head tailor

the-prophet-on-acid  asked:

Right so have you ever played saints row 3? Specifically the opening mission where the saints rob a bank while all dressed as Gat "because who wouldn't wanna be johnny Gat" Cuz I keep thinking of the fakes pulling off a heist when someone (probably Gavin) has suggested they all do it dressed as the vagabond. Hilarity with the pre heist banter and then ridiculous news reports as 5 vagabonds pull of a heist accompanied by a 6th female vagabond

Oh man I haven’t but that is amazing. The Fake’s would be so into it too, the second someone floats the idea they’re all in, sourcing jackets and masks, debating pants, brainstorming the most appropriate heist to debut this beautiful nightmare. Best of all; they don’t tell Ryan. He’s off on some job, and even when he returns they keep their planning on the down low, too hyped up to cover the inevitable sniggers and pointed looks but no matter how creatively Ryan asks no one spills the beans.

When the fateful day finally comes around they let Ryan arrive at the meeting place first so they can truly appreciate the range of his reaction as the rest of the crew shows up one by one, all fully decked out and doing their best menacing Vagabond impersonations, complete with ridiculously puffed chests and comically deep grumbles. Ryan’s not exactly impressed at first, wary surprise moving to confusion then annoyance, flaring into a moment of true anger before crumbling into amusement, Ryan laughing just as hard as anyone else when he realises that the true butt of this particular joke isn’t him at all.

The Los Santos police don’t have a pleasant relationship with any of the Fake AH Crew, but there’s no denying that on any given day the mysterious Mercenary is their greatest antagonist. This is an LSPD who have never seen Ryan’s face, have never managed to catch him at all let alone long enough to rid him of that infernal mask, so of course pinning him down in an alley following his attempt to escape the FAHC’s latest bank heist leaves them thrilled. At least until the Vagabond rips off his skull and hurls it away, leaving nothing but a mess of red, white and black paint smeared across a grinning face, the momentary shock of recognition giving Geoff more than enough time to fight his way free.

To say police reports got hazy and confused from this point on is an understatement. A handful of officers are convinced the Vagabond doesn’t even exist, unknown for so long because he is not an individual at all, simply the alter ego of the Fake’s boss or perhaps even a rotation of their known members. Except then of course yet another Vagabond saunters out of the bank and into the street, mini gun whirring as he peppers the area and forces officers to duck for cover, masked head thrown back and cackling the unmistakable wild laughter of Mogar. 

In the face of that realisation it isn’t hard to identify the next pair to tumble out of the bank and flank Jones, both dwarfed by their jackets in different ways Dooley and Free are visibly thrilled to enter the fray. As the maskless Ramsey reappears and regroups they’re joined by another pair, one sporting the long flaming red-orange hair of the Firebird, the other making liberal use of Pattillo’s distinctive shotgun. Last but not least comes what can only be the true Vagabond, retrospectively unmistakable in direct comparison, all size and strength and seeping menace as he lifts his gun and joins his crew.

The FAHC are surrounded on all sides now, not that you’d know it from the crew’s attitude, audibly laughing and jeering, seemingly having the time of their lives as they swan about the street. They are all referring to each other as Vagabond, all stomping around and shouting vivid threats that would be horrifying if not for the strange inflections and stutters they’ve all adopted. At one point the true Vagabond stops shooting all together to stalk after Free, sending him scuttling behind Ramsey and cutting off a particularly graphic diatribe about being sexually attracted to diet coke of all things. For the most part though Vagabond prime seems to be enjoying the inexplicable farce as much as anyone in the crew, crowing about good looks and superior talents, assuring his team that he understands because honestly, who wouldn’t want to be the Vagabond?

Still, alarmingly playful interactions aside the tide has to turn eventually, pinned in the FAHC are certainly causing brutal damage but faced with wave after wave of LSPD reinforcements their ammo begins to dwindle, their bodies start to tire. Deadly they may be but at the end of the day they are, after all, only human. They can’t last forever.  

Which is, of course, when the final two Vagabond’s make their appearance; a giant, heavily armoured black truck crashing through police barricades like tissue paper, both driver and passenger masked but easy enough to identity for anyone who has spent time studying the FAHC. The driver, with Bragg’s shaggy dip-dyed hair emerging from his black skull, pulls the truck around as the passenger hangs half-way out the window and lays down a spray of covering fire. Collins’ cheerful voice rings out above the chaos, cajoling the Fake’s into the car like a soccer mum gathering her brood, all c’mon kids, say goodbye to the nice officers now it’s time to go home.  

By the time the troop of Vagabonds escape, truck packed like a clown car and busting out as easily as it burst in, only the enormous property damage, relentlessly replayed media footage and a truly staggering number of civilian selfies taken with all nine Vagabonds remain to convince the LSPD that the whole bizarre experience wasn’t a collective fever dream.

Falling, Falling, Falling

Pairing: Klance

Word Count: 3,943

Tags: Altean Lance, Galra Keith, Miscommunication

Notes: I’d just like to give a big shout-out to @cryptidkeiths for editing this for me and another big thanks to @hunksheadbands for keeping me sane while I stressed over writing my first fic. i love you guys. 

Summary: Prince Lance has built walls to keep everyone out his entire life, and then, a curious new friend crash lands on Altea and begins to pull Lance from behind the wall.

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Her Instinct - Chapter 13

Chapter 13 - A Broken Frame

*mature gifs ahead*

This chapter was inspired by the song Guys My Age by Hey Violet. Feel free to listen as you read, it’s a great song and really fitting to the character ;-)

Morning came even quicker than last time. I feel the warmth of his body against my back. It was so comforting, his lean arm draped over my body, connecting us.

I studied his forearm. His skin looked and felt so smooth, not oily or dry, but just healthy and clear. I outlined his arm, taking in the shape with my hands.

Remembering it.

Memorizing it.

I glided my fingers down to his hand, tracing his palm. His hands weren’t as soft and smooth as his harm. Callouses outlined his palms, either from working out or all that housework he must do. The memory of his cart full of household cleaning items came across my mind. Funny thing, Mr. Leto never talks about a gardening. It must be for the houses he sells.

