#uniform ties and scarves

[designyourtie]

Elevate your fashion statement with DesignYourTie.com's exceptional custom bowties. Crafted with precision and flair, our personalized bowties are the epitome of individuality. From selecting the perfect fabric to choosing unique patterns and colors, our custom bowties are tailored to reflect your unique style. Whether for special occasions, corporate events, or everyday wear, our custom bowties make a distinctive impression. Explore our collection and redefine elegance with tailor-made custom bowties that resonate with your personality and leave a lasting mark.

[kdbleu]

Costuming and The Bear...

So, costuming on TV, in a movie always means something even if it’s only a representation of the character. The Bear seems to use that on the next level, too, on the more thematic/symbolic level.

Richie wearing only Beef merchandise is the most obvious use of both these ideas, because it’s not subtle, like Richie is not subtle. His adherence to the Beef dress code shows that his character is tied more to the past than the present/future, and that he’s outside the rest of the group as the kitchen staff dons the new blue aprons. The only exception Richie makes in the present is when he’s on a date. Which says something too. That Richie knows how to fit social expectations. Even how to impress if he keeps his mouth shut.

Clear, color separation is used with Sugar. She wears civvies because she doesn’t work in the kitchen, but she’s in orange, the opposite of blue on the color wheel in the pilot, and pink, a social opposite of blue later when she comes to clean up the shot-out glass and search the office for the tax paperwork. This makes it obvious that she doesn’t work in the restaurant, and she doesn’t like it. In the season 2 trailer, talking to Cicero, she coordinates with Carmy and Sydney, showing that she’s coming around.

There’s a distinct present quality in the blue apron uniform as Mikey’s kitchen staff only adds Carmy’s apron to their usual personalized work wear while Carmy and Sydney wear more personally standardized white tops and black/dark pants that not only are consistent but coordinate with each other, already making them a unit within the unit.

This apron/group dynamic is heightened by it not only being pointed out by Tina, but by Tina going from not wearing the blue apron to Carmy remarking that she looks like Sydney when Tina finally does and Tina in return saying to him she’s “profesh” now. It's interesting that Tina wears a white blouse, like Sydney, before the blue apron. It’s the apron and Carmy she resists not the kitchen uniform, but it hints at the future before she joins the present. And before she sheds her individualism.

This desire for individualism leads to Sydney’s scarves, her show of individualism and how she works the fact that she has to hold her braids back into something distinct and bold within her personal uniform that she likely spent a lot of time working towards as she figured out how stand out as herself in a professional kitchen in a way that could not be argued with. Although she also probably played closer to the rules in an attempt to almost hide, wearing something very discreet until she found a place and acceptance at the Beef with Carmy. She wears a more subtle version of her scarf in episode 1 with it rolled then she does in later episodes with the triangle point showing off more color. I envision her wearing the rolled version while catering and interviews because it’s a little sleeker while still hinting and her boldness.

Carmy keeping to his own version of a very classic chef look shows his insecurity even as he comes into his own. He wants to wear something he’s comfortable in that hints at the denim collection and keeps him close to Mikey, but white tee and black work pants with a blue apron is still very professional kitchen. Carmy shows off on the plate, not in his uniform, which he keeps no matter how he’s working in the restaurant or where he’s cooking. Except at home, which is notable. This is echoed in his off-duty clothes, muted colors, and denim, as opposed Sydney’s prints, stripes and screen tees.

All of this is a very winding way to say that all the costume choices mean something. It’s something that the new girl will have a uniform that matches Sugar’s life outside the Beef/Bear. That Richie has Berf merch hidden in someone’s basement, a further tie to the messed up past. That Tina seems to be doing better in culinary school than Ebra. That Marcus and Fak have their own flair.

(There’s not enough of Marcus in the trailers to really guess at his path forward, just rumors, so I’m going to hold off on him in season 2, but in season 1 he falls between present and past but definitely in action looks to his future. I mean, he’s obsessed with possibility and donuts.)

But it also signifies a lot that Carmy and Sydney match in one chaos menu scene but not in the other. Just like it’s important they’re in his home. So, yeah, Carmy and Sydney standing outside their evolving restaurant with Carmy in his personal uniform and Sydney in a personalized inverse of that uniform is a moment that ties them as equals who fit together and complement each other. The fact that they’re together day and, if BTS shot are to be believed, night looking up to the future means they’re a pair. No matter what that future might hold. (the picture is from @devisrina's blog. Thank for posting it.)

[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”.

