#bespoke button down shirt
Explore tagged Tumblr posts
polydas23 · 1 year ago
Text
0 notes
aolabd · 6 months ago
Text
Formal Shirt
Tumblr media
The Evolution and Significance of the Formal Shirt
The formal shirt, an indispensable component of professional and social attire, has evolved significantly over the centuries. From its origins as a simple undergarment to its current status as a symbol of elegance and sophistication, the formal shirt has played a pivotal role in shaping men's and women's fashion. This article delves into the history, key features, and contemporary relevance of the formal shirt.
Historical Background
The history of the formal shirt dates back to ancient times when it was worn as a basic garment by both men and women. In the Middle Ages, shirts were typically made of linen and served as an undergarment to protect outer clothing from sweat and body oils. It wasn't until the 19th century that shirts began to be recognized as standalone fashion items. The industrial revolution and advancements in textile manufacturing made shirts more accessible to the general public, and they started to be worn as outer garments.
Key Features of the Formal Shirt
A formal shirt is characterized by its clean lines, tailored fit, and high-quality materials. The most common fabric used is cotton, known for its breathability, comfort, and durability. Other materials such as silk and linen are also used, particularly for high-end or seasonal variations.
Key features of a formal shirt include:
Collar: The collar is the most distinctive feature, with various styles such as the spread, point, and button-down collars. The choice of collar can significantly impact the shirt's formality and suitability for different occasions.
Cuffs: Cuffs are another essential component, with options like barrel cuffs and French cuffs. French cuffs are typically more formal and require cufflinks, adding an extra touch of sophistication.
Fit: The fit of a formal shirt is crucial for its overall appearance. Common fits include slim, regular, and relaxed, each catering to different body types and personal preferences.
Buttons: High-quality buttons, often made of mother-of-pearl or durable plastic, are a hallmark of a well-made formal shirt. The placement and type of buttons can vary, with some shirts featuring hidden plackets for a cleaner look.
Pleats and Darts: Pleats (folds) and darts (stitching) are used to shape the shirt, enhancing its fit and appearance. Back pleats provide additional room and ease of movement, while darts offer a more tailored look.
Contemporary Relevance
In today's fashion landscape, the formal shirt remains a staple in both men's and women's wardrobes. It is a versatile piece that can be dressed up or down depending on the occasion. In professional settings, a well-fitted formal shirt paired with a suit or blazer is essential for projecting confidence and competence. For social events, a stylish formal shirt can be worn with tailored trousers or a skirt, accessorized to reflect personal style.
Moreover, the formal shirt has adapted to contemporary trends, with designers experimenting with colors, patterns, and fabrics to cater to modern tastes. While the classic white or blue formal shirt remains timeless, options in bold colors, intricate patterns, and innovative fabrics have gained popularity.
Conclusion
The formal shirt's evolution from a simple undergarment to a cornerstone of modern fashion underscores its enduring appeal and adaptability. Its blend of tradition and modernity makes it a versatile and essential garment for various occasions. As fashion continues to evolve, the formal shirt will undoubtedly retain its significance, continually adapting to the changing tastes and preferences of society.
1 note · View note
clavissionary-position · 10 months ago
Text
Ikeprinces Ranked By How Long it Takes Them To Pick Out an Outfit
In a fantasy world where they have more than one or two outfits to pick from. Not to be confused with the time it takes for them to get dressed.
LUKE . He'd wear the same pair of jeans for a week without washing it if he could get away with it. -2 seconds.
CHEVALIER . Since he has perfect mental inventory of every article and accessory he owns as well as where everything is located in his closet, he's able to just grab something and go. 2 seconds.
SILVIO . Carlo carefully assembles outfits for him depending on the events scheduled for that day, laying out two such assemblies each morning for Silvio to glance over and pick from. 10 seconds with assistance.
LICHT . He’s got a lot of button-up shirts and people keep gifting him even more. Yves has helped him organize them by different criteria and this makes it easier for him to pick something. 1 minute with assistance.
SARIEL . It doesn’t take much time to pick out something from a wardrobe that is predominantly black and form-fitting. Everything goes with everything, though that’s not to say he sacrifices taste for utility. 3 minutes.
GILBERT . Some days he admits it, some days he denies it. But there’s a creative joy in dressing oneself. Otherwise he’d never bother with accessories the way he does. 5-10 minutes because he’s a busy and efficient man with rare bouts of self-indulgence.
YVES . Because he knows how indecisive he can get, he plans all his outfits at the beginning of each week by using beautiful bespoke spreadsheets. It’s a really fun and engaging process that also cuts down on stress on the day-of. 1.5 hours at the beginning of every week. 5 minutes every day.
LEON . He wouldn’t be able to pull off the semi-casual heartthrob look without putting in at least a little effort. He’s a good-looking guy and he knows it, and he picks outfits accordingly. 10 minutes.
NOKTO . One could say he spends more time thinking of how to be rid of his outfits iykwim. But he makes a deliberate attempt to be presentable while maintaining a unique sense of style. 12 minutes.
JIN . If a woman is going to go out of her way to dress up and look nice for him, the least he can do is meet her halfway. Plus he loves putting on an outfit while imagining how it’s going to be removed later. 15 minutes.
RIO . The old Rio wouldn't have put the least bit of thought into what to wear. The current Rio puts more life and energy into selecting his outfits as though cherishing the process itself and losing himself to the possibilities. While often discovering some really cute combos. 20 minutes.
KEITH . He waffles around his wardrobe a bit and changes in and out of a couple different looks before always coming back to a tried-and-true combination. 35 minutes.
CLAVIS . Trial-and-error is the best part of deciding what to wear. Why this when you could that? There’s no one right answer but plenty of opportunity to have fun. 1 hour.
100 notes · View notes
whatthebodygraspsnot · 9 months ago
Note
old habits ian in his emt uniform AAAARRRGGHHHHH
[ old habits ]
mickey's halfway to the mailbox when he stops dead in his tracks, his eyes immediately zeroing in on ian chatting with lucy one driveway over. he doesn't give a fuck about lucy on a normal day - but today it's like she's not even there, because ian's clearly just come home from work and holy fuck...
mickey's caught glimpses of his emt uniform, but never out in broad daylight like this - every inch of the well-fitting blue button-down - the shine of his silver badge - the clean cut and crisp lines all tucked perfectly into place and jesus christ, mickey practically drools, his hand reaching blindly into the mailbox almost as an afterthought. no man should look this hot in a uniform.
lucy can't resist the call either. clearly. but lucy isn't getting turned out in ian's comfy bed every other night like mickey is, now is she? no, she isn't! and it isn't lucy who ian's noticing and sending a little wave over to, is it? no! it's mickey! and it's also mickey who saunters his way over to interrupt, happily, with a composed, "ay doc, you got a thermometer in that fanny pack-a yours?"
it gets them both tucked away inside ian's house with a laughably low amount of effort. and now that he's here, mickey can put his plan to action, watching his personal emt emerge from the bathroom with one of those concerned brow furrows. "you got a fever...?"
ian's got the thermometer, but it's the back of his hand that he uses instead, pressing it to mickey's cheek to check his temperature. then softly over his forehead. mickey mumbles something noncommittal. whatever will keep ian's attention on him like this.
"hm..." after his forehead, ian's hand drops to the back of mickey's neck - more comforting than anything - and god damn, does is light him up from the inside out. "you're definitely runnin' hot..."
an understatement of the century.
but mickey is the perfect patient. opens his mouth real good and everything when ian tells him to, keeping that eye contact as he feels the thermometer slip under his tongue. "stay here for me, alright kid?"
uh huh. yup. whatever the fuck he wants.
mickey watches ian move around the kitchen. takes in a greedy helping of how nicely those slacks hug his ass. how fucking snatched his waist is with that thick belt. how his back broadens into strong shoulders under the pressed blue fabric of his shirt. jesus fucking christ, this man. no way motherfuckers ain't passing out on the spot when he arrives on the scene. damn, mickey would do some highly questionable shit just to get him-
beep beep! beep beep! beep beep!
"lemme see."
mickey opens up exactly as asked, the thermometer slipped out from under his tongue.
in front of him, ian reads the numbers, mickey's scheme about to be put to rest once he realizes there never was a- "hm..."
mickey frowns. flicks his eyes to the thermometer and then back up. "what?" he asks. "the fuck you mean 'hm'?"
"you weren't kiddin' - you really got a fever going."
and-... wait a minute. "really?"
"mhm. looks like you're gonna need some follow-up care."
mickey's brain plugs along slowly, trying to wrap around what's happening. "...what-"
but the rest of his confusion is snuffed out as ian moves forward, scooping him up in his arms and getting that bespoke heart attack to set in - gloriously. because he's carrying mickey toward the stairs, "gonna have to be on bed rest for quite a while, i'm thinkin'..." the thermometer with mickey's temp left on the kitchen counter.
99.1
58 notes · View notes
apoptoses · 2 years ago
Text
Have you ever been reading Devil’s Minion and thinking to yourself, “damn, I just can’t nail down a face for Daniel”? Have you watched Interview with the Vampire and felt like neither Christian Slater nor River Phoenix hit the mark for you?
Allow me to introduce you to James fucking Spader.
Tumblr media
Look at him! Is that not the face of Daniel, completely fed up with Armand feeding his cigarettes down the garbage disposal?
He’s got the naive and beautiful face but ALSO the defiant yet beseeching thing down! Also he was like 22 here, which is right around the age Daniel met Armand so he’s at peak Healthy, Pretty Molloy here. No wonder Louis decided to take him home!!
Tumblr media
“Do you know what a zip code is, or a tax bracket? I’m the one who buys all the goddamned airline tickets. Millions. How are we going to get millions! Steal another Maserati and be done with it, for God’s sakes!”
Spader is the original 80′s pretty boy you’d assume starred as the leading man in some schmoopy romances or schlocky teen dramas and he did that for a minute. Like check him out in Pretty in Pink-
