#cufflinks design for shirts

[kaurtrends]

Designer cufflinks for shirts #fancy #cufflinks #menfashion #kaurtrends

Designer cufflinks for shirts #fancy #cufflinks #menfashion #kaurtrends

[fcrowne-men]

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[harrysformenswear]

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[hiraeth-sonder]

Kept Dove - Purgatoire

Yan!Sunday x Reader

Even if a bird with clipped wings can only fly so far, it is a freedom nonetheless

TW: pseudo-incest, suicidal behaviour, stalking, general manipulative and toxic behaviour

//Characters may be OOC, please go easy on my glass heart. Spoilers for the 2.0 story quest but also I may not remember things correctly so- Excerpts from the Song of Songs.

Behold, thou art fair, my love; behold, thou art fair; thou hast doves’ eyes

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅

Through veiled curtains and under warm lights, you tug your socks up with a careful hand, your eyes tracking the movement through the large mirror across you. The soft sheer fabric ascends your leg, trailing up and up until it reaches exactly above your knee. Just the slightest askew, you check once more, turning your leg and watching how the edge on your inner leg dips down, sneaking your finger under the garter to readjust its height. When deemed satisfactory, you reach for your sock garters, clipping the metal fasteners onto the ends as the upper ends hang limply by the side of your leg. You do the same meticulous routine for your right leg, putting your legs together to ensure that they are perfectly even. 

Hung on a hanger was a blouse, with no evidence of wrinkles or lint. Gingerly, you slip it off and let the cool fabric caress your bare skin, once again peering into the mirror to straighten the ends only to carefully push every little fabric-covered button through equally miniscule openings. It hugs your form perfectly when finished, tailor made to adhere to your body like a second skin, with bishop sleeves to be held together with custom cufflinks. You do so, deft fingers piercing the fabric with the golden optics before clipping the ends of the shirt with the once hanging garters. 

Your skirt comes next, prudent and pure. You step into it and bend ever so slightly, bringing it up to your waist to fasten the button that would keep it closed. It is only now that you pad across soft carpet towards your lineup of shoes, from sensible flats to respectable high heels, of shined leather to patent, fit for any occasion. You hook the backs of a pair of heels with your fingers, making your way back to your vanity to slip them on. It is now that you turn your attention to the perfumes decorating the front of the gilded mirror, each of them gifts handpicked by your siblings, bottles easily distinguished by your sister’s fondness for winsome designs and your brother’s partiality for elegance. You uncap a lacquered white glass bottle, the airy and floral aroma that comes from the nozzle is one of their favourites.

There is a light knock at your door, a gentle rap of knuckles against hardwood. It is merely a courtesy, he has no real need to announce his presence when you have long known he would come. Your eyes do not even have to glance at the ticking clock, the knowledge of the minute hand’s exact position of twenty minutes to eight a matter you have grown familiar with over the years. 

“Come in.”

Familiar, practised steps barely sound through your room, a few strides until a silhouette appears behind you. Letting out a soft breath, your eyelids flutter close as you turn your head away from the mirror. “I’m afraid you have little to help with today.”

“I merely wanted to check on you,” Your brother’s voice is delicate, even in your mind there is a kindness to his lilting rise. 

A sigh escapes your lips. ‘Check on you’ can mean all matters of things, whether it truly does entail merely checking on you is a test only known to him. Your eyes open upon the slightest hint of movement, watching through the mirror as gloved hands pull your hair back, reaching for a tie to bundle it up into a half-bun. The action in itself is practised and skilled, moreso a reminder of how many times he has performed such on the women of his life, it sends an inexplicable grief aching in your heart. 

He lowers himself to your level, and as the warm lights cast an intimate gleam upon his features, you get the day’s first look of your brother. Golden eyes softened in gentle fondness, or perhaps some amalgamation of it, cool steel locks lay in perfect formation as his soft wings unfurl to reveal his stately countenance. There is a soft smile pulled across his lips, yet for some reason you must wonder why that tightness in your chest exists so. 

“Happy?” You manage to croak out, still fraught with his full attention on you. 

Sunday tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, clearly admiring his work as he hums, “Very much so, you look quite comely like this.”

You glance at yourself in the very mirror that has aided your preparation, the small wings at the back of your ears hang downward in some odd shame, the sharp tips of your halo glinting with a keen shine. The dark wings flutter lightly, and that recurring shame seems to bubble back to the top of your mind everytime you are reminded of their existence. A corvid among songbird and dove, a stain in their otherwise blemishless perfection. A pathetic excuse for a halovian, you had little sway, little influence, little image. Your very existence was a means to uphold their depiction. 

You were just the child taken pity upon, the mutt picked up from the side of the road to house and feed. Thus, you are an extension of them, whatever you do, however you look, it all went back to them. You sometimes wonder whether they know how much you pale in comparison to their light. 

All too quick to shove such a treacherous thought to the back of your head, it would be a cold day in hell before someone pries that thought from your brain. He casts you an inquisitive gaze, one you wave off with your ascent from the chair. Your steps, three steps slower, accompany his longer strides, padding out from soft carpet to thudding wood. 

Leaving the mansion is always some arduous task, and you suppose that there is no one to blame but your brother for all the fuss that needs to be sorted out. Twisting hallways, confounding rooms, even the little sandpit of the Golden Hour, it made it so that leaving required his notice, lest you end up arbitrarily lost. Of course, this also meant that you were severely limited in the times you got to leave the mansion, since he always had so much to attend to in the day. And it is not like you refuse to learn, but rather that you cannot learn its ways that you remain unaware. Furthermore, it is exactly because that he does so much that you find it hard to even bring up your grievances about such a matter, how could you? So even if you yearn to see the world far beyond what he has allowed you to see, you very often keep your mouth shut and play at content. 

As you emerge from those familiar depths, a wing raises itself to shield your eyes from the sudden influx of bright lights. Penacony, the city of dreams they call it, but to you, it has been nothing more than an incandescent lie. Why else would your sister leave?  

It is then you see her, with her flowing light blue hair and her familiar visage. Her attire remains the same as all the advertisements you see with her face plastered on them, her halo tilted to the right and the gems under her left eye in flawless position. Yet, in your heart, your most sincerest of affections borne from years of companionship, you know that it is not her. There is nothing that would infer this thought, the locum in front of you a perfect copy in all matters, but you cannot help but deny the image in front of you.

Turning to Sunday, a slip of your true thoughts revealed through the furrow of your brow, “Who is this?”

“A fool, nothing more,” He spares you a glance, but says nothing else. 

“Will she listen?”

It is only then you manage to meet his gaze, not a second more and not a second less, his voice is placid, revealing nothing even now, “You trust me, no?”

“Of course, but I just worry…” Your plea seems to go unheard, and you wonder whether you were even meant to come along if it meant you would only receive this kind of treatment. 

“Shall we depart?” He offers to the ‘Robin’ in front of you, dignified courtesy and trained care. You remain behind, watching on. His voice rings in your head, the only part of him you get, “Fret not, dear sister, all will be well.”

In your heart, something twinges with an acrid twist. Though this ‘Robin’ is clearly some cheat, he still treats her the same, still has that leak of affection. You have always known that he never took to you the same way she did, he could try to play at siblingly affection, could try to interact with you the same way he did her, but you knew that he never meant it. The daily check-ups, the gifts, the occasional contact, it all means nothing to him, and in the end, is that not what he does best? Lying with a sweet smile on his face, tempting you with a delusion all the while he wishes for nothing but your descent. The only one he could never perform such deeds to was his own sister.

Yet even in front of a fool, with the face of your sister, you could feel no hatred towards her. Because she has never done anything to warrant such, not when this dream of theirs is one you have done everything to uphold, not when she might have been the only light in your life. So even if what stands before you is a fake, even if you do not know what your brother has planned, you will keep your mouth and play at content. 

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅

O my dove, that art in the clefts of the rock, in the places of the stairs, let me see thy countenance, let me hear thy voice; for sweet is thy voice, and thy countenance is comely.

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅

In the end, he had never even told you where the day’s itinerary would take you, so when you had found yourself in reality’s Reverie Hotel and met with an interesting situation, you had much to restrain from expressing. A group of four people you have never truly seen before and a man from the IPC, seemingly engaged in a difficult matter. They do not seem to notice your approaching footfalls, neither does Alley.

“Alley, just a moment,” Sunday speaks up, gentle yet assertive

“The Family cannot allow guests to enter a dream while bearing burdens.”

The crowd, now aware of your presence, shifts their attention. The grey-haired youth catches your attention, so clearly out of place yet seemingly intertwined, you can only ponder why. Still, it is not as if their gazes remain on you, rather it would be more accurate to say that they were never on you in the first place, positively enraptured by the natural radiance 

“Speak of the devil, look who's here! It's Sunday, the most handsome man in Penacony! Along with the singer renowned across the universe: Robin!” The blond, who you vaguely recognise as hailing from the IPC introduces the two of them with a flair, clearly playing up the flattery. 

‘Robin’ turns to face him, an amused smile playing at her lips as her eyes crinkle in mirth, “He said you were the most dashing person in Penacony, how interesting.”

An older man and a red-haired woman stand before you, their expressions shifting to alert, yet they are paid no mind. 

“I’ve kept you waiting, Mr. Aventurine. This way please, let us speak in private,” Your brother offers, a request that is taken with a courteous quirk of the blond’s lips. 

Your ‘sister’ instead takes charge of caring for the rest of the guests, “Astral Express guests, please come this way and rest your feet.”

It is by now that you have completely mentally checked out of the situation, your presence clearly not noticed nor ignored. Though you yearned to return and perhaps sleep the rest of the day away, your feet automatically flanked the guests of the Astral Express so as to guide them, your eyes following after the grey-haired youth who seemed to yearn to run after Aventurine. Oddly, they do not do so, obediently following after the pink-haired woman. 

You keep your posture perfect and your expression pleasant, not quite hearing but watching, eyes tracking lips so as to turn your perceived attention to whomever was speaking at present. Your ‘sister’ still enraptures, no matter the truth of her nature. Your ears pick up the vague mention of an apology, her hand held to her chest in polite regret. It is only when the redhead’s lips, a woman you believe is called Himeko, move in a manner that seems to be directed to you that you tune back in, a pleasant smile still painted as you meet her gaze.

“And who’s this? I don’t suppose we’ve met before, have we? Ms..?” She offers, playing at cordiality though it is clear she may be a little on guard.

Your lips move to answer far faster than your mind, practically instinctual. The response you get is kindly, one you are not sure is genuine but it makes your head rush. 

