull. He’s never threatened violence that he can’t overpay out on. He pulls on his face and his scars and that might as well be the same thing, gets sick to his stomach that they’re still numb and he can’t push into the pain he remembers from them. Sometimes he just moans and groans, shoves a hand up under his mask to cover his mouth like he’s going to hold back the tide of bile. He does this shit in front of people, and wants to die when he figures it out.

He likes killing people, he likes feeling powerful, he likes being seen when he’s the executioner, he likes being a scary nightmare. He doesn’t even know if he’d rather fight than fuck, but at least he’s good at it, and there’s undeniable imagery in driving a knife in between ribs over and over and over. He’s never not throbbing hard at exfil, and he’s never not sick to death with himself and his fantasies after he beats off the second he gets privacy.

Anyway I love him, he’s a sad sack.

[guilty-pleasure-writings]

Movie Night - The Triplets

F/M/M/M (all cis) reader insert smut-fic featuring @eldritch-spouse's demon OCs, Ludwig, Obie, and Mervin. Ya'll can read this even if you're not familiar with the characters. It's very NSFW, 4000 words. Divider by firefly-graphics.

Hurt/comfort with emphasis on the comfort. Smut and a tiny bit of fluff. The sex is consensual, but there are dubcon elements (one kink is not discussed before hand or agreed upon). These characters are yanderes in their natural environment, but this piece is entirely mild on that front.

So without futher ado:

(reader who is typically self-assured and mildly controlling, and for unspecified reasons is currently living in perdition) 

When you open the door to Katia’s, Ludwig is the first person you see. He straightens at your appearance, both intrigue and concern duelling for control of his features. The concern wins out when you don’t smile. No boasting or joviality at your bruises, and the smear of blood. No comment on the obvious scrap you’d gotten yourself into. When you step into the circle of his arms, silent, and lean in for a hug, he’s entirely shocked. Your mood must really be down if you’re looking for comfort.  

“You okay?” 

You don’t want to talk about it, closing your eyes and pressing your face against his shoulder instead. The bruises would heal. The scrapes would fade. You were depressed more than anything. It’s an effort for you to shrug. To reply. “Long day.” 

Hesitant, he pats you on the back. You don’t typically go to the triplets for comfort, and you’re not sure they know how to give it, but it soothes you regardless. 

“Why don’t you wash up? There’s a first aid kit in the bathroom.” 

You grunt your acknowledgement and leave him, flustered and covered in blood. You take your time in the shower, letting the hot water loosen your muscles. It stings as it runs over your open cuts. The defensive wounds on your forearms burn. It’s a welcome burn. One you have control over.  

Ludwig paces in the lounge. Tries to will his arousal away. Seeing you covered in blood is definitely stirring, but your sombre mood put a dampener on things. He wonders how much the mask is slipping if you can’t even pretend to be okay right now.  

Hastily he texts his brother. ‘U can stop looking. She’s home.’ 

‘Condition?’ 

Ludwig frowns. ‘Seems kinda bummed.’ 

‘Idiot. I mean is she still possessed?’ 

‘Don’t think so. She walked in herself.’ 

He stows his phone when you return, dressed in sweatpants and a loose top. You’re covered in a patchwork of bandaids and bandages, and Lud distantly wonders if he should have helped apply them. Probably. 

You sprawl on the couch where you’ve been crashing with a sigh, and Ludwig blanks on what to do. You’re not usually this despondent. 

“Can I sit with you?” 

He gets a thumbs up. 

He takes a tentative seat, surprised when you roll over and snuggle up to him.  

You lose track of time, snapping to attention when Katia wanders in and starts fussing. “You look terrible, love. Are you okay?” 

You shrug away the memory of being piloted like a meatsuit. “Nothing that won’t heal. I’ll live.” 

The demon frowns, your depression and energy as obvious to her as the blood and cuts are to her son. “Tsk. Get some rest, love. I’ll tell Obie you’re home. He’ll cook you up something nice, I’m sure.” 

You watch her leave, eyes catching on the purple figure in the doorway. Mervin had arrived.  

You manage to dredge up a little smile. Pat the couch beside you in invitation. 

He seems surprised to be invited, but joins you. He’s even more taken aback when you wriggle over, putting your head into his lap, and resting your feet in Ludwig’s. You wouldn’t admit it aloud, but you’re feeling more than a little touch starved. 

“Did you want to watch a movie?” Ludwig supplies helpfully. 

You shrug, eyelids drooping closed. “Sure. Something light-hearted maybe.” 

For once the pair don’t bicker over the remote, and soon some cartoonish plot is playing out on the screen nearby. Ludwig starts to rub your feet, and you let out a content sigh, nearly groaning at the contact. Hesitantly, Mervin’s fingers tangle in your hair. You lean into the touch, letting out another little noise, and soon he’s rubbing your scalp and combing out your trusses. 

You close your eyes, just listening to the movie, when there’s a touch at your shoulder. Obie is crouching in front of the couch. “Did you eat today?” 

Your stomach rumbles at the mention of food. “Don’t think so.” 

The yellow demon frowns. “Let me get you something?” 

With all you’ve seen today, you’re not confident in your appetite, but you shrug. Obie’s cooking is always a treat. “M’kay.”  

You’re wedged between Mervin and Ludwig when he returns with a tray absolutely laden with hot food. You look at the array with raised brows. 

“Obie...” 

He winces at your tone. 

“Sugar... honey... muffin... sweetcakes...” 

“For fuck's sake,” Mervin groans. “He gets it.” 

Obie is still concerned, but his cheeks are reddening with the nicknames.  

“You’re going to have to get another spoon. I can’t eat all this alone.” 

The demon brightens at your solution before racing off. When he’s back you both rip into the meal, with Obie glancing at you between bites, trying to gauge your reaction.  

You’re tired, but not so tired that you can’t yearn for the normalcy of a sweet moment. With that in mind you sample one of the dishes, and offer him your spoon. “Try this. It’s good.” 

His whole countenance brightens, and he leans forward to take your offering, tongue slipping out to clean the whole length of the fork, brushing your fingertips teasingly. 

You roll your eyes at him, conjuring a tired smile. When the food is gone (Obie ate most of it), you relax back onto the couch. The gluttony demon sits on the floor by your feet, the four of you bathing in silence, decompressing after a long day.  

You reach out and stroke the skin between his horns. “Thanks Ob.” 

“Can I get you anything else, Peach?” 

You close your eyes and hum. “Maybe some chocolate.” 

He’s back before you can open your eyes, a whole block of your favourite brand in hand. You smile appreciatively, but instead of reaching out to take the treat, you open your mouth and lean forward. “Aah.” 

Obie’s face darkens with blush. “You want me to..?” 

You nod, impatient. It’s fun messing with him like this. He’s cute when he’s flustered. 

His fingers shake when he breaks off a piece and feeds it to you. 

Mervin snorts. “Pfft. Loser.” 

You pinch him and let Obie finish feeding you. When half a block of chocolate is gone, you withdraw, sprawling out over Merv and Lud again, letting them ply you with soft touches and affection. 

“Thank you,” you make sure to meet Obie’s eyes, drawing out the words. 

He flushes before turning around to lean against the couch, drawing his knees up to hide what can only be a growing erection. 

