#Born To Tailor
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Spring Winter Day
[Photos by Brown Estate]
#why didnt you tell me I looked this good#fall#winter#leaves#fashion#suit#born to tailor#Brooklyn weather#Brooklyn#street style#urbanwear#slay#fierce#green#yellow#beige#three piece suit
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trans ianto be upon ye
#in words of juette:#my father was a master tailor so i was born with a tape measure dick#also jack 'measuring tapes never lie' harkness#ianto jones#torchwood
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Me thinking about the suits Charlie wore in 2022 for She-Hulk and Treason: You’d better get my boy a properly tailored suit for Daredevil: Born Again, Disney. Or else. 🥊👿🥊
I don’t wanna hear any more bad suit jokes - once was enough.
(Okay, no serious complaints here, but only because Charlie is so frigging pretty I can barely see anything but him. 🤭😍)
THIS is what I want to see, okay? 😘💗
Don’t do an iconic blind man dirty like that, Marvel!! 🙏🙏🙏
#seriously though as someone who worked in men's retail selling suits the fit of the suits they gave Charlie left much to be desired#Matt better be getting some well-tailored suits again!!#my random ramblings#matt murdock#charlie cox#daredevil#daredevil born again#adam lawrence#treason 2022
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i do not have hte energy to be painting today but anything for them
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!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
#KYOUKAAAAAAA#I LOVE HER SO MUCH. THE PARALLELS BETWEEN HER AND ATSUSHI HIT ME SO SO HARD AND SO DOES THE RELATIONSHIP BETWEEN THEM.#THEY GET ME SO EMOTIONAL I REALLY DON'T TALK ABOUT THEM ENOUGH BUT THE WAY THEIR BOND WAS BORN AND HOW THEY'VE MET EACH OTHER–#AND HOW THEY REMIND EACH OTHER EVERY DAY THAT PEOPLE WHO COMMITTED UNFORGIVABLE ATROCITIES ARE DESERVING OF LIVING TOO AND SO ARE THEMSELVE#AND JUST NNNGGGHHHHHHH#They're. so good. they're the spiritual opposite of ss/kk in the way seeing themselves in the other–#doesn't lead to hate but to compassion instead. Their relationship is truly so good#The last five minutes really make this whole episode!!!! This episode has everything. Yosano. Kyouka. Atsushi. Akutagawa.#Truly episode tailored on me specifically#(Although I must admit. While watching it I really felt “if this is the best episode of the season... We may have a problem��.#I suppose I'll never be able to truly enjoy b/sd ahah (╥﹏╥) )#random rambles
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I would h8 me for talking digits... but starting off my career soon with such a fortunate monthly salary in these trying times... makes the flowers in my chest grow! 🌻
#I also dislike myself for this post. so will delete later. but pinch me bc I perform in a national top league and I am proud of myself! -#it wasn't the goal. i'm not a born achiever. but follow my heart to where it feels good. and that + patience brought me so far#this being said... i rlly need a new tailored suit#personal
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WHY is Belle’s hair down in the 1850s IN AN OPERATING THEATRE though
#tie your hair up!#PLEASE#incidentally I saw a post saying that belle is a bad nurse#which of COURSE she is that’s the POINT#she’s brilliant arrogant and hierarchical with no bedside manner at all#or as it’s also known “a born surgeon”#we have to let women become surgeons#not just because equality#otherwise women like belle will try to be nurses and it will all be absolutely dreadful#but you know what good surgeons do belle? you know what they do? THEY TIE THEIR HAIR UP#especially in the 1850s! when all women’s hair is up all the time!#tbf I’m not sure if this is the 1850s#ether’s still the Yankee dodge but lister’s published his experiments with carbolic acid????#a confusing timeline#I love this show! it’s perfectly tailored to my interests! but when is it SET
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@beatingheart-bride
"I couldn't imagine so many eyes on me all at once," Elizabeth admitted with a shy smile, as she listened to Emily and Dorian's account of the day. "It's...strange, to think of everyone around me...looking at me, studying me. I think it'd make me feel like a bug under glass!"