[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

[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

[bts-hyperfixation]

Kinktober Day 18

Seokjin - I dream of jinnie part 2

I dream of Jinnie part two, part one is in kinktober 2021, but I'm pretty sure you could read this as a stand alone.

edging, sub!Jin, Domme Y/N, overstimulation, Wish induced sex.

 "That feels so good Jagiya," Jin moans as your tongue trails across his slit, leaking pathetic amounts of cum.

You've had him tied to the bed for almost an hour now. Switching between gentle teasing and ignoring him completely every time he got too riled up. His fringe sticks to the sweat on his forehead. His voice is low and whiny, cracking a little every time he reaches the edge only for you to pull him away from the cliff. He's come close to an orgasm about six times now, you conceded and let him have two full orgasms in between. Now he was releasing his third and final spurt, more of a drizzle at this point. 

You blink your eyes and the ties disappear, the duvet instantly cleans, and Jin is no longer a dishevelled mess. You lay next to him and bring his head to your shoulder so he can cuddle in close to recover from his favourite form of torture. As you try to settle in for the night, Jin seems to get other ideas. He nuzzles into your neck, leaving trails of hot kisses along your bare flesh, you tap deliberately against his arm to get him to stop. 

"Let me make you feel good now Y/N, pretty please." He pulls away to look into your eyes, trying to sway you with his best puppy dog pout.

"Just rest Jinnie. Making you feel good makes me feel good." You lean down to kiss him gently, before reaching a hand into his hair to guide his head back to your shoulder.

"It's not the same and you know it." he huffs.

"Your sexual fantasies will always be exactly what I need and want, now stop being a brat and take a nap."

He grumbles and settles for a moment. But just as you think you've won he seems to remember exactly who you are, and by extension the power he holds over you.

"I wish you'd let me fulfil your greatest fantasy!" He says before you can even think to stop him.

"Oh fuck." You sigh as your eyes blink closed and you are whisked away from the warmth of Jin's king-sized bed into the depths of your lamp.

You glance around at the familiar layout, once again returned to its gaudy glory of an Arabian night's cliche. Mirrors line the round walls, as veils and curtains hang delicately from the ceiling providing an air of mystery. It looks like a scene from a bad porn adaptation of Aladdin. 

You try to find Jin in amongst the chaos of colourful scarves but come up blank... until you hear his unmistakable windshield wiper laugh come from a pile of overstuffed bean bags and pillows with curtain tassels.

He rises from the soft furnishings he must've landed in and turns to twirl in one of the nearby mirrored walls. 

"Never thought this was what I'd be working with." He raises an eyebrow and admires his reflection.

The broad shouldered man is clad in your traditional genie wear. From the bright pink pantaloons with extra gossimer fabric dropping in ways that accentuate the curve of his hips, to the horrendous crop top with gold coins at the hem, and the fez that you had always found cheesy. Yet, somehow, he looked better than any of the times you had imagined it. 

He swishes purposefully across the room towards your bed. The delicate lighting catching on the gold embellishments, casting cute patterns of amber across his exposed stomach and arms. 

"I thought you hated the whole stereotypical genie vibe." He said, kneeling on the edge of the bed.

You reach out to draw soft lines with your fingertips across his abs. 

"I never said that... just that it wasn't my style, per say. You, on the other hand, seem to really fit in here." 

You admire every inch of him. A new appreciation for the uniform you'd been forced to wear for millennia. He looks even more stunning than ever, femininity had always suited Seokjin in a way he hadn't always embraced, but it was one of your favourite looks on him. You had been hoping to be a little more subtle about getting him to embrace that sense of style. But this worked too.

"As much as I would love to talk through this entirely ludicrous and yet oddly charming situation a little longer, I have this intense burning urge to please you… will you let me?"

"Your wish is my command Master."  You lay back on the bed, clothes disappearing as your head hits the pillow. 

"Not Master, just Jinnie. Your Jinnie." He covers your body with his, kissing along your jawline.

"My Jinnie." You echo as he leaves adoring kisses around your neck and across your chest. 

The fabric of his genie outfit tickles as he crawls back to expose more of you to the worship of his lips. You relax as he makes sure to cover every last inch of you in kisses before coming back to your face to litter even more there. He finishes with a long slow kiss to your lips, letting you indulge in him fully. 

"Tell me what you want Y/N. Tell me what you need." 

He hovers above you and waits patiently for your answer. His arms keep his body lingering just close enough for you to feel the heat radiating off of him, but not close enough for you to actually feel him. 

"I know for a fact your little wish told you everything you needed to know about this little scenario Jin." You roll your eyes.

"But I want you to ask for it." He dips his head for another kiss, coaxing the words from you.

