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Caught by the Sea

AN: AGAIN. THIS IS NSFW. This is for @illyriantremors , and I promised I’d write this for her like two weeks ago and I kept procrastinating LOL. But this ended up being SUPER FLUFFY and is based on a headcanon that Feyre and Rhysand kind of have a thing for public sex? And they did it in the Summer Court and got caught and now have to be reminded every time they visit NOT TO GO TOO CRAZY. So here’s some fluffy smut wherein Tarquin catches them having sex. Enjoy!!!

Feyre pursed her lips as she gazed at the palace of the Summer Court, something deep within her aching at the thought of being away from home for an extended period of time. She hadn’t left the Night Court for more than a few hours at a time since she’d returned from the war with Hybern, since she’d brought the Spring Court to its knees.

At least she had Rhys with her.

Not that they could do anything, she knew. Not with their relationship with Tarquin being so newly healed, so precarious. They’d been invited to the Summer Court for three days as a gesture of goodwill—three days of meetings and a parade and a festival celebrating the end of the war. She and Rhys could make it three days. She’d been able to go weeks without touching Isaac Hale. Surely, they both had enough self-control to make it three measly days.

Rhys tapped on the wall of her mind, the essence of him dragging a single finger across her barriers, knowing exactly how and where to press to beckon memories of black silk sheets and silver handcuffs into her mind. She dropped the wall immediately.

You seem on edge.

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Olicity Hiatus Fic-A-Thon Week 2: Damn Eye Contact

Okay so here it is…per @diggo26 and @green-arrows-of-karamel this is worth reading so let’s hope they’re right! Warning I truly just went down the smut path with this one so yes it’s explicit for me…

Enjoy and you can read it here or on AO3!

Damn Eye Contact

Blue, textured with flecks of green, aqua, turquoise and, even sometimes a splash of tormented gray. That’s what she saw when she opened her own endless blue depths after the explosion on Lian Yu…that’s what she saw every time she even dared to close her tired eyes.

She’d begun to think of his eyes like they were an endless dream of hopes and, unexplored possibilities; and that was beginning to become a very distracting problem. Felicity growled internally with a confusing mixture of longing, annoyance and, pent up frustration. She stared out along the seemingly endless bank of windows that let the lights from the city below flow along the dark spaces of the wide open room. Her fingers danced along the black mug while the contents within grew tempered from the cold, recycled air that floated around her stately. She rolled her head until her chin was hovering above the half empty mug. Her eyes rolled until her lids shut, her back bowed and her toes curled along the stainless steel rod of the kitchen stool.

She sighed as her shoulders slumped and, her heart thudded quietly as she slowly filled with unexpressed disappointment. Her stomach curled when her tortured mind begun filling her heart with endless images of his grief stricken eyes…

She whimpered almost inaudibly as the images shifted; the way the blue hues of his pupils changed as his emotions rolled over them both in waves left her ruined in her stunned, wrecked heart. She would have gone on this way for hours had it not been for the innocent sound of lightly drumming knuckles upon her partially closed door. She breathed out in tortured defeat, “I can’t live like this Oliver…” she heard him softly close the door as she muttered, “I can’t live with endless regrets…”

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Never Have I Ever (Kylux single dad/hot teacher AU)

1500  /  T  /  silly modern AU one-shot

Ben and Hux get drunk and play Never Have I Ever. Other fics in this verse are here


Ben cracks the tops off two bottles of Sam Adams and puts one on the table in front of Hux. The other he slides across the table in front of his seat. The lights are low, just the cheap bulb over the kitchen stove casting sickly orange light through half the apartment.

“Alright, no excuses, no wussing out. We do this like men.”

“Damn right,” Hux agrees, clinking bottles with a frown that’s too serious to be sincere.

“Hey, this is serious. Have you played before?”

“Not personally, but I’m familiar with the concept.”

“We should have more people, but whatever. We can do it with two. I’ll go first.” He eyeballs Hux from across the kitchen table. They’re a bottle of wine deep already, and Ben got the brunt of that because Hux is a damn lightweight. Personally, he’s not drunk yet, but he’s on the right track. It’s been long enough that the looseness in his limbs, the pleasant haze over everything is actually fun. Or maybe that’s just the company. It’s a quarter-after ten. If he was out with any of his old friends they’d all probably be hammered and obnoxious already. Something would be broken, but he’d be too shit-faced to care.

It’s just him and Hux tonight, which is… new. Different, but good. Rey is spending the weekend fishing with her grandfather on his boat, and she’d been a hell of a lot more excited about it than Ben ever was at her age.

“Well?” Hux prompts, loose and easy.

In the end, he lowballs it.

“Never have I ever… been to France.”

Hux considers.

“I drink if I have-”

“-have done it, yeah.” Ben agrees.

“Right.” Hux pauses, the bottle in his hand. “How do you know I’m not lying?”

“Because lying on ‘never have I ever’ is like lying to your dying grandmother. It’s the worst thing you could possibly do aside from… I don’t know, square dancing.”

“That bad?”

“Hey, relationships are made on this game.”

The r-word sort of floats, awkwardly between them and Ben suddenly wishes he could take it back.

They weren’t dating.

Hux had been really clear on that. Not while Rey was his student and Ben was her dad and it was all in this weird gray area of ‘unprofessional conduct.’

But while ‘not dating’ didn’t come with any of the usual fun naked benefits that came with dating, it sure did include a lot of Hux hanging out at his house, and going with him and Rey to the park, and sometimes, after Rey was asleep, pulling his knees up on the couch and curling into Ben’s side while they watched a movie.

