#they called his cravat a scarf. A SCARF.

[canisvesperus]

I’ve seen some discussion on this, so allow me to explain something.

Some people do not seem to grasp why artists like me draw so much fashionable Eridan. He’s not fashionable at all, just look at his canon outfit, they say. Well, it is simple. Eridan is one of the few trolls actually experimenting with fashion at a young age in the comic. Look me in the eye and tell me you too weren’t a hot mess trying to dress “fashionable” in middle school. Yet, chances are that if you had that awareness and drive early on, you will also develop a sense of style and grasp on aesthetics earlier in life compared to your peers. This was my experience. I was well known for being very stylish as a kid, but this didn’t happen overnight. Indeed, if you were one of these kids you most definitely started off with some odd or disharmonious clothing combinations that you threw together in an attempt to express yourself aesthetically despite inexperience in that type of self-expression. I can’t speak for everyone else, but I usually draw young adult Eridan. Obviously given some time, his tastes would develop and mature into something derived from those original aesthetic visions, but far more cohesive.

It’s clear he’s trying to assert his individualism and status in his clothing choices, and most of y’all shrug him off as having bad taste while not also foreseeing the intent and vision behind those choices. I see it, and so do other artists. We differ in how we portray this derivation because there are frankly a dozen different directions he could take it depending on the circumstances of the post-canon/fix it scenario. This is why you may see me refer to the Eridan in my depictions as “my Eridan”. I don’t presume to depict something identical to Homestuck proper, nor am I particularly interested in doing so. If you’re the type of person who is married to the events of canon and cannot consider a scenario involving an older Eridan who was allowed to grow and change, this is why we are not seeing eye to eye— and I’m certain this is the root cause of various other discourses as they pertain to portraying the character in post-canon fanworks. That’s fine. That’s your choice. My choice is different.

Eridan consistently demonstrates concern (an excess, really, which backfired for him in the cruelest of ways poor thing) with respect to how he is perceived, hence the consciously thought out image-crafting and classic Eridan façades that his own peers call him out on for being poorly executed, transparent, and otherwise not believable. They were kids. This is normal. Of course he doesn’t have himself figured out yet. It’s a process. Some people in this fandom believe his façade in the most literal and uncritical of ways but this is all a story for another day. Is his drip game shit though, without regards for fan interpretations? If you’re asking me, I don’t think it’s really that bad considering his age. I really don’t think it’s that bad. That kind of scarf with the cape is a bit much to wear around the neck. Maybe he’ll swap the big scarf for something similar in function and category but less top heavy— a cravat, jabot, bandana, or lavallière? If the cape is too overwhelming for the rest of the outfit, a smaller caplet, shawl, or a coat will work. To accommodate some of the alternative neckwear, a shirt with a collar would be preferable. What many people perceive as a turtleneck sweater, need not be entirely sacrificed. Put a sweater vest on that boy. I see lots of complaints about the shoes and pants. More discreet pinstripes and more formal shoes (field boots, paddock boots, oxfords) will work. Of course he can go in the opposite direction, less formal, in that case the cape can go and the long scarf can stay, get some cool sneakers, consider denim bottoms or casual slacks in a single color, accents welcome. However this isn’t the derivation I pursue so I feel less qualified to speculate. He could ditch all of it even. Start new and fresh especially if he were to go through a markedly subversive reclamation of identity and character redemption sort of process. In any case, he can work with it!!! You just have to believe in him.

I believe Eridan had a lot of narrative potential that was wasted, possibly out of disinterest for the character. It’s only predictable that artists like me simply want to devise a world in which these characters had a chance to actually live their lives. I truly do not understand why there has to be so much confusion over this. That‘s all.

[meteor752]

Episode 8 thoughts

I’m scared

Philosophy with Edward, good start

He looks strangely cute honestly, like a very happy boy

Alright, random guy just aggressively “HMMMMMM”

You indoctrinating them into your sea cult Eddie?

Random guy being more aggressive, aight

At this point I had to leave for class, so like tbc for me

Okay I’m back!

Aww they hugging :)

Mans name is pop pop?

Okay it’s not

I adore Ed’s hair, but I think that’s a given here

Yeah okay mans is strugglin

Bye bye Eddie!

Prince boy is back…hurray

Spanish Jackie is absolutely slaying, I adore her

Aaaaaaaand, I have class again, jolly good

If I get called away again I’m gonna loose it

Oh great the stupid nose jar is back

Oh no Swede!!

Oh the bridge is back!

This is a strange friendship, but I kinda love it. The gay loser and bisexual girlboss is back

Let’s go Stede! Save your bestie!

Eddie nooooooooooooo

Eddie yessssssssssssss

Goth Ed is back, ready to avenge his bf

My god he looks fucking cool

OH THE KRAKEN

Izzy keeps on being the best character of the season

I think Prince boy has a crush on Izzy, just like the rest of the fandom

What you trynna do prince boy

“It’s about belonging to something when the world has told you you’re nothing” pirating keeps on being an allegory for the queer community, and it keeps being so sweet, especially to Izzy’s story

Wait when did Roach and Fang even get here?

THOSE LETTERS ARE NOT FOR YOU MISTER

Casually reading the letter while stabbing a guy, he just keeps on winning

The fanfics were right!!! He did find the letters!

“YOU WROTE ME A LOVELY LETTER!!” gurl saaaaaaame

THE BLACK BEACH!!

Girlboss is helping!!

STEARD!!!

Smooch!

I’m so soft…

That reunion is all I ever wanted out of this show actually

“For love!!” Stede we don’t deserve you

Don’t ya dare touch Lucius scarf!

Oh Auntie is alive!

When did Jim become the crew doctor? They are somehow worse at it than Roach I’d say

New trio to obsess over

Edward Teach canonically did a flip during a fight, my baby

They are both so supportive to their golden retriever friend/bf

Babe!!

