#What is the most formal shirt cuff

[curatedattire]

Cuffing the Style Exploring the Various Types of Men's Dress Shirt Cuffs

As a man who takes pride in his appearance, I can attest to the importance of paying attention to the finer details, such as the cuffs on a dress shirt. The cuffs of your dress shirt should fit snugly around your wrist without feeling too tight or too loose. You should be able to fit one finger between your wrist and the cuff, but not more than that. A well-fitted cuff not only looks better but also feels more comfortable throughout the day.

Now, let's dive into the different types of cuffs you'll find on dress shirts and how to style them.

French Cuff  This is the ultimate in sophisticated style. The French cuff is a double cuff that is folded back and fastened with cuff links. This style is typically reserved for formal occasions, such as black-tie events or weddings. It adds a touch of elegance and class to any suit, and can be paired with a classic tie or bow tie.

Barrel Cuff The barrel cuff is the most common type of cuff and features a simple, straight edge. It is fastened with one or two buttons, and is appropriate for both formal and casual occasions. This style can be paired with a tie or worn without, and looks great with a blazer or sport coat.

Round Cuff The round cuff features a curved edge instead of a straight one. It adds a touch of uniqueness to a dress shirt and can be worn with or without cuff links. This style is great for adding a bit of personality to your outfit, and pairs well with a bold patterned tie or a textured blazer.

Angle Cuff The angle cuff, also known as a mitered cuff, has a diagonal edge that creates a unique look. This style is more modern and is often seen on dress shirts with a slimmer fit. It can be paired with a skinny tie or worn without, and looks great with a suit that has a slim cut.

Convertible Cuff This style is versatile and allows the wearer to choose how they want to fasten the cuff. It features a buttonhole on one side and a cuff link hole on the other. It is appropriate for both formal and casual occasions and can be paired with a classic or skinny tie.

Paying attention to the cuffs on a dress shirt can elevate your style to the next level. Whether you opt for a classic French cuff or a more modern angle cuff, there is a style to suit every occasion and personality. So go ahead and experiment with different cuff styles to find your perfect look.

[vinceaddams]

Early 18th (and late 17th) century fashions are so under-utilized in vampire media and I think it's a damn shame.

I don't actually think I've ever seen a single image of a vampire character in an early 18th century suit. Hardly any movies set in that era either, and hardly any historical costumers who do it. (Even my beloved gay pirate show set in 1717 takes nearly all of its 18th century looks from the second half of the century. Not enough appreciation for baroque fashion!!)

Yes I love late 18th century fashion as much as anyone, and 19th century formal suits are all very well and good, but if you want something that says old, dead, wealthy, and slightly dishevelled, then the 1690's-1730's are where it's at.

(Retrato del Virrey Alencastre Noroña y Silva, Duque de Linares, ca. 1711-1723.)

There was so much dark velvet, and so many little metallic buttons & buttonholes. Blood red linings were VERY fashionable in this era, no matter what the colour of the rest of the suit was.

(Johann Christoph Freiherr von Bartenstein by Martin van Meytens the Younger, 1730's.)

The slits on the front of the shirts are super low, they button only at the collar, and it's fashionable to leave most of the waistcoat unbuttoned so the shirt sticks out, as seen in the above portraits.

(Portrait of Anne Louis Goislard de Montsabert, Comte de Richbourg-le-Toureil, 1734.)

Waistcoats are very long, coats are very full, and the cuffs are huge. But the sleeves are on the shorter side to show off more of that shirt, and the ruffles if it has them! Creepy undead hands with long nails would sit so nicely under those ruffles.

(1720's-30's, LACMA)

Embroidery designs are huge and chunky and often full of metallic threads, and the brocade designs even bigger.

(1730's, V&A, metal and silk embroidery on silk satin.)

Sometimes they did this fun thing where the coat would have contrasting cuffs made from the same fabric as the waistcoat.

(Niklaus Sigmund Steiger by Johann Rudolf Huber, 1724.)

Tell me this look isn't positively made for vampires!

(Portrait of Jean-Baptiste de Roll-Montpellier, 1713.)

(Yeah I am cherry-picking mostly red and black examples for this post, and there are plenty of non-vampire-y looking images from this time, but you get the idea!)

And the wrappers (at-home robes) were also cut very large, and, if you could afford it, made with incredible brocades.

(Portrait of a nobleman by Giovanni Maria delle Piane, no date given but I'd guess maybe 1680's or 90's.)

(Circle of Giovanni Maria delle Piane, no date given but I'd guess very late 17th or very early 18th century.)

Now that looks like a child who's been stuck at the same age for a hundred years if I ever saw one!

I don't know as much about the women's fashion from this era, but they had many equally large and elabourate things.

(1730's, Museo del Traje.)

(Don't believe The Met's shitty dating, this is a robe volante from probably the 1720's.)

(Mantua, c. 1708, The Met. No idea why they had to be that specific when they get other things wrong by entire decades but ok.)

(Portrait of Duchess Colavit Piccolomini, 1690's.)

(Maria van Buttinga-van Berghuys by Hermannus Collenius, 1717.)

Sometimes they also had these cute little devil horn hair curls that came down on either side of the forehead.

(Viago in drag Portrait of a lady, Italian School, c. 1690.)

Enough suave Victorian vampires, I want to see Baroque ones! With huge wigs and brocade coat cuffs so big they go past the elbow!

[dearheartdont]

Tagged!

tagged in WIP Wunday by @manicpixiedreamedwins. Thank you very much.

DBD, Charles POV, Payneland, getting ready for date night.

The suit is single-breasted and close-cut in a rich burgundy. After hours searching through photos on the internet (Crystal had done most of the searching), Charles had decided on tonic cloth for the fabric, so there is an inky blue sheen that flashes in and out of prominence when he moves. A paisley handkerchief peeks out of his breast pocket.

He looks good, Charles knows - Crystal had let out a teasing whistle when he changed into his new outfit - but something isn’t quite right.

It’s the tie. He’d worn one with his school uniform, but most of the time left it pulled loose and took the demerits teachers doled out for slovenly dress. He can’t really feel the knot around his neck, but it’s somehow still uncomfortable.

“At school, there was a joke,” Charles says, “What do you call a working-class lad in a suit?”

Crystal turns away from the bathroom mirror and repeats, “What do you call a working-class lad in a suit?

“The defendant.”

“That’s not funny.” Crystal watches him press his fingers to the knot of the tie.

“I didn’t think so either,” Charles says. It was something that the boys (and teachers) bandied about as the height of wit. Laughter following the punchline, eyes watching and waiting for Charles to join in. He had back then, smiling with teeth and pushing down the urge to bite back. He wouldn’t now.

“Get rid of the tie,” Crystal says, “you still look good without it.”

The tie fades and Charles undoes his top shirt button.

“Better. Now get out of my way so I can do my eyeliner.” The softness of Crystal’s voice in is opposition to the words. Charles allows himself to be shoved through the bathroom door and into the hotel bedroom.

He catches the tail end of what Niko is saying to Edwin. “--different can be good.”

Edwin does look different: a black tuxedo suit, white bowtie and black patent shoes. Like someone out of an old-timey advert selling cigarettes or expensive whiskey. Like someone who should be leading some fancy lady covered in sparkles round a ballroom, instead of taking Charles on a date.

They stare at each other in silence, until “Oh fuck me,” falls out of Charles’ mouth.

Niko giggles, but Charles doesn’t turn, eyes pinned to Edwin in front of him.

“Is it too much?” Edwin’s hands tug at his shirt cuffs, gold cufflinks flashing. “I forewent the waistcoat as they no longer seem to be the fashion, but this was the formal wear I was most familiar with."

“It was a good ‘fuck me’. You look like James Bond, mate.”

“I know who that is.” Edwin says, and there's that small, pleased smile that would be a grin on anyone else. “You look rather handsome too.”

“Only rather handsome?”

Edwin’s steps closer and reaches out his hands to fuss with Charles’ handkerchief. When satisfied, he presses a hand against Charles’ chest over the pocket. Edwin dips his face closer, so he can whisper into Charles’ ear. “Would you prefer ‘fuck me’ handsome, instead?”

Charles can’t reply, his throat suddenly too dry to make words.

[sonsofslytherin]

KEYS

Draco Malfoy

Stage Presence:

Draco Malfoy was the most known boy in school, but he was also the most insecure

Along with Theo, he hadn't really liked the idea of starting the band

Make no mistake he was really talented, but music didn't bring him the same comfort that it did to his friends

Blaise really helped him out in the early days with writing his own music and really enjoying it

But it was Enzo that helped him with removing the influence of his father on his music

Now on stage, he truly becomes someone else, who only cares about two things: his band and the music

He's laughing at all of the other guys' antics, truly loving his time on stage

He's always so giggly and happy on stage because he's surrounded by the people who he trusts the most

He loves the antics that Matt and Enzo pull, he'll always pull a funny face when Blaise points the camera at him, and he loves just vibing to the music with Theo.

He's unbelievably clumsy though

Like bro is banned from setting up after he got tangled in all of the mic wires AND somehow kicked through Enzo's drum

He also has the tendency to sneak up on the other guys

The fact that dude has a lot of leeway with his instrument coupled with the fact that he's basically a vamp (appearance and all) he's given the boys quite the scare

He'll walk up quietly behind them and he'll either just stay standing there till they notice or he'll just like tap them or like randomly scream

He's not really supposed to go to Theo's side of the stage as much anymore after he scared him and then he fell off stage (he was fine but he was a little upset)

Blaise rushed over to take a pic after they found out he was fine

And Draco had to try hard not to laugh the entire show

Draco had been drilled to learn piano since he was a young boy and he hated it

He's learned to love being part of the band since his reluctance at their start

He's classically trained and that's all he ever really played

He really only listened to other music because of the parties that they threw in school

He just never realized he could play something other than classical

He doesn't really think he adds anything to the band (though they consistently tell him otherwise)

But he's so good?? Like he's so amazing, he has been playing music his whole life and it shows.

Most of the time he forgets the crowd is there and when he does notice he gets all shy on them they think he's so adorable

Sometimes the band will just stop playing (he doesn't even notice most times) and they just let him jam it out and the crowd goes wild

And then he gets all shy

He's really come a long way and he's great at what he does.

Wardrobe:

Now, when they first started out he wore a lot of suits, super formal and well put together.

But now he's totally leaned into the vampy aesthetic that the fans had bestowed upon him

Not too crazy more like Queen of the Damned vibes (amazing look it up)

To the point where it's still more of a punk or alternative style

He still dresses up a little more compared to the others (not on Blaise's level of course though)

He wears long coats, all black of course, leather jackets, pants, and shoes

The sheer shirt !!!!! (he put Blaise on)

Boots guy for sure

Also the neat hair is only for special occasions now. It's not styled or anything just messy and natural

He wears his rings of course, the occasional arm cuff, and the watch

Also Enzo convinced him to get a piercing and he had honestly kept it hidden for a good while...

Till one show he wiped his face after a particularly crazy song revealing his pierced belly button

The fans lost their SHIT, they screamed so loud that he was honestly scared for his life.

[paperuniverse]

Rarepair Week Day 2: Wedding

@hetalia-rarepairweek

I was originally planning on half-assing the historical aspect of this then next thing I know I have five tabs open looking at historical wedding dresses and learning about how white tie was the more popular choice for formal wear hmm.

Anyways this is meant to be a recreation of what I think Slovakia and Czechia wore on their wedding day back in 1918 when they became Czechoslovakia! Both in colour and black in white.

Also some historical notes under the cut cause while there's probably some historical incorrectness I had fun with it!

I was originally going to have Slovakia wear a hat since they were worn by the majority of men, even the lower-class. I don’t think they would have had a lot of money right away cause they just broke away from Austria-Hungary so I don’t think Slovakia would wear a top hat, which was the most formal and expensive of hats. Instead at his wedding I think he would have worn a homburg which was also popular and in black was also considered formal. Also, I it looks better imo than a bowler hat lmao.

His suit is an evening suit which was formal attire although seemed to mostly be worn in the evenings. Apparently, their suits were fucking heavy. I guess even men suffered from all the layers. But they wore dress shirts with attachable collars and cuffs underneath all this, so they didn’t need to wash these heavy suits all the time. I guess this is the equivalent of me in winter wearing a tank top under my three layers as a sweat barrier.

