#it’s about the waistcoats y’all

[queenvampire1889]

ok but WHO exactly put Hayley Atwell in that waistcoat I am OBSESSED

[primaviva]

PAIRINGS: gwen, miles (42!), hobie, pav, and miguel x fem! reader

SYNOPSIS: astv characters and their s/o going to see barbie.

WARNING/NOTES: matching outfits, the mention of o-o-oppenheimer 🤢🤮, barbie photo ops, miguel being a mamón

— GWEN

i hate to say it so… but she wanted to watch oppenheimer first.

she sent you a text talking about sum ��babe let’s see oppenheimer it looks good 🥰” and then you sent her a voice memo of gun shots from your gun sound simulator app and she understood she was wrong.

gwen thinks father of the atomic

it’s not like she didn’t wanna see barbie but she was like… it’s barbie

“babe cmon! you can’t tell me oppenheimer doesn’t look cool. what is barbie even about? is she gonna go on an adventure to find that old rubber high heel the little girl that owns her lost those many years ago? oooo so interesting.”

“do not mock me gwendolyn.”

you showed her the trailer as gwen showed you the oppenheimer trailer

in the end you both lost.

yeah… oppenheimer is a glorification a historical event that people don’t touch on the affects it had and rather the men behind it

and yeah… barbie having an existential crisis on what it means to be a woman and her place in the world sounded like it had potential

“i mean, yeah the trailer is kinda fire,” you admitted, weak in defeat.

gwen crossed her arms with a smirk of victory. “see! i told you that it looked cool,” she rubbed in your face before changing her expression, “but… barbie also sounds like it’s gonna be good. who says we can’t do both?”

you guys do barbieheimer.

and since you both were already gonna indulge in the internet craze… of course you played into it

gwen dressed in all black in this tux and even got the hat to match

you on the other hand wore all pink in tribute to barbie

she was FAWNING over you.

the cute outfit? the accessories? you in general?

you also couldn’t lie with how attractive gwen looked in a blazer I MEANNNN

she wore a bunch of rings on her hands and had a tie and all but she made it looser and looser until she just took it off and shoved it in her pocket before y’all left because it was annoying the shit out of her

“oh my you look so dapper,” you complimented, fighting back laughs from your choice of wording.

you watched as she smoothed down the blazer, shocked that she even had that in her closet. it was weird seeing her dressed like that and you couldn’t help but try to not look. it would be a bad night if she caught you peeking because yeah, you know she’s fine, but do you want her knowing that? to use that against you as leverage? hell. no.

gwen let out a laugh as she striked a pose, hands on her hips moving the sides of the blazer behind her to show off black waistcoat top. “really? you flatter me. aren’t you the bees knees yourself, babe.”

you cringed. hard.

her attempt at 1940 slang was where you drew the line and her shit eating grin didn’t help.

“gwen… dare i say gwendolyn again.”

she smirked. “yes, sugar lips?”

“i hate you.”

gwen was clearly feeling herself

you were too

and trust there was a photoshoot. and trust that it was gwen’s idea even if it was mostly her taking photos of you and her hyping you up crazy

“you’re gonna be the prettiest there babe. nobody can top my girl! not even barbie-”

“don’t be corny with me please…”

you guys decided to watch oppenheimer first and then end on a happy note with barbie

throughout oppenheimer you could see… even FEEL gwen’s eyes staring at the side of your head

she was just making sure you at least enjoyed the movie because it would break her soul if she forced you to watch something you didn’t like

you guys ended up loving it, especially the bomb scene

then you guys watched barbie…

it was a lot of laughing but the moment the movie started taking its turn bro gwen was fighting tears

and at the end of it? BALLING HER EYES OUT

if you are crying you both are just looking at each other in utter shock at the movie but also doing a really poor job at hugging each other

if you aren’t crying your eyes out with her you are comforting her while kinda laughing at her because she thought it was just gonna be some pink glam movie

it wasn’t.

“t-the message… this is so embarrassing i can’t stop crying what the fuck,” she cried into her palms which made her sound really funny as it was muffled by her skin.

you just held her close and you guys talked about the movies

especially like talking about the symbolism in barbie and how it touched on women suffering from the system and standards they are forced to live up to like it really hit gwen especially because the hate she got for how she acted in astv and how nobody was coming at the males that did the same or even worse than her

she sends you tiktok edits of gloria x barbie and says “us❤️”

overall, it was a 10/10 experience y’all went out to eat after in your cute outfits n all

— MILES

you asked him and miles was down IMMEDIATELY

he was another that thought oppenheimer looked good but he didn’t really mention going to the movie with you and the same thing for barbie

miles just thought they was both cool lookin

so you asked him.

“miles, baby, i have a very important question to ask you… one that may very well determine the outcome of this relationship.”

you spoke stern and serious, and almost vague.

"yeah, what's up? something wrong?" miles asks, slightly concerned, running his fingers through his curls and looking up at you.

“will you watch the barbie movie with me?” you pleaded with your hands, “pleaseee!”

miles eyes go wide, a smile spreading across his face.

"yes! i'm so down! i'll even be your ken if you wanna be my barbie. you know i'm a sucker for anything barbie."

you laughed, moving over to sit in his lap. he wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you in closer. “my ken, huh? i like the idea of that.”

“i mean, what else would i be? i’m here to serve you,” he spoke with a slight blush painted on his cheeks. you giggled as you wrapped your arms around his neck.

“we should do those matching couple outfits for barbie,” you suggested, “wouldn’t we look so cute?”

"matching outfits?" he asks thoughtfully. "y’know what, i think i know the perfect idea for our couple's look, babe."

miles had this glow to him as you literally saw a light bulb go off in his head.

“oh really, you have an idea?” you questioned, furrowing your brows at the speed of whatever little brain storm was going on in his head. “is it boricua barbie? because not gonna lie, i’d love to see you in a dress.”

"hmm, you wanna see me in a pink, ruffly dress?" miles teases you, smiling at the idea. "why didn't you tell me you were into cute boys in feminine outfits sooner, babe? cus’ i’d dress up for you whenever you want."

“you play too much,” choked out through the giggles as you shoved his shoulder. "hey now, i look amazing in a dress," he laughs. "but i do have an idea that includes both matching barbie costumes and me being your ken, if you're up for it."

miles smiles sweetly at you, his expression turning a little mischievous. “if you have an idea, please do tell,” you said in a sultry voice.

"i want to do what barbie and ken did in that one movie, where ken turns out to actually have superpowers too," miles explains excitedly. "but instead of us being the same superhero, like we both have super strength or super speed, we could be superheroes who complement each other."

you laughed im disbelief. ‘no way’ you thought, knowing exactly what he was thinking of.

he takes your hand, placing the other one on your cheeks and staring deeply into your eyes as he smiles at you. "what do you think?" miles whispers, leaning down toward you.

“you wanna be barbie and ken… from barbie princess power,” you recited slowly, a grin stretching across your face. “of course the one who is a superhero vigilante says this.”

miles' smile widens. "yes, princess power! that's exactly what i was talkin’ about," he says. "and come on, don't underestimate the barbie movies. most of them are really good, dare i say cinematic masterpieces!”

you mouthed an ‘okay’ as you rolled your eyes.

"if i'm your ken, you have to be my barbie," he says, moving his hands onto your waist and moving you up his lap. "the most iconic couple in the barbie universe, right here."

y’all outfits looked so funny but cute… like in a diy that didn’t go wrong typa way

and if you think for a minute mamita rio let y’all go without them facebook mom photos you’re sadly mistaken

"sonríe pa la foto!" rio yelled as the flash coming from her phone was almost blinding.

“mami, por favor-”

miles begging was not gonna get him anywhere with his mom.

“dios mío, you both look so cute,” rio gushed.

“señora morales…you’re too kind!”

miles dad gave you both the typical “y’all better not get into no trouble” parent speech and then you both was off

when i say he was fangirling over the barbie themed cups and popcorn… i mean it

he was taking photos of everything

the whole movie his mouth was wide open in awe

miles was actually so furious at ken he looked absolutely lost and physically upset watching that white piece of plastic run a muck in barbieland

“HE TALKIN’ TO BARBIE LIKE THAT??”

yes, he cried at the end… and at the middle… and a little at the start

at first he was just amazed with the cinematography

but then when they got to the real world? just seeing through the movies lens and it’s take on how modern society treats women based on the parallel barbie world like he felt so unreal

at the end, he was acting like those guys on tiktok that was treating the women in they lives like absolute QUEENS walking out the theater because of the perspective they got watching the movie

not that he didn’t treat you like that before, don’t get him wrong, it’s just that he felt the need like a bunch of other guys after watching the movie to apologizes for the system men have created

it was a little funny, especially because it has nothing to do with him and men doing this type of stuff is a little corny coming from the privilege of the gender, but you appreciated it nonetheless

if you cried during the movie tho? he is bear hugging you crazy and not letting go even after the barbie world credits end

you guys leave the theater holding hands and talking about the film and he is geeking out over all the symbolism and stuff this man watches titanic you know he’s a secret film bro

“i’m so sorry mi amor, that us men have failed our women-”

and there miles went, on a nonstop rant about how you are his queen and how much he loves the women in his life.

you ended up sleeping over at his place

with the door open of course… you know rio is watching.

he had so much fun with you tonight and you could tell by the way he slept with a big smile displayed on his face.

— PAVITR

you asked him and he was happily accepting before you even got the question fully out.

“pav!” you called out from behind him, pulling him in from the neck for a hug. “hey, i wanna ask you something. do you wanna-”

“yes.”

“wait… what? pav i didn’t even say anything yet? what if i’m about to say something completely criminal?” you asked in a teasing tone.

“hehe, yeah maybe i’m a little too excited to see you. what is it, love?”

his eyes looked at you so bright and full of love, it was almost distracting.

“can we go see the barbie movie? we can even wear all pink and match…”

you were gonna say more, but you didn’t have to.

pav was immediately saying yes to everything

until the fear sunk in…

"wait, but I don't have anything pink to wear!" pavitr exclaimed, sounding slightly distressed. "does that mean you won't go with me?" he asked, raising an eyebrow and giving you a teasing smile.

he knows you’d never do such a thing.

"you know, i don't usually dress in pink, but for you i'll make an exception!"

you suggested you both go shopping like a little couples date

it was chaotic to say the least… but just as fun !!

he was acting like a model with everything he put on and it got even worse when you let him look at the stuff you were putting on

absolutely whipped.

“my girlfriend is gorgeous! absolutely gorgeous!”

you thanked him again, and again, and again.

“pav, do you think you are india’s next top model? because you are not gaytari,” you teased for him not finding an outfit yet, landing a peck on his cheek as he giggled in response.

"i'II look my best for the movie," he added with a wink. "are you sure you can handle all this style?"

all you could do was roll your eyes.

y’all were almost late to the movie because of bro

but you weren’t.

for the movie he was similar to miles and just in awe

in the beginning he was rooting for ken because he thought he was just being a good service boyfriend

you can imagine pavitr heartbreak when he started talking about the patriarchy

“no, wait- KEN WHAT ARE YOU DOING I WAS ROOTING FOR YOU!”

man is anger sobbing

words cannot describe the physical anger he feels seeing ken talk to barbie in such a manner he was stunned at the switch up

he also loved all of ruth’s parts, thinks she carried the whole movie

was physically leaning backwards at the sad scenes just taking it all in

pavitr LOVED the movie

came out the theater a changed man.

“my amazing, sweetest, most caring girlfriend…the prettiest of all mumbattan,” he spoke as he got down on one leg.

‘oh boy’ you thought, preparing yourself.

“i promise you, i would never ever treat you like how ken did barbie. you are a breathtaking woman and deserve the world-”

there goes another speech.

he walked you home like a true gentleman he smoking that ken pack and y’all talked about your favorite parts

pavitr overall had a really good time with you and enjoyed the message of the movie

— HOBIE

hobie is not and i repeat NOT watching that atomic bomb glorification story

but a movie about the patriarchy and double standard against women that hurts both genders based on the system men built through a satire film that is actually very political and has a message? yeah he’s going

when you told him tho not gonna lie he was gonna clown you

“barbie? like that lil white girl… you sure you wanna go watch that, luv?”

once you told him about the plot and showed him the trailer bro was READY to go

the set up of barbie world being a parallel to modern society was music to his ears

“really? i didn’t really expect allat comin’ from that bird. ight then, i’ll go. now i'm kinda curious.”

yes, he dresses up with you.

hobie is a punk icon… you know gender does not define him and he doesn’t care about breaking the “rules” of fashion of bit

so what does he dress as?

erika from rock n royals barbie.

guitar included.

you? well it’s a couple costume YOU'RE GONNA BE HIS COURTNEY

it’s not like you guys wore an exact replica of the outfits it was just heavily inspired fits

y’all looked cute as hell tho trust

“hobie, i can feel you staring,” you told him as you fixed up your makeup in your mirror.

it was true, you could feel him staring at you. heavy.

you looked to the side of your mirror and indeed saw him eyeing your figure with a soft smirk as he leaned against your bed frame. “what, not allowed to look at my girl now? since when?”

he was teasing and he knew it was making you flustered just by how your face was heating up.

his outfit isn’t too far out of bounds of what we would normally wear, but you couldn’t lie and say that the new colors didn’t fit him. the purple and the blue accents of his outfit, the leather jacket, the black eyeshadow with glitter that he surprisingly let you do, just everything about him looked so good.

hobie walked up behind you and put his hands on your hips, guiding your body closer to his as he watched your hands freeze applying your lip liner.

“don’t stop cus’ of me,” he spoke sheepishly.

you continued and shortly after finished up. his eyes still stared silently at you, admiring your beauty. “looking again, hobie? y’know i hope you pay attention to this movie…”

“i am,” he admitted with no shame, “you’re the prettiest gal i’ve seen. not gonna deny that.”

he pressed a slow, open mouth kiss on your shoulder as he rested his head in the crook of your neck. his breath was warm against your chilled skin.

