capped toe


More fancy-pants TF2 fashion plates! These are less formal than the first batch, which you can see here.

Engineer ★ Western tuxedo

  • oversized embroidered jacket
  • topaz and bronze bolo tie
  • fine wool felt cowboy hat with color-matching ribbon
  • oversized bronze and silver belt buckle
  • antique cowboy boots with silver toe caps

Sniper ★ Tropical tuxedo

  • ecru linen dinner jacket
  • New Zealand wildflower boutonnière
  • two-tone patent leather saddle shoes
  • pleated apricot button-down shirt

Pyro ★ I have no idea

  • lavender feather boa
  • pretty princess gold tiara and sash
  • black tuxedo bowtie and vest
  • monocle and false facial hair
  • leather opera gloves and spats
Suits, volleyball, and all the headcanon in between.

[Terushima, Futakuchi, Noya, Tanaka, Ushijima and Tendou here]
[Akiteru, Kei, Kageyama and Hinata here]
[Ladies of Karasuno here]


  • Black on black. No tie, open two-buttoned suit jacket that hugs his waist, the top two buttons of his shirt are undone. Tailored wingtip derbies, black and matte- polished to perfection.
    • He’s actually the one who dislikes wearing suits the most (I mean, have you seen the guy, he literally looks like he throws on whatever he has lying on his bed).
    • Oh, but if you challenge him, or if the need arises- he’s going to be the sexiest guy in the room because he sure as hell isn’t going to lose at anything.
      • Hours of research and a lot of changing rooms is not going to be for nothing. If he’s going to suffer, he’s going to do some real damage before he goes (namely to your short-circuited brain and perhaps severe blood loss via nosebleed).
    • He tried the red and black combination once, until a girl actually came up to him and asked him which host club he worked at, and he’s stuck to black from then on.
    • Those undone buttons on his shirt? Collarbones. They’re so sharp that they can slice through paper, and it makes his neck slimmer and his smirk all the sexier.
    • Everything’s been absolutely tailored at least twice, and it’s so on purpose. Can you imagine those legs- miles and miles of slim height and oh, he knows you’re staring. He’ll wink right back.
      • Now that he thinks about it, he’s never had to buy his own drink before, and thus Kuroo’s legendary alcohol tolerance was born.

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Imagine Woozi browsing the internet for more ‘Supreme’ items to add to his growing collection.

nohurrytoshout  asked:

The suits headcannons are 😩😩🙌🙌WOBDERFUL!! LLIKE SERIOUSLY, THE WAY YOU DESCRIBED THEM WITH SUITS IS JUST 🙏praissee. Please do continue them!!! Possibly terushima, futakuchi, noya, and tanaka?? THANK YOU SOM MUCH

Sure! And I see you have a type. ;3 Bonus Ushijima and Tendou for you.

[The original suits headcanon here]


  • Three-piece, a brown so impossibly dark that under the wrong lighting it’s almost certainly black. Notch lapel and two buttoned, his jacket’s loose and open on top of a pristine white shirt. The kickers are his tie and accessories- a rich, metallic dark gold with matching watch chain and pocket square, highlighting his bronzed skin and blonde undercut. A pair of simple cap toe derbies finish the look.
    • You see, he knows, that you’d expect him to wear something flashy to match his personality and his wicked tongue piercing, but he also knows that he looks like an oasis in a desert in black and gold.
      • He does indulge his flashy side with his surprisingly smart-casual array of clothes- another formal favourite of his is a black and white checkered jacket on top of a simple black turtleneck with black pants and shoes.
    • He’s a naturally slim person, but his suits are structured to give him the confidence to match his smirk. Pants slim fitted to shape around his sleek calves, it makes him look miles tall.
      • His hair, when he actually tries, is slicked back firmer than usual, and there are absolutely no wisps of hair blocking the sinful expression he shoots at you.
    • Playing with his cuffs when he’s bored just doesn’t kick it for him. He prefers to rest his weight on one leg and slide the tips of his fingers into his pant pockets cockily.
      • He’s always the first one to get asked to dance, with his rough undercut and slick outfit, and boy are they all surprised because this man, despite looking like a million dollars, dances like he’s earning his keep dollar by dollar.
        • Give him a pole. Give him a fucking pole, and you’ll be going home a few items of clothing short tonight.

