#but he good with his fashion which is mostly leather jackets

[cannibalcreeps]

Murderous Gen Z Cannibal Fashion

[inkedinshadows]

Azriel headcanons

Since I'm working on too many fics and not finishing even one, here's a list of random headcanons I have about our favorite shadowsinger. Seriously, they're very random.

I have so many more, but I didn't want this to be too long lol. Let me know if I should write more of them.

If it weren't for his scars that make it impossible for him (it'd probably be really uncomfortable), Azriel would wear rings. And I mean a lot of them, on both hands. Very slutty of him if you ask me. This is how I imagine it to look like:

And necklaces as well. Like silver little chains and similar.

Azriel is 100% a cat person. I don't think I need to say more, we can all agree on this, right?

The shadowsinger can sing, we all know that. But my current obsession is him playing the piano. He probably learned while healing his hands when he was a child because it helped with coordination. He's really good at it, but he doesn't play in front of people. Only for you. (I wrote a fic about this: Play It For Me)

He has a very neat handwriting. Again, he had to practice a lot after his hands were burned to use them properly again. I picture something like this:

He's the kind of "monster" that eats pizza with a knife and fork instead of just cutting slices and using his hands (I'm Italian, I'm allowed to say this). He would also always stick to the same pizza, never changing the topping too much (relatable). He'd probably keep it simple, with mozzarella, black olives, and maybe anchovies if he feels extra.

Since we're talking food, if you are out on a date or just eating at a restaurant or whatever and you order something you end up not liking, he's swapping your dishes and giving you his. If you do like it but you also like his a lot, then he asks you if you want to share and eat half of each.

He's not a cocktail guy. Here as well, he likes to keep it simple: whiskey, brandy, wine if he's eating, and beer if he's hanging out with Cassian. If he does drink a cocktail, his go-to choices are Black Russian, gin and tonic, Old Fashioned, Manhattan, and Negroni (which might be an Italian cocktail, I'm not sure).

Oh, and he loves coffee. Black, no sugar, no cream. Mostly espresso, but also full mugs of it, especially in the morning.

Azriel loves turtleneck sweaters. Leather jackets are another favorite. When he's out, he mostly wears black or dark jeans, but at home? Sweatpants. Those infamous grey sweatpants we all love. Again, very slutty. He bought them without thinking too much about it, but once he saw your reaction to him wearing them, they became his favorite piece of clothing out of everything he had ever owned.

On the topic of clothing, we know he mostly wears black, but we also know he loves Winter Solstice. He could be easily convinced to wear one of those ugly Christmas sweaters, especially if you bat your eyelashes at him. He can never say no when you give him doe eyes. He'll complain about it, but he secretly loves it, even more so if you're wearing a matching one. The first three are nice and simple and cute, the other two if you want to embarrass him a little (but he still wouldn't say no):

Same goes for Halloween. Couple costumes? He's down. Would he admit he likes it? Probably not. Would he refuse to do it until you're begging him to, just so he can see your cute pout? Absolutely. And of course, he lets you do his make-up.

He smokes. Not much, just 2/3 cigarettes throughout the day, but it can be more if he's stressed or nervous. (Just imagine the hand in the first picture with a cigarette, it's just the perfect position already. I don't smoke and I can't even stand the smell, but I would honestly let Azriel blow the smoke in my face fr)

Taglist: @mrsjna @navyblue-eternity @paintedbyshadows @highladyandromeda @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @azrielsmate3 @mollygetssherlockcoffee @mirandasidefics @tinystarfishgalaxy @cynthiesjmxazrielslover @anarchiii @readinggeeklmao @andreperez11 @azrielslittleslut @lilah-asteria @aaahhh0127 @lorosette @azrielsrealmate

[macabrecabra]

Now can't have the Silph Bros having a gang without the prominent members of it! Introducing the Nightshade Mafia members under the direct command of Ghast, formerly Hauts' underlings.

Exception is Hund. Hund is only ever with Gen 100% because he's the 100% competent good boy.

Read more for more info and some design notes on each!

Hund VonDoom (Hounddoom)

The ever loyal butler, bodyguard, and all around the one person Gen tells everything to, Hund is often regarded as a member of the family for how he is always with Gen. He is a silent sort, never speaks unless spoken to and follows orders faithfully without question. Probably the only person Gen trusts without a second thought.

The question most have is if Gen and Hund are actually a couple or not which is hard to say as Gen says nothing about it and Hund is a quiet judgmental look to all. However, it can't be understated that no one probably knows Gen best than Hund.

Design Notes: I just imagined this bodyguard of Gen who hides the lower half of their face in their collar, giving them a kind of stern and mysterious look as a minion. Hounddoom because they are good boys and Hund would def have that guard dog vibe!

Kofco & Whezle Smogbur (Wheezing)

With the strange evolution of pokemon without humans about, the Wheezing evolution has taken a turn! Usually the two parts of Wheezing are surgically removed, leaving the two as close brothers. Such an ascension is seen highly in the Koffing community, thus Kofco and Whezle command some level of respect among their fellows.

The two have a rough and tough street-wise attitude and like to think they are the big pokemon on the block, more than willing to get into a scrap and show people who get in the way of the mafia who's boss.... until things get sticky, then they are both looking for the door in a blast of gas attack.

Design Notes: When I started to design their outfits, I kept thinking of Jasper and Horace from 101 Dalmations and the style of clothing they wore and it just really stuck in my head! The tiny hats on their heads was just the icing on the cake <3

Arbel Jessic (Arbok)

Arbel is a classy snake who is in the criminal business to satisfy her lavish spending habits and get access to all the best fashion at a discount. She is not above getting her hands dirty or taking charge of her dumb co-workers is need be. Can be the voice of reason at times in the group, tampering down the chaotic leanings that can happen. She is looking for love and loves to date in her free time, looking for the one.

She can be a bit vain though and when someone makes a comment about her looks she doesn't like, she will be quick to anger and to lash out. She gets along best with Victor in the group, mostly because Victor doesn't know what she is saying half the time... Design Notes: I was channeling Jessie from Team Rocket when making Arbel, just wanting a strong lady in the gang and just really brought the design together in the end <3 the patterns she has is different than official Arbok art as I feel each Arbok has its own special markings!

Victor Belkavitch (Victreebel)

An immigrant from another region, Victor came to Kanto for a new start in life and to take care of his very large extended family of cousins, nephews, grandparents, aunts, and uncles that followed after him. He fell in with the Nightshade Mafia for his impressive work in a bar shootout and has been with them ever since as the pay is good and he does not have to talk much. He is still learning the local language of Kanto and struggles at times with things.

He is the largest one in the gang and can brute strength a lot of things. Loyal to his co-workers whom he treats as family, he is a dependable sort and not above sticking a fight out to keep others safe. Also he is of a pokemon kind that is not above swallowing things whole, including other pokemon when ordered.

Design Notes: As soon as he was named Victor, his design of leather jacket and dark jeans was set in stone as a nod to the dress of gangs/mafias that are found in Eastern Europe. A hat didn't really fit as he had that leaf to be his hat. I just like Victreebels....

Wolbert Buffet (Wobbuffet)

They have been the mafia since it was form as a best friend of Hauts. They actually have the other half of Hauts' hat so between them is the whole hat which means a lot to both of them. Wolbert can come across as rather energetic and a bit absentminded about things, more emotional than most, but more than willing to take the brunt of an attack without hesitation. They took news of Hauts' death hard but remained in the gang to keep an eye on Ghast and make sure he doesn't get into trouble.

They really want to help Ghast in leading the mafia, but they themselves aren't really good at leadership things as motivating people is hard. They just yell loudly and act like they have an idea of what they are doing most of the time. They really shine when it comes to being in a fight or having to get through doors with their sticky fingers.

Design Notes: Wolbert was, by far, the hardest one to design of the gang. Wobbuffet has a simple design that I had to translate into a more anthropomorphic style. Also it felt better with their body type that they probably favor dresses or skirts, so they got a blend of a suit and skirt! Also no shoes, but nice socks!

Gilliad Gligland (Gligar)

Gilliad is the new face on the block and the only one of the mafia who never knew Hauts. Ghast has adopted them as their best friend as a result, teaching them how to be a real ganster! Gilliad is a tad gullible as a result, believing everything they are told. still green about the gills, they get really scared by being in situations and stumble a lot. He's still learning!

Design Note: Given that Gligar has the webbing for gliding, it felt important that their outfit gave them access to their ability naturally and that clothing was designed around them. It is something I'm keeping in mind with designs to take in the pokemon's anatomy when humanizing them! Also having a goofy friend for Ghast was key, so they share similar fashion and being goofy little boys!

[savannahsdeath]

Hiii, so I wanna request an ellie x reader where they are like fake dating but then one night they're out at a bar and some guys are messing with/bothering (basically harrasing) reader and Ellie BEATS them up. Like bad lol. Then reader gets mad at Ellie, insisting she could've "handled it herself" but then ellie ends up accidentally saying she's in love with reader hence why she got so protective

i cant stop thinking about this omg.

ELLIE WILLIAMS X READER

mdni please<3

warnings: 18+!! mention of alcohol, catcalling, sa and just creepy guys overall, blood, fighting

writers note: writing this took my blood sweat n tears and im not sure wether it was worth it or not

while you and ellie had been close and even affectionate with one another, the nature of your relationship had always been that of simple friends. holding hands, sitting on her lap, or other romantic gestures seemed natural and casual between the two of you without any thought to anything more. however, you were both acutely aware that everyone believed you were romantically involved and you knew that was one reason you were still single.

when you were in ellie's room you began to notice little things. she had framed pictures of the two of you together, notes and sketches she had made about you, and a diary full of your name. dina and jesse kept teasing you about it, but 'isn't it what friends do?'

and, god, how oblivious you were.

one day, you took her out to a local bar, feeling the need to just drink and forget about everything for one night.

as you walked into the pub, you couldn't help but notice all the heads that turned to watch as you passed. it was like something in the air compelled you to turn to look at her. a familiar feeling of warmth ran through you and you instinctively reached out to take her hand. ellie giggled at your gesture, but didn't let go and you continued through the crowd which got already bored with your appearance.

it was just a normal night, the drinks making you a little tipsy and loosening your tongue, but everything was going just fine.

you saw a group of boys your age suspiciously eyeing you and ellie, their gaze mostly focused on you and your clothes.

well, that's true, you didn't put your everyday clothes on, but you had a good humour and felt like dressing up... actually, who am i trying to lie to? you wanted to look good for your friend.

she didn't notice the boys, but you did. your eyes met with the one in the leather jacket, and he looked away quickly. his group turned back to their beers, but you couldn't stop thinking about the way he glanced over at you.

the situation made you a little uncomfortable, but you played it cool and ignored the boys, turning your attention back to ellie. she was in her element, chatting away in a loud and lively fashion, her hands flying to emphasize whatever story she was telling. you couldn't help but let out a laugh as you took in the scene.