The older man, Welt, calls your name, a sound that feels like it should belong on his tongue. There is a familiarity to it, the kind you would hear from an older relative. “It is a pleasure to meet you.”

The rest of them start with their pleasantries, and for some odd reason, your chest tightens with a yearning. You had watched them band together earlier, seen the way they interacted with one another and even through your haze, could all but feel the amity between them. These were people who were bound together by chance, people who have simply decided to become this family and not only played the roles, but might as well be actual family. 

“Thank you, it's a pleasure to meet all of you as well.”

‘Robin’ seems to fade into the background, a sight you are not used to, but this fool’s interest in you is not a matter you are too worried about. Rather, the new-found attention you found yourself under was now almost overwhelming, too much yet not entirely unwelcome. 

“If we’re not overstepping, may I ask how you’re affiliated with Mr. Sunday and Ms. Robin?” Himeko’s voice is sweet in your ears, a soothing sound.

“They’re my siblings, my older brother and younger sister to be exact.”

The pink-haired youth you believe is called March 13th, is almost all too excited at that answer, yet it dies to wonder, “That’s cool! But why haven’t we heard about you before?”

“Ah, I’m afraid I’m merely not as noteworthy as them….” Your play at humility is almost entirely accepted, a notion you are at least glad for. Out of the corner of your eye, you notice your brother’s approach, a signal to return back into the background. With a hand to your chest, you bid your exit, “If you’ll excuse me.”

It is another haze that clouds over you when your brother arrives to slot himself into the conversation, one that once again seems to block out the words spoken. 

“I apologise for taking up everyone's precious time, and we shan't keep you any longer. If you need anything else while in Penacony, The Family stands ready to serve,” He hums, genteel and ever flawless.

‘Robin’ follows suit, her hand to her chest as she continues the courtesy, “May your dreams be beautiful and pleasant.”

Your eyes fall upon the Astral Express, and though your heart knows what can only be imagined can never be brought to reality, you could not help but wish that you had never been brought in to your siblings. Perhaps in another life, perhaps in a dream far more beautiful and pleasant than this one. 

“May your dreams be beautiful and pleasant.”

You were tired, so very tired. If Penacony truly was the world of dreams, yours must be some sick joke for your life to turn out this way. Given this glimpse of what could have been, how could you even bear to keep living in this illusion?

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅

 His eyes are as the eyes of doves by the rivers of waters, washed with milk, and fitly set.

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅

The marble railing is cold against your bare feet, one wrong step and you’ll be sent careening off the side of the building, falling into a never-ending abyss. In the distance, playing on the record player, was the vague lilt of your sister’s voice. You could barely hear it through the wind, yet the very fact that she was there, truly or not, was more than enough. You have all but memorised her every song, humming along as though she was with you.

In a thin nightgown, you have long been free from the confines of your strict dress, hair let loose and face bare. Any matter that once adorned your form has been stripped, left exactly where they belonged in your room as your legs danced along to the melody. Chasse, a whisk and a natural turn, your arms wrapped around some imaginary partner, it all came to you without little thought, merely letting the music guide your form. You have never danced before, never thought yourself fit to, only read about the basics in a book a time forgotten, but you think you enjoy it. Perhaps in your next life you will be a dancer, no matter the fame, it would be something you could do without fear of tarnishing another’s image. 

Caught in your reverie, you are scarce to hear the knock on your door, the heave of heavy wood and the quick steps to the open balcony. Through the flowing curtains and under the starry night, your brother still looked nothing more than empyrean, regardless of the unnerved furrow of his brow and the dilation of his pupils. You do not stop from your actions, continuing to let your body move along the wind.

“What are you doing?” He manages to utter, not as gentle yet cautious. 

Humming, you return his question with another, “What does it look like I’m doing?”

Your dearest brother, the man who allows himself only the most minute interaction with you, the man who would not even meet your eyes beyond the confines of your home, though his words sounded as though they came from a more composed man, the slight tremble to his voice told you more than enough. 

“Dear sister, you won’t die even if you take such drastic actions.”

“You’re right, but at the very least I’d be soporose, no?”

There is a pained edge to his voice, visage finally broken out of that placid facade, “I don’t enjoy these words you’re saying.”

“When have you ever?” You laugh, eyes crinkled in levity as a smile pulled across your lips. Bare feet halt from their untethered sway, leaning to meet your brother’s gaze. Your words crawl out from your throat, hoarse from use yet elated nonetheless, “I’m sure that if I were to even look into that head of yours, those few thoughts you dedicate to me would be nothing but pure odium.”

Perhaps you would have been less inclined to disparage your brother once upon a time, more desirous of his attention for once, yet it is now you could care less. His focus means nothing to you now, not when he could not even bother to do so when it mattered most. Even if he threw himself at your feet and begged you to come down, you find it hard to believe you would listen in this state. 

Sunday’s voice is soft, yet simultaneously it is the loudest you have ever heard it, “You seem so convinced that I do not care for you, have you ever read beyond what your eyes tell?”

“Would you let me?” The air in your lungs feels faint, turning your voice breathy as tears strangely dew at your lower lashes. 

Would he even let you witness such? Let himself become vulnerable and open his tempestuous mind for you to pick and pry? You do not even believe he has allowed any other to come so close. Yet perhaps this is what you need to quell that storm in your chest, the last nail in your coffin, your last reason confirmed. 

He nods. 

Through dark veils and cloudy bubbles, you see it. The truth of his neglect, the reality behind his constant avoidance, his performed favouritism, all of it some cruel and horrific attempt to distance himself from emotions deemed iniquitous. All those times the clock would read seven forty, all those times you believed him to arrive on some schedule, that damned bird had been in your room all the while. Tucked away in some corner too high for you to notice, it stood watch at all hours of the day, keenly broadcasting your most natural state to him as if it were nothing more than the daily news. 

What a monster love can be, its dark shadow following you everywhere, in your most private and public moments, you have never been alone. Longing to embrace, alabaster hands ghosting over skin and breath fanning across bare chest, desiring to possess, to keep that object of yearning within a gilded cage and to tuck the key away. Twisting yet ever rigid, covetous and desirous, it is no wonder that your very existence should always be tied to him. There is no you without Sunday, no crow without dove, for what is a pious man without his conflict of sin?

“I love you,” He pleads, finally raw and true, finally directed to you. His face twisted in pure desperation as he approaches you, with his arms outstretched as though to compel you from your perch, your brother practically begs, “So please, stay with me.”

Beneath your gaze, beneath you, he is but a wretched thing. You never thought him stupid, yet for him to think that this was enough to wipe the slate anew, you must have overestimated him. 

You bark out a harsh bite of laughter, void of mirth and filled with scorn, “Do you expect me to just forgive you just like that? A measly ‘I love you’ and years of indifference can just be forgotten?”

“Sunday, you’re nothing but the last etching on my grave.”

Your feet leave the cold marble, tipping off into the unknown abyss below as a breeze flies through your wings. 

Your sister’s face flashes before you as your eyes flutter shut, her soft smile the one thing keeping your head clear and your limbs limp. You hear her sing, even past the rushing wind. Your dear sister, the one person who had been keeping you looking forward to another day, her crooning voice that played from the record player in your room, it is now you hear her clearer than ever. 

A bird that has never flown can only fall when thrown down, wings unable to catch the wind and soar from its cage, yet it is because it has never flown that this feeling is still a kind of freedom. And as your skin pebbles from the chill and your hair flows along your descent, you have never felt any freer, even if it is only for a brief moment. 

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅

Behold, thou art fair, my love; behold, thou art fair; thou hast doves' eyes within thy locks: thy hair is as a flock of goats, that appear from mount Gilead.

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅

Through lace curtains and under warm light, a hand caresses your leg as it tugs white socks ever higher. Soft fabric clinging to your skin as he raises it to your thigh, far too intimate, far too familiar. He does the same for the other leg, knelt at your feet with his head bowed, the socks are nothing but perfectly aligned as per his preference. The garters hung around your waist, silken material his own hands placed upon you, he grasps the clips as he attaches it to the socks, ensuring he does not blemish your skin beneath. 

Your arm raises when he brings the blouse, silky and smooth. Sunday lets the cool fabric kiss your arms as he buttons each clasp, meticulously pushing them through each miniscule opening. Another piece he had ensured would fit you without fault, it followed the natural lines of your form without fail. He smooths the shoulders down and presses a kiss to the top of your head, moving to pin the sleeves with optic shaped cufflinks. Coaxing you from your seat, he has you step into your skirt, brought up to your waist and clasped neatly. Your shoes, perfectly shined heels tailor made for only you, are slipped on and buckled. Even the sweet florals of your perfume, another white lacquered glass bottle he gifted all those years ago, is applied by his hand. 

His dear sister, someone he has tried so hard to keep at an arm’s length, someone he has done nothing but debase in that torturous head of his, now stands before him, obedient and adoring. Far too tempting to keep away, his arms move to embrace you, resting at your waist.

Instinctively, your arms raise to wrap around his neck, weight leaning against his hands as he bows his head to press a kiss against your lips. You accept him languidly, your eyes fluttering close as he brings your bodies to but a fingertip’s distance. It almost seems meant to be, how they move against each other in a rhythm known only to the two of you. 

“I love you,” He murmurs against your lips, the words leaving him so naturally that if one were to tell him that he could finally utter these heavy words to you, that him of the past would have merely waved it off. “More than you could ever know.”

“.....love…”

“..you….”

Your wings flutter shyly around your two faces, as though to hide away from the rest of the world, even your halo trembles ever so slightly, an endearing act as you try your best to convey your affection to him. Still, that does not discourage you from attempting to cling onto him.

He smiles, pressing another, more chaste, kiss to your lips to tide you over. Recovery has been hard for you but he finds he quite enjoys having you so feeble for him. Barely able to even form full sentences through telepathy, it meant that he would be able to hear your sweet voice much more often. You were no songstress, but it is your humming that truly provides him with succour. Furthermore, having you so dependent, so keen for his help, it only serves to soften his heart. 

To reintroduce you to the rest of Penacony not as his sister, but as his dearest lover has been easy, and he can only thank his foresight for keeping your very existence so negligible. You would finally get what you have always yearned for, no matter what lies you told yourself, his full and utter adoration, demonstrable and undisguised. Lest you try to leave him once more. So he will keep you in this cage with him, care for you and love you so that beyond reasonable doubt, you shall have no desire to spread your wings once more.

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅

I sleep, but my heart waketh: it is the voice of my beloved that knocketh, saying, Open to me, my sister, my love, my dove, my undefiled: for my head is filled with dew, and my locks with the drops of the night.