“But you’re not a man. You’re soft” alright auntie

Trans Oluwande?

Izzy keeps saying eat the rich, and we stan him

Izzy!!!!!!! Hell yes!!!!

Oh oh my god

Please don’t tell me Swede died for that!

Oh okay no he’s like that princess bride dude, aight

Olu is a great support system

Ed is slaying in his gay ass sitting way

I DID NOT CONSENT TO HAVING A FULL BARE ARSE JUST DISPLAYED IN FRONT OF ME

Stede looks surprisingly sexy in that outfit

Alright, a little Archie Jim action, hell yeah

How come every time they kiss Izzy is just, in the background

THEY ALL LOOK SO GOOD!!

Frenchie!

Girlbosses, all of them

HOLY FUCKING SHIT JIM

Aww, Eddie cares <3

Aww, Izzy does not care <3

Frenchie helps Izzy! Fuck do I ship that now?

If Izzy dies I’m gonna throw my computer

Izzy remains the best even while on deaths door

Wait he called him Eddie?

Okay I don’t have captions, so I have no idea what Izzy is saying here

WHAT ARE THEY SAYING?!?!

Okay I heard Twat

Something about family?

Oh my god…

Okay I’m not throwing my computer because it’s technically my school’s computer but like bruv

NO!!!

IZZY!!!!!!!!

Why him??????

Zheng apart of the crew? Ayo?

Stede don’t push it

WEDDING!!!

Why is Wee John officiating?

Maybe it’s because he’s Calypso

Oh no they’re all officiating that’s sweet

Mateys!!!

Roach is a doll

Frenchie is officially the first mate? Ayo???

INNKEEPERS!!!!!!!!!

Does that mean Frenchie is the captain??

The cravat!

Hi Buttons

Frenchie!

I think this is the first interaction Wee John and Frenchie has had all season, which is sad honestly

If we get a season 3, it better switch povs between The Revenge and Stede and Ed’s adventures as innkeepers, together with their pet bird Buttons and the ghost of Izzy

[house-afire]

own true love (Izzy/Crew, past unrequired Ed/Izzy, mild D/s)

Prompt: 100 words of custom-made collars

Izzy had always made do with a black cravat. Edward’s men all dressed in black—“Nothing more fearsome than mass color-coordination,” Edward said once, a half-joke he delivered with a man’s blood on his teeth—so the color was a foregone conclusion. I belong here, it said. I belong to him—but only in the way everything on the ship did. Edward wouldn’t notice or care if Izzy tore this pathetic, grasping, makeshift claim from his neck.

At least it was Edward who had chosen the color. Who had said, “Above all else is loyalty to your captain.”

But it was Izzy who tied the knot every morning, who drew it up close where he could feel it all day long. It was Izzy who held it in place with his mother’s ring.

“One day,” she had said, folding his hand around it, “you’ll give it to the girl you want to marry.”

It was a long time before anyone else figured out what Izzy wanted the cravat to mean.

Maybe years of only ever having what he wanted on starvation rations had made the need start to show. Or maybe this crew just had more time to sit around and dissect his tender feelings—wriggling, bloody things that they were—because they were never doing any fucking work.

Either way, they noticed things. How pliant he went when one of them fitted a hand around his throat and held him like that when they dipped down for a kiss. How much his face burned when they called him theirs: our Izzy, our Iz, our first mate, our unicorn.

(How he’d spent days having a fucking idiotic personal crisis about whether to keep on wearing the cravat, how he’d loosen it, tighten it, take it off, put it back on.

Took it off again and felt bare without it, but more honest than he’d been in years.)

And because they were all the touchy-feely kind, when they saw he’d put the cravat in a drawer for good, they had to do something about it:

“We thought you might like it,” Frenchie said. “Bit of each of us.”

“We know it’s super-weird,” Lucius put in, “obviously, but it’s not like any of us are normal, so—”

“If it’s the bad kind of weird, just say so,” Jim finished.

It was a collar. A real one, like they’d just decided he could want what he wanted and they would give it to him, as easy as that.

Like maybe they wanted it too: that stamp of ownership, a claim on him that would rest flush against his pulse.

Black Pete cleared his throat. “Elephant in the room here, but—sorry it kind of looks like ass.”

“That’s some of my best leatherwork,” Fang said, as affronted as he ever got. “The leather part’s okay.”

Izzy ran one finger along the patchwork outside of it. They had all added something, stitching together bits and pieces and snips from Fang’s leathers, Jim’s old duster, Wee John’s knitting, Lucius’s scarf, Frenchie’s coat, Archie’s snakeskin, Roach’s apron, Oluwande’s hat. Pete had carved the wooden buckle.

“We did pad the inside,” Wee John said. “Figured it’d be more comfortable that way, if you did want to wear it.”

“Which you don’t have to,” Oluwande said. “I mean, like Jim said. It’s up to you.”

“It’d be really hot, though,” Archie said. “Kinda hope you go for it.”

“He will,” Roach said with perfect confidence, before Lucius hissed at him and Olu elbowed him.

Izzy had to clear his throat, and even then, his voice came out strained. Anyone but this lot wouldn’t have known the difference between that and how he sounded any other time, but now he had to put up with Roach’s smugness spreading to the rest of him.

Put up with. Fine. He loved it.

“He’s right,” he said. “I’ll wear it. You sentimental twats. I—” He wheeled around and dug through his desk until he came up with his mother’s ring.

He hadn’t known what to do with it after he’d finally let go of Edward, but he knew now. He held it out to them.

“If you want it,” Izzy said roughly. “String it on a cord or something. Pass it around amongst you.”

He had to put up with Fang’s tearful hug and Lucius’s delighted, “Oh my God, that’s so romantic,” and Archie wolf-whistling him, but eventually, thank God—sometime after Pete asked if they were supposed to come up with the cord themselves: “I’m just saying, there’s a disproportionate amount of labor here”—Frenchie took it and slipped it onto his little finger for temporary safekeeping.