While the 1920s were fashion really changed for women and got less strict with shorter hemlines and such in the 1910s wedding dresses did become looser and corsets weren’t typically worn during weddings cause dancing became much more common. So, I definitely think these two had dancing at their wedding with a cute first dance with Slovakia and Czechia <3

Wedding dresses then did still cover a lot, with long sleeves and high necklines. Can’t show that sexy neck off I guess lol. They also had lots of lovely lace and beading designs in them, most of them I saw had to do with flowers and so I incorporated that into Czechia’s dress too. Women also had flowers in their hair and veils… which I forgot to draw on Czechia hsdkf. I’m just gonna say she took it off for the photo.

The most common floral arrangement for bouquets were white roses, lilies, and forget-me-nots which mean things like love, purity, loyalty, and remembrance. Some men in photos had flowers pinned to their suits so I gave Slovakia a matching white rose to Czechia’s white rose and lily bouquet (was too lazy to search what forget-me-nots looked like).

[johannestevans]

apologies if you've addressed it already, but where *do* you buy your shirts from? the local charity/thrift stores seem to have a lot of fast fashion these days, but i might not be looking in the right places.

So, my ruffled front pirate blouse with the ruffled sleeves is from Violent Delights, and so are the black brocade trousers I wore out tonight and a few other things - Violent Delights is absolutely on the pricier side, but for me it's well worth it for the construction and design of their clothes, many of which emphasise the waist, have good layering and warmth to them (which many of this sort of "costume" clothes don't consider), and also have a huge range of sizes, going from XS and sometimes XXS right up to XXXL.

When not wearing that blouse, the most common pirate-adjacent shirts I wear are actually plain old Ghillie shirts, which are intended for formal highland dress - you want it to be of good, breathable 100% cotton, and then you can either lace it with string or ribbon or leather strings.

And other than that, I actually have quite a few Western shirts (collared shirts with pop-buttons and cuffs, with and without detailing on the shoulders and waists) that work really well in combination with my gothier and more vintage wardrobe.

In general, I recommend that if you want good quality piratical gear and similar and you're not in a good area for finding that sort of stuff by thrifting, your next best option is genuinely specialty costume shops - not the ones that sell you a packet with a basic sexy French maid's outfit, but the ones that cater to LARPers, specialty performers, sex workers, etc; and similarly, non-high street stores that cater to alternative lifestyles and fashions, especially ones that are likelier to favour a high level of architectural and constructive appreciation for their clothing and/or are subcultures more likely to involve themselves in the construction of their clothes, i.e. Steampunk, certain Goth strands, Lolita.

And as well as the above, this is much more of a niche, but we used to have a fella when I worked at a rare book shop who dressed exclusively in cast-off costume pieces from theatres in London - whenever the opera or ballet or I think some of the Shakespearean companies sold off or auctioned off excess from their wardrobes, he'd buy that stuff and have it tailored to fit him. So like, he would just be wandering on a casual Thursday in a velvet Phantom cape, and that fucked.

So if you do live near to a city and you're likely to see this sort of costume auction or sell-off of excess, especially toward the end of a show's run and/or the end of a season at the ballet or opera, that's certainly an idea as well.

It's so hard to avoid a lot of cheap fast fashion things, and especially like, what my dad always ends up sending me is extremely poorly made of poor materials pirate costume shirts that are literally for someone's like, last minute Jack Sparrow costume, and they're literally bought and sold with the assumption that they'll be bought and worn for one night only, at the very most once every one or two years. It sucks, especially when it even invades charity and secondhand shopping as well, or when vintage stores end up stocking loads of 90s and 00s stuff that's not actually much better constructed then shite today.

So yeah, when in doubt, look for the specialty people - bop your head into a local tailor or seamstress' shop and be like, hey, do you know anyone who does x or y?

Even looking in your area for certain subcultures, especially different LARPers, ren faire or medieval performers, metal band enthusiasts, leather dykes and daddies, steampunk and formal goth enthusiasts, costumers and especially historical costumers, lolita enthusiasts, et cetera - these are all communities that even if they don't have specifically what you're looking for when it's a specialty or specific garment, will almost always know the right person to ask or refer you to, or at least have a vague direction to point you to.

[hedgehogsaretheultimatelifeform]

Kinktober 2024 Day Eight

Exhibitionism

Alejandro Vargas/John "Soap" MacTavish

Soap glanced over the room below, squinting into the bright light as he stood hidden in an alcove, thrown into shadow by the high, vaulted ceiling. The only source of light appeared to be candles, glowing softly in holders placed all around the room, but the plethora of shiny polished surfaces and gold guild seemed to reflect it back tenfold, bathing the mingling guests in a harsh, golden light. Soap swallowed, leaning back as he heard someone approaching him from behind.

“Easy, it’s just me.” Alejandro walked up next to him, adjusting his shirt cuffs as he stopped next to the rail.

“Find anything?” Soap looked over his shoulder, straining his eyes as he stared into the dark hallway behind them.

Alejandro shook his head. “Nothing. No sign Valeria is here somewhere, or has anything to do with this. But equally, nothing saying she was coming, and suddenly didn’t, because she knew we would be.”

“At least that’s a positive.” Soap sighed, glancing down over the floor again. Gaz was over by one of the doors, standing next to some high-ranking military brass, the little clique of them all appearing to be ironically enjoying the over-enthusiastic performance of a man telling them a story. Captain Price was huddled over a table in the corner, in deep discussion with a small circle of men, holding tight to a most likely very expensive bottle of whiskey, evidently taking charge of it after it had been liberated from a server’s hand. “Gaz and the captain still look good.”

“So’s Rudy…” Alejandro murmured back, gesturing to where Rudy was doing the rounds, shaking hand after hand as he was introduced to a whole group of people. “And… Ghost, too.”

Soap followed his gaze, immediately picking Ghost out in a group standing by another of the open doors, silently smoking. It made sense that, even though he was meant to be an attending guest, Ghost would be the one to take it upon himself to watch the exits.

He’d had to forgo his mask for this event, even after his protests that he should be up on look out with Soap. Alejandro had been the bearer of bad news, that between Soap’s haircut, and how well- known Alejandro was, there was no way the two of them could get into the party as regular guests without being noticed. Instead of posing as guests, they’d slipped in disguised as security, and sweettalked their way into working the alcoves.

Soap preferred it up here. Here, he got to dress in a plain black suit and tie, rather than his formal military dress, which would inevitably lead to all the dick measuring about who had what, and had served where, and blah blah blah. Instead, he just had to keep Alejandro company, and issue warnings if anyone unexpected turned up.

He would have preferred it to be Ghost who was with him, though. Then, he wouldn’t feel jealous that Alejandro had picked out Ghost, by his bare face, quicker than Soap had.

“All going good.” Soap sighed, tightening his grip on the railing. At least he acknowledged that he was jealous. That made it a bit better, right? That, even though they’d all talked, and all agreed they were all in one relationship together, that Soap still felt like Ghost was his? “You want to take the round again?”

“Why? You need to be alone to make your check in with Ghost?” Alejandro grinned at him.

“Right, you’re one to talk, slipping off to chat with Rudy.” Soap snapped back. “Running hot under the collar, yourself.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Alejandro grinned wider, now that Soap had outed himself by projecting.

“You don’t? These shadows don’t hide everything…” Soap lunged at Alejandro. He caught him easily, grabbing Soap’s wrist and using his momentum to swing him past him. Soap grunted, bringing up one of his hands to catch himself before he hit the wall, saving himself from bloodying his face, but not from Alejandro pressing up against him from behind.

Alejandro crushed his body against Soap’s, pinning him to the cold, stone wall. Soap struggled, until he felt Alejandro’s hard dick press against his ass, and a small voice crowed victory in the back of his mind.

Alejandro quickly put that voice to bed as he whispered in Soap’s ear. “Ghost said you like to struggle.”

“Away wi’ ye…” Soap started, until Alejandro to press his hand over Soap’s mouth.

“He told me about a lot of things you’d like. I think I might try a few of them, see if that’ll shut you up.”

Soap fell silent for a moment, even after Alejandro removed his hand from his mouth, mind racing from the idea that Ghost had told Alejandro to do this. “You’re… well practised.”

“Sure.” Alejandro slid his hands down Soap’s hips, undoing his belt, trousers and fly to feel Soap’s dick. “That, and it comes easy when just getting pinned makes a man hard.”

Soap grumbled but leant into it, sparing a quick glance down to the party below. As long as no one looked up, they would be fine. Alejandro could fuck him right here, and no one would know. If no one looked up.

If anyone did, they might just think it was part of the show. Maybe.  

Alejandro leant his hips back, allowing him to yank Soap’s trousers down around his thighs.

Soap huffed when he felt Alejandro’s fingers spreading his ass open, rather than wrapping around his cock. “This is hardly fair, that I’m the only one left hanging.”

“I’ve not left anyone hanging.” Alejandro hushed him, pressing his thumb into Soap’s asshole, teasing him gently. “Not yet at least.”

“Were you planning on it?”

“Only if you give someone a reason to look up. Then, I might have to. I have a reputation to uphold.”

“Course you do.” Soap sighed, spreading his legs, and moved his arm up to rest his forehead on. He exhaled shakily, his eyes sliding closed when he felt the head of Alejandro’s cock nudge his hole, his fingers already pulling Soap’s hole wide to help Alejandro push himself in.

Soap groaned, bracing himself against the wall as Alejandro started to fuck him, going slowly and deliberately. He kept one hand on Soap’s hip to steady himself as his chest pressed against Soap’s back, the closeness allowing Alejandro moved his hand over to cup around Soap’s cock, giving Soap a little something to fuck his dick into.

“No marks, remember?” Soap muttered when he felt Alejandro’s lips trailing over his neck, leaving soft kisses in between heavy breaths as Alejandro fucked him.

Alejandro murmured an agreement, and shifted the hand around Soap’s cock down, changing the angle so he wouldn’t fuck his dick into the wall. Soap felt the knot in his gut tighten, unsure if it was to do with the horror of that image, or that he was going to cum already.

He got the answer quickly, and cracked his eyes open to stare down at the glow of the room below as he came, squeezing tight around Alejandro, who groaned in his ear. Even as Soap panted, Alejandro continuing to fuck him slowly, cupping his hand protectively over Soap’s softening dick as each thrust jolted his hips forward. Soap gasped, struggling again, feeling Alejandro trying to soothe him, closing his eyes as Alejandro kept fucking him, each thrust feeling like it was harder than the one before, each gently press of skin on his soft dick making him whimper as it barrelled towards becoming too much, until Alejandro bit down on Soap’s shirt collar, barely quieting the groan at all as he came too.

 Almost immediately, Alejandro’s lips were by Soap’s ear, murmuring for him to relax, just take a minute, deep breath now, as he tidied them up, redoing both of their trousers and belts. He cupped Soap’s face, gazing into his eyes as he helped Soap stand up, moving him back to the railing.

Soap exhaled, clasping his hand around it, nodding that he was okay to Alejandro, as he checked his watch. “It’s time for another round.”

Alejandro nodded. “I’ll go. You stay here, check on everyone else.”

“Yeah.” Soap swallowed, running a hand over his face and glancing down at the room below.

Price was still muttering away at his table, looking like he was trying to mediate an argument. Gaz was still with his little huddle, apparently having taken centre stage to tell one of his own stories, and doing it better than the previous guy had, judging by how everyone was laughing. The sound had drawn the attention of someone Rudy had been talking with, and now Rudy was crossing the room with him to join Gaz’s circle.

And, someone was looking up at him.

Fuck.

Ghost was looking up at him.

Double fuck.

Soap swallowed, smiled and tipped a salute to him. He was out of Ghost’s reach, for now. Whatever he wanted to say, to do, was a problem for Later Soap to deal with. Now Soap was working, silently watching the party, wondering if he might get lucky and Alejandro would sneak them up a drink, or any of the tiny sausage rolls now being floated around the room on large, golden trays.   

[jamneuromain]

Wishful Thinking Chpt. 5

Andy Barber x You (Reader), no use of Y/N

Alternate Universe - College AU

Summary: A new semester. A new task. A new boyfriend, your previous professor, Andy Barber. Everything seems to be going on the right track. So why didn't it?

