#dress with diagonal stripes

[july-19th-club]

my secret to the good life is if you go to the thrift store enough times you will actually find every expensive thing you are holding off on getting . picked up a pair of very good condition mens' dress shoes size seven today for what. 2.99. small price to pay for gender euphoria

[murrays-wardrobe]

Murray Ghosts For Ted (07x20) Outfit 3

[rafedarling]

𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐣𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐬𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐬

pairing: drew starkey x reader

summary: you work with loewe an got to attend the brand's fashion show in paris with your boyfriend actor drew starkey, who’s also an official guest. with the world aware of your relationship, your interactions are under scrutiny, but it's drew's secret jealousy over your celebrity crush, ryan corr, that adds a cute twist to your day at the show. through stolen glances, subtle tension, and some loving gestures, drew's feelings are clear, even though he tries to hide them.| words count: 2,4k

warning(s): i did change a tiny bits of details but hope you enjoy!!! english is not my native language. mention of ryan corr (my baby daddy), slight jealousy, fluff overload, public interations, drew being adorably jealous. base on this

au: like, reblog and comment are much appreciated. discussion can be send through my ask box, please feel free to send in anything. | taglist | tagging: @rubixgsworld @rafeyslamb @bisexualcvnt @tracymbcm @maybankslover @mileyraes @akobx @noobmazter69 @xoxohoneymoongirl @xoxosblogsblog @wearemadeofstardust0 @saviorcomplexrry @littlelamy @enjoymyloves @tini5 @drewstarkeys-world

Your Paris hotel room was warm and was bathed in a soft golden light from the setting sun, reflecting off the elegant décor. You had been fussing with your oversized light pink shirt for what felt like forever, trying to get the belt to sit just right. Across the room, Drew stood in front of the full-length mirror, completely absorbed in his reflection—but not in the vain, self-centered way. No, Drew was clearly excited, though he kept glancing at you between admiring his navy with white striped cardigan.

“I think this is it,” Drew finally said, adjusting the cardigan again. “But, you know, it doesn’t really matter what I wear.”

You glanced up from your belt, raising an eyebrow. “Oh? So now you’re going to pretend like you don’t care about looking good at a fashion show?”

He chuckled, walking over to you. “Nah, it’s not that. It’s just... look at you. No one’s gonna be looking at me tonight.” He stood in front of you now, hands casually tucked into the pockets of his jeans, staring down at you with the most obvious admiration in his eyes.

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t help the warmth that spread through you at his words. Drew was dressed in the perfect blend of casual and stylish: a dark pair of jeans, effortlessly cool sneakers, and the LOEWE navy blue cardigan with white diagonal stripes that hugged his frame in all the right places.

"You look amazing," he said, his voice softer, more sincere now. His fingers grazed the fabric of your oversized pink shirt, adjusting the belt around your waist. “Seriously, babe. You’re going to blow everyone away tonight.”

You looked down, hiding a smile. “I don’t know... I feel like I’m swimming in this shirt.”

Drew’s hands landed on your shoulders, and he took a step back to admire you. “Nope. You’re wrong. You look like you belong on the runway.”

Your heart fluttered under his gaze. The way Drew looked at you—soft, appreciative, like you were the only thing in the room worth paying attention to—made you feel like you were glowing. You’d seen that look from him a hundred times, but tonight, there was something different. Something deeper. He couldn’t stop staring, and it wasn’t just the fashion show nerves. It was pure affection.

“I think you’re exaggerating,” you teased, though your smile gave away how much you loved hearing it.

Drew chuckled, pulling you close by the waist and placing a soft kiss on your forehead. “I’m not exaggerating. I just can’t help it. Look at you. You’re perfect.”

You looked up into his eyes, a little flustered but completely in love with the way he was looking at you—like he couldn’t believe his luck. The intensity in his eyes felt almost palpable, as though he couldn’t quite get over the fact that you were his, standing there in front of him.

“Okay, okay,” you said, gently pushing him away, though you couldn’t stop smiling. “Enough with the compliments. We’re going to be late if we don’t leave soon.”

Drew laughed softly but didn’t take his eyes off you. “Sure, but just so you know, my eyes are going to be glued to you all night.”

The LOEWE fashion show was nothing short of breathtaking. The venue was packed with celebrities, designers, influencers, and fashion industry elites, all buzzing with excitement for the latest collection. Photographers lined the runway, their cameras flashing non-stop as everyone took their seats.

As soon as you and Drew entered, all eyes were on you both. Drew’s hand was gently wrapped around your waist, guiding you through the crowd as you made your way to your seats in the front row. The energy in the room was electric, and you could feel the anticipation for the show growing by the second.

You could also feel Drew’s gaze still on you, even though the show was about to begin.

“Are you seriously still staring at me?” you whispered, nudging him lightly as you took your seat.

Drew didn’t bother hiding his smile. “Yeah. You’re the most beautiful thing here.”

You felt your cheeks heat up, glancing away to try and shake the butterflies in your stomach. Drew wasn’t being overly dramatic—his voice was calm, soft, and completely sincere. When you finally looked back at him, his eyes hadn’t moved from you. He was practically beaming, like a kid in a candy store who couldn’t believe his luck.

“You’re supposed to be watching the show,” you reminded him, trying to keep your voice light, though your heart was doing flips.

“I am,” he replied, his eyes still glued to you. “Just not the runway.”

The lights dimmed, signaling the start of the show, and the first models began strutting down the runway in their stunning, avant-garde outfits. The crowd murmured in admiration, but Drew didn’t seem interested. His hand slipped into yours, giving it a gentle squeeze as his thumb lazily brushed over your skin.