"I want you to be a good boy for me Jinnie, I want you to eat me out until your tongue feels like it will drop off, all while wearing that ridiculous pink fez on your head." You reach out and flick the tassel dangling from the hat over your face.

His eyelids droop at the thought and you are rewarded with another kiss.

"Then what Jagiya?" 

"Then I want to watch as you strip for me, taking every ludicrous layer of fabric off until there is nothing left to keep us apart."

You earn another kiss as he whines at the thought of being watched by you so intently.

"Finally, I want you to take me as hard and as fast as you can for as long as you can until your legs are screaming and your arms feel like they are going to break beneath you."

This kiss is bruising, teeth clashing together more focused on passion than precision.  He is hesitant to break away, the mere thought of what you really want from him enough to get him all riled up but eventually, the power of the wish drags him downward, leaving much sloppier presses of his mouth against your skin as he works his way down to your vagina. 

He wastes no time diving in, starting with rushed, sloppy licks along your slit. His tongue flattens as he cleans all of the slick that had been gathering since long before you ended up here. All the arousal that had gathered while you had been pleasing him instead, the mess you'd intended to deal with yourself. 

You allow yourself to indulge in the pleasure. Moaning loudly as the tip of his tongue flicks against your clit. You grasp on to his hair, leading him to where you need him most, listening as he whines into your pussy trying to keep a rhythm that he knows will please you. 

You tug roughly as two fingers find their way to your entrance, scissoring long before you are prepared for the stretch. It burns as he thrusts his fingers quickly, intermingled come hither motions quickly helping your orgasm build. The familiar feeling surges in your stomach as you cum over his fingers, impressed by the speed at which he brought you to completion.

"Such a good boy for me" You whisper as you smooth the mess you created in his hair, but the man doesn't stop. 

His tongue keeps playing with your clit, driving you well into overstimulation. You try to wriggle away from the feeling, but his arms snake around your thighs to keep you in place against his onslaught. 

"Tongues not tired yet." He mumbles into you.

You're forced to endure another orgasm at the mercy of his ministrations. You howl as he continues to pleasure you, cursing the way you worded your wish but desperate to see how long he could go on for. 

Apparently, his tongue could only last long enough to get you right to the precipice of your third orgasm and no further. You mourn the loss of his mouth on you as much as you welcome it, the uncomfortable heat in your stomach dissipating almost as quickly as it had appeared.

Seokjin removes himself completely from the bed. Your eyes follow his every move, entranced by the delicate way he moves. 

He starts his little strip tease by throwing the fez into your lap. You laugh happily and place the hat on your own head, only for it to disappear from existence a moment later, the wish working to remove all of your clothes from sight, apparently including any put on during the act.

He takes his time removing scarf after scarf from his waistline, casually tossing them in the air so they would float down around him, peeling away the excess layers until he is stood in just the pantaloons and crop top. He puts real effort into his grand finale, shimmying so the coins jingle, casting their golden reflection across the bed before he undoes the zip at the back allowing the sleeves to come loose and the garment to fall to the floor. 

He finds it almost impossible to remove the bottoms in a sexy way under your unwavering stare. Still, he tries. He rolls the top down his waist and shimmies until the garment comes free, falling to the floor with an unceremonious thud as the heavy metal embellishments hit the floor. He loses all pretence then, deeming his teasing portion finished as he kicks the excess fabric from his ankles and climbs back onto the bed with you.

"Are you doing okay?" He asks, unable to resist another kiss before he lets you answer.

"I'm fantastic Jinnie, you?" He nods and nuzzles at your neck, positioning himself the best way he can.

His arms support him on either side of your head, crouching down onto his forearms so he is mere inches from your face. His cock lines up perfectly with your slit, ready to go as soon as he is stable.

As soon as he is sure he can hold his position, he pushes in, filling you to the hilt almost immediately, not giving you time to adjust to his size before setting a brutal pace. It starts out as more pain than pleasure, a sentiment not echoed in the bliss displayed on his own face.

"I think my cock is going to give out long before my legs do Y/N" He confesses.

"After the number of orgasms you just had I'm surprised if you can cum at all, I thought you'd be out for the next week." 

"What can I say, something about you makes me magically rebound." He winks, pausing momentarily to kiss your nose. 

He resumes his harsh thrusts quickly, rocking the bed with the force of his motion. You squeal as he presses upwards to change the angle, hitting constantly against one of your most sensitive areas while simultaneously rubbing his pubic mound against your clit each time he bottoms out. His arms are much more likely to give out at this angle and you can see them quivering as he struggles to remain up. 

