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gothamopossum · 4 years

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Fashion Rant: Alastor Edition

There are two characters that I find the most visually grating: Alastor and Vox (they can fight over who wins first place). But this rant is all about Alastor, as asked for by @ckret2

I love the characters, don’t get me wrong. But a rant is a rant. To preface this entire spiel, it’s worth noting that not all things that look good in real life look good in animation (and vice versa). Usually, though, the disparity between their visual appeal across both mediums isn’t that large. BUT THIS. It’s already hanging on by a thread in the cartoon. I cannot for the life of me imagine this ever existing in real life AND looking good.

I will try to break his outfit down and format it so that this is all easier to understand. Fair warning: in total, this is about 1400 words roasting our beloved demon.

Overall Issues

The Fit: Suits from the 1900s and the next several decades are looser and cut a boxier figure (I’m talking American fashion, specifically). I find fit just as, if not more indicative of time period compared to a lot of other key visual indicators (which can sometimes be shared by decades far apart)

The Color: I think we can all agree he’s too red. Too much red. I love the color red but damn. As elaborate suits were at the time, suits in that color family were closer to a duller red/maroon, with the brighter reds either being in the tie, pocket square, boutonniere, or other accessories. Borderline monochromatic suits also weren’t in vogue. More colors meant a more elaborate look, and a more elaborate look meant you were fashionable.

Too many fabric/color changes within the same garment (I’ll get into this in a later)

Lack of accessories: Although much of this is down to personal preference, the general vibe was that you had at least some bling on you.

I will say, however, that despite the excessive use of pinstripes in other characters, the one character they are bang on for is Alastor. Pinstripes were incredibly fashionable starting the 20s and I think tapered off somewhere in the 50s.

Specific Elements

The Collar & Coat

I’ll start with the collar. I’m treating this as a separate entity since I can’t surely say if it’s a part of the coat OR the shirt.

There are two options: Either his shirt has a bright red body that transitions into a dark red standing collar, or (this one is more likely) the coat closes up again at the neck, meaning there are two useless flaps of stiff fabric masquerading as lapels at chest height.

From the perspective of garment construction, lapels are meant to support and decorate the suit at the neck opening. The presence of ANOTHER method of jacket closure much higher up the neck make the lapels redundant and confusing, not to mention the fact that they’re in an entirely different fabric/color.

So to me, not only is this nothing but a glorified, decorated boob window (watch out, Angel Dust). But also a pointless one since we don’t even see his chest, but instead that thing, that shirt underneath.

The tattered ends of his coat seem to be a matter of choice since they don’t appear on any other character. So either the coat is incredibly old and it hasn’t been repaired due to possible sentimental value, or this is some thinly veiled nod to something we don’t know yet. The tattered bits, on top of the rest of his coat, are a lot.

The Cuffs

I thought at first that the bright red bits on the coat were the ends of the shirt, but then I found this reference image showing a smaller black cuff on his left hand and none on the right.

That means 3 things:

That the Ugly Shirt changes color AGAIN (from red to black) at the cuff (Why????)

That the jacket changes color and/or fabric at the cuff (WHY????????????. This makes me want to set them on fire. I can’t even find an example of a suit jacket changing color just at the cuff. That’s how bad it is. Even bad clothing designers in real life know NOT to do it. It makes your arm look shorter than it actually is); and

That the shirt cuff migrates to and fro, sometimes hiding under the jacket and sometimes showing, which is borderline a sin in menswear. Any tailor worth their salt keeps the cuff of the shirt showing regardless of the arm position of the person wearing the suit (conventionally by about ¼” past the jacket cuff at resting position, if my knowledge serves me correctly). Just imagine a guy in real life without the shirt cuff showing past the jacket – in some way he looks nakey.

So, a summary of the Hideous Coat: has two different closures (a standing collar AND separate lapels), a boob window, is made up of FOUR different fabrics (pinstripe body, plain red sleeves & collar, dark lapels, and bright cuffs), and a tattered hem.

A side note: Because I see people drawing men in suits with a lot of folds in it. A suit, since it’s conception, has always been meant to cut a dignified and elegant figure. Unless it’s made of light fabrics usually used in summer suits, like silk or linen, THAT MANY folds just means the suit is incredibly poorly made. (especially when you see the sleeve twist. That is the worst offender. Why waste gasoline when you can use that suit jacket to start the fire instead).

The Shirt

Several people have already mentioned this, but the shirt is UNtucked (I concur – unacceptable), has this cross emblazoned on the front, has said cross end in the middle of the shirt, and, as we have now established, changes color at the cuff. Now, differently colored shirt cuffs do work. But the only good examples that I know of are a more colorful shirt body (usually a pale pastel or another soft color), and white cuffs (sometimes with the matching white collar). Graphic elements in menswear like the cross also didn't really exist on garments until about the 50s/60s, but even then not on dress shirts, just sweaters and cardigans.

I saw someone mention the use of a dickey – which only works if Alastor has some sort of vest or waistcoat involved. But since we don’t see any indication of a vest, I’m just going to assume that the bits we see exposed are all parts of one shirt. *shudder*

All things considered, I think that the Ugly Shirt is definitely the lesser offender of Alastor’s Hot Mess Outfit compared to the Hideous Coat. I say lesser offender because if you tuck this shirt in and add a couple accessories, then immediately it’s already not the worst thing you’ve seen on this planet. That coat is a different story.

The Pants

His pants should be tapered at the ankle, not flared out. However, a loose pant leg of approximately the same circumference all the way down would also be acceptable.

On to the accessories

Monocle: its presence I don’t have as much of a problem with as I do its color. The metal bits I find are hard to see against the dark bits of his hair (not to mention that shinier metallics were more of a norm then compared to the duller finish we see on Al’s monocle). But also WHY would it be tinted?????? Hell already seems red as fuck. WHY do you need a red tinted monocle????

Bowtie: WHY is the knot a different color????????? Hand tied (hell, even pre-tied) bowties are made of ONE fabric all the way. Unless this is one of those artisan clip on bowties using feathers or other unconventional materials (but it doesn’t look like it).

Gloves: The closest thing I can think of for these gloves are modern driving gloves. Driving gloves have holes along the knuckles that either show skin or a different fabric. (However, driving/men’s gloves back then didn’t even look like that. Just short, solid leather gloves with seams on the back of the hand). I have no excuse for the tips. To me they look like those tips you have so you can use smartphones despite glove usage. But we all know Alastor would never.

Speaking of the gloves, there’s something going on between Al & Vox and Al & Sir Pentious. We all know Viv likes to repeat a certain theme across characters with connections, like hearts with Angel, Valentino, Cherri, and Husk. Alastor, Vox, and Sir Pentious all have the exact same glove design. We all knew they had beef, but this is just visual confirmation in the character design.

I almost forgot his hair: Sure, the undercut may have been popular at the time, but that was in tandem with slicked back hair. An undercut + that rag of a mane Alastor has going on is just so confusing to me. Again, WHY???????

His outfit confuses me to no end and whenever I draw his canonical outfit I have to actively shove away thoughts of “BUT WHAT IS THAT? WHAT IS THIS CONNECTED TO? WHY THIS COLOR?” otherwise I risk having an aneurysm.

#I tend to not be too judgmental because Creative Freedom #I will support anyone's desire to experiment creatively #but when asked for hard opinions regarding design I usually have at least some #also to that person who said we were just jealous about Alastor looking better than us #I'll have to say NO to that :))))))))#I'll vouch for literally almost every person on this platform #that chances are they DO look better than our beloved radio demon #hazbin hotel #alastor #please forgive my shitty drawings for the jacket mechanics bit #I mean I know most of you don't mind but I do

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hallowed-be-thy-username · 4 years

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Clothing Is Custom, No Labels

“No matches on prints, DNA, dental. Clothing is custom, no labels. Nothing in his pockets but knives and lint. No name, no other alias.”

Summary: You’re one of the last bespoke tailors in town, making suits and custom clothing for Gotham’s elite. Business men and women, well known lawyers, the Wayne family, and... the Joker?

Genre: Self-insert

Pairing: Ledger!Joker x fem reader

Warnings: angst? mentions of J killing reader, descriptions of cutting, blood, just a titch of knife play (not nsfw just yet though)

Word count: 2,577

Author’s Note: I’m excited about this one, guys!! Things are getting intense! Also RIP my laptop, I’m posting this on the mobile app so the formatting is kinda crazy and I can’t inset a keep reading 😭 so scroll with caution and heed the warnings!

Musical Inspiration: Venus In Furs by The Velvet Underground

- Part Four - A suit. It was a suit that put you in this position, standing next to him. He seemed even broader, taller, his presence more imposing. His smile said everything. It sent a shiver down to your toes, goosebumps prickling your back.

You tried to move but you were stuck, staring at him. He had a look in his eyes, different than before. He knew the effect, his allure, the pull, that his just standing there was having on you.

He basked in your reflexive attention, wide eyes taking in the way he looked in the suit. He looked… incredible. Striking. It turned out better than you’d ever hoped. Something fervent and inauspicious was displayed in front of you, stirring an unfamiliar feeling in your guts. You really weren’t sure how long you’d been standing there, looking at him. Seconds? Minutes? You opened your mouth but no sound came out, only a huff of breath.

“I, um, I’m sorry,” you finally managed to squeak past your vocal cords.

Joker chuckled through his nose and asked, “Sorry for wha-t?”

Your face flushed, heat rising into your cheeks. “U-um, I um, for staring,” you answered quickly.

He chuckled louder this time, sending butterflies quivering in your stomach with a queasy jolt. Looking back at the mirror, he said, “Uh, aren’t you supposed to?”

You took a moment to process what he meant before swiftly jerking yourself in motion to grab your tailoring chalk and set of pins from the table, keeping your eyes down as you suddenly felt uncomfortable meeting his gaze again. Something about him wearing your suit set your nerves even more on edge, heightened with anxious energy buzzing through you. But you had to calm yourself. Focus, breathe. You decided to start with the back of the coat so that you could avoid his hypnotic eyes a bit longer.

Blowing a breath through your lips, you looped your measuring tape over your neck and approached him from behind.

“I, I’m gonna check the fit of the coat,” you said.

His green-haired head nodded silently and you slowly reached out to touch the coat. In spite of your best efforts, your hands shook frustratingly, lingering out in front of you until you pushed past that pervasive hesitance and placed your palms on his back, between his shoulders.

The wool warmed by his heat met your skin, tingles shooting down your back in reply. Your anxieties were beginning to irritate you. Every little sensation, movement, or sound from him made you feel like you were on fire and it wouldn’t stop. Just keep going, he’s watching you, he’s waiting. Your own thoughts didn’t help either.

You let the resulting electricity run through you as you moved your hands, smoothing the purple fabric until you reached the edges where you tugged at it, checking how it fit his broad shoulders. They curved beneath the heavy layer, the fit leaving just enough room to move them. Your heart pumped a bit faster, anxiety beginning to twist into some sort of exhilaration at the feeling of his form beneath your hands.

It followed you as you checked the sleeve pitch, your fingers straightening the sleeve where it met the body of the coat, falling in line all the way to the cuff. They buzzed with nervous anticipation as you fluttered them over more of the fabric. It almost felt good.

Routine took over while you continued to muse over the garment, now scrutinizing the details more carefully with pins between your teeth to pluck and slide into place over any areas where you felt the fit needed improvement. So focused on your ardent task, you hadn’t really noticed that you’d stepped in front of him, eyes glued to the lapels resting on his chest that steadily rose and fell, his body otherwise completely still. Like a living mannequin that wore your creation so perfectly. You marked where the lapels laid against the front of the coat with lines of chalk and stepped back to check the symmetry. Suddenly you stiffened and your pulse thrummed faster as you felt his eyes on you.

You swallowed and slowly lifted your gaze, you breath quickening. He was staring at you. His expression was blank, unreadable, all you could do was stare back.

His tongue flicked out over the forked scar on his lip, drawing your eyes to it, then to the rest of the damage to his face. There was no ignoring their presence. If people were always staring at them, then how much did he think about them? Do they still hurt? Would the phantom of the sensation that came with their creation spark with pain at random? Perhaps the damaged nerve endings conducted tangled signals, the haphazardly healed tissue trying desperately to function as it once did. Varying between feelings of numbness, stinging, prickling, overwhelming sensitivity, or any combination of these crawling across his permanent smile. Maybe sensations were elicited from no stimulus at all, as if recalling its own former trauma.

His gravelly voice pulled you out of your thoughts when he asked, “How does it look, hm?”

“It, it looks incredible,” you words tumbled out before you could think, prompting the heat of embarrassment to rise up to your ears.

He grinned at you and replied, “Is that so?”

No knowing what else to do except play along, you nod slowly, your eyes still locked on each other’s.

“Ahh the creator speaks well of her creation, hm?” he said.

“Uh, no! Well, I mean, yes? It, you, uh, I think it came together nicely,” you sputtered in response.

Joker chuckled and responded in a husky voice, “Gooood.”

Your heart flipped in your chest and your lips parted to take in a deep breath. You didn’t know what to think about what was happening. You were afraid. But fear was now joined by another feeling. Some faint excitement reaching up from deep down inside, drawn out by the way he looked at you. They swirled together in your stomach, telling you to run away but keeping you there in front of him, filling you with some want for him to speak to you again.

“Um, do you like the fit?” you finally asked.

He shifted his gaze back to the mirror and gripped the collar of the coat to shift it slightly.

“You’re the ex-pert, doll,” he said, not taking his eyes away from the mirror.

“Oh, o-ok,” you said quietly, almost under your breath, as your feet carried you toward him again.

You walked around him in a circle, checking your marked alterations once more. It was perfect. But you could stand there all night, inspecting how it hung off his body. Why? You didn’t really know.

Trying not to linger too long, you said softly, “It, um, it, looks good to me. So, uh, let’s have a look at the, um, the jacket.”

He slid the coat off of his shoulders to hand it to you, the fabric still warm in your hands as you draped it over the stand. You turned back to him to check the suit jacket, knowing his eyes were on you made your skin tingle. Hesitation flashed in your mind but was promptly snuffed out by the inexplicable fascination that continued to take you over.

You reached out and took both sides of the jacket front in your hands, lining up the buttons with their corresponding holes and gliding them through. You walked around him, trying to focus on your task and not the quivering of your stomach. After checking the sleeves and making some adjustments, you reached for the buttons once more. You could tell him to take the jacket off, or you could do it yourself. Like you had no control over them, your fingers unfastened each button before moving to slide the jacket from his shoulders as he silently complied.

Your hands trembled less the longer you touched him. It felt dangerous, getting used to that feeling of riskiness, imminent consequence not setting off the response it should be. Your feet should carry you away from danger, not draw you toward it. But oh, was it tempting. You stood closer to face him. The tension of your muscles and tingling of your skin had become strangely addictive, your nerves encouraged you to chase the feeling, despite what would be better judgement.

Your systematic undressing left him standing in the pinstripe pants with the hem reaching just to the tops of his brown shoes, hexagon patterned shirt, and green vest that hugged his sides to outline his broad chest down to his lean waist. You stepped closer. He smelled like greasepaint and cigarettes.

When you straightened the collar of the shirt, your fingers grazed over his neck in what was almost a seductive manner, raising goosebumps up your arms and suddenly the silence in the room became all too obvious. You sucked in a breath, pulled your hands back and froze with your eyes on his chest in front of you. It expanded with his breath that now warmed your face and you found yourself unable to move once again, stuck in the pull he had on you.

There it was. The familiar feeling of arousal fluttered in your core and your face flushed. You cursed your body’s reaction. This can’t be happening. Not with him.

“Look at me,” he said plainly.

Your breath trembled slightly as you shifted your eyes up to meet his. His gaze sent your heart racing, overwhelming and entrancing. He looked as though he could swallow you whole. Fear is a fickle thing. It could save your life, keep you out of danger. Don’t go down that dark alley, someone might be lurking. Don’t touch that snake, it might bite you. But it can betray you, too. It can mingle with desire, giving you that toxic gift of adrenaline, flowing through your veins like a drug. It saturates your mind, drowning out the instincts you thought were instilled so steadfast. You reached for that snake to let it sink its fangs into your flesh.

“Are you afraid?” he asked, his voice thick like honey.

Your eyes burned, locked with his dark pupils as you nodded slowly, your body acting on raw impulse.

The click of a switchblade met your ears and you stiffened as he brought it up to your cheek, holding the back of your neck with his other hand. Your body shuttered and twitched uncontrollably, your head beginning to feel light.

He stared deeper into your eyes and growled, “No you’re not.”

His words spun around in your mind. You were afraid, you wanted to be afraid. But something wouldn’t let it come to the surface. It shouted for you to run, scream, anything show him it was there. But it’s voice was muffled by the sick thrill that his knife at your cheek sent coursing through you. Would he cut you? Would he kill you? The threat of blood dripping to the floor weighed heavy over both of you.

“Careful doll,” he rumbled, lowering the knife from your face. “Tha-t is a danger-ous game.”

Game? It didn’t feel like a game. Your chest squeezed uncomfortably when you thought about his knife dragging across your skin, the sting that would follow it as the surface split open.

“A… a game?” you asked with your voice quivering.

He hummed and nodded his head, his gaze never breaking away from yours.

“Play with fire and you get burned,” he rumbled, bringing his face even closer.

Your heart pounded up into your throat and your blood ran hot. He saw something in your eyes. He knew. He knew the thought of being with him excited you and you had no control over it. You ached with need. A need that was new and sharp, pricking at your insides. You needed to know what it would be like. Had you lost your sensibilities?

Suddenly he stepped forward and you backed up reflexively, each step steering you backwards until you were halted by the wall, nowhere to go. He put his hand on the wall beside you and leaned against it. He lifted the knife he still held in his other hand and placed the point at the top of your chest, right in the middle. Then he leaned in, bringing his lips to your ear.

A powerful shiver ran down your back as he spoke in a low voice, “How about now?”

This was the game. A contest of wills. Would you cry? Try to get away? Or would you bleed for him?

Your skin was set ablaze beneath the blade and your jaw clenched as you sucked air in through your teeth. A trickle of sticky red ran onto your shirt as he moved away with the knife, watching you through heavy lids. The tiny cut on your chest stung, the pain mixing with your heightened senses. It was confusing, this feeling of fulfillment. He still held the knife, he could still kill you. But this felt different. Your heart began to slow its unforgiving racing and you breathed deeply.

His red lips twitched into a smile, impious and entrancing.

“Ahhh look what we have here. There it iiis,” he purred. “Don’t forget, doll, the fire’s hot. Wouldn’t want ya to, uh, get burned too bad, hm?”

Your jaw dropped open slightly as you stared at him, speechless. What just happened? What does he mean?

Before any words could form from your mouth, be stepped back. He clicked the knife into its handle and casually strolled back over to the mirror.

“You, uh, really have outdone yourself, doll,” he said, starting to unknot the tie around is neck. “You have ta-lent.”

You remained silent and wide eyed, stuck in place against the wall as he stripped down to his boxer shorts in front of you, rendering you even more stunned. Then he pulled on his tattered shirt and pants with the frayed jacket he arrived in.

He straightened his collar and turned back toward you. His eyes made your stomach quiver once more before he purred, “I’ll be back tomorrow. Looking forward to it, doll.”

You blinked and the door closed. He was gone.

Reality came rushing over you in a cold sweat. You slid down the wall to sit on the floor, suddenly gasping for air and panting as your hands trembled.

You forced yourself to take deep breaths and closed your eyes, wiping the sweat from your brow as you leaned your head back against the wall. Then your eyes snapped open and you lifted your hand to gently touch your finger to your chest. You looked to see your blood glistening on your fingertip.