And, apparently, getting buzzed on cheap wine and biting his lip in a really distracting way while they played ‘never have I ever’ alone in Ben’s apartment on a Saturday night.

“Never been to France, no.” There’s a sly smile.

He  looks warm and just a little soft around the edges, with the first two buttons of his collar undone and a little bit of pink on his cheeks, but his pale eyes are still sharp and his hands are steady as he picks at the label of the beer bottle. Every now and then his tongue flashes out, chasing the faint taste of grocery store wine on his lips, and Ben’s gaze flicks to it every time like a guilty secret.

Ben hasn’t been this excited for the end of the school year since he was a kid.

“Alright, your turn,” Ben says.

“Never have I ever,” Hux begins slowly, considering, “Kissed a woman.”

A gut laugh is punched out of him. He doesn’t even know why he’s surprised. Of course Hux played to win. “Oh, that’s how it is, huh?”

Hux’s smile becomes a full-blown smirk. “That’s how it is.”

Ben tips the bottle back, grinning, “You’re such a jerk.”

“Don’t be a sore loser when I win.”

“Well, it that’s the way you want it- never have I ever been to college.”

“Oh now that’s just low-” Hux protests.

“Uh-huh.What’s the matter, you can dish it out but you can’t take it? Drink up. Go on mister ‘masters in education’.”

It’s the last one Ben gets in for a while. Hux hasn’t done anything. Meanwhile, the jerk rallies quick, hitting back with never have I ever ‘gotten a tattoo’ and ‘gotten arrested’.

“Okay, that’s just- that’s not even fair,” Ben complains.

A crooked flash of slightly-uneven teeth. “You’re the one who wanted to play.”

On his fourth beer and Hux’s second, Ben finally manages to get him with, “Never have I ever broken a bone,” and he’s not counting his nose because he’s desperate.

Hux drinks, lips wrapped around the bottle, throat exposed, and it hits Ben all at once how drunk he’s getting because that was… really distracting.

“You go,” Ben says, waving a hand like he can brush away his lapse of concentration.

“I don’t know,” Hux sighs, gesturing clumsily with the bottle as he sits it down. “Never have I ever… cheated on a partner.”

“Hah! Me neither.” Ben says, triumphant. “I may be a fuckup, but I’m a monogamous fuckup, thank you very much.”

“You’re not a fuckup, Ben. No- no- Shush. Shh. You’re not. I wish half my parents cared as much as you do, you’re not- you just keep trying even when things don’t… I have a lot of respect for that. For you.” He hides his sudden embarrassment behind a drink, tapping on his sternum and clearing his throat.

“Thanks, Armitage.” Ben doesn’t often use Hux’s first name, just because it feels weird, but this seems like a good time for it. The tips of his ears are faintly warm.

Somewhere behind Hux, the fridge kicks on with a low rattle.

“Whose turn is it now? Isit- is it my turn?”

Ben takes in the pink flush on his cheeks, the edge of a slur in his voice, “Okay, how are you winning and you’re still drunker than me?”

“Well it’s not like I do this often.”

“You know,” Ben muses, fighting a smile, “You kinda start to sound like that guy from Mary Poppins when you’re drunk.”

Hux’s face is a perfect picture of outrage. “Oi-” a thump, and a bony foot connects with Ben’s shin under the table, and he laughs. “Fuck you.”

“Uh-oh, someone said a bad word.”

“You- you shut up. Go on, your turn. Go.” The nearly empty beer clatters on the table as Hux tries to use it as a prop to gesture with. “Arse.”

“Never have I ever had a threesome,” Ben shrugs. He can’t think of anything else, not with the way Hux is slouched in his seat, soft and easy and distracting. His normally-gelled hair is loose and limp. There’s a piece of it hanging his eyes and Ben has the worst urge to reach across the table and tuck it back behind his ear. He likes Hux’s eyes. They remind him of being out on his dad’s boat as a kid, and the shallows where the ocean is green one second and blue the next and you can just sit there watching it, trying to catch the point where it changes but never ever managing it.

He really wishes Hux wasn’t drunk, because he’d love to find out if ‘not-dating’ included kissing.

“Oh are we getting to the sexy ones now? Took you long enough.”

“What?” Ben laughs.

“I thought that was the whole point of this- thing. Game. Get everyone drunk and talk about sex.”

“…Well you’re not wrong, but that wasn’t really my plan here.” It sounds weak, but it’s true.

“Mm-hmm. My turn- never have I ever,” and okay, the way Hux draws out his ‘r’s when he’s drunk really shouldn’t be allowed. “Had sex at a school.”

Ben almost feels good about himself for half a second, and then pauses, hand halfway to his beer. “Shit, wait are we counting handjobs here?”

The offended look on Hux’s face makes him feel like he’s sixteen and getting caught feeling up Mark Evers in the boys locker room again. “Ben Solo. You awful pervert!”

“It was high school! Come on, finding places to fuck in high school is practically an elective. Everyone did it.”

“I didn’t.”

“That’s because you were one of those good kids.”

Hux huffs. “No, it’s because my father would have murdered me and buried me under the track field. Do you have any idea how impossible it is to get away with anything when your father is the principal of your school?”

“Your dad was your principal? Shit.”

“And the headmaster of my primary, before we moved here.”

“Ouch. That explains a lot.”

“Doesn’t it?” Hux pulls a beleaguered face. “Your turn.”

“Okay,” Ben thinks, rolling the bottle back and forth idly between his palms, “Never have I ever sucked my own dick.”

He only said it to make Hux sputter, so Ben nearly chokes when Hux blushes crimson instead and tries to sneak a surreptitious drink.