Warning: Fluff, inappropriate teacher-student relationship, power imbalance, age difference, explicit language, Possessive!Andy Barber, mention of CHEATING, discussion about BDSM relationships, mention of sex

A/N: This fic has some disturbing themes, and discusses potentially upsetting topics. Please read through the warning before engaging with the fic. As I have said, the fic has mentioned a number of (potentially) triggering and heavy topics, you don't have to engage further if you feel uncomfortable about one or more topics.

Wishful Thinking M. List Dancing in the Daydream M. List

You arrived at his place nonetheless.

He welcomed you with warm embraces and sweet words muttered into your hair.

No funny business as he promised. You watched an old black-and-white movie together, and he took you to bed, holding you as you both had pajamas on.

Such a sweet sweet morning when you are woken up by Andy’s firm chest and shallow breath behind your back. His arm hooks around your waist, his hand relies more on your thigh than your stomach. Your neck is tickled by his beard slightly, his thick beard which makes him look more like a barbarian overnight.

You blink a few times to see straight, onto the white ceiling.

Andy hums in his sleep, apparently disturbed by your turning in his arms. He nudges your neck with his chin, barely opening his eyes, whispering, “morning my beautiful-”

“Morning Andy.” You carefully interlace your fingers with his. It’s not that you are shy of letting his hand fall on your stomach or your thigh, it just feels … natural.

His breath stiffens, before slowly taking an exhale.

Fuck.

Fuckity fuck fuck fuck.

He was so close to letting slip just now.

He was so close to saying “morning my beautiful wife”.

Fucking stupid habit.

You turn around to face him, witnessing the moment his hand runs down his face and squinting his eyes to pull his consciousness together.

“Beautiful huh?” Small sparks of happiness glinting from your eyes, teasing him, “I’m not your sweet girl anymore huh?”

His fingers dip from the hem of your large T-shirt, possessively sprawl over your belly, giving it a warning squeeze, “Depends.” He growls, his low timbre almost impregnating your ear, “Are you going to be my beautiful sweet girl? Or are you going to be a naughty little brat?”

You reply with silence, which is abnormal.

Andy looks down at you. You chew on your lower lips, mulling over something in your head.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?”

“I-” You start, but don’t even know where to begin, “I read over the brat part in the book. I read the whole book, actually. The whole thing about the Dom/Sub relationship. But I don’t know…in the book it says every relationship is different.”

“Yes, sweetheart?”

“I was thinking,” you panic a little and choose to look anywhere but his eyes, “I don’t understand, what does being a sub mean?”

Andy gives out a thoughtful hum, “Well, for the most part you'll do as I say when we are having sex. Though it's more of a formality, or not if you don't want it to be. For example, when I tell you to keep your hands above your head, you can choose to obey the order, or disobey it. But we both know that during heated moments, we aren't exactly in control of ourselves. So if you accidentally - and I say this because I'll know if you do it on purpose - broke the rule, I may have to hold onto your wrists with my hand, or cuff you to our bed, depending on how you behave.

“And what about... besides sex? I know that some SM relationships require kneeling at the door to wait for the dominant one to return?” You wince, not liking having the idea of a bruised knee in mind, “I don't have to do that, do I?”

Maybe he’d give you a pillow for that? Instead of kneeling directly on the floor?

A pillow doesn’t sound so bad.

“No,” says Andy, “absolutely not. I'm not a sadist. I don't enjoy anyone kneeling on the floor. Apart from if you are sucking me off. But that's another discussion.” To which you bury your face in your palms. You did not expect things to take a sudden turn and end up on oral sex.

“No,” continues Andy, “I don't want you to kneel or be uncomfortable in any way in real life. On the other hand, if you are considering bringing about this dynamic to our lives. It would be the same as sex. If I tell you something, you do it. I make decisions for you, you take it. Like that. But we can discuss about what we are both in favor of, something like if I take you out and you want me to order for you, or I'd tell you to eat the carrots or broccoli, you eat it. And you would also face punishment if you aren't behaving.”

Speaking of food, you want some breakfast, but breakfast can wait for now.

“What about other things? Besides food? Anything you say I have to obey?” You ask.

He doesn’t really mean everything he says, you have to oblige, right?

“We would discuss what you are comfortable with me dominating first.” Andy emphasizes what he was talking about just now, “we’d always discuss beforehand to make sure you are okay with this. Under that context, yes, anything we mutually agree on.”

“Like what?”

Andy eyes you. You can sense that he is going to say something that you don’t like.

“Well, drinking more water...”

You do NOT like that.

“…get a healthy routine and don't get drunk partying…”

“Ouch.” Getting drunk is fun, no one can deny that.

“…go to the gym twice a week…”

“Okay now hang on-” You definitely won’t agree to this. Going to the gym regularly? Monstrosity!

“…finish your undergrad, be hard working, and try your best to pursue your dreams…”

“Wait wait wait wait wait.” You gesture for him to stop for a second, “Gym? No. Drinking alcohol? That can be arranged. But water??” You scrunch your nose, “surely I drink enough iced americano and bobba.”

Andy scoffs, offering a sympathetic smile, “I mean water water, not the sugared crap I see you have almost once a week slurping on my class.”

“That’s bobba tea and it’s made out of milk and tea, very healthy I’m telling you-”

“No.” Andy’s decision is final, so is his unrelenting attitude, “I mean water. One liter per day. And I'm going to keep count because I know how much you hate drinking plain tasteless water.”

You grumble like the Grinch in Christmas, making a face: “Are you seriously trying to talk me out of it? Because it’s working. It’s working so well. Also, you sound like my dad more than my dom.”

“There's a category called daddy dom for a reason. But yes, I am going to tell you three times a day to drink water even if you decide to let D/S dynamics out of our daily lives.”

“That’s not fair!” You exclaim, but soon you lower your voice and start pouting, “... I felt like joining a cult. Only that this cult keeps telling me to drink water.”

“Tell me where this cult is, I want to sign up too.”

“Very funny. Says the man who drinks two Liter every day.” You bump your head on his shoulder, earning a fake cry of pain from him.

“God, don’t need to murder me even if I tried to drag you into a cult.” Andy playfully covers his collar bone, feigning injury.

“A cult that tried to make me drink water.”

“A cult that promises you six glasses of water every day.” Andy corrects you.

“Same thing.” You are not keen on the subject, so you decide to return to what you were talking about only a minute ago, “apart from the whole water thing, you’re saying that I don’t have to obey your every command if I don’t feel like it?”

“If you are feeling bratty or you don’t like my command physically or mentally.” Andy becomes a bit more serious when he’s discussing your relationship with you, loosening the playfulness in his tone as he speaks, “though you have to tell me which one was it, so I could adjust my behaviors, that you won’t get hurt. But do remember being a brat has its consequences.”

“Like spanking?”

“Like spanking, yes. But not limited to spanking.” His eyes darken on mentioning what your consequences for being a brat are, “Punishments, in general. I might get very creative if you wouldn’t learn the lesson from light spanking.”

“But we would still have the safe word during punishment? I can still tell you to stop?”

“Yes.” He kisses your forehead, “Your safety is always the priority here.”

“Can I tell you to do anything? Role-reverse?” Dominating sounds fun. Really fun.

Andy chuckles. In his wildest dreams, he wouldn’t even imagine you would volunteer for being a Dom, “that’s called a switch. If you opt to try both Dom and Sub side of the relationship. But sure, we could work something out.”

“Okay.” You grin, “I’m exercising my Dom rights now and ask you to cuddle me.”

“Wow, bossy.” Says Andy jokingly, even though he did what you told him to, looping his arm around your waist again, holding you close.

“Yeah well, I learned from the best…” You murmur, yawning into his chest, slipping back to your sleep.

You are disturbed in sleep as he has to get up to go to work, giving lectures to juniors and postgraduates.

“No no no no don’t get up.” He whispers by your ear, his beard scuffing your cheek as he places a few kisses on your temple and your forehead, “Sweet dreams, my baby.”

You grip the duvet a bit tighter as you fall asleep again. Unlike previous nights, it has been an extremely pleasant sleep, with few dreams and the feeling of you are fully charged, all energetic and ready to take on the day, waking up at nearly 10.

Spending the night at your boyfriend’s place has its perks.

One of which, to name of, you are dressed in his shirt. In your defense, that isn’t stealing if he doesn’t know any better and lets you have access to his wardrobe.

However, there are downsides to this, too. You are trying to cook yourself breakfast and spend a little while searching for salt and pepper, and later, plates and a chopping board. But the downsides are less annoying as you wander around his place and pick up the sticky note he left on the headboard, telling you that he wants you to stay at his place and you’ll have dinner together when he gets back from the start of term reception. He also says that if you don’t want to, that is also fine.

You find your way to his study. As a professor teaching English Language and Literature, Andy is no short of books and novels in his place.

One particular white-covered book caught your eye.

It doesn’t look like any regular books, and you are too curious to leave it there.

After you take it from the shelf, you realize that this is no book, but rather Andy’s dissertation from his Master’s, discussing modern espionage novels and their background setting using a theory you are vaguely aware of, mentioned somewhere during lectures.

It was a detailed discussion and analysis, though you are not very keen on espionage novels, it gives you some ideas about what you will write for your dissertation.

Maybe you can pick some other novels, discussing their background setting, but using a different theory…

But this isn’t exactly Andy’s expertise, which he told you during a dinner that he researched creative and modern writing for his doctorate. Meanwhile, Professor Johanna Klein focuses on English literature and teaches classes on this topic.

On a more private note, you do want Andy to be your tutor with your young pumping heart that is filled with your sweet boyfriend right now.

Touch call.

You put the dissertation back on his shelves, paddling around the room.

You’ve been at his place alone before, which shouldn’t be a big deal for you right now, being his formal girlfriend, even though you need to keep your relationship a secret.

…right, a secret.

You let out a small frustrating sigh.

You know it’s unethical and wrong and all that, but Andy really is a nice guy. The small debate in your head quickly forgotten when you stride to the bathroom, throat a bit dry when you remember a handful of times when he railed you in the showers or had you ride him in the bathtub. Oftentimes when he has already brought you three orgasms and you started cleaning in the hot water. When he would guarantee you a fourth or fifth orgasm, having you breathless and boneless.

You would swear to God this man has an insatiable appetite.

Shivers run down your spine. Your breath quickens.

Fuck the man does things to you. Horrible things. Even when he’s not around.

They were not all dirty showers.

Sometimes, after getting up – from a purely innocent cuddle session in the night, you’d also take a shower in his bathroom,

Due to the frequency that you stay and shower, he even bought the same brand of hair dryer, the shampoo, and the body wash you use and stored it in the cabinet below the sink. Not to mention your toothbrush and your hairbrush standing side by side with his.

You aren’t living with him. You are far from that stage of starting a life together. But close enough. Ever since you’ve settled your relationship after the first night you had sex, you have been staying almost three nights every week.

You are not thinking about living together, not just yet.

The truth is, you are thinking about it, and maybe your wedding, and maybe your honeymoon too. But the tiny voice in your head tells you that it’s too early in the relationship to be thinking about it. You still need to finish Uni, either find a job later or continue your studies in literature, and you don’t plan to actually marry anyone after you have finished your studying, which means after 25 years old at least.

Yet it doesn’t hurt to dream a little.

Dreaming that he’s the prince in every fairytale story that sweeps you off your feet. With a happily ever after.

You are still stealing – well, commandeering one of his shirts as your pj. Not that yours is broken or anything, it’s just that his felt more … home.

And curling up in his large chair and reading some boring novel to pass the time since you have nothing better to do.

When he calls.

You sit up straight when you see the caller ID on your phone, clearing your throat and pretending you have done nothing wrong at this point, mimicking the hotel front desk with a sweet LA girl voice, “This is Andy Barber’s residence, how may I help you?”

Andy chokes a laugh, “Ha.” He then pretends to be calling for business, sounding sterner, “May I speak to Mr. Barber’s little girlfriend?”

“I’m afraid she’s not available at the moment,” you grin like the Cheshire cat, “would you like to state your name and leave a message?”

He chuckles softly, “Glad you’re having fun at my place, sweetheart. But I need a small favor.”

He absolutely did not miss the first sentence that came out of your mouth.