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Pater’s Rose

AU, I hope you will like it!!! tell me what you think about it…. Looking forward to hear from you!!! 

Breathlessly, I open the compartment, all my belongings in my hands. I enter the warm cabin, smiling at the other traveling passengers. A wealthy man stands up, helping me with my battered suitcase. With a slight movement he stows my suitcase away over my head.

I thank him, falling exhausted in my seat. He takes the seat opposite me; tiredly I smile, watching outside. With a loud toot, the railway signals that we’re ready to leave.

My hands are still clad in my new lace gloves. Carefully I pull on the fingers of the right hand, sliding out of my right glove, doing the same with the left. Holding both gloves in one hand I place them gently on my lap; in the same movement I bend forward to remove the hairpins which are holding my hat in place. Putting the hat on my lap too, covering my gloves, I close my eyes,feeling how the heavy machine starts to move.


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Madlen Hades Shoes

New stiletto heels with stud-embellished toe cap. Come in 9 colours (patent leather texture).

You cannot change the mesh, but feel free to recolour it as long as you add original link in the description.

If you can’t see this creation in CAS, please update your game.
If you’‘e experiencing thumbnail problem, update your game (latest patch should solve the problem).

Hope you’ll like it!



I mean Tony and Rhodes had to meet T’Challa properly before the airport battle right? Like how did that even go down. “Your Highness, hi. You here to kill Barnes?” And then T’Challa stares at them through that dope-ass mask and Rhodey’s like, so done by now, just “Can you not?” 

Meanwhile Spidey’s like in the corner with Vision discussing the giant cat man in the quinjet with them. Is that a Furry? When did the Avengers get a Furry? Vision zones out after that, he’s connected to the internet to find out what a Furry is. He is bewildered. Further research may be necessary.

Tony and Nat like, talking strategy about ‘going easy on them’ and Nat’s kinda miffed that her spider motif is being infringed upon by the twelve year old. Tony and FRIDAY arguing about what shoe boutique to preemptively buy out for Pepper Potts because he’s got a bad feeling about this.

Just. Team Iron Man. Wild.

130lb of Ukrainian Courage (pt 6)

Ian sets the coffee machine going as he eats his banana and then knocks back a handful of pills. He watches the coffee begin to drip into the clear glass and and the brown liquid start to rise, pressed up against it’s confines. He thinks how easy it would be to simply sweep the machine off the side and smash it to pieces, letting the coffee spill and spread and go wherever the fuck it wants to go. Why does the coffee always have to go into the glass and just hang around waiting for someone to pour it out? Why can’t the coffee just be left the fuck alone to be coffee?

Ian clenches his jaw and bows his head taking low, deep breaths through his nose. He completes his mental health check-list and realises that he is obsessing on a minute detail to avoid dealing with his actual emotions.

He remembers the first time he explained that portion of his check list to Mickey and the way his boyfriend had closed his eyes and tried the method himself before flapping his hand and scowling

“Shit. If I stop doing that I reckon I’ll stop thinking all together. Maybe I got a little bi-polar in me too? Make a change from having a fuckin’ huge bi-polar in me, eh?”

Ian snorts and smiles and then his lip trembles and he is pressing his shaking fingers into the wet crease of his eyes trying to keep the tears at bay.

He wants nothing more than to keep Mickey and Yevgeny safe, to protect them from everything that would ever seek to do them harm and destroy anything that causes them even an ounce of pain. But he can’t and looking at his trembling fingers and the pill box on the counter and realises he was a damn fool for ever thinking he could.