He cut you. Shallow and small, but skin was broken. You should have been afraid but you didn’t fear the act itself. No, you feared the feeling it left behind. The thrill was intense, filling you up with a strange euphoria. An arousal. You should be dead, drained of life by the point of a knife. But you only grazed the blade. You wanted to chase that feeling, follow it for more. Tangle with danger and let it touch you all over.

You danced with the devil and he left you wanting more.

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

Taglist: @amethystmoonprincess @call-me-harley-quinn @liz-rdwitch @germansarechill @thesadvampire @tsukiakarinobara @heavymetalnarwhal @neverputsaltinyoureyes @apocalypticwafflekitten @astheworlddturns @komatheterrible @jokersqueenofchaos @killingjokee

#heath ledger joker #the dark knight #joker fanfiction #ledger!joker #ledger joker x reader #joker x you #tdk joker #ledger joker #fanfiction

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crystalgirl259 · 4 years

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The Flame and the Dragon Ch12

Chapter 12: The New Clothes

Kai didn't want to move. Even as the noon light poured through the window, taking him from the other reality of sleep. Taking advantage of the sudden wakefulness, his stomach took the time to growl. The pain of emptiness effectively ruined Kai's sleep. The boy growled and tried to sink deeper into the soft pillows and comfy mattress. His hand reached to pull his comforter tighter around his body. Except there was no comforter and the pillows were not his.

Surprise shocked Kai into wakefulness, and he looked around his room frantically to try and figure out where he was.

This bedroom was not his back in the town. The bed was too soft against his aching skin. The pillows his head was snuggled against were too fancy. The bed and furniture too rich for what he and Nya earned, no matter how much they saved up, and the outline was nothing like the room he'd created for himself in his father's house. Last night suddenly came crashing back to him. A hand rose to gently press against his temples while the other braced his shaking form.

The reality finally sank in that all the events of the previous day had not simply been a nightmare as he had hoped.

It had all been real. Kai certainty didn't feel real, though. Nothing about this felt real to him. He really wanted to feel like he'd suddenly followed a white rabbit and fallen through the rabbit hole, and awoken in a twisted version of his once-favorite fairy tale. He'd dreamed about this before but never in his life had he ever dared wish for it to come true and yet here he was. The prisoner of the Dragon Lord he'd read about every day since he was little.

Living out his sentence in a magnificent castle that haunted his thoughts, and sleeping in a room that suited a prince.

Kai just froze, stunned as the utter impossibility of his situation crashed against the sheer actuality of it. He shivered, pulling the covers tighter against his bare skin, the only warmth he had was the baggy sweater rubbing softly against his chest. It was then he realized something. A shiver of dread suddenly crawled up Kai's spine as the cool air suddenly bit the bare skin of his arms, legs, and torso. Slowly, very slowly, he looked down at himself and found he was wearing nothing but a red sweater and his boxers.

He screamed in both anger and shock, before growling and wrapping the covers around his naked body.

His face turned as red as the sweater, despite the fact no one was in the room. He wondered what had happened before the answer suddenly crashed into his mind, making him see red all over again. His fists clenched the fabric so hard his knuckles went white. It had to be Cole who undressed him while he was asleep and couldn't do anything. He had ordered the servants to not speak to him, so he doubted they took a peek in while he was fast asleep.

Kai growled low in this throat.

He searched frantically for his clothes and only found a neat pile of different clothes at the end of the large bed. A letter sat on top of the pile. Kai stood up and snatched the paper off the pile, using one hand to keep the baggy sweater on him. His name was written in elegant black ink.

Dearest Kai,

As I'm sure you are aware of, you have no clothes, and no, it was not I who undressed you, but I refused to let you roam around my castle in your filthy mud-stained clothes. Therefore, as an act of kindness, I've provided you with a new outfit until the seamstresses and tailor can create a new wardrobe to suit your liking. I suggest you become acquainted with them soon for I will not be around to provide for your needs if you do not take it upon yourself to see if they are met.

Sincerely Cole.

Kai growled and crunched the note into a ball in his hand, unsure if he should be grateful or angered at the note's tone. Any kindness Cole had tried to place in it was stained by the sheer arrogance he could just hear behind the words. It was like Kai was a child and Cole was teaching him how to take care of himself. However, that last line burned a blush across his face. He crumpled the note in his hand and threw it across the room before scanning over the clothes.

Kai couldn't deny the clothes were lovely.

They reminded him of the garments he'd seen when the family had lived in London for a time. The clothes in his arms seemed unique as if they were made just for him. He growled in frustration before swallowing his pride and pulled the sweater off. It was either accept Cole's gift or go naked. At this point, he wasn't sure which was worse anymore. The long-sleeved burgundy red shirt fitted against his lean form and was trimmed with white cuffs.

Black pants with a slit from just below the knee to the floor sculpted his legs then flared at his ankles and the hems had gold designs.

The slender knee-high black leather boots with gold clasps completed the outfit. Once he was fully dressed he jumped to his feet and spun around in front of the mirror as if testing out the outfit. He hated to admit it, but the clothes were perfect. He noticed a crimson sash on the bed. He snatched it up and walked over to the vanity mirror and wardrobe, both were empty of garments but to his happiness, he found a wooden box of old accessories.

He dug through it until he found a gold cross-shaped pendant with a ruby at the top bottom and on each arm of the golden cross.

He looped the sash threw the loop at the top and carefully tied it around his neck in the form of a chocker. This was so much better. He smirked to himself, admiring his appearance in the tall mirror. Lloyd would have loved these clothes. He was always Kai's chief fashion advisor back home. Kai chuckled as he started remembering all the times he and Lloyd had spent their afternoons filling their diverse wardrobes. Realization crashed into him again.

All enjoyment was quickly sapped from his face until he matched the shocked, broken face in the mirror.

He hadn't thought about Nya and Lloyd since he had woken up. He mentally kicked himself for forgetting even for a moment why he was there. He leaned his head against the mirror, before sighing in defeat. It didn't matter now. Kai had made his choice and he could only hope and pray they found happiness. As if answering his prayers for a distraction, his stomach suddenly howled its protests, reminding him he hadn't eaten anything since the previous morning.

His argument with Cole was still fresh in his mind, but he wasn't going to let that arrogant bastard starve him.

Kai stormed to the door before carefully gripping the golden handle. He gave it an experimental turn and found it was unlocked. He turned it completely and pulled it open. No one was outside. The hallways were dark as they had been the previous night save for the light seeping through the skylights overhead and the burning candles. Kai smirked, but deciding not to tempt his luck. He carefully scanned the hallway before slipping out of the safety of his room and slid against the wall.

Nothing moved.

No one acknowledged his presence. In fact, the castle seemed as deserted as it appeared when he first arrived in this hell-hole. Smirking in victory, Kai strolled through the hallway past the wide windows and descended down the staircase. Now all he had to do was find the kitchen...

****************

Echo sighed as his back hit the wall. He put up no resistance as his lover ravished his neck with small kisses and caresses against his bronze skin through his dark brown suit as his golden yellow eyes seemed to glow in the darkness. The touches sent a shiver of delight through him. Cole had put Jay there to guard the door and to tell the lord when Kai woke up. When Echo walked past, however, Jay became a little distracted.

"Jay..." Echo moaned through half-lidded eyes.

"Yes?" The ginger-haired teen smiled.

"We can't stay here, we'll get caught." He said and gestured to the hallway, behind them, though Jay had been sure to hide them behind the curtain first. They dreaded the thought of anyone other than Ronin or Tox should see them. Having been the best of friends as teens, a hundred years together in a castle had only caused their bond to grow and bloom until neither could deny the love between them. They mutually agreed to keep it a secret.

At least until the curse was broken.

Hopefully, if they were right about Kai Smith being the answers to all their prayers, they would all be fully human again and then, while everyone was happy and celebrating, they would tell Zane about their relationship, and Echo's older brother would take it a whole lot better than he would have done before.

"Aw, do we have to?" Jay whined and Echo could only laugh. Jay was such a child, but Echo loved that about him. It certainly didn't stop Jay from being serious when the situation called for it.

"You want someone to find us?" He teased.

"Of course not! Do you know how over-protective Zane is? He'll never let me see you again, or do something worse." Jay panicked as his breathing and heartbeat started to speed up in fear. Zane was Echo's older brother and everyone in the castle knew that nothing would stop the yeti from making sure his brother was safe, not even Cole. Zane would let hell freeze over before he let anything dare to harm his little brother in any way, shape, or form.

The very thought was enough to send Jay into a fit of panic attacks until he felt Echo's gentle hands on his arms.

"Then we need to keep quiet about it, just for a little while longer." He replied, disappearing through the curtain. Unable to resist, Jay swooped behind him before wrapping an arm around his lover's waist and stealing a kiss from him. Only to then ceremonially dropped him to the cold floor. Echo hissed in shock before he stared back at Jay's shocked face.

"Kai!"

"Kai? That's something you say when you're kissing you're boyfriend?" Echo growled angrily. Jay turned to Echo then threw his hands up in defense and shook his head.

"No! no! no! Look!" He pointed behind his upset lover. Echo turned his head just in time to see their new brunette guest disappearing down the stairs...

#The Flame and the Dragon #beauty and the beast #ninjago #ninjago fanfiction #ninjago kai #ninjago jay #ninjago echo #ninjago cole #lavashipping #steampunkshipping

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menswearmusings · 4 years

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Two Tips for Nailing Your Trouser Fit

There are two aspects of a good suit pant fit that I’ve learned to embrace since becoming enamored of tailored clothing about a decade ago.

[Read part 1 of this article, Adjusting Your Perceptions of What Fits here]

First, is rise. When I was younger, I felt that the correct height to wear all pants, including suit pants, was right about my hips, where jeans usually sit. That’s where pants sort of naturally fall, and any higher than that felt weird to me. But guess what—that’s vastly less flattering, particularly on a suit. I explain why in my eBook here, but suffice it to say, I learned the benefits of a higher rise early on once I started dressing better as an adult.

With regard to rise, less discussed is the importance of the back rise, which is the distance from the crotch seam to the top of the waistband in the back. Simply put, this is the measurement that takes into account your butt. One time I got a pair of slim dress pants in Europe and the back rise was so incredibly low, even just standing still they would’ve showed my crack (I bought them without trying them on).

A higher rise in general means that the back rise will be higher, too, and that’s important because you don’t want them to ride low when you sit down. But if the rise is too high for your physiology in relation to the front rise, it causes ripples in the pant legs as the seat of the pants hangs loose in the back. A tailor will usually see that and can adjust it.

But the primary takeaway I want to give you is: Look for a higher rise in the front. It lengthens your legs visually to make you look taller and complements a tailored blazer or suit jacket better.

Second is a completely under-represented measurement in the leg: the knee. You see, there seem to be two opposite ditches people fall into: the skinny suit pant leg that is fully form-fitting, or the triple-pleated balloon pants that pool around the ankle. I think that happens because doing something in the middle—a moderate, slim straight fit as I prefer—is very difficult to actually pull off without going full custom. I tended toward slimmer trouser silhouettes for years because I didn’t like how most suit trousers would sort of billow out near the lower thigh and knee. But the problem is if you go too slim, the thighs themselves get tight and the pants stick on your calves. That both ruins any clean line you might have in the front, as well as makes you look goofy when you stand up—you have to pull the hem down off your leg.

These pants have a reasonable taper at the knee, with a slim but not skinny hem opening.

The key is finding a straight-fitting leg that has enough room in the thigh to comfortably sit down. To estimate that, measure your thigh while standing and add 3-4 inches to get how wide the thigh of a pair of pants should be. But from there, it should have a subtle little taper in the knee. With a correct back rise for your body, which stops excess fabric from rippling downward from your seat, it will make trousers drape cleanly without looking chunky at the knee. It’s tough to nail it down, but once you realize those are the two measurements that often make the difference between a “blah” pair of pants and a “oh these are flattering” pair of pants, it’s freeing. You can have those adjusted through a cheap alteration if necessary.

It will take some trial and error. If you go too slim in the knee, it makes the thighs tight when you sit down as the pant rides up, shoving your leg further down into that taper. After erring on the slightly too slim side of the divide, I’ve loosened back up a little to give myself some extra room, but not so full that they sag weirdly like on other pants of the past.

An older pair of Spier & Mackay trousers, which are smaller than my newer pairs and fit slimmer overall. I’ve since eased up a bit for a bit more comfortable fit.

So there are my two important trouser fit tips for what to look for. I hope this is helpful when trying to determine why some pants look more flattering than others on you.

My personal favorite-fitting pants are from Spier & Mackay. They’re just about perfect for what I describe above in their contemporary fit. I take my normal dress trouser size—not my vanity size for jeans or shorts or whatever, but the actual measurement of my actual waist at its narrowest part—and subtract 1. So my actual size is 36, and I take a 35. The brown and light navy cotton-linen trousers throughout this post are how that looks on me.

If you have a slimmer build, their slim fit works well, too. The rise is lower, which I don’t like, but whether it works well on you just depends on your build.

Let me know in the comments below what aspects of trouser fit you find most important in getting right.

(Help support this site! If you buy stuff through my links, your clicks and purchases earn me a commission from many of the retailers I feature, and it helps me sustain this site—as well as my menswear habit ;-) Thanks!)

If you’re just getting into tailored menswear and want to level up your style faster, buy my eBook. It covers wardrobe essentials for any guy who wants to look cool, feel cool and make a good impression. Formatted for your phone or computer/iPad so it’s not annoying to read, and it’s full of pretty pictures, not just boring prose. Buy it here.

Read more at Menswear Musings

#pant fit #pants #proper fit #slacks #suit pants #trousers

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steelwingsoffreedom · 4 years

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Five Times Fucked {hit me with those less-than-tender moments, bro}

Send ‘Five Times Fucked” for a drabble about 5 times our muses fucked (not made love...fucked)

1.) Levi and Maries relationship was the worst kept secret in town. Everyone knew they were related, everyone knew Kenny treated them like shit to ‘try and toughen them up’ and everyone knew they were fucking. It of course bugged Levi, but as long as it never got the in the way of his work, no one mentioned it to his face, and everyone left him alone, his lips were sealed on the matter. Also, of course, everyone knew despite his best efforts, and the occasional drop in from Kenny, they were both barely surviving, and Marie certainly wasn’t an eyesore, but the later fact of their illicit relation kept most curious minds at bay, even when Marie herself offered to stand at the corner Levi quickly shut it down. But when a new customer of the usual ladies started rolling into town early spotted the blonde, his ignorance of the fact meant he didn’t stop. Apparently someone pointed over to Levi when the old man began to do some digging; needless to say that man went home with less teeth than when he left.

It was strange, it obviously wasn’t a shy subject of the household, his own mother being rather popular even, and Marie had mentioned trying it more than once, but today, for some reason that had pushed him over the edge. She was hers god damnit, and no one was aloud to take that away from him. When he got home, he found the smaller girl doing her normal tasks, throwing some damp wood on the stove trying to get the fire hot enough, a couple fruits, likely stolen from the vineyard a block away as they didn’t look that rotten on the counter, her blonde curls were held back by a hair band that was stained with oil and dirt, her dress, likewise was stained, but from a distance could pass as simply well used, but even in their squalor, her presence was usually a calming one, but now the sight of her sent something in him over the boiling point.

He stormed over to her, and before she could even get a greeting out, he pushed his lips to hers. It didn’t linger to long though, he had already grabbed her arm with one hand, and the hems of her dress in another. He pushed her over the counter and began to roll up her dress, she was his, she was not for sale, she never will be, and he will not allow any different. He took her then and there on the counter, no fear of the surprise visit of their uncle, no further thoughts were in his mind, not the normal profound sense of worth she granted him, or the deepest most pure form of love, just possession, she was his and that evening he marked her as such.

2.) Being as together as they were, for pretty much as long as either the pair could remember, they were relatively close, which goes without saying. But they were also struggling to survive, which meant that, usually, there wasn’t much spare energy. Which was great for getting along, when either got aggravated with the other, it was typically resolved nearly before it started as one couldn’t survive without the other and accepting that their life was shit and that can come with a shitty attitude sometimes was just part of the territory. Today was a day of shitty attitudes. It was raining, for the fourth day in a row, the creek behind the house was to polluted with mud to get water, the only food they had were apples so rotten the skin peeled off without a knife, and to top it off, Kenny had just visited the day prior, offered Levi a job, which only lead to getting the shit beat out of him followed by a verbal lashing as apparently Kenny had money in that fight.

So it was a quite dinner, both knew life really had just gotten the others skin as of late, and neither of them wanted to be the one to light the fuse of the other. When they had finally slunked off to bed, they made themselves comfortable under the blanket they had to share, not quite in the mood to snuggle apparently as the blanket was pulled taught in its effort to cover both bodies. They hadn’t slept to long, maybe a couple hours, when Levi felt a chill run up his arm, a quick survey showed that he was laying there with no blanket, Marie had apparently pulled the entire thing over for herself. He yanked at it first, but with a calming breath switched to more gently coxing some of the cover over for himself, gaining a sliver and deciding it enough, he covered himself once more. It didn’t last long he had barely closed his eyes until it was yanked from him again. This time he wasn’t able to calm himself and grabbed the cover to forcefully take back his half.

It wasn’t exactly clear who said something first, or if anything was actually said to justify the screaming match that followed. But voiced were certainly raised as they argued less about the blanket, and less with each other, but mostly to release all the pent up frustration. But the poor blanket was still receiving the full abuse as both parties pulled at it corners, the yelling only stopping at the sound of fabric ripping, a moth hole in the center ripping wide open. Then began the blaming, until the blanket was tossed aside and replaced with Maries body being pushed down against the sad mattress. Her hands pushed against his chest, pulling his lips from hers, and nearly pushing him off, but she climbed on top of him with the same force, yanking the old stained shirt he wore to bed up with shaking hands. The position of power switched over many times all the energy saved from not arguing early used for very sinful actions, and the poor blanket, the catalyst of all of this was ruined that night with more than a hole, but was blessed with a stain as well, a shameful reminder to the couple, on top of the bruises and sore muscles the next day.

3.)They made a life for themselves in a new town, the escaped the hell hole that robbed them of so much, gotten their own flat, their own bed, with a boxspring, furniture, dishes, everything. They owned it all, and none of it was stolen, well, most of it, both of them at times discovered old habits die hard and found themselves walking away with the odd thing or two on the occasion, but it was never anything major. But made Levi most happy, was Marie was free to be a girl, do girl things like dress up, wear makeup, go shopping, it usually meant he had to work harder for a bit to indulge like that, but compared to what he had to do before? it was nothing. His boss actually told him he worked to much, and sent him home with pay, he was actually afraid he got fired at first. But he gladly took the sentiment and headed home.

Marie wasn’t there when he arrived, he actually didn’t expect her to be, her and the landlady had grown quite close and she mentioned going to the shops with her. So instead he relaxed by himself, he couldn’t even remember the last time he had an opportunity to do that with nearly no stress. His shower lasted so long, the hot water had started to run cold, he didn’t even know that was possible, figured a city like this had unlimited hot water. He was standing in the bedroom when he heard the front door open, he smiled when he saw familiar blonde curls as she walked into the bedroom. But, she just stood wordlessly in front of him, he tilted his head to try and peak at her face as her head was downcast, instead her hands slammed against his chest and pushed him back against the bed.

The edge of the bed was at the back of his knees causing him to fall back, he went to sit up and ask what the hell was going on, she was already pulling his pants down. Propping himself up on his elbows asking her what was wrong, didn’t help, she was already in the process of straddling his lap and pulling her dress up over her head and tossing it aside. Her lips collided with his and her hips gyrated against him. When he lifted her up and flipped them over, giving up on figuring anything out just yet, she didn’t lay there long, as she hooked her leg around him and flipped them over. Sliding him inside her, she clearly had something to work out, or prove, as not once did she let him have control for a long while.

