#all things worn seller

[vampriestpoison]

I've got a pair of week old sweaty socks for sale! Look at those toe prints🥵

[officialsammysunshine]

Who loves satin?

[asianpetiteboss]

Front strappy sports bra underneath my sweaty hoodie

DM me on reddit, telegram or Kik, same username Asianpetiteboss

[melled42]

Idk if this is a huge request or not, but could you explain more about Bell? (The shitten in your au)

I would be thankful, take care.

Yeah, ive done like... 3 pieces of her max but she gets SO many asks lol. the story isn't really ready for her yet, and i'd like to finish what im working on before i do more with her, but i'll give the basic rundown.

she LITTERALY started as a joke baby post but she got so much interaction i said i'd expand on her design and now she seems to just have a following of simps (oops, like lamb like daughter)

most of the old ideas for ewen and nari with her are out of date now on the art, but heres a bunch of plot and some unposted sketches under cut

Nari and Ewen are married and leading the cult still. all the siblings have kids, grandkids and even great grandkids (excluding shamura). Its only after they decide having a child is someone for them to love and raise, not someone who they're forcing the cycle of trauma on that they have Bell. And they adore her. While growing up, one by one, the former bishops, all her aunts, uncles, and shamura decided it was time to peacefully end their long lives. So she sees death as a good thing, the satisfying end to a long life story. So when Ewen and Narinder are ready to die together, even though they say she doesn't have to, she takes on the crown and ends if for them with a last "i love you" between them. She runs the cult now which is more themed around their shared neck wound "rings" and their relationship than just the lamb. She's called "the black sheep" by her followers (or queen if they're kinky, princess when shes younger). she wields the crown as a pair of horns and a sythe, sine the cult of the black rings also referenced Ewen's large black horns and she keeps up the theme.

Baal and Aym are her "brothers" (more of her body guards and technically her cousins but she refuses to call them anything else) and her body guards, staying after their master's death. They've known her since she was a baby and still treat her as one sometimes. She's VERY protective over them, but also will bully them sometimes, like kicking their asses when training and saying they're just going easy on her like when she was a kid, knowing full well she's overpowered by the crown.

Because shes such an oddity, the mystic seller assigned one of their followers to keep an eye on her and, much like her "ba ba" she found the overpowered demigod shes now obsessed with. With some help from Ewen before they passed, they were able to translate their glyphs. Now that helper follows her around disguised as a poor imitation of a regular mortal to better understand her and the mortal realm. Or at least thats what she convinced them to do since she wants them around <3 probably not to their masters liking lol. I haven't decided on a name yet. Bell eventually give them the purple crown (they/it)

Before they left, Narinder was trying to reawaken the crowns, whether for the memory of his siblings, or that the cult was growing too large to be centered on the red crown. They're not very powerful right now and Bell is the leader of the others, more like a babysitter.

The blue crown is with Kalliope (kalli for short) (she/her), a distant relative of Kallamar's who had to fight, both physically and socially, with all her other of age relatives to get the chance, since Kallamar's polycule made a LOT of kids and grand kids. She's kind of bitchy about it and whines about everyone not respecting her or how hard she worked. shes a flamboyant cuttlefish and trans femme. also the crown is worn like an earring. Bell has little tolerance for her and they have a lot of bitchy girl fights.

The green crown is with isop (a kinda combo of isopod and aesop) (he/him) who is a rubber ducky isopod. he's Leshy's great great grandkid, and really only god the crown because no one else on the peaceful forest farm leshy put together in his later years really wanted it and figured it meant free babysitting. he's pretty young and small with a fascination for chaos and violence that only little kids without developed social perception can have, though he more watches at this point. The others tend to carry him or he rolls around in a little ball. The crown is worn like glasses.

The orange crown is with Mycelia (lia for short) (they/them plural) who is a homunculus mushroomo made through experimentation by Heket and Sozo before they died. they're the only one who is actually older than Bell. They're undying because they're a hive mind of all the mushroomo, who have been progressively growing. They can see everything the others see, can spout new bodies when needed and even feed on their own dead bodies. Bell sometimes just kills them when they're frustrated with them or other things. They'd be a threat but they're very monotone and emotionless about pretty much everything and don't care. They've worked with the red crown just because death is a natural boon to fungus and keeps them alive. The orange crown is worn as a necklace.

Heres some sketches since I haven't been able to get the designs to my liking but people keep asking so :T

[joemama-2]

Made With Love

toji x reader

tags: fluff, minor angst, toji's own version of the bakery girl

i think we all need soft toji in our lives! ^ - ^

toji isn't soft. he is actually the complete opposite of it. he's big, gruff, has nasty scars on his body, his hands are rough and calloused from years of fighting and killing for money. his dark eyes are sharp, lips downturned into a frown automatically. in other words, he's not used to gentleness, kindness, sweet things.

so if someone saw him lurking outside the cute little bakery that opened up a few months ago, he wouldn't even have an answer. toji isn't soft, but he is curious. that curiosity only gets him so far though, considering he's never been inside said bakery, until today. call it stupidity, bravery, or just plain irrelevant, but he almost feels this pull, like he's on the other end of a magnet.

the opposing end isn't the bakery that's pulling him in, it's you.

it's early, he knows. you've only just opened shop and maybe he should've came when there was other people so he could blend it, so your eyes wouldn't be so fixated on him. for a split moment he dares look up to you. it's a mistake, he thinks, so he looks back down at the array of pastries demonstrated in front of him under a soft, warm lighting. lo-fi music plays in the background and the air feels cozy, home-like. it's strange.