“I can’t believe that fits you,” John said.

“It’s because I’ve got a musician’s slender fingers, babe.”

Izzy couldn’t bring himself to pick the collar up off the table. It was like it was too heavy for him to lift on his own. He swallowed and said, “Suits you. Now is someone going to put this on me or not?”

It took them a fucking endless number of games of rock, paper, scissors—during which Izzy threatened to leave them all at the next port—to determine who would have the honor, and Roach and Frenchie started side-bets that would probably keep the lot of them in hock to each other for years. But by the time they pressed him down to the bed, the collar was around his neck.

In the end, he gave up a lace from his leathers to hold their ring.

[ladyrashelougai]

What do you like most about Ogai?

ღ His Hair:

As a man he has well-groomed, beautiful and well-colored hair and also I love his hairstyle...the way he pulls that beautiful black hair behind his head and ties it...damn it's so attractive!!! At 26 years old, this guy looks like a baby girl load with that beautiful damn hair 😭😭✨

ღ The harmony between the color of his white and pale skin and the color of his eyes and hair:

Is there anything left to say?! This old man is beautiful in every way

ღ His high intelligence, his ability to talk and convince people with a few words, his body language:

he is a complete strategist in every way and damn smart! When something happens, it's like he planned everything in advance! Nothing and nothing is beyond the scope of his predictions and plans, in my opinion he is the symbol of men who have the ability to control...Even if something happens that is a little out of his scope, he always reacts very calmly and beautifully! He is the master of making the best and most important decisions in the least difficult and most terrible situations!

ღ His uniform:

He dresses like an old vampire and makes you unconsciously call him "Daddy" 😭😭 Damn this situation! I love those hands and those white gloves!!! That red scarf and that dark gray suit...that purple cravat..it's all too much for me, he's so handsome😭 Why does an old man have to be so handsome?!😭😭Who gave him this permission?!😭😭 I'm dying😭😭😭

ღ And finally other things:

I bet he has a six pack and a fit and beautiful body....

and calls y/n with sweet nicknames..., Just Imagine hearing a gorgeous, powerful and hot man call you "doll", "my sweetest", "sweetheart" or "darling" from his mouth...

His dubbing voice in anime English and even the original language... both are very attractive ✨😭

[I can't...I can't take it anymore..I'm going to cry , No man can be like him!!! 😭😭😭]

[unboundwanderers]

             The Control Room was quiet, cozy, and filled with a distinctive warmth exclusive to only one singular type-40 TARDIS, and that was The Doctor's. Currently floating with its weight sensors set to 'lazy mode' as The Doctor called them, the Police Box was floating absentmindedly through Mutter's Spiral. As one would float ambiently through a pool of water, The Police Box drifted through nebulas and cosmos. Inside, The Console Room had undergone a minor redecoration, as had The Doctor as well. Favoring something a tad bit cozier, The Doctor had shifted the preset to a flavor of Control Room used only briefly by his THIRD incarnation during the Anti-Matter Omega Crisis.

             When his exile had been lifted, his Third Incarnation had shifted the preset to something more... smaller, more reminiscent of the mid-twentieth century. However, having REGENERATED not too long ago, this new Incarnation of The Doctor was rehashing trends and life choices he'd felt hadn't gotten all that much love. This Control Room and its exterior were some of them. Another was a Sonic Screwdriver that had been destroyed during his Fifth Incarnation's run. A cylindrical silver piece with a red bullet at the top and a white strip painted in the middle. Currently, he was using The Sonic Screwdriver to reconnect circuits underneath The Console.

             Standing upright and tapping The Screwdriver into the palm of his hand, The Doctor twisted a switch on the console to activate the monitor. He took a look at his face once more. It was the face of someone in their mid-thirties, at most. Sharp blue eyes, narrow brows, a sharp chin, a seemingly perplexed facial expression- but the most puzzling part of it all was The Silver Hair. It seemed as if this incarnation couldn't decide on whether or not he wanted to be young or old- so he decided on some even middle ground, "Well... It's like I always say- a new house." He mumbles to himself before biting softly on the end of his index finger. That's when a sudden ping caught his attention- but he quickly rolled his eyes at the receiver's end. "A direct transmission from Gallifrey? What could they possibly want me to do now?" He examined.

             "Ah, From the president- no less... This must be of the highest authority if it's coming from President-" He looked down to read, but had to re-squint once or twice to make sure he was reading it quickly. He snapped, a hand softly hitting the console before he let out a shout of pride and excitement, "Ha! Oh, you wonderful Old Bat! You did it, truly- you did it... How did you manage that?" He had to really think, stroking his chin. Had he forgotten about Romana? The last time he saw her- well- there were multiple accounts- perhaps Regeneration had made his mind fuzzy.

             "Well! I might as well go congratulate The Madam President! She is, after all, succeeding the best president." He chuckles softly before setting the Navcom Controls toward the transmission's source- The President's Office! A soft groaning and wheezing let The Doctor know that he was traveling through the vortex as he walked toward a coat rack. Grabbing some white trainers, a navy blue coat, and a familiar multi-colored scarf, The Doctor completed his look: White Dress Shirt, Tan Waistcoat, brown cravat, Blue Coat, tan cargo pants, and White Trainers- before finally he slid on a familiar scarf and grabbed a tan fedora with a blue ribbon- sliding it all on to complete one... strange look.

             In the President's office, The Police Box materialized- and a head popped out, only to be greeted by a plethora of Timelord Stasers. "...Er, Pardon the Intrusion- I promise I have an invite." He chuckled softly, having condensed Romana's invite onto his Psychic Paper, which he held out for the guards.

@gallifreyborn

[nitewrighter]

holiday outfit for rei?

