#uniform ties and scarves

[designyourtie]

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[megwritesriddles]

Heavenly Torture ༊*·˚

18+ MDNI !!!

Pairing: Neville Longbottom x F! Reader / You

Summary: Kinktober 2024 Day 11 - Teasing & Degradation. After Hogwarts, Reader and Neville end up working together at Noltie's Botanical Novelties. Reader soon discovers she holds an unexpected power over Neville, one she'll have fun exerting over him at her whim.

Tags: Teasing, Degradation, Oral sex (m receiving), Neediness, Begging, Virgin!Neville, Sub!Neville, Dom!Reader, Slytherin!Reader, Set post Battle of Hogwarts, Coworkers to lovers (??).

Word count: 4.8k

all fandom masterlist | hp masterlist | read it on ao3

Authors note: I know I'm running a day behind right now, I'll try my best to catch up when I can (hopefully monday)!! Another day, another submissive pathetic man... lol!! Also why did this end up so long... all this backstory for what?? Why do I keep doing this?? Hope you like it anyway mwah ( ◕◡◕)っ ♡

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Getting the job at Noltie’s Botanical Novelties, the garden shop on Diagon Alley, had been one of the most relieving moments of your life. Not only did you have an income secured, but they’d hired you despite you having been in Slytherin. It seems silly for you to have been worried about this, given that people are starting to heavily advocate against stereotyping based on houses, but that didn’t mean it had actually stopped happening. At the moment, Slytherins were quite radioactive. Less than a year out from the war, all Slytherins near your age were assumed to be Death Eaters who just escaped consequence based on their age. This, of course, was not true for most of you, and certainly not for you. You’d been on the right side from… well, perhaps not the start, it takes time to shake your upbringing, but probably from some time in the fifth year. However, most people only remembered you as a Slytherin, and that was a decidedly bad thing to be currently. You knew you should have made more appearances at Dumbledore’s Army meetings, but back then you were facing the same issue, avoiding the meetings because when you did go, people would be distrusting of you because of the colour of your tie. Now people barely remembered that you’d been a member at all. It was frustrating beyond belief, but you just had to keep going. 

The job at Noltie’s was an undoubted blessing, just a few years ago it would have been a no-brainer for you to get the job, given your expertise, but this year it had truly felt like it wouldn’t happen for you. When you’d gone in to pick up your uniform about a week before starting, Edward Noltie himself had confessed to having been a Slytherin himself in his school days. You wouldn’t have guessed it, the kookie old man certainly reminded you more of the types that come out of Hufflepuff, but you told yourself to stop stereotyping, you had learned its inaccuracies over and over by now. It amused you slightly how much he tried to separate himself from the Slytherin label, only claiming the identity in the past tense, while most Gryffindors were likely to wear their Gryffindor scarves until at least their 200s. You thanked him anyway for his understanding, emphasising once again that you’d had no ties to the Death Eaters. As you were leaving with the bag containing your uniform, he stopped you.

“We actually have another employee with us from your year group at Hogwarts, a very talented young man, instrumental in winning the war, we’re lucky to have him, really. Joined a few months ago,” Noltie chuckled. You smiled and nodded awkwardly over your shoulder. You knew exactly who he was referring to. 

There’d never really been any doubt in your mind that Noltie had been talking about Neville Longbottom, but the suspicion is confirmed immediately on your first day. You walked in, hair neatly up as was required (less for aesthetic reasons and more for safety against the various plants stocked that had a tendency to thrash), your uniform tailored to fit you perfectly, and saw him behind the counter. You had been dreading this moment since you realised you’d be working with him. You knew what he’d say to you, how he would call you brave for going against your house, how much he appreciated your efforts during the war, things like that, and you couldn’t be bothered to listen to it. You just wanted to stop thinking about the war, and all the things you’d had to do to survive, but it seemed too much to ask. You took a deep breath and approached him and he did just that. With a serious and sympathetic expression, he began to thank you and commend you. He stared quite intensely at you as he spoke, which made you admittedly uncomfortable, your eyes flickered around the store as he spoke. 

“We barely had any Slytherins in the D.A. and I know some people gave you a hard time about it, so I think it’s–” he continued in his solemn voice. You squirmed in discomfort and decided to cut him off. 

“Look, Longbottom, all the same to you, yeah? You’re a war hero and all that, so… that’s great, congratulations! Can you show me how the till works now?” you huffed. He blinked in surprise at your little outburst, before flushing slightly, clearly having realised he’d made you uncomfortable in some way, even if he’d only been trying to compliment you. 

“Sorry, err… yeah…” he cleared his throat, showing you over to the till on the counter at the back of the store. You walked in front of him toward it and when you turned back to face him, you saw his eyes flick up and his flush deepen a little. You realise with a start that he’d been looking at your ass as you walked. These uniform trousers really were tailored perfectly, so you were sure he’d gotten a good view. You just smiled to yourself and filed the information away for later as he started to explain the machine to you. 

The next few weeks go surprisingly well. Sure, you’re only working the till and shop floor rather than actually doing any research or fieldwork, but at least you’re in your desired field, and the work is quite easy. The shop is never terribly busy, and the people who do come in like to spend a while browsing and contemplating, meaning you get to tell them all you know about the plants they’re deciding between, which you find quite fun. Neville works mainly in the backroom, counting stock, moving boxes, and maintaining the plants that can’t be kept on the shop floor because they’re too dangerous or require certain temperature conditions. You help with inventory, letting him know what’s running low on the shelves and making notes of what needs to be ordered for Mr Noltie. Mostly, you’re out of each other’s ways, but that doesn’t mean you’re not highly aware of each other. 

You knew Neville had changed over the years, every girl who’d been at Hogwarts was aware of it. You remembered quiet nights while the D.A. had been hiding out in the Room of Requirement, when a bunch of the girls would get together for some girl talk, trying hard to feel a sense of normalcy. Lavender Brown’s idea, which initially seemed silly, actually raised spirits quite a lot. You joined in, even though people were still rather wary of you, being one of only two Slytherins in the room, you mainly listened because of this. The girls huddled together in one corner of the room, while the boys chatted about who knows what in the other, and gossiped about the boys. There was hardly time for romance in the conditions you were in, which is perhaps why so much of it was happening, forced to stay together in one big room and fearing for your lives, you had overheard a lot you wish you never had. Neville ended up being the subject of a few of these conversations. He had changed a lot, becoming taller, broader and more handsome. He had also taken the role of the leader of the D.A., and many of the girls admitted that they quite liked the authoritative voice he used, which made everyone tease and giggle. He was nothing like the timid little boy he’d been for the first few years at Hogwarts, he was a man now, a strong, handsome man. However, no one ever reported any sort of action with him like they did with the other boys. At the time, he became sort of untouchable, which was odd considering he was Neville Longbottom.

These days, he was looking even better. His face was no longer so marred by the constant scrunch of stress as it had been during the war. He’d grown out his hair a little, rather than keeping it quite as short as he had during the war. He overall looked healthier, and even more muscular now that he was able to eat properly, his skin looking less pale and dull. Days of moving and stacking boxes in the backroom gave you plenty of time to subtly watch his muscles. He really was handsome now, though he didn’t seem to even realise this himself. Occasionally, when he’d be bringing stock out front for you to shelve, there’d be a woman in the store who would begin to flirt with him. He always seemed baffled and out of his depth, never flirting back and just trying to escape.

“What was that all about?” he asks you once, poking his head out of the backroom when she leaves. This woman had come onto him particularly strong, trying to touch his arm and invite him to the Leaky Cauldron. 

“She was flirting with you,” you chuckle, sorting the coins into the till. He scoffs.

“No, she wasn’t,”

“Yes, she was,” you laugh in disbelief. He chews his lip.

“Only because of what I did during the war,” he dismisses, fiddling with his wand in his apron pocket. It amuses you how insecure he is. But he is partially right, he’s become a bit of a celebrity in the wizarding world, thanks to Harry Potter’s insistence on mentioning Neville’s contributions every time he’s interviewed about the war. Sometimes you think it’s selfishly motivated, wanting the world to focus on someone other than him so he can be left alone, and dumping it on poor shy Neville.

“That could be true I suppose, but I bet she’d still let you shag her,” you grin at him. Neville splutters.

“I… I don’t…” he runs his finger through the collar of his shirt. You chuckle at his reaction, enjoying teasing him like this. “That’s not… I wouldn’t do that…” he swallows thickly. 

You’d discovered quickly that you had a certain power over Neville. At first, it was catching him occasionally staring. You’d be leaning on the counter, your ass jutting out slightly as you scribble down inventory notes and you’d glance at the door to the backroom, spotting him peering through the glass door. He’d immediately blush beet red and look away, clearly ashamed to have been caught staring at you. It was sweet, in a way, because most guys didn’t seem to have any shame in ogling at you, at least Neville seemed to know he shouldn’t be doing it, even if he couldn’t stop himself. Slowly, you start leaving more and more of your shirt buttons undone, revealing glimpses of your cleavage. You revel in the way his eyes constantly stray to you as he brings you boxes, taking shaky breaths as you bend over to pick up the little plant pots from the box and organise them onto the shelves. Whenever you talk, you take to standing just a little too close. His height gives you a perfect view down your top, and although he tries his best not to, he takes advantage of this fact often, his eyes flicking down and then his face going red. You like to innocently ask him if he’s feeling warm, which makes him stammer. It’s a bit of fun to fill your days, and quite an ego boost too. Every quiet moment in the shop you take to showing yourself off somehow, or even just chatting to him, which seems to fluster him too.

“You wouldn’t shag her? I thought she was cute…” you tease. He goes a deeper shade of red.

“She’s… it’s not… uh…” he stumbles. You smile, leaning yourself onto the counter in a way you know shows off your ass. His eyes flick immediately down your body and he goes redder, success. “I don’t… shag…” he coughs, looking mortified. 

“What? Never? But you’re the saviour of the wizarding world!” you taunt, pretending to be shocked, when really it had become abundantly clear not long into working with him that despite how much his looks had changed, and his confidence in every other area, women still made him unbearably anxious, especially you. 

“I- I mean I…” he stutters and then straightens up. “This is none of your business,” he asserts shakily. You shrug.

“Just curious about you,” you smile flirtatiously, watching as he blushes once more and avoids your eyes. “Do you never want to shag? Some people are like that and it’s perfectly fine–” 

“No! I… uh… I do want… oh Merlin!” he groans, burying his face in his hands. You press on, pretending not to realise how uneasy he is, delighting in his discomfort. 

“Well, then what was wrong with that girl? She was cute… more than willing…” you taunt, taking a few slow steps toward him now. 

“She just… it’s not… I can’t just…” he stammers, eyes following you until you’re right in front of him. You catch his eyes flicking down to your cleavage. You smile. 

“Are you a virgin, Neville?” you ask bluntly. He twitches anxiously.

“I’m not answering that,” he squeaks, but you both know that it’s answer enough. He sighs, seeing the smug way you’re smiling at him. “It’s just… the only girl I’ve ever liked enough to do that with didn’t feel the same, she… never wanted to do that sort of thing with anyone… like you were just talking about,” he mumbles, avoiding your eye.

“Luna?” you hum. He just nods. You’d heard about that through friends, his wartime confession and her confession that she did not experience romantic or sexual feelings for anyone. To many people, it had seemed a completely foreign concept. You imagined that, even though he’d been understanding, it had probably felt like another blow to his confidence. 

“It’s… that’s over now… she’s my friend and I respect her… I don’t feel that way about her anymore…” he rambles. His eyes flicker over your face. You believe him, you touch his arm, making him tense. 

“You poor thing,” you coo gently, rubbing your thumb over the bare skin of his arm, feeling the muscle underneath. “You must feel pathetic, saviour of the wizarding world, women lining up, and yet you’re still a virgin,” he jolts slightly, not expecting your words. He feels confused, your tone is sweet and soothing, but your words are insulting. 

“I- I don’t, I’m fine,” he stammers, his cheeks red as he looks at you cautiously. What are you playing at? You pout and tilt your head. 

“Poor baby,” you coo again, making him nervous. 

“Why are you–?” he cut off when the bell above the door jingles, signalling a customer entering. You pull your hand away with a teasing smile, he just stares a little dumbly at you as you return to the till and greet the customer. He can’t help his eyes from straying to your ass, perfectly hugged by your uniform trousers. He’s never felt this crazy before, this overtaken by lust. He wants you and something about your faux-pity has made it worse. He hadn’t felt this way about Luna, he’d liked her first and foremost, he never ogled her like this, never felt this maddened by her simple presence. He forces himself to return to his work in the backroom. 