Tumblr media
 Is this not peak Night Island Daniel, in his Miami Vice looking bespoke suit ready to head out with Armand for the night?
Tumblr media
Look at him snuggled into his blanket in Tuff Turf, like Daniel hungover and forcibly woken up to honky tonk piano tunes!
But the deliciousness doesn’t end at his looks. Because in true Molloy fashion that man said ‘you know what? I wanna make movies for freaks and weirdos only’
Tumblr media
In Sex, Lies and Videotape he plays the sweetest pervert who loves interviewing women about their sex lives, video taping it, and then watching them back naked but not actually getting off! He’s impotent, he’s a gentle and lovely weirdo, there’s vampire!Daniel fodder for days in this one.
Tumblr media
Crash is a horny flick that defies all explanation and really you need to go in blind if you’re gonna watch this one, but let me just say this: If Spader and his Wife in this film aren’t the most Daniel and Armand coded couple in cinema history I will eat my shoes. Also there’s tons of beautiful footage of him driving around at night with his blond hair ruffling in the breeze.
Tumblr media
Your prefer your Daniel with glasses? Oh, perfect, because in Bad Influence he plays a sweet guy who gets into a fucked up situation with a toxic friend and a sex tape!
Tumblr media
In Storyville he lets himself be thrown on the floor and lays there submissively before getting involved in yet another sex tape scandal!
Tumblr media
Don’t even get me started on Dream Lover, another smut filled romp (with some filthy deleted scenes if you google the uncut version) which has the most Devil’s Minion promo photos of all time-
Tumblr media
Like! Get the fuck out!
I could just go all day about his body of work but some of it you’ve just gotta see for yourself. In pretty much every film you’re guaranteed smut with him being deliciously submissive, extremely gentle with his hands, and down for all kinds of kink. And in most of his movies he gets bloody at least once, like-
Tumblr media
this is a shitty picture i took of my laptop but look at the blood at the corner of his mouth! Vampire activities!
In summary, let me hit you with a photo dump:
Tumblr media
Daniel laying in a cheap motel room during the chase years!
Tumblr media
Daniel with delightful 70s hair!
Tumblr media
More glasses!Daniel!
Tumblr media
Daniel with a half-buttoned 80′s shirt looking so beautiful it’s no wonder Armand couldn’t NOT turn him!
Tumblr media
It’s dark, he’s wet, he looks exhausted!
Tumblr media
He’s the ideal beautiful Molloy Weirdo and I will not be accepting any other arguments, goodbye!!
287 notes · View notes
selfindulgentpoorlywritten · 5 months ago
Text
The First Time (Ryan Graves Imagine)
Here's my work for @gravestrain for @wyattjohnston 's Summer Fic Exchange! I was so convinced this was due today and it’s not, so I suppose I’m early for once!
Rating: T
Pairing: Ryan Graves/Reader
Words: 2290
Warnings: none
Summary: A few of you and Ryan's "firsts".
Becoming a bespoke tailor isn’t as easy or straightforward as one might think. It’s taken years of schooling, apprenticing, and doing too much for too little pay to get where you are, but you’d do it all a hundred times over again so long as you got to have this moment at the end of it.
You’re tired, sweatier than you’d like to be. The temperature is finally starting to drop with the setting sun, the sky dyed a pink and orange ombre, cut through with warmly-tinted clouds. There’s a breeze ruffling the leaves on the trees, the rustling sound of it hidden under the thumping music from the DJ situated halfway between the indoor and outdoor portions of the venue. It’s a love song, an upbeat one that you recognize but don’t pay too much attention to.
It’s impossible to pay attention to anything other than him.
The First Time You Saw Him
You’re not sure if you still count as an apprentice, technically. You’ve been working with Max for a good four years now, and you mostly work on your own projects without supervision. When you have an extra minute, or Max is doing something unusual or interesting, he’ll let you hover nearby and watch, but those instances are becoming less frequent over time.
You usually handle the front desk duties for the shop, greeting customers as they arrive and manning the register before they leave. This time, however, you’re at the cutting table when the bell above the door rings with movement, Max greeting the customer from where he’d been passing by.
“You must be Mister Graves,” Max says, shaking the hand of the man who enters, ducking through the door to avoid hitting his head on the small frame.
“Please, call me Ryan,” the man replies easily. Max keeps talking but you don’t hear what he’s saying, because the man– Ryan– looks over Max’s head to where you’re standing, and the first sight of his hazel eyes hits you like a punch to the gut. A warm smile spreads across his angular face, and you know with devastating certainty that you’re in trouble.
The First Time You Touched Him
It makes complete and total sense that Ryan needs a lot of his clothing tailored, considering his unusual stature. What doesn’t make sense is why your heart skips a beat every time you see his smiling face coming through the door. He’s had a couple suits tailored, a few pairs of jeans, two button-down shirts. Max takes care of him each time, but he always insists on making time to talk to you when he comes in. It’s sweet, and you appreciate him not ignoring you the way some customers tend to. Your conversations are light, congenial, and you definitely don’t replay them in your head a million times for a week afterward.
“Hi Y/N,” Ryan greets as he walks in on a random Tuesday, “It’s good to see you.” You shoot him a smile, noticing the neatly folded fabric draped over his arm.
“Hey Ryan,” you return, “How are you?” He comes to a stop on the other side of the counter, murmuring a gentle good, how are you?
“I’m good, thank you,” you say, taking a breath before giving him the bad news, “I’m afraid Max is home sick today, though, so he won’t be able to help you.” Ryan looks almost confused at the statement.
“Oh, I hope he feels better soon,” he says, fiddling with the hem of the shirt in his hand, “But I mean– you’re a tailor too, right? So you could maybe help me instead?” That is, of course, the most logical solution. But most people who only work with Max, well, they only work with Max. Ryan is the first one to seem interested in your services.
“Oh, of course! I can definitely assist,” you assure him, “But it’s okay if you want Max to do it. He has your measurements, so you could drop it off and he’ll do it when he comes back. Don’t feel like I’m the only option, if you don’t want me.” This only seems to confuse him more, and the way he tilts his head slightly is unbearably cute.
“I do want you,” he says, seeming to only realize what he’s said after it’s out. His cheeks tinge pink, but he doesn’t correct himself. You swallow hard and remind yourself that you’re talking to a customer right now.
“Well, I can definitely take care of you, then,” you reply. It, you should have said you can take care of it, fuck. Ryan just smiles a little more, the corners of his eyes crinkling with it.
“Yeah, I’m sure you can,” he says. You tell yourself it doesn’t mean anything, because it doesn’t. You extend your hand,  palm up for him to hand over the shirt. He stares at your outstretched hand for a beat, before placing his own free hand on top of it. You can feel your mouth drop open as you stare at the point of contact, his hand impossibly huge atop your own, the warmth of his skin radiating up your arm, his callouses rasping against your own. When you look back up to his face, his eyes are wide, searching for something in your own expression.
“The shirt, Ryan,” you force yourself to say. The words snap the both of you out of… whatever that was. His laugh is awkward as he snatches his hand back, replacing it with the shirt.
“My bad,” he says, clears his throat, looks anywhere except your face, “I’ll just, uh… go. It was nice to see you.” It feels mean to say he flees the shop, but he does almost run face-first into the door frame, so you think it’s the most accurate word choice.
The First Time You Said Yes
You know who Ryan Graves is, in theory: a defenseman for the New Jersey Devils. You also know who Ryan is practically: your super hot, incredibly sweet customer who sometimes brings you snacks and knick-knacks because “it made me think of you”. The fact that Ryan apparently thinks of you outside of your occasional interactions is a fact that you’ve been staunchly ignoring for the past two months. Then he’d come in and offered you his hand, and you were suddenly incapable of ignoring it any longer.
With the way he’d run away last time, part of you expects to never see him again. Sure, you have his shirt now, but he can definitely afford to give up a single standard dress shirt. Yet, he returns two days later, the bell announcing his arrival.
“Oh, hi Ryan,” you greet, trying to sound less surprised than you are. He smiles at you, but there’s something different about it this time. He approaches the counter, shoulders squared and back straight.
“I’m sorry, your shirt’s not ready yet,” you say, genuinely feeling kind of bad, “You usually pick up on Wednesdays, so I figured…” You don’t bother finishing the sentence, caught up in the determined expression on his face.
“That’s okay,” he replies, dark hair slipping from behind his ear and falling into his face, “I’m not here for the shirt.” You check his hands again, sure that you must’ve missed some new piece of clothing he’s carrying. There’s nothing. You return your gaze to his face, your chest tightening from the intensity of his stare.
“Um, what can I help you with, then?” you ask, turning your lips up the barest hint, knowing you still definitely look more confused than anything.
“I know this is your job, and you might just be being nice because of that, and I don’t want you to feel pressured, you can definitely say no, I promise I won’t be upset,” he says all in a rush, stumbles, continues, “I mean, I’ll be disappointed, but that would be my problem, not yours, I would never–” You can’t help the small laugh that escapes you.
“Ryan, what are you talking about?” you ask, stalling his racing run-on sentence. His mouth shuts so quickly his teeth surely click together inside. He clears his throat.
“Do you wanna go to dinner some time?” he asks, clearly trying so hard to appear more confident than he is. But he’s nervous. He’s nervous because of you.
“Like… as a date?” you ask, nearly struck dumb from even the implication of it.
“Yeah,” he nods, breathing deeply, “If you want.” Time stops around you, the constant thrum of the city outside fading away, and all you can see is his eyes, wide and earnest and hopeful. Everything you’ve been forcing yourself to not think of comes rushing back to mind, every conversation, every stupid joke and accompanying overly enthusiastic laugh, every shyly-offered treat. The time he’d given you a Devils beanie and told you, voice soft and reverent, that you looked good in his number.
“Yes,” you reply, finally.
“Yes?” he repeats, a huge toothy smile overtaking his face.
“Of course,” you confirm, grinning so hard your cheeks ache with it.
The First Time You Kiss Him