Ooohh! You know the battlepass really makes me sad because I really miss seasonal skins and it looks like any skins that would be "Winter Wonderland" are probably going to be locked behind bundles (Barf). But I did Winter Wonderland skins for the fankids in the past, it would be a fun challenge to try a couple again!!

Rei: Frost Fairy--Okay I know I say that the snow/ice themes are Blizzard phoning it in, but when both Mercy and Genji have ice skins, it seems only appropriate. Her wings are complex and spiky, reminiscent of hoarfrost. Rei's hair is tinted white and pushed back from her face in a kind of wild shoulder-length mane held back by a silvery headband crest reminiscent of Genji's Ice Wraith helmet, with two icicle horns peeking out underneath. Her clothes incorporate some armor-like elements from Genji's Ice wraith skin, but is probably closer to the Banuk clothing in Horizon Zero Dawn.

Aedan: First Frost--A skin that has both autumnal and winter elements, Aedan's clothes are composed of scarlet autumn leaves outlined in silvery white by frost. Very Thranduil vibes. His red hair has white streaks in it and he wears a twiggy laurel-like crown of leaves also touched by frost. His eyes are tinted golden yellow in this skin. Because ya girl loves her Prince Nuada vibes.

Jaime: Olentzero--Olentzero Jaime wears and black beret and blue neck scarf, as well as traditional black, gray, and blue Basque farmer's clothing smudged with coal dust all over. There's a wineskin at his hip and a pipe in his mouth. There's a slightly ghostly effect on his ability animations.

Marti: Eggnog---A cute confectionary skin that's a lovely cream-color with a cinnamon brown gradient. Marti dons a peacoat shawl dress with wooly trimming to mimic the foam. Marti's hair is tied up in a big bouncy curly blown-out ponytail with cinnamon stick hairstick accessory. She wears white leggings with a cable-knit pattern and cute chunky brown wool-lined boots. There will be some debate as to whether the skin should be called the "eggnog" skin or the "horchata" skin but like--I mean you can drink horchata all year, so we're leaning towards the eggnog skin.

Faustine: C.E.O (Chief Elf Officer)--Faustine dons pointy ears, a high bun secured with a sprig of holly, a pencil behind one ear, and a sexy green pencil skirt and green vest with gold damask texture effects. The dress shirt has a sort of frilly cravat collar decorated with a gold brooch. Comes with a "Checking it twice" emote where she checks a tablet and looks up judgmentally.

[silverfoxstole]

*falls over*

Oh, he does…. ❤️❤️❤️

Yeah, he’s wearing the (cravat? neck cloth? scarf? I never know what to call it) the same way he wears his scarves. Probably knots it that way automatically.

Close-up of Paul’s new sonic screwdriver and a wider version of the shot we’ve already seen. From the Facebook of the team who made the sonic, Little Shop Props

[little-orphan-ant]

getting fukcing bbc!enjolras x fem reader post recommended to me by tumblr im sobbing

[scarlettaagni]

i’m just saying that you see outfits as drape-y, baggy, and colorful as Gammon’s outfit in street fashion today and those outfits fucking SLAP

and to further break you, I’ll just let you know that Gammon doesn’t wear any scarves. all those draping parts you see are not scarves. they’re either lapels, ribbons, belts, ties, shirt /coat tails. really the only thing you can argue is a scarf is his necktie

[swagtastic-bougie-pompadour]

//you know what? after a bit of reflection on how much you could mess with the ages based on canon, sure. i'll accept this.

(canon nerding below)

//Melony's probably a good bit younger since she still has ~two-year-old twins in this art:

//but she could be as old as like mid-late 40s (I know of mothers who gave birth at 45 and even a bit later), and Clavell could be closer to the 55 side of things since he's generally still spry, so why not? (his glasses really age him, by the way. the side profile looks a lot younger imo)

//Melony's hair color is a bit different from Clive's brighter white, but she's still got a few years to go full white. Eye color could just be a natural "parents had two different eye colors" thing; plus Clavell's still seem to be ambiguously blue behind the glasses.

//Who knows, maybe the little cravat-scarf-wtf around Clavell's neck is meant to reference ice types? Maybe he got the Abomasnow from Melony? I could throw random BS out all day.

//also Gordie and the twin boys have somewhat similar Edgeworth Hair Vent Bangs to Clavell.

//the eye and face shapes are so different i would never call it real canon, but for fun...

//swagtastic-bougie-pompadour canon seal of approval.

// i had this random hc a while back that Opal was Clavell's sister

no real point to this ask just thought ud think it was interesting

//hmmm i like it but that's probably a bit of a big age gap? since opal's 88 and Clavell prob isn't that old

//maybe like cool aunt?

[mylordshesacactus]

Birds of a Feather

SO MANY of you wanted to know more about the background gays at this masquerade ball, so.

Setup: While I’ve been tongue-in-cheek calling it the Fantasy Met Gala, the ball is actually a solidly mid-tier event on the social calendar. It’s see-and-be-seen charity gala to raise funds for a children’s hospital in the city--a collaborative project between the various Requiem temples and artificers that serves the most critical cases and poorest patients whose families are unable to access the high-level healing or components they need.

Our unexpected romantic lead:

The party met him because they were overwhelmed and trying to strike up a conversation with someone perhaps not openly terrifying to them all. They found someone who is clearly a representative from the hospital and gravitated in his direction.

He’s dressed up, he looks very nice, but he’s also obviously not a patron. His robes are fine and well-made, but multipurpose and conservatively colored--a pretty, but uninteresting, tawny brown; the kind of evening dress you wear because you only own one set and need them to be appropriate at any function. He’s made an effort to fit the mood of the party--he’s got a simply-patterned silk scarf in white and brown draped over his arms at the elbow to create a vague allusion to wings, a feathered bird mask, and a red cravat--but it’s still clearly a closet cosplay of a robin redbreast.