You torture him the rest of the day. He knows you’re playing at something, but he’s not quite sure what. You keep flashing him mockingly sympathetic glances, showing off your body more than usual, touching him. You’re making excuses to come into the backroom, you’ve never been in here so many times in one shift before, perhaps even ever. Leaning over his shoulders, touching his back, stretching up to the top shelves in front of him. He’s oblivious, but he’s not completely blind and while he’s suspected before that you might have taken to teasing him, now he’s sure. After trying fruitlessly to avoid you most of the day, he gives in toward the end, letting himself admire your body and enjoy your closeness. He’s had a few relentless flirts at his neck since graduating from Hogwarts, but you feel different. Most girls flirt with him because they think he’s something special, something big that will help them earn fame and get them in the Daily Prophet. You flirt like you think he’s a pathetic little puppy dog, and perhaps he should take offence from it, but instead, it makes him need you even more. Because it’s what he is, he’s not big and strong when it comes to this, he feels small and he needs someone who understands that, which you seem to, in your own roundabout way.

He helps you close up the shop, at your request, which is something he only usually does on particularly busy days, yet he knows the question is coming. You pout at him sweetly and ask for help and he comes running. As a thank you, you lean over as you count up the day's purchases, emphasising your chest and not commenting when he stares and blushes. He wouldn’t mind being compensated like this more often. He sweeps up the soil that’s accumulated on the floor from the various pots being moved around. Technically it’s your job, but how can he say no when you look at him like that and push your tits together just so?

You’re still double-checking the accounts when he goes into the back room again. He checks on all the special plants, making sure nothing is wrong, before moving toward the little cupboards in the corner of the room. He washes his hands and unties his apron slowly. Rubbing a hand through his hair, he sighs. You’ve been driving him crazy today. The subtle way you mocked him made him so needy for you even though he should hate you for it, he didn’t want to psychoanalyse that. He hears you enter but does his best to ignore you, you never usually talk at the end of your shifts, usually too tired and eager to get home to bother small talking. You wash your hands and remove your apron too, hanging it up by the door, your name tag facing forward. You feel his eyes on your ass again, which makes you smile to yourself. 

“Is that why you stare at me so much?” you taunt, being purposefully vague. You glance over your shoulder at him. He’s bright red and chewing his lip. 

“What?” he croaks. 

“Because you’re a virgin? Is that why you stare so much? My ass in these trousers is the best view you’ve been allowed?” you mock, cooing as if you’re being sympathetic. He hates that you know, but he knows he hasn’t at all been subtle enough for it to be a shock. He just takes a shaky breath.

“I’m so-sorry, really… I don’t—“ he pulls nervously at his shirt. Godric it’s hot in here. You stalk closer.

“Poor thing, can’t control yourself around me, can you, hm?” you ridicule him, stalking closer with those dark seductive eyes. He realises you’re backing him into a wall as he takes a clumsy step back, moments away from hitting the hard surface. He swallows hard and you come closer, pressing your chest to his, emphasising the curve of your breasts. He can’t help but look, even if only for a split second. “Can you?” you prompt again, your voice lower. 

“No,” he chokes. You laugh, low and mocking. 

“No… you can’t control yourself around me… you pathetic little thing,” you finally backed him against the wall. He looks nervous, but you can feel his hardening arousal against your stomach. You shift yourself slightly, making him gasp and harden even more. You look up at him, smirking, the irony of belittling him in this way doesn't even matter, because you feel powerful and he feels small in this moment. You reach up and trace his cheek, making him shiver and his eyes flutter. “Poor little loser,” he whines loudly at that, and you watch carefully to see if you’ve actually hurt his feelings or not. When his eyes flicker open again, his pupils are wildly dilated and he looks desperate. You smile and wrap your arms around his neck. 

“I am,” he whimpers. You’re surprised to hear him talk, but you let him, caressing his cheek in a mocking gesture. “I don’t want to be pathetic but I am, I can’t— do this sort of stuff,” he laments. “What kind of freak am I? Getting off to you calling me a loser?” you giggle at him and he laughs slightly too, looking down at the ground, not before glancing once more at your tits. 

“You just want someone to see you for who you are and want you anyway, not put you on some pedestal,” you hum. He blinks at you. That actually… made sense. He glances up at you. “Isn’t that pathetic of you?” you tease with a smile and you both laugh a little. 

“Yeah, Godric… I really am pathetic,” he chuckles quietly, watching you. 

“A complete loser,” you chuckle, leaning up to kiss him. He squeaks, taken completely off guard by your lips on his. You fist your hands into the material of his shirt, forcing him to lean down to your level to kiss you. He kisses back, desperate and shaky. He pants into the kiss, already feeling a little dizzy. Your hand is reaching down and brushing feather-light against the bulge in his trousers before he can register what’s going on. His hips stutter and he whines against your lips. “So pitiful, barely even touching you and you’re whining,” you mock, brushing your fingers up and down the bulge, slow and teasing. His hands come to grip at your waist, exhaling shakily against you. “So needy,” you chuckle, pulling back and pouting at him. 

“Y-yeah,” his eyes flit all over your face. You smirk up at him, trailing your hands down his body as you move to kneel in front of him. He gasps, his hands falling to his sides, chest heaving. He stares down at you, wide-eyed. He mumbles your name in question, wondering if this is really happening. You reach up, still smirking and pop to the button of his trousers. “Ah… oh Merlin…” he exhales, his eyes closing. You gently tug his trousers down and then lean forward, nuzzling your nose against the bulge in his boxers. You watch as his face twists in pleasure, a strangled gasp on his lips. He leans his head back against the wall as you press barely there kisses along his twitching length through the fabric. “This can’t be happening right now,” he pants, pushing his hips towards your face. 

“Don’t you want it to?” you tease, gently licking the wet spot on the fabric, making him gasp. 

“I— yes I want it but—this doesn’t happen… to me…” he groans as you slip down his boxers, springing him free. He stares down nervously now, no one has seen him like this before. You just smirk up at him, gently massaging his thighs. 

“You want it?” you taunt, gently blowing on his length, making him twitch and buck. 

“Nngh— yes,”

“Then beg me,” you grin. “Show me how pathetic you are for me,” he stares down at you, chest heaving, heart pounding so hard you can watch his pulse. He should feel humiliated, but the pre-cum dripping from his tip tells the both of you the reality. You lean up, placing soft open-mouthed kisses against his length, making him inhale sharply. “Beg me,” you sing-song between kisses. 

“P-please,” he gasps. “Please, I’m pathetic, I need this so bad… I’ve never– ah–!” you cut him off by licking a stripe up his length. He dissolves into a string of shaky moans as you wrap your lips around his tip, softly suckling. He’s never felt this amazing before. He fights to open his eyes and look down at you, needing the visual of you doing this committed to his memory desperately, even though he knows it will likely haunt his every waking thought from today onwards. You look smug, even on your knees in front of him, and he knows you have him wrapped around your finger. He tries uselessly to dig his nails into the wall for purchase, watching as you slowly envelop more and more of him into the heavenly heat of your mouth. Your head bobs slowly, torturously slow, up and down the length of him. What you can’t fit in your mouth, you take a gentle hold of with your hand. Your tongue swirls and laves against him within your mouth, making his hips buck toward you. You immediately withdraw, making him sob. 

“You just can’t control yourself, can you?” you chastise harshly. “Needy and brainless,” he nods along because he really can’t help but think you’re right.

“I-I’m sorry, I’ll control myself, I will, please… I need you,” he wails. You look unimpressed, slowly teasing your hand up and down his shaft. He whines, melting against the wall. “Please…” he whispers. His voice is entirely wrecked and he already looks thoroughly debauched by you, you find the image exciting. When he glances down at you with those pleading wide eyes, you can’t deny him any longer. As a final teasing act, you lean in and gently kitten lick at his slit for a moment, tasting the salty sweetness accumulating there. You feel him trying to twitch in your hand, his head falling back again and desperate groans leaving his throat. You take him as deep down into your throat as he will go, gagging just a little, and start to bob your head again. His fingers curl, and you can tell he wants to grab your hair, but he’s being good, you keep in mind to tell him he was good later. Your lips slide up and down his length, using your tongue to swirl and add an extra layer of stimulation. He’s very vocal, whining, whimpering, groaning, completely ruined. You stare up at him as you gently swallow around him. His eyes squeeze further shut and his hips cant forward, making you gag a little, but you do it again. He gasps loudly and his hands start to flail, smacking against the wall. You only realise he was trying to warn you between strangled moans when you feel the warm spurt of his release in your mouth. You swallow it down as he frantically withdraws himself from you, crying as he rides out the feeling of his orgasm, his legs shaking. He feels like he’s left his body and ascended to heaven, this was why all his friends were so crazy about sex. He got it now. Once he’s returned to himself a little, he falls to his knees in front of you. “I’m so sorry, I tried to warn you but I felt so good, I-” he fusses. “I’m so sorry, th-thank you,” he whimpers, wiping a tiny bit of cum from the corner of your mouth. “Thank you,”

“It’s fine,” you dismiss him as he holds your face and thanks you over and over. It amuses you how wrecked he is. “It’s alright, Neville,” you chuckle in disbelief, leaning forward and pecking his lips. He can vaguely taste himself on your lips, even without you opening your mouth, and it makes him groan. He chases your lips as you pull away, opening his eyes to give you a puppy-dog look. 

“Merlin … I really am pathetic,” he swallows and then laughs nervously, leaning back against the wall, smiling sheepishly as you tuck him back into his boxers. You sit on your knees in front of him and he stares at you, half in awe, half in apprehension. “Are you going to tell people about this?” he questions, slightly anxious, wiping some sweat from his brow.

“No, I can’t lose my job, we’ve just broken a bunch of rules, you realise?” you tease and he smiles slightly. 

“Are we going to do this again? Or you know… something else?” he glances at your body, feeling a little bad he couldn’t do anything to make you feel like he just did.

“Maybe, maybe not, you’ll just have to wait and see,” you taunt, pecking his cheek and rising to your feet. He cranes his neck to watch as you fetch your bag and coat. You glance at him over your shoulder, seeing him sitting on the floor, his legs stretched out in front of him, looking dazed and ruined. You can’t help but giggle, the sound stirring his stomach again. “See you soon, Longbottom,” you blow a mocking kiss and leave. He stares after you, both glad you’re gone so he can process what just happened, and also wishing you were never away from him again.

Tomorrow at work was either going to be heaven or hell on earth, and he found himself eager to find out. 

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[scarletdreamers]

Hannibal & Fashion I

How to dress like: Hannibal Lecter (but feminine) > An explanation to the essentials and character of his iconic style.

We all know that Hannibal is nothing short of an absolute fashion icon. His outfits are always perfect, down to the details. He knows how to blend shape, colour and patterns in an old-fashioned yet innovative way like no other. Which is, for many, very refreshing in a world of hoodies and light wash jeans.

For Hannibal's style there are a few key characteristics I had to keep in mind. If I had to describe his style in a few words, I would say it's elegant, sharp, formal, expressive and aristocratic.

All his suits, shirts, trousers, are perfectly tailored. He pays a lot of attention to silhouette and the way his clothes accentuate the lines of his body. His suits have a sharp and intimidating yet smooth and refined shape. The shoulders, trouser-legs and ratio of his ties, waistcoats and lapels are geometric. They are razor-sharp, while around his waist and thighs the suits are much softer. They draw attention to his body. Hannibal is a proud man who isn't afraid to show his good qualities off. His body is one of those and isn't afraid to get his clothes perfectly fitted, so that they reveal everything and nothing at the same time.

Hannibal isn't afraid to incorporate feminine touches into his outfits, so I imagine if it were to be the other way around, there would have to be traditionally masculine touches like suits, overcoats and old school uniform-ish aspects.

Inspo:

So, if you want to copy his silhouette, it's important to work with the ABAB ratio, as I like to call it. Wide at the shoulders, tight at the waist, wide at the hips and slim from legs down. The contrast between a refined waist and a top that's big, pointy or puffy around the shoulders is perfect.

Hannibal's look is all about elegance and generational wealth and standard (he is a count, after all). In his day-to-day outfits we often see him incorporate traditional, royal details in his outfits. He wears all kinds of top quality fabrics (loads of great wool, linen, silk/satin for his ties, velvet and even leather). Texture is very important in his style. And so is detail. At operas, fancy dinner parties and other elite gatherings we often see him wear cufflinks, which are beautiful pieces of jewelry that still have a masculine feel and can be worn even by men who usually don't wear accessories. At one dinner party Hannibal wears an ASCOT TIE! (second picture above) Which is really revolutionary, because even though they were very common with the aristocracy and other high society in the late 19th century, almost no one wears them anymore, let alone styles them right. Hannibal however takes these pieces and makes them WORK.

Inspo:

If you translate this to key aspects for your style, at first looking for high quality fabrics is important. They are more expensive (most of us are not anywhere near Hannibal's budget range), but they are worth it because they make you more conscious of what you buy and will still be good pieces after years. As I mentioned, go looking for wool, silk, linen, etc.

Also, what would a Hannibal Lecter inspired wardrobe be without patterns? My top picks would be: pinstripe, monochrome plaid, subtle houndstooth, and of course classic floral patterns or even paisley like his ties! Anything that looks like a Victorian era wallpaper will work, to be honest. (Our king of classy patterns)

Inspo:

The cufflinks and dramatic ties made me come to the conclusion that a more feminine variant of that would be elegant and noticeable yet fitting jewelry. A statement bracelet or necklace, for example. The same goes for bows and neck scarves. A bow or a neck scarf could be a good solution if you're not a fan of ties. (Neck scarves are amazing, I own multiple in different patterns and they can make the most plain outfits interesting!)

