#Made To Measure Suits London

[room-ten]

Experience Excellence with Made to Measure Suits in London

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[dooleyrostron]

Elevate Your Summer Wedding Style with Custom-Made Suits

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ORIGINAL SOURCE: bit.ly/3XZgz1T

[bxbridal88]

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[carolineandrew1]

Best Made to Measure Suits in London - Caroline Andrew

Caroline Andrew presents the best made to measure suits in London, blending traditional workmanship and modern styling to achieve perfect suits designed to fit. Having a total dedication to quality and detail, there is a similarity found in every single suit tailor-made for each customer.

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Visit Us - https://www.carolineandrew.co.uk/made-to-measure-suits-london/

[lorenzoberni]

Campaign shot by Lorenzo Berni x Patrick McDowell Eurydice Collection.

[reidsworld]

Beautiful Tragedy

Summary: Set in late 1800s London high society, Logan Howlett falls for a woman who is off limits, resulting in what can only be described as a beautiful tragedy. Based on this post by @shinyshayminflower

Paring: Logan Howlett x Fem!Reader

Category: Angst

Content Warnings: Heavy angst, forbidden love, arranged marriage, kinda ooc.

Word Count: 3.6k

Mars speaks… chat I cried while writing this. this turned out sm more AU like than I originally planned but we move. also reader ended up being british...

Part 2 | Masterlist

The grand estate your family owned was a sanctuary of opulence, yet it felt like a gilded cage. The late 1800s had bound you to a life of social expectations, where every decision was dictated by status and tradition. Amidst the grandeur of high society, you found solace in Logan Howlett— a man whose mutant abilities had kept him on the fringes of your world.

Logan, with his war-hardened past and retractable claws, was both an outsider and a confidant. Despite his loyalty and experience, his mutation made it impossible for him to be anything more than a distant companion.

Logan knew where he stood when it came to his place in society. He was more of a bodyguard than friend, someone to be kept at an arm's length yet close enough that it would be acceptable to use him as protection. That was how he met you, while in attendance at a ball hosted by your family, his sole purpose there was to act as a sort of security in case anyone came looking for trouble.

The lavish ballroom of the manor was alive with the clamour of high society. Chandeliers dripped with crystal droplets that cast a warm, shimmering light over the elegantly dressed guests. The air was thick with the fragrance of roses and lilacs, mingled with the faint scent of freshly polished wood and candle wax.

Logan stood near the entrance, his presence a stark contrast to the glittering splendour surrounding him. He was impeccably dressed in a dark suit, but his demeanour was understated, a professional reserve that set him apart from the guests. His role was clear: to remain unobtrusive, yet vigilant, a sentinel amidst the grandeur. His reputation as a skilled protector preceded him, but his mutant abilities were a closely guarded secret, known only to those who needed to know.

You, the lady of the evening, moved through the crowd with grace and composure. As the daughter of the host, you were the centre of attention, engaged in polite conversation and the ceremonial dance of high society. Your laughter was soft, your smiles carefully measured. Yet beneath the surface, there was a sense of confinement, a constraint imposed by the roles expected of you.

It was during one of these moments of enforced sociability that Logan first saw you. He had been scanning the room, his sharp eyes ever watchful for any signs of trouble. His gaze landed on you as you were approached by a particularly insistent suitor, whose eyes were filled with interest that seemed to linger a bit too long.

Logan’s instincts kicked in. He moved closer, positioning himself strategically within view but maintaining a respectful distance. He could sense the subtle shift in your demeanour, the polite but firm way you dismissed the suitor. It was a momentary flicker of discomfort, quickly masked by a practiced smile.

As the suitor finally retreated, you looked around, momentarily lost in thought. It was then that your eyes met Logan’s for the first time. The connection was brief but charged with an unspoken understanding. Logan’s gaze was steady and professional, but there was something more—an acknowledgment of the silent pressure you were under.

You excused yourself from the crowd and made your way to a quieter corner of the ballroom. Logan followed at a discreet distance, his curiosity piqued by the subtle display of restraint he had witnessed. It was clear that you were navigating a complex social minefield, and his role, though limited, allowed him a rare glimpse into your world.

“Do you need anything, Miss?” Logan’s voice was low, respectful, as he approached you in the secluded corner. His accent, thick and distinctly Canadian, cut through the formality of his tone, adding an unexpected warmth to his words. The question was more about offering a reprieve than an actual request for assistance. His tone was a gentle reminder of his presence, without overstepping the bounds of his role.

You looked up at him, surprised to find him so close. There was an air of authority about him, but it was tempered with a kindness that contrasted sharply with the stiffness of the evening’s festivities.

“Actually,” you replied, your voice soft but carrying a note of genuine curiosity, “I must say, I rather enjoy your accent. It’s quite refreshing to hear amidst all the clipped tones of London society.”

Logan’s eyebrows lifted in mild surprise. “Thank you, Miss. I’ve been told it’s quite distinctive.”

“It is,” you said with a soft smile. “There’s something about it that’s rather charming. It makes you stand out, even in a room full of such grandeur.”

Logan’s gaze softened, a hint of a smile playing at his lips. “I suppose I’m not quite the typical guest at such events.”

“No, you’re not,” you agreed, “but that’s not necessarily a bad thing.”

There was a moment of silence, an unspoken connection forming between you. In that brief exchange, there was an understanding that transcended the formalities of the evening. Logan’s presence, though initially seen as a mere security detail, began to take on a different significance.

“I was merely taking a moment away from the crowd,” you say, as if you felt the need to explain your absence from being the lady of the party, the soft tone of your voice cut through the silence.

Logan nodded, respecting your need for space. “It’s quite a gatherin’ tonight. I’m sure it’s overwhelmin’.”

You smiled, a fleeting expression of relief crossing your features. “Yes, it is. The expectations can be quite… demanding.”

Logan’s gaze softened. “I understand. It’s my job to observe and protect, but I’ve seen enough of these gatherin’s to know that they come with their own set of obstacles.”

“And how do you find it, observing from the sidelines?”

Logan’s expression revealed a hint of a smile, though it was tinged with a touch of melancholy. “Sometimes, it’s a necessary role. It allows me to see things that others might miss. But it’s not without its own challenges.”

As the conversation drew to a close, you nodded to him, a gesture of gratitude and acknowledgment. “Thank you, Mr…?”

“Howlett, Logan Howlett.”

“Well, thank you, Mr. Howlett. It’s nice to have someone who understands.”

Logan inclined his head, a respectful smile on his lips. “Anytime, Miss. If you need anythin’, I’ll be nearby.”

With that, you returned to the ballroom, the weight of the evening’s obligations settling back upon you. But as you moved through the crowd once more, you couldn’t shake the feeling that this brief, genuine interaction with Logan had introduced a new, albeit unexpected, layer to your world.

Logan, meanwhile, watched you from a distance, his thoughts a mix of admiration and cautious intrigue. The evening had begun with clear boundaries and roles, but this fleeting encounter hinted at the possibility of something more—something that could challenge the carefully constructed walls of society and expectation.

As the night wore on, both of you carried the memory of that brief exchange, a subtle acknowledgment of a connection that neither fully understood but both felt deeply. It was a moment of genuine interaction in a sea of pretence, and it marked the beginning of something new for the both of you.

The first signs of affection between you and Logan since that night were subtle, yet profound. Stolen glances, brief touches, and shared smiles were the only expressions of a deep and forbidden love. On cool, moonlit evenings, you would find secluded corners of the manor, where the walls could not judge and the moonlight could only witness.

