#Corporate Blouses Designs

[mizcreepy]

VIRAL BATIK SPAN (CREEPER CREATIVE)

Batik Viral SPAN. WARNA MENYERLAH DAN LAIN DARI YANG LAIN. Cepat LOCK DESIGN ANDA sekarnag !! 017 220 8845 ( ADMIN )

[cherryredstars]

good morning cherry!

may i please request a nsfw miguel x fem reader where miguel is a business ceo (or any sort of high ranking position) and reader is his personal assistant? miguel gets hard while doing paperwork, calls in reader, and bangs her from the back 💗

Pairing: Miguel O’Hara x fem!reader

Warnings: 18+, NSFW, Smut with Little Plot, Degrading, Masturbation, Unprotected Penetrative Sex, Hair Pulling, Slight Fingering, Choking, Creampie

Summary: You might need to buy a new blouse and a pair of panties.

A/N: Screamed and kicked and yelled when I saw this!!!

Word Count: 2.2K (Barely Edited)

It was extremely unprofessional.

That’s what Miguel thought every time you came into his office, a cute little button down blouse and a too short pencil skirt hugging your thighs. He had to grit his teeth whenever your big doe eyes blinked at him, asking him if there was anything else he needed in the most innocent, seductive voice he has ever heard. Hates the way he had to grip onto the armrest of his office chair whenever you turned around to leave, his eyes wandering to your ass all the way down your long legs to the pretty heels you wore. He wonders if they were a gift. If you bought them just for work, just for him. Wonders if some lousy guy bought them for you in a show of affection. I can do better, he thinks to himself, I can buy you a hundred pairs of designer shoes if you want me to.

He shakes the thought away, scoffing at himself. He shifts in his seat, trying to get comfortable with the semi he’s now sporting. He grunts as he opens the file you had given him, picking up a pen and trying to get to work. But it’s so annoying. The sound of your voice keeps floating through his wooden door as you talk on the phone with whoever it is. Probably someone wanting to set up a company meeting with Miguel. He’s trying to focus on the words on the business proposal in front of him, trying to remember where he was and what he’s supposed to be signing on, but he just can’t. Not when the syrupy sweet business voice of yours keeps distracting him and each little giggle you let out goes straight to his cock. 

His grip on the pen tightens and he lets out a stressed breath as he leans his head back on the chair. He sits there, eyes closing as your voice continues going on and on about whatever you won’t shut up about. He fidgets with the pen in his hand, his other hand coming to undo his pants. He reaches into his work pants, groaning as his hand pulls out his painfully hard cock. His thumb pushes into his tip, his hips bucking into the pressure. Slowly, his hand pumps his length, hissing at how good it feels. 

It’s so dirty that he has to chuckle at himself. Here he is, scary CEO to one of the biggest science corporations in Nueva York, getting off to the sound of his pretty little assistant’s voice like a high school boy. He wonders what your voice would sound like if he slid into you. Would you still try to keep your work voice on as he thrusted into you? Would you still call him Mr. O’Hara or would you call out Miguel? The thought of you just moaning for him has his cock twitching in his hand. 

Right when he feels the pleasure build up, right when he starts speeding his hand up, your voice stops and he hears the phone click. A curse leaves his mouth as his eyes snap open and looks down towards his weeping cock. His head is red and swollen, angry that he’s stopped jerking himself off. A vein on his neck twitches in irritation as he presses the button on his desk. Instantly, a speaker clicks and your voice returns, “Mr. O’Hara?”

“Get. In. Here.” He grounds out, releasing his finger off the button.

In less then a few seconds, your shy face peaks into his office, slowly walking in and closing the door behind you. You fidget with your fingers as you stand in front of his desk. He has to keep down a moan as you bite your lipstick-stained lips as you blink your eyes at him.

“Is there anything I can do for you Mr. O’Hara?”

“Yes. Get over here.” He instantly responds, pushing his chair out slightly. 

With a confused look, you start to round his desk before you stop. A scarlet blush covers your face as you see his hard erection out in the open. Your eyes can’t look away from it, your mouth dropping open slightly. Miguel’s chuckle pulls your eyes away bashfully, a smirk on his face when you look up at him. He makes a little come here gesture with his hand, and you hesitantly start walking towards him again. When you get close enough, his hands grab your waist and pull you in between his legs. 

A small yelp leaves your mouth and your hands shoot up to hold onto his shoulder so you don’t fall over. You look down at Miguel with widened eyes, looking like a deer caught in headlights. One of Miguel’s hands leaves your waist, reaching up and playing with one of your curls. The strand coils around his fingers, and he gives it a slight tug that has you gasping. 

“You know, you’re such a fucking tease.” Miguel chuckles out, a lazy smirk covering his face.

“Always wearing these practically see-through blouses,” His hand leaves your hair and he comes to unbutton the top button of your shirt. “No use wearing them when they don’t cover anything up.”

A sharp gasp escapes your lips as he grabs the top of your blouse, tugging hard so it rips open and buttons can be heard flying and falling to the ground. The cool air causes goosebumps to rise on your exposed skin, looking down to see your white bra revealed to your boss. Quickly, your hands reach up to try to cover yourself up again, but you’re stopped by Miguel gripping onto your wrists. You’re eyes snap up to him as he growls at you. 

He pushes your hands away, staring intently at you. Your bra pushes your boobs together, almost offering them to him. He lets out a groan as his mouth wraps around where your nipple would be. A startled sound leaves you and your hands instinctively fall to his hair as your face drops down to him. Miguel’s eyes are closed as he sucks and licks the fabric of your bra, pulling away to reveal a spot wet with his saliva. 

Impatient, Miguel grabs your hips and spins you around. You trip on your heels, your chest falling onto his desk. Your hands grab at the ledge for support, causing objects to be pushed off the edge and fall to the ground. Your body jolts further onto the desk as you feel Miguel push up against you from behind.

Miguel grabs your hair, pulling your chest off the surface of the desk. His warm breath meets your ear and you shiver. “Mr. O”Hara! W-we can’t do this. You’re my boss.”

The little chuckle he lets out makes you feel small and it causes warmth to rush to your core. A nervous breath escapes your mouth as Miguel pushes your skirt up to your waist. Your knuckles turn white as your grip on the desk tightens, body tensing as Miguel’s fingers brush over the damp spot on your panties. 

“How dirty. You like this don’t you, dirty little slut wanting to get fucked by her boss’s cock.” Miguel’s voice is teasing, pushing your panties to the side to feel your pussy lips. 

“We can’t…” You try to voice again, your voice is small as your body pushes itself more into his fingers. 

“But we can, it’s in the job description, remember?” Miguel replies simply, finger slowly pushing into you. “You’re supposed to meet my every need.”

A soft moan leaves your mouth as his fingers curl slightly, pressing into your gummy walls. You bite your lip, squinting your eyes at the door in an effort to stop more noises from surfacing. You can taste coppery blood on your tongue, teeth biting through your lip. You look away from the door, looking over your shoulder the best you can with Miguel’s hand still in your hair. “Yes, but this isn’t… this isn’t part of those needs.” 

Miguel hums, ignoring your small gasp as he slides his fingers out to rip your panties off. He shoves them into his pocket for safekeeping before his hand spreads against your back, pushing you back onto the desk. “Huh, guess you just missed it then.”

A sharp gasp leaves you as he thrusts into you unexpectedly. Miguel lets out a deep moan, watching the way your entrance swallows him perfectly. Your walls pulse around him and he grits his teeth. He pulls back to the tip, snapping his hips into you again. Your body slides up at the force, and his hands grab your waist to pull you back towards him. He continues the action, pushing himself deep into your throbbing cunt. You lose hope in trying to stop yourself from moaning, your noises filling his office. 

“Such a pretty little whore, yeah? Lettin’ me use you like this.” Miguel laughs, watching as your body squirms under him. Your moans are absolute music to his ears, encouraging him to speed up his thrusts. Your body keeps pushing into him, desperate for everything he’s giving you. 

“Can’t with those pretty fucking voices. Had me fucking my hand earlier to the sound of your slutty little voice.” His confession causes a broken moan to leave you. You can’t really think clearly, too consumed in the way his hands hold you tightly and how his cock brushes up against that sweet spot inside you. 

Miguel lets out a curse as you clench around him, his hand coming down to play with your clit. It has you jolting in his hands, your mouth mumbling incoherent words. His other hand reaches up and grabs the front of your neck, applying slight pleasure that causes you to whimper. He bends over you, causing him to push deeper and for your walls to spasm. You’re close, you don't know how long you’ll last with him hitting your g-spot and his hand pinching and teasing your bud. 

“Yeah? You like that, nena? Gonna cum all over my cock?” His words are cooed in your ear and you can’t help the small nod your head does in response. 

Your agreement causes Miguel to grunt, quickening his fingers to press tight circles to your clit. Stuttering gasps leave your mouth, eyes rolling back as you feel that pressure about to explode. With a sharp flick of his fingers and his hold tightening on your throat, you cry out his name as you explode. His hand leaves your throat, your head slumping forward to rest on the desk as he continues to thrust into you. Your body spasms as he doesn’t let up on your clit. You don’t think he even hears your sobs, begging for him to stop as his thrusts turn sloppy. Your pleads are drowned out by his heavy moans as he snaps his hips into you desperately, hand wrapping your hair around his fist as he desperately tries to finish. 

With a grumbling grunt, his hips snap forward and still. A weak moan leaves your lips as you feel his warm seed fill you. Miguel’s heavy pants mix with yours, trying to catch his breath as his hands slide to your hips. He pulls out of you with a hiss, collapsing onto his office chair that groans with his sudden weight. He watches with a soft moan as a mix of cum follows after his cock, white liquid leaving your entrance and running down your thigh. A small whimper leaves you as you feel it, looking over your shoulder to watch Miguel’s hungry eyes. 

After a few minutes, Miguel grunts and reaches for a few tissues from the tissue box on his desk. He wipes off the cum from your skin, throwing away the napkins and pulling your skirt back over you. Hesitantly, you stand back up again, fixing your hair quickly while clearing your throat. You don’t meet Miguel’s eyes right away, looking at your heels on the floor before trailing up to his face. He still has a cocky smile on his face as he tucks his cock back into his pants. He gently guides you to the side of his desk, grabbing the file and pen that fell. 

You watch in shock as he opens it, beginning to work as if he didn’t just fuck you over his desk seconds ago. He chuckles at your shocked expression, not looking up from his work. “Be a doll and get me a coffee, yeah?”

Your mouth falls open more at his casual request. You blink at him, before straightening up and fixing up your blouse the best you can. You reply with a curt ‘yes, sir’, before you begin walking towards the door. The breeze between your legs makes you stop before you exit, warmth flooding your cheeks as you slowly turn around. 

“Um, Mr. O’Hara,” You don’t look at him as you clear your throat, “Can I have my panties back, please?”

Even with his face turned towards his desk, you can see the small smile on his face, “Don’t know what you mean, I’m afraid.” 

Your eyes widen and you resist the urge to stomp your foot like a child. You nod, letting out a deep breath as you clench your hands. As you open the door and are about to close it, your annoying ass boss calls out: “Two sugars.”