Hannibal wears a lot of very formally appropriate clothing, even in his casual outfits. Despite his style being 'exotic' and noticeable, it still is very neat and modest. He wears suits and nice long sleeve shirts always buttoned to an appropriate point even during summer. You would never catch him in shorts. Some people compare the way S3 Alana dresses to the way they imagine Hannibal would dress if he was a woman, however, I think that Alana dresses too bold for Hannibal. Her colour palette is too bright and she wears a lot of lacey, almost lingerie-ish tops. Hannibal's palette contains more muted colours. A lot of different colours and patterns, yes, but they are always in muted/darker shades. Even the whites and light browns he wears aren't really ''light''. The only thing really vibrant I remember him wearing are his beloved, spotless white shirts.

Inspo:

So, personally I'd go with longer skirts or straight leg/slim trousers. Not too wide. Suit jackets that don't reveal too much and slim and notable but appropriate shirts. Maybe a turtleneck here and there. Nothing Hannibal wears is really ''baggy''. When he is wearing a looser shirt he pairs it with well fitted pants (the cooking scenes). There's always balance.

Don't wear obvious logos! Yes, Hannibal wears loads of luxury brands, but you would never catch him buying a Gucci tie that actually has the Gucci logo on it. Brands can cheapen the look of a product, despite popular beliefs. And plus, with Hannibal it's all about the piece of clothing itself, not about the tag it comes with.

There's a few small and specific things that you should 100 percent incorporate in your wardrobe if you want to dress like him, which are:

A pair of nice leather gloves

A white button-up

Leather shoes (oxfords, loafers, anything with a classic academic and italian feel to it. There's plenty of beautiful loafer heels on the market, I own a vintage italian pair and they're the most comfortable heels to ever walk in)

A good knit sweater for casual wear! Brandless, though Ralph Lauren has some that really fit the vibe

A classy watch with a slight vintage yet modern feel

And a transparent murder suit of course, but I suggest you are a little more careful buying that ;)

Colours are also quite interesting. Go with a lot of deep, jewel-toned colours. Loads of greys, browns and whites, but not too much black. Try to stick to deep greens, royal blues, burgundy & wine. A lighter pop of colour such as light blue, coral or purple are also appreciated, as long as precise thought has been put into the colour palette. Colour theory works in clothes, too!

Before we round it all up, I would like to talk about his truly formal looks, as well. I'm talking opera and such.

It's nothing other than social etiquette for a man to wear a tuxedo to a black/white tie event. Opera and high-class parties often automatically classify as one of those. Hannibal is a man of etiquette, he wears his tux. However, it's the details that make him stand out. When everyone else wears black, he wears deep blue or green velvet. He wears mother-of-pearl cufflinks on french cuffs and patterns on his (bow)ties. His truly formal style is minimal, but still special because of the fabrics and details he choses. He makes sure there's always these little elements that make him stand out from the crowd.

Inspo:

So, if you were to imagine this in the form of dresses, you should go for dresses that are minimal in details, but classy and a little vintage in shape. Maybe a jewel as detail here and there, but it's mainly about the fabric and the shape. About an asymmetrical neckline, an unusual way of draping, gloves, just something extra. Don't go for anything too sexy or revealing. Instead go for chic and sleek, maybe bare shoulders and no straps. This draws attention to the collarbones instead of the breasts. Look for dresses that expose, for example, your neck or your arm. It makes an outfit classy and mysterious.

No matter how good his clothes look on him, Hannibal's style will never not feel a little out of place in modern society. Because honestly, who (except for Parisians and New Yorkers) wear such formal three piece suits to get groceries? Hannibal's style feels a little too vintage, a little too royal, and a little too pretentious to not be noticed on the street, but then again, Hannibal likes standing out. He isn't a trend follower, he's a trend setter. He has his own personal style and what he wears only makes him more charming of a personality. He's a fashion muse, certainly in his circle of highly cultured friends. So, don't be afraid to draw attention! I like to think that Hannibal and Oscar Wilde share the same opinion on overdressing: which is that you can never be too overdressed or overeducated. One of the most important aspects of Hannibal's style is that he doesn't follow the mass. He wears what he feels best in, and his clothes reflect the confidence and power that comes with that.

So, dress stately! Dress elegant, dress like you're a member of the royal family, take that button-up you reserve for special occasions and make it a daily statement! The most important thing when dressing like Hannibal is confidence. Your clothes are a way to show off your style, intellect and originality to the world, because we all know Hannibal is far less intimidating in his prison jumpsuit than his own clothes ;)

Should I make this into a series? Is there any interest in other characters?

Anyway, thank you for reading <3

[cozymochi]

Hey Mochi! Sorry if I already asked, but do your ocs like wearing accessories? If so, what kind? :3

(I wanna hoping to draw acessorie fanart for them if thats ok!!)

(That’s okay with me 😩👍 Also going on a limb and assuming this is just about the boys.)

ERMM UHH… KINDA!

At least if I go by “accessories” in it’s more broad definition rather than just referring tk jewelry (cuz if that was the case, only one guy would be wearing it.)

First context! I’m just gonna answer based on what I’ve drawn. Warning: No pictures just boring wall of text.

Emilio is a weird case. Like, in theory I would think he would be more accessorized, but he really hasn’t been. Not really. Call it a failure on my part because I simply haven’t explored this far visually, or on purpose for chArAcTer reAsOns. Aside from his showy boots, he doesn’t really do much in terms of accessorizing what he wears.

Out-of-uniform he seems to have a fondness for scarves. That counts as an accessory. But, as of right now I just have yet to experiment much, and even then, I don’t imagine straying too far from that. But, we’ll see.

The closest accessory wear that Cecil even has are just fingerless gloves— and when out-of-uniform he has a fanny pack. I think the most I would do if I had to explore accessorizing with Cecil would be expanding on gloves and, crap attached to belts.

Either way, he’s not much of an accessorize-ing type either.., but he does a little. Not enough to be adventurous, though, just enough to allude to being off the beaten path. Just…not enough to commit further.

Then there’s Nyoka who has… many hair thingies and trinkets, some weird chain linked to his glasses that’s attached to one of his diamond earrings. Least of all that other ear…thingy that’s shaped like a snake.

Then out-of-uniform it’s all of the above + this collar thing, pendants, rings, fancy watch, and sometimes bracelets. But TO BE FAIR— this is on purpose, he’s wealthy and this is just a shorthand means to show that off. His family has ties to gold n’ minerals, of course he’s wearing it. He’s just more ornate in general, it’s just his thing.

So TBH!!! At least based on all that? I guess that doesn’t really answer a definitive yes or no at all. Though, maybe none of this actually matters.

BECAUSE HEY! they’re meant to be twst boys, and regardless of what logically makes sense for a character in-universe— normal twst boys are going to be thrown in over-the-top highly accessorized, and improbable runway stuff anyway for that sweet VIEWERBASE….!!

I’m just y’know. By myself. And also they’re not in a VN with gacha mechanics, they’re in scattered drawings and mostly unpublished writings (latter of which even if they were published, only a small fraction of the art-viewers would even willingly look at.)

Anything I end up doing is just to convey an idea or a vibe since I’m considered the source™️, so doing any “for the lulz” experimentation isn’t much of a priority. Otherwise, a message I want to present might be compromised. I don’t really have the benefit of a VN everyone reads as a buffer to give context to justify why a stuffy-rule-stickler is suddenly wearing short-shorts and a halter top.

SO HONESTLY YOU COULD IGNORE ALL THIS AND MAKE UP WHATEVER, BYE

[yoshi1517]

CHAPTER 2 - THE POLICE STATION

"[...]The two brothers sped through the streets of the city, the motorcycle roaring as it cut through the chilly morning air. Mauro clung tightly to Massimo’s waist, grateful for the thick jacket he’d thrown on before leaving. The cold bit even through the fabric, made sharper by the wind as they wove between lanes. Massimo, by contrast, seemed unaffected, his full highway patrol uniform, complete with insulated gloves, sturdy boots, and a heavy jacket, offering ample protection against the elements.

As they cruised through the city, Mauro’s eyes wandered over the bustling urban landscape. Morning routines were in full swing: commuters rushed toward bus stops or subway entrances, office workers hurried across crosswalks with coffees in hand, and cars lined up at intersections, their drivers leaning on horns in growing frustration. One thing struck Mauro more than anything else: the omnipresence of technology. Almost every person he saw was engaged with some kind of device. Smartphones were clutched in hands, wireless headphones adorned ears, and even sleek smart glasses glinted in the sunlight. It was as if the entire city was tethered together by invisible digital threads, connected, yet somehow vulnerable.

After about fifteen minutes of riding, they arrived at the police station. The building loomed ahead, a sturdy and imposing structure surrounded by a sprawling parking lot. Two of Massimo’s colleagues stood at the entrance, eyeing Mauro curiously as they passed, but saying nothing. Massimo guided the bike into the lot, parking neatly beside a line of patrol cars. Mauro dismounted, stretching his legs as he glanced around.

The inside of the station was a whirlwind of activity. Mauro found himself momentarily overwhelmed by the flurry of movement: officers in winter uniforms moved briskly down hallways, phones rang incessantly, and the hum of overlapping conversations filled the air. Some officers wore standard-issue gloves and hats, while others had scarves or neck warmers, clearly preparing for a long day out in the cold. Meanwhile, inside the warmth of the station, officers in office uniforms reviewed case files, answered phones, and coordinated plans. The sheer efficiency and organized chaos were mesmerizing to Mauro, who couldn’t help but admire how smoothly everything seemed to function.

Massimo quickly signed the register to log the start of his shift. Afterward, he approached the desk officer and asked about the captain’s availability. “Sorry, he’s tied up dealing with a robbery attempt downtown,” the officer replied.

Massimo turned to Mauro with a thoughtful smile. “Listen, what do you say we skip the introduction for now, and you come with me on patrol? Just a routine round, traffic checks, nothing too intense. It’ll be just the two of us today since my partner called in sick.”

Mauro’s eyes lit up with excitement. “Seriously? You’ll let me ride along?”

Massimo chuckled. “Sure, but don’t touch anything unless I tell you to,” he teased.[...]"

"the second chapter of the story "Mind Infection" is finally out! Want to keep reading? Subscribe to unlock the full chapter and more!

By subscribing, you get access to all the chapters and all the stories. Besides the 30th of November the "Autumn contest" will finish, so if you want to win an entire story of four chapter submit your idea based on the 4 images. Let me know your thoughts in the comments and see you with the next chapter of the story."

[nikethestatue]

A Match Baked in Heaven

Chapter 4 Here

Part V

My Girl

Nuala W. Raith.

27 years old. A cyber security senior analyst at the New Scotland Yard. Graduated from the London School of Economics. First job was with Accenture, but was quickly recruited by the government due to her phenomenal computer skills. Fairly successful modelling career in her teens and early twenties. Longest relationship was with a Canadian hockey player. Their engagement broke up when he was photographed with a scantily-clad stripper whose head was buried in his crotch. 

Hobbies: gaming, football, rugby, cooking, live concerts

Competitive swimmer throughout her uni studies

Elain printed out the profile and placed the page in her bag. She slid her IPad into it as well and then went on to put on her coat. 

She just received a message on her phone stating ‘come out, matchmaker!’ That was exactly what she expected from her wild and untamed client.

Piglet was freaking out at the door, snorting and grunting and giving a few pathetic little barks, while he clawed at the door, impatient to leave.

“Will you calm down?” Elain muttered, and opened the door for him and he sprinted out like his arse was on fire.

There was a Bentley idling at the curb and the moment Piglet rushed out, the car door opened and Azriel Night stepped out.

Elain Archeron paused in the doorway, watching her client and marvelling at his ungodly handsomeness. Unlike his usual uniform of jeans, boots and some kind of basic shirt, today, he was wearing a dark suit, which hugged his tall, slender, muscular form to ridiculous perfection. The white shirt that was open to the chest didn’t hurt either. The dark tattoos that snaked from under his shirt and spilled over his neck and his hands made him look dangerous and desirable. It was the dichotomy of his whole being in a handsome dark package–he was a combination of dangerous and damaged, aggressive and gentle, thoughtful and mannerless, inelegant and stylish.

Suddenly, he squatted right on the sidewalk, and opened his arms wide, while Piglet leapt at him, nuzzling at him wildly, and Azriel hugged him and stroked him. 

“I missed you too, my little matey. How are you doing?”

Piglet stood on his one hind leg and placed his paws on Azriel’s shoulders, going in for a full body hug.

“How’s our girl? Is she wearing purple today, since you are rockin’ your purple tie?”

Azriel already knew the drill–outside, Piglet wore coats, ties or scarves. Today, he had on a Burberry jacket and a purple scarf that matched his coat. At home or inside, he wore his stylish bows.

At that moment, Elain stepped out of the house, and Azriel looked up and whistled loudly.