[makethatelevenrings]

OK LISTEN

Bruce x wife!reader where they just recently got married and adopted lil Dick. Reader is very pregnant and this is the first Valentine’s Day they aren’t doing fancy billionaire Valentine’s stuff and instead they’re sitting at home with their son and having a nice night in.

tw: pregnancy, female reader, mention of the Wayne parents

“This time last year, we were in designer clothes and eating escargot,” you hummed as you stripped off your blouse that you wore to work. Bruce was removing his cufflinks and unbuttoning his shirt, but he paused at your words.

“Do you regret staying in this year?”

Your head popped out of the closet and you shot him an incredulous look. “Darling, I thought you were much smarter than that. I’m elated that we’re staying in.”

Once in your pajamas, you left the closet and smoothed down Bruce’s t-shirt over your growing stomach. At thirty-six weeks pregnant, you were fucking waddling around and none of your clothes properly fit but thankfully, your husband was 6’4 and pure muscle. His soft, cotton t-shirts fit you like a charm and the drawstring pajama pants Alfred insisted on gifting you every Christmas eve was the perfect addition.

“Hurry up,” you chastised. “We’ve got an excited nine year old downstairs.”

Bruce chuckled and pushed away from his dresser to stand in front of you. He kneeled down and pressed a kiss to the fabric that covered your stomach. “I don’t know how you managed to convince Alfred to let him have candy.”

“Pregnancy card works wonders.” You beamed and patted his cheek twice. “Now, c’mon. Or Dickiebird and I will just have to drink all the hot cocoa without you.”

Bruce watched as you toddled out of the bedroom before he rushed to change into sweats. The minute the pregnancy test said positive, his already protective nature ramped up to eleven. The second you reached thirty weeks, Bruce didn’t want you out of his sight.

With the addition of little Dick to the family, a baby was the last thing on your mind but an extended Justice League mission and threats of world domination meant a very welcoming return and two lines on a plastic stick.

As Bruce stepped onto the landing and made his descent to the first floor where peals of laughter and shrieks of delight erupted from the kitchen, he paused for a moment and turned back to look at the black shrouded portrait of his parents.

If only they could see him now. Married to the most incredible woman with a son and another child on the way…

He pushed aside the “what ifs” and continued to the kitchen. He knew your threat about the hot cocoa was very serious.

[themostat]

Me when i lie

(Added the full image description down here this time because it turned out way longer than usual):

[Image Description:

The first image is a digital drawing of the character the distortion from the magnus archives, with michael on the top facing to the left and helen upside-down on the bottom facing to the right, in the style of a joker playing card. The background is white, with warped colourful lines decorating the border. Michael and helen each have a hand in front of their faces; Michael is peeking through his fingers; helen is resting her chin on her palm. Their hands and fingers are elongated and their fingernails are overgrown and spiraling. They are wearing matching pink pinstripe suits, with spiral buttons and white dress shirts with spiral cufflinks. Helen has an afro hairstyle with a section on the left side of her head pulled back into a braid, and laid edges that form spirals along her forehead. Michael has long blond hair that falls in much looser curls across his shoulders. Both of their irises are pink with a spiral design in them. Their proportions are overall semi-realistic; a clean rendering style is used.

The second image is exactly the same as the first, just flipped 180 degrees to put helen on the top instead of michael.

End ID.]

[wing-ed-thing]

Man in Uniform (Erwin x Reader)

Synopsis: After a cut in the budget, your signature is the only thing that stands in the way of the Scout’s funds. Erwin is a selfish bastard, and unfortunately for you, you’re a sucker for a man in uniform.

Word Count: 3.7k

Tags/Warnings: Fem!Reader, Noble!Reader, Fluff, Flirting, Alcohol, 100% self-indulgent 

Notes: This played in my head like a vintage black-and-white movie. I hope it does for you too! I’ve had this sitting in the drafts for about 2 weeks aaaaa

You were a vision coming down those steps. 

The way the people in the room stopped to stare truly felt like a fairy tale. Erwin was no different. He sipped his champagne by the cocktail table that the Scout leadership wordlessly claimed, watching as the subtle train of your gown slinked down the marble stairs with each step of your high heel shoes. Erwin himself could have easily been mistaken for a prince in the Scout’s formal attire, but he seemed to be the last person holding your attention. You bashfully looked off to the side, an attempt to ignore that the entire ballroom seemed to stop for you. 

“A little extra for a charity event, don’t you think?” Levi muttered, staring down at the cup of tea he bullied from the kitchen. Tea and coffee were supposed to be served after dessert, but he found his ways to be persuasive.

“Nobility will do as nobility does.” Erwin took another sip of his drink, eyes glued on you as you were swiftly swarmed by politicians, businessmen, and other nobles. He felt a harsh tug on the back of his dress uniform. 

“You’re not actually going to do it, are you?” Levi pulled at the collar of his shirt. The Scout’s dress uniform— which consisted of a decorated dark olive green blazer and slacks with a complimentary collared shirt and tie— served to be far tighter than the functional field uniform designed for movement. 

“Doesn’t hurt to try.” He adjusted a few pins on his jacket and ran a thumb underneath the thick belt around his waist. He corrected the orientation of the wide collar. “How does my tie look?” Levi gave it a once over before coming around the small table to adjust it. He pulled it extra tight with a scowl.

“You think she’s going to hand you a fat stack of cash because she thinks you’re pretty? Stupidest idea if I've ever heard one. She has the power to take away what little funds we’ve got if she doesn’t get you suspended for harassment first.”

Erwin shrugged.

“Stranger things have happened.” He played with his cufflinks, his attention fully on you. A trio of women Erwin recognized from past events greeted you enthusiastically. “According to my sources, I have a pretty fair shot.” Levi rolled his eyes along with a few choice words.

“At least wait until she’s done the rounds.”

“Doesn’t hurt to be prepared.”

Erwin heeded Levi’s advice, sipping his drink as you made your way around the ballroom. A diplomat had one of your hands in both of his as he shook you violently, which Erwin took as a cue to set down his empty glass. He made his approach. 

He knew you well on paper. A descendent of a noble and respected family, you were the darling of Sina. With your pedigree, you held quite a powerful place in government. The two of you had brief exchanges during your fair share of meetings, important government decisions, and of course, charity events.

He maneuvered through the small group around you, addressing you by name. Your audience parted as Erwin strolled up to you, looking as neat and militant as ever. Inwardly, he chuckled to himself at your dreadful expression. He could see the semblance of it in your otherwise pleasant demeanor. Surely, he looked like yet another official vying for your attention, and you weren’t wrong. 

You offered your hand cordially, and Erwin bowed at the waist to brush his lips against your knuckles. 

“It is a pleasure seeing you.” He rose, your slender fingers still in his. “If I may, you look absolutely radiant tonight.” Your laugh sounded like a sigh as you bobbed your head lightly and withdrew your hand.

“Commander Smith, aren’t you as charming as ever?” Erwin shook his head and touched the front of his uniform. 

“Please, call me Erwin. Smith was my father,” he nodded with a polite smile. Levi rolled his eyes somewhere in the background. Erwin made a show of looking at your company, who tried to keep friendly faces. He focused his attention back on you. “Would you allow me to steal you away?” 

You opened your mouth to deny him but met his bright blue irises as the words died on your lips. They flickered to his right, left, and back at you for the briefest of seconds. You gauged the faces surrounding you as the corners of your lips tugged upward into a gentle smile.

“Certainly.” You giggled nervously, quickly slipping your hand around the crux of his elbow as you allowed him to escort you away. You glanced at a set of open doors, giving Erwin’s sleeve a light tug. “Would you mind if we head toward the balcony? The view of Sina is simply wonderful from up here.” Erwin offered you a slow nod as he gestured.

“Lead the way.” 

You crossed the ballroom, attempting not to appear too hasty as you offered gracious smiles to the important people who made sure to catch your eye. A waiter passed, and you stopped briefly to take two champagne flutes between your knuckles. Erwin raised his thick brows in amusement at the sight but said nothing.

You handed him one quietly as soon as you stepped onto the balcony. Lit by a few lamps, the outdoor area was dark enough and in a position to seclude the two of you without the appearance of hiding away intentionally. The whole of it wrapped around the building. Blooming bushes lined the railing down to a set of stairs to the gardens on your right. You released his arm, moving forward to take in the scenery. People continued to bustle inside. You took a breath. 

“Did I look like I needed rescuing that badly?” you let out another laugh-like sigh. He wondered if you could breathe in that dress. You approached the decorated railing, taking a sip of your drink. The weather was warm tonight.

“Someone once told me that the way Stevens shakes hands looks like he’s trying to make himself a cocktail.” Erwin leaned back against the railing; one arm crossed over his chest. He held his glass in his opposite hand, twirling the stem between his fingers.

“Oh no!” you laughed, cupping your face with a hand as you let your neat demeanor drop for a moment. “Think he should have become a bartender? He’s got a mean shake.” Erwin didn’t answer your rhetorical question as he studied you, taking in everything from your hair to the intricate pattern that graced the bodice of your gown. 

“I’m glad we have the opportunity to chat. I imagined it would be impossible to get a moment alone with you.” You hummed to yourself.

“Something tells me that you don’t just want to shoot the breeze, as they say?” You studied him out of your peripheral. You knew this game well. Like every other person in the ballroom, Erwin wanted to bend your ear to something or another.

“Can I not enjoy the company of a beautiful woman?” He placed one of his elbows back against the carved stone. You stared at the various pins and metals he wore across his chest. The side of your face found your palm as you leaned forward. You enjoyed the whole ensemble if you were honest with yourself. “One’s deprived of such pleasures on the battlefield, you know.” You resisted the urge to scoff.

“You sure are laying it on thick, hm, Commander?” you muttered into the rim of your glass. You took a half step away, more straying in the space than trying to escape.

“Erwin, please,” he corrected gently, gesturing with his glass. “Unless the title pleases you.” Your glance away was all the confirmation he needed. Your shoulders dropped as you huffed. 

“Surely you know—” You frowned. —“You shouldn’t expect to get funding from an attempt to charm me. It won’t work, so please, let’s just enjoy the night.” You trusted that out of all the people who would bother you about work, Erwin was one you could be the most straightforward with. Based on your limited interactions, it was an educated gamble. 

“You think I’m trying to pull a ploy?” He cocked a brow, staring into his drink. You crossed your arms with a single nod of your head. You looked awfully sure of yourself.

“I wouldn’t put it past you, yes.” 