The manor's gardens were hushed under the blanket of twilight, the moon casting a silvery glow over the manicured lawns and fragrant blooms. The night was cool, a gentle breeze rustling the leaves and carrying the scent of jasmine. You wandered along the winding paths, seeking refuge from the stifling constraints of the evening’s festivities.

Logan had noticed your retreat and, with the quiet grace of someone who understood the need for solitude, followed at a discreet distance. His presence was a comforting shadow against the moonlit landscape, his footsteps barely making a sound on the gravel path.

You found yourself drawn to a secluded alcove, a small, hidden corner of the garden where the ivy-clad walls and the canopy of ancient trees offered a cocoon of privacy. You leaned against the stone balustrade, the coolness of the marble seeping through your silk gloves. The moonlight danced on the surface of the small pond before you, creating a shimmering mosaic.

Moments later, Logan emerged from the shadows, his eyes finding yours with an intensity that made your heart quicken. He had shed the formal demeanour of the evening, his posture relaxed yet alert, as if he too needed this quiet moment to escape the expectations placed upon him.

“I hoped I’d find you here,” he said softly, his accent carrying a soothing cadence in the stillness of the night.

You turned to him, a smile touching your lips despite the knot of anxiety in your chest. “I needed a moment away from everything.”

Logan stepped closer, the space between you closing as he approached with deliberate care. His gaze was tender, his eyes reflecting the moonlight with a warmth that belied the cool night. “You seemed lost in thought earlier. Everythin’ alright?”

You nodded, though the flicker of sadness in your eyes spoke volumes. You wracked your brain, trying to find the best way to speak without hurting him. You knew what your father expected of you when it came to your future, the guilt gnawed on you as you spoke, “just… trying to navigate the expectations placed upon me.”

Logan’s hand brushed against yours, a fleeting touch that sent a shiver up your spine. The contact was brief but electric, a silent exchange of the emotions that words could not fully capture. He looked at you with a mixture of admiration and concern, his fingers lingering near yours.

“I wish there was something more I could do, darlin’” he said, his voice low and filled with sincerity.

You turned your hand to his, a gesture of both comfort and need. “Your presence alone means more than you know. It’s the only thing that feels real amidst all the pretence.”

Logan’s thumb gently caressed the back of your hand, his touch both reassuring and tender. “I wish things were different,” he murmured, his voice a hushed confession. “I wish I could be more than just a shadow in the background.”

A sigh escaped your lips, and you looked up at him with a mixture of longing and sorrow. “So do I. But the world is not as kind as we’d like it to be.”

In that moment, the air between you seemed to crackle with unspoken desires. Logan’s eyes searched yours, and you saw a vulnerability in him that matched your own. He took a deep breath, the weight of his unspoken feelings hanging heavily in the space between you.

“I don’t want to just be a shadow,” he said, his voice resolute but soft. “I want to be something real in your life.”

Your heart ached with the intensity of his words. You stepped closer, your free hand resting gently on his arm. “You are, Logan.”

He gave you a pointed look, “I want to be more than just some secret lover, I want to be able to shout from the rooftops that you're mine.”

You sighed with a heavy heart, “I know, I want that too. But we’re bound by the constraints of a world that doesn’t understand us, doesn’t understand you.”

Logan’s gaze dropped to your lips, his eyes heavy with emotion. “Then let this night be ours, if only for a moment. Let the world fade away and let us be here, together, beneath the moon.”

You nodded, tears glistening in your eyes. “Just for tonight.”

He closed the distance between you, his lips brushing against yours in a tender kiss. It was a kiss filled with all the love and longing that had been building between you, a quiet declaration of the feelings that had grown in the shadows of the manor. It was a poignant symphony of love and yearning, each touch a silent plea for something that could never fully come to be.

As his lips lingered against yours, the sweetness of the moment was tinged with a sharp edge of guilt and sorrow. You had always known that this love was a fleeting dream, a delicate thread woven in the shadows of your constrained existence. The reality of what was to come loomed over you like a dark cloud, a future you could not escape but deeply resented. Each stolen moment with Logan was both a treasure and a torment, a painful reminder of what you had been forced to forsake. In the moonlit stillness, as you nestled against him, the weight of what was inevitable pressed heavily on your heart. You could feel the crushing burden of a future you could neither change nor fully embrace, and what you had with Logan was a beautiful tragedy.

As you pulled away, both of you breathed deeply, savouring the preciousness of the moment. Logan’s arms encircled you, holding you close against his chest. You rested your head against him, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your ear.

In the tranquillity of the moonlit garden, the world outside ceased to exist. For a brief, fleeting moment, there were no societal constraints, no expectations—just the two of you, lost in the gentle embrace of the night.

“I love you,” Logan whispered, his voice a soft rumble against your ear.

You closed your eyes, a tear rolling down your cheek, your heart swelling with both joy and sorrow at the words you wish you could say. “I know.”

“What if we could just leave?” Logan suggested one night, his voice a hopeful murmur against the backdrop of the crackling fire.

Your heart ached at the thought, your gaze darkening with a mix of longing and despair. “Leave? Logan, it’s not that simple. They would hunt us down. There’s no place for us in the world beyond these walls.”

“But have you ever imagined it? What it would be like if we were free to be together?” he asked, his tone filled with quiet yearning.

“Every single day,” you whispered, your fingers finding his and intertwining with them. “But we both know it’s impossible. Society will never allow it. To them, I’m nothing more than property, meant to be traded to the wealthiest suitor. And you… they see you as a weapon—a beast, not a man.”

Logan’s expression darkened with hurt, and suddenly, he was on his feet, his hands ripping themselves away from yours. “Is that what you think too?” His voice was tight, raw with pain. “Do you see me as just some animal, only here to protect you?”

His words hit you like a punch to the gut, and you froze, your breath catching in your throat. “No, Logan, I would never—”

“Then what am I to you?” he cut you off, his frustration bubbling over. “If we can’t run, if there’s no future for us, then why are we still pretending? Pretending that this is enough, that we’re not just stuck in a nightmare we can’t wake up from?”

His anger pierced through you, your heart pounding as you struggled to find the words that could make him understand. “Logan, that’s not what I meant—”

“Not what you meant?” he echoed, his voice sharp. “Wasn’t it you who made me believe there was a chance? That if we just held on, we could make this work? Yet you never said you loved me, not once.”

Your breath hitched, tears spilling down your cheeks as you saw the anguish in his eyes. All you wanted was to reach out, to hold him, to promise that you would find a way to escape together. Logan’s heart ached with the urge to pull you into his arms, to tell you that everything would be okay—that you’d figure it out somehow. But he held himself back, his face a mask of cold indifference, waiting for you to break the unbearable silence.

“I can’t,” you choked out.

“Why not?” he demanded, his voice rising with desperation.

“You don’t understand,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “If I say it, it will only make things worse. It will only hurt you more.”

“Why? Why can’t you just tell me?” he pressed, his voice thick with emotion.

“Because I am to be married!” you finally shouted, the words tearing from your throat.

“What?” His voice was low and cold, but the pain in his eyes was unmistakable.

“I am to be married…” The words came out as a broken whisper, heavy with the weight of inevitability. You wished with every fibre of your being that you could take them back, that you’d never had to see the way his expression shattered into something you’d never seen before—something you never wanted to see again.