You nearly drift off, to be honest, spreading your legs a little, and angling your hips up when Ludwig massages higher, making his way up your calves and rubbing at your thighs. The tension finally leaves your body, and you stare up at Mervin with a sleepy smile.  

He blinks at your expression, probably unused to such displays of softness.  

Ludwig is massaging your inner thighs when arousal stirs within you. You squirm, face warming at his persistent touches. You don’t know if he’s doing it intentionally, if he has the patience – he's certainly taking his time, working his way back down your legs. You nearly frown as his hands move in the direction opposite to what you want. 

Mervin is still watching you, his cheeks sporting a hint of blue – you realise you hadn’t seen him blush before. It’s cute.  

Spontaneously you make a ‘come hither’ motion with your finger, grinning up at him. 

Brows raised, he leans down, “What?” 

You link your arms around his neck and lean up to kiss him.  

He goes still. The hands on your legs also freeze. If your eyes were open, you’d roll them. Instead, you slip your tongue into Mervin’s mouth, pulling him closer. 

Finally, past the surprise, he kisses back, one arm supporting below your waist, the other working its way back into your hair. Hands resume movement on your legs, rubbing along your thighs. Lud’s claws are starting to dig into your flesh, and you know he’d rip your pants off if you let him. But you’ve no intention of rushing this. 

Then Mervin grips your hair, making a fist near your scalp, angling your head back so he can suck at your throat. You hum appreciatively, going loose and pliant under his lips.  

Obie whips his head around at the noise, finally noticing the commotion behind him. Nobody is watching the movie anymore.  

Ludwig huffs, losing patience and pulling you upright, onto his lap. Mervin rumbles with displeasure, but only for a moment. Your back is pressed against Ludwig’s chest, and he takes over for Mervin, kissing your neck, sucking a line of bites and hickeys along your shoulder. Your legs are spread and pinned open with his own. 

He’s rougher than his brother, and you tremble and whimper each time he bites too hard or grips you too tightly. Still, you’re exactly where you want to be, and you wouldn’t dream of pulling away. 

You blink and Obie is sitting between your knees, hands going to your waistband. It’s not hard to guess what he’s planning.  

“Tsk,” you warn him.  

He pauses, and if his eyes could open any further you know he’d be giving you a puppy dog stare. 

“We have all night.” 

He pouts. 

You hope he backs down. You’d really like to take this slow, and you’re not in the mood to have a standoff. But all is forgotten when Lud pulls your shirt up.  

Obie’s attention immediately switches to your breasts; full and unclothed. You hadn’t put on a bra after your shower, and you can’t help but blush at the attention.  

You tremble and arch when he moves to mouth at those, drenching them with drool. You hadn’t realised that with his long tongue, he’d manage to lick both at once, but it’s certainly a pleasant surprise. You whimper with anticipation at the threat of his teeth, their needle points grazing your flesh.  

There’s another hand on your leg. Warmth at your side. Mervin has sidled up and is watching the exchange intently, his hand creeping up your thigh, to the top of your pants. This time you don’t stop them, instead spreading your legs further.  

Ludwig huffs against your ear. “Needy.” 

You ignore him, bucking your hips with desire. You don’t remember the last time you were caged in like this, and it leaves you feeling high with excitement.  

Mervin’s fingers dip past your waistband, into your underwear. He traces your folds, finding your growing wetness before smearing it over your clit. 

You jolt with the contact, letting out another whine.  

“Be still,” Ludwig orders before latching back onto your neck. 

You try. But between the teeth at your shoulder, the attention to your breasts, and the gentle but precise touches at your core, it doesn’t take long before you’re seizing and jerking as you come. Juices flood your underwear, and you shake with aftershocks. 

Mervin pulls back his hand, sucking his fingers dry. At the motion Obie pauses to growl. “I wanted to taste her first.” 

You’re too relaxed to resist. In fact, you sympathise with Obie enough that you grab one of his misshapen horns and guide him towards your crotch. 

Ludwig chuckles behind you. “You’re forgetting something, babe.” 

You frown and whine. 

“Strip.” 

Ah. That would help.  

You wriggle until you can get your pants around your ankles, not helped in the slightest by the wrath demon holding you open. He does release you long enough for you to remove your shirt, though. When you’re done, you hesitate, some clarity coming back to you. Mostly naked on a couch surrounded by demons, it’s the most vulnerable you’ve let yourself feel in a long while.  

Obie doesn’t wait any longer, pressing his face between your thighs. There’s a single, exploratory lick as he tastes you, slurping up the evidence of your previous orgasm. He groans, enthralled by the taste. Then his tongue is filling you, and you jerk at the sudden intrusion.  

Ludwig holds you tight, burying his teeth in your shoulder and drawing blood. He reaches around to cup your breasts, claws digging into your skin.  

You don’t have room to focus on the pain, instead occupied by the glutton’s tongue, and how thoroughly it fills you. You’d suspected its capabilities, but if you’d known it’d feel like this, you’d have jumped Obie sooner.  

He writhes inside you, poking and prodding in places that are almost uncomfortable, before backing off to caress and stroke other parts of you. It’s- barely describable. Definitely a welcome sensation. Pressure builds inside of you – no, he’s not squeezing more of his tongue inside (yet) - he’s rubbing against your g spot. The pressure is another orgasm building.  

You’re not sure if you’re able to come again so quickly, but the choice is taken away from you by force when Obie grips you by the thighs and stuffs himself deeper.  

“Ffffuck,” you groan through your high, arching against Ludwig and coming again.  

Obie doesn’t stop. Ludwig doesn’t stop. Mervin grips you by the hair and pulls your face to his, devouring you in another steaming kiss. You can barely focus on it, your mind emptying as your orgasm is prolonged and drawn out until you’re a shaking mess (did you just come from penetration alone?). 

You don’t know how much time passes before the glutton comes up for air. He licks his lips with a flourish, looking satisfied. You’re flushed, staring at him through bleary eyes.  

He barely notices, instead ducking back down for seconds. 

Ludwig growls. “It’s my turn.” 

Obie pauses, leveling that almost puppy dog stare at his brother. “But she’s so tasty.” 

“Don’t care. You had a go.” 

You’re suddenly aware of the hardness pinned against your back. The length of it is mouth-watering. And you’re more than a little fuckdrunk right now. Enough that you don’t think before you speak. “Both.” 

There’s a silence as the triplets stare at you, brows raised.  

You writhe against Ludwig’s grip. “Please. Now. Both.” 

Mervin grins. “You heard the lady. She’s enough of a slut – I'm sure you’ll both fit.” 

You whimper at the comment, grinding back against Ludwig. You might not be able to come again, but you don’t want the pleasure to stop. And you really want to be filled.  

Ludwig rolls his eyes. “Don’t worry about fit. I’m taking her ass.” 

You clench at the words, growing wetter with anticipation.  

Ludwig lifts you high enough to free his cock. Lowers you down on to it and moves you back and forth, using your slick to lube him up. With the combination of your juices and Obie’s drool, there’ll be no issue.  

Your heart starts pounding when he presses against your puckered entrance. He feels big, so big, and he hadn’t bothered stretching you, hadn’t bothered with prep.  

He sheaths himself and it hurts. By the Gods and the Icons, it fucking hurts. You’re no stranger to taking things up the ass. But usually carefully. Slowly.  