“Andy Barber’s residence”. Meaning you’re still at his place, and that you are willing to have dinner with him tonight. Maybe he could convince you to stay a night more. Maybe he could slip you the gift he prepared days ago, just before the unfortunate night.

He’d love to see your reaction to his gift.

But that have to wait.

“Listen, sweets.” He glares at his suit jacket and his shirt, ruined by a clumsy student and his cup of coffee, “The social event – with the students and all, starts in 20 minutes.”

“The start of term reception?” You quip.

“Yeah, that one.” He continues, “my suit is damaged by a cup of coffee and now has brown stains all over it. Shirt too. Could you please pick out a full outfit, suit jacket, pants, and shirt, and drive over to my office? I would’ve driven back and get changed, but there’s not enough time to return.”

“Sure! Sure!” You jump from the large chair, your bare feet hit the ground with a crisp slap, “I’ll be -” you check the time on your phone, “be there in 15 minutes?”

“That’d be nice. Thank you. See you at my office sweets.”

“See you in a sec.”

You hung up the phone, making a beeline toward his wardrobe.

Andy’s wardrobe is just like the rest of the house, simple and plain, white and gray. It is lined with a couple of formal suits, shirts, and a few T-shirts and khakis, all of which thin and made of soft cotton, perfect for the end of the summer. A few dark-colored cardigans were stacked neatly by the corner, on top of some thicker duvet.

You pick the full set of his navy-blue suit with dress pants, and a white shirt that looks decent.

You are putting his well-ironed suit jacket into the plastic cover when you notice there’s a small bump in his pocket.

Tissue? That’d be so yuck.

You smile to yourself, carefully turning the pocket around without touching what’s inside it.

A piece of paper, twirled into a ball of the size of your fist.

Some of the writing poked through the paper – more like put holes and cuts in it when whoever wrote it crossed them out too fast.

It’s not likely that Andy would put other people’s used paper in his pocket.

So…

You are guessing he used this sheet of paper to scribble something and was done with it. By now at least.

It’s kind of bad to look through this piece of – clearly – disregarded paper, considering it has already been wrinkled and folded, folded and wrinkled. But … well, what Andy doesn’t know won’t hurt him.

Knowing you definitely have a couple of minutes to spare, you decide to unfold the paper and see what’s on it.

To be honest, you were expecting random scribbling and drawing.

You were not expecting … this.

-Book about D/S (SM?)

-Gift :>

-Stories: Love and War, Ari&Ana

-Text

-Call?√

Your breath hitches.

Did you just find his plan for his apology?

The “Gift” has a small smiley face behind the word, and the word “Text” has been crossed over, resembling a large black dot. “Call” has a checkmark following. Does that mean his “Call” worked? When he called you and sat in his car, or out of his car, right in front of your dormitory, having this piece of paper in his pockets? Or looking at it to make sure he got the right name and title of your fiction?

“Oh Andy…” You whisper to yourself, folding the delicate piece of paper and putting it in your pocket. It’s more important to deliver the suit to Andy right now, and you can confront him – not really, just to joke and tease him about this, and tell him how much you love him and appreciate him for this.

Taglist: @geminiflanagansblog@wintasssoldier @sapphire-rogers

[iniziare]

Little Kafka™ Things (or a fair attempt at 'little'). I used to write lists with little random tidbits about my characters, which I came to realize tonight that I sorely missed making. So let's throw a little thing together for Kafka, as I've been hooked up to a salt IV about her, and I need some sanity. Some of these may be old news to oldie mutuals, but it's a new blog, so here we are. Time to start over, and start with basics. I'll elaborate on some in later posts.

The best way to describe Kafka, in my opinion, is a woman from a bygone era. While a beautiful mix of the olden days and the new, she very much oozes the former more than the latter. She is refined, sophisticated, cultured, and archaic in her tastes. Her fashion preferences (what she wears or what we know she has in her possession) include overcoats and velvet coats, both quite vintage, or rather "old-school". A shirt/blouse with ruffled cuffs? Quite an ode to an age long past (Victorian), even choosing to wear gloves outside of formal occasions/positions is quite the unusual choice. Outside of that, the katana is the samurai's blade, an ancient choice, it's not really utilized anymore, at least not in the same capacities, or with the same weight. The classical music? It's no longer really listened to. I once saw her referenced as foreign. Perfect.

Age-wise, she sits comfortably in the earlier half of the 30s, not a year younger.

Yes, it is noted (though mind you, by Silver Wolf) that she likes the occasional 'fabulous' thing, which hints at her having a bit of a refined palate, but that does not make her materialistic. It simply needs to fit in with #1. I mean look, a pearl earring, an ensemble of silver jewelry without a speck of gold (except on her default overcoat).

On that note, she's also very specific in perfumes, her signature would be Yves Saint Laurent's "Black Opium". Something that just like her, 'promises without unraveling, and tells without really telling, making it the perfect expression of femininity and grace.'

She is cleanly, and does not enjoy a mess, in her surroundings or on her person, but especially the latter. I will never budge on this, as her trailer empowers the thought and nothing has countered it since. Do we remember how she was fixing up her cuffs in the prologue after having engaged in combat? Yes, I know it's a little things, welcome, they arguably mean the most. A stain anywhere, blood? Absolutely not. As for her surroundings, please imagine her lifting an empty pizza box or whatever has been munched on from the sofa with a groan of "How many times will you leave these laying around, Silver Wolf?" Is it that much to ask that you clean up after yourself? And to return to the last point for one more moment, I swear, if anyone gets even a drop of blood on her coat or shirt, or sheets, she's not thrilled. Dry cleaning bill goes to you.

She gets bored incredibly easily. And while she has quite the manners to fit her overall 'essence', you might come across her attention having deviated a bit, granted, usually this will only be after you've been made aware of it. But this is to say, she will not get along with just about everyone. She's also not 'one of the young ones', she does not have the same interests, and though she'll find herself oddly enjoying a game of Origami Bird Clash, it's really because of Silver Wolf. All in all, if you can intrigue her, poke her curiosity, or you have a mind that interests her, then you're good. But you, and not what you can do, need to be interesting. Remember, the following quote is incredibly important for her character across the board: "She must have sought something extraordinary. everything she does comes at a great cost."

The order in which I believe she gets along with the Stellaron Hunters most, based on what canon has given and shown us so far, is as follows: Blade and Elio (in both vastly different ways), Silver Wolf, and then Firefly.

Kafka has an incredibly interesting view of destiny, and while this is something that warrants an entirely separate meta, I want to iterate the following so that no assumptions are made. As much as she speaks of 'The future is like a labyrinth: every divergence is merely an inducement. There is only one real path." And similar quotes, it is also incredibly important that (alongside another very interesting way of answering an earlier 'Is the future predetermined?', with specifically: "No, but what is predetermined is the future that has value.') this was a fundamental moment in her SQ that needed a great cost to obtain:

Trailblazer: Is destiny predetermined? Kafka: ... (If Kafka says the truth) Kafka: No (If Kafka says the lie) Kafka: Yes

[abbygrabska]

The Lazarus Experiment

The Doctor told me he was dropping Martha off, so I decided to stay in my room. 

I know for a fact something’s gonna change in the next five minutes.

I was right, because the Doctor opens my door and says, “Change of plans, we’re going to an event, get changed, formal attire.”

He then closes the door.

I nod to myself, going to my bathroom and taking a quick shower before doing my hair and makeup.

I go into my closet, which luckily the Tardis controls.

There’s a pink dress and a pair of white kitten heels, “My favorite pair.”

The Doctor and Martha are waiting for me in the console room.

They turn at my footsteps, both looking awestruck.

“Well, how do I look?” I ask.

“Gorgeous.” Martha smiles.

“Ethereal.” The Doctor grins.

I grin at both of them, “Well, let's go then.” We walk down the street.

The Doctor is fussing with the cuffs of his dress shirt, “Oh, black tie. Whenever I wear this, something bad always happens.” “I think that’s just you.” I laugh, “Besides. It suits you. In a James Bond kinda way.”

“James Bond?” He grins, “Really?”

I giggle as we approach the impressive entrance to Lazarus Laboratories. Inside the main reception room, guests are mingling. Dominating the room is a large white round cabinet surrounded by four pillars with a slight curve at the top.

The Doctor takes some hors-d’oeuvres from a passing tray, “Oh, look, they’ve got nibbles! I love nibbles!” He tosses one whole into his mouth.

Someone I assume Martha knows walks over, “Hello.” “Tish.” The two hug.

“You look great. So, what do you think? Impressive, isn’t it?” Martha nods, “Very.” “And two nights out in a row for you, that’s dangerously close to a social life.” Tish teases.

“You might, actually. Keep an eye out for photographers. And mum, she’s coming too, even dragging Leo along with her.”

Martha looks gobsmacked, “Leo in black tie? That I must see.” Tish glances at me and the Doctor.

“This is the Doctor, and Abby.” Martha introduces.

The Doctor shakes her hand, “Hello.” “Are they with you?” Tish asks.

“Yeah.” “But they’re not on the list, how did they get in?” I smile, linking hands with Martha, “I’m her plus one, and the Doctor is on the list, just under a different name.” She furrows her brow, looking between me and Martha, before it clicks, “Oh! Good for you, Martha.”

“So, do you know what the professor’s going to be doing tonight? That looks like it might be a sonic microfield manipulator.”

“He’s a science geek. I should’ve known. Gotta get back to work now. I’ll catch up with you later.” Tish leaves to mingle.

“Science geek? What does that mean?” He frowns, before realizing that I am holding Martha’s hand, “What’re you doing that for?”

“It means you are obsessively enthusiastic about it. And as for this,” I lift mine and Martha’s hand, “I figured I’m more Martha’s type than you are.” I grin at him.

He nods, frowning slightly.

Someone calls Martha’s name. She turns and looks at the woman as if she hasn’t seen her in years.

“Mum!” She gives her a big hug.

“Oh. all right, what’s the occasion?” Her mother asks.

“What do you mean? I’m just pleased to see you, that’s all.” “You saw me last night.”

“I know. I just… miss you. You’re looking good, Leo.”

“Yeah. if anyone ask me to fetch ‘em a drink, I’ll swing at ‘em.” Martha’s mother seems to notice the Doctor and I.

“You disappeared last night.” “I… just went home.” “On your own?”

I smile, wrapping an arm around Martha’s waist, “Hello, you must be Martha’s mom. I’m Abby, and this is Doctor John Smith.”

“How’d you know Martha?” Her mother asks.

“Well, this is our third date, and her and John are doing some work together.”

“Date?” Her mother’s eyebrows raise.

Our conversation is cut short, as there is a tapping on glass.

“Ladies and gentlemen, I am Professor Richard Lazarus and tonight I’m going to perform a miracle. It is, I believe, the most important advance since Rutherford split the atom, the biggest leap since Armstrong stood on the moon. Tonight, you will watch and wonder. Tomorrow, you’ll awake to a world which will be changed forever.” Lazarus enters the cabinet.

Two technicians start the machinery from a bank of instruments behind the cabinet. There is a high-pitched whir and a bright blue light as the four pillars begin to spin individually creating an energy field. They then begin to rotate around the cabinet, going faster and faster. A warning klaxon goes off.

“Something’s wrong. It’s overloading.”

The technicians try to stop it, but some of the panels explode, sending off sparks. The Doctor jumps over the low desk and aims his sonic screwdriver at the controls.

“Somebody stop him! Get him away from those controls!” “If this thing goes off, it’ll take the whole building with it. Is that what you want?” The Doctor pulls one of the main wires that connect to the cabinet and it slowly stops spinning.

Martha and I run to the door.

“Get it open!”

We open the door and watch, as through the smoke, Lazarus emerges looking 40 years younger. Photographers snap away as we look on amazed.

Lazarus touches his face, realizing it worked. He steps completely out and stands before his machine, “Ladies and gentlemen, I am Richard Lazarus. I am 76 years old and I am reborn!” He holds his arms up in triumph as everyone claps.

People take the opportunity to have their photos taken with Lazarus.

Martha and I watch the Doctor study the machine. “It can’t be the same guy. It’s impossible. It must be a trick.” Martha says. “Oh, it’s not a trick. I wish it were.”

“What just happened, then?” I ask.

“He just changed what it means to be human.”

We walk up just as Richard starts shoveling food into his mouth.

“Richard!” Lady Thaw chastises.