“shall we get goin’ now?”

he payed attention to the movie but he couldn’t help wrapping a arm around your shoulder and making little comments in your ear

hobie got quiet tho towards the middle because he genuinely got invested once her feet turned flat and barbie met the ceo

but once the movie started getting deep… BOYY the look on this mans face he was stunned, appalled, baffled, gobsmacked even at ken

and then the speech about women? lawd.

he didn’t cry at all during the final sequence and if anything i think he was confused…

“wait that’s the lady from before that was makin tea, innit?”

“yes hobie.”

“holdup, where the granny go? what’s with the white void?”

“HOBIE-”

don’t get it twisted tho he understood the film and thought it was beautifully done

y’all talked about all the topics afterwards and let’s just say bro hates kens and is angry that nobody told them shit

“are they mad? they must be cus’ no way after everything that happened they just gon forgive the man for being a raging misogynist… they had the girls wearing maid costumes and not one apology was heard man that’s insane!”

hobie smoking that ken pack

he enjoyed the movie but what made him enjoy it was doing it with you <33

— MIGUEL

you know you had to ask him.

bro was not considering anything that would take him away from his work or distract him because he feels he doesn’t have time for that

and the crazy thing is that miguel knows about the hype about the movie and the whole barbie core pink mania

but of course he gonna act like he don’t and got better things to do.

“do you wanna see the barbie movie with me?”

those the words that stopped the gears turning in his head.

“excuse me?” miguel asked, looking up from his report with furrowed brows as his forehead already began to crease.

you wanted to dwell on the fact that he is getting annoyed before you even got to explain yourself, but you pushed it to the back of your mind. no, you couldn’t let him get push you away this time.

“you heard me, miguel. c’mon, the movie with margot robbie! and did i mention barbie? one of the most popular dolls? don’t act stupid,” you told him, walking over and wrapping your arms around his neck to hug him close from behind as he sat. “you don’t think it would be fun?”

he pinches the bridge of his nose, knowing what you’re about to get him into.

“mi vida…” you hear him sigh, quietly in almost a cut-it-out type of tone. he moves his head to the side and you can practically feel the confusion behind the glare. “you’re joking.”

you move one of your hands to your heart. “miguel!” you gasped playful, “this is a serious matter. why would i even joke about watching a movie with you?”

“because there's no way you're being serious. you don't go looking for me to see a barbie movie. especially one you know i'll refuse,” he replies, his voice stern.

“but-”

"Is this some sort of elaborate humiliation attempt?"

“NO!”

"... you're serious, aren't you? what's in it for me? i mean, it's a barbie movie."

you explain to him the premise and he still acts like this whole thing is stupid and you have no business trying to see this movie with him

but he can’t lie, he’s intrigued.

he kinda wants to see it.

and he’s trying his best to hide it.

"okay… what time?" he asked, defeated.

“really, my begging actually worked? thank god because i already brought two tickets and it would’ve been sad showing up alone,” you confessed.

“you bought them? already?” he repeated, caught off guard by how ready you were. “and what time are they for?"

“7:30.”

“fine, fine. but i'm holding you to your word. If it turns out this is some kind of elaborate scheme, you'll be hearing about it."

he’s so suspicious for no reason

now when it came to outfits… yeah you know miguel owns no pink whatsoever

you didn’t even know he knew about the pink craze or even wanted to play into it until he let it slip

"what am i supposed to wear then? i don't own anything pink.”

“it’s fine we’ll go shoppin- wait who said anything about pink outfits to you?”

you started making fun of him but then he threatened to take back saying he was going with you and told you that you’d be sitting in a theater all by yourself

but then you brought up again how he was ready to wear pink for you and he had a little slip up

"n-no? i mean, I could… if i’m gonna go see this thing with you and it your way, might as well commit right?”

his facade was slipping, this was golden. “so you will wear pink?”

the mischievous look on your face made him annoyed but he knew what he was getting into.

“i said i could, not that i’m going to. don’t get your hopes up chiquita."

he did end up wearing pink

little said he know you were plotting something against him

it started off nice… simple.

it was white pants with a pink button up

you told him for a “pop of color” he should wear a green blazer

sound familiar? because you were planning a scheme YOU DRESSED HIM AS SUGAR DADDY KEN

it was for shits and giggles

he had no idea until it was all paid for and safe to tell him before miguel made you fix his outfit

he’s ore than a little surprised, and not really sure how to react. miguel takes a look at the outfit, and does his best to try and hold back a chuckle.

"this... is a joke. there's no way you're serious about me wearing this, is there?”

“put. it. on.”

he does a low sighs and take the outfit from you. "fine, only because it's you."

it didn’t take him long to finish in the changing room, and when he stepped out you were enchanted by the sight.

“happy?”

yes. indeed you were very happy.

he was paying for everything of course like the sugar daddy he doesn’t know he is

he had his arms crossed, sat down legs spread, watching you change into different pink outfits and rating telling you how he thought you looked

you’d do little spins for miguel

“muy bella.” “you look gorgeous.” “i like that one, fits you nicely.”

you ended up leaving and going to the movie and while on your way there decided to tell him about his little outfit.

“you wanna know a secret, miggy?” you ask him with a grin.

he raises a brown at you, “i feel like you're gonna tell me regardless, so i'm gonna say yes.”

you say nothing, you just pull up a photo of sugar daddy ken and show it to him.

as his eyes flicker to the screen, you see the light amusement fade away from his expression as it turns to one of genuine confusion and horror. miguel’s hand moves subconsciously to the green blazer, as the fear sets in that he recognizes exactly what the outfit is referring to. “you didn’t…”

“but i did.”

“you. you are a bad person.”

truth be told, he really liked the movie

miguel just really liked the message like it made it him think of all the women that were and are in his life like you and all the other girls he’s wronged before you iykyk

but it also made him sad because it reminded him of gabriella

just thinking about all the muñequitas she use to play with before it happens

all the dress up games they use to play, when he pretended to be whatever doll he picked for her to play pretend scenarios with her dream house

it also made him sad to think of the strong, independent woman she wouldn’t become if it wasn’t for him

he didn’t tear up, no not at all.

but by the empty look on his face you could tell just how he was feeling

you put a hand over his as the audience laughed at the screen. “miguel, you okay? you know we can leave if that’s what you want.”

he just turned, put his hand over yours and gave it a squeeze. “no, no… i’m fine. don't worry.”

you guys had a good time and you swore you could see a small smile stretch across his face during some moments

he genuinely wanted to talk about the movie with you for hours but the man does have to sleep at some point

“hey, i just wanted to thank you for uh… convincing me to see a barbie movie. yeah, it sounded ridiculous and thought you were trying to find some way to mess with me for my attention. but, i really did enjoy spending time with you. just felt compelled to tell you that is all.”

miguel holds his heavy responsibility of the universe on his shoulders and is filled with grief

he doesn’t do this with the intent to tell people how to live their lives, but to try and protect what he couldn’t

so yeah, he’s glad you could give him some relief from the day

A/N: hey guys… i feel it’s been a minute but this took so long and it’s my first time writing for all of them beside gwen so im scared it’s gonna sound like shit so ??? i hope y’all enjoyed tho 🫶 BARBIE WAS SO GOOD

© 2023 primaviva — artist credits: zvdohu

[queer-reader-07]

crowley and aziraphale being sexy is not mutually exclusive from them being asexual. y’all do realize that, right?

i’ve seen people say “i just want them to be ace icons, they’re an old gay couple they’re not meant to be sexy!!” and while that’s well intentioned and i can see where you’re coming from, i have to disagree.

don’t get me wrong, i don’t necessarily want a sex scene in canon. i did and still do read both of them as ace. the wanting them to be ace is not the issue.

i take issue with the reasoning some people are providing. let me put this bluntly: old people can and do have sex. old straight couples have sex, old queer couples have sex. being old is not synonymous with someone not being sexually active. and it says a lot about how you all view aging and old people when you act like old people can’t get it on.

secondly, aziraphale and crowley can be sexy and also never have sex. ANYBODY can be sexy and never actually have sex. because sexy is vibe, it’s a state of mind, it’s about your physicality and the way you carry yourself. you can think someone is sexy and never want to fuck them, you can think you yourself are sexy and not go any further than that.

so yeah, crowley can look hot and sexy in his turtlenecks and waistcoats. and aziraphale can look sexy in his waistcoats and button downs. you can look at david tennant’s jawline and be enamored and you can look at michael sheen’s nose and think it’s beautiful. and they never have to actually have sex with each other for any of that to be true. sexiness does not necessitate sex.

not to mention, every time i see the “they’re an old gay couple they don’t need to be sexy!!” argument it feels very much like sanitizing queer relationships and love for the sake of cishet comfortability. too often queer people are not allowed to be sexual, or for fucks sake, not just sexual but physical with their significant others. because physical manifestations and displays of queer love make the cishet world uncomfortable. and not allowing that kind of physical love to exist in media only serves to further perpetuate the issue.

queer love and queer people don’t have to be palatable to a cishet audience. queer love should get to exist authentically and queer people should get to exist and present in however way they see fit.

and in the context of good omens i think that means letting aziraphale and crowley be sexy even if they never have sex. that means letting them be physical in their love. because queer people deserve that, especially old queer people

[wisteriagoesvroom]

Re: suits, there are hundreds of different types of suits, but the most common cuts are british, american and italian. I could see Lando (aka would love to see) most likely in an italian cut (slim tailoring on trousers and jacket, unstructured shoulders, light cloth (not colour but fabric) also looks very nice with an open collar and no tie...). Typical big brand names here are Zegna, Armani or Attolini, I personally love Kiton and Brioni as well, but just googling itlian cut suits should show some good results.

For Oscar, I would adore a (for once) properly tailored brutish cut suit (higher waistline for the trousers, more structure in the shoulders, tapered waist, thicker fabrics). Maybe even make it a proper three-piece bc ever since the wetsuit pics from Australia, I think we all agree that those curves need to be shown more often. Examples here are Ted Baker, Dunhill and ofc everything Savile row.

Tho if we keep with the Mclaren sponsors, Reiss does some great work as well. There's a double-breasted tuxedo jacket in this year's collection that I would love to see Lando in (then again tuxedos are a whole nother topic ...)

This got very long and is probably not very helpful but I love infodumping about fashion lol <3

i know you were self conscious about writing at length about this but all i have to say is: yes. here is some additional photographic evidence from my POV;

lando in snazzy italian tailoring, but to take the stylised vector a bit further:

exhibit a: asymmetric waistcoat with steampunk details

exhibit b: italian but with a fun pattern

exhibit c: open collar a step further, he could so rock a 70s suit. also just really need him to rock the gucci glasses with some shiny loafers like he’s sooooo got that vibe. im thinking how bruno mars and harry styles wear that kind of suiting sometimes

now to our elusive chanteuse f1 driver oscar jack. i feel like it’s, like what you described, about a classic style but with really fine details. good fabrics, simple cuts, plain colourways. below is pretty stylised but also this is rpf and it’s my playground and if we were claiming realism we should just put the rpf toys down full stop and i am not doing that!!

if taking a costume designer’s perspective too, there could be soooo much you could say with layering and pattern and contrast depending where we are in the story or plot. the idea of fic!oscar in a classic brit cut suit with tiny revealing details like a handkerchief (lando’s) or a button (a nod to a family member or a friend) is very dear to me.

the other option i like is a classic tux jacket with tails and crisp shirt and a a sky blue handkerchief, like idk that image also tickles me for some reason.

anyway so i had been thinking about a tailor AU- *loud scuffling noise as i try to put wayward au ideas back in their box*

p.s. oscar in dunhill... like u were cooking but u especially cooked w that one....

and tagging the people who might be interested in this conversation i invite y’all to weigh in!! @cx-boxbox @kichona-s and @jusst-you-race

[aconflagrationofmyown]

A Whole Man is Hard to Find - chapter 13

an Elvis Presley fanfic AU

Warnings: the typical universe warnings apply for this chapter, special emphasis on dated views both held and aspersions cast, by various characters

Summary: picking up from where we left off, this particular one is a bro chapter, -as I like to call the ones sans Rosey- though perhaps the underlying homoeroticism and money talk dampens the broship a bit ;)

Love note from a nutty author: thank y’all so much for all the feedback, love, screaming and prompts, it means the world to me that we’ve gotten as far as we have with this story and I cannot wait to continue on, sharing it with y’all has been such a bright spot of my year. Here’s to hoping this chapter isn’t too boring or grammatically offensive. Apologies to Steve Binder for me always making him a twink, it’s a cross some have to bear

“Captain Presley!” Calhoun’s panted greeting and the boy’s flailing limbs collided with Elvis the minute he stepped on deck, “I was trying t’stay awake last night t’tell ya but I fell asleep and then Mr Schilling wouldn’t tell m’where ya where when I done woke up this’mornin an’ I was tryin to find Miss Beaumont, -and he weren’t no help with that either, and just had to find ya…“

“Breathe my boy, try takin a breath, that it!” Elvis huffed good naturedly, patting his scrawny back as the kid gripped his fine clothes and babbled a mile a minute, “You found me now, and I’ll listen but ya gotta hold it for a lil longer, got a real powerful man comin aboard any second now.”

Cal bit his lip in frustration with the one front tooth left him, “But I gotta tell ya what I saw-“

“-And I wanna hear it, more than anythin’, but in a minute.” Elvis insisted with firm gentleness, spinning the boy around and tucking him under his arm as he walked them both towards the head of the gang plank. “Jerrah!“ he greeted his friend who looked like he was about to be sick by the sight of the approaching dandified official, “Who ya watchin? Oh why, if it ain’t the cute lil fucker with the crush on me.” he mimed surprise at the sight of the approaching visitor just for the satisfaction of seeing Jerry Schilling turn a shade greener, “Mr Bundle, wasn’t it?”

“Binder -as you know damn well.” Jerry seethed, “And if we aren’t all locked up for your obscenity by breakfast then it’ll be due to the intervention of a loving god.”

“Goodnessme.” Elvis clucked his tongue, “Mind yourself in front of the boy.”

“I should be telling you that.” Jerry shot back. “Only the pleasure of delivering a fate that’s real painful for both of us would give that man the energy and bravery to show his face after last night.”

“Since you’re so peckish, why don’t ya take Cal down below, allow me to handle this.”