He turned away from you, and you hated yourself for not trying harder, for not fighting to make him stay, for not finding a way to make him listen.

The grand hall was adorned with flowers, the scent of roses heavy in the air as guests murmured in hushed tones, awaiting the ceremony. You stood in a small room adjacent to the hall, staring at your reflection in the mirror. The white dress, elegant and intricate, felt like a shroud—a symbol of everything you were about to lose.

A soft knock echoed through the quiet room. Your heart leaped in your chest as Logan stepped inside, his face a mix of sorrow and determination. He looked out of place in the lavish surroundings, a reminder of the life you truly wanted but could never have. You had asked to see him, to explain, though you weren’t sure if anything you said could ever make this right.

“Logan…” you began, your voice breaking as you turned to face him.

“Don’t,” he whispered, his voice tight with emotion. “Don’t say it. I just needed to see you before…”

Tears welled up in your eyes as you stepped closer, shaking your head. “You have to understand—this wasn’t my choice. I never wanted this, Logan. My father… he arranged it all. He would never have allowed us to be together.”

Logan’s jaw clenched, his hands curling into fists at his sides. “Because of what I am,” he said bitterly, his eyes dark with pain. “Because society sees me as some kind of monster.”

You closed the distance between you, reaching out to take his hands in yours. “You’re not a monster, Logan. You’ve never been a monster to me. But the nature of your abilities… they see it as something monstrous, something that could never belong in my world. My father, society—they would never accept it, never accept us.”

Logan looked down at your joined hands, his expression torn between anger and heartbreak. “So this is it, then?” he asked quietly, his voice rough with emotion. “You’re just going to let them take you away from me?”

Your breath hitched, tears slipping down your cheeks. “I don’t have a choice,” you whispered, the words feeling like daggers in your chest. “But I need you to know… I love you, Logan. I’ve loved you since the moment we met. And I’ll never stop loving you, no matter what happens.”

Logan’s eyes met yours, his gaze filled with a deep, unspoken anguish. He pulled you into a fierce embrace, holding you as if he could somehow shield you from the world, from the fate that was tearing you apart. “I love you too,” he whispered against your hair, his voice thick with the pain of a thousand unspoken words.

You clung to him, the two of you standing there, lost in the moment, the weight of your impending separation hanging over you like a dark cloud. You knew that this was goodbye, that once you stepped out of that room, your life would be dreadfully bound to another, and the future you had dreamed of with Logan would be nothing more than a memory.

Logan slowly pulled away, his hands lingering on your shoulders as if he couldn’t bear to let go. “I’ll be waiting for you” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

You nodded, tears streaming down your face as you tried to memorise every detail of his face, every line, every mark. “I’ll always carry you with me, Logan. In my heart.”

He gave you one last, lingering look before stepping back, the distance between you growing wider with every second. He opened the door and left without another word, the sound of it closing behind him echoing in the silence.

You stood there, the emptiness overwhelming as you tried to steady your breathing, trying to prepare yourself for the life you were about to enter—a life without him.

As the music began to play in the hall, signalling the start of the ceremony, you took one last, deep breath, and whispered into the empty room, “I love you, Logan.”

Mars speaks... (again) pt.2 anyone?

[soleilnewspaper]

Broken promises

Series masterlist

Summary: Regulus reminds you of a promise you made to him in childhood and how you have broken it. You return from a weekend trip to find Remus in the hospital wing. Sirius knows he can’t hide Remus’s condition for you any longer.

Pairing: platonic Regulus x fem!reader, poly!wolfstar x fem!reader

Warnings: Angst, fighting with friends, feeling inadequate, cliffhanger, talks of blood and bruises (from the full moon)

Word count: 1.9k

AN: I’m terribly ill and doc ordered me to say in bed, so sleep and write is all I have done today lol. Sorry it’s a little short. Thank you for your time :)

December 24th, 1970

Number 12 Grimmauld Place, North West of London, hidden from the eyes of muggles. The Black family took pride in the fact that they were hosting the Yule Eve dinner party. They were Pureblood royalty after all.

The house was decorated in festive decorations for the upcoming Yule celebrations custom of the sacred 28 society. The food alone could surely feed an entire orphanage.

A young Regulus, at a mere nine years old yet dressed far better than most adults. The scratchy material of his dress robes had been bothering him from the moment his mother had forced him into them. His black locs were combed back with magical gel to ensure he remained perfect for the night.

Clasped his small hand, you ran along with him. The frills from your pink dress made it difficult to much. It overwhelmed your body. You thought you looked like a large ball of cotton candy. Which your mother had scolded you for even thinking such a thing.

Trails of pristine white ribbons once worn in your hair now lay tossed on the freshly polished floors of the manor. Your house elf had been ordered by your mother to ‘tame’ your hair earlier that night. Hours of work had been in vain as your locs had bounced back only moments ago. Sliver jewerly adorned your neck sparkling in the candle lit hallway.

Kreacher had turned a blind eye to your ‘escape’ from the dinner. Neither of your mothers had noticed your absence yet. Something which both Regulus and you were beyond grateful for. Merlin knows what your punishment would be for daring to participate in such childish behaviour. For, being a pureblood meant you never were a child. You were simply an investment.

Regulus was the spare, the second choice, a precautionary measure that his parents had taken should Sirius prove to not be eligible. You, on the other hand, were born a girl. Which meant you were to be married off the moment you were of legal age. Although you had heard the stories of girls who had been forced to marry long before that. Your potential husband would be most likely related to you in some way.

Your mother would often gossip about how the Black Family ‘kept things in the family’ in reference to how cousins married each other frequently. However, truth be told, all pureblood were related in some way or other. Pureblood had been facing excitation for centuries. In order to keep their lines ‘pure’ they needed to dip their toes into the pool of incest. The sacred 28 all crossed over if you were to look close enough. Which is why you thought your mother to be a hypocrite.

Regulus pulled you into a nock in the attic. Whilst you were still in a fit of giggles.

“My lady.” Regulus pretended to bow, taking an old feathered hat on and then off his head.

“Why thank you, kind sir.” You responded through a set of giggles. Giving him a curtse in return, just as your mother had taught you.

Regulus took your hand and guided you to sit down with him on the floor, placing his suit jacket down to avoid you getting your dress dirty. You picked up the ends of your dress to try make it easier on you to sit down. A proof sound was heard the second you touched the floor. As you quite literally fell on your ass from the sheer size of the dress. Your mother was a beautiful woman but her style was eccentric to say the least. She had dressed your sister and brother in a similar fashion, both of who were being good children and still in the dining hall.

“Will you consider promising me something, Y/N?” The boy’s language was far better than most adults you knew. Pureblood society doing of course. You were both already fluent in Latin and Greek while Regulus knew French as well. It being his family’s main language after all.

“Whatever do you mean, Reggie?” You asked in the same tone. Frowning your small brows in confusion.

“Would it be to much to ask, if you could promise to be mine forever.” His statement confused you at first causing him to explain further. “We both know our mothers will marry us off one of these days, but please choose me, your friend first.”

“As long as you promise to choose me always and forever.” You smiled back at him.

“Best friends before lovers?” Regulus asked you unsure of himself.

“I would rather have live a life with no love, than live one without you as my friend.” You took ahold of his hand gently.

“I do not wish to condemn you to a love of loneliness, Y/N.” He dropped his hand from yours, fearing he was asking you too much with your friendship.