things were going just fine until one of the boys approached you. "hey, gorgeous." he said, in a voice that was trying just a little too hard to sound casual. "can we buy you a drink?"

ellie frowned, her gaze flickering between you and him. "she's not alone."

the boy tried again, undeterred. "i wasn't talking to you." he scoffed, his voice dripping with condescension as he turned to ellie, pointing you with his chin. "who wears a dress like that if they're not looking for a good time?"

ellie looked shocked for a moment, then her eyes narrowed. she leaned towards the boy, keeping her voice low. "this dress looks like it's worth more than you make in a month. now, leave us alone."

the boy laughed, turning his attention back to you, seemingly oblivious to the warning. "why don't you take off the dress and let us see what's underneath?"

you watched ellie open her mouth to answer for you again but you cut her off with a shake of your head and quiet 'let it go'. she looked at you, her mouth half open, as if she was waiting for your permission before starting her response. she rolled her eyes at you, but said nothing.

the boy seemed frustrated that his insult was met with no reaction. he jabbed his finger at you. "or maybe you're just a dyke?"

at that, ellie's eyes flew open. "the fuck did you just say?" she hissed, clenching her fists to the point her nails were digging into her palm.

you gripped her wrist, trying to pull her away. "ellie, come on–"

as things were just starting to escalate, a bartender rushed over, looking agitated. "hey, hey! none of that in here!" he pointed at him. "you, out now!"

the boy scoffed, as did his friends, but obediently left. you could hear him muttering complaints under his breath, but his voice faded away into the background din of the bar.

you kept close to ellie as the boys were led out.

ellie was still fuming, taking a few deep breaths. she looked up at you with daggers in her eyes. "why did you stop me? he deserved more than that." after a little pause she added; "no one will disrespect you like that. and no one can disrespect you when they're unconscious."

you weren't sure whether to be amused or horrified at her comment. "and how exactly were you planning on achieving that?" you asked, raising an eyebrow.

ellie smirked, taking your hand in hers. "you don't need to know. just know that i was prepared if things had gotten out of hand."

that answer did little to ease your skepticism. "you know you can't go around knocking people out like a character in a movie, right?"

ellie raised her eyebrows, staring at you with a challenging expression. "sure i can," she grinned, "if the situation calls for it.

"ellie," you said, "be serious." but ellie's confidence was charming, and you couldn't help but crack a little smile. "alright," you added. "just... try to keep your cool next time, alright?"

she nodded, squeezing your hand. "promise. no knocking heads unless i absolutely have to."

you decided to leave the bar shortly after, not in the mood to socialise anymore. she told you to wait outside as she, obviously, paid for the both of you.

the atmosphere outside wasn't so cozy - not only because it was cold and windy, but you also saw those boys there, smoking and laughing. you thought about going back inside but they didn't seem to notice you - well, not at first.

one of the boys spotted you and instantly smiled. he nudged his friend and said something you couldn't quite make out. the two of them laughed and started approaching you. "hey," the first one said, "is your little girlfriend taking too long in there? we could take you home and warm you up."

the thought of people thinking ellie is your girlfriend seemed funny but not new to you, so you ignored it.

you rolled your eyes at their comment, but kept your expression neutral. "no, thanks, but you might want to work on your pickup lines. 'warm you up?' really?"

the two boys exchanged a look and laughed. their friend said "oh, she's feisty. we like that."

you felt your stomach drop. ellie was still inside the bar and you had no clue how long she might be. not too long, you hoped. i mean, how long can paying for a few drinks take?

as if on cue, ellie opened the door and came out. she stopped dead in her tracks as she noticed the two boys who'd just been hitting on you.

she took a moment to take in the situation, then rolled her eyes and scoffed. you were relieved to see she was wearing a smirk that told you she was ready for whatever was coming.

the two boys stared at ellie, eyes darting from her to you and back again.

"oh, hey ellie." you exhaled, putting on your best fake smile. "good timing. we were just about to–"

ellie didn't give you the chance to finish. "sorry i took so long." her tone was friendly, but it was obvious she was trying to claim you as her territory. all three boys watched her in silence.

"can i help you, boys?" ellie said sweetly, her voice dripping with sarcasm. she put her arms around your waist, which only amplified her already mocking tone.

the boys watched her with leering eyes. the tall blonde one put his hand on his friend's shoulder. "we were just saying how pretty your friend is." he paused, raising an eyebrow. "she sure looks... hm, how do i describe it? slutty?"

at that, ellie's demeanor changed, and her previous smile faded. her look was cold as ice, and she clenched her fists again.

'this is getting out of hand'

"hey," the tall blonde said, "i bet there's something better under that dress." he pointed at you.

"yeah, there's a fucking gun." you hissed.

he didn't seem to take you seriously, as he should - you were in fact completely unarmed. the only weapon you had was... well, ellie. "we'd like to personally test that theory."

ellie's knuckles turned white. "i'm here with her."

"look, you can watch from a distance." the blonde laughed. "but me and my friends here are going to have a good time with a girl like this, whether she wants it or not."

you felt yourself flush with embarrassment. "oh, uh, no. we're just leaving." you said, grabbing ellie's wrist and trying to pull her away.

ellie wasn't having any of it. "go to the car and wait for me there." she whispered, tossing the keys to you.

"you're crazy." you whispered under your breath.

"just do it," ellie hissed. "i can handle them, and i don't want you getting involved."

'like i'm not involved already.'

it was impossible to argue against that last point, and you reluctantly followed her instructions.

you were surprised they didn't try to stop you but you realised they probably know what's going to happen.

as you opened the car door and got in, you watched the situation from the safety of the passenger's seat. the boys had surrounded ellie, one with his hand on her arm and the others laughing and pointing at you. you couldn't hear them but you guessed what they talked about. they were just little shadows in your eyes now, you barely could tell which one's ellie.

from your vantage point, you watched ellie and the three boys facing off. she spoke in a quiet, measured voice that you weren't sure you wanted to hear the contents of.

suddenly, you saw the blonde reach towards her. that was enough for her.

she slapped his hand away, and in a swift motion, kicked him in the groin. he let out a, silent for you, cry of pain and sank to the ground, while the others were still recovering from the surprise. ellie turned to them and and soon they were all on the ground. the blow knocked the last boy out cold. ellie quickly turned to the blonde, who was now sitting up and holding his injured part. without a word, ellie approached him and kneed between his legs just as he was about to stand up.

the boy groaned, dropping back to the ground. ellie reached down and grabbed him by the shirt. she hauled him back up, and raised her fist again. you turned away, not wanting to look at the scene and uncomfortably shifted in the passenger seat, hoping it'll be over soon.

she took her time. you didn't know what could they possibly say to piss her off that much but you didn't want to.

she approached the car and got in, not saying a word to you.

you didn't say a word either, you just watched her cautiously driving. your anger started to grow - at the boys, at the whole situation, even at ellie. what she did was just reckless, one of them could be armed... or have really good skills. plus, they barely touched you and the comments didn't really get to you anyway.

you let out a frustrated sigh and turned to her. "why did you have to make such a big deal out of nothing? i could have handled it just fine on my own."

ellie didn't look at you or even acknowledge your words. she kept driving, her attention focused on the road.

you weren't sure what to think, but it frustrated you that she was acting like this. 'why can't she just drop the tough girl act and admit she overreacted?'

you tried again. "ellie, come on, i know you were just trying to help, but–" you sighed. "just ignore me, i guess."

you turned to look out the window in annoyance, but then ellie spoke suddenly, her tone deadly serious. "you know i was right to do what i did."

you whipped your head around to look at her in surprise. "what do you mean?"

ellie looked straight ahead as she kept driving. "those guys would have taken advantage of you," she said quietly, "like it or not."

her words hit you like a ton of bricks. you sat in silence for a moment, trying to process what she said.

"but that's ridiculous," you frowned, "i wouldn't have let anything happen."

ellie shot you a look. "you really think you're the one in control of the situation? sweetheart, you have no idea. as soon as you let them talk to you, it was out of your hands."

you mockingly laughed. "oh, so i can't handle them but you can? what am i, a deer surrounded by lions?"

ellie sighed, shaking her head. "god, you're infuriating," she said, keeping her eyes on the road. "yeah, actually, you are like a deer surrounded by lions – completely oblivious to how predatory these men are."

she cast a sharp and serious glance at you, making you flinch.

"i can handle myself." you repeated, with growing annoyance. after a moment, you added; "why the fuck would you do that? you should mind your own business."

"i make it my business to look after my friends." ellie answered, still not looking at you.

you felt your blood boil, but you forced yourself to remain calm. "i don't want you to look after me, ellie. you are my friend, not my babysitter."

"oh, i'm sorry!" she shrugged, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "i thought friends protect each other!"

you scoffed at her last comment. "how exactly was i in danger?" you asked. "they barely even touched me!"

she sighed again, this time with irritation. "jesus, you were really lucky, alright? i get that you feel like your ego's been hurt by all this, and i'm sorry. but if i hadn't stepped in, you could have been hurt. maybe the situation wouldn't have escalated to violence, but i wasn't taking any chances." she looked at you, her expression softened and she seemed truly concerned. "do you understand?"

you huffed but your tone calmed down a little. "that was my problem, not yours."

"fine, it was your problem," ellie rolled her eyes. "just don't get mad at me for looking out for you."

"i'm not mad." you said, your tone turning defensive. "i'm annoyed you think i'm incapable of looking after myself."

her eyes fixed on you, cold and sharp. "you're lucky i was there."

she parked the car in front of your house, where she was supposed to sleep this night. at least, you planned it like that. now you'd prefer to be alone. you let her in anyway, hoping to talk about what happened in better circumstances.

as soon as you came in, you took some ice bags and went back to ellie. her knuckles were bloody red and swollen, even though she didn't seem to be hurt. she looked up and took the bag from your hand, but her expression was still stern.

"thanks." she said in a raspy monotone, holding it to her hands.

you cleared your throat awkwardly, hoping that the ice would help ease the situation. "ellie, i just want to say i appreciate what you did, but–"

she sighed and shook her head. "don't start."

"well, i was going to." you said, unable to hide your irritation. "you overreacted. i don't need your help. it was my problem to deal with."

ellie stayed silent for a moment, as if contemplating what you just said. "i might have overreacted," she admitted, "but i still don't regret what i did."

you sighed and threw your hands up in frustration. "we're just going around in circles here. why can't you understand that i can handle myself? i don't need you. i didn't ask for your help. i don't understand why you just have to get all protective over me."

ellie sighed, dropping the ice bag to her side. her voice was still calm, but with a hint of anger. "i was trying to look out for you. i was trying to do something nice, and you just keep yelling at me for it."

you felt your confusion growing even more. "but- why?"

she shook her head in disbelief. "because i love you."

the air seemed to suck out of your lungs when she said that. her words were unexpected, and you wanted to know if you heard her right. "what did you say?"

ellie chuckled and nodded, her expression almost teasing but still nervous and even a little aggresive. "i said i love you, of course."

you couldn't reply, too stunned to speak. you just stared at her, feeling the familiar heat on your cheeks rise.

she clicked her tongue at your obliviousness. "that's why i'm so protective. that's why i couldn't just ignore how they talked to you."

you just blinked, still unable to process what she said.

ellie must have sensed your confusion, because she continued. "i'm not your babysitter, alright? you're a big girl. you can take care of yourself– but that's not what i meant." she took your hand in hers. "i'm worried about you because i love you."

the realization of what she'd said suddenly hit you like a train, and you felt your heart race. for what felt like an eternity, you just stared at her, still not believing what you were hearing.

ellie just smiled, a little bit embarrassed, as if she hadn't just made one of the most profound declarations of love imaginable.