“No...she is wearing a trench coat…nice touch. I hope there is nothing underneath it…”

“Mr. Night!” Elain snapped at him, blushing profusely. “You are being scandalous and utterly inappropriate!”

He laughed, watching her, as he stroked Piglet’s back.

Elain seemed to look rather sensible, in her camel knee-length trench, a large leather tote over her shoulder, and sexy brown leather booties, but somehow, she made it all look incredibly elegant, and dare he say, sexy. Elain never went for ‘sexy’, but somehow, she made all her pristine, somewhat old-fashioned outfits look alluring. The fact that she was wearing subtle, nude fishnets didn’t hurt either. Azriel always found himself intrigued by what she was going to wear, and so far, he distinctly recalled each and every one of her ensembles. Now, he was actively pondering if the fishnets were stockings? 

“She is mad at me already! I think it’s our record time,” he whisper-shouted to the dog. “Is it my fault,” he addressed her, “that trench coats look good on sexy women and make me wish that there was nothing beneath them. It’s every man’s fantasy, you know.”

“I am not here to fulfil your fantasy,” she cut him off. “I am simply wearing a coat.”

“Mmmm.” 

He waited for her to come down the stairs and then extended his hand to her. She shook it reluctantly and he smiled brightly at her, his expression teasing.

“Did you watch the game?” he asked immediately.

“Hello to you too,” she said, while Azriel opened the car door for her and Pinky leapt in eagerly, ready for a new adventure.

“Well, hello then Ms. Archeron,” Azriel murmured, leaning so close to her that his nose almost skimmed her cheek. ”Allow me to help you inside.”

She frowned at him, as she slid inside the car, and Azriel followed her right after. 

“Good afternoon, Miss,” the driver greeted her.

She greeted him back and then looked at Azriel, a bemused expression on her face.

“Where is Mr. Night? What did you do with him? And who are you?”

He laughed, throwing his head back and she looked at his thick throat, swallowing audibly.

“I mean, a car, you are being almost polite, dressed in a suit…that’s not the Mr. Night that I know. Usually he curses, argues and taunts me relentlessly.”

“Aw, Ms, Archeron,” he ran his index finger over her long lock. “Day is still young. There is time for all that.”

“Oh, phew,” she pretended to wipe her brow. “I was getting worried.”

“You shouldn’t. The arsehole is still here and happily present. So, back to my previous question?”

“Which is?”

“Are you wearing anything under the trench?” he teased and she seethed at him as usual, crossing her arms on her chest and glowering at him. 

He raised his hands in mock surrender and said, “Okay, okay. I’ll behave. But…are you?” he whispered quickly.

“One more word, and I am leaving,” she warned.

“Dev, drive fast,” Azriel ordered and the driver smiled, as he sped down the road. 

Meanwhile, Pinkly crawled over Elain and landed on Azriel’s lap, totally disregarding Elain’s displeased hiss. Azriel chuckled, while Pinky pressed his flat face against the window. 

Elain reached into her bag and took out a pretty box with a scowl on her face. She pushed the box into Azriel’s lap without saying a word and then turned to the opposite window.

“What’s that?” he pondered.

“For you,” was all she answered. 

Curious, very, very curious, he opened the box, while Pinky tore his attention away from the window and was now panting with anticipation.

“Is that for me?” Azriel gasped, but it was genuine surprise, and not mockery. Surprise and utter delight.

The box was filled with biscuits of all kinds. Homemade.

“I said it was for you,” she shrugged like she didn’t care.

“You baked? For me?” he whispered in disbelief.

“Well, not just for you,” she argued quickly. “We had Sunday lunch at my sister Feyre’s. She served some very dodgy salmon,”

“How dodgy?” he smirked.

“Dodgy enough that we mostly ate mash and these biscuits that I brought. I had baked entirely too many. So,”

“I am getting the overflow. Thanks, pretty matchmaker!” she elbowed her gently. “I can’t believe you thought of me and made me a box!”

“Well, these are lemon,” she began pointing at different varieties of biscuits in the box. “These are almond horns. Those are orange and hazelnut,”

“Oh my god,” he marvelled in appreciation.

“Chocolate and coffee nibs. And plain shortbread.”

He looked at her. Really looked at her. Her old-fashioned, picturesque beauty, the enormous eyes, the beautiful hair, and for once, he saw someone special. Someone who didn’t fit any moulds that he was familiar with, and once again, he was at a loss. He didn’t know what to make of her.

“Elain…” he said softly, and then immediately corrected himself, “Ms. Archeron. This might be the most thoughtful and kind thing anyone’s ever done for me. I thank you. Truly.”

“You are welcome. It’s not a big thing, but you seemed to enjoy them.”

“More than you think. You baked for me. Made something with your hands…That means a lot.”

“Well, enjoy it,” Elain said gently, while Pinky was growling with impatience.

“Can I give him one?” 

“Just the plain shortbread,” Elain allowed, and Azriel fed one of the biscuits to the overexcited dog, who chomped on it noisily and messily. “He is perpetually hungry and if he could, he’d eat the whole box. He climbed onto the chair and then somehow got on top of the table and ate a whole bowl of raspberries. That was yesterday. A couple of days before, he somehow snuck into the open drawer of the refrigerator, stole a bag of sausages, ate them all, and promptly got diarrhoea…So there is that.”

Azriel was laughing silently, his whole body shaking. 

“Oh no. Why did he get the shits?”

“Because he ate like 7 or 8 sausages. He is a smallish dog. It would be the equivalent of me eating maybe 15-20 sausages. I’d get diarrhoea too!”

“Valid. What else?”

“He ate three bananas, peel and all, again by way of stealing. Then, when I wasn’t looking, he grabbed half of my cheese and onion sandwich, and ate all of that too.”

“What about the dodgy salmon?”

“Even he wouldn’t eat that!” Elain laughed. “He did eat a good heap of mash and gravy, a bread roll with butter, then proceeded to steal my sister Nesta’s steamed tofu,”

“Jesus Christ,” Azriel gasped in horror.

“Immediately spat it out,”

“Not blaming him at all. I’d spit it out too!”

“And then went to my father and cried fake pug tears to him because he was so upset that he stole and ate the wrong thing. Of course my father then had to feed him cheese and ham. As compensation of some kind. Emotional distress I am assuming?”

“My god I love him!” Azriel groaned. “I might have to steal him from you.”

“Well, then you’ll die,” she warned placidly. Azriel was laughing loudly now, considering her nonchalant tone. When he finally came to, he prodded,

“So?”

“I watched the game,” she confirmed. “You did well–one goal and two assists.”

“What about Pink?”

“Piglet watched it too. Now I can show him reruns of football games–he seems to enjoy watching things run.”

“And I am a thing that runs?” Azriel chuckled.

“You certainly are. You have incredible stamina,”

His mouth quirked and he crooned, “You have no idea…”

Elain gawked at him, and then realised what she had said, and rolled her eyes.

“You do remember, Mr. Night that I am not the one who is auditioning to be your potential wife?” She reminded him primly. “I am not the match. I am the matchmaker.”

“How can I forget? Unless you finally change your mind and just go for it,” he proposed. “You already know what you’d be signing up for with me. I have a pretty good idea about you as well. I don’t know why you are fighting this so hard?”

“Yes. I wonder why indeed.”

They were driving through the city and Piglet was panting with enjoyment, looking out the window.

Azriel gently rubbed the dog’s furry neck, relaxed against the back seat, manspreading widely. Elain threw inquisitive glances when she thought he wasn’t watching, and they mostly landed below his waist. As was his usual manner, Azriel let her look as much as she wanted. The car was big enough–even with his height and spread, there was plenty of space. So it was her choice to look, and it would be rude of him not to let her.

“I don’t want you to get so close to him,” Elain said suddenly.

Azriel looked at her quizzically.

“Piglet,” she clarified. “He is getting attached to you. He waits for you at the door,”

At that Azriel smiled, but Elain continued, 

“He thinks of you as a friend.”

“I am his friend,”

“But this is all temporary. You understand that, don’t you? Once you are matched with the right person, our relationship will end. And I don’t want Piglet to think that you’ll be around, coming to play with him or be present in his and my life,”

Azriel chewed the inside of his cheek for a long while, thinking about what she said.

“It doesn’t have to end,” he said at last.

Please don’t.

Don’t end it. 

“You are a client, Mr. Night,” Elain added, “I can’t imagine you’d have time for me once you are getting to know your future wife and getting married.”

“That’s it then?”

“Couple of months, maybe three, at most,” she confirmed. “That’s how long most of my associations with my clients last. One lasted a year, but that’s highly unusual. Besides, you are under a time constraint. I imagine that by January, we will be done.”

“I am sorry, but I disagree, Ms. Archeron,” Azriel said firmly. “Perhaps this is how things have gone before, but I cannot accept it. Let’s come up with a new agreement then…a new plan,”

“What sort of plan?”

“Something that would allow us to keep in touch beyond this initial agreement,”

“Like what?”

He shrugged, scrubbing his hand over his chin.

“Teach me manners?” he proposed. “Proper manners. Like a gentleman.”

Elain laughed, “I am not a miracle worker, Mr. Night. I am not sure I have the capability to do something like that.”

“You aren’t giving yourself enough credit. But for now, why don’t we just leave things as status quo. Three-four months is a long time. Lots of things could happen in that timeframe. Meanwhile, I’d like to keep meeting with you and Pinky.”

“Yes, I suppose,” she agreed, somewhat reluctantly.

“Do you not like me, Ms. Archeron?” he queried, no hesitation in his question.

“No, I wouldn’t say that,” she admitted. “But you are an usual client for me, and I struggle with reigning you in,”

“Perhaps you shouldn't try? And just let things be as they are?” he suggested. “Maybe I am not meant to be reigned in?”

“It’s beginning to look like that,” Elain sighed. “Now, where are we going? Why couldn’t we meet at my office?”

“Where is your sense of adventure?” he smiled. “Don’t you trust me?”

“Hmmm…Very, very marginally.”

“Aw, you wound me, Ms. Archeron! But I will take you to a place you’ll undoubtedly enjoy.”

Elain looked outside the window and suddenly felt Azriel’s large, heavy palm cover her hand. He was silent, but he threaded their fingers together and held her hand firmly in his.

She turned her head and breathed, ‘Mr. Night’.

He looked straight at her, his face emotionless as usual, but said just as softly ‘Ms. Archeron’. He almost dared her to say something, or tug her hand away from his, but he wouldn’t allow it, and just kept her in place. To her credit, she didn’t attempt to either.

Piglet turned his head and looked at them, assessing the hand-holding. Then, bouncing with a surplus of excitement, he jumped on Azriel, bucking and shimmying wildly, before rolling onto Elain’s lap, waiting for a belly scratch, and then slithering back on Azriel.

“See, he is on our side,” Azriel chuckled, scratching the supple rolls of fat on the pug. “He is team Elriel.”

“Team what?”

“Elriel,” 

“I don’t know what that means.”

“El–for Elain, and Riel for Azriel. Duh? Do I have to teach you everything?!”

“Where do you even come up with this nonsense?” she looked at him, perplexed.

“Elriel is not nonsense, Ms. Archeron. It’s our ship name. Pinky is the first shipper.”

“My god. You’ve read too many romance novels, Mr. Night.”

“Yeah, well, it gets boring on the road,” he shrugged. “So I read.”

“Romance novels?”

“Fantasy. Dark romance. Romantasy. Whatever.”

“Romantasy?”

“Are you judging me?”

“No, no. Not at all,” she shook her head, stifling a laugh.

They crossed the river, and Elain looked around, trying to figure out where they were going.

At last, she exclaimed, “Borough Market?”

“Nope,” he popped his lips.

“Where then?!” she whined.

“Patience.”

“I want the apple crisp!” she begged.

“You always seem to want some kind of apple crisp,” he teased. 

“It’s my favourite. This one has bruleed custard on top. It’s so goooddd,” she moaned.

“Maybe next time,” he promised, smiling to himself.

The appreciation that he had for Elain’s unabashed love for food and eating was hard to describe. All the other women he ever went out with insisted on salads, pretended like they weren’t hungry, opted for tofu and seaweed, and in general, avoided eating as much as possible. Elain was about tea, and custard, and cake, and hearty stews.

“We are here,” he said at last. The car parked and he went to open the door. Pinky hopped out first, and then Elain climbed out and threw her head back.

“We are going to the Shard?” she asked.

“We are!” He curled his arm offering it to her and she took it. 

Elain seemed surprised, but she followed him nevertheless, while Pinky stepped in front of them with his usual self importance, like he knew where he was going. Azriel could only dream of having this dog’s confidence!

The three of them took the lift up to Shangri-La hotel and were immediately greeted by an obsequious female hostess, who looked at Azriel like he was a dick-on-a-stick.

“Mr. Night, please follow me,” she flitted about, swaying her hips, as she paid no attention to Elain, and ushered them to a table in front of the windows, which overlooked the stunning vistas of London. It felt as if they sat right on top of Tower Bridge. Piglet plastered his face against the window, snorting with amazement. Whatever he was seeing, he was very impressed. 