After all, Elizabeth was used to being "the help"; seldom seen and seldom heard. On account of her mother being one of Gracey Manor's many cooks (regarded for many years as the best by Dorian), she herself was quickly designated as a maid by her mother's employers, oftentimes helping set and clear the dining table, washing and storing dishes, changing bedsheets, tasks of that nature. To most, she was invisible...which made the idea of being stared at all the more disconcerting, in a way.
Randall, as he ate (he'd never had duck before, and was absolutely loving it; the beautiful steak and potatoes Dorian had brought him he'd save for later), silently agreed with Elizabeth, finding the idea of being under others' watchful eyes enough to make his skin crawl. In a way, he'd been watched before, he was familiar with the sensation of eyes on him, the looks of scorn from neighbors who knew his mother, knew his father...he'd been fortunate enough to disappear into the background by and large in the years since, especially at work, but even so, he knew what it was like to be stared at and, to be frank, he didn't like it one bit.
He hoped it'd be different in California...that none of them would have to feel like an insect underneath a magnifying glass...
#((they wouldn't! to them the pros just don't outweigh the cons))#((those cons being living life without all the privileges and amenities))#((they'd been fortunate enough to have on account of the class in which they were born in!))#((the lower class doesn't have those privileges: no servants at their beck and call))#((no lavish homes with plenty of space for fine art and rich décor; no splendid gardens for entertaining))#((no new clothes tailor-made just for them; there's so much they couldn't imagine living without!))#((they themselves can't fathom it; and so why would their children; who like their parents))#((have had these privileges; want to give it all up?))#((and oh god...had francis caught emily and randall that night; that would have been VERY difficult))#((for the two of them to answer; provided he didn't have a heart attack on the spot!))#outofhatboxes#beatingheart-bride#V:Days of Future Past
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this book punched me in the gut, drilled a hole both in my chest and skull, and told me i will never know true peace
#kitchen#banana yoshimoto#a short read i randomly started while in a long queue at the dentist#no fr this book SPOKE to me#its like i was born to read this book#its like a tailor made book for me and my fear of grief#i cant wait to reread this in a few years with a new perspective and all#i dont think i'll ever shut up about this#a part of it reminded me of kimi no nawa im bawling#moonlight shadow
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Say what you like about Scottish accordion music, it is so easy to dance to even if you aren’t a good dancer, and since that’s the most exercise I’m likely to get today, I’m not going to feel embarrassed about the amount of Jimmy Shand on my spotify
#It snowed this morning and having been in a lethargic depressed state for about a fortnight I'm not on an upswing#And am full of Yuletide cheer and also that mediaeval 'frolic hard' gif#So got the De'il Among the Tailors on and am breaking out the moves#Humans were born to dance and although we're not all capable of it for various reasons#If one has the opportunity one ought to take it and doubly so if you're Scottish#Skipping around a very untidy house in my stocking soles with a very narrow hallway is maybe not a great idea though#Definitely an accident waiting to happen but if I put my shoes on my downstairs neighbours will hate me#God I need to start going to ceilidhs again#But you can't just turn up at those things alone or you won't get to dance
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#PieCraving
In other news, I wore one of my suits today, and it was snug. But the thing is I am feeling so great in my body that I wouldn't want to change a thing.
The complicated thing about my suits, they have been tainted by the man who created them, by his stealing from me. I am regretting having ever met him and this taint crosses over onto the suits.
Things that at one time I had re-embraced now feel, not so great. Coupled with the fact that I had the original ones made for a friends wedding, who the day after the wedding I was no longer friends with.
The context of these suits is surrounded with hurt, pain and betrayal and just makes them no longer any fun to wear. So whether they fit or not, the price has been too emotionally high.