My mind wandered back to his warm body pressed against my back. I lapsed back into the memories from last night of us wrapped in each other’s arms, inseparable.

I felt myself melt into his arms. A soft kiss on my neck broke my train of thought.

“Someone’s awake,” he said groggily. The huskiness in his voice sent chills down my spine and was literally, the sexiest thing to wake up too.

“Someone’s still sleepy, ” I retorted playfully as I turned to face him .

“For you, I’d be awake in a heart beat.” He said suggestively.

His voice paled in comparison with his looks. Yep, he was just as flawless as he was before. My eyes outlined his perfectly handsome features. I started with is eyes, then his cheek bones, his jaw , down to his neck and stopped at his clavicle. I decided to give my eyes a break and grazed my fingers against his shoulders and chest.

He stared back at me calmly as I touched him. I felt peaceful in the oddest way.

“I don’t want to leave. I could stay in bed with you all day.” I said out loud to myself.

“Don’t say that Kerri, or I’ll just might have to make that happen.” He tapped my nose with finger with his finger.

I laughed as I inched closer to him. He leaned in, kissing me tenderly. He proceeded to kiss down across my jaw tracing down to my shoulders.

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👑✨my favorite Jaebum looks✨👑  #8

       ↳ MBC Gayo Daejejeon 151231

artsy-wolf96  asked:

Can you give me a list of DILF! Eren? I can't seem to ever find any, so yeah^^

You have truly come to the right place! There’s an ask [here] full of DILF!Eren, and I’ve found some more for ya! Truly, age gaps & single fathers are my favourite fic tropes.

Sartorial Elegance
Summary: Garrison Fine Tailored Clothing is famous in the men’s clothing industry for bespoke and made-to-measure suits. Their head tailor Levi has a hard time keeping his eyes off the new salesman upstairs, and not just because his trousers need tailoring properly.

Tipping Over
Summary: Isabel and Levi get kicked out of class, Eren gives them advice, and Levi and him talk alone.

My Old Friend
Summary: When Levi was a teenager, the unrequited love of his life was Eren, his best friend’s father. Fifteen years later, Levi finds himself back in Whitecrest Cove to sell his late uncle’s house.

I Wanna Be Yours
Summary: Levi is extremely skilled when it comes to babysitting Isabel Jaeger and pining after Eren Jaeger. If only jobs would take those skills as applicable qualities of an employee.

Surprise, Surprise
Summary: “You little minx, you have no idea what you’ve been doing to me - or rather, I think you know exactly what you’ve been doing.”

Summary: “No, you’re fine, I just – Eren why won’t you let me near your neck when we’re having sex?”
     “I – wow you noticed that, huh?”


jathis  asked:

He smiled and giggled softly as he felt Matthew's lips brushing against his ear. "Mattie..." he whispered gruffly. Armitage snorted, biting back a comment as Dopheld rested his head on his shoulder. Perhaps he could allow some small amounts of public affection now and then for his brother.

(I’m assuming this is for the Measure of a Man Tailor AU?) Sorry I took so long to reply, I was considering the implications of ‘public affection’ given the legal standing of their relationship at the time and the fact that they’re all living off military wages or the profits from Hux’ clothing business. 

Hux and Dopheld would absolutely never hold hands or touch much more than a jacket adjustment in public. They probably wouldn’t have risked the few gay clubs in London until the Roaring Twenties were in full swing, and even then I doubt it’d be their style. They both vividly remember Wilde dying and they keep things private for the sake of safety. They can be as demonstrable as they like at home but in public they’re respectable bachelors.

But Declan (Techie) and Matt have the advantage that they have to touch in public. Who’s going to see a guy in uniform leading a blind war veteran and suggest anything lewd? That wouldn’t be patriotic at all. It’s Hux that first noticed that Declan is taking advantage of it- Matt thinks that Declan has to hold that tight to his bicep and the constant wriggling of fingers against his pectoral is entirely normal. He just wills himself not to react to the ‘entirely accidental’ nipple teasing hahaha. 

I’m sure that all this necessary secrecy leads to them all needing space to unwind. The air in London isn’t the best for Declan’s lungs and the dry summer heat gets to Dopheld’s war wounds, so Hux finds them a cottage on the Cornish coast, somewhere they can reach by train crammed into some private compartment with piles of luggage. Four bedrooms because the neighbours will talk if it isn’t, but they use one of the spare rooms for Hux’ design work and the other becomes a library. Dopheld reads to Declan as they lounge in deckchairs on the beach while Matt practices his Dynamic Tension (gods bless Charles Atlas) in ridiculous 1920s shorts.

Of course if they’re going to buy a second summer home they should probably expand into other arenas to pay for it. Techie is an artist right? With his wire animals? Just imagine Matt whispering to him at night trying to describe the Tutankhamun treasures that influenced so much of the 1920s art and fashion. Declan has a little sight left- mostly light and dark with a few patches of colour perception too- but he’s become excellent with texture. Hux has him assess all the incoming fabrics for the tailoring business. One day the suppliers send frock silks by accident and Declan runs his fingers over a fabric with raised horizontal lines and the next day he’s trying to talk Matt through sketching a dress design. Its blocky and awkward because Matt’s huge hands aren’t built for delicate work, but it captures the spirit of the time. A week later Hux finds their portfolio of 25 different dresses and quietly copies it, has them worked up by one of the seamstresses he hung on to after the men came back from the war. A month after the first idea Declan is carefully (with the model’s permission) feeling the first of his designs made into reality. 

Hux is sure that no one is going to buy ladies evening gowns made by a uniform manufacturer with no past history in women’s outfitting but they might buy it from a new company with good backing and a fancy name. “Declan Matthieu” is an outfitter with a royal seal within five years. They’re known for bold colour contrasts and gorgeous textures with oodles of raised lace and bead work. Declan soon works out how to do some of the embroidery samples himself (the first few get a bit bloody) but he’s not comfortable in public, while Matt managed to sew himself into ballgown somehow, so Dopheld becomes the public face of the company after he takes medical retirement from the Army. Neither of them mind and he’s always carefully to make it clear that he’s not involved in the design work. No, the only designs Dopheld has is on Hux’ underwear :p


Summary: Becoming the newest tailor in the First Order, you find yourself becoming friends with someone you never expected to.