Reverse AU Part 1.5 Part 2

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[hypogryffin]

my take on p2 ayase

Image ID:

Digital drawings of an older Ayase from Persona 1. She has freckles and long black hair with brown highlights pulled into a high ponytail with a green scrunchie, and brown eyes.

Image 1: Ayase posing in a casual outfit, consisting of a white T-shirt with blue raglan sleeves, a white puffer jacket, and yellow running shorts with a white outline, plus heeled boots that run up to her mid-calf. She has pale circular earrings in. Little design notes accompany smaller doodles, such as a drawing of her pulling her jacket down to show off her sleeves with the note "Raglan sleeves!" written next to it, or a drawing of the back of her ponytail with "High ponytail— gives a pigtail-like impression but [with] a classier, refined kinda feel." There's also a drawing of her heels with the note "Zipper on the inside". Lastly, next to the full drawing of her outfit are the words "BIG PUFFY JACKET!!!" in all caps and underlined. Her name is also written at the top of the image.

Image 2: Ayase wears a white blouse under a blue vest, along with a tie and a pencil skirt, both also blue, and opaque black tights and black heels. Multiple drawings of her show her frustrated and tired, one including her smoking a cigarette and another holding a stack of papers, awkwardly smiling. In a handwritten font, a note reads "Still wants to be a housewife, but has had terrible luck finding a good man, so she's (temporarily) joined the workforce at some boring corporate desk job, with the intention of either meeting someone at a post-work drinking party, or getting invited to a mixer by a coworker."

End ID.

[pinkofatom]

An irresistible offer

Cassandra put her glasses down on the wooden desk. She tried to alleviate a headache by pinching her nose. Again this insistent company sent an offer. HEXBIM. The name elicited a huff of annoyance. Red hair fell freely as Cassandra rolled her neck. The constant pressure of non-stop messages built up uncomfortable tension.

How dare these corporate drones thought she needed their help. Cassandra became a successful therapist on her own merits. Yes her methods were unconventional — and light on prescriptions. But every single person that reached out for help, left only satisfied.

Bing! Another offer filled her mailbox. Bleary-eyed the therapist read the topic. Letters swam in front of her eyes. Rubbing her eyes Cassandra put on her glasses. With a sigh she opened the cursed message. Maybe if she gave a scathing answer they would finally cease.

Dear Cassandra,

We are HEXBIM, a company specializing in cutting edge technologies, dedicated to helping people reach their full potential.

We recently became aware of your exceptional therapeutic practice. After much consideration, we have decided to adjust our sponsorship proposal to suit your unique requirements and ensure it meets your needs.

The font made the letters dance. Cassandra had to reread it a few times. It did not help her headache. But — she had to admit — it sounded good. Shaking her head the redhead continued.

We are proud of the exceptional success rates our sponsored therapists have achieved, with 100% client satisfaction guaranteed.

By accepting this proposal, you'll receive top-of-the-line technology and cutting-edge therapeutic techniques, ensuring your clients experience transformative results like never before.

Cassandra's eyebrow rose. This sounded far too good. And tailored to her. A twinge of worry curled inside her. However the redhead couldn't stop.

To prove our expertise we have included a simple sample in form of a program.

Please inform us of its effectiveness and of your agreement.

Best regards,

Annika, HEXBIM Connect

Cassandra let out an undignified snort. Did they think she was stupid enough to fall for such bait. Her long fingers moved over the touch pad. Cassandra was going to write them an answer they wouldn't forget. Her mouse pointer hovered over the file. This headache killed her.

Cassandra clicked it. And a new program popped open.

Soothing music filled the office. It made the redhead relax. Her eyes grew heavy and Cassandra's head nodded forward.

A flash of light made her flinch. A simple image of concentric circles appeared on the screen. The colors moved in waves.

Relaxation spread through the redhead's body. Her mouth grew slack and drool collected on her tongue. A single drop escaped Cassandra's lips and landed on her blouse.

Another wave of sounds assaulted the redhead. They mixed with the pain. She felt a strange, unbidden need to keep staring. Her mind tumbled towards it, her focus narrowing as all other thoughts fell away.

Cassandra tried to tear her gaze from it. She tried to move her hands. To close her eyes. But all she managed to do was let out a soft whimper. It felt like something had a hold of her mind. She sagged into her chair.

The redhead felt helpless, her mind trapped within an inescapable web. With each futile effort to free herself, her willpower waned. The music, the light... they seeped into her mind. Every note, every flicker of the colors seemed designed to chip away at her resolve, ensnaring her in their hypnotic grip. Panic surged within Cassandra as she realized the true extent of her peril.

And then a voice came through. It cut through her thoughts like a hot knife, making the therapist whimper.

"I know it feels bad." Cassandra whined.

"Your head is a mess of worries. You feel powerless, unable to help." Her hands clenched the desk. Her knuckles grew white. Cassandra's face contorted.

"But that ends here." A soft gasp escaped the therapist's lips. It was true! All those thoughts that swirled through her head, all that stress. She couldn't stop herself. Tears fell down Cassandra's cheeks and the redhead sobbed in relief.

"HEXBIM has the solution." Cassandra felt the tension and worry drain. "All you have to do is accept." Her face lit up.

"And that's all." She sagged back in her seat. Cassandra felt... relaxed, almost. The redhead felt so light, like she could fly. A soft moan of bliss fell from her parted lips.

"Your clients will become happier, better. They will transform into perfect versions of themselves." Cassandra smiled. "Drones owned by HEXBIM." Her smile became an expression of utter happiness. "And all you have to do is guide them." She felt such an urge to help.

"Open your mind." Her thoughts slowed to a crawl. Cassandra couldn't form a cohesive thought if her life depended on it.

"Listen." She did, listening to the soft music and the dulcet tone. "Watch." The redhead stared into the shifting colors, her eyes growing wide.

"And learn."

🌀🌀🌀

Cassandra let out a long moan. She was in the back of her clinic. Strapped into reclining chairs rested her receptionist and assistant. VR-headsets obscured their faces. The redhead remembered the instructions from that message. Cassandra was going to guide them to become better versions of themselves. To transform into drones for HEXBIM.

Another shiver ran down the redhead's back. A smile tugged at the corner of her lips. It felt right, she knew that this was the correct way to help — the only way to help. In response to her thoughts the tight latex uniform buzzed. Vibrations danced over her sensitive skin. A gasp of delight and lust escaped the redhead. Her head nodded forward as she enjoyed her obedience.

Cassandra had to make sure her assistants would be transformed properly. That they would reach their full potential and become the best versions of themselves — perfect, happy drones for HEXBIM.

Her long fingers flew over the controls and a soft moan of pleasure escaped her lips. The two bound women followed suit. It made Cassandra's nipples harden as a shiver ran down her spine. Her clit throbbed in time with her heartbeat.

The redhead bit down on her lips, a faint moan escaped anyway. She had to focus on the task. Cassandra was going to transform them into HEXBIM drones.

The redhead's fingers flew across the keyboard as she made the necessary adjustments. The buzzing and humming of machinery filled the air, adding to the already electrifying atmosphere. She still remembered the delicious drones that installed them. Encased completely in glossy latex. Cassandra imagined her future patients inside such uniforms. The redhead licked her lips at the mental image.

A sting returned the therapist's focus back to her employees. Cassandra felt a wave of bliss and obedience crash into her. It was a reminder of how much easier life was now. How she didn't have to think for herself. The redhead just had to do what HEXBIM wanted. And in return the redhead experienced this amazing pleasure and bliss.

Cassandra concentrated on the task. Her hands danced over the keyboard. She could see their minds being rewired, transformed. Their previous lives erased. All of their wants, dreams and aspirations. The therapist had no doubt that her assistants were experiencing the same euphoric sensations she had.

A warm hug that caressed their minds, slowly replacing their individuality with uniformity. They would lose all of that pesky, annoying willpower. In their place Cassandra knew that they would gain the drive to become the best version of themselves. The willpower to become perfect HEXBIM drones.

And once finished all of them would continue with bringing the freedom of thought to all patients.

[whitedarkmoonflower]

HELLO! I would like to request a full on fluffy modern!Sihtric fic, where he's desperately in love with reader and he takes her on their first date, and does everything he can to impress her 🥰 (I hope you like the idea! just want to give you a feel good fic to write)

Authors note: thank you @sihtricfedaraaahvicius so much for this lovely request! In the beginning I thought it’s going to be a short and sweet drabble, but then I started writing and it just got longer and longer and now the story already has more than 8000 words and I haven’t  fully finished yet, so I decided to split it into several parts. Don’t worry - that sweet date will come somewhere towards the end, please, just be patient …

Summary: Sihtric – a talented artist – juggles between his passion for painting and his job as a graphic designer. At the corporate Christmas party, Sihtric's unspoken feelings for his boss are tested when a twist of fate brings them closer than expected. 

Pairing: Sihtric x reader (female)

Warnings: actually none, fluff, suppressed feelings

Word Count: 3,4 K

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

Tags: @sihtricfedaraaahvicius @hb8301 @zillahvathek

If you want to be added to the tag list - write to me.

Sihtric's alarm buzzed softly, pulling him out of his slumber with a gentle tune. He'd done it again, painted till the wee hours, lost in his own world. Rubbing his eyes, he sat up. 

"Man, today's gonna be a long one," he mumbled, stretching wide enough to feel every vertebra pop.

Hopping out of bed, he wandered to the bathroom. While scrubbing his teeth and waking himself up with a splash of cold water, his mind played out the day's agenda. And looming large on that list was that meeting with you, his boss.

He had joined the advertising firm as a graphic designer just six months back, when it once again had become evident that his unpredictable art sales were simply not enough to cover rent and other bills. And in this short time, he had come to genuinely admire you. It wasn't just because you were the master over his paycheck. No, it was more. You were smart and intelligent, with a discerning eye, having worked with some of the industry's best, always full of energy and bursting with unexpected ideas.

As his coffee brewed, filling the room with a comforting aroma, Sihtric glanced at his workstation. Sketches, notes, and reminders littered the space. He had poured his soul into designs for a crucial client this week.

Sipping his coffee, warmth spreading through his fingers, Sihtric's mind drifted. He thought back to his job interview with you - how awe-struck he had been by your charisma. Every tiny detail from that day was imprinted in his mind: the way your hair framed your face, that crisp white blouse, your piercing gaze, and the assertive yet gentle tone of your voice. It felt like a dream, one where he forgot the reason he was even in that room to begin with.

You looked down at his portfolio and then back up at him, your gaze unyielding.

"Sihtric, I see you've worked with a few ad agencies before. Can you tell me about a particularly challenging project you've undertaken and how you tackled it?"

Those eyes of yours, he got trapped in them like a butterfly in a giant coweb, the question almost going unnoticed. "Oh, um, yeah," he started, voice wavering a touch, "So, there was this campaign... for a... thing, and I did, well, design stuff?"

Your eyebrow raised in a playful challenge, a smirk tugging at the corner of your mouth, "Design stuff? Could you elaborate, please?"