His hand clamps over your mouth, muffling your wail. You shake and seize, clawing at his arms, trying desperately to climb off, but his grip is steadfast.  

You just need to relax. You know the pain will fade, that you’ll fucking adore the sensation, that you just need to relax and it will be okay, but fuck. He’d really stuck his entire length in, in one go. 

You pound your fist against his thighs, hard as you can, cursing around his hand. 

He only groans in response. Then chuckles. “Sorry, I couldn’t help it. You’re so tight like this.” 

Even Obie is hesitating, waiting for you to adjust before rejoining. 

“Just breathe, babe,” Ludwig croons at you. “Or keep struggling, it’s really hot.” 

Tears slide down your cheeks but you listen to Ludwig. Clenching and unclenching over and over. It takes almost a whole two minutes before the pain fades. Before you’re able to relax against him, tension draining from your muscles. 

“Good girl,” he murmurs against your ear. Then he fucks you.  

His pace makes you gasp. Then whimper. Then moan. There’s no more pain, thank fuck, just breathlessness, and the sensation of being deliciously filled. Lud lifts you up and down on his lap with ease, treating you almost like a thing. A toy. 

You reach out, trying to brace yourself, and end up bent forward, with your arms wrapped around Obie’s neck. You whimper and cry and swear against his ear and he lets you, stroking your hair until Lud pulls you upright again, using one hand to pull your arms behind your back. 

At the loss of contact Obie blinks, snapping out of his daze. Then he grins at you and lowers himself back between your thighs, tongue darting out to taste you once more. He flicks at your clit, making you arch and whine, before dipping back inside.  

You gasp and shudder, limbs twitching. You don’t remember the last time you felt this full. This stuffed. You don’t know how they’re doing this, how Obie can coax more of his sinuous tongue inside of you. Ludwig slows his fucking, and you’re entirely grateful. You don’t think you have a millimetre to spare inside of you.  

You try to keep your eyes open, but everything is a blur. A wonderful, fuzzy blur. Your head lolls to one side and you lock gazes with Mervin. It’s no surprise to see him fisting himself, but you still groan at the sight. You lick your lips, filled with envy. Your hands twitch, and if Ludwig weren’t holding them firm you’d be reaching for the pride demon.  

He smirks at your reaction. “Aw. Does our pet want to touch?” 

You nod, nearly mindless at this point.  

His smile softens. “Later, lovely. You look a tad occupied at the moment.” 

You whine. It takes a monumental effort to string your words together. To remember the right things to say to the pride demon. “Please, Mervin. You look so good right now.” 

He purses his lips. Cheeks bluing some more. “Oh?” 

You don’t know how effective your begging is going to be when you’re teary eyed, your hair is plastered to your neck with sweat, and you can barely vocalise your thoughts with the way Mervin’s brothers are fucking you, but you still try.  

“-wanna touch, wanna taste, please, please, please, bet you’ll feel so good-” 

He goes silent, eyes narrowing as he tries to keep his composure. But the way he bites down on his lip and grips himself harder are easy tells.  

“-bet you’ll taste so nice-” it’s hard to speak between Ludwig’s thrusts, “-you look so hot right now-” your head is spinning. “Please Mervin,” you whine his name.  

Obie comes up for air to scowl at the pride demon. “Take a hint, Mer.” 

With the glutton out of the way, Ludwig pauses long enough to turn sideways, bending you forward so that you’re spread across the couch again, kneeling, with your head nearly in Mervin’s lap. He keeps hammering into you, but with the new angle you’re inches from Mervin’s cock.  

You crane your head to stare up at him, awaiting permission. Any other time it might chafe to do so, but you’re so buzzed right now that you have no problem sliding into the submissive role. 

His restraint breaks. Finally, he angles his hips towards you. “Go on, then.”  

There’s no finesse in your actions. The angle’s not ideal and it’s hard to get a good rhythm with Ludwig’s fucking, but that doesn’t stop you from trying. You’re practically drooling, mouthing at his cock and licking up the sides before sucking on the tip. You swirl your tongue around, trying to make him feel as good as you’re feeling, fitting as much of him into your mouth as you can; sloppy in your enthusiasm.  

The hands in your hair turn to fists, and soon he’s thrusting up into your mouth, making you cough and gag. You try to relax, focusing on just breathing and getting fucked at both ends. It’s a fruitless effort and soon your eyes are lined with reflexive tears. 

There’s no warning before Ludwig comes in your ass. You relish the way he twitches, clenching hard around him, wishing desperately that there was something in your cunt, or that you had some friction against your clit. You could probably come again with some assistance.  

You shudder when Ludwig pulls out, his cum leaking out of your hole. You can feel the stares on your ass, and can’t help but squirm, moaning around Mervin’s length. He’s deep enough in your throat that he can feel your noises. 

 Suddenly you’re wrenched off his cock and being led up by the hair.  

“Sit. Now.” 

He makes you straddle him, not even hesitating before grabbing you by the hips and plunging into your pussy.  

You thought Ludwig was rough. Mervin surprises you with the force of his thrusts, one hand still fisted in your hair while the other grips your thigh. Your jaw falls slack and you’re powerless to stop the sounds from escaping you. Obscene moans, breathless grunts; all manner of lewd sounds.  

“You. Noisy. Slut.” He punctuates each word with a thrust of his hips. “You could have just said you wanted to fuck me. You must feel so honoured right now. I don’t do this to just anyone, you know.” 

His words blur together as you lose focus. You know he’s just talking himself up, that all you have to do is nod and agree. Still, you can’t help but tune back in when something brushes against your clit. You writhe when it presses harder, and a glance down reveals the spade of his tail pressed flush between you.  

“Are you going to come for me again, pet? Show me how good I make you feel?” 

Insufferable as he can be, you don’t plan to argue, spreading wider, trying to grind against his tail while keeping rhythm with his fucking. It’s nearly impossible. Your limbs feel like jelly, and you just want to collapse on top of the purple demon.  

You must look as fucked out and pathetic as you feel, because somebody takes pity on you; another pair of hands come to rest at your waist, lifting you up and down on Mervin’s length.  

You let yourself go slack; your arms give out and your face presses against Mervin’s shoulder. If you had more brain function left, you might be struck with just how arousing the situation is; somebody else pumping you up and down Mervin’s cock.  

You look down. Yellowed hands grip your waist. And past them Mervin’s tail still grinds against you; the demon now able to direct more attention to your clit.  

Part of your mind skitters towards the demon behind you. The strength of his grip and the press of his erection against your back. But he doesn’t do more than support you, lifting you up and down. You’re not sure if you’re glad or disappointed. Especially as your next (and hopefully last) orgasm starts to present itself; coiling in your core and making your legs shake. 

Mervin’s claws dig into your skin when he shudders and comes inside you. Obie lets go of your waist, but you keep grinding against Mervin’s lap, whimpering with need. He couldn’t stop now, not when you were so close.  

Somebody laughs. You’re released, collapsing into a heap on the couch. Pushed onto your back. Legs spread.  

The touches don’t stop. Thank fuck. 

Brutal pressure against your clit until you’re a shaking mess, gasping and coming with a series of ungodly noises.  

Then the room is still.  

You might just pass out. Partially, at least. There’s the sound of the tv, still going. Some voices, accompanied by gentle, but firm touches. 

“-put her clothes back on would ya-” 

“-needs to shower, idiot-” 

“-thought humans weren’t supposed to sleep in the shower?” 