He’s also visibly miserable and trapped in conversation with what every single member of the party instantly clocks as the local Mean Girl Squad. Naturally they sidle over in the hope of rescuing him somehow, but hesitate as they have a hurried debate over what the best approach is without causing a scene.

The hesitation means they miss their chance, as they are interrupted by:

In a raucous masquerade ball to which only the wealthiest and best-connected people are invited, somehow the most flamboyant person in the room.

A young man, probably mid-twenties, gayer than you would think physically possible. His costume is an amethyst swan; long floor-length lavender robes absolutely DRIPPING with what appear to be legit gemstones, the most obnoxiously ornate swan mask in the history of the world, the works. He’s gone all out. He’s got like, multiple lapel pins with symbols of the goddess of luck. He’s bypassed “dandy,” broken the landspeed record leaving “aristocratic boytoy” in the dust and gotten whiplash from how fast he arrived at “if an entire pride parade was a person and also extremely, overwhelmingly, disorientatingly purple”.

Without missing a beat or even glancing at our robin friend, he casually drapes one floor-length sleeve over the poor man’s shoulder and, extremely chipper, smiles brightly at the nearest Mean Girl Squad member and says something to the effect of “Why, that can’t be Lady Elasys under all that concealer! So glad you could make it, darling, I didn’t expect to see you here! You know, in public. After....well.”

It goes rapidly downhill for the mean girl squad from there.

[clove-pinks]

I am very excited to see this extant 1840s men's neckwear in this view, even if it doesn't look like much! The Victoria & Albert Museum simply calls it a "cravat", but it's in the form of a stock that buckles at the back of the neck, with a bow in front and long ends that cover the chest. It's a look I've seen in 1840s portraits and fashion plates. Here it is on a mannequin:

And in an 1843 illustration detail from Joseph Couts' A Practical Guide for the Tailor's Cutting-room, showing a man with Chesterfield overcoat, this style of scarf-like tie, and a tie pin.

The Handbook of English Costume in the 19th Century by C. Willett and Phyllis Cunnington notes, "Tie pins were now extremely fashionable [in the 1840s], worn with neck-clothes that spread over the shirt front, and also with stocks."

Albert Smith, author of The Natural History of the Gent, in an 1844 portrait (and looking just as bitchy as you would expect). A large tie pin adorns his neckwear.

1843 fashion plate, Met Collection. Two out of the three gentlemen have neckwear that drapes to cover the shirt.

The novelist Captain Frederick Marryat, drawn in 1841 by Alfred d'Orsay, for his 'Drawings of Men About Town' series. The appearance of his neckwear tracks with it being a stock collar with long, draping ends in front.

Carl Wilhelm Lange (National Museum, Denmark), c. 1840s with long ends of his neckwear covering his shirt, with tie pin and other bijouterie.

[zarvasace]

Perfect

PS: started a series on AO3 for these drabbles. They'll continue to be posted here but you can subscribe over there if you want to. :) The series is called Shatterproof, and this fic is right here.

---

Twilight put his hand up, hesitated, then knocked. He rested his forehead on the heavy door and spoke quietly into wood. "Wars? I need your help."

It took just a moment for the handle to turn and the door to crack open. Twilight stood up straight and met Warriors's concerned look with a self-deprecating smile. He backed up a step and gestured to his clothes. 

"This is as good as I could get 'em."

Warriors's eyes lit up in understanding, and he opened the door a bit more to gesture Twilight inside. His room was fairly nice, but not as plush as Twilight had expected after seeing more of his castle. He didn't have bed curtains, but he did have a full bookshelf. There wasn't a sitting area with velvet chairs, but there was a mirror on the wall with a small table underneath it. 

Warriors himself looked like he'd mostly finished his preparations for the upcoming banquet and ball. He wore a gorgeous deep blue jacket, and his hair was shinier than Twilight had ever seen it. He looked less like a person and more like a painting. It made Twilight's heart twinge for some reason, but Warriors had already turned all his attention to Twilight's clothes.

"I wasn't really sure what that was," Twilight admitted as Warriors messed with the way a scarf thing fastened over Twilight's throat. 

‘Cravat,’ Warriors spelled, stepping back for a moment. 

"That's what a cravat is?" Twilight looked down. "It looks silly on me."

Warriors shook his head with a smile, then did up the tiny buttons down the front of Twilight's undershirt. He adjusted the burgundy tunic over the top, then did the buttons on the black jacket. Huh, Twilight had almost done those wrong. When it all was done up correctly, Warriors stepped back. 

Both of them glanced at the right sleeve, hanging empty and loose. It definitely detracted from the overall effect, but it wasn't as thought Twilight could do anything about it. 

He gave Warriors a smile. "Thanks for your help."

Warriors held up a finger, then turned to his desk. He rummaged around in the drawer for a bit, and returned with a shining pair of silver scissors in his hand. 

Twilight stepped back. "Hey, no, these are nice clothes."

‘Yes,’ Warriors signed, sticking the scissors under his arm to better be understood. ‘And you deserve to look nice in them. That sleeve distracts from your nice face.’

"And cutting it off won't? Wars, this jacket probably costs more than my whole house, you can't just… tailor it."

‘Trust me,’ Warriors insisted, rolling his eyes. 

It took a second to calm his heart, but Twilight sighed. "Fine. Do whatever, they're not my clothes."

Warriors made sure that everything sat just right on Twilight's shoulders. He straightened out the empty sleeves, found where Twilight's arm ended, and pinched a spot a few inches under that. Twilight grimaced as the scissors sheared loudly through several layers of thick, expensive fabric. Warriors handed the cut-off sleeve to Twilight, then went back to his desk to get a needle and thread. 

The angle was such that Twilight couldn't see exactly what Warriors was doing, but he was obviously sewing something. He cut off the embroidered cuff of the extra sleeve to attach it somehow. It didn't take very long before Warriors stood up, gathered everything into his hands, and pushed Twilight toward the mirror. 