"so," she said quietly, "can you forgive me now?"

her tone was so innocent, so sincere, that it seemed almost cruel to keep arguing with her. it seemed cruel that you ever did.

in the end, you nodded. "yeah, i can."

that was all it took for ellie's expression to light up.

[nordickies]

Clothing style swap? 👀 your pick for who with who

This would be such a cute idea to do!... if I had specific outfits for the Nordics. They all dress up in modern attire, mostly in dark and muted colors. But I think Finland and Sweden would have the biggest style difference, for sure.

Also totally unrelated but oh god, I didn't consider the legit height difference between these two until now-

I think Sweden is the most stylish of the group, definitely having an inherent sense of style. He buys high-quality pieces, especially from local brands, and he's very trendy. Everything is very minimalistic and monochrome with a clean design; no crazy patterns. I think Swe is very environmentally conscious these days, so he has a small, versatile, and timeless wardrobe. He dressed up in longer coats, well-fitted pants, and jeans. A classic button-up and a high-quality sweater always work! He's practical with his clothes, and dresses according to weather, but he still wants to make sure the outfit looks good.

Finland on the other hand has no sense of fashion. He doesn't understand trends. He wears graphic t-shirts and hoodies, which are usually too oversized for him. And he likes wearing practical clothes like hiking pants; They're just comfortable to use and perfect for various activities. His closet is just full of functional winter and sports gear. Also, he might dress up in bolder colors or patterns than the rest of the Nordics. All kind of formal wear is just uncomfortable for him, and he fears overdressing for occasions as he wants as little attention to himself as possible.

Norway dresses up for comfort first and foremost. And he avoids color, practically everything besides his folk clothes is black or dark grey. He finds that it's more important to be comfy and practical, so he might dress up very informally in work settings too. It's not unheard of for him to show up in meetings in a regular sweater. This man has a collection of windbreakers, raincoats, quality winter jackets, beanies, and functional shoes. But if he feels particularly stylish, he might throw on a leather jacket. But that's for summertime only and if the weather forecast is clear.

Denmark praises athleisure. He's always going everywhere with a bike anyway, so loose and non-restricting clothes (that are well-fitted) are the key. He wears a lot of layers and always remembers to bring something rainproof. And sneakers, always wearing white dad sneakers. He's quite stylish, even though he doesn't consciously try to be. Also, don't tell Sweden, but Denmark might have stolen one or two clothing pieces from him that he found particularly nice.

Iceland dresses up for practicality. In his words, there is no bad weather, just bad clothes. It's better to bring too much clothing than too little, and you might catch him with a Parka-jacket well into the summer season. Back home, he's not too concerned with his style, but if he's visiting some other place or having guests over, he suddenly gets very conscious of what he'll wear. He fears that he dresses up too "old" at times, but instead, he gets a lot of praise for his clothes. He's probably so late on trends, that his clothes end up becoming fashionably vintage. Sweaters are his favourite, with a nice quality pair of pants and hiking boots, what else do you need?

[theghostparty]

Roméo et Juliette: de la Haine à l'Amour - Redesign - 2024

If you missed part one with Roméo and Juliette, click here. Once again, long design explanation.

When designing Mercutio specifically, I turned very explicitly inwards in my belief that Mercutio is not a Montague and should not be tied to the Montagues solely. Furthermore, Mercutio has FAMILY--he's the Prince's cousin and if we want to get really semantic about it, he also has a brother, Valentine.

All this being said, in designing Mercutio, I needed to tie him to Le Prince (Escalus) and I did that mostly in dictating that these are the characters who are allowed to wear black, mostly black leather. It's a distinction that goes mostly unnoticed until its pointed out, but no other designs incorporate deep black tones. There's also this strong, olive green tone that borrows from the Montague palette and gold hardware that borrows from the Capulet palette. The Prince's family gets to straddle the line between both worlds.

I thought very texturally for the Montagues and Capulets, so in trying to give the Prince's family something distinct, I landed on this brushstroke texture to give all the leather and denim pieces a custom feeling.

In his Les Rois du Monde look (his base look--I imagine this explicitly directorial choice to have him and the Prince enter together at the top of Vérone and have Mercutio break away to join the Montagues), there is hints of this painterly texture in blue as opposed to the gold of the Prince. I wanted to feel like every alignment Mercutio has with the Montague family is an active choice on his part. I imagine him painted those swaths of blue himself. His trousers are a bleached faded, torn denim.

We see the true royal gold in Le Bal, like, I think it's just funny to think Mercutio already owned these trousers and said "Fuck it" and wore them to dress up in. His look is explicitly jester themed. It's a little bit "Earring Magic Ken Doll" coded, which delights me to no end.

This is also a good place to point out how fixated I became on closure methods in garments. In Roméo's initial design, there is a strong focus on zippers, Le Prince's jacket is held together with gold hook and eye tape at all the seams, and with Mercutio it's all about lacing.

Part of this is in reference to the explicitly gendered ideas around corsetry and playing with that in tandem with Mercutio's generally accepted queer readings. It's also an interesting metaphor to think about being bound--by duty, by honour, by friendship, by tradition--something that Mercutio is so explicitly caught in between in the Montague-Capulet feud.

His final look during Le Duel, is a take on a Jean Paul Gautier design, and is the most partisan look for Mercutio. Doffing his jacket exposes this soft satin and coutil corset top in the faintest hint of blue. A soft underbelly of allegiance that would take to stage blood SO well (and would make who ever was dressing and laundering this show absolutely hate me as a designer, but I digress).

I also think it makes him a nice mirror to Tybalt, who's overarching design element is gold chains.

Tybalt's design is wholly referential to Mark Seibert's Tybalt. Is it because I can never get that little gold and red cropped jacket out of my brain? Perhaps. But I also like to think that design for Tybalt acts as a reflection of Mercutio. The inherent softness assigned to the Capulet family's design (silks, velvets, chiffons) plays really nicely with how much machismo is implied in Tybalt's characterization.

During Vérone, we see him in a half doublet, likely of a low-pile velvet, a satin faced silk period shirt open in an absolutely impractical way, and a floral print denim trouser. I also gave him a little cuban-heeled boot. For fashion.

Tybalt is a good place to also point out that weapons are very intentionally placed in and out of scenes. Mercutio always has a dagger. Roméo leaves his behind during Aimer. Benvolio does not carry one. Tybalt has an ornately sheathed sword. There is this undercurrent of violence for these characters that is dressed up and dressed down, but persists.

In Le Bal, I really leant into the idea of chainmail for this character, in keeping with the concept of chivalry and Arthurian influences. There's a little bit of royal purple thrown in there for good measure as well as a jaw-bone mask that, at best, is foreshadowing and, at its shallowest, looks cool as hell.

During Le Duel, I wanted to strip our fighters down to exposed skin. A lot of this is to do with one of my favourite versions of this scene, Zeffirelli's 1968 Romeo and Juliet. What I love about the sequence is how it devolves from nobel duel to outright brawl--from a distance to something very close and personal. It's the type of step by step tension-building that I really enjoy: where there are moments (when they're just shouting words back at forth, when they're drawing their weapons, when Mercutio would doff his jacket, when Tybalt doffs his doublet) when the fight could have de-escalated. When they could have walked away. But of course, it's not the play if they do.

I just imagine seeing Mark Seibert and Bereczki Zoltán fight would be fun, ultimately.

And now onto Benvolio. I fixated on paring down his looks, and quite frankly, if it weren't for how much I enjoy his little twink clubbing outfit, I would have probably only given him one costume. My justification for this is that Benvolio gets to live. Ostensibly, he has a lifetime past this play of changing to do. I feel very strongly about the idea of Benvolio as a narrator, Benvolio as a passive presence that is forced to become active. He's not certain in the same way that Roméo and Mercutio are about love and hate. He literally spends a whole song stagnating and waffling on how the hell he's going to tell his cousin that his wife is dead. He runs around following their impulses, patching over their problems. I have a lot of feelings about Benvolio as a character.

He's really the softest of the Montague characters in textures: his doublet is torn and slashed denim, his shirt is some sort of billowy linen blend. He has a little bit of metal flair in the form of this thigh adornment, but really he's quite simple--and my comparison to Roméo and Mercutio, he's quite warm. That hint of magenta on Roméo is a full on feature on Benvolio.

I accept any and all slander about my choices for his Le bal look, but by god do I think it's silly and it brings me joy. Suit of armour under ripped green denim, a little navy ribbed singlet with a silver chainmail crop top over it? Lensless silver glasses frames? It makes no real sense, but I stand by my "We're sneaking into the Capulet's ball tonight with very short notice, here's what we can cobble together" reasoning.

[valiantsilver]

Pokémon Sw/Sh but it’s a British high school

Allister:

* Year Seven

* Wears a face mask everywhere

* Never speaks in class even if he’s called on

* Has a hard time talking to others so mostly just sticks around Bea

Hop:

* Year Eight

* Wants to be a linguist just like his older brother

* Sonia has seen his grades however and she knows he’s destined to be a STEM kid

* Has gotten multiple reprimands for running in the halls

Marnie

* Year Eight

* Not as shy as Allister but still pretty reserved

* Wears her leather jacket instead of her blazer (the teachers have given up on that one)

* Listens to music instead of paying attention in class but most teachers let it go since her grades are good and she isn’t disruptive

Bede

* Year Nine

* Gifted kid and absolutely insufferable about it

* Wants to go into STEM since he believes all the other subjects aren’t ‘real academics’

* Opal constantly points out how good his artwork is and he hates it (secretly loves it)

Bea

* Year Ten

* Grew up as Allister’s neighbour, sees him as a younger brother and is very protective of him

* Great at PE, not so great at other subjects

* GCSEs have her low-key stressed but she’d rather die than admit it

Milo

* Geography teacher

* The chill teacher who will just stick on a movie when he doesn’t have a lesson planned

* Students go to him for hugs when they’re feeling under the weather because Milo hugs are top tier 👌

* Super nice but low-key doesn’t know how to control his students when they get wild

Nessa

* English teacher

* Is a great teacher when she isn’t distracted by giving her students fashion advice

* Fishes outside of teaching as well as modelling - once brought a fish she had caught that morning into school and stored it in her filing cabinet

* Absolutely despises the idea that ‘maybe the curtains are just blue’ and will go on long rants about the issues with anti-intellectualism and lack of critical thinking