You tried to focus on the models, the clothes, the lights—but it was impossible with the way Drew kept looking at you. His gaze was soft but intense, his eyes full of admiration and warmth. Every few minutes, he’d glance at the runway as if to remind himself where he was, but his eyes always returned to you.

“You’re hopeless,” you whispered, though you were smiling as you said it.

Drew just shrugged, his heart eyes fully on display. “Can’t help it.”

The show went on, and while everyone around you was absorbed in the incredible designs and the flawless models, Drew seemed perfectly content just sitting there, holding your hand and watching you like you were the only thing that mattered.

After the show, the venue transformed into a post-show party, with guests mingling, champagne being passed around, and conversations buzzing about the evening’s outfits. Drew kept you close, his arm around your waist, his hand never leaving yours.

“You’re seriously not going to take your eyes off me, are you?” you teased as you two wandered through the crowd.

Drew leaned in closer, whispering into your ear. “Not a chance.”

His voice sent a pleasant shiver down your spine, and despite the chaos of the party, you felt like you were in your own little bubble with him. You couldn’t help but grin, feeling the warmth of his affection radiating through every glance, every touch.

But then, as if on cue, things took a slight turn when you spotted a familiar face across the room. Your heart skipped a beat.

Ryan Corr.

Your longtime celebrity crush. He was standing just a few feet away, casually chatting with some industry insiders, looking as effortlessly cool as ever. For a moment, you forgot where you were, completely starstruck.

Drew, being ever observant, noticed your reaction immediately.

“Oh no,” he muttered, his voice low but teasing. “It’s him, isn’t it?”

You blinked, trying to snap out of it. “What? No. I mean, yeah, but it’s not a big deal.”

Drew raised an eyebrow, his lips curling into an amused grin. “Not a big deal? You’re literally glowing right now.”

You felt your face flush. “I am not glowing.”

Drew let out a soft chuckle, his arm around your waist tightening slightly. “You are. That’s your heart eyes face.”

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t deny the flustered feeling creeping up on you. “Okay, maybe it’s a tiny bit of a heart eyes situation. But I swear it’s nothing.”

Drew laughed, leaning in closer as his hand slid to the small of your back. “I don’t mind. Just don’t forget who you’re here with, alright?”

Before you could respond, Ryan Corr himself appeared in front of you, his easygoing smile making your heart do somersaults.

“Hey, I just wanted to say you’re killing it in that outfit,” Ryan said, his gaze landing on your oversized shirt. “LOEWE always knows how to make someone stand out.”

You opened your mouth to reply, but before you could, Drew stepped in, his grip on your waist just a touch firmer now.

“She pulls off everything,” Drew said smoothly, giving Ryan a smile that was friendly but clearly laced with something more. “But thanks. She looks incredible, right?”

Ryan nodded, clearly missing the subtle tension. “Yeah, she definitely does. Great taste.”

Drew’s smile tightened, and you could practically see the shift in his posture. He wasn’t angry—just a little competitive, a little protective. He wasn’t going to let Ryan out-charm him, not tonight.

“Yeah, well, I’m the lucky one who gets to take her home,” Drew said, his voice casual, but the look in his eyes said it all.

You bit your lip, trying to stifle a laugh at how obvious Drew was being. Ryan, blissfully unaware, gave you a polite nod and excused himself to mingle with other guests. The moment he walked away, Drew let out a dramatic sigh, his arm still firmly around your waist.

“Okay, I’ll admit it,” he muttered. “I might’ve been a little jealous.”

You raised an eyebrow, laughing softly as you leaned into him. “A little?”

Drew pouted, though his heart eyes were still on full display. “Alright, maybe more than a little. But come on, Ryan Corr?”

You smiled, wrapping your arms around his neck. “You don’t have to be jealous. You know I only have heart eyes for you.”

Drew’s expression softened instantly, his grip on you tightening as he pulled you closer. “Good,” he murmured, pressing his forehead against yours. “Because I’ve had them for you all night.”

You kissed him softly, letting the moment linger. When you pulled back, his gaze was still locked on you, filled with all the love and admiration you’d seen earlier—and more. His heart eyes weren’t going anywhere, no matter who else was in the room.

Later, back at the hotel, you and Drew collapsed onto the bed in a fit of giggles. The night had been a whirlwind, from the fashion show to the party, to Drew’s obvious—yet adorable—jealousy.

“You were so jealous,” you teased, lying down beside him and resting your head on his chest.

Drew groaned dramatically, covering his face with his hands. “I know. I’m never gonna live this down, am I?”

You laughed, wrapping an arm around his waist. “Nope. But I kind of liked it.”

He peeked out from behind his hands, his eyes sparkling with affection. “Really?”

You nodded, pressing a kiss to his chest. “It was cute. You’re cute. Even when you’re jealous.”

Drew sighed, pulling you closer and pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “Well, I guess it’s alright as long as I’m the only one you’ve got heart eyes for.”

“You always will be,” you whispered, smiling against him.

Drew smiled, holding you tightly as the two of you drifted into a comfortable silence. And as the night settled around you, you couldn’t help but feel incredibly lucky. No matter how many celebrities or crushes came and went, it was Drew who had your heart—and he knew it.