“I don’t trust ya to handle that fancy man in any way shape or form that would be beneficial.” Jerry belligerently stuck a cigar in his mouth and his hands in his pockets, “I had to tuck him into a carriage like a helpless child he was so wobbly after you were finished with him. Reckon I’ll mind my post, thanks very much.”

“Goin down with boat, hmm, Jerrah?” Elvis snickered.

“Besides,” Jerry ignored him, “that fat fuck of yours is down below givin instructions to clear the boat out and won’t elaborate when he said he’d imprison me for obstructin federal orders when I told him I only take orders from you.”

“The hell?” Elvis muttered in bewilderment.

“So, you don’t know what he’s up to either? Damn him. How’s Miss Beaumont?” Jerry turned with Elvis to face their oncoming guests, calculating that brevity would force his friend to be honest.

Elvis could feel Calhoun’s hopeful, upturned face waiting for his reply. He tightened his hug on Cal’s shoulders and murmured a tersely comforting “Well enough, she’ll be at breakfast.” out the side of his mouth while turning to greet Mr Binder as that fellow gingerly stepped off the ramp and onto his polished deck.

Gray suit, gray waistcoat, blue tie. Elvis' little lesson had not gone unheeded. The pretty official’s eyes were near azure with the new touch of dyed silk.

“My dear Mr. Binder!” Captain Presley greeted with obnoxious familiarity, “This is an unexpected treat!”

Binder looked at the hand offered in a handshake like it might bite him before thrusting forth his pallid one and squeezing the Captain’s hand so tightly the rings bit into his fingers and bruised. It made Elvis grin wider.

“To what do we owe this visit?” Elvis queried, taking stock of the multiple federal soldiers arranged behind Binder like personal Pretorians, stiff and ready to guard the government’s dutiful clerk from a second defilement. “Ya here for business or pleasure?”

Mr. Binder’s hitherto stoic face flushed crimson as the Captain’s rankling pleasantries angered him enough he found his tongue, “Business, Captain P-Presley, b-business -of course, what else.”

“Oh I dunno, didn’t wanna presume,” Elvis raised two placating hands in surrender, causing his bracelet round his wrist to jangle against his time piece, “gotta whole lotta ‘else’ aboard.”

“I-I’m here to tell you, Captain Presley,” Binder’s tone grew firmer after managing to at last say his name without a stutter, “that the government has requisitioned your boat -for a brief period, not long, just a brief period to transport troops upriver to the territories.”

“And it just had to be my boat?” Elvis glowered, his amusement fast fading.

“Yes, yes your boat is required and, and your skill recommends you as perfect for the handling of…handling of -your skills as a captain I mean, of course! -handling of men…troops, government property.” he brought his clutched order up to his face and examined the paper frantically before quoting: “-Captaining government assets up the treacherous waterway to St Paul.”

He rallied at the end after consulting his orders, managing to find a vocabulary that did not provoke double entendres, lowering the paper and looking at the Captain with federal expectancy.

Elvis mourned Binder’s success only briefly before allowing himself to absorb the reality of a trip up north under government orders, all protest against it resulting in a even worse demand. Or prison. Jerry gave a snicker beside him at their ill luck, the self inflicted karma of Elvis’ fucking with this dainty fellow.

“I am ever at my country’s service, Mr Binder.” Captain Presley replied with grave decorum before remembering the importance of keeping so easily flummoxed an ally on his side, “-and at yours.” he added in a tone he had not heard himself use in a coons age.

His tongue felt sour from how easy it had been to slip back into it, even sober. How effective it yet remained on the man before him who’s professional reply died on his lips with that personal addition.

Mr Binder’s betraying flush lasted one single, damning moment before a genuine scowl of derision replaced the fawnish wince of before. Mr. Schilling feared this had gone too far at last, a death blow was about to be struck to his incorrigible friend’s long streak of bridge burning immunity. Jerry often wondered if Elvis perhaps wanted to burn the whole operation to the riverbed floor, so as to be done with the carnival shit. Handing that job to someone else would make him blameless. No one was better positioned than Mr Binder to damn them so expertly.

“And I came to aid you, Captain.” Mr. Binder continued with admirable indifference to his momentary slip.

“Oh?”

“Yes, I’ve a question for you.” Mr. Binder nodded, looking once at Mr. Schilling and then the boy Calhoun who was watching these proceedings with fascinated bewilderment.

“Ah now, I’ve never known a question that was helpful, Mr. Bi-“

“Don’t.” Jerry begged, slapping Elvis’ hand from its intended journey to Binder’s flinching shoulder. “Just don’t, for once in your life.”

“I’ve been sent by President Grant’s Administration to clean up the laws and commerce of the Mississippi River, Captain Presley,” Mr. Binder stated his well worn script of the evening prior, “and you best believe I intend to do so. But I’d rather not lock up its most able captains when I think the corruption I seek is ashore. Do you understand me, sir? Or do you only speak in the lustful language of the depraved? Your…purser led me to believe you were a -deeper- sort of man.”

Mr. Schilling’s cough was grating and deafening enough to make Cal jump in surprise. “There was mention of aid and a question, Mr Binder?” he redirected with effortless, homespun charm.

“Yes, I suppose there was.” Binder flicked his clear blue eyes over to the second mate, “Do you men not want to partner with me or do you actually enjoy slowly declining into outdated, useless finery?”

“Beg pardon?”

“What I’m trying to understand, Mr. Schilling is why after agreeing to the boat race one of you would put in an offer, tantamount to a request, to be used by the United States army, thus disqualifying you from such a race for nigh on half a month's time? Do you really hate the idea of making money so much you’d wreck your own ticket? Or am I right in judging that neither of you knew about this development until now?

Mr. Schilling and Captain Presley exchanged a look that was a non verbal communication of a resounding “told ya so” on Jerry’s part in regards to the basic command structure aboard.

“I am correct?” Binder prodded, a prim sort of authority having bloomed in him when left in peace from fiddling fingers and dancing blue eyes, “Right, then, the next question is, who actually owns this ship?

“It’s a boat, sir.” Elvis corrected gently.

More silence followed and Cal craned his neck near backwards to observe the Captain’s silent seething from the vantage point of under his jaw. It seemed to him that conversations between important men involved a great deal of glaring and not much talk. If Rosey had been there she would have taken note of the thumping vein in his neck, giving away how very much Elvis appreciated Colonel Parker wrecking his first, profitable, basic chance for autonomy.

“It was mentioned to me,” Mr. Binder went on, “-in the early morning as I had not bothered with sleep and the light was on and a fellow felt free to approach my desk- that Colonel Parker left the gala last night and departed straight away to the telegraph office, and thence to the railway office, before coming back to his lodgings aboard. Does any of this interest you, Captain Presley? I’ll repeat, who owns this boat? And why would they rather it act as a human cattle car than make a profit by submitting to a constitutionally elected committee?”

“That would be one Colonel Parker, of telegraph and railway office fame.” Jerry made a brave decision and smiled placidly, even as Elvis gave him a look that would strike most men dead. “Very fond of the old method, that one, you know, the dancing, singing, gambling, carnival style method that the railway is gonna make obsolete in a couple years.”

“I own this damn boat.” Captain Presley growled over Cal’s head and the boy felt his shoulder nearly crushed under his clenching hand.

“Not according to Mr. Moore, ya don’t, been goin through all those papers like ya asked….” Jerry kept smiling the smile of someone who enjoys a victory at all costs, and Elvis smiled the teeth-clenched smile of one who’d rather seethe than cry over a betrayal.

“How bout we take this somewhere, more private.” Elvis offered to Mr. Binder with admirable decorum for a man in such dire need of breakfast.

“Yes.” Mr. Binder was hesitant to leave the pure, open air of the deck and the federal guardians of his purity for an enclosed office and Captain Presley’s wiles, “Some discretion might not be amiss.” he conceded.

“Excellent, be so good as ta follow me, and you, Schilling,” Elvis pushed a firm hand against his mate’s chest, “will stay above with Cal and see to it that no more unloading happens until I can sort this little miscommunication out, hmm?”

“Yes, Boss.” Jerry donned his now quite common look of sullen mutiny but he took Cal under his arm nonetheless, watching with stubborn hope as the two men descended the stairs to the Captain’s practically unused office.

“What was it that you so badly wanted to tell the Captain about, boy?” Jerry asked Calhoun after a split second’s decision to make business that wasn’t his business his business. He had a strange presentiment that all business aboard would soon be everyone’s business with the way things were devolving so rapidly.

“Colonel Parker pointed a gun at me.” Cal shrugged with aggrieved pride at having been put off so long.

“Now that weren’t very patient of him.”Jerry remarked, “What’d you do?”

“I didn’t do nothin!” Cal remonstrated viciously.

“What’d he do, then? -No, no you ain’t taken the piano anywhere, not nothin else is goin off here till the Captain comes back up!” Jerry broke off to yell at a few movers who were beginning to haul out the dining halls' more entertaining furniture, “Go get, move your asses back, nothin comes out till he says. Now, you were sayin, Calhoun?”

“I was goin into Miss Beaumont’s office for my lesson-“

“-that’s really Rosetta’s office, boy.”

“-yes, right, well, it’s got the safe in it, and it was empty ‘cept for the Colonel and he was busy diggin’ through it and pullin things out,” Cal explained, “and they were things I’d seen the passengers give Miss Beaumont and she done locked them up and had them slip things-“

“-deposit slips.”

“-yeah, depot slips, and he was takin the jewels out and he spooked real bad when I came in.”

“Why’d he point a gun at ya?” Jerry gnawed on his cigar placidly much to Cal’s irritation.

“He told me not to say nothin bout what I’d seen. And I asked him why not.” Cal shrugged as if this were explanation enough.

“Then what?”

“I done told ya, he pulled a gun on me!”

“Jus’ like that. You didn’t say nothin smart back or nothin?”

“Well I-“

“C’mon now, what’d you say?” Jerry fancied himself a decent detective when it came to children, the trick of it he figured, was never to outgrow one’s own childish logic.

“Well I may have told him that Miss Beaumont had killed over less.” Calhoun smiled the smile of the crooked and the besotted and Jerry offered up a prayer for him that his teeth would grow back in at a rapid pace.

“Yeah, that’ll be what done it.” Jerry leaned back against the bulkhead and looked out at the slate gray sky where it met the muddy river and imagined going northward under these conditions.

“Stick next to me or ya might get tossed over to the gators, not be the first to go that way.”

“There ain’t any gators this far north!”

“You wanna test that, boy?”

“No! No sir!”

“You done told anyone else about this?” Jerry inquired in the way of those making conversation for lack of a better pastime.

“Rosetta, rights before you hauled me up here.”

“Oh, that’s excellent.” Jerry observed, “She’ll have told most the boat but now in her righteous fury, and there won’t be no way that fucker won’t hear it somehow or other.”

“What fucker?” Cal inquired placidly.

“Elvis.” Jerry replied as if the words were synonymous.

Elvis felt himself in about as foreign a space as Mr Binder, so little used was his office and entirely stocked with his father’s materials, not his own. It was sobering, that recollection of his father’s plight and he ushered Mr. Binder into the cramped space with the gravity befitting his station. He flicked open the blinds and let the now overcast sky make a dent into the gloom and settled himself behind the desk.

“How can I help you, Mr. Binder?” he asked placidly.

Mr. Binder took time to seat himself and flick out his coattails, adjust his cravat and scan the office before folding his hands in his lap and replying with tepid politeness, “I spent a rather sleepless night last night.”

Elvis' arms tensed on the chair rests and his fingers began to stipple on the desk top uncontrollably. He himself had done a great deal of thinking about how far he’d go for a pardon, for Rosey’s pardon, and he had comforted himself that his promises and vows to God might be easily upheld if he had so antagonized Binder against him as to turn away the fellow’s desire as well. Mr Binder, to Elvis inward alarm, did not seem particularly antagonized. “I spend quite a few of those myself.” he ventured. “I like to spend them reading.”

“As do I.” Mr. Bidner smiled and it was a pleasant, sparkly sort of smile Elvis suspected only made a show when the fellow didn’t intend for it to, the thought of books had brought it out, “Usually Milton or Shakespeare, the Brontës.”

“Mm.” Elvis smiled encouragingly.

“Last night,” Mr Binder continued in this way, “ I was kept enthralled by twelve years of case files on one Elvis Aaron Presley.”

Elvis knew his face had gone white, he knew the tell tale signs of that cold cheeked response, but he kept his mouth firm, his eyes glinting, his body painfully still.

Binder went on, “I’ve had my officers taking a look into things regarding this whole operation, not just yours but the whole of it up and down the river. Shocking amount of corruption, mostly from authorities ashore I found, though of course there’s the gambling and the prostitution and the murders, all charged to various accounts -and through it all, yours was a shockingly thick stack of case notes. And then it just…ends.” he had no lilt of glee or triumph in his voice, they could have been critiquing the latest Dumas’ publication, so placid was his narrative, “Just a single line of aquittal, stamped with a Judge’s seal and every heinous crime they don’t even let people talk about gets swept under the rug and you get yourself a nice little river boat and a life -of sorts. If you call this living.” and there was the old, now familiar derision Elvis was hearing more and more in the voices of the younger set.

“So what?” Elvis asked, his voice lowly ominous as he allowed himself to swivel back and forth in the desk chair, childishly unconcerned, “You gonna arrest me now, ya pant wetting pansy?”

That barb had the intended effect, Mr. Binder’s face flushed red and what bit of dominance he had secured in the room fluttered precariously in the heat blast of Elvis’ scorn. The poor man pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and undid the meticulously pressed thing with careless haste, pressing it to his sweating eyes. Elvis thought the room rather chilly. He may have commented to that affect.

“We have an opportunity here, Captain Presley,” Mr Binder rallied, but took care to address himself to the floor, and the foot of Vernon’s desk, “a very brief window of opportunity where we can pass the buck to certain officials currently being investigated and culled in preparation for President Grant’s termination and the reign of the ever so scrupulous Mr. Hayes. He’ll get the nomination, don’t even argue the point sir, he’ll get it. What that gives us, is both a tiny window in which to entirely reinvent the Mississippi River into something modern and respectable -a river upon which families and merchants may traverse without impunity- and toss the crimes, such as you yourself engaged in with bribery, back to the officials themselves, instead of the poor, innocent captain’s from whom the bribes were extracted. Do you get me?”