“I’m famished.”

“Energy deficient. Always happens with this kind of process.” The Doctor says.

“You speak as if you see this every day, Mr…” “Doctor. And, well, no, not every day, but I have some experience in this kind of transformation.”

“That’s not possible.” 

“Using hypersonic sound waves to create a state of resonance. That’s… that’s inspired.” “You understand the theory, then.” “Enough to know you couldn’t possibly have allowed for all the variables.”

“No experiment is entirely without risk.” “That thing nearly exploded. You might as well have stepped into a blender.” “You’re not qualified to comment.”

“If I hadn’t of stopped it, it would’ve exploded.”

“Then I thank you, Doctor. But that’s a simple engineering issue. What happened inside the capsule was exactly what was supposed to happen. No more, no less.”

“You’ve got no way of knowing that until you’ve run the proper tests.” I tell him.

Lazarus laughs, “Look at me! You can see what happened. I’m all the proof you need.” “This device will be properly certified before we start to operate commercially.” Lady Thaw smiles.

“Commercially?! You are joking. That’ll cause chaos.” Martha laughs.

“Not chaos. Change. A chance for humanity to evolve, to improve.” “This isn’t about improving. It’s about you and your customers living a little longer.” “Not a little longer, Doctor. A lot longer. Perhaps indefinitely.”

“Richard, we have things to discuss. Upstairs.” Lady Thaw walks away.

Lazarus goes to follow her, “Goodbye, Doctor. In a few years, you’ll look back and laugh at how wrong you are.” He reaches out and takes Martha’s hand, kissing the back of it before leaving.

“Ooh, he’s out of his depth. No idea of the damage he might have done.” The Doctor groans.

“So, what do we do now?” I ask.

“Now… well, this building must be full of laboratories. I say we do our own tests.” Martha looks at her hand, “Lucky I’ve just collected a DNA sample then, isn’t it?” “Oh, Martha Jones, you’re a star.”

We end up in an empty lab, looking at the results of the DNA test on a computer screen.

“Amazing.” “What?” I ask.

“Lazarus’s DNA.” “I can’t see anything different.” Martha says.

“Look at it!” The image on the screen flickers.

“Oh, my god! Did that just change? But it can’t have!” I gasp. “But it did.”

“It’s impossible.” “And that’s two impossible things we’ve seen tonight. Don’t you love it when that happens?”

“That means Lazarus has changed his own molecular patterns.” Martha says. “Hypersonic sound waves to destabilize the cell structure then a mutagenic program to manipulate the coding in the protein strands. Basically, he hacked into his own genes and instructed them to rejuvenate.” He explains. “But they’re still mutating now.” I realize.

“‘Cause he missed something. Something in his DNA has been activated and won’t let him stabilize. Something that’s trying to change him.” “Change him into what?” I ask. “I dunno, but I think we need to find out.” “That woman said they were going upstairs.”

“Let’s go!”

We step out of the lift and into Lazarus’s office. The Doctor turns on the lights.

“This is his office, all right.” I say. “So, where is he?” The Doctor asks.

“Dunno. Let’s try back at the re…ception.” Sticking out from behind the desk, I spot a pair of skeletal bones, wearing high heels. We rush over to see the desiccated remains of a woman.

“Is that Lady Thaw?” Martha asks. “Used to be. Now it’s just a shell. Had all the life energy drained out. Like squeezing the juice out of an orange.”

“Lazarus.” “Could be.” “So he’s changed already?” I ask. “Not necessarily. You saw the DNA. it was fluctuating. The process must demand energy. This might not have been enough.” “So he might do this again?” Martha asks.

“Hmm.”

We dash back to the lifts.

We arrive back at reception.

“I can’t see him.” “He can’t be far. Keep looking.” The Doctor walks off. “Hey, you all right, Martha? I think mum wants to talk to you.” “Have you seen Lazarus anywhere?” Martha asks.

“Yeah. He was getting cozy with Tish a couple of minutes ago.” The Doctor joins us moments later. “With Tish?!” “Ah, Abby.” “Where did they go?” “Upstairs I think, why?”

“Abby…” The Doctor rushes past, spilling her drink.

I look at her apologetically, “Sorry.” I pass her a napkin before running after him.

We arrive back at Lazarus’s office. “Where are they?” The Doctor takes out his sonic screwdriver, “Fluctuating DNA will give off an energy signature. I might be able to pick it up.” he holds his sonic out at arm’s length and slowly turns in a circle. Its beeping increases.

“Got him.” “Where?”

He points at the ceiling. “But this is the top floor! The roof!”

We run for the stairs.

“‘Between the idea and the reality, between the motion and the act…” “Falls the shadow.’”

Lazarus turns to see us.

“So the mysterious Doctor knows his Eliot. I’m impressed.” “Martha, what are you doing here?”

“Tish, get away from him.” “What? Don’t tell me what to do.” “I wouldn’t have thought you had time for poetry, Lazarus, what with you being busy defying the laws of nature and all.” “You’re right, Doctor. One lifetime’s been too short for me to do everything I’d like. How much more would I get done in two or three or four?”

“Doesn’t work like that.” I shake my head, “Some people live more in 20 years than others do in 80. It’s not the time that matters; it’s the person.” “But if it’s the right person, what a gift that would be.”

“Or what a curse. Look at what you’ve done to yourself.”

“Who are you to judge me?” 

“Tish, come here.” I ask. She walks over to us, “You have to spoil everything, don’t you? Every time I find someone nice, you have to go and find a fault.” “Tish, he’s a monster!” Martha says. “I know the age thing’s a bit freaky, but it works for Catherine Zeta-Jones.”

At the sound of growling, Tish slowly turns her head and we all see Lazarus.

He looks like a cross between a human skeleton and a scorpion. He rears up.

“Run!”

We all race inside and the Doctor seals the lock with his sonic screwdriver. Martha presses the call button for the lift, “You okay?” “I was gonna snog him.”

Sirens begin to go off and a computerized warning comes over the PA.

“What’s happening?” I ask. “Uh, an intrusion. It triggers a security lockdown. Kills most of the power. Stops the lifts. Seals the exits.” “Great, he must be breaking through the door. Now, stairs anyone?” We all run down the stairs.

There’s a crashing noise, “He’s inside!”

“Haven’t got much time!”

We enter the reception.

“Tish! Is there another way out of here?”

“There’s an exit in the corner, but it’ll be locked now.”

The Doctor tosses his sonic to me, “Setting 54. Hurry.”

I rush off, followed by Martha and Tish.

Glass shatters and Lazarus appears on the landing above before leaping down to the reception floor.

I open the door just as everyone runs for the exits.

“Over here! This way! Everyone downstairs now! Hurry!” We run over to Leo.

“Martha.” “C’mon, stay with me.” Martha and I take her mother and Leo to safety.

“What’s the Doctor doing?” Tish asks.

“He’s buying us time.” I say. Martha examines her brother, “Leo, look at me. Let me see your eyes.” She speak to her mother, “He’s got a concussion, you’ll need to help him downstairs.” She goes to an ice bucket and puts some ice in a napkin, which she then gives to her mother, “This’ll keep the swelling down. Go! I’ll be right behind you! Tish, move! We need to get out of here!”

The partygoers are running down the stairs to the main entrance but the doors are locked.

“We can’t get out! We’re trapped!”

I spot a desk and slide over the top and check the panel layout before using the sonic. The power comes back on, the doors open and everyone escapes.

I run back up the stairs.

I stop in my tracks at the sound of an explosion, Martha joining me shortly after, running into the Doctor as we reach a corner.

“What are you doing here?” He asks.

“Returning this.” I hold out his sonic screwdriver, “Thought you might need it.” “How did you…?” “Explosion? Definitely you.” “I blasted Lazarus.” “Did you kill him?” Martha asks.

Lazarus comes crashing down the hall.

“More sort of annoyed him, I’d say.”

We run around and end up back in the reception room.

“What now? We’ve just gone ‘round in a circle!” Lazarus bursts in and the Doctor heads for the device.

“We can’t lead him outside. Come on, get in.” We all hide in the device where we are pressed together like sardines.

“Are we hiding?” Martha asks.

“No, he knows we’re here. But this is his masterpiece. I’m betting he won’t destroy it, not even to get at us.” “But we’re trapped!”

“Well, yeah, that’s a slight problem.” “You mean you don’t have a plan?” “Yes, the plan was to get inside here!” 

“Then what?” “Well… Then I’d come up with another plan.”

“In your own time, then.” The Doctor accidentally gropes me before grabbing his sonic screwdriver, “Here we are.” “What’re you gonna do with that?”

The Doctor slides down slowly to the floor and pops open a panel, “Improvise.” “I still don’t understand where that thing came from. Is it alien?” “No, for once it’s strictly human in origin.” He uses his sonic screwdriver on the wires attached to the panel.

“Human? How can it be human?” I ask. “Probably from dormant genes in Lazarus’s DNA. The energy field in this thing must have reactivated them. And it looks like they’re becoming dominant.” “So, it’s a throwback.” “So it’s some option that evolution rejected for us millions of years ago, but the potential is still there? Locked away in our genes, until Lazarus unlocked it by mistake?” I ask. The Doctor continues to work on the wires. “It’s like Pandora’s box.” Martha says.

“Exactly. Nice shoes, by the way.” A blue light fills the capsule.

“Doctor, did he just turn it on?” I ask.

“Yep.” The machine begins to spin. “I don’t want to hurry you, but…” Martha worries.

“I know, I know. Nearly done.” “What’re you doing?”

“Trying to set the capsule to reflect energy rather than receive it.” “Will that kill him?” I ask.

“When he transforms, he’s three times his size, cellular triplication, so he’s spreading himself thin.” “We’re gonna end up like him!” “Just one more!” The Doctor pulls a wire.

The Doctor opens the door and steps out, Martha and I right behind him.

“I thought we were gonna go through the blender then.” Martha admits. “Really shouldn’t take that long to reverse the polarity. I must be a bit out of practice.”

Lazarus is lying in his human form, naked, on the floor.

“Oh God. He seems so… human again. It’s kind of pitiful.”

“Eliot saw that, too. ‘This is the way the world ends, not with a bang, but with a whimper.’”

Medical services, come to take the body, carrying it out on a gurney in a bag. We watch from the steps.

The first to see us is Tish, “She’s here. Oh, she’s all right.” She hugs Martha. Martha’s mum slaps the Doctor on the face, “Keep away from my daughter.” “Mum! What are you doing?” The Doctor puts his hand on his cheek, “All their mothers, every time.” “Not mine. Though to be fair, I don’t want you meeting her at all.”

“He is dangerous! I’ve been told things.” “What are you talking about?”

Mrs. Jones takes Martha by the shoulders, “Look around you! Nothing but death and destruction!”

“This isn’t his fault. He saved us, all of us!”

“It was Tish who invited everyone to this in the first place. I’d say technically, it’s her fault.” Tish elbows Leo in the side.

There’s a crash. The Doctor and I look at Martha before running off.

We run down the street where we see the ambulance, the doors open and the medics merely husks.

“Lazarus, back from the dead. Should’ve known, really.” The Doctor takes out his sonic screwdriver and searches for Lazarus like he did earlier. “Where’s he gone?” I ask.

“That way. The church.” “Cathedral. It’s Southwark Cathedral. He told me.” Tish informs us.

We proceed up the nave inside the cathedral, the Doctor in the very front with his sonic held out in front of him.

“Do you think he’s in here?” Martha asks. “Where would you go if you were looking for sanctuary?” I retort.

We move forward through the empty cathedral to the open space behind the altar and underneath the bell tower. 

Lazarus is sitting there, gasping, a red blanket from the ambulance wrapped around him, “I came here before. A lifetime ago. I thought I was going to die then. In fact, I was sure of it. I sat there, just a child… the sound of planes and bombs outside.” “The Blitz.” “You’ve read about it.” “I was there.” “You’re too young.” Lazarus scoffs.

“So are you.” Lazarus laughs, but it soon turns to gasps of pain as he fights the mutation, “In the morning, the fires had died, and I was still alive. I swore I’d never face death like that again.”

The Doctor walks around Lazarus slowly, looking up at the bell tower.

I watch, knowing he’s planning something.

“So defenseless. I would arm myself, fight back, defeat it.”

