#the idea of putting on a dress OR some kind of suit/blazer situation is genuinely upsetting!!! how do people do this

[gingerteaonthetardis]

googling 'where to order semi-formal clothes online that also won't make me do gender and don't cost a million dollars and will also fit my extremely difficult body type' and what do you know. zero results

[cloudykaii]

preferred company

pairing: bts x royal!8th member!reader

summary: after years you decided it was finally time to introduce them to your life... things go wrong almost immediately.

warning(s): vague harassment, idea of bad parents, rich/bad people, violence

note: this is written the way it is because this is an open concept! i will write more about this based on requests in the future, like a series but it is it’s own au!

You stared in the mirror, fingers twitching as they graced over the elegant material of your silk dress. Hair done to perfection, makeup enough to only highlight regal features and match the jeweled pin in your hair, you truly looked the part of the descended royal you were. 

For the first time in your whole life, you felt nervous. You had been attending and hosting these parties since you were an infant. You knew how to play the role of caring and sweet hostess better than anyone, but this time was different. While usually you were just surrounded by a crowd of snooty, privileged people you were forced to stay quiet around, tonight you would be in the company of the people most important to you as well. 

Your brothers were more important to you than they would ever know. For your whole life, everyone had told you that being yourself was bad. Your parents had drilled it into you since birth that you were to be quiet and appease the people in your presence. Of course, there was nothing wrong with having an opinion, the problem only arose when you started to say it. “No one cares about the opinion of a silly little girl,” your mother used to say. It was your job to keep your guests happy, and appeal to them, not to actually say how you truly felt.

But when you met them it was different. 

When you first started with Bangtan, you had more quiet and reserved. it had been scary enough to be the only girl in a group of guys, and even scarier when you were the same age as the youngest member. You had been prepared to be babied, after all, you had gotten the treatment your whole life, but they had been quick to prove that they valued you beyond a pretty face. They didn’t even know who your family was so you knew the fact that they were kind to you had nothing to do with your lineage. 

They treated you like another human being. The seven of them had expected you to earn their respect just like anyone else and that was exactly what you did. But after years of hiding this side of your life from them you finally decided to invite them.

You knew they were curious, after all you were only ever as vague as you could possibly be about your family. Little stories, never mentioning relatives or discussing when you would be home for what reason. But it had been years and after they had treated you like family, you refused to continue hiding this part of you from them. They had all called you to double check when they received the invitation in the mail, but you made sure to inform them that it was correct. 

Yoongi hadn’t been too pleased about the black tie notification, but he had assured you he would come. You didn’t know why you were practically trembling with nerves, you knew they would come. They were family, closer than the one you were connected to biologically, and they would never lie to you.

You brushed another curl out of your face before making your way downstairs. Guests had started to arrive an hour ago but the difference between old money parties and others, is that the further you turned your nose up, the more people pretended to like you. Heels clacked on the tile as you smiled at the some of the guests, not really caring about what they had to say anyway. 

“Y/N,” your mother came close to whisper in your ear. “Your, er- friends are in the foyer. Do greet them before they ruin the celebration, won’t you?”

See, that was another thing you hated. You didn’t understand why it was just so impossible to respect the fact that your brothers didn’t try to please anyone else in order to achieve their dreams. Even right now when you made your way to them, they were looking around unimpressed. “Hello,” you greeted with a smile. 

Hoseok grinned when he looked at you, immediately going to pull you into a hug. “You look beautiful.. but whats with the party?” ah, it was just like them to get to the point. Your smile was genuine this time as you looked at him. Your plan was to just start talking and let everything explain itself, maybe answer questions if they had any. 

“My parents just host them sometimes. It’s an upper class kind of thing,” you said, voice getting lower as you started to get nervous. “I don’t know, usually I’m forced through these things by myself, but I remembered how you guys were all talking about not having an opportunity to wear-”

Jin chuckled, raising a hand. “Y/N, you don’t have to explain. It’s us, we’re not going to judge you based on your family.. besides, I think I can honestly say that we’re the most attractive people in this little castle or whatever this place is.”

Maybe you were biased because you knew all of the other people here, and knew what kind of people they were specifically, but you would have to agree. First of all, they were all dressed in black suits. They looked as though they had put in minimal effort, but they still managed to outshine most of the crown there. You would have complimented them if it had actually surprised you, but instead all you did was smile at him gratefully. “Actually, I-”

“Is there a problem here?” All eyes turned to you when you visibly tensed at the sound of the new, male voice. A young man, about your age, although plenty taller than you, appeared at your side, His arm wrapped around your hip only to pull you into his side, and Jungkook was quick to stand up straighter at the sight. “Your mother sent me to check on you.. said I should be worried about my future wife.”

“Parker-”

Your words were cut off by Jimin glaring at him harshly and cutting in. “Future wife? Y/N, what is he talking about?”

“Uh-”

Parker stepped forward, raising an eyebrow like he was in control. “Excuse me, I’ll have you know that my father-”

Jimin rolled his eyes at that. He had no patience for someone so pretentious and ignored the rest of his words in favor of looking over you. None of them liked how uncomfortable you looked. “- and our parents have arranged for us to be wed.”

Yoongi’s head snapped to you. “Y/N, you’re in an arranged marriage?!”

You opened your mouth to speak, only to but cut off once again, which made you have to take a deep breath. “Yes, and I would like to know just who you are harassing her!”

Jimin scoffed, stepping closer. “Yeah, well I would like to know who you are and you had your hands on her.”

You opened your mouth one last time to try to speak and diffuse the situation that was quickly drawing a crowd, but you were spoken over yet another time. 

“I don’t have to answer to you.. you hoodlums-” 

“Alright!” you yelled, cutting off the spoiled man you would have filed a restraining order against a long time ago if your mother wasn’t so fond of him, and sending silence into the room. “I’ve had about enough of men talking over me! Now, these men are my family and you will treat them with the same respect you are expected to treat me with,” Namjoon narrowed his eyes at your word choice as you glared up at the young prince. “And Parker, I’ve told you and I’ve told my mother. I don’t care for being royalty with you, I have my own duties already within my own grounds, and I will not be marrying you.”

“Now, just who do you think-” His nostrils flared and his hands raised too fast along with his voice, but your brother was quicker when he saw how this was going. The sound of his fist hitting with a loud thud rang throughout the room, and all eyes of the party turned to stare. People of nobility stared at Kim Namjoon as his chest heaved. 

“I don’t know who the fuck you are, I don’t give a damn. If you touch her like that again, if you ever even come close to breathing near her, I’ll ruin you. Now get the fuck out.”

The young prince stuttered. “This isn’t your-”

“I said leave!” The glare was still on his face as he watched the back of Parker’s blazer as he shamefully made his way through the crowd. “Party’s over!” And like the cowards that people of such proclaimed nobility are, they scattered and you watched as your mother disappeared with them. 

Tense silence hung in the air thickly for a brief moment as the place emptied before Yoongi broke it before sighing and going to sit down, practically falling into a lounge chair. “So that’s the kind of people you hang around, Princess?”

Taehyung snorted. “No wonder you prefer our company.”