“I’m hurt you would see me in such a light.” Erwin feigned offense which you ignored. You cocked your head to the side haughtily, staring back into the ballroom. Golden light shone onto the balcony from the rich chandeliers on the intricately crafted ceiling.

“On the contrary, I expect nothing different from the Commander of the Scouts.”

“And yet you’ve allowed me an audience with you.” Erwin pushed off from where he leaned, circling you slowly. He stopped in front of you. The glow from the chandeliers inside outlined him in a warm gleam. “Alone. Away from everyone else.” You almost frowned at the suggestion but forced yourself to maintain your cordial demeanor. You tightened your posture.

“Too much hollow chatter for me,” was your excuse. “At least with your presence, many others who seek things from me will surely leave me alone.” You nodded to yourself, convinced of your justification.

“You find me intimidating?” Erwin clasped his hands behind his back, surely a purposeful display. You tried your best to appear unimpressed. He cocked his head to the side. 

“Some are under the impression that the Scouts are audacious. That with humanity’s strength comes… conceited self-assurance.” You shrugged daintily. You took a long sip of your drink, letting the tiny bubbles pop down your throat. “Perhaps you intimidate someone else. Not me.”

“Audacity and strength,” he cherry-picked in consideration, clearly entertained. His peering eyes searched your face for a response. “Do you not think so?” His real question crept within the subtext.

“I keep my politics close to my chest.” 

“Less politics and more of an opinion.” His retort was quick and held a hint of harshness. You couldn’t help the acute look of surprise as you warily narrowed your eyes at him. He could practically see you choose your words. 

“You certainly are brazen, Commander Erwin.” Your heels clicked against the tile below. His gaze followed you as you drifted. “I never knew the Scouts were so guarded of their reputation.”

“Ah, so the title does please you.” He lit up in amusement as bashfulness burned under your skin. “I’ll have you know that the reputation of the Scouts is a reflection of her leadership.” You locked eyes, and you didn’t miss a beat. 

“So it is ego, hm?”

Inside, the hired collection of instrumentalists played a romantic song. Famous in Sina, you recognized it right away. It almost made you wish you were back inside, but another stray consideration of the people you would have to talk to made you refrain from such thoughts. By the time you snapped from your distraction, Erwin had already put his glass down on the stone railing as he outstretched his hand to you. 

“May I?” The music swelled in the background. 

You gave him an almost exasperated look, but not wanting to waste a good song, you placed your drink beside his and took his hand.

Erwin Smith was much more proficient in dance than you had anticipated. You draped one arm over his shoulder, and with your other hand in his, Erwin led your dance around the balcony in perfect time with the music. The slow and intricate waltz was another signature of the innermost wall. You learned it as a child, as did all children of Sina— poor and rich. You wondered where Erwin learned it.

Clearly, he was trying to pander to you.

“I thought I made myself perfectly clear that your charm will not get your branch the funding you desire,” you said quietly, careful not to miss a step in the dance. You looked up at Erwin, who didn’t appear to be listening. You continued more forcefully. “Everyone’s budget was slashed, not just the Scouts. Things have been very tight. It wouldn’t be fair—”

“Believe me; I’m not trying to seduce you in any sense of the word.” Erwin manipulated you into a twirl, catching you and pulling you into his chest as you tripped on your heels. “Although, it’s reassuring to hear that you think I’m charming.”

“Don’t you go around throwing out words like that. Someone will overhear and get the wrong idea.” You composed yourself quickly, retreating from Erwin’s embrace a slight distance as you continued your movement to the music.

“There’s no one around to hear anything, my dear.” You scowled disapprovingly, your footwork not faltering for a moment. 

“Being slapped around by Titans has surely made a few screws rattle loose in that brain of yours,” you jeered. The vibrations of Erwin’s laugh reverberated from his chest through yours. He stared down at you, brows slightly raised.

“Do Titans terrify you?” “Of course,” you puffed in annoyance. “You likely have reason to fear them more than I do.” Amusement and self-assuredness radiated from Erwin in waves. 

“Have you ever seen one?”

“Don’t patronize me.”

“I wouldn’t dare.” 

Erwin’s slight grin melted slowly from his face. You watched it intently, wondering what he was thinking about at the mere mention of Titans. You softened in his grip. Your words were true; Erwin likely had more reason to fear the giants that roamed outside the walls. He had seen them. Fought them. The moment of acute vulnerability passed quicker than a shadow. 

“I’m curious to know what you’ve heard.” His voice sounded low and gentle. “From a political figure such as yourself who grew up in Sina.” You paused, not quite understanding the goal of his question. The music changed inside, and wordlessly, so did your dance.

“That there are giants outside. Man-eating ones.” Naivety coated your words. Your body moved in tandem with Erwin’s. He held you in his striking irises, listening. You smoothed your hands over the firm, thick material of his blazer. “I heard they grow up to ten meters tall.”

“Some are fifteen.”

“Really?” One of your legs rose gracefully off the ground as Erwin dipped you low. You caught sight of the garden through the gaps in the balcony’s siding. “How horrifying.”

“I’ve seen dozens,” Erwin said, no louder than a whisper. You assumed an upward position as you continued the waltz. The side of his lips brushed up against the side of your temple. You held onto the low timber of his voice. “Ridden into the field just to see young soldiers eaten alive.”

“Does that weigh on you?”

“It does.” You felt him nod against you. A few strands of your hair came out of its updo, not that you minded. “You need not worry about such things.” You frowned as you were spun. Erwin’s hard chest met your back. Your hands were still in his, one pinned to your waist while the other floated in the air adjacent to your shoulder. 

“Because I am from Sina?” You bowed your head the slightest bit as you felt his warm breath on the shell of your ear. The dimness of the balcony only made the traditional dance feel more intimate. More intimate than it should have been between two government officials. “You think I don’t have to worry? I have lives in my hands just as you.” 

“Of course not; you misunderstand me.”

Erwin twirled you slowly and gracefully back around. You held him at arm’s length, connected only by intertwining fingers. He tsked, shaking his head as he pulled you back.

 “It’s my job to worry about the Titans. Put your trust in me. I assure you—” Your palm rested on the layered fabric at the back of Erwin’s neck. His lips brushed the skin of your cheek as his voice dropped low. “I’ll protect you from the monsters.” 

Your breath hitched in your throat as you came to a complete stop. Your voice stalled in your throat as words dissolved on your tongue. 

You pulled away from Erwin completely, taking a few steps back. You clutched parts of your skirt in your clammy palms as reality— the reason Erwin had sought your time in the first place— quickly set in. He stood, hands again behind his back, as he awaited your response. You coiled your arms over your chest.

“You’re full of shit—”

“Quite the mouth on you, my lady.” His forehead wrinkled in amusement. “Is this how nobility is brought up?” Erwin closed the gap between you in just two broad steps. You bumped into the stone railing, knocking at least one of your champagne flutes into the flowers as he did little more than cage you in.

You couldn’t help the way your eyes widened.

“What do you think you’re doing?” You nearly gasped, a nervous shiver freezing you where you stood. The warm lantern light sparkled off your eyes. “Commander… Erwin…?” He corralled a few pieces of hair behind your ear, tracing your jaw until his fingers reached your chin.

“Rest assured; I am more than capable of keeping a foul-mouthed princess like yourself safe. Do you not think so?” You remained completely still, and as he moved his head forward. He tilted your chin up, and your lashes fluttered closed. 

But the kiss you anticipated never came. 

You opened your eyes to see Erwin looking about the same as he did all night: thick brows raised and the corners of his lips curving into a subtle, almost boyish smile. His touch left your face as he quirked an eyebrow.

“Yes, my lady?”

You gasped in horror, the shock quickly melting into outraged embarrassment. You sputtered, and when your words wouldn’t come out, you shoved his chest hard. 

“Erwin!” He stumbled back as you stormed away. “You despicable man!” He called after you as you hurried down the garden steps, completely mortified with yourself. The laugh in his voice made you just about boil. Erwin caught your wrist on the first landing. You spun around in rage.

“I apologize for my forwardness. It was all in jest.”

“If this is your strategy for winning over a lady, I weep for the future of the Scouting Regiment.” You delivered a swift slap across Erwin’s face. Caught off guard at the force, Erwin released you and staggered back. You covered your mouth, the weight of what you had just done crashing down on you all at once. 

A few strands of his bangs fell into his face. He tenderly poked at the skin of his cheek as he flexed his jaw; a certain amount of awe was written on his irises. Much to your surprise, his disposition was completely void of defensiveness or anger. If you didn’t know any better, you would say that Erwin looked pretty damn impressed. 

He let out a single satisfied snort and a resigned sigh. His fingers raked through his undercut as he seemed to ponder to himself.

“I apologize for offending you. That was very unprofessional of me. I hope we’re even now.” He offered you a contrite look. “I do not wish you to feel further discomfort, so I will take my leave.” Erwin gave a slight bow of his head before turning to walk back up the stairs. “It was a pleasure having a conversation with you.” 

You watched him as he went, emotions swirling around inside of you. You took a step forward; an arm outstretched in front of you. You recoiled somewhat, unsure of yourself. 

A moment passed. Other guests seemed to have also stumbled upon the balcony’s availability. Their meandering shadows moved in front of Erwin, just about where the two of you had been. You froze at the sight of what looked to be Stevens’ silhouette cast by the lamplight on the side of the building. 

You cleared your throat, squaring your shoulders to recall your diplomatic appearance.

“Uh… Commander Erwin…!” you called. He stopped mid-stride with one boot settled on the elevated step above and the other on the stair below. Erwin looked over his shoulder, standing sideways on the steps. 

“Yes?”

You cleared your throat again, smoothing out the front of your dress. 

“I would not be opposed to a walk in the garden.” Erwin glanced out into the extensive gardens, then back to you with a few bobs of his head.

“Ah, yes. That sounds like a wonderful way to spend the night. I do wish you a wonderful stroll.” He took a few more steps back up toward the balcony. You scurried up a few yourself, clutching your skirt as you called after him again. 

“E-... Erwin…?” He stopped again. You glanced off to the side. You played with the lace in your hands. “I more meant that I wouldn’t mind if you accompanied me.” Erwin adjusted his collar with a shrug. You resisted a glare. You knew very well what he wanted you to say.

“I couldn’t possibly intrude. After my distasteful joke, I couldn’t possibly—”

“Get over here and escort me through the gardens, and I’ll revisit your stupid little funding proposal!” you huffed. Erwin snickered at the little stomp of your foot. You witnessed another satisfied raise of his eyebrows. You had a mind to pay more attention to those than his actual words.