4.) It was odd being invited to a party. They were used to everyone keeping to themselves, hording their positions for themselves and not willing to let go of single grain. But Levi’s new job apparently held parties for everyone and their families every holiday season. Marie had to drag Levi out to a tailor and get a suit, a luxury he didn’t expect himself to have in his wildest dreams, and of course Marie had the best dress they could get on their budget, the landlady coming over hours in advance with a suitcase of makeup and hair product, her effort earning more than a couple glances.

The party lasted longer than Levi would’ve liked, it was well into the evening, and many of the guests are making themselves rather merry on the free drinks going around. He made his way back to the table with a plate of miniature versions of food on them, and set it front of his partner before plopped back down in his own chair, glaring at a man that had been staring at the blondes chest a little longer than he deemed acceptable. Though the worst was yet revelated to him, when he looked up, he saw Maries cheeks were rather flushed, and two empty long neck glasses on the table already. He let out a long sigh and massaged the bridge of his nose, they had to get out of here.

That was when he felt a pressure on his knee, like something had falling on it, he looked down, the only thing that had falling in his lap was a small pale hand with decoratively painted nails, and it was slowly sliding up his thigh. Soon she leaned in and began whispering in his ear, the free drinks gentlemen brought her, the compliments she received, very clearly trying to stir him up. But he wasn’t going to let her win that easily, he was more tired than anything, but her hand didn’t stop like he thought it would, when she failed to get past his belt, she gave up and began rubbing him through the fabric of his pants, whispering things in his ear that made even him blush. With a growl he quickly stood up from the chair, her hand in his. They found their way to the coat closet, where, as soon as they were out of sight, she squat down with no prompting, his belt and pants unclasped practically faster than he could blink, his already erect member surrounded by her lips. They knew everything about each other, so they wanted to be quick, they could, she very clearly was not going for speed, she was still teasing him, keeping him on the edge but not allowing him to go any further. That was until he decided enough was enough and stopped her motions by holding her head and taking matters into his own hands, the sounds of her sucking and the occasional light gag were much to load for his liking, but she somehow had earned a rather large reward for it, to large it seemed as she wasn’t able to catch it all and it dripped down her chin. While he was in a slight panic, Marie, laughed and grabbed a handkerchief from a random coat pocket and wiped the sticky liquid from her chin and her exposed cleavage, tucking the used fabric back into the pocket it came from as she stood up, a little treat, she called it patting his chest as she sauntered out, apparently receiving what she desired.

5.) It had been a relatively normal work week, but the repetition, while at first an amazing convince and a godsend to both his physical and mental wellbeing, came with its own set of problems as well. He was pent up. It was as simple as that.

When he got home Marie was relaxing next to a pot belly stove, well lit and warm, reading a book, she barely acknowledged him entering. He walked over and grabbed the book from her hands, setting it on the table next to her, he grabbed her arm and guided her to the bedroom. Of course this was meet with plenty of teasing as she allowed her self to be dragged away, but he tossed her onto the bed, his hand firmly connecting with her behind. Earning a yelp from her, and some light questioning, he only answered by dropping his pants to his ankles.

Lifting her skirt up, the sound of his palm connecting with skin made a much louder satisfying clap. Both of Maries round cheeks a stinging red by the time Levi finally felt that coiled spring of tension in his chest loosen, knowing his partner wouldn’t allow him such a simple victory such as this, neither of them rested that night.

#I #apparently #wanted to write a novel tonight #I apologize in advance #but however #love every single one of these #accept for the fifth #I'll admit that is when when I began to run dry for new ideas #marie-dufresne

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thesilverstaganddoe · 5 years

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The Beginning: Psychology and the Law (Killing Eve Fic) Chapter 1

AO3 Link

Summary: After two separate, successful careers in other fields, Dr. Astankova and Dr. Polastri both finds themselves new psychology professors at Oxford University. The instant attraction is undeniable but the list of differences between them could go on for ages.((This is essentially the prelude to my other fic PSY 153: Psychology and the Law, but it could easily be read on its own.))

Chapter 1: Welcome to Academia

Eve sat on a hard bench outside the office of the dean of the psychology department at Oxford University. She was nervous and kept fiddling with the buttons on her suit jacket. It was her nicest pantsuit, she’d actually had the lady in the store help her pick it out and she had assured Eve that it was a good look for her and generally the proper size. She had encouraged Eve to get it properly fitted, but doing so was quite expensive and Eve hadn’t wanted to spend the money.

Part of her was starting to regret that, unsure of what the standards for an academic setting were. After spending almost eight years working with MI6, getting thrust into the uptight, no-nonsense world of academia was a bit of a shell-shock. Not that she was regretting it, not at all. It had been the right decision, she was sure of that.

The creak of the door caused her to look up and she heard the bright, cheery voice float through it before she saw its owner.

“Thank you so much, Carolyn. It was just wonderful meeting you. I can’t even tell you how excited I am to start here.”

Eve watched as a woman emerged from the office and Eve involuntarily sucked in her breath upon seeing her. This woman had definitely taken the expense of having her clothes professionally tailored. She was in a sleek black pantsuit, cut such that it perfectly accented every curve of her body. The pants were hemmed to just the right length for her perfectly shined black pumps, much higher than Eve would ever dare wear, even on a very fancy occasion. Eve glanced down at her own flats, suddenly very aware of how worn they were.

Her eyes flickered back to the woman. She was very tall, even before the heels, and it was intimidating but so attractive. She carried it off fantastically, with her pulled back shoulders and fantastic posture. Her silken blouse clung to her breasts and the neckline dipped a little too low for the professional setting, not that Eve would object. It drew her eyes longer than was appropriate and she yanked her gaze away, eyes tracing the lines of the woman’s body, across her shoulders, down her slender arms, noting the sharp folds of her suit cuffs and the delicate, expensive looking bracelet on her wrist.

She had a slender hand extended to the other woman, who Eve recognized as Caroline Martens, the dean of the psychology department and the woman who had hired her. Eve barely noticed the dean, though, her gaze transfixed on the woman’s face. It was almost eerily perfect; she had flawless skin and the kind of smooth, silky, blonde hair that clearly never had a strand out of place. There was something ever so slightly off about her smile, though, something that set off a small ping in the back of Eve’s mind. Fake, it supplied. Manipulative .

And then it was gone. The smile was warm, the face was beautiful, the woman was gorgeous. Eve’s stomach flipped and she tore her gaze away; she really shouldn’t be caught staring. It was bad enough to walk into the dean’s office right after this woman, that was already quite the comparison, she really didn't need to be caught staring as well. Eve could only hope this was not a representative sample of the kind of people she’d soon be working with. Maybe she was some sort of sales rep, not a professor. That would be fantastic.

Eve jerked herself out of her thoughts as she realized the woman was walking towards her, the dean following behind her. Their eyes met and she smiled at Eve, warm, inviting, alluring. Eve felt like a deer caught in headlights; she had no idea what her face was doing.

“Ah,” Dr. Martens said, as the two women came to a stop in front of where Eve was sitting. “Dr. Astankova, this is Dr. Polastri, the department’s other new hire I was telling you about.”

“Oksana,” she supplied, extending her hand to Eve, “Pleasure.” Eve swallowed heavily. Oksana’s accent was Russian and something about it sent a shiver up Eve’s spine.

“Um, thanks,” Eve mumbled, cursing her sweaty palm and the greeting that made little sense. Oksana didn’t seem to notice though. Her stare was penetrating and as uncomfortable as Eve felt, she couldn’t look away.

It probably wasn’t actually that long, but it felt to Eve like several minutes ticked by before Dr. Martens cleared her throat and said, “Well, Dr. Polastri, shall we head into my office?”

Eve shook herself out of the sort of trance she was in and stuttered out an affirmatory response as she hastily grabbed her bag and got to her feet, almost bumping into Oksana as she did so. She reached out a hand to Eve’s elbow, steadying her, and the touch set Eve’s heart pounding in her chest.

“Good?” she asked, head cocked to the side, an eyebrow quirking upward.

“Yes, sorry,” Eve mumbled, carefully avoiding getting caught in her stare again. Oksana’s hand disappeared from Eve’s elbow and she was both relieved and disappointed by the loss of contact.

“Nice meeting you again, it’s good to know I’m starting with a friend.”

“Yes, it is good.”

Oksana nodded and turned towards the door, her heels clicking on the tile as she walked. Eve forced herself to not turn and look at her ass as she walked away. She sucked in a breath. That was quite the reaction, she couldn’t remember the last time she’d swooned that badly over a woman. But Oksana was...quite the woman.

“Dr. Polastri?” Dr. Martens’s slightly annoyed voice called Eve’s attention back.

“Yes,” she said quickly, hitching the strap of her bag over her shoulder and following Dr. Martens into her office.

———

Eve sat on a box in her new apartment, the lower half of her face buried in her hands, surveying the rest of the boxes stacked around the otherwise empty space. She had no furniture. There was a mix-up with the moving company and all of her furniture was still at her old apartment on the other side of London. They were supposedly going to be delivering it the next day but they’d been saying that for almost a week and Eve was too exhausted and overwhelmed to get into an in depth argument with them about it.

She needed a drink. She definitely needed a drink.

She got to her feet and began searching for her purse and phone in the pile of things she had dumped by the door. She briefly considered changing into something other than the business clothes she’d worn to campus earlier that day, but it wasn’t like she was trying to go out for a night of partying. She just needed a drink.

Eve wasn’t familiar enough with that particular part of London to know any good places, but her GPS found her a bar relatively close to her apartment building, It was close enough to walk to and she made her way there. She found a somewhat secluded seat at the edge of the bar, ordered a whiskey, and then rested her head on her hand with a sigh. She let her eyes close for a moment, finding it relaxing to have the sound of music and idle chatter fill her head and chase away her thoughts. Then a single clear voice broke through the white noise. An all too familiar voice.

“Well, hi there.” Eve’s eyes snapped open.

It was the woman from the dean’s office earlier that day. Oksana. Of course. Naturally, she had changed, not that she would have needed to in order to look incredible. Tight black pants, slinky silver top. And there was Eve in the same clothes Oksana had seen her in earlier, just wrinkled.

“Do you mind if I sit?” Oksana asked, gesturing to the empty chair next to Eve. “Or are you meeting someone?”

“No, I...just came for a drink.”

“Ah. Well, if you want to be alone, I won’t interrupt.”

Eve had wanted to be alone when she’d originally came to the bar and Oksana’s presence did make her tense, but despite that she couldn’t bring herself to send her away.

“No, that’s fine.” Oksana smiled brightly and slid into the seat. Eve tried to adjust her posture into something more dignified, noting the way Oksana held her shoulders back, her neck straight, her chin up.

She ordered a vodka tonic, easily capturing the bartender's attention, and then clasped her hands together on the bar and turned to look at Eve. “I’m delighted that I’m running into you here. Crazy, though. Small world isn’t it?”

“I guess so,” Eve mumbled. Oksana’s smile faltered for a moment and Eve suddenly realized that she wasn’t really giving the impression of someone who was particularly interested in having a conversation, so she hastily added, “It’s good though. Like you said, to have someone doing the same thing as you.” Oksana had used the word “friend” and that had seemed fine when she said it, but it somehow felt too intimate for Eve to say.

Oksana’s nodded, seeming content with Eve’s attempt at a social gesture. Her drink arrived and she took a sip, then looked back over at Eve. Her head tipped to the side and a quizzical expression passed over her face.

“Are you okay? You seem...stressed? Or nervous?”

That penetrating look from earlier was back and Eve found herself locked into Oksana’s gaze with the truth bubbling to the surface against her will. “You intimidate me a little bit.”

To her surprise, Oksana blushed and looked away. Her fingers traced the rim of her glass and she actually seemed a little nervous herself. “I’m sorry. It’s my accent. The Russian makes people uneasy.”

“It’s not just that.”

“Oh,” Oksana sounded surprised, “What is it then?” she looked back at Eve, seeming genuinely curious. It was a softer expression that still pulled Eve in in its own way, but less forcefully, easier to break.

“You’re tall...You look...You seem...I don’t know. Nevermind.” Eve looked away as she spoke, trying to hide the blush that she knew was growing on her cheeks.

“No, really, what do you mean?” Oksana’s voice was earnest and Eve felt Oksana’s hand settle on top of hers as she spoke. Her heart sped up in her chest.

Eve continued to avert her gaze, sure that if she looked at Oksana she would spill more than she cared to. “It’s really nothing.” When Oksana didn’t respond right away, she dared a glance back over at her. She contemplating Eve, clearly deciding if she wanted to argue further, and ultimately seemed to decide against it.

“Okay,” she shrugged. She pulled her hand from Eve’s and picked her drink back up. Eve’s hand twitched as Oksana’s fingers left hers. “Are you looking forward to classes starting next week?” she asked taking a sip of her drink.

Eve turned back toward the bar, grabbing her own glass and taking a large sip, hoping the alcohol would calm her nerves. “Yes. Well, I suppose so. This is actually my first time teaching, so I don’t really know what to expect. But I guess I’m looking forward to it.”

“Oh really? I’m new to teaching myself. What did you do before?”

“I...worked for MI6.”

Oksana raised her eyebrows. “Really.” It wasn’t a question, just a confirmatory statement. It was clear that there was a lot going on in her head in response to the information Eve had just provided, but she didn’t voice any of it. Several seconds passed between them without a word, just the music and voices in the background.

Eve cleared her throat. “Anyway. What did you do before if you weren’t teaching?”

“Worked with a law firm, helped with jury selection, that kind of thing.”

Eve nodded. She’d known people who had done that kind of work, they’d even had some at the public defender's office, but she got the feeling Oksana was at a different level - and different side - than anyone Eve had ever personally worked with. She’d referenced it very casually, but she was clearly highly intelligent - Oxford had hired her after all - and based on the way she dressed had likely been working somewhere that handed out some very impressive paychecks. Which led Eve to question, somewhere in the back of her mind, exactly what kind of cases Oksana had been involved in. She pushed the thought away rather quickly; it wasn’t a conversation she was interested in having that night and Oksana didn’t particularly seem to want to discuss it either.

“What do you think of Dr. Martens?” Eve asked, flagging the bartender down for a refill.

“Dr. Martens?” Oksana asked. “Oh, you mean Carolyn. I really like her. She’s bad-ass, no-nonsense. Really respected, too. She’s written some incredible papers.”

“You call her Carolyn?”

“What?”

“Dr. Martens, you call her by her first name?”

“Yeah? She told me to. You don’t?”

“She didn’t tell me to,” Eve said, feeling a little uncomfortable. “Do you know her well?”

Oksana shrugged. “No, not particularly. I only met her one other time, when she interviewed me for the position.”

“Oh.” It didn’t take a genius to tell that Oksana was far more socially savvy than Eve, but the fact that Dr. Martens was clearly so much more comfortable with her than Eve that she would ask only Oksana to call her by her first name was a pretty stark contrast. Not that Eve could blame her, it was easy to sink into Oksana’s presence. Comfortable maybe wasn’t quite the right word, but alluring, enticing. Something like that.

Oksana seemed to noticed the expression on Eve’s face. “I don’t think it means anything, she probably just forgot to tell you to.”

“Yeah,” Eve said, not really believing herself.

Eve’s refill arrived and Oksana clinked their glasses together before downing the last of her own drink. “Finish that quick and then I’m going to make you try something wacky.” She did a little wiggle in her seat to demonstrate the concept and Eve couldn’t help but smile.

“I don’t know if I’m ready for that,” she said, taking a large sip of her whiskey all the same.

Oksana leaned in and whispered in her ear. “I promise you’ll like it.”

A shiver ran up Eve’s spine.

——--

Over the next couple hours, Oksana had Eve try several strange drink combinations that she had never heard of and never would have considered even if she had. Just as Oksana had promised, though, she did very much like them.

They talked, about life and interests and stupid stories. Oksana had a lot of stupid stories and she was great at telling them. She was expansive when she spoke, flinging her arms out and spinning in her chair and throwing her head down on the bar counter for dramatic flair as she told her stories, and the more she drank the more flair she found.

When she got excited about something she was saying she’d grab Eve’s hand and squeeze it or shake it up and down in time to her bouncing in her seat. And Eve’s heart would race until she let it go, and for a good while after. She had an enchanting smile - and a very attractive body - which served her well in her constant insistence that the bartender comply with her bizarre off-menu requests, something he probably would not have been willing to do for someone else.

And that smile and body and loud laugh and voice attracted plenty of attention, more than just Eve’s. People would stop by, mostly men, but also the occasional woman, and lean in with some sort of flirtatious comment or request to buy her a drink. Much to Eve’s amazement, Oksana waved them all away, with some version of “I’m enjoying time with a friend, thank you very much.” Granted, her gaze lingered a little longer on the women and she exchanged a few more lines of banter with them, but even so she eventually nodded to Eve and sent them away.

Eve felt weird about the word “friend”. Partly because the idea of being friends with someone she had just met that day felt a little much to her. But also, if she was honest with herself, it was because she wasn’t sure that her ideal relationship with Oksana would be “friendship”.

Oksana grinned at her after waving away a third woman. “Tell me. Did you think she was hot? Or do you even go that way? I have a feeling but I suppose I could be wrong.”

Eve blushed bright red, which was probably an answer. She actually hadn’t really noticed the girl well enough to form an opinion. She’d been looking at Oksana. “I...She was fine.”

“And you’re…?”

“Bisexual.” Eve tried to avoid looking at Oksana, certain her cheeks were reddening further, but she wanted to see Oksana's reaction, so she gave in and looked over. Oksana was grinning into her glass.

“I was right.”

Eve snorted and took a desperate swig of whatever the last drink Oksana had ordered for her was. “Good for you.”

“Thank you.” Oksana sounded very pleased with herself.

Neither of them said anything else as Eve wrestled with not letting her next words spill out of her mouth. They did anyways. “You’re hot,” she said.

“What?” Oksana said. She clearly hadn’t been expecting that.

There was no going back now, so Eve plowed on through. “Earlier, you asked why you’re intimidating. Other than the Russian and the height. You’re hot. You dress and you act hot and you just are hot. And it’s intimidating. You must know that.”

Oksana didn’t say anything, so finally after several moments without a response, Eve dared to look at her. Oksana was staring at her, looking somewhat shocked, but with a huge smile on her face. “Thank you,” she said, her eyes lighting up when she saw Eve looking at her. Eve groaned and buried her face in her hands. Oksana tugged at her fingers and leaned in to whisper in her ear. “Don’t be embarrassed, Eve. I think you’re really hot, too.”

That just made Eve more embarrassed, but it also made her stomach do huge summersaults. Oksana kept tugging at her fingers until Eve finally looked at her. She groaned again and grabbed her drink for another large sip. Oksana laughed, sounding utterly delighted.

They didn’t say much else over the next few minutes, simply sat next to each other sipping their drinks, staring straight ahead, and pretending to ignore the way their arms brushed up against each other in the middle of the bar counter.

Suddenly Oksana shouted out, “I love this song!”

“What?” Eve asked. Oksana's sudden outburst had startled her.

Oksana was on her feet and dragging Eve away from the bar by her wrist towards one of the mostly empty tables at the center of the room. “Eve, we’re going to dance. Do you know this song? I’m going to teach you the words, it’s really only one line, I’m making you sing.”

Eve laughed, enjoying Oksana’s grip on her wrist. “What are you talking about? There’s no dance floor here.”

Oksana spun around to face her, grinning, fire in her eyes. “On the table, Eve! Classic!” And with that Oksana scrambled up onto it, lifted her arms into the air and began circling her hips around.

Eve groaned, “Oh my god. You’re really drunk.”

Oksana dropped back down to a squat so she was eye-level with Eve. “I’m actually not very drunk at all. I would do this completely sober.”

Eve raised her eyebrows at her. “I would not do that completely sober. And I am pretty drunk. You gave me some pretty strong stuff.”