[misslilli]

Felix Felicis

MSR. AU. PG-13. | tagging @today-in-fic | read on AO3

Chapter 21 - The Halloween Fair

[ DS ]

On the afternoon of the Halloween fair, I take out the costume that Miss Hannigan picked out for me from the closet. Ever since I’ve got it, I’m beyond excited to wear it. It’s a black low-cut shirt, a white, checkered suit with a blazer that ties at the waist and a flaring skirt. As I put on the blonde wig and the black beret, I turn to the mirror channeling my best inner Faye Dunaway and say to myself in a breathy, southern lilt: “My, my, don’t you just look dandy, Miss Bonnie Parker!”

My friends have been roped into manning the booths of the fair and somehow, I’ve slipped under the town people’s radars, which leaves me able to roam around the fair, albeit alone. Since I’ve known most people in this town ever since I was little, I’m never actually alone at these happenings, people tend to just pull me into their conversation as I walk by. But as luck will have it, as I’m rounding one of the booths of the fair, I find myself face to face with the one person I had secretly hoped to see.

He’s wearing a brown tweed suit with a matching waistcoat and over the white collared shirt he’s tied an emerald green tie. Perched on his head is a white fedora. ‘Shit. He’s Clyde. What the fuck?’

We stop in our tracks and stare at each other for a moment, taking in our respective costumes. He’s the first one to regain his ability to speak.

“Hey Bonnie, the laws are outside, they’re blockin’ the driveway!” His Warren Beatty impression is perfect right down to the Texan drawl. ‘God help me…’

“Gosh, I hope you’ve parked the getaway car around the corner, Clyde!” I’m putting on my best Faye Dunaway impression again as I add a wink to my statement and just continue to walk past him. My heart thumping hard against my chest betrays my cool exterior, but that’s my secret and my secret alone.

----------

[ FM ]

When we finally get to the Halloween fair that Felix has roped me into, dressed up in a costume I didn’t even pick myself. We trail the grounds together and we’re drawn to the candy apple booth. Well actually, Felix draws us to this exact booth, the little sneak, but I can’t resist his pout and pleading eyes, so we end up getting an apple each. Munching away happily, his mouth full, he asks the question I’ve been too scared to ask myself: “Hey dad, do you think Miss Scully is here too with her friends?” I hope she is, if only to see what kind of costume she has picked out for herself, but I can’t tell Felix that. Instead, I just shrug and we continue our stroll across the town square.

When we round another booth, we both stop in our tracks as we see a blonde woman appear before us , dressed in a checkered suit and a beret on her head. ‘Bonnie. She’s the freakin’ Bonnie to your Clyde. Your sidekick. No, your partner in crime. The woman you love. In the movie of course. Insert awkward cough.’.

Felix is oblivious of course, he hasn’t seen the movies and I doubt he even knows what my costume is, let alone Miss Scully’s. I scrape together the last braincells that are left in my head and a stupid movie quote is the only thing I can think of at this moment.

“Hey Bonnie, the laws are outside, they’re blockin’ the driveway!” The retort she gives me combined with her wink render me speechless until she’s well past me and Felix, mingling with the small crowd that welcomes her into their midst just a few feet away from us.

Felix does the thing I wish I could bring myself to do, staring at her retreating form in wonder and he also speaks the words that have sprung to my own mind.

“Wow!”

----------

[ DS ]

Countless conversations later and a little tipsy on the delicious apple cider they always serve at the Halloween fair, I wander along the booths when I hear a voice I haven’t heard in over a year. And could’ve gone forever not hearing again. It’s my ex-whatever Steve, talking to one of his friends.

I’m hidden pretty well in the crowd of people due to my shortness but I can still catch flashes of their conversation. When I hear my name, I stop, straining my ears.

“Dana? Oh God, no. She’s not even close to being a serious contender for a relationship.” I wince at his statement as well as the tone of his voice. “She’s just always there, you know? Like a well trained Golden Retriever, I say the word and she comes running. Such an easy lay!” When they share a laugh I can feel the flush of shame and anger crawl up my neck.

The situation he describes is exactly what I’ve spent countless hours in therapy getting over. But what he says next really drives a stake through my heart. “It’s so pathetic, but if it’s what I have to do to get laid, whatever. She’s even dirtier in bed than any hot teacher fantasy you could ever imagine and what they say about good Catholic girls is very, very accurate, if you know what I mean!”

If he weren’t the demon I have to face every time I try to get over my past, I would’ve revealed myself and give his ass a good kicking for talking about me the way he has. But not knowing how I’ll react to being face-to-face with him, I stay hidden behind a group of mummies and zombies like a fucking coward.

I’m so furious with him and myself for not being able to stand up to him. Where the hell are my friends when I need them? I haven’t seen them all evening and I could really use their company to talk some sense into me. Since they’re nowhere to be found, I head towards the bar set up in the back and slide onto a stool, ordering a shot of Tequila. ‘Fuck it! That low-life is not even worth your time of day!’

On the surface, I’m so angry I want to set this whole damn place on fire, but deep down, the past hurt resurfaces to join the hurt from his words I just heard.

By the time I’ve downed my second shot, I’ve repeated the mantra that I’m a strong woman who’s better off without men in my head about a thousand times. I see someone slide onto the stool next to me out of the corner of my eye as I order another shot of Tequila to keep the two empty glasses in front of me company.

“A third shot of Tequila is just asking for trouble, if you ask me.” I turn my head slowly towards my bar-mate to tell him exactly where to shove his smart-ass remark when I’m faced with my supposed partner in crime, the charming one with the disarmingly innocent smile on his stupid face. I’m staring him down defiantly, my eyes never leaving his while the bartender places my glass in front of me and I grab it, downing it in a swift motion, daring him in my mind to say anything else. He doesn’t comment, good for him, and orders a shot for himself, just raising his glass silently and I clink it with my empty one – I’m tipsy, not insane, chasing one shot with another.

We’re staring straight ahead during our conversation, turning our glasses over and over between our fingers.

“Which guy seems to be the problem and how many rounds of ammo do I need to take him out?,” he asks after minutes of silence. I want to lean into him for just assuming that it’s a man that has me sitting here seething, but unfortunately, he’s right. This one time.

“How many rounds you got?” He scoffs at that.

“Plenty. And I know of exactly eleven ways to get rid of a body without raising suspicion.”

“And here I was thinking the FBI frowned upon their employees giving out top-level secrets on how to hide away evidence of a crime committed.”

“I’m not going to tell you, I wouldn’t want you to be held in contempt of Congress when questioned.”

“How do you know I wouldn’t rat you out when questioned by Congress?”

“Just a hunch… Talk to me, Red. What happened tonight?” He turns towards me and I can feel his gaze dancing over the skin of my face.

“You really want to know? Well, turns out the asshole of an ex of mine decided that today might be the perfect time to make an encore appearance in my life and reminded me again why I should’ve kicked him to the curb a long time ago instead of hoping I could change him.” Looking down at the bar, I trace my finger through the condensation drops, my anger slowly dissipating and my voice growing more and more quiet. “I heard him say some pretty awful things about me tonight.”