"just looking." is all he mutters, hands in the pockets of the sweats he's worn one too many times.

you smile, he can't see it but he can feel it. standing behind the counter, you embrace nothing more than complete serenity, friendliness, kindness, softness. "is there anything in particular you are looking for? we have many options and it could be a little overwhelming." god, even your voice is perfect.

he stiffly clears his throat. "no thanks." and you nod. he realizes that this is extremely awkward. what is he supposed to say? he wasn't actually planning on buying anything, not like he could if he wanted to anyways.

"well, these few are our best sellers." you gesture to the first row. didn't he say he was just looking and that he didn't need help? or were you just that perceptive to see his internal struggle? "the second row has our custard filling, the third has jelly and chocolate." and so you begin explaining each pastry to him as if it's some sort of out of this world concept, like it genuinely interests you talking about stupid sweets.

speaking of sweets, he thinks it all looks the same. he holds back a grimace just imagining how sweet they are, some littered with powder and others with drizzling of sorts, some with both. "you got any plain stuff?" he says, finally finding the courage to look back at you, and much to his dismay, you were already looking at him.

a soft chuckle escapes your lips. "plain? you mean boring?"

you think you're so funny, don't you? he simply raises an eyebrow, head tilting ever so slightly. "sure, boring."

your smile feels infectious and he fights back the strange fluttering in his stomach. he knows what it is, of course, hell, he had a wife and a son. but the feeling alone scares him. nope, nope, nope. not again.

"don't have much of a sweet tooth, do you?" you ask, grabbing a cute little pink box, custom decorated to represent your logo. he barely shrugs a shoulder. "interesting, you might be the first to come into a bakery and demand something that isn't sweet."

"only one." he replies back (because that's all he has money for, already dreading having to watch you count his coins), watching your delicate fingers reach in with a pink set of tongs. jesus christ, just how many pink things did you have?

you hum in response, eyes flickering up over the counter to him. "you know, this is your first time actually coming inside, isn't it? i was beginning to think you just had a loitering problem."

his brows furrow, stoic demeanor breaking for a quick second. you noticed him? he doesn't know if he should be embarrassed, flattered or weirded out that you were watching him, while he watched you. but he plays it off. "decided to bite the bullet today, see if it's worth the rave."

you chuckle and he starts to melt. god damn you. "definitely is." you finish packing the box up and he sees that you've given him one from every row. sealing the box with a cute little sticker that says 'made with love', you grab a pen and draw a heart on the top of it. you walk to the register and he follows stiffly, placing the box down. "we strive to give our customers the best of the best. but it's out secret ingredient that keeps people coming back."

he raises an eyebrow again. "secret ingredient?"

you hum and nod with a smile. "would you like to know what it is?"

he hesitates, suddenly inhaling a deep breath. with a nod, he grumbles. "sure."

and you lean in closer, as if getting ready to share him a top secret, even looking around, when the place is empty except for you two. bringing a hand to cup around your mouth, you whisper. "love."

he's not amused, thinking your response is quite corny. but when you giggle, eyes crinkling at the corners, he almost feels like smiling with you. he doesn't, but he'll play along. "love?"

"love." you say with finality. "lots and lots of it, deep love, intense love." this playful banter warms his chest, he thinks it shouldn't. "and this," you tap the box. "i made it with extra love." your eyebrow raises, head tilting.

his eyes scrutinize your face, looking for any sort of double intentions. why are you so nice? and why are you so nice to him? he should be disgusted, really. he should scoff and walk away, glaring at you like you're the most stupidest person ever. but he just can't bring himself to. because toji is smart, he can read people well, and all he can see on that cute face of yours is just....genuine happiness. he wonders if he's jealous you can just spread positivity and warmness without thinking twice.

you're dangerous.

after the silence, you slide the box to him. "on the house."

he huffs. "i'm not a charity case."

"who says you are?"

"you're giving me free food, what else do you call that?

"uh, i don't know, being a good person?" you huff a laugh through your nostrils. "think of it as a trial run, so next time, you won't be disappointed. not like that would be possible in the first place since they taste wonderful."

he's quiet and still, not sure what to do. someone handing him free food can be both a blessing and a curse? could you tell he looked raggedy? didn't have much, if any, money to his name. but the longer he stares at your face, the more he feels himself giving in.

just like a magnet.

slowly, he takes the box, as if expecting you'll say you were joking. it feels light in his hands, weird, foreign. should he thank you?

but no matter what, you continue smiling at him like he hung the stars for you. "enjoy my love, you'll want to come back for more."

you're witty, and pretty damn adorable. he nods, gulping down the lump in his throat. is he seriously getting emotional over this? "we'll see."

and just like that, he turns around to leave. as he walks down the sidewalk, his hands clutch the box tighter, holding it closer to his chest. looking down at your dumb heart you draw, his own stutters, breathing getting a little heavier.

toji isn’t soft, but he likes soft things, soft people. so maybe this is why the box feels comforting to him. like a streak of paint in his dull world. like an ice cream on a hot summer day. like a kiss under the moonlight. like dancing in the rain with someone you love.

love. made with love. you gave him your love for free, and for that, he huffs a chuckle (?) through his nostrils. there goes that all too familiar flutter again. you know, a small part of him hopes he can taste this "love" you made these with, hopes that your love can pour into him, help him, save him.

but he's not sure if he wants to be saved yet.