You aren’t in the habit of hiding things from Max, the man having earned your explicit trust long ago, but you decide it’s best to keep the four dates you and Ryan have been on to yourself. For now, at least. You’re not sure what you’re afraid of, but you don’t really want to find out if the nondescript fear is justified.
As it turns out, you don’t have to tell him.
The shop is open slightly later than usual on Fridays, so you’d asked Max on Sunday if you could leave a little early tonight. He hadn’t pushed for too many details as to why, but had turned those shrewd blue eyes on you for an eternity of a second before agreeing.
You’ve got the door halfway open on your way out, bidding Max farewell, when he says
“Have fun. Tell Ryan I said hello.”
You freeze with one foot on the sidewalk, turning your head back to gape at him. You fumble for something to say, to defend yourself, but Max just smiles, shaking his head and making a shooing motion with his hand.
“Old bastard,” you say, feeling terribly fond as you finish exiting to the sound of his laughter.
You’ve been to Devils games before, but you’re not used to… all of this. Ryan had insisted you use a ticket from him to sit with the WAGs, and you’d been too nervous to ask if that was his way of asking you to be his partner, but accepted anyway. The ladies are all so nice, immediately asking you about yourself and seeming genuinely interested in your answers. The game is great, though they don’t win, and the girls shuffle you around with them afterward, herding you to the tunnel to wait for the boys.
When the guys start filing out, your heart rate picks up a tad, breathing stuttering as you’re surrounded by even more strangers. Then Ryan emerges, his eyes finding you immediately, smiling wide as he waves, and something inside of you settles. Ryan is here, and he’s happy to see you. Ryan is here, and that means everything is going to be okay.
He introduces you to Dougie, whose hand you shake gladly. They guide you out toward the garage, Ryan insisting that he’ll give you a ride home since you’d walked from work. Dougie splits off to go to his own car, leaving you to finish walking with Ryan, swinging your entwined hands as you go.
You chat on the drive, fingers still tangled together on the gearshift between you. When the car stops in front of your building, you continue talking for a few minutes, until silence eventually descends. The two of you stare at each other for a few seconds, and you can’t help but marvel at how quickly you’d gone from skipping heartbeats and strangled breaths around him to this calm certainty.
“Good night,” he says, so quiet he barely breaks the silence, “I’ll talk to you tomorrow?” He lifts your joined hands and lowers his head until they meet in the middle, not breaking eye contact as he brushes his lips against your knuckles. You shake your head with a grin, reaching across with your free hand to cup his jaw. You hold him in place as you dip in to press your lips together. When you pull back to rest your foreheads together, there’s a matching smile left on his mouth.
The First Time You…
There were a million other firsts from that point on. The first time he called you his partner, the first time you called him your boyfriend. The first time you spent the night, the first time you woke up in his arms. The first time you introduced him to your family, the first time you met his. The first time you fought, the first time you made up. The first time you took a leap of faith and followed him, the first time you stepped foot in the house in Pittsburgh that’s now your home.
The time he proposed. Not the first time you’d said yes to him, but possibly the most important.
And now, here, the first time you get to walk across the patio to where he stands in the suit you’d made, taking his hand and telling Dougie sorry, I need to borrow my husband for a minute.
It still seems like a dream, sometimes, the way your life has panned out. Even more unreal is the fact that it’s still going, that you have so many more years of life and opportunity and love left.
25 notes · View notes
another-lost-mc · 15 days ago
Note
What type of clothing would your ocs wear if they were human?
Tumblr media
AZRA — Still wears suits when business requires him to, usually black or dark grey with pops of red or purple for colour. Silver or white gold jewelry, usually chain-link necklaces/bracelets or earrings rather than rings. When dressing casually, he wears a variety of colours layered under some sort of leather jacket with scuffed-up Doc Martens and stylishly distressed jeans, straight or slim leg. He has an assortment of more-expensive-than-necessary athletic clothes when he goes to the gym to work out (usually weight training or sparring).
ZEE — He wears a lot of layers and avoids showing his bare upper arms/shoulders/chest completely. He will not go shirtless or wear sleeveless shirts in public or around strangers. He likes wearing scarves. His style is rustic in a purposeful, trendy sort of way - like he's filming a GAP commercial for people that live in a log cabin out in the woods. As a human, he has some colour blindness so he sticks to dark, neutral tones he can mix and match easily. He is very fussy about what fabrics he wears.
KARASU — He fits the nerd without much fashion sense trope. Very bland wardrobe, a lot of frumpy cardigans and straight-leg pants or dark-washed jeans with sensible shoes. The one suit he has, when he's forced to wear it, is perfectly tailored and puts the rest of his clothes to shame. The rare eccentric or stylish pieces hanging in his closet that he ignores (but doesn't have the heart to throw away) are gifts from Mammon.
TENEBRIS — As a human, he's still very tall and lean so he pulls off the dark and brooding vampire in a long coat aesthetic very well. He's a bit more adventurous with his colour preferences - browns, reds, purples, the odd splash of pink if it fits. He also wears gold jewelry, usually a ring and a necklace or two along with his trademark hoop earrings. He has the confidence to know he looks good but doesn't try to flaunt it. He carries a notebook with him at all times, usually in a cross-body bag he slings over his shoulder.
BELIAL — He probably has the most eccentric wardrobe out of all the OCs. Some days he wears stunning bespoke designer suits and gold and silver jewelry fitted with glittering gems worth a small fortune. Other days, he looks like he's wearing a (very expensive) peasant shirt, or some frilly blouse with lace, or a total mix-up of things that he probably found at the local thrift shop. He has an outfit for every occasion and every mood. (He considers the ridiculously-expensive suits 'easily replaceable' so he wears those when he's doing business.)
FLEURETY — Unlike poor Karasu, Fleurety knows how to play up the warm and welcoming professor vibes. His tasteful and cosy-looking clothes make him approachable even though he might have two PhDs attached to his name and a sharp wit to match. He spends a lot of his time outdoors so on his days off, he might wear a threadbare shirt or a slightly-tattered sweater with some jogging pants - things he doesn't mind getting a bit dirty or ripped if he goes for a hike or spends time in his garden.
METATRON — He's a bit of a preppy academic type and looks completely at home in a university library or behind a teacher's desk. Not much fashion sense though, as he prefers to feel comfortable rather than look good. Button-down shirts or loose sweaters pared with slim-leg pants or jeans, white Vans (that he keeps clean, of course), and little or no jewelry (usually only ear piercings). His fingers seem to be perpetually smudged with ink stains. He likes exercise, usually swimming, and doesn't realize that his wardrobe does his body a great disservice by hiding it underneath layers of ill-fitting clothes.
SERAPHIEL — He prefers comfort over fashion and dresses according to the event. Most of the time he wears a henley or tee with loose jeans or jogging pants. His work suits aren't tailored, bought off the rack probably, and they don't accentuate his height or muscular frame very well. He wears reading glasses that aren't very fashionable either and don't suit his face shape, but he's not really bothered by that. He's overdue for a fashion intervention but his friends aren't much better at that sort of thing than he is.
GABRIEL — He loves fall and winter best because he has a collection of sweaters and turtlenecks that he adores. Skinny jeans or slim-fitting slacks show off his long legs and he accentuates his height even more with a very fashionable, if slightly dramatic, long coat. He's intelligent and confident and smugly aware of it and that reflects in the clothes he wears - stylish, properly fitted, and not a single loose thread out of place.
URIEL — He likes athletic or casual clothing best. Soft cotton tees with jeans, simple button-ups with slacks, that sort of thing. Some of the dramatic elements of his wardrobe are his leather boots and jackets, usually accented with heavy silver chains or accessories. He makes an effort to coordinate his outfit with Gabriel's for date nights or business events.
HABUHIAH — Think of her like a modern-day hobbit. Her clothes are sensible and well-fitting but not flashy or expensive. She prefers function over fashion although she has a preference for earth-tones with the odd pop of bright colour. She loves sun dresses and high-waisted jeans with blouses or tunics. At home, she wears her favourite trousers that are getting worn in the knees and a gardening apron lined with tools that probably cost more than most of her wardrobe does.
13 notes · View notes
edwinspaynes · 10 months ago
Text
fic snippet
Food had no flavor, even when Thomas could choke it down.
Movement was painful.
He heard his father and Uncle Gabriel crying together on the other side of his bathroom wall.
Eugenia brought him tea cakes. Told him to be strong. Forced him to eat.
He ate mechanically, like clockwork winding down.
The world had no color in it, and he missed Alastair.
He missed Alastair, and he did not want to wait until Friday.
But he did. And when Friday finally came, he found that he was able to stand.
To select an well-tailored black shirt and put it on, to pair it with white suspenders and a matching bowtie.
To pick up his legs one by one, to take step after step toward Kensington Gardens.
And he sat, and he waited.
He waited and waited and waited and waited and waited and waited and waited.
And finally, Alastair appeared.
At first glance, there was something odd about him, though Thomas could not tell what. He wore a crimson waistcoat with golden stitching and a bronze ascot that matched the buttons of his black jacket. He was holding a dark blue basket in one hand and making his way slowly over to Thomas, a wide smirk on his face that bespoke genuine joy.
Alastair sat before him, and then he realized:
He was in screaming color.
And the rest of the world lit up as he spoke. “Hello, Tom.”
9 notes · View notes
ddpej · 19 days ago
Text
Bespoke Biscornus in Beige + Baby Blues
Tumblr media
[Hi-res version]
These were designed and stitched last year as host gifts, for three siblings who graciously lent me their couch and showed me around town while I was in the area. <3 Each person's biscornu was customized to their interests, and I was aiming for a balance of symmetry and visual variety.
Technical stuff and fancy pictures by @mathysphere under the cut!