“Wait, what?” Ben cackles. “Oh my god. What?”

“I was fourteen and flexible, alright? I can’t still do it,” Hux mutters.

“Shit, have you tried?”

“It was one time at camp. Oh, god…” His head drops to the table, burying his face in the backs of his arms.

“What the hell kind of summer camp did you go to?” Ben is wheezing hard enough that his core aches.

Laughter is contagious and Hux erupts into stifled little giggles, his shoulders shaking “…chess camp.”

It Must Be Fate - Part 3

(Part 1) (Part 2)

Masterlist

Pairing: Isaac x Reader

Summary: You spend a night out with Lydia and meet a handsome stranger. The next day you get hired at your dream company, to only find out the guy you had a fling with is the CEO.


20 minutes. That is how long you intentionally locked yourself in the bathroom to avoid being in close proximity of Isaac. After that long, glazing stare it was risky to stay in his office. So you made up an excuse, a lame one, but it worked and brought you some time to think.

Splashing cold water on your heated cheeks, it provided some relief. “You can’t think of him like that, his your boss. What have I gotten myself into?”. Scolding yourself and all these different emotions rushing through your body.

Leaving the bathroom, Isaac was probably wondering what you were doing in there for so long. You were stuck in an empty building, black out keeping the elevators from operating. There was no way you couldn’t avoid seeing him.

“I thought you’d gotten lost, was just about to go and look for you”. He spoke, as he watched you enter his office.

You said nothing. Purely out of fear that you’d say the wrong thing or dig a deeper hole. So resuming your seat on the couch, checking the time, playing with the leather material the couch was made of. Anything to distract you from the tall, athletic man standing before you.

Although it only lasted 5 seconds. Isaac’s top two buttons on his white collar shirt had come undone. His sleeve rolled up and his hair quite the mess, but it suited him greatly.

“Is that what you’re going to be doing for the rest of the night, giving me the silent treatment?”. His damn husky voice. It made you reminisce about that night. How his voice stuttered your name, how it whispered all those dirty words in your ear.

Pulling out the file of your first case. “Nope, I’m going to put this time to good use and get started on this divorce case”. 

He walked around the coffee table and sat as close to you but made sure to leave a tiny gap. “Good, you work on that and I’ll work on these files”. Referring to the stack he brought over with him.

It was a test. Or it could of easily been a move he made to tease the shit out of you. Either way it wasn’t going to work. You were determined to get through this black out without repeating the actions of that night.

An Hour Later

The news had been silently playing in the background on Isaac’s computer. They informed residents to stay indoors and that the electric companies were going to resolve the issue, power was going to be restored as soon possible.

Isaac had stopped working on his case a few minutes ago, he was just lounging against the couch, eyes on you.

“Do you mind?”. Asking him, not taking your eyes off the documents.

He smirked, knowing the affect his presences had. “Mind what?”.

“Staring and sitting so damn close”.

To irritate you further he closed the gap, legs now touching. Isaac sneaked an arm over the couch. You could smell his cologne. “You want me this close and you want me to keep staring”. His hand grabbed the file and threw it onto the desk, not caring where it landed. “I meant what I said, how every time I walk past your office all I want to do is kiss you. I still do, want to kiss you that is”.

Isaac and you hadn’t even been on a proper date yet. Was this just a physically attraction or could it be on some level more than that?. “It was just meant to be one night with some cute stranger at a bar, you weren’t-I wasn’t meant to see you again. This would have never of happened if you told me who you were!”. Standing up, you needed distance to stop your brain from getting all fuzzy, which would no doubt lead to some incredibly stupid decision.

“I did, I said my name was Isaac”. He stated, amused.

“Don’t play dumb, you know what I mean! How hard was it to add, oh by the way I’m the CEO of Lahey Law Firm!”. Feeling your knees grow weaker, you leaned on Isaac’s desk.

Isaac stood up and in a matter of seconds reached his own desk. “Because as soon as I say those words that’s all people see me as, the CEO of a multi-million dollar law firm. Can you blame me if I wanted one night of being just Isaac?”.

Staring in his chocolate brown eyes, you could see the struggle of carrying such a prestigious name. The thought of being used or worse only liked because of that name, is something that made you feel sick. “I’m sorry Isaac, I didn’t know that”. Without thinking, you touched his cheek. “Just for the record I would have still seen you as Isaac”. Here you were digging a bigger hole and it was about to come collapsing in.

Getting caught up in this moment, flashes from the hotel room entered your mind and no doubt Isaac was thinking the same thing. He licked his lips, then, crashed them against yours. Lifting you up on the desk, Isaac pushed the objects and papers that were in the way.

Then it happened, your brain went fuzzy.

Tearing his shirt open, he attacked your neck. Biting, sucking, licking. Grabbing his hair, you moaned. Isaac kissed you again, this time harder and left your lips swollen as he ripped apart your blouse.

The news women had begun talking again and the words “power” and “is now restored”, hit you like a truck. Breaking out of the trance you felt every time Isaac was near or touched you even, your brain registered what the hell you were doing.

Isaac was kissing your jaw when you hopped off the desk. Feeling flustered, turned on and highly stupid for giving in.

“What, what’s wrong?”. His chest, bare, exposed. He wasn’t bothering with buttoning up his shirt.

“All of this was a-a mistake…I’m sorry”. Running towards the elevators, pressing the down button repeatedly. 

“Y/N?”. Isaac reached the elevator just as it made the ding sound. Stepping in you pushed the first floor. “Y/N, wait!”. The doors closed and you pressed your back against the wall, letting what occurred sink further in.