[seat-safety-switch]

Everyone hopes for a trouble-free car. Even if you purchase a high-mileage turd that has been crashed more times than it's seen Tuesdays, you still have some dream that it will be magically flawless, and you can clown on those assholes who bought new cars. Unfortunately, such a car does not exist.

We know from every religion's foundational text – especially those that were discovered and collapsed before the invention of the automobile – that cars are simply not that good. You can blame whoever you want for this sad state of affairs: bad previous owners, indifferent auto manufacturers, the ever-present menace of road salt. Eventually something's going to break, and you've got to fix it.

Once, a long time ago, I splurged. I bought the second cheapest car on Craigslist to get to work. It was a low-mileage cream puff, I had convinced myself, and most of the panels were even the same colour of paint. This knowledge, this hubris, made things all the worse when the transmission decided to prolapse itself onto the highway about thirty-five minutes after purchase. The seller? Gone in the wind, leaving only a suspicious pile of peeled bananas and empty bags of sawdust behind. I fixed it, sure, but it still stung.

Trust is the enemy, so why not purchase a car you don't trust in the first place? That's been my philosophy ever since. Buy the cheapest crap with the highest mileage (it's seen enough shit to not get surprised the next time a wheel falls off) and run it into the ground. When it breaks, you're not surprised: it's a piece of shit. Fix it just well enough to get it back on the road. Eventually, you will achieve a sort of automotive symbiosis: a dirtbag driver, and a dirtbag car. Just like with worn-in shoes, you will be endlessly comfortable until you have to walk home.

[fjsjjgnnfjdjf]

The most unlikely thing that could happen to me happened! 😱💗

I found in a street sale two figures of Rise 🧡💙🐢

It is literally the most impossible thing to find, I come from Chile 🇨🇱, and here they practically never arrived of these figures in their time... In general it is very difficult to find official Rise merchandise outside the United States...

But there they were, on a blanket from a random seller who was auctioning off a bunch of toys of all kinds... It was like finding the needle in the haystack!

They're dirty and worn out, they don't even have their guns, but they're mine now and I feel so lucky to have them! ✨🥹🐢

[vincentbriggs]

Good sir, I am hoping to pick your brain. I’m making an 18-century (“pirate”) shirt as a gift to my friend. He wants tie closures on the neck and cuffs instead of buttons. Might you have any insight or resources for this? I’ve seen the ties in at least one of the extant shirts I’ve viewed online. I’m still pretty new to the sewing gig and I’d like to minimize inventing metaphorical wheel as much as possible. Thanks in advance!

It's very unusual, but do know of one example! (Not that extant one though)

But first - Link to my most thorough shirt construction blog post. (It's a few years old and I've improved a few little things in my technique since then, and I mean to finish writing a new and better one before the year is over.)

Ok, ties on shirts! I'm assuming this is the extant one you're talking about? Tbh I'd discount this one entirely if you're looking for information on 18th century men's shirts because I don't think it is one.

Besides the attached ties, the sleeves are extremely weird. They're cut off and have no wristbands!! This would make it quite impossible to wear under a coat, the wristbands are an absolutely essential part of an 18th century shirt. I also don't see any reason to believe this is actually 18th century when it could just as easily be 19th century, and considering how short the slit is I think that more likely.

(Lots of auction sellers like to say "late 18th century" about things that are like... yeahh maaaaybe that's plausibly from a very fashion forward guy in the late 1790's but it's much more likely early 19th century. And with court dress they sometimes just straight up date it several decades too early. Look at lots of examples and always question everything, because museums don't always date things correctly either.)

I think I remember seeing someone mention once that it was a 19th century workman's garment of some sort, but I can't remember where, and all we've got to go on are a few pictures and a brief caption from a seller who doesn't know what they're talking about. It does look like it could have been worn over another layer though, and the fabric is very coarse. It could also have been altered at a later date for theatrical costume, which is something the Victorians did to A LOT of 18th century garments.

So just ignore that shirt!

The vast majority of 18th century mens shirts close with 2 or 3 buttons on the collar, but there is a style that uses ribbons. It appears to have been fairly common in the late 17th and early 18th century, and then slowly dwindles as the century goes on. I have a section for it on my shirts pinterest board with 64 examples. Ooh, wait, 65, just found a new one.

The collar is made with little to no overlap and one buttonhole on each end, and a ribbon is threaded through them.

Portrait of Carl Gustaf Tessin, 1728.

Sir Charles Howard, 1738.

I actually made one of these last year!

The collar doesn't sit as well with the ribbon as it does with 2 buttons, but once you put a stock over it it's fine.