Kabu

* PE teacher

* Students will make fun of him for being old only to get absolutely thrashed by him in literally any sport

* Close to Bea who sees him as a mentor and confidant - as well as talking about her exam stress she also told him her worries that Allister wasn’t settling into high school well, so Kabu now keeps an eye on him as well

* Taught Raihan before he also became a teacher at the school and always reminds him how proud he is of him

Opal

* Art teacher

* Doesn’t actually show up half the time, she’ll be gone for several weeks and everyone will be convinced she’s dead only for her to just reappear with no explanation

* All of her exemplar art is pink

* She can see Bede’s artistic talent and natural inclination towards art (even if he tries to repress it), tries to encourage him to express himself more

Gordie

* History teacher

* Super young teacher, like it’s his first or second year after finishing his teaching course

* Randomly stops lessons to show his students some kind of crazy stunt he learnt like a double back flick or smth idk

* Hides the fact that Melony is his mother from students because he knows how viscous they can be

Melony

* Chemistry teacher

* Constantly finds excuses to make fake snow as an experiment

* Hate the fact that Gordie won’t acknowledge her as his mother while at work

* Once intercepted a note from her students that called her a ‘milf’, asked Gordie what it meant later that day and he lost several years from his lifespan

Piers

* Maths teacher

* Addicted to coffee, students have learnt to steer clear of his desk due to coffee breath

* Never gives homework because he knows he won’t be arsed to mark it

* He asks Marnie what ‘the kids are into’ all the time so he can slip pop culture references into his lessons to seem more ‘cool’

Raihan

* Physics teacher

* You know that ‘Welcome to Physics’ vine? That’s Raihan’s classroom

* He has a very big social media presence and new students are always flabbergasted when they find out their physics teacher is also an influencer

* Constantly sets assignments/homework which involve students having to make some kind of social media post

Leon

* French teacher

* Teaches French but knows several other languages - Spanish, German, Italian, Japanese, Cantonese, etc

* Was a former student who got near perfect grades, all the older teachers love him, most students love him too because he’s a good teacher while still being fun

* Brags to his students every time Hop has some kind of minor achievement

Sonia

* Biology teacher

* Students love her because sometimes she sneaks her dog into school

* One of the few teachers who will put Bede in his place instead of encouraging his ego and superiority complex

* She and Nessa go over to each other’s houses every Saturday to mark papers together + gossip about work

Oleana

* Deputy Head

* Does most of the Head’s work anyway

* Low-key terrifying, students only come to her with very serious issues

* Nobody can figure why she’s so defensive of Rose when he constantly seems to dump his responsibilities as Head onto her

Rose

* Head Teacher

* Shows up to important meetings wearing a shirt and suit jacket on top and nothing but underwear underneath his desk

* Actually a very hard worker - he’s just working on something concerning the school that isn’t exactly for educational purposes

* Has attempted to form a parental bond with Bede after finding out he lost his parents at a young age, has not succeeded

[concook20]

Wild Kratts Headcannon! (2) (Villain Edition)

Zach/Khris Cratt/Donita/Dabio/Gourmand

Villain: 2/5

Khris Varmitech Cratt

Age: 22 (as programmed)

Gender: Male

Sexuality: Demisexual

Birthday: July 19th (as programmed)

Zodiac Sign: Cancer (as programmed)

Height: 5' 8"

Weight: 1,450 lbs

Body Shape: Fit, cause he's like Chris, only more stronger cause he's a robot

Favorite Color: Red

Verts: Ambivert, mostly extrovert though

Phobia: None

Hobbies: Combat training and choreography, playing chess, and cardistry

Family and Relationships

Obviously, he's a robot, so he doesn't have a family, but he was made by Zach, so he is basically like his body guard and best friend

Chris and he are different, but Khris actually likes Chris, considering the fact they're so different, but he finds him enjoyable and interesting

He and Martin are mortal enemies, doesn't matter if they're in the same room, they would fight...which Khris would win in

He and Donita would bond over fashion things, even sometimes, he, forced or not, would be used for her outfits and modeling

Dabio is the Owen (TD) to Khris's Noah (TD), like a big himbo being friends with a sarcastic genius

He and Gourmand are alright, but he does mostly call him "Chubby Ramsey", considering he's a picky chef

Zach bots and Khris are like brothers, cousins, and such, as they're family with Zach

Facts For Khris

Khris wears an outfit Donita made for him to be different from Chris:

Red leather jacket with with rolled up sleeves.

Black sweater under it.

Gray khaki pants.

Black combat boots.

Black fingerless gloves.

Khris never listens to music, unless its for him to do training or when he's bored.

Khris never thinks much of love, but he does flirt with Aviva to piss off Martin... But it doesn't mean he wants love, he's sometimes like WALL-E desperate looking for love secret.

The reason why Khris wanted to fight was because his family, Zach Bots, kept getting destroyed by the Kratt Brothers, with Martin being the one to do it more and more.

Khris doesn't do anything without Zach's permission.

Khris is the "Well, Actually" person, as well.

This moron couldn't be programmed to make coffee, so he eats coffee beans!

He, even, eats some inedible things to see if it tastes good or what!

Khris is like the minion to Zach's Megamind, only more sarcastic and funny.

That's all for now! If you have any questions, please comment down!

(Also I picked Khris as a villain, because I love this idea of him being the part of a villain group, and I also think he would be an interesting thing to the Kratt Crew)

[i-have-not-slept]

The Last Hours Fashion Pt 2

Chain of Thorns comes out TOMORROW!!!! Just in time, here’s my analysis of the official art by @nicole.deal.art in terms of historical accuracy. I’ve already reviewed the girls’ outfits, so now it’s time for the guys!

There aren’t as many primary sources available for Edwardian menswear, and men’s fashion in general tends to change less from era to era. Men’s business and formalwear has stayed basically the same shape for the past 130 years. Keeping that in mind, let’s look at some of these pictures and see how well they hold up.

James

James looks pretty good! The picture looks like it’s at night, so he’s probably wearing evening dress. The high collar and cravat is a distinctly Edwardian style, as seen in the outfit on the right here:

This guy is also wearing a wrap-around waistcoat in a similar style to James’. To make it really accurate, he’d be wearing a hat and jacket, but this picture is obviously showing a fight scene so I can imagine that he lost both at some point. If we’re being really pedantic, James’ hair should also be a bit shorter, but I appreciate that a haircut is probably not high on his list of priorities right now.

Accuracy: 8/10

Matthew

Matthew is a self-described bohemian, and is also very concerned with fashion, so we can expect his clothes to be a bit more colourful and decorated than was possibly the norm. This is also at night, so eveningwear again. It looks like he’s wearing a tailcoat— if you look closely, the cut is similar to the ones in this picture from 1904:

The slight problem with eveningwear is that every source I’ve found suggests that Edwardian evening dress for men was almost exclusively black-and-white tuxedos. In fact, menswear from this time was pretty boring in terms of colour. However, Matthew is, as mentioned, a bohemian, and textually wears very colourful clothing. Same issues as James re: hat and hair, but I can justify it the same way as with James.

And some pictures of cravats for comparison:

The gloves are also interesting. Evening gloves were almost always white, whereas these are dark grey, but I’m prepared to believe they’re either Shadowhunter fighting gloves or worn for warmth in the street after a party.

Accuracy: 7/10

Thomas and Alastair

They’re wearing Shadowhunter gear, which there are obviously no historical references for, so I can’t really analyse it. I’m interested in how their gear differs— Thomas’ seems to be mostly leather, whereas Alastair appears to be wearing a vaguely Georgian puffy white shirt with metal throat, shoulder and wrist guards. We don’t have very many canon images of Shadowhunter gear, so it’s interesting to look at.

On a side not, Cassie said on her Instagram that this picture is of them in an abandoned Paddington Station. I’ve been to Paddington, and the background looks absolutely spot on. Kudos to the artist!

Accuracy: 10/10 just for the background.

Jesse

I don’t have very much to say about this one. The shirt is pretty generic but the trousers are interesting. The distinctive front flap with the two buttons isn’t a style you see with the Edwardians, who have moved on to someone more resembling the modern fly. And yes, I googled “how did the Edwardians fasten their trousers” to find this information. Jesse’s trousers more resemble Regency breeches, as you can see in this pictures:

This is interesting, considering the links I drew between Grace’s dress and Regency fashion in my last post. Guess we’ll find out tomorrow if my time travel theory was correct!

The jacket looks like a fairly Edwardian standard coat with the sleeves rolled up. Not much to say except that the deep green colour is possibly slightly unrealistic but it’s a tiny thing.

Accuracy: 6/10

Christopher

Christopher’s hard at work in his lab, and accordingly isn’t wearing fancy clothes. Like Jesse, this is a fairly basic trousers and shirt ensemble that fits pretty well with the period.

Things get interesting when we start looking at the apron and goggles. PPE (personal protective equipment) isn’t strictly fashion, so I had to do a bit more digging into this one as it’s not an area I knew much about.

The goggles could be period inaccurate, depending on how you look at it. The first form of eye protection for welding was developed by the inventor Powell Johnson in 1880. Johnson called his invention “eye protectors” and it was simply two strips of opaque cloth that could be seen through while still offering some protection.

Safety glass— glass coated in plastic to prevent shattering— was invented by Edouard Benedictus in 1903, when TLH is set. However, it wasn’t until 1909 that the first safety glasses were invented by Julius King. So Christopher’s eyewear is about six years ahead of its time. On the other hand, it’s entirely possible that Shadowhunters— probably the Iron Sisters in particular— were using protective eyewear before mundanes and Christopher is simply adopting the technology. But if we’re going by a purely historical standpoint, the goggles are a bit off.

The apron nearly drove me insane because I could not find any sources from the Edwardian era that show a similar style. The best I could find out is that bib aprons have been worn for welding since the 1880, so it’s reasonably accurate. Christopher really needs to pull it up a bit higher, though. Your shirt’s getting scorched, mate. PPE is no joke.

Accuracy: 5/10

As a last note of interest, while I was researching I came across this image I just had to share. It’s a cartoon that appeared in the Tacoma Times in 1903 and satirically depicts “men’s clothing designed by women”. Look at these guys. The og malewives. Poor little meow meows.

Sources:

Metropolitan Museum of Art Costume Institute

Fashion History Timeline

Vintage Dancer

OHS

Bakersgas Welding

Aaand there we go! I probably spent way too much time on this, but it was fun. I’ll see you all on the other side after I’ve finished Chain of Thorns. Remember to tag your spoilers!