General info: Each biscornu has a more detailed 'front' side and a simpler 'back' side. The fabric I stitched on is an 18ct fiddler's aida; in retrospect some of the details would have been cleaner on 14ct, but so it goes. The final squares measured in at 3.5in to a side. All the panel stitching was a baby blue palette of 3756, 3752, 799, and 797 DMC floss, and the seam whipstitching was done with 3781 DMC to match the brown ribbon hangers. I used scraps from an old blue shirt to stuff them, and translucent white buttons + brown beads to secure the classic center pinch.
Avian Art:
Tumblr media
The recipient of this one is a painter and associated with birds, so those were the themes I went with. The front side, art themed, alternates paintbrushes and palette knives to divide the piece into quadrants. The corners then alternate palettes with paint dollops and canvases on easels, complete with paint drops below; the canvases have a flower closeup and a mountain landscape. On the back side, bird themed, I opted for identical air swirl dividers but a different silhouette in each corner. The flying hummingbird and parrot both got a small trail of feathers, and the perched cardinal and songbird got a branch full of berries and a pile of seeds respectively.
Caffeinated Chronicles:
Tumblr media
The recipient of this one is a writer and a coffee fiend! The front side is word themed, with feather pens and modern cap pens as dividers. The corners alternate piles of books and computers, complete with french-knot keyboards and (unreadable) text on the screens. On the caffeine side, I skipped the dividers to have room for a large "mm..." with a steaming mug and pile of coffee beans in each corner. The mugs and beans have the same shape in each case, but all four mugs have a different pattern.
Delicate Designs:
Tumblr media
Last but not least, the @mathysphere biscornu! The front side, cross-stitch themed, is divided by pairs of scissors (specifically Gingher 4" Large Handle Embroidery Scissors, because that's what I use x3) and skeins of embroidery floss (modeled after DMC floss) with wound bobbins and needles. The corners have alternating square and circle cross-stitch designs. Specifically, the squares are tiny monochrome versions of Geri's "Geology Rock Collection" and "Chemistry Sampler" patterns, with "Parasaurolophus" in an embroidery hoop as the circular pattern between them. The final corner, also a tiny embroidery hoop, has an unspecified cross-stitch design in progress (stitched four to an 18ct square) with a parked needle. This was definitely the most complex piece of the lot! I had a lot of fun condensing the given patterns down into such a small size though, and I'm thrilled with how recognizable they all are. ^_^ On the back side, I went for complete symmetry to balance the visual complexity of alternating dragon fractals and bees on honeycomb (with bonus dance lines out to tiny flowers).
All in all, a fun little set of decorations! Miniaturizing things is way more fun than it has any right to be. <3
5 notes · View notes
outoutdamnspark · 2 years ago
Note
Emmet: WHAT HAPPENED TO COVER ‘EM UP SLUT?
Ingo getting absolutely tied up by us for devouring later because titties:….it seems my memory is failing hisui left me very disoriented
Emmet: YOU LYING BI-
SHEUFHSEHGUDZH!!!!
INGO'S JUST!!! SO CASUAL ABOUT BEING TIED UP!!!! 🤣 Pre-Huisui he would have been a blushing, stuttering mess, but after going through all that he's so much more comfortable with his own body - even the scarring (love a man with scars, I wanna kiss em! 😩) since it's a reminder of what he's survived. He's little ashamed of them right at first, but once he overcomes that anxiety and finally just goes "fuck it" to his insecurities, he's able to embrace his body in its entirety.
And then he's unstoppable.
You think Emmet knows how hot he is? Ingo's got him beat.
Emmet is loud and unapologetic about how gorgeous he is and doesn't hesitate to strut his stuff - which he absolutely should do, that man is stunning. Ingo, on the other hand, makes it look effortless. He wears muscle shirts so tight they look like they're painted on, and either those baggy sweatpants that just make you wanna pull them down with your teeth, or slacks so bespoke they should be illegal, paired with button-up shirts one deliberate size too small. Those buttons are holding on for dear life, that fabric is straining under the glory of Ingo's post-Hisui ta tas. Mind the yellow line now, passengers, don't get distracted and fail your safety checks~
In the summer, when the weather is too hot and gross to even go outside, he aaaaabsolutely has at least four pairs of booty shorts to swap between. Man has so much cake he's practically the whole damn bakery. Snack and a half.
And he walks around in his titty-licous tank tops like he has no idea he's rearranging everyone's sexuality! When in fact he smugly revels in the way people walk into lamp posts as he passes by. So much tit. So much ass.
Emmet is murderous - how dare his brother go from "cover them up slut" to "art thou nasty"?!
26 notes · View notes
cha-melodius · 7 months ago
Note
for the body swap-soulmates-spy au: investigate, suit, and partner.
Thanks for sending these in! I've got nothing for "investigate", but...
Suit
He looks down at his arm to find blood rapidly soaking through the fine wool of his suit, except it’s not his arm.
He’s wearing an extremely well-tailored suit—Alex would guess bespoke—and an ostentatious amount of gold jewelry.
Henry is nothing short of stunning with his wind-tousled hair and his pale gray suit, the first few buttons of his shirt left undone to show off his tempting neck and sinful fucking collarbones.
Partner
Who is his soulmate to her, anyway? A partner? A friend? A… lover?
“Come on, love,” his dream partner says. His voice is deep. Musical. Familiar. “I’m waiting.”
Send me words and I’ll give you the line of the spy soulmate AU where they appear
5 notes · View notes
starkraivennemad · 7 months ago
Text
Rock Star - Chapter 10: Radioactive
“…You choke down your tears, in order to survive Doing what you must, to get through the day But when you least expect it, your pain will revive Because buried hurts, never stay buried, No, they never go away…”
“There you have it folks, an excerpt of a teenaged Jim Moriarty reciting Buried Hurts.”
“Oh, Blake, Blake, Blake you bloody  wanker ! Where did you GET that?!” An incredulous Jim hooted with laughter. “Thank goodness that was after puberty and my voice deepened. Jesus Christ, man!”
“Wait! There may be recordings out there from before that? Did you have a high pitch?” Blake teased. “Call out to all former primary school classmates of Jim! If you have a verifiable copy of little baby Jim’s high-pitched rambling, well, anything , please, please, for the love of God, PLEASE, send it to us here at ZROC radio so we can embarrass him some more!”
Tumblr media
“Please, please, for the love of me, DON’T!” Jim countered good naturedly. “I had all but forgotten my very short stint as The Storyteller on school radio. I did enjoy telling stories. Still do. Now the stories are all in song.”
“And that is the perfect place to end this. Looking forward to seeing you at the Music Madness Benefit Festival.”
“Yeah, it’s been a few years since the band and I performed there. Looking forward to it myself, mate. And oh! Congrats to the contest winner! I’ll promise to be utterly scandalous . Bring protection.”
“Moriarty everybody!” Blake pressed a button that sounded like applause and cowbells before the switch out to commercial. He waited for a signal from their sound tech, then gave a thumbs up to Jim. “And we’re done.” Blake removed one headphone from his ear. “Thanks for stopping by, man.”
Jim waited until the light that signaled his mic was still hot went out then removed his headphones altogether and stood pulling on the knit shirt he had removed in the warm studio. “Thanks for letting me stop by. You know how I loathe these things.” He made a stay seated motion, when Blake started to rise “You know, I know the drill. You have what(?) 23 seconds now till the next commercial and maybe another 15 after before the next song? I know the way out.”
“Go on then. I’m sure that’ll make your new babysitter happy. Question: will he crack if he smiles?”
When he arrived, Moran had walked in ahead of him and silently checked the booth before Jim was allowed to enter. It was something Devlin had never done. Blake had raised a very curious brow at Jim who ignored the unasked questions there.
I am NOT about to explain about the letters.
Jim looked out of the broadcast booth. Clad in a dark navy bespoke suit, crisp white shirt, and dark navy tie, he could have been a mannequin. Nothing on the usually stoic Sebastian moved but his chest as he breathed and his eyes as he constantly scanned. 
“Some days, I believe so.” Jim answered. “It’s a clause in the job description.”
Even if he is texting right now. Something he usually does not do.
Moran generally maintained his default expression of boredom and yet completely alert to all around him. He spoke to no one while on duty that was not work related. His silent, but deadly mein was apparently catnip to several of the women and a couple of the men. Jim had noticed how several people, more than accustomed to star talent on scene and were barely fazed by his presence, had found reasons to pass by the bodyguard. Jim knew Moran saw all of them. 
They could have been a mote of airborne dust for all the attention he’s paying them.
Moran had ignored all but one, a brunette that dared to get his attention.
The brunette was bold. Bold enough to reach out and attempt to touch him only to find her wrist caught in a vice grip she could not pull out of. A grip that was painful. Jim saw the tiny pull on Sebastian’s lips when the grip tightened and the woman winced. 
Oooh I think he liked that - thank you for the diversion darlin’, perfect!
Sebastian dealt with the woman with one hand and took out his phone with the other, a strange expression crossing that man’s face as he spoke. 
He almost NEVER answers his phone - this is perfect!
“Off out.” Jim grinned and headed out the side door. 
Jim was halfway down the hall in the opposite direction when he heard Sebastian bellow.
“ THAT FUCKING LITTLE SHITE! ”
Read and Comment on AO3
4 notes · View notes
ifyoucantsurvivejustry · 1 year ago
Text
What If We Made It?
Hiya! Just a little Saturday morning activity. Pure fluff. Might grow into something more, I’m not sure yet, but let me know what you think. Thanks xx
Consistent buzzing, not unalike to bees flurrying around their hive could be heard from the famous white house that perched unrecognisably atop the cliff in Watch Hill. The arrangement of the yard not dissimilar to any party arrangement of the historic annual fourth of July parties that so many had come to know about. However, what separated it on this particular day, was the colours, not reflective of the patriotic colours of the United States. Today the yard was decked out in white with shades of pinks and lilac sprinkled along the entrance from the gate where a small number of guests from both sides were entering. The men present in their finest black suits with brightly polished oxford shoes, ladies decked out in an assortment of coloured dresses and shirts and skirts. Hair ornately done, people buzzing with excitement at the events that were scheduled to unfold in the imminent future.
 