I relax into his hand when he places it comfortingly on my back, right between my shoulder blades, and huff out a sigh. “I’m sorry.,” is the only thing he says, but doesn’t add anything else, giving me the choice if I wanted to elaborate or not.

“What I witnessed today was the way he’s always been but I just couldn’t see through the masquerade of the sweet guy, he was so kind and said all the right things and he quite literally wooed the pants off me from the get-go.”

“Love bombing.” ‘Oh yeah, I forgot, you’re a profiler. You probably already got one worked out for me, trust-issues, anxious attachment style, possibly daddy issues, in short, a hot mess. Avoid at all costs.’

“Pretty much, yeah. And I was stupid enough to believe it.” I raise my hand to call over the bartender for another round.

“You’re not stupid. It’s hard to tell the difference between genuine interest and love bombing in the beginning.” ‘Yeah, no shit Sherlock. It’s exactly why I’m sitting here torn between wanting you to make a pass at me and being absolutely terrified that you actually will.’

“How about we pass on the shots and get some water instead before calling it a night?”

“I think that’s probably a good idea, Mr. Mulder!”

“You know, after tonight, what do you say we just drop the Mister?” I nods slowly, pursing my lips.

“So just Fox?” He makes a pained face.

“No, please don’t. Just Mulder is fine.”

“Mh-hm. I guess since we’re dropping the titles, that that makes me Scully? Little odd, but alright!”

We get the check and argue back and forth about who gets to pay, him putting an end to it with a firm “Will you give it a rest, you’ll get to pick up the next check!”.

In my attempt to slide off the barstool gracefully despite three tequila shots, my heel catches onto the rail at the bottom and I stumble over the stool, knocking it over in the process. I have only his quick reflexes to thank that I don’t follow suit, his arms catching me around my waist and pulling me upright again.

He has the audacity to laugh, the bastard, and I’m beyond mortified. “Easy there, partner! Do you need a ride home? Felix is at a pajama party at his friend Suzie’s house, so I’m free to be your pumpkin carriage for tonight.” ‘NO! Yes? No. Get your hands off me. Don’t let go just yet.’

I’m so confused at the tug of war in my fuzzy head but I hate getting a cab alone and I’m in heels on top of being tipsy, I don’t want to walk home alone at night.

As we walk out, his hand finds his way to the small of my back guiding me through the crowds while making sure I don’t stumble again.

On the drive to the beach house, I manage not to fall asleep despite how tired I feel, too afraid of snoring or, God forbid, drooling onto myself. His hands find my back again guiding me up the stairs to the front door and I turn to face him at the top, even more nervous.

“Thanks for the ride, Mulder. And for listening.”

“Anytime, Scully. Good night!”

When he leans in, I start to panic that this is it and I think it shows on my face, because he only kisses my cheek, just like I did after the birthday party before getting back in the car and heading home. I can’t decide if I’m relieved or disappointed.

I can’t ignore the flutter of excitement every time his hands land anywhere on my body but what I will absolutely deny, even to myself, is the way my heart constricts in my chest when he gazes at me that way and the sense of comfort that settles over me when we’re together.

Bodily reactions I can deal with, it’s when it comes to emotions is where it gets scary.

I just don’t think my heart can survive another Steve.

[insanitysscribblings]

Reyna Writes: High Hopes

Been a while!

Trying to get back in the saddle with this Claudeth thing that won’t leave me alone. So if you’re a FE3H fan, hope you enjoy! <3

~Reyna

________________________________________________________________

The folder thudded against the desk, the weight of its importance impressive...to anyone else. As it happened, his daughter just glanced at it before continuing on with the paperwork already under her nose.

“What’s that?”

“Your new contract.”

Byleth’s pen stayed, her dark eyes flicking up to meet his. Every day, Jeralt was stunned by the spitting image his daughter painted of his wife. Well, the painting was a forgery in one aspect--Byleth’s smiles were a work of fiction.

“I’m not taking new contracts.” Her tone, flatter than usual, brooked no argument. Jeralt frowned. He supposed it was his fault that his child had turned out so stubborn. He had done his best with her, of course, but even so...

When Byleth showed every intention of ignoring the file, Jeralt decided to level with her.

“Look, kid: I know your last contract didn’t...work out.”

Byleth’s brow furrowed ever so slightly. It was enough to let Jeralt know that he was treading into dangerous waters. They did not discuss the Blaiddyd contract in this house.

“But what’re you gonna do, not work for the rest of your life?”

Byleth spun in her chair, giving her father her back. He sighed and rubbed the back of his head. How on earth had his wife talked him into having children?

“Despite what happened, you’re still good at what you do, kid. Damn good. It’d be a shame for you to quit now.”

“I can get another job.”

The notion was half-hearted, and they both knew it. Jeralt seized that wavering tone he could sense just beyond her words.

“Aren’t you just a little curious? This offer came straight from Boss Lady herself.”

Byleth’s head perked up then. Jeralt smirked as she turned just enough to side-glance at him. As much as he hated the hold Rhea seemed to have over his daughter, he would admit that maybe this was just what Byleth needed to shake off the funk she’d been in lately.

“....” Byleth spun back around, her eyes bouncing between the file and Jeralt. Ah, there it was--that little spark of intrigue. That was all Jeralt needed.

“There’s been a stir in the politics game lately,” he explained, turning to the television in the corner of the office. He raised the remote and clicked it on, the sound muted. Sure enough, there he was, splashed across their chosen news station: his daughter’s new assignment. “He’s been saying a lot of stuff that’s a little too idealistic, if you ask me. But his charisma is unparalleled. People’re callin’ him ‘the face of Fodlan’s unification.’” Jeralt set down the remote and eyed his daughter. “Some of the stuff he’s been sayin’ has put a target on his back, too.”

Byleth’s gaze was more unimpressed than usual as she watched the young man onscreen gesticulate in front of an enraptured crowed.

“Is he a politician or a peacock?” she grumbled. Jeralt laughed at that.

“I’ll leave it up for you to decide.” Just as Byleth was slowly reaching for the file, however, Jeralt snatched it up, regarding her raised eyebrows grimly. “But I’m not gonna give ya the job if you’re gonna be half-hearted about it. If you’re gonna do this, kid, ya gotta be sharp. Understand?”

Byleth seemed to understand his meaning: as much as he wanted her to get back in the game, he would not encourage her at the cost of her life. If she wanted the job, she had to let go of the past.

That wasn’t always so easy to do--Jeralt knew that perfectly well. But as much as his own shadows haunted him, he’d be damned if he would let the same fate befall his daughter. He had raised her to be better than him, so better she would be.

Byleth straightened her shoulders and gave a firm nod. At that signal, it was only with the barest hint of concern that he handed the file back to her.

“Go get ‘em, kid.”

________________________________________________________________

For the life of her, Byleth just couldn’t understand why anyone believed buildings had to be this big. Did they fancy themselves close to their gods when they built structures that reached the sky? Did the Tower of Babel teach them nothing?

Shaking her head, Byleth quieted that ancient griping at the back of her head. Thoughts that went on diatribes like that often came out of nowhere; whenever she voiced them, her father would laugh and call her an ‘old soul’. That wasn’t quite it...but since she had no other explanation, she would just nod along. It was better than being the alternative.