“Reggie, with you by my side, I could never be lonely.” That had earned you a smile from him, a one larger than you had ever seen before.

Present time

Regulus Arcturus Black would never be your lover. No, your bond proceeded that of romantic expectations. Your bond would always be platonic, but it would be the deepest bond you would ever have. For your souls wore bind together in no way a lover could understand. Even if it was a childish desire to ask for your loyalty forever. To chose him over everyone else in the world. You knew, that in truth, there was only one person he had asked you to never choose over him. His brother. Which is exactly what you had done. The one thing he had begged of you all those years ago, you had done without hesitation. Breaking his trust doesn’t even cover the cost your newfound relationship had taken to your oldest one.

He was not angry nor was he upset with you. Regulus felt hurt, betrayed even. In all his life, he had lived with the expectation that he would always be second best. Only this past summer had his parents began to pay attention to him after Sirius had left home. Officially disowning their eldest, made Regulus their heir. He was only valued once Sirius was gone. For once in his life, people had began to look at him instead. It had been a long time coming, since the moment Sirius was sorted into Gryffindor. The light slowly began to shift to the younger brother. Yet, never completely, not until now. Within the span of a few weeks he had become the star of the family. A fact which had only served to make him bitter because he knew the care of his family was conditional. For they had hardly offered him a look before he was proved to be their last hope of salvation.

The worse part was Sirius believed Regulus was the first choice. When in fact he had never been someone’s first choice in anything. That is excluding you. Regulus had always been your first choice. It was something which he had come to held dearly in the span of his fifteen years of life.

Despite being a few months younger than Sirius, and almost a whole year older than Regulus. You had chosen to be his friend. As children, your mother urged you to make connection with Sirius, but you never did. Regulus was who you chose to spend your time with. Up until Hogwarts neither one of you had any real friends besides each other. Barty did not run in the same circles as the two of you before Hogwarts. The rosier twins didn’t form a friendship with you until Regulus’s first year at Hogwarts which had been their first too.

He had only asked one thing of you, and you could not give him that. You now understood his anger. Yet you still felt defensive as you were in a vulnerable state.

“You do not get to held a childish promise over my head!” You yelled, your voice reaching across the common room.

“It is not about the promise, Y/N.” Regulus stated with lips pulled into a thin unreadable expression.

“Then what is it about, Regulus?” Anger severed through your throat as you spoke.

“Rage does not consume me for the mere fact of your entanglement in a romantic relationship. As one of your closest friends, I comprehend that it is beyond my jurisdiction to dictate the auspices under which you choose to allocate your precious hours. Yet, I implored solely that you not date my own brother.” Regulus paced around the room, his hand running through hair multiple times before he turned to face you directly.

“For it is your preference that leans towards him, and no longer me. He is accustomed to being selected first and foremost in all things. I am not. Barty, Evan, Pandora and you were mine; untill you chose me over me. The one thing you promised, swore, you would never do.” Regulus voice no longer held anger, it was filled with hurt. He pointed a a finger towards your chest to further his point. Breathless as he spoke.

“Reg…” You moved towards him but he flinched away from your touch. “My relationship with him does not change the friendship I have with you.”

“Liar.”

“You say that, yet you continue to be with him. To chose him.” Regulus walked away from you but you followed without hesitation.

“You are being over dramatic.”

“Am I, so am I to just discard the only person who truly understands me. In order to allow you to satisfy your desires.” Regulus used the boot of his shoe to kick the table lightly.

“You do not mean that.” Tears were beginning to form in your eyes.

“What other choice have you given me?” Regulus breathed out barely forming words.

“I never intended to lose you, Reg.”

“Oh, well then everything is sorted. Is it not. Far be it that I have feelings and reactions to your actions.”

“Please, stop, I beg of you.” Your voice was pleading with him now.

“Would you do one decency?”

“Anything.”

“Tell me why did it have to be him.” You heard the crack in his voice as he spoke. Arms at his side and legs planted on the floor.

You squeezed your eyes shut at his question. Knowing whatever your answer would only serve to hurt him further.

“I fell for him. I tried not to. Believe me I did, but I cannot ignore my feelings anymore. Please forgive me.”

“Forgiveness does not come easy, Y/N.” Regulus eyes roared with anger, but you knew there still lay hurt behind them. “But I don’t want to lose you.”

“Does that mean…” The steps you took towards him were careful and precise to not spook him with your actions.

“I would could never live without your friendship. It pains me so, but I know I have to forgive you, but do not ask me to forgive him.”

Tears pooled in your eyes as the words left his cold lips. Before another moment could pass, you wrapped your arms around his torso. To your surprise he accepted your affection. He had never been one to allow affectionate gestures, it simply was not his way of expressing himself. Yet, in the rare moments when he allowed himself to let another in, his warmth would be unlimited.

“Can I assume I have my best friend back?” Your voice was muffled by Regulus’ green Qudditch jersey.

He pulled away from the hug but kept physical contact with you by placing both of his hands on your sides.

“You never lost me.”

Sounds of students began to fill the common room as they returned from the pitch and great hall. Undoubtedly complaining and/or talking about the lack of victory Slytherin had acquired in today’s events.

“One last thing, Y/N.” Regulus spoke in a hushed tone to avoid being interrupted or ease dropped on.

“Anything.”

“If my brother hurts you, there’s not a place in the world he’d be able to hide from me. Blood may be thicker than water, but my loyalty for you will always outweigh my loyalty for him. Never doubt that for a moment.”

“I appreciate it, but that’s not necessarily-“

“Believe me when I say, negotiation is not an option here. You will lose this argument.” Regulus’s dark eyes were completely serious and his face showed no signs of amusement.

“Is your plan to treat me like a child of divorce?”

“Mmm, we’ll work on the arrangements later.” Regulus smiled at you, one that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“You know you will always be my best friend, right?” You asked taking his hand in yours.

“Don’t tell Barty that, he might kill me.” Regulus leaned into you.

“Well we would’t want that, now would we.”

The life of a pureblood had taught you many things. None of which had seamed to prove helpful in any way shape or form for your current situation.

While you might have seamed to patch things up with Regulus for the most part. Although you still were treading in dangerous waters. At least you could sleep soundly knowing he was willing to come around to the idea. In time, of course.

Yet, you still faced another dilemma; your relationship. Secrets were being kept from you, that was obvious enough, but what the secret was remained a mystery to you.

It didn’t help that Sirius and Remus seamed to have no intention of letting you in on it anytime soon. Taking into consideration how much history the two had, you continued to feel out of place in your own relationship, and feared for how much long you could take it.

For the past three days, you had to be condemned to visiting your oh so loving family. Torture did not even begin to cover it. Though you knew there were pureblood children in worst situations. The Blacks were a prime example. Leading you to appreciate your dysfunctional family because at least they had never used an unforgivable curse on you. To say the bar was low would be an understatement.

So as you walked through the castle walls having returned from your trip. Your mind began to wonder. However, your moment of peace was short lived as you passed the Hospital Wing.

You couldn’t see much but you could see Sirius who was walking towards the door. Through a series of lies, excuses and distractions, the boys had managed to occlude you from Remus’s condition. Yet, your weekend away just so happened to be a full moon. A particularly horrific one in fact. No chance were they going to be able to hide it from you now.

Sirius’s sliver eyes were accompanied by purple eye bags from staying up all night with Remus. Hair fell in disarray and tangles were visible in his usual elegant locs. He appeared gaunt, almost as if the life had been drained out of him.