He collapses on top of you right as you cum, releasing a large umpf as he smothers you. His cock twitches pathetically inside of you as he releases what can't be more than a teaspoon of cum (there is only so much a magic refractory period can do in the space of an hour).

Not wanting to crush you, he rolls into his early position, nuzzled into your shoulder as you are transported back to his bedroom, clean and refreshed as if nothing had ever happened. You pull him in tightly to your side, completely unwilling to let this man go now or ever.

"Jinnie." You whisper cautiously, testing if he was still awake or whether you might have to wait to talk until later. 

"Hmm?" He responds, tilting his head up to look at you properly.

"We are going to need to be careful from now on." You say seriously.

He sits upright on the bed, dragging you with him. You sit cross-legged across from each other as he takes in your grave expression.

"Have I done something wrong?" He asks eyebrows knitting together in concern.

You lean forward to kiss away the furrow in his brow, a hand comfortingly snaking around the back of his neck as you press your heads together.

"No Jinnie of course not, but that was wish number two..." You explain. "One more wish and I will have to leave, that's how the magic of the bottle works."

"Maybe we can find a way around the magic Y/N, there has to be a way that you can stay with me forever." 

His eyes search yours for a glimmer of hope, but he finds none.

"I've searched for millennia Jin, hundreds, thousands, have tried to harbour my magic for longer than was intended by the fates but all have failed." 

His hands reach up to cup your cheeks, boxing your face in against his.

"How many of those people were doing it for love, not power?"

"None of them but…."

"Maybe this can be different, true love is always the fix in fairytales, maybe genies aren't so different." 

His desperation is evident in his tone. Each word tumbles from his mouth faster as his heart tries to catch up with his brain and the gravity of the situation at hand. 

"Fairytales aren't real Jin."

"No offence but I didn’t think genies were real until you zapped me into a sex dungeon 6 months ago."

You recoil from his grasp and slap him playfully on the arm.

"You did that to yourself! I just got to take charge." You point out.

"And I wouldn't have it any other way. For now though, I'll just have to be extra, extra, careful. No W word for me!" He mimes zipping his lips shut.

You shake your head but concede, at this time it's not like there’s much you can do to prevent what might be the inevitable anyway….

Masterlist

[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

[viviennevermillion]

Trivia Headcanons

notes: reposting bc I’m deleting my archived sideblogs. just some trivia headcanons about vil.

warnings: none

Okay first off he’s blind as shit. His eyesight is worse than both Azuls and Treys and he wears high quality contacts. Wouldn’t go out with glasses. If he ever runs out of contact lenses he has Rook guide him through the school while he pretends he can see perfectly fine. He totally thinks glasses can look beautiful on other people but he himself doesn’t like his appearance with glasses. He looks super cute with glasses though, especially if it’s small round ones.

His favorite piece of clothing are scarves! He loves to wear them all throughout autumn and winter. They’re fashionable and comfortable and they make him feel safe and warm. He always wears designer scarves and makes sure he never wears one that is itchy.

Vil loves to relax with music. After a stressful day once he is out of those heels he will lay down in bed, turn the lights off and start listening to relaxing piano tunes or slow and emotional movie soundtracks.

Dust allergy. The only reason he was awake when the curse thing happened in Chapter 5 was because he was constantly sneezing in his room at Ramshackle dorm. Forgot his allergy pills at Pomefiore. Worst night of his life.

As someone in the entertainment industry as well as an intellectual, Vil knows all about the effects media can have on society. He vehemently refuses to star in any content that is potentially problematic or make ads for shady companies. Vil holds true to his values and doesn’t want to associate himself with anything he deems intolerable.

He can also very easily tell the difference between advertisement and propaganda. Is the intention to make the viewer buy the product or to change the viewer’s stance on something? Vil knows and he’s ready to go on an angry rant everytime he notices someone using problematic content or propaganda in movies, ads and other media.

This is a man who is experiencing The Public™ on a daily basis. He has a really good intuition for how society is going to react to things by now. If you see Vil watching the news and sighing, holding his hand in front of his face and shaking his head there’s a 95% chance it’s going to turn into a shitshow

Vil rants. A lot. Not about personal stuff and nothing with bad intention but just society, the media, if the people who hire him for photoshoots suck, the education system, when students slack off…when you hang out with him by the end of the day there’s a big chance he’s going to complain about something that doesn’t sit right with him and go on about this for at least 30 minutes

Is someone to bond over opinions with you. He accepts other opinions, appreciates when people stand up for what they believe in and listens to other perspectives but when he’s going on a rant about gender roles for example and you agree with him he’s going to feel validated. A lot more than if you just call him beautiful because he hears that every day from hundreds of people