Her new assignment was situated on the top floor--of course. Byleth suppressed her eye roll as she stepped into the elevator. The tinkling music playing overhead did nothing to settle her nerves, so she did her best to soothe herself with breathing exercises, measuring her breathing as the elevator changed floors. It didn’t bother to stop in between any other floors; Byleth wondered if the elevator she’d been directed to had exclusive access to the top floor, despite having buttons for every other floor. Or was it just coincidence?

Before she could figure it out--and it was part of her job to figure it out--the elevator chimed, and the doors opened right into a lobby of some sorts. As Byleth stepped out of the elevator, the pink-haired woman behind what was presumably the secretary’s desk hopped up in surprise.

“Oh, hi~! Um, excuse me, but are you lost? This is kind of a restricted floor.”

Byleth stepped forward, assessing the woman. Dainty, gilded, hardly a threat...at least, she wouldn’t be, if Byleth couldn’t see that can of mace hidden behind her back. A part of her was impressed.

“I’m Byleth Eisner,” she introduced herself, slowly retrieving her business card from her breast pocket so the ‘delicate flower’ wouldn’t jump the gun and do something regrettable. “Your boss is expecting me.”

The pink-haired woman’s rose-colored eyes took in the business card before she blinked up at Byleth, her lips pursing.

“Is that so...”

She sounded like she didn’t believe Byleth. It wouldn’t be the first time. A part of Byleth was annoyed by the perpetual underestimation she had to go through, but the more practical part of her did what any woman in her position would do: she used it to her advantage.

Before she could ask when she could expect to see the man in question, a door to her right opened, and the man himself stepped into the lobby. He was dressed smartly in a tan suit; Byleth could see the black vest underneath as he was shrugging his blazer into place. He wasn’t focused on the room; his eyes were staring in the distance as he was finishing a phone call.

“--as I said, Lorenz, you catch more flies with honey--yes, I know, he was abominably rude to you, but what do you expect from a dictator? Besides, we only have to make nice until he’s ousted, which from the protests we’ve been seeing, that won’t be long. Now please let it go. Yes, I’m on my way to see you now, when am I not? Honestly, with how much you demand me to see you, the tabloids will start stirring up rumors that we’re sleeping toge--I’m joking! Please calm down before you permanently furrow that alabaster brow of yours, all right? I’ll see you in twenty.”

He finally hung up his phone, tucking it into an inner pocket of his blazer as his eyes found his secretary.

“Lorenz is getting antsy. Can you forward my calls to my cell?”

“Sure, but...” the woman’s eyes flickered to Byleth. “You have a...guest.”

The man was in the process of putting on his sunglasses, so Byleth had to watch him do the exaggerated once-over over them as he took her in. His eyes were a deep shade of green; they reminded her of deep acres of forests, the kind that held ancient secrets hidden from the everyday view of the common man.

“I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure,” he said, pulling his sunglasses off again as his face lit up in a hundred-watt smile. Byleth was interested to see that said smile did not reach his eyes; those remained distant, careful. Calculating. “How can I help you, Miss--?”

“Eisner. Byleth Eisner.” Byleth stepped forward, holding her hand out for a handshake. “I’m your new bodyguard.”

The man paused, reacting a little late in shaking her hand.

“Really?” He looked her over once more, as if he’d missed something. “You’re from Saint Seiros Co.? The woman they call ‘The Ashen Demon’?”

Byleth’s expression was neutral as she gave a nod. She wasn’t particularly fond of that nickname...but work was work.

There was one more glance-over--focused longer on her breasts than she liked--before his eyes met hers once more.

“Well. You’re not what I expected.”

Byleth’s eyebrows flicked upwards.

“I rarely am,” she admitted. That managed to get a genuine smile from the man, much to her surprise.

“I like you,” he decided, quite abruptly as he gave her hand a firm squeeze. “Claude von Riegan.”

“I know who you are.”

“I suppose you do,” he agreed with a laugh. He finally released her hand, carding it through his dark hair. “I suppose you also know why you’re here.”

Byleth nodded.

“You’ve been receiving death threats.”

Claude winced at the simple words, a hand over his heart like they were wounding him physically.

“Just a couple,” he agreed. The pink-haired woman scoffed.

“‘A couple’?! We had to order the post office to stop our mail for a whole month!”

“No one got hurt, Hilda.”

“Still,” she sniffed, her dainty nose wrinkling in disgust. Claude patter her head sympathetically, and was rewarded with a swat and a complaint of messing up her hair.

“So yeah, my granddad figured I could use some extra muscle.” Claude raised his eyebrows at Byleth. “Lots of scary letters threatening my imminent demise. That means papercuts. Thousands of ‘em. Think you can handle it?”

In that moment, Byleth cataloged several things at once: 

One, Claude von Riegan was not a very serious man. At least, he appeared not to be. His true nature had yet to be determined.

Two, it was most likely his grandfather’s idea for him to run for office--in Byleth’s research, she had taken note of the von Riegan family history, and concluded that politics ran in their blood. This most recent iteration of von Riegan was straying a bit from the party line, though...for what reason? Money? Publicity? She’d have to figure that out soon as well.

And three, whoever was taking the time to send him a never-ending barrage of death threats wasn’t playing games. They were serious about wanting his life. Which meant that Byleth certainly had her work cut out for her, whether Claude von Riegan knew it or not.

A shrill tune rang through the air. Claude tutted, frowning at the screen.

“I’d better go. Lorenz is going to start having kittens at this rate. Can you hold down the fort, Hilda?”

“Way ahead of you,” Hilda replied, sitting down at her desk once more and returning to the very busy work of filing her nails. Byleth spared her a glance before she made to follow Claude. This seemed to surprise him.

“Yes?”

Byleth stared at him. What did he mean, ‘yes’?

“I’m accompanying you.” At his blink, Byleth’s gaze went flat. “That is what a bodyguard does.”

“Oh, I’m just meeting Lorenz. There’s no danger there,” Claude assured her with a bright grin. Byleth remained unmoved.

“With all due respect, sir, I would be negligent in my duties if I did not accompany you from now on. What could just be a meeting to you could turn sour very quickly, if you don’t know what to look for.”

Claude’s smile faded, his eyes becoming critical again as he stared at her.

“I really think I’ll be fine,” he insisted. Byleth took a step closer to him.

“You will be,” she agreed, eyes never wavering from his, “because I will be there to protect you. Even if you find it unnecessary.”

Silence fell between them as they sized each other up, Claude testing the metal that surrounded Byleth’s resolve as she took shape of the glass he used to barricade himself from others without them even noticing. The staring match was only interrupted by the clearing of Hilda’s throat.

“Claude, if you don’t leave soon, Lorenz is going to start calling me.”

That must’ve been an undesirable situation; Claude shot her an apologetic grin over his shoulder before he returned to his stride to the elevator.

“Sorry, Hild. I’m going now.” As he pressed the button for the elevator, he turned once more to look at Byleth. “After you, Miss Eisner.”

“Byleth’s fine,” Byleth corrected him, preceding him on the elevator as he requested. His eyes twinkled with interest as he followed her.