A/N: It’s been two weeks since I’ve done a request, sorry my friends! Although this isn’t a request, it is an idea I had for a while. Enjoy and feedback is welcomed!

Word Count: 4.4K+

Warning: None

A smile grew across your face as you found yourself sewing up the last few pieces of the outfit you had created. It had been a good few weeks since you first started working alongside the Order as one of their clothing designers. Although you were allowed to design outfits and uniforms for everyone, you were specifically assigned for one person who tended to ruin things he was in. You could easily remember your first day on board the Finalizer as if it had just happened. Little did you know you’d end up becoming good–great–friends with the one person no one wanted to be close to.

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Love Bites

Originally posted by angel-with-a-banana

Love bites covered the skin on Y/N’s neck as she tried to cover them with her hair. “I’m gonna kill Eggsy.” She muttered as she tightens her tie and slipped on her Oxford shoes. The purplish hue of the love bites contrasted with her skin as she expected there was no way to cover them.

Eggsy grinned at his love as he picked her up to head to the Kingsman tailor shop. “Oh, I did such a great job.” He said proudly, admiring his work. Y/N punched Eggsy’s arm. “Ow, what the bloody hell was that for Love?” He questioned. “For the teasing and the scolding we are going to get today.” She said bluntly.

“Cover those up next time,” Merlin said in front of all the other agents who sniggered at her. Y/N felt the heat rise across her face. It was no secret that her and Eggsy were in a relationship but it was constantly the butt of jokes between the other agents. The pair took no notice as Eggsy knew the other agents were jealous he was the one to get her, hence the marking her as his own. “Jealousy is flattery Love.” He would often whisper in her ear. 

sircolinfilth  asked:

Harry cross-stitching slutty old lady things :*

“The fuck is that?”

The combination of antique brass and leather loupes strapped around his head and his tailored waistcoat and rolled up sleeves makes Harry look like a man at his first steampunk convention. He peers up at Eggsy, eyes huge and owlish through the lenses, and says rather snippily, “It’s called embroidery, Eggsy, and I’ll thank you not to mock it. It’s a tremendous stress-reliever.”

“Why you all done up like a Victorian watchmaker?”

He tilts the hoop so Eggsy can see “Fuck You” beautifully stitched in rainbow silk.

“I’m fifty-five years old, and this is forty-count linen.”

The New Princess - chapter 10

Pairing: Dean x reader, modern prince!Dean AU

Summary: You look exactly like the princess of Genieve who is promised to marry the prince of your country, Prince Dean. But what happens if the princess doesn’t want to marry him and meets you, her look-a-like?

Words: 3700ish (like no joke! This is the longest one so far, but see it as an early Christmas gift/an apology for my slowness in updating)

Warnings: a little angsty (maybe? idk), a curse word here and there, the usual basically

A/N: And we’re already at chapter number 10! How time flies! And quick shout out to @smoothdogsgirl for being the 300th notification on the first chapter! Thank you! And thank you to everyone else as well for reading, liking and commenting on my story! Love y’all!

A/N 2: For that people that missed my spamming: I’m hosting a challenge! And since I’ve got plenty of spots left, you can still join if you want even if we’re past the sing-up date. Click here for more info about my 1K follower celebration.

Previous chapter    |    The New Princess Masterlist

Originally posted by black-butterfly13

With Dean’s arm swung over your shoulders you strolled through the halls of the palace, the man leading you towards your sleeping quarters. You walked with him in a daze, a comfortable silence resting between the two of you. Once you reached the doors of Ellie’s room, he made you face him. Your eyes focused on his green orbs when he lifted your chin up with his finger, his touch setting the skin on fire, the tingling feeling spreading through your form. Your knees buckled and the air was knocked out of your lungs. Get a grip, you scolded yourself.

“You okay?” the Prince asked concerned, his gaze boring into yours, the moment very intimate all of a sudden. You bit your lip and nodded your head, sure of the fact your voice would waver when you spoke. His worried expression didn’t go away, prompting you to croak out your next words.

“I just need a minute to myself, is all,” you smiled. Dean seemed to be reassured by that and you quickly thanked him for helping you. The man simply shrugged it off with a smirk.

“That’s what future husbands do,” he joked, making a smile appear on your face. I wish you could be my future husband, you sighed in your head, but pushed that thought away as soon as it popped up.

You stood in front of each other, not knowing what to say next. “I should probably go,” Dean broke the silence first while he pointed towards the empty corridor. “You know, governing a country.” You snickered at that statement and waved at the royal as he retreated himself towards his own chambers. Shifting from one foot to another, you tried to get rid of the giddy feelings in your stomach. Today’s just a strange day, you told yourself, using it as an explanation for the different emotions coursing through your body.

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Dark Curse

Hi there! I am slowly stalking your masterlist, I really like your writing and I love that you have Chris Beck and Jefferson stories! May I please request a Jefferson AU in which the reader is the one who remembers the enchanted forest and life with Jefferson, and he’s the one who forgets, and she and Grace team up to help him remember (and of course they eventually become a knit together family?) thank you so much xx - @poe-also-bucky

A/N - Sorry it took a bit to get this out but I started college this week so life had gotten a bit hectic but it should settle down soon. I realise Grace is actually like nine or ten in OUAT but let’s pretend she’s actually like five or six here.

Originally posted by showandwrite

Life in the Enchanted Forest had been wonderful. You had met Jefferson when both of you were young and fallen in love quickly, he was your whole world and neither of you cared that you were poor as long as you had each other. You were content, happy, then you had Grace and the happiness in your home swelled. Sure, money got a bit tighter but you didn’t mind because you had a small bundle of joy within your daughter.

You got to watch her grow up in the forest and play with her father, your love for Jefferson never wavered or lessened in all the years you were together. Then suddenly everything changed, now everyone was living in a town called Storybrooke with different names and no recollection of their past lives.

