@aquisces-arts wanted to see what the suitors would look like in modern clothes, so I did my best conceptualizing what each would wear and why.
Let’s start with King Byron:
Byron dresses very monochromatically– wearing different shades of black head to toe, and choosing gold accents that catch the light.
If you look at his hair, you can see that his wisps are very controlled. Even his cowlick is styled neatly. He would probably use a light pomade. The details on the jeans give texture without distraction, like his black casual shirt in the game.
The gold zipper on the knees also satisfies his love of gold hardware. If you notice, Byron does not wear jewelry aside from his earring, which he shares with Nico, so I think a planetary key chain would be a good choice for him, as it combines his star-gazing hobby with an outlet for an accessory.
Of course, a Rolex is a must, and I think he would always give himself a chaste spritz of cologne before stepping out of the door. This scent is unisex and has a dry-down that smells of vanilla, woods and leather.
I don’t think he would shy away from stylish shoes– he may even be a subtle trend-setter. Because Byron can hold his liquor with the best of them, and because he doesn’t tend to let himself get too casual out in the open, I thought martini glass novelty socks would be a fun twist. It would be his own little secret. While it may not be that wild of a thing for the rest of us, considering Byron’s aloof personality, he may feel that it really is daring indeed.
Dialogue prompt - 31 if you feel like it :) THANK YOU!
“I can’t keep kissing
strangers and pretending that they’re you.”
She can’t believe he’s
actually here. He never did like these sorts of things, where what people wear
and who people talk to is more important than the fundraising itself. He would usually
make some smart remark to some bigwig from finance about the petit fours
looking like Reticulan space craft or tasting like alien goop and she would
smile and nod at the bean counter as though she were about to take Mulder
outside and mould him into some generic gentleman who understood the finer
points of accruals.
But instead, he stopped attending her hospital charity
events. He stopped helping her to choose which dress to wear, which shoes
looked better, buying her a new handbag, clasping her necklace under her hair
and whispering a kiss to her neck. Stopped trying to undress her before they
left the house, stopped sliding his hand up her thigh as they sat at the
overcrowded table, stopped telling the story of how, back in the day, she shot
him, embellishing it each outing. Krycek once became a deposed eastern European
dictator with a fetish for blackmailing FBI directors.
time last year, he stopped wishing her a good night and promising to keep her
side of the bed warm.
Now he’s here and wearing his
Tux, its sheened collars catching the light, the elegant ruffle of his white
shirt just visible. His hands are in his pockets, he’s shaved and his hair is
in the shorter style she’s always preferred.
Mulder is a fucking beautiful specimen, she thinks.
walks towards him but he hasn’t seen her and he turns away. He doesn’t know she’s
chosen the deep turquoise silk dress with the spaghetti straps and the fitted
bodice. Doesn’t know she’s wearing the earrings he gave her years before, the
small diamond drops that glitter like hope in the right light.
here. And he’ll know all this soon. His presence sends a hot bolt of desire
through her and in that moment, she feels the loneliness that Mulder’s illness has
spread over them keenly.
takes a glass of champagne from a waiter and someone touches her lower back.
His spot. She swings round and it’s Martin or Michael from procurement or HR.
take a photo with me?”
she can protest, she’s inside the photo booth, equipped with masks, novelty
glasses, hats and caps and boas and shawls and super hero capes. She nearly
pulls a Wonder Woman and spins around so she can kick Martin to the kerb, but
he grabs her, wraps her in a purple boa and kisses her. The flash hits her
eyes. She pushes Martin away.
on, Dana. You spilt my drink on my best suit.”
sure you can requisition another one when you’re back at your desk on Monday,
Martin. And while you’re at it, see if they stock good manners.” she says, removing
the feathery accessory and tying it round his neck.
sneers at her. “It’s Manny, and I work in HR. We don’t requisition but we do
have access to employee’s files to see how their behavioural records stack up.”
whips back the curtain and photos drop into the holder. He shoves them at her
and stalks off.
looking at them, wondering whether it would be more satisfying to burn them or
to mail them to Manny’s wife, when Mulder enters the booth. He closes the
curtain. He smells like shaving foam and history and a future.
leans over her to look at the photos. “I knew it had to be you when that guy
walked out trying to straighten his tie when he should have been trying to straighten
out his testicles. You haven’t lost your ball-busting touch, Scully.” He picks
the photos from her hand. “The purple doesn’t suit you. That guy has no idea,
does he, Scully?” He nuzzles into her neck and she shivers.
certainly had no idea how I like to be kissed, Mulder.”
I were to choose the right kind of accessory, would you be interested in having
your photo taken, doctor?” His low murmur has her pulse racing and she nods as
she reaches her lips to his.
the right kind of accessory for me, Mulder?”
he says, pulling her to him.
the photos to the floor and stamps on them. “I can’t keep kissing strangers and
pretending that they’re you.”
tastes as she remembers – of spice and salt and untempered longing. As her eyes
close, the flash goes off. The image of them is imprinted behind her eyes,
black and white. She doesn’t need a photo.