“He is a support animal. We have all the documentation,” Azriel told the hostess, but she waved her hand at him.

“Of course, Mr. Night. That wouldn’t be a problem.”

“He is very well-behaved,” Azriel assured her, while observing Elain’s pinched little face. She wasn’t liking what was happening here.

Finally, the woman left, and Elain muttered, “Why even ask me for help? You have a ready-to-go wife right here. Wives on tap, I am sure.”

Azriel laughed at her.

“If I didn’t know you better, I would’ve thought that you were jealous, Ms. Archeron.”

“Jealous? Hardly,” she scoffed. 

“Phew, I was beginning to worry that you were developing feelings for me and my company,” he snickered. “Allow me,” he offered to take her trench–something the hostess should’ve done, but apparently, she was too star struck.

Elain unbelted and shrugged the coat off and Azriel looked her over with interest that he wasn’t even trying to hide. 

“Blimey,” he exhaled. 

Elain wore a form-fitting nude jumper and a knee-length skirt with brown and purple abstract pattern. Frankly, he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the round pair of glorious tits that the jumper did all kinds of favours for. He even liked the one strand of fat pearls around her neck. 

“None. Don’t worry. But,” she looked around, “this is nice. Thank you, Mr. Night. I appreciate the thought. Imagine–I’ve never been here before. It’s been on the list of places to go, but we never could make it. So, thank you! I’ve just checked an item off my bucket list.”

“The pleasure is mine, Ms. Archeron,” he included his head. “Care to share what else is on your bucket list?”

“No,” she told him immediately, as she pulled out her IPad from her bag. “We are here to talk about you.”

He held the chair for her and she sat down.

“And here I thought that this Pink Afternoon Tea will thaw you a bit! Champagne at least?”

“I’ll have a glass,” she agreed graciously.

“You are not pregnant or anything like that, right?” he goaded her. 

She rolled her eyes and told him, “Not that I am not aware of.”

“So. There is someone in your life to get pregnant by?” he pressed.

“I’ll be asking you a series of questions,” Elain said, ignoring him and his probing. “Please answer truthfully. I am building your profile. There are no right or wrong answers.”

“May I tell you something meanwhile?”

“Sure.”

“You look sexy as fuck, matchmaker. It’s dangerous.”

She sucked in her breath and nervously picked at her pearls.

“Mr. Night…”

“Ms. Archeron. I see what I see.”

At that moment, their champagne was delivered, followed by waiters with the tea service. Elain exhaled a relieved breath. 

It looked spectacular–Reuben sandwiches, Truffle Egg and Cress, Smoked Salmon, Coronation Chicken–all done in various shades of pink. There were chicken liver parfaits, and tiny burgers. Pink scones, clotted cream and strawberry jam. And a variety of little architecturally-impressive pastries–a layer cake with pistachios and cherries, raspberry plum cake, something called shang mont rose, and the Pink Sphere. 

The Pink Afternoon Tea at the Shard (Shangri-La Hotel, London)

They even brought a bowl of water and a bowl of whipped cream for Piglet. 

“It’s beautiful. Almost too beautiful to eat,” Elain commented, inspecting all the offering.

“Almost,” Azriel raised his champagne flute. “But not quite. To us, Ms. Archeron. To our tenuous friendship. Maybe it will grow into something more.”

Elain glanced at him and whispered, “maybe,” before sipping her champagne.

“I won’t be able to train properly after all this,” Azriel commented, as he bit into one of the sandwiches, “but you only live once, yeah?”

“Your first concert?” Elain asked, looking down at her IPad.

Piglet already polished all the cream off, and was now snoring softly under the table. 

Azriel thought for a second, and said,

“Eminem. I was fourteen. Cass and I snuck out and slept outside all night, but we got in. It was incredible.”

She smiled and whispered, “that must have been amazing…”

“It really was.”

“Favourite movie?”

“Fight Club.”

“Favourite singer or band?”

“Led Zeppelin.”

“I could’ve guessed. You seem like the type.”

“Oh, and what type is that?”

“Old-fashioned, but rebellious.”

“What about you? Tay Tay? Adele?”

Elain wrinkled her nose.

“If we are talking singers, then it’s Amy Winehouse,” she said. “Band–it’s always the Rolling Stones.”

“Ahhh…well, that’s to be expected.”

“Why?”

“You like the classics.”

“Look at us, figuring each other out.” Her tone was vaguely sarcastic. Then she asked the next question, “First celebrity crush?”

Azriel took a while to think about that one, sipping his tea, and finishing up his little burger.

“Brad Pitt.”

“Oh?” Elain smiled. “Really?”

“He is a beautiful man. What can I say? In ‘Troy’ I think.”

“First thing you do when you wake up?”

“Think about football,” he told her instantly. “I am dedicated to my game, my team, my city. I work hard for what I do.”

“What was your dream job when you were young?”

“I didn’t think I’d have one at all,” he told her honestly. Elain didn’t know how to follow up on that statement. “Thought I’d be in a gang, or something. Maybe in prison. Maybe dead,”

“That’s…very grim,” she frowned.

“That’s the reality of those lads who I grew up with. My reality. I just happen to run well with a ball.”

“How do you think others view you?”

“They either like me or hate me. I am good looking, so some respond to that. Others cannot abide my character. I don’t care, to be honest. I only care about the opinions of very few people.”

“Who?” she asked quickly, though he suspected that it wasn’t part of the questionnaire.

“Cassian, I suppose. Rhys. My team. Coach. You.”

“Me?”

“Yes.”

Elain hid her face behind her cup, aimlessly picking at her sandwich, but Azriel watched her closely. 

“You can’t ask questions like these and not expect uncomfortable answers,” he reminded her simply.

“Why me though?”

“For a posh, prissy bird, you are surprisingly accepting. I suppose I appreciate that, so I don’t want you to think of me…badly.”

“I don’t, you know.”

“I do. And that’s what’s so surprising. You are a nice sort of person.”

Elain adjusted her hair, trying to make herself comfortable, and asked,

“What do you not tolerate?”

“Disloyalty. Random cruelty.”

Her eyes fell on his scarred hands, while he spread some jam on his scone and popped it in his mouth. Despite the scars, his hands were attractive. Big and strong and sure.

“Where do you want to live?”

“London. It’s home. It understands me.”

“Biggest fear?”

He didn’t say anything for a while.

“I’ll tell you,” he drummed his fingers on the table, “but we say it together. You say yours, and I’ll say mine.”

“Mr. Night,” she began, but he interrupted her.

“No, Ms. Archeron. This is the way we do it. If you don’t like it, move on to the next questions.”

Elain sighed and murmured ‘fine’.

“On three then…One, two, three.”

Loneliness.

Both of them blurted the same word at the same time.

Loneliness. 

Elain stared at him. A little shocked. Azriel only chuckled. 

“Well then…”

He smiled again. 

“I might need more Champagne.”

“I'll ask lighter questions,” she promised quickly, not commenting on their shared fear.

“Please do, before I get black out drunk at Afternoon Tea at the Shard. Do they have whiskey here?”

“Mr. Night, you aren’t drinking whiskey!”

“Not yet. But I might soon. Are you eating your burger?”

“No. You can have it.”

She typed something in her notebook and he meanwhile ate her mini burger in two bites.

“Do you wear pyjamas to bed?” came the next question, and Azriel huffed at it.

“No. I sleep completely naked.”

She cleared her throat and went on,

“Boxers or briefs?”

Azriel grinned and leaned back in his chair, as was his manner when he got comfortable and amused. 

“Well, well…Boxer briefs, Ms. Archeron,” he answered with a wink. “I normally like everything to be tucked in there, and not flop in the wind.”

Elain snorted a laugh.

“You see,” he continued. “The Lord hath endowed me well in that region. There is much to hold in place. It’s like wrestling a python into my poor drawers every morning…”

“Oh, how tragic. It must be very difficult for you,” she mocked.

But Azriel didn’t miss the lovely blush that spread on her cheeks. 

“It is a struggle, but one that I accepted humbly. Wouldn’t be surprised if they could see it all the way in America. Makes our American cousins all kinds of edgy seeing a British cock in all its glory.”

“Oh my god,”

Leaning towards her, he whispered conspiratorially, “don’t tell Cassian. He gets a bit…competitive.”

“Your secret is safe with me,” Elain promised.

“Hardly a secret. Anything else you’d like to know, matchmaker? Or see?”

“The most significant of your tattoos?” she hopped over his proposition just like that.

He rubbed his chest, and said, “A Churchill quote: It is the time to dare and endure.”

“Is that something that helps you?”

“Something to keep me grounded when things get tough. I also have this one,” he pointed to his forearm. “Arsenal crest. And a Union Jack on my shoulder.”

The next question was Azriel’s favourite. Elain asked,

“Maradona or Pele?”

“Diego Armando Maradona,” he said at once.

“Do you believe in god?”

“No.”

“Can you change a tyre?”

“Yes.”

“The first thing you look at in a woman?”

“Her gaze. Her look.”

“Have you ever been in love?” she asked quickly, without raising her eyes from the tablet.

“No. Never. Have you?” he asked quickly.

“This isn’t about me,”

“Answer the question,” he ordered.

“No, Mr. Night. I have not been in love. Do you want to marry?”

“Seems like I have to.”

“If you didn’t need to.”

“Marriage changes little, but if the woman wants it, then yes, I would marry.”

“And children? Would you like to have children?”

“Yes. Four.”

She glanced at him and repeated, “Four?”

“Yes. Four.”

“What do you know how to cook?”

“Steak. Only the best eggs you’ve ever eaten. Really good lamb stew. A bacon sandwich. You won’t go hungry with me, pretty matchmaker. Don’t worry.”

“Is this another proposal?”

“Always!” he grinned at her. “Now that you know everything about me, am I making a more appealing candidate?”

“I am sure that you are, for others. I am not looking for a husband, Mr. Night,” she reminded him dryly.

“Why hasn’t the ginger bloke closed the deal?” Azriel started on the pastries, popping one of them in his mouth whole. That solicited a frown from Elain, but he only smiled at her. “What’s he waiting for?”

“Why do you think it’s the man, and not me?”

“You are a fucking matchmaker, princess. Of course you wanna get married. Come on now,” he bubbled his lips. “It’s like saying I am a footballer, but I don’t want to win the Ballon D’Or. Of course I do. Probably no chance of it, but nevertheless, the dream is there.”

“Maybe, hypothetically, I want to get married. But it’s nothing and to no one specific,” she finally relented. 

“Well, that’s a start,” he smiled. “Anything else? What do you want to know? My favourite colour? It’s cobalt blue, by the way. Funny how you wore a skirt in that colour the first time we met. You think it’s a sign?” he winked at her.

“No. I do not.”

“You are so hard to impress,” he complained jokingly. “Tough little cookie. But I’ll break that hard exterior and will get to the soft, gooey inside, the delicious centre.”

“Mr. Night, please remember that ours is a professional relationship. You aren’t breaking me in or whatever it is you just said. It definitely sounded wholly inappropriate. 

“I, however, must ask you more personal questions…Which, honestly, I am dreading,” she added sombrely.

Azriel stretched his very long legs under the table and crossed them at the ankles, before lacing his fingers on his stomach and smiling like an asshole at her. 

“Come on then, pretty matchmaker. Bring it on! I won’t put the moves on you–unless you want me to–and I will behave,”

“Why am I doubting everything you just said?” she whispered with a heavy sight.

“Oh, don’t. Come on, ask away!”

“I preferred you when you were reluctant and a moody arsehole, like you were at our first meeting.”

“Oh, I am still that. Don’t worry. But I am making an effort here and want to make your life a bit easier.”

“How are you in bed, Mr. Night?” she blurted out. “Any specific preferences that a prospective match should know about? Dominant? Submissive? Rough? BDSM? Any fetishes? Any musts? Any hard limits? And how do you feel about fidelity?”

“Well, fuck me that’s a lot of questions! I think I will have that whiskey after all.”

They waited for his whiskey to be delivered and Azriel took a sip, smacking his lips with appreciation.

“You are a bad influence, Ms. Archeron,” he told her. “You make me want to live.”

She looked at him and his declaration with surprise.

“And you don’t live otherwise?”

“I dunno. With you, things seem…easier. Lighter? Like I don't have to worry about my form constantly, or think about the game, or training, or restrict myself. It’s nice, you know. It feels like there is more to the world, and to my life than what I am used to. I can have a drink, and have some pastries, and wear a suit…Not just trainers that sponsor me, or salads and leafy greens and lean protein.”

Elain smiled, “You sound like my sister Nesta. She is a dancer. She is very careful about what she eats,”

“Hence the tofu that makes Pinky sick.”

“Indeed.”

He resumed his position, with his hands on his stomach and then said,

“I am rough. As a lover.”

Elain stopped typing in her IPad and stared at him, clearly not expecting this nugget of info to drop on her lap.

“Rough?” she repeated at last. “As in…violent?”

He chuckled.

“Nah, I ain’t violent, pretty girl.”

“Mr. Night,” she snapped.