Except for you and Grace.

You had found her soon after, she remembered who you were thank god. At first you hadn’t realised that everyone had forgotten their past lives, you had done so when you went looking for Jefferson and found him working as a tailor going by the names of James.

“Jefferson thank God, we’ve been looking all over for you,” you rushed out as you walked into his shop with Grace’s hand in yours.

Jefferson looked up and gave you a confused look, no recognition of either of you on his face. “Jefferson? My name’s James, can I help you with anything? Do you need a fitting or just something resized?” he asked.

You squinted at him, sensing something was amiss. “N-no, thank you. I think we’re in the wrong place, sorry to bother you,” you said as your throat closed up, you quickly left the store with Grace a few steps behind.

“Why are we leaving papa?” Grace asked and you willed away the stinging behind your eyes.

You knelt down to her level, “Listen, Gracie. Remember how I told you about spells and magic?” you tried to keep your voice light.

Grace nodded enthusiastically.

“Good, well someone has put a spell on everyone so none of them remember their past except for us,” you explained.

“Papa doesn’t remember us?” Grace asked, her lip quivering.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” you soothed, “We just have to help him remember, okay?”

Grace nodded, “Okay.”

You had enrolled Grace at the local school, recognising faces of people you once knew with different families. Jefferson was on your mind constantly, you knew that a terrible curse had been cast over the town and as much as you hoped he would be immune to it just as you and Grace were for whatever reason but he wasn’t.

As the days passed by it became increasingly difficult to explain to Grace why her father was no longer living with them. You had managed to find an old mansion on the outskirts of town away from everyone else, it was large and lavish and just the sort of house you and Jefferson had always fantasized about living in together. Now you were here but he wasn’t.

A few months passed by, you avoided the tailor’s shop as much as you could. You grew concerned for your daughter, you knew how much Grace had loved him and life without him was making her miserable. It was then that you knew you had to do something.

You had to make Jefferson remember you and Grace, and if you couldn’t make that happen then you would find a way to keep ‘James’ in your life. For Grace.

The bell above your head rang through the tailors shop as you hesitantly stepped inside, Grace was at school and you were starting to regret coming here. You were about to leave when Jefferson - James - came out of the back with a wide smile on his face.

“Hi, how may I help you?” he asked, it had been so long since you had heard his voice or seen his smile that your eyes stung with tears but you forced yourself to not let them fall. A brief flash of recognition crossed his face but it was gone almost as soon as he came and you felt your heart break in two.

You cleared your throat, “Yes, um. Would you mind making some adjustments to some clothes I have?”

“Sure,” he nodded with a wide smile and you walked over to the counter and set your bag down. You pulled out a medium sized cape and a top hat, it was almost Halloween so you were using that as an excuse.

“It’s my daughter’s Halloween costume but it’s a little too big, would you be able to make them both a bit shorter?” you asked, trying to keep your voice even and polite.

He picked them up and looked at them, “I can do that. Do you have her measurements?”

You nodded and handed over a slip of paper with the required details. “What’s she going as?” he asked conversationally.

“Hm?” you asked confused.

“For Halloween?” he clarified, glancing up at you.

“Oh! A magician, of sorts,” you made up on the spot.

He chuckled, “So not a princess?”

You shook your head, “No, she wanted to be just like her dad. He used to do magic..tricks,” you added quickly, noticing your slip up but luckily he didn’t catch it.

‘James’ nodded, “So you have a husband?” he tested, trying to sound nonchalant.

You licked your lips, “Not anymore,” you swallowed. It hurt to say but as long as Jefferson didn’t remember who he was you could hardly call him your husband, right now he was James and thought he had a whole life living here that didn’t involve you or Grace.

“Sorry to hear that,” he gave a sympathetic smile.

“It’s all fine,” you lied. “I have Grace,” you gave him a small smile.

This conversation was getting too hard for you so you sucked in a deep breath, “When will it be ready?” you asked.

“A week okay for you?” he asked.

You nodded, “Yes, that’s fine. Thank you,” and with that you sped out of the store.

“Mummy look what I made!” Grace yelled at you excitedly when you picked her up from school a month later.

You had gone back to get Grace’s ‘Halloween outfit’ but it seemed Jefferson still didn’t remember you and you didn’t want to push anything on him so you hadn’t been back since.

Grace held out a large piece of paper that fluttered in the light breeze, you looked down and realised that it was a drawing of Jefferson. “It’s wonderful, Grace!” you plastered a smile onto your face to hide the fact that your heart was breaking.

“You like it?” she grinned, “I was thinking we could post it around town!” she smiled and you looked at the writing on the bottom.

Have you seen my Papa?

You bit your lip, she was only young so if you didn’t know you would recognise that it was Jefferson or rather James the local tailor. You didn’t want to make Grave even more unhappy by saying no or by explaining that you knew where he was but he didn’t remember her or you. “Sure, that’s a great idea,” you agreed and she lit up, you sighed internally knowing it would only end in disappointment.

The flyers got posted around town but eventually the wind and rain ruined them until eventually they were all washed away. “It’s okay,” Grace said lightly when you told her as such, “We’ll just have to try harder next time.”

Next time came sooner than you would have liked, you had managed to get a small receptionist job in town. There was business clothes in the mansion but all of them were either too big or too small for you, you didn’t have enough money to buy a whole new wardrobe so that left you with one option.

The tailors.

You walked in and the bell rung above your head once again, a few minutes later Jefferson stepped around the corner. “I need these clothes resizing,” you told him, passing over a few shirts and work pants.

“What are your measurements?” he asked and you realised you hadn’t taken any.

“I don’t know,” you admitted.

He chuckled, “It’s fine. I’ll just measure you now if that’s okay?”

You nodded and hummed a yes, he stepped round the counter and was suddenly in your personal space. He grabbed the fabric measuring tape that hung loosely around his neck and began wrapping it around you in various places and making a note of the size.

“So, Jef- James, how have you been?”

“Good, how are you and Grace?”

“Good as well,” you nodded, trying to keep functioning properly with him in this close proximity once more.

He smiled at you, “That’s good. Bad manners of me but I still don’t know your name,” he apologised.