Upon seeing you, a serge of panic ripped through his entire being.

“Oh Salvar.” You rushed towards him in panic searching his face for signs of injury. It only worked to make him feel more guilty than he already was.

“S’m nothin’.” Tiredness and worry were evident in his voice.

“Sirius, do not take me for a fool.”

“I’m not, honestly, just-“ Whilst barely finding the energy to form words, you interrupted him with rage already approaching.

“What’ll be this time, huh?” Hands fell from his face leaving a cold chill. You crossed your arms in front of your chest, you were beyond rage, you were done.

“It’s not like that, baby.” His voice begged for sympathy but you refused to show the effort he had on you.

“Where’s Remus?”

Sirius’s eyes widen at the thought of you seeing Remus in his current state. You stepped forward to enter the hospital wing causing him to plant himself in front of you. Using his height to block your view. Your flight or fight activated. Making use of the large space of the room you tricked him by making him believe you were headed one way and then pushed past him in the other.

As soon as you had escaped his gasp, Sirius ran after you in panic. However, with our tired he was, he didn’t have the strength to carry through.

Remus lay curled up on the hospital bed. Bandages surrounded his body in multiple places. Most seamed clean but others had large red stains from blood. Bruises and cuts decorated his body like Christmas lights. The beautiful brown eyes that you had come to cherish so dearly had taken on a dull hue. With dark circles surround them and bloodshot eyes. His hair stuck up in all different directions filled with dirt and a sneer of blood.

A whine escaped the thin werewolf when he turned on his side to see who had entered. His eyes struggled to focus for a few moments to depict your figure, but when he did, he swore he felt just like he did before people knew about his secret. Ashamed, scared, horrified all mixed into self loathing.

“Remus?” You managed to choke out through the tears that had began to form in your eyes upon seeing him.

“Hey, dovie.”

Taglist: @maraudersforlife2005 @xlxnq

[lisbeth-kk]

Sherlock fandom

It is in the Details

He had always been meticulous, even as a child. It was his brother who taught him to observe and to keep an eye out for tiny details. 

“The more subtle, the more elegant people will find you. Whether it is your attire or your movements. That way, they will not question your ulterior motives,” Mycroft told him.

Sherlock considered this, and when Mycroft bought him the Belstaff and had added the red buttonhole, he understood. It added an eye-catching sophistication to the garment. The fact that it was one of a kind, made it even more special.

Before he attended his first official crime scene, Sherlock Holmes, the world’s only consulting detective, used a fair amount of his inheritance on expensive hair products, had a bespoke cologne made, purchased Italian leather shoes, and spent an agonising hour at one of Savile Row’s tailors to have his measurements taken.

“Only blue and black suits. A dozen white shirts. Two of the aubergine ones over there. Two of that shade of blue. No ties.”

The tailor didn’t even bat an eyelid when Sherlock made his order and insisted that everything should be tightly fitted.

“I need to breathe, but that’s about it.”

“Of course,” the tailor replied.

***

“Who are you, and what have you done with that high as a kite kid who turned up and solved a crime for me last year?” Greg Lestrade asked when Sherlock strode towards him.

“Gone. I’m clean as of last month. Just what you commanded, detective inspector,” Sherlock drawled. “Now, where are the bodies?”

Sally Donovan and Philip Anderson weren’t as easily dazzled by his newly invented persona, but Sherlock saw them as irrelevant, so he didn't care about being offended by their snarky comments.

***

“Just look at you,” Mrs Hudson cooed when Sherlock knocked on her door.

Her favourite colour is still purple. Recently been to the hairdresser. Didn’t get that cat after all.

“Hello, Mrs Hudson. Lovely to see you again. Are you still renting out the upstairs flat?”

“I take it you are interested,” the elderly woman said and winked. “Don’t you think it’s a bit big for just you. A flatmate would be nice. What do you say?”

“Who would tolerate living with me?” Sherlock answered with a grimace.

“Oh, come now, Sherlock. Deep down you’re as fluffy as a plushie,” she stated.

Sherlock rolled his eyes and went upstairs to take a proper look at 221B.

It was cluttered, but the atmosphere was cosy, even though it hadn’t been inhabited for several months. 

It feels like a proper home, but do I want to share it with another man? I’ve never lived with other people than my family before. None of my peers tolerated me for more than a few minutes at a time. I find it hard to believe that somewhere out in the London streets, a man walks around willing to share this flat with a pompous and infuriating git as myself. It would be nothing short of a miracle if that was the case.

***

“Sherlock, meet an old friend of mine, John Watson,” Mike called out when he walked into the lab.

Sherlock narrowed his eyes at the fair-haired man. To Sherlock’s astonishment this John Watson offered to let him borrow his phone when Sherlock asked Mike for his, even though he knew it was safely tucked into his coat pocket.

“Afghanistan or Iraq?”

The awe in the man’s eyes, made Sherlock look away quickly to hide his own confusion. No one had ever gazed at him like that.

“Who said anything about a flatmate?” John asked when he’d gathered himself after Sherlock’s rapid deductions about his career, family, and wound.

“Mike did,” Sherlock explained and put on his coat and scarf with deliberate movements.

Don’t think I haven’t noticed the way you look at my hands and neck, John Watson.

***

“Will you be needing the upstairs bedroom?” Mrs Hudson asked when she followed him and John into 221B the next day.

John blushed but didn’t answer, which was quite promising.

“We’ll let you know,” Sherlock mumbled.

“We have all sort around here,” she assured them before she went down to her own flat.

John placed his cane by the red chair and wandered around to look at all the eccentricities the flat had to offer. The more he walked around, the less he limped, much to Sherlock’s satisfaction.

“Yes, I think this will do just fine,” John said and made himself comfortable in the upholstery chair.

***

“How did you get glitter in your hair?” John asked two days before Christmas later that year.

“I went to Liberty’s to buy some decorations for our tree,” Sherlock said.

“What happened to the Grinch I moved in with in February?”

“He fell in love with an ex-army doctor with a psychosomatic limp,” Sherlock quipped.

“Did he, now,” John murmured and circled his arms around Sherlock’s waist.

Sherlock hummed and bent down to kiss John softly.

“Noticed anything else?” he asked innocently and a bit breathless when they parted.

“I did actually. You’ve been to your tailor,” John said with a broad smile.

“Tell me,” Sherlock purred and sucked John’s bottom lip into his mouth.

“Just spotted some small things. Your shirt isn’t tucked into your trousers in its usually way, one button is only half buttoned, and your left trouser leg has a – “

Sherlock interrupted John’s deductions with a passionate kiss. He looked down into the blue eyes and it felt like he was drowning in a sea of adoration.

“You are a marvel, John Watson,” he whispered.

“Just paying attention to the details that are out of order,” John shrugged, a bit embarrassed by such praise.

“A shame you only catch such details when it comes to me and not at crime scenes.”

John slapped Sherlock’s arse, called him a brat, and went to make tea, while Sherlock decorated the tree.

-----------------------------------------------------------------

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[chic-a-gigot]

The Delineator, no. 4, Vol. XLVIII. Autumn Number. October 1896. Published by the Butterick Publishing Co. London & New York. Colored Plate 20. Figure D43. Evening Toilette. Internet Archive, uploaded by Albert R. Mann Library

Figure D 43. — LADIES’ EVENING TOILETTE.