Nearly every single depiction of an 18th century shirt I've ever seen (and I've spent a LOT of time looking) uses sleeve links on the wristbands. (Which I have a tutorial for! They're really easy to make!) I do sleeve links on most of my everyday shirts because I like them better than sewn on buttons. When the wristband is this narrow, sewn on buttons don't sit very nicely.

But! If your friend wants ties on the wrist in a historical way, I do know of one single example, and it's this guy!

Giovanni Maria delle Piane, Portrait of a nobleman. No date given, but if I had to guess I'd say 1680's or 90's. Very late 17th century looking fellow.

We can't see his collar closure, but I think it's very possible that he has a matching red ribbon holding that closed.

Personally I wouldn't want to try these, because they look like an absolute nightmare to tie by yourself one handed. But the good news is that you could make just regular wristband that take sleeve links and they'd work for this too, since both just have a buttonhole at each end! I aim for a finished wristband length that's 10-14mm longer than my wrist measurement, with the buttonhole being about 4 or 5mm in from the edge, which gives me enough ease to wear them comfortably with sleeve links, so if you do that then he'll be able to wear them both ways.

[vampriestpoison]

These poor babies are looking for a new home. They'd love to be a gag or cum rag. Week worn socks for sale for $45 with free shipping! Enter My DMs if you dare.

[izvmimi]

the only good thing about a super early doctor's appointment on a weekend (it was the only time they were available, and specifically open for you) is the fact that you are finally awake to frequent the neighborhood's farmer's market.

it's a quaint but well-frequented and bustling place, a short drive off the main highway, and for once the parking lot (which is moreso a wide field of grass) isn't filled with cars fit together in a manner similar to tetris. you pull into a space that's not too far from the ribbon-decorated entrance and immediately make a beeline to the very first stall that sells strawberries.

it's not like you knew better, after all.

there is a small crowd through which you weave to get to the stall and you assume that the harvest is good due to its popularity. the young woman who owns the stall smiles widely at you as she sells you on the harvest and you nod emphatically, tasting a strawberry she hands you and marveling at its sweetness.

before you can tell her you'll buy a bunch, she's distracted by an elderly lady who's trying to heckle her about the price of rhubarbs, and then you receive a gentle tap on your shoulder.

startled, you turn, and look at a man so tall and broad he seems to block out the sun.

"oh!" your immediate assumption is that you are somehow in his way, and you step aside but he seems to follow you, and leans in to tell you, in a voice that is deep yet oddly gentle,

"don't buy these, there's a better stall out back," he says in a tone that's meant to be hushed, but carries because of the timbre of his voice. you quickly whip around to see if the seller has noticed his bold statement, but she's now arguing with an older lady shaking a bag of coins at her as she talks animatedly.

you look again at the young man, wondering what to do next. he seems to be waiting for you to agree with him, his sharp olive eyes rested on your expression. he doesn't wave for you to come with him, but he turns and starts to walk, and naturally you follow him. as you watch him from behind, moving through the path he makes for you through people and bales of hay and fixtures and commotion, you notice his cleanly cropped olive-brown hair, similar to his eyes, and the relaxed way his shoulders slope, as if he's never been so correct about anything in his life, except that he is taking you, a stranger to see the sweetest strawberries.

and you realize he is right. the stall he brings to you shows an older lady, whose hands are as wrinkled as her face, but her smile is wide and well-worn, eyes lighting up when she sees him. you notice this is a less frequented part of the market, quieter, and you wonder if the woman has trouble selling. there are much fewer bells and whistles at this stall, prices written in shaky handwriting on a chalkboard, but the strawberries are redder and sweeter than anything you've ever known, and plentiful.

"wakatoshi-kun, did you pluck a customer from the front for me?" the old lady teases.

wakatoshi shrugs and bites into another strawberry from an elaborately decorated basket, and you wonder if the cozy in which it sits is home-made as well.

"i just told the truth."

the lady reaches high to squeeze his shoulder, and he returns a small but warm smile. you find yourself smiling as well.

"i'll take a basket," you offer.

---

you meet wakatoshi again a week later at the farmer's market.

this time he's peering over apricots with an almost studious expression, and the middle-aged man that runs the stall appears to be getting impatient at the man who's staring so hard at his fruit, hands folded behind his back.

you find yourself stifling a laugh, then make your way over to him, but then pause, your feet sticking to the ground. should you say hi? does he remember who you are? or are you just a girl he managed to enjoy his favorite vendor's strawberries?

as you ponder, wakatoshi has moved his attention from the apricots to you, and again, you find yourself caught off guard. attempting to salvage yourself, you wave politely.

"ah, we meet again. strawberries?" you start.

he gives you a blank look, and you wonder if you should bury yourself like a seed, but then he quickly redresses his expression.

"ah, yes." he smiles, and you feel something akin to sprouting. "i never got your name," he adds.

the farmer, impatient at the fruitless analysis of his labor, coughs to interrupt and demands an answer if wakatoshi is willing to buy.

wakatoshi looks at him, unaffected by his annoyance, enough that the farmer grumbles and looks away.

"two, please." wakatoshi asks.

"just two?" you ask, then wonder why you spoke out loud, face warming. he turns to you.