“As you wish, Miss Bodyguard.”

Byleth leveled him a flat look. Something told her they were going to be having a lot more battles in this regard. She’d better get to work sharpening her blades.

[thetruthaboutlovecomesat3am]

Hi, I love your writings! Your Maria feels like a serious but genuine person with some dorkiness and I love how you capture her character. If your still taking prompts, how about 65“ Do you treat all your hookups like this? “

Hi!! Thank you so much for this prompt and I’m so, so sorry this is SO fricking late! Life has been a mess for the past few months, but hopefully you’ll like this.

Blackhill. Spoiler free, but the font/layout is gonna be a mess from mobile because this site is just dead set on messing up everything I post. Sorry!

“Do you treat all your hookups like this?”

When she starts to come back to hersenses she’s tied to a chair and her left temple is bleeding from thestrike that knocked her out.

Regaining conscience, the first thingshe feels is the pain of the growing headache.

She doesn’t remember exactly whathappened but she knows she was at a bar. She had a drink, got in acab with someone. Then, they got into an apartment, the details onthat are kind of foggy. She remembers some kissing, then eventuallythe woman sliding off her jacket, Maria frowning at something on thecoffee table.

“Here’s how this is gonna work,”the blonde woman says, a knife in her right hand and a lighter in herleft. “You’re gonna tell me how you found me and why they sentyou.”

“Do you treat all your hookups likethis?”

The blade is warm when it pressesagainst her neck, but it doesn’t cut, it doesn’t break the skin justyet.

“Strike one.”

“Okay, first of all, if I was tailingyou I wouldn’t have let my defenses down and I wouldn’t be tied to achair right now, so that should be the first indicator that I don’tknow what the fuck you’re talking about.”

The blade pulls back a millimeter ortwo, encouraging her.

“Second, if you’re referring to mestaring at the picture on your coffee table, that’s because this isobviously not your apartment,” Maria points out, eyesdarting to the happy little family depicted on the framed picturesaround the room.

The woman retracts completely and walksover to the couch, putting knife and lighter down on the table andinstead retrieving Maria’s blazer.

“Third, since I’m now tied to achair, I’ll go ahead and assume you’re not an accountant.”

“I found the badge in your hiddenpocket, Agent Hill.”

“Being a government agent isn’t acrime, and you didn’t exactly ask for my surname did you?”

“I saw you in Berlin two days ago,with Barton and Coulson. Assumed you followed me over to France.”

“You were in Berlin? No, wait, wewere tracking-“

Oh, this is almost too good to be true.They were tracking Black Widow in Berlin and she led them over toFrance. Could it be she recognized Maria and revealed herself becauseshe thought she’d been made?

“That a blonde wig, Lucy? That’s notyour name, though, is it?”

The woman smirks and raises her chin alittle, an eyebrow slowly moving up.

“So you picked me up in a bar andbrought me over for a little torture, uh? I guess maybe you dotreat all your hookups like this, then… Natalia, is it?”

“And she’s catching on,” the womanwhispers, making the walk back to the table to retrieve her knife.“So what does S.H.I.E.L.D. wants from old little me?”

Maria is still evaluating her options,no chance of backup or rescue in sight, no wiggle room to discard thefabric restricting her wrists, not really a whole lot she can do tomake it out alive from this situation, actually.

“Parley,” Maria says curtly.

“Now, Agent Hill, would that be theoffer or a request? Because if you want a parley with my boss, you’restaring at her.”

“No, I want you to have a parley withmy boss. He’s got this idea into his thick skull that you’d be a goodasset to have on our side and he’s not an easily dissuaded man.”

“Nick Fury wants a parley?”

The woman discards her wig, then hercolored contact lenses.

“Well, Agent Hill. Sell it to me,then.”

She goes ahead and starts changing outof her dress and into a spare combat suit in front of Maria, whilethe agent stares down at the floor between her feet.

“It’s a chance to do some good,repair some of the damage you’ve done with the Red Room and all that.You’ve already been doing it, we’re offering our assistance andresources, and of course he has some requests as well, it is ajob offer after all. He’ll pitch it better, I’m sure.”

“What makes you think I’ll accept tosee him?”

“Because, Miss Romanova, I’d be deadif you hadn’t already made the decision to talk to us. We’re the goodguys, and the question I’m posing is, are you one of us?”

Black Widow walks to her smirking,shaking her head, lips red and a wicked sparkle in her eyes as shecrouches down in front of the chair Maria is tied to.

“Oh, Agent Hill,” she says, and theblade is back at Maria’s throat, “I’m most definitely not.”

The knife slides slowly around her neckand down her back, raising goosebumps through the shirt she’s wearingwithout cutting through it. With a flick of her wrists, the ropesaround Maria’s arms cut loose.

“Let’s go then, we don’t want to makeyou boss wait too long.”

Natasha saunters ahead of her, hipsswaying, the deadliest prettiest thing Maria has ever laid eyes on inher life.

[hannahhostofheaven]

Shadows of the past Ch.2

Summery: At the onset of her pregnancy, Hannah begins to have strange memories of the past she has no idea where they’re coming from. It’s troubling times for Castiel and Hannah as they struggle to care for Claire Novak and Jack Kline while they have not one, but three archangels on their tail. As their lives spiral out of control, Castiel and Hannah struggle to help their friends around them as they go through their own challenges.

Pairings: Castiel/Hannah, Claire/Kaia, Dean/Jo/Charlie, Gabriel/Sam/Eileen, Gabriel/Loki (mentioned), possible Jack/OC

Warnings: implied abuse in back story, mild smut

Chapter One

Hannah cried out in pain as the guards dragged her through the palace and deposited her in front of the Pharoh. She trembled as she lay where they had thrown her, blood trickling down her face. Her body ached, she couldn’t count the number of bruises she felt as she tried to curl in on herself, lowering her gaze to the marble floor as the pharaoh approached.

“Found this Hebrew girl stealing from the market,” the guards said. “What should we do with her?” Hannah kept her gaze fixed on the floor as she felt the pharaoh's menacing presence over her. The imposing man reached down and grabbed her roughly by the chin and forced her to look up at him. The cold piercing brown eyes met her blue ones as he seemed to regard her, studying her, as if he was trying to decide on an excellent cut of meat.

“You beat her,” the pharaoh commented, eyes lingering over the many lacerations and bruises on Hannah’s face as he held his firm grip on her face. She whimpered softly, trying to pull away from him, but he only gripped her tighter, fingers digging painfully into her already tender skin.

“She put up a fight,” the guards explained. “Had to teach her a lesson.”

“Take her to Mefretari,” the pharaoh instructed. “My wife could use a servant.”

Hannah cried out again as the guards grabbed her by the shoulders, yanking her from the pharaoh's grip and dragging her through the palace. Down a hall, through a few doors, up some stairs, and finally they arrived at a door. A few knocks and she was hauled in. The room smelled heavily of the scent of frankincense and myrrh, and the floor was covered in soft rugs. Thin curtains parted revealing the luxurious bed chambers as a woman rose from where she sat in front of the window overlooking the kingdom.