@drewxyn_updates

tag drewstarkey y/nusername loewe

683.911 likes

@drewxyn_updates LOEWE King and Queen! 👑💫 Drew Starkey and Y/n Y/l/n absolutely stole the show at the LOEWE runway, sitting front row together looking like a fashion power couple. Drew in that navy and white striped cardigan with a classic white tee underneath, paired with vintage-style jeans and leather boots — talk about effortlessly cool. 😍 Meanwhile, Y/n gave us all the runway vibes in that oversized pink belted shirt and wide-legged olive trousers. How do they make everything look so chic?! It’s giving model-off-duty meets high fashion royalty. ❤️✨

I can’t get over how adorable they look together, their chemistry is undeniable. Sitting so close, casually stylish yet turning heads, these two are pure fashion goals!!🔥💘 #CoupleGoals #DrewStarkey #YN #LOEWE #FashionIcons

Comments:

@starkeyy.love They are seriously the definition of 'power couple' 🔥🔥

@ynfashionfiles Drew’s cardigan is EVERYTHING! And Y/n slaying with that pink shirt?? Obsessed 😍

@fashionnista24 They look like they belong on the runway together 🥹❤️

@loewe_lovers Did they coordinate outfits or what?! LOEWE just won fashion week with them in the front row!

@couplegoals_daily I need a whole photo shoot of them, stat!! They’re too iconic 💫

@yn.dreamer Y/n always serving looks but this fit? On another level! 🥵🔥

@drewstarkey.stan Drew looks SO fine! That sweater is a vibe!! ��

@frontrow_faves Their outfits are EVERYTHING! LOEWE is lucky to have them in the front row 😍

@runwayicons It’s like they walked off the runway and into our hearts 🥺❤️

@fanficqueen89 I swear they must be dating, the chemistry is TOO real 💕✨

@celebritystyleedit Literally the best-dressed pair at fashion week! Can't wait for more from them 💖👗

@chicvibesonly I’m obsessed with how coordinated they look without even trying! Iconic ✨

[gimme-gimme-georgie-weasley]

The Weasley and his Cafe [G.W. x Reader]

Summary: George runs a little cafe in Diagon Alley

wc: 2.1k

a/n: i've actually had this idea in my drafts from April but never really bothered to finish it :') inspired by the time I went to a cosy little cafe and found the worker there really cuteehrjrhadsdjkasdkashdkhewastoooldforme. i love the idea of george starting up a cafe soo much

-

You hated Mondays. 

They seemed to suck the life out of you, one hour at a time. Long, winding hours that dragged on for centuries, doing hocus pocus groggily: like walking through thick sludge with weights tied to your ankles and eyelashes. So, to fix that, you found yourself strolling down Diagon Alley, looking for your fix of morning coffee. Just your luck, a new cafe had opened down the street. 

With the ring of a bell, a voice boomed from the far end of the little wizard-owned cafe.

“Welcome to Weasley’s Wonderful Waffles; we offer more than just waffles, though. Had to keep up the alliteration! But I assure you, our waffles are wicked.”

A tall, young man emerged from the back with an ivory espresso cup in one hand, and a cloth in the other. His freckled face stretched widely into a friendly smile. A cream-striped brown apron with a large “W” embroidered in green wrapped around his waist, his long red hair had been tied up into a topknot while long stray hairs framed his face. You could’ve sworn you saw a few piercings on his right ear.

The man then unsheathed his wand from his waistband, and, with the flick of a wrist, a chair slid out for you to sit on.

“Table for one, I presume?”

“Um! Yes, please.” 

You fiddled with the fleece of your coat, unsure of what to make of the lively interaction this early in the morning. The last time you checked your watch, which wasn't long ago, it had only been a quarter past seven. Where on Earth did this man's energy come from? “Lovely! The menu will talk to you shortly. I’ll be by the counter once you’re ready to order, love.” He said with a wink, and strode off.

Not long after, a shrill voice directed your attention to below you. The menu had grown a mouth and started listing out various pastries and drinks, though rather slowly. Do Monday Blues apply to talking menus? You thought to yourself.

The drag and sibilance had almost lulled you back to sleep before a “Weasley Latte” and “Wicked Waffle” jerked you awake. The dish names were certainly riveting. Just what exactly makes this latte a Weasley, and this waffle Wicked?

“I’ll have a Weasley Latte and a Wicked Waffle, please.” You said to the red-haired man at the counter not long after making your choice.

“Alright, that’ll be…” He fiddled with the cash-register that either barked or hissed each time he pressed a button, “1 Galleon, 12 Sickles, and 5 Knuts, dear.” He said with a delightful hum and looked up from the cash register to you with that same lovely smile.

For a brief moment, your eyes met. His were a lovely shade of hazel that glimmered in the morning sunlight that leaked through the blinds, revealing a deep chocolate shade underneath them, and before either of you could say a thing, a wave of customers dressed in Ministry robes swarmed the cafe engrossed in light chatter. You quickly pulled out the gold and silver from your purse with a flustered smile and scurried back off to your table by the window, muttering a quiet thank you.

He watched as you resigned yourself back to your table, amused at the interaction. His wide smile did not once falter.

It didn’t take long for you to be enamoured by the man’s cafe. 

Little trinkets that laid around on display occasionally burst out into life, flying around the cafe all the while putting a smile on the faces of customers. Magical portraits that hung around were either crocheting, enjoying a nice cuppa, or taking a catnap. You could’ve sworn there was a portrait of a man who looked exactly like him in deep sleep.

The counter housed a glass dish with coffee beans that smelled magical: a mix of chocolate and deep roasted notes. Fairy lights adorned the walls, adding to the warm and cosy atmosphere. Flowers came to life, engaging in conversation with people who seemed like they could use some company, and you were one of them.

Said flowers would occasionally mourn the dried flowers on display, “She was my best friend, she was. If only she hadn’t been so stubborn about that diet! Every flower knows they need to be watered every day, and not every three days!”