The machine gurgles and spits out the last of the dark roast. The kitchen is full of the scent of happy mornings and hushed memories. Ian pours two mugs as he hears Mickey make his trip to the bathroom. He isn’t humming today and when he appears on the stairs he is not in his usual morning attire of boxers and loose-fitting t-shirt, he is dressed in a black button down shirt which is tucked into black jeans, secured with thick leather belt. He has steel toe cap boots on his feet and a small frown creasing his brow.

“Mornin’ Mr Cash.”

Ian tries to smile and Mickey bravely lifts his own lip in response but his eyes won’t quite meet Ian’s own.

“Good mornin’. How you doing?”

Ian nods encouragingly but doesn’t trust his voice. He tries to hand Mickey his coffee but his hands won’t cooperate and he spills it across both of their hands, peppering the floor with thick drops.

“Shit! I’m sorry! I’m sor…”

“Doesn’t matter. You burn yourself?”

Mickey plucks the mug from Ian’s fingers and sets it on the side, roughly wiping his hand on the leg of his jeans.

“No, I’m fine, just fucking clumsy.”

Ian shakes his head and dries his own fingers on the hem of his t-shirt. Finally Mickey glances up at Ian and their eyes lock and hold. Mickey licks his bottom lip anxiously and his shoulders rise and fall in an almost infinitesimal sigh. He looks exhausted and wound up too tightly and suddenly Ian knows what he can do to help.

He steps forward and wraps Mickey tightly in his arms, cradling Mickey’s head in his hand and resting his cheek lightly on the top of Mickey’s hair.

“I love you so much, Mickey and you are really fucking brave. We’ll get through today and we’ll take Yev to McDonalds tonight and we will be fine. All of us.”

He injects as much certainty into his voice as he can and feels Mickey melt against his chest with a sound that could almost be called a whimper if Mickey Milkovich made such noises.

“You gonna nag me if I have one of those vanilla frappe things with all the cream and shit?”

Mickey mumbles into Ian’s shoulder and Ian kisses the top of his head fondly, squeezing him a little tighter.

“Damn right! You don’t floss often enough and those things will rot your teeth.”

“Nah, my teeth are fuckin’ perfect.”

“Because you don’t have weird sugar syrup all over them.”

Ian lectures and peers down at his boyfriend, glad to see his cheeks rounded in a sweet smile.

“I could get us a bottle of wine for after Yev goes to bed? That red one you like with the funny Italian name? Ah … Monty-pull-chee-ano Da-bruise-o.”

“Montepulciano D’abruzzo.”

Ian grins and Mickey pulls back from his embrace nodding happily.

“Yeah that one.”

“I’d really like that.”

Ian neatens the fabric across Mickey’s shoulders and tugs lightly at the collar, straightening the edges.

“I’ll text you when we’re on our way back.”

“Call me instead?”

“Sure babe, I’ll call you.”

Mickey almost never uses that sort of pet name and Ian’s heart jumps a little with the thrill of it.

They sit at the table and drink coffee together. Ian keeps his knee lightly brushing Mickey’s and when he carries the mugs to the sink he brushes his lips across Mickey’s neck as he stands.

Mickey cooks eggs and they eat side by side, maybe a little closer than usual but neither of them comment on it. Mickey switches his fork to his right hand and ditches his knife, he free left hand coming to rest on Ian’s thigh beneath the table.

Ian busies himself with the dishes as Mickey goes to his junk drawer and deliberately keeps his eyes averted as Mickey checks the pistol and tucks it into the back of his pants and then slips a smaller gun into a holster at his ankle.

“We won’t be more than a couple of hours.”

“Sure. I’ll be here.”

Ian kisses him softly and Mickey responds just as delicately. Ian is reminded of the old films when wives send their husbands off on a train to war.

He watches Mickey leave and notes how he pauses on the porch,ostensibly to light a cigarette but his eyes are scanning the road and the cars parked, looking for anything amiss. Satisfied he twitches his nose and bounds down the steps.