“Y/N,” he smiled, “Lovely name.”

The market had been busy that day, just as it was everyday. People moved into every space there was to be filled, marketers called out prices trying to attract customers whilst all those in town moved slowly through the streets and stopped at the stalls when something caught their eye.

Beggars walked through the streets, calling out for anyone to spare change despite the fact that most of the villagers barely had enough to feed their own families. The streets were filled with people trying to sell their goods for a bit of extra cash, mushrooms, milk, bread, vegetables. Then there was the few of them who tried their luck selling clothes they had made or fixed up, sometimes even small trinkets and jewellery.

You had stopped at a small stall run by a haggard old woman, on the small wooden table many homemade bracelets and necklaces were laid out. A sweet little bracelet that was lined with brilliant blue beads had caught your eye. You were meant to be here to by some milk and bread for the week, you cradled the few coins you had tightly in your palm.

By god you were tempted, the bracelet was beautiful but if you bought it you would starve for the week. Still, it must have been worth more than what it was being sold for, perhaps you could invest it and sell it for profit at a later date when you were desperate for money.

“See something you like?” a voice asked next to your ear, you spun around and bumped into someone taller than you. A man not much older than you, in fact he looked like he was barely twenty.

“What’s it matter to you?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

He merely grinned, “A beautiful woman like you should have beautiful things. What do you like, I’ll get it for you,” he said sincerely.

Your eyes widened, “What really?”

He nodded, “Of course.”

You shook your head, “I couldn’t possibly, it’s much too expensive,” you protested.

He was already reaching into his pocket to dig out money, “Don’t worry it’s on me.”

It was a dilemma, you wanted the bracelet but you didn’t want to owe this stranger anything. “Let me pay for half, please?”

He sighed, “Fair enough.”

You smiled thankfully and handed over your half of the money, you would still have enough left for bread after all. You picked up the bracelet and slipped it onto your wrist, “Thank you.”

“Any time,” he grinned, “My name’s Jefferson, by the way.”


“Y/N. Lovely name.”

Even now you couldn’t help the blush that crossed your cheeks, “Thank you,” you spluttered out. You glanced down at the bracelet that you still wore around your wrist, you had never taken it off.

‘James’ was finished taking measurements now and you let your arms drop to your side. “I’m sorry, I’ve got to go,” you said in a  rush.

He called after you but you had already gone, the door shut behind you with the ring of a bell.

Another several months down the line and you were at your wits end. It had been close to two years since you were living in this hell town and everyday got harder and harder.

Grace acclimatised quickly but she was only young, she barely remembered the Enchanted Forest life now that she was settled in Storybrooke. However as an adult being the only one to remember was torture, each day it was like you saw old friends who had no memory of you. You were isolated in a town full of people.

Then by some miracle the curse was lifted. You don’t know how it happened just that it did.

You went into town the next morning and everyone was in uproar remembering their past lives in the Enchanted Forest. You had been waiting so long for this, so long for Jefferson to remember who you were and now you were frightened.

Would it be the same? Would he still love you? Would he be mad that you hadn’t told him sooner? You took Grace out of school and the two of you stayed at home, it was silly but you couldn’t face going into the town.

It was late in the evening when there was a loud knock at the door, nobody had ever knocked on here let alone this late at night. You sent Grace up to her room and cautiously opened the door, outside the door stood Jefferson.

“I remember everything,” was all he said.

It took you about 0.3 seconds to fling yourself into his arms and hug him as tight as you possible could. Tears started streaming down your face as the two of you clung to each other desperately.

“I missed you, I missed you so much,” you repeated over and over as you buried your face in his neck as he did the same.

You life had been unsettled and disjointed without him but now he was back and everything was complete, you felt whole again. You sniffed and pulled away from him just enough to smash your lips to his.

It had been two years since you had last kissed him and it was better than you remembered. You had forgotten how he fit perfectly against you, like his body was moulded to intertwine with yours.

He was the first to pull away for air. “Grace, come downstairs!” you yelled up and you heard the pattering of feet.

“Grace,” Jefferson breathed when he saw your daughter again.

“Papa!” Grace yelled and ran towards him, he easily knelt down to hug her tightly and lift her up off the ground. “I missed you papa,” she said as she hugged him tightly.

“I missed you, too, Gracie,” he replied, closing his eyes as he held her tight and more tears fell down your face. Happy tears. Jefferson held out an arm to you and pulled you back into the hug with him and Grace and you happily went. Your family was finally all back together again, it was overwhelming, you would never let anything break up your family again.


A/N - Wow this got long! I hope you liked it, let me know what you thought of it. Requests are open <3

❄️ 16 ❄️
  • *221B Baker Street*
  • Holmes: *sitting in his chair* Do we have an agreement?
  • Molly: ...
  • Molly: *blinking* Y-you want to marry me just to escape an arranged marriage?
  • Holmes: *clasps his hands* My mother is insistent I wed as soon as possible. I do not like decisions being made for me.
  • Molly: *understanding* I see. You need me to pose as your bride, thus fooling your family. It shan't be legally binding.
  • Holmes: *frowns* Why not?
  • Molly: *sighs* Because you do not need a wife.
  • Holmes: No.
  • Molly: *annoyed* A fake wedding, then?
  • Holmes: *irritated* A genuine marriage.
  • Molly: *confused* I don't understand.
  • Holmes: *rolls his eyes* I have no need of a wife. I want you.
  • Molly: *swallows* I-I won't be very satisfying, Mr. Holmes. Besides, I had always thought I'd marry love.
  • Holmes: ...
  • Molly: *awkward* Mutual love.
  • Holmes: *nods* Yes.
  • Molly: *eyes wide* Oh.
  • Holmes: *shrugs* Unless, you'd rather wed the banker.
  • Molly: *smiles* I don't think so.
  • Holmes: *excited* Excellent. I'll send a telegram to Mummy immediately *pauses; smirks* almost immeidately *snogs Molly*
  • Mummy Holmes: *reading* Ah, it's from William.
  • Daddy Holmes: *looks up from the paper* Oh?
  • Mummy Holmes: *chuckles, folds the telegram* Worked like a charm, dearest.
  • Daddy Holmes: *laughs* Always does.
Imagine: being Thranduil's personal guard when he is a prince and when he is corrinated he asks you to be his queen

You watched as the prince praticed sword fighting. The sound of the clashing of the swords filled the cold winter air. You sat patiently and clapped when the prince won. He turned and flashed you a bright smile. He requested that you come to all his practices. He never did that before so you were confused by the request, but complied either way. Honestly you didn’t mind spending more time with him. He was beautiful. From his platinum hair to his flawless skin to his pink li- no! You can’t think like that! Your his guard not a noble. You had no chance with him.