It wasn't a huge mirror, but it was big enough for Twilight to see his face and his sleeves. It looked like Warriors had folded the end of the right sleeve, then tacked on part of the cuff to make it look entirely intentional. 

Huh. 

Warriors then attacked Twilight with a wet comb, dripping water down his neck. 

"Hey!" Twilight squawked, flinching away with a laugh. "My hair's fine."

Laughing back, Warriors kept going. Twilight had to admit that the end effect wasn't bad. 

‘See?’ Warriors said, signs backwards in the mirror as they both looked into it. ‘Now everyone can admire your cute face.’

Twilight rolled his eyes, but smiled. "Thanks. I appreciate it, really."

‘What else am I here for?’ Warriors used the comb to smooth down just a bit more of his hair. It looked fine to Twilight, but what did he know. 

"You look nice," he told Warriors, who, instead of preening, made a face. 

‘It's going to be a banquet for the public ministers,’ he said. ‘I have to look perfect.’

Ah. That little expression of bitterness was what pulled at Twilight's feelings. "Hey, nobody can be expected to be perfect. That's just…"

Warriors shook his head. ‘The war was partially fought because a witch wanted to marry me. You knew that.’ He pulled his lips tight and didn't look up as he kept signing. ‘Everyone expects me to be the most beautiful person in the world because of that. I'm not, but if I can come close, then maybe people won't feel like the war was such a waste.’

Twilight bit his lip. "That's a lot of pressure for one person."

‘Maybe.’ Warriors shrugged. 

"Really. Look, a lot of people find you attractive, if our visits to taverns are anything to go off of. Sure, maybe you play it up a little"—Warriors snorted—"but it's not up to you what they think. So some lady decided you were cute enough to obsess over, that isn't your fault. And you shouldn't need to take responsibility for it."

Warriors held a hand up to stop him. ‘You're right. I forget it sometimes, but you're right. Unfortunately, people do think it's my fault.’

"Well, they're stupid."

That made Warriors laugh. ‘Yes. Look, I'm more than a general, here, I'm a very visible symbol. And I'm okay with that. I can be a perfect Hero for one night, and then tomorrow I'll be back to goofing off out of the public eye. I'm okay.’

Twilight gave him a sad smile, which turned a little impish as he had an idea. Warriors looked suspicious. He tried to back away, but Twilight looped their arms together and pulled him toward the door. Even as suspicious as he was, Warriors opened it for them. Outside, the halls swam with the smell of cooking dinner. 

"I know. Let's go find Legend. He'll have some critiques for you."

Warriors burst out laughing. He let Twilight pull him along, and both of them knew that the only "critiques" Legend would have would be about how much effort Warriors had put into his appearance. 

"And thanks," Twilight added. "You're a good friend."

‘You, too,’ Warriors said, mouthing the words more than signing them, since one of his arms was still trapped. They grinned at each other and went to go crash Legend's guest room.

[dualdeixis]

[Image description: A digital drawing of 20-year-old Cyrus and 12-year-old Therion. In the top left, the two of them are drawn within a niche-shaped wooden frame. Cyrus wears a black riding jacket with golden embroidery and a long white cravat. He has a mellow smile as he places one hand on Therion’s shoulder. Therion wears a purple scarf with a lighter purple shirt and a black ribbon tie. He has a neutral expression and steadies one hand on Cyrus’s side.

The rest of the image is taken up by doodles. In the first, “Cyrus, the Scholar” is playing in the background as Cyrus happily chatters about something. Therion, holding an apple slice, looks around uneasily and thinks, “There’s that music again... Where’s it coming from...?” In the next, Cyrus calls out, “Let me see what you have!” Therion answers with a nonchalant smile, “A knife!” Cyrus cries, “NO—” In the next, Cyrus is sitting at a desk with parchment, ink, and a quill, and has his head in his hands. The text beside him reads, “Trying to write his final paper but started a lengthy internal debate on which style of cravat to buy for Therion.” In the last doodle, Therion hugs Cyrus and says, “Uncle, promise you won’t be mad...” Cyrus places his hands on Therion’s back with a concerned expression. End image description.]

(though if he caught me when i was still young, things might have been different…)

[callmertgamecrowd]

Some Christmas headcanons:

- Gregory used to make Christmas dinners whenever he wasn't working on a case

- The last Christmas before DL6 he managed to leave court early enough to cook a small meal in the evening (Miles had two Christmas meals as he spent lunch time with Phoenix and Larry) and invited Raymond to join them

- Years later, Miles regretted never learning the recipes but by the time he left the Von Karma household his father's stuff was long gone.

- The Von Karma's always did Christmas like everything else, perfectly - perfect pictures showing the perfect family, perfect meals cooked by professionals, perfect (not personal) presents. It didn't feel like family but more an obligation.

- The first year Miles had a proper Christmas was after Pheonix was disbarred - he had a lot of reason for it but the main ones being Trucy, Kay and Sebastian - all of which didn't really have proper Christmas's either

- Christmas for Trucy used to be small, just a few magical gifts before rehearsals continued. Her mother was always more about family, after she was gone there wasn't really much family time that wasn't based in magic

- Sebastian had good Christmas' with his mother around, once she disappeared...it was almost non existent - Blaise has no time to spent with his idiot son after all.

- For Kay Christmas reminded them of their dad, after that they never felt the same, it never felt like, well family. The presents were usually nice enough and the food good but it lacked...well the magic

- Miles was a little worried about celebrating but he wanted to try again, even if it was only for Trucy and the others. He invited his sister, Phoenix invited the Fey's, Kay invited Ray

- Ray ended up bringing a very familiar notebook with him, containing a few of the recipes Gregory had written down. Turns out he had been given it at Christmas, and treasured it ever since. He offered to teach Miles who accepted.