Ian watches until Mickey’s tail-lights disappear around the corner and then goes back inside. He decides to make another coffee though he is sure his anxiety would do better without it. He wanders into the kitchen and stifles a groan as he spots a familiar iPhone on the counter.

“Damn it, Mick!”

Ian knows if he runs, he can probably get to the Alibi before Mickey and Yev leave by taking the back alleys but if Mickey realises he’s forgotten it and doubles back only to find Ian gone – yeah. That’s a whole shit storm Ian does not need.

He picks it up and tosses it lightly from palm to palm considering but is saved from the decision by the sound of heavy boots on the porch step.

He rolls his eyes and hurries to the door, a conciliatory smile on his face, he knows how pissed off Mickey is going to be that he forgot the thing. He can hear muttered cursing and the door handle rattles but doesn’t budge.

“Did you forget your keys too?”

Ian laughs, opening the door.

“No. Guess I’m just lucky you were home.”

Terry Milkovich grunts, shoving the barrel of his shotgun under Ian’s chin.



Mickey pulls up outside the Alibi, leaning on the horn with his usual two quick blasts before getting out of the car, another cigarette already dangling from his lips.


Yev barrels out of the door and launches himself upwards into Mickey’s outstretched arms.

“Hey little man! How you doing?”

Mickey kisses his sons forehead and switches him onto his left forearm, carefully holding the cigarette in his right, away from Yevgeny and blowing the smoke over his shoulder away from the kid.

“We’re going to meet Grandpa, right?”


“He’s your Papa, right?”

“Sure is.”

Mickey forces a smile and frowns impatiently at the door, wondering where the fuck Svetlana is.

“Is Mom comin’?”

“Yeah she says it’s respectful to look pretty for Grandpa so she’s just doing her make-up.”

Yev informs him and Mickey barely stifles his derisive snort.

“You do your make up to?”

He teases and is pleased when Yev punches his shoulder with a well-curled little fist


“Good, you’re pretty enough without, just like me.”

Mickey flashes him a cheesy grin and sets Yev down, patting his butt lightly.

“Go tell Mom to hurry up.”


Yev dashes back inside and Mickey finishes his cigarette. He is exhaling the last dregs through his nose when Yev and Svetlana appear and Mickey chokes, coughing heavily.

“Do not say a word. I am beautiful and that is all.”

Svetlana is in full hooker regalia. She looks gorgeous but in a slightly menacing way, and Mickey is sure that whatever effect she is hoping for is exactly the effect she will have on his father.

“You even gonna be able to walk across the grass in those?”

Mickey nods to the spiky heels on her feet and Svetlana tosses her hair over her shoulder nonchalantly

“Side-walk, grass, throats … I walk across them all.”

“You charge extra for that?”

Mickey quips, bending down into the back seat to help Yevgeny buckle up. Svetlana glances down at his backside and considers kicking it but she notices the handle poking out from the waistband of his jeans and is suddenly glad that Mickey is with them.

“Let’s go. I don’t want to be late.”

“Oh yeah. Me neither. This is gonna be a blast.”

Mickey ruffles Yev’s hair playfully and straightens turning to look up at Svetlana with an expression that makes her roll her eyes and raise her middle finger at him.

“Just drive, idiot.”


The park is full of kids and parents and a birthday party is happening by the picnic tables. Mickey’s eyes dart every which way, scouting for the unmistakable aggressive swagger of his father in the crowd of families.

“It’s nearly twenty past, where the fuck is he?”

He mutters, drumming his fingers on the hood of his car impatiently. Svetlana shrugs and shifts her weight a little.

“He’ll be here.”

“Mama, can I go play yet?”