“______! I won! Did you see that?!”, Thranduil brought you back from your thoughts. You smiled at him.

“You did great!”, you stood up and walked to him,“ now you have your fitting for your corrination. We should not keep the tailors waiting.”

He nodded and walked over to you. He stood right in front of you and stared into your unique {{e/c}} eyes. He wanted to tell you how he felt. How he wanted to hold you and kiss you and never let anyone hurt you, but he always hesitated. His father would tell him that it would be highly frowned upon because she was not of noble blood, but he didn’t care. You weren’t like other girls. You were no damsel in distress. You didn’t fawn over him. You didn’t throw yourself at him. Instead you treated him like a normal elf. You were also strong and independant which caught his eye imidiatly. Not to metion your beautiful {{h/c}} hair and unique {{e/c}} eyes.

If only he could work up the courage to tell you he would. You looked up into his eyes with a worried glance,“ Is everything alright?”

“Yes, lets head off to the tailor,” he said quickly and rushed to the tailor. You followed in suit while still trying to figure out why he was staring at you. When you both reached the tailor’s, it didn’t take long for them to start getting him fitted for his outfit. You were seated across from the fitting room. You had started tapping your foot on the ground out of bordem when you heard the soft footsteps of someone. You looked up to see Thranduil in a silver dress like outfit that was flat and tight.

“How do I look?” He asked.

“Great,” you offered him a smile. Seeing him all dressed up made you wish you were royalty. You didn’t care about power, you just really liked the outfits.

“Good. Now will you please fit _____ for her dress for the corination,” he turned to the tailors and asked.

“But I did not ask to be fitted,” you looked at him confused.

“I know. I did,” he walked out and the tailors pulled you back to the fitting room.


You sat in front of a mirror as your friend was putting the finishing touches on your hair. You looked at the mirror and smiled. You felt like a Princess. Someone knocked on your door and you turned around,“ come in.”

Thranduil walked in and stared at you awestruck. You stood up and flattened your dress. He smiled at you then held his hand out,“ Let’s not keep them waiting.”

“What do you mean ‘keep them waiting’?” You looked at him confused.

“Well as my guest of honor I can’t just walk in without you,” he said.

“Guest of honor?”, you asked. There was no way he could be serious…. Could he? He walked behind you and put something around your neck. When you look at it you noticed it was a necklace with a leaf charm and a green crystal on it.

“There, now let’s go,” he said and gently held your hand. You gulped and followed him to the main hall. You had no idea what to do. You figured someone would help you. Thranduil walked up to the double doors and looked down at you,“ Do not worry Elleth.”

“If I screw up I’m blaming you,” you glared at him. He laughed and the huge doors opened. All eyes turned to you and the Prince. You held onto his hand tighter and the two of you walked forward. Honestly it felt more like a wedding than a corrination. Once you two reached the end of the room a guard came up and had you step back a bit. You complied and mouthed 'you got this’ to Thranduil. He smiled and walked forward to the corinator {{or whatever the heck they’re called}} who was waiting patiently.

“Thank you for comming, today is the day we recieve our new King. Sadly our former King had fallen in battle. But we must not grieve forever. We must continue on and announce our new King. Prince Thranduil, as King you will take responsibility of Mirkwood, it’s citizens, wars, treaties, and trade. It is a big responsibility. While taking this responsibility you accept all the ups and downs and promise to be a great and fair King. Do you accept this responsibility?”, the corinator turned to Thranduil.

“I accept,” Thranduil responded.

“Then I shall now crown you as King of Mirkwood,” the corinator turned and picked up the crown then set it on Thranduil’s head,“ May you prospar, King Thranduil.”

Thranduil turned around as people cheered for their new King. You smiled and clapped. He motioned for everyone to silence then looked at you and smiled. He pulled you to beside him then turned back to the crowd and spoke,“ Now as King I will need someone to rule by side. To help me and stay by my side. Someone strong and beautiful, who isn’t afraid to stand up to anyone,” he turned to you along with every eye in the room. He got down on one knee and held your hand.

“{{F/N}} {{L/N}}, would you do me the incredible honor of being my Queen?”, he looked up at you with soft eyes and a bright smile.

You stood their shocked. You didn’t expect this. You weren’t at all worthy to be HIS Queen. You noticed him starting to frown at your delayed answer. You were given the chance to be with the man you had secretly loved for years and you weren’t going to push it away,“ I would be honored.”

He smiled and put a ring on your finger before standing up. Another crown was brought out and it placed upon your head. You smiled and hugged him tightly. You were deffinantly ready for the wonderful life that laid ahead.


It’s time again for FRIDAY FASHION FACT, and today features another designer bio! We’re talking about the self-proclaimed “King of Fashion” himself, Paul Poiret. Always ahead of his time, Poiret is remembered for his innovative, exotic, and often shocking designs.

Paul Poiret was born on April 20, 1879 in Paris. His father was a cloth merchant, and his family had very little money. From the time he was a small child, Poiret was obsessed with clothing. When he was just a child, Poiret was sent to work as an apprentice to an umbrella maker, where he would gather scraps to make clothing for his little wooden doll. By the time he was a teenager, Poiret was actively trying to break into the fashion industry. He went around the city peddling his sketches, eventually selling 12 to the prominent Parisian dressmaker Madeleine Chéruit.