[dynmghts]

so i have this compilation of outfits katsuki has worn officially that i think are neat...

there is more to this than "he wears basically anything he's given well", such as the fact that he knows how to style + how he prefers high quality, expensive clothing which last much longer and appeal to the style he's going for most the time (which is a casual kinda grungy emo alternative look??)... and most of this is just promotional art, but also. listen.

when he's styling to look good, i noticed that he doesn't usually go for just a shirt - he's always got a loose button-up, a jacket, even a vest. the only one of the images i collected is a lil promotional art with him in a white loose shirt and torn black skinny jeans. but like. idk he makes that one work too.

let me kind of demonstrate in these sort of "categories", i guess. i'll have more coherent thoughts later but take this first:

horikoshi sketches, "smart casual": at least, that's what i'd call it. they're not overly fancy by any means, but they aren't his typical skull graphic shirt and tracksuit pants with a pair of loafers kind of look. in these, he looks a little more dressed up, and the looks read as him going out with friends, almost. (the silly print shirt over the plain shirt is such a fun look for him, though. it really stands out in comparison to the other two here.)

it's also clear to see that his go-to is to combine a mid-tone jacket with either a plain light-coloured shirt or a black one - and if he is going to have anything on the shirts, it's going to be a minimal design, like the x on his shirt on the left. the interesting thing is that there are more accessories on the right-most outfit compared to the other two; i think in order to compliment the print on his over-shirt, he's accessorised accordingly. and i think it looks pretty good that way!

anime official art, "practical": well, i call it that for the other two mostly, but this particular style reads as a look where he looks decent - but he also looks like he could laze around in them. that loose-fitting white shirt has got to be one of the most comfortable things he has in his wardrobe, and that hoodie is a very close second. my guy has plenty of desire to just... be, in these.

what stands out the most about these is how minimal they are in comparison to some of his other looks, but they still carry themselves well by BEING minimal. he doesn't need anything too drastic. if anything, the hoodie in the centre is the most "out there" look of the three, but it is minimising his world heroes mission stealth uniform. even his winter-themed outfit with the puffer jacket is simple in the way it's block colours with no obvious accessories. these are looks meant to be comfortable and fashionable at the same time.

horikoshi popularity poll / yr anniversary art, "dressed up": this is more or less highlighting the sort of "au" looks from the steampunk au and the community-named winter au, but also including one of my favourite yearly arts. these don't necessarily scream "katsuki", but at the same time, they do. they embody katsuki in his own way. the obvious thing being a loose fit around his neck, or informal, even if the rest of his outfit reads otherwise - and honestly, with these styles, it's less about what katsuki would wear and more like "i just think they're neat."

horikoshi promotional art, "formal": if you know me at all, you know how LOUD I AM about these looks, particularly the last two. ESPECIALLY the leather jacket look. the first thing i can note about all of these formal looks, though, is that katsuki is wearing his shirts buttoned up - and he's wearing something around his neck properly in two of them. in the leather jacket art, he's styled his hair, even!

i also noticed the colours tend to compliment his hair and eyes - in these, the reds and oranges don't overwhelm or dull his red eyes, while the blues and blacks accentuate his blond hair really, really well. touches of other colours are used to help add extra dimension: namely the green rope and the white flowers. yeah, i think there was a mention that kirishima had actually picked out the right-most outfit because he knew that katsuki wouldn't want to go to the party... but listen. i am at least lowkey convinced that this blond disclosed how to style a look around his appearance, because like hell he would be caught dead wearing anything Bad.

(ignoring some looks, anyway. i do not see 🙈)

i also adore his styled hair. like... i can't get enough of it. i know why he doesn't style it often, and it's because his hair is stubbornly spiky (even in believing that his hair is also naturally soft), but when he's able to? he knows EXACTLY what to do to it. katsuki really is his mother's son.

all this to say he looks good in most of his art - especially that which originates from horikoshi himself - and he clearly knows how to style an outfit. thanks for coming to my ted talk

[nikethestatue]

Elain Throws a Punch

Summary: Elain throws a punch.

“Oh, the witches are here,” Devlon muttered under his breath.

It was a blustery, windy, ugly Illyrian day, the mountains offering little protection from the gale-force wind, and the late-autumn colours all gray and muddy, as above so is below. Dark slate clouds above, black mountains all around them, and thick mud below their feet.

That’s the mud that both Nesta and Elain were trying to walk through right now, their rubber boots getting stuck in the muck. Morrigan had winnowed them all here, dumped them in the middle of the camp, saluted and disappeared at once, leaving the four of them to face the grimacing and snarling Illyrians.

The four of them—Nesta, Azriel, Cassian and Elain—were here on behest of Rhysand, to put their case forward before the leaders of every Illyrain camp, to allow access to Ramiel. Whatever was beneath Ramiel needed to be investigated, and yet, Rhys couldn’t just let them go there. No, no. Every snarly Illyrian had to be involved in the process!

Nesta was grumbling and cussing under her breath all morning, as they were getting ready and Elain was squeezing her generous curves into some leathers. Nesta’s were too small on her. Gwyn’s too tight and too long. By the time Mor arrived with hers, Elain was in a foul mood, sweaty and tired from pulling on too-tight trousers, trying to squeeze her breasts into cumbersome jackets, and deciding whether she should lay off the sweet buns for a bit.

She fit into Mor’s leathers, though the trousers were too long, but she rolled and tucked them into the rubber boots, which Cassian tossed at them, telling them not to think about ‘fashion’ but to be ‘practical’. At that, Mor made a face. Azriel, meanwhile, watched Elain strut in tight leather, his gaze that of a hungry wolf.

“Calm down, brother,” Cassian smirked like an asshole, squeezing the shadowsinger’s shoulder.

“Fuck off.”

“Naw, now. Don’t get testy.”

“Why are you talking?” Azriel snarled under his breath.

Cassian made a locking motion at the corner of his laughing mouth and ‘tossed away the key’ over his shoulder.

“Ain’t nobody talking,” he shrugged innocently.

Elain kept fidgeting with her straps, twisting and turning, and Azriel came over and gently patted her shoulder.

“You look good in leathers,” he offered her a tight smile.

She glanced at him and snorted, “I look like a pig with a saddle!”

He chuckled and asked, “Ready?”

“As ready as I will be,” she took his large, warm hands in hers and he pulled her close. She knew that there were risks involved with winnowing and that it was very necessary for him to hold her like that. Close to his chest.

Now, here they were, in front of twelve Camp Commanders of Illyria.

Being called ‘witches’.

Nesta simply jutted out her chin and strode forth, as if they weren’t there and as if she didn’t hear what they whispered. They always called her a ‘witch’. She wished that she was. Frankly, Elain was more of a witch, well with all the herbs and the potions that she’s been learning to make. The potions were mostly for healing, but Nesta knew that some were for male sexual prowess, and others were to increase or decrease fertility or sexual urges. It amused Nesta that Elain was the one people went to for their sexual questions and needs. Elain never spoke of it, citing ‘confidentiality’.

They were ushered into a vast hall, built of sturdy timber and heated by a fireplace big enough to hold a wagon and a pair of oxen.

And then the negotiations began. Problem was…out of the four of them, at least three were not very good negotiators.

Nesta just sat in stony silence, glowering at everyone, her eyes turning progressively more silver and therefore freaking everyone out.

Azriel was just as talkative, and definitely gave off unfriendly vibes, his massive arms folded over his chest, a look of angry disdain marring his features.

“We can just murder them all,” he proposed at one point, whispering to Elain, though Cassian heard it too.

Cassian was an impatient negotiator. He was probably the most reasonable, perhaps the most understanding, but he didn’t want to suffer Illyrian fools and their superstitions.

“Nothing will happen!” he kept arguing.

The older Commanders were yelling and saying that ‘Illyria will fall if Ramiel is breached!’

Maybe it should, Azriel muttered, earning a shove from Elain.

“I agree with Az,” Nesta offered.

Elain stood up and said, “Gentlemales! Dear sirs!”

And was promptly ignored.

“Fucking ‘dear sirs’!” Azriel tossed, shaking his head, his siphons glowing a dangerous shade of cobalt.

Elain put her hand on his forearm and squeezed lightly, imploring,

“We don’t need a mass murder here,”

“Don’t we?” Nesta piped in unhelpfully.

“Nesta!”

“Nesta what?” her sister hissed. “They aren’t listening to reason! They certainly aren’t listening to you!”

“It’s alright,” Elain argued peaceably, trying to remain calm, though anger was bubbling beneath her skin.

“Perhaps we should resume the negotiations tomorrow,” she proposed.

The Commanders got up from their chairs and benches and filed out of the hall, muttering and cursing between each other.

Elain and the rest of her group followed them and in a last ditch effort to build rapport, Elain inquired politely,

“Shall we join you for the evening meal?”

Commander Iron Tooth—because he had an iron tooth—turned to her and sneered,

“As if we would break bread with you lot! We are pure bread, well-born Illyrians, who hail from Enalius himself! If you think that we would drink mead and eat meat with two low born bastards, you have lost your mind, witch!”

Elain stopped in her tracks, her cheeks aflame, sweat trickling down her back.

“Pardon me?”

“Pardon is given,” Iron Tooth smiled a wide smile. “Those two,” he nodded towards Cassian and Azriel, “are nothing but two of Rhysand’s puppets. I should’ve known they’d be crawling back here—Cassian especially. When Rhysand came back from Under the Mountain, I shoulda known that Cassian would be given all the powers over Illyria, knowing that he thinks that the sun shines outa Rhysand’s ass!”

No one knew how it happened.

No one saw.

But Elain Archeron, the gentle flower grower, fisted her hand and threw a vicious punch at Iron Tooth’s mouth.

His iron tooth, his pride and joy, flew right out of his jaw and landed with a clunk on the floor.

“Petal!” Cassian cried out with pride, his eyes alight with happiness.

Nesta smirked a satisfied smile.

“Aww, fuck!” Elain cursed, shaking her hand.

Azriel stepped forward and ordered, “Back it up’ seeing how the other commanders lurched towards the wailing Iron Tooth, who was holding his mouth, groaning and grunting dramatically, as blood poured on the floor.

“You’d think I broke his nose,” Elain shrugged innocently.

“Who taught you to throw a punch?” Nesta wondered.

Elain smiled and said,

“Your mate taught me.”

And Cassian grinned.

[carol-in-au]

Batkids: into their closets (Pt. 1)

I’ve been having thoughts about what each Batkid would wear, and honestly they stem from Jason being pictured wearing the same damn red hoodie all the time (which I kinda get, same) and boots and leather jackets. 

SO I decided to attempt to make a wardrobe for as many as I can. Starting with Jason :)

1. He loves cargo pants. He prefers the more straight-legged ones than the parachute style but he’ll wear anything that has that many pockets to hide his guns and knives.

2. Hoodies. Any colour, as long as it’s a size too big at least and soft he’ll wear it and feel like a milion bucks. And if he wants to go out he’ll throw on a leather jacket and call it fashion and he’ll be right.

3. Like I said, leather jackets (the style in the collage is the one I think he’d like more), tons of them, mostly thrifted, a good amount gifts from friends and family. He also has a jean jacket that was too big for Dick. 

4. Just simple jeans. Not tight, not low-crotched, not wide. Classic, straight-legged cotton jeans (with a belt bc he hates bending down and flashing people).