You’re too floaty to care for the bickering, just appreciative when somebody dresses you and you’re sprawled across the couch again. There’s more discussion; soft, mindful of your presence. Then hands at your hair. Fingers at your legs again, unknotting any sore muscles. 

You crack your eyes open. It looks as if everyone has returned to their previous positions.  

Obie is sitting at the foot of the couch, his head a few inches from your own. He catches your stare and gives you a smile.  

‘You. Me. Later,’ you mouth to him.  

He flushes.  

[phneltwrites]

Sunday Snippet

and cause there's no rules, here's also a sunday snippet from the time loop fic

“Don’t you see how stupid that is? I’m—this is a blip. I know you respect the monarchy, but you don’t have to force yourself to give deference to my temporary place in it. For God’s sake, you take orders from me, a disrespectful, undignified little brat. I’m seventeen, and you’ve been doing this…” Wilhelm realises he doesn’t know.

“Since before you were born,” Jan Olof supplies. “I was there when you were born. I wasn’t senior enough to attend the former Crown Prince’s birth, but I was present at yours. I held you when the nurse came to weigh you.”

That stops Wilhelm in his tracks. It’s too strange to contemplate. As he thinks about it, he doesn’t have any memories before Jan Olof. His earliest memory is of him falling on the gravel path by the east garden and skinning his knee. It’s a patchwork memory, sensations and snippets. The excitement of running, and then the disorientation of the fall making him scared and unsure. He can see the rip in his pants and the blood on his hands, little scratches with rocks in them that are blurry through his teary eyes. And he can see Jan Olof’s face, large and looming as he waves a woman over with antiseptic and bandaids. It stung and he held Jan Olof’s hand. The memory stuck with him because there were so many people and everyone was so upset. He knew he’d done something wrong. But Jan Olof was calm. He looked after him. It’s weird, right? To not remember much before that?

“My duty is to you. You are an opinionated teenager,” Jan Olof continues. “Opinionated youths often become measured and powerful adults. Those qualities could serve you well as King, Crown Prince.” This is the greatest praise Jan Olof has ever given him. 

“You think I could be a good King?” He can’t believe that. Wilhelm spins and leans on Jan Olof’s desk, hands gripping the edge behind him. Wilhelm gapes at him. He thought he understood it. Jan Olof didn’t like him and would prefer someone who fit the role better, someone more charismatic, more masculine. His mother made it sound like they were trying to replace him, that Wilhelm had to audition for the role of Crown Prince. But if Jan Olof didn’t want it, then, why?

[dawnrider]

Woohooooo congratulations on 20 years of writing!!! ✧˖° ദ്ദി ˉ͈̀꒳ˉ͈́ )✧ I'm following A Silent Affair and can't wait for the next chapter (I'm millimillenary on AO3, I’ve commented a couple times, you know I'm loving it!!)!

I know you originally published the story a while back so I thought I'd ask (as someone who hasn’t read it before), what are some of the changes you make as you repost it? Are they all minor edits or is there anything a bit more substancial you'd like to change?

As for your other works, as time goes by, do you look at them any differently? I look at fics I've written 2-3 months ago and think "god, I should've done this completely different", focusing way more on editing than I do on the story layout, which is why they stay as WIPs and never get posted (҂ ꒦ິヮ꒦ິ) Any advice on how to break the never-ending editing cycle?

You are an inspiration! I hope one day I get to celebrate the same milestone as you are. Your writing makes me feel all the feels and I can’t thank you enough for that! 💕💕💕

Hello @heikeee!

For A Silent Affair, it's mostly been edits to the punctuation, a little bit to the formatting, and a few changes to sentence structures. And removing more than a few epithets. The plot has remained the same, though I added in a few more details about the world they exist in.

As to your question, I'm 💯a pantser. I don't plot out stories or make outlines. This has it's pros and cons, so I'm not saying one way is better than another. What I will say, is that I don't let myself edit too much. I look for typos, I read through for sentence structures and possibly add details, but for the most part, I play 52 card pick up: Throw everything down and see where they end up. I write out of order, I write scenes as I imagine them, and then I patchwork quilt them together later.

All that to say: Sometimes you just gotta let it go. If posting is your goal? Just do it. Rip the bandaid off, so to speak. The joke is that the fastest way to find any errors/typos is to post the chapter. 😂 But really, it doesn't matter. Don't worry about it being perfect. It's fanfiction, not your dissertation.

I'm sure you've heard it before but... THIS IS MEANT TO BE FUN.

I cannot emphasize that enough.

So have fun. Sometimes it's hard work. Sometimes it's frustrating. But ultimately, if you're not enjoying it, what's the point?

[jesterpanic]

Dropping chapter 2 of Patchwork and Bandaids! wohoo!

[wandasaura]

I have over 70 tattoos 🤭, 95% I did myself, I have a tattoo machine, along with my big wands and nat i have a black widow symbol on my leg and Groot on my leg, and I also have a bandaid on my leg that's very fitting, I also have a hanger on my arm, toast, peanut, Thing, paintbrush, rubber ducky, a worm on my leg, just so many random ones and that's my whole vibe I love it

-🩹

i am such a fan of patchwork

[saberstars]

Tell me more about your OC with Starscream. <3

Ahhh there’s so much I could share but I’m unsure of what to share since her story changes depending on the iteration haha—

More under cut

I guess I could talk about tfp the most and tfa :3

In tfp Aero meets Starscream during his “neutral” era when he doesn’t have a t-cog. She quite literally stumbles upon him, it’s a miracle she’s alive lol. The only reason she lived was because of the fact she offered to bandaide him. He had dings and minor injuries and she offered shelter and a patchwork in return for him not killing her.

Of coarse he hated accepting aide, his pride and ego screaming in protest but eventually they grew to be friends. He talked about the war, his home, and much more opening up slowly. And she pestered him with her blabbering on whatever was on her mind. Her bubbly demeanor is quite literally a mask to hide her true thoughts, feelings, and intent.

She can and would go on for hours taking about her likes and interests while listening to his even if some of his were quite deranged.

Personality wise, she’s just a version of myself, of a version I wish I could be. She’s an avid gamer, loves dancing, music, surfing, skating, snowboarding. She’d jump off a cliff for fun. That kind of person. Very yolo and wants to at least die having fun. She’s good with a knife and an axe heh.

Her quips can be quite dark too, she has quite dark sense if humor despite her initial disposition which throws a lot of people off. She finds it quite humorous.

Fav music genres are grunge, metal, alt, rock. Though she will listen to pop. Never country tho. If she plays country that’s an sos!!

Over time though Aero eventually gets into a situation with screamer where he’s hurt and she can’t fix him like it’s just out of her hands. She can either rat him out to Megs or Attempt to contact the autobots. She chooses the autobots ofc because at least they won’t kill a pow right? Like the way screamer described them just made her feel as if they wouldn’t because of prime. If prime wasn’t there she probably wouldn’t have outrightly trusted them as much. Just because they are autobots and have more respect/sympathy for another bots life doesn’t mean an author probably hasn’t killed a con on sight before in the past ya know.