This is somewhat canon from his school uniform personal story but while he loves his appearance and being perceived as beautiful he absolutely despises being reduced to his looks and superficial appearance being placed above skill and hard work. That is because Vil’s whole understanding of his own beautiful appearance is closely tied to skill and hard work. So when someone like Cater comes along and wants to take a pic with him out of selfish interest and basically to cheat his way to clout and fame and using Vil’s appearance as a means to reach an end well….we saw how he reacted. And while Vil may be both a model and an actor he tries to keep those two seperated. He’s more tolerant about being perceived as “just a pretty face” when it comes to photoshoots but when he’s acting he really wants to bring his skills across and make the character he’s playing shine with his hard work. Also a reason why he doesn’t like to be type-casted for his appearance. So when his looks are being used in movies to gain more views and money instead of just letting him act without focusing too much on his appearance only he’s going to be mad. One time they wanted him to shoot a scene shirtless for the audience reactions and Vil went off on a tangent about how he can make the scene captivating with his acting alone and how he doesn’t want his looks to overshadow his performance right then and there on the set and they had to convince him not to quit the job.

Tbh most of the people who work with him know not to piss him off. He’s very professional and mature on the job but if you don’t treat him with the respect and decency he wants or dismiss his values, skills and hard work he can get nasty. He knows never to overstep a line and he’s been taught to remain quiet a lot of times when he has something to say and he’s often submitting to social standards and expectations because he has to but if you really piss him off and getting angry won’t harm his image he’s not afraid to voice his anger.

Honestly? Has a bit of a rebellious side that he hardly ever shows and keeps under lock and key. Closest you can come to seeing it is in debates and when he explains his views to you. Or when he gets emotional. He never publically acts on it but oh boy if he did he’d be wreaking havoc and he’d look absolutely fabulous doing so.

Writes poetry sometimes. The only person he shows it to is Rook, who also writes poetry himself. They do in fact talk about this quite frequently

Is a classic literature and poetry nerd. Has read so many works from famous authors of all kinds of countries and kingdoms and he often projects onto them

Has so many playlists and moodboards it’s unreal

That’s how he processes his emotions. Vil has such a strong aesthetic sense he can just feel vibes and symbolism and meaning from aesthetic things sometimes. So making a playlist or looking at images that express his feelings helps him a lot in dealing with the emotions he normally doesn’t show to other people.

I can definitely see him having an anonymous blog or private Magicam page where he just posts creative stuff like poetry, aesthetics, playlists, moodboards, writing etc. He has 5 Million followers but he literally gets so proud over every follower and comment he gets on his private little creative account because he knows that that’s 100% because people love his work if they see it. He doesn’t post that often as on his main account because he’s busy but it makes him happy.

Vil is one of the most empathetic people in the entire cast. He isn’t always sympathetic but he can easily feel other people’s emotions when he wants to, read between the lines and just have his mind flooded with feelings and vibes. His empathy is also very closely tied to his aesthetic sense which is what makes him such an excellent actor and so good at bringing out people’s qualities and inner worlds through aesthetic means like their looks or singing f.e.

Owns and uses one of those stress balls. Quite frequently.

Loves looking at landscapes and nature but has a phobia of bugs and dirt

Always wears gloves and a face mask while cleaning and honestly that’s valid

He always has plenty of medical and emergency items stocked. Bandaids, disinfectant, painkillers, ice packs….you ever need something like this? Vil has it. He never runs out of them and never forgets to restock them.

Doesn’t drink. It took him so much time and hard work to get where he is today so he won’t even risk getting close to being tipsy or drunk and potentially doing something that could negatively impact his career. Plus he believes it’s better for his health like this.

He does absolutely adore those alcohol-free cocktails though. Loves when they mix a whole bunch of fruits together and make it look gorgeous and also taste excellent

Vil has good audio and video editing skills for his club. He also made the background track for the song he wrote for the VDC all by himself.

Has a journal where he keeps track of his growth. Things that go in there include life lessons he learned throughout the day, career milestones, quotes that relate to his most recent accomplishments, struggles he’s overcome, goals he sets for self-improvement, self-care things he does, his workout plan and just small things that make his day better or make him proud of himself. Has Trey’s encouraging quotes from his Lab Coat story in there. Not even Rook has seen that one. Whenever he feels bad he will just reread it and see how far he’s come.