“That’s what you were trying to do today.” “That’s what I did do today.”

“What about the other people who died?”

“They were nothing. I changed the course of history.” “Any of them might have done, too. You think history’s only made with equations? Facing death is a part of being human. You can’t change that.” “No, Doctor. Avoiding death. That’s being human. It’s our strongest impulse, to cling to life with every fiber of being. I’m doing what everyone before me has tried to do. I’ve simply been more… successful.” Lazarus groans in pain as his body tries to change. “Look at yourself! You’re mutating! You’ve no control over it! You call that a success?”

“I call it progress. I’m more now than I was. More than just an ordinary man.” “There’s no such thing as an ordinary man.”

“He’s gonna change again at any minute.” I whisper.

“I know. If I can get him up into the bell tower somehow, I’ve an idea that might work.”

“Up there?” I ask.

He nods.

“You’re so sentimental, Doctor. Maybe you are older than you look.”

“I’m old enough to know that a longer life isn’t always a better one. In the end, you just get tired. Tired of the struggle. Tired of losing everyone that matters to you. Tired of watching everything turn to dust.” The Doctor squats beside Lazarus, “If you live long enough, Lazarus, the only certainty left is that you end up alone.”

“That’s a price worth paying.” “Is it?”

“I will feed soon.” “I’m not gonna let that happen.”

“You’ve not been able to stop me so far.” I walk up behind Lazarus, “Leave him, Lazarus! He’s old and bitter. Thought you had a taste for fresher meat.” He snarls and chases after me.

Martha and Tish run with me.

“Doctor! The tower!”

We run up the narrow spiral staircase that leads to the upper level.

We hear screaming.

“Did you hear that?” Tish asks.

“He’s changed again. We’ve got to lead him up.” “Abby?!” I peer out of one of the archways on the upper level, “Doctor!” “Take him to the top, the very top of the bell tower, d’you hear me?!” I nod, “Then what?” “Abby, come on!” Tish grabs my arm.

We run off.

We arrive at the top of the bell tower, which is a circular walkway with wooden rails.

“There’s nowhere to go! We’re trapped!” Tish exclaims.

“This is where he said to bring him.” I say. “All right, so we’re not trapped. We’re bait.”

“He knows what he’s doing. We have to trust him.” Martha tells her.

We hear a hiss, “Ladies.” Lazarus enters, blocking the only doorway.

“Stay behind me. If he takes me, make a run for it. Head down the stairs, you should have enough time.” I tell them.

“But…” Martha attempts to protest.

“Just do it!”

Lazarus attacks, swinging his tail down.

We all scream.

Lazarus knocks away part of the wall.

I get hit by his tail and fall over, clinging to the edge.

“Abby!” 

Lazarus leaps across to stand over me. “Hold on! Get away from her!” Martha screams. Tish and Martha hold their heads in agony as the sound waves from the organ resonate in the tight space. Lazarus begins to writhe.

I try to hold on. Lazarus topples over the edge and falls to the floor below.

I’m about to fall when hands grab my arms.

“We’ve got you. Hold on!” “Abby?!”

The two sisters pull me back onto the walkway.

“I’m okay! We’re all okay!” I cry, hugging them, “Thank you.” “It’s your Doctor you should be thanking.” “Told you he’d think of something.” I sniffle.

“He cut it a bit fine there, didn’t he?” “He always does. It’s more fun that way.” I laugh.

We come down the stairs.

The Doctor runs to us and pulls me into a kiss, “Never do that again.”

Tish seems confused, “I thought—” She looks to her sister. 

Martha shakes her head.

We stand in front of the Tardis in Martha’s flat.

“Something else that just kinda escalated, then.”

“I can see a pattern developing. You should take more care in the future. And the past, and whatever other time period you find yourself in.” Martha smiles.

“It’s good fun, though, isn’t it?” I grin. “Yeah.”

“So, what d’you say, one more trip?” The Doctor asks.

“No. sorry.”

“What do you mean? I thought you liked it.”

“I do, but I can’t go on like this. ��One more trip.’ It’s not fair.”

“What’re you talking about?” “I don’t want to just be a passenger anymore. Someone you take along for a treat. If that’s how you still see me, well, I’d rather stay here.”

“Okay, then. If that’s what you want.” “Right. But we’ve already said goodbye once today, so it’s really best if you just go.” She walks away from the Tardis, keeping her back to it.

I laugh, “Martha, sweetie. He said okay.” “Sorry?”

I nod my head at the Tardis.

“Oh, thank you! Thank you!” Martha hugs us and laughs.

“Well, you were never really just a passenger, were you?”

[birlwrites]

Hi, if it's not a bother to ask, could you show me what the robes of the characters look like? In Harry Potter, I only remember Dumbledore wearing a long gray one. And the robes you describe seem to be very stylish, and every time I google 'robes' to get an idea of what they would look like, I usually get those familiar long, unstylish robes with no silhouettes or patterns that the monks wear, and I'm having a hard time imagining the characters without those robes...

I had to cut because I exceeded the number of characters, so I continue... I'd also love to get an idea of which tunics are considered formal and which are considered casual. It would be great if you included images as an example, but most likely it would be too much trouble, so you don't have to if you don't want to.

-

so unfortunately the robes come from my brain and i can't draw for shit afjskghskjdf, but i can try with words!

the basic details of what robes look like (in the Birl Cinematic Universe lol):

full length (the EXACT length depends on formality, but ankle length or longer)

long sleeves

relatively high-necked (showing more than a bit of collarbone would be rare)

no clear division or seam between 'top' and 'bottom'

it's the last that's most important to distinguish robes from dresses. dresses will often have a very clear Top and Skirt, even if they're joined into one garment, with a distinct waistline (regardless of whether that waistline is at the natural waist, or if it's an empire waist or dropped waist situation)

robes (again, BCU robes), on the other hand, don't have that so much. the top part and the bottom part kind of flow into each other. similar to a bathrobe or dressing gown/housecoat - it's all just kind of one continuous thing with no seam at the waist (although you can use a sash or tie to cinch it at the waist or hold it closed, in the case of the bathrobe etc)

there's a lot of variety in the specific cut of the sleeves and neck, fullness of the skirt(s), and things like sashes, where the closures are, and accessorizing - i can go into more detail on that if anyone wants me to, but i'm trying to just hit the summary level here afshkglsjkdf. there's ALSO a lot of variety in fabric color, type of fabric, and ornamentation. at the moment in ttdl, embroidery and layering a sheer fabric over an opaque one are in, as are ornamented cuffs and wide sleeves.

as for what determines formality:

number of layers - much like how a 3-piece suit is considered more formal than a shirt and trousers, the more pieces a set of robes has, the fancier it is lol. my version of a 'full set' of robes includes 3 pieces (kind of inspired by 3-piece suits), although tbh that's more of a thing in lachrimae than it is in ttdl. in ttdl it's slightly more ambiguous and 1-piece dress robes are much more common

hem length - floor length is formal, ankle length is casual

ornamentation - like wearing your best jewelry for special occasions, if a set of robes is decked out with ornamentation (embroidery, jewels, lace, etc), it's going to be considered formal

structure - stiffer fabrics tend to be considered more formal, and flowier, drapier fabrics tend to be considered more casual, so more structured robes are more formal

tailoring in torso area - looser tends to be more casual. this goes hand in hand with structure. formal clothing will be very carefully tailored to fit closely to the torso without being tight (at least, in regulus's socioeconomic class) - casual clothing can be looser

all of that applies to all robes regardless of the gender of the person wearing them. there are, as i said, far more specifics i could get into, but there is simply So Much that i want to keep this answer focused on the basics afjslghskfjs. hope that's helpful!

[infiniteburningworlds]

“The sentence for high treason and terrorism is exile. May God have mercy on your souls.” Victoria says in a flat, formal tone. The bags are pulled off of our heads and I can see my tormentor. She’s a 12-foot tall woman in a long tan suit, the flag of Infernum hanging from her sash, her one organic arm with the black latex it's covered in. She has a cold sneer on her face, and her one green eye glints. The other prosthetic one is hidden behind a monocle and it's been that way since I took it. But I know that look. It doesn’t match her smile. She’s frustrated she can’t do the job herself. I pull at my cuffs, but my eyes flick to the rows of jackbooted, trench coat wearing clones flanking either side of us. Identical, illegally produced assembly line humans who’ve had identical personalities and training uploaded into their minds.

“God’s mercy ain’t my concern.” Rick sasses behind me. I wince at the sound of a rifle butt being swung into his ribs. I wince as I hear several loud pops from his torso. He groans quietly and collapses shortly after.

“Go ahead. Smart mouth me again.” Victoria challenges. But she’s not looking at him, she’s looking at me...and she’s not smiling. That green cat eye pupil is wide, and her body is tense. She’s trying to provoke him. Rick coughs roughly, a gasp behind it. I look over my shoulder and find the soldier hefting him by the arm pit. His face is uncharacteristically screwed in pain and he’s hunched to one side. He’s had ribs broken. I can see his eyes behind his round glasses lit with a burning hatred.

“Ridley! Cool it.” I order gruffly. It’s this son of a bitch who got us caught in the first place. He should know better than to mouth off when we’re in front of someone looking for an excuse to send us to the dungeons. I shoot a glance at him, and we briefly make eye contact. He spits blood and bares his teeth, but he doesn’t say anything. I can feel my face soften a bit when I perceive the blood. That's not good. Victoria’s eyes flick to my right.

“And you, sister? Anything to say for your defense?” she asks.

“I acted for my country. Not myself.” Lola replies rather coldly. Victoria’s eyes narrow on her. Finally, her eyes fall back on mine.

“And you?” Victoria inquires gruffly.

“If you want to keep a secret, you must also hide it from yourself.” I say flatly.

“Hm. Orwell.” she notes, feigning boredom.

“You really want that ancient bastard keeping you on a leash?” I ask Victoria bluntly. She steps forward with a lopsided sneer. The fingers of her metal hand tense into a fist and she swiftly sends it into my gut. I let out a hoarse, guttural shout as she empties the air out of my lungs and momentarily rearranges my organs, before falling to my knees.

“I most definitely will not miss you and your poisonous words.” she says lowly, heftng me back to my feet. She gives us all one last examination before turning away. “Get this filth out of my sight.” she says coldly, leaning on her balcony railing. Black bags descend over our heads and we’re forcefully led onward for what feels like an eternity. At first I try to keep track of paces and directions, but the building we’re being marched through is too big for that. Rick starts coughing and I get a bad feeling about that. He’s human, unlike me and Lola. If he bleeds, it doesn’t stop.

I don’t know for how long or how far I’m marched, but eventually I can feel the cold muzzle of a handgun being pressed to my head as my cuffs are undone. The muzzle stays here as a hand forces me into a seat. Cold bands of metal are placed around my arms and legs, imprisoning me to a chair. Finally, the bag is lifted off my head. The woman in here is wearing generic field gear, though without any exoskeleton. She looks identical to Victoria, but she still has her right arm and her eye. She’s wearing a tactical plate carrier and a sleeveless shirt, leaving her muscled arms exposed. She’s playing with a knife as the pilot takes off, staring us down. Victoria’s clone is somehow every bit as evil as she is and then some. But something here doesn’t add up. As we lift off, she twirls the blade between her fingers restlessly, her unblinking gaze fixed on me.

“Fancy ride for the Finger Fields.” I note. With the interior space of this aircraft, I can tell this isn’t a normal troop carrier. We’re in something a bit longer range. It’s a military craft but the seats have padding. Looking out the windows doesn’t reveal much, either. We’re already in the dense dust clouds permanently covering Infernum.

“We’re not going to the Finger Fields.” the clone states flatly. I narrow my eyes.

“The Northern Wastelands?” I test. I can’t talk too much, or she’s liable to relieve me of my internal organs with that knife. The clone sneers at me, revealing canines that are a bit too developed to be human, and teeth a bit too sharp behind it to suggest an omnivorous diet. Victoria always did like her protein, even if it came from people. As if confirming my question, I feel myself forced back into the headrest of my seat as we throttle up. The aircraft shakes violently as we cross the trans-sonic barrier.

“Bingo.” the clone answers.