Oksana laughed and pulled on Eve’s hand. “Well, that’s good, then, that means you’ll get up here with me.”

Eve groaned halfheartedly but she let Oksana pull her up onto the table. Despite the alcohol, nervousness still had a hold on Eve’s brain and she felt frozen at first, entirely unsure of what to do. But Oksana was completely relaxed as she lifted Eve’s hands up and dropped them on her shoulders. She placed her own hands on Eve’s waist and began swaying them from side to side, roughly in time to the music.

Oksana’s lips were at her ear and ear and the was singing along as they danced, her Russian accent slipping unevenly over some of the words.“There’s something about the way you are that makes me…”

Eve had to admit, it was fitting.

They were standing incredibly close together and Eve was all too aware of Oksana’s hands on her hips and the feel of Oksana's shoulders under own hands. Oksana’s hair fell down around her face, framing it beautifully and the strands tickled Eve’s hands.

The background noise had faded away and Eve was entirely caught up in the way Oksana was looking at her; she had that captivating stare that just kept sucking Eve in every time she dared look into her eyes for longer than a second.

“...the way you are…”

A voice broke through Eve’s daze. The bartender was standing at the side of the table talking to them, “That’s enough ladies. We’re about to close anyway.”

Oksana giggled and her hands dropped from Eve’s waist. Reality suddenly crashed down around Eve and she was very aware of where she was, what she was doing, and all the people around. Embarrassment clenched tight in her stomach and she scrambled off the table.

Oksana walked out of the bar with her and bumped their shoulders together once they got outside. “Where do you live? Do you need a cab?”

Eve shook her head. “I’m just a few blocks that way.” Eve pointed in the direction of her apartment.

“Good, I’m close too.”

Neither of them made a move to leave, they just continued to stand in front of each other off to the side of the entrance to the bar. Seconds ticked by in silence.

“Well,” Oksana eventually said, “I guess I’ll see you around campus.”

“I guess so.”

Oksana was biting her lip and she reached out to tuck a piece of Eve’s hair behind her ear. “I had fun tonight, thank you.”

“I did too.” Eve meant it. It was the most fun she’d had in a while.

A couple more seconds passed before Oksana nodded, shoved her hands in her pockets, and turned to walk down the street in the opposite direction of Eve’s apartment. Eve watched her for a moment before heading home herself.

#killing eve fic #killing eve #villanelle #Eve Polastri #oksana #eve x oksana #eve x Villanelle #oksana astankova #killing eve au #killing eve teacher au #killing eve university au #my posts #my fics

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nomanwalksalone · 6 years

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ON RESPOKE

by Réginald-Jérôme de Mans

A reaction to the response of a friend. That friend, the prolific #menswear blogger Dirnelli, frequently models his secondhand bespoke suits. What he calls “respoke” is suits made by a custom tailor for someone else, altered to fit a new wearer.

As Dirnelli points out, today the process of getting something made has been unnecessarily romanticized, largely because it has become so rare and rarefied. Customization has been nearly unattainably priced as well as difficult to even find, even if recently a number of cheaper custom clothiers have cropped up.

It generally isn’t those that Dirnelli has in mind.

Instead, it’s the sort of custom clothing that clothing writers prefer to dress up with the term “bespoke”: luxury custom clothing made by a quality tailor, with all of the careful detail work and invisible painstaking construction that implies. In other words, even while denying the romanticism of the process, he subscribes to the romantic idea that a suit with someone else’s name inside the coat pocket would tell a tale, that a tailor would have labored in the grand tradition of the art to create an enduring work that lived up to that stranger’s hopes and expectations, and through the use of generous inlays and tucks of cloth, even up to the hopes and expectations of that stranger’s heirs.

It’s a secondhand romance, and as such a way to get into that tale on the cheap, my friend suggests, since today quality tailoring can be very dear indeed. Secondhand bespoke clothing – like any other personal indulgence that consumerist shills term an “investment” – can be purchased on the secondary market for a tiny fraction of its initial price.

Despite my comparatively limited wardrobe (I’ve hardly ever gotten rid of a suit or sportcoat, and have kept everything I’ve had personally made for me), I do want to volunteer my own perspective. I, too, have used good tailors to have things made for me, and have had recourse to use competent tailors to alter vintage clothes to fit me. Importantly, Dirnelli’s respoke approach presumes certain important things: finding a secondhand custom suit that fits you tolerably well before alteration and has enough inlays and other allowances of cloth and other components to be expanded or otherwise, and an extremely good alterations tailor.

Finding a quality used suit that fits relatively well isn’t particularly easy. You need to rule out anything that might have been fashionable when it was made but that would look like costume today. One cutter recently told a hapless writer that today the only people ordering his extremely expensive custom clothing were “crooks, cranks and cripples,” which should remind us that custom clothing is made for a specific person’s features… and irregularities. A good custom tailor will have shaped the chest, back and shoulders of a suit, pitched its sleeves and balanced the fronts and backs all based on a particular person’s body. Finding a custom suit whose particular irregularities tolerate your own is, again, almost as romantic an idea as finding a soulmate whose irregularities complement your own. Things like sleeves that are too long or too short, or a jacket that is too long, often require very difficult, very difficult alterations, without any guarantee they’d be carried out properly.

For all secondhand custom is going to require some alteration, and the romance of respoke is that that suit is still in some way a partially uncarved block of marble – a presumption that there are enough resources and materials left in the suit by a good tailor to lengthen, widen, recut or otherwise adjust. Good custom suits traditionally have extra cloth even in the trouser cuffs, presumably so that your heirs of different height can have the legs let out – after all, our leg length is unlikely to change unless we’ve spent time in zero gravity or on the rack. For the same reason, many good custom suits traditionally only have two (out of four) working buttons at the jacket cuff: working buttonholes mean that it’s difficult to alter sleeve length (since working buttonholes can’t easily be invisibly stitched up), so having two remaining sham buttonholes provides a little leeway for moving the sleeve length.

More improbably, Dirnelli assumes the availability of a genius alterations tailor. From everything I’ve seen of his fit pics, he has one, and that fellow’s work is worth its weight in gold – and probably charged accordingly. My first Paris alterations tailor, although also a trained custom tailor, turned out to be an awful huckster I wouldn’t recommend to hem pants, despite coming to me with the highest praise of one of the prime movers of the early Internet fora. And indeed, anyone who can undertake the significant work needed to alter shoulder padding, close up or open vents, re-set the collar, or any of the other sensitive operations Dirnelli’s had carried out needs to be a highly trained tailor, generally not the person behind the counter at the local dry cleaner, even if most of those do have some sort of stylized suit baste in their windows (do they buy those things out of prop catalogs?). Changes to one aspect of a suit can affect the rest of it in visible ways, from the pitch of the sleeves to the front or side balance (that is, whether the fronts and backs or the left and right sides of a suit jacket hang in alignment and at the same distance from the ground). As such, it’s a complicated form of surgery to make someone else’s custom clothing fit, even if their basic measurements or proportions seem similar.

Given the complicated work needed to make someone else’s suit fit, it’s important to bear in mind that that alterations tailor, like a bespoke tailor, had to start somewhere in fitting his customer. Dirnelli points out that a first fitting with a new custom tailor is usually far from perfect. It must also be the case for an alterations tailor. The stakes may be somewhat lower, perhaps by an order of magnitude. Competent custom tailoring, made anywhere, is very expensive. Competent alterations are cheap only in comparison. In my experience, a really good alterations tailor can work wonders, provided that the starting point – the piece of vintage clothing as is – more or less already fits to begin with. But that really good alterations tailor is incredibly hard to find. Good custom tailors may have one on staff, but they generally only work on their own clothing, unless you’re an existing customer. Really good independents seem to literally be one in a million. And I limit this discussion to tailored clothing – I wouldn’t suggest anyone try to have someone else’s custom shoes altered to fit unless you’re willing to have a custom shoemaker rebuild them on your own last at a shocking price.

As Dirnelli himself has recognized, the pursuit of bespoke, even dead people’s bespoke, is an expensive habit. Competent alterations are reasonable only in comparison to what it would take to have a custom tailor actually make the garment for you. However, that pursuit of secondhand bespoke for bespoke’s sake (having a suit that fits) is only part of what makes bespoke clothing interesting for many of us. The other part of it is being able to have something made in the cloth, style and colors that we want. I like, and thus have ordered in most of my suits, two-button jackets with double vents, moderately slanted pockets, and trousers with no cuffs, with side adjusters instead of belt loops. While none of these are particularly rare or baroque details, it’s not likely that someone’s cast-off clothing is going to have those. To say nothing of the fabric I want or any other details (linings, etc.) that I might specify in my more inspired or foolhardy moments. Even if they’re usually greys and blues in simple English wools. Or, if it comes down to it, the cut one prefers – I tend to like, even if it is self-delusion, the softer draped cut of a couple of British tailors… it is not usual to find those and dangerous to push an alterations tailor to try to change an existing suit’s cut dramatically. The more he or she has to change, the closer it comes to having a suit recut or remade out of an existing one, at resultant expense and revelation of any limits in the skill of the alterations tailor.

Nonetheless, I’ve dabbled in having custom items altered, recently – thanks to Dirnelli’s introduction to a consignor, a custom Francesco Smalto suit made for Francis Veber, who directed one of my favorite movies. It featured all the exquisitely difficult and flamboyant details of the best French tailoring, from unnecessary hand-picked seams down the length of the trousers to lapels with very affected notches and a raised milanaise buttonhole. I knew I couldn’t confide it to any old alterations tailor, taking it instead back to the firm where Smalto himself used to cut before striking out on his own (as they’re making something for me, they accepted this on the side). They did a wonderful job, but I can’t deny that making this respoke a reality required all the romance Dirnelli appeared to deny – the luck of finding something that initially made its potential felt, the opportunity to use an alterations tailor who carried out his work with care and love, and the investment of resources and time.

#menswear #features #nomanwalksalone #rjman #reginaldjeromedemans

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analizmilagros · 6 years

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Top 7 Mens Gold Blazer Designs For Elegant men | analizmilagros

Almost every man understands the value that comes with owning a good, tailored, blazer. The plethora of designs available along with just how sharp and charming it will make him look, is enough to embrace such timeless menswear essentials. Gold blazers are unique in their level of sophistication and exactly how brightened attractive they have the ability of making a man look. Fnd More Gold Blazers at PILAEO here https://www.pilaeo.com/shop-mens/212917212/mens-fashion/gold-blazers-c-98924039.html Why are mens gold blazers so great? Here are just a few reasons:

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The cut and fit is flexible in modern mens gold blazer styles, and suitable to be worn with either casual or professional clothing. Regardless of the style you are wearing, the blazer color, buttons, hem, and lining come together to create a neat, clean look.

The aforementioned reasons are just a few why prom gentlemen, businessmen, and fashionable guys are wearing flashy blazers in confidence. There are many different ways that you can wear your luxury blazer jackets, and in many cases what you look the best in will depend on your own unique style. Here are 7 blazers that have gold in them, and how you can buy them ASAP.

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A blazer with gold glistening on the armies more likely than not to have a positive effect on your wardrobe. The navy blue color is professional, anti even has buttons and a hemline that's all around creative. The gold in this blazer takes mens gold blazers to a whole new level. This blazer is available at PILAEO here: Dazzling Gold Arm Mens Navy BlueTailored Stylish Blazer

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6. Luxury Velvet Blazer

Velvet blazer designs are certainly a style that every gentleman has atleast 1 of. The popularity of velvet blazers are quite profound. However, what isn't expected in mens fashion is the velvet blazer thats gold, while also having a shimmering pattern to it. The look and felon patterned blazers that are bright gold, are glaring telling sign of the fact thatquality can absolutely be crafted into blazers that are not the expected, traditional suit style.

The design of this shimmery gold blazer is an appealing rustic look that is reminiscent of some of the most popular runway looks seen at mens fashion weeks. The contours are soft, and the round hem complements that modern look of the blazer. This blazer demands a look that is clean, sharp, and simple. Your white dress shirt just made a best friend. This blazer. This mens gold blazer is available here: Gold Shiny Mens Luxury Velvet Blazer

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The Conclusion

Wearing mens gold blazer design sis much easier than assumed, given the wide variety of styles you can choose from. The best blazers are jackets that have high quality material, design that's creative, and an emphasis on the craftsmanship sic as the hem, limning, lapel, and buttons. You have to decide which style of gold blazer is suitable for you, but once you have that down patted, you can easily interchange your existing apparel without he suit jacket depending on whether you want a professional or casual style! You'll be able to effortlessly get dressed with shimmery, elegant. luxury gold blazers once you know your style and know where and who to wear these amazing pickups. What do you think about gold blazers? Would you wear them regularly or not as much? Let us know your take by reflagging this and commenting!

#mensfashion #luxury #gold blazer #mens blazer

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sabraeal · 6 years

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Desert & Reward: Chapter 6

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5

Obiyuki Week, Day 1: Pragma Practical love, founded on reason or duty

Obi is buzzing when he steps back into that darkened room, every nerve prickling under his skin like the air before lightning strikes. Not even velvet and down can muffle the feeling; it’s worse when he feels it settle against it his back, when he stares up at the ceiling and his body remembers a night just like this, a conversation so different from this one --

He worried then, how he would bear it. How he’d live with a heart in his chest. Ha. Ha.

In three days time, he’ll be married. To Miss. Unimaginable to that boy in a bed three sizes too large for him, to that boy in the biggest bed he’d ever had.

Until he became a lord. His head aches. How did he even let himself get here, how did he get himself tied in so tight with all these princes and titles and intrigues?

He rolls to his side, letting his eyes drift shut. In three days time, he’ll be married --

But he’ll never be a husband.

Against all expectation, Obi sleeps.

Sleeps. Not a fitful doze, woken up every hour by some noise, a lump in his lump-less mattress, or an intrusive thought but -- an actual full night of rest, the sun sitting high outside his window when he finally wakes to the soft sounds of drawers and doors opening and closing, of cloth being pulled out and then hurriedly put away.

Obi blinks, lets out a four-letter groan, and mutters, “Is it after ten?”

“We’re at court,” Yori tells him in his entirely unnecessary way. He putters about, industriously picking out something for him to disagree with before breakfast. “Mr Morel said I was to have you keep city hours, though he begs that you do not get used to it.”

The idea of “getting used” to regular sleep would have him on the ground, if this bed wasn’t so damn comfortable. Instead, he rolls himself upright, feet dangling over the carpet. The pattern marks it as Watese; just as out of place here as he is. “Morel would rather keel over from an aneurysm than beg anything from me.”

Yori clucks, affecting the sort of shock that reminds him of a softer, more lined face. That he's homesick for any part of the south surprises him, but that fact that it’s Mrs Carre at least takes the sting out of it. “You are his lord. Mr Morel is ready to accommodate your every whim.”

Hilarious. Amazing that the kid could say it with a straight face. “Like you?”

“Of course, my lord.”

“Well, in that case...” He plucks the cravat laid so neatly on the bed, and tosses it. It flutters, like a bird with a broken wing, before crumpling on the floor. “I won’t be wearing that.”

Yori stares at it as if one of the barn cats has brought in a less-than-lively gift. “Well,” he says, so mild, “I can’t allow my lord to embarrass himself either.”

He can’t help the way his lips spread, the way his teeth bare, the way even muscle of him coils like he’s spoiling for a fight.

“Which is it, Yori?” he presses, waggling his eyebrows in challenge. “You can’t have both.”

“--And that is all they were able to come up with.” His Majesty settles back in his chair, head tilted back, long fingers pinching at the bridge of his nose. “A list of encryption that it cannot be.”

Obi pulls at his cravat, tied punishingly tight. He should know better than to antagonize domestics -- they always win. “Well, knowing where not to look is almost as good as knowing where to look.”

“Almost,” His Majesty agrees. “But not quite.”

The king has always seemed young to Obi, especially when he’s always next to lords and councilors that could have been his father, but the way his shoulders round in as he sits, the way small lines crinkle at the edge of his eyes --

He looks his age. Older maybe.

It’s almost too intimate seeing him like this, seeing him frustrated, and Obi drags his gaze down, staring at the list in his lap. Nearly two dozen clerks working for months, and all that they’ve made is a list of things they don’t know.

“I am sorry though.”

He blinks up from the list, head tilted. “Sorry?”

From beneath lidded eyes, midnight blue stares back at him, fixed. “Of course. I hate to be wasting your time when you have such a happy occasion to prepare for.”

Only His Majesty could make it sound like an accusation, a challenge. Obi shifts in his seat, glad that he wore the stupid cravat -- now, at least, the king wouldn’t see the guilty flush working its way up his neck. “No trouble at all, Elder Highness. I’ve been told it’s all well in hand, so --”

“But surely you have some preparations of you own to make.” His Majesty slides a pointed gaze over his jacket, his trousers. “Fittings for your new clothes, at least.”

Obi stares. “My what?”

A smile curls dangerously on his mouth. “Oh my. It seems there’s some work to do yet, Lord Obi.”

The thing is: he has clothes. Nice ones, trunks full of them, all made from fabrics he can hardly pronounce and animals he’s only vaguely aware of. Damask. Jacquard. Ermine. Vulcana. There can’t be a need for more.

“It’s not about having clothes, my lord.” Yori speaks with the sort of impatient patience that implies that sainthood is certain from this conversation alone. “It’s about having the right clothes.”

He has more clothes in those trunks than he’s had the whole rest of his life put together, even as Master’s aide. “I have a dozen types of pants.”

“Trousers,” Yori corrects, weary. “And none of these are meant for a wedding, let alone your own.”

Life was easier when any fancy party just required him to wear dress blacks. “Then what are they for?”

“Oh I don’t know,” his valet drawls, flicking pointedly through endless black. “Perhaps a funeral?”

Obi pulls his mouth thin, trying to stretch his spine, to gain a few imperious inches. Yori remains unimpressed. “I doubt His Majesty has to put up with this from his valet.”

“His Majesty owns a pair of pantaloons,” Yori claps back flatly. “And knows about colors outside of a monochromatic scale. Yesterday, I saw his pocket square was scarlet.”

Obi refuses to believe that he might have a point.

“Black,” he starts, “is always in fashion --”

“Fine,” Yori concedes with a sigh, eyeing the mess of finery littered across the room. Every flat surface has been press-ganged into service, waistcoats and jackets and all conceivable level of pants and hosiery have been strewn over them, a gallery of unworn clothes his new life has acquired without his knowing.

Any of his old clothes -- his black pants, the filmy black shirts, his good boots -- are suspiciously absent. Obi doubts it’s an accident.

“I’ll grant you the black suit.” Yori’s tone implies it would be easier to give up his first child than this. “But only if you will have a colored waistcoat.”

Obi lets a sharp smile pull at his lips. “If you insist --”

“Not including the brown wool,” he amends quickly, casting a dubious look at the thing. “No wool at all. And a real color. Watered silk or finer.”

Victory has never tasted so sweet. “Then I think we’ve come to a harmonious --”

The door knocks so hard it rattles.

Yori’s eyes dart to his, ask him a question he doesn’t know how to answer. No, he doesn’t know who this is; yes, it could very well bee a majesty or a highness or a your grace.

Somehow, when he hadn’t been watching, that became his life.

Reluctant, Yori turns toward the door, moving jerky, slow, like broken clockwork. “I...suppose I’ll get that, my lord.”

Obi bites down, caging the no, please behind his teeth. It wouldn’t do him any good; he’s served Wistal for far too long to think he can avoid what’s on the other side of that door by keeping it shut.

It opens, revealing dark hair, a casual lean, and a rugged scar right across an equally rough nose. He knew he should have kept that door closed.

“Good, you’re already halfway to naked,” Shidnote drawls smugly, sauntering into the room like he owns it, casting an appreciative eye over the tornado of finery that litters the room. “Saves us some time.”