She uses a voice mod to sound like screamer and basically pulls a story out her ass saying “I’m injured come fix me or I’ll kill this random human hostage.” And when they arrive at the coordinates they find him basically unconscious and her just there sitting 😂 and she’s like well you can’t leave me help me get home yall. So they ofc take her back with them. But she’s very stand offish, doesn’t talk, refuses to explain how tf she got herself into a hostage situation with him and instead asks a lot of questions like “is he gunna be ok? How long until he’s better. You guys are gunna fix him and let him go as per the agreement right” which prompts a few to think of maybe it’s Stockholm’s??? M

And eventually when he comes to he’s very very confused and like how TF did I get here where’s the human? And that’s when she has some waterworks and it’s revealed they were buddies and she lied and basically made him a prisoner to save his life Oofa—

And everyone just wide eyes her and him and is like oh well — you can’t be his bff he’s a war criminal and she pulls the so are you out her ass and YEAH.

She’s like idgaf about ur issues, yall an alien race that’s had a civil war this long and somehow haven’t talked it out or hashed it out yet not my problem. I can look past war crimes of the past if he ain’t committing them actively rn. Imma treat yall with the same basic level of respect and kindness until given a reason not to. But the only reasons she’s genuinely kind to him is cause at least he was honest about his ick intentions to the human race her ect ect. Which says a lot cause Starscream is a pathological liar and even if his initial imma kill you shit was meant for intimidation AT least he was honest about it.

She deadass raised and eyebrow and said bet, I’d like to see you try and if you do oh well. She lives out of spite and the motto “there is nothing you can do that I haven’t already done to myself”

Ok that was alot of rambling I hope you enjoy haha

Tfa Starscream and her deadass Met after he died and came back to life with the alspark frag and she kept him as a pet head for a bit cause I thought it’d be funny if he was body less and she helped him find his body 😂😂😂that’s there goofy story.

[cleverhottubmiracle]

Loewe announced today that Jonathan Anderson would be leaving his role as creative director. For just over ten years, Anderson oversaw a transformational decade for the Spanish label, during which he took it from a small leather goods house to one of the most recognizable names in fashion, and certainly an insider favorite. Anderson’s tenure at Loewe will be remembered not for a singular aesthetic or sole It-product (though there were those too), but for his knack for constant evolution.Anderson’s early years at Loewe were defined by his fascination with craft; he honed in the label’s savoir faire with leather and made that its most identifiable signature on the runway. Then, at the spring 2022 show, the first following the COVID-19 pandemic lockdowns, Loewe became an experimental, conceptual thing, where he explored all aspects of contemporary life; from our obsession with screens to virality and our growing inability to tell the “real” from the “fake,” giving these ideas gravitas with his clothes.Looking back, Anderson’s story at Loewe is one full of charming contradictions—the hand versus the machine, esoteric artist collaborations and internet catnip celebrity front rows, familiar, wearable clothes or the garment as an object—that he embraced wholly. “We’ve had the pandemic, and now we have to come out of it different,” Anderson said at the time. “I think it’s a moment of experimentation. If you’re going to reset after this period, you need to allow a moment to birth a new aesthetic. Start again.” These are some of Anderson’s most significant themes at Loewe, as remembered by us.Hand Vs. MachineOne of Anderson’s most compelling and defined dichotomies has been that of hand-versus machine-made. Early on, up until the pandemic, Anderson underscored Loewe’s artisanal and craft-focused heritage—so much so his debut ready-to-wear collection featured leather swatch necklaces and leather hides peeling away from tops to emphasize the label’s leather beginnings. After the pandemic, his interest in craft evolved into a curiosity for technology, more often than not contextualized in conversation with nature. Think of the screens he placed on coats for his spring 2023 menswear show—the one with grass growing out of sneakers and coats—which featured videos of flocks of birds at sunset, tropical fish, and flowers. See also the blurred floral prints in his fall 2023 collection and the fiberglass anthurium tops in his spring 2023 show, which put into question our ability to differentiate between the real and the fake in the age of technology and the internet. There was also his viral pixelated hoodie, most famously worn by A$AP Rocky. Most illustrative of this particular contradiction? The way his ceramic body plates from fall 2020—the last pre-pandemic collection—seemingly evolved to transparent, plastic-y ones for spring 2022, his first post-pandemic show. —José Criales-UnzuetaClothes Vs. Can You Even Wear That?Anderson’s tenure at Loewe is like watching a mad scientist’s slow descent—except it’s not a scientist but a designer just absolutely locked-in to excavating what fashion can be. For his first two collections—menswear and then womenswear—the lineup was straightforward: T-shirts, straight-leg trousers (with ’90s oversized cuffs for men, and artfully tied self-belts for women), and handsome, no-nonsense knits. Anderson was working through a sort of edgy bohemian artist aesthetic that seemed to be rooted in the 1980s—his textures, colors, and prints owed much to the decade, while his silhouette was often long and layered with dresses over pants, chunky jewelry, patchwork, and embellishments that sometimes bordered on the quirky (remember the cat head necklaces from fall 2016?)As the seasons wore on, his silhouettes began slowly unraveling and exploding; dresses and T-shirts and shorts half-floating off the body, jackets hammered from metal sheets, strange leggings with ruffled openings at the knees, dresses like mummy bandaids holding half-squeezed “balloon” against the body. If Anderson could figure out a way to put something on the body (or against