[Photos by Brown Estate]
#fierce#slay#fall fashion#fall looks#three piece suit#beige#boots#colorsty boots#colorsty#blue#personal style#urban wear#street style#street fashion#brooklyn chic#warby parker#born to tailor#dandylion#dandy lion#tortoise shell eyeglasses
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i am putting other games on the top shelf until forever because i am annoyed to go into the wotr tag and just have it be a quarter comparisons to bg3 even if they favor wotr and i agree with them.
#bg3 has crack cocaine open world design for me and a fun battle system#but it's failed to have any long term impact on me beyond the fact i REALLY like one of my ocs who i refuse to call a tav bc she honestly#doesnt even work in the main character role despite me playing her in it#bg3 is like ffxiv to me: a kitchen where i made my own blorbo and then despaired bc fuck i tailored them to the setting so i have to play#in That puddle with Those characters#wotr i just all around love the writing of#and i won't shut the fuck up about the half-lizard guy and his sibling that was born in LITERAL pieces#bc that did some damage to me#the lack of race variety in bg3 is turning into an unexpected sticking point for me#bg3 would never give me regill aka my husband that hates me and thinks i'm disgusting#or nenio probably#i love nenio#or even a vriska expy that adheres to social darwinism#the cast in wotr can just be...so much more varied in alignment and Awfulness#doing a slow sporadic second play of wotr currently and man...just some of the differences in reactivity are already so good#that succubus could not charm my girl bc the succubus was pretending to be iomedae and my girl goes on r/atheism#checkmate demon#era.txt
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Being Sukuna’s Pregnant Wife and being worshipped as a diety because you were able to conceive the four armed hulking cursed child, you must have the blessing of fertility
Having a shrine erected in your name because barren women believed you’d bless them with fertility despite your legacy starting with the child of the curse that torments them all
Telling your hand maids “Don’t bring me my clothes, bring me one of the kings robes.” The hand maids flinching and wanting to protest out of fear of taking the King of Curses robes
The poor naive young hand maid that had grown a crush on the king excitedly rushing if it meant she could enter the private bed chambers,
Scoffing with a malicious smile to your loyal maids when they shook their heads with Sympathy, they learned long before at such a request it would be foolish to go alone, at least 2 or 3 of them would need to go in your name, preferably the ones your husband recognized to be by your side the longest. But you didn’t like this new girl, she was too enthusiastic to work at the palace only to have a complete change in character when she learned she was assigned to work for you
“It’ll serve that poor girl right” you looked away from the door when your loyal hand maids brought out a wooden box with one of Sukuna’s folded Kimono’s they helped you dress your swollen belly accentuated by the belt the kimono tailored to fit your husband left you with extra space and length, it was far more comfortable then the Kimono’s and robes you were, the lingering smell of your husband with comforting as your rubbed your belly hands barely peeking from the massive sleeves
“Let’s go see my husband.” Was all you said as you started your walk, the maids followed close as you made it to the bed chambers, the door was open, you looked in, Sukuna sneering down at the girl laying in a pool of blood, Uraume was making quick work of the mess
Sukuna’s snapped to you and his arm’s opening in an unusual display of affection, you walked around the mess to reach him, he pulled you into his left side, one hand on your waist the other making you face him, bring his right hand up he rested his hand on your stomach “Some of your maids need a lesson on how to speak to their king,” he looked away from your face to your stomach as he started to move his hands in circles “So swollen with my child, it’s no wonder you send your maids to steal my robes.”
You smack his shoulder with a playful smile and he chuckled “Don’t say it like that you make me feel bigger than i am.”
“Now,” he looked up at your face again, “why are you here.”
You tilted your head to the side, “I started contractions this morning, I’ve been in pain all day and I’m barely standing, my new maid wouldn’t stop speaking so highly of my husband accomplishing having a child when I was at my worst pain level getting ready to push out YOUR child that I HAD to carry. Anyhow I came to get you because he is ready to come.”