5. Ankle bracelets that weren’t initially that but Damian made him a friendship bracelet when he was making a bunch a day and if he wore it around his wrist he’d lose it and it was safer at the ankle. When he does lose one, Damian gives him another, no questions asked. Steph also gave him a plastic purple bracelet.

6. He doesn’t have a huge collection but he likes shoes. Not stuff like converse and vans, they make his feet hurt, but Nikes and adidas and trainers in general are his go-to, sneakers like air force 1s bc he’s not scared of being basic or air jordans or dunks when he’s feeling more dressy. 

7. He wears maroon ties, when he does were a tie. He picks dress shirts without collars just to avoid them. Bruce hates them but keeps it to himself even though his eye visibly twitches.

8. Gray. Sweatpants.

9. Messenger bags to carry books and snacks with him (such a mother hen already).

10. He only wears ankle socks.

11. Beanies in the winter. Preferably red.

[wintersandthebeast]

AVSL's Leon Kennedy Headcanons

I've been writing Leon since 2006, here are JUST A FEW of the many headcanons I have for him.

--Leon is autistic.  The next time you wonder why he says really weird things or has a flat affect...well...lol.  But he's a GenXer so he doesn't even know this about himself. (writing him since deciding this has been twice as fun and enjoyable)

--piggybacking on that, Leon doesn't really relate to or click with anyone and is known as a loner.  He always requests to work alone, which makes other DSO agents think he's a snob.  He doesn't do much to refute those claims.  Leon truly doesn't care what other people think about him; the thought doesn't even really enter his mind that other people do think about him. 

--He likes thinking that he's fashionable, but really he's a 90's grunge "leather jacket and boots" guy.  He just has money for the expensive boots and jacket these days. 

--His dad was a musician and a long-haired beatnik, and is one of the reasons Leon has a longer hairstyle.

--Despite the drinking, Leon eats healthily and has real disdain for junk food.  In his mind the two balance out (they do not.)

--Obviously his reflexes and instinctual movement is top notch, but Leon hates driving anything other than a motorcycle.  He sees vehicles as a means to an end, and usually temporary.  The DSO cringes anytime his mission requests involve vehicles.  Driving is a skill he never cared about or felt passionate learning.  (Other than motorcycles, of course)

--Exception to the above.  His favorite car is the Landcruiser, and he has a FJ40, powder blue, locked securely in very expensive storage for when he finally retires or gets a vacation.  It's the only possession he really cares about.  He is fond of Toyotas in general, and his dad drove a blue Toyota truck.

--Sometimes Leon muses about "if things were different" and thinks about his home and white picket fence and the wife and children he'd have, but every time he meanders down that thought train his inner voice reminds him "things are never different" and the thought stops.  Usually this involves alcohol. 

--For the ladies: he's a leg guy.  Any leg will do.  Curvy, thin, muscular, just showing legs is good.  For the gents: he's an arm guy.  Very bro of him.

--His most hated sport is swimming.  Not only is it difficult and blunts every movement he does, but he also has to get wet, and get his hair wet.  0/10.

--Back to physical: Leon isn't really strong with words (clearly) and most of his romantic talk is awkward jokes and banter.  When he's physical with someone, he prefers to just be physical and let his body do the work, just like in combat.  Which now sounds really unromantic when I type that out but eh oh well. 

--His favorite whiskey is MacAllen. No one knows this and he would be weirded out if they did.  THAT INFORMATION IS PRIVATE. 

--Biting fingernails makes his brain short circuit.  If he sees it happening, he WILL stare.  Then again he stares a lot.  But in the biting nails case it will be an intense, judgy stare. 

--He was forced to train with the government, so training in his preferred forms of MA and weapons handling are pretty much his only hobbies aside from drinking.  Leon sometimes hates that he doesn't have better hobbies, but he really loves martial arts and has a gift for that, as well as training others, so he has mostly made peace with the fact that he can't crochet or line dance or whatever.  Despite his inability to connect with others, he's a great teacher and a lot of agents look forward to learning from him. 

--He still watches WWE. 

--He also watches cheesy kung-fu movies and westerns, which is where he picked up most of his propensity for the ridiculous one liners.  Third favorite movie genre would be mafia and crime. 

[ollieofthebeholder]

to find promise of peace (and the solace of rest): a TMA fanfic

<< Beginning < Prev || AO3 || My Website

Chapter 71: March 1998

Gerard likes to think of himself as reasonably fluent in Latin. At the very least, he can translate a good number of the texts his mother puts in front of him these days, and he’s written out his fair share, too, and they’re more or less understandable by anyone with a working grasp of the language. His pronunciation is decent and, when his mother reads aloud to him, he can usually comprehend it well enough.

He has, however, no clue what the old man in the frock coat is saying.

Well, that’s not…entirely true. He’s following along, for the most part. But it’s just off enough that it’s like the guy is speaking a different language. At the very least it’s a dialect he’s not familiar with, and does Latin even have dialects? He supposes it must have, at one point, just like every other language does—the Roman Empire was big enough, and lasted long enough, that there must be variants all over the place—but he’s never learned anything but the scholarly, textbook variety, and he’s not sure what’s going on.

He realizes he’s focusing on something supremely unimportant in the grand scheme of things. If he worries about how the man is saying what he’s saying, he doesn’t have to think about what he’s saying, or why he’s saying it. He can pretend everything is normal.

To his left, Melanie stands unusually still for once. Her black crepe dress with the white lace collar fits her way too well to have been recently purchased—Roger almost always buys things Melanie is going to grow into—but her patent leather Mary Janes must be new, since he’s never seen them before and they’re far too shiny to have been worn much; they haven’t even picked up much of the dirt. She’s taken her hair back with a faux pearl clip, silver stars wink in her recently pierced ears, and at her throat is a cameo necklace on a black velvet ribbon. Her face is drawn and pale, and she’s clutching an honest-to-God handkerchief trimmed in lace, which might have been white once but is currently the same ivory color as the cameo. She stares straight ahead, not moving, except for the fingers that keep twisting and twisting the handkerchief.

Gerard’s eyes rove over the crowd. It’s mostly older people, a few people he recognizes vaguely from seeing around the neighborhood and one or two who’ve come to Pinhole Books on occasion, but for the most part they’re all completely unknown to him. (He’s learned by now not to use stranger in a benign context.) Roger, standing on Melanie’s other side, seems to be polishing his square spectacles rather a lot, and Gerard’s not about to look at his mother, because he doesn’t want to know what she’s looking at and doesn’t want to get in trouble if what she’s looking at is him.

Unfortunately, that only leaves him two places to look.

He lets himself, reluctantly, look at the folding chair placed just ahead of them. It’s almost entirely empty, except for two figures. Aunt Lily has gained back some weight in the last year—a lot of weight—and now has to use a cane everywhere she goes; her hands, covered in black kid gloves, are folded neatly over the carved wooden handle, except when she raises one to cough discreetly into a handkerchief—like Melanie’s, except hers is trimmed in black. She honestly looks like she’s just stepped out of an Edwardian fashion plate in a magazine instructing people on proper mourning attire. For fuck’s sake, she even has a hat with a veil.

Of course Martin stands next to her, slightly behind her. He looks smaller than usual, like he’s crumpled in on himself. His black suit jacket is just a little too big for him, hanging loosely on his shoulders and covering half of his hands, but he’s finally grown into the Norfolk cap he’s owned as long as Gerard has known him. Because of where he’s standing, Gerard can’t see anything else, but he knows he’s wearing a pair of too-long trousers that cover his smart black school shoes. He can, however, see his face, and it makes his heart hurt. It’s beyond upset, beyond even devastated. Martin looks…lost.

Gerard looks away, and of course in doing so his eyes lock onto the box just behind the priest. For some reason, the box bothers him more than Martin’s face, even though it’s closed. Maybe especially because it’s closed.

He keeps telling himself the old man isn’t really in there. That it’s just a box, containing an empty shell. That they know the old man is dead and beyond the reach of the Fourteen. The body he viewed last night, dressed in a dove grey wool suit and fingers folded over the rosary his parents brought from Poland, isn’t really the man they all knew, it’s just a husk. That man is gone, somewhere they won’t see him for a long time, if ever. Gerard isn’t terribly sure what kind of an afterlife there is, if there even is an afterlife, and he’s not sure he’ll ever earn a place in the same afterlife as Alastair Koskiewicz if there is. But wherever it is, it’s somewhere better than this, it has to be.

It doesn’t help much.

It’s not just the fact of the coffin, the idea of being shut up in a box and dropped in a hole and covered in dirt forever and ever, and how horrifying it would be if he wakes up and can’t get out. Gerard’s read stories about that happening and it’s kept him up at nights sometimes, although not as often as thinking about the casual comment Martin made when they first met (why didn’t he ever tell Alastair about that, why hasn’t he told someone, is Martin still being punished like that, what if Martin wakes up in that coffin someday). It’s the whole fact of him being dead. Death is one of the Fourteen, after all, so even being dead doesn’t mean he’s completely safe. Gerard’s not sure how that works and he’s kind of afraid to ask.

Tiny cold fingers slide into Gerard’s, and he squeezes back on instinct. That’s all Melanie needs, apparently, and she clutches his hand so tight he almost expects his fingers to pop off. For a skinny little twig like she is, she’s got a really strong grip.

The priest recites a phrase, and even if it doesn’t sound exactly like how Gerard learned it, he at least knows what it means: Ashes to ashes, dust to dust. He then nods and gestures at the coffin.

Six men, five strangers and Roger, step forward and each take a handle of the coffin, then carry it over to the hole. A man, probably an employee of the cemetery, directs them, then signals for them to let go. For a moment, the coffin rests on a series of straps before the pallbearers lower it into the ground.

At his side, Melanie gives a low whimper and turns away for a moment, pressing her handkerchief to her lips, before straightening and facing the grave again.

At another signal from the priest, Aunt Lily hefts herself to her feet and limps forward, Martin trailing after her. She takes something from the priest and throws it into the open grave, then steps back. The priest beckons to Martin, who also comes forward and hesitantly lets something fall from his hand into the grave. Unlike his mother, though, he doesn’t stand back, just stays where he is. The priest ignores him in favor of finishing the ceremony.

Once the final amen is said, the crowd drifts away from the graveside and back towards the road, probably intent on heading back to the old man’s house, where a reception has been laid out. Roger moves over to assist Aunt Lily to her feet, and she leans on both him and her cane as she struggles forward. Gerard’s mother focuses on an awkward-looking young blond man standing off to one side, gives a sharp, sweetly poisonous smile, and heads in that direction. Martin remains where he is, staring down into the grave, even as the gravediggers uncover the pile of dirt under the tarp and begin spading it back into the hole. Gerard can hear the rattle as it rains on the lid of the coffin. Melanie flinches at the sound, then suddenly yanks her hand out of Gerard’s and rushes over to Martin’s side, throwing her arms around him and hugging him tightly.

He doesn’t react. Gerard’s heart constricts.