“The Finger Fields aren’t enough? An endless inferno, an active caldera boiling the water out of our bodies and the radiation undoing our DNA with every step?” I challenge her, hoping to persuade her. As unpleasant as that is, it offers the best chance for survival. The Northern Wastelands are what’s left of human society after the last World War. Nuclear weaponry proved ineffective at destroying these cities. Whatever they’re made of, thermonuclear bombs couldn’t even scorch them. Warfare became indiscriminate. I don’t know who made it, but the Necrolyte Virus was released, and it ravaged the entire continent. Whoever made that bioweapon had no intention of controlling it. Necrolysis is a rapid and cruel death. Unlike radiation and dehydration, it’s a 100% death sentence.

“Isn’t this a bit overkill?” Lola asks.

“Definitely,” the clone says, tossing the knife up and down in her hand impatiently, “I would have preferred to do this personally. But Kain believes you’re too dangerous to remain within Infernum’s coasts. Let’s just say you’ve slipped past us a few too many times. Every time we thought we had you, you’d somehow slip through an unseen crack, a lapse in our security...and especially you, Virgil. You know how to get into the heads of people. You always goaded them into making mistakes.”

I glance at Lola. She’s coldly focused on the clone. Rick’s hunched forward. He doesn’t want part of this, focused on not suffocating from flail chest. I glance down at my fastenings. Steel bands an inch thick, with electrical prongs facing towards my hands if I try to break bones to fit through them. The locks are thick tubes and I can’t see the keyways. My heart hitches as I realize this isn’t the usual treatment of capture and torture. Kain is serious this time.

“And you? I seem to recall you had your foot twisted off,” I point out. She grins at me.

“Aye. That’s why it’s my transporting you. When my better half slips up, she takes it personally. When one of our clones slips up, they don’t notice. When I slip up, I can adapt. Simply put, I’m better than the original,” she boasts with a lopsided grin. She stops tossing the blade and catches it by the handle. She reaches behind her and slides the pilot’s cabin door shut. It’s just us now.

“And unlike Victoria, I am content with following orders. I like operating in the field. It’s so...exciting. And right now I get to witness history. I get to witness the kingpins of a terrorist organization receive a death sentence with no hope. I get to watch your anger turn to desperation. I get to watch the hatred in your gaze turn to begging for you life. I get to watch the greatest warriors of our time turn into sniveling cowards, and I don’t even have to do anything. I just have to sit here and watch,” she says, inhaling deeply, and sighing rather loudly with her eyes closed, “I can already smell your fear. It is an exquisite bouquet.”

“We won’t be the last. A regime run on sadism and hatred will only breed more of us,” I protest. It only makes her grin wider.

“I’m sure you’ve heard the saying relevant to this conversation. You still don’t get it, do you? The cruelty is the point. I might even live to see Kain die. Maybe I’ll meet someone like you who’ll replace my brain with lead. It’s not like I care. This is where I’m happy. I might even get to kill Victoria. Simply put, Victoria’s not in command. She’s a figurehead,” she explains, shifting her gaze to Lola. Lola responds by looking out of the window as we exit the volcanic plumes of Infernum. Sunlight fills the cabin. The ocean glints below us. I can’t deny, it’s a beautiful sight. A sight ruined by the clone’s mocking laughter.

“You never got a chance to appreciate the small things in life, did you? An entire life of violence, only for you to be executed slowly. God I love my job,” she sneers. I glance again at Rick. It’s about here where he usually starts becoming a real smartass. I feel my anxiety starting to rise as I see the bright red droplets on his shirt. I now realize that his ribs have pierced his lung and he’s running on the other, coughing up blood to keep the other one from filling up. Fuck...how long will we have to wait before we land? I stare back at the clone, whose pupils have gone wide with sadistic glee.

“He annoyed you too, didn’t he? I always saw how you told him to shut up. Irony in death is such a fickle thing, is it not?”

“It wouldn’t be better to have us land and all die of necrolysis? It’s a much more painful death.” I challenge.

“Unlike Victoria, I am not bound to my sadism...though I will indulge it from time to time. She’s not here to save you now,” she says, turning to Rick. I bare my teeth at her. I am not used to my rage being impotent.

“She loves you, you know.”

“Don’t you dare listen to her!” I shout at Rick. He looks up at her, his bald head glistening with sweat, and his beard clumped together with half-dried blood.

“Victoria loves you. That’s why I’m here and she’s not. The relationship between you two did not go unnoticed by us. In fact, Victoria sprung you guys out several times because she couldn’t bring herself to kill you,” the clone says to Rick, who’s paying close attention to her. I can see tears in Rick’s eyes.

“Don’t you fuckin’ dare listen to her! Focus on breathing! Cough up that fucking blood!” I order him. But his breathing has hitched, and he’s breathing deeper, suppressing his cough reflex. The clone isn’t grinning at him anymore. She’s gotten up from her seat, a tender expression on her face. She kneels down to Rick. Kneeling puts her eye level with him, and it's the closest thing these two ever came to being equals.

“She doesn’t know we know. Or more specifically, that I know. She tried to get you out. She tried to save you. She tried to let you guys off the hook...but you kept fighting, and you kept forcing her to hurt you,” she says, caressing the side of Rick’s face. The tears are flowing freely down Rick’s face now as he looks into her eyes. The two women are identical in appearance, but this isn’t Victoria.

“She’s trying to kill you, goddamn it! Cough up that blood! That’s a fucking order!” I scream, my voice breaking as I crane my neck around my harness. Rick is just too focused on her. She closes her eyes, leaning in for a kiss. I struggle against my restraints as he closes his eyes. I scream through my teeth as white hot needles coarse through my veins. My body disobeys the commands I send it. Electrical shocks. I empty my lungs with the loudest scream I can manage, hoping to break through Rick’s delirium, or maybe, miraculously, summon the strength to break my restraints. Stars start to dance along the sides of my vision as the shock continues.

As rapidly as it started, it subsides. I fall slack in my seat, my head slumping forward. It’s not the worst pain I’ve ever felt, but the body can't take it and needs to recover. There is no fighting biology. Victoria saw to that. I glare back at Victoria’s clone. She sighs as she pulls away from Rick. His eyes are closed, and his mouth is slightly parted. He does not draw breath.

“Fuck!” I exclaim, struggling against my restraints. She grins, passing a few inches by my face.

“And what was he to you? A drunkard who could hold a gun?” she asks. I glare at her, as if my gaze alone could kill her. Our eyes lock, and hers widen with glee.

“That is what I love about you, Virgil! Hatred, control, endless resourcefulness, the will to fight and live.”

“You sick bitch.”

“You haven’t answered my question. What was he to you, if not a liability to your operation?” she asks. Her blade’s tip hovers over my heart.

“That won’t kill me.”

“I know. But I like to see you squirm. The question, Virgil,” the clone demands. I bare my teeth at her as she slowly presses the knife into my chest. Truth be told, Rick did get on my nerves. He was always drunk. He was always the comedy of my company. It annoyed me because I could tell it was disingenuous. He was ignoring his personal issues rather than dealing with them, and it was often to our detriment.

“Virgil’s older than his record states. Virgil’s not even his real name. He often took in strays like Rick.” Lola explains emotionlessly. The woman rolls her eyes and backs away.

“How insipid.” she states.

“And what about you? Just following orders? Like the good little product you are? A derivative of the original?” I growl at her, exposing my fangs. She leans back, sheathing the blade and crossing her legs.

“Unlike you, I know how to bide my time. You want the truth? I hate you. I hate Kain. I hate Victoria. You call me a product like I don’t know? Products have a shelf-life. Everyone knows this. Even these clone soldiers. They’re mindless right now, but give them a few years. After seeing so many people abused, so much cruelty, after questioning their ideology and their leadership, do you think Kain’s authority will last longer than their loyalty? I’m a direct clone of Victoria. That includes her biological propensity for intelligence. My shelf life is shorter than everyone else’s, because I can fucking think. If you were smart, you would have laid low. You would have let this play out. But you had to be heroes. That’s why you’re restrained with electricity and I can monologue about your failures. Infernum will fall again. Anarchy turns to authoritarianism. Authoritarianism decays into anarchy. Whenever a social order gets too comfortable, it decays from within. It’s the irrevocable truth of humanity, and when Kain falls, I’ll be there. You could have been here too, if you knew when to fucking stop,” she sneers. I spit at her feet.

“I’m going to mount your head on a pike and display it in Zodiac Plaza.” I threaten hoarsely.

“I look forward to it.” she grins, letting me see a syringe before she jams it into my neck. I fight the anesthetic, seeing her do the same thing to Lola before I black out.

Coming too out of being knocked out by an anesthetic isn’t a kind process, much less when I’m slapped awake. My hands are bound in front of me, and I’m on the ground...but this isn’t the sterile interior of an aircraft or a building. I inhale and smell...something foul. A shit smell. My eyes widen. The green-black sky hangs heavy overhead. The ground I’m on isn’t level, shifting under me. I see broken concrete and exposed rebar. Oh God… I try to get up, but there’s a heavy weight on my back. A cold ring presses into the back of my head. It takes me a moment to realize that it's the muzzle of a gun. I go slack, understanding the position. The person squatting in front of me is too tall to mistake for anyone else. But she’s wearing a yellow hazmat suit with a gas mask and an oxygen supply, which can only mean one thing.

“Look, you got what you wanted.” I plead to her.

“Funny enough, this is up and beyond my orders.” she says, her voice heavily distorted by her mask’s electronics. I look down at her hands and see that combat knife. She looks at the men behind me and nods. We’re stood up, the gun still to my head.

“We’re already here, just leave us!” I shout at her.

“You’re not as smart as me, but surely you can put it together that you’re a liability. Neither Kain nor Victoria sees that. As far as they’re concerned, you died slowly. As far as I’m concerned…” she says, stepping closer. She places the blade on my wrist and I wince as she leaves a shallow cut. She does the same for Lola.

“Oh God…” I whimper.

“I hear Necrolysis is a painful way to go, but with the biological cocktail floating around here, who knows? Maybe you’ll catch something else. It’s been an honour, Virgil.” she says. I get a pistol butt to the back of my head and so does Lola. We fall down as the clone and her soldiers get back on the transport. As the electrojets rumble to life and push the transport off the ground, I’m too focused on that cut. Already, the blood is turning black with exposure to the air. It goes from mildly painful, to a burn. The black rapidly spreads up my arm, the pain pounding upwards like a hammer synced to my heartbeat. I scream as I watch it go past what my eyes can see, but I can feel it working up to my head. I scream as the pain reaches behind my eyes, like maggots inside my brain.

[winxngasks]

💀 Riven, Specialist 💀

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And finally, last up for the boys is Riven! Honestly glad that I got to do the guys’ looks since they deserve to have the attention and be as fleshed out as the girls, and it was a fun challenge trying to come up with their individual styles more(since they deserve to have fun and variance in their outfits too)! These will probably be the last of the redesign posts for now as I have some other projects to focus on(one being finishing up the rest of the NG AU bios), but I do want to make more of these in the future, with possibly doing the powered-up forms, other characters’ fashion/redesigns, or doing different outfit styles(like formal attire)/makeup/piercing and tattoos/etc for the characters I’ve done already. When the time comes for that, I’ll make a poll to see what you guys would be more interested in.

Focusing back on Riven’s post here, the main inspiration for his was just cranking up his bad boy style even more. The most difficult thing to figure out was the hair, since I could never find a reference that had both the hairstyle and hair color I had in mind for him for his redesign, but I eventually found something that kind of works with what I was going for with him. But, I hope you enjoy!

More details about his looks can be found under the ‘readmore’!

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- For Riven’s physical appearance, I imagine him to be about average height, similar in height as Sky with more of a lean but still muscular build. Skin tone is still rosy but is a bit more tanned, with his eyes still being a purple color. Changed his hair to more of a ‘smoothed-down’ style(not quite like the reference picture) while also giving it an undercut, with it still being the dark, magenta-ish color as in canon. For extra physical details, I wanted to give him a few piercings to make his style more ‘edgy’. These would include an eyebrow piercing, a lip piercing(either just one or two/snakebites), and multiple ear piercings.

- For his color scheme, his wiki said most of his clothing is in dark shades so I wanted to keep that aspect and make it more prominent, so he can stand out more compared to the other guys. Mostly wears a lot of black and dark grays, with white and silver being accents. Also wears dark blue, mainly for jeans, and darker reds and maroons at times too, but mainly for undershirts. Like already mentioned I made his style be more ‘edgy/bad boy’ in aesthetic, keeping with canon a bit where he prefers sleeveless shirts to showcase his physique more.