The woman turned, revealing her soft features, her thick hair hanging in numerous braids, adorned with beautiful ivory hair clips. Ivory beads hung from her neck, and she wore the most delicate blue linen sheath dress that hugged her delicate figure.

“Did you have to beat her?” the woman demanded angrily at the guards. “Leave her and get out.”

The guards carelessly dropped Hannah at the woman’s feet and hurried out. Once they were alone, Mefretari knelt in front of Hannah, gently brushing a hand to her chin, coaxing her to look at her. “Do not be afraid,” she said gently. “I won’t hurt you.”

There was a soothing calmness to the woman’s voice that calmed Hannah’s fears. She continued to tremble, her body fatigued and her emotions frayed. Mefretari got up and crossed the room, digging through her vanity for a few things and grabbing a small ceramic basin of water. She hurried back to Hannah and dabbed at the gash on her cheek with a damp cloth.

Hannah winced in pain, trying to shrink away. “Please…” she begged. But the woman had a gentle touch, and after a while, she stopped resisting.

“I know what you are,” the woman said as she cleaned the wounds. “I’m an angel too; my name is Castiel…”

Hannah gasped as she sat up in bed. Castiel was instantly at her side, gripping her shoulder as she turned to look at him, her eyes wide as reality began to return around her.

“Hannah,” Castiel soothed, rubbing her bare shoulders as she composed herself. “It’s okay; you fell asleep.”

Hannah glanced at him, arching a brow with confusion. “I did…” she vaguely remembered the feeling she had. A strange weakness in her body as her consciousness slowly melted away while she lay in Castiel’s arms after making love.

“How?” she murmured. She’d never fallen asleep before. She was an angel; she didn’t need sleep. But it was as if her body just shut down. And where was she?

“I was somewhere else,” she said as she sat there in bed, Castiel watching her with concern. “Ancient Egypt. There was a woman… but she was you. She was your vessel… I don’t understand.”

“You had a dream,” Castiel tried to explain. “It is known to happen when you sleep. Though I didn’t know it was possible for angels.”

“It felt like more than a dream,” Hannah insisted. “It felt familiar. I’ve been in that situation before.”

Castiel pulled her into his arms, and she lay her head down on his shoulder as they both lay down in bed again. He rubbed her back soothingly as she lay there, trying to sort out the confusion. “Maybe it has something to do with the pregnancy,” Castiel offered as a suggestion. “After all, I haven’t known any angels who could have children; there’s no telling what the effects might be.”

Hannah thought about that. It had been a few days since they had arrived in Maine now and yesterday, Jo and Charlie had taken Hannah to a doctor to confirm her pregnancy. She was still getting used to the idea; she wasn’t even sure how it was possible. They had been keeping it secret for now, other than Jo and Charlie, Castiel was the only one who knew, she wasn’t sure how she’d tell Claire and Jack. She dreaded Claire’s reaction.

“Is someone going to come out here and feed us or what!” Claire’s loud bellowing from the kitchen roused Hannah from her thoughts. She groaned and looked at Castiel.

“They both have school today,” Castiel explained. “We should go see them off.” Hannah nodded and got out of bed. A rush of cold hair hit her nude body like a freight train, and she shrunk back, not prepared for the cold.

“It’s getting colder,” Castiel said as he got up too. The two of them quickly got dressed, Castiel donning his typical beige trench coat and suit, and Hannah choosing her typical gray blazer and navy blue blouse, and jeans.

Moments later, the two of them made their way to the kitchen where they found Claire sitting at the table impatiently tapping her foot while Jack sat across from her, looking slightly confused.

“Are you unable to make yourself something to eat?” Castiel questioned as he moved into the kitchen to rummage through the groceries he and Hannah had purchased yesterday.

“You’re supposed to be the parent,” Claire scoffed. Hannah sat down at the table in between Claire and Jack while Castiel went to work making some eggs and toast.

Hannah sighed. She was still preoccupied with the dream she had had, but she glanced over at Jack. “Are you looking forward to your first day of school?” she asked him. She smiled as the Nephilim turned his attention to her.

“I still don’t understand why I have to go to school,” he responded. “You and Castiel can teach me about the cosmos, can’t you?”

“Yes we can,” Hannah replied. She was confident that as angels, she and Castiel possessed more knowledge than any human could have, and even though Jack was only a year old, there was no doubt he was learning fast. “But humans have laws here that require you to attend school.”

“And it’s not just academics that’s important,” Castiel added as he put a plate of eggs down in front of them all. “You will benefit from interacting with other children. You will develop social skills.”

“He’s a one-year-old in a teenager’s body,” Claire pointed out as she ate her food. “Kids are going to roast him alive.”

“Perhaps you should help him,” Hannah suggested. “Make sure he fits in.”

Claire rolled her eyes and scoffed at Hannah. “Like I don’t have my own problems,” she retorted. “Like angel body snatchers who think that just because they are screwing my fake dad, they think they can pretend they are my mother now.”

“Claire-” Castiel attempted but was cut off when Claire got up abruptly.

“Come on Jack we’re going to be late for the bus,” Claire demanded as she brushed past them all and hurried out the door.

Hannah sighed, nerves a little frayed. For the most part, she tried to avoid Claire’s wrath, but even speaking to the teenager seemed to incur some kind of backlash. She didn’t know how she was ever going to form any sort of bond with her.

She felt a hand grip her arm and turned to see Jack. “Teenagers have hormones,” he explained with a bright smile. “That causes them to act chaotic and irrational.”

Hannah smiled, putting a hand over his hand. “Thank you, Jack,” she said genuinely. The Nephilim leaned forward to hug her before getting out of his seat and hurrying out the door after Claire.

Hannah glanced across the table at Castiel who sat there looking perplexed. “I don’t know,” he offered. “Maybe living here for awhile and having some kind of permanence will help her.”

Hannah nodded. She knew she shouldn’t let Claire’s attitude upset her so much. After all, he wasn’t trying to be Claire’s mother; she only wanted to love Castiel. She’d grown pretty attached to Jack, but it didn’t seem like she’d ever reach any kind of understanding with Claire.

Despite trying to calm down, Hannah quickly looked away as she felt that familiar lump in her throat and promptly moved to wipe tears. She heard Castiel get up and suddenly he was in front of her, pulling her out of her seat and pulling her close.

Hannah had always been unique in that unlike other angels; she felt emotions deeply. She had often thought of this as a failing as it set her apart from other angels, but she had learned to control her feelings, but she felt so out of control now. As if she was always drowning in a sea of worry, inadequacy, and anxiety. She buried her face in Castiel’s shirt, breath hitching on a sob. She felt Castiel’s hand on the back of her head as he pressed his face to the top of her head, enveloping her entire head in his tender embrace.

“I know Claire’s attitude is frustrating,” Castiel said softly, his breath against the top of her head. “But it must be hard for her. She barely tolerates me as it is, but I have managed to get her to respond on occasion, perhaps because I look like her father. But she’s having trouble adjusting to all the changes around her.”