Poiret continued selling sketches until, in 1896, he was hired by Jacques Doucet. Working his way through the ranks at Doucet, he was ultimately promoted to head tailor. The first Poiret design produced by Doucet, a red wool cloak, sold over 400 orders- an extremely impressive number for the time. Poiret was forced to leave Doucet to complete mandatory military service. When he completed service in 1901, Poiret was hired by House of Worth. He did not last there long, though. Poiret was tasked with creating simplistic pieces, deemed the “side dish” to the opulent designs the House was known for. Unfortunately, some of his designs were seen as too plain by some of Worth’s royal clientele, who where horrified by their starkness.

This extreme reaction did not deter Poiret. In fact, it spurred him to create his own design house. As soon as Poiret began creating designs for his own name in 1903, he broke convention. Poiret believed in the body shaping the clothes, rather than the reverse. He did away with petticoats, and in 1906, he rejected the corset, as well. Though he was not the only designer at the time to do so, his outlandish designs made him the most prominent. He used the theatre as his main platform, because by dressing actresses, Poiret could get away with creating more artistic or exotic styles. He credited a mantle that he made for the actress Réjane in the play Zaza as the piece which launched him into stardom.

Paul Poiret drew inspiration from across the globe. He is well known for dresses modeled after exotic costumes worn in the Russian ballet, kimono inspired robes and coats, and harem pants and lampshade tunics drawn from fashions worn in what is now Turkey. His goal was to “liberate” women from Western fashion, though with creations such as the hobble skirt, who can say how liberating his designs actually were. Beyond being an innovator in terms of style, Poiret was an innovator in terms of branding. In 1911, Poiret launched the École Martine, an interior design division of his fashion House. He was also the first French designer to create a fragrance line, Parfums de Rosine, launched that same year (London designer Lucile released a perfume line a few years earlier.)

Each of these lines were named after one of Poiret’s two daughters. His wife Denise, who Poiret married in 1905, served as his muse. Poiret stated that “My wife is the inspiration for all my creations; she is the expression of all my ideals.” It did not last, though, and the marriage ended in a messy divorce in 1928. Unfortunately, this was just a contributing factor to the downfall Paul Poiret faced in his later years. He was drafted back into the military during World War I, but when he returned in 1919, he was greeted by a company on the edge of bankruptcy. Designers like Chanel took over with their sleek and impeccably constructed fashions, while Poiret’s designs were intended to be impactful from afar. His designs were not as unique as they once were, as several designers built upon his creations. Also, the rise of the flapper meant that women no longer were in need of his “liberating” styles.

Ultimately, Poiret was unable to regain his popularity. He fell into debt, and had to leave the company he created. The House closed in 1929. He was forced to spend the remainder of his life working odd jobs, even resorting to being a street artist. He died in ruin in 1944, nearly completely forgotten. It was only thanks to his close friend Elsa Schiaparelli that saved him and his name from oblivion- she even paid for his funeral. Despite the sad end to his life, Paul Poiret remains one of the most iconic and influential designers of all time.

Want to learn more about Paul Poiret? Check out these book:

King of Fashion: The Autobiography of Paul Poiret, by Paul Poiret

Poiret, by Harold Koda

Have a question about fashion history that you want answered in the next FRIDAY FASHION FACT? Just click the ASK button at the top of the page!

leoreoxpradaknight  asked:

I don't know if you're doing the promt thing anymore (harry x merlin x Eggsy) but I really think there should be more protective kingsmen and Eggsy. I can just see all kingsman agents and staff getting super attached to Eggsy, cuz he does things for them, knows all their names and such (like remembering everyone's birthdays), as well as how he cares for Daisy, etc. So what do you think the group does to the new Arthur (whoever) when they are abusive to Eggsy cuz of his "commoner" background?

(OMG I love protective!Kingsmanagents, especially concerning Eggsy. I feel like he would just be that precious person that everyone loves.)

Everyone thought that when Harry returned to Kingsman that he would become Arthur, and while he did plan to eventually take up the mantle as Kingsman’s fearless leader, he wasn’t in a state to do so just yet. Thus the American branch, The President’s Guards, sent over their second in command, Adams.

Adams was a man with Hollywood good looks and a superiority complex so large it could put Donald Trump to shame. He’d been standing under Washington’s shadow for so long, vying for the position of leader for the President’s Guards for years, that when he got the temporary promotion as Arthur, his head swelled about twice its size.

That wasn’t to say that Adams wasn’t a good agent. He was the second-in-command in America for a reason. But he had a tendency, much like Chester King, to look down his nose at those he deemed beneath him–which tended to be a great deal of people.

Eggsy didn’t particularly care for the guy. Adams reminded him too much of Kingsman’s former Arthur, but Eggsy didn’t say anything, because he was a goddamn professional. And at first it wasn’t so bad. Eggsy spent most of his time split between missions and caring for Harry, that he didn’t really have the time to consider what Adams’s thought of him–which was that he was a disgusting pleb, and that the dirt on Adams’s heel was more important than Eggsy.

None of that mattered. People had been thinking shit about Eggsy his entire life. At this point he learned to roll with it. Besides, it was one man. The other agents adored Eggsy as much as he adored them, so why should he care if some temporary prick had an issue? He can go fuck ‘em self!

Eggsy enjoyed caring for the other agents. While he’d taken up the title as the new Galahad–one which he still wasn’t sure he deserved–he had also become known as the resident nurse maid. Eggsy was a stickler for making sure his fellow agents were cared for.

Eggsy was always there for Kay when the man had a particularly hard mission and needed someone to vent to or breakdown on. Eggsy never failed to have a joke prepared for Gawain when he saw the man, sharing jabs and teases in order to keep the man from being crushed under the pressure of saving the world. Eggsy trained with Tristan secretly when the man was injured on V-Day and afraid he wouldn’t be able to work as an agent anymore. One of Bors’s favorite things was to swap pictures with Eggsy of his son. Eggsy would show photos of Daisy in return, and they’d spend hours discussing the children and all their cute little habits. Eggsy never missed a chance to brag about how smart or talented Daisy was.