Yori casts an anxious look between them. “Should I--? Are you --?”

“It’s Sir Shidnote.” His Majesty’s me. Obi bites back a grimace. “His Majesty’s aide.”

The looks shifts from anxious to accusatory; his valet far too well trained to blurt it out now, but Obi can see that he had perhaps -- perhaps -- been remiss in relaying his exact position at court.

“Well, we can’t all parley our connections to a title,” Shidnote notes, as if he isn’t a count of somewhere, like his use of sir isn’t just considered an eccentric affectation of some country noble at this point. “In any case, are you coming, Sir Obi?”

He raises an eyebrow. “Just where am I supposed to be going?”

“His Majesty said you needed new clothes, didn’t he?” His mouth twitches at the corners, ominously. “Well, in his infinite generosity, he asked a personal favor of his most favorite tailor, and now you have an appointment to be prodded with the same pins that touch his royal ass.”

Shidnote is enjoying this far too much.

He gives a mocking bob, holding out a hand toward the door, his grin so wide it crinkles his scar. “Now, I’m sure you’d just love to come this way, my lord.”

“I couldn’t possibly,” Obi hems, giving the man’s hands a wide berth. “The wedding -- it’s hardly two days away, and --”

“Oh, don’t you worry about that, Sir Obi,” Shidnote drawls, arm hooking around his shoulders like a vice. “His Majesty’s got is so everything will be ready in a real hurry. Practically shutting down the shop to dress you.”

Obi just manages a, “How…thoughtful.”

“Oh yeah,” Shidnote says, in something just more subdued than a crow. “Izana’s got a whole lot of those.

He expects Yori to be there – after all, he is Obi’s valet, and he gives him a token amount of control over his sartorial choices, even if he tends to nix three-quarters of them. What he does not expect, not at all, is –

“Well,” Kiki hums, steam curling off her tea, legs crossed, “I don’t think even the maestro will be able to fit you with all those clothes on.”

He spins on his heel, the door barely a meter away but Zakura catches him, using those few extra inches to keep him firmly planted on the carpet.

“Come on now, Sir Obi,” he grunts, the both of them struggling at the door. “Take your fittings like a man.”

“You get undressed with a peanut gallery,” Obi growls back, straining against their deadlock. “I’m sure I have something frilly enough in a trunk somewhere.”

“You don’t,” Kiki deadpans, “unless you want to make a wedding suit entirely out of shoulder capes, so I’m told.”

Obi glares at his traitorous valet, but Yori remains unrepentant – even if he does angle Miss Kiki and her seat between them. “They’re dashing.”

“Is that what Shirayuki says?” Kiki inquires mildly, eyebrows twitching above her teacup. “Come on, it’s bad enough it’s last minute, and there’s so much to do.”

Obi relents, stalking over to where the dais lurks, unassuming. He knows better; people with pins and opinions use these things. “It’s just a wedding suit.”

Three pairs of eyes settle on him, a mix of pity and incredulity.

“Oh no,” Kiki says, setting down her cup. “You don’t just need a wedding suit.”

“But I have clothes,” Obi insists as the racks are wheeled out, endless trousers and waistcoats and cravats surrounding him. “Even things for parties –“

“You need new ones,” Kiki tells him, firm. “Ones that aren’t entirely black.”

“I have waistcoats –“

“Of watered silk in solid colors,” she finished, unenthused. “I’ve heard. Not enough.”

Obi huffs, shoulders rounding. “I just don’t see why I need one for lunch and for the wedding and for breakfast –“

“Oh, that’s just to start,” Kiki says, “wait until you hear about your honeymoon wardrobe.”

“My --?” He turns, fixing Shidnote with a glare. “Just what are you doing?”

The man’s dropped his hulking form down into a chair, looking for all the world like he’s just stumbled into a dramatic, personal duel. “Oh, just taking in the show. Don’t mind me.”

“I don’t --”

“Don’t worry, Sir Zakura,” Kiki drawls, corner of her lips twitching, “I’m used to ignoring useless commentary.”

He’s given a reprieve around the time that food should be coming into the picture – which of course is another thing people want to discuss with him, though that at least sounds pleasant. Being plied with a hundred hors d’oeuvres while the maestro and his team frantically stitch together the first of his clothes sounds like the sort of break he can get behind, even if he is under strict instructions not to gain weight – not a single pound, sir, the Maestro had impressed up him, it might ruin the lay of your trousers.

A great pity, Miss Kiki sympathizes, entirely too amused.

Obi picks at his shoulder, certain there’s still pins trapped there, feeling them prick wherever his shirt brushes against his skin.

“Must you be so dramatic?” Kiki sighs as they take the corner, scowling as his shoulder twitch, trying to dislodge any wayward pins.

“I can feel them,” he insists. “They’re right --”

And that, of course, is when Her Majesty turns the corner, her gaggle of young maids bobbing behind her like ducklings trailing their mother. He tenses, taking in the pleased curl of her smile, the way her eyes light when she makes him at the other end of the hall, and he can’t understand why, not until –

Not until her ladies part, just so, and he catches red flash between their finery, and those wide, familiar eyes --

“Obi!” A small hand darts out, grasping at his arm, just below the elbow – “Ow!”

“Oh, Miss! I --” He watches her pluck one of those wicked pins from his sleeve. “From the fittings. I think they’re all over. I’m a very handsome trap, I know.”

She giggles, ducking her head. “Me too. I think --”

“Lady Shirayuki, it’s about time --”

“Obi, we’re on a schedule --”

He meets her eyes with a grin. He leans in, muttering, “I heard the groom wasn’t supposed to see the bride before the wedding, but this is ridiculous.”

She flushes red, but smiles back, leaning in –

Her Majesty comes up behind her, guiding her forward with a firm hand about her waist, only moments before Kiki does the same, just – less gentle.

“You’ll have plenty of time to see each other,” the queen promises with an arch smile. “…On your wedding night.”

He stumbles at that, and by the time he’s recovered, Miss has been firmly swept away, only close enough to meet his gaze before they turn the next corner.

“Come on,” Kiki grunts, shoving him. “We don’t have time for this.”

“I should be about to see my fiancée alone,” he grouses, “let alone with a half dozen chaperones in a hallway.”

“Nope.” Kiki pushes him along, towards the delicious aromas wafting down the hall. “You’re a disaster.”

“What, afraid we’d find some way to cancel it?” he taunts, pulling himself to his full height so he can properly loom. “Two of us alone together, there’s nothing we can’t –“

“No,” she sighs, rolling her eyes. “If we leave you alone, Shirayuki will find some way to get you to elope.”

“I think the fit is wrong on the trousers,” Kiki drawls, holding out her cup for one of the assistants to fill. “Do you have a cut that’s tighter?”

“Tighter?” Obi yelps. “What, do you want them to paint them on?”

“If they must,” she informs him mildly. “Anyway, maestro – tighter?”

“Of course, my lady,” the man says, scurrying off.

“You’re indecent,” Obi accuses, only half joking.

She lifts her brows, pointed. “I’m fashionable. And if you have the thighs to pull it off, I’m not quite sure why you’re complaining.”

His mouth pulls thin. “I have a valet, you know. I can dress myself.”

“I was under the distinct impression having a valet meant you didn’t dress yourself.” She sets down her cup. “Besides, he’s paid to agree with you.”

Funny, how that has never come up in his time with his. “Yori, what do you think?”

Yori looks like he might faint from the attention. “Whatever pleases you, my lord, I’m sure will be --”

“You don’t need to impress me with obedience, sir,” Kiki informs him. “I’ve already seen him dress himself for four years.”

“Hey –“

“Oh, in that case.” Yori’s eyes narrow, taking in the roominess of the trouser. “Tighter, definitely.”

The luncheon is billed as an informal affair, but Obi’s been in Wistal long enough to know what that means: look as fancy as you can, but don’t look like you’re trying. He’d tried to pitch his normal trousers, loose and comfort, but he’d hardly gotten a word in before Kiki had said, buckskins, and now here he is, in a pair that was cut to please everyone but him.

Miss’s hand burns even through his coat, and when she squeezes it, reassuring, he’s sure his knees wobble, just the slightest bit.

“You look very nice,” she murmurs, body swaying into his as they take their seat at the head table, just the two of them. He’d worried that she wouldn’t be able to do this, play the pleased, loving fiancee, but in the palest pink silk and lace, her eyes gazing up at him so wide and earnest --

He almost forgets that this is all just an -- an arrangement.

“Isn’t that supposed to be my line?” he teases, sliding in her chair. “It’s my job to tell you how pretty you look first.”

She flushes, ducking her head to hide it. “I thought it might be nice for you to hear it for once.”

His hands clench on his thighs, slick. “Miss is too kind. I’ll get spoiled if you keep up like this.”

Her hand tangles with his beneath the linens. “Good.”

“Shirayuki!”

They startle apart, glancing up to see who calls out --

“Garrack.” Miss goggles, cheeks flushed. “I didn’t know you were invited.”

Garrack is hardly dressed much different than normal, save the lack of a white coat. True to form, she took the invitation at face value, and is wearing the sort of smug expression that says she knows exactly how much it’s annoying the glittering crowd behind her.

“I may be lacking the heap of titles that usually is a prerequisite to these things, but I have one that matters.” She grins, all teeth. “It seems these nobles are a superstitious lot. They treat Chief Pharmacist like it means Head Evil Fairy and invite me to everything, just in case. I usually do them the courtesy of declining, but --” her eyes run knowingly over the both of them -- “how could I miss the luncheon of my favorite student?”

Miss demures, flushing all the way to the tips of her ears, and Obi can’t help himself -- “Higata will be heartbroken.”

“Oh, he knows where he stands,” Garrack says, nonchalant. “I hope you don’t mind, Shirayuki, but I know you won’t have much time the next few days, so if we could...?”

“Oh!” Miss gives him an apologetic look. “Do you mind? I didn’t have time to send a report before I left Wilant.”

His chest tightens, thinking about the hurry she had left in to make it here before him, how she must have left the lab in complete disarray -- “Don’t worry,” he manages with a warm smile. “I’ll hold down the fort.”

He watches her go, swaying through the crowd as Garrack leads her onto the balcony, the only place where it’s possible for them to have privacy.

“I suppose I’m obliged to congratulate you on your happy nuptials.”

He drags his gaze away, letting them fix on black hair and bird-blue eyes. Kihal looks as comfortable in her dress as he does in his trousers. “Though I hope you know, Shirayuki’s a saint to take you.”

“You know, I’m a bit vague on the whole…peerage bit. But marquis does outrank countess doesn’t it?” His widens his eyes, so innocent. “Why, am I your liege lord?”

“Thankfully not,” she bites out, “gods forbid. And to think, you’ll kiss Shirayuki with that mouth.”

He won’t, but there’s no need for her to know that. “Jealous?”

“You wish.” Her smile turns sly as she gives the balcony a pointed perusal. “Or maybe not.”

He doesn’t deign to give an answer, not when they both know it so well.

“I suspect you must recognize the room,” Kihal begins, in a completely different tone.

“Not even slightly,” he admits. “This was all arranged by your soon-to-be beloved brother. I could put names to faces if I tried, but...”

“Is that so?” He voice is deceptively light. “It seems like half the south is here. Not the Forenzos, of course, they never come to anything, but everyone else...”

Obi looks out over the room -- Count Luigis there, half the coast over there --

“They must be quite pleased,” she remarks, “after all, a margravine? From Tanbarun? What opportunities that will open up.”

“There you are.” Master steps up beside her, hand solicitously at her back. Kihal leans back into it, just slightly; it’s not a conscious move, but one that shows their ease with one another. Obi cannot help but wonder just what Master has been doing with these years in Wistal. “I see you’ve rushed to give Obi your congratulations.”

Kihal’s mouth twitches, fighting the urge to scowl. “Something like that.”

“I’ve been trying to make my way over for the past quarter of an hour,” Zen admits, “but my brother keeps throwing people at me.”

“Funny,” Obi drawls, gaze fixed on him. “Been a lot of that, lately. Must run in the family.”

Zen stares at him, cheeks flushed. “Obi--”

“You boys can talk later,” Kihal sighs, tugging at Zen. “Let’s go give our congratulations to Shirayuki now.”

“I want to see the green again,” Kiki says, head balanced on two fingers. “And maybe that gold. And the scarlet, there on that rack, with the white.”

“My lady,” Yori interjects nervously. “My lord prefers darker –“

“Your lord’s entire wardrobe is black,” she drawls, flipping through the rack that been rolled over to her. “His opinion is invalid.”

“He’s still standing here,” Obi reminds her.

“And he’s going to try on the scarlet damask with the white suit.” Her eyebrows tilt in challenge. “Isn’t he?”

Obi deflates. “Yes.”

Yori stares at Kiki like she’s revealed herself to be superhuman, and angel in human guise. “I think the gold, my lady.”

Kiki considers the suggestion. “And definitely the gold as well.”

It’s only meal service that brings Miss back to his side; once she leaves her impromptu meeting with Garrack, she barely makes it more than five steps total, completely overrun with well-wishers and old acquaintances. Obi makes more than one attempt to reach her -- after all, if they’re going to sell this whole happy couple thing, they might try being within arm’s reach -- but he’s ambushed by his own parade of speculative mamas and young bucks eager for tonight.

“My, my.” It takes everything not to jump at the words, spoke too close. His Majesty emerges from behind him, champagne bubbling in his flute and smile curling one edge of his lips. “You’ve been quite busy, haven’t you?”

“From what I’ve been hearing, I’ll be busier tonight.” Obi takes a moment to sip at his own drink. “Is there some wedding tradition I’m missing?”

“Why, I thought you of all people would know.” His Majesty looks uncomfortably close to gleeful. “Isn’t it considered common for young grooms to go out before their wedding night, drink unlikely amounts of alcohol --?”

“A stag night?” he yelps. “This is -- they’re talking about my stag night?”

And eyebrow lifts, challenging. “Surely you didn’t think my brother would be remiss in his duties.”

“No...” He’d just thought it would be a think only commoners did, something Master only knew about from slumming with the guardsmen, not --

Not some grand soiree, inviting every nobleman old enough to hold his liquor and young enough to enjoy it. He’d expected Master and Mister and maybe even Miss Kiki, but this --

“Why, even I have to admit I’m eager to see what he’s come up with,” His Majesty drawls.

Obi stares. “You...you’re....to...?”

“Of course.” He steps closer, expression shuttering to something far more serious. “Though we’ll have some far more pressing business to take care of before then.”

“What else could there be?”

His mouth pulls flat, expression guarded. “Why, the marriage contract, of course.” His Majesty fixes him with a meaningful look. “Tanbarun will be....eager to see it, when all this comes out.”

#obiyukiweek18 #day 1 #obiyuki #akagami no shirayukihime #desert and reward #my fic #ans #i had HOPED i would get to the part i'm DYING to get to this chapter #but unfortunately that looks like it's still TWO CHAPTERS AWAY #but Obi suffering is always good #especially mutual pining suffering #MUTUAL PINING WHEN THEY ARE GONNA GET MARRIED suffering #delicious

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secondplayercanada · 6 years

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Super important muse update.

Hello everyone! As you may or may not know, I came to the realisation a while ago that a lot of Matts behaviours and other things actually line up perfectly with several signs of being on the autism spectrum. Further investigation showed yep, Matt is your local undiagnosed autistic adult! So yeah, this massively huge fuckoff document is a detailed description and walkthrough of where he fits on the spectrum and other important details. Its fucking massive, but please please read it all! Everything on there is important and details important things that make him him.

I’ll whack it under a readmore so you don’t have to scroll for forever.

So, before we get too far let me just preface this with an important disclaimer: autism is a spectrum. If you meet or know someone who’s on the spectrum you know just that, A person on the spectrum. Everyone is different and that's what I strive to show with Matt. Keep in mind he’s also undiagnosed, and was raised in a very different world to ours, and thus has learned to “act normal” over the centuries as he’s grown up. I’m not saying this is how every person with autism is or acts, I’m just saying this is how Matt is, as someone who’s a demigod style immortal thing. Now that we’ve done the obligatory disclaimer so tumblr doesn’t throw a shit fit, let's get into how Matt fits on the spectrum.

I’ll apologise in advance, this kind of wanders a bit, and occasionally just slides from one topic to another, but this does cover everything. And its long as FUCK.

As previously stated, autism is a spectrum ranging from the more extreme to the more subtle. Matt fits somewhere in the middle- some traits are noticeable and others are not. For example, Matt stims a lot, and he has no idea he’s actually stimming. His main stims have changed in how he shows them over the centuries, but these ones have never changed, only adapted.

1. He fiddles. Constantly. He’ll play with the hem of his shirt, the opening on the sleeve where his hand comes out, with his buttons (regardless of where they are), he’ll tug on the belt loops of his pants.

2. When his hair is long enough, if he’s starting to escalate or he’s got a lot of emotionsTM he’ll play with his hair. He’ll plait it, twirl it around his fingers, tug on it when he’s starting to get near a meltdown. If he’s having a full on meltdown he’ll pull out his hair and eyelashes.

3. Tapping and twirling. He’ll tap on the table, twirl his pen around, roll a stone with a soothing texture around in his hands, tap his arms, feet, so long as its a texture he likes he’ll play with it. Kinda fits into the fiddling, but I like to classify this as a different thing as the connotations are different.

In the modern day, he uses fidget cubes and spinners, certain slimes, certain stress balls, and he’ll occasionally chew on a pen if he’s trying not to fiddle or tap/twirl. He’s INCREDIBLY picky about textures, and he’s very sensitive to these. He flat out refuses to wear certain fabrics and styles because they are Not Good and he’ll do whatever he needs to not wear them. The main styles he hates are things like suits and ties, turtlenecks, anything that covers/restricts his neck and fabrics that don’t breathe. He can tolerate military uniforms in general because they’re designed to move and breathe. However, if something is baggy he’s usually ok with it.

Fabrics he likes are things like wool and cotton, soft things that feel like the sorts of clothes he grew up wearing. In the modern day he wears jeans and a baggy flannel mostly, though when he needs he’ll trade the flannel out for plain cotton tees. He prefers not to wear synthetic clothing as an environmental thing, and some of those fabrics are BAAAAAAAAAAD. He’s not sure which ones though, and can’t be bothered to find out so he just avoids anything synthetic as a general rule. He does know he would rather die than wear any kind of velvet, fake or real. Don’t even try he WILL rip it to shreds. Loves cashmere though.

He also has a love/hate relationship with shoes. It really depends on what the ground underneath is like. In forests and such, he can happily go barefoot. Sand? Sand is the devil. He hates sand on a similar level to Anakin Skywalker. Sand can get fucked. He refuses to go to beaches simply because he cannot handle sand, so unless its rocky or you can effectively keep the sand off of him, he won’t go. Ice and cold stuff he’s fine with, he doesn’t feel the cold as a weird ass nation thing. So he will walk barefoot and buttass naked in the middle of a antartic winter blizzard and he’ll be fine. Heat, on the other hand, he’s got a mixed relationship with. Heat on its own he can tolerate, same with humidity, but when its hot and humid he suffers and is constantly on the edge of escalating into a meltdown unless he can get somewhere cool. Hot ground is shoes weather, and he really doesn't like how most sandels feel. It's incredibly rare to find him in sandals, 99.99% of the time he has some form of enclosed shoe on. He’s also picky af about what shoes he wears, because it’s gotta fit his foot right, be comfortable, and most importantly the laces have to be just right. It’s dealing with laces thats hardest for him, if something doesn’t lace just right he can’t wear something. He hates thick, hard laces and prefers the softer ones that fit fairly flat and smoothly against the top of his foot so he’ll hardly notice them.