“You wanna keep your captains while locking up a bunch of senators and congressmen and judges?” Elvis summarized patiently.

“Yes, yes I do!”

“That’s real cute, sir.”

“Oh for God’s sake man! It’s already happening!” Binder cried through a face aflame, “Three in Arkansas and two in Mississippi last month! General Grant has taken stock of his presidency and found that it’ll be recalled as a trash fire of corruption and back room deals. He’d rather his deputies' sins not have the last word so he is cleaning house, monumentally, and it’s effecting the juries. They hear about the corruption in other states, they hear of action being taken and actual resignations occurring -they’re voting with the common people caught in the middle. It’s dismantling reconstruction faster than policies and trust me, men like your idiotic partner know their time has come. Middle men are going down to hell with their crooked beautocrats and that’s the way it should be.”

“Mr Bidner, I think you’ll find that -this dirty money you so abhor, it’s what’s made these illustrious captains you wish to save.” Elvis observed him closely, “And I’ve personal stakes here, I do gamble, I do have women aboard who make their living on the passengers, I do have a record such as would prevent me from being offered any common job -but most importantly, my father is in a Memphis jail cell, and has lingered there for months, no bail.”

“I’m sorry to hear that and-“

“Mr Binder!” Elvis insisted on being heard, “You can play the reformer all you want, but if this backfires, it’s goin to be me and my dependents gettin scorched. There’s not a single city councilor or judge in Memphis who I trust worth a damn, and I’m tellin you in confidence, I’m telling you that I’m about to send a pile of gold down to them in exchange for my father, and I’ve sent piles and piles before this to keep them happy. Now is that something you can just…write off when you accuse these men?”

“Yes.” Binder smiled and Elvis wanted to smack the man, “Yes I can, Captain, if it’s just gold that we are talking, I can. Such are the last days of the Grant Administration.”

“My darlin man,” Elvis leant forward over the desk, “you’ve no idea what you’re up against.”

“I think I do.” Mr. Binder’s pretty brows were drawn in a stern line and he too leaned forward, “All I’m asking, is that you don’t fight me on it, that you let me sort this out, that you do not come to the defense of your partner when and if he is implicated, that you warn me here and now if there is more to be found than a money trail. Is that so very hard?”

“You want me to betray a man I owe everythin, to, and then ask me to trust ya?” Elvis laughed.

“I ask you acknowledge the way of the future, sir, and I ask you to see that a man who has made a living taking homes from the impoverished, providing blackmail for politicians and who saw a skilled tart in yourself and took advantage to build this fucking carnival has been long overdo in reaping what he is about to sow.” Mr. Binder’s voice had steadily rose throughout this tirade and Elvis was surprised to find instead of shrill it became rather impressive, “And trust me, I’ve got my damn sickle out, and I’m going to harvest this operation you’ve got going here, and you can either have your pretty neck snapped for past crimes and your Purser’s neck, too, or you can aid me in this. Those are you options, sir. I don’t like threats, Captain Presley,” he sniffled briefly as he smoothed himself back into decorous moderation, “they don’t inspire loyalty. But I’ve brought a gift of sorts, a goodwill token, if you will. To show you I mean business, and that my business is not to your detriment.”

Elvis slowly extended his hand over the desktop to grasp the offered documents. In the pale, overcast light of the office window he could read that one was a telegraphed but nonetheless officially stamped and signed pardon for one Miss Savannah Beaumont of Belle Meade plantation.

He looked up at Binder, incredulous that the man had accomplished this in less than twelve hours. Testing the pansy as to whether he had any grit in him had paid off. Here was his girl’s pardon and the offer of immunity,

which, as this miracle shimmering with barely dried ink, seemed more substantive than a few moments before.

“And the other, Captain.” Mr Binder prodded.

Elvis flicked the page over and found a rather rumpled and aged one, a case report, stamped by the warden of the prison of Golddust Tennessee, stating the particulars of his arrest for crimes of lust and perversion. He’d never actually read the damn thing, had only heard the court harrang with its usual, elevated language. The document in hand read like a rather sordid novella in which his name appeared with nauseating frequency. He made it halfway down the report when he decided that was quite enough for the outdoor at hand and flicked up a inquiring eye to Mr. Binder.

“Is this one a threat or a gift?” he snarked, swallowing down the sick he felt over revisiting the trip home and the thought that here sat a man in regards to whom Jerry’s cautions would have been best heeded.

“A gift.” Binder assured, as if the damning paper was a pineapple or yo-yo, “What I am keeping behind is your pardon, less salacious for certain but a shockingly terse document with no explanation or hint of a jury. I’m sending men down to Memphis, as we speak, Captain, to go through the papers of your Partner, and for your sake I’m hoping that they find evidence to damn those judges besides that pardon. But trust me, if they don’t, it’ll do. I’ll use it. Unless, of course, you can provide me some aid.”

“I’ve said before,” Elvis made sure to smirk in that sad but winsome way that most found anything but aggravating, “I’ve assured you, Mr Bidner, I am ever at your service.”

“Right then. I’ve three things to ask.”

“Ask them.”

“Firstly, promise on whatever you hold dear that when you return from this…troop maneuver,” Mr Binder made a face at having to mention the odious interruption, “that you will sign on with the Waterways Commitre -don’t worry about your partner objecting, I intended for him to be securely out of influence by the time you make it back down to Memphis.”

“Alright.”

“Yes?”

“Yes.”

“Well…swear on something!”

Elvis hesitated, thumbing at the pardon and weighing the chances of all this backfiring terribly. It seemed a better cause to die in, at least. He’d been missing something of that nature for awhile now. “I swear on my mama's grave.”

Mr. Binder took a great, steadying breath that served to make his victory rather unimpressive. Elvis clutched the miraculous pardon to assure himself that the wee fucker before him actually had some serious governmental authority. “Excellent, oh that’s very good, yes, yes alright.” Binder mopped at his eyes again and went on, “The second requirement is quite simple, it’s that you are to make no intimation to Colonel Parker of any such investigation having commenced.”

“Naturally.” Elvis agreed dryly, propping his boot on the desk and getting comfortable, grinning at the thought that Rosey would have really enjoyed being privy to this conversation.

“Parker has already stated he does not intend to make the trip north-“

“-Now hold up -how the hell did he know about this trip before me?”

“He arranged it, Captain, quite plain to see.” Binder sniffed, “I’ve the telegraph logs back home to prove it, if you wish -“

“Sweet Jesus he…” Elvis trailed off, loathe to appear any weaker before Binder by giving away just how little he knew about what went on under his very nose. They were both thinking it, he could tell by the contemplative pity in Binder’s bright blue eyes and the next requirement confirmed it:

“Mr. Moore agrees there been a great deal of uh -embezzling might be the best word for it- going on aboard, every payment you’ve made for the ship-

“-it’s a boat-“

“-has been allocated elsewhere, and is in such a tangle as to confuse anyone looking at it facevalue. You’re about to be out a great deal of money, what with unloading the prostitutes and entertainers-“

“-what now?” Elvis balked.

“The army won’t allow your gambling men, your whores or your band to remain on a government vessel -which the Proud Marie now is until you are released from this commission.”

Elvis bit his nails and wagged his boot atop the desk, grinning venomously at the barer of this new bout of fuckery. “Course.” he gritted out. “Wouldn’t want a buncha bored soldiers to have a way to pass the time while getting shipped up to have their asses handed to them by the natives.”

“I don’t make the rules.” Mr Binder simpered and Elvis wanted to smack the man, see if he’d be into that, too. “But I do suspect you’ll be paying wages for all your offloaded dependents and so, we come back round to the books and the depleted money and I’m saying that something drastic needs to occur so that the Waterways Committee has some security.”

“You want the boat?”

“Oh I wouldn’t be so cruel.” Mr Binder tutted, “I’d like a contract drawn up, signed by yourself and myself and Mr. Moore, perhaps Mr. Cash’s mark would add weight, and the details of it are benevolent -I’ve left it with a fellow to give Mr, Moore, it’s already drawn up- but it would ensure that stupendous half percent that is currently flowing from Parker’s pockets to the gaming tables will, eventually, be the Committee's share.”

“You think you’re real slick, don’t ya. Gonna offer me a deal no better than the last? How bout 40 percent.”

“How about,” Mr Binder put his finger to his pretty little lips and pretended to ponder, “I get you a new boat as this one is, god bless her, hardly staying above water. And uh, 30 percent, with a clause in there for a pension.”

“Who’s pension?” Elvis puzzled.

“You’re wife’s, Captain.” Mr. Binder huffed impatiently, “that extra ten will go to her, in case anything should befall you. Prison or the Colonel, you see I make provisions for innocents, just as you do.”

“I don’t have a wife, Mr. Binder.”

“No? Well, I suggest you make one, speedily, before that contract gets signed, in fact.”

“Make a wife?”

“If God managed it out of a rib, surely Elvis Presley can out of a Purser?” Mr. Binder was growing a bit giddy in his success and Elvis had to close his eyes and recall the fellow’s tear stained humiliation last night in order to press on.

“This is gonna serve what purpose?”

“Mr. Moore suggested that as things are, it’s all a muddle, and trying to untangle your affairs from Parker’s -including who owns the boat- would be hopeless. If taken to trial, the jury would vote for the wife. Parker hasn’t got one, but you, you would have one by then wouldn't you?” Binder seemed to have some second sense that this morning had been hellish and that pressing the point before breakfast was an easy way to make the Captain break.

“You’re suggesting I enter and pervert a sacred institution in order to save some money?” Elvis bit out.

“Wouldn’t be the first time you bent such a thing to your will, would it?” Binder sniffed then flinched as Elvis rose to his feet with uncanny speed and charged him, fists clenched, “And think, sir,” he aimed for respect as Elvis stood there ready to inflict pain, “Miss Beaumont would not only be provided for, she would also make certain that the half allocated to her would support your dependents. Say you were arrested, say the malaria catches up to you, say you get shot for being a bastard,” Mr Binder smiled almost fondly at that, “she and your dependents would have your money. If you can’t trust her, if what I thought I saw between you last night was not all theater, or perhaps one of your mulatto women will do.”

“You’ve been talking with Jerry and Moore, haven’t you?” Elvis muttered, fists slowly uncurling.

“Ah, yes.” Mr Binder had the goodness to look abashed, but that was more likely brought on by the ominous way Elvis was still standing over him, barely pacified, “And Sister Rosetta, that’s your uh, uh”

“Quartermaster.”

“Yes, her!” Binder agreed, “It would seem there is a benevolent mutiny aboard, Captain. And if your conscience smites you for turning in Parker to his just desserts, I suggest you tell it to consider the well being of your crew?”

“And the well being of your pockets.” Elvis pointed out.

“My goal, Captain, is to do so excellent a job in the position afforded me on this godforsaken river that when President Grant’s dismal excuse for a term runs out and the great reshuffling begins, -no fault will be found with me. Or those under me. And not for one single minute will the Bureaucrats think to relieve me of my post and return me east to the shadow of my father and the arms of a wife I cannot stand. Do you hear me now? And I’m offering you a chance to not get culled with the chaff.”

“Has anyone else’s boat been requisitioned, Mr. Binder?” Elvis asked, quietly and in a tone Binder could not decipher.

“Well, no one else asked to be used.” he laughed at last, “But I’m sure someone else’s will be as yours alone is not sufficiently large.”

“Then may I ask you a favor of my own, Mr. Binder?” Elvis ventured from beneath fluttering lashes.

“Uh, yes, of course, if it’s in my power.”

“Mmm, sounds like just about anythin is in your power, sir.” Elvis intoned alluringly, slinking to a crouch beside the arm of Binder’s chair, much to that official's shivering foreboding, “Is there any way you could manage to purloin Captain Jones’ boat as well?” he asked, voice going soft and high, sounding about as young and harmless as a child.

“What are you up to?” Binder asked, warily taking in the elegant hands clasped atop his chair arm and the alluring v of the Captain’s squat and the calculated harmlessness that the man, well past thirty, was swathing himself in, to an alarmingly successful effect.

“I-I just thought…” Elvis trailed off as if bashful of his thoughts.

“What did you think?” Binder demanded with outraged morality, about to flee from the scene of his second, imminent ruination and this terrifying, forever morphing creature squatted before him. “What did you think, Captain?”

“Well, t-t-there’s no need for all that, sir,” Captain Presley’s soulful eyes looked wounded and his cherubic lips, highlighted by the no doubt calculated slant of those damned sideburns, wobbled in hurt, “I-I just thought maybe Jones an’ me could have a lil race up the river while we’re at it, just a teaser of sorts.” He confessed, bashfully looking down at his hands and shrugging his shoulders in the manner of the forever falsely accused.

“God damn you to hell, Presley.” Binder seethed through his own mirth as Elvis’ shoulders began to shake up and down in something besides pantomimed hurt. Eventually both men were laughing, the act abandoned, one perhaps more uproariously than the other, but there was humor found at last. Captain Presley also rose to his feet, by some merciful intervention of a loving God looking out for Mr. Binder’s soul.

“You know.” Binder huffed when some sobriety had been regained, “The whole world isn’t full of dogs and bitches, there’s no need for this whole…whatever it is, you do.”

“Don’t you ever just do something for the fun of it, Binder?”

“Yes, occasionally,” Binder rejoined, “Do you?”

“Yeah,” Elvis got a fond look of reminiscence which suggested it had been awhile, “I race riverboats and charge the extra coal to the colonel’s account.”

“I’ll see to it that Captain Jones’ coal is charged similarly.” Binder smirked and Elvis felt the first taste of genuine like for this man, “Although Parker’s assets may be frozen due to imprisonment by that time.” he quipped, “Best to transfer the rest of the funds to a Mrs. Presley lest they take the brunt of such expenditures.”

“I’m hearin you.” the mirth had gone right out of the Captain's voice, “Can I not just sign it to my father?”

“What? With him in prison, too? Be sensible, Captain. It’s either a wife or child. Wait -have you got a child?”