His favorite season is autumn

Seeing his own ads is so weird to him. It doesn’t matter how long he’s been in the entertainment industry and how much he’s used to seeing his face everywhere, when he wants to watch a video or something and he sees his own advertisement clips coming up, he never gets used to this

Has respect for a solid majority of fashion styles. A lot of them may not be his personal thing but he can see style patterns and how to make a person look good in a specific style and as long as you do take care of your appearance he respects your style choices. Want to be goth? Dark academia? Or have a leather / biker gang / rock band kind of style? Fine by him.

Writes emotional songs that never see the light of day

Is a sucker for fancy lamps and lights. The chandeliers at Mostro Lounge or pretty lanterns make him go 👀

Loves lava lamps. He finds them relaxing. He owns a purple one.

Also has an appreciation for fancy stones and basic knowledge about gems. Sometimes Jade shows him crystals or rocks he found in the mountains and Vil knows what kind they are or if they’re valuable. He refuses to help them with scamming people though so he never tells Jade if they’re valuable.

The type to get anxious when he can’t sleep. He has his schedule for his beauty sleep with a set minimum of hours he needs to sleep and if he needs to get up early in the morning and he’s already like, 10 minutes over the time when he should have slept he starts panicking and that makes him even less likely to sleep. He cares greatly about getting his necessary amount of sleep but even he has sleepless nights once in a while.

Always has his arms wrapped around a pillow or part of his blanket when he sleeps and tends to wear hoodies to bed and fall asleep with the hood on because it makes him feel comfortable.

[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.

[designyourtie]

Elevate your fashion with custom scarves from DesignYourTie.com. Crafted to your preferences, our scarves blend style and individuality. Choose from various colors, patterns, and fabrics to create unique custom scarves that enhance your wardrobe.

[shocotate]

Homunculi Headcanon 14

@moth-time replied to your post:

do it do it

Ok let’s do this thing.

Football is a growing sport in Amestris, though each club tends to only play against other local clubs within its sector. So Central will play most often against clubs also in the Central sector, compared to those in the Eastern sector. In time, and with the increased use of railways, matches further a field might be arranged. Central has several football teams, but the main ones are Central Park FC, known as the Rangers, and Central FC.

The Homunculi had a slight lull in operations while letting the Fuhrer Candidates be raised. Between considering when to kill off Fuhrer Armstrong and set up his successor before Wrath, they had some free time.

So, in the late 1860s, Pride created the alias Zach Stubbs and joined the under-13s football club near Central Park. Pride took this surname from a nickname he had among the local boys in the South while he was setting up the Fifth Crest in 1835. He says he only killed and ate the neighbourhood boys because they were no longer needed, but his time with them was enjoyable nonetheless and left enough of an impression on him to reuse the name they gave him.

Pride joined under his regular form, posing as just a short 12-year old and aging slowly from there. He had been practicing stretching his container into an older form for longer periods of time, so appearing to be older for football matches and training became possible for him. He used the Homunculi’s military influence to help fund the club, as well as some local charities, so as to benefit the military’s public image at the same time. There were no football uniforms back then, so some of the money went to making the team’s scarves, green and white like the Amestrian flag.

He tended to get referred to just by his surname on the pitch, but after a while his middle name gained some prominence. His middle name is not exactly a secret but it’s something you’ll have to puzzle out for a little bit. Because he never let anyone else try for goal if he ended up with the ball, people used to say “Leave it to [middle name redacted]”, and he was in fact very good at scoring goals. Lust occasionally watched some of his matches, and Envy, too.

Pride played uncontested for some time, one of his favourite matches being when he demolished a team from outside Central City called the Kelpies. However, upon joining the Central Park Rangers’ under 16s team at “15”, finally able to specialise in being a striker like he wanted, he found an opponent.

Envy had had enough hearing about Central’s talented new player, running around, showing off, wearing Envy’s favourite colour, and was determined to embarrass him by making him fail in front of everyone. He created Endymion Albright, Central FC’s new goalkeeper, tall and lanky enough for his age to not be suspicious if any of his limbs stretched a little too far during dives. He’d been a trainee in secret for a few months, so made his debut right at the same time Pride swapped to the older team. Even though he wasn’t bulky or wide everyone called him a wall, though Pride would jeer that he was more of a tower.

The unstoppable force vs. immovable object paradox in CPR’s striker and CFC’s goalkeeper only made the rivalry between the two teams intensify, and they met on several occasions. Lust got to look in more often on how her brothers were doing, saying she was Endymion’s older sister, Penelope, there to support her brother, or saying that she was scoping out the competition when watching Pride’s matches.