Could you explain how you draw expressions with Nathan's eyes? I have an OC with swirl eyes like that and I'm just curious :v Thanks you! I love your art!
Thank you! I can give you some tips: The spirals are “alive”, and don’t just stay in one place. here, take a look!
His glasses act like eyes; conveying all sorts of emotions while still looking like glasses. Keeping the spirals anchored at a single point keeps them from looking too much like pupils, and instead gives them a more “novelty glasses” look.
They can move around, and flatten out, stretch, or go completely blank. He never removes his glasses, so they have to take on the job of the eyes.
Glass is created when sand or silica is heated until melted, fusing the crystals together into an incredibly beautiful and highly versatile - albeit fragile - material. Due to it’s transparency, it’s been used not only for practical uses like bottles and windows, but also sculptures and novelty objects. Glass, therefore, is also an incredibly diverse focus for a witch.
A witch using glass as a main focus of their craft has lots of options:
- When creating bottle spells or charms, use glass bottles you’ve enchanted to also be part of the spell.
- Use beach glass, glass tiles, glass beads, and other glass objects with smooth edges in various colors as spell components with various correspondences.
- If you use sigil magic, try enchanting and using a glass fountain pen to create your sigils.
- If it’s within your means, try glassblowing to create your own sculptures. If that’s not possible, try looking in local thrift stores or craft markets for glass sculptures to use in spell work as enchantments or wards.
- Create a ‘suncatcher’ using bits of glass and wire, or painting a piece of glass, to bring joy and light into your home or ‘capture’ the bad while allowing the good to pass in.
If you think of more, feel free to add them! I’m sure there’s tons more to do!
yo, so im working on a guzma cosplay, (guzma from pokemon sun and moon), and was wondering if you had tips on making the glasses, cuz i got no clue the hell im doing. (pardon my profanity)
They have a very unique shape, so I can see where the challenge is.
My first thought would be to try and modify existing sunglasses, or maybe giant novelty glasses based on how huge they are! Maybe start with a rounded pair as a base and pop out the right lens. Then cut the lens so you have the half-moon shape. Then clip the sunglass frame on the right side so you have the half-moon shape at the bottom and an open top. Glue the sunglass lens back in place and use an epoxy modeling putty (like GreenStuff) or an adhesive thermoplastic like Worbla to create the slanted top bar. Then paint when fully hardened.
Otherwise you can break it down into two parts if you want see-through lenses, or one part if you don’t mind them being opaque. You can create the frame from a wide range of materials: you could sculpt it from an air-dry or bakeable clay, you could make it out of plastics, you could cut it out of foam or cardboard or pretty much anything you can get into the sunglass shape. As for the lenses, you could use a tinted plastic or a clear plastic and add the tint to it. Some tutorials recommend using plastic duotangs/folders from an office store since they are easy to find, fairly cheap and easy to work with. I would recommend checking an art store, or online, for acetate sheets.
If one were to judge from the wreckage strewn across the rec room, the party was a clear and absolute success. In one corner, the Christmas tree technically still stood, albeit listing in its base in a way that suggested the vibrations from one good footstep would send it toppling. It was altogether fortunate that the decorations were made entirely of extruded plastic in appropriately festive colors and glitter-painted craft foam because no one had wanted to risk destroying Reinhardt’s antique blown glass ornaments that he’d had shipped in from Germany. Two dozen strands of lights hung from the ceiling, some colored, some white, along with half a hundred snowflakes cut from white construction paper, all of them dangling from not particularly well disguised wads of industrial strength epoxy. Some of them were even still working, casting a gentle glow over the proceedings taking place below.
Angela had given the entire affair her tacit blessing by sighing heavily and absenting herself from the rec room with a pot of tea and the hardbound copy of The Collected Works of O. Henry that she found under the tree some hours earlier. Hana and Lucio were curled up together in a fort built out of all the furniture cushions and an assortment of blankets filched from stores; the action in the rec center’s holotank showed they were still awake but the relative silence suggested they had their headphones on. Lena and Emily had given up some time before and retired to their quarters, leaning heavily on one another in order to keep to their feet. Fawkes and Rutledge vanished at some point, with Mei and Zarya in tow, all four giggling drunkenly in a manner that boded perilous for some innocent piece of machinery somewhere in the Watchpoint. Reinhardt lay in the middle of the floor some feet away, half-buried in the detritus of orgiastic gift-opening, head pillowed on a stack of eye-searingly hideous sweaters, snoring thunderously under the influence of his failure at a succession of increasingly ridiculous dares. Genji and Zenyatta were off somewhere canoodling in a manner that everyone would politely mistake for meditation because absolutely no one, even in the heat of a cutthroat game of Truth or Dare or Drink, wanted to take the step of asking either of those two how they actually went about having sex.