it, or through it, or right next to it, or, or, or…) then it was fair game for a strut down the runway. —Laia Garcia-FurtadoThese Shoes Are Made for Walking Vs. Ceci N’est Pas Une ShoeAnderson hit on a few It-shoe styles; sometimes wildly popular because of their wearability and versatility, and other times wildly viral precisely because of their impossibility. He debuted the Ballet Runner in 2019, a sleek, ultra-flat sneaker with elastic around the ankle that had its origins in the classic ballet flat. Perhaps because it was released right before the pandemic, when suddenly everyone was looking for comfort above all else, the shoe was an instant sensation. Other shoes were practical but extremely odd, like the ankle boots spliced with a loafer front and a minuscule kitten heel or the high-top sneakers that curled up at the toe like an elf shoe. Then there were the flights of whimsy: feet swaddled in leather like a blanket, life-size Minnie Mouse-esque heels, pointy pumps stepping on a balloon in a not non-erotically charged way, strappy sandals held up by a bottle of nail polish, or a bar of soap, or an upside down rose, or a nail through a broken egg shell with the yellow yolk spilling all around. For Anderson the eternal question seems to be: when is a shoe not a shoe?—LGFEsoteric Sets Vs. Internet-BoyfriendsWho could forget the Loewe fall 2024 men’s show last year with its flock of internet boyfriends sitting front row? Thirst traps… err, suggestive moving images of everyone from Jamie Dornan to Omar Apollo and Manu Ríos were also projected on the walls of the show, together with collaged iconography and drawings of men by the artist Richard Hawkins. “An algorithm of masculinity” is how Anderson described the show, which intellectualized the way men exist in, and are consumed by, the internet nowadays. This was Anderson’s most astute combination of the esoteric art he decorates his sets with—sculptures by Lynda Benglis for spring 2024, paintings by Albert York for fall 2024, ephemeral artwork by Joe McShea and Edgar Mosa for fall 2022 menswear—and the of-the-moment, viral-friendly celebrities he hosts in his front rows. This is a story about the high-low appeal of Loewe under Jonathan Anderson, yes, but also of his ability to engage with multiple pockets of culture simultaneously. —JCUFan Favorites Vs. Deep Cut CollaborationsOn the topic of range, consider Anderson’s product collaborations. Most famously under his watch, Loewe partnered repeatedly with the much beloved Studio Ghibli, placing picturesque creatures from its hit films My Neighbor Totoro and Spirited Away on bags and clothing. But then there are Anderson’s artistic inclinations, which in many cases turned Loewe into the fashion brand equivalent to a hidden gem contemporary art gallery. See the T-shirts he created emblazoned with the works of David Wojnarowicz in support of Visual AIDS, or those featuring an image of the artist taken by his mentor and lover Peter Hujar, whose work is a fascination of Anderson’s (the invitation to his spring 2025 menswear show last year was a print of one of his photographs). See also collaborations with William Morris in 2017, Ken Price in 2020, and Jon Brainard in 2021. At Loewe, Anderson certainly offered his fair share of things with massive pop culture appeal, but he also made sure to play to everyone’s love for a good artsy deep cut, with just the right amount of pretension. —JCUPlayful Vs. SeriousAnderson’s reputation for being a serious, designer’s designer is certainly well-earned. His collections are high-concept, the execution impeccable, and he always has a well-crafted soundbite. To further emphasize his passion and pursuit of the high arts, he founded the Loewe Craft Prize in 2016 to highlight the importance of craft across a variety of different disciplines. By 2024, the winner would get 50,000 Euros. “It’s something that I really believe in, this idea that craft can tell us something about ourselves,” he said in 2023. It quickly became a prestigious award for artisans around the world: last year there were 4,000 entries. But Anderson contains multitudes, and he balanced this out with a playful side that could sometimes be downright silly. He launched Loewe Paula’s Ibiza in 2017 as a way to pay homage to a small legendary boutique on the Spanish Balearic island, with summer-ready offerings like kooky statement sunglasses in neon colors, and beach-ready jorts and shredded tees. His home and perfume collections proved similarly tongue-in-cheek, with candles and perfumes that smelled like Tomato, Earth, Water, or even Marijuana. On social media is where his sense of humor unmistakably shonw, where the Loewe TikTok engaged with almost every trend in a way that was somehow always funny and never cringe: see a dark green Puzzle bag flying over a mountain while tied to a drone as Wicked’s “Defying Gravity” plays in the background, or a meme that says “My phone when I accidentally spill water on it” in which the phone seems to go shopping on the Loewe website all by itself. —LGFDaniel Craig in Queer, © A24 Courtesy Everett CollectionZendaya in Challengers, Photo: Niko Tavernise ©MGM/Courtesy Everett CollectionChallengers Vs. QueerAnderson had quite a 2024 with Challengers and Queer, the two films he designed costumes for. While both releases were directed by Luca Guadagnino and written by Justin Kuritzkes, they were entirely different in plot and treatment and, at their core, put on display two signature Anderson contradictions. There’s his time-bending passion for clothes, which were here contextualized by his sourcing of exclusively era-appropriate pieces for Queer stars Daniel Craig and Drew Starkey (underwear included) and his ambiguous “could be any time in the 2010s” take on style for Challengers, which included everything from stained Nike tennis clothing to Chanel espadrilles—and that one JFK Jr.-inspired “I Told Ya” tee. There was also his evident ease in the world of a Zendaya-led summer blockbuster against his esoteric, indie self at home in a William S. Burroughs adaptation. —JCUSome Things Never ChangeStill, there’s an exception to every rule, and while Anderson’s decade-long tenure at Loewe is indeed filled to the brim with contradictions, there are some elements to the Irish designer’s oeuvre that have existed throughout. See above. Source link