“No.” Elvis could finally say that with certainty thanks to Rosey’s report. Maddy’s son was not his.

“Shocking.” Binder teased and Elvis might have been in the mood to laugh were he not contemplating marrying a woman who he thought was a different woman twelve hours before. “Invite me to the wedding won’t you? I was thinking this evening would be best, I’ll even ensure the Colonel is on the noon train down to Memphis so as not to meddle.”

“I ain’t gonna make this a church weddin.” Elvis insisted.

“Well, alright, easier in court anyway.” Binder shrugged, watching Presley’s sullen demeanor curiously, “I had thought such a thing was already imminent between you two-“

“Is that all, Mr. Binder?” Captain Presley cut in.

“Until this evening and the contract, yes, I suppose so.” Binder rose, sensing his blatant dismissal, “I’ll arrange the Colonel’s ticket and uh, meet you at the courthouse, yes?”

“I’ll send word if that particular endeavor is on.” Elvis parlayed.

“Oh it had better be, sir.” Binder reiterated, earnestly. “Or you and she will be wiped clean of funds, and my efforts for that pardon will be as nothing.”

“I’m hearin you, Mr. Binder.” it was a wonder that so ominous a voice, like an earthquake or the rush of an elemental force, could have affected brainless innocence so capably a few moments ago. Binder’s brain and other organs were confused by the change, but that was becoming a familiar feeling when in Captain Presley’s presence.

“I’ll leave you to it, then.” Mr. Binder muttered, at a loss as to how to conclude one of the most eventful interviews of his life when his opponent (or was it ally?) had his back to him, staring out the window with soulless eyes.

Binder let himself out.

Captain Presley followed shortly after, his steamrolling gait bound for the mess hall and a long overdue breakfast.

“Captain!” Calhoun waylaid him right in front of the mess hall doors, right where he could smell the scent of bacon and eggs and his sought after sanity.

“Lemme guess, you wanna complain ‘bout the Colonel ta me.” he slurred exhaustedly while dragging the boy along from where he hung on his jacket sleeve.

“Matter o fact, ye-“

“Take a number, boy.” he sighed, pushing open the doors to the mess and vowing to eat something before he heard another word spoken in English or otherwise about his benevolent partner.

I’ve made the following one time taglist for those of you who used to like and comment and enjoy this work on my previous, deactivated blog. I thought I’d alert y’all that this project is still ongoing, I’m still ticking and there’s new chapters if you have any interest. Cheers and all the love 💋 ~Marina/@aconflagrationofmyown

@tacozebra051

@notstefaniepresley

@tyne18

@horror-movieshoes

@lillypink

@blurredcolour

@bisexualwatson

@j-v-9-2

@pearlparty

@crash-and-cure

@dkayfixates

@woundmetender

@captainthisamerica

@eliseinmemphis

@lindszepplin

@foreverdolly

@ab4eva

@jelliedonut

@powerofelvis

@thatbanditqueen

@lookingforrainbows

@vintageworld

@robinismywife

@from-memphis-with-love

@steph-speaks

@avengen

@butlersxbirdy

@ash-omalley

@eliseinmemphis

@stylespresleyhearted

@missmaywemeetagain

@prompted-wordsmith

@whositmcwhatsit

@snowf86

@vinnvered

@butlervol6

@artlover8992

@coolgirl462

@cigaretess

[sebscore]

for the user with long distance friend!

me and my best friend have been in a long distance relationship for about 6 years now and these are few things we have done to keep it alive:

we do text often but we give ourselves off days. This way you wont run out of things to talk about.

we send eachother the most random things ever that we can talk about or we just gossip about random things.

these are the two main things i have done and it has kept the friendship going for over half a decade.

@grantaires-waistcoat !! hope you see this, darling! y’all are so incredibly sweet with each other, my heart can’t take it 🥹

[purriteen]

Ad victor spolia, chapter four

content warnings: incest, manipulation, eventual Stockholm Syndrome, toxic & dark!Coriolanus Snow (as if that isn't his default), named!reader, ANGST, eventual smut, non-con, age gap (5-6 years), somnophilia

author’s note: ahh this took longer than expected as I’m down with the flu atm but I hope y’all enjoy it 🫶🏻 I promise next chapter will be more eventful 🤭

word count: 4,091

Previous chapter

Next chapter

That night he had held you as you cried for almost an hour, blabbering on about how much you'd missed your Coryo, how much it hurt the way that he'd treated you. He'd almost felt bad for you, more out of pity than anything. Opening up to him in ways you'd likely regret in the morning. Eventually you'd practically passed out from exhaustion with your head in his lap, still in your roughed up dress and running makeup.

When you awoke he was nowhere to be found. You were alone in your bed, dressed in a pink satin & lace top with matching shorts. Another pyjama set from your obscenely large closet, courtesy of Coriolanus, that you'd never even touched. Your face was bare, your hair brushed out and splayed out on the pillow beneath your head. You could barely feel the bump on the back of it that he'd given you anymore.

Your clock read 7:41. You wondered why Eugenie hadn't came in with breakfast yet - your brother liked you to be up early, even on weekends. Carefully, you sat up on the edge of your bed and slid your robe and slippers on, still feeling oh so sore and tired, despite having slept better than any other night ever since you'd moved in with him.

Your stomach churned as you recalled last night's events. Coriolanus had nearly scared you to death, only to then try and comfort you when you finally crumbled. And you had let him. After all he had done to you. Yet at the same time, as you laid there sobbing into his chest, you had felt so much more connected to him than you had in many years. The contrast of it all made your head ache.

Seeing as you still hadn't been brought breakfast, and - you hoped - your brother's regained trust in you, or perhaps just his regained faith that you were no longer thinking along the lines of escaping him, you realised that perhaps, if you were lucky, he'd left the door unlocked this time.

You slowly got up, heart pounding in your chest as you walked over to the door. You shivered as your hand came in contact with the cold, gilded door handle, and slowly pushed it down and pulled. To your delight, it opened this time. A relieved sigh left your mouth as you stepped outside and shut the door behind you.

The corridor was empty for once, save for you. Your stomach was growling at you, yet you somehow found yourself sneaking through endless hallways and passages until you got to the doors of his home office. Not thinking as far as to knock, you try and push the handle down, but it doesn't budge.

Of course it's locked, your brother had always been a little paranoid. "Coryo? It's me." The words fly out of your mouth before you can even think through it, silently scolding yourself for being so easily swayed by him. You hear some quick, steady footsteps before the door opens.

He gives you a tired smile, and seeing him in such disarray does something to you. He's got dark circles under those hypnotic blue eyes, and a couple tousles of hair drape across his forehead, parting from his normally perfectly styled do. He's missing his usual waistcoat, and his white button-up clearly wasn't ironed.

"I've some paperwork to take care of, Silia, but if you promise not to get in the way you can join me for tea." You quickly nod your head, biting the inside of your cheek in embarrassment. This was all too familiar. How many times hadn't you came to his room late at night or perhaps after a rough day at school, begging to be let in? He'd always be up studying back then.

His hand squeezed your shoulder as he guided you towards one of the chairs across from his, and you reluctantly sat down facing him. Curious, you had a look around the room. You swallowed thickly as you took in the various dark wooden shelves lining the walls, both to your left and to your right, only interrupted by a large framed portrait on each side.

To your left was a portrait of him and your father, one you hadn't seen before - Coriolanus looked to be about four years old, but he was stone faced and dressed in a tailored suit just like your father. But you could see the uncertainty in his eyes. Crassus's hand was on the boy's shoulder, and they both looked straight at the camera. It made you feel uneasy, being reminded that your brother had always been set to be the heir of your cold-hearted father. Even more so the reminder that he wasn’t always like this. You wondered how much he remembered from those times.

To your right was a picture of your mother. Her smile made your heart feel like shattering. She was so carefree and so beautiful, this must've been taken before she married Crassus. "You look just like her, you know. You take after her in ways you don't even realise." His voice makes you grip the armrest tighter, clearing your throat.

"I wouldn’t know, I suppose. If only I could see myself through your eyes." You make an awkward attempt at a joke, avoiding eye contact as his gaze lifts from the stack of papers. He peers down at you, making you feel uneasy. "Hersilia. What is it? You know I can't stand seeing you like this. Not after last night." His tone is stern as always, but less steady than unusual. You almost think for a second that he too must’ve been shaken up by your encounter.

You take a moment to figure out what to say. You couldn't very well say to his face that you hated the picture of him and your dad. That you hated the reminder of whose son he was. "I was just surprised you didn't stay with me until the morning. Or send anyone for me." You shrug, still avoiding eye contact with him. For each second that passes in silence you can practically feel the tension increasing.

“Well, I needed to get up early, and had I stayed my alarm would’ve woken you as well.” He sighs, signing off another paper and pushing it to the side. This time he puts his pen down, directing all his attention towards you. "Do you understand why I had you join us for dinner last night?" The question comes out of nowhere, catching you off guard. Finally your eyes meet his. You swallow thickly before you speak.

"I thought.. I don’t really know. I thought maybe you wanted me to make a fool out of myself again." His eyes soften as you talk, hands fidgeting in your lap. He sighs, running a hand through his hair.

"I did it because I wanted to help you, Silia. I don't want to keep you locked up. I wanted to give you a chance to interact with new people, important people. Of course, in a way it was about allowing you to prove yourself worthy as well." He explains, scratching his temple as he glances over at the door. "You were doing so well until you had to go and flirt with that nobody.”

Your gaze lowers, cheeks flushing in embarrassment. “I wasn’t flirting with him, Coriolanus.” Your voice is dripping with guilt, making even yourself cringe a bit. He snorts, an amused grin playing on his features. “Regardless, I’m not convinced that you’re ready just yet. Though, I did miss you, the old you. I’m hoping you won’t try and hide her from me again.” His words make you tense up in discomfort, stiffly nodding your head. “I’ll try not to.”

The next couple of weeks had been rather uneventful, as usual. Except your brother had started calling you to his office more often. You’d often just sit there and read or try and continue your little knitting project as he did his work in silence, but he’d always strike up conversation over tea, or lunch, occasionally.

Anytime he had a break the two of you would delve into conversation, sometimes he’d recommend books to ‘culture yourself’, sometimes he’d try and lecture you on politics (it took every ounce of strength in you to not roll your eyes at his condescending tone), sometimes you’d simply talk about fond childhood memories.

He had changed so very much, not entirely for the better, but you had missed his company. You missed Grandma’am and her nonsensical ideas, her little rants about how things would be different ‘when Coriolanus is president’ that would always distract from the hunger back when you were still struggling to get by. If only she could see him now.

You missed Tigris too. You missed the family dinners the two of them always insisted on, every Friday night. You missed ‘borrowing’ her clothes and letting her do your makeup and hair before any important event, just so people wouldn’t find out that the prestigious Snows couldn’t even afford a stylist.

In retrospect, your cousin had been really distant lately, to the point where you couldn’t help but wonder if Coriolanus was right. Of course, for a time, he too had made you feel abandoned and forgotten. But he genuinely felt bad, you were sure of it, and at least he had tried to patch things up, even if you still didn’t wholeheartedly trust him. But she never even reached out after Grandma’am’s burial.

Then came Tuesday. December 15th, which meant National Heroes Day. You’re convinced you wouldn’t have remembered, if Eugenie didn’t insist on counting down the days until Christmas. Your brother informed you over breakfast that Tigris would accompany you as you honoured your father on national television.

You felt conflicted about seeing her again. You wanted to both confront her about giving you the silent treatment for so long and to give her the same in return. But at the same time, Tigris had always been a comfort to you every time this day came around. You knew she never liked her uncle, and the not so fond memories of him she’d told you were part of the reason you felt the way you did about the man.

Still you were sure Coriolanus didn’t know any of that. You willed yourself to believe that he was better than that, even though you doubted it deep down. That surely, he wouldn’t idolise his father if he knew the things he’d done.

This time, Eugenie came into your room first and helped you into your dress. This time, it was a black one, much more simplistic than the one Coriolanus had made you wear that night. It radiated a timeless, modest elegance. You slid on some simple, low black heels to match.

Then she left you sitting on your bed for a couple of minutes, before Rumina arrived. She'd dyed her hair a gaudy shade of pink that made your eyes hurt since the last time you saw her. Immediately she sat you down at your vanity, emptying her makeup bag of its contents. This time the array of products she intended to plaster your face with seemed much smaller, something you were grateful for.

"Your dark circles are nearly gone, dear, did you use that cream I suggested to your brother?" Her words take you by surprise, your brother hadn't even mentioned it. You were always quite relieved that he didn't force you to participate in the obscene fashion trends that were becoming all the more common in the Capitol nowadays.

"He must've forgotten to give it to me actually. I suppose I'm just more well-rested than last time." You force yourself to smile at her, but she instantly reminds you to stay still or your concealer would crease at your smile lines. So you do, until you hear the doors opening behind you just as Rumina lays on the finishing touches to your eyes.

She quickly excuses herself, packs up and exits the room. Leaving you to glance at your brother through the mirror in front of you. He steps closer, gently grabbing your chin and tilting your head to get a better look. You feel as if though you're more of a doll than a person to him for a moment. "She did a better job this time. You look much more like yourself." He almost mumbles, as if he's not really talking to you. He subtly smiles and kisses the top of your head.

"Where's Tigris?" You blurt out, and his eyes harden. "She'll be meeting us there." He answers bluntly, and you silently nod. Not wanting the awkward silence to go on, you stand and ask him. "Would you help me do my hair, Coryo? You were always so good at braiding it for me when we were little."

You hand him your hairbrush, and you're relieved to see that smile return to his face as he gestures for you to sit down. "Even when we were dirt poor you wouldn't let me go to school unless my hair looked perfect." He chuckles, and you watch the mirror intently as he brushes through your hair and divides it into three sections.

"Well I couldn't very well let you leave with your hair loose and tangled, I had to do that pretty face justice." He teases, making you roll your eyes. Finally he gets to work.

He looks so peaceful and harmless in this light. The look on his face is not that of apathy, cruelty or anger, but rather of focus, an insistence to honour your request. You’d always admired his dedication and perfectionism, even when, during more critical times, it had morphed into obsession. You allow yourself to forget for a minute the horrible things your brother's done, to you and to the districts. To imagine you're still that emaciated little girl for whom this was the highlight of your day.