Returning home felt like the biggest walk of shame you’d ever done in your life. The bathroom mirror confirmed that. Your hair, tangled and the curls were no longer there. Your neck, showing off the love bite Isaac left. Your blouse, had lost most of it’s buttons and your lipstick smudged, completely faded.

Letting the water run down your naked body, there was only one way to fix it all.

The Next Morning

Stepping into the building, your eyes immediately glanced towards his office. His door closed, but that didn’t stop the flashbacks.

“You’re late”. Lauren, his assistant spoke. Looking rather angry at your lack of being punctual.

“I need to see Isa-Mr Lahey”. Correctly yourself, before you did any more damage.

She gave you this look. Like in the movies when the rich, bitchy girl meets the outsider. “His taking a very important conference call, you’re going to have to wait”.

Not liking that answer, you marched past her desk, Lauren protesting quite loudly for you to come back. Barging into his office Isaac look startled, but recovered.

“Sir, I tried to stop her”. Lauren running beside you.

“It’s fine Lauren, give us a minute”. She gave that look again and closed the door. Isaac leaned back on his chair. “Mind telling me why you barged into my office?”.

Giving him the piece of paper in your hands, his eyes scanned it and his reaction didn’t change. “I’m quitting. It says I have to give you a 2 week notice, so here it is. After those 2 weeks I’m going to go work at another law firm”.

Heading for the door, Isaac finally spoke. “Y/N”. It wasn’t an request, it was an order for you to turn back around. Doing so, Isaac ripped the paper in two.

“What the hell, Isaac!”. Shouting as your resignation was tossed in the bin.

Sitting back down on his chair, he calmly replied. “Your not quitting, I’m not letting a fantastic lawyer go. I hired you because I liked all the work you did back at your old firm. You’re passionate, driven and smart. So whatever is going on between us in our personal lives, isn’t going to interfere in our professional one”.

Shaking your head, this was absurd. “It already has! Or don’t you remember last night?. I have every right to quit if I want too”.

A tiny smirk appeared on his lips, making you even more irritated. “What happened last night was after hours, so technically it doesn’t count. I can keep it professional during work, you need to find a way to do the same. Because I’m not accepting your resignation”.

Throwing your hands up. “You seem to be having a short term memory problem, because admitting that you want to kiss me every time you walk past my office, isn’t keeping it professional”.

Isaac casually walked on over, his cologne hitting your senses. “Fine, from now on I’ll keep it professional. I’ll make a deal with you. Stay here until the end of the month, if by then you want to quit, I won’t stop you. But please don’t leave yet, I’m asking you solely as Isaac not the CEO of Lahey Law Firm”.

You shouldn’t of, but once again you did. Resting a hand on his chest, he breathed in and then out. His eyes not leaving you, his heart beating quite fast. “One month, then I’m quitting”.

Taking your hand off his chest, you reached for the door. Walking down the well furnished hallway, you blocked out all the sounds coming from other lawyers, the tapping of keyboards or the click clack of high heels.

Closing your office door, you blindly stared out the window. The one sound you couldn’t block still in your head - Isaac’s voice. He was the one face that was hard to erase, his touch even harder to forget.

anonymous asked:

hei luv, you seem full of fashion knowledge, so I'm going to ask YOU this question bc this has caused many my existential crises. What's the difference between a button-up and a button-down? Thanks

It’s pretty simple haha button downs have two buttons on the collar of the shirt while button ups don’t 

The Crisis - Part 1 (A Two Shot)

You sat at the table nursing your 3rd beer. You had been absentmindedly watching the door for Kyungsoo, your best friend, to walk through, but he was taking so long you just started drinking and gave up on him showing up. Being the lightweight that you were you knew you should probably draw this one out for quite some time or you’d end up curled around the toilet bowl in the ladies room. Seri, your friend was chatting animatedly, albeit drunkenly, with a group of men who she invited to sit at the table with you. They were fun. They were handsome. They dressed well and they were just as drunk as she was.

One man in particular, a somewhat quiet one who sat on the other end of the table, picking at the label of his beer absentmindedly, drew your attention.

He was lovely. He looked like a prince. His face was clear and bright, his hair was dark and styled, his cheeks and his lips were pink and something about him seemed sweet. Although not quite innocent. You had caught the way his eyes wandered over to the sparsely dressed girls dancing by the table. He looked and he smirked and he enjoyed, but he dropped his eyes quickly. If you hadn’t been staring at him for the last hour you would have missed it.

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I received an anon ask for a Stonathan first kiss fic. This is my first go at this ship, so I welcome your feedback! Enjoy!


“Why don’t you study with Jonathan? He knows this stuff even better than I do.” Nancy made the remark casually, as if the idea of her boyfriend and Byers hanging out together was the most natural thing in the world. With a history test coming up in less than a week, Steve just assumed that Nancy would insist on spending Saturday night preparing, so he was surprised when she announced a plan to head out of town for a campus tour.

“Studying” had begun as a euphemism for getting into Nancy’s pants, but in time their evening prep sessions were actually improving Steve’s grades. As anxious as the thought of being alone with Byers made him, Steve was at a loss to think of a better substitute study partner. His other friends weren’t a particularly scholastic bunch, and Jonathan was a dedicated student; he even had his college applications in ahead of the deadline.

After joining forces against the Demogorgon, Steve began to spend time socially with Jonathan, but Nancy was always with them, keeping any residual awkwardness between the two boys at bay. The trajectory of Steve’s relationship with Jonathan was so bizarre that it was challenging to classify as a friendship, but also impossible to define as anything else. Where do you really stand with someone who takes creepy pictures of your girlfriend then saves you from being murdered by an inter-dimensional monster?