"one for me and one for you."

---

wakatoshi does finally get your name, but after you've ended up shopping together that morning, talking about everything and nothing - he finds a way to draw information out of you and you offer it freely. just hours later, you dash out of your apartment after putting away your harvest, and meet him at a café downtown for brunch. he tells you about the seeds that he's growing in his highrise apartment that he worries won't get enough light. over an omelette and coffee, you tell him you know nothing about his plants, but you'd love updates.

wakatoshi sends you pictures of enlarging bell peppers every few days, and you meet at the entrance of the farmer's market every week.

eventually you no longer just follow him, but he takes your hand in his, and you peruse together, discovering more and more

you make your own apartment garden with his advice, and send him pictures just as frequently.

both of you buy indoor lemon trees, you name his and he names yours.

you buy more strawberries and realize his kisses are just as sweet.

[juneknight]

Audible || 1

Part One | Part Two

Request: "Steven Grant reads erotica and Reader asks him to read aloud to her".

Immersivity: Steven Grant/fem!reader. Reader is nameless and undescribed, though her figure is limited by wearing one of Steven's shirts, and she works and undescribed job which she hates. If there is any detail which hinders your immersive experience, please feel free to bring it to my attention.

Part 1

*

There is no part of a bad day that Steven couldn’t make better. 

When you finally return to the flat you share with him and his headmates, you have no small list of ailments and complaints. Your feet ache, and your head as well. The clothes you wear to work are the last sort that you find comfortable, and you have been daydreaming about stripping them off—and perhaps slipping into one of Steven’s shirts which are always so worn and soft—since the moment you stepped out of the apartment building and nearly collided with the broom and brush seller who always gives you the eye.

All day, you have been wilting beneath capitalism’s shadow, doing a job that you have no passion for and which only serves to make other people more money than you will likely ever see, but it all melts away at the sight of Steven curled up in the bed you share together, his nose in a book. 

He glances up at the sound of the front door opening and closes the book so hastily that its cover makes a little sound as it snaps shut. Beneath the covers, he is shirtless. If his golden skin seems more flushed than usual, the observation is lost under your own relief at the very sight of him. Straightaway, he knows that your day has been rough, sees it in the bow of your shoulders, the shadows beneath your eyes. He reaches back without looking and sets his book amongst a sea of others on the headboard. 

“Oh, love. A rough one?” 

“It’s better now,” you say, already stepping out of your shoes and stripping off your work clothes. The sight of him so cozy in bed has reminded you of your own exhaustion which now tugs heavily at your eyelids. Steven watches you for a moment, his gaze warm and fond but not lustful, before tossing back the covers to reveal he is down to only his boxers. You amend: “Better now that it’s over.” 

“Sometimes, that’s the only good thing about a day, isn’t it?” Steven says, standing and going to the dresser. “That it ends, and that we never have to live it again. Underwear, love?” 

“Yes please; any pair. A shirt of yours, too, if you’ve got any clean.” 

Steven glances towards the mirror—there are many of them around the flat these days, convenient for Marc and Jake (or Steven, when he is not fronting) to be present in. Steven clicks his tongue at whatever his reflection says, moving to another drawer. “It’s my night, mate,” he reminds his reflection. “My night, my shirt.” 

“Someone complaining?” you wonder with a yawn, catching Steven’s shirt as he tosses it to you. 

“You know how Marc gets, always wanting you to wear his clothes. Possessive bloke.” 

“An easy way to solve that would be to share a wardrobe,” you tease, slipping into the shirt. You lift the collar, inhaling its clean scent which is so distinctly Steven’s. You tug on some panties too, always afraid that the one night you sleep without them will be the one that the apartment building catches fire. If the brushes and brooms man thinks you’re about to stand out on the London street in front of him and who else without anything on, he’s in for a disappointment. 

“I don’t think we could reconcile our preferences, honestly. Dunno why he keeps trying to slick our hair back when we all know that you go mad for the curls,” Steven says, watching as you slip beneath the covers and into the warm spot his body left behind. The only thing better than seeing you nestle beneath the sheets is joining you—which Steven promptly does, opening his arm so that you can rest flush against his side, your head on his chest. He rests his hand on the curve of your hip, stroking the exposed skin between your panties and his shirt with a calloused thumb. “You rest, love. If you need anything, I’m your man.” 

“Would you read to me?” you murmur sleepily. “I love the sound of your voice.” 

“It’s the accent, isn’t it?” he teases. You hear him swallow. “Sure—let me grab a book. Any preference?” 

“Whatever you were reading when I came in; you don’t need to start something new on my account.” 

To his benefit, Steven is quick to quip: “But I’m a few chapters in, you’ll have no idea what’s going on!” 

“Don’t care,” you say through another yawn. “Just listening to your voice.” 

“I…alright. Yeah,” he says. The strange reluctance in his voice is lost on you. You feel him stretch, hand searching the headboard. “I’ll have to sit up, love. That alright?” 

You hum in the affirmative, and as soon as he has taken his position with his back braced against the headboard, you are laying your head in his lap, just far enough away for him to be able to comfortably hold the book. You hear the rustle of pages as he finds his spot, having put up the book with such haste at your entrance that he had forgotten to mark his place. 