“Sorry, sorry. Ms. Archeron–where I come from, fucking is quick, hard, rough and unromantic. There ain’t no flickering candles, soft music, gauzy curtains,”

“I am impressed and a bit alarmed that you just used the word ‘gauzy’,” Elain commented.

“All, I’ve been hitting the dictionary every night. Picking up fancy words to impress you with!”

“You should be impressing your future matches,” she reminded him with a meaningful look, and he nodded in acquiescence. 

“Yeah, I remember. The matches.”

“So, you are rough,” Elain repeated. 

“Listen–on and off for a few years, I didn’t even have a place to sleep when I was a teen. Three months with one family, six weeks with another, four days with another…Stretches of time in between where Cass and me had to fend for ourselves. But you know…needs must and all. My dick was a teenage dick regardless of what my family situation was, so I had to get it where I could.”

Elain listened without commenting, her face expressionless. Azriel wasn’t sure if she was shocked, or repulsed, or judging him. That damn poker face of hers was on point.

“And where could I get it? Against the wall near the chippy, or on a park bench, or in a stairwell. That doesn’t bode well for lengthy sessions of tender lovemaking.

“So I go in pretty rough. I’ll make you come–a lady, I’ll make a lady come–but if she is looking for prim and proper that ain’t me.”

He scrubbed his hand over his face. 

“I ain’t mean, Ms. Archeron. I am an athlete–I am controlled and powerful. Before I took up football, I used to box. There wasn’t much else to do where we lived, and because Cass and I were so big, we joined the local church’s boxing club. It taught me how to control my strength, my physicality, and my size. There ain’t ever been a need to be physically rough with the girl. Why? What’s she gonna do against me, you know?”

“Anything else?”

“All that other stuff you’d mentioned–BDSM, dom and sub–I don’t have any interest in that. I don’t particularly like inflicting pain, especially not on women. But if you’d like me to spank you or tie you up, I’ll tie you up. Whatever you fancy, Ms. Archeron.”

Elain blushed violently and adorably, as she scrambled to pretend to type something.

“So you do like to be spanked?” he grinned at her. He knew that she was fake typing right now.

She squirmed in her chair, and woke up Piglet, when she poked him with her foot. He snorted his disappointment and then emerged from under the table and immediately looked at Azriel with a pleading gaze. 

“I saved you a sandwich,” Azriel chuckled, tearing a piece of the sandwich and feeding it to the pug. “Coronation chicken, no less.”

Piglet began chomping on the sandwich with delight, finding a kindred spirit in Azriel. 

“I am still waiting for an answer, Ms. Archeron,” Azriel teased. “Spanking? Tying up? Are you a dom? Or do you like to submit? And before you tell me that this is not about you, I’d still like to know.”

“Well, this is not about me,” she hissed.

Azriel cocked his head to the side and looked at her with a humoured look in his eyes, asking,

“Are you a virgin?” 

“For god’s sake, Mr. Night! Why are you asking me this?!” she demanded, scandalised.

“No shame in that,” he said lightly. “If you are, I mean. I am not judging.”

“Well, I am not, Mr. Night. I am a grown woman. And not a virgin. Are you the one who is going to be asking questions now?!”

“Yes, now I am kind of into it. What’s your favourite colour?”

“Pink!” she snapped.

“How about favourite food?”

“Sushi!”

“Cold raw fish–yum. But like I said before, no judgement.”

“Feels like judgement,”

“What else can I ask?”

“Nothing!”

“Do you find me handsome?”

“No!” she cried out.

“No? But I am a handsome footballer, what’s wrong with me?”

“Your gigantic ego.”

“Ego just corresponds to other parts of my anatomy,” he shrugged innocently.

“Oh lord. We are quite finished here, Mr. Night. I think we should get the bill.”

“I think I’d like another whiskey,” he argued.

“Well, you’ll be drinking it alone.”

“Naw…Pink is staying here with me. I am feeding him sandwiches and you know he ain’t going anywhere. Sit that pretty plump arse of yours down, Ms. Archeron. We’ll go soon enough.”

She pouted, but her traitorous dog was only proving Azriel correct, as he slurped his water and chewed on the sandwich that Azriel kept feeding him.

“My arse isn’t plump,” she muttered.

He glanced at her and smiled, “I’ll be the judge of that,” he decided. “Hope the ginger bloke appreciates your arse and worships it the way it deserves to be worshipped. It’s a hella nice coupla buns. Sorry and all…but I noticed,”

“No. More. Whiskey.” Elain ordered, wiping her brow. She was going to lose 10 kilos by the time all of this was going to be over. This man needed to be in some special institution. 

“I know what kind of a wife I want!” he suddenly declared, rubbing his hands excitedly.

“Oh you do, do you? Please tell. I am…well, scared, but also intrigued.”

“I want the kind of girl who kisses me at red lights.”

“That’s actually…kind of romantic,” Elain agreed, surprised. He made no sense this man, but he definitely kept her on her toes.

“Yeah, kind of like she can’t even wait to give me a hot and sloppy one. So she waits until we are at a red light and goes for it.”

Meanwhile, Piglet finished his sandwich and ambled towards the massive wall of windows, looking out with great interest. Because he was wearing his Burberry jacket, and now stood in front of a window overlooking the Gherkin, the Tower of London and the Tower Bridge, charmed tourists and other guests began pointing at him and oohing and ahhing with delight, completely awed by the stylish pug.

“They gonna start taking photos of him.” Azriel whispered to Elain, and she smiled, nodding, while she quickly snapped a pic of her own.

“Going on his Insta?” he joked, while the waiter brought another whiskey. Azriel figured that he might not be leaving here any time soon. He hadn’t felt this relaxed in god knows how long. 

“Obviously!” she tapped something quickly on her phone and in the next minute, showed it to him.

It was an amazing photo, considering that she barely even moved to take it–but Piglet looked like he was floating above the city, his expression pensive, his jacket on point, every landmark below him captured with crisp precision. 

Enjoying London Town #puginthesky #whenpugsfly #puglyfe

“How do you even come up with these so quickly?” he shook his head, but then quickly requested, “send it to me. I want to have it. Also, it’s a gorgeous pic!”

“Thank you.”

Elain reached for her bag and then withdrew a folder, which she lay on the table, between the two of them.

“What’s that?”

“Mr. Night, I wanted to mention this before we go further.”

“Sounds ominous,” he huffed.

“Are you currently…sexually active?”

He cocked his brow at her and chuckled, “what a question, Ms. Archeron! Why? Are you interested?”

She ignored the suggestive quip and said, “It’s just that it would be preferential if you maintain a certain amount of abstinence while being matched. You can certainly decide to engage in sexual relations with the match when the two if you are ready, but I would ask you to treat it as you would a normal relationship…”

“I’ve never been in a relationship,” he sipped his whiskey. “So I am no expert. But I think I can manage it.”

“You truly haven’t been in a relationship?”

“No. Not really.”

“And yet you can abstain?” she confirmed.

“Matchmaker,” he sighed, “I am almost 30, I have some self-control. It’s been a while since I’ve lost control over pussy,”

“Mr. Night!”

“Sorry, sexual relations. Listen, I’ve made a lot of mistakes in my youth. Nothing too terrible, but I should’ve done better. Now I am the Captain, and the younger lads look up at me. I want to do right by them, make sure that their careers don’t blow up, that they are careful with their money and the women that they are with. With us–you can get one injury, and it could be career ending. Everything you’ve been counting on, planning on, expecting, working for a decade towards–poof, gone! All because someone made a bad tackle, or you ran wrong, or a ligament snapped. And you are left with nothing, all the contracts and games and endorsements are gone just like that,” he snapped his fingers. “Everyone thinks they’ll be a Ronaldo, or a Messi, or a Zidane, but that’s untrue for most players. 

“So now, I feel a sense of responsibility. Look at me–I am an old fucker,” he laughed. “But it’s true. So yeah, I can abstain. When we travel, I don’t party all that much. After dinner, I usually go back to the hotel and play Candy Crush. Or read dark romances.”

At that, Elain giggled, “you do not read dark romances!” she argued.

“Yeah I fuckin’ do!” he insisted.

“Such a liar!”

“Telling you,”

“Okay, so what are you reading currently?” 

“Shantel Tessier’s ‘Carnage’,” he reported immediately. 

“What?”

“Yeah, it’s super smutty,” was the verdict.

“You do not read Shantel Tessier!” Elain gawked at him adorably, completely taken aback.

“You’d be incorrect. Listen, I had an injury a couple of years ago and was in rehab for two months. I was bored out of my mind. The nurse who was taking care of me got me hooked up on dark romances. I fuckin’ love that shite!” he admitted excitedly. “You ladies write some bloody crazy shit. Never read anything like that written by a man!”

Azriel glanced in Pinky’s direction and smiled widely. The pug was legitimately posing for photos and creating a mini stampede around him. He was even giving over the shoulder looks, not to mention all sorts of side and front poses, knowing exactly what needed to be done to gain the most reaction. 

“Hey mate, you can photograph him, but don’t touch him,” Azriel said protectively, when some guy wanted to pick the dog up. “He doesn’t like anyone but me and my girl touching him. He bites.”

Maybe the truth was stretched a bit, but whatever. It worked, because the bloke stepped back cautiously and didn’t attempt to touch the dog anymore.

‘I am not your girl,” Elain said quietly, crimping the napkin on her lap.

“No. But you could be. Nothing’s stopping you,” he said simply.

With that, Elain pushed the folder towards him and explained,

“Your first match”.

[flymeandtiememaam2]

The Stewardess Sleuths

“Let’s find somewhere to get these two stowed and then we can look around and see what’s really going on here!” Tanya said to Louise, her stewardess sleuth colleague, after the two seemingly harmless young women had surprised and overpowered the two guards who had been protecting the entrance to the museum and then tied them up. “Ok,” replied the other woman, “but we had better gag them too - we don’t know if there are more of these jerks around.” Tanya nodded. “It seems a shame to waste them,” she suggested, “but let’s use our uniform neck scarves to shut them up.” The dazed and sullen looking men did not say anything as the flight attendants removed their scarves, but stared at the women miserably. “Cheer up, gentlemen!” Louise laughed. “Look on the bright side - everyone loves British Airways freebies!”

AI images created via Microsoft Bing before its upgrade.

[thelemoncoffee]

not me thinking about Kokichi getting better by getting worse first

the thought i had was what if Kokichi becomes violently aware of how much of his personality is made up, realizes he isn't sure what parts are real or not, and has a breakdown about it. Shuichi wants to help Kokichi get through his identity crisis, but isn't sure how, so he provides himself as a stable source of grounding while Kokichi wrangles with it.

extra funky when i add my own hcs to this cause i hc not only does he pretend to be evil in public, but he pretends to be his older (dead) brother in more personal situations. so basically neither his personal life nor his public one are exactly represntitve of who he truely is. this of course, makes the crisis worse cause he's been trying so hard to both be his brother and scare people away that he doesn't have much of himself at the forefront anymore.

i like to think his canon scarf was his brother's that he refuses to take off cause it's all he has left of his brother, and the scarf became part of the DICE uniform because they wanted to support him through his loss when it initally happened. i think it'd be so funky if while redescovering himself he decides to put his brother's scarf on their mini memorial in their house and not wear it again, but because the scarf has become a staple of the DICE uniforms, he got a new one and while he wears it like normal in uniform, he ties it like one of those fancy frenchy neck scarves in day to day wear- yk the ones i mean yeah?

he's letting go and finding himself without getting too far out of the comfy zone, different but the same enough it doesn't feel forgien.

i also uh- i feel the need to say this cause this trope drives me nuts: Shuichi is not saving Kokichi in this. Shuichi is helping Kokichi by being a source of grounding and being someone Kokichi can bounce his thoughts off of, but aside from random moments of offering an opinion he doesn't actively interfere or try to steer Kokichi. Kokichi heals because he's the one healing himself though trial and error, Shuichi is support, not the cure. i hate the savior shuichi trope

[deepdeanvsweston]

Ways I think the Deepdean girls would accessorise their uniform (ignoring the fact that Deepdean would be really strict blah blah blah)

Also before I begin I would like to present a group hc that ALL of them wear little trans pin badges in support of Daisy like in Derry Girls they all wear gay pin badges for Claire. Half of the girls I hc as sapphic in some way but Daisy is the only trans one, so they show their support especially for her.

Daisy:

- doc martens with lesbian flag shoelaces ofc ofc

- fishnet tights except they're so ripped they barely even count as fishnets

- they're just bits of strings atp

- wears those school shorts and everyone expects them to look stupid as but they actually work really well?

- occasionally wears her PE skort as part of the everyday uniform

- Daisy is a BIG fan of the skort

- sews a magnifying glass attached to a bit of string into her blazer pocket

Hazel:

- teddy bear coat that she wears every season bar summer

- everyone's all 'oh summer is over Hazel's got her fluffy jacket on again'

- she wears these cute mary jane flats that Daisy says are 'terribly impractical'

- (Rose is always stealing them. Hazel is always immensely displeased when it's the end of August and she cannot find them for the new school year)

- wears those tartan scarves all through winter. And autumn. She gets cold easily

- not technically school uniform but on the weekends she'll just wear slippers everywhere, including dinner

Lavinia:

- leather jacket!!!