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I’m only on TAZ episode 10, and I have no idea how to envision the main trio,  but my Killian is 8 feet tall, built like Andre the (human) Giant, 19 years old and has no fucking clue what’s she’s doing.  She wears a cheap suit like a true secret agent of a nebulous and forgotten organization.  It’s the wrong size, almost as if she has no idea what she’s doing, which is especially egregious because she’s big enough that all her clothes are custom made.  Because it’s so cheap and wrong sized and awful always taking off parts of it when shit gets real which is always.  By the time the boys meet her, she has undone the first two buttons on her collared shirt and loosened her tie, which has the pattern of a static tv screen.  At the end of the adventure she has lost her jacket, rolled up her sleeves, and one of the boys is wearing her tie as a head band.

Distinctive features of Neapolitan tailoring

In the previous article we have done a small comparison between tailoring schools, but what are the distictive features of a true Neapolitan bespoke blazer?

First of all, the Neapolitan tailoring school comes to light in a city that was the capital of male elegance and pioneer of a lifestyle that later will be copied in Paris and Rome. At those times, Naples was the city where the taste of English gentlemen was meeting the preserved artisanal skills of its inhabitants. This peculiar context brought to light a taste that will find its highest expression in the Neapolitan jacket, which for a long time was the one and only competitor of the British one. The former was light, with almost no canvas inside, soft and relaxed. The latter, coming from the military tradition, was rigid like an armour.

As for the jackets, Vincenzo Attolini is unanimously considered the father of the Neapolitan tailoring. Reportedly, he was the first one to make jackets as light as shirts, with no shoulder padding inside. Other famous and historic names are Blasi and Rubinacci who have been like schools for a lot of artisans who afterwards started their own business. Today some of them are still on the market, others decided to turn their atelier into a factory, losing the poetry coming from the true “bespoke”. The word “bespoke” comes from the British tradition and means “custom-made”. It indicates the activity of a tailor who makes a suit for a customer, entirely by hand, starting from the cut of the fabric. Watch out: the true bespoke implies that every customer has his own paper model, created by the tailor after taking the measurements for the first time.

Distinctive features of the Neapolitan tailoring tradition are the following: the single-breasted jacket features three-rolled-two buttons, high collarmappina sleeve (small folds on the seam between the shoulder and the sleeve), pignata patch pocket (a peculiar shape, similar to a pot), light canvas inside, half or no lining, front dart till the bottom, boat-shaped breast pocket, one sleeve button for the sportive blazer and two non-overlapping buttons for the suit. The same “mappina stitching” can be found in some cases also on the sleeves and cuffs of the shirts. The Neapolitan suit comes to light with the flaw, it is not perfect like the off-the-peg one, that must be worn by everyone. It follows the shape of the customer, enhancing his qualities and hiding any possible physical flaw. This is the so-called “charm of the imperfection”.

                                                 _____________

Nel precedente articolo si è fatta una timida comparazione tra scuole sartoriali, ma quali sono i tratti caratteristici di una giacca napoletana fatta in sartoria? Innanzitutto, la scuola napoletana nasce in una città capitale dell’eleganza maschile e pioniera di uno stile di vita che verrà poi esportato a Parigi e Roma. Erano i tempi in cui il capoluogo partenopeo era teatro di incontro tra il gusto dei gentlemen inglesi in vacanza e la tramandata e radicata capacità artigianale dei suoi abitanti. È proprio in questo contesto che si forgia quello stile che troverà espressione nella giacca napoletana, per anni unica rivale di quella inglese. La prima svuotata, morbida e rilassata, in barba alla rigidità geometrica della cugina anglosassone, figlia del mondo militare.

Per quanto riguarda le giacche, Vincenzo Attolini è unanimemente considerato il padre della scuola napoletana. A quanto pare, infatti, sarebbe stato il primo a cucire giacche leggere come camicie e senza spalline. Altri nomi celebri e storici sono Blasi e Rubinacci, che hanno fatto da nave scuola per tanti artigiani che successivamente si sono messi in proprio. Alcuni di questi grandi nomi oggi sono ancora sul mercato, altri hanno optato per la trasformazione in azienda, perdendo la poesia del vero “bespoke”. Quanto a questo oscuro termine ereditato dalla “perfida Albione”, è bene specificare che traduce il nostro “fatto su ordinazione”, “su misura”. Indica l’attività di un sarto che realizza un abito per un cliente, interamente a mano, iniziando dal taglio del tessuto. Attenzione: il vero bespoke implica che ogni cliente abbia un suo cartamodello, creato dal sarto dopo aver preso le misure per la prima volta. 

Veniamo, infine, alle caratteristiche della tradizione sartoriale napoletana. La giacca monopetto è a “tre bottoni stirata a due” ed ha un collo alto. In genere, la manica è a mappina, caratterizzata da piccole pieghe all’altezza della cucitura con la spalla; la tasca applicata, invece, è a pignata, per la sua forma peculiare, simile a quella di una pentola. La tela all’interno è leggera, la fodera è a metà o è assente. La ripresa (pence) sul davanti si fa fino al fondo, il taschino in petto è a barchetta e i bottoni sulla manica sono uno, per il blazer sportivo e due distanziati, per l’abito. La stessa lavorazione a mappina si può riscontrare anche sulle maniche e sui polsini delle camicie sartoriali napoletane. In definitiva, l’abito sartoriale nasce col difetto, non essendo perfetto come l’abito di confezione, che deve andar bene a tutti. Segue le forme del cliente, esaltandone i pregi e nascondendo eventuali difetti fisici. E’ questo il cosiddetto “fascino dell’imperfezione”.