Embarrassed, he tried to muster a clearer answer. "Right, what I meant was I led the visual side of this big campaign. We had... differing views in the team. But, I managed to sort it out, and... made some designs?" He was mentally slapping himself on the face for his incoherence, but there was nothing he could do about it. His mind was racing. He couldn't help but notice the little details – the glint of your necklace, the soft curve of your lips. Vivid images of your fingers brushing against his skin or tangling in his hair made him sweat and he could swear his heart had jumped to his throat.

You leaned forward, placing his portfolio on the desk. "Sihtric, take a deep breath. I'm interested in your work and your experience. Let's try that again. Take your time."

He nodded, grateful for the second chance. Drawing a long breath, he tried to push aside his nervous admiration for you to give a more composed answer. The whole meeting remained a hazy whirlwind for him. Exiting your office, he felt like he'd just finished a marathon, convinced he’d made a fool of himself and butchered his chances. The real shocker came the next day when your secretary called to tell him he'd landed the job.

Sometimes he pondered if he should've declined. He never foresaw the toll it'd take on his heart. Sure, you were drop-dead gorgeous, but it wasn't just that. It was the air around you, the way you carried yourself, the balance between assertiveness and genuine warmth.

And therein lay the rub. Each interaction, from official meetings to casual chat near the coffee machine, even the fleeting moments your fingers grazed while sharing documents, tested Sihtric’s composure. He'd often find himself lingering on your laugh a second too long or jumping at chances to help you out, constantly trying to dial back before raising suspicion.

He had a love-hate relationship with big projects, especially the one he was working on now. The upside was of course spending more time with you – those endless late brainstorming evenings, project discussions gulping down morning coffees, or those afternoon progress check-ins. And then there were of course those quick breaks with some casual chats about movies or music. He lived for these moments, yet they twisted his gut, making the 'keep it professional' attitude so much harder. 

Man, when you'd burst into laughter over some silly office joke or shared tidbits from your weekend, it was like a sneak peek into the real you, the person behind the boss. And, boy, did it send him spiralling.

It was a rollercoaster of emotions. The giddy highs from just being close to you followed by sinking  lows, realising his feelings might always remain a secret. Sihtric took a deep breath, setting down his drained coffee cup. Another day, another challenge to keep that secret under wraps.

And let's be real. The odds were stacked against him. On one end, there was him – an artist, struggling for recognition and forced to juggle between his passion and job in order to be able to pay his bills. On the other, there was you – successful and recognised art director of one of the city's top ad agencies, mastering work challenges with a mix of grit and grace. The idea that you might ever look his way seemed... well, ludicrous and the fact that he was your direct subordinate only emphasised how absolutely fantasy like this notion was.

—----------------------------------------------------

The company's annual Christmas party was always a big deal  — a bright spot in the midst of deadlines and stress. The office would light up, literally, with twinkling lights and festive baubles, and for a night, it'd transform into a party wonderland. The aroma of mulled wine and roasted chestnuts wafted through the air as soft carols played in the background making everybody feel warm and fuzzy.

Sihtric was in his element, chatting away with buddies about holiday escapades and the usual office gossip. The night was looking good, he was happy and truly enjoying himself, especially because he'd been recently introduced to this big-shot art lover, who seemed genuinely interested in his unique art style. And thanks to this unexpected acquaintance an exhibition was already in preparation – a dream Sihtric had cherished for years was coming true. Late nights, brushes, paints, and the chaos of bringing art to life now dominated his hours and he revelled in that even if some darker rings around his eyes testified to the lack of proper sleep.

Amid this whirlwind of preparation, another thought continually hovered at the edge of Sihtric's mind — inviting you to his exhibition. He wanted you to see beyond the office guy, to the artist, the dreamer. What better time than a Christmas party? Every time he played the scene in his mind, it would end differently. Sometimes he'd imagine you looking thrilled and promising to attend. Other times, he'd envision a polite but distant decline.

And so he was anticipating your arrival, feverishly brainstorming about the perfect moment for his invitation, as the door swung open, revealing you, looking radiant in a black dress that accentuated every line of your body, leaving Sihtric momentarily speechless and stumbling over his words. He almost choked on his drink, his gaze glued to you, following every so gracious move, his jaw slowly dropping and eyes filling with an expression of deep frustration.

You were laughing, your eyes gleaming with joy as they met those of the tall, dashing man beside you. His arm was draped casually around your waist, a possessive yet tender gesture that made Sihtric's heart sink.

Every laugh you shared, each subtle touch, and those warm exchanges of glances between you and the guy  – it all was like a dagger to Sihtric's heart. A cocktail of jealousy and a pinch of sadness brewed within him, although he kept reminding himself he had no claim over you. He had never voiced his feelings, nor had he let himself believe that someone as radiant and accomplished as you could ever see past his name tag. "Get a grip, Sihtric. She's out of your league, and you had always known that," he told himself. 

But still there had always been that small, naive part of him that harboured hope, whispering tales of “what ifs”. What if one day everything would change and he would muster the courage to share his feelings? But tonight, that hope was crushed under the weight of reality.

Pulling together every remaining bit of his self-control, Sihtric pivoted back to the conversation at hand, all the while battling the urge to keep peeking over at you. But from the corner of his eye, he still saw you both — so wrapped up in each other, dancing to your own rhythm.

As the night rolled on, he kinda lost track of you two. A part of him scolded himself for even daydreaming. Of course, someone as magnetic as you couldn't be single. But, man, it didn’t dull the sting.

Feeling the need to step away for a moment and escape the party's cheerful cacophony, Sihtric made his way to the big, spacious balcony. He hoped the chilly night air might help clear his head from the whirlwind inside. The evening had started so full of hope and anticipation and now was completely ruined for him. Sihtric lit his cigarette, as he suddenly caught a murmured conversation approaching. Hoping for some privacy, he ducked behind a column, trying to blend into the shadows.

He heard at least two people stepping out on the balcony, and suddenly, it was your unmistakable voice that reached him, filled with pain and frustration. "Why her, of all people? My own secretary!" you exclaimed.

"It just... happened," the defensive reply came, which he recognized as your boyfriend's voice.

You shot back, "And you thought hiding it was the answer? I had to find out at our office Christmas party?"

The man mumbled something incomprehensible in response. 

"We're done. Just go. I need to be alone right now," Sihtric heard your voice, quivering with a mix of anger and hurt. 

Caught off guard, Sihtric felt awkward overhearing such a raw, personal exchange. He contemplated stepping out and admitting he was there, but before he could, he heard your boyfriend's quick exit and the sharp sound of the balcony door closing.

He briefly considered staying hidden and letting the moment pass, but seeing the unmistakable pain in your stance, he instantly ditched the idea. Taking a breath, he gave a gentle cough to signal his presence and slowly stepped forward, finding you looking distraught, the twinkling lights from inside casting a glow that made your tear-streaked face glisten. It stung seeing you like this, especially when it felt like he was trespassing on such a personal moment.

Embarrassment and shock pulsed through you with every beat of your heart. Of everyone to witness this breakdown, it just had to be Sihtric - not some fleeting acquaintance, but someone you saw and interacted with every day, someone who knew you and respected you. At least until now.

A wave of panic washed over you. Would he think differently of you now? Your carefully curated image of always being composed was now in pieces. The barriers you'd built so diligently over time  – gone in a heartbeat.

 “Of all the moments...” you whispered.

Sihtric, sensing your turmoil and looking for a distraction handed you a tissue. The balcony was wrapped in a heavy silence until you mustered, "I'm sorry. You didn’t need to be a part of that."

"I didn’t mean to intrude," he responded, "It just happened so fast."

You sighed, running a hand through your hair. "This isn’t how I imagined tonight would go."

"We've all been there," he said gently, trying to lighten the mood.

Choking back a laugh, you replied, "Yeah, but usually not with an audience."

He grinned, trying to keep things casual. "Think of me as a very interested passerby."

Seeing your surprise, he quipped, "Your ex might think he's a shooting star, but to me, he seemed more like a sparkler that fizzled out. And for the record – he's an idiot."

A small laugh escaped your lips, and you shook your head. "Nice try. But thank you. Really."

Sihtric gave a playful shrug. "I’m just being real. But hey, are you okay?"

You paused, your voice softer, "Been better. Thanks for lightening the mood, though."

He took a breath, "Look, I don't want to intrude any more than I have, but you seem like you could use company right now. Can I do something for you? Can I get you a drink perhaps?"

You mulled it over briefly, then nodded, "Alright. As if things could get any worse."

With a comforting smile, Sihtric said, "I’ll be right back."

—-----------------------------------------

The party's noise faded to a dull murmur as you both got lost in the chat.

Sihtric felt a mix of things. It pained him to see you upset, but man, he couldn't deny the thrill of getting this unplanned time with you. He kept sneaking looks, thinking how your smile looked even cooler up close.

A strand of your hair playfully draped across your face, and he had to resist the urge to gently push it back. And with the soft background music, an invitation to dance nearly escaped his lips. But he held back, sensing it might be a step too far.

His art exhibition was on his mind too. He wanted to share it, just needed to slide it into the conversation smoothly.

"You know," he started, swirling the last sip of his drink thoughtfully.  "Besides the whole graphic designer stuff, I paint. There's something magic about splashing colours on a canvas."

You looked intrigued. "Is that so? I always thought your designs had an extra touch of soul. Like there's a story hidden in every piece."

Sihtric chuckled, his eyes brightening, clearly stoked by your comment. The two of you continued to chat, the conversation flowing effortlessly. Emboldened by the ambiance and perhaps that second cocktail, Sihtric leaned in a bit, "You know, I actually have an exhibition coming up soon. It's a collection of my recent works. I... I’d really love it if you could come. I think you might appreciate the stories behind the paintings."

You blinked, processing this. You knew Sihtric was talented, but an entire exhibition? "I'm in," you smiled. "Always had a soft spot for art, especially when it's by someone I know."

His eyes brightened noticeably, and he fought to keep his composure, a warmth spreading across his cheeks.

As the evening wore on, the earlier events combined with the cocktails left you in a heady state. Your laughter became louder, and your steps weren't as sure. Noticing your state and the watchful eyes around, Sihtric decided to step in. This was not the right place to put your vulnerability on display with all the employees and bosses of the company gathered in one place. 

Fetching your coat, he gently wrapped it around you, subtly guiding you towards the exit.

“Okay, boss, looks like it’s home time,” Sihtric said, his tone light, attempting to infuse some humour into the situation.

You chuckled, a sound that was melodious yet laced with the unmistakable touch of too many cocktails. “I’m not ready for the night to end,” you protested mildly, though made no effort to resist as Sihtric waved down a taxi.

When the car pulled up, Sihtric had a moment of awkward realisation - he had no clue where you lived. That was a detail that, somehow, had never come up in all your office interactions.

“So, uh, where to?” he ventured, a hint of embarrassment in his voice.

You rattled off an address, the words a bit slurred but intelligible. When he recognized it as one of the city’s posh neighbourhoods, Sihtric's eyebrows rose a notch. 