Figure D 43. — This consists of a Ladies’ basque-waist and skirt. The basque-waist pattern, which is No. 8637 and costs 1s. 3d. or 30 cents, is in thirteen sizes for ladies from twenty-eight to forty-six inches, bust measure, and may be seen again on page 442 of this magazine. The skirt pattern, which is No. 8672 and costs 1s. 3d. or 30 cents, is in nine sizes for ladies from twenty to thirty-six inches, waist measure, and is differently portrayed on page 447 of this publication.

The ideas expressed in this toilette are calculated to suit the most fastidious taste. Rich faille silk with high lustre and having small black figures on its sulphur ground is handsomely offset by the decoration of chiffon, embroidery and ribbon. A well-fitted lining closed at the center of the front insures a becoming adjustment to the waist, which has a low, round neck and a full front closed along the left shoulder and under-arm seam. The fulness in the back is drawn well to the center in the same manner as in the front by gathers at the neck and shoulder edges and by shirrings at the bottom. The short puff sleeves are made with full linings, gathered, like the puffs, at the top and bottom. A coquettish effect is given by a dainty bow of ribbon on each shoulder, and a softly wrinkled ribbon surrounds the waist. The low neck is decorated with a double ruche of white chiffon.

The five-gored skirt is smooth fitting at the front and sides and may be gathered or plaited at the back. At the sides it ripples but slightly and at the front it flares broadly. The foot trimming consists of a soft, double ruche of white chiffon. Hand-wrought embroidery in black runs upward from the bottom in vine pattern, each spray starting from under a ribbon bow at the ruche.

The toilette is noteworthy not alone for its admirable grace and style but for the practical features embodied in the basque-waist and its susceptibility to variations. A high or low neck and full-length or elbow sleeves may be arranged, and elaborate or simple effects may be attained, according to the use for which the toilette is intended. Faille façonné, moire antique façonné, velvet and the light silks and delicate chiffons and laces which are always more or less fancied, will be chosen for dressy wear, and for more practical occasions mixtures of color, canvas textiles and mixtures of wool and mohair and other novelties will be selected. Lace, colored embroidery, jet passementerie and bands of jet-embroidered mousseline de sole are available for handsome decorations.

[draco-dormiens]

FOR ALL THAT IS RIGHT AND JUST - Chp. 3

auror!draco x auror!fem!slytherin reader / post-war au

warnings: descriptions of a fight, mild violence, injury, mention of blood, strong language

wc: 2145

tags: @yeolsbubbles @send-me-styles @shinytalent @malfoylover4l @satorulevi

tag list open!!

masterlist

Memorial in the Great Hall

Once the train had pulled into Hogsmeade Station, passengers made their way from the platform and onto the Thestral drawn carriages that would carry them to Hogwarts. The other Auror officers Harry had dispatched as extra precaution were at the station when you arrived, and immediately sprung into action upon learning of the incident on the train. Draco handed over the newspaper, the briefcase and the wand to a Ministry official, and your account of events was taken down by a fellow officer. The train then pulled away from the platform to transport the criminal back to London for investigation, along with the evidence and two other officers. Cerberus was standing by the entrance to the ticket office, twirling his wand between his fingers, watching the events unfold on the platform.

"Stroke of bad luck, huh?" he said as you both approached him, "not even at the school yet and already there's trouble. Fungbury and myself have been stationed here since early this morning on Potters orders. You better owl him as soon as you can about what's transpired here."

"I have already sent notice with Buckle. As usual, he showed up just at the right time," you explain, smiling to yourself about how your childhood owl still remains loyal to the day, and how his snowy white, unusually small body just happened to be gliding by your carriage window not long after the ordeal, "he has a knack for finding me in the most peculiar of places, as if he knows I need him somehow. He should reach the Ministry within good time."

"Where's Fungbury, then?" Draco asks as the three of you begin to walk towards the last empty carriage, "and why him? Berrycloth would've been better, and he's an idiot."

"Potter said Dorian was better suited if a duel takes place," Cerberus explains, holding the door for you the climb inside the carriage. You thank him softly, "his dueling skills are unmatched, Malfoy. No matter your personal feelings," Cerberus gave Draco a stern look, "and he's up at the castle. Potter owled McGonagall with notice of our attendance and the need for extra security measures yesterday. I believe he's in charge of wand examinations."

Draco huffs irritably, and clambers in the carriage beside you. His dislike for Dorian Fungbury stems from the man's insatiable need to flirt with every and any woman that either works in or walks in to the Auror office. His slick and smooth nature with women would make any man sick, and it most certainly does Draco. Especially when he's managed to get that rosy glow to spread across your cheeks. It practically makes him feral at the thought of it.

The carriage ride towards the castle was otherwise rather peaceful. It brought back many memories of returning after a holiday, stomachs growling from the long journey, ready for the feast that awaited you up in the Great Hall. As you draw nearer, the castle grows larger, with its tall, sky-scraping turrets and magnificent stained glass windows. Draco hops off first, holding his hand out for you to take, and you do so, gracefully stepping down off the carriage. In the viaduct courtyard, Dorian Fungbury is overseeing searches on the guests. Wizards and witches were being asked to present their wands, so that Auror's tasked with casting Prior Incantato could check the last spell used. Once he spotted the three of you approaching, he flashes one of his dazzling smiles at you. It wasn't as if you were blind - Dorian was an attractive man. Chiseled features with curly, dark brown hair and vivid green eyes. He was very well groomed; always suited and booted, not a hair out of place and a natural, soft blush to his cheeks. It was just a shame his slimy flirting massively put you off.

"Afternoon," he chirps, "Malfoy, Langarm, and, of course, Miss Y/L/N." He winks in your direction, and you simply sigh at his behaviour. Dorian then turns his attention to the two men either side of you, "may I see your wands, chaps?"

"You can't be serious," Draco laughs in disbelief, "we're Aurors, Fungbury."

"Can I not be suspicious of Polyjuice Potion?" Fungbury said seriously, "for all I know, you could be anyone but Malfoy. Not that I think anyone would willingly digest the hair from your head," he said, purely to rile up Draco, "now, wands. Please."

"Just do it." Cerberus mutters to Draco, and they both hand over their wands. Dorian eyes them in suspicion, and then passes them to the other Aurors to check. You pass yours along too, but he simply places his hands over yours.

"Oh, no, not you, darling," he says in a sickly sweet tone, "how could I suspect a lady of your calibre?"

"Are you having a joke, Fungbury?" Draco then steps forward, but your arm stops him. The look in your eyes tells him to stop whatever he was thinking. Immediately.

"It's not the time or the place," you snap at the two of them, and then pull your hand from Dorians gentle grip, "just check it, Dorian. We have important business here."

Once your wands had been checked and identity cards passed over, the three of you made it inside the entrance hall and through to the Great Hall. Inside, there were benches lined up for guests to sit on. Banners in the house colours decorated the ceiling and walls. At the doorway, there was a place to light a candle in remembrance of those lost during the battle. You tug on Draco's arm, and he lights one alongside you. The three of you take a station around the hall - one at the entrance, one either side of the room. As the last remaining guests filter in, along with professors new and old, you greet a few of them you had known during your years as a student. Eventually, all hushed conversation came to a holt, and Headmistress McGonagall took to the golden lectern. A few moments of silence, and then she began to speak.