A vase of asphodels bubbled animatedly, each bud asked you about your day and asked if the waffles were really nice. You nodded politely and tried to offer a bud a bite of your waffles, but then remembered flowers probably couldn’t stomach waffles even if they tried.

“George is lovely, isn’t he?” One of the buds started as its leaves flailed around excitedly

“Terribly lovely!” A tiny sprout beside it giggled, “He always waters us with that lovely concoction! Makes my roots smoother.”

Ah, so his name’s George.

Then, before you knew it, you were back at the cafe the next week.

And the following.

Soon enough, you dropped by every day ordering the same Weasley Latte and the occasional waffle, and perhaps a glance or two at George. By then, you figured out what made a Weasley Latte a Weasley Latte was the extra spice it had to it. It tasted like nutmeg with hints of cinnamon and a spicy kick of ginger at the end. It really does the trick, waking you up and all.

George would drop by your table every now and then with a platter of different pastries in hand each time, saying it was “on the house” or "we had extra". You began to wonder who "we" was, because by the looks of it, he was the only one running the cafe, unless there was an elf with a Disillusionment charm running around. How he does it, you didn’t know; but he did a magnificent job running the cafe even during peak hours. You couldn’t help but admire that about him. He didn’t seem to crack under pressure and always wore that smile as if handling a hundred over customers was child’s play.

One particular day, the caffeine coursing through your veins had emblazoned you to do the unthinkable. Before George could walk off after the usual platter offering of enchanted eclairs this time, you spoke up.

“Um! Whatimed’youend?” You blurted out, face flushed.

Bloody brilliant. You ought to Scourgify your mouth and Obliviate yourself when you get home. Maybe invest in a Pensieve too, just to relive this memory every time you need to ground yourself.

“Sorry, dear? I didn’t quite catch that.” George cocked his head to the side.

You quickly composed yourself, “What time do you end?”

Was it even possible for the man’s smile to widen even further? Surely it couldn’t be. Nevertheless, he managed to grin twice as wide. He shoved his tea towel into the front pocket of his apron.

“Eleven. You can tell me all about yourself when I close up shop, love.” He said, winked, and walked off, leaving you in a stupor as he tended to a customer in need of a refill of water.

“Oh, goodness, Y/N’s in love.” The vase of asphodels cooed in a sing-song fashion.

“Am not!” You argued, but the wild grin on your face said otherwise as you tried to help yourself to the eclairs and now-tepid coffee. You should’ve casted a Stasis charm on it.

“Are too!” A pot of lilies giggled.

* * *

Eleven o'clock surprisingly came faster than you were actually ready for. Bloody hell, did someone speed up your watch? Nevertheless, you flattened out the creases in your clothes, checked yourself out in the mirror, and combed through your hair for the umpteenth time before finally heading out. 

Curse you, caffeine high.

You apparated with a crack in front of the cafe, and found him closing up. His back was turned to the window while he enchanted the mops and brooms to clean the floor. Chairs levitated and rested upside down on the tables. A couple of “Scourgify'' charms got rid of coffee stains and crumbs left behind by crumbly pastries.

His head then craned upwards to the vase of asphodels that whispered to him. Then, he quickly twirled around. You stood there, smiling awkwardly at him through the window as his mouth was left agape. He looked down at his watch, then back at you, then his hands flew up to his head in exasperation as though he had forgotten he left a fire-breathing dragon unattended in a wooden home.

“Oh, Merlin! I lost track of time! I’ll be with you shortly, dear!”

It was only five minutes past eleven, what was the rush?

Five minutes later, he came running out of the cafe with a few paper bags in hand and apron neatly shrunk and tucked away into his back pocket. The sleeves of his sweater were rolled up to his elbows, revealing his forearms. His hair was now out of the top-knot. It rested nicely on his broad shoulders, and framed his face even more delicately. He brushed a strand behind his ear, now revealing the piercings you had suspected were there. 

You quickly swallowed the lump in your throat and looked elsewhere before he caught you staring.

“Did you wait long?” He asked as he cast charms on the shop.

“Not really, it’s alright.” You said as he muttered the last few charms, completely thief-proofing it.

After sheathing his wand in his waistband, he stuck out his arm in an offer for you to take it as the two of you began your trip down the alley and to nowhere in particular.

Then, silence befell the two of you as you walked down the streets of Diagon Alley. The moon was in full view as stars glimmered in the night sky. The sound of your heels clicking down the cobbled pathway of the street echoed throughout the now-quiet town. In the corner of your eye, you saw Madam Malkin closing up shop.Ollivander’s was already closed. Eeylops Owl Emporium was still open, surprisingly.

“You know, I never really caught your name,” George started, breaking the silence, “Oh, and before I forget, these are for you.”

He reached out, offering you a white paper bag with the same green “W” that was on his apron.

“Eclairs, dear. I saw you eating them with a lot of gusto.” He chuckled.

“I– Oh my goodness–,” You flushed, “I’m Y/N, by the way. You’re George, right? The flowers talk about you a lot.” you managed out as you accepted the paper bag.

George’s face brightened.

“Indeed, I am! And you’re from Hogwarts, too, aren’t you? I think I remember you getting your cauldron stuck to the table in fifth year potions, was it? Cost your house a fortune for that from Snape, didn’t you?” He said, eyes twinkling with each word that came out.

You stayed quiet for a few seconds in awe. How on earth did he remember that? That was, what? Aeons ago? 

And soon, the night was spent walking aimlessly as you both recounted your years at Hogwarts. He rambled about his family, the shop, and quidditch. (“The Irish team remain undefeated, I dare say!”) You rambled on and on about your freelance writing career and a novel you were itching to publish. Neither of you really seemed to touch on the war. It was best that way. 