The gentle hum of the car's engine provided a steady backdrop to your sporadic, light-hearted giggles. Every so often, Sihtric would sneak a peek at you. Tonight had been a whirlwind, and he was spinning from the rapid shifts in emotion. One moment he felt he'd lost any chance with you, the next, he learned you were single again. And amidst it all, he had managed to extend an invite to his exhibition. But as he looked at your tipsy, carefree state, he silently hoped you'd remember their conversation come morning.

Upon arrival at your grand apartment complex, you leaned into him, the evening's indulgences making your steps falter. As you fumbled around in your pockets for keys that were conspicuously absent, the reality of the situation began to set in.

"Oh no," you murmured, panic lining your voice, "I think I left my handbag at the party."

Sihtric's eyes widened as he processed your words. "Are you sure? Think. Where did you last see it?"

You tried to recall, but the fog of alcohol muddled your memories. "I...I don’t know. I think I left it on the bar counter when I went to get a drink."

Sihtric sighed, taking a moment to think. Feeling your weight lean into him as you struggled to maintain your balance, he instinctively wrapped an arm around your waist to stabilise you.

"Okay, let's think this through," Sihtric began, his voice calm and measured, "Going back to the party venue at this hour might not be the best idea. They're likely cleaning up or closing already. Tomorrow first thing, we can check for your handbag. For tonight, do you have any friends or family nearby?"

Your head shake was slow and a bit exaggerated. "They're miles away."

“Any chance there’s a spare key somewhere? Maybe a friendly neighbour?" he asked.

You hesitated, "I... I've kept to myself mostly."

In the quiet night, the predicament seemed to amplify. Here he was, in the dead of night, with his drunken boss outside her apartment, both locked out. He could never have imagined a scenario like this.

After a deep breath, he said, "Alright, look, I have a couch at my place. It's not much, but it's comfortable. You can crash there for the night, and we’ll sort everything out in the morning."

You blinked, a bit caught off guard by the unexpected offer. On any normal day, you would've politely declined. But right now, with your thoughts swimming in a cocktail haze, you giggled and responded, "Really? Are you sure?"

Sihtric smiled, "It's not a problem. It's late, you need a place, and I can't, in good conscience, leave you out here."

The car ride to Sihtric's place was a tranquil one. You leaned into the window's cool embrace, fighting off sleep, while Sihtric's mind raced, piecing together the night's unexpected twists.

The dim lighting of the apartment complex hallway cast elongated shadows as Sihtric tried to guide you up the stairs. But with every step, it became more apparent that the task was not going to be easy. Your laughter, interspersed with hiccups and mumbled comments about your ex-boyfriend, echoed in the quiet corridor. And then, without warning, your laughter turned into soft sobs.

Sihtric, concerned, looked down to find tears streaming down your face. "Hey, hey," he tried to console, "Husch, it's okay."

"I just can't believe he... he..." you hiccupped, struggling to find words, the hurt evident in your eyes.

Seeing you in this state and realising that climbing the stairs in your condition would be an ordeal, Sihtric made a quick decision. Gently, he swept you up in his arms. It wasn't about your weight but more the electric jolt from the closeness, that sudden rush of intimacy that had his heart doing flips in his chest. Instead of pushing him away, you snuggled deeper into his embrace, your head finding its natural resting place on his shoulder.

Feeling your soft breaths against his neck and the gentle grip of your fingers, he had to fight to keep his balance. The ticklish sensation of your hair brushing against his cheek, your soothing breathing rhythm, and the lingering scent of your perfume all combined to form a heady mix that sent his head spinning. Every part of him was hyper-aware of you, so close and real, making everything else fade into the background.

Managing to unlock his apartment door, he stepped inside and gently placed you on his bed. "Just... just stay here for a second," he whispered, moving quickly to rummage through his closet for spare sheets and blankets for the couch.

But when he turned back, the gentle sounds of your breathing told him you'd already drifted off to sleep. For a moment Sihtric stood frozen, absorbing the sight before him - the serene rise and fall of your breath, the way the dim light from the street painted your face in soft shades. It was a moment of quiet beauty. Your hair splayed out, lips slightly parted, lashes casting shadows—everything about you in this moment felt so intimate, personal. It was a sight he'd never imagined he'd witness. 

Despite the unexpected turn the evening had taken, a warm feeling settled in his chest. He carefully removed your shoes and tucked you in, making sure you were comfortable. And this time he gave in to his urge to brush a strand of hair away from your face, his fingers lingering on your cheek for a moment, silently wishing he could be the rock you leaned on, the one to chase away any sadness. In his heart, he knew he'd move mountains just to keep you from any pain. You deserved nothing but happiness, and the thought of someone causing you heartache infuriated him.

With you sleeping soundly, he settled on the couch, wrapping himself in the cosiness of blankets. As sleep claimed him, a dreamy smile played on his lips—a dream where he was your hero.

[reallygroovyninja]

Blurred Lines Part 2

The early morning light filtered through the blinds of Lexa high-rise apartment, casting sleek lines of shadow and light across the room. She lay in bed for a moment, her eyes open, gazing at the ceiling, her mind already racing through the day's agenda. The life of a corporate VP was a relentless cycle of decisions and responsibilities. 

With a disciplined sigh, Lexa slid out of bed, her feet touching the cool, polished floor. Her apartment was a reflection of her professional success – modern, minimalist, and impeccably organized. The walls adorned with tasteful art, the furniture angular and stylish, each piece carefully chosen to project a sense of sophisticated efficiency. 

In the kitchen, her high-end coffee machine hummed quietly, producing the perfect cup of coffee with the press of a button. Lexa filled a sleek, designer travel mug, her movements brisk and purposeful. She appreciated these small luxuries, brief moments of personal indulgence in her otherwise structured life. 

Pausing for a moment, she glanced at a photograph on the kitchen counter – a serene landscape, a contrast to her urban existence. It was a silent nod to her hidden longing for the tranquility of nature amidst her bustling city life. 

Dressing for the day, Lexa chose her attire with careful consideration. She selected a sharply tailored suit, its fabric rich and commanding, paired with a crisp, white blouse. The suit was a statement of her status and authority, a necessary armor in the corporate world. Her shoes were elegant yet practical, high heels that clicked authoritatively on her apartment's hardwood floors. 

Before leaving, Lexa stood before the full-length mirror in her hallway. She adjusted her jacket, smoothed her hair, her expression a blend of confidence and introspection. The reflection staring back at her was that of a powerful businesswoman, poised and ready to conquer the challenges of the day. 

As she was about to turn away, a soft presence emerged behind her. Clarke, with her gentle demeanor and understanding eyes, appeared like a comforting echo in the mirror.  

Clarke’s arms slipped around Lexa’s waist, a warm and reassuring embrace that contrasted with the cool precision of Lexa’s corporate armor. Lexa’s initial posture of rigid control visibly softened under Clarke’s touch. Her eyes closed momentarily, allowing herself a rare moment of vulnerability, a silent acceptance of the comfort offered. 

In the mirror, the contrast between them was striking yet harmonious. Clarke, in her more casual attire, her blonde hair falling softly around her shoulders, radiated a sense of freedom and emotional openness. Lexa, in her business suit, the epitome of corporate success, yet in this moment, her façade was gently stripped away by Clarke’s affectionate gesture. 

Clarke’s hands moved slowly, caressing Lexa’s torso, a soothing motion that spoke volumes. It was a silent communication of support, understanding, and deep connection. The tension in Lexa’s shoulders eased, her expression softening as she leaned back slightly into Clarke’s embrace. It was a rare moment of stillness in Lexa’s usually hectic life, a peaceful interlude in the reflective glass of the mirror. 

The world outside continued its relentless pace, but in the sanctuary of her apartment, time seemed to pause. In Clarke's hold, Lexa found a moment of tranquility, a gentle reminder of the life and love existing beyond her professional realm. Her eyes met Clarke’s in the mirror, a shared glance that needed no words, rich with meaning and mutual respect. 

Suddenly, the ring of her phone pierced the silence of the room, jolting Lexa back to reality. The sound was a sharp reminder of the world she actually inhabited, one of schedules and responsibilities, far removed from the gentle fantasy she had momentarily indulged in. 

Lexa blinked, her eyes refocusing on her own image in the mirror. The corporate VP, the woman of control and authority, stared back at her. The softness that had momentarily graced her features faded, replaced by a familiar mask of composed determination. 

With a deep, steadying breath, Lexa mentally chastised herself. "Get a grip, Lexa," she muttered under her breath, her voice a low whisper. 

She straightened her jacket, a physical act to realign her thoughts, her posture regaining its usual firmness. The reflection in the mirror now showed the Lexa Woods the world knew – confident, unyielding, a pillar of strength in the high-stakes corporate arena. 

With one last glance at her reflection, a final affirmation of her resolve, Lexa turned away from the mirror. As she stepped out of her apartment, her mind firmly anchored in the present, the fantasy of Clarke's embrace lingered like a whispered promise, a secret yearning safely tucked away for another day. 

[bleakmidwinter00]

The Last Gambit

Part 1

The conference room was vast. A sleek, modern expanse of glass and steel perched high above the city skyline. It was designed to impress, its panoramic windows offering a commanding view of New York - a reminder to anyone who entered that they were dealing with one of the world’s most powerful corporations. The late afternoon sun filtered in through the glass, casting long shadows across the polished mahogany table, the only warmth in an otherwise cold, corporate setting.

Robert Fischer sat at the head of that table, his fingers tapping against the smooth surface in a slow, absent rhythm. The room was filled with his team - strategists, legal advisors, financial experts - each of them meticulously prepared for the meeting ahead. His second in command sat to his left, an older man in his late fifties called John Wilson. He shifted in his seat as he read through the paperwork. Wilson had been with the company for decades. His father had trusted him implicitly, and when Maurice Fischer had died, Wilson was who supported Robert through it. Helped him navigate the company, dealt with the paperwork and was there whilst Robert tried to work through the conflicting feelings he experienced following his father’s passing. The rest of the room murmured amongst themselves, shuffling documents, reviewing their talking points, but Robert wasn’t paying attention. His patience for these meetings had been thin to begin with, and since taking over Fischer Morrow, it had worn even thinner.

Another negotiation. Another investment pitch. Another waste of an afternoon.

He had learned early on that power wasn’t about speaking the most; it was about knowing when to let others speak for you. And that was exactly what he planned to do today. He’d let his team handle the heavy lifting. He wasn’t here to persuade or sell—he was here to secure. That was the difference between his father and himself. Maurice Fischer had enjoyed these battles of intellect, the long, drawn-out strategy sessions. But Robert? He had spent enough of his life in rooms like this, listening to men who thought they were smarter than they were.

Still, this meeting mattered.

He reached for the file in front of him, flipping it open to the brief on their potential investors. The name stood out immediately—Alex Martin. He had heard the name before, seen it in passing on reports and acquisition breakdowns. Sharp. Strategic. Controlled. A power player in their own right. But they had never met, and despite knowing their approach, Robert had no real sense of what to expect.

The sound of the door opening drew his attention.

His secretary stepped inside first, nodding politely before gesturing toward the arriving party. A group of men entered, their suits crisp, their presence calculated. They moved with the kind of quiet confidence that came from knowing their worth in a room like this. Robert sighed, straightening as he got to his feet. The motion was automatic by now - buttoning his navy-blue suit jacket, extending a hand, offering the customary greeting.