The final match they played against each other was tied 1-1 for a goal Pride did not score, when he tried to make it 2-1 in the closing minutes, only for Envy to catch it. Did you know some ties were broken in football by coin toss? I wonder who won…

Pride had to retire in 1873 when Wrath was finally “born”, and the photograph taken at Central Park was the one of if not his last appearance for the club. Given the military endorsement, he probably made some excuse that he wanted to enlist and focus on military work. Pride returned to his container’s default form while teaching Wrath and the debacle with the future Mrs Bradley, so his role faded from public view over the years and isn’t that well known nowadays.

Without Pride around, Envy likewise retired to be able to keep an eye on Wrath, though might have been tempted a few times to visit the club again. Acting as Wrath’s colleague at work had its perks, too. It gave Envy lots of chances to see Wrath embarrass himself in front of his future wife, and in 1881 he got to be Best Man at his wedding.

Pride and Lust also got to reuse their personas for the wedding, attending as Zachary and Penelope Stubbs (née Albright).

Pride and Envy still support their respective teams in a distant way, still owning the scarves from when they played. If real uniforms with numbers on get invented by 1914, they’d buy ones with 1 and 4 on them respectively.

More headcanons

[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. 

[fluffyslothdragon]

Some proud hijabis use their hijabs as a way to avoid social standards on hair. Especially POCs who are still fighting the influence of whitewashing.

[ID: Three panels.

The first shows two girls conversing with each other. They both are wearing school uniforms that consist of gray short skirts, white shirts, red ties, and dark blue blazers. The girl on the left is light skinned with blonde wavy hair and blue eyes, while the girl on the right is brown skinned with dark eyes and straight dark brown hair with blue tips. The girl on left says “isn’t it sad that they have to where those scarves all the time?” Girl on right says “and everywhere.”

The second panel shows the same girls from a distance with girl on the left saying “so tortured” and girl on right saying “so uniformed” as they watch Zoory and Anisa walk by in pleasant conversation. Zoory and Anisa are also in school uniforms with Zoory wearing a crimson hijab while Anisa wears a pink one.

The third panel shows Zoory and Anisa in a bedroom on a bed with purple comforters watching on a laptop. Anisa is wearing a light pink shirt with darker pink flowers and swirl designs on it, with gray leggings and white no-show socks. Her dark hair is in cornrows. Zoory is wearing a gray shirt with white moon and stars on it, and black leggings. Her dark brown hair is in a braid. There are two blocks of text, one pointing to Anisa saying “can wear braids/dreadlocks without being hassled” and the other pointing to Zoory saying “doesn’t have to brush curly hair everyday.”]

[obscureoperations]

what are their safe words? and what if the reader says em ??????

Interesting anon...very interesting.. Part of me wants to say that Abe doesn't give a fuck about safe words but you know me. I like to paint him as having a few traces of humanity. Onwards!

Martin

I thinks his safe word would be something as simple as the word "Hurt" or some kind of variation on it. He's very blunt in his phrasing, and in order for the two of you to communicate, you'd have to be pretty blunt as well.

He's very astute in the bedroom, attune with your every breath and microexpression. The second you utter the word, he immediately backs off--allowing you some time to recuperate.

He still has flashbacks of the days when he would sneak into houses uninvited. He never wanted to do things like that with you.. the moment you utter the word, it switches off a part of his brain. bloodlust stalled and replaced with the need to care for you entirely.

It sets off his protective streak. All feather soft kisses along your hairline. Snaking his arms underneath to hold you close. "Are you alright darling? Look at me sweetheart.. I'm here."

Whiteface

I wanna say "Scarf" he used them quite often enough. Things were pretty vanilla between you for the longest time.You were the one who suggested using a few of his gimmicks. The scarves. You loved to watch him swirl them in front of the crowd, knowing full well what went on behind the scenes.

You loved it when he would tether you to the makeshift bed, silken scarves leaving you open and prone. Soft kisses unrelenting as he slowly works his way down your body. His teeth begins to nip at your inner thigh.

I have a feeling, the jester has no idea on how effortlessly he can turn you on. The simple act of stripping bare in front of him was enough to leave you wanting. The way he would look at you, teasing the satin scarves between his fingers. Grease paint sloppily removed, forcing you to gaze at his angelic face.

He always prefers for you to ride him, but when left in control, he wants to make sure that you feel safe. The power that he feels when your left trembling beneath him.. sweat droplets and tears seep into your hairline.

Hands bound to the creaky posts with his ties, you looked so beautiful.. Why were you crying?