He begins to read:

“In the morning, we were all roughly awakened by the servants opening the curtains, letting in a stream of sunlight which reminded me painfully of my home. I had barely slept a wink, too unused to the strange palace around me and the coarse, lumpy straw mattresses that we were made to sleep on. Terror kept away the exhaustion, though nothing could help the way my temples ached from the long night. The others seemed just as terrified as I was: here and there, a few girls my age or younger clinged to each other, tears wetting their cheeks. Even the men looked uncertain. Their fear comforted me; at least I was not so singular!”

The soothing lilt of Steven’s voice melts away your headache. Your eyes shut, one hand resting on his knee as you drift into a half-sleep, lulled by the timber of his voice, the cadence of his speech. Sometimes, sentences would break through the fog of your relaxation, registering dimly in your mind. 

“...still not used to the smell of the sea, salt so thick in the air that I could taste it on my tongue. There was some familiarity yet in this for me, as I had been quite used to servants washing and tending to me back home, though never so roughly. By the time Evelyn was finished, I felt that she must have scrubbed me pink…braids only made the aching in my head worse. I hated to have my hair drawn back, to not even be able to hide behind its curtain…the Prince himself. I was sure that I was trembling with fear, my knees unsteady. I hoped that the others had appeared as nervous as I, though none of them had half the reasons I did!...ah…yada yada yada…we shared a nice peaceful sleep together, though the Prince stole all the covers like the sod he likely was—” 

Your eyes open, blinking tiredly. “A—sod? Does it say that?

“Of course it does.” 

“It does not; you’re making it up!” 

“That is a slanderous accusation which wounds me greatly—”

“Then you are skipping parts. You said yada yada yada—” 

“That’s, well, it’s what the book says, love, I surely didn’t write it—” 

Now your interest has peaked, pushing the veil of exhaustion back from your eyes. Lifting your head, you reach for the book, tilting it towards you just an inch: “Show me, then—” 

“Alright, alright,” he says, pressing the book flush to his bare chest to make it impossible for you to see even a single word. Now you notice that his face seems distinctly more flushed than usual, a nervousness in his eyes. “I am skipping parts. Just the boring ones, though.” 

“Is that how you usually read books?” you ask, brow furrowing. “You skip the boring bits? Aren’t you the man who once chastised a complete stranger in a book store when you caught him reading the last page of a book before buying it?” 

“That is a crime,” he says firmly. “This is completely different. I’m skipping them in order, aren’t I? I just…oh alright. I just didn’t think that this was a novel you would…ah…enjoy?” 

“Oh my god,” you say. “It’s pornography, isn’t it?” 

“It’s called erotica, thank you very much!” 

It is a good thing that Steven does not share the uppermost floor of the apartment complex with anyone else, because your cackle might have been loud enough to garner complaints. His shoulders relax a little at your giggles. He shuts the book, a finger holding his place this time, and gently taps it against your forehead. 

“Alright, that’s enough out of you. I hear enough about it from those two in my head. Besides—,” Steven says, sniffing indignantly. “—I read them for the plots.” 

“And what’s the plot of this one?” 

“Do you really care to know, or do you only wish to continue having a laugh?”

You school your face into a one that is appropriately serious. You hadn’t truly meant to make him feel insecure—which he was, judging by the way he had turned his eyes back to the cover of the book, his brow wrinkled and lips downturned in an expression that was remarkably like Marc. Sitting up, you prop your tired body beside him, pressing a kiss to his temple. 

“I’m sorry. There’s nothing wrong with smut. I’ve read plenty in my time—stories that are likely far less tasteful than this one. Tell me what it’s about,” you say, your sentence pitching up at the end and turning your statement into a gentle question which he could refuse if he was truly sore. 

But Steven could not ever remain sore with you. 

“Well,” he says, opening the book hesitantly. “It is about a spoiled princess. Outlaws from another kingdom steal her away to bring her to their royalty, hoping for a pardon from their own crimes. But along the way, her identity is somehow switched round with another hostage. Now everyone thinks she’s a prisoner meant to be a pleasure servant and serve the lords and ladies of this other kingdom.” 

“No!” 

“Yes!” Steven says, eyes lighting up at your enthusiasm. “But it gets worse, see? Because when they all arrive at the foreign palace, the girl mistaken to be the Princess is offered up to the King, and they kill her.”

You frown. “Oh, that’s quite dark.” 

“Yes, well the king is a right bastard, isn’t he? But now the Princess is terrified to reveal who she truly is to anyone, convinced she will be killed as well. So she must throw herself whole-heartedly into serving the Prince’s every pleasure while she plots her escape. There is politics and intrigue and quite a bit of misogyny which I am hoping to see punished in the second half—”

“You should read it to me,” you murmur, feeling a trickle of warmth in the pit of your belly. Thinking about Steven reading filthy novels while you were at work had made your heart stutter unexpectedly. Had he been hard when you came in? Did he read things like this and touch himself? The thought of hearing Steven’s low, accented voice reading explicit sex made your breath catch. You clear your throat. “You know…for the plots.” 