- For accessories, he wouldn’t be as focused on them but he does wear a few that help add to his more punkish look. Most of them are either studded or spiky belts or bracelets, but does have couple of chains to attach to his belts and chain necklaces. The main accessory I gave him here was some leather strap bracelets, since a few of his canon outfits had cuff bracelets and I wanted to keep that look for him, but updated them to match more with the style I gave him.

[cantuscorvi]

Talk to us about Raum’s love for fabrics? Is there an expensive fabric popular with his clients (cheap and plastic textiles excluded) that he cannot stand? Does he have a favourite fabric to work with? Least favourite? What about patterns? How would his signature suit look like if he could use fabrics from any time period?

Since you both asked a similar question I'm going to throw both answers down here into one ask! Hope you don't mind.

Is there an expensive fabric popular with his clients (cheap and plastic textiles excluded) that he cannot stand? // @nezumivc103221

There is no particular fabric that he dislikes that much, if he can work with it. Usually it depends on context. Cashmere is one that comes up often, that can cause some headaches when people just want it because it seems fancy. The industry for cashmere is oversaturated, especially since fast fashion started to pick it up, and the overall quality of cashmere is starting decline as a result of over-production. He will always be sceptical when someone expects cashmere for a lower price point, because it usually means an inferior knit, and a contributor to the worsening situation surrounding it.

As for personally, he is not a big fan of linen — it’s a very wrinkly fabric, it’s suited to summer, light and bright colours, and he finds it hard to get behind that casual, sprezzatura aesthetic for himself. It usually doesn’t match his personal style.

Does he have a favourite fabric to work with? Least favourite?

The favourite to work with is wool. It’s a classic for a reason, and its very versatile because there are so many different types. His least favourite to work with is cotton (at least for a suit, shirts is fine, good even). Cotton is a stiffer, denser material. Garments are difficult to alter, require more dry cleaning and can fade unevenly, especially on a darker fabric. The end result is something that can be nice, if more casual, but it’s a minor pain to work with.

What about patterns?

For suits; prince of wales check, pinstripe/chalkstripe, herringbone, birdseye. For shirts; broadcloth, twill, royal oxford, end-on-end. Ties, just about anything goes as long as it will match.

What are the things Raum prefers in his suits? Cut of jacket, type of cuff, lapel, texture of fabric? //@royaletiquette

As for himself, its a bit more difficult to pin down. There isn’t one type of suit that Raum wears all the time, and he doesn’t actually wear a full suit daily, unless it’s necessary (eg, for work reasons). Especially depending on occasion, season, weather, etc things are changed. The most important factor is occasion — it would decide the level of formality, which basically decides everything else. There are some aspects he will generally lean toward, however.

For example, the cut he usually prefers is English (autumn, winter) or Milanese/Neapolitan (spring, summer). He prefers minimal drape, and is likely to go with double vents at the back, or no vents for a more formal style. He will pretty much always have darts at the front of the jacket which are more flattering to the waist and give a classic tapered look.

He will go for a surgeon cuff with three or four buttons, generally with the first button undone to show that they are functional — and it has the added effect of flashing a cufflink if those are worn.

As for lapel, daily, he’s most likely to wear a notch lapel rather than peak (peak lapel is rather flashy and his style is more conservative). Of course, shawl lapel is formal only, but honestly he loves that svelte look it gives.

Fabric, he will almost always go for fine worsted wool, it’s smooth, soft and a little stretchy, and it has a very slight shine when it catches the light.

[chapterbychapterstories]

Hero X Villain

Follow this link for Chapter 1

Chapter 2

“A man who yells, is a man with no control.” It was his father’s motto. Anytime a customer raised their voice in their small shop his father would whisper it to him. Despite being in the Queen’s golden office, high above the ground, higher still above the cities of the Undercrust, Heal was reminded of his father. The Queen’s Head of Security was red faced. His voice uneven as spit hit the Program Leader’s face. Blame for this was placed on the Program Leader, he in turn placed some on Flight.

“Do you have any idea what it takes to build an empire Program Leader?” The Queen glanced at him, taking control of the conversation. She was all proper, golden hair, golden eyes, gold, white, and black formal shirts and slacks. If she lost control she wouldn’t yell. “A proper mix of respect and fear. Do you know what your team earned you today?” He still didn’t answer. “Disrespect, and humiliation. I have given you this important position because I was informed you would be best for the job. Is that not true?”

“It is true.” His voice barely had any confidence. 

“Then why did you fail me?”

This time the Program Leader held his head up. “We weren’t expecting the unnatural haired one.”

“Which one?”

“The girl with the sword.”

They both turned to watch the footage of the fight. Two of the villains were already identified as 04061327096 code name Telekinesis and 10011327056 codename Barrier both from the undercrust layer 27. According to their evaluation reports the pair were not very powerful and had dropped out of the Hero Program. 

“All you had to do was exterminate those Undercrust villains. There were only three of them and your team couldn’t do that.”

“I apologize ma’am.”

“We are all lucky my kids were at school. My house has been demolished and will need to be rebuilt, not to mention your heroes’ reputation with the public will need to be regained.”

“I understand. We have begun tracking the villains.”

“Good, I want them in cuffs or caskets before sundown 7 days from now.”

They all bowed, taking their leave. 

The hallway outside the Queen’s office was clean, white and gold. A large window to the side revealed the sparkling overcrust city of layer 01. The buildings rose in stunning works of human artistry. Gold, white, and silver. Large bridges occasionally joined two buildings together, but the Queen didn’t want them cluttering the skyline.

Despite being the capital, layer 01 was also the least populated of the layers. Most of the high rise buildings, and small homes were empty or housed the working offices of people who lived in the other layers. Heal could still recall the bustle of life in the Undercrust cities. Packed with people in the cavernous environment. All the hustle made you forget you were underground. But that was before the Hero Program.

“Heal.” Flight pulled him from his thoughts. “You were our weakest link today. Program Leader and I will work with you one on one to make sure you can do more than just sit on the sides waiting for someone to get hurt.”

“Yes ma’am.” Now blame was shifting to him. Anything to keep Flight’s perfect record clean.

He didn’t have the flashy powers of the others. He couldn’t lift heavy objects, or cause explosions with his spit, but no one else had healing powers, and that made him invaluable. Even in the empty, glittering city of layer 01.

[detective-luca-montoya]

This drabble takes place after the Christmas one! Luca belongs to me, Malik and fem!Jonas belong to @lumpsbumpsandwhumps!

---

Stepping out of the Uber and staring up at the neatly kept, almost homey Kelley-Belmont Funeral Home, Luca was reminded once again how stupid this idea was. But the note burning a hole in her pocket said otherwise, so setting her shoulders with a resigned sigh, she headed into the reception room and all of her thoughts flew straight- or maybe that was the wrong term- out the window.

There was a woman- the receptionist, at the counter. The most beautiful woman Luca had ever seen. Or at least pretty close- slight and small, with lovely chestnut hair and a blue dress that hugged her curves- and her-

"Welcome to Belmont Funeral Home! May I help you?"

Oh. Oh fuck she's being spoken to-

She clears her throat, loudly, desperately hoping she wasn't blushing as red as she felt. "Um- yes, I'm here to see um, Malik?" Quickly, she looks for a nametag- trying not to stare at the woman's chest- Joanne. "Miss Joanne? My name's Luca. Luca Montoya."

Joanne beams, and Luca feels her face heat up. "No need to be so formal, dear! Call me Joanne. I'll be right back with Malik for you."

She heads into the back room- not the basement, Luca is relieved to see. She hears Joanne's voice- lilting, like a bird, or maybe like honey? It's nice-

"Oh, Malik! You have a friend here to see you!"

Malik steps out of the back, fixing the cuffs of his shirt- formal workwear- Did he only own three outfits?

"Now how may I help yo-"

The look of undisguised surprise on Malik's face- an expression she's never seen on him before- fills her with the satisfaction only born of spite. "Montoya?" His eyes dart between her and Joanne, and then back at her again, and Luca hopes that her flushed cheeks have gone away enough for him to miss it.

Evidently, it has not. Malik's face was, on the surface perfectly kind and helpful, as was his body language. By every indication happy to see his friend- but his aura, pulsing with tinges of jealousy and the dull buzz of whatever muted emotions he did feel, told an entirely different story. But his voice was warm as he nodded and said without missing a beat, "Long time no see! What can I do ya for?"

She glances at Joanne briefly, who's probably thrilled that her boss has someone else to talk to. "I have something important I need to discuss with you. Could we talk in private?"

His face softens- a facade of concern she knows he doesn't really feel. "'Course. We can talk in my office." He gestures for her to follow him, and after a wary glance towards the basement, she follows.

It's a normal-looking office, to her relief (maybe he actually does do real work) and she eyes him as he closes the door. He smiles easily. "Might want some privacy."

"I'll bet," she mutters, dropping into the nearest chair. Malik lounges behind his desk, and ever the gentleman, asks, "So? To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?"

She pulls the crumpled note out of her pocket and leans forward to slide it across the desk. He glances at it with a bored expression, and she rolls her eyes before explaining, "Someone- several someones- are after me. Dangerous people."

"And this is my problem why?"

There's the asshole she remembers. "As I recall, you still want to pull a profit from me. Hard to do if I get gutted in an alleyway by someone else. Besides, I'm sure you're already getting off on the fact that I'm coming to you for help."

His fingers drum against the desk, saying nothing. She takes this as an opportunity to continue.

"I want you to pretend to be my husband."

His drumming stops, for a heartbeat, before it continues. She speaks quickly lest he start laughing- or just cuts to the chase and stabs her.

"I'm obviously a single woman. I can forge certificates, documents, make everything look legal- but I'll need to be seen with you to make it seem convincing. I need to disappear, and I can't be the same person when I reappear." She pauses. "Plus, you're the only person who's manipulative enough to do this on short notice and make it look good."

He still seems unconvinced. She continues. "I'll be working undercover at the same time, obviously, but it'll be easier without a target on my back. I'll have to-"

She suddenly notices the drumming has stopped. She glances at his right hand only to finally notice the band on his finger, and she stands abruptly. "You're married?!"

Malik smiles, a real smile- or as real as it gets for him, and Luca almost smacks herself. Joanne. Of fucking course.

"That'll learn you some manners next time to ask how I've been, then you woulda known I got hitched," he says in that Southern drawl that makes her want to gouge his eyes out.

"Well why the hell didn't you tell me before I told you all this?!"

Malik shrugs noncommittally. "You didn't ask."

She resists the urge to reach across the desk and strangle him with his tie, instead asking the next immediate question that came to mind. "How the FUCK did you get someone like her to marry a complete psycho like you?!"

He twists the band around his finger. "Kindness, patience, holding her hostage in my basement for about 12 weeks for ransom..."

Luca raises her eyes toward the ceiling. "Good Lord..."

"Not quite."

She ignores that, standing with clenched fists and speaking between gritted teeth. "Forget it. I'll find another way."

Turning towards the door, she adds with no small amount of venom, "You don't deserve her."

She didn't see it, but she felt Malik's aura react to that statement, flowing from base indifference to a much more concerning cloying sense of humor. "I'll do it."

She turns on her heel, certain she either heard him wrong or he's straight-up lying. But he exudes smug truth- colored with a satisfaction she doesn't fail to note. "Really?" The question is half incredulous, half disbelief. Even she hadn't thought he'd just accept- not when there wasn't really anything in it for him.

"Sure. Why the hell not?"

Doubtful, Luca shakes her head a bit. "Well... I'll have to get the marriage certificate forged..."

"Leave all that to me, darlin'," Malik says, almost flippant. Luca raises an eyebrow. "Really?"

He nods, and Luca finds herself scrambling for another- excuse? Reason? "Well- I'll have to get my things."

Now it's Malik's turn to raise an eyebrow. "What, you didn't bring 'em with you?"

She narrows her eyes. "Well- yeah."

"Then what in Sam Hill are you going on about?"

"...Nothing," Luca says, shaking her head. "It's a deal, then?"

As she shakes Malik's hand, she can't help but feel she's making a deal with the devil.