Bespoke Hugs,
Fabio

mugimaki  asked:

Imagine Steve at a Stark charity ball. He plays the part of Captain America like he always does, but he sees Bucky sitting at the bar alone and he just wants to be Steve Rogers.

Steve hates these things, with the itchy collars on his nice suits and the ties that feel like their choking him. He feels like a dancing monkey, like he was back during the war when he had to wear the tights and fake a smile all to sell war bonds. And he hates talking to these slickly dressed men who stare blatantly at Natasha’s ass like she couldn’t break their necks in two seconds.

He gazes around as he tunes out whatever this old, grizzled man is saying to him (Secretary of…something. A company? He doesn’t know), and he spots the gleam of something silver and metallic. His gaze lands on Bucky, hair pulled back in a sleek ponytail and the first two buttons of his collar undone. Bucky’s never liked these things either, especially after coming back–the crowds make him jumpy–but he comes and usually sticks to the bar, sitting at the end so he can keep his eye on everyone. Steve’s chest clenches at how lonely he looks, sipping his glass of chilled vodka and watching everyone else find people to talk to, so he makes an excuse and heads over.

As he weaves his way through the crowd, he catches Bucky’s eye, and Bucky raises his glass in a little toast, the corner of his lips pulling up slightly. “Heya, punk,” he says when he gets close enough. “You had enough schmoozing?”

“I’ve had enough of it for years, Buck,” he says ruefully, ordering a beer and settling in next to him. Bucky nudges his shoulder against his own, sitting in companionable silence.

“I hate this,” Steve says finally with a sigh. “I hate that they’re all trying to manipulate me into agreeing with them. I hate that I have to be careful with what I say. You know I ain’t ever been good with that,” he mumbles, chewing on his lower lip.

“Yeah, I remember you bein’ quite the troublemaking asshole,” he smirks and Steve elbows him, but he feels warm and pleased, like he’s allowed to be Steve Rogers instead of Captain America for once in his life.

Slippin’ round, settle down

Originally posted by kai-tastrophe

2284 words, in which you never wake up to him around

slight angst

>

He comes to you in the middle of the night, slumped against your front door, always bruised and barely conscious. As usual, you throw a hand around his waist, cringing slightly at the heavy scent of whiskey as you shuffle back into your apartment, kicking the door close with familiar practice. You’ve grown so accustomed to his late night visits you don’t realize that it becomes a regular routine- the three am knocks, the manual maneuvering of Oh Sehun into your apartment, the first aid kit, the extra comforter you always keep at the foot of your bed whenever he comes over and the single note you always find plastered to your fridge in the morning after you wake. He never stays- and you know it- yet your hands always manage to find their way to the door, leaving you to deal with an empty sofa and the miserable hint of his cologne on your comforter the next morning.

You examine his face, noting a split lip, a bruise around his left cheek and a few scratches around his eye. Nothing too serious, you think. You reach for the ice pack when he winces and you stop immediately, observing the slight contortion of his features. He shifts again, and you see his eyebrows furrow, a low groan emitting from his throat and you suddenly realize that you missed a spot. You struggle with the buttons of his shirt at first but finally manage to undo the remaining and pull the clothing off his toned torso. He groans and you pause abruptly, thinking of an explanation in the event that he wakes up and finds himself topless, with his shirt in your hand. But that thought is soon forgotten when he turns, flipping over so he’s lying face down on his stomach and you finally see the cause of his continuous groans. Beside the large bruise on his left shoulder, are scratches that run from the base of his neck to the span of his lower back. You turn away immediately, not wanting a second look at the evidence of his rendezvous. You manage to find the strength to flip him back to his original position before proceeding to pull an old t-shirt over his head when you notice the now obvious purplish mark at the base of his neck.

He groans again, and you remove your wandering fingers from his neck, hurriedly pressing the ice pack down onto his cheek. Turning off the light, you stand to spread the comforter over him before heading straight to your bedroom, the first aid kit neglected and left lying on the coffee table.

It’s not the first time you’ve found Sehun with ‘special injuries’ other than the normal bruises, and even though you try to act indifferent to it, you’d honestly wish he never turned up with lipstick stains smeared across his face, love bites dotting the base of his neck to his collarbone and fingernail scratches across the span of his back. You don’t know why, but the thought of it makes you feel uncomfortable and causes this weird feeling of irritation, mixed with some other emotions that you can never seem to put a finger on. You sigh and close your eyes, pressing your cheek into your pillow as you silently wish you don’t wake up alone in your apartment the next morning.

You stumble out of bed at the sound of thunder and the heavy pelting of rain against your window,  grabbing your comforter along the way as you pad across the cold wooden floor, your heart beating in anxiety as you make your way out into the living room. A bolt of lightning tears through the grey sky, temporarily illuminating the dim and empty room as your gaze falls on the neatly folded comforter at the end of the sofa. Your vision flickers towards the kitchen and you note that the fridge is bare; the spot where the familiar sticky note used to lie now empty. The wind thrashes furiously outside the window, shaking the nearby trees violently with unimaginable force. You knew not to expect much in the first place, yet you can’t help but feel disappointed with yourself and with him. The sound of thunder echoes throughout the room and you’re suddenly overwhelmed with the feeling of loneliness, something you’ve gotten used to ever since he came into your life. You and Sehun were just friends and that was the furthest your relationship could go- any further and you were afraid you’d lose him. Your breath hitches in your throat, but you’re too tired and too numb to cry.