Sukuna stared down at you confused “How do you know it’s a boy?”
“I’m his mother,” he watched as you placed your hand over his stilling his rubbing of your stomach, “I knew he was a boy from the day your seed took.”
Sukuna smirked “Is that so? Then let’s see this boy.”
🖤❤️❤️❤️🖤❤️❤️❤️🖤❤️❤️❤️🖤❤️❤️❤️🖤
After an hour of fighting the doctor tending to your birth you gave birth to your lively son, born screaming without needing stimulation to cry form the doctor. Your husband couldn’t help but laugh when he saw his child in his full glory, he was a boy indeed.
The help immediately gave you your son and you cooed at him when he took to your breast, your husband taking blankets from the maids and covered your son also covering you in the process as you struggled a bit to pass what came next. Your son a spitting image of his father, your breathy laugh caught Sukuna’s attention as he came back to your bed side stroking your hair and rubbing your stomach the way the help had been doing.
“What amuses you?” He watched his son slowly close his eyes as you coddled him closer.
“I’m the one who had to carry him for so long, and the ingrate took nothing from me.” You smiled and shook your head before looking up at Sukuna.
Soon the doctor left after clearing you of any possible issues and checking your son. “His name?” You looked at Sukuna and he sighed “Yuji”
The look of adoration in your eyes was something Sukuna would’ve wanted to capture forever if he could express the sentiment. However for now he’d settle for memorizing every detail of today. His wife birthing his first heir, the name she had chosen he permitted.
Maybe just maybe this world wasn’t so bad
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Why is it always "born in the wrong generation"? What if this is the better option you got? What if you were born to be a 1950s lounge singer or a 1300s weaver and already had a lifetime of that, doing what you love to do and what you do best, and spent the whole time thinking "I wish I could do this in a better time, where I could do it more freely from the bottom of my heart, and not have to worry about the things that hold me back"?
You get to make soap with ingredients the soapmakers a thousand years ago could not have dreamed of combining. You get to work with fabrics an ordinary tailor could never have gotten their hands on. Write the gayest love poetry in iambic pentameter without having to worry of being tried for sodomy. Hell, you could have eight kids and bake bread while barefoot without worrying how many of your runts survive to adulthood.
You can draw designs for stained glass windows that the church would never let you, and instead of thinking how your talents would have been groundbreaking back in the day and how they are wasted now, you can imagine how a thousand years ago you may have been drawing the same designs, thinking "I wish I could just do this without having to worry about viking raids and the plague."
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“We should get married.”
The question in and of itself is a strange one, made more so for the fact that it’s coming from Zoro of all people – and the fact that he’s asking you in the middle of a fight. Your back is pressed against his, the heat of his skin seeping into your clothes – and you wonder if he’s gotten hit in the head too many times. Or thrown through too many things – too much of something.
“Are you seriously saying that right now?” Your tone is incredulous as you swing your weapon, scowling as you watch another enemy drop with a cry and a splatter of blood. “We’re a little busy right now, aren’t we?”
Zoro grins, expression manic with the deepened shadows of his face from his bandana, adjusting to place the hilt of Wadou Ichimonji in his mouth. “Is that a yes?”
You have the brief moment of considering knocking Zoro out for your opponent – clearly his daily naps out in the sun have baked his brain more than you previously thought. “No!”
–
The question doesn’t turn out to be borne from a brain-based injury flaring up, because Zoro doesn’t let the subject go. He bides his time, waiting about two weeks from when he first asked before he tries again.
This time, the stars are a witness to his buffoonery – now fueled by the bottles of sake he seems to have squirreled away everywhere on the Thousand Sunny. You watch as he tips the bottle to his lips, the brief shimmer of liquid that beads at his lips before it disappears as he swallows.
“We should get married,” he says, and this time, you scoff. It isn’t one of disdain, rather of amusement as you wait for the alcohol induced flush to rise to his cheeks. “‘m serious, you know.”