"Which one of you is Alex Martin, then?" One of his associates spoke the question before he could.

And then—

"That would be me."

The voice was smooth, assured, carrying a quiet authority that made the room take notice, but noticeably…female.

Robert turned just as she stepped into view.

Tall. Poised. Striking.

The realisation hit him almost instantly, though he masked it well. Of all the details he had read, of all the strategic evaluations and financial projections, not one had prepared him for this.

Long, wavy chestnut hair framed a face that was sharp, composed - entirely unreadable. Her emerald-green eyes were locked onto his with a directness that left no room for hesitation. She moved with the kind of practiced grace that came not from performance but from sheer, unwavering confidence. A fitted pencil skirt and crisp white blouse accentuated the sleek lines of her frame, and there was something about her presence - something calculated, something deliberate.

She didn’t glance at the others. Didn’t acknowledge the question that had been asked. She walked straight to him.

Controlled. Intentional. Unshaken.

“Mr. Fischer, I presume.” She extended her hand, her expression unreadable, her tone level.

Robert hesitated for only the briefest second before taking it. Her grip was firm, her fingers cool against his. He caught himself glancing toward his team, a flicker of irritation flashing through him.

None of you thought to mention this?

He turned his attention back to her, forcing himself to focus.

"Ms. Martin," he replied smoothly. "A pleasure."

A flicker of something - amusement? Calculation? - passed across her face before she released his hand.

"Shall we?" she said simply, gesturing toward the table.

Robert held her gaze for a moment longer before nodding and taking his seat once more. The room settled as she took the seat directly across him at the opposite end of the table.

Her movements were deliberate but effortless, her posture relaxed yet controlled. She didn’t fumble with papers or exchange unnecessary glances with her team. She simply sat back, crossed one leg over the other, and fixed her sharp green eyes on Robert as if she were the one calling the meeting.

A measured silence lingered before she spoke.

“I can see you’re slightly thrown by me being here,” she said smoothly, her tone devoid of apology. “In business, I go by Alex Martin. My name is Alexa, but I assume that when an Alexa Martin’s name appears on a list of potential investors, it quickly gets pushed to the bottom of the pile.”

She let the words hang in the air, testing the room. Robert remained impassive, though his team shifted slightly in their seats.

“So, you can call me Alex, Alexa, or Ms. Martin. I really don’t care. But I do care why you’ve asked me here today, so let’s crack on, shall we?” She leaned back, exuding the kind of effortless authority that came from not needing to prove herself to anyone. “I’ve got a busy afternoon.”

For a second, Robert simply watched her.

It wasn’t just her presence - it was the way she commanded the space. Most investors came into these meetings with a guarded approach, feeling out the room, establishing alliances before making their positions clear. Not her.

She hadn’t even given them the opportunity to posture.

Interesting.

Robert clasped his hands loosely in front of him, his expression unreadable. He could feel his team waiting, watching for his reaction. Waiting to see how he played this. He was about to respond when she continued.

“This is your meeting, Mr. Fischer.” she said, a slight tilt of her head. “Or…” she paused. “Whoever you pay to speak for you.” The corner of her mouth lifted, just barely. Not quite a smirk, but something close.

His team bristled at that, but Robert stayed silent, holding her gaze.

“My team and I have read your proposal.” She flipped open a folder in front of her, though it was clear she didn’t need to glance at it. “It’s got potential, but I’m sure you’ll appreciate we have some questions, particularly around your strategy and projections.”

She lifted her eyes back to his, and for the first time, he saw it.

That razor-sharp calculation.

The look of someone who had been in far too many rooms like this one, surrounded by men who underestimated her, and who had used that underestimation to her advantage every single time.

“And the offer you’ve recommended for our backing?” She let out a quiet, unimpressed breath as she closed the folder again. “It��s pitiful at best and insulting at worst.”

The room went still.

The subtle shift in his team’s posture was immediate - defensive, uncertain. Someone shifted in their chair as if preparing to interject, but Robert lifted a hand slightly, halting them.

He could feel the weight of expectation pressing in.

This was the part where his father would have leaned forward, smiled in that calculated way of his, and turned the situation against her - subtly, elegantly, a quiet game of dominance in the form of perfectly worded condescension.

But Robert wasn’t his father.

And this wasn’t a game he was interested in losing.

A slow, measured silence stretched between them as he studied her, as he absorbed the weight of her words. He saw the challenge in her eyes - waiting to see if he’d react, if he’d take the bait and turn this into something predictable.

Instead, Robert did something else entirely.

He smiled.

Not out of amusement. Not out of condescension. But because he recognised exactly what she was doing.

And he respected it.

“Alright then,” he said, his voice calm, controlled. He leaned back slightly, mirroring her easy posture. “Let’s talk about that.”

For the first time, a flicker of something unreadable crossed her face. The tension in the room was tangible, though Robert found himself oddly detached from it. Across the table, Alexa Martin spoke with the kind of measured authority that left no room for interruption.

“You and your team need to understand what having my company’s backing would do for you here.”

Her voice was even, matter-of-fact, as if she were explaining a concept so self-evident that spelling it out was a waste of time. And maybe it was. She didn’t fumble through rehearsed pleasantries or posture for dominance. She was in control, because she already knew her worth.

“I know the market you’re trying to tap into,” she continued, flipping through the briefing document in front of her. The pages barely made a sound against her manicured fingertips. “Inside and out. I have the connections. The reputation. Which I’m sure you’re aware of, otherwise…” She flicked her gaze back up to him, her green eyes assessing. “…why would you have approached us?”

Robert could feel the weight of her words settling over the room.

She wasn’t wrong.

His team remained silent, some shifting uncomfortably, some watching him, waiting for him to push back. But Robert wasn’t here to perform for them. He wasn’t his father.

He didn’t see power in bluster.

She continued speaking, working her way through the document with surgical precision, poking holes in the analysis, questioning projections that his team had spent weeks perfecting.

“These figures on your market penetration estimates…” she said, tapping the page in front of her. “They’re… optimistic, to put it politely.”

Robert caught the flicker of irritation in his head strategist’s expression, but Alexa didn’t seem to care. Or maybe she did and simply enjoyed watching them squirm.

She flipped to another page. “And this - your projected five-year growth model. You’re factoring in competitor resistance far too conservatively. Have you accounted for potential government intervention? Because if not, this expansion could be dead in the water before it even gets off the ground.”

Robert watched her carefully.

Her team wasn’t speaking. They weren’t even taking notes.

Because they didn’t need to. She was the one leading the negotiation. She was the one they trusted to carry it.

Most investors sent representatives to these meetings, attorneys who delivered pre-prepared objections in dry, monotone voices, waiting for counteroffers like it was a game of chess. But she was here herself - not reading from a script, not dancing around pleasantries, but pulling the proposal apart at the seams.

Robert should have been irritated. But instead…he was intrigued.

Most people underestimated him. They saw him as nothing more than his father’s shadow, a product of legacy, a placeholder until Fischer Morrow inevitably collapsed or was sold off in pieces.

Maybe he’d thought she would be the same - one more power player who believed they could push him around. But Alexa Martin wasn’t underestimating him at all.

She wasn’t playing chess with his team. She was playing with him.

And suddenly, the deal felt far more interesting than it had fifteen minutes ago.

He let her continue, let her dissect the proposal piece by piece, challenging the assumptions, deconstructing the offer. Because when the time came for him to speak…he wanted to see what she did next. Robert sat back in his chair, his fingers pressed together in a loose steeple as he listened. He didn’t interrupt, didn’t react, didn’t so much as glance at his team as Alexa Martin continued to systematically dismantle their proposal.

His team, however, wasn’t hiding their discomfort quite so well.

Across the table, his head of finance shifted in his seat, his jaw tightening every time Alexa poked another hole in their projections. And Wilson, sitting closest to him, looked as though he was itching to interject, but even he seemed to recognise that this was not the time to get defensive.

Robert, on the other hand, was…Impressed. The way she moved through the briefing document was meticulous - not rehearsed, not performative, but entirely instinctive. It was obvious she had not only read their materials but that she had anticipated every argument they might make before they even walked into this room.

Her voice remained smooth, composed, but with an edge of impatience, as though she expected better from them. Not condescension. Not arrogance. Just…certainty. And that certainty carried weight.

“These market penetration estimates…” she repeated, flipping back to the page in question. She ran a finger down the numbers before exhaling lightly. “You’re looking at a best-case scenario, but you haven’t even accounted for resistance from local players.” She glanced up, arching an eyebrow. “Do you think they’re just going to step aside and let a Fischer Morrow-backed venture waltz in and dominate the market?”

Silence.

She let the question linger for a moment before flipping to another section, her posture still effortless. She leaned forward slightly. “Let me tell you something, Mr. Fischer. I’ve worked in these markets for years. My network is deeper than just boardroom connections - it’s political, bureaucratic, cultural. My backing doesn’t just bring capital - it brings access. Without it, this project is dead in the water, and frankly, the numbers you’re presenting me with are insulting.”

A long silence followed.

Robert could feel the weight of his team’s unease pressing into the space between them.

They weren’t used to being challenged like this.

They were used to sitting in these meetings and having investors nod along, discuss minor adjustments, maybe push for a slightly higher stake - but no one had ever torn apart their work in real time like this.

Finally, Robert exhaled, adjusting his cufflinks before resting his hands on the table. His voice, when he spoke, was measured. Calm.

“All good points,” he said.

His head strategist looked at him in mild disbelief, but he ignored it. Alexa, however, remained silent, waiting. Robert gestured slightly toward the document in front of her.

“You’ve just spent the last fifteen minutes telling me exactly why my proposal is inadequate.” His voice was smooth, even, but there was something beneath it - something deliberate. “So let me ask you this.” He tilted his head slightly. “What does a non-pitiful, non-insulting offer look like to you?”

Another silence.

But this time, it wasn’t an uncomfortable one.

It was assessing.

Alexa leaned back slightly, her gaze flickering over him, and Robert could feel her shifting the game. She didn’t answer immediately. Instead, she studied him. Her green eyes flickered over his expression, his posture, the way he didn’t rush to fill the silence - and something in her shifted. Robert could see it happen; see the moment she reassessed him. Because he wasn’t reacting the way she had expected.

Most executives - especially men - would have balked by now. They would have defended their proposal, launched into a counterargument, tried to regain control of the conversation. But Robert? He had just handed her the floor. And that meant he understood the game.

She leaned back in her chair, crossing one leg over the other, a small, knowing smile touching her lips.

"I’m interested in what you’re trying to do here," she said finally, voice smooth, controlled. "But I’m not here to be a silent partner.”

Her words cut through the tension in the room like a blade.

“And I don’t put my name - or my money - into something without having a voice in the final decisions."

Another shift.

Robert felt it.

So did his team.

He could see his head of finance glance toward him, could feel the silent warning in the air. This was the part where they were supposed to steer her back, make it clear that Fischer Morrow would be calling the shots. But Robert didn’t speak.

Not yet.