“Very well, if I am being commanded to do so. Who am I to refuse?” He descended quickly, and you took him by the arm as you entered the gardens. Other guests seemed to follow your lead as they chatted casually with each other. To anyone else, it would appear that you and Erwin came out with the crowd rather than hiding away.

“Look at them.” You stared up at the balcony full of people with a scowl. You faced him with a pout. “Vultures, the lot of them. You may be insufferable, but at least I can stand you.” Erwin didn’t protest as you tugged him along.

“So much for your closely-held politics.”

Thank you to all who liked, reblogged, followed, and supported. Your support means so much and is greatly appreciated.

Notes: What’s reader’s title? God if I know. I see Erwin very capable of walking the line of guilt and manipulation to get what he wants. Don’t they say the best lies have truth in them? He’s so dynamic and I feel like he’s a master code-switcher

[weirdly-specific-but-ok]

pt I the wedding dress: an actual update

For the uninitiated, my current hyperfixation (one of them) is designing a wedding dress for Crowley because I heard the song Book of Love by Peter Gabriel from their Heavenly Playlist. Here's how far I've got with the concept:

Okay, where do I start? There's so much happening and I've only got as far as the shirt, cufflinks and jacket. Let's go with the overview/jacket:

[Disclaimer: I'm a design student, but not in fashion design. I don't really know what I'm doing, but I'm having fun, and I hope that's what matters]

JACKET: So the first photo above was the jacket idea I had when I first decided to start this, because the season 1 waiter blazer suits Crowley, from the cropped nature to the sharp notched lapels (if you're not sure what that is, like I was at first, it's not very clear in the white but you see that lightning bolt style collar in my sketch? that's the notched lapels).

But it met too high on the chest (notice where it cuts the tie) to be soft enough for a wedding dress, so I made the two halves meet lower down in the sketch. I also made it single-breasted (which basically means a coat or blazer that has a single row of buttons, in this case, just one button).

I haven't worked out more about the jacket, oh and also if someone could tell me the material of the original costume that would be very cool. I'll probably spend an unreasonable amount of time designing the button, too. As for colour, it would be black with a garnet or currant red lining.

OVERVIEW: So like the sketch shows, there's a shirt, that's held in place by a corset over it, and the jacket covers both. The corset would probably be under bust and back-laced for more support, with hints of scarlet on snakeskin leather? I'm not entirely sure, I need to research corsets.

The cummerbund (oops misspelt it in the sketch) is a broad waist sash, you can see it in the waiter costume, too. In the wedding dress, it would overlap the shirt slightly under the corset, and I was thinking of black satin with embroidery of stars/constellations.

I was originally going to draw star charts of a significant month for them (maybe April, because that's when nightingales, which are migratory birds, usually return to England for mating season to sing). Perhaps star charts as visible from Earth versus Alpha Centauri? But that could get complicated and on the bafta livestream chat someone sent coats that have Zodiac patterns on them in gold, so I'm debating that too.

Besides, there'll already be a nightingale pin on the lapel, gold with a sapphire eye for Aziraphale.

The lower part of the wedding dress involves a train and trousers and split skirt, we won't go into that. I think this post already got too long so I'll make another one for the shirt and the cufflinks :")

Have a lovely day my maggots you're amazing and I love you. Look at you, you're gorgeous.

[suchawrathfullamb]

HI LAMB 👋 here's an interesting prompt for them: H and W get into a fight before they arrive at a really fancy party they were invited to. W (or H if you want!) gets drunk and has to be taken home early by the other. when they get home they are all over eachother

We love making H drag Will to some fancy party he don't wanna be at, don't we? Haha I swear I've read this in a fic before, or something similar.

Hmmm, let's see...I think I want them to be murder husbands already, maybe like 3+ years into it so we don't have to deal with the practicalities of living undercover, cause in 3 years these bitches already figured things out, I'm sure lol.

Maybe it's summer time, it's a really hot night, which makes Will annoyed at having to wear formal clothes with so many layers.

"Could you manage alone?"

"I could, yes. But I'd prefer not to," Hannibal says as he undoes Will's shirt.

"Can't we skip it, then?" he mutters, letting Hannibal help him out of his clothes with a hint of reluctance.

"Maintaining these connections is imperative." Hannibal reaffirmed, his gaze fixed on the intertwining fabrics.

Silent concurrence lingered within Will's contemplation. Their clandestine existence hinged upon a complex network of debts and alliances, so he just let out a resigned sigh.

They ended up in the shower, Will standing lazily as Hannibal took charge.

"Look at this mane," Hannibal teased, lathering up Will's hair.

"Guess I could trim it."

"Don't. I like it like this," Hannibal insisted with a fondness for the untamed locks.

Hannibal chose a refined yet understated ensemble for Will, who was not at all in the mood to pick clothes, a tailored navy suit that exuded sophistication. The crisp lines of the suit jacket accentuated his frame, complemented by a classic white dress shirt unbuttoned at the collar. A slim black tie added a touch of sleek elegance. Paired with polished black shoes, the overall look was a seamless blend of simplicity and luxury. Contrastingly, Hannibal's attire was a striking portrayal of exotic elegance. Adorned in a deep burgundy velvet blazer, intricately embroidered with golden floral motifs that shimmered under the party lights, he exuded an aura of opulence. Beneath the jacket, a silk shirt in a rich shade of amethyst peeked through, the buttons embellished with ornate designs. Hannibal's trousers, a sleek black with a subtle sheen, draped perfectly over his frame, elongating his stature, and a pair of patent leather shoes with subtle detailing—added a refined touch to the ensemble, completing the portrayal of effortless luxury with an exotic flair.

In the soft glow of their home, Will stole glances at Hannibal, a bashful smile playing on his lips. "You look really good."

"You look impeccable, as always," Hannibal replied, reaching out to adjust the subtle fold of Will's lapel with a tender touch, then he leaned in, his breath barely grazing Will's ear as he whispered, "But I can't wait to get you out of those," his voice a velvet caress that sent a shiver down Will's spine. But this made him even more resentful that they needed to go out. He knew Hannibal was trying to distract him, and buttoning up his shirt with a touch more force than necessary, there was a simmering frustration.

"I don't see why we have to play this game," Will muttered, his tone clipped with restrained irritation.

Hannibal, adjusting his cufflinks with a composed grace, regarded Will with a calm yet probing gaze. "Connections are crucial, Will. You know that."

"I know, but I'm tired of relying on others," he countered, his voice carrying a tinge of exasperation. "Why can't we just vanish, disappear completely?"

Hannibal's composure remained unwavering, his tone measured. "Disappearing doesn't solve our problems; it merely postpones them."

"But why we have to dance to the tune of favors and alliances?" Will's frustration was palpable, his movements more erratic as he continued to dress.

"It ensures our safety," Hannibal replied, his voice steady but infused with subtle resolve.

Will's agitation simmered beneath the surface as he fastened the last button, his gaze locking with Hannibal's. "I'm tired," he admitted, the weariness in his words belying the depth of his emotions.

Hannibal met Will's gaze with a mixture of understanding and determination. "We do what is necessary," he replied, his voice a steady echo of conviction.

A weighty silence enveloped them, tension lingering in the air like an unresolved chord in an otherwise harmonious melody. The disagreement hung between them, unspoken sentiments swelling within the quiet spaces of their mutual understanding, as they silently finished preparing for the evening ahead.

As the car sliced through the night, there was a heavy silence. Hannibal attempted to bridge the emotional chasm, reaching out with a gentle touch to Will's hand, seeking a connection that he seemed reluctant to reciprocate. When they finally arrived, the opulent house loomed ahead, a luxurious mansion adorned with tropical elegance. Inside, a lively fusion of sophistication and laid-back charm greeted them. Formal attires flowed amidst the indoor tropical oasis while rhythmic music formed a captivating backdrop. As the night unfolded, Will found himself gradually succumbing to the alcoholic remedy, and his demeanor transformed with each sip of the drink, his usual reserve giving way to a sharp-edged inebriation.

But Will's allure seemed to be magnified, his subtle charm and striking features catching the eye of other attendees. Some discreetly admired, while others approached, drawn by his magnetic presence. Hannibal watched him, his eyes a beacon of unwavering concern. As the persistent glances from other guests intensified, Will's irritation grew apparent, his responses becoming more brusque with each interaction.

As the evening's ambiance swirled around them, he found himself the focus of a stranger's persistent attention. A man, emboldened by Will, edged closer, striking up a conversation that hinted at more than casual interest.

"Quite the evening, isn't it?" The stranger's tone held an undertone of intent as he directed his attention toward Will.

Will offered a forced smile. "Certainly is," he replied in a sarcastic tone, indicating his disinterest in further engagement.

The man, however, remained undeterred, continuing his attempts to engage Will in conversation. Hannibal remained watchful, a silent presence on the periphery.

As Will found himself cornered in the persistent stranger's conversation, Hannibal noticed the discomfort flickering across his eyes. Sensing the unease, he gracefully glided closer, a subtle yet deliberate move, slipping his hand discreetly into the small of Will's back.

Will's gaze flickered with relief at Hannibal's timely intervention. "Hi," he whispered, subtly leaning into Hannibal's touch.

Hannibal acknowledged the stranger with a warm smile. "Good evening."

The stranger, undeterred by Hannibal's appearance, persisted, his words edged with a hint of intent. "So, are you two open to company?"

Hannibal's smile remained polite but firm. "I'm afraid not," he responded, his tone gentle yet resolute. "I don't share well."

The stranger attempted to push further, his persistence bordering on the edge of presumptuousness. "But I—"

"I assure you," Hannibal interjected smoothly, a glint of amusement in his eyes. "This one," he emphasized, gently squeezing Will's back, "is exclusively mine."

As the evening progressed, Hannibal observed with a tinge of jealousy as others encroached upon Will's space. He remained composed, though the subtle flicker of possessiveness glinted in his eyes. His hand lingered protectively on Will's back, a silent claim.

Yet, despite the attention, Will's focus remained on Hannibal. His eyes sought out Hannibal's, a silent plea for reassurance and connection amidst the throng.

He gently drew Will closer, his hand resting against the small of his back, an anchor in the swirling sea of conversations.

"You seem to be quite popular tonight," Hannibal remarked with a teasing glint in his eyes, his tone laced with playful jealousy.

Will chuckled softly. "Can't help it if they're drawn to me," he retorted, his gaze meeting Hannibal's with a mischievous twinkle.

Hannibal's fingers traced gentle circles against the fabric of Will's suit jacket. Their bodies instinctively sought each other's proximity, the subtle dance of their conversation growing more intimate amidst the escalating noise. Hannibal's thumb traced a gentle pattern along the curve of Will's waist.