>

The club is dark and intermingled with the smell of sweat and smoke, accompanied by the strong beat of club music blasting from the speakers above, reminding you exactly why you hated these types of places. You push your way through the throng of dancing teenagers, cringing slightly when one of them comes too close for comfort and you inhale the heavy scent of alcohol and Marlboro slims. You give an apologetic smile- even though you know they probably wouldn’t notice- before shoving them aside with your elbow and grabbing onto Jongin’s shirt.

“Hey! You made it!” He shouts.

“I barely survived- if you actually noticed!” You yell over the music.

Jongin chuckles, downing his shot glass in one go before proceeding to pull you up onto the bar stool.

“What do you want?” He offers.

“Anything except this place,” you grumble and he chuckles again before proceeding to order a gin and tonic and the name of some other drink you didn’t manage to catch under the loud booming of the speakers. You scan the poorly lit room- the only light source available from the glow of the neon beer signs plastered to the club wall, briefly illuminating a few faces from the dancing crowd- when you spot him. His large, tall frame stands out even in the dark and you note that he’s dressed fully in black, the first two buttons of his collared shirt left open, exposing the fair and smooth skin of his neck and you feel yourself blush when your mind recalls the image of his bare and toned torso you had come face to face with just two weeks ago. But when you see his arm wrap around the nearby brunette, pulling her closer as they move their bodies together, you feel your heart sink and you turn, looking away immediately. Jongin nudges you and you see the bartender slip a glass of clear, seemingly harmless liquid in your direction.

“What is it?” You mouth.

He looks at you with a smirk, taking a sip of his gin and tonic. “Bottoms up.”

You roll your eyes, almost pushing the drink away when the image of Sehun, dancing with the brunette springs back into your mind and you snatch the glass off the counter, drinking it in one shot.

“Whoa…whoa, slow down, that’s vodka we’re talking about,” Jongin repeats in shock, but makes no apparent effort to stop what you’re doing.

You swallow the last drop but regret your decision instantly when you feel your throat burn just a second later. You choke, and Jongin’s hands are around you immediately but you brush them away stubbornly, jumping off the bar stool and heading directly towards the dance floor. You never dance and you’re always sober- something even Jongin, your high school classmate knows- but you figure Sehun probably doesn’t know (and probably doesn’t evencare). So you surprise yourself when you start dancing and you don’t know if it’s the alcohol flowing through your blood, or the loud pumping of the club music or the image of Sehun and his pretty friend moving together in sync that causes you to sway gently to the ongoing rhythm, your body unconsciously moving to the beat of the song.

You don’t even mind when you turn to find a handsome stranger smiling back at you, his hands on your hips, pulling you flush against his torso as the both of you move together under the influence of alcohol and your sparked curiosity towards the sudden affection you had always longed to receive from Sehun. You feel the stranger’s hands gliding down the side of your hips and you almost throw a hand around his neck when someone rips you away forcefully, dragging you by the hand as you push through the crowd of sweaty, gyrating bodies.

“Jongin stop! That hurts!” You wince, snatching your wrist away from his grasp once you reach the empty spot at the back of the club.

Who’s Jongin?”

You freeze when your mind registers the familiar voice.

“_______, I asked you a question.”

His voice is laced with such authority that you can’t help but swallow, raising your head timidly as you meet his gaze. Sehun is standing in front of you- blonde hair slicked back- and you gawk awkwardly at the apparent height difference as his tall frame shields you completely from the dancing crowd. You note that it’s the first time you’ve seen him not completely wasted and you have to admit you prefer the current Sehun, despite the intense stare he’s giving you- because a sober Sehun is actually quite hot, and rather attractive.

“He- He’s a-” The slight smell of cheap perfume hits your nostrils and you pause. Sehun looks at you to continue and you surprise yourself at the new found courage, fueled by the after effects of vodka, when you open your mouth to speak.

“It’s none of your business actually,” you reply hotly and he raises an eyebrow. “What are you doing here anyway?”

“I should be asking you that question,” he snaps. “How much did you have to drink?”

You stumble a little and his arms are around you in seconds, hand firmly attached to your waist. You shrug out of his hold, raising two fingers as an estimate, mouthing ‘this much’, before bursting into a fit of giggles and you hear him sigh as he reattaches his grip around your waist.

“C’mon, let’s get you outta here-”

“But I’m not even that drunk,” you slur. “And I have to find Jongin-”

“Forget Jongin,” he growls. “We’re getting you out of here- and that’s final.”

You don’t get to complete your sentence as he drags you through the never-ending throng of people, his hands firmly gripping onto yours the whole time, making you blush at the contact as you exit the club.

“Where…are we going?” You venture softly, your head spinning from the aftermath of dancing and alcohol. He ponders for a moment, sliding the seatbelt across your body and you nearly blush again at the close proximity of his face from yours.

“Your place.” He says finally, gaze fixed on the steering wheel as he starts the car.

>

You can’t mask the disappointment pricking at your heart when you arrive home faster than you expect and you almost scowl at the ridiculously clear traffic that you never seem to experience whenever you’re rushing to school in the morning. Sehun walks you up to your apartment, standing slightly behind you as you fumble with your keys, dropping them twice before you finally manage to open the door.

You contemplate to invite him in but that thought is soon forgotten when he ends it off with a simple Goodnight. Your heart sinks as you watch him turn and you call out his name before even thinking.

“Sehun!”  You yell and he turns instantly.

You walk briskly in his direction, but the words fail to leave your mouth when you see the confused and annoyed gaze he’s giving you- probably because of the stunt you pulled tonight. Frustrated, he runs a hand through his hair when you don’t reply.

“What is it ______?”

You step closer towards him, your sudden boldness intensified by that miniscule amount of alcohol remaining in your system and he blinks in surprise.