Yev asks. He has been sat between his parents on the bonnet for twenty minutes watching the play park and is practically beside himself with his own impatience. Svet glances across and smiles to herself at the identical looks of irritation on father and sons faces. She had not really been sure that Yevgeny was Mickey’s until he was nearly a year old. The blue eyes had suggested it but many babies have blue eyes. No, it was the development of that particular stubborn little expression, an expression that dares the world to defy him, that was when Svetlana was certain.

“No, you will get dirty. Just wait.”

“But I’m bored!”

Yevgeny tips his head back and looks imploringly at both his parents in turn

“Please? I won’t get dirty.”

Mickey clears his throat and nods distractedly, peering at a fat old guy who could have been Terry except for the pastel roll-neck sweater.

“Go ahead bud, just stay close.”

Yev is gone before his mother can counter, tearing into the play park with a confidence that makes both his parents smile.

“He gets more like you everyday.”

“Nah. He’s more like you.”

Mickey demurs, watching Yev negotiate a turn on the swingset with a couple of other kids.

“In some ways but he has your gentleness. Not soft. Just gentle.”

Mickey looks at her in surprise and Svetlana shrugs, reaching across to pluck his cigarette out of his fingers and take a drag on it.

“I appreciate you being here, Mikhailo. You can be a good man sometimes.”

“No problem.”

Mickey’s voice is gruff and Svet smirks to herself wondering if of all the things Ian has taught him, he will ever manage the acceptance of a compliment.

They watch Yev play in silence for a few minutes and then Mickey pats his pockets and swears loudly earning him a scandalised look from a mother with three children gathered around her like ducklings.


Svetlana frowns

“Forgot my fucking phone. Shit!”

“You are supposed to call Carrot?”

“Yeah. Shit!”

Mickey nibbles at the corner of his mouth, thinking and Svetlana sighs and reaches into her purse.

“Here. Use mi…”

She breaks off scowling at the screen.

“What? Battery dead?”

“No. We need to go.”

“What? Why? My dad text you?”

Mickey tries to peer at the screen but Svet stuffs it back into her purse with trembling hands.


She bellows and Mickey flinches away, scowling at her.

“Jesus! Don’t yell at him like that!”

Yev is running towards them looking thoroughly chastened although he has done nothing wrong.

“What’s wrong Mama?”

“Nothing,we are going. Get in the car. I am driving.”

“What the fuck is goin’ on?”

Mickey snaps and grabs Svetlana’s arm as she kicks off her heels and tries to move past him.

“I’m sorry, Mickey. I will fix this.”

“For what? What the fuck is … Wait a minute.”

Mickey yanks her forcefully back as she tries to detach herself from his grip

“Svet, I’m beginning to get a little freaked out. What the fuck just happened? Did Terry text you?”

Svetlana’s eyes are huge and frightened and Mickey’s grip tightens.

“Show me.”


“Show. Me.”

Mickey grabs her purse and Svetlana closes her eyes as he rummages through finally managing to grab her phone.

The screen comes to life as he pushes the centre button and in front of the background photo of Yevgeny a message preview sits in green:

Keep M with you. Don’t let him leave.

Mickey’s blood seems to freeze, cold sweat breaking out beneath his shirt. The world shrinks away from him as the phone falls from his numb fingers, hitting the gravel with a dull thud. Everything he feared flashes through his mind.

A car pulling up outside their house.

Ian bouncing toward the door.

Ian’s face contorted with pain and awash with blood.

Ian gasping on the floor, curling protectively around what is left of his ruined body.

Ian forced into the trunk of a car, barely conscious.

Ian gone.

Mickey clenches his fists so hard that his nails bite into his palms as a thick, cloak of absolute fury settles around him, warming him back to life.

If Ian is hurt in anyway, someone is going to fucking die.

The thought comes unbidden but it gives him something to cling to and loosens something in his chest, making it possible to breathe around the edges of his horror; and the world comes roaring back toward him, startling in it’s clarity. 

Svetlana watches the play of emotions across his face and shudders. She would never tell him so but in this moment she sees the cold ruthlessness he is capable of and thinks that Mickey has never looked so much like his father. It is an utterly terrifying transformation.