"Can we go?" Will's tipsy whisper carried a note of eagerness mixed with tiredness, his movements betraying the effects of the evening's revelry. Hannibal chuckled, amused by the rosy flush on Will's cheeks. "Yes, seems like you're very much ready to be taken home, aren't you?" he teased, gently guiding them toward the exit. When they got home, Will's buzz lingered, and his attempts at undressing Hannibal were met with playful laughter. Hannibal, sensing his efforts, guided him with patient amusement, gently coaxing him to sit on the edge of the bed. "Oh, come on... I'm not that far gone," he protested, his voice laden with a hint of mischief. "Come here," Hannibal called, ignoring the persistent touches, his tone gentle, guiding Will upright as he deftly replaced his attire with more comfortable clothing. Persistent in his playful advances, Will sought Hannibal, attempting to draw him closer. Hannibal, maintaining his patience, placed a tender kiss upon Will's forehead. "Give that a moment," he murmured, his voice carrying both warmth and restraint. - This is way too long, so I won't go further on the sex scene lol. But lol, I wanted to use that line he said at Dolce haha, "give that a moment" to a drowsy Will.

[thecameronchronicles]

Rewards

TW: Smut. Language. Dom!Rafe. Semi-public sex.

SUMMARY: After pleasing Rafe at a fundraiser, he returns the favor in the best way he knows how…

WORD COUNT: 1800

REQUESTED

Anonymous asked:

Dom!rafe rewarding reader for being extra good at a kook event where he was trying to impress Ward?

Rewards

Being Rafe Cameron’s girlfriend meant supporting him in all things, something he needed even more whenever his father was present. Whether it was a casual dinner where the week was discussed over lavish meals eaten with even more expensive cutlery or events such as this where the Cameron name was projected and scrutinized while he was expected to act accordingly. Nerves aside, his pride beamed as you made up for his inability to come from beneath his father’s shadow, having built up the surname you hoped to one day wear in promoting them throughout the extent of the fundraiser. 

By the night’s end, comments of favoritism of his choice of girlfriend had been enough for him to pull you tightly at his side with conviction, those sinful lips pulled apart to speak a carnal promise. 

“You’ve been such a good girl for me…I’m just sorry the rewards I have in mind are going to make you so sore…” Your eyes fluttered into a close before you would turn to face him, a bright grin broadcast across your stunning features. Raising your hand to the fabric of his shirt, smoothing it out just as an excuse to touch him, you brought your eyes to him in such a way he knew well to only belong to him when he had commanded you onto your knees. 

“The best things, do…” You teased a kiss as he almost fell into you, clenching his jaw when you returned to the gaggle of Kooks collected across the room, his eyes adoring you with pride. 

But he would only be able to watch you from afar for so long until the way you’d pleased him had surged directly to his tight seam. 

“Ready to go, baby?” Your body illuminated in knowing the second you were out of eyesight, his hands would be quick to show just how approving he was of your behaviors. And yet, you couldn’t help but tease him for having acquiesced for hours. 

“Now?”

“Now.”

He spoke with conviction as you nodded, your jacket already directed to your arms as you would both offer polite farewells, handshakes and hugs to those deserving, before feeling Rafe’s hand lead you from the ballroom of the country club and outside. 

“Panties off.” He ordered as he held open the passenger side door, watching you obey yet again without a second thought, your fingers pulling the damp fabric into his pocket before taunting a kiss and sliding into the seat designated for you. Setting the belt across your torso, you found his top button now unlatched and his cufflinks matching this disbanding while his hand came to a rest between your legs at a natural cross of femininity. 

“Wide for me, baby…I can’t wait to reward you.” You offered him access with a graceful uncross while his fingers moved slowly to your lips, forcing them even further into saturation, before leading them to your sex. 

“Always so ready for me, aren’t you?”

“Mmmhmmm…” You moaned, hands wrapped around his arm outstretched over the console as the other one was focused on the steering wheel, the trust you had in his ability to multitask shown by the carelessness of anything but his touch. 

“You are always so fucking good for me…I wanna make it good for you tonight, baby…But I’m still the one in control here…”

“Yes, sir.” He smirked with approval, a title spoken as more of a joke, having prompted this grin now widening as he set his middle finger into you while he took the curve out of the parking lot. 

“Rafe!”

“Don’t come. That seat doesn’t deserve your cum-I do.” He reminded you as you nodded, fighting the electricity he prompted by the edge of his fingertip, now made dual by the insertion of a second finger. 

“I’ve stretched you out perfectly for me, haven’t I? Still so tight, but taking me so well…” 

“Yes…”

“Fuck…” His eyes would flicker to you between kisses as your back arched within the seat. 

“Play with your nipples for me. Just like I do.” You carried your hand to the naked skin beneath the fabric covering your torso. 

“Let me see all of it…all of my girl…” You dropped the strap of the breast you’d chosen to fondle, allowing him to see the apexed nipple as you continued to arch. 

“God, I love watching you like this…”

“Please Rafe-”

“Oh, you’ll get to come baby…but I want to watch it first…”

“Please, I can feel it! It’s so close-” His fingers suddenly withdrew. 

“We’re home.” Your eyes came open as he was quick to move to your side of the car, but it was only to pull your legs over his shoulders as he turned you in the seat. 

“I can’t wait another fucking second…”

“Rafe-” Your eyes flashed to the neighbors vacant driveways, windows in view of you from theri heights, but his intentional ignorance now contagious as he brought his tongue to the lips of your dripping sex. 

“I’m so fucking proud you’re mine…And I’m gonna show you just how much…Tonight is all for you, baby…” You allowed your body to fall slack, leaning against the console of the car as he pulled you further to him. 

“You’re so good. It Tastes even better than you acted tonight. Sweet…perfect.”

“Rafe!”

“Mmmhmm…mmm…” He moaned into your sex. 

“Please, Rafe…”

“You wanna come?” He asked, rising breathlessly from between your thighs as you couldn’t handle another second of his strides, the foreplay leading to this having acted as direct satisfaction to your clit he had now made swollen with only a few sucks. 

“Yes!”

“Then ask me sweetly…Just once, I won’t make you earn it tonight, you already have-”

“Please Rafe…I want to come.”

“On my face?”

“Yes!” His fingers would return inside of you, locating your g-spot immediately and massaging it as your face pulled into that familiar oval. 

“God, you’re so beautiful out of control in lust like this…I wish I could only ever have you this way….Instead, I’ll just do it often.” You scoffed as his fingers pistoned, teasing that spot, while his tongue flicked at your clit, your hands desperate for ease that you would be granted by the close of your release. 

“I know you’re close baby…let me have it, okay? Keep being that good girl you were for me all night, yeah?” You nodded. 

“I’m gonna come! Rafe! I’m coming!” He pulled you even tighter into him, tongue thrashing through the entirety of your sex and taking his own reward with pride. But as you looked to him, eyes heavy with having been fucked beyond your limit with only his tongue, that same gaze descended to the bulge at his seam. 

“I want to take care of you…” He clenched his jaw. 

“This was supposed to be for you…” You applied soft pressure to him. 

“Taking care of you IS for me, Rafe…” With a growl you were pulled against him with his fingers wrapping in your hair while he kissed you until the door closed at your back. 

“You really want to take care of me tonight?” You nodded. 

“Then you deserve better than to be fucked where anyone can see you. Only I get that privilege…” You nodded. 

“Go to our room,” Your heart raced whenever he spoke of anything of yours together, “Take off that dress before I tear it to shreds, and wait for me on that bed. You know how I want you.” You nodded, moving before him as he would bring the car into the garage, a final look of him catching him already looking at you, taking in every second he could before you would disappear in obeying him. 

Climbing the steps to the bedroom, a sudden grip to the back of your neck would pull you to him. 

“Rafe!” You gasped. 

“I need it right now. Need to show you how proud I am of you…”

“Yes…Please” You spoke through clenched teeth as he guided you over the steps, dress taken into a scrunch at your hips as he was prompt at your sex with his cock already tearing up for you. 

“Sink me into you-” He didn’t have to finish his command until you pulled yourself back into him. 

“YES! FUCK!” His hand around your neck brought you up against his chest. 

“Do you have any idea how hard it is to behave myself when you are so good to me? Making me look so good for all of them…for him? And now I get to show you just what it does to me…”

“Please, Rafe-”

“Anything you want tonight, baby, it’s yours. Just ask-”

“Make me come…please…I need more…”

“Yeah?” His hand now came to your clit. 

“Wanna come on the stairs?” You nodded. 

“Sorry baby, you deserve better than that-” He turned you to face him, guiding you to wrap around him as he carried you to the bedroom, barreling through the door before returning you to your stomach. 

“Cross your ankles. Give me that hair…” You obliged, feeling him at your sex once again. 

“You want me this way?”

“Yes.” You turned to face him, watching him produce a grin as you both nodded before he would thrust quickly inside of you, but still once bottoming out. 

“That is for building us up-” He thrust again, “THAT is for behaving,” Again, another piston made you gasp and moan for him, “This is for being mine-” He continued to list all of the reasons you made him proud until eventually leading that touch to your clit, making it a reason all his own, before dragging you to that edge. 

“Come for me baby…I want these sheets to be soaked with you…Make me proud one more time tonight…” You nodded, feeling that orgasm at the precipice, your body in tremors from the overstimulation while he endorsed you. 

“That's it, baby be good for me…like you always are…come for me sweetheart…” 

“I want you to come with me, Rafe-” He nodded, pulling you up to his chest as he continued to pound into you. 

“Good fucking girl-MY good fucking girl…”

“Yours!”

“YES-” He groaned through clenched teeth, bending over you in those final moments before taking you to kiss him. A sweet kiss reminding you of the care he held beneath this lust, giving you the best of both parts of him.

Taglist: @hopebaker @iovdrew @penny4yourthoughts @magnificantmermaid @pickingviolets @lovedetlost @trikigirl271 @maybankslover @slut4starkey @slvtherinseeker @obxiskewl @obxxrxfes @bluesongbird @slut-era @ailee-celeste @rafesbae @camilynn @bethoconnor @belcalis9503

[david-tennant-wearing-things]

I was about to make a very short post about the buttons on his shirt at the Olivier awards and I was going to include a link to this one and then realized I never actually posted it. Oops. Pretend I posted this last month, thanks

Found more info on the kilt, sporran, tartan, and shoes! and then I got distracted by this image I've seen a million times (yes I have been staring at these pictures for weeks) but somehow it's the first time I noticed the sparkly button on his sleeve!