“I know,” Hannah murmured into him. “I’d never try to replace her mother. I don’t know how to be a mother to anyone, Castiel. I’m an angel. I’m a soldier. A warrior. This…” she trailed off, pulling back from him quickly as a sudden wave of nausea had her bolting for the nearest bathroom.

She sunk to her knees before getting sick, her entire body seemed to clench as she gagged and retched. She felt Castiel’s hands pull back her hair and rub her back as she proceeded to lose her breakfast.

“It’s called morning sickness,” Castiel told her as she finished, wiping her mouth and taking in a breath as she collapsed backward against Castiel. “It’s common in pregnancy, but I have read that it typically only lasts until the second trimester.”

“How do you know this?” Hannah breathed as Castiel held her.

“I consulted the google when Jack’s mother was pregnant,” Castiel explained matter of factly. He sighed, kissing her on the cheek. “Don’t worry, I will consult the google on every aspect of pregnancy and parenthood, I’ll take plenty of notes so I can guide you through it all.”

“Perhaps I’ll have to consult this google too,” Hannah responded. She pressed her forehead against the nape of his neck as he picked her up into his arms and carried her to the front room, laying her on the couch.

Castiel dropped a blanket over Hannah and kissed her on the head lovingly. “I’ll make you some soup,” he decided as he brought her his phone and showed her how to access google.

As Castiel hurried to the kitchen, Hannah was deep into learning about the first months of pregnancy when she was startled by a pounding on the door. She put the phone down on the coffee table and sat up just as Castiel rushed for the door.

Hannah was not expected who appeared behind the door when Castiel opened it. “Gabriel?”

The archangel hurried inside and quickly closed the door behind him, looking at Castiel. “Hey I need to crash with you for a while, bro,” he insisted, looking anxious as he glanced at Hannah. “Hey Hans,” he greeted.

“Gabriel… how are you? I thought you were…” Castiel stammered.

“Yeah yeah, I know Mike stabbed me,” Gabriel rolled his eyes. “Whatever, it didn’t work. Anyway, I have to hide out here from Loki.”

“Loki?” Castiel raised a brow as he sat down on the couch next to Hannah and Gabriel plopped down on a chair. “I thought you killed him.”

Gabriel gave Castiel a pointed look. “He’s a trickster, Cas,” he informed him, as if he should have known. “He taught me his tricks, remember?”

“Why are you hiding from him?” Hannah asked. “Maybe you shouldn’t have told him you were alive.”

“Okay, so he and I might have been… you know…” Gabriel looked at them both knowingly. Castiel blinked, understanding in his eyes as he glanced at Hannah who was still trying to figure out what exactly she was supposed to know.

“They are having sex,” Castiel informed her bluntly.

“Oh,” Hannah said, realization dawning. “And… you don’t want to continue doing that?”

“Thanks for putting it so delicately, Cas,” Gabriel replied.

“May I remind you that Loki sold you to Asmodeus?” Castiel pointed out. “Do you really think associating with him is such a good idea?”

“Look, he overreacted over the Lucifer shit,” Gabriel explained. “He tends to overreact. Which is why I’m here. It’ll all blow over eventually, but for the time being, I need somewhere to crash.”

“You may stay here as long as you like,” Castiel replied. “But I am caring for Claire and Jack and I should warn you that Claire is not in the best of attitudes these days.”

Gabriel rolled his eyes and scoffed. “Like I’m intimidated by moody, angsty teens,” he replied. “Thanks, bro, knew I could count on you. Hey, where are those two chuckleheads?”

“You mean Sam and Dean?” Castiel surmised. “In the bunker around the corner. We’re manning this auxiliary building for them. They are living there with Jo, Eileen, and Charlie.”

Gabriel started to get up. “I better go pay my respects,” he replied. Hannah glanced at Castiel, their eyes meeting, each with a should we tell him? Look in their eyes.

“Wait,” Castiel held up a hand before Gabriel could leave. “If you are going to stay here for a while, you should know that Hannah is pregnant.”

“Uh come again?” Gabriel blinked, looking back and forth between the two angels. “Who‘s brilliantly dumb idea was that?”

“Neither of us planned it,” Hannah responded, feeling nervous at Gabriel’s incredulous reaction. “It just… happened.”

“Yeah right,” Gabriel said ingeniously. “That’s what they all say. Look can I just say what a bad idea this is? Do you have any idea what will happen when Michael finds out?”

Hannah pursed her lips, thinking about Michael. She swallowed with apprehension as she gazed down at the floor. Gabriel sighed, got up and knelt down in front of her, gripping her shoulder. “Hey, Sis it’s okay,” he assured her. “It’s just… not exactly something Mikey is going to be down for, and I heard it on the grapevine that Luci and Raph may still be out there so… just be careful, okay?”

“We haven’t told anyone except Jo and Charlie,” Castiel replied. “We’re trying to find the right time to tell Sam and Dean… and Jack and Claire.”

“Well my lips are sealed,” Gabriel said assured them. “Hey I’ll be back later, I’m going to hit up the Winchesters for some cash or something.”

With that, Gabriel hurried out of the house, leaving Castiel and Hannah alone again.

[dippedanddripped]

The world of tailoring has taken an unforeseen turn over the past year. Following the outbreak of a global pandemic, business hours have been forced into unpredictable territory, social schedules among the population have been stripped and, from a sartorial point of view, wardrobes have been overhauled. Given that there’s not much to do in our day-to-day lives right now (and no clear end of this in sight), the need for comfort in clothing is key, which, in turn, leaves formalwear feeling just a tad unnecessary. So what does this mean for Savile Row, London’s famed street of bespoke tailoring which relies on exactly this kind of clothing in order to thrive? A general consensus of fear, no doubt, but there’s one Savile Row tailor who shows signs of no such thing: Edward Sexton.

Sexton is one of the most important figures in the history of Savile Row. Put simply, he paved the way for its modernity. After working for an array of tailors across the early ‘60s, he met a talented salesman called Tommy Nutter who shared his avant-garde sensibilities. Together, in 1969, they opened Nutters of Savile Row and, with it, transcended all notions of the traditionally closed-off street. Characterized by architectural silhouettes, roped shoulder sleeve heads, suppressed waists and generous lapels, Sexton’s approach to cutting was revolutionary, proclaiming a masterful blend of glamour, elegance and sex-appeal by way of a bespoke suit. Five decades on, with menswear taking a flamboyant turn, Sexton’s mutual influence on the worlds of both fashion and bespoke tailoring feels beyond compare.

Having lived through all kinds of societal shifts — from the flamboyance of the swinging ’60s to the digitalized mindset of millennial generations — Sexton is a pro at responding to change. We were extremely curious to hear his thoughts on the evolution of tailoring (both before and after coronavirus), so we sat down with the living legend for a very enlightening conversation …

InsideHook: Can you tell us a bit about how you got into tailoring?

Edward Sexton: I like to think that I’ve always been a very proactive person. I started out as a young apprentice and, soon after, assistant cutter at Harry Hall on Regent Street. This was an equestrian tailoring house which specialised in long-waisted, slightly flared jackets — very comfortable pieces to wear. I loved the long, lean silhouette of this house style and I loved assisting with its creation, but during these early days, I worked with a certain amount of reluctance, because, inside me, I wanted to do other things. I was certainly influenced and informed by the creations of my peers, but I wanted to develop a brand new vision based on my own style, and the only way I could really start to do this was by taking on private clients. So eventually, I did, and it was around the time I met Tommy Nutter.