[norajworld]

Loewe announced today that Jonathan Anderson would be leaving his role as creative director. For just over ten years, Anderson oversaw a transformational decade for the Spanish label, during which he took it from a small leather goods house to one of the most recognizable names in fashion, and certainly an insider favorite. Anderson’s tenure at Loewe will be remembered not for a singular aesthetic or sole It-product (though there were those too), but for his knack for constant evolution.Anderson’s early years at Loewe were defined by his fascination with craft; he honed in the label’s savoir faire with leather and made that its most identifiable signature on the runway. Then, at the spring 2022 show, the first following the COVID-19 pandemic lockdowns, Loewe became an experimental, conceptual thing, where he explored all aspects of contemporary life; from our obsession with screens to virality and our growing inability to tell the “real” from the “fake,” giving these ideas gravitas with his clothes.Looking back, Anderson’s story at Loewe is one full of charming contradictions—the hand versus the machine, esoteric artist collaborations and internet catnip celebrity front rows, familiar, wearable clothes or the garment as an object—that he embraced wholly. “We’ve had the pandemic, and now we have to come out of it different,” Anderson said at the time. “I think it’s a moment of experimentation. If you’re going to reset after this period, you need to allow a moment to birth a new aesthetic. Start again.” These are some of Anderson’s most significant themes at Loewe, as remembered by us.Hand Vs. MachineOne of Anderson’s most compelling and defined dichotomies has been that of hand-versus machine-made. Early on, up until the pandemic, Anderson underscored Loewe’s artisanal and craft-focused heritage—so much so his debut ready-to-wear collection featured leather swatch necklaces and leather hides peeling away from tops to emphasize the label’s leather beginnings. After the pandemic, his interest in craft evolved into a curiosity for technology, more often than not contextualized in conversation with nature. Think of the screens he placed on coats for his spring 2023 menswear show—the one with grass growing out of sneakers and coats—which featured videos of flocks of birds at sunset, tropical fish, and flowers. See also the blurred floral prints in his fall 2023 collection and the fiberglass anthurium tops in his spring 2023 show, which put into question our ability to differentiate between the real and the fake in the age of technology and the internet. There was also his viral pixelated hoodie, most famously worn by A$AP Rocky. Most illustrative of this particular contradiction? The way his ceramic body plates from fall 2020—the last pre-pandemic collection—seemingly evolved to transparent, plastic-y ones for spring 2022, his first post-pandemic show. —José Criales-UnzuetaClothes Vs. Can You Even Wear That?Anderson’s tenure at Loewe is like watching a mad scientist’s slow descent—except it’s not a scientist but a designer just absolutely locked-in to excavating what fashion can be. For his first two collections—menswear and then womenswear—the lineup was straightforward: T-shirts, straight-leg trousers (with ’90s oversized cuffs for men, and artfully tied self-belts for women), and handsome, no-nonsense knits. Anderson was working through a sort of edgy bohemian artist aesthetic that seemed to be rooted in the 1980s—his textures, colors, and prints owed much to the decade, while his silhouette was often long and layered with dresses over pants, chunky jewelry, patchwork, and embellishments that sometimes bordered on the quirky (remember the cat head necklaces from fall 2016?)As the seasons wore on, his silhouettes began slowly unraveling and exploding; dresses and T-shirts and shorts half-floating off the body, jackets hammered from metal sheets, strange leggings with ruffled openings at the knees, dresses like mummy bandaids holding half-squeezed “balloon” against the body. If Anderson could figure out a way to put something on the body (or against it, or through it, or right next to it, or, or, or…) then it was fair game for a strut down the runway. —Laia Garcia-FurtadoThese Shoes Are Made for Walking Vs. Ceci N’est Pas Une ShoeAnderson hit on a few It-shoe styles; sometimes wildly popular because of their wearability and versatility, and other times wildly viral precisely because of their impossibility. He debuted the Ballet Runner in 2019, a sleek, ultra-flat sneaker with elastic around the ankle that had its origins in the classic ballet flat. Perhaps because it was released right before the pandemic, when suddenly everyone was looking for comfort above all else, the shoe was an instant sensation. Other shoes were practical but extremely odd, like the ankle boots spliced with a loafer front and a minuscule kitten heel or the high-top sneakers that curled up at the toe like an elf shoe. Then there were the flights of whimsy: feet swaddled in leather like a blanket, life-size Minnie Mouse-esque heels, pointy pumps stepping on a balloon in a not non-erotically charged way, strappy sandals held up by a bottle of nail polish, or a bar of soap, or an upside down rose, or a nail through a broken egg shell with the yellow yolk spilling all around. For Anderson the eternal question seems to be: when is a shoe not a shoe?—LGFEsoteric Sets Vs. Internet-BoyfriendsWho could forget the Loewe fall 2024 men’s show last year with its flock of internet boyfriends sitting front row? Thirst traps… err, suggestive moving images of everyone from Jamie Dornan to Omar Apollo and Manu Ríos were also projected on the walls of the show, together with collaged iconography and drawings of men by the artist Richard Hawkins. “An algorithm of masculinity” is how Anderson described the show, which intellectualized the way men exist in, and are consumed by, the internet nowadays. This was Anderson’s most astute combination of the esoteric art he decorates his sets with—sculptures by Lynda Benglis for spring 2024, paintings by Albert York for fall 2024, ephemeral artwork by Joe McShea and Edgar Mosa for fall 2022 menswear—and the of-the-moment, viral-friendly celebrities he hosts in his front rows. This is a story about the high-low appeal of Loewe under Jonathan Anderson, yes, but also of his ability to engage with multiple pockets of culture simultaneously. —JCUFan Favorites Vs. Deep Cut CollaborationsOn the topic of range, consider Anderson’s product collaborations. Most famously under his watch, Loewe partnered repeatedly with the much beloved Studio Ghibli, placing picturesque creatures from its hit films My Neighbor Totoro and Spirited Away on bags and clothing. But then there are Anderson’s artistic inclinations, which in many cases turned Loewe into the fashion brand equivalent to a hidden gem contemporary art gallery. See the T-shirts he created emblazoned with the works of David Wojnarowicz in support of Visual AIDS, or those featuring an image of the artist taken by his mentor and lover Peter Hujar, whose work is a fascination of Anderson’s (the invitation to his spring 2025 menswear show last year was a print of one of his photographs). See also collaborations with William Morris in 2017, Ken Price in 2020, and Jon Brainard in 2021. At Loewe, Anderson certainly offered his fair share of things with massive pop culture appeal, but he also made sure to play to everyone’s love for a good artsy deep cut, with just the right amount of pretension. —JCUPlayful Vs. SeriousAnderson’s reputation for being a serious, designer’s designer is certainly well-earned. His collections are high-concept, the execution impeccable, and he always has a well-crafted soundbite. To further emphasize his passion and pursuit of the high arts, he founded the Loewe Craft Prize in 2016 to highlight the importance of craft across a variety of different disciplines. By 2024, the winner would get 50,000 Euros. “It’s something that I really believe in, this idea that craft can tell us something about ourselves,” he said in 2023. It quickly became a prestigious award for artisans around the world: last year there were 4,000 entries. But Anderson contains multitudes, and he balanced this out with a playful side that could sometimes be downright silly. He launched Loewe Paula’s Ibiza in 2017 as a way to pay homage to a small legendary boutique on the Spanish Balearic island, with summer-ready offerings like kooky statement sunglasses in neon colors, and beach-ready jorts and shredded tees. His home and perfume collections proved similarly tongue-in-cheek, with candles and perfumes that smelled like Tomato, Earth, Water, or even Marijuana. On social media is where his sense of humor unmistakably shonw, where the Loewe TikTok engaged with almost every trend in a way that was somehow always funny and never cringe: see a dark green Puzzle bag flying over a mountain while tied to a drone as Wicked’s “Defying Gravity” plays in the background, or a meme that says “My phone when I accidentally spill water on it” in which the phone seems to go shopping on the Loewe website all by itself. —LGFDaniel Craig in Queer, © A24 Courtesy Everett CollectionZendaya in Challengers, Photo: Niko Tavernise ©MGM/Courtesy Everett CollectionChallengers Vs. QueerAnderson had quite a 2024 with Challengers and Queer, the two films he designed costumes for. While both releases were directed by Luca Guadagnino and written by Justin Kuritzkes, they were entirely different in plot and treatment and, at their core, put on display two signature Anderson contradictions. There’s his time-bending passion for clothes, which were here contextualized by his sourcing of exclusively era-appropriate pieces for Queer stars Daniel Craig and Drew Starkey (underwear included) and his ambiguous “could be any time in the 2010s” take on style for Challengers, which included everything from stained Nike tennis clothing to Chanel espadrilles—and that one JFK Jr.-inspired “I Told Ya” tee. There was also his evident ease in the world of a Zendaya-led summer blockbuster against his esoteric, indie self at home in a William S. Burroughs adaptation. —JCUSome Things Never ChangeStill, there’s an exception to every rule, and while Anderson’s decade-long tenure at Loewe is indeed filled to the brim with contradictions, there are some elements to the Irish designer’s oeuvre that have existed throughout. See above. Source link

[chilimili212]