It's the sort of thing I see and instantly know is going to demand my attention for the next hour, minimum.

Zoomed way in on another pic and I couldn't immediately identify the button, but the cufflink gave me a hint, because Mithridate (designer of two of his BAFTA looks, including this one) has been doing a lot with bugs, specifically moths, in the AW24 collection and in their other BAFTA look.

I am confident that the cufflink is a moth, based on these earrings, and I believe the button is a silver version of these beetles.

This image comes from Mithridate's website and features the moth earrings and also a beetle button

Fun fact! If you zoom in on the sleeves of Mithridate's other BAFTA piece, you'll notice the same moth buttons!

[writing-whump]

Your OCs fashion? Pretty pls cherry on top?

Soup, thanks for the question! I wanted to take proper time for this, lol

Isaiah - loves his suits, blazers and his trademark long black coats. His fave is a black trench coat, but wool overcoats and pea coats work, as long as they are long enough to cover his suit jacket and black. Even a dramatic longer duster-style coat sneaks in from time to time. He prefers simple colours, usually black, dark gray, charcoal, navy blue, with crisp white or black dress shirts. Not that often with a tie though, but bottom ups to the neck. Also this man loves his gold cufflinks okay, gives him something to smooth over and adjust, without it being too obvious.

Matthew - he is more into streetwear and athleisure style. This oversized hoodies and bomber jackets, joggers and or shorts when it's at all possible, he doesn't mind the cold that much. Under the colourful hoodies though, he likes to wear slim fit black shirts, so catch him during a run ^^. Also sleeveless hoodies and sleeveless shirts when it's sunny, cause he likes to show off his muscular arms.

Seline - blazers for work and she is a jeans fan. Her colour is blue, she loves everything in blue from shirts and bottom ups to denim jackets. Her fave is a special thin leather jacket with blue ivy and flower design that can be turned around to be all black. She gets cold easy, so cashmere all the way from autumn and winter to most of spring. Wears dresses almost exclusively during summer, flowy and dark blue, baby blue, navy blue, silky and light. Also not a bra fan, almost never wears them, hates how they feel. If Isaiah catches you looking you are dead meat anyway.

Hector - loves leather jackets. Usually brown, but black works, with black or white shirt under. Tight fits, cause he is ripped, his life is basically one big workout. If he wants to be very formal he will take a blazer on top, but if he has a bottom up, it's going to be open at the collar. Black pants, sometimes baggy at the angles.

Arnie - either shirts with Henley neckline or bottom ups, but he is more into the bohemian style, so expect colourful flower patterns and loose chino pants. When he wants to do something extra, he gets a plain white bottom up with a small green or gold lines around the collar. He cares a lot about the fabric, so linen, silk, cotton. Also the only one who makes effort to look like he doesn't care too much, but he actually cares the most. His hair grooming kit is the most extensive and he spends so much time in the bathroom styling himself Hector bangs his head on the door.

[garaksapprentice]

In search of compostable clothing closures

Making clothes that are 97% biodegradable is surprisingly easy. Pick a natural fibre fabric, buy some 100% cotton or linen thread, and you're there. (You can even get 100% cotton overlocker thread - though you have to go searching for it.)

Those last few percent, though? That can be tough. One of the biggest offenders is closures. While there are plenty of clothes that don't need something to hold them shut, I confess I like having the option. Below is a round-up of various closures, and their compostability.

Note: for the purpose of this article, I'm treating metal closures as "compostable", in the sense that they're 1) easy to remove before you compost the rest of the object, and 2) infinitely reusable on other things, unless they break - at which point they're usually recyclable using our current commercial systems. And remember, re-using things that already exist is always preferable to buying new, "better" items.

Buckles/Rings

While less common than other closure methods, I find buckles, D-rings and O-rings are great when used in the right context. They're usually metal or plastic, neither of which are compostable - but metal will last practically forever, if it's good quality. Plastic tends to degrade over time, especially if exposed to the sun.

I find rings especially quick and easy to use, and a set of D-rings can give a very fine-tuned amount of tightening. My favourite belt uses two square D-rings instead of a buckle closure.

Buttons

The humble button, while ubiquitous now, took a while to catch on. Buttons as a common method of closure didn't become popular in Europe* until about the early 1300s, around the same time that the tailoring revolution[^] happened.

Nowadays, plastic is by far the most common material that buttons are made from. It's cheap and sturdy, but obviously it doesn't compost. So what are some alternatives?

Liz Haywood, a pattern maker who focuses on zero-waste designs, has thought a bit about this conundrum here. There's photos of several different DIY compostable and recycled buttons in her post.

For a completely compostable garment, wood, leather, horn, fabric, and thread buttons are your best bet. If, like most sensible people, you remove the buttons from something that's about to be worm food before you ditch it, the options expand considerably - metal, clay, recycled bottle caps, even glass buttons are all possible. You can have a lot of fun with making your own buttons - to match an outfit, or contrast with it, or maybe you'd like a different button for every buttonhole...

Another, related option is cufflinks - 18th century shirts often used cufflinks on the sleeves and one or two small thread buttons on the collar. That way one set of cufflinks could be used on multiple shirts, showing off a bit of wealth, while saving them from the (admittedly harsh) laundry practices of the day.

[*]: I have no doubt that buttons became popular in other parts of the world, too, but unfortunately I don't know much about it. Europe in the 14-15th century is my main area of study, mostly due to the fact that the historical re-enactment group that I'm a part of operates in that time period.

[^]: The tailoring revolution refers to the period where garments for the higher classes underwent a dramatic change in the way they were cut out. The very short version is, fashion garments shifted from primarily rectangular construction to more form-fitting, using the precursors of many standard cutting practices used today.

Elastic

While elastic isn't technically a closure, it's used that way in many different objects. Most elastic nowadays is made from polyester and synthetic rubber. No composting there.

But, all is not lost! You can now find elastics made of natural rubber and cotton! (I was quite impressed by this, to be honest. I thought I'd have to give up elastic for good.)

The downside, as is usual when you actually give a crap about the planet, is cost. You'll mostly only find it for sale online (Etsy has several options), and it can be more expensive (especially factoring in shipping). Prices on the compostable elastics I found were comparable to a mid-range polyester elastic at Spotlight (before shipping). I think that's actually pretty good, all things considered. (I don't trust the cheapest elastic, it loses its stretch ridiculously fast. A fact I discovered to my sorrow only after buying a 20m roll of it.)

As a bonus, supposedly natural rubber elastic lasts longer than synthetic elastics - this has been my experience with many natural vs synthetic things, but I haven't tested natural elastic specifically to know for sure.

The biggest downside here is the rubber - if you're dealing with a latex allergy, this is not the solution for you.

Hooks and Eyes

While these have fallen out of favour over the years, they do have their uses in a compostable closet. They're easy to buy, and easy to make if you can get hold of the wire - all you need is a set of needle-nose pliers.

Being metal, the hook/eye can be re-used until it breaks - which takes a while. Like buttons, they're easy to take off a garment and move to another one. Unlike buttons, they don't need a buttonhole - you can move both the hook and eye almost anywhere on a garment, really refining the fit of an item.

They are, however, somewhat limited in that application - hooks and eyes work best if they're under a small but constant amount of tension, pulling in opposite directions. I once tried to use hooks and eyes on a loose-fitting medieval tunic, and it just didn't work.

Laces and Ties

Before buttons became The Big Thing in medieval Europe (and for quite a few centuries after), laces and ties were the closure method du jour. Why did they stick around so long? The same reason pyjama pants often have a drawstring in them - they add adjustability to garments in a simple and easy to use (and create!) way. Stays and corsets are one of the most recognisable examples of this concept in action.

Lacing does work better on some things than others, but just about anywhere that you'd put elastic nowadays can likely use a drawstring instead. And there are some patterns (YouTube link) for adjustable garments that use lacing as an integral part of the design.

The main downside for me? They can be slow to use, and awkward, if you have difficulty with fine motor control. Mine is variable enough that I'll usually opt for a different closure, unless lacing or ties really is the best or only option.

Snaps

Confession: I adore snaps. They're fast and easy to use when my hands don't want to co-operate, and they can be wonderfully decorative as well as functional.

There are two general types - those you sew into place like you sew on hooks and eyes, and ones that are applied to the fabric using a press. The former takes more time to install, but can be replaced relatively easily if they stop working. The latter can technically be replaced, but it's a LOT harder and you risk damaging the fabric behind it while you try. They're also more likely to rip out of the fabric in the first place.

As for material, it's pretty much just metal and plastic (sometimes a combination). From a sustainability standpoint, metal is the better option - as long as you recycle it at the end of its life.

Zips

Zips are everywhere nowadays. They're easy to use, but can be hard to replace when they break. Putting them in correctly isn't always a cake-walk either. And in terms of compostability, the answer is definitely "no".

The vast majority of zippers on the market use a polyester or poly-cotton tape, with plastic or metal teeth set into it, and plastic or metal tabs and pulls. Because of the mix of materials, and the size of a typical zip, most municipal waste streams can't take them for recycling. However, textile recyclers` such as Upparel usually take zips (and the things they're attached to!).

I also found a couple of different manufacturers creating zips out of post-consumer recycled materials - a pleasant surprise, and a strong move towards closing waste streams. 

[`]: Clothing retailers are increasingly taking responsibility for their part in reducing waste by offering recycling programs through their stores. Recycling Near You and Frankie list some of the major programs in Australia, though it's worth noting that most of those listed only want whole textiles or large pieces - to my knowledge, Upparel is the only place that will take scraps, broken textiles, and related.

If I've missed a closure type, or you know of places selling compostable or truly recyclable versions of any of the above, I would love to hear about it. While I'm (currently) a far less prolific sewist than the blog name implies, I want to be deliberate and thoughtful in my sewing choices going forward. 