Instead, he watched her, watched the confidence in the way she delivered her terms, rather than asked for them. She wasn’t here to buy in. She was here to claim a seat at the table.

And for some reason, Robert didn’t hate that idea. Most investors wanted influence, but not responsibility. They wanted profit, but not risk. Alexa Martin wasn’t interested in sitting on the sidelines, collecting dividends while Fischer Morrow did the work.

She wanted control.

And that told Robert something important. It told him she wasn’t just backing this deal. She was backing him. He let the silence stretch for just a second longer, watching the subtle way she tilted her head - waiting for his response.

Then, finally, he nodded. “Noted.”

His voice was measured, giving nothing away. He saw something flicker in her expression - just for a moment, just a flicker of intrigue, before she masked it again.

"But let's be clear," Robert continued, his tone shifting just slightly. “Fischer Morrow doesn’t hand over control to just anyone.”

Another pause. Another moment of calculation passing between them.

Alexa’s smile didn’t waver.

“Then it’s a good thing I’m not just anyone.”

Silence. And then…Robert laughed. Low. Short. Unexpected. It was the first break in the tension, and the first real, unfiltered reaction from him. His team, of course, looked deeply unsettled by this turn of events. But Alexa? She just smiled slightly, like she had just won a point in a game neither of them had openly admitted they were playing. Robert leaned forward slightly, resting his hands against the table. "Alright, Ms Martin.” he said smoothly. "Let's talk numbers."

“Tell you what,” Alexa said, her voice light, almost amused, as she shut the briefing document in front of her with a soft snap. “Why don’t we give you ten minutes to reconsider this…” She gave a slow, deliberate pause, shifting the document back towards him. “Offer.” She let her gaze drift back to Robert. “Given what I’ve just said. And you can let me know exactly what you’re prepared to come up to.”

Her expression was perfectly even, but her eyes?

Sharp. Testing.

“Because as it stands…” she added smoothly, rising to her feet, “I wouldn’t get out of bed for that.”

Her team immediately followed her lead, standing without hesitation.

They knew the game as well as she did.

She turned slightly toward them, reaching for her phone as she casually signalled toward the door.

“Coffee break, folks?”

There was something so effortless about it - like this wasn’t even a negotiation anymore, like she had already decided they had work to do if they wanted to keep her at the table. She didn’t spare another glance for Robert’s team as she made her way toward the door.

But Robert? She glanced at him. Just for a moment. Just long enough. And he knew exactly what she was doing. Then, just as quickly, she was gone. The door shut behind her, leaving only the distant sound of her heels clicking against the polished floors as she and her team disappeared into the lobby. The room remained still. For several beats, no one moved. No one spoke. Then -

“What the hell was that?”

Robert exhaled, tilting his head slightly as his head of finance leaned forward, his irritation barely masked. “She just walked out in the middle of the meeting…”

“She walked out.” his chief strategist interjected, “because she knew she could.” He shook his head, shifting the papers in front of him. “She’s not bluffing, Fischer. That wasn’t a play to see how high we’d go. That was a play to see if we’d even be worth her time at all.”

Robert didn’t answer. He already knew that. He had known the second she’d gotten to her feet, the second she’d taken control of the room like it was hers to command. She had walked away because she didn’t need this deal. Because they needed her more than she needed them. And that? That was exactly why he wanted her. He reached for his watch, checking the time.

Nine minutes left.

He glanced up at his team. “You heard her.” he said simply. “Let’s reconsider.”

********

Alexa stood by the sleek, high-end coffee machine in the lounge outside the boardroom, the quiet hum of conversation from her team a distant murmur behind her. She cradled the paper cup in her hand, the strong, bitter Americano steaming slightly as she took a slow, measured sip.

Her body language was relaxed, her posture easy - but beneath it all, she was watching the clock. Not in impatience. But in anticipation. She could practically feel the tension lingering behind the heavy doors of the boardroom, the subtle panic of Fischer’s team as they scrambled to adjust their position. She had seen it before. Dozens of times. Alexa had built her career on knowing exactly when to walk away. When to step out of a meeting, when to apply pressure without force, when to let silence do all the talking. That boardroom, the one she had just exited without hesitation, was undoubtedly filled with discussions about her now. About her terms, her control, her presence. She wasn’t the one waiting.

They were.

She turned slightly, watching her team as they sat in the plush lounge seating, casually chatting amongst themselves. They weren’t flustered. They weren’t worried. Because they knew her. They knew she didn’t make empty moves.

Still, one of them - Darren, her senior financial advisor and the person she trusted most - glanced up from his phone, raising an eyebrow as he watched her sip her coffee.

“You think he’ll fold?” he asked, his tone conversational. Alexa smirked slightly, setting her cup down on the counter.

“Fischer?” She scoffed, shaking her head. “No. Not completely.”

Darren studied her. “But enough?”

She met his gaze, amusement flickering in her sharp green eyes.

“Oh, enough.”

Darren exhaled a laugh, shaking his head as he leaned back in his seat. “You enjoy this too much.”

Alexa picked up her coffee again, swirling the dark liquid absently before taking another sip.

“Maybe.”

But it wasn’t just the game she enjoyed. It was the calibration. The shift. The way a room changed when people realised she wasn’t going to play by their rules. And Robert Fischer? He was proving more interesting than most. She had seen something in him - something different from the blustering executives she was used to dealing with. He had listened. He had watched. He hadn’t argued for the sake of arguing, and most importantly - he hadn’t underestimated her. Which meant he had potential.

The real question was whether he had nerve.

She glanced at the clock on the wall. Six minutes left. She took another sip of coffee, letting the bitter taste settle on her tongue as she waited for the inevitable. Because if she knew anything about men like Robert Fischer…it was that they never liked being outplayed. And they always came back with a counteroffer. With one minute to go, Alexa took another slow sip of her coffee, the faintest smirk playing at the corner of her lips.

Right on schedule.

The click of the boardroom door opening was almost anticlimactic. The nervous energy from inside leaked into the lounge, though the man stepping out - a senior executive from Fischer’s team - tried to mask it with practiced professionalism. Still, Alexa could see it. The subtle stiffness in his shoulders. The way he avoided meeting her eyes immediately, as though reluctant to acknowledge that she had just dictated the entire pace of this negotiation.

“Ms. Martin.”

His voice was clipped, formal. Tightly controlled. Alexa didn’t react at first. She let the silence stretch just long enough. Then, with deliberate ease, she placed her cup down, turned, and levelled him with a polite but detached expression. “Yes?”

The exec hesitated. Just for a fraction of a second.

Then…

“Mr. Fischer is ready to continue discussions.”

Alexa arched a brow slightly, tilting her head in mock curiosity. “Oh? Have you all had enough time to reconsider?”

The exec stiffened, though to his credit, he didn’t react beyond that. Alexa could feel Darren and the rest of her team watching from their seats, could sense the way they were barely suppressing their amusement. They knew exactly what she was doing. Finally, after letting the moment linger, she gave the man a small, measured nod.

“Well, then,” she said smoothly. “Let’s not keep Mr. Fischer waiting.”

She turned back to her team, gesturing for them to follow as she strode toward the boardroom doors, her heels clicking against the polished floors with quiet authority. As she stepped inside, she found Robert Fischer exactly where she had left him. Still at the head of the table, still watching her with that calm, unreadable expression. But something was different now.Something in his posture, in the slight shift of his demeanour. Alexa recognised it immediately. A recalibration. A decision made. A move about to be played.

Good.

She took her seat, settling back into it as though she had never left. She folded her hands together, looking at him expectantly.

“So,” she said, voice perfectly even. “What have you got for me?”

Robert Fischer sat at the head of the table, composed, his expression cool and measured. But Alexa could see the difference. The way his team had subtly adjusted their postures, the way the documents in front of them were now realigned, not as weapons of justification, but as tools for negotiation. Robert had reconsidered. That much was clear. There was something deliberate about the way he didn’t respond immediately. A quiet recalibration happening behind those sharp blue eyes, as if he was still deciding how much to give away.

Then – finally - he exhaled, leaned forward, and pushed a revised document toward her.

"We’ve reworked the terms of our offer," he said smoothly. "Taking into account your concerns regarding market resistance, projected growth, and competitor interference. We’ve adjusted the financial structure to reflect a more…" He let a slight pause hang in the air, before choosing his next words carefully. "…equitable stake in the venture."

Alexa didn’t reach for the document immediately. Instead, she let the word settle between them.

"Equitable."

It wasn’t an outright concession. But it was a shift. One she had been waiting for. Slowly, she reached forward, picking up the pages with practiced ease, flipping through them with the sharp eye of someone who could spot a bad deal from across the room. Silence stretched as she skimmed the adjustments. Higher capital allocation for her firm. Greater control over operational decision-making. A seat at the executive table for strategic planning - not just as an investor, but as an active stakeholder. A slight improvement from what they originally offered. But still not enough. She tapped a finger lightly against one of the figures, glancing back up at Robert.

"This is better." she said, her voice calm. "But it’s still not quite worth my time."

She saw the brief flicker of amusement in his gaze, though his expression remained controlled. He had expected that. Alexa turned the page, continuing. "The profit-sharing structure is still disproportionately weighted in your favour, considering my firm will be the one facilitating regional partnerships. If I’m bringing the network, then I expect a larger share of the long-term revenue pipeline - not just a cut of the initial success."

She glanced back up, unwavering.

"Otherwise, we’re still at an impasse."

A beat of silence.

A test.

Alexa saw the wheels turning in Robert’s mind, saw the way he didn’t immediately defer to his team. Because this was between them now. And then, to her mild satisfaction, he gave a slow nod.

"We can adjust that."

No pushback. No ego. Just strategy. Alexa felt the faintest trace of a smirk tug at the corner of her lips. She liked that. Robert gestured to his legal advisor, who began making quiet notes. "We’ll revise the percentages and submit a revised structure by close of business today. But if we’re shifting long-term revenue distribution, I’ll expect your firm to increase its capital investment by an additional five percent. Fair is fair."

Alexa hummed slightly, considering. It was a smart counter. A measured play. One that meant he wasn’t just giving in - he was negotiating with intent. And that? That was exactly what she wanted. She set the pages down, watching him.

“Now we’re getting somewhere.”

Robert arched an eyebrow slightly, a flicker of something like satisfaction passing through his gaze. Their teams continued discussing details in the background, adjusting percentages, refining numbers, but Alexa and Robert? They were locked in. Because this wasn’t just about the deal anymore. This was about the understanding that had just been reached. A quiet acknowledgment between two people who had just tested each other’s limits - and found them both to be worth the effort. As the discussions continued, Alexa didn’t feel the need to linger anymore. She had what she needed.

With a subtle nod toward Robert Fischer, she stood, lifting her coffee and her phone in one smooth motion. Her movements were effortless, as if she hadn’t just walked into this boardroom and completely rewritten the power dynamic of the negotiation. Turning slightly, she shifted her attention to Darren who had sat beside her through the entire exchange without so much as a flicker of uncertainty.

“I trust you can handle the details of this?” she asked, her voice calm, clipped.

He gave a small nod. “Of course.”

That was enough.