- doc martens also (she likes that she matches with Daisy)

- wears trousers, but her parents don't know and so she steals her brothers'

- they are too Long and she's a short butch so she cuffs them at the bottom

- (it looks really cool)

- has a vintage Deepdean tennis fleece from her mother

- uses her school tie as a belt. Teachers are furious but they can't doing anything about it as technically it IS in 'a suitable windsor knot'

Kitty:

- skirt rollerupper fr fr

- wears cute little hairclips and brooches (think it's canon she wants to wear those from Jolly Foul Play?)

- ties her tie in a bow

- never wears her blazer even in the midst of winter because it 'simply does not go with my jewellery 😤😤😤'

- wears lots of charm bracelets that she shares interchangeably with Beanie

- highest heels she can get away ofc (she's ALMOST as tall as Daisy in them)

Beanie:

- fluffy socks and rainbow tights!!!

- also has her tie in a bow to match Kitty

- sews colourful buttons onto her blazer (they're misshapen ones that didn't make the cut onto the production line from her dad's button factory)

- wears cute ribbons in her hair (her and Kitty spend ages in the Deepdean haberdashery)

- wears the most colourful cute cardigans she can get away with

- wears beanies. Obviously

[modern-day-bard]

Worth The Feeling

Note: this is a completed project but I’ve had major problems posting on tumblr from my laptop! I’m not sure why. If anyone who sees this is interested, I also posted the fic on Archive Of Our Own 🫶🏻

Content Warning: 18+

This story includes explicit smut, intimidation, and an age gap relationship (MC is 26, Javi is in his 40s). Minors, do not interact.

Chapter 2:

Now, I've made some blunders before. Mostly calling talent by the wrong name, which is a big mistake when dealing with big personalities. But I've tripped a few times, spilled a few things, and I even broke a glass in the middle of a take.

Yet somehow, none of those things compare to this.

Treating the lead as if he was a PA? Telling him he needs to get a walkie ?

The thought makes me sprint even harder toward the sound stage. Once inside, I scan the area as quickly as I can. There's at least a hundred people in here now and the more I push past, the more I realize they are turning to look at me disapprovingly. I really should find a new shirt first, but it can wait.

"Lana!" I shout when I catch a glimpse of one of her classic colorful scarves. I can see the bright fabric tied in a bow on top of her curly head of hair, but she doesn't turn around.

"LANA!" This time several people, Lana included, turn around.

"Hey!" She runs up to me and sweeps me in a hug, before pulling back with an uncharacteristically miserable expression. "Why are you all wet? Ava, I can see your bra." She pokes my visible white strap.

I swat her away. "Just wait. That is the least of my worries."

I explain the situation, visibly cringing as I await her reaction.

In typical Lana fashion, she bursts into musical hysterics. She covers her mouth when she notices how pained my expression is.

"Lana, I am this close to panicking. You don't think he'll complain, do you?"

"No, no he won't complain. You said he was relatively cool about it, right?"

"Yeah, I mean, he didn't even correct me."

"Exactly. You know if it was one of the Marvel guys from our last picture, you might be in trouble. But from the sounds of it, he probably won't even remember it by tomorrow."

"Yeah..." Why did that idea not make me feel any better?

Lana is snickering again. "You know I sent you the cast list like a month ago, right? How do you of all people not recognize Javi Gutierrez?"

I lower my voice. "You know I'm not an indie movie fanatic."

"I know. It's your fatal friendship flaw. But he was on a bunch of shows, too!"

"I haven't had time for TV with school! Movies are less commitment. Don't scold me in my time of need." I wack her arm.

"Fine, fine," She holds her hands up in defeat. "But seriously Ava, unless you want to continue to give us all a free show you should really get another shirt. I have to get these mics up and running, but go to wardrobe and find Barb."

She's right. The first scene is at 8:00am, and as a sound assistant, Lana has to be ready to mic up the actors as soon as they're out of hair and makeup. I still have to print out scripts for the first few scenes, and I'm really starting to hate the sticky feeling on my stomach.

"Okay, thank you!"

Lana winks at me as I turn and head for the wardrobe trailer on the far side of the lot. Barbra has been on Norwick Productions sets since movies were invented. That is actually the answer she will give a person if they ask how long she's been working. She's the grumpy, tough-love mom I never had. And since Lana is pretty much the only person I hung out with during hiatus, I missed Barb dearly.

Barb's expression pales as soon as she sees me.

"Ava, it's only day one for god's sake."

"Don't worry Barb, Lana already scolded me for you."

"I do like that girl. And I'm guessing you came by to catch up after break, and not simply because you need my help?" She raises a knowing brow.

"Obviously." I flash her a very over-dramatic smile.

"I should give you one of the ratty uniforms from the end of this film for that."

"But you won't, because you love me." I batted my lashes.

"Uh-huh." Barb sighs, disappearing into the depths of the trailer before coming back out with a clean white t-shirt. No fuss, no fake blood.

"You are my guardian angel." I say after swapping the shirts.

"Bring me real coffee tomorrow instead of this crafty crap and we can call it even." She says in a flat tone, and I know she's not kidding.

I give her a quick hug. "It's good to see you Barb."

That makes her chuckle slightly. "You too, kiddo."

I check my watch again. 7:30am. Barely enough time to print out the scripts. I bid Barb a quick goodbye and head to the closest copier.

After kicking it a few times, and uttering several curse words, I got the copier up and running and several copies of today's script printed. I try to skim today's scenes while walking back to the soundstage. I'm beginning to grow curious as to watch is actually happening in this movie. Since we usually shoot scenes out of order, these few pages aren't helping very much.

Back on the soundstage, I spot Lloyd, our director, and walk over to hand him today's pages.

"Ava, welcome back." Lloyd says in his usual artistic drawl. He takes one of the copies from me, flipping through as though looking for something specific, though I know he is barely even skimming the pages.

Part of me is holding my breath, wondering if Javi would have complained to Lloyd or a production manager at this point. I'm not sure when he would have time for that between hair and makeup, but in a world where my mishap today costs me my job, he would find the time.

But, Lloyd is deep in conversation with a cameraman and doesn't spare me another glance. I take that as a good sign, and slowly slink toward the far corner of the room. This way I can still have a good view of the stage without calling too much attention to myself. I can see Lana across the room micing up one of the actors in the scene. Some older gentleman who I heard was popular on a cowboy show that I've never seen. I recognize his face more than I did Javi's, which embarrasses me further, even though the fact is only known to me.

Then, as though the gods of shame were looking down and laughing at me, Javi walks into the large room. I quickly open the first scene's pages to see if I can figure out whom he is playing. That, and so I can take my mind off of how he looks even more attractive in costume. I steal a glance up from the pages and see Lana micing him up now. He's smiling warmly at her, and she chuckles at something he said. Lana tends to laugh at most things, but I can't help but wonder what words were being passed between them.

The two men step onto the CIA set together, both dressed in impeccably tailored suits, making light conversation. Now is my que to bring them their copy of the pages for a final once-over before we roll the cameras. I inhale deeply and set my shoulders back.

Don't be intimidated, Ava. You can't embarrass yourself any worse than you already have.

Well, I know that last part isn't true. But I repeat it to myself all the same.

I walk up to the men, handing them each a copy with a smile.

The older gentleman gives me a friendly nod as he takes the script. Javi gives me the same smile he gave Lana a few minutes prior. I'm turning to leave, and I'm surprised when he says, "Thank you, Ava."

I pause, half out of surprise that he remembered my name, and half over the hesitation of wondering if I should apologize for earlier. But his attention is already on the pages, and there are so many people around to hear me admit my mistakes. I decide against it.

- - -

After we shoot the first few takes, I think I'm starting to piece together what the film is about. In the way that it is not unlike most other spy films I've seen. Older Cowboy, whose real name is still evading me, has a small role as the experienced head of the CIA who brings on Javi's character, a real loose cannon, despite his reservations. There is something about a kidnapping of Javi's lover that makes him "too close to the case," but he lies about his involvement with the woman to make sure he can be the one to save her. I'm assuming that is when we will be in Italy. Spy movies love a good ol' car chase in Europe.

I'm not blown away by the originality of the script or anything, but I'm still engaged in the scene even on their tenth take. I realize that Javi is actually quite talented. I'm only ever engaged in a scene if the actors are talented. That, or if Lloyd is having a breakdown.

I spend the rest of the scene trying not to notice just how well tailored that suit is on Javi. I never leer at the talent, but I always appreciate a good-looking man in a suit. Plus, there is something different about him. He has a kindness to him that I haven't seen with other actors. We've been working with a lot of big names recently, so maybe I've just become disillusioned. Even still, I know some lesser actors who would've complained about my assumption early, even if they painted it as a joke. They would never want me to fully live it down. But not Javi. At least, not so far.

When they call for a break, I decided it would be best to fulfill some of my other duties on another part of the lot.

The rest of the day goes by in a blur. I try to stay away from the soundstage, knowing that they will be working with Javi for the next few hours. I check my watch for the umpteenth today, and I crack a smile when I realize we only have about an hour left. My last stop is Emma Madden's trailer, our leading lady. And then I finally get to drive home and sleep.

I hadn't met Emma before, but similar to Javi, she isn't in the same celebrity category as our last film, so she seems much friendlier. I got a call on my walkie letting me know there was an issue with her food, and with not much else to go off of, I figured I might be in for a celebrity meltdown. However, when I got here, she let me know that she is severely allergic to mustard, and was afraid to touch the sandwich that had been dropped off to her. Sure, maybe it was a little 'Hollywood' for her to have me come and throw it in the garbage for her, but she was pretty apologetic about it.

"Thank you so much, Anna." She says with her knees brought up to her chest, as if she was shielding her center from the turkey sandwich springing back up out of the trash. Her expression is worried and her tone is so sincere that I don't correct her. Not that I would have otherwise.

"Not a problem Ms. Madden." I dust off sesame seeds from my palms.

"Oh please, call me Emma." She smiled at me now, and I couldn't help but like her a little.

"I know a mustard allergy is like, totally random, but it's actually pretty bad. I have an epipen and everything." I know she must be at least thirty years old, but her inflection reminds me of a teenager.

"I'll let crafty know. They should have sent you a food preference and allergy sheet to fill out months ago, that's the studio's fault."

"Oh, they did! I completely forgot about that. I figured it was just if you were a picky eater."

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes.

"Well, no worries. I'll let them know now." I reach for the doorknob of the trailer.

"Thank you again!" Emma called out as I closed the door behind me.

As I'm finally able to drop off my walkie for the day, I run through all the ways that Emma's Mustard Mayhem could have cost the studio hundreds of thousands of dollars. How did they start production without having her sign a waiver? Why did no one double check that all the talent had sent in their allergy lists? If she were a higher profile celebrity, this could have been a huge issue. But as usual, these are the scenarios I keep to myself. And as I drive home, I try to run through only mustard scenarios, and ignore any that pop up with another actor in mind.

Series Masterlist

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[scrumptiousfarmnickelsludge-blog]

What is Silk Fabric

Silk is a natural fiber produced by silkworms. It has been prized for centuries for its softness, durability, and luxurious sheen. Originating in ancient China, silk has become one of the most desirable fabrics across the globe. The rich texture, combined with its shimmering appearance, makes it a top choice for high-end fashion and other textiles.

Unique Properties of Silk

Silk has a range of properties that set it apart from other natural fibers. First, it is incredibly strong. Despite its delicate feel, silk is one of the most durable natural fibers. It’s lightweight and breathable, making it ideal for warm climates, but it also offers natural insulation, helping to regulate body temperature. Additionally, silk is hypoallergenic, which makes it a popular option for individuals with sensitive skin. Its moisture-wicking properties keep skin dry and cool, further adding to its appeal.

Different Types of Silk

There are several types of  silk fabric , each with unique characteristics based on the source and production method. The most common type is mulberry silk, produced by the Bombyx mori silkworm. Mulberry silk is the most refined and highly prized due to its uniform texture and strength. Other types include Tasar silk, which has a more textured, wild appearance, and Eri silk, known for its warmth and softness. Each type of silk offers different benefits, allowing for diverse uses across various industries.

The Process of Making Silk

The silk-making process, also known as sericulture, begins with the cultivation of silkworms. These insects feed primarily on mulberry leaves. Once the silkworms have spun their cocoons, the silk fibers are carefully unwound and processed. The process involves extracting long, continuous strands of silk from the cocoons, which are then twisted together to create threads. These threads are spun into yarn and woven into fabric. The entire process is meticulous and labor-intensive, which adds to the exclusivity and high cost of silk products.

Uses of Silk

Silk is highly versatile and finds application in several industries. In fashion, it is commonly used for luxury garments like evening gowns, ties, scarves, and lingerie. It’s favored for its natural drape and ability to take on vibrant dyes, making it perfect for high-end fashion. Beyond clothing, silk is widely used in home furnishings such as bedding, curtains, and upholstery. Its ability to regulate temperature makes it a favored choice for premium bed sheets. Additionally, due to its biocompatibility, silk is used in medical applications, such as sutures, and even in the beauty industry for skincare products.