Hesitantly, he crosses over as well and puts one hand on Martin’s shoulder and the other on Melanie’s. He’s taller than both of them, for now anyway, tall enough that he can look over their heads and see into the grave as the smooth, polished wood gradually disappears under the dry, brittle soil.

“C’mon,” he says gently, trying to steer Melanie and Martin away. “Let’s get back to the house.”

Melanie starts to come without too much resistance, but she stops dead in her tracks when Martin doesn’t budge. He keeps watching as the coffin is slowly but steadily obscured.

He’s not crying. Gerard doesn’t like it. He understands Melanie—he’s never seen her cry, no matter how upset she gets—but Martin wears his heart on his sleeve, and the fact that he’s not crying for his grandfather is…worrying. As is the way he’s just…staring at the hole, and the box.

“Martin,” Gerard says, a little more insistently. He holds his shoulder a little tighter, shakes him a bit, trying to get his attention. The fact that Martin still doesn’t react scares him more than he’s willing to admit, and before he can stop himself, he slaps the younger boy across the face. “Martin!”

Martin jerks and stumbles back from the edge of the grave. Gerard takes advantage of him being off-balance to grab his arm and drag him away; Melanie loops her arm through his other one and helps, although she’s not much help. Actually, Gerard has to admit that if Martin wasn’t already off-balance, he wouldn’t be able to move him either. Martin is chubby, to put it politely, and probably weighs as much as both of them put together, and he can be quite difficult to move when he wants to be.

The village cemetery is probably a good mile from the house, but most of the cars have already left by the time they manage to wrestle Martin to the road. Gerard reckons that’s probably not the worst thing in the world—the walk will do them good—but before he can even bring that up, a woman comes over to them. She looks to be about the same age as Gerard’s mother, a sweet-faced woman whose thick braid of hair is more white than black but whose dark blue eyes shine with innocence, and she’s dressed in a black skirt suit that looks more like an everyday work outfit than something bought specially for a funeral.

“It’s Martin, isn’t it?” she says in a soft, gentle voice. Martin recoils, shrinking back, a naked terror suddenly replacing the half-blind look that was in them before, but nods once. The woman doesn’t seem to notice his fear. “I’m so sorry about your grandfather, dear. I used to work with him a long time ago. He was a very, very good man.” Turning to Gerard, she adds, “And of course, you’re Eric’s son, aren’t you? Gerard? We used to be colleagues. I was saddened to hear of his passing.”

Passing. Like it was an easy thing and not the work of his mother and a pair of hedge clippers. Gerard swallows down that response and only says, “Yes, ma’am. Thank you.”

Turning to Melanie, the woman’s smile softens. “And who are you, sweetling?”

Melanie surprises Gerard. She looks up at Martin briefly, then back at the woman, but doesn’t answer. Gerard figures she’s just shy for some reason, or too upset to talk, and steps in. “This is Melanie. She’s our friend. Her dad was one of the pallbearers.”

“Of course, of course. Are you a friend of the family, then?”

Gerard starts to answer, but Melanie shakes her head and pulls on Martin’s arm. “Gerry, you know we’re not supposed to talk to strangers. C’mon, let’s go home.”

“Oh!” The woman gives a silvery laugh, then instantly sobers. “I’m so sorry, I forgot entirely! Of course none of you know me. My name is Emma.” She looks around the parking lot and adds, “It looks like everyone else has left already. Why don’t I give you a ride back to the house?”

“No.” That single word, laden with terror and cracked with tears, explodes out of Martin’s mouth as he takes a step back. It shocks Gerard, who suddenly realizes it’s the first word out of Martin’s mouth since Alastair died, but also because Martin is never rude to grown-ups. Or anybody, really, but especially not grown-ups.

He’s right, though. Gerard was on the verge of accepting the ride, but it dawns on him just how stupid an idea that is. They don’t know this woman, and for all she claims to know both Martin’s grandfather and Gerard’s father, they can’t prove she actually does. Did. She could be trying to kidnap them, or worse.

With that in mind, Gerard tosses a hasty, “Thank you, ma’am, nice to meet you!” over his shoulder as he heads up the block, arm still looped through Martin’s. It’s hard to say who’s dragging whom.

It takes them almost half an hour to get back to the house. The drive and street are clogged with cars, including the one belonging to the woman called Emma—so at least she’s actually here—and a few shadowy figures pass by the windows. Gerard figures they’ll slip inside, grab a plate each, and find a quiet corner to tuck into.

Martin surprises him again. He bypasses the house entirely, sliding his arms from Melanie and Gerard’s without a word, and makes straight for the grove of cherry trees, currently bare and only just beginning to think about budding; they won’t flower for at least another month. He doesn’t stop there, either, just reaches up and seizes a low-hanging branch and hauls himself into one of the older and sturdier trees. Martin might be plump, but he’s strong.

“Martin! Jesus.” Gerard looks at Melanie, who gives him a worried look in reply. Bowing to the inevitable, he goes over to the tree with her and boosts her up. Once she’s managed to pull herself onto a branch, and while she’s trying to figure out how to climb a bit higher to reach Martin, Gerard turns and heads back into the house.

For a wonder, he manages to elude both his mother and Martin’s, retrieve a few snacks he can secrete in his jacket pocket, and slip back out again without anyone being the wiser. Getting himself into the tree is harder, but with the assistance of the split-rail fence and a bit of effort he manages it. Martin has climbed as high as he possibly can before the branches won’t hold him anymore, and Melanie has managed, with some difficulty, to get just a couple branches below him. Gerard makes his way up to join them, then fetches the food out from his pocket and passes some to Melanie and some to Martin. He takes it mechanically, but doesn’t eat.

Finally, Gerard breaks the silence. “I’m sorry for telling that woman your name, Neens.”

“I don’t mind. She knew yours and Martin’s, it’s only fair she knew mine, too. I just wasn’t going to talk to her.” Melanie peers up at Martin. “You didn’t like her, did you?”

Martin shakes his head, but doesn’t say anything. The sausage roll hangs from his hand, and he’s staring vacantly at something far away. He looks a lot older than nine years old and Gerard doesn’t know how to fix it.

Before he can figure out what to say, or even if he’s going to say anything, he hears voices and looks down. The woman from the cemetery is passing under the trees—which she has no reason to do, they’re not between the house and the cars—along with two other people, neither of whom look so old. Gerard can’t tell genders from this angle, only that one has curly blond hair and the other has sandy brown shingled hair. They’ve obviously all been at the funeral, or are trying to blend in with it, and are apparently mid-conversation.

“—know him?” a man’s voice asks. “I guess she must have, if you did. Shame she couldn’t come.”

“She’s very busy.” The older woman’s voice doesn’t quite have the same soft, gentle tones it did when she was speaking to the three of them, but it still sounds very sweet and pleasant. “That’s why she sent us, to pay her regards.”

“I have to say,” says a woman’s voice, “the, er, bereaved didn’t seem particularly upset.” The person with the shingled hair stops and puts hands on hips, so Gerard presumes she’s the one speaking. “Not until you mentioned the Institute, anyway.”

“I probably shouldn’t have done that,” the man says, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand. “I—I didn’t think it would be that big of a deal. I mean, if her father worked there…”

“Worked, past tense,” the unknown woman points out. “Why did he leave, anyway, Emma?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Emma says, a bit vaguely. “It was so long ago—it wasn’t very long after I started working for Gertrude myself.”

“Was he in the Archives, too? Did he know Eric?” The man’s voice is a bit eager.

“Gracious, no, not the Archives. Alastair was a practical researcher. You’ll find his name on several of the catalog entries for the older artifacts, if you know where to look.” Emma sighs. “But yes, he knew Eric, too. And Fiona—you never met her, of course, she sadly passed away before your time—”

“Didn’t I get hired to replace her?”

“—he was always so patient with her. The rest of us thought she was a bit of a fuddy-duddy, honestly, but I suppose she reminded him of his own mother.”

“You must have known him well,” the unknown woman says shrewdly.

Emma shrugs. “Not very, honestly. As I said, we were in different departments. He usually brought down information for Gertrude from the other departments, and they’d chat a bit, but I was always so busy I never had much time.”

“Ms. Robinson must have been busy, too,” the man says, sounding defensive.

“I’m not saying she wasn’t, Michael dear. Only that I didn’t make the time to make as many connections as she did.” Emma sighs—a bit theatrically, Gerard thinks. “It’s something I regret in my old age.”

“You’re not old.” Michael, or at least Gerard assumes he’s Michael, touches her arm urgently. “You’re still quite young, honest.”

Emma laughs that same silvery laugh. “You’re so sweet.”

Michael sighs. “You know who I feel bad for, though? That little boy. Is that—was that Alastair’s grandson?”

“Yes, that’s Martin. I wanted to speak a bit more with him, but he’s understandably upset. He must have loved his grandfather very much.” Emma clucks her tongue. “The poor little thing.”

“His grandfather loved him, too,” the unknown woman says. “I didn’t see a single picture of his mother anywhere in that house, but that little boy was all over it.” She sighs. “Come on. We’d best be getting back. I’ve still got to follow up with a couple of people.”

They move off, and for a few moments, there is complete silence. Then something wet hits Gerard’s hand. He looks up and sees Martin, still staring fixedly ahead of him, but with big, fat tears dripping down his cheeks.

“Martin.” Abandoning safety, sense, and sausage roll, Melanie pulls herself to a standing position and lunges forward to wrap her arms around Martin’s middle before Gerard can tell her be careful. She buries her face in his side and just holds on for dear life.

“I can’t remember his face,” Martin says, his voice small and fragile and choked with tears. “I, I didn’t—Mum said, she said I wasn’t allowed to look if I couldn’t see on my own and, and I was too short, so I didn’t see him last night, there was just the picture, but he was so young, he wasn’t—he wasn’t finished. It wasn’t his face. But I can’t remember what he looked like. He loved me so much and I can’t remember his face…”

Gerard swallows hard. He can empathize with that, a little, anyway. He barely remembers what his own father looked like, and…well, he assumes his father loved him. He remembers loving his father, anyway. Martin’s had nine years with his grandfather and only just lost him. That has to be disconcerting.

He could describe it to him. Tell Martin what his grandfather looks like. He could also reassure him that even if he had been able to look into the coffin last night, it wouldn’t have looked like his grandfather, not with all the makeup and the weird slackness that death adds to a face.

He doesn’t. Instead, he puts one hand on Martin’s leg and the other on Melanie’s waist and summons up every ounce of authority and assurance he can.

“You don’t have to,” he says.

Martin blinks and looks down at Gerard. “Wh-what?”

“You don’t have to remember his face,” Gerard repeats. “Is that what’s important? Or is it important that he loved you, and you love him? You can remember what he sounded like when he told you stories or taught you poems, right? What it felt like when he hugged you? What the cherry pie he made specially for you smelled like?”

“Yeah…?”

“Then that’s what matters. Faces change. Yours isn’t finished yet either, or mine, or Melanie’s, and if you didn’t see us for years and years and then one day you saw us again, maybe you wouldn’t remember what we looked like, but you’d remember we’re your friends. Love doesn’t have to look. Love just has to be.”