“Will you…stay?” You whisper.

He freezes momentarily and you pause, taking in his expression before continuing.

“I don’t want to wake up alone tomorrow morning, so- I mean if it’s not too troublesome or-”

You taste the remnants of vodka mixed with traces of his whiskey when he presses his lips against yours, effectively cutting you off as you blink repeatedly, still processing the current situation. You only realize a second later but he pulls away and your shoulders slump from the loss of contact.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” He breathes, centimeters away from your face.

“Because you never asked,” you say finally.

He pulls you into his chest, embracing you tightly, as though you would disappear once he let go. You don’t know when you start crying, but the tears continue to fall endlessly as you fist the material of his collared shirt, sobbing softly into the comfort of his chest.

“I’m sorry I made you go through all that, I-I wouldn’t have done it if I actually knew because believe me, you mean so much more, and I-” he pauses. “I don’t know what I’ll do without you.”

The both of you stay like this for a while- his hand running down the span of your back, gently drawing patterns into your skin as your sobs begin to die down.

“Will you stay?” You ask, your voice quiet as you rest your head against his sturdy chest.

“If you want me to,” he whispers.

“For good?” You venture.

He remains silent and you lean away from his grasp, staring intently at his face when he reaches down to cup your tear-stained cheek, pressing a light kiss to your lips before speaking.

“For good.”

sophie1973  asked:

Hi :) Since I like everything that you write and I follow you and, well, you asked, here's an AU prompt : Oliver & Felicity meet at a wedding. Line of dialogue : "Are you kidding me? We're not 'fine'!" - If you do it feel free to do whatever you want with it :)

Title:  Hit and Miss
Word Count:  8569
Rating:  T

Links:  FanFiction, AO3

Notes:  First of all, sophie1973, if you have an AO3, let me know about it, and I’ll set this up as a gift on your account.  If not, thanks for the prompt, anyway. ;)

I AM SO SORRY. This is what happens when you give me prompts: I change them and warp them and make them into something freakishly weird. :P

This should serve as a lesson to you all no to give me vague prompts. Because Ezra (my muse) takes “meet at a wedding” and writes it. And then he cackles afterward because he’s found a legal loophole of sorts. This one’s would be “Well, she said meet at a wedding–she didn’t say how they had to meet at the wedding.”

Felicity sits in the back row of the outdoor seating, watching the scene around her with a yawn, ever vigilant even if she appears otherwise.  Her eyes scan the scene as she determines where she’ll be in a few moments, even if she’s bored beyond belief.  It’s truly one of the most dry, dull affairs she’s ever been to, and that includes her weird cousin’s wedding held in the Nevada desert because his bride-to-be liked the atmosphere.  By the time they had finished, everything had been covered in sand, including the cake, which did not taste good to begin with because it had been one of Aunt Marge’s (Aunt Marge who uses way too much salt).  And that doesn’t even include the cactus needles—she swears up and down she found one in her skin yesterday, and that nightmare was three months ago.

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Destiny CLOSED

Oh boy. Tonight’s the night, and I was so nervous. I had a blind date that a Co-worker had set up for me. But honestly I would NEVER do something like this, and I do feel a bit.. Desperate. But that’s not it, I just haven’t been having the best luck with women. At all. I don’t know, I guess I just haven’t had the right girlfriend. Well not since my ex that was like 4 years ago, or longer.. Not sure, I actually don’t remember. But It’s like she spread a secret code to all women kind to not date me. I shook my head at the stupid thought as I threw on a black blazer over my dress shirt, with two buttons undo at the collar. I had matching black dress pants and spit shine black dress shoes. I ran my hand through my hair to calm it down. Some women didn’t like how.. Uh.. Wild it was? I had spiky layers that just stood up on it’s own, nothing I could really do about it. Not even hair gel really worked. After my attempt of trying to tame the beast of hair on my head, it just stuck back up in it’s original place. 

I sighed and shook my head, it was hopeless. I turned and grabbed my watch and strapped it on my wrist and grabbed my wallet from on top of my dresser. I sprayed myself with a nice cologne, it was new. Hopefully women liked it as much as I did. I turned and looked at my full body mirror that hung on the back of my closest door. Oh wow, I managed to spruce myself up real good! I was proud of myself. I grabbed my keys and walked out of my bedroom and I got into my jet-black 2015 Mustang GT500, I drove to the restaurant that I was supposed to meet my blind date at. She had dark hair, supposedly. But I don’t know what style.. But I shouldn’t be picky, I should be grateful and happy a woman even agreed to do a blind date with me. I arrived shortly after I left my apartment and sat down, waiting for whoever my mystery date was. I was still extremely nervous. k-chxn

Overdue

Title: Overdue

Rating: M (Smut)

Word Count: ~1500

Summary: "Ms. Korra, do you know what the penalty is for an overdue
book?“ SexyLibrarian!Mako AU. Crackfic.

Author Note: So Kwongs and I were chatting, and she suggested an AU with Mako as a librarian. I said the only way I would do it is if he was a sexy librarian right out of a bad porno. So this happened. I needed something that was silly to unwind from Rhapsody in Red, and this happened. This fic is not to be taken seriously and is purposefully exaggerated with use of purple prose.

(ff.net) (ao3)

.

.

Head Librarian Mako sighed, pausing to clean his square glasses with the microfiber cloth he always kept in his pocket. It was only thirty minutes from closing and the third branch of the Republic City Library was nearly empty. This of course was much to his displeasure. When he was younger, the library was a sanctuary away from the streets. He spent each day there from opening to close, inhaling the words on the page.

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