You both shared a particular distaste for the Daily Prophet, and had shared horrible experiences with Rita Skeeter.

“Honestly, I can’t stand her! Did you know? My sister-in-law found out she was an unlicensed Animagus in her fourth year and held her captive in a glass jar? Brilliant, she is.”

“By sister-in-law, you mean Hermione Granger? Minister for Magic? That’s wonderful, George.” 

Your head craned down over to your watch, then over to your front door. You must have subconsciously walked the path home while in deep conversation with him.

“Well, George. Thanks for the night. It’s been lovely– you’ve been lovely. Well, here’s my house.” You said sheepishly as the two of you stood outside your door facing each other.

He chuckled, “You’ve been quite lovely yourself.”

Silence. 

Then,

“No, you’ve been really, really, lovely. The free pastries, the wonderful lattes– I mean what on earth is it that you put inside it? It’s magical, that’s what it is– and your cafe’s interior design is just brilliant–” You found yourself rambling like a hormonal teenage girl confessing her love to her crush. Then, a hand found its way to your cheek, cupping it as his face leaned into your ear, with barely a whisper.

“Don’t worry, I fancy you too.”

A quick peck was placed. He winked that same signature wink that left you weak in the knees. Then, he Disapparated, smiling at you with that stupidly beautiful smile.

The sound of the crack echoed and lingered for a while, ringing in your ears as did those six words that left you speechless.

Then, the ringing faded out and clarity came crashing in like a tsunami. It hit like a stunning spell.

“He fancies me, too.”

--

[sewlastcentury]

Going to a vintage-dresser pride party on Friday and realized I didn’t have any rainbow clothing. 12 hrs later, problem fixed!

I used the pattern block I made for my 1840s cabbage rose dress (did I ever post that here?) and extended the front before trying it on and drawing out the point I wanted. The stripes on this fabric are diagonal, so it was actually kind of difficult to place all my pieces so that they’d be doing the right thing 😅🏳️‍🌈

I needed to make this quickly and I don’t have a serger here, so it’s unlined and I only finished some of the seams after sewing it together, but I think that’s pretty historically accurate anyway 🤣 I’m super happy with how it’s turned out!

[ I drafted the bodice pattern from Elizabeth Friendship’s book Making Working Women’s Costume, and I’m wearing it over my old Redthreaded 1860s corset. ]

[voguefashion]

Zendaya in Maison Margiela Artisanal by John Galliano creation, based on a 1999 Dior dress. The one-shouldered gown featured a long trumpet skirt covered in royal-blue and emerald-green diagonal stripes, as well as fruitlike embellishments adorning one side of the waist. She upped the ante with a net mesh and tulle-feathered fascinator, at the Metropolitan Museum’s Costume Institute Gala Exhibition of “Sleeping Beauties: Reawakening Fashion” in New York on May 6, 2024.

[lisbeth-kk]

May Prompts (23) Apology

The Luckiest Girl in the World (chapter23)

Summary: Rosie shares a surprise with her parents and uncle. All of them have different thoughts about this unexpected development, and silent negotiations are carried out.

Twenty-Three Years Old

I knew that Papa not fully understood my reason for studying international politics and data, but to his credit he didn’t for one second try to convince me to give it another thought and opt for something science related instead. Dad was just relieved that I’d finally had found a path to walk, after several failed attempts. Uncle Myc, well he tried to hide how utterly pleased he was with my choice, but by now I knew him well enough to read the signs. Truth be told, said signs weren’t that subtle.

“Bien choisi ma chérie,” he beamed at me, while Papa scowled at him.

“Merci oncle,” I retorted. “I can’t wait to start this and go to Paris.”

The three-year BA degree was taught by The University of London Institute in Paris. We would be taught in English, but if we had an A level in French, we could also take French courses. I’d learned French in school for years, and uncle Myc and I often conversed in French when uncle Greg wasn’t around.

I think it’s needless to say that my security and comfort in France was well taken care of. Papa and uncle Myc had a conversation using their eyes only when I spilled the beans. Dad knew exactly what was going on and went to make tea while negotiations were carried out. Once the brothers were satisfied, uncle Myc took out his phone and sent several texts or emails. By now, I knew it’ll be futile to pester any of them of what was going on. I was just relieved that no one had tried to talk me out of it, making me feel uncertain or guilty for leaving the country; actually, moving out of my childhood home.

My reasons for choosing this subject were multifaceted. I’d always enjoyed learning facts, obscure and otherwise, about different countries and cultures. Having had a relatively unorthodox upbringing, containing all sorts of people, played a big part too. The cherry on top was that the school was abroad. Nana’s tales of her experiences overseas and how educating it is to have lived some time in another country and society, had always seemed enticing to me.

***

The university was situated close to the Invalides and the Seine, while my lodgings were in the Charonne area in the 11th arrondissement on a cosy cobble street, with a nearby metro station. My landlady, Marguerite Vachon was one of uncle Myc’s acquaintances, from where, I still have no idea. 

Marguerite preferred that I used her given name instead of the formal, Madame Vachon.

“Je ne suis pas ancient,” was her favourite line and reminded me quite a lot of Nana.

“I am not ancient, dear,” was a statement Nana had used every so often.

Marguerite was a petite and elegant woman. Her hair was cut in a bob, coloured black with a few red stripes. I never saw her without lipstick or makeup. She always wore bespoke dresses and high heeled shoes. I deduced that she was far more than a landlady. When I left for school in the morning, I could hear her sing or talk on the phone, and when I returned, she always opened her door and inquired about my day.

“She’s clearly spying for Mycroft,” Papa’s voice told me.