He shared pints with Percival and Roxy, and he was always there for Merlin and Harry, seeing that neither got too stressed with all their work. Merlin always had tea on his desk, Eggsy having a preternatural ability to know when the tech wizard needed another cuppa. And Eggsy was there for Harry’s rehabilitation, come hell or high water, cheering the older man on every step of the way.  Eggsy also tended to have snacks on him, which he fed to the other non-agent members of Kingsman, making sure the handlers and tailors didn’t forget to care for themselves.

“Y’ all help keep us going. Can’t have y’ collapsing, can we?” Eggsy explained when Anthony, the head tailor, asked why Eggsy carried apples and oranges in his pockets.

Eggsy was important to Kingsman. He was a new generation of agents. One who didn’t go by traditional decorum, presenting himself as a superior to all others. He was deadly and fierce, his success rate placing him as the second best agent Kingsman had, but he was also gentle and kind, instilling the idea that all people deserved to be treated the same, even those not of their social status.

It was also a not-so-hidden secret that Eggsy belonged to Merlin and Harry. And while the other agents didn’t mind the polyamorous relationship, Adams made it clear he didn’t agree with it. What kind of example does that show? What would people think if they heard of such a disgusting thing?

Usually Eggsy could bite his tongue and take what insults Adams threw at him. When Adams was insulting Eggsy, he was fine. But once you started talking about his Harry and Merlin, well then he had a problem.

“Oi, I ‘eard y’ were runnin’ yer mouth. If y’ got sumfin to say about me, do it to my face,” Eggsy yelled as he burst through the doors of Adams’s office.

Adams looked up from the paper he was reviewing and fitted Eggsy with a bored stare. “Were you never taught manners? One knocks before one enters a room. And please, speak proper English. I can’t understand you when you insist on talking like that.”

“Like wot?” Eggsy blinked. “Ain’t nothin’ wrong with how I talk. Now y’ gonna tell me what yer issue is, or y’ gonna keep pussy footin’ it?”

Adams straightened in his leather chair and folded his arms on his desk, steepling his fingers; it was a position of power, lifting him up even as he sat, so that he could exert his dominance over Eggsy. Eggsy grit his teeth, reminding himself for the hundredth time that killing the current Arthur was a bad idea.

“Do you want to know my problem? My problem is you, Galahad,” Adams said, icy blue eyes narrowing into sharp slits. He drew out Eggsy’s code name, his American accent butchering the title. “You and your disgusting kind. It’s bad enough they let someone of your character into Kingsman–I could almost over look it, seeing that you did do this world a service on V-Day–but then you throw our gratitude and kindness back in our face by parading your perversions around.”

Eggsy drew in a sharp breath, his anger tart and coppery on his tongue. Adams stood, bracing his hands flat on the desk, and growled, “You don’t belong here. You’re a commoner. Filth. I’d even say that your two deviant partners don’t belong here, status be damned. And if there’s one thing I do before I return to America, it’ll be to see your title stripped and that any trace of memory of you has been wiped from this estate.”

Eggsy’s eyes grew wide, his pulse thundering in his ears. Was the man seriously talking about erasing him? Did he hate him that much? Eggsy opened his mouth, ready to tell Adams off, when Harry called from behind Eggsy, “That’ll be enough.”

Adams stiffened, his gaze snapping to a place over Eggsy’s shoulder. His jaw tightened, a flicker of fear crossing his eyes.

Harry stepped beside Eggsy, Merlin taking his other side. The look on Merlin’s face could have pealed paint from the walls. It was a dark fury, one that promised the ultimate agony.

“I think it’s time you stepped down,” Harry announced. He had an elegant cane to support his weight and a black eye patch over his left eye. “I’ve been given the clear, and I’ll be taking my place as Arthur. You have ten minutes to get your things and get out of here, Adams.”

“Or we’ll be shipping you back in a body bag,” Kay said.

Eggsy spun around, looking at all the agents gathered in the room at his back. Gawain winked at him, a cocky grin slapped across his face. Percival and Roxy each had a gun drawn, and Tristan was toying with something in his pocket. Each agent had a dark and foreboding look in their eyes, challenging Adams to say something.

Eggsy turned back around, watching the color drain from Adams’s face. The American agent straightened and said, trying to gather himself and retain a semblance of control, “I never got the the clear, and until I approve it, you do not take the position.”

“Let me be very clear,” Harry said, his tone never wavering from calm severity. “You will step down. You will instate me as Arthur. And you will leave these premises immediately, or we will see that any trace of memory of you has been wiped from this estate. Is that understood?”

When it was all over, Adams was sent home with the promise that if he so much as breathed a word of this or ever spoke ill of Eggsy again, he would appear floating down the Mississippi, branded a traitor. The entire group had escorted Adams to the shuttle, and as the silver bullet shot through the tube, Kay said, “Arsehole should know better than to mess with our Eggsy.”

DC Ficlet: Cassandra & Tim’s clothes sharing habit.

Inspired by this headcanon by @timdraikes.

For several decades now, Wayne Manor has been kept in perfect order by Alfred Pennyworth. While his job requirements have increased from Head Butler to Head Butler plus Vigilante Tailor plus Emergency Medic plus Surrogate Father/Grandfather, he still takes a great deal of pride in keeping the manor (and its inhabitants) in tiptop condition. He has been doing such for so long that most of it, the butler aspects at least, takes very little concentration at this point. Everyday tasks such as dusting, cooking and doing laundry can be accomplished while Alfred’s mind is on more pressing tasks, such as making sure Bruce remembers Dick’s upcoming birthday or that Tim gets at least six hours of sleep that night.

At least, he normally could afford to let his concentration shift away from his chores. As of late, however, he finds that one particular duty has taken significantly more concentration. That being laundry.

It was always so simple before. He could never mistake an article of his own clothing for something of Bruce’s. The same went for Bruce and Dick or Jason. Even when his eldest two grew large enough to possibly borrow Bruce’s casual wear items, neither likely would. They had very different tastes. Even if Tim liked something of one of his older brothers’, he would never fit into them. The same went for Cassandra. Certainly, one would never confuse any of Bruce’s laundry for Tim or Cassandra’s.

Tim and Cassandra’s clothes, however, were another story.

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