“No,” you counter softly as you scoot closer to him, reaching up to wipe a drop of sake from the corner of his lips and bring it to your own for a taste. As ever, his own choices in alcohol seem to be tailored for him and him alone – sake still isn’t your thing. “You’re drunk.”
Zoro hums, eye flicking from the night sky above to you. “Is that a yes?”
You press your lips to his warm cheek. “Ask me again when you’re sober.”
–
The third time that he asks, he’s waited so long that you’ve almost forgotten that he ever asked in the first place. After all, Roronoa Zoro has never seemed like someone interested in the intimate entanglement of marriage – you have absolutely no clue what has possessed him to suddenly ask you with this kind of tenacity.
“We should get married,” he says, and you resist the urge to sigh as you stare at him, his head pillowed against your thigh. Below the shade of Nami’s tangerine trees, you can hear Luffy’s bright laughter intermingled with Usopp and Franky’s.
This time you aren’t in the middle of a fight, nor is he drunk. This time, you take a moment to study his face, the dapple of sunlight through waxy green leaves, the scent of citrus in the air. You love him, you’re sure of that – as sure as you’ve been of anything in your life.
“We’re pirates,” you answer, tapping your fingers against his cheek in an echoed rhythm of one of Brooke’s songs from the night before. “Pirates don’t get married.”
“Sure they do.” He’s watching you now, with the kind of intensity he usually only reserves for battle, and you look away. “Captains can officiate marriages. I asked Robin about it.”
You blink and let your attention shift to Luffy for a minute – you love your captain, you do. But the idea of him being serious about much of anything beyond what matters to him (food, his crew’s safety, finding the One Piece – in that order) makes you giggle. You can’t imagine him officiating something like a marriage.
“What if I want a ceremony?” Your fingers find his cropped green hair, stroking gently across his scalp. “Those are expensive.”
He shrugs. “We’d find a way. I’m sure Nami would help.”
Your lips curve in an amused smile for a moment before it dims at the edges. “It’d be dangerous,” you point out, and he answers with a short bark of laughter.
“Not any more than shit we’ve already faced.”
“Rings?”
“We don’t need that fancy stuff.”
Your smile fades completely, hand stilling in his hair. “Why do you think we should get married?”
There must be an edge to your tone now, because Zoro refocuses on you, all signs of mirth gone. “Because we love each other, right? Sounds like the next logical step.”
Your gaze hardens. “So you’re asking because you think we should? Or because you want to marry me?” He sits up, and you get to your feet.
“Is that a no?” he asks, and you pause.
“Ask me again when you figure things out, Zoro.”
–
“Marry me.”
This time, his voice is quiet. Soft and vulnerable – for the late hour or the intimacy of his bare skin against yours, you aren’t sure. His hand drifts up and down your back, counting the bumps of your spine over and over.
You shift against him, face nestled to rest against his chest. “Zoro–”
“I’ve thought about it,” he cuts you off. “So just be quiet and listen, okay?” You don’t say a word, waiting for him to continue on his own. “I don’t want to marry you just because I think that I should, I want us to get married because you...you mean a lot to me. You’re important to me, and I –” He pauses, struggling. This kind of thing is not Zoro’s forte, you both know that – but after a moment, he resumes. “I don’t see myself being like this with anyone but you. I don’t want to be like this with anyone but you. Just want you.” A moment of silence, hearts beating in tandem.
You move, adjusting enough that you can look at him properly, the gleam of moonlight against his face. And you kiss him. Slow and sweet, eyes sliding shut as you linger for as long as you can before you pull away.
“Marry me,” he repeats.
This time, you don’t squawk at him like he’s crazy. You don’t accuse him of being drunk, don’t deflect him for fear that he’s doing it because he thinks he should, not that he wants to. This time, you smile.
“Yes,” you answer. “I’ll marry you.”
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When ogres travel, they do so in human shape.