So what made you open Nutters of Savile Row in 1969?

I met Tommy in 1967 when I started working as a cutter for Donaldson, Williams and G. Ward. One day, over a beer after work, I explained to him that I was moonlighting alongside my job with private clients. Cut a long story short, Tommy suggested we collaborate on a brand new look to test out in his social circle — one which was growing in influence. It also helped that he was being financed by big figures like Cilla Black and Peter Brown (the new manager of The Beatles).

In the ’60s, Savile Row was such a boring street — it still is, to some extent. All the tailoring companies had big heavy curtains across the windows, so it was by no means a place for window shopping. You’d go there, see your tailor, and move on. But elsewhere in London, Chelsea’s King’s Road was booming and the nearby Carnaby Street was kicking off. These were the streets with proper style, and the attitude of their people certainly influenced the vision between Tommy and I, but the problem was that none of their shops sold clothing of real quality. So that was the gap we decided to fill: luxury tailoring informed by an avant-garde attitude.

And what did that look like, in sartorial terms?

Well, our first prototype was a long-waisted, fitted jacket with a narrow shoulder. It was very restricted but very flattering and, after some tweaks, it went on to become our house look. The gay world was just coming into force at this time, and the men in it wanted to look immaculately dressed, so they loved a really long and lean approach to tailoring. With Tommy as the salesman and myself as the cutter, we opened our Savile Row shop on Valentine’s Day in 1969, and in a break from everyone else, we had dramatic open window displays to show off our totally different and, in my opinion, really sensational suits. Since then, I’ve always remained very true to the distinctive features which represent my design identity — like strong architectural lines and generous curved lapels — because they set me apart from other people. Through more of a social lens, I think we drove an idea of what the suit should really be: sharp, sexy and full of glamor.

Ok, so five decades on from this, what’s changed for you?

To meet the needs of new generations, my approach to designs are a little bit more relaxed now. That’s not to say they’ve lost their original identity; they’re still comfortably close, so I can maintain my beliefs in the lines I want to create. A lot of guys today are very athletic and they have these big shoulders, but I don’t find that problematic. Actually, it has encouraged me to be braver and a touch more aggressive with the lines around the upper half of their silhouette. Texturally speaking, I think that people are very much aware of touch today. They crave comfort, so there’s a certain level of softness desired from fabrics, but they still need to have a genuine luxury to them in order to reach their highest potential for comfortability. Still, I can’t pretend to just be selling suits all the time, because suits are not being worn like they once were. Especially in light of the past year.

So what was your initial response to the pandemic?

As I said before, I’m a proactive person, and this mentality has enabled me to survive some very serious situations in the past. At one point, Tommy and I were given limited electricity and we could feel the threat of our business dying. So in response to this, I got all the names of our overseas clients and booked a flight to New York. I wrote each of them a letter, telling them I’d be staying in a hotel for five days with my workbook and swatches if they wanted to pay a visit. I returned to London with a full book of orders. From something that was an initial problem, being proactive brought us more global attention. The same kind of thing happened when we experienced recessions in the ’70s and the ’80s. So my point being, although this COVID situation is disastrous and, from a business point of view, very inconvenient, I’m not worried about the status of my business because we’re being proactive, so I’m confident we’ll survive.

Proactive in what way?

So at the end of last year, still in the middle of this pandemic, we re-opened a ready-to-wear showroom and exhibition space on Savile Row. We were already offering this on our online e-commerce site, but we wanted to bring a bit of pizazz and attention back to the Row during these hard times. Ready-to-wear seemed like the perfect approach to doing this, because even though bespoke suits aren’t desired so much as we speak, people do still have an appetite for tailored clothing. Not necessarily as a full ensemble, but more so as single pieces — like a blazer or a relaxed shirt — to bring them a subtle amount of luxury in a pared-down outfit. These designs still capture all the expressions of my garments, so it seemed like the right time to amplify this sector of our business and show it in a physical place. Savile Row needs people back on it. In fact, it needed people even before this pandemic. So this is my show of strength to the world that it’s still alive and kicking. There are more eyes on businesses now than ever, so I want people to see what we’re doing and understand it. Everyone will want to feel sexy again once this is all over.

Definitely. Did you run into some physical protocols during this process?

Business is different, I can’t pretend it isn’t. We’re following all the essential protocols like masks, sanitizing and social distancing, but of course, customers are a little more cautious at showroom appointments or personal fittings these days. That being said, I strongly believe that if you’re offering a good garment, it should speak for itself. The term I use for this is “hanger appeal” and it’s the idea that a customer can assess the shape and silhouette of an item purely from it sitting on a hanger. Over the past year, this is something I’ve turned to in the process of sales — whether they be shown online or in our showroom.

Do you think that this pandemic has changed people’s approach to buying suits on Savile Row?

In the most traditional idea of buying a Savile Row suit, yes. But from my point of view, it hasn’t had a detrimental impact on my business because I have adapted myself to the desires of a customer. Leisurewear may have exploded over the past year, but that’s not to say that the interest for tailoring is gone. It’s the highest form of luxury, and people will always want it, even if, right now, it’s just in small doses. I’ve found that a special jacket, for example — be it in velvet or luxury wool — is still desired in a wardrobe because it can be dressed down with a pair of jeans and still look just as stylish. I myself haven’t worn a shirt and tie in over a year, but that’s not to say that my wardrobe has lost its luxury feel. It’s just reframed; particularly through roll-neck sweaters in either cashmere or wool, which I think look fabulous with tailoring. Sure, it’s not the classic way of styling it, but I still feel equally as dressed. And I love a good pair of trainers with certain pieces of tailoring. People may not be wearing fully tailored ensembles right now, but they’re still wearing single pieces — so the ingredients of a suit have just been reframed to work with the times. It’s only natural, and it’s still completely elegant to me. But I don’t think it will stay like this forever.

So what do you think will happen after this pandemic?

The old Savile Row mentality said that fashion and tailoring were two separate worlds. I’ve always disagreed with this. There’s a co-dependency between the two and I draw upon both within my work: the quality from tailoring and the flamboyance from fashion. Whether everyone on Savile Row admits it or not, we’re all influenced by the things we see on social media today, and the strongest appetite — in my opinion — is the collision of these two worlds. Glamor in menswear has really been on the rise over the past few years, and tailors can’t close their eyes to it.

So because we’ve been stripped of nightlife, fun and sartorial glamor over the past year, my prediction is that the public will want to dress more extravagantly than ever once this pandemic is over. They will want to do something revolutionary — and the most obvious way to express that kind of action is through clothing. Psychologically, I think people benefit from wearing good clothes because it makes them look and feel sexy, so as long as tailors can meet a modern demand when it comes, I think the Savile Row suit will be revitalized. And it’s incredibly exciting. Suits are modes of armor which help people face the world, so when it’s time to do that again, I’ll be there with some serious sartorial sculpturing to carry them through it.