On the subject of noticing him, it’s his social ability that’s most likely to make someone suspect Matts on the spectrum. He HATES crowds, and the noise associated with them. He gets overwhelmed very easily in them, which best case scenario leads to panic attacks, worse case scenario he has a meltdown. He hates feeling cramped in and trapped in people, he hates feeling people in his bubbles or touching him without permission. The noises and smells in the city also tend to be his biggest trigger. He hates the smell of diesel, smoke/smog (he’s ok with woodsmoke though. And marijuana smoke. That's about it. He will throw your cigarette into the sun and you with it if you don’t back off when he’s getting antsy, as cigarette smoke in particular will give him huge headaches. He really suffered a lot when casual tobacco consumption was the norm.) he also can’t deal with lots of auditory input, and the noises in cities is often too much at once and will make him freak. Unless it's mostly the same sort of thing, for example just the babble of the crowd talking at a normal volume, he will leave ASAP.

Adding to his social problems, Matt exhibits the following common signs of autism:

1. Struggles with eye contact (over the centuries he’s learned to look at people’s noses and eyebrows, but it’s very rare he makes the concentrated effort to look someone in the eyes. It stresses him out.)

2. He struggles with facial expressions- both his own and others. He can’t read facial expressions very well, and has a resting bitch face that rarely changes. Kinda similar to canon APH Sweden. The most common facial expression he has is smile, frown, and raising an eyebrow in confusion. He’s learned raising an eyebrow while frowning is usually a nonverbal question of “please explain” so he uses this a lot.

3. Leading on from facial expressions, he can’t read body language in general or the atmosphere. He’s gotten a bit better over the centuries, but since he’s taken to hiding in the middle of nowhere on his own, he’s not as good as he could be with, ya know, a diagnosis and proper help to learn.

4. He gets fixated on things and then it's hard to stop him from focusing. Currently his things he focuses on are various environmental issues, mostly focused on conservation and preservation. His other major special interest all stages of building, from designing to actually making it. If you don’t let him finish it he’ll get really upset.

5. He really struggles with playing pretend. Like… a lot. Either something is real, or it isn’t. He understands fiction, which is fine and he enjoys reading fiction and other works that are clearly fictional, but if you try and hypothetically ask him something or have him pretend to do something it’s a struggle. As a child and early teen it would distress him to no end, but as an adult he can work through it if you’re patient.

But in saying that, he does notice things when he likes you. He’ll remember if you mention your favourite colour or food, he’ll notice when you wear a lot of a certain kind of jewelry, if you wear a certain scent a lot, if you wear certain accessories or styles a lot. He’ll notice if you have a certain kind of flower you use as decoration or in your garden. He’ll notice when you change your hair, if you wear a different style, he’ll notice you’ve been talking a lot about something you enjoy. And he’ll do his damn best to engage in the things those he cares about like. And when you’re sad he’ll use this to try and make you feel better. Think like Sherlock Holmes’s super noticing and remembering ability, only unlike Sherlock he’s not a foot-in-mouth dick about it.

On the subject of noticing what people like, Matt highly enjoys repetitive or easily broken down tasks like sewing, cooking, baking and gardening. His garden is meticulously cared for, and if he really likes you, he’ll either start growing your favourite flowers or he’ll give you as many as you want when they’re blooming. If possible, he’ll either start growing any herbs you like or use a lot in his herb garden or he’ll give you some. Stuff like rosemary he’ll bottle and dry himself and give to you so you have good homegrown stuff to use.

When it comes to clothes, he makes his own a lot so they’re Just Right, so he’ll mend your clothes, make you a nice coat or shirt, he’ll tailor things for you. He’ll even use fabrics he loathes if he really loves you. Including velvet.

He’ll also randomly make food for you and causally fob it off. Going back to noticing, he’ll make your favourite dishes where possible, things traditional to your homeland, whatever will make you feel happy. He likes making those he cares about happy. It makes him happy to spread some joy.

Moving on from happy, people yelling or otherwise freaking out is horrible for him. Mostly because the loud noises and aggression makes him escalate like that in turn, so when people get mad at him and start yelling and getting up in his business, it’ll end in disaster. Just the loud noises people make when going through a strong emotion in general isn’t good, but he’s ok with laughter now. Another reason why he avoids people- people are hard and when emotions and tensions start rising, so do his chances of meltdown.

So, what does Matt’s meltdowns look like? Depends on how bad it is and what caused it. At worst they’re your stereotypical autistic meltdown, he’s screaming, maybe crying, if it’s brought on by someone else he’ll try and hit you, if it's not a person he’ll rock, he’ll hit himself in the head, bite his arms and lips, pull out his hair by the firstful. He’ll kick if he’s on the ground, and if you get too close he WILL hit you. At this point it’s best to leave him alone. At his most mild there’s crying, he’ll hit himself and scratch his arms and rock in place. No matter how bad the meltdown is, as much as possible he’ll try and get away or remove what's caused the meltdown. If it's too much stimulation he’ll run away and find somewhere peaceful no matter what, if its a person he will fucking yeet you across a room, don’t get close. Things like sand are harder, he’ll usually just stay at his peak until someone can get him away or he doesn't have to wear it/touch it/feel it/ go near it. No surprise that war in general is absolute hell for him. During wartime if he’s in the hospitals or on the frontlines he’ll be right on the edge of a breakdown. While serving the world wars he developed a temporary hatred of mud and everything associated with them, and temporarily developed selective mutism. In general, he refused to interact with all but a handful of people (mostly nations) and even then he was mostly nonverbal.

In saying that, Matt is surprisingly good with children and it was children that were key to his recovery after the wars. He adores kids, as kids tend to be very honest and easy for him to read, and even when they lie it's for reasons he can understand. And most kids are shitty liars so even he can tell when they’re lying. Matt loves playing with kids, with kids and animals being his magic combination to help him chill no matter how close to a meltdown he is. After the wars he worked a lot with kids because he was quiet and to most kids, he was scarier than anything else that they imagined could be after them. So he became the big scary friend who looks after everyone else. Once he adopts a kid as his, he will do whatever he needs to keep them happy and safe.

He does a similar thing with animals, as animals are like kids but easier again for him to understand. He loves the small cute animals, and has been known to opely sob in delight over impossibly tiny animals like kittens and puppies. In saying that, he also loves adopting the grumpy old bastard cats who no one can get near from shelters. If you give him an inch he’ll take a mile and end up running like a bajillion Old Friends Senior Dog Sanctuary style sanctuaries for animals in need. Don’t test him. Their fur is oddly calming to him, a throwback to his childhood when animal hides were commonly used, especially in winter.

And yeah, that's everything. Thanks for reading this stupidly fucking long talk about Matts autism! This is a living document, so it’ll evolve as Matt evolves, so it’ll be a good idea to check back in on this every now and again once I add it to his page. However it is about 11pm as I finish this edit before posting and I woke up at 6am this morning for work and must do so again tomorrow. So yeah.

Thanks again!

#that's a very vauge concept you know {about}#I'll schedule this so the Americans can see it #please read this this was a labour of #love and lots of hard work and editing #thanks

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claws-n-salt · 7 years

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Crackmas || Day 6

Crackmas Day 6 || Akumatized || Marinette gets a little too angry when she's looking at another of Hawkmoth's terrible akuma designs. When she gets akumatized, she sets out to fix some of Hawkmoth's mistakes. Unfortunatly for Chat Noir, his redesign is a bit different than the other's

Rated T || 1,441 Words

Cross posted on Ao3 || FF

Prompts can be found here from @mlcrackmas

Buy me a Coffee?

Re-Designer

Marinette grumbled to herself as she clicked through the new pictures Alya had posted on the Ladyblog. The most recent akuma design was, yet again, atrocious. For someone who was able to control water, the akuma’s outfit had been garishly yellow with stripes of bubblegum pink and chartreuse. Marinette could have designed something better in her sleep. In fact, she had come up with a better design the moment she’d heard the akuma’s name and found out their powers.

She was so busy fuming over Hawkmoth’s incapability to consider even the simplest color chart, that she didn’t hear the flapping of wings until Tikki shrieked as a butterfly landed on the pen Marinette was holding. “Re-Designer, I am Hawkmoth. If you agree to…”

“Shut it moth man. I can feel myself getting worse at designing just by hearing your voice.” Marinette felt the akumatization wash over her. “Let’s see what trash color combination you put me in.” She walked over to the mirror and faked a gag. “Really, orange and blue ruffles? I’m personally offended.” Re-Designer pointed her pen, now turned short wand, at her own outfit, changing it to a fitted jacket and a tailored pant that fit impeccably, both in a tasteful dark maroon. One of the lapels of the jacket held a little slot for Re-Designer to put her wand. “Now this is what I call a supervillain’s outfit.” Re-Designer did a little spin for herself in the mirror, ending with a wicked smile at herself. “Now it’s time to fix some mistakes.”

Knowing exactly where to start, Re-Designer made one more minor change to her outfit design. Pressing the small button than was now above the wand slot, a small jetpack formed on Re-Designer’s back before she went up to her balcony and jetted off.

A few minutes later, Re-Designer landed outside the house of the person who had had the worst ever akuma design, Nino Lahiffe, aka The Bubbler. Lucky for her, Nino was currently walking out of the building. “Well, hey there Bubbler.”

Nino spun around from where he’d been locking the door. “Whoa, Marinette, you scared me. Wait, did you just call me Bubbler?” Re-Designer smiled sweetly at the confused boy in front of her. She was so focused on Nino that she didn’t notice Adrien walking down the street towards Nino’s house.

“That I did, Bubbles.” Pulling out her wand from its holder, Re-Designer gently waved it around. “I was just thinking about how terrible your design was when you were The Bubbler so I thought Re-Designer could do a little, well, redesigning.” Re-Designer let a hand fly to her mouth in a signature anime villain cackle as she watched Nino’s eyes widened when it dawned on him that she was akumatized.

Unbeknownst to Re-Designer, Adrien realized she was akumatized the exact same moment Nino did, and immediately dove into the bushes he’d been walking passed. Chat Noir immerged moments later, slowly beginning to make his way around the akumatized girl.

Re-Designer gave her wand a final twirl then pointed it at Nino, directing a bolt of sparkling pink light at him. The glittering wave washed over Nino, leaving him in a dark navy suit with embroidered bubbles in a light blue thread snaking up the side of the suit, from the right hem of his pant leg to the curve of his right shoulder. In his hands was a much sleeker bubble wand in a light blue matching the embroidered bubbles. “Um, Mari, not that I don’t mind the redesign, but um, it wasn’t really necessary.”

Re-Designer beamed at Nino. “Of course it was. Hawkmoth made you a costume that nearly caused permanent blindness to anyone who viewed it. I had to fix that travesty.” Nino’s eyes flashed to a place behind Re-Designer. Right as Chat Noir swiped to grab her, Re-Designer jumped to the side.

Whirling on Chat, Re-Designer pointed the wand at the superhero. “You know Kitty, your suit could use a little redesigning too.” Chat went to grab for Re-Designer’s wand, but pink sparkles washed over him before he could.

Re-Designer smirked. “That’s better.” Chat looked down at his suit which had shrunk down to a pair of black shorts, his belt tail, and the gold bell which was now attached to a choker like collar. As Nino doubled over in fits of laughter, Chat gaped.

Shaking off his shock, Chat sauntered towards a still smirking Re-Designer. “You know Marinette, if you wanted to see me with my shirt off, you could have just asked.”

“Well what would have been the fun in-“ Re-Designer’s words abruptly stopped as Chat plucked the wand from her hand. She hadn’t realized how close Chat had gotten.

“I will just hold onto this until Ladybug gets here.” Chat glared at Nino who was now sitting on his stairs, unable to hold himself up from laughing so hard. “How do I change my suit back Mari?”

“That was crafty kitty. You won’t be able to change your suit back until Ladybug uses the cure and that won’t be happening anytime soon so…” Re-Designer causally flicked one of her earrings. Re-Designer giggled when Chat gasped in realization.

“Be right back, stay here.” Chat ran into Nino’s house, both Re-Designer and Nino looking after him in confusion. A moment later, darkness rippled over Re-Designer, leaving an unakumatized Marinette in its wake.

Looking around in confusion, Marinette noticed a still suited up Nino on his stairs. “Wow Nino, that’s a really nice suit.”

“Um, thanks. You made it.” Brows drawing together, Marinette looked at her friend in confusion.

“I what? What do you…” Marinette trailed off when Chat stepped out of the house in his new and improved suit. She didn’t know whether to stare or laugh. Staring was what she went with. Slack jawed, Marinette watched Chat Noir waltz over to her in what looked to be more of a stripper outfit than a superhero suit. Had she done that?

“Sorry Nino but the princess and I need to go deal with something.” Marinette didn’t know if Nino had said anything in response because Chat Noir pressed her close and extended his baton, lifting them both into the air. Was Marinette internally screaming because she was currently pressed up against her very attractive partner’s bare chest? Yes.

When they’d made it a little ways from Nino’s house, Chat Noir set Marinette down and handed her the akuma, which he’d trapped in a glass jar she hadn’t even noticed. She’d been a bit distracted. “I think you can take care of this.” Chat raised a brow at her in expectation.

Marinette groaned as she took a few steps back from her nearly naked partner. “Not only did I turn you into a stripper while akumatized, but I also told you who I was?” Chat nodded, grinning mischievously.

Chat was glad Marinette had forgotten his next words when the akumatization broke, because it was prefect for his next move. “You know My Lady, you could have just asked if you wanted to see me out of the suit.” Before Marinette could protest, Chat Noir released his transformation.

Marinette should have been more surprised to see Adrien Agreste standing in front of her, now fully clothed. “Honestly, I thought Chat’s abs looked familiar.”

“Oh, you mean these abs?” Adrien slipped his shirt over his head. He gestured towards his sculpted stomach. “You know, the ones you were so desperate to see that you got yourself akumatized.”

Marinette only let herself admire Adrien’s physique for a moment before she snapped her eyes back to his face. “Excuse me, I got akumatized because of how trash Hawkmoth’s designing skills are when it comes to akuma outfits.” Smirking, Marinette nodded towards Adrien’s shirtless form. “This was just a happy accident.”

“Oh really?” Adrien began to saunter up to Marinette. “A happy accident?”

“Of course. In fact, maybe I should thank Hawkmoth for his appalling taste if this is the outcome.” Marinette tilted her head up towards Adrien as he stopped in front of her.

“Hmm, maybe you should.” Their lips met for a moment before laughter bubbled up from Marinette.

“Sorry, but I just had a thought. What if Hawkmoth was a fashion designer or something. It would be so ironic if he was in the fashion industry, yet created such distasteful outfits.”

Adrien joined Marinette in her laughter. “That would be hilarious!”

The two heroes laughed at the outlandish idea of Hawkmoth being a fashion designer. Across town, Gabriel Agreste overdramatically monologed about next summer’s fashion line inspired by The Bubbler’s outfit while sitting alone in his dark room of butterflies.

#miraculous ladybug #ml crackmas #mlcrackmas2017 #identity reveal #akumatized marinette #Marinette Dupain-Cheng #chat noir #Nino lahiffe #adrien agreste #ml ladybug #Myranda writes fics

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imaginetonyandbucky · 7 years

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Prompt: After everyone gets pardoned and let back in the country TOny starts working on Buckys new arm. It starts out tense but grows into a friendship, they both start to get crushes on eachother and then there hits a point where Tony needs to work on Buckys shoulder in the front where its easier to get to by sitting on his lap. Awkwardness and fluff ensues

Mending Bridges

The first time, they sat in silence whileTony worked, a silence made tolerable only by the music Tony had playing loudlyin his lab. Bucky had sent him an emailwith the problems he was having, and Tony responded with a date and a time. The second time, Bucky brought a book, butthe third time he forgot and eventually got tired of staring over Tony’sshoulder and pretending like his arm was being worked on by a robot or aninvisible fairy.“SoI was wondering-“

Withoutlooking up, Tony took out the screwdriver he’d been holding in his mouth andsaid, “We don’t need to talk,” which was really saying something becauseaccording to the other Avengers Tony needed to talk like people needed tobreathe. But Bucky got the hint and stared at the opposite wall of the lab, jawtight.

Healways remembered to bring a book and his iPod after that, but halfway throughone maintenance session Bucky steeled his courage and said, “I know you hateme, and I want to say that I’m okay with that. I understand. I mean, I didn’t mean for any of it to happen…”he trailed off, thinking of a dark gravel road in the middle of nowhere, andthen his little walk-up apartment in Bucharest, shabby but safe. Until Stevecharged in ahead of the cavalry and it was all blown to shit. “But it did. So. I’m sorry.” Bucky couldn’t bring himself tolook at Tony so he put his earbuds in, turned the volume up, and buried hisface pointedly in his book until Tony was done.

Thenext time Bucky came in Tony seemed unusually tense. Halfway through the session, Bucky had pausedhis music to pick something different when Tony started talking. “I don’t hateyou,” Tony said in a low voice, keeping his eyes on the wires in Bucky’s arm, wherea thin stream of smoke was coming up from his soldiering iron. “You’re just…a reminder. It’s hard to…” Bucky saw a muscle in Tony’s jaw flex. “Anyway. It’s not you. I’m sorry for making you think that.” He glanced up at Bucky and looked awayquickly when he saw Bucky watching him. “Andalso for trying to, you know…kill you.” Tony didn’t look up again after that, soafter a moment Bucky turned on a song at random and closed his eyes, feeling aknot of tension inside himself relax slightly.

Then came the day that Bucky let himselfinto the lab and there was a stack of books next to the chair where he usuallysat. He was reading the summaries on thebook jackets when Tony came up, cleaning grease off his hands with a shop rag. “JARVISsaid you hadn’t read those yet. You werereading one of his books last time, and, um, he’s one of my favorite authors, ”Tony said while he arranged the tools for working on Bucky’s arm, taking extracare to make sure they were cleaned and lined up neatly so that he could avoidmeeting Bucky’s eyes.

“Thanks,”Bucky said with smile, recognizing the gift for the olive branch that it was. “So, uh, what are we working on today?”

“Stevementioned a malfunction in your fingers?”

Buckysnorted. “He just said that because I’ve just been giving him the bird a lotthis week.” Bucky grinned when that surpriseda laugh out of Tony. He opened up thefirst book of the stack to hide his face when he found himself thinking holy shit that’s a beautiful smile.

(Watch out for the break, mobile readers!)

***

Afterthat Bucky found himself looking forward to the next session, even thoughwhatever was happening with Tony still felt fragile. He found himself reluctant to even mention itto Steve, having some strange superstition that talking about it would messthings up somehow. He’d already finishedall the books that Tony had loaned him from last time so he tucked them underhis arm and was scrolling through his iPod to find the band that he was goingto have Tony listen to when he glanced up and came to a dead stop.

Themusic in the lab was already up fairly loud, something with a lot of base thatBucky hadn’t heard before, and Tony was bent under the hood of a car, hipsmoving as he sang along. All Bucky couldsee was how those shop jeans seemed to barely be hanging on and how Tony’s tanktop was riding up as he reached deeper into the engine compartment, revealingthe dimples at the base of Tony’s spine. His mouth went dry when he helplessly imagined pressing his thumbs intothose dimples while he pinned Tony against the car, rolling his hips againstthat ass as he slid Tony’s shirt up and put his mouth on-

“Oh,hey Bucky.” Tony’s voice startled himout of his reverie so abruptly that Bucky jerked and the books under his armhit the floor. Bucky scowled, feelingreal smooth as he knelt to pick them up, glad that he’d had his iPod in hisflesh hand or he might have crushed it. Themusic in the lab died abruptly and Bucky heard Tony approaching. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“Notyour fault,” Bucky said gruffly, fighting a blush as he handed the stack toTony. “I finished these, they were good.”

Tonysat them down on his desk as he led Bucky back to their usual work station. “I brought a new author I thought you wouldlike,” he said, handing Bucky a new book as he sat down on his wheeled stool.