Once he's done, he rolls your braid up into a thick low bun, and you hand him a couple bobby pins to secure it in place. He rests his chin on your shoulder and you can practically feel your stomach flip. You don't know why his proximity is making you feel like this.

"You look nothing short of gorgeous. I know Crassus would've been proud had he ever gotten to see you." You swallow thickly at his words. You don't like the thought of appeasing a cruel man such as your father, following his ideals knowing what he was capable of, but you can't help but wonder how he must've felt when he'd found out about the birth. He didn't even get a chance to see his newborn daughter, or say a proper goodbye to his wife, before that rebel took him out.

"Thank you, Coryo. I'm sure he'd be over the moon about all that you've achieved too." You plaster on a smile, standing up and pulling him into a hug. You don't know for sure if he'd be able to, but you didn't want to give him the chance to realise that you're not even nearly as prideful about your late father as he is.

Fifteen minutes later the two of you are in his car, your hand tightly clasped around his as you drive by the old penthouse. A short drive later the car comes to a halt outside of the mausoleum both of your parents were buried in. The last time you saw it was on the anniversary of your mother's death - your birthday - last year.

"We'll just be stopping by before we make our way to the official memorial site, dove." He steps outside, reaching for your hand. You nervously accept and allow him to guide you through the thick marble arch. The entire time that you're in there you can't stop thinking about how Coryo never gave Grandma'am this honourable of a resting place.

Finally he's placed a white rose at each of their name plates, and he holds your hand tight as you walk back out through the thick wooden doors. He appears stoic for the crowd of photographers and journalists that has formed outside, but you can feel how nervous he is by the sweat on his palm.

You both flash them a quick smile before he guides you back to the car, clearly not in the mood for playing celebrity today. He finally lets go of your hand when the chauffeur starts driving again to pick up some note cards from his pocket. "I'd like for you to read this today, before I give my speech." He hands them to you, and you quickly skim through them. "I trust you won't stray from the script."

You nervously chuckle, but by the look on his face there's nothing funny about it. You forget sometimes how seriously he takes his image. You clear your throat and nod.

You can see his jaw tighten in the corner of your eye when your eyes land on Tigris standing by the podium, waiting for the two of you. She looks much more solemn than usual. Still her face lights up as you step out onto the plaza, to your surprise, considering she’d been radio silent for months now.

The speech went well, you thought. You'd stuck to the script he provided, down to every last syllable. Your brother, of course, had delivered every line perfectly, earning a couple tears from the people who had gathered at the front to listen. You found their reactions excessive and dramatic - none of them even knew him, anyone who'd actually been important to your father was on that stage.

But strangely, despite the success, at the private dinner held afterwards, Tigris seemed to have been placed as far away from you as possible. You estimated there were about twenty or twenty-five guests in total, most of which were military higher-ups he'd served with or old friends. You had vague memories of Grandma'am condemning some of them for 'not paying due respects' after his 'heroic death' and whatnot.

To your right sat Coriolanus, of course. Even when the both of you were deep in conversations with your respective neighbours at the table, you could feel him watching over you like a hawk. Though you were pleased to find yourself with Remus Dolittle to your left. He had been your neighbour before the taxes started raining down on the apartments in the Capitol, which forced them to sell theirs. The Snows on the other hand had been lucky enough for old Strabo Plinth to pay off all your family's loans on it and bought it right back for you.

Remus was a few years older than your brother, and you had to admit you'd harboured a slight crush on him when you were little. He'd always been a delightful conversation partner, too. But more compelling was his fiancée. She had striking hazel-green eyes and sleek, golden brown hair, and you remembered her as one of Coriolanus' old classmates. Persephone something. She remarked on how it was a wonder you were still single at this age, considering your family heritage and status, dousing you with flattery that felt surprisingly genuine, more than it most likely was.

You had exchanged a hug before the ceremony ended, and you'd been elated when the two of them suggested you should come over for tea sometime. Your brother couldn't deny you that, could he?

Not surprisingly, he could.

When you got home he'd reprimanded you for even associating yourself with her. It wasn't about her status or anything like that, at least, but rather seemed to be some personal vendetta. She'd only been there as a plus one to the Dolittles. Apparently him and Tigris had seen her father cannibalising the poor housekeeper during the dark days, and that had stuck with him, you supposed. Ridiculous, really, she likely had no idea or involvement in any of it.

But regardless, you took it as a success. Coriolanus even had to admit it was good to see you trying to branch out and enjoy the spoils of his newfound position, as likely the most powerful man in the entire country. And what was left of the civilised world at large.

Your hurt and disappointment at the hands of your cousin only grew when Tigris failed to show up for the celebration of Coriolanus’ six months in office, a couple weeks later. Though, he had invited the soon to be wed Remus and Persephone again, much to your delight. You'd truly enjoyed yourself for the first time in a while, even daring to have your first glass of real champagne.

You barely remember how you found yourself here. Your head is spinning as Coriolanus places you down on his bed, letting the warmth of the sheets envelop you. You watch with blurry eyes as he pulls away, weakly stretching out your hand in his direction. “Don’t go..” You slur your words, and something about the drunken desperation in your voice seems to get to him. 

He sighs as he leans down to kiss your forehead. “I told you that stuff is stronger than it seems. Not your best idea to have your first ever drink on the night of my six month anniversary. I have to get back to the party, sadly. Don’t wait up.” Is the last thing you hear before he leaves, and you doze off not long after. 

When he returns a few hours later you’re asleep. You seem to have pulled your gown off in your sleep, as it lays discarded on the floor, leaving you in just your slip dress and underwear. Seeing you in nothing but that skimpy slip, smudged makeup and the silver necklace with his initials does something to him.

He finds himself caressing your soft thighs, gently pushing the hem of your slip up to reveal your panties. He quietly curses to himself at what he’s doing. You weren’t like those cheap district girls, you were his sister, a Snow, Capitol down to the bone. You weren’t just some drunken slut. Not that he'd ever really taken an interest in those either.

And somehow he still finds himself pulling your panties off, and in that moment the only thing stopping him from going even further is his certainty that you’re a virgin. He carefully spreads your thighs, and his breath catches in his throat at the sight of your bare cunt. You’re just perfect in ways he couldn’t even imagine. He simply stares for a couple seconds, taking the sight in, burning it into his mind. 

He has to stop, he knows that, or else he’ll be no better than the district filth that he saw so many times back in twelve, preying on stupid, drunken girls just like you. So he forces himself to pull your panties back up and rushes off to his private bathroom. He wants to let it go, forget it ever happened, but he can’t stop thinking about it. The serene, angelic look on your face as you slept, so peaceful, even as he undressed you and revealed your perfect fucking pussy to him. 

Against his better judgement he finds himself with his hand wrapped around his cock, fervently pumping back and forth as he imagines it’s your pretty little mouth wrapped around him. Eyes full of adoration, tears and complete submission as he fucks your mouth. The thought makes his dick throb, a low-pitched moan escaping his lips. How he wishes he could just claim you as his. Embarrassingly, he doesn't last long, his load spilling onto his bare stomach as he reaches his peak.

The guilt washes off of him as he steps in the shower, letting the warm water trail down his pale, lean body. It wasn’t truly his fault - you’re the one who got wasted and took your clothes off in his bed. It’s a good thing it was him and not someone else, even if he was your brother. Most men wouldn’t show such restraint in the first place.

He quickly cleans himself up, throwing his clothes down the laundry chute and patting himself dry with a towel before sliding on a fresh pair of boxers and pyjama pants. He slowly crawls into bed with you, pulling the sheets up over the two of you and wrapping his arms tightly around you. He'll tell you whatever convincing half-truth he can conjure up when you wake up in the morning, but for now all he wants is to hold you oh so close.

He won’t let you out of his reach this time.

taglist: @caffeine-addict-slug, @phoward89, @catesbaroquecasahouse, @priyajoyy, @euphemiaamillais

[genderqueer-karma]

(beloved mooties friends and followers look away. i’m about to get parasocial)

AHHHHHHHHHHHH

AHHHHHHH

AHHHHHH!!!!!!

it’s official: if i ever saw this man in person i’d actually cry

tf is he out here looking so nice for :(?

i don’t think y’all understand. i’m in distress over the above image. bro’s literally ethereal…

and then, he actually looks a little older??? which is so !!!! i love seeing pictures of him where he’s not overexposed and edited to hell and back in order to appear permanently 25 - 30 years old. makes him feel more real, in a sense. and that’s not even to say that he looks “old”. he just doesn’t look 25, but closer to his age, and that’s cool! i love that for him.

anyway. i will now be bulleting things that make me insane about this picture:

starting off: the beret . something about the way it’s sitting in his head is making me feel all… “:((!!” it feels very relaxed (?) for lack of a better word. and then, because it’s blue, it’s the pop of color (beyond his hair, which i will get to in a moment) in this otherwise very monochromatic outfit. i love it. it’s actually one of the moitie items i’d consider saving up money to buy despite the fact that i rarely wear hats.

next, hair !!!! regardless of if it’s a wig or he legitimately decided it was time to dye his own hair (again), the kind of gray-ish indigo/blue color is sooooo nice and contrasts well with the darker brown/black portions. i also really like this style on him, it frames his face very well. in addition to all of that, the color(s) in his hair contrast nicely with the undertones in his skin.

third, the fit. literally chef’s kiss 🤌🤌🤌 *mwah* perfection. the jabot. the waistcoat. the blouse. all of it is so gorgeous. i particularly like the lacy detail towards the bottom of the jabot, as it adds a very nice, soft, and elegant (hehe) touch to an already classy item. the waistcoat is also really great to me because of the buttons?? i like the way the moitie candlestick is engraved in them.

honorary mention to the makeup, which is always consistent and aesthetically pleasing, and also to the cross bracelet (i know it’s the bracelet, because the necklace would be too long) that’s been repurposed as a chain accessory on the beret. i honestly really like most moitie jewelry; it looks cool!

long story short, i think this whole look it absolutely wonderful and my dad looks amazing here. when i first saw this look come across my timeline i actually felt conflicted. about what? idk. couldn’t tell ya. but i love this picture so so much and hope that everyone who saw him in person had a good time ( ^ω^ )

[themirokai]

POI 1x16: Harold Finch & Clothes … I mean “Risk”

Look

it’s just

this man and his suits

Yes I am dead now thank you very much.

And the episode started off with THIS

No, Harold could not have sent John to any one of dozens (hundreds?) of tailors in New York City for a bespoke suit. He had to get on his knees and do it himself. That cuff is not the only thing shivering.

AND THEN

“Who’s taking care of you now?”

“Someone new.”

Side note: I may have written most of my Rinch Fest entry this weekend. 😱

[thetasteofsunshineonyourtongue]

[Image ID: Four photos of an RQG inspired outfit, the first three taken outside in the snow, the last taken against a black background.

Image 1: A person is standing out in a snowy backyard that has many tall pine trees, with bits of green grass peeking out in some places. There is a red and white shed a little ways behind them. She has short brown hair that has blond highlights in it, and is wearing black and gold semi-rimless glasses and a dark red matte lipstick. They are wearing a white shirtwaist, a patterned waistcoat, and a long skirt with the same pattern as the waistcoat. The pattern of the waistcoat and skirt is thin black and white houndstooth stripes forming a large checked pattern. Within those checks are two intersecting single red lines that form their own checked pattern atop it. The shirtwaist has a high collar and buttons up the front, with billowy sleeves that are fitted on the forearms. The waistcoat is closely fitted to the wearer, the bottom ending slightly below the waist and narrowing down into a point in the front. It has two pockets on the front of it, each with a small button in the middle. There is a watch chain draping from the right pocket to the middle button in the center front. The skirt is long and ends at the wearer’s ankles. It is fitted in the waist but flares out slightly at the bottom, which is lined with a black bias tape. There are two rows of buttons along each seam line in the front of the skirt that end about 10 inches below the waistband, with five buttons on each side. Each button on both the waistcoat and the skirt is different, but each is shiny or metallic in some way.

Image 2: A view of the outfit from the back. The waistcoat is in two points, with a seam along the back, and the back of the skirt is knife pleated from both sides to come together in the middle. One of the wearer’s arms is out to the side, with the other one leaning up.

Image 3: Another front view of the outfit, this time the wearer has her hands clasped in front of them and leaning more on one foot than the other. Her boots are more visible, which are dark brown and wet from the snow.

Image 4: A close-up photo of the waistcoat. It has two darts on either side, one ending under the bust and the other, closer to the center, ending over the bust. The small pockets each have their own buttons in the center of them, the left bronze with a flower design on it, the right black with a small rounded white stone in the middle. The buttonholes are black and handsewn. Each of the seven main buttons are different, and top to bottom they are: A gold button in the shape of a clam A black button with a rim of shiny silver A pale gold button with thin, slightly uneven, vertical lines on it A black button with a gold rim and a design in the middle with laurels around three small crowns, and a crown atop the laurels A white button with a matte silver center rimmed with shiny silver A black button with a circling bronze pattern around the edges reminiscent of vines or tentacles A black button with a pattern in the middle that’s brass and looks woven like a basket or something similar

End ID]

MAN am i so excited to show this to y’all!! I don’t do much cosplay, but I am a sewist, and I love making historical garments, so when I was given the option to make clothes for LOLOMG, I knew imdiately what I was going to do. This outfit is based off of 1890’s women’s clothes, with a shirt with many pin tucks, a tailored waistcoat, and a full-length walking skirt. However, I took some minor creative liberties when constructing it. Mainly, the 22 different metallic across the whole thing. I want to specifically draw attention to the buttons on the waistcoat, as each of them represent a PC from RQG. From top to bottom: A clam shell for Azu, for the Heart of Aphrodite replica she wears The simple black for Sasha, with a glint like that of a dagger flying out of the shadows The bright metal for Cel and their unique technical know-how, with lines reminiscent to the many wires they’re known to work with The crowns for Bertie and his noble status and his affinity for gold The silver for Grizzop, with the white of the celestial plane where he hunts The rope-like bronze for Zolf, with patterns that almost resemble the tentacles of a kraken And brass for Hamid, with a woven pattern like that of his born connection to the Weave

[bloomvalyria]

y’all I found my old waistcoat I’m about to be a

✨p r o b l e m✨

[clonesupport]

Saudade's Affair

josiah trelawny x f!reader - chapter 8

Masterlist (x)

word count: +2.8k

warnings: angst, mentions of lying/keeping secrets/cheating

a/n: i hope y'all didn't forget about the angst in the tags👀 last one was steamy, this one is sad. y’all were almost happy, hehe almost, so how about arthur making it his mission to comfort you at the end instead😌

You wake to the distant sounds of the bustling main street of Rhodes, the subtle warm sunshine coming through the window while birds chirp beyond the walls of the caravan. You had slept much past your usual morning hours, perhaps it was late morning, maybe noon? You buried your face into the pillow, shifting under the warm covers of the plush bed. You were incredibly comfortable, you had no desire to leave this bed whatsoever, you wish you had a bed like this back at camp.