Also, as a last random thought, I wonder if anyone has started making bioplastic versions of any of the above? *Wanders off to do some research...*

Originally published at my blog: https://garaksapprentice.blogspot.com/2023/09/in-search-of-compostable-closures.html

[nelyoslegalteam]

thinking about the timeline of my murdoc designs in game today so i’m gonna infodump

teen/young adult/early game

very insecure in his presentation

dresses Plain But Nice - likes a fitted dress shirt and a simple necktie sort of deal. not a jewelry person and doesn’t really take to embellishments on things.

color scheme tends a bit lighter - whites and baby blues as base colors, with some dark purples and goldenrod yellows as accents.

around the inn i think he experiments with suit pieces but probably isn’t wearing them much on the road yet. discovers he’s good with a waistcoat/suit vest. occasional nice jacket but doesn’t really end up keeping this as a look as he hates having That Much Fabric around his arms.

went a bit overboard on cutting his hair short for the first time and is very sensitive about the length. crops it pretty close, probably a lot more than is typical for a hobbitish hairstyle. learns that he likes to shave it off his neck both because having sensory input back there sucks and also because it feels a bit euphoric for him. curls on top still but he puts in a lot of effort to keep them looking neat and they’re still short for a hobbit.

does NOT wear armor. hates how bulky and constrictive it feels and really doesn’t consider it a necessity since he mostly fights from a distance anyhow. does wear a proper arm guard and archery glove for shooting though. hates trying to wear his arm guard over his sleeves so he takes to cuffing his dress shirts pretty dramatically to accommodate for it.

late-early game/early-mid game/new to being a public figure

acquires some of his signature Fancy items - most notably, this is when he gets his cape, which becomes his signature statement piece for the rest of the game. floor length, slightly heavier cape with midnight blue fabric as the base, heavily embroidered down the outside with iridescent “dragon” scales. are the scales fake? yeah. pretty much definitely. BUT they’re shiny with all sorts of purple and green tones like how crow feathers are and they look real neat. golden clasp and gold shoulder pieces.

murdoc’s still not quite a jewelry person but he does adopt gold as his metal to match the cape. also acquires some nice diamond cufflinks from thranduil’s halls and now cuffing his sleeves dramatically has the added bonus of showing them off.

suit vests are now a mainstay of his outfits, especially on the road. reinforces them with some flexible leather on the inside because his friends gently bullied him into wearing Some form of armor and at least that doesn’t feel too bulky or constricting.

starts incorporating royal/dark purples and blues as base colors in his outfits, either on his neckties or on his suit pieces. color scheme shifts a little darker overall to feature said dramatic purples and blues, with white and goldenrod as accent colors.

neckties also get a Lot fancier and he does like an elegant or flashy pin for them. loves a cravat or a ruffled collar on his shirt. learns he likes to dress up even when he’s just running about in the woods.

still shaves his neck for the sensory benefits but lets his curls get a little longer up top. partially this is because a close crop is harder to keep up as he spends more and more time on the road but also partially it’s… nice, to feel less pressure in the way he presents and to let his hair look more typically hobbitish again.

mid game/established as a public figure

hits a point where he becomes a Lot more comfortable and confident about his presentation and starts to absolutely relish being as sparkly and fancy as he possibly can. develops a taste for jewelry and starts experimenting with it. really leans into it after maedhros joins the party and murdoc gets close to him.

has an ornate necklace of rubies inlaid in gold, and a singular matching dangly earring, worn on the left. he gets these before meeting maedhros, but only settles on rubies as his stone after they get close, as the red becomes a private nod to him.

color scheme shifts to accommodate this - his main colors remain royal (or dark) purple and royal (or dark) blue with white to break things up, but his accents are now jewel-tone red and gold.

doesn’t change his hair any really - still likes it longer up top and shorter in the back - but isn’t as fussed about letting it get a bit longer if he’s been on the road for some time. sometimes when it’s long enough, ríros likes to do some braids in it - given that murdoc keeps his hair much shorter than most elves keep theirs, and also that it is a mess of curls, braiding it works better with maedhros walking them through smaller, more complex noldorin style braids. murdoc can’t really wear these in public though so he only keeps them in when it’s just him and the party. ríros does like figuring out how to get sindarin braids to stay in murdoc’s hair though and murdoc does leave these in around people, especially if they’ve been traveling for a while.

late game/post-hand loss/current

keeps his color scheme, ornate style of dress, and love of jewelry, but starts favoring looser fitted clothing, Especially when it comes to shirts.

wears braces for spine and shoulder support beneath his clothes. much like with his arm guard, he hates the feeling of trying to put them on over fabric, so his shirts get more blousy and campy. he Does like the aesthetic of it, but largely it’s so that he can move more comfortably and avoid anything constricting around or under his aids.

his injuries are actually pretty similar to maedhros’ on account of the hand loss and the damage to his spine and shoulder from being dangled, so he goes to maedhros a lot for advice and help. his braces are at least somewhat modeled after maedhros’ own, and maedhros helped design them on account of having a pretty good idea of what would help.

leaves his right uncovered; he’s got a special arm brace modified with a hook for him to draw his bow with, and it’s both more comfortable to wear and easier to take off/put on with his arm uncovered. still not opposed to a good dramatic cuff, but shirts without full sleeves end up feeling less bulky and are easier to manage. likes a good poofy sleeve that buttons neatly below his elbow.

notably, does Not give a fuck about covering his right in polite company either, or about wearing anything on it that doesn’t have a specific function for him. is simply Not going to do that. his ability to shut down bullshit was forged in the entire hospitality industry and he does not have any reservations about anything anymore. did You fight a werewolf? no? then kindly shut up :)

gives up on cropping his hair shorter in the back, and lets it get shaggier and more neck length. it’s a Very hobbitish look. he completely hates it from a sensory standpoint, but he doesn’t really have the energy for anything requiring more precise or more frequent maintenance. it’s fine aesthetically when he’s at the inn or staying somewhere longterm where he can get up the spoons to wrangle it to be as intentionally styled as he likes, and it’s nice to have the visual reminder of his heritage when This Many years of adventuring have started to wear on how hobbitish he feels, but it’s a fucking Sensory Pain when on the road. hates having it loose if he doesn’t have the spoons to style it and is very insecure about how unpresentable it looks. ríros helps a lot by modifying sindarin style braids for murdoc’s length, and maedhros helps a lot by advising on what’s easiest and most comfortable for murdoc to maintain on his own and/or keep in longterm. almost always has those modified sindarin braids in while on the road, equally because he likes the look of them, because they’re comfortable from a sensory standpoint, and because letting ríros braid his hair for him is important bonding time for them both.

[mdzs-owns-my-ass-i-guess]

Shopping spree

Wei Ying walked into the store - whatever its name was, he just picked the first that caught his eye - with Wen Qing and Wen Ning in his stead, happy to renew his wardrobe for the upcoming occasion and spend some time with his friends.

The place was obviously high-end: all white marble and elegant lighting, mahogany shelves and items worth more than the average person's monthly salary laid out in perfect order. Right in the center of the establishment, there was a glass case of jewelry, cufflinks and golden buttons so secure that would have put most museum art displays to shame. Wei Ying's eyes sparkled as his eyes landed on a beautiful pair of cufflinks encrusted with what could only be sapphires - if the price was anything to go by.

"I'm gonna get those for Lan Zhan." He happily announced, just about to fish for a credit card in his wallet, before a lady finally approached him.

She looked middle aged, dressed a bit like a stereotypical mean teacher from a 90s movie - and the fake-sweet expression she wore on her face carried that very same bitchy undertone. She looked a bit like Professor Umbridge, to be fair, but with a very unfortunate blowout.

"Hello." She began, a wide, fake smile on her overly white veneers. "I couldn't help but notice you three seemed a little... out of place in our store, yes?" And she gave them a quick, disapproving once-over look, still smiling. They didn't look like regular clientele, of course - that store usually served people in suits and ties, wearing Italian leather shoes and designer brands, not young people in sneakers, ripped jeans and band t-shirts.

"Is there anything I could help you with? Have you lost your way perhaps?"

Wen Qing narrowed her eyes at the woman, but said nothing. Wei Ying didn't seem bothered and this was about him anyway.

"Oh, nothing like that. I just wanna buy-"

"I don't think there's anything to suit your tastes here. Perhaps you should try the mall? It's only a few bus stations away, you know that, right?"

Wei Ying rose a questioning eyebrow and looked towards his friends. Wen Qing was furiously glaring at the lady, whilst Wen Ning sighed, fiddling with his phone. Drama was afoot.

"Oh." Wei Ying began. "I see how it is. You really don't think I can afford anything here and just walked in for curiosity or something."

The woman giggled, arrogant, smiling so wide her cheeks could have split up. "I think that is quite obvious, isn't it?"

Wei Ying could only smile back, mirroring the woman's arrogance. "Perhaps. But I'm not here to hear what you think. I want to buy the sapphire cufflinks you have on display here."

"You do?! But with what money? Or rather, whose?"

Wei Ying happily handed her a Platinum card, and the arrogant expression on her face chipped into shock. It was the kind that had no spending limit, she must have realized, and the way it shone in the store's lights made it definitely look like it belonged there.

"This can't be-"

"Mine? It is, actually. You see, I would have used my husband's, since he suggested I get something nice for the charity gala tomorrow night," (the woman paled the color of the marble, realizing just what she had done)"...but I want to gift him those and it would be in bad taste to spend his money for his own gift." A condescending smirk. "Not that you would know anything about good taste, of course."

"I-I didn't-"

"Don't bother." Wei Ying walked past her, a satisfied smile on his lips, purposefully bumping into her shoulder to go lounge on the couch. He sent a quick glance to another worker in the store and was promptly served champagne as Wen Ning and Wen Qing sat in the neighbouring plush seats. "As I said, I want the cufflinks. I also need a suit, but not the boring kind you have in the store front. It's a black tie event, as you know, but get me something interesting."

The woman furiously nodded, avoiding Wei Ying's gaze. "A-Anything else?"

"Red accents."

"I-I'll see what I can do-"

"No," Wen Qing interrupted. "I think we've already seen that. We need somebody that's a bit more open-minded. And a bit less..."

"Unpleasant." Wen Ning completed, glancing around the store with disinterest.

The woman scurried to the back of the store, momentarily leaving the three unattended.

"Unpleasant? Really?" Wei Ying laughed and Wen Ning turned red.

"I'm not good with insults! But I know 'unpleasant' is like calling her a bitch in rich people speak!"

"Hm, I'm gonna have to ask Lan Zhan to confirm. I don't really speak rich people."

"You do have the attitude down, though." Wen Qing laughed. "You really turned into an asshole billionaire in two seconds flat."

"Well I am a billionaire now anyway, I just had to channel my inner Jin Zixuan, you know?"

"I'm sure your husband won't like hearing you have another man inside you."

The three of them laughed, noisy and unbothered. The store staff looked like they really wanted to comment on it, but they knew better now.

"So, will you have that lady fired?" Wen Ning asked, finishing his champagne with a disappointed look in his now empty glass.

"Nah, what's the fun in that?"

Wen Qing signaled the worker to bring them more drinks. "Teaching her not to fuck around because she will find out?"

Wri Ying typed at his phone, "Well she already found out, didn't she?" An evil smile, "And I've just asked Lan Zhan to come and see me try stuff on, so she's about to find out even more!"