Ethical Concerns and Sustainable Alternatives

Traditional silk production involves boiling silkworm cocoons, which raises ethical issues concerning animal welfare. This has led to the development of sustainable alternatives like  Ahimsa silk , also known as “peace silk.” In Ahimsa silk production, silkworms are allowed to mature and emerge from their cocoons before the fibers are harvested. This cruelty-free alternative offers the same luxurious qualities of traditional silk while addressing ethical concerns.

The Future of Silk

With a growing focus on sustainability and ethical production, the silk industry is evolving. Innovations in silk farming, recycling, and the production of alternative, bio-based fibers are helping reduce environmental impact. Researchers are also working on synthetic silks that mimic the properties of natural silk, offering cruelty-free and eco-friendly options. Here you can read a detailed article on Silk Fabric.

Conclusion

Silk continues to be one of the most cherished fabrics, combining beauty, durability, and versatility. Whether in fashion, home décor, or medical uses, its unique properties make it a valuable material. While traditional production methods have raised ethical concerns, advancements in technology and sustainable practices are shaping the future of silk.

[bijoumikhawal]

egyptian fashion ideas I've had

Velvet melaya leff

Gauze tob sebleh and aba / other translucent materials for showing off clothes underneath

Coptic slippers incorporating tapestry woven fabric either over the leather as a decorative layer or as an extension to create a boot

Sirwal worn high at the knee to show off patterned stockings

Some muesums and recreations of garments indicate either sleeves or body of Coptic tunics may have been scrunched or gathered when worn because of the proportions; modern Coptic garments based on that could have ruching, pin tucks, pleating, etc, along the shoulder and/or sleeves

Aqbiya abd sidari with gold embroidery like how Khedival dress uniforms have (as well as other fancy garments but that's the search term that will most easily pull up what I mean)

Aqbiya with capelets

Yeleks and ladies folkdresses with engageantes. I've actually seen a few old photos of women wearing dresses like that but we should do it more- you could play with tulle bi tell to see if it behaves well for this too

Broad collars made of embroidery and with dangling tassels and further decorated pieces of fabric at the end of the ties

Turbans with elaborate silk flower pins

Khuzam with enamel, mother of pearl inlays, pearls as the beads or dangly bits, and takfeet designs

Honestly takfeet jewelry in general

Elaborately embroidered binish and djubbeh coats

Djubbeh with really full cut skirts, kind like some 1830s coats

Using Coptic nymph scarves (the art motif is called velificatio, and is much more wide spread, possibly influencing the pibo)

Khayamiya style applique on galabeya, skirts, etc

Aqbiya, yeleks, caftans, sidari, etc with evil queen/1890s medici collars

Aqbiya and yekeks with butterfly sleeves, longer in the back than the front perhaps

Lace yeleks

Belts with long pennants like what antique ghawazi belts have

Folk dresses with watteau back pleats

[serpocalypse]

Final seri: the finishing of the Shards of Sadgrey set.

11: The Spiral

A being that exists in pattern recognition, he is costers spaced weirdly on the table, the grain of wood, the way smoke rises from fire. Ink swirling through water.

Doesn't think of himself as seris, has no qualms using his name.

12: The End

The Seris of the end is almost the most gentle of the fears puppets. A death mask clad fellow toting the promise of death. A certain finality to their torments and troubles. He says the drip from behind his mask is the remains of the swill that would have been his end in the old world. He thinks of himself as an echo of Seris. Like the outline left in a well-worn bed after a loved ones passing.

13: The Vast

The Vast was the second entity to look apon seris in the old world. And it hunted the poor man on and off for a few years while in his middling teens.

Here, he doesn't care anymore. He doesn't turn his eyes apon any person and or thing. He indulges the idea of self importance. Only going by 'The falling titan' and 'the titan inverted'

Adorns himself in pilots and ship captains uniforms. Putting himself in control of the capsizing and crashes that occur in the endless skies and seas.

Every time he is looked apon, he is seen as taller than the observer. No matter if they are of varying height. If he is in a room of numerous people, he looks like the tallest person in the room.

14: The Dark

The Dark in the source material of The Magnus Archives has a religious facet. This being the people's church of the divine host.

The Seris of the dark is a visually older seris(when he is visible). Who spends most of his time as a three dimensional void wandering his halls. He thinks himself clever for adopting a 'father' role with his striking silhouette, he leads his followers in sermons attempting to continue their traditions before the change. Relishes chases in the dark, making targets feel small as they run through low visibility halls. Is not always able to be touched. Some people falling into this pit in reality.

15: The lonely

The Seris of the lonely is one of the most outwardly normal, no particular extreme visual tells, no gore, pinned up trophies, unnerving features, perhaps the worry starts at him being too little in terms of terrors.

His hair is wiry, but one could blame it on the apocalypse, little available soap.

His eyes are cold, but to live in this world one must be so. The Seris of the lonely is cold to everyone, including himself. And himself, and himself, continued.

His warm clothes hold only the damp chill that fills all things around him. It is when that contempt filled smile parts, that the ice that's sewn into the very concept of his being makes itself known.

He is the voice of apathy and isolation wrapped in hearts and scarves.

The sixteenth Seris [the bonus]

In the source material, there is a area that is dark aligned called "Night street" where the worlds remaining children are kept in a much less intense state of terror.

In the Sad estates winding floors, alternative iterations of the manors layouts, the smaller realities held within.

There is an attic playhouse, with wooden framed bunk beds as far as the eyes can see. Limited only by the intense darkness that seems to limit the field of view.

Fires peek from under the floorboards, and yet the air still leaves a chill in the bones of its occupants.

This is the nursery, and it's attendant is yet another seris. A tired, fretful, struggling soul with no connection, no ties, existing in a state of constant fear. He tends to the small shapes in their beds, as they deal with the nightmares of what exists outside their haven.

This Seris, in spite of being the closest to being called mortal, struggles to think of himself as Seris, considering the weight of the what happened, and the agony of the experience as evidence of some great destruction of self.

He also spawned in a hang in there sweater, one final joke on the guilty feeling wet rag.

[leap-loves]

Put A Pin In It - Cyborg 009 [ Alpha-Numeric ]

Another Cyborg 009 familial drabble I did! This time with a few hcs of mine for the Cyborg fam, where they actually get to wear their scarves in different ways. Either for fashion or practicality. And a bit of insight to how Ashley sees and interacts with everyone!

~

"What is taking her so long?" Jet groaned, leaning against the wall and looking out the window. "I swear, we never should've let her go out alone, women take forever." 

"Cool your jets," Albert countered, absolutely smirking at the pun, "I'm sure she'll be back soon. It's not even sundown yet."

Jet grumbled in complaint, tapping his foot impatiently. "What was she even going to do, anyways?" He asked, casting a glance around the room. 

Pyunma shrugged "Who knows? Maybe she wanted a change of scenery, or needed to go buy something?" 

Clearly that wasn't the response Jet was hoping for, just grumbling and looking out the window again. Fortunately he wasn't waiting too much longer, Fran looking up from the book she was reading. "She's back." 

Ashley finally opened the door just a few moments later, a tote bag on her arm. "I'm home!" She called playfully, looking up to everyone once she's locked the door behind herself. 

"About damn time." Jet grumbled, crossing his arms tighter. 

Ashley rolled her eyes at his antics, but couldn't help her excited grin. "Oh hush. I'm glad you're all here though, actually!" She beamed, reaching into the tote bag and rummaging for a moment as she wandered over to Jet. "I got a little something for everyone!" 

That seemed to get their attention, Chang even sticking his head out from the kitchen in their hotel room. "Presents? For us?"

"Mmhm!" She hummed, finally pulling her hand out of the bag, holding a smaller bag. 

"What's the occasion? Did we forget about a holiday?" G.B. asked, genuinely concerned. 

"Nope, no reason! I just saw them and wanted to get everyone a little something!" She answered as she reached into the smaller bag as she finally stood on front of Jet, who seemed much more interested now. 

"I'll just go in numerical order, so I'll start with Jet for this." She explained, holding something out in her hand, prompting him to hold his own hand out palm up. She dropped the item into his palm, then focused on his reaction. 

It was a broach, not terribly large, but the design earned her an excited grin. 

"I saw it and thought of when you were trying to paint the shark face design that are on fighter planes," Ashley explained, "So I couldn't help but grab it for you! And I was able to find one for everyone! Except Ivan, because I'm not sure if they'd be too heavy for him or not." 

Jet turned the pin over in his hand some before chuckling and using his empty hand to ruffle her hair, not phased by her protests or swatting. "You did good, kid." 

Ashley beamed before scurrying over to François, rummaging in her little bag again. "I also figured it might be fun to decorate our uniforms some with them, personalize them a little. But they might also get damaged or be a hindrance, so…" she shrugged, finally offering Fran hers. 

Fran accepted hers with both hands, gasping softly as she looked at the pin, depicting a pair of pink ballet slippers tied together in a bow. She wasted no time in pinning it to her blouse with a smile, setting her book aside to offer Ashley a hug, which she gratefully accepted. 

"I know they're not red, but hopefully pink will suffice?" Ashley asked, a little playful. 

Fran laughed softly "It's perfect." She reassured, letting her go so she could continue passing out her gifts. 

So off Ashley goes to Albert, who had his hand out by the time she got to him. Once he registered that his pin was a cartoony bomb that said 'boom' where the fuse would be, he couldn't help but laugh. 

"They didn't have any rocket knees, so I figured this would be close enough." She teased, managing to duck away from the second hair ruffling to hurry over to G. Jr. With a laugh. 

She offered his to him, already giggly from the excitement, only for it to be louder when seeing how tiny the pin looked in his hand. It was a simple horseshoe, but was deceptively heavy. 

"It's weighted on the bottom, so that no matter what, it'll be right side up to hold in the gold luck!" She explained as he examined the pin carefully, as though still scared of damaging it. 

He nodded gratefully, offering a soft "Thank you" before she headed off to Chang and G.B., handing them each of theirs. A red asian style dragon for Chang, and a pair of drama masks for G.B. 

"I almost got a whisk for you, Chang, but I felt like the dragon was more fitting. Fire and all that." She explained, adding "I was also hoping to find a typewriter pin for G.B., but they didn't have one. So I figured the masks were the next best thing." 

Chang was already fastening his to his apron, beaming proudly with his hands on his hips. "It's perfect!" He reassured before hurrying back to the kitchen not wanting their dinner to burn. 

G.B. struggled more with his pin, Ashley having to help him when he managed to almost prick himself. "I've been an actor for longer than I've been a writer, so I feel this is a perfectly suitable pin." He reassured, also giving her a tight squeeze of a hug. "You're so thoughtful!" 

Ashley laughed shyly, heading over to Pyunma next. "It's nothing fancy or anything, but I like to get you guys things when I think you'd like them! It's just even better when I can find something for the whole group! I also got us some more movies and music, so we can have some fresh variety when traveling." 

"Don't sell yourself short," Pyunma scolded with a smile. "It's still clear you thought hard on what to get everyone, and that you pay attention. It means a lot to know someone cares so much about the little stuff." 

Ashley flushed at the praise, offering him his next. His was shaped like a surfboard, but with a sun and wave pattern on it. "I'm just glad that so far you're all enjoying them. I had a hard time choosing for some of you." She admitted, fidgeting with the bag absently. "For example for you, I had a hard time finding anything that fit well enough… I chose this one since you're our underwater specialist." 

Pyunma hummed appreciatively, giving her a smile. "I think it's a great fit." He reassured. 

Relieved, Ashley went over to Joe last, who was looking at Fran's, since he had sat down next to her. "Last but not least." Ashley joked, offering him his own pin. 

Joe looked up in surprise, as if not having expected to be included. He still reached out to accept his pin, surprised by what she chose. "A white bunny?" 

Ashley nodded, putting the bag back in her tote. "Mmhm! I'm not sure if it's your favorite animal or something, but I noticed you have that wooden carved bunny, and it seems really important to you. So… I figured a bunny pin wouldn't hurt." 

Joe took a moment to look at over, but didn't take much longer to give her a smile. "I really appreciate it." He assured, putting it on his collar for now. 

"Did you not get yourself one?" G.B. asked, his head tilted in confusion. 

"I did, don't worry!" Ashley answered, turning her tote bag towards him and pointing out the hourglass shaped pin she had on it. "I got myself this little hourglass one, and it even has sand in it that moves!" 

"An hourglass?" Joe asked, shifting to look at it better, audibly confused. 

Ashley reached up, tapping her sunglasses as she explained. "Hourglasses usually represent something to do with time, and since my abilities are basically like visions of different periods of time, an hourglass! Plus I've always been told I had an impeccable sense of time." 

No one could really argue that logic, and any arguments there may have been were promptly forgotten by her showing off the rest of her haul, and Chang starting to bring out dinner shortly after. While many of those pins didn't make their ways to the 00 uniforms, they still had their places of honor in each cyborg's wardrobe. 

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