She didn’t micromanage. She didn’t need to. Alexa turned back toward the room, her gaze sweeping over the remaining executives, their tension still palpable, their thinly veiled attempts at control fraying at the edges.

“I expect the revised offer by the end of the day,” she said smoothly. Then, with a slight, almost dismissive tilt of her head -

“Gentlemen.”

No pleasantries, no unnecessary words. She turned without another glance, her heels clicking against the floor as she strode for the door. Robert Fischer said nothing. He simply watched her go. She could feel his gaze on her, could sense the calculation happening behind those sharp blue eyes, but she didn’t turn back. She had done her part. Now, it was up to him.

******

The click of his office door shutting behind him was sharper than usual, the sound cutting through the quiet like a blade. Robert exhaled slowly, running a hand over his jaw before glancing at the time.

12:30 PM.

Afternoon. At least there was that. His secretary had barely opened her mouth before he waved her off. He wasn’t in the mood for messages, calls, or whatever crisis his legal team had deemed urgent. Not now. Not after the meeting he’d just walked out of. Without another word, he crossed the room, his strides purposeful but slow, controlled. He stepped toward the drinks cabinet near the window, the sleek glass bottles catching the sunlight that streamed through the skyline view behind them. He reached for the whisky. Not out of frustration. Not out of defeat. Out of necessity. His mind was still replaying the last hour, still unwinding the intricate chess match that had unfolded between himself and Alexa Martin. He poured a measure of the dark amber liquid into a crystal tumbler, watching the way it swirled against the glass before lifting it to his lips. The first sip burned - rich, smooth, familiar. He leaned back against the edge of his desk, rolling his shoulders, letting the weight of the morning settle properly for the first time. She had thrown him. Not in the way people expected. Not in the way his team thought she had. But in the way that made his mind race with possibilities instead of frustration. Alexa Martin wasn’t just another hard negotiator. She was something else. Something measured, something deliberate. She had walked away – twice - and somehow still managed to leave the strongest presence in that boardroom. She had cut through his team’s carefully crafted analysis like it was child’s play, called their offer pitiful, and still managed to make him feel like this deal was something he should be grateful for.

That kind of confidence?

That wasn’t learned. That was built. And that? That was what had his mind circling, retracing every beat of their exchange. He hadn’t felt this…engaged in a negotiation in years. He had spent too much of his career dealing with men who tried to play at power, executives who postured and thought winning was about who spoke the loudest in a room. But Alexa?

She had never raised her voice. Never pushed too hard. She had simply taken control because she knew she could. Robert took another slow sip of whisky, his eyes flicking toward the skyline beyond the glass. If she had been testing him - and he was certain now that she had - then he had passed. Just barely. She wasn’t walking away from this deal, not yet anyway. But she was making damn sure he understood something before it went any further. This would not be a typical partnership. She wasn’t here to fund his venture. She was here to shape it. He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling as he set the glass down.

Robert had instructed his team to finalise the deal by 3pm, giving them clear direction on the adjustments they needed to make to secure Alexa Martin’s signature. And yet, as he attempted to focus on the rest of his work - emails, phone calls, the endless cycle of responsibilities that usually demanded his full attention - he found himself distracted. More than once, his gaze flicked toward his computer screen, checking his inbox for the revised agreement.

It wasn’t like him.

He wasn’t impatient.

Not usually.

But this deal? This was different.

He wanted final say on the terms before they left his office. Wanted to go through it line by line, to be certain that nothing had been overlooked, that every adjustment reflected the power shift that had happened in that room earlier. Because this wasn’t just another investment proposal anymore. This was a statement. And if he was going to put his name on it, if he was going to go toe-to-toe with Alexa Martin and make it clear that he wasn’t just another executive trying to outmanoeuvre her, then it had to be airtight. His fingers drummed against the desk, irritation creeping in - not at his team, but at the fact that he had let her get under his skin like this.

Robert had just reached for the decanter when the ping of a new email echoed through his office. His fingers hovered over the crystal stopper for a fraction of a second, before he exhaled, letting go. He turned back to his desk, his movements controlled, but his pulse just a fraction faster than it should have been. Settling into his chair, he clicked into his inbox, his gaze immediately locking onto the subject line.

Fischer Morrow – Final Contract Revision | Martin Equity Group

For a moment, he simply stared at it, fingers flexing briefly against the desk. He could still feel the boardroom, the imprint of her presence lingering in his thoughts, the way she had systematically dismantled his team’s original proposal like it was an academic exercise. And now, this was it. This was his chance to have the final word. He clicked the email open. The document loaded smoothly, and as he began to skim the revised terms, his sharp blue eyes flicked over each adjustment, dissecting every detail. Higher capital stake for her firm. Increased decision-making authority. Adjusted revenue distribution.

They had incorporated everything she had asked for - but they had also added something else. Something that wasn’t in the original draft. His lips tugged into a smirk as he reached the last page. A new clause. An additional condition - one his team had been too cautious to suggest, but one that he had specifically instructed them to include before submission. His signature was already required on the agreement, but so was hers. And right next to her designated line was a newly added stipulation:

All executive decisions impacting the venture’s long-term strategy to require mutual sign-off from both Fischer Morrow and Martin Equity Group.

It wasn’t about ownership. It wasn’t about control. It was about engagement. She had made it very clear that she wasn’t here to be a silent partner.

Fine.

If she wanted a seat at the table, she was going to have to sit directly across from him. A move-for-move game. One she wouldn’t be able to walk away from so easily next time. Robert leaned back in his chair, taking a slow breath, the whisky forgotten beside him. Now, it was her turn to decide. Without hesitation, he reached for his phone, his thumb hovering over his contacts before he scrolled to her name.

He hit send. A simple, direct message.

“Revised terms sent. Let me know when you’ve reviewed.”

Then, after a moment’s pause, he added another line.

“And let’s hope this one is worth getting out of bed for.”

[harshildesignstudio]

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[prvtocol]

@sayitan : hc + 👗 for a clothes-themed headcanon | Thematic Headcanons. ᠂ ⚘ ˚

One’s clothing style demarcates what subdivision or sector an individual works for in the RDA. SecOps are outfitted in standard camo and gear. Miners and construction workers are fitted for manual labor. Corporates are fussy in their standard office wear with men even wearing white button-down shirts, ties, and blazers. Meanwhile, scientists are the most casual often wearing t-shirts and khakis under traditional lab coats. 

Brianne’s wardrobe is strictly corporate. Modest work dresses, silk blouses, pencil skirts, cigarette trousers, and high heels. All neutral in color. All designer labels. The highest quality due to her class and position. However, one will often see her wearing an RDA-issued lab coat thrown over her attire to proudly display her connection to SciOps. 

This all changes when she becomes a Recom. The “capsule wardrobe” she meticulously curated for her Pandora tour is no longer usable because of her larger size. Clothing choices are relegated to the limited variety stocked for Recoms and Avatars, the latter more appropriate considering. She has no choice but to dress down in RDA-logo t-shirts and (sometimes khaki) trousers, but at least she has a similar style lab coat to before to throw on over it (thanks to the Avatar Program reboot for fitting their scientists with them). On her feet are a pair of trainers/sneakers or lace-up boots. She dislikes it for its lack of corporate professionalism but at least it's comfortable.

With the Resistance, she is still wearing what's left of this wardrobe, but the RDA logos on her few t-shirts significantly fade over time. Her style does not change again until much later (when she slowly adopts more of her mate's clan's (life)style).

Some art of her corporate style is under the cut:

(thanks to @badtrigger for bringing her to life! ♡)

[professorpski]

Flouncing Out of the Room: Vogue 9726 

I was leafing through my skirt patterns looking for one with some walking ease when I found this one, and realized something strange: it offers only a back view. Most pattern envelopes offer only front views of front and back views. So why only the back?

The skirt is relatively plain in the front, although many fitted skirts are plain. From the front, you can only see the corners of the large single flounce, or the pleats, as they come around from the back of the skirt and wrap over to the front. The back gets all the attention because it has all the drama. It can have a a large flounce, a large, sheer chiffon flounce on the longest version which shoots it into evening wear category, or a set of graduated pleats which made it perfect for office work wear. Notice how the illustration pairs the collared blouse with the pleated version, another nod to work wear. This is a 1997 pattern, a time  when women had been climbing the corporate ladder enough that their work wear was moving away from the era of giant-shoulder pads, and a skirt with some crisp details was considered appropriate. 

It has no waistband; instead the designer suggested merely running seam binding along the inner waistline seam where the lining and the fashion fabric at attached to one another, and then the side zipper has a hook an eye at the top. This struck me as too flimsy a closing, so I borrowed a feature from ready-to-wear: a waistline facing, and a tab with flat button on the inside across the zipper closing.

The fabrics recommended are wool crepe, which I have made before, and which has just the right amount of body and drape for the short flounced version. I would add a good quality ponte would probably work too, as it would have the drape and the body. They also suggest gabardine, which seems best for the pleated version, and lightweight tweed which would work for the flounce if not tightly woven. And then silk chiffon or georgette for the larger flounce. I haven’t made the chiffon version, but you can imagine the charm of its longer, fuller sway as you walk across the room.  

[malloryhuitson]

Elegance, grace, professional. The main descriptors of Mallory Huitson's style. Classic and corporate, her personality reflects through her powersuits without undercutting her feminity. Each piece of clothing, even the more casual seeming jean and blouse combination, is tailored specifically to her. Consisting of a neutral palette, with matching, understated accessories, Mallory's wardrobe is completely designer, with a few tailor-made pieces. It indicates who is she, and what she expects in terms of quality.

[vexic929]

What aesthetics do your OCs gravitate towards?

Ooh let's see

Vice: visual-kei or nu-goth; they're very into playing with gender and wearing extravagant, avant-garde pieces, much to his boyfriend's chagrin lol

Soliton: she tends to sway between soft femme and cyberpunk raver aesthetics with no in between

Berrie: definitely 1970s fashion (though on Earth-100 that's the current modern aesthetic); lots of oranges, high-waisted bell-bottoms, sweater-vests and loose, patterned button-downs

Aria: catwalk corporate; nothing she ever wears costs less than $300 and most of it is in the thousands purchased straight from the designers themselves

The Ace Arrow: grunge; lots of soft layers with mismatched prints in varying shades of grey, black, and purple

Harmonic Sine: Y2K girly-girl vibes with lots of sky blues and dreamy prints (and she always matches her glasses and hearing aids to the outfit)

Agent V-92: just so much black and red leather, why does she own so much leather

Fire & Ice: business casual unless she's going out drinking with her boyfriend, then she'll switch to the classic sexy little black dress and stilettos or something sparklier for special occasions

Earth-63 preface; China is the main global superpower on this Earth and has been for centuries so all of the aesthetics have Chinese influence such as resembling qipao/cheongsam or hanfu

Reverse: catwalk corporate as well; she dresses as well-to-do as her family with highly decorated qipao, custom yellow leather jackets, and tailored slacks and blouses (though on rare occasion she'll wear the old, worn Flash t-shirt she got in college)

The Flash: she favors the basics; jeans and a simple blouse or t-shirt or sweatshirt on a casual day with comfortable, heat-resistant shoes

Dr. H Wells: business casual; before her wife's death, they would often wear matching qipao-inspired dresses on formal occasions and steal each others' sweaters in the lab while the other was working so it made things easier on both of them to just wear a monochromatic palette of blacks and greys. after her wife's death, she's had to pare down some of their wardrobe to just comfortable items she can easily put on or modify to work for her as a paraplegic

Pied Piper: corporate goth with green accents; she always wants to look perfectly put-together but she can't quite get rid of her dramatic emo kid past

Nightwing: retro or basics; usually high-waisted pants with tucked-in, half-unbuttoned blouses or tight sweaters and jeans with a leather jacket or a Superwoman t-shirt; she's either the chicest person in the room or a fashion disaster and you'll never know which

Red Hood: goth or punk or grunge depending on the day

[elegantcoffeetriumph]

Work Silk Sarees – The Perfect Blend of Elegance and Professional Grace

Work silk sarees redefine everyday elegance, offering the perfect balance of sophistication, comfort, and tradition. Designed for women who appreciate both style and practicality, these sarees bring a refined touch to professional settings while retaining the grace of traditional weaves.