“Let me drive. You cannot in this state.”

He brushes her hands off, unable to stand being touched.

“Get in the fuckin’ car or don’t. But get the fuck out of my way.”

Mickey pushes past her and gets into the drivers seat. She scrabbles to get into the passenger side and is barely seated when Mickey hurls the car into reverse, the passenger door slamming closed as he swings the vehicle round.

“Yev - you belted up?”

“Yes Papa!”


Mickey jams the stick forward and floors the gas pedal, roaring out of the parking lot back toward the South Side.

anonymous asked:

Can you do something where 2d meets reader at a riot or a protest? Like something in the 80s when punks would flood the streets and cause total mayhem. Ily punk sister!

Honey, you are speaking my fucking LANGUAGE. This is based in 1999, btw, so Gorillaz has literally just gotten together and 2D is only 20

2D sprints down the street, gasping for breath, his calves aching with the speed and length of time he’s been running. Behind him, he can hear the heavy footsteps of 3 policemen, and even further away, he can hear the roars of some riot going on not 4 streets away.

He turns and bolts down a relatively quiet road, dodging between the light of the lampposts, trying to put the policemen off. He doesn’t know why he’s being chased. He just wants to get home. He only needed a bottle of vodka from an off-license, but he’d been targeted when he’d walked out, and one of the policemen now on his tail had roared “CATCH THE LOOTER” before haring after him.

The street has clearly already been marched through. He leaps and slips over piles of rubble, and he passes a car with all of its windows smashed in, thinking nothing of it, continuing to run. He can’t even bring himself to look over his shoulder to see if he’s still being pursued; all he knows is that he can’t keep this pace up much longer.

A hand suddenly bursts out from behind burnt out car and seizes him by the collar of his jacket, and with a loud yelp, he’s yanked down behind the husk of the car. After a few moments, his eyes adjust to the darkness. A hand clamps over his mouth, and he looks to the side, just about able to make out the shapes of three people, the closest of whom has their hand clamped over his mouth. The figure turns their head and reveals their profile to be a man with a spiked red mohawk and multiple piercings. A bolt of fear lances through 2D’s gut, strengthened only as the figure on the end stands up and launches a brick across the street with a soft grunt, and then drops back down.

2D hears the clatter as the brick lands, and the yells of the policemen as they turn towards it, away from the car further down the street.

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anonymous asked:

What does snape wear outside the classroom?

Outside of the classroom but still within Hogwarts (his dungeons, McGonagall’s office etc), I always imagine him as semi-suited.  I think this is a throwback to how my teachers dressed at school, because I know canon hints at Snape wearing robes and not much else underneath - but I like the idea of him being rather respectably dressed below his robes.

And to take that a step further, I love the idea of him enjoying the frippery of the outdated wizarding world, and embracing the outlandish along with his suit trousers, shirt and waistcoat - so braces, metallic sleeve suspenders, buffed black cap toe Oxfords (quarter brogues when he’s feeling fancy, and he’s got a pair of wingtips for very special occasions), and a tie.

At Spinner’s End, if he has to venture out amongst the locals, he throws on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt; it’s the easiest way to blend in and not be bothered.  If he heads to the pub, he puts a shirt on instead of a t-shirt, but that’s as far as it goes.

If he’s going further afield - into the city, or if he needs to deal with Muggle authorities (e.g. banking), he dresses as he would at school - he commands far more respect that way, even if he misses his robes billowing behind him.

If he’s home alone, he walks around in his shorts for most of the day.  It’s an old habit he can’t rid himself of - when he returned home from Hogwarts as a kid, he found it wound his dad up if he lay around the house half dressed.  After spending the winter in a cold dungeon in Scotland, summer in England felt oppressively hot - although his mum insisted he wore a t-shirt to the dinner table.  Besides, there’s no house elves to do his washing at Spinner’s End, so why dirty a shirt unnecessarily?