The grogginess slowly dissipating from your mind as you remember who's bed you were in, a small sleepy smile forming on your lips and you hear footsteps near the side of the bed. A hand comes down to brush your hair out of your face, soft knuckles soothing down your hidden cheekbone enticing your smile wider. You open your eyes, vision adjusting to the morning light as they land on the man sitting in front of you on the bed.

"Good morning, my dear." Josiah's voice is gentle as he continues to tuck your hair behind your ear, "You've got some breakfast waiting for you on the table, love. I'll make you some tea alright? You get up slowly." He finished with a smile, nudging your cheek softly with his index knuckle before getting up and making his way back to the kitchenette to prepare your drink. You slowly, while somewhat reluctantly, sit up in the bed, noticing your clothes neatly folded by the pillow. You smile grabbing your bra and shirt, putting them on before grabbing the rest.

Once dressed, you place the covers back over the mattress and turn to the table for the food Trelawny had mentioned. Your eyes close and you contently inhale the scent of your breakfast, a simple eggs and toast though they looked delicious. Sitting on the side of the bed with the plate in your lap you eat the still warm food as Josiah brings you a warm cup of tea with a kiss to your temple. As you ate you took a moment to think of your current situation, the events that have transpired lately. It had you thinking what was yours and Trelawny's relationship, where did you and Josiah stand now. Rather than mulling the question, your thoughts were quick to switch all the intimate moments the two of you have shared, whether that'd be a gentle sweet kiss to the cheek or what happened last night.

Your heart flutters in your chest thinking of last night. The night was incredible, Josiah spoiled you with pleasure like you've never experienced before, ravishing in you as you did with him. A soft smile found its way onto your lips as you ate, a light blush creeping onto your cheeks. Trelawny glances your way, your mind elsewhere as you looked out the window with your food in hand. He notices your soft grin, the fluster in your cheeks, he can't help but smile to himself as well. To him you were perfect, the memories of you even more so, he couldn't feel more lucky to be able to finally have you within his grasp.

Josiah makes his way to his briefcase by the door, putting on his waistcoat and necktie as you finished up your breakfast. You notice him dressing himself, wondering what the occasion was for him to be getting dressed so thoughtfully. Placing the plate back on table, you trade it for the mug before you move towards him. "You going somewhere?" Your voice chipper as you sipped your drink, standing beside him as you examine the contents of his shelves.

"Just off to do some business as usual, my dear." He says nonchalantly as he fixes his neck tie, turning to you as he did so, you face him upon hearing his answer.

"Business?" You questioned, you knew you probably wouldn't get a straight answer, or perhaps much of an answer at best, but you could hope. "What will you be doing? Anything special?" You try to pry a more detailed answer out of him.

"Nothing interesting I can assure you, my dear. And nothing dangerous either." He says with a keen smile, though you weren't quite satisfied.

"Could you at least tell me where you're going?" You hoped you'd at least get this much, he never did tell you where he went or what he did while he was away and quite frankly it scared you, now more than ever. Since the two of you shared the night the way you did, you’d hoped he could trust you enough to tell you were he’d be off to by now. Without you knowing where he was, all you could do was pray he wasn't putting himself in harms way, hope that he was alright.

"Oh just some place not too far from here, nothing you need to worry yourself over, love." He replies quickly, moving past you to grab his blazer.

'Was he...deflecting?' You furrowed your brows at the thought, watching him swiftly get ready to leave to god knows where without you, again. 'Why wasn't he giving me a straight answer? Where was he in such a hurry to go? Was he planning on leaving me so soon?' Your mind flooded with questions, ones you wanted answers to but knowing Trelawny you weren't going to get them.

"You're leaving me," your voice was quiet, a comment meant to stay within your head yet somehow slipping past your lips as you pondered your thoughts, "again." Your eyes fall to the ground, your words catching Trelawny's attention, his expression turning worrisome the moment he sees your saddened features. You continue before he forms a sentence in return, "Why do you feel the need to be secretive around me? You call me 'love' yet you can't trust me enough to tell me where you go every time you disappear for weeks on end?"

Your concerns poured out of you so suddenly they caught even you off guard. Trelawny watched you as you fidgeted with the mug in your hands, his own eyes twinging with guilt as he hears your words spill from your mouth. You were right, he has been holding back on telling you the details of his excursions, he just didn't want you worrying about him. He's assured you before there's nothing to fret over though it seems it may not have worked out the way he thought it would.

Trelawny was speechless, he wasn't sure how he wanted to answer without hurting your feelings, he didn’t want to make a mistake though your eyes watching him tell him he already has. "I... I do trust you, my dear.." His words trail off, he realizes nothing he's saying is coming out right, nor are they making you fell any less secure about his intentions. "I simply do not want you to worry-"

"Worry?" You cut him off, eyes beginning to sting, "You think just because you won't tell me where you're going that I won't be worried about you?!" Your tone came out a little louder than expected. You were doing everything in your power to not break down in your own thoughts, speaking louder seemed to be able to mask your crumbling composure. "All I ever do is worry about you! How could you possibly think that you're somehow protecting me by not telling me anything?" Your voice wavered before you looked away from him, pursing your lips to suppress any more emotions to leak out.

You stand in silence for a moment before you continue, "I just want some security, I don't want this mystery anymore." The sad softness in your voice returns, "Why is it so difficult to tell me the truth?" Your voice breaks subtly, eyes staying locked on the ground, "It's all I ask. If there really is anything happening between us, if you're not just playing me for a fool," your tone is quieter than ever, eyes closing almost in hope that he won't let your words finalize any decisions, hoping he'd stop you, hoping he'd argue otherwise, "then you're going to have to trust me. Whatever this is," your eyes find his again, motioning between the two of you, "it can't happen if I don't know you're safe."

Your eyes break away from his, unable to take his sorrowful eyes of guilt boring into yours. Trelawny stumbled on his words silently, with so many things he wanted to say he couldn't begin to form a sentence to console you. "I'm sorry." He says, rather pathetically on his part, he knows an apology isn't what you want to hear, he knows it won't help the situation nor is it what he wants to say. He's baffled by the confession, unable to string together a simple reassurance. He drew a blank, never before being faced with such a situation, and he cursed himself for it. His mind was screaming at him to say something, to convince you he’d do anything for you, to tell you he’d leave his life for you, to speak his truth.

You huffed at his response, "Unbelievable." You mumbled to yourself, tears threatening to spill. You can almost already feel the two of you drifting apart, as if you're the same two strangers standing before one another like all those months ago. You place your mug down on the nearest surface before grabbing your boots by the door silently. Panic strikes in Trelawny's chest as he watches you move to put them on.

"No, please stay." His voice holds a hint of desperation as he scrambled for words, he reaches for you but you step away. He knows he's lost his chance, "I'm sorry y/n, please. Ask me anything, I'll tell you whatever you want to hear. Just don't leave." His eyes are begging, hopelessly trying to convince you to change your mind.

"There's nothing I want to hear Trelawny," his heart twinges at the use of his surname, "I want your honesty."

'Your trust.’ You hold back your tears brimming in your eyes, you didn't want to cry in front of him. All you wanted was to go and grieve someplace private, away from the eyes of someone you cared too much about to leave.

"I'm sorry." Trelawny repeats, quietly this time as he watches you slide on your boots, though he knew it wouldn’t change a thing.

"Me too." You reply giving him one last glance as you made your way to the door, reluctantly leaving without another word, leaving him with nothing but the memory of your heartbroken face. You needed to stand your ground, show him where your principles lie, you needed the trust. You knew you couldn't be content with his hiding, no matter how sad you are to leave, no matter how much your heart is telling you to turn back. You wanted nothing more than to run back into his arms, to forget about all your troubles and stay.

You leave the caravan, heart trembling as you quickly walked down the main street of Rhodes, calling for your horse as you did so. Mounting your horse, you ride out of town, tears stinging in your eyes as you made your way back to camp, doing your best not to drive astray with your tears blurring your vision. You needed to get out of Rhodes, at least for the time being you needed your time alone, you felt like your chest was going to burst.

You ride around the outskirts of camp, going to a secluded corner nearby on the water's shore, far enough that no one would hear and no one would see. You stumble off your horse, finding a fallen log as you slumped down against it, tears beginning to fall. You sit in the dirt, bringing your knees up to your chest and dropping your head in between them with your hands running up your face and through your hair, holding your head as you sobbed. Tears stream down your face, silent yells rakes through your chest in constricted pain, your throat tight and sore.

You rub your eyes before you do your best to wipe away some stray tears running down your neck. Your fingers graze your necklace, a pang on guilt almost coming to squeeze your heart. Had you made the right choice? You hold the pendent in your hand tightly, tears falling freely at the memories on him. ‘I did what was right for my own sake’ You told yourself. ‘But what about his sake?’ The voice in the back of your head gnaws into your thoughts. You didn’t know what to think, did he really have feelings for you or were you just a pawn in his game of chess. ‘He wouldn’t buy just anyone a gemmed necklace, would he?’ You let out an exasperated sigh.

Your breaths come out laboured and shaky and you try to recollect yourself, wiping your tears from your chin with your sleeves. You struggle to find your feet, attempting to straighten out your clothes and smoothing out your hair before you lead your horse back to camp. Your walk back is lazy and quiet as you think of everything that was running miles through your head. You hitch your horse and slink away to your tent, doing your best to avoid everyone.

You wipe your face one last time with the sleeve of your shirt, catching the eye of Arthur as he looks up from his journal, sitting on his cot. He notices your distressed state, your dishevelled hair, your downturned mouth. Placing his journal down, Arthur goes to follow you in hopes of finding out what went wrong. He knew you stayed with Trelawny the previous night, he was aware of the little affair going on between you two. Perhaps you had found out Trelawny was married, that could explain the puffiness in your features, probably from crying he deduced.

You enter your tent, closing the flap behind you as you did so. Arthur quietly makes his way over, clearing his throat before speaking. "Hey uh, you all right?" He says wearily, not wanting to pry but still wanting to make sure you were ok. He saw you as this younger sister he never had, seeing you upset saddened him more than he'd like to admit. And seeing you upset made him feel obligated to comfort you in some sort of way, to cheer you up in any way he can or simply listen to you vent. "Can I come in?" Arthur shuffles awkwardly in place, he wasn't quite used to the whole condolence thing though he was trying.

"Sure." You sounded defeated, your tone was low and raspy. 'So she had been crying’ Arthur's brows furrowed in sympathy as he thought, slowly opening the canvas tent as to not startle you. His eyes landed on you immediately, you sat on your cot with your eyes puffy and bloodshot, hair a mess, cheeks tearstained. He closes the tent behind him, a small sad yet empathetic smile on his face.

"You ok?" He cringed at his own words, you obviously weren't, but he didn't know what else to say. You huffed, almost seeming as if you'd burst into tears again at any given moment.

"I don't know Arthur," you trailed off, Arthur sat next to you on your cot as you continued, "do men always hide the truth?" You stared down at your hands and you twiddled your thumbs, sniffing from your precious teary session.

"I suppose." Arthur responds gently, unsure of how to really comfort you with such a question. "I'm sure he wasn't trying to hurt you." He sighs, doing his best attempt to answer you and not make you cry any more, you seem like you've done enough of that on your own. He knew his words weren't going to do much good, "You uh, do you want a hug?" He offers, watching you for a response of any kind. You nod quietly, keeping your eyes on your hands as you did so.

Arthur pursed his lips as he got up from the cot, standing in front of you as he did so, "Come on." He says with a small smile on his face upon seeing your teary eyes looking up at him. He opens his arms for you slightly, waiting for you to respond. You stand shakily, arms slowly wrapping around his midsection for a hug. Arthur pulls you in, arms coming around to engulf you in the most comforting hug he can manage, one hand rubbing your back to ease your nerves.

"Thanks." You say quietly into his chest, your tears resuming their way down your cheeks and soaking into the fabric of his shirt. Arthur hums in response, holding you in his arms for as long as you need.

[taksez]

OK y’all. I need bit of advice. Starting next month, I will have about 2 or 3 months of free time that I want to spend sewing. Problem is though, I can’t decide what to do. I already have the fabric and supplies to do these projects, I just need to decide what to do. So, here are my options:

1.     I need a winter coat. My current one is 20+ years old (I don’t wear it often). Options are:

a.      Quilted denim:

b.     Late Victorian:

or both.

2.     A light-weight everyday jacket (though with fewer pockets):

3.     A dressy jacket:

a.      Schiaparelli inspired:

b.     Something in brocade:

c.     A 16th century-style jacket: 

4.     Some pretty blouses:

5.     Experiment with the serger and knits (which don’t like me):

6.     Slacks that fit:

7.     Something floaty with the embroidered net lace in my stash:

8.      Some pretty blouses and tops (apparently I have a thing for ruffles right now):

9.     A “suit” (all skirts will be slacks and pink really is an option):

10.  A waistcoat or two:

12.  A corset (though probably not this era):

13.   A Chanel-inspired jacket:

Note: Anything vintage will not be made to vintage standards. They’ll have the “essence” of the original, but will not be exact duplicates.

Opinions welcome. Please.