“The plots,” Steven says, drawing the syllables out slowly. “Right…I—are you sure, love? It’s quite naughty, isn’t it? And some of it is downright morally questionable.” 

“I’m sure. Go on, no need to skip over the naughty bits on my behalf. It sounds like you were just getting to the good parts.” 

Steven snorts softly. His gaze when he looks up at you from the book is sly and knowing. He sometimes can be shy and awkward, unpracticed in the ways of relationships and love and sex, but Steven was downright clever. There was no way he wouldn’t pick up on your eagerness, nor the true reason for it. And it sure wasn’t the plots. Shifting to make himself comfortable, he glances to you once more for your assent before cracking open the book and searching for his place.

*

Next Part

[20dollarlolita]

Describing some wigs

Many years ago there was as site called Amphigory.com, and while it's still up, the Amphigory that 16-year-old me spent days browsing is not the Amphigory that still remains. They're still cool, but they'd really scaled back the scope of what they sell. There used to be cosmetics, jewelry, hair dye, a few more things, and wigs.

One of the things that they did about their wig sales that really set them apart was the level of description that they gave every wig. This wasn't just a single stock picture and a name. They took their own pictures of each wig, inside and out, and described each one's strengths and flaws. They weren't like Arda, who designs their own wigs from scratch. They were more like a normal costume reseller, who had a collection of vendors that they'd order stock from. But, unlike most costume wig sellers, they had multiple pictures and a detailed analysis of each wig. You knew what you were getting, which was really important for cosplayers who might need to restyle a wig. If you've never restyled a wig before, you might not be aware, but the wig can make it very easy, or the wig can make it impossible.

Amphigory's wig section is long gone, but I do still buy wigs from a similar company, one that has a collection of wig vendors whose products they sell. This is a shop that I go to is in person, and I love that. I know that I can find some wigs cheaper elsewhere, but I absolutely love that I can go to a small business, roll up to a counter, and physically touch the wigs before I buy them. I can look at them, turn them inside-out, and touch them. I also get to take the wig home that day, instead of waiting for shipping.

But not everyone has this opportunity, and on the offchance that people are considering buying a wig online and google the wig to see worn photos or reviews, here's me making a compilation of wigs I've recently bought and what they actually look like in person. Even with wigs from the same seller, some might be garbage, but some might be hidden gems. So, in the interest of making more information about which wigs are like what, here we go:

California Costumes Pink/Gray Ombre with Star Clips:

First of all, California Costumes gets 0/10 for creativity with names. I love me a good little nickname for a wig. The Costume Mansion, where I bought this, called it "Harmony," and I think that's a better name.

Yes, my wig head is cosplaying its Naruto OC. Let it do its thing.

This is a textured, ombre wig. The actual fiber is ombre, so an individual strand will go from gray color to pink, and the gray is a little bit softer than the pink. Some wigs that are tipped with another color accomplish this by having the color on the ends be longer hair than the top color, but this is a true ombre. I have not tested this for colorfastness, but it's possible that the pink tips won't age super well. The skin top is about 3" wide and does not go all the way to the front of the wig. This means that you can change the part a little bit, but it will always have bangs.

The whole thing is sewn onto a continuous cap, which isn't as forgiving of larger head sizes than one that's just wefts and elastic. It has the built-in net that you sometimes see with cheaper wigs, which is where your hair would go if you want to wear this wig without a wig cap. You, however, don't want to wear this wig without a wig cap. You know better. There's hooks in the back for resizing.

Wefts in the back are about an inch apart, but when I was shaking it around and trying to make it show the mesh, I couldn't actually make it show the mesh without physically parting it. Depending on how you put your hair up under the wig, you might have problems with the mesh showing in the back (lumpy hair will show mesh, hair that's smoothly under a wig cap won't). This is probably a wig you want a matching or light colored wig cap for if you have a larger head.

Overall, cute wig, stock pictures don't do it justice. Available for $20 on Amazon, in case you don't have a local costume shop to support. This item tag reads "ITEM # 7022-068 FTY # 346 HK2203" and I don't know what that means but if someone's googling the tag to look up the wig then hopefully that'll lead them here.

Yuki by Characters:

At least this one has a wig name. And boy howdy is that some big hair. The place I bought this from called it "Cupcake."

I tried on this wig because I really wanted to see how it was constructed, and I bought it because, when I tried it on, it was way cuter than I thought it'd be. It's a rougher fiber, which makes the curls hold their shape really well, but you're going to be fighting to keep the bangs and long forelocks looking smooth. There's no skin top, and the hair radiates from a sort of u-shaped blob at the top. There's so much going on in this wig that it's not particularly obvious, and also you will convince absolutely no one that it's not a wig, so that's not as much a priority to me on this style.

As for how it's actually constructed, there's no teasing in the wig to keep it that big. Instead, the actual cap of the wig is sewn into the shape of the big faux twintails, and then the hair is attached to that structure. Wigs are not hair. Anyway, that means there's pretty much no major restyling that can be done. It's just curly hair about 5" long on a funky structure to make funky big hair. Anyway, because thew cap of this wig is so oversized, it's really comfortable to wear, and it's really accommodating of large head sizes or a lot of hair.