- There wasn't quite room at the table for everyone, in the end they gave up and all sat at various places on the floors, sofas and chairs around the room.

- The presents weren't perfect either, but many of them were homemade by Trucy - a beanie, a multicoloured cravat, a bird scarf, a red jacket with small musical notes sown on it etc

- Ray brought everyone Christmas jumpers, at first Miles and Franziska refused, but with a little persuasion from Trucy, even they wore them

- Franziska struggle a little at first with everything being so...well unorganised. She ended up storming out until Miles talked to her. That and seeing her so called "niblings" laughing together persuaded her that maybe she could get used to this new Christmas

- Over the years, everyone tried their best to be together for Christmas, it wasn't always in America but they always tried to get as many as possible to wherever it was happening

- Later, Apollo, Athena, Klavier, Simon all joined the celebrations, each being given one of "uncle ray's" Christmas jumpers once they joined, as an old tradition.

[imherongraystairstrash]

I know you write about relationships in TLH and TID that are rarely/seldom touched on in the books or extras, but I wanted to know if you would consider a Christopher and Thomas Lightwood fic. Maybe the first time they are both in the lab and Thomas experiences the first of the many explosions which Kit unintentionally created. You could follow it up with another scene: Thomas pointing out to Christopher what had led up to the explosion (a misidentified component or measurement).

Of course! I absolutely adore the Lightwood cousins! I put a tiny bit of all of them in this fic, but it's mostly focused of Thomas and Kit :)

Thomas and Kit:

Thomas’ sisters have been giggling for what felt like days. Not only giggling, but they kept pestering him, asking about what men fancied the most in women.

Oh, Tommy, do men like shorter hair or longer hair?

Do men prefer a woman who speaks softly or says what’s on her mind?

Thomas would always say the same thing: I don’t know.

Because, really, he didn’t. He’d never thought of women in that way, though the angel knew he’d tried. He simply couldn’t. His mind told him to like one thing, but his heart said otherwise. It was frustrating. And very confusing.

“Why can’t you just be yourselves?” Thomas said. “Who cares what the men think?”

They giggled again, which made Thomas furrow his eyebrows.

“Don’t you understand, Tom? You have to lure them in by attracting their attention, and then, once you have them wrapped around your finger—”

“Then, you can show your true colors.” Barbara finished.

“That’s a terrible idea.” Thomas said. “You’re just wasting your time.”

They both shook their heads in perfect synchronization.

“He’s too young.” Eugenia said.

“And innocent.” Barbara replied.

Thomas rolled his eyes as they giggled again, and began discussing possible bachelors.

Thomas could only tolerate two minutes before he felt suffocated and stood up, frustrated.

“Wait, we still need you.” Eugenia said.

“Where are you going, Tommy?” Barbara asked.

“Out.” He snapped, taking his coat from the hanger and tugging it on. He let the door close behind him, ignoring his urge to slam it, and quickly made his way down the steps of his house.

The cold air bit into his skin and made its way to his neck and down his back. He silently cursed his sisters for making him leave in such a rush that he forgot to take his scarf.

Thomas walked down the streets of London, letting movement cool his head.

He was tired of the world. Angry at it. The way his sisters embraced it and tried their very best to be a part of it. The way it would force him to live his life differently, with someone he could never truly love.

He wished it would disappear, leave him alone, and yet it was always there, floating over his head like a shadow.

He stuffed his hands in his pockets, and briskly crossed the street.

Most days, Thomas missed Idris; walking barefoot through the forest and simply being outside in the clean, rich air. In Idris, if he wanted to be alone, he could. He could lay on the grass and fill his lungs with it’s wonderful scent, or climb a tree and hum melodies of his own creation. Of course, he liked the fact that in London, he could be with his friends, but there are some things even friends can’t quite help with. His friends could calm his mind the way the soft breeze that ruffled his hair or singing of birds could.

Thomas didn’t realize where he was going until he was standing in front of his Aunt and Uncle’s house.

He knocked on the door, and when nobody answered, he shrugged and opened it.

He made his way through the house, poking his head in certain rooms, trying to find one of the residents. It was usually quiet today. He looked into the parlor and found Cecily with her back to him. She was swaying back and forth, her hair falling from it’s bun.

“Hello, Aunt Cecy.” Thomas said.

Cecily turned, and smiled when she saw him. Her eyes had bags under them, as she and Uncle Gabriel were very tired these days, the reason for which was soundly snoozing in Cecily’s arms. Thomas’ new baby cousin, Alexander (whom Kit had informed Thomas was very loud) apparently has lungs of steel. Cecily had said she looked like a raccoon these days, but Thomas thought she still looked as pretty as always. “Oh, hello Thomas. Have you come to see Christopher?” She asked, rearranging Alex’s blanket.

Thomas nodded, “is he here?”

“In his room. He’s been awfully quiet today.” She said, simply. Then she furrowed her eyebrows, as if realizing what she’d just said.

“Do make sure he's not partaking in something foolish while you’re there, Thomas, would you?”

“Yes, Aunt.” Thomas said, making his way up the stairs.

He hadn’t wanted to come any closer to his baby cousin, for fear that he’d wake him, and Aunt Cecy would have to put him to sleep again.

Thomas waved at Uncle Gabriel as he passed him in the study, as he walked down the hall. Gabriel waved back half-heartedly, as if the life had been sucked out of him.

When Thomas opened the door to Christopher’s room, he found him bent over the table in his room.

“You’re going to hurt your back if you stand like that.” Thomas said as a way of greeting.

His cousin looked up immediately.

“Shut the door,” he hissed.

Surprised and confused, Thomas did so, and Kit straightened.

“What ho! How wonderful that you are here, Tom. I was working on something fascinating.”

“Is it related to science in any way, because last time you tried something like it, you blew up one of Henry’s walls.”