Gently removing the gag from your mouth, you whisper the word. The mime eases his way off of you, curling up to your sde, anxious for your next command

Abe

This man doesn't have a safeword, point blank period.. But for the sake of this ask I'm gonna say "Kitchen"

It stems from the moment he wrangled you into the house. Still in the policeman's uniform, both him and Luke drag you into the kitchen. He was so focused on removing your clothes, when he got to your shoes, you manage to scurry away. So close to the door, you almost escape..Luke had the audacity to slap you across the face.

His ears were ringing as heat spread across his face..he wanted to kill him. It wasn't rare that his brother managed to work his way under his skin--but this was something different entirely. He had no right touching you like that.

He remembered beating Luke senseless in the kitchen as you watch with bated breath..You heard him going on about how you were his and if Luke ever hurt you, he’d kill him.

You watched him with the most peculiar expression after that incident, it didn’t take as long as he expected for you to warm up to him. In terms of “Kitchen” being the safe word, you just suggested it without telling him why. After all you knew he would make fun of you for being so ‘sentimental’ but for some reason you had an inkling that he knew.

The moment you utter the word, he reluctantly obliges. A heavy sigh as he climbs off of you. Settling back against the pillows, palming his cock. “Go on.. get yourself together Pookie so we can finish up..”

[flymeandtiememaam2]

Action Stations!

The men glared angrily at the three stewardesses. The plane was now empty of passengers, all the easier to get away, they figured. “Split up, guys!” yelled the smuggling group’s leader, Jeff. “They can’t catch us all. Rendezvous in the foyer - remember, they’re just women!” Billy and Warren smiled cockily and they bolted in different directions in front of the astonished cabin crew. “Quick, ladies - action stations!” ordered black uniformed crew manager Vicki. The other two stewardesses, Rebecca and Sujata, nodded grimly. Billy was the first to run into trouble. He simply and unimaginatively doubled back down the aisle. He felt he had run for miles without seeing an exit sign, until suddenly…

…he ran headlong into Rebecca, but the young woman was not alone. She was perched atop a drinks and food trolley blocking the aisle. “Going somewhere, sir?” the stewardess asked the trapped fugitive with a broad smile. “I think your little jig is up - don’t you agree?” Rebecca smiled brightly at the frustrated Billy, who sighed bitterly, but nodded.

Meanwhile Warren had headed the opposite direction. He had dodged the grasping hands of the crew athletically and then slowed to a cautious stroll as he entered Economy. He peered ahead, desperately searching for an exit sign when suddenly a shapely nyloned leg appeared at eye level. “What…?” he began, utterly flummoxed at this unlikely sight…

The left leg was joined by its companion as Warren looked up in amazement and despair to see a grinning Sujata, half in and half out of an overhead luggage compartment. Her elegantly heeled foot swung out, stopping a centimetre from the smuggler’s nose. “Next time it’s your face, sir!” giggled the flight attendant, but there was steel behind the ironic mirth. Warren felt utterly demoralised. He closed his eyes and raised his hands in surrender.

Meanwhile Jeff had been more subtle. He held back, briefly hiding in the toilet while the men and the pursuing women hurtled this way and that outside. Once the kerfuffle had subsided, he crept into the galley. “I’ll wait here and sneak out of the exit those three witches were standing in front of when they caught us,” he muttered to himself. “the dumb chicks.” He smiled to himself and went to pour himself some water. “Just gotta be cool!” he grinned and saluted himself in the mirror, only to see, reflected back at him…

…Vicki, sitting nonchalantly on the galley surface opposite, shoes in hand. “So much quieter in your stockinged feet,” she grinned at the astounded smuggler, “although, to be perfectly accurate, I’m actually wearing tights!” Jeff instinctively gazed at Vicki’s shapely hosiery clad legs. “I just don’t know what to say to that…” he said in a bemused tone. The senior stewardess looked him hard in the eye, still smiling. “How about, ‘I give up, ma’am’?” she asked him matter of factly. “That is if you can bring yourself to surrender to a “dumb chick”!” The woman’s knowing smile broadened into a grin.

Soon the three smugglers were reunited, but not at all in the way they had hoped. Instead of meeting in the foyer and bolting for a taxi outside the airport, they stood, glaring at each other and the smiling stewardesses as the women’s prisoners, their hands securely tied behind their backs with the girls’ neck scarves or pantyhose. “Well done, ladies,” remarked Vicki, “now sit our unwilling guests in the galley, and tie their legs, please - heaven knows how long it will take those half asleep airport cops to get here.” The news of this latest humiliation was greeted by protests and cursing from the three male captives. “And gag them too, girls!” Vicki added with a laugh.

Jeff, Warren and Billy - bound and gagged on the floor of the galley.