In the house, there was a whole other level of excitement radiating within its walls, with the two separate parties, occupying individual wings. Laughter could be heard from the lower levels, transcending its way down the stairs, a mixture of both male and female giggles and shrieks.
 
One wing consisting purely of the groom’s party and the other of the bride’s. The distinct shriek of the groom’s best man could be heard, louder than the other men, as it always had been. George Daniel had always managed to have the most characterizable laugh from his other mates. No doubt the catalyst for the shriek being some inappropriate mumbling from another bandmate. However, the groom was not experiencing the same giddy giggling as his other mates. Matty, dressed in a bespoke black suit with the top two buttons of his white shirt unbuttoned was pacing up and back along the large bedroom which a fellow bandmate was occupying. They had all elected to get ready in George’s room as it was the largest of the guest bedrooms and Matty was forbidden to enter his own bedroom before the end of the day. Excitement of the day aside, this was monumental for Matty, it had been a long time coming.
 
A long time consisting of trials, tribulations and public scrutiny, but he was here, about to vow the rest of his life to one person. Long gone were the days of risk-taking behaviour and gallivanting around with the latest upcoming model or influencer. It wasn’t the commitment he was anxious about, but more the question of whether this was genuinely happening. He was waiting to wake up from what he was convinced was a drug induced hallucination reminding him that he would never, in a million years, be privileged enough to be able to spend the rest of his life with her. The same person he has loved from afar since that very night he dedicated a song to her in Los Angeles in 2014, some eleven years ago now.
 