"On behalf of the students and faculty, I would like to thank you all for joining us here today," she begins, "this memorial service is a time for mourning and reflection. A time for all those affected by the events ten years ago, to come together and find comfort in the prayers of others." She pauses for a brief moment, "today, we remember those who fought bravely, in selflessness and righteousness, in order to bring peace upon our world. We are able to gather here and honour their memory, thanks to the efforts and sacrifices of so many individuals."

As McGonagall speaks, over a silence so thick you could hear a pin drop, you notice from the corner of your eye someone rush by the doors to the hall. Your head snaps in that direction, and Draco, who is stationed at the entrance, locks eyes with you. He furrows his brows at you, and you nod towards the gap in the large oak doors. He turns to look, but the figure is long gone. Cerberus, on the other side of the room, notices your interaction, and begins pacing around the side of the hall. He makes a gesture signalling for you to check out what has raised your suspicions, as Dorian enters the room. He takes Draco's place by the door, and you follow Draco out into the corridor.

"What's got your attention?" He ask as you pass by him, rushing on ahead.

"I'm not sure," you say honestly, "but I saw someone walk by the entrance. It might be nothing, but as far as I'm aware all students and teachers are currently in the Great Hall, meaning there shouldn't be anyone just taking a stroll."

"House elf?"

"Too tall."

"Caretaker?"

"Too small."

As you take the corner at speed, you suddenly hear water running. You stop, and Draco stumbles as he comes to a holt behind you. The trickle of several taps is coming from the girls bathroom just up ahead, and you cautiously enter with wand at the ready. Draco remains at the doorway, as you carefully tread through the water collecting on the ground.

"Hello?" your voice echoes off the walls, but no response follows. You begin kicking in the doors of the toilets, to be met with empty lavatories. When you get to the last one, you hear Draco yelling at someone to stop outside. You rush through the rising water, splashing it up and soaking your tights, and enter the corridor where the water is gushing out and running across the stone floors. Quickly, you cast a spell towards the sinks to stop the taps, and run in the direction of Draco's voice. "Draco?" you call out, but his voice doesn't reply.

You pace through the halls, unlocking doors with Alohomora and checking inside, every now and then hearing the distant sound of his voice, to find nothing but empty desks and darkened rooms. Your search takes you down into the dungeons, somewhere you're overly familiar with, calling Draco's name to no avail. Eventually, you come across the wide open door to the potions classroom, and another wave of nostalgia hits you alongside the gut feeling that something wasn't quite right. Slughorn was in the memorial service, and he wasn't one to leave his room completely accessible like that. Slowly, you enter, wand brandished forward, and call for Draco one last time. No answer, no one in sight, but when you're about halfway inside, the door slams shut behind you.

Spinning on the spot, you shout out to ask who's there, but another wave of deafening silence falls over the room, until a spark flies across the space and hits the far wall. You duck behind one of the desks, heart in your mouth, and slightly look around the corner to see a person in a hooded black cloak, similar to school robes, and a black masquerade mask covering their eyes and nose. It was only a few seconds, and then another spark of magic flew out of their wand, straight towards you. You duck back behind the desk to protect yourself, before quickly counteracting their spell. It misses them by an inch, as they throw themselves behind a desk at the far end. It falls deathly quiet for a long moment, so you crawl from one desk to another, looking through the gaps in the tables and stool legs to try and get glimpse of your opponent.

Suddenly, a spell comes rushing past your ear, and as you turn, the hooded figure is directly behind you. In a instant, you jump to your feet and launch a spell, and an all out duel begins in the potions classroom. Sparks fly everywhere, ducking behind whatever you can to dodge the spells coming at you from all directions. With Protego, you shield yourself and send the most damaging spells towards the walls, bottles shattering and equipment smashing on the floor. The hooded figure swings a levitated cauldron your way, and it barely misses you, just grazing your arm but cutting it in the process. You clasp your hand over the wound, and launch a nearby stool as you fall back behind a desk, blood seeping through your fingers. A thud and a wailed cry later, it's quiet again for a moment, but then the mysterious person, in desperation and possibly hurt, lets off another smoke bomb like the one of the train. Black dust and smoke begins to fill the room and your lungs, as you cough and splutter. Arm bleeding and eyes obstructed, you clamber to your feet and make for the door out of memory. The door had been busted open, and your duelling partner had disappeared by the time you got out into the corridor.

"Y/N? What the- are you okay? Fuck, you're bleeding-" Draco, in a state and looking just as dishevelled as you, wastes no time in sitting you down against the wall and loosening his tie. He wraps it around your arm, making sure to stop the bleeding as best he could.

"Draco," you pant, grimacing from the pain in your arm, "where were you? Are you alright?"

"Am I alright?" he said in shock, "your fucking arm is bleeding and you ask me that? I'm fine. Got into a little spat, but before I knew it the bugger had gone. Another one of those-"

"Smoke bombs. Yeah. Got me with that too." You say a little breathlessly, "thanks, and sorry about your tie. I'll get you a new one."

"Shut up," he said in a soft tone, scooping you up in his arms and holding you close, "I can replace ties. I can't replace you." He looks down at you with such love in his eyes, you sometimes wonder if it's the kind you wish it was, "c'mon. Let's get out of here before they show up again and report to the others. Hold on, yeah?"

disclaimer: i do not own harry potter or any of the characters or storyline associated with it

[forest-falcon]

The Butterfly Effect

Chpr 11

🐦‍🔥🚒 💚👓👨‍🏫

"Keep her steady," Casey instructed on the approach to Tracy Island.

"Time to suit up."

Jonesy was all too-ready to strap into the exosuit.

Virgil and Brains had taken his measurements - so many measurements, to the point where it had become a borderline annoyance. That was, until the final suit had been unveiled. It wore like a glove - a state-of-the-art glove worth more than his entire flat. And oh...OH had it been fun to use in training.

Tam was strapping into her jet pack - the only one of them who had shown promise at mastering the bat-shit crazy device during training. Jonesy had given his own reenactment of Neville Longbottom flying a broom. The jetpack initially fired too much, and then, too little; dropping him a small height onto his rear.

"Just a tad more sensitive than the firetruck then?"

He gave an impish grin and rubbed his bruised backside.

Mac had passed on the chance to use the confounded contraption after that; but Tam, never one to shy from a challenge, had donned the pack, only to make it look easy.

"This is so much fun!"

"Looks it! I worked out all the bugs for you on my go!"

Jonesy smiled at the memory.

Her joy had been contagious, and it had been nice to see her elated smile mirrored on the Tracy brothers faces as they watched.

He'd only really met Virgil beforehand. It was at the Crystal Spire in London when brainiac, Yost, managed to set his own building alight.

Virgil had saved all their asses, several times, that callout.

"Say, Virgil? What was that badass Ironman suit you used to lift those rocks off Mac, in London?"

"You mean the exosuit?"

"Sure. Erm...do we get to try out one of those in our training?"

"I mean, I don't have anything against you learning how to use it-"

"I'm sensing a but..."

"But... it's made to my measurements, and I'm somewhat larger than yourself."

"Alright show-off," he'd grinned.

"I better get squeezing me some extra gym sessions in!"

"No objections here!" Mac winked.

"Oi, I'm gorgeous as is! Have to give the other guys a chance, is all."

*. *. *.

Jonesy had thought that would be the end of it.

Brains, the Island's resident engineer, inventor and down-right genius, had decided to upgrade their London fire uniforms. Their design was kept the same, as to not give cause for others in the firehouse to ask questions. Everyone in Phoenix had their measurements taken, so it had come as a complete surprise when his very own exosuit was unveiled.