“Theymade a movie about this one,” Bucky commented, recognizing the title.

“Yeah,it’s alright. The book is better, ofcourse.” Tony cleared his throat, and was rearranging his tools in a way thatBucky was starting to recognize as nervous habit. “So, um, I think today we need to take a lookinside the shoulder.”

“Ok.”Bucky looked at him blankly until he realized what Tony was trying to say. “Oh. Yeah, ok, not a problem.” He sat forwardenough to grab the hem of his shirt and pull it over his head.

Henoticed that Tony was being careful not to look at his chest as he rearrangedthe lighting around the chair and felt a stab of self-consciousness at hisscars. To distract himself, he went backto scrolling through his iPod. As Tonystarted removing some of the plates at the top of his shoulder, close to someof the worst of the scarring, Bucky handed him the earbuds. “I, um, found a new band you might like.”

Tonytook them with a look of interest and put them in his ears as Bucky pressedplay. After a minute, Bucky asked, “Whatdo you think?” He started to stop the music but Tony took the iPod out of hishand, looked at the name of the band, and slid the iPod in his back pocket ashe went back to work.

“Ilike it,” he said, offering Bucky another one of those beautiful smiles, andBucky found himself smiling in return.

***

“So exactly how many motorcycles did Stevego through during the war?” Tony asked randomly one day, squinting down at thetiny fuses he was replacing in Bucky’s arm.

“Oh my God.” Bucky put his book down andaimed a glare at the ceiling, as if he could see Steve’s guilty look throughfive stories of concrete. “Is he still throwingthem at people?”

“Yes!” Tony tightened down the last plate on Bucky’sarm and patting it unthinkingly, something that Bucky noticed he did to all ofhis electronics when he was done working on them. He hid his smile as Tony kept talking andturned to put his tools away. “I’m thinkingabout giving him a bicycle for the next mission.”

***

“Idon’t have to sit here and be insultedlike this,” Tony said with a scowl, pointing his screwdriver at Bucky.

“Yesyou do. You have half my armdisassembled on your work bench. Now asI was saying, the remake of Red Dawn isbetter than the original because-“

“JARVIS!Music, volume level nine!”

Grinningwidely, Bucky just spoke louder to be heard over the sudden screaming ofMetallica. “-And Apocalypse Now isjust an overrated adaptation of Heart ofDarkness-“

When Tony put his hands over his ears andstarted chanting “shut up shut up”Bucky wanted to kiss him so badly that it took his breath away.

***

Afew days later Bucky was leaning against the kitchen counter eating cereal outof the box and drinking orange juice out of the carton when Tony breezed in,throwing his suit jacket over the back of a chair. He rolled up his shirt sleeves as he headedstraight for the coffee pot with a flash of a smile and a “Hey, Bucky.”

Buckythought he grunted something in return but mostly he was staring at the corded musclesin Tony’s forearms and wrists as he cradled the coffee mug like it was water ina desert. Today he was wearing a deepblue shirt that made his dusky skin glow and a vest that emphasize the compact,lean lines of his chest and waist. Tony had loosened his tie and the top buttonsof his shirt, revealing the tantalizing hollow at the base of his throat. Bucky wanted to lick it.

Bucky swallowed with difficulty and forcedhimself to look away, trying not to feel self-conscious about his hair pulledup in a messy bun and the beat-up sweatpants he stole from Steve.

“Breakfastof champions?” Tony asked after he drained half his coffee cup in one go.

“What?”Bucky said stupidly, for a terrifying second wondering if Tony somehow knewwhat he’d been thinking about.

Tonygestured with his mug at the box of cereal still in Bucky’s hands. “Straight from the box? Didn’t want to do anydishes?”

“Oh.Yeah. That, but mostly because it aggravates Steve,” Bucky answered withoutthinking, distracted by the way Tony’s throat moved when he drank his coffee.

Tonyrefilled his mug and saluted Bucky with it. “In that case, carry on. I gotta run to another meeting.”

Buckyjust grunted again, staring at his feet so he wouldn’t stare at Tony’s ass inthose tailored pants as Tony walked away. Christ, he was in trouble.

Tonykept his cool until he got to the elevator, pretending to look at his phoneuntil he heard the elevator doors slide shut. Then he closed his eyes and rested his forehead against the cool metalwalls, replaying the image of Bucky looking like he had just rolled out of bed,eyes heavy-lidded, hair looking like someone had been fisting their hands in it. His voice had been a deep, sleep-roughenedrumble that Tony wanted to feel again under his lips. But more than the heat of want that wascurling in his groin, Tony had wanted to step into the circle of Bucky’s armsand tell him about his morning, to see if he could get one of those rare smilesout of him.

The elevator dinged, interrupting histhoughts. He let out a long breath andrealized that he might be in trouble.

And also that he forgot his suit jacketupstairs. Shit. No way he was going backup there and giving himself another chance to embarrass himself in front ofBucky.

***

“Bucky,”Tony said seriously, putting his hands on Bucky’s shoulders and shaking himslightly to emphasize how serious he was, “there’s no goddamn way the thirdIndiana Jones movie is better than the first one.”

“Twowords, Tony: Sean. Connery.”

“Ithink you just have a thing for silver foxes,” Tony smirked, turning away topush the button on the elevator for the kitchen. Bucky frowned for a moment until he realized whatTony was talking about, and then Tony watched with interest as his face gotred.

“So?”Bucky challenged. “It also has a better plot.”

“Whateveryou say, hot stuff,” Tony said with a grin, putting his hands in his pockets againstthe urge to touch Bucky again, maybe smooth a hand over the soft fabric of thet-shirt stretch over Bucky’s chest. He rockedback on his heels and looked at Bucky’s reflection in the elevator doors. “Your secret’s safe with me.”

***

“Canyou lay back?” Bucky felt a chill in hisstomach but he nodded and let Tony recline the seat. The farther back it went, though, the worsethe feeling got until he realized he was shaking.

“No!No, Tony, I can’t, I can’t. I’m sorry.” Bucky sat up and put his face in hishands. He took a deep breath and exhaledslowly, just then realizing that Tony was rubbing small circles between hisshoulder blades and talking soft and low.

“Youok?”

Buckynodded again but meant it this time. “Sorry,I didn’t – “

“Don’tapologize. I’m glad you didn’t forceyourself. Do you need to take a break?”

“Justa minute, I’ll be ok.” Tony’s hand was still a warm, grounding presence on hisback; he focused on that until the shaky feeling passed.

“Areyou ready?” At Bucky’s nod, Tony studied him for a moment. “Can you put yourarm up over your head? Like you’re trying to scratch your back?” When Bucky obeyed, Tony rolled the chair overto the work desk and grabbed the set of delicate looking tools required to getthe plates off the arm. But the angle still wasn’t working. Tony stood, but then he was blocking the light.His stool couldn’t get close enough because of the arm of the chair. After about ten minutes of gettingincreasingly frustrated, they both started realizing what needed to be done.

“Idon’t mind,” Bucky said when he knew they were both thinking the samething. His heart started pounding and hehoped Tony didn’t notice.

“Alright. I’ll try not to take long.” Tony bit his lipfor a moment, and climbed into Bucky’s lap, straddling his hips and leaningover slightly.

Buckypressed his lips tightly together and focused on looking anywhere but at the smoothlymuscled shoulders in front of his face or the line of Tony’s neck or the jut ofhis collarbones right within biting distance. He tried to get his mind off the warm weight shifting in his lap bythinking about – about- Christ, he couldn’t think of anything to thinkabout.

Tonyleaned over a little farther, intent on prying off one of the access plates,and Bucky felt the second that the chair started to turn over. He grabbed the work table with one hand andwent to grab Tony with the other, forgetting in the split second of panic thatTony was working on it. He ended upelbowing Tony in the clavicle, but they didn’t hit the floor.

“Ow,”Tony said, rubbing the spot, which was already turning red.

“Sorry,the chair-“

“No,it’s ok. Better than face-planting theconcrete.” Tony braced himself on Bucky’s arm and reached down to grab thetools he dropped. “Let’s try again?”

Buckynodded and exhaled, closing his eyes this time to try to avoid the temptationof Tony’s chest right in front of his face. He focused on his breathing whileTony worked, counting while he inhaled and exhaled like he was managing a panicattack.

It didn’t help at all. Because with his eyes closed he could feelhow Tony’s thighs were squeezing his hips tightly to keep his balance, how hisbreath was stirring the hair at Bucky’s temples, how his heart was pounding –

Bucky’seyes flew open and caught Tony looking at him.

“Youknow, normally this is the cheesiest line,” Tony said with a quirk at thecorner of his mouth, eyes dark as they met Bucky’s. “But since it’s you, I haveto ask. Is that a gun in your pocket, or…?”

Buckycleared his throat, feeling his face get hot. “Um, both? I’m sorry. Could you…”Tony nodded and rose up on his knees. After a second of staring at the tempting glimpse of skin where Tony’sshirt rose up over the waist of his jeans – Bucky had to bite his tongueagainst the urge to taste it - he squirmed enough to get the snub nosed pistolout of his pants pocket and set it on the work table.

“That’sbetter,” Tony commented as he settled back down on Bucky’s thighs, a lot closerthan he’d been before.

“Yeah?”Bucky had to agree. Tony smelled faintlylike some kind of woodsy cologne and grease. He wanted to bury his face in Tony’s neck to get more.

“Yeah.I was worried it was going to go off prematurely.”

Buckybit back a smile. “No, it doesn’t have that light of a trigger. It does have a quick, um, reload though.”

“Goodto know.” The heat in Tony’s eyes when he slanted an amused glance at Buckygave him goosebumps. His hand tightenedon the table to keep from grabbing Tony and pulling him closer.

Therest of the session was a pleasant torture; he caught on that Tony was teasinghim the third time that his hand brushed Bucky’s chest unnecessarily as hereached for the tools on the table. Bucky retaliated by periodically shiftingin the chair, flexing his hips and thighs in a way that always made Tony’s breathhitch and his heart race.

Hewatched as Tony closed up his arm, hands quick and sure and capable, and feltthe slight pressure when Tony ran a finger down the underside of his upper armto make sure that the fit of the plates was smooth and seamless. “There. Finished.”

“Arewe?” Bucky finally brought his arm down and settled his hands on Tony’s waistlike he’d been wanting to do for what felt like hours. Tony’s gaze was moving overBucky’s face, pupils blown, and finally settled on Bucky’s mouth, where he hadunconsciously been biting his lip while he waited for Tony to answer.

“No. You and I haven’t even gotten started,”Tony said, and then his hands were framing Bucky’s jaw and his mouth was onBucky’s, soft and warm. Bucky made anoise deep in his throat and tightened his hands on Tony’s waist as he tiltedhis head and licked at the line of Tony’s lips, groaning when Tony opened hismouth and pressed closer.

Aftera moment Tony pulled away and rested his forehead on Bucky’s, still staring athis mouth. “So. Wanna do dinner sometime?”

Buckycouldn’t help it. He drew back and made a look of mock surprise. “You eat? Ithought you survived on caffeine and spite.”

“Justfor that, you’re paying.”

- by dracusfyre (also on AO3)

#winteriron #tony x bucky #tony stark #bucky barnes #prompts #dracusfyre #Anonymous

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love-skincareroutine · 4 years

Text

Dress Style For Chubby Lady

New Post has been published on https://skin-care-routine.com/dress-style-for-chubby-lady/dress-style-for-chubby-lady/

Dress Style For Chubby Lady

A. Latest Dresses for Chubby Lady – 25 Styles To Get Inspired

According to statistics, an average of 68% of women fall into the plus size category and face challenges when buying clothes! In countries like India, it is common for women to consider their appearance due to the lack of confidence and the lack of suitable clothing options. Fortunately, this is a thing of the past! Today, the dress segment for fat women is growing well in the fashion market. If you have a body taller than the average figure of an Indian and are struggling to find the right clothes, we guarantee that this is the right place! The article has an incredible collection of different types of dresses tailored for plump and curvy bodies that include underwear and warm clothing. Ready for a makeover? Then scroll down to get inspired!

Here are some options suitable for fat women to keep them looking and being worn.

1. Designer dresses for large sizes

When it comes to wearing dresses, there are a variety of silhouettes that you can try on, such as: B. this draped shoulder dress. The outfit is made of a light nude pink fabric with ornate details on the front. Choosing this style will allow you to cover your waist and heavy chest while placing your arms and shoulders in the spotlight.

Occasion: prom nights, social gatherings

Style tip: pin your hair up in a beautiful French bun to look graceful.

2. Wedding dress

Looking for a dream wedding dress for your body? If you’re still following traditional A-lines, it’s time to try this fish dress. The structured silhouette is perfectly adjusted for an appearance that embraces the figure. It is ideal for women with hourglass figurines and the clever construction of this piece hides your body and makes you look toned.

Occasion: Christian Weddings

Style tip: opt for curly locks with diamond jewelry.

3. Beach dresses

If you are worried about wearing a bikini on the beach, you can try this glamor dress. With the airy fabric, you can play and have fun in the water without looking too heavy. With ties you can easily remove the dress at any time. You can try funky prints in bright colors to bring out the coastal climate.

Occasion: Beachwear

Style tip: wear a straw hat with a pair of slippers to look stylish.

4. One-piece dress

If you can’t love your own body, who else? So, don’t leave the opportunity to reveal your best side by choosing a one-piece suit. The asymmetrical hem with split neckline is exactly what you need to show your confidence. You can try it on the beach, at pool parties or even while hugging your partner.

Occasion: pools, intimate moments

Style tip: make beach curls to show your sensuality.

5. Party dress

When you’re ready for the party like never before, don’t let the dress get in the way! Instead of these boring and crowded dresses, choose something comfortable and sassy at the same time. Here is a knee-length prom dress designed with delicate black lace. The off-the-shoulder neckline with short sleeves highlights its upper part, while the masonry belt gives it a beautiful shape.

Occasion: cocktails

Style tip: wear chandelier earrings and high heels to complete your look.

6. Cigarette pants

Now you can try the retro look with a pair of cigarette pants. Well-made pants can display and accentuate the big curves. Medium-waisted pants give your waist a slimmer look and improve shape. If you choose dark tones and bold prints, you can experiment with how they look. Pair it with a cute top and you’re ready to rock the world.

Occasion: casual outings, office clothes on Friday

Style tip: wear this outfit with a pair of high heels for a ramp-ready look.

7. Wide leg pants

Just because you’re fat doesn’t mean you can’t wear baggy pants. They are very comfortable and designed to hide those big thighs. You can combine it with different tops that are preferably tight to show an airy look. The wide leg creates a balanced look and even makes you look structured.

Occasion: trips, excursions and Sunday brunch

Style tip: wear a tight sleeveless top in a contrasting color.

8. Sweatshirt dress

Sweater dresses are a must in the winter. They hug your body, beautify your curves and keep you warm in season. Instead of choosing a thick woolen fabric, keep it light and elegant. Choose a combination of light and dark colors to hide your bulky waist. Wear the right lingerie under this dress to look beautiful.

Occasion: night trips, shopping trips

Style tip: wear with thin leggings to highlight those beautiful legs.

9. Lace overalls

You will be warm, but still subtle with this lace jumpsuit that will give you a beautiful hide and seek effect. This is great for a date night and will make you feel like an elf in disguise. Black and white are the most popular jumpsuit options and can be worn day or night just by changing your style. Combine it with pants and girls, you’re sure to attract attention.

Occasion: appointments, weekend parties

Style tip: wear a gorgeous sequined blazer to rock at the disco party!

10. Cold shoulders

If you have those shoulders, you will show off! Cold shoulders are the latest trend in large sizes. They’re cool, chic and look great on broad shoulders. It offers the right coverage for your heavy neckline, but makes you want to show off some skin. There are several options to choose from, including tops and dresses that reveal different areas of your arms. Try to woo the crowd!

Occasion: evening parties, social gatherings

Style tip: choose a long layered necklace in this dress for a fantastic look.

11. Tight pants and jeans

If you can’t find tight fitting pants, tailor them, but try to use only darker colors. Straight leg jeans look great on all body types. Avoid talented pants like the bell bottom, which can add unnecessary volume to your body. Use a belly shaper on the inside and a printed T-shirt on the outside for that cool girl look.

Occasion: casual trips, colleges and shopping trips

Style tip: use brightly colored pumps to highlight your lower body.

12. Shapely T-shirts

For body types with pears and apples, it is always advisable to pay attention to the shoulders, arms and chest. So instead of tight T-shirts, wear one with a few cuts so that the shape of your upper body looks attractive and your focus is shifted from your lower body. Here is such a chic top in zebra stripes with shoulder freedom on one side.

Occasion: weekend brunch, occasional excursions

Style tip: use with dark jeans to define these curves.

13. Complete cardigans

Adding a wool coat to your wardrobe serves many purposes. You can use it to layer your clothes or to keep warm in the coldest weather. These clothes hide the width of your body and make you look smaller. Also, choose to shrug your shoulders that are open at the front and have no buttons to prevent this clogging sensation. Asymmetrical shrugging looks comfortable on large women compared to coats of uniform length.

Occasion: work clothes, leisure travel

Style tip: add a statement necklace under an open wool coat for the feminine glam look.

14. Try to lower your neck

No, dear ones, we want you to be openly exposed, but a little glimpse of the perfect neckline of a flat or buttoned shirt never hurts. The collar bones also look great with a drooping neck and are a great distraction to distract attention from other parts of the body. Avoid using boat necks as they emphasize width and choose the right neckline for your body type instead.

Occasion: casual, daily use

Style tip: equip a simple top with modern jewelry.

15. Medium length skirts / dresses

If you have bigger thighs, choose knee length skirts instead of miniskirts. This is the area where your leg width is minimal. This really helps to disguise the thighs and draws attention to the relatively thinner areas of the legs. When choosing your dress, choose a medium or high waist to cover your belly. Invest in a good pair of shoes to stay sophisticated.

Occasion: office attire, formal meetings

Style tip: wear a striped shirt vertically and tuck inside.

16. Simple tops for heavy bust

If you have a heavier chest and want to divert your attention from it, wear loose clothing, no frills and embellishments. The rule of thumb is to keep your chest line free of weight and stay as organized as possible. Wear funky pants, patterned leggings, and boots to draw attention to your relatively thinner waist, hips, and legs.

Occasion: evening parties, evening events

Style tip: shoes play an important role in these clothes. So make sure you’re doing everything right.

17. Twisted front dress

As the name suggests, this dress has a pre-sewn twisted knot on the front for a more tight-fitting dress. It also makes your belly look flattered, as layers of fabric in the front act like good camouflage. This is a good strategy, especially when looking for suitable clothing for women on the positive side.

Occasion: appointments, evening parties

Style tip: opt for an elegant hairstyle that matches the theme of the outfit.

18. Empire waist dress

This type of waist hides the bulge in your belly and makes you look smaller than you really are. Just follow the knee length rule. These dresses emphasize the chest region. A great choice for apple and pear shaped body types. The maximum fit / tailoring of such dresses is below the chest and not at the actual waist. Choose an outfit with darker colors for a more elegant illusory feel.

Occasion: Cocktails

Style tip: drop the necklace and wear stylish earrings.

19. Maxi dresses

These dresses are just above the ankle and below the knee. In general, they have a fit that is neither fair nor too wide. You can add a little definition at the waist by adding a belt. Alternatively, a deep neckline would draw attention to your neck and divert attention from your waist, hips and thighs. Make sure to choose a fabric like georgette or chiffon.

Occasion: meetings, romantic dinners

Style tip: wear a pair of high heels to look tall and be safe.

20. Dark tones of the pants

If you have thick hips and a tight waist, it is better to choose darker pants with a regular cut, rather than a narrow fit. Also, choose a normal waist instead of low-waist pants. Dark colors tend to hide the heavy buttocks and thigh areas. Also use a darker belt to keep your focus on your upper body while keeping your bottom half looking smooth. You can wear a lighter shirt / top, in pastel or neon colors.