“That was because I made a simple mistake.” Kit said, with a wave of his hand. “This time it’s different.”

Thomas wasn’t very convinced. He noted Kit’s askew cravat, his tousled hair, his glasses that sat crooked on his nose and his wide-eyed gaze and concluded that his cousin has officially lost his head.

“Why did you look like I’d committed the largest sin on the planet when I left the door open?” Thomas said, deciding to change the subject.

Kit scowled. “Alexander.”

Thomas blinked. “You’ll have to be a little bit more specific than that.”

“Any small amount of noise and Alexander will cry for hours.” Christopher said, scrawling something on a paper. “At least this way I don’t have to hear the racket so much.”

“Oh,” Thomas said.

“I don’t know why Mum and Dad even wanted another baby. They’re demonic creatures.”

“I thought you liked Alex.”

“When he didn’t cry so much.” Kit said, rather darkly.

Thomas had never seen his cousin so…gothic? Not only was he strangely gothic, but he has also thrown himself into science experiments, which didn’t settle well with Thomas. It was as if he were a mad scientist and Thomas, who’d read Frankenstein, didn’t think those two words were ever a good combination.

He cast an uneasy glance at Kit, who was biting his bottom lip as he combined two solutions.

“Kit, what are you even trying to accomplish?”

“Oh, erm, actually, I don’t know. I’m just observing what will happen if you combine— Oh, that’s not good,” Kit said.

“What’s not good?” Thomas asked, just as a large explosion answered the question for him.

“What the Hell was that?!” They heard Gabriel’s frantic voice call from the hall, just as Alexander began wailing and Cecily let out a noise that started out as frustration, then became something halfway between confusion and worry. Christopher, covered in soot, simply stared, dumbfounded, at the place where the vial had once been.

“Erm…” Thomas said, unsure of how to answer the question his uncle asked.

Not that it mattered, as Gabriel burst into the room a few seconds later. Much like his son, he blinked and just stared at the explosion site for the moment it took Cecily to come inside with a red faced Alexander in her arms. The latter was rubbing at his puffy eyes with his small fists, clearly not happy to have been woken up from his nap in such a way.

“Christopher Gideon Gabriel Lightwood, what in the name of Raziel have you done?” Cecily said, not hysterically, like most parents might ask, but more so weary, as though she wasn’t entirely surprised by the fact that there was an explosion in her residence on a Sunday morning.

Kit shrugged, still staring at the explosion site.

“Sorry to interrupt,” Thomas said, “but are these chemicals toxic? Shouldn’t we be evacuating?”

And for the first time in Thomas’ life, he saw his Uncle Gabriel and Aunt Cecily exchange a wide-eyed expression before Cecily ordered them all out of the room and briskly led them down the hallway.

She knocked on Anna’s door as they passed it. “Cariad, make haste, we’re evacuating the house.”

“Why?” Anna asked in a bored and strangely breathless voice, as if she were dancing.

“Your brother caused an explosion. Did you really not hear it?” Gabriel said.

“Oh, that’s what that was?”

“Yes, now come outside before you start glowing in the dark from the toxic fumes.” Cecily said firmly.

Anna groaned. “Alright. Let me get dre— I mean, I’ll be right down.”

Cecily sighed and continued down the hall.

…

Thomas waited outside with the Lightwoods, Anna climbing out of her window a short while later, not bothering to straighten her simple dress as she landed. If either Gabriel and Cecily were by any means surprised by Anna’s exit, neither remarked upon it. Nor did they mind that Anna was barefoot or that her wavy hair was unbound, waving in the wind like an ebony banner.

Gabriel and Cecily were simple folk, in that sense. They didn’t waste time trying to make their children conform to society, they just let them roam free.

Well, except for now, as they were scolding Kit, Cecily forbade him from any sort of experimentation within their house. They may differ from parents in many ways, but they were still parents, regardless.

Anna slumped down beside Thomas, watching the house.

“Another day, another dollar in the Lightwood residence.” Anna said mournfully.

Thomas just stared blankly ahead.

“One of these days, Tom, I’m going to get my own flat.”

Thomas nodded.

“And you can have my room here.” Anna said.

Thomas snorted. “Your room is pink. Very pink.”

Anna pressed her lips together. “Believe me, I’m aware.”

When Kit was done being scolded, he came over to them. Anna patted the grass next to where she was sitting and Kit plopped down beside her.

“How angry are they?” Anna asked.

Kit just frowned.

“At least they’re not disappointed.” Anna said, ruffling his hair.

Kit just pressed his lips together, identical to the way his sister had done shortly before. Anna and Kit looked very alike, despite their coloring. They always denied it, of course, just as Thomas always denies it when others say that he looks like his sisters.

“Well, you two are a dull bunch.” Anna said, getting up. “If neither of you are going to talk, I might as well leave.”

They watched her go to her father, most likely making a joke as she walked and despite everything that happened, Gabriel chuckled.

Kit scooted closer to Thomas, who put a hand on his cousin’s back.

“Maybe next time, you should study the chemicals better.” Thomas said, “see how they react to other chemicals. I don’t think spontaneity is something scientists encourage.”

Kit looked up.

“And maybe don’t do it in your room?” Thomas said.

Christopher nodded.

Thomas looked straight ahead, and they sat in a comfortable silence.

“Do you really hate Alex?” Thomas asked after a while.

“Not really.” Kit said. “He is just vexing sometimes.”

Thomas huffed a laugh. “I feel the same about Genia and Babs sometimes, if that makes you feel better.”

“I still like Alex, though.”

Thomas hummed. “Yes, I still love my sisters too.”

Thomas leaned back on his hands and closed his eyes. He may not be in Idris, but at least he still had his family. He may be different and the rest of the world might shun him, but at least his parents would still love him.

At least he was alive, and though sometimes it wasn’t always perfect, life was still good.

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