Loewe announced today that Jonathan Anderson would be leaving his role as creative director. For just over ten years, Anderson oversaw a transformational decade for the Spanish label, during which he took it from a small leather goods house to one of the most recognizable names in fashion, and certainly an insider favorite. Anderson’s tenure at Loewe will be remembered not for a singular aesthetic or sole It-product (though there were those too), but for his knack for constant evolution.Anderson’s early years at Loewe were defined by his fascination with craft; he honed in the label’s savoir faire with leather and made that its most identifiable signature on the runway. Then, at the spring 2022 show, the first following the COVID-19 pandemic lockdowns, Loewe became an experimental, conceptual thing, where he explored all aspects of contemporary life; from our obsession with screens to virality and our growing inability to tell the “real” from the “fake,” giving these ideas gravitas with his clothes.Looking back, Anderson’s story at Loewe is one full of charming contradictions—the hand versus the machine, esoteric artist collaborations and internet catnip celebrity front rows, familiar, wearable clothes or the garment as an object—that he embraced wholly. “We’ve had the pandemic, and now we have to come out of it different,” Anderson said at the time. “I think it’s a moment of experimentation. If you’re going to reset after this period, you need to allow a moment to birth a new aesthetic. Start again.” These are some of Anderson’s most significant themes at Loewe, as remembered by us.Hand Vs. MachineOne of Anderson’s most compelling and defined dichotomies has been that of hand-versus machine-made. Early on, up until the pandemic, Anderson underscored Loewe’s artisanal and craft-focused heritage—so much so his debut ready-to-wear collection featured leather swatch necklaces and leather hides peeling away from tops to emphasize the label’s leather beginnings. After the pandemic, his interest in craft evolved into a curiosity for technology, more often than not contextualized in conversation with nature. Think of the screens he placed on coats for his spring 2023 menswear show—the one with grass growing out of sneakers and coats—which featured videos of flocks of birds at sunset, tropical fish, and flowers. See also the blurred floral prints in his fall 2023 collection and the fiberglass anthurium tops in his spring 2023 show, which put into question our ability to differentiate between the real and the fake in the age of technology and the internet. There was also his viral pixelated hoodie, most famously worn by A$AP Rocky. Most illustrative of this particular contradiction? The way his ceramic body plates from fall 2020—the last pre-pandemic collection—seemingly evolved to transparent, plastic-y ones for spring 2022, his first post-pandemic show. —José Criales-UnzuetaClothes Vs. Can You Even Wear That?Anderson’s tenure at Loewe is like watching a mad scientist’s slow descent—except it’s not a scientist but a designer just absolutely locked-in to excavating what fashion can be. For his first two collections—menswear and then womenswear—the lineup was straightforward: T-shirts, straight-leg trousers (with ’90s oversized cuffs for men, and artfully tied self-belts for women), and handsome, no-nonsense knits. Anderson was working through a sort of edgy bohemian artist aesthetic that seemed to be rooted in the 1980s—his textures, colors, and prints owed much to the decade, while his silhouette was often long and layered with dresses over pants, chunky jewelry, patchwork, and embellishments that sometimes bordered on the quirky (remember the cat head necklaces from fall 2016?)As the seasons wore on, his silhouettes began slowly unraveling and exploding; dresses and T-shirts and shorts half-floating off the body, jackets hammered from metal sheets, strange leggings with ruffled openings at the knees, dresses like mummy bandaids holding half-squeezed “balloon” against the body. If Anderson could figure out a way to put something on the body (or against it, or through it, or right next to it, or, or, or…) then it was fair game for a strut down the runway. —Laia Garcia-FurtadoThese Shoes Are Made for Walking Vs. Ceci N’est Pas Une ShoeAnderson hit on a few It-shoe styles; sometimes wildly popular because of their wearability and versatility, and other times wildly viral precisely because of their impossibility. He debuted the Ballet Runner in 2019, a sleek, ultra-flat sneaker with elastic around the ankle that had its origins in the classic ballet flat. Perhaps because it was released right before the pandemic, when suddenly everyone was looking for comfort above all else, the shoe was an instant sensation. Other shoes were practical but extremely odd, like the ankle boots spliced with a loafer front and a minuscule kitten heel or the high-top sneakers that curled up at the toe like an elf shoe. Then there were the flights of whimsy: feet swaddled in leather like a blanket, life-size Minnie Mouse-esque heels, pointy pumps stepping on a balloon in a not non-erotically charged way, strappy sandals held up by a bottle of nail polish, or a bar of soap, or an upside down rose, or a nail through a broken egg shell with the yellow yolk spilling all around. For Anderson the eternal question seems to be: when is a shoe not a shoe?—LGFEsoteric Sets Vs. Internet-BoyfriendsWho could forget the Loewe fall 2024 men’s show last year with its flock of internet boyfriends sitting front row? Thirst traps… err, suggestive moving images of everyone from Jamie Dornan to Omar Apollo and Manu Ríos were also projected on the walls of the show, together with collaged iconography and drawings of men by the artist Richard Hawkins. “An algorithm of masculinity” is how Anderson described the show, which intellectualized the way men exist in, and are consumed by, the internet nowadays. This was Anderson’s most astute combination of the esoteric art he decorates his sets with—sculptures by Lynda Benglis for spring 2024, paintings by Albert York for fall 2024, ephemeral artwork by Joe McShea and Edgar Mosa for fall 2022 menswear—and the of-the-moment, viral-friendly celebrities he hosts in his front rows. This is a story about the high-low appeal of Loewe under Jonathan Anderson, yes, but also of his ability to engage with multiple pockets of culture simultaneously. —JCUFan Favorites Vs. Deep Cut CollaborationsOn the topic of range, consider Anderson’s product collaborations. Most famously under his watch, Loewe partnered repeatedly with the much beloved Studio Ghibli, placing picturesque creatures from its hit films My Neighbor Totoro and Spirited Away on bags and clothing. But then there are Anderson’s artistic inclinations, which in many cases turned Loewe into the fashion brand equivalent to a hidden gem contemporary art gallery. See the T-shirts he created emblazoned with the works of David Wojnarowicz in support of Visual AIDS, or those featuring an image of the artist taken by his mentor and lover Peter Hujar, whose work is a fascination of Anderson’s (the invitation to his spring 2025 menswear show last year was a print of one of his photographs). See also collaborations with William Morris in 2017, Ken Price in 2020, and Jon Brainard in 2021. At Loewe, Anderson certainly offered his fair share of things with massive pop culture appeal, but he also made sure to play to everyone’s love for a good artsy deep cut, with just the right amount of pretension. —JCUPlayful Vs. SeriousAnderson’s reputation for being a serious, designer’s designer is certainly well-earned. His collections are high-concept, the execution impeccable, and he always has a well-crafted soundbite. To further emphasize his passion and pursuit of the high arts, he founded the Loewe Craft Prize in 2016 to highlight the importance of craft across a variety of different disciplines. By 2024, the winner would get 50,000 Euros. “It’s something that I really believe in, this idea that craft can tell us something about ourselves,” he said in 2023. It quickly became a prestigious award for artisans around the world: last year there were 4,000 entries. But Anderson contains multitudes, and he balanced this out with a playful side that could sometimes be downright silly. He launched Loewe Paula’s Ibiza in 2017 as a way to pay homage to a small legendary boutique on the Spanish Balearic island, with summer-ready offerings like kooky statement sunglasses in neon colors, and beach-ready jorts and shredded tees. His home and perfume collections proved similarly tongue-in-cheek, with candles and perfumes that smelled like Tomato, Earth, Water, or even Marijuana. On social media is where his sense of humor unmistakably shonw, where the Loewe TikTok engaged with almost every trend in a way that was somehow always funny and never cringe: see a dark green Puzzle bag flying over a mountain while tied to a drone as Wicked’s “Defying Gravity” plays in the background, or a meme that says “My phone when I accidentally spill water on it” in which the phone seems to go shopping on the Loewe website all by itself. —LGFDaniel Craig in Queer, © A24 Courtesy Everett CollectionZendaya in Challengers, Photo: Niko Tavernise ©MGM/Courtesy Everett CollectionChallengers Vs. QueerAnderson had quite a 2024 with Challengers and Queer, the two films he designed costumes for. While both releases were directed by Luca Guadagnino and written by Justin Kuritzkes, they were entirely different in plot and treatment and, at their core, put on display two signature Anderson contradictions. There’s his time-bending passion for clothes, which were here contextualized by his sourcing of exclusively era-appropriate pieces for Queer stars Daniel Craig and Drew Starkey (underwear included) and his ambiguous “could be any time in the 2010s” take on style for Challengers, which included everything from stained Nike tennis clothing to Chanel espadrilles—and that one JFK Jr.-inspired “I Told Ya” tee. There was also his evident ease in the world of a Zendaya-led summer blockbuster against his esoteric, indie self at home in a William S. Burroughs adaptation. —JCUSome Things Never ChangeStill, there’s an exception to every rule, and while Anderson’s decade-long tenure at Loewe is indeed filled to the brim with contradictions, there are some elements to the Irish designer’s oeuvre that have existed throughout. See above. Source link