Occasion: office and formal meetings

Style tip: invest in a blazer to match those pants.

21. Choose your standards wisely

Floral print dresses are great for spring and tall women. Choosing the right background color and print size is very important to get the look you want. If you particularly like big flowers, keep the dress short. For maxis, choose small prints for a beautiful look.

Occasion: day trips, casual clothes

Style tip: get the vintage vibe by choosing hair combed to the side with a flower.

22. Vertical stripes

If you are a fan of striped dresses / formal shirts, opt for vertical or diagonal stripes instead of horizontal stripes. Vertical stripes create the illusion of a thinner and taller body. Using horizontal stripes would expand your appearance and make you look robust. This trick can be used when buying shirts, tops, pants, as well as one-piece dresses. Combine it with a solid top or a T-shirt for an elegant look.

Occasion: casual outings, college outfits

Style tip: if you have chosen tight-fitting leggings, wear them with a plain ruffled blouse.

23. Fabric gathered at the waist

Occasion: casual outings, college outfits

Style tip: if you have chosen tight-fitting leggings, wear them with a plain ruffled blouse.

24. Baggy shirts

It looks cool with dark pants, jeans and skater skirts. Tight clothes can accentuate your sagging, which is unattractive. You definitely don’t want to show off your love handles, do you? A wide shirt, on the other hand, looks more comfortable for large women. However, make sure you choose the right size for the desired amount of fabric that will flow through your body.

Occasion: occasional travel

Style tip: Avoid wearing flashy accessories around the neckline, as this can add weight.

25. What kind of dresses are suitable for plus size women?

The first step in choosing a suitable dress is to identify your body type and the areas where fat deposits are high. By following these simple tricks, you can hide unwanted parts of your body and get a flattering figure:

Choose dark colors like black, navy blue and dark brown that will make the body thinner.

Dark, pre-washed jeans look amazing on your characters. Opt for adjustments that involve the figure and choose a medium increase for comfort and style.

Maxi dresses are another great option to try. Try to choose a flowing fabric that gives you a more elegant look and play with the patterns to trick the eyes.

A-line skirts and dresses are your new best friends and will never fail you. They balance your body proportions and define your curves.

Dressed dresses and tunics are particularly recommended for large women, as they create an hourglass-like figure by lowering the waist.

Comfortable and stylish dresses for trendy fat women

26. Style tips for big women

Continuing the section above, we will also discuss some style tips that will take your clothing game to the next level:

Always try on the dress before taking it home. Make sure that the fit is correct and that there are no spills. Invest in a good lingerie that creates an abdominoplasty effect. These clothes also give your breasts good support and glorify your body. For a look that matches, use a belt that is not too wide. You can opt for adjustable models that adapt to all sizes. When printing, choose vertical lines that will make you look taller and slimmer than your real figure. Pay attention to the proportions of your body and do not hesitate to highlight the line of the chest, legs and arms.

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welldresseddadblog · 6 years

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Welcome to the 12th instalment of the “Garmsman Dozen” question and answer session. The response so far has been tremendous. Did you miss earlier ones? There are links at the end of the page.

This week we welcome to the Garmsman Dozen Iain Trickett from Great Britain!

Who are you, where do you live and what interests you?

My name is Iain Trickett, 31, and I am the head honcho at TRiCKETT England… Well, I am the only honcho actually. I live in Accrington, Lancashire where the pies are plentiful and the skies are grey. When I’m not making clothes or thinking about clothing, I am found looking at Californian Tattooists, researching British subcultures, listening to hip-hop and walking my dogs.

Thinking back to your childhood, what were your most memorable or favourite clothes?

From a very, very young age, I was obsessed with sportswear and in particular training shoes. My mother was really into trainers and bought me my very first pair of Nike Air Jordans at the age of 4. As my interests developed I become interested in sporting apparel and the performance, however, the two items that set me off on a voyage into fashion or clothing were the Newcastle 1995-97 home shirt by Adidas and the LA Gear Gretzky One street hockey trainers.

First, the Newcastle shirt was just beautiful. The team that wore it was one of the great ‘could’ve been’ teams and the period that the shirt was introduced was a great period for sportswear design. The shirt featured a granddad collar, alternate mesh and solid polyester black and white stripes, piping on the three stripes and the infamous Newcastle Brown Ale logo. This item proved that football shirts were just for the pitch, but also fashion items that would be worn after the turnstiles closed.

The Gretzky shoes were something that I imagine went into a metaphorical sportswear landfill. Manufactured by the now defunct LA Gear, these shoes were unlike anything I had ever seen before. I used to visit Florida quite regularly with my parents as my mum had a great Aunt that lived in Clearwater. Most days were spent sat outside, basking in the sun. For a child under 10, this isn’t the most fun you could have, so my dad bought me copies of Sports Illustrated and other American sports magazines to keep me occupied. It was world unlike any I had ever seen and one person who stood out was a Canadian fellow wearing a pair of black and white boots with a #99 on the side. I later learned that this was the great Wayne Gretzky, who had just made his unpopular switch to the LA Kings. The boots themselves were pretty unremarkable, mesh and leather mixed together with some traditional hockey skate laces and the great one’s signature and number on the side. The shoes themselves were by no means a piece to keep in the memory of the sporting collector, but for me, it represented a gateway to a world I have never seen before.

How would you describe your style today, and what are your influences?

When I was younger, I used to listen to DJ Shadow, I always admired how he could take bits and pieces from all over the place and put it all together to create one coherent piece. I am not for a minute saying that what I do compares to the great Shadow, but I would say that I like to be influenced by all kinds of things. I am obsessed with Italy and Italian elegance, for me it isn’t necessarily having a suit made entirely hand in a tiny Sartoria down a backstreet in Napoli, or that weird sprezzatura thing that was cool a few years ago, it is more about being comfortable in your skin and having elegance with it.

I think I will always be obsessed with footwear and I believe dressing from the feet up, you can never go too far wrong. So if I had to describe my style it’s footwear-obsessed, sports-fan, who likes his pasta al dente and his top button done up… that probably makes no sense.

Most garmsmen will have a few “grail items” in their collection. Not to out you, but if your house is burning, which garments do you grab?

I think if my house was burning down, I would think about my new kitchen that is just about to be put in and whether the plinth heater would’ve been worth it in the winter. After a pause, I would make sure that I have my original deadstock pair of Nike Air Jordan Is. They are in a size 10, the original banned colourway and are just waiting to be worn. My plan was to wear them at my wedding, but not being married, they are just waiting for that perfect moment… Maybe my debut in the Accrington Observer.

Are you budget-conscious or spendthrift? Are you a single-shot shopper, or go large and buy bulk? Where are you on slow-fashion and buying less?

I think for many people, getting dressed in a morning is pretty stressful. We are at a point in society where we buy more, have more options and dress much more casually than our parents and certainly, our grandparents do/did. I would like to think that I am the kind of person that buys what I like and for the most part, that tends to be from smaller brands. I do like the idea of buying less and just buying a couple of very expensive suits, but truthfully, I am just not sure that works in the 21st Century. I’d love to be able to turn up to ASDA in Accrington wearing my Rubinacci suit, selecting which bananas best represent who I am, but chances are, I would probably get asked if I worked there. I do think we should make an effort to buy from smaller brands because owning one, I can’t stress to you how many different people are impacted by your £30 you spend with them, rather than oiling a huge conglomerate that doesn’t really care.

Having a large collection of clothes can lead to changing outfit on a daily basis, but if you were going to wear a single outfit the next two weeks, what would it be?

I genuinely believe that you can’t go too far wrong with a varsity jacket (either loads of patches or none, there is no middle ground), a really nice white t-shirt (no curry stains), very, very dark selvedge denim (listen, I am not a denim geek, it is just nicer to wear and everyone likes to see a flick of selvage on their turn-ups) and just a pair of very white leather trainers. In this outfit, you are a bit casual, but at the same time, who wants to be wearing a navy blue suit everywhere they go?

What are your best tips for buying?

If there is one thing that I have learned over the years of buying and designing clothes it’s buying stuff that fits. I know that seems like an obvious thing to say, but it really does help. I went through a phase of wanting to dress like a skinhead, the look is so incredibly iconic and its a really clean aesthetic. However, I know, now, that my shape doesn’t suit that style, I am very, very broad and not well endowed in the shin department so I just end up looking like a square in more ways than one. So my advice is, get something you feel comfortable in and then take it to a tailor, it’s their job to make you look good.

Big lads, don’t buy baggy stuff, you just end up looking worse and for goodness sake you don’t need shoulder pads in your jackets, go get them taken out. Napoli is great for many things, but in particular for making the natural shoulder in suit jackets cool. Forza Napoli Sempre.

Anyone that buys clothes will have made mistakes, what is your most memorable bad buy?

I have been lucky enough to work with Patrick Grant of E. Tautz and Community Clothing fame. One of the more famous items of clothing that he has in the lineup is the field trousers. A wide legged pair of kecks (that’s Lancastrian for pants) that are based on trousers that Naval officers would in the ‘40s and ‘50s. They look very elegant when worn with converse and swish from side to side in almost a hypnotic way. They look great… That is until you are wearing them in TESCO in Accrington only for an old man to say ‘Thas looks like a pillock in them ‘owd lad.’ I nodded in agreement, sadly I am not built like a model and the 42 rolls at the hems did nothing for the shape.

Do you have any style icons, historic or current?

I like to pinch bits from lots of peoples style, so I am sorry if this turns into a massive long list.

Sid Mashburn – his shop and Southern (American) charm are something that you always feel like he is wearing. One of the only two men I know that can wear white jeans convincingly. He also likes Italian tailoring and American football, so he is OK with me.

Alessandro Squarzi – A chap who can seemingly throw on any old thing and look absolutely amazing, I much preferred him with a shaved head, but that is probably because I am follically challenged. He is also the second person I admire who can wear white jeans convincingly.

Lino Ieluzzi – Milan just wouldn’t be the same without this bloke, great hair, great suits and great labradors. I literally don’t know what else you could want from life.

LeBron James – LeBron has literally made wearing his trousers too short in the leg his trademark. Obviously being a basketball player there isn’t much ready-to-wear that would fit him in the leg, but he always manages to produce a certain air of elegance about him.

My Uncle Peter – Only ever wore a rugby shirt and chinos. Every. Single. Day. I admire anymore who has an almost cartoon character-like wardrobe and sticks to it.

My mum and dad – Both have very different views on clothes and how to wear them, but both are passionate about what the put on and that is really all that matters.

Does your interest in clothes influence other aspects of your life?

Clothing does mean a great deal to me and I think most subcultures like to dress up. Be it new Romantics, skinheads, Teddy Boys whatever, I don’t think you can be into clothes without liking the things around it. However, my obsession with all things American and Italian pretty much means that I spend any free time I get there. Whether it is seeking exceptionally old shops in Italy or finding a brand new trainer shop in LA, travelling for clothing and discovery of the cities and towns is, for me, the best part. The internet has so many great uses, but it has slightly killed this adventures. However, there are still a few hidden gems that are on the list, that I am not telling you about!

How do you see your style evolving going forwards?

I think style is the appreciation of beautiful things. I always used to get caught up with the notion that style had to be something of the moment or it had to be something that was a set of rules set by other ‘stylish’ people. I think style is the word we use just for the stuff we like. Sometimes the stuff we like makes us cool and other times it can make us very uncool. However, I think as long as we are appreciating beauty whether that is food, art, clothing, whatever that can only improve our style. I hope my style evolves and my interests develop, I have an insatiable appetite for learning and I can’t see that changing.

Do you have a good style or garment based story?

When I was much younger, I absolutely loved Bape (a Bathing Ape), my friend and I were obsessed with this picture of the Notorious B.I.G wearing a camouflage jacket with ape’s head floating around in it. On the front placket it had A BATHING APE in bold lettering, so we set about finding out where we could get it. To cut a very long story short, we found a tiny shop in London where Bape was sold. We pooled all our money together for the tickets, bunked off school, bought the jacket, came home, feeling like we really had achieved something only for my dad to be waiting on the platform when we returned. I still don’t know to this day how he found out and whats even worse is that I never really wore the jacket much that me and my pal bought together. He was Blackburn Rovers fan. Says it all really.

Thank you for your Garmsman Dozen Iain!

Iain’s website is at trickett-england.co.uk and his Instagram is @trickettengland

Did you miss the first Garmsman Dozens?

Jon from Great Britain

Shaun from Scotland

Klaus from Germany

Roland from Italy

Daniel from Sweden

Enoch from the USA

Even from Norway

Kris from Belgium

Michael from Great Britain

Liam from Great Britain

Lee from Great Britain

PS: If you have suggestions for participants, let me know. Or have your mother suggest you, if you’re a bit keen to suggest yourself. My email is WellDressedDad (@) gmail.com

The Garmsman Dozen #12: Iain from Great Britain (Trickett_England) #trickett #garmsmandozen #mensfashion #madeinengland #accrington #lancashire #mensstyle #menswear #sportswear #vintage #retro Welcome to the 12th instalment of the "Garmsman Dozen" question and answer session. The response so far has been tremendous.

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newflanagansonthebloch · 5 years

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Day 7, April 13 Hoi An and My Son

We wake up early again (Kerran is getting used to it!) and are impressed and surprised to find a comprehensive breakfast spread on the ground floor of our hotel. I tried a Vietnamese pancake, enjoyed the roasted tomatoes everywhere else in the world seems to serve (among other stuff) and Kerran has his typical feast. My arms are a touch sore from the lifting we did two days ago but my legs are fine from the 30miles of riding.

At 8 we met Hoai and a new driver (who was no Huy!) and drove about an hour from Hoi An toward My Son temple, eBay some refer to as Vietnam’s answer to Ankor Wat. This is a Hindu temple complex belonging to the Cham Dynasty. The Cham Dynasty was a powerful matriarchal kingdom that predates the Vietnamese in this area. The temples date from around the 4th century but we’re continuously built upon over time by subsequent rulers. The Cham ultimately were pushed out of Vietnam in the 13th century, well before the French discovered these abandoned temples in 1885.

After passing through two reddish brick arch ways you board a golf cart like shuttle (but bigger) further showing how far this is from anything else. A few years back Hoai tells us that you wakes this long path and there was no road. Now, Kerran and I are far from lazy, but with burning sun on our backs we are incredibly grateful for the electric car. Sweat is easy to come by here!

In the early 19th century after the French discovered this space, together the french and Vietnamese studied this place and captured photos. During WWII, the franco-Vietnam war and of course the Vietnam war, fighting and bombs further destroyed the site. Bombs from the American war topped a 28 meter tower. Today there are remnants of nearly 40 buildings at different stages of reconstruction. Where possible they will rebuild building to look as they appeared in the original photos captured by the french. Of course by then much was ruined as well. It’s interesting because you can also walk in these ruins. It’s also interesting that the bricks are held together by a glue made from nearby trees, and these have held for centuries!

My Son is situated in a beautiful lush mountainous area. The scenery alone is stunning. We choose to skip the traditional dance offered in an outdoor theatre—we’re melting.

We head back toward Hoi An for a day of exploring the old city. Our first stop is back at A Dong Tailors as we promised Huong that we’d be back as early as possible. I try on my dress and we take it in a bit more and Kerran his suit. He’s so pleased that he is moved to order three more casual shirts. It’s so impressive that both our suit and dress were started around 6am and finished at 10am. Huong asks us to come back between 4-5pm for what she hopes will be finishing touches.

Around the corner from the tailor Kerran and Hoai grab a famous Bahn Mi from the “Bahn Mi Queen.” I have a bite and can’t deny that it’s delicious—it has tons and tons of food inside like hm and meat and chili sauce and aioli and vegetables and more items than I can name. We walk through the old quarter and I order ice cream for lunch at the cargo club where we’re permitted to all eat upstairs overlooking the river. It’s so incredibly hot I can’t possibly fathom eating anything else. Across the river where the night market now sits, Hoai tells us that just a few years ago was hardly anything. Rapid growth has occurred due to tourism. However it’s imperative that all buildings in this area are constructed or refurbished in the same style to maintain the historic look and feel of this UNESCO World Heritage site.

After a quick lunch we head to the sites of Hoi Ann’s old town. Here you purchase a UNESCO ticket that affords you entrance to up to five monuments within the city. We cross the small Japanese covered bridge which dates back to the 17th century and joins the historic Japanese and Chinese sections of the city. Monkey statues guard one entrance and dogs the other. There is a small temple adjoining the bridge which was not built by the Japanese, but later by the Vietnamese. Inside are pictures from the 1700s and later when the french came. The french nicknames this city Fai Foo because those are the Vietnamese words they used to ask “is this the city?”

We then visit our first ancient house. A niece of the man who currently lives here shows us around and informs us that the house was originally constructed in 1780 and has housed 8 generations of her her family. 80 columns hold up this house and sit on top of marble to avoid damage from both humidity and termites. We don’t linger long here as the whole family seems to be selling something. The architecture has influence from Japanese, Chinese and Vietnamese styles.

Later we visit a second home, the Tan Ky home which is about 200 years old. Here you can see how high the river has flooded the homes each year—well above my head. The family moves all its belongings to the second floor during the rainy season through a kind of trap door. You can also see photos of the generations of families who inhabited this home and you walk right through tot he river side.

We also have an opportunity to visit two different Chinese Assembly halls. Each hall is from a different Chinese province and thus reflect slightly different styles. The first is the Cantonese assembly hall, or temple really. The giant dragon sculpture in the middle foyer is the standout here. There is an even large more impressive multi dragon mosaic sculpture in the back!

The second assembly hall belonged to the Fukien or Fukien people. It opens up to a beautiful garden adorned with flowers and even a model of the Great Wall. This temple dates from the late 17th century and was completed in 1757. Three main alters are found inside, the middle of which includes Fujianese mandarins. There is also an alter for the god of prosperity and one for the goddess of fertility surrounded by many midwives. This hall, like the last, features a replica of a merchant boat which honors all those who do not come back from the sea. Hoai also informs us that many Vietnamese share the same last names. Anyone of Chinese descent often has the last name Minh and even has an image of china on their government ID. Hoa’s ancestors are from both Vietnam so his license has an image of Vietnam.

At this point we have used all our tickets and are drenched in sweat from the heat. It’s early afternoon so we make our way back to the hotel and take a short swim in the hotel pool. We honor Huong’s request and are back at the tailor before 5pm for final fittings. We have a few final adjustments to make (bringing Kerran’s shirt out a bit, adding buttons to his suit, and making a last minute change to the hem of my dress.) It’s crazy how fast they do this! 10-15 minutes later the clothes magically reappear perfectly. After bidding farewell to my Hoi An Tailor fairy godmother Huong and A Dong Silk we pick up Kerran’s dress shirts down the road at Be Be Tailor.

After this we head back toward the river for our final Hoi An dinner at Morning Glory. This restaurant is named after the typical vegetable dish served here which is basically just spinach and garlic. The service is pretty bad here but the food is good. I order Banh Xeo which is a hybrid of a pancake and a make your own spring roll. I got the traditional Cao Lao for dinner and Kerran got the (better tasting) mackerel. People sweat by Cao Lao, a meat and noodle dish topped with fresh greens, wontons and spice, but it’s not my favorite of the trio. We end there meal with bananas drenched in coconut cream. We wander a mile or so back to our hotel and stop at the tourist stalls for a needed purchase: Kerran gets a defective Nike shirt for $9 and I replace what I’ve been calling my “beach or travel pants” for 12 bucks. The 15 year old pair was overdue for retirement...plus I stained them with mouth wash on the way here!! After our successful shopping trip we packed up our things and called it a night in Hoi An.

Ps there are also beaches here but we just didn’t manage to get there this time!

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