“For fuck sake Matthew! Would you just settle down and light a fag!” The famous drummer yelled, using the grooms full name to emphasise his growing annoyance at the stomping of Matty’s feet. “You’re going to run a hole through the carpet if you keep it up for much longer”.
 
George, dearest George, had tied to knot to Charli in late 2024 in a small Italian Church ceremony, followed by an enormous after-party that only he and Charli would have the capability to pull off. What a night it had been, full of tracks mixed by the groom himself, slurred speech, scantily clad sweaty bodies and blisters on nearly everyone’s feet.
 
“Hann, can you get us a drink please.” George requested, rising from the armchair perched near the fireplace that was certainly not needed in the Rhode Island heat in August. George walked over to where Matty was pacing and was quick to reach out his two long arms towards the pacing figure a mere distance in front of him, halting Matty and spinning him around to face himself.
 
“I’m not havin’ a bloody drink before I walk out there, George. This is not the same vibe as your wedding, mate!” Matty yelled, raking a hand through his slicked back curls. Although as his stress levels increased, the unruly curls refused to conform to the strength of the hair product.
 
Before Matty or George could say another word, Adam, or affectionately known as Hann was back in the room, neither Matty nor Ross had noticed his momentary disappearance. Matty was too anxious, and Ross had just walked out from the bathroom adjoining the room after finishing his hair. Adam had managed to slink a bottle of some spirit from the bar just down the hall from their room. No glasses in tow.
 
“Ay, just shut it and take a swig, would you.” George said reaching out to take the unknown bottle from Adam’s hand. Extending the bottle outward to read its label before moving the neck to his own lips first. “Fuckin’ hell, really, Tequila?” George scowls at Adam. “Ay! I had like thirty seconds to grab something before I would get busted, you seen how many bloody people are swarmin’ about this joint?” Adam responded.
 
George gulps down a mouthful of the liquid before pulling the neck away wincing. “Alright, that’s me sorted, who’s next?” He asks, shaking his head in an effort to dispel some of the aftertaste whilst waving the bottle around his three best mates standing in a circle around him. 

Ross extends his arm outward, bringing the bottle to his lips in a similar motion to George and letting the liquor burn its way down his throat. “Alright Hann, your turn. Matty’s too much of a chicken.” He says grinning and looking over at his best mate who’s big day it was. Ross earnt a scowl from Matty as he extended the bottle in Adam’s direction. Before Adam could grab the bottle, Matty gripped it and repeated the same motion before passing it onto Adam. Adam repeating the drinking motion.
 
“Ugh, that shit is vile, I’ll cop a bottle of Malbec over that shit any day.” Matty groaned. “Don’t know how I still feel obliged to knock around with you losers when this is the shit you make me do.” Reaching into his suit jacket for a cigarette. His waiting bride slowly learnt that he was never going to be able to give up his one vice and truth be told, she liked how the smell of cigarettes mixed into his own smell and created something that was so distinctly Matty. Leaving its traces everywhere he went.
 
Lighting the cigarette and extending the pack to George, Matty had appeared to have calmed down. George was surprised, thinking he was really going to need to talk some sense into him.  Matty inhaled the cigarette and turned around to look outside the open balcony door at the guests gathering below. He spotted people he had become incredibly close to through his lover and people he had always been close to. They wanted a small, intimate celebration of their love and they had narrowed the guest list down to one hundred. Which was as small as it could get when you were about to marry one of the most famous pop-stars of this century. He couldn’t quite believe that they had made it through all the hardship experienced over the last two years. From being reacquainted through Jack, who he really owed a lot of this to, too testing the waters that summer of 2023, to having to publicly ‘break up’ that same summer and conceal their relationship from the world for almost a year to protect her reputation and his own sanity. He doesn’t know how he will ever be able to thank Jack enough for sharing both his and her music between one another until she plucked up the courage to text him herself.
 
Staring down at the people mingling and taking drinks being passed to them from the distinct waiter uniforms vastly apparent from the colours of the guests’ clothing, Matty reflects on the harrowing but also, most rewarding adventures of his life and it was only just getting started. Both artists tours had quietened down. Matty and his band finishing the tour for their sixth album some six weeks ago and Taylor had had almost eight months off now, enjoying being newly engaged and writing more music. Matty accused her of never being able to keep still. But secretly, he hoped she would never stop as he adored watching the way her brain would turn as they enjoyed watching and doing mundane things together. Like, watching the sun rise and set from the balcony of their bedroom at Taylor’s Rhode Island home when they had the tour schedule break to be able to enjoy the peace and quiet together. Or, when they were perched high up in the sky travelling from concert venue to concert venue snuggled in their seats watching the latest all-consuming television show, waiting for the episode to finish so they could break down the theatricality of it all, Taylor enraptured by the way his mind worked and the eloquent nature of his vocabulary, although sometimes she wanted to slap him in the hopes he would stop using language that made him sound obnoxious.
 
“Matty, love, its time”. He turned around to find his dad had entered the room and was making his way over towards where his son was standing. Shaking his body lose from the anxiety he reached out to butt out his used cigarette in the ash tray just to the other side of the door on the balcony. Not going unnoticed how many cigarette’s were littered within that ash tray, reflective of the late night and early morning that the four best friends had shared leading up to the afternoon’s events.
 
“Right, fuck, shit okay.” Matty said running his hands through his hair, again.
 
“Our boy is getting hitched for fucking Taylor Swift!” Adam yelled clapping his hands in front of his chest. This outburst not going unnoticed by the other band members looking questionably amongst themselves. An outburst of this nature not something regularly shown by the guitarist and more suited to the behaviour of George.
 
“What? Fuck off the lot of you ay! I’m happy for Matty.” Adam defended, reaching forward to wrestle George before the four of them would need to act their age for the ceremony, the reception however, was anyone’s game.
 
“Alright, knock it off the pack of you!” Tim, the father of the groom said choking back laughter as he shook his head and made beeline for the door. Before exiting the door, Tim turned and reminded the lads they had “Five minutes before you all need to be downstairs.” Looking at each man individually. It wasn’t lost on Tim that he had had the pleasure of watching each of these four boys grow to become men and get married and have babies. Adam and his wife Carly, were soon to become a family of four. One final glance at his son whilst Matty was brushing down his suit he uttered “Matty, I am beyond proud of you and I love you dearly.” With that, Tim walked out the door, closing it firmly behind him.
 
“So, let’s get this show on the road.” Ross stated, rising from his position at the foot of the bed.
 
George made eye contact with Matty as the other two men walked towards the door. He offered a nod and turned around to face the door, following the other two out. Matty, now alone in the room, walked over to the mirror and attempted to, as best he could, place some of the stubborn curls into their place. Failing, he exhaled, glanced himself over one last time and made his way out the door.
 