He hadn't ever expected the need to wear it for real - well, a real life rescue.

Jonesy looked around the cabin; studious, contemplative, worried.

Tycho; typing God-knows what on his Tony Stark-esque device. Col. Casey and Captain McCready, busy analyzing a holoprojection of the island.

He leant towards to his best friend; Tam. Her worry was obvious. Perhaps not to everybody, but he knew her. He knew how much she had connected with the Tracy family during her training; their backstory not too dissimilar to her own. Not so much the rockets, and fantasy island; but growing up with only one parent, only to lose the other much too early in life.

He leant over and took Tam's hand.

"Hey. They'll be okay."

He gave her fingers a squeeze.

"How can you know?"

"Because I. am. Iron. Man!"

Jonesy whispered emphatically, flexing the suit with a small hydraulic whine.

Tam shoved him with a smile.

Mac rolled his eyes.

McCready glared at him through the holoprojection of Tracy Island.

[room-ten]

Experience the Magic of Made to Measure Suits in London

Step into the world of bespoke tailoring and experience the magic of made to measure suits in London. With a rich history of tailoring, London is home to some of the finest tailors in the world. These skilled artisans create custom-made suits that are tailored to your exact specifications, ensuring a perfect fit and unparalleled style. Whether you're looking for a classic, timeless design or a modern, contemporary look, London's tailors have got you covered. Indulge in the luxury of a bespoke suit and elevate your style game with made to measure suits in London.

[dooleyrostron]

Stylish Summer Wedding Suits and Bespoke Shirts: Elevate Your Style with Dooley & Rostron

Introduction:

Are you looking for the best summer wedding dress that emanates style and personality? Look no other than Dooley & Rostron, the esteemed London-based tailors specialising in handmade and made-to-measure suits. With their exquisite craftsmanship and attention to detail, Dooley & Rostron offers the best collection of summer wedding suits and bespoke shirts in UK. Discover how their exceptional designs can elevate your style and make a lasting impression on your special day

Embrace the Season: Summer Wedding Suits

When it comes to summer weddings, comfort and style go hand in hand. Dooley & Rostron understands the importance of lightweight and breathable fabrics to keep you cool throughout the festivities. Their range of summer wedding suits combines contemporary cuts with fine materials, ensuring you look sophisticated while enjoying the warmer temperatures.

Whether you prefer a classic three-piece suit or a more relaxed look with separates, Dooley & Rostron offers a variety of options to suit your personal style. From linen and lightweight wool to cotton blends, their expertly crafted suits provide both comfort and refinement, making them ideal for outdoor and destination weddings.

Bespoke Shirts: Tailored Perfection

No dress is complete without a well-fitting shirt, Dooley & Rostron's bespoke shirts in UK are second to none. Custom-made to your measurements and choice, these shirts show the summary of personalised luxury. With a wide range of fabrics, patterns, and collar styles, you can create a shirt that perfectly complements your suit and reflects you perfectly.

The skilled designers at Dooley & Rostron pay extra attention to every detail, from the best fit to the hand-stitched finishing touches. Whether you desire a crisp white shirt or a more daring pattern, their bespoke shirts will increase your ensemble and leave you confident and stylish.

Handmade Suits in London: Timeless Craftsmanship

Dooley & Rostron takes pride in their commitment to new tailoring techniques. Each suit is specially handmade by their skilled designers, who bring years of experience and a deep understanding of the craft. The result is a suit that is not only impeccably tailored but also exudes a timeless charm that sets it apart from mass-produced alternatives.

By opting for a handmade suit in london from Dooley & Rostron, you not only invest in a garment of exceptional quality but also support the continuation of age-old tailoring traditions. Experience the difference that skilled craftsmanship makes, as your suit becomes a reflection of your refined taste and the artistry that goes into its creation.

Made-to-Measure Suits: Your Style, Perfected

Dooley & Rostron made-to-measure suits offer the best balance between convenience and customization. With precise measurements and an extensive range of fabrics and styles, their tailors create a suit that fits your body shape and style preferences easily. Whether you are looking for a slim-fitting or a more relaxed cut, their made-to-measure service ensures your suit is tailored to your exact specifications.

Investing in a made-to-measure suit allows you to enjoy the benefits of bespoke tailoring without lengthy wait times. With Dooley & Rostron, you can experience the luxury of a suit made exclusively for you, delivering unmatched comfort and confidence on your wedding day.

Conclusion:

For a perfect summer wedding outfit, Dooley & Rostron is an ideal destination. From their stylish summer wedding suits to their bespoke shirts, handmade suits, and made-to-measure suits in London, they ensure the utmost quality and attention to every detail through their each & every product.

For original: bit.ly/3px2eN0

[bxbridal88]

We at B x bridal have master designers and expert tailors who focus on crafting dresses that are tailored to excellence. Our unique range of Custom Made Bridesmaids Dress London is plays our tailoring quality. Made to Measure Bridesmaids Dresses offer a personalized and excellent option for brides who want their wedding celebration to look and feel like a dream comes true.

[carolineandrew1]

The Best Made-to-Measure Suits in London: Discover Caroline Andrew

Looking for the best made-to-measure suits in London? Discover the top options for men’s tailored suits and women’s suits with Caroline Andrew. This article will cover everything from the unique features of Caroline Andrew’s designs to frequently asked questions, providing you with all the information you need to make an informed decision about your next custom suit. Let’s dive in! Why Choose a…

[cartanacia]

White Tie Was Invented for Lesbians

it's 3 AM and my brain is liquefying from sleep deprivation and i'm going completely insane.

white tie is a dress code. it consists of a knee-length tailcoat with satin- or grosgrain-faced peak lapels, a stiff wing collar shirt, a low white waistcoat, adidas pants, and a white bow tie made of paper towels. in western dress codes, it's considered formal (technically, black tie is only considered semi-formal). it gained popularity in the early 20th century as an alternative to the frock coat. now it's not popular. in fact, it's dead. except for nobel laureates, debutantes, and unhinged dykes.

in 2019 i watched euphoria. i watched the halloween episode. rue was wearing an interesting costume. i wondered what it was supposed to be.

later, i played a game called fallen london. i finally accumulated enough echoes to buy some decent clothing. between a faded morning coat and a dignified tailcoat, i picked the tailcoat. it gave me +5 persuasion and +1 respectability. i wondered what a tailcoat was and looked it up.

a few months later, i bought a tailcoat. it was slightly moth-eaten and had been hanging in a closet for nearly a hundred years. i liked how the tails billowed when i walked. it hung three inches past my shoulders on both sides. the tails nearly reached down to the floor. i loved it.

that was the very first piece of men's clothing i ever bought, at least within this period that's become one of my main hobbies. now i'm a few days away from receiving a made-to-measure three-piece suit, i have a collection of two dozen bow ties and long ties, and i have 6 made-to-measure dress shirts. i wear a navy blazer at work and dress up for my girlfriend.

soon, i will have my white tie ensemble, too. i'm going to wear it for my wedding.

this is only the beginning, though. i think there's something fundamentally lesbian about white tie in its current state. the men have abandoned it. the men have strayed from the path. white tie is ripe for lesbian conquest. we will claim the no man's land and resurrect it. i forsee that it will be a place of flourishing for drag kings and crossdressing butch nerds.

in conclusion, i'm a marlene dietrich cultist.

i still have to watch morocco.