And there was something about her, which I couldn’t put my finger on. Something mysterious, secret, perhaps even dangerous. 

***

It seemed like Marguerite had my schedule memorised. Not that I’d given her the information, but when she slipped, I got my suspicions confirmed. To be fair, it wasn’t slipping per se. She couldn’t have known that class was dismissed early that day.

Luckily, I spotted her and was able to hide behind a wall before she saw me. I’d almost missed her, because she wasn’t wearing her normal dress and high heels, but red trousers, a white and blue-striped jumper, and white trainers. Instead of one of her posh handbags, she had a dark blue canvas bag diagonally draped over her chest.

Papa had taught me a few tricks when it came to the fine art of following people without being discovered. I’ve never had much use of them obviously, but now I saw an opportunity. How I would explain this and apologise if I was caught, never crossed my mind.

I was sceptical when Marguerite walked to the metro station, but I was able to get into the same carriage as her, and it seemed that she had no idea she was being followed. She got off three stops later and walked in the direction of the big Père-Lachaise cemetery.

A fitting location for obscure and shady affairs.

Marguerite knew where she was going, walking briskly but not hurried. I had walked the premises several times before and knew where she was headed when I saw the grand tomb of Sir Richard Wallace, the British baronet who contributed millions to the Parisian poor during the Siege of Paris in the early 1870s.

This reeked of another posh Brit I knew.

When Marguerite had placed a folder by the tomb and another woman picked it up five minutes later, I had a hard time keeping myself composed. The woman picking up the folder was the French equivalent of Anthea.

I sent uncle Myc a text when both women were out of sight.

Thanks for keeping track on me, but this thing is like being part of a French noir film. You can tell Papa I think you’re both growing sentimental, and I demand an apology!

Also available on AO3

@calaisreno @totallysilvergirl @keirgreeneyes @raina-at @helloliriels

More tags in the replies

[romainlettusdinnerparty]

so as much as i would Love (big capital L) will to be borrowing mikes clothes i think they are his own/ more having to do with his character than with mike being more likely to own darker colors.

first of all, i think his pants are dark brown and not black,, like in the og leak where hes wearing the same fit as the most recent one you can kinda see by his shoes where theyre getting a little more light and look brown not black.

which like they are a much darker brown than we’ve ever seen him in so that definitely means something,, probably a darker or more depressing look at his character, maybe this time more coming from an internal place where he is choosing to wear things that will make him blend into the background rather than pure circumstance causing him to be a victim. like vecna taunting max, making her even more depressed than she would be otherwise, and her wearing darker neutrals most of the season because of her grief and self loathing compelling her to want to hide away from her loved ones.

then we have the shirt with the stripes and the layers which is soooo interesting to me!! it feels like a twist on the classic will byers look. like he loves a stripe and he loves a layer but we always see him in warm tones with a lot of crowded pattern. this shirt has pattern but it’s stripes are diagonal and sparse. he’s off kilter!! he’s a shell of his former self!! hes always so warm and so bright and these are suuuuch cool tones. his life force is being drained!! king is going through it!!

in conclusion will byers has depression and is dressing for the occasion <3

[raz-writes-the-thing]

Could Have Been On A Picnic (Doctor Who)

Tenth Doctor x GN!Reader / requests are open and encouraged

Summary: You're pretty sure the Doctor cooks things like this up specifically to irk you. After all, you could have been on a picnic today.

CW: The Doctor will rot your teeth, crack fic, fluff.

Doctor Who tag list: @nyxiethesimp @quickslvxrr (send an ask to be added to a tag list!)

___ ___ ___ ___ ___

Of all the ways you thought today would be going- being undercover in an alien hideout on planet Earth in the year 3748AD was not one of them. Particularly because when you woke up this morning, the Doctor had promised you a picnic in the Isles with all the trappings of a good time. Wine, music, cheeses, fresh baked breads. Oh, it was going to be heaven. 

You could picture it now. You nibbling on cheeses and grapes as the Doctor lay half on the blanket and half on the grass, propping himself up on his elbows and soaking in the sunlight, telling you about some sort of intergalactic muffin he’d stopped from taking over the world or something. He’d told you there’d be cliffs with views of the ocean, and you had a sneaking suspicion that the Doctor had been planning on taking you to Scotland. He’d even said he was taking you during whale season. If you were lucky you might even see a migrating pod. You’d been forced to give up this beautiful picturesque morning out… for this. 

“Oh, come on now, you look great!” The Doctor stifled his laughter with an extremely fake-sounding cough. “No, really! Never better.” 

You glared at the Doctor and slapped at his shoulder, delighting in the offended “Oi- that hurt!” that instantly followed. Good. You hope it hurt. You hope it made him think about his actions and regret it (as if that ever happened).

“You’ll live,” you grumbled, smoothing down the fabric of your spandex body suit. Seriously? It was 3748AD and they hadn’t found a better alternative to spandex yet? Ridiculous.

The two of you were currently undercover in an alien nest. They were posing as humans in a travelling circus. What had initially clued you into the fact that there were otherworldly beings here up to no good had been the simple fact that no matter where the circus went, people disappeared. Not just patrons, though. Workers too. Of course, this lure was far too appealing to the Doctor, and so you’d found yourself at the circus in question and examining all of your life's choices that had led you up to this. Including, of course, the close mental picturing of the morning that should have been if it weren’t for these meddling aliens.

Of course, within about ten minutes the Doctor had scanned around and discovered what the problem was. Then, he’d whipped out this fun little number for you and put himself into a far less ridiculous outfit. Sometimes you thought he did this on purpose. 

In fact, you were certain he did this on purpose. 