The trek to his position at the alter was one that was long given the vast expanse of his fiancés mansion. Matty thought by now he would have become accustom to the extent of wealth that Taylor acquired given he was somewhat famous himself, but he didn’t have the same financial portfolio that she did. And yet, it had never been an issue for them, never once in discussion or point of an argument. In fact, he was so incredibly proud of her he didn’t give a shit about the money, but sometimes, on a day like today, he wished the house wasn’t as big as it was so he was already at the alter waiting for his bride. He reminded himself to slow down and enjoy the anticipation as he walked down the ornate staircase aligned with photographs of Taylor as a child, family, both his and hers. Photos of the two of them together, some even from 2014. Photos of her and his bandmates together. Hoping that within the coming weeks a photo of the two of them from this day will be hung in its rightful place along this wall.
 
He'd made it through the throng of people seated along the isle, shaking hands and kissing those as he walked along. Each person happier and more exicted than the last he spoke to.
 
“Cabbage!” Jack exclaimed pulling him in for a hug.
 
“I can’t thank you enough Jack, I mean it.”
 
“Matty, stop that. You did all the hard work. I am beyond fucking excited for the two of you. Now, go get up there and take your spot. She won’t be far away.” Jack exclaimed, winking at Matty.
 
Turning to look up at the spot where he was about to dedicate the rest of his life to her he saw his three mates in their rightful spots by his side. He arrived beside George and turned around to face up towards the house where his bride was preparing to make her entrance. He caught his mothers eye and she winked his way.
 
Inhale, exhale. This was it. He felt George pat his back.
 
“You ready, mate?” George asked.
 
“Ready as I will ever be G.” Matty replied.
 
It’s peculiar how the notion of time, when you don’t wish for it to pass by quickly it does and then when you want it to fly by, it drags. Within moments, before Matty could even drink in the visuals surrounding him, the guests were being asked to stand for the entrance of the bride and her party.
 
Matty could hear his heart hammer in his ears, the same way a child does when they are about to be told off. However, this wasn’t fear, this was pure excitement. His last few moments as an unwedded man were happening.
 
The first bridesmaid appearing not long after Matty’s now dear friend as well, Ed approached the right hand side of the alter, clad in a suit and his acoustic guitar began to play the opening chords of Norah Jones’s Come Away With Me. A song choice left entirely up to his lover. Selena following not long after Taylor’s childhood friend, Abigail who smiled at Matty. Gigi was next, then Blake and then Andrea. A woman that Matty had become incredibly close to as he and her daughter navigated tumultuous times. Before taking her place next to Blake, yes unconventional for the mother of the bride to partake in the bridal party, but Taylor insisted, Andrea pressed a kiss to Matty’s cheek, mumbling “I love you both and wish you nothing but a lifetime of happiness.”
 
Within moments, all eyes were fixated on a slow moving white figure progressing towards them. George, looking over at Matty, saw his breath catch before exhaling. There she is Matty thought. Hair pinned up above her neck with tendrils floating around her ears, like they always did when her hair was up, escaping the elastic holding the remaining locks up. Matty locked eyes with Taylor, a shy smile gracing her lips. Both parties’ eyes slowly filling with moisture. She looked radiant, a not quite full length gown gracing her figure, with a neckline that exposed a small amount of cleavage. Matty thought she looked nothing short of a film star. Her dress echoing the form of a classic Hollywood style. Magnificent he thought, swallowing in an attempt to slow the tears filling his eyes.
 
Taylor who had spent the morning drinking champagne and celebrating her upcoming nuptials with her close friends and family, like Matty, couldn’t believe this moment was happening. Matty had never looked more handsome, freshly shaven face, top two shirt buttons unbuttoned with the smallest tip of his chest tattoo poking out, just the way she liked it.
 
“Hi.” She mouthed arriving at the alter.
 
“Hello, love”. He returned.
 
Before letting go of her father’s arm to turn towards her lover, she placed a kiss on his cheek.
 
“Thank you, Daddy. I love you.”


“My pleasure. But I love you more, Taylor.”
 
With that Scott kissed his daughter’s cheek and made his way to his seat beside Denise and Tim.
 
“You look absolutely breathtaking, darling.” Matty utters, just for the two of them to hear.
 
“You polish up real nice too.” Taylor replies, drinking her soon to be husband in.
 
The marriage celebrant, who thank you to much argument between the pair given Taylor was raised Christian and Matty an atheist, they managed to land on a ceremony that was equal ground for the two, arrived under the floral arrangement overlooking the wide sea set out below the ground of the lovers Watch Hill Estate cleared his throat and began.
 
“Good afternoon everyone, we are gathered here…” Matty and Taylor had both tuned out, enraptured by one another’s gaze. She looked remarkable, Matty was desperate to pinch himself. It was hard enough in the moments that followed after she had said yes to his proposal in the summer of 2024 that that moment was real, let alone her standing in front of him ready to declare their love in front of their closest friends and family.
 
He looked incredible. The bespoke suit hung in all the right places and the unbuttoned shirt catching her eye every now and again. She could feel the smile pushing to explode from the corners of her mouth. Retrospectively, marriage was not something Taylor let herself contemplate after her ending her previous relationship, who would want a life subject to the constant scrutiny and tabloid gossip. But more than that, who would want to be known as being ‘Taylor Swift’s husband’ everywhere they went. It was easier to not let herself imagine, to shut out the thought of what her dress would be like? The colour and shape of her engagement ring? Where would she get married? Never did she think after the heartbreak of 2014 that she would end up about to spend the rest of her life with the Matty Healy. Through the years that spanned between 2014 and their reunion in the fall of 2022, she thought about him and their brief romance a lot. She was young but it still ignited something in her that she searched for in nearly all of her other partners but wound up empty handed time and time again. It wasn’t the materiality of a wedding that she forbade herself from thinking of, it was more the fact that no one wanted her because of who she was, the world’s most famous pop-star. Matty didn’t care. She could have been a cleaner in a shopping mall for all he cared, he loved her and had loved her since that very first night they shared in 2014. Eleven years, a number of different partners both hoping that the next one would be ‘the one’, never truly believing that they stood a chance together.
 
The bride and groom find themselves pulled back to reality when the celebrant begins. “Matthew Timothy Healy, do you come here freely and without reservation to give yourself in marriage? Do you promise to honour, respect and adore Taylor, for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health, for as long as you both shall live?”
 
“I do.” Matty says in a beat, eyes not leaving hers. No contemplation, no stuttering, no hesitation. All in.
 
The celebrant turns toward Taylor. “Taylor Alison Swift, do you come here freely and without reservation to give yourself in marriage? Do you promise to honour, respect and adore Taylor, for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health, for as long as you both shall live?”
 
“I do.” Taylor replies, eyes welling with tears. Blinking in an attempt to keep them at bay but one slipping from her right eye.
 
“Don’t cry, love.” Matty says reaching out to brush her tear away.
 
“I’m not, I promise.” She says looking him dead in the eye. He smirks, that devilish, cheeky smirk that gets her every time.
 
The celebrant looks over towards Carly, her son sitting on the chair next to hers. “Can we have the rings now please?” Carly motions for her and Adam’s son, Max to head toward the celebrant pulling the rings out of his pocket and placing them in the celebrants’ hands. Unbeknownst to the bride and groom, his mother had checked the rings were safely stowed in Max’s pocket five times before the ceremony had started. Max retreats from the celebrant heading over towards his dad.
 
“Nice work, bud. Now go back and see mummy.” Adam high fives his little one. Earning a chuckle from the crowd. Max retreats back to his mum, earning a plump kiss on his crown.
 
The celebrant begins, “Matthew and Taylor, your rings have been warmed with love by your families and friends, may they serve as a reminder of the feelings you have in your hearts at this very moment. Always remember that you have someone to share this life with and that never again, will you need to walk alone.”
 
Matty taking the plain gold wedding band from the celebrants, “Before the witnesses present, I, Matty take you, Taylor to be my lawfully wedded wife, my soul mate and my one true love. I give you this ring as a symbol of my promise to love and support you today, tomorrow and always.” Slipping the ring onto her bare ring finger. Silently hoping that it never, ever comes off. They’ve been through too much for it to.
 