They hate doing this. They think it’s beneath them. But they do it anyway.
The Vicomte Graoul de Saucisson – and this is another thing about ogres. Ogres as a species are nobility. There is no such thing as a low-born ogre. There is always room in the ogrish peerage for another vicomte, another prince, another branch to tie to the rotted tree – strode up to the chateau in human shape. The roses in the garden shivered as he passed by. The huge, high doors opened by themselves and he walked through them without a shift in his stride.
When the doors slammed shut behind him, he moved to shrug the shape off his shoulders like a coat.
Then he saw the woman.
He froze. He stared. She stared back.
He slowly pulled the shape back on. “Who are you?” he asked.
She looked mildly appalled. “Who are you?” she asked. “What are you doing in my home?”
“Your home? This is–” He stopped. He reconsidered. “I am the Vicomte de Saucisson,” he said. “I’m looking for the Marquis de Pamplemousse. He is a… colleague of mine.”
“Oh,” she said. She could’ve looked more abashed. “I’m sorry, monsieur, he’s never mentioned you before. You must be here to share your congratulations, of course, I can fetch him right away.”
“He’s never mentioned you either,” the vicomte did not say. “Of course,” he said. “Congratulations. What about?”
She seemed surprised. “Have you not heard? Monsieur, the curse on my husband has been lifted.”
He stared. His lips started to form the words “What curse,” and then there was a sound like a horse falling down a set of stairs and a man he had never seen before wearing the marquis’s clothes came barrelling down the hall.
“Vicomte!” said the man with the marquis’s voice. “My human friend! The curse has been lifted, and I am a human once again!”
He was slightly out of breath when he reached the woman. He clasped her arm and grinned at him with manic desperation. “This is wonderful news! You must be here to share your congratulations!”
“Lie like hell,” said the man’s eyes.
The vicomte stared. “Oh!” he said. “My – human friend! Human once again! Words fail me. After all these–” (there was the slightest hesitation) “–years?”
The woman put her head at an angle and narrowed her eyes at him.
The man walked up, still grinning like a rictus chimpanzee, and clasped a hand on his shoulder. “Yes, of course! Darling, me and the vicomte are going to have a manly one-on-one conversation while he shares his congratulations, as we human men are wont to do.” And then with a strength that could only be ogrish, the marquis pulled the vicomte by the shoulder down the hall and into a drawing room.
When the bolt of the lock clicked into place behind them, the man wearing the marquis’s clothes visibly sagged.
“What the hell,” said the vicomte.
“You should’ve sent word ahead that you'd be coming today.”
“I never do.” He gesticulated and tried to conjure a single question out of the swarm buzzing in his brain. “What the hell is going on? Who was that? Why are you pretending to be human? What curse are we talking about?”
The marquis groaned and crumpled into a chair. As he did he shifted out of human shape, clothes magically tailoring themselves to contain his ogrish form, something like a moose and an orangutan.
“I had a moment of weakness.”
“Are you sure it wasn’t a stroke?”
“I got married.”
“And that’s another thing–”
“Graoul, please.” He sighed and put his face in his talons. “Last winter a merchant broke into my home. He stole one of my roses, and in exchange I asked him to send me one of his daughters to be my bride.”
The vicomte nodded. This at least was a sacred and recognizable ogrish custom, and he did like to see the old ways in practice.
“And it was fine! It was perfectly lovely. She’s a wonderful woman, but one night I decided to put on a human shape to change things up in the bedroom, and she lost her mind! Started talking about how I was clearly an enchanted prince and that her love for me must’ve broken some curse and turned me human again! I had no idea how to tell her otherwise, and now I’ve done it for too long to back out.”
The vicomte stared. “Sorry,” he said. “You decided to turn into a human to spice things up in the bedroom, and that was the face you chose?”
The marquis growled. “If I knew I was going to be wearing it for the rest of my life I would’ve gone with something better.”
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