Your fun little fit was a leotard in vibrant stripes of colour winding across your form on the diagonal. It wasn’t even a rainbow. There was a brown stripe followed by a red, followed by a yellow and followed by a purple. It made no sense and was a complete eyesore. The sequins did not help. They didn’t even match the stripes they were sewn onto. 

What was worse than that, though… Was the mask. Was it a mask or a hat? You weren’t sure. The only thing you were sure of was the fact that it was a fucking travesty and you did not want it on your head. A soft, fluffy thing that you were thinking was supposed to be some sort of alien giraffe? But you weren’t entirely sure on that either.

The Doctor, much to your disappointment, was not dressed in such a ridiculous fashion and was dressed up in a red coat with a black ribboned tophat. He looked, comparatively anyway, relatively normal. 

There really was no need for this. 

“I’m beginning to think you handed me this on purpose,” you grumbled, fiddling with the fabric. It was hot in there, and you were beginning to sweat uncomfortably. 

“Me? Never!” The Doctor replied, scanning a locked door with his Sonic. You huffed as he tried his best to turn away before you saw the grin stretching out across his face and followed him in, having to lean down to get the stupid head of the giraffe thing through the doorway. 

This, of course, caused the Doctor to break out into another laugh. 

“Shut up, Doctor,” you said, ripping the hat off and throwing it down next to one of the crates littering the ground. The Doctor pouted, looking genuinely disappointed. 

“Oh, what’d you take it off for? I thought it suited you. Very nice, that was.” 

You glared, wiping the sweat off your brow and unsticking the sweaty hair from your forehead. You reached out to wipe it on him and the Doctor teetered back, doing his best to escape your fingers.

“Yeah, yeah. Laugh all you want now. Next time I’m picking the stupid costumes. Then we’ll see who’s laughing, won’t we.” 

You’re pretty sure the Doctor makes a mental note to never get the two of you in a situation where costumes are required ever again. 

“You’re no fun,” he grins boyishly. 

“We both know that’s not true.” 

He nods his head thoughtfully for a moment, before going back to scanning the room and its contents. 

“Yeah- yeah, you’re right. You’re loads of fun. The best of fun! After all, who else would put that on and saunter into the belly of the beast with me, eh?” 

“Who indeed,” you reply, kicking at a scrap of fabric. “Look at us go.” 

Look at you go indeed.

[acronym-chaos]

Fashionistasensus

[PT: Fashionistasensus].

[ID: A flag with six diagonal stripes. The width and colors from leftmost to rightmost stripes of the flag are: thick rose ebony, thick antique fuchsia, medium light pink, medium pink lavender, thick orchid, and thick twilight lavender. In the center of the flag there is an orchid symbol of a side looking silhouette of a human head with six rays around it. Both the head and rays are outlined twice with rose ebony and twilight lavender. Inside the head is a symbol of a dress with sparkles around it. End ID].

Fashionistasensus: A sensus term for when your mindset is or resembles that of a fashionista.

[ID: A purple thin line divider shaded at the bottom. End ID].

Requested by @stuff-we-are

@radiomogai @elpisflags

[july-19th-club]

canny BELIEVE the philharmonic box office is closed weekends. i mean i guess to be expected, it's just erie pa, why wouldnt they be. but you get a 10% discount on your tickets if you call instead of doing it online and i have to wait until tomorrow morning im so impatient im SO ready to enter my fine arts era again

[murrays-wardrobe]

Mary and the Sexagenarian (07x19) Outfit 2

[waltergoldpreppy]

A Golden indoctrination for Anthony

After returning home, Anthony is seized by a new obsession: to stay within the rules. His casual clothes that he loved so much, those worn shorts and t-shirts, no longer seem appropriate to him. Instinctively, he can no longer allow himself to slack off. He checks his phone and sees that he has received a new message from *Waltergold*, accompanied, this time again, by a video. Without even thinking, he puts on his headphones and presses "play".

The golden background fills his screen. Unlike the first video, there is no flickering, just this golden glow, captivating, still. Anthony feels his thoughts calm down, his mind immersed in this perfect light. "It's beautiful", he thinks. "It's magnificent…"

When he blinks again, he realizes that it is night. He looks at the clock: 6am. He’s all sore, his muscles aching, as if he’s had a hard workout. He glances around his apartment and notices that he’s packed up his things, changed his clothes during the night. Next to him, a summary of his order from a formal wear website is displayed on his computer: shirts, dress pants, ties, suit, dress shoes everything is there. He also has a confirmation of a registration at a local gym.

Anthony gets up slowly, still groggy, and decides to make a healthy breakfast. He makes himself scrambled eggs, whole-wheat toast, and a protein smoothie. While eating, he checks his messages on Tumblr. *Waltergold* has texted him again.

“Package’s been sent, bro. It’ll be here soon.”

He can’t suppress a shiver of excitement. For some reason, he can’t wait to receive this package. Everything in his life seems to be taking a new turn. He also decides to confirm his registration at the gym he found online. It is associated with the local soccer team, which seems to him to be a good sign.

Anthony wakes up early, feeling full of motivation. He packs his bag to go to the gym before going to work. He carefully chooses his clothes: a pair of sneakers, black technical fabric shorts, a short-sleeved shirt for training, and formal clothes for the office. He opts for a light blue cotton shirt, black fitted pants, brown leather dress shoes, a tie with subtle diagonal stripes, and does not forget his classic steel wristwatch. Everything has to be perfect.