Taylor glances down at the ring, it glistens in the August sun. Taking in its simple nature it serves as a constant reminder that although the two of them are some of the most famous people of the modern era, throughout their relationship they have managed to enjoy the simple, ordinary and mundane things together of which has built strength, much like the strength of the gold band now placed on her left hand.
 
Prompted to retrieve the remaining wedding band, Taylor places two fingers either side of the platinum band and reaches out for Matty’s left hand and repeats the same, “Before the witnesses present, I, Taylor take you, Matty to be my lawfully wedded wife, my soul mate and my one true love. I give you this ring as a symbol of my promise to love and support you today, tomorrow and always.” She says, choking as she attempts to get the last words out.
 
“Matthew, you may kiss the bride”.
 
He looks down at his wife. And with that, they lock lips in front of their nearest and dearest. Ready for whatever the future holds for them.
11 notes · View notes
blackbird-brewster · 11 months ago
Text
I really swore I posted about this already, but I can't find any trace of it, so here we go --
Back in December, as part of their giftmas presents, I took Doom Them to a tailor who does made-to-measure bespoke suits. We were tentative the first time we went into the shop, unsure how the staff would act about our queerness and transness.
Turned out we had nothing to fear, the woman we worked with was INCREDIBLE. The process was so much fun and she was extremely respectful of Doom Them's identity and really worked with them to create the perfect suit.
Doom Them not only picked all the fabrics, including linings and shirt fabrics, but they also picked every clasp, button, pocket layout, pleat, down to the most specific details. Every single part of this suit was hand picked by them and that only adds to how confident they are in it.
Doom Them has wanted a suit for AGES, the issue was 'women's' off the rack suits didn't fit their body in a way that felt good, and 'men's' off the rack fit their chest but were way too baggy in other places. By having a suit custom made, they got to have a more masculine cut that actually fit all the curves of their body in a gender affirming way!
All in all, they chose a three piece suit (jacket, waistcoat, slacks) and we also had two shirts made for them (one short sleeve, one long sleeve). I have to say, I have never been more attracted to them and even from the first fitting, I could see the confidence and gender euphoria they exuded in the suit.
Presenting the most magnificent suit ever:
Tumblr media Tumblr media
The rose print lining is on the inside of the jacket and waistcoat as well as the back of the waistcoat!
2 notes · View notes
arc-77 · 11 months ago
Text
𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐒𝐄 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐂𝐈𝐅𝐈𝐂 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐍𝐒
WHAT DOES YOUR MUSE SMELL LIKE ? In armor, ozone. Blasterfire. Gunpowder. Light dusting of oil and acrid smoke. Out of armor, shaving product. Natural male pheromone. If he's been out in the wilderness, also a little campfire smoke, and a brushing of the local flora (e.g. pine).
WHAT DO YOUR MUSE’S HANDS FEEL LIKE ? Not as calloused as they ultimately could be. He does not engage in the kind of repetitive tasks that would lead to them save for weight training, but proper form minimizes their development. In verses where he settles down, they develop more callousing as he spends time taking care of the homestead. In verses where he has cybernetics, they're covered in synthflesh unless battle-damaged.
WHAT DOES YOUR MUSE USUALLY EAT IN A DAY ? The entire contents of a 24 hour ration packet if he has the opportunity to sit down and heat things up. If not, a simpler ration designed for consumption while closer to combat. Cuberats if really pressed. If he's not in a war zone and he doesn't need the calories he'll eat less ration components and substitute whatever the base is offering, or other local food. In a home environment he eats a lot of eggs, bacon, waffles, etc. breakfast food.
Alpha-Class ARCs have big appetites. If you serve it, they will eat.
DOES YOUR MUSE HAVE A GOOD SINGING VOICE ? It's not deliberately trained, but he can sing decently enough. He knows a selection of trail, folk, shanties, and Mandalorian songs by heart. You may hear him hum or quietly sing them while going about his business.
DOES YOUR MUSE HAVE ANY BAD HABITS OR NERVOUS TICKS ? Generally he's keen on identifying these sorts of things about himself and shaving them away, so that he may be all the "better" an individual. If he is to survive and lead he needs to diminish all the flaws or weaknesses within his control, so it frustrates him when one sticks around.
To this end he is often prone to overworking himself. Long hours, not enough sleep. He needs to give himself a break more often.
As for other bad habits, well. In much later years in the main timeline he's prone to... violence. Murder. If he's at a cantina and somebody bothers him or says something he doesn't like, he'll shoot them, or bash their head into the bar. There's always a provocation in his mind, it's never for no reason or against innocent bystanders, but it's reckless and unnecessary behavior that he's stopped giving a shit about holding back. And why should he? He's invincible. No law enforcement or bounty hunter in the New Republic could take him down. He's freer that he's ever been and he can finally afford to give in to these urges and make these mistakes.
WHAT DOES YOUR MUSE USUALLY LOOK LIKE / WEAR ? The grand majority of people only see him in his armor. Outside of that, rugged clothing befitting of ranch work or hiking. Boots. Sturdy jackets, jeans, and button up shirts or their GFFA equivalent. In a city environment, dark colors with red highlights. Leather.
He keeps his facial hair cleanly trimmed, only letting their hair on his chin grow out in long established home settings. Greying at the temples. Standard Jango Hair.
IS YOUR MUSE AFFECTIONATE ? HOW SO ? He lives a touch-starved life, so once he likes and is comfortable being around someone, he can be surprisingly heavy on the physical-contact. Loves to sit or lay with his partner, play with their hair/lekku, have them run fingers through his hair. Very cat-like.
Love languages aren't real but Fordo is a gift giver. He finds or creates bespoke objects for people he likes. Woodcarvings, knives/tools, modified blasters. He figures out what they need or could use and gets them something special.
WHAT POSITION DOES YOUR MUSE SLEEP IN ? He's a back sleeper, but he's learned not to be picky. The battlefield necessitates getting all the rest you can wherever you can, so just as often he's in a sitting position. In a safe home environment he would fall asleep in a dad recliner, but not by accident.
COULD YOU HEAR YOUR MUSE IN THE HALLWAY FROM ANOTHER ROOM ? It depends. Due to spending so much time in armor, he's learned how to minimize the clacking it makes, which means when he's out of his armor he moves silently like a cat. In the armor, you may still hear him. Later on he acquires sound dampening field technology that nullifies the sound of even his heaviest armor completely.
Speaking wise, likely not. He is careful about maintaining the right level of volume when walking and talking with someone, especially if the matter is private. If saluted, he generally acknowledges non-verbally.
tagged by: @donutdollie (Thank you!) tagging: @iconaclysm @reachfalls @mandogold
3 notes · View notes
asknarashikari · 1 year ago
Note
What do you think the Saber cast's casual outfits (Outside their SoL uniforms) would look like?
Well... the thing is, we have seen nearly all of them in casual outfits at least once, with the exception of Yuri, Sophia and rather strangely Ren. Though, if you have to have me describe a general style for them...
Rintaro- Stuff similar to his outfit in the finale. Smart but casual sort of things. Button downs and long pants
Kento- ...Questionable fashion taste, as demonstrated by nearly all his casual outfits in the show
Ryo- He usually wears a polo shirt and jeans under his SoL coat. I call it a dad outfit because my dad wears stuff like that too.
Tetsuo- Simple t-shirt with heavy duty overalls, for his work in the forge (where he usually is anyway)
Ren- I kinda imagine him leaning toward streetwear or athletic wear, or just sturdy but comfy clothes since he's currently travelling a lot.
Yuri- The type to have a very eclectic closet due to his penchant for trying everything. Results of his combinations may vary
Sophia- Dresses, similar in style to what she usually wears, just less formal and without her usual accessories
Reika- Fashionable high street clothing, but at a higher quality. Maybe some bespoke pieces as well
Ryouga- Same as Reika, though his choices are a bit more functional and formal than hers.
6 notes · View notes