The table was covered in empty or near-empty bottles: a ten year old bottle of whiskey Lena had brought with from London that would not live to see eleven, half the case of schwarzbier that Reinhardt imported from Germany, two bottles filched from Torbjorn’s not as hidden as it could be stash of brännvin, one each of kirschwasser, zwetschgenwasser, and marillenschnaps, some horrifying species of tequila fished out of a sealed storage compartment, and the cooking sherry, which no one had yet condescended to open. Hanzo flatly refused to sacrifice any of his junmai daiginjo-shu to the cause of getting the rest of the team, as Jesse presciently put it, “absolutely shitfaced plastered” though he did drink his own failures from his sakazuki once it was established to hold as much as a standard shot glass. Not for the first time, he wondered somewhat blearily, why a Watchpoint that had been largely abandoned for years had such an enormous collection of novelty shot glasses immediately on hand.
“….annnnd done.” Jesse flopped back into a chair in a fashion rather too coordinated for the amount of alcohol he had consumed thus far.
Also distinctly unfair: the fact that he had just successfully completed all three elements of a standard field sobriety test and Hanzo was, himself, sober enough to admit that fact. “That is so.” It took him a moment to remember how to properly formulate what he wanted to say in English. “I think that you must be cheating somehow.”
“Cheating?” It came out as a laugh, the sort of laugh that did more to warm Hanzo’s insides than all the potables he’d consumed thus far, his dark eyes shining in the lights from above and his smile the sort of thing he charge for by the hour. “How d’you come to that conclusion?”
“I think,” Hanzo replied, contemplatively, his words spaced in a manner that he knew betrayed the precise state of his inebriation, “that you have had your liver replaced with some sort of super-efficient cybernetic alcohol filtration system. Otherwise, you never would have managed that lift-and-turn maneuver without falling on your very fine ass.”
Had he said that aloud? Yes, yes he had, and elected to allow it to stand: the man had a ridiculously attractive ass, never more so than when he encased it in close-fitting jeans. Which was the case just now.
The corners of Jesse’s also very fine mouth curled back in a smile that could only be called wicked. Yes, entirely wicked. “There is another explanation for my ability to drink all y’all under the table. You wanna know what it is?”
“My curiosity is a searing fire. Do quench it.” When had his mouth gotten so dry? He poured the last of the kirschwasser into his cup and used it to lubricate his tongue for whatever came next. It was his turn, after all.
“I used to play this game with Morrison and Reyes, one of whom was a legit evil genius, and neither of whom could actually get drunk any more thanks to all the shit the SEP did to them back in the day. Did more to develop my tolerance for alcohol than anything else in the world.” The look in his eyes was, briefly, fond and wistful. “Your turn.”
“It is.” Hanzo acknowledged, nodding slowly. “Truth.” Because his dignity would absolutely not survive a dare and he doubted his own liver would forgive him another drink so soon after the last.
“Well, I gotta admit, I’ve had a question for you that I’ve been holdin’ on to for a while now.” That wicked, wicked smile had returned and now he leaned close, dark eyes glittering.
Hanzo found himself leaning into it, as well, undisturbed by the invasion of his personal space occasioned by Jesse’s hand on his knee, sliding slowly up his thigh, or the warm, whiskey-scented breath against his neck and cheek as Jesse murmured, close against his ear, “When was the last time you were fucked good and proper, darlin’?”
Hanzo pressed the last of the space from between their bodies, reached down and thumbed open that ridiculous belt buckle. “Hopefully tonight.”
So this Sunday in America it will be mother’s day.
And since I work every Sunday regardless of arbitrary holidays, my small son will be with his grandparents. And on Monday morning when they drop him back off, I will be greeted with the same present I’ve gotten five years in a row: a home-made card and a small potted Rose from Safeway that my mother will gush my son picked out “all by himself”.
Hint: bath bombs. I want bath bombs. And a single solitary fucking afternoon to take a bath with a glass of cheap Barefoot pink Moscato from 711, and my phone hooked up to a small speaker blasting Panic! At The Disco’s “Don’t Threaten Me With A Good Time” on god damn repeat.
All mom’s say “Nothing” when asked what they want for mother’s day. Better not get fuckin “nothing”. I’m not asking for a Pandora bracelet or a $700 purse or an all-expenses paid spa weekend. Just an uninterrupted afternoon bath.
So, I’m going to get the 10-pack Pomegranate bath bomb set from Target for 12.99 plus tax my-god-damn-self because Mom’s get their own shit done. I will graciously accept my Safeway flower that will almost immediately die because I will absolutely forget to water it even tho it lives RIGHT NEXT TO THE KITCHEN SINK, and I will toss the shriveled remains over the edge of my 3rd story apartment balcony, and then the undoubtedly cute “World’s Best Mom” container shall become an ashtray.
Happy Mother’s Day to all the mom’s on Tumblr. The single moms, the SAH moms, the working moms, the married moms, the re-married moms, the divorced moms, the widowed moms, the foster moms, the adoptive moms, the moms who (through whatever tragic circumstance) are no longer moms, the soccer moms, the “please just watch TV and be quiet” moms, hover-moms, tiger moms, passive moms, and everything in between.
Congrats on surviving another year of the world’s most rewarding and FUCKING SELF DESTRUCTIVE job on earth. I raise my novelty over-sized wine glass to you all.