Once his bag is ready, he heads to the gym. It is located not far from his home, modern and well-equipped. When he arrives, he goes to the reception, where he is greeted with a cordial smile. The walls are decorated with photos of local teams, trophies, and men in action on the field. One detail catches his eye: several of these men are wearing Gold jerseys, just like the ones he saw in the Team Gold stories.

As he begins his session, Anthony listens to the new soundtrack sent by *Waltergold*. He has called it “Training.” The track starts with regular beats, reminiscent of a running rhythm, mixed with words he can barely make out.

“Discipline… Obedience… Conformity…”

These words resonate in his mind, almost in synchronicity with his movements. He runs on the mat, doing series of push-ups and squats, feeling more and more focused, as if the track is strengthening his determination.

As he walks around the room, he notices several men. Some are wearing that famous Gold jersey. They are tall, muscular, their bodies seem perfectly sculpted. Their tight jerseys show off every muscle in their torsos, and each jersey bears a name emblazoned in bright Gold numbers on the back. They train with methodical precision, their gazes focused, almost unwavering. Their movements are fluid, as if they are part of a well-rehearsed choreography, a discipline that impresses Anthony. He can’t help but watch them, fascinated.

After two hours of intense effort, Anthony is exhausted but satisfied. His muscles burn, but it’s a feeling he’s learning to appreciate. He heads to the locker room, where he quickly undresses to wash himself.

Under the hot water of the shower, he thinks back to these men, their Gold jerseys, and their apparent devotion to a team, to a cause.

Once he’s done showering, he changes. His movements are almost mechanical, instinctive. He first puts on his underwear, then his fitted black pants. The soft material slides easily against his still damp skin. Next, he puts on his light blue shirt, carefully ironed, and adjusts it perfectly around his neck before buttoning each button with almost obsessive precision. He knots his tie carefully, checking several times that the knot is perfectly centered and that no creases disturb its perfection. Finally, he puts on his brown leather dress shoes, their impeccable shine briefly catching the light.

Before leaving the locker room, he looks at himself in the mirror one last time, running a hand through his carefully gelled hair, making sure each strand is in its place, and checks his tie knot again. Everything is in order.

On the way to work, Anthony feels strangely calm, but also determined. Something in him has changed, and he’s not sure he can go back.

(End of part 4)

Part 3

[its-stimsca]

WILLIAM AFTON STIMBOARD FOR DAY 20 OF STIMTOBER I AM INDESCRIBABLY EXCITED FOR THE FNAF MOVIE

👔 🔪 👔

🔪 👔 🔪

👔 🔪 👔

ID below cut

[Image ID

Gif 1: The Camera explores a dark hallway devoid of all people. The walls are blank, and the top half of the hallway is painted purple while the bottom half is painted dark green, a small strip of orange paint dividing the two. The carpet is a gross grayish brown, and the ceiling is white and tiled. An opening is labeled on the left by a sign hanging from the ceiling, reading “Men”, and a sign reading “Women” can be seen further down the hallway.

Gif 2: A dimly lit room with various pieces of electrical and sciencey looking equipment laying around. One of them sparks up, shooting a flame of purple fire into the space and lighting up the room.

Gif 3: A close up shot of someone’s chest, They are wearing a black suit, with a white dress shirt, and purple tie. Their right hand reaches up to straighten the tie before falling back to their side.

Gif 4: A close up shot of the ground in the city during a rain storm. The water reflects the lights further up the street of cars driving through the rain, and neon signs of buildings. The image is tinted purple.

Gif 5: William Afton from the Five Nights at Freddy’s movie, played by Matthew Lillard. He is mid sentence in the gif. He wears a gray dress shirt with crisscrossing black lines that form a grid pattern, along with a purple tie with thin, black diagonal stripes. He is a white man who looks to be in his 50s, his short hair beginning to gray. He has a beard that connects to a mustache, and wide-rimmed glasses. He’s in an office.

Gif 6: The Camera hovers in front of a silver machine with a circular purple screen in the middle, turned off. The screen has grid lines on it, and below the screen the words are printed “Oscilloscope, Model 460.” Various other black dials are scattered across the panel’s surface.

Gif 7: Two keys dangle from a key ring, a third key on the ring inserted into the lock of a door. The door is white and the keys are silver, but the image is tinted purple.

Gif 8: Two hands manipulate the fingers of a doll hand, each joint articulated. The image is tinted purple.

Gif 9: The cameraman is exploring an empty, dark, movie theater, the camera panning around to show off the space. The walls and chairs are a desaturated blue, while the railings of the aisles are painted purple.

[historical-closet-raider]

Stripey Sunday

Image credit - Augusta Auctions

This 1825-30 dress was part of Tasha Tudor's extensive costume collection before being auctioned in 2007.

Here's the description given on the the Augusta Auctions website:

"Roller printed in stripes of orange, brown and white over-printed with red and blue florals, rounded neckline, centre front closure, bodice with tucked bias diagonal bands across the chest, full puffed sleeve tapering to 1" piped cuff, self fabric button on each cuff, apron front gathered to drawstring tie, finished with attached 2" fabric belt, full gathered skirt, muslin lined bodice, sleeves and hem facing, probably English"

I feel cosy just looking at this dress. It has peak grandma's curtain energy and peak autumn vibes.

[voguefashion]

Zendaya in Maison Margiela Artisanal by John Galliano creation, based on a 1999 Dior dress. The one-shouldered gown featured a long trumpet skirt covered in royal-blue and emerald-green diagonal stripes, as well as fruitlike embellishments adorning one side of the waist. She upped the ante with a net mesh and tulle-feathered fascinator, at the Metropolitan Museum’s Costume Institute Gala Exhibition of “Sleeping Beauties: Reawakening Fashion” in New York on May 6, 2024.