Crafted from lightweight silk, these sarees feature subtle motifs, delicate zari accents, and understated patterns, making them ideal for office wear, business meetings, or formal gatherings. Unlike heavily embellished silks, work silk sarees focus on minimalism and versatility, ensuring ease of movement without compromising on style.

Pair them with a high-neck blouse for a contemporary corporate look or with classic temple jewelry for a touch of tradition. Whether you’re heading to work, attending a conference, or simply embracing effortless elegance, a work silk saree is the perfect wardrobe staple for power dressing with a cultural touch.

[vastradi01]

Paithani Sarees: The Timeless Elegance of Maharashtra

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The Rich Legacy of Paithani Sarees

Paithani sarees are named after the town of Paithan in Maharashtra, where they were first woven. These sarees are known for their rich motifs, vibrant colors, and opulent gold and silver zari work. Traditionally, Paithani sarees were considered a symbol of aristocracy and were often gifted during weddings and special occasions.

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Styling Tips for Paithani Sarees

Pair your Paithani saree with a statement Maharashtrian nath and gold jewelry.

Opt for a contrast blouse to enhance the intricate zari work.

Drape it in the traditional Nauvari style for a regal look.

Accessorize with a potli bag and Kolhapuri sandals for an ethnic touch.

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[deshprem]

How to Properly Wear an Indian Flag Lapel Pin: Style & Etiquette Guide

The Indian flag lapel pin is more than just a decorative accessory—it is a powerful emblem of national pride, unity, and respect. Whether you wear it on Republic Day, Independence Day, or a formal corporate event, placing it correctly and styling it well ensures that you showcase both patriotism and sophistication.

However, many people unknowingly wear the Indian tricolor badge incorrectly, diminishing its significance. Should you pin it on the left or right? Can you pair it with formal or casual outfits? What are the dos and don’ts of wearing an Indian flag lapel pin?

This detailed style and etiquette guide will help you wear your flag pin with confidence, ensuring you do justice to its national significance.

The Deep Symbolism Behind the Indian Flag Lapel Pin

Before we get into how to wear it, let’s first appreciate why wearing an Indian flag badge matters.

The Indian national flag, fondly known as the Tiranga (Tricolor), represents the core values of our nation:

🟧 Saffron – Courage, sacrifice, and selflessness ⚪ White – Truth, peace, and harmony 🟩 Green – Growth, prosperity, and faith 🔵 Ashoka Chakra (24-spoke wheel) – Progress, justice, and righteousness

Wearing a lapel pin featuring the Indian flag is a gesture of Deshprem (love for the nation), reflecting your respect for India's history, freedom struggle, and democratic ideals.

But just like the national flag, there are rules and etiquette that must be followed to honor its significance.

The Correct Way to Wear an Indian Flag Lapel Pin

One of the most common mistakes people make is placing the pin incorrectly. To wear your Indian flag lapel pin with dignity, follow these essential guidelines:

✔️ Left Side Rule: Place It Close to Your Heart

The left side of your chest is the correct place for the Indian tricolor badge. Why? Because it sits closest to your heart, symbolizing deep respect and patriotism.

🔹 If wearing a suit or blazer, pin it on the left lapel, just above the pocket. 🔹 If wearing a shirt, attach it to the left chest area. 🔹 For traditional attire (kurta, sherwani, Nehru jacket), it should be pinned neatly on the left side.

✔️ Keep It Upright and Straight

The Ashoka Chakra in the middle should be clearly visible and positioned upright. A tilted or upside-down flag pin is considered disrespectful.

✔️ Avoid Placing It on Collars, Ties, or Right Side

Wearing the pin on your right lapel, collar, tie, or hat is incorrect. The pin represents the dignity of the national flag, so it should be worn on formal wear accessories properly.

How to Style Your Indian Flag Lapel Pin with Different Outfits

Your Indian flag lapel pin isn’t just a patriotic symbol—it’s also a style statement when paired correctly with various outfits. Here’s how you can match it effortlessly with different attire:

1️⃣ With Business & Corporate Attire (Suits & Blazers)

🔹 Wear the Indian tricolor badge on the left lapel of your blazer or suit. 🔹 Pair it with formal wear accessories like a tie, pocket square, or cufflinks. 🔹 Stick to a minimalist look—let the pin stand out without extra distractions.

2️⃣ With Traditional Indian Attire (Kurta, Sherwani, Nehru Jacket)

🔹 Pin the badge on the left chest area of your Nehru jacket, sherwani, or kurta. 🔹 If wearing a saree, place it neatly on the pallu or blouse to maintain elegance. 🔹 Opt for a subtle, metallic-finished lapel pin for a regal look.

3️⃣ With Casual Wear (Shirts, Jackets, Polo Tees)

🔹 You can still wear an Indian flag badge with casual outfits, but keep it understated. 🔹 It works well on denim jackets, lightweight blazers, and polo shirts. 🔹 Avoid oversized or flashy pins—small, elegant designs look more refined.

Common Mistakes to Avoid While Wearing an Indian Flag Lapel Pin

🚫 Placing it on the right side – Always wear it on the left side, near your heart. 🚫 Tilting the pin – Keep it upright, ensuring the Ashoka Chakra is straight. 🚫 Using a damaged or faded pin – Keep it clean, polished, and in good condition. 🚫 Pairing it with too many accessories – Let your lapel pin be the highlight of your outfit. 🚫 Wearing it on a collar or pocket – Lapel pins should never be placed on pockets or collars.

When & Where Should You Wear an Indian Flag Lapel Pin?

Although commonly worn on Republic Day (January 26), Independence Day (August 15), and Gandhi Jayanti (October 2), your patriotism isn’t limited to just three days a year.

Here are some occasions where you can proudly wear your Indian tricolor badge:

✅ Corporate & Business Events – Show national pride in a professional setting. ✅ International Conferences & Diplomatic Meetings – Represent India with pride. ✅ Weddings & Cultural Functions – A stylish yet meaningful accessory. ✅ Political Gatherings & Social Causes – Show support for the country’s progress. ✅ Daily Wear (for true patriots!) – If you feel the love for India, wear it anytime!

How to Maintain & Store Your Indian Flag Lapel Pin

A high-quality Indian flag lapel pin can last for years if maintained properly. Here are some quick tips:

✔️ Keep it clean – Wipe your pin with a soft cloth to remove dust and fingerprints. ✔️ Store it safely – Use a small box or fabric pouch to avoid scratches. ✔️ Avoid exposure to moisture – Prolonged contact with water can cause rust or discoloration. ✔️ Choose durable materials – Opt for metallic or enamel-coated pins that retain their shine.

Final Thoughts: Wear Your Indian Flag Lapel Pin with Pride & Elegance

A small Indian flag lapel pin holds a big meaning. Whether you're a business professional, student, politician, or an everyday patriot, wearing it correctly reflects your respect for India’s heritage, freedom, and unity.

So the next time you pin the Indian tricolor badge on your outfit, wear it with pride, honor, and a touch of elegance!

Want a High-Quality Indian Flag Lapel Pin? Contact Us!

Looking for a premium Indian flag lapel pin for yourself, your organization, or an upcoming national event? We’ve got you covered! Get in touch with us today for the best quality lapel pins that showcase your patriotism in style! 🚀

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From Fabric to Fashion: Custom Tailoring in Ahmedabad by Clement Desouza.

The Journey of a Masterpiece: Tailoring Beyond Fabric

Every great outfit begins with a single thread, but it takes expertise to transform fabric into a statement piece. At Clement Desouza, tailoring is an art that has been perfected since 1937. With a commitment to precision and craftsmanship, each garment is carefully curated to match the wearer’s unique preferences.

Selecting the Finest Fabrics: The Foundation of Elegance

A well-tailored outfit starts with premium fabric. Clement Desouza houses an exclusive collection of imported fabrics for both men and women. From luxurious cotton and linen for casual shirts to rich velvet and brocade for sherwanis, the variety ensures a fabric for every occasion. Women’s wear includes delicate chiffons, silk blends, and georgettes, providing an array of textures perfect for elegant ensembles.

Tailoring for Men: A Perfectly Crafted Wardrobe

Men’s fashion is incomplete without a sharp, well-fitted outfit. At Clement Desouza, gentlemen can choose from tailored suits, trousers, casual shirts, and ethnic wear like sherwanis and kurtas. Every stitch is designed for comfort and style, ensuring an outfit that enhances confidence. Whether it’s a formal suit for corporate events or a sophisticated wedding sherwani, the expert tailors ensure every detail is flawless.

Women’s Fashion: Style That Speaks Elegance

Custom tailoring for women is all about individuality. At Clement Desouza, dresses, tops, sarees, and plazos are designed to complement every personality. Whether it’s a flowing gown for a gala or a stylish blouse tailored to perfection, the focus remains on fit, fabric, and finishing. The boutique offers personalized consultations, ensuring every woman walks away with a garment that enhances her grace and charm.

Customization: Your Vision, Our Expertise

What sets Clement Desouza apart is its commitment to bespoke tailoring. Every outfit is designed to fit the customer’s exact measurements and styling preferences. The process is tailored to perfection, whether it’s adjusting sleeve lengths, customizing lapel designs, or choosing embroidery patterns. Unlike off-the-rack clothing, these custom-made outfits ensure a flawless fit that is comfortable and stylish.

Experience the Finest in Tailoring at Clement Desouza

Enter a realm where timeless fashion is crafted with precision at Clement Desouza.

Visit us at Opp. Gurudwara, Near Kamleshon Villa, Balvatika, Maninagar, Ahmedabad, Gujarat 380008, to experience tailoring that blends tradition with modern elegance. 

You can also reach us at +91 98250 69350 / 70165 69614 or email clementdesouza1937@gmail.com for consultations.

Discover Your Signature Style Today!

Explore our collection of custom-tailored outfits and imported fabrics through our website, Instagram, Facebook, and Google My Business.

Let us create a masterpiece that reflects your unique style. Contact us today and redefine your wardrobe with a touch of timeless elegance!