PS I have no idea where most of the pics are from. Many of the patterns can be found here.

[liliesoftherain]

Alstroemeria

Pairing: Bakugou Katsuki x Reader; Midiroiya Izuku x Reader -- one sided bakugou x reader(or is it???????)

Genre: Fluff, Slight Angst? Mentions of unrequited love so 

Summary: Alstroemeria: This flower has an array of meanings...but the beautiful blooms always connect to a similar meaning of friendship, love, strength, and devotion. Someone should have mentioned that it doesn’t have to mean all of the above.

A/N: Hi y’all, enjoy this quick one-shot as I finish my next chapter. This is loosely based on the Bridgerton series? Mainly just a Victorian ball au? I just want to imagine Bakugou in a cute waistcoat I’m sorry. Izuku i an Earl and holds title cause his dad is gone. Katsuki is a Marquess cause he’s the son of a duke, as he should.

Part 2--Bakugou’s POV

----------

You’ve had time to get used to the ache of heartbreak.

Skillfully hiding the pain you feel behind a taut smile, you turn away from where he was dancing and sweep your eyes along the extravagant ballroom before you. It really is a wonderous sight; the crystal chandeliers are polished and sparkling, the lavish satin drapes are pulled back by golden ropes and allow the guests to watch the dancefloor without interference, and the professional musicians upon the raised lift play beautifully to set a magical mood. 

You’re no stranger to these elaborate formalities, yet this is the first season you were truly allowed to partake in the events. The fourth ball of the season is just as important as the first, allowing the suitors to try and claim the affections of their wanted--more like, just claim stake in any favorable lady they could. 

However, you have been groomed your entire life for an event such as this, and you were hardly in any position to complain. Yet, that doesn’t mean you were completely uncaring to the idea of being arranged into a loveless marriage. You so painfully wanted your husband to be someone you felt something for--you wanted your love-match. Alas, you weren’t in the position to gain anything of the sort, were you? Not while his attention was on her. 

“These are such a bore, are they not?”

You are shaken from your thoughts, locking on emerald eyes that brimmed with amusement, and you can’t help but grin at the sight. 

“Why, My Lord, dare say are you not entertained by all the ribbons and ascots?”

“I would say not--I prefer a plethora of feathers and exuberant ruffled fronts. Much more fashionable items.”

You share a laugh, the tension melting away the longer you were in the presence of your childhood friend: Izuku Midoriya. The Earl is and has always been a very kind soul, one who you would once spend countless hours with playing in the gardens, and even more so hosting tea and forcing him to attend. As a child, he was always rather timid and shy, easy to persuade into just about anything. Perhaps that is why you and Katsuki always got away with your harmless teasing--well, some teasing more harmless than not. 

He was always nearby, conceding you to put him through the girliest of activities, and yet he never complained. He often returned the favor by forcing you to study, presenting you with books on subjects you couldn’t even begin to understand, and allowed him to rant on about every and anything he found of interest. He was often your escort to most events--with the proper chaperone, of course--and force you to listen off as he rattled endlessly over different theories he came up with from his travels abroad. 

Katsuki wasn’t as fond of listening to his rambles as you were, and often would shut him up with a fencing match or something similar--anything that could have Katsuki physically overpower him to get him to, ‘stop talking for more than two bloody minutes.’ 

Yes, you three were once as thick as thieves--however now...

Your attention flickered back over to the Marquess; his blond locks wild and untamed, even though he was at such a prestigious event, and the endearing sight squeezed your heart as it was so him. He now stood off to the side, chatting away with the miss that has held his attention all night. She was rather beautiful, with long juniper locks and stunning sage eyes; it is no wonder Katsuki would be so bewitched. 

“May I?”

You glance down, seeing Izuku’s expectant hand, and grant him the remainder of your dances on your card. You try to smile, but it falters at his knowing look as his attention goes between you and his other friend. 

He leads you to the dancefloor, holding you tight as you both being to waltz a varsouvienne. You allow the music and his soft gaze to consume you, laughing and jesting as the night went on. Katsuki ends up in the furthest parts of your mind, almost forgotten.

“Pardon--”

Almost.

“Miss (l/n), a dance?” Katsuki stands before you, a friendly sneer on his face as he stares at your dance partner. “A real dance, anyways. Seeing as the ever graceful Izuku may as well have two left feet.”

“Oh, most amusing, Katsuki.” Izuku rolls his eyes, yet stays holding onto you.

You miss the quick glance of Katsuki’s eyes as they sweep over Izuku’s grip on your waist--instead, you offer a silent thanks for his comfort before giving a polite bow of your head. 

“Of course, Lord Bakugou.”

You take his outstretched hand and allow him to guide you away; he spins you once, then brings you back into his embrace. 

“How are you this evening, (y/n)?”

“Very well, My Lord.”

“Now why are you acting with such formalities? Have I not won over your friendship after all these years?” His brow furrows as you turn your head downward. “Tell me, what is it that troubles you?”

“It is nothing, Katsuki.” the upturn of your lips does little to put him at ease, “I am merely feeling the effects of dancing--that is all.”

“Why? Izuku and you had only danced a measly three times--and you know you have to dance with me.”

You let out a snort of amusement, remembering the promise you made to both men before the season first started of saving them at least one dance.

“Yes, of course, I always make sure to save one for you, do I not?” 

“You do.” He chuckles, before smiling at your head. “May I say, your hair looks lovely tonight--alstroemerias again? It suits you.”

He spins you around once more, slower than the first, and you spot Miss Setsuna from across the way. Her frown is prominent as she watches the waltz continue, and in some twisted way, you feel triumphant; you know she’s after his status, and his good looks didn’t hurt either. That’s what every woman was chasing, after all. That’s what you were supposed to be chasing--but that’s not what you want. 

You’ve been in love with Katsuki since you were both children. You loved the little boy who would take you on adventures throughout the grounds behind your estates. You loved the kid who used to pick you alstroemerias for your tea-parties--it is now why they adorn your gardens and your wardrobe. You loved the young man who would--begrudgingly--let you practice various dances on him until you got it just right. You loved the teen who would bring you various trinkets from his studies and travels, just because. You loved the man who never failed to make you feel worthy and respected in the highest regard of the meaning. 

You loved all of him. 

“Yes--they are my favorite flower, after all.”

The dance ends, and you both dip low in respect, and for a fleeting moment, you expect him to stay.

But that hope shatters the second he loses focus on you and gives it to her. You muster the strength to look away. 

“Thank you for the dance, My Lord. I hope you enjoy the rest of your night.” 

Without waiting on a response, you turn and swiftly make your leave. All you want to do is find your mother and go home, your heart unable to deal with any more pain. On your hasty exit, you end up crashing into someone.

“I, I am sorry,” you gasp, hoping that they said nothing in return so you could continue and get some fresh air.

Why was it so suffocating in here?

“(y/n)? Are you alright?”

Izuku places a firm grip upon your arms, holding you steady as your chest begins to rise and fall in quick breathes. He takes your form in worriedly and quickly moves to escort you to the balcony, where there is no crowd and fresh air. 

Leaning against the railing, you focus on the lush gardens below--on anything to get your mind of Katsuki. Yet it all is in vain, as the pin in your hair comes loose, and an alstroemeria falls right onto the back of your hand. 

Your bottom lip grows unsteady the longer you watch the flower, and you have to blink back the moisture that has begun to collect on your bottom lashes. You don’t understand why it all hurt so much--you’ve known from the start that receiving his affections was slim to none, yet you still held onto the dim idea that he could also return affections. 

You had been watering this seed--this notion--every day, and it only grew stronger and stronger; its stem growing as if it were a vine, seizing every part of your being until you were helpless to the damage it had caused. You are tired--your body, your heart, it all hurts and you want to give up, but you keep pushing for this flower to bloom because something good has to come of all of this hurt, right?

And something does, but what you thought was a beautiful flower of love, strength, and devotion, he only saw one of strength in friendship. 

He may not realize, but it’s killing you that you two are seeing two different sides of the same coin; the opposite sides of the looking glass, unable to get to the other, only able to present a false front instead of the entire truth of feelings as a whole. 

You don’t even realize the tears have started to fall from your face until you notice you were no longer staring down to the darkness below, and had begun to soak the coat of your companion. You pull away, just enough to look into his eyes, and you see the concern and care he holds for you. Leaning back into his embrace, you don’t give yourself another moment to think how scandalous it must look to be held so fondly by a man you weren’t wed to--you need this hug more than anything right now, and that’s enough reason for the both of you. 

Izuku mumbles soothing words of endearment, stroking your clothed back softly--and while you can’t feel his bare skin against yours, you still shiver at the touch. He’s warm, comforting, and you find yourself calming down in his hold. You pull back, creating enough distance to be acceptable, and grant him a watery smile. 

He stares back kindly, a gaze of adoration, as he pulls another of your beloved alstroemeria from the clip behind your ear. 

“What are you--”

Izuku sets it on the balcony ledge, then unclips the flower from his breast pocket, delicately placing it in the same spot.

“A primrose--I think it suits you quite well.” 

You bring a hand up, briefly brushing over the soft petals before searching his expression for an answer. His smile only grows fonder, and he takes your hand away from the primrose and raises it to his mouth for a tender kiss on your hand. 

“Izuku…”

“If the Lady is willing to accept, may I be so bold as to call upon her tomorrow?”

One hand starts to fiddle with the fabric against your waist, suddenly feeling rather nervous as he continues to hold you other as he awaits your response. Your tongue darts out to lick your suddenly dry lips, a bashful smile forming right after.

“Of course, My Lord.”

“Fantastic,” he whispers, letting your hand fall back to your side as he stares with disbelief at your agreeance--you laugh at his wide-eyed look, “Then let me escort you inside, I do not wish to keep you any longer than you would like.”

You consent, taking his arm as he walks you back into the ballroom. For the first time that night--for the first time ever in fact--your mind is far from the Marquess, and you’re not concerned about it. 

So much so, you don’t notice the distraught-looking man leaving the balcony right before you both, nor the falling alstroemeria right after.

-----

Primrose: These flowers are seen as representations of young love and of feeling as though you can’t live without your lover. 

“...is the most overlooked flower when it comes to romantic flowers...”

[newtonsheffield]

I was curious as to how you’ll describe everyone’s personal fashion aesthetic or just their aesthetic in general.

HEY!

Okay, I have been meaning/struggling  to answer this request for weeks! Because I see the characters very clearly in my head but I guess I don’t know how to describe them? I’m not so great with the describing words sometimes I guess! But I’m going to give it a little whirl for the three main couples of the series (So Far. Goose and Edwina and Frankie and Michael will be joining the fray sooner than you think) 

So! We’re actually very lucky that my talented friend @tammi1 has made some moodboards for us before as well! Isn’t she talented Y’all?! Mayyyyyybe if we’re all very nice to her she’ll do some wardrobe ones for us at some stage? 😉

Anthony  Kate  Benedict Sophie

But Here’s a little description of each of them

Anthony

Anthony at work is a very sharp dresser. He wears a tailored three piece suit every day to work, with a tie and a pocket square to match (In later years he wears a colour similar to whatever Kate’s wearing because he likes the idea that they’re a team, a matching set). But when he’s at home Anthony (Dadthony) is what I like to call Farmer’s Market Hot™️. Because he wears soft sweaters and light coloured chinos and casual sneakers, and you just want to take him to the market and get some organic cheese.

Kate  

Kate at work is a HBIC and everyone knows it (Her theme song at work is BO$$ by Fifth Harmony Don;t @ me about this it’s true guys). At work she’s all crisp lines and pencil skirts, and pinafore dresses and she wears stockings with seams and towering heels every day of the week, even when very pregnant. At home she’s almost the opposite. Her clothes are soft and she wears bright colours, and jeans and matching skirt and top sets, and rarely ever heels. 

Benedict   

Ladies, Benedict is an artsy Hipster kind of guy, I do not make the rules. He wears plaid shirts with the sleeves rolled up and jeans and leather boots, always. Not the Doc Martin kind of boots (That’s Eloise. She is a stocking and Docs gal. Again you know I’m right) more like Red wing Iron Ranger kind of boots. 

Sophie

Sophie is a sneakers gal. She never wears heels if she can absolutely avoid it and she looks on a little appalled as Lucy totters around in hers everyday (More on this in a second). Sophie wears a lot of linens and cottons and everything is a soft, pastel colour. She also wears a lot of florals and prints of animals. All of her blouses have foxes running around on them, or little dogs barking happily embroidered on the collars. 

Gregory 

Our Boy Gregory is a hot nerd Ladies. He wears a shirt and tie to work (never a waistcoat or jacket). The sleeves are always rolled up and the tie generally has a popculture reference on it, and it’s more often than not a bowtie. He wears glasses which used to make them a little self conscious before Lucy groaned in his ear how much liked them (Yep. Hard same Lucy) and now he wears them with Pride. At home he is strictly a jeans and tshirt kind of guy. 98% of his shirts have some kind of pop culture reference on them and his sneakers are in bright colours and he has far too many pairs but these ones are a limited edition 

Lucy 

Oh La la la Lucy. Lucy is always impeccably put together. Her clothes are all designer. Not in the gaudy kind of way where they’re all stamped with Prada logo across the front, but in the way where you know she definitely didn’t get that dress at Primark. Quiet elegance I guess. It’s her one quiet show of wealth from an otherwise very down to earth person. She keeps it very simple, rarely wears prints or patterns, but favours pastel greens and blues, with the occasional red thrown in and every outfit is colour co-ordinated to perfection. Gregory did a double take in the first few weeks they dated with a confused Did you just...? Match your lipstick to your underwear?  And Lucy wears heels every day of the week. Louboutins, Manolos, burberry, prada, she has some of everything. Whether she’s at work or going to the Bridgerton’s for lunch, Lucy is wearing Towering heels. 4ich heels are a short heel for Lucy Abernathy. Partially because She’s a positively tiny person, partially because she knows the origin of the word stiletto. 

Hope this ramble was okay! 

[majorxmaggiexboy]

the terror’s one true failing is that it was too cold to really get anybody in shirtsleeves. idc if y’all are about to freeze to death i need to see some waistcoats and forearms to verify the crew’s validity