Melanie and Martin both stare at Gerard, who tries not to look embarrassed. He’s almost twelve, and love isn’t a word he throws around a lot, but for these two, he’ll do it. He’s never had a brother or a sister, but he feels like he’s got one now. And Alastair treated him like another grandson. He’s, he was, a good man, and Martin deserves to not feel bad for remembering him in whatever way he does.

“Besides,” he adds, to lighten the mood a little bit. “He looks a lot like a cross between your mum and a bulldog with big dangly jowls and a walrus mustache. You don’t want that image in your head all the time.”

It elicits a tiny giggle out of the other two, and Martin starts to wipe his eyes with his sleeve before Melanie hands him her handkerchief. “He’s right,” she tells him. “Not about your granddad, not exactly, but—I don’t remember what Mama looked like either. Not really. The only picture I’ve got of her is from after she got sick, and that didn’t look like her really either.”

Martin dabs at his cheeks. “But…but what if I do forget?”

“Then we’ll remind you,” Gerard says. “That’s what family is for, right?”

At that, Martin finally smiles and nods. “Yeah. That’s what family is for.”

[byanyan]

@apexulansis sent:ㅤ“I found this while I was out.” In his claws, a hooded leather jacket. It was mostly black, but held a subtle violet undertone that shifted into a warmer hue in different lights. It was adorned with silver bolts around the sleeves and shoulders; patterns of pink-purple decorated its surface, seemingly starting at the back in the shape of a pair of wings or flames (or some other abstract shapes) that reached along the arms. Its surface was scuffed with age and it clearly wasn't something picked off a store shelf, but it was in good condition, free of any rips or tears. It looked comfy, too. Most of all, it was clearly much too small for Ardaka, who was now holding it out with intent in Byan's direction. “I thought you may like it. Might be a bit big for you, but…”

ㅤmouth taking on an 'o' shape as they glanced over at the sound of ardaka's voice and their eyes found the jacket, byan was immediately shuffling closer to get a better look. scanning over all the accents, taking in all the little details, they were riveted. they'd seen a lot of leather jackets over the years, and owned a decent collection already, but never had they seen one quite like this. it was so... them.

gaze flitting upward when ardaka confirmed it was brought with them in mind, then back down as he held it out, the teen all but snatched it out of his hands eagerly.

ㅤㅤ" oversized clothes're fashionable, "ㅤthey replied with a wave of their hand, not remotely bothered if it was a little big. it sure hadn't stopped them from stealing an adult-sized pink leather jacket back when they were eleven, and that thing hadn't come close to fitting until years later, so why would it stop them now? holding the jacket in their hands, byan leaned in closer, eyeing the way the colour shifted slightly when they turned it in the light.

ㅤㅤ" this thing is sick. "ㅤalmost entranced with the purple-ish undertone, they continued to shift the material around, fascinated. they'd never seen someone pull off such an effect with leather... then again, they were still more accustomed to earth leathers — this was probably made from a different animal, which might allow for different treatments and thus different possibilities for the end product... interesting.

turning it over to take a proper look at the back, byan's eyes traced over the pattern with interest. from the colours to the design, it all suited their style so well. it spoke to them instantly, and already some part of their brain was formulating the best outfit they could wear with it. noting how perfect it was for them, however, they couldn't help but realize that ardaka must have thought the same thing. he'd seen it, thought of them, and brought it back for them, which was... nice. while it would never cease to surprise them every time he handed them something he'd seen and thought they'd like, there was no denying that it was nice to be thought of. nice to be known too, to some degree, given how the items he'd bring them were only becoming more and more accurate to their tastes. a bit daunting, to think about how well he was getting to know them, but... not bad. hopefully.

ㅤㅤ" only way this thing could be more perfect for me is if you stole it. "ㅤbreaking themself out of thoughts too deep to be having over a coat, byan lifted their head to grin up at the kariian while they shoved one arm into the jacket's sleeve to try it on. pulling it over their shoulders and slipping their other arm inside, they raised an eyebrow questioningly.ㅤ" so... did you steal it? "ㅤdropping their gaze once more to see how everything fit, they pulled the front of the jacket open and scrutinized the lining.ㅤ" i'm not seein' any blood, so i'm guessin' you didn't take it off one'a your targets. ...mighta been cooler if there was a little blood on it, though. "

[enby-fox]

Why Poirot is Autistic-Coded

I'm basing this mostly on the David Suchet TV series - I've read some of the books and the traits are noticeable there, but I've seen more of the TV series than I've read books, also David Suchet made a point of acting true to the Poirot of the books - not as the production wanted him to. Captain Hastings, Miss Lemon, and Ariadne Oliver also have neurodivergent traits, which I’m not covering here. I do recommend this series, it is calming, predictable, nothing awful happens to the main characters (I refuse to watch Curtain), it’s relatable to some autistics, and there’s a lot of it! Also, the costumes are great if you’re into period clothing.

~ Clothing – Poirot’s clothes are about 20 years out of fashion, being in the Edwardian style whilst the TV show is always set in the mid 1930’s (the books range between the end of WW1 and the 1960’s). He is fastidious in his dress. He almost always wears his patent leather shoes with spats, even whilst walking in the countryside where they cause him discomfort. His attire changes very little, only differing in fabric and colour (beige/grey/black/white)..he is seen wearing his suit jacket in hot countries, despite being visibly uncomfortable from the heat. He wears his shirt, bow tie and waistcoat at home, with his dressing gown over the top. A small spot of grease on clothing distresses and pre-occupies him, he complains when his collars aren't starched properly. His clothes are always immaculate, and never dishevelled. He will put down a handkerchief before sitting on a bench, or kneeling on the ground. He won't show the bare skin of his arms, he is always fully covered. He doesn't care that they're out of fashion, he doesn't care what people think, he loves them. The restrictiveness of this clothing, and the amount of covering it offers, could also be a sensory need.

~ Personal grooming - While at the barbers he mentions measuring his sideburns and finding one a couple of millimetres longer than the other and tells the barber to make sure this doesn't happen again. He is always perfectly groomed; he takes a lot of pride in his appearance. His moustaches are very important to him, he trims and shapes them very regularly, they are always symmetrical (he carries a little mirror and brush for this purpose). The moustaches are also not the fashion and are quite silly, he doesn't care. He wears expensive fragrance and dyes his hair - both are seen as feminine at the time; he gives zero shits. The fragrance could be a sensory thing. So too could be the hair and moustaches. When he eats, he dabs his mouth with a napkin very regularly - sensory issues with food on skin.

~ Food - He is picky about what he eats and drinks. He has a tisane every day, despite it not being a popular drink in the UK at the time, and he must have his tisane at specific times with a specific quantity of sugar. He won't eat his boiled eggs if they are not identical in size. His toast is meticulously cut up into tiny squares with tiny blobs of jam in the exact centre. He is suspicious of new food - Hastings encourages him to try fish and chips, Japp makes him faggots, mash and peas - he refuses to eat it.

~ People - He is great with people and seemingly has a lot of empathy. Personally I put this down to him enjoying studying people - the way people work being like a special interest to him. He has a good knowledge of human behaviour and psychology. His job allows him to meet a lot of people quite effortlessly, and to be invited into their homes and spend time with them, without having to make the social arrangements himself. His career does the socialising leg-work for him.

~ Justice - He has a strong sense of justice; his job prevents innocent parties from being prosecuted. He doesn't assume the working classes to be the guilty parties and the upper classes to be innocent. He speaks to everyone as his equal, women and working-class folk, he's not condescending. He desires the truth from everyone and is determined to find it if they don't freely give it to him. He values honesty highly and hates to be deceived.

~ Workaholism - He can't cope without a case for too long. He needs his little grey cells to be active and tested. Crime and human behaviour seem to be his special interests, and he has the need for stimulation. He tries retiring briefly to grow vegetable marrows in the countryside ('The Murder of Roger Ackroyd'), but crime finds him again and he realises he misses his career and the city.

~ Home - He is quite minimal with his décor. There is no clutter, everything is neatly arranged in its correct place, and there is no dust. His crockery is arranged by height. He could probably afford to hire a cook, but does not, he loves to cook and needs things to be done his way (Miss Lemon sometimes cooks, but she understands him). He is seen washing the dishes with Hastings in one episode, repeatedly handing the same plate back to Hastings to clean, as he has not done so correctly. In other people's homes he will adjust and straighten objects because it irritates him to see things not lined up.

~ Relationships - Poirot is single, and as far as anyone knows always has been. He has no children, and he has no desire for marriage. He seems to develop a romantic attraction to Vera Rosakof (the Russian countess), but this goes no further (possibly because she's a jewel thief and he's a private detective 😆). He doesn't flirt - he exudes zero sexual energy. Personally, I think he is asexual and bi-romantic, he certainly gives queer vibes. He would likely struggle in a traditional romantic relationship, he enjoys his independence and needs things to be his way, he doesn’t want his routine altered, and is very committed to his work. He never mentions his family background to anyone, he only talks about his prior police work in Belgium.

~ Money - Poirot enjoys having money, money matters to him - he enjoys the finer things. But he is also sensible with money, he doesn't like overpriced things and is quite tight with his purse strings. When he’s at an auction bidding for a mirror he lets himself be out-bid rather than going over his budget – despite being fairly wealthy. He makes a point of his bank balance never falling below a specific figure.

~Travel - Poirot enjoys some elements of travel, but not others. He has a fear of flying and gets sea and car sick. He hates sleeping in a tent - he needs his home comforts. He can't abide dust/sand getting on him or his clothes. We never see him in the water, or sunbathing shirtless. But he seems to appreciate culture and history and art (and knows a little Arabic), and so travels in search of these things, but in as much style and comfort as possible. He will pack his entire wardrobe.

~ Methods - Poirot is very good at noticing small details that seem inconsequential to everyone else but are key details that unravel the whole case, he takes nothing for granted. This knack for noticing details others don't is an Autistic thing. He also understands people’s psychology and motives.

~ Posture - Poirot always has perfect erect posture, to the extent that its quite rigid. He's never seen slumping in a chair or crossing his legs. He sleeps on his back unmoving and equally rigid. There is a scene in ‘The Mystery of the Spanish Chest’ where Poirot dances, his footwork is fast and neat, but the rest of his body does not move, and his face is fixed. When he walks his legs move but his upper body does not.

~ Routine - In ‘Dumb Witness’ a dog is foisted upon Poirot, he looks after it temporarily and seems to enjoy it’s company, but chooses not to keep it, saying - "the routine of the dog is not the routine of Poirot". Poirot has his tisane at specific times every day and won't tolerate it being brought to him late/early. In the TV adaption of 'The Murder of Roger Ackroyd' he says "you know how lateness distresses me".

Disclaimer -These are just my interpretations of Poirot as an autistic myself. Others will obviously have their own take on him. I’ve probably also missed traits/examples but writing this was mostly just for my own enjoyment!