Also because of the cap size, if you don't pin the temples on, it can slide back and make your bangs shorter. You can see that in my picture there. Mine did not come with the little rose clips, but it is supposed to come with the rose clips. It's much curlier than the stock images imply it will be.

This wig would be great for embellishing, since you can sew things directly to the funky shaped cap and not worry about where to support it. It also can handle a full sized BTSSB headbow, if that's a concern.

Someone's selling it on Amazon for $60 and you absolutely should not spend that much for this wig. I see other wig shops selling it for about $30, which is the upper limit on its real fair price, unless you really need the specific shape for it. I'm not going to link any specific shop since I don't have experience buying from them. "Yuki wig" and "Characters Yuki wig" are good search terms.

Characters Peggy Sue wig:

Okay so please be forgiving that my detail pictures are going to be of this wig already styled, because I didn't know I was going to do this post when I started working with it. I'll make a point to spell out what's stock and what's been done. Top pictures here are the most un-styled that I have.

This wig's got a coin-shaped skin top that all the hair radiates from. It comes with long, blunt bangs. The fiber is really shiny and is very easily reshaped by low hair dryer heat. High heat on my hair dryer, too close to the scalp, was how I made the frizzy spot in the back. The cap is a closed mesh cap, but it's nice and stretchy.

The weird boogers on the top of my wig are the orange hilights that I put in (they were just chopped from another wig), but that picture's there to show the size of the skin top. You can also see where I sewed some orange wefts into the wig for all-over recoloring. I re-parted the skin coin so that the hair has a linear part instead of radiating from the center, and then painted it with liquid foundation to make the parted area larger. Mine also has a LOT of baby powder dispersed through it to combat the shine. I spent like four days to try to make this $20 wig look like it's maybe a $35 wig. (The process was: "oh hey I'll be taking my wheelchair to the comic convention. I should cosplay Barbara Gordon because that will be fun. This will be easy and I don't need to put a lot of money or time into it." and then four days passed and I'd spent hours manually highlighting a cheap wig).

And it really needs a bit of love to get it to be less frizzy. Right out of the bag, my wig did not have that outward flip. Unlike the other two, I don't see this being a really usable wig for lolita fashion in pretty much any context, but hey, I'm on a roll with this post.

This wig is listing online for like $30, and that's a bit much IMO. If you have a local shop selling it for $20, well, that's a different matter.

If you want a wig just to change your hair color so that your bright pink hair doesn't clash with your coord, I once bought this wig (according to Amazon in 2015 so it's been...almost a decade...nice to know they're tracking that) and was pretty impressed with the quality for a $17 wig. So, you know, buy that instead of this Peggy Sue wig.

I do own the Lacey Costume Little Women II Wig (Amphigory's "Innocent?" wig) but it's late and I want to go to bed, and all you really need to know about it is that the fiber texture of the ash blond color is really dicey, so that's probably a case where if you need a pigtail wig you need to just get an Arda Chibi. I can still do details if anyone wants. It's just 9:30 and I have to put all these damn wigs away, so good night, everyone.

[harrietvane]

Perfume chat, because it's hot, summer's ending, and I'm of a mind to list out some of my favourite Hot Weather Perfumes. To be fair, once it gets above 30C/86F, I don't tend to wear scent, but all these I ones I could, and have worn in hot weather, and worth mentioning. Lot of citrus going on here, not much floral, and heavily leaning towards citrus cologne strenght (and away from big floral, gourmand, or sweet eaux de parfum). BYO gender, none of these are marketed specifically one way or another.

-Cédrat Enivrant (Atelier Cologne): the 'cedrat' here is not referring to cedar, but to the ur-citrus known in english as the Citron, aka the mighty Etrog. It's one of the original citrii from which all others spring: it's lumpy, bitter, like 60% rind, and doesn't care what you think. Cedrat Enivrant is a bitter cocktail cologne resembling a French 75 - which is gin and champagne - but dry AF. There's a mintiness, and a pine needle dryness as well. Starts off very high and tart, dries down herbal.

Paris-Deauville (Chanel): part of their Eaux de Chanel cologne-style lighter series, this is an orange/basil combo that stays fairly light and dry - the sweetness is from orange, but otherwise the addition of basil heart note keeps this summery and green. Starts off quite juicy, but 'dries' as it dries, ending in mostly sweet herbs, and the basil is unexpected. Light enough to be a splash bottle though, not a typical Chanel.

Blenheim Bouquet (Penhaligon's): despite going all-in on flashy, heavier things lately, Penhaligon's keeps the old BB on the shelf because I'm p sure it's still one of their best sellers: it's a classic for a reason. Despite listing notes of lemon, black pepper and pine, this comes off mainly with a 'clean pencil shavings' vibe on me, and it suits that freshly-sharpened pencil image. Lemony, sharp, dry, precise. if it was a person it would be Anton Lesser's character in Endeavour.

Melograno (Santa Maria Novella): I sought this out after seeing it on-screen in Casino Royale as one of Vesper Lynd's few belongings in Venice, and it did not disappoint. A warning: despite the name, if you go in expecting a syrupy bath and bodywork's style fruity pomegranate, or dislike things 'that smell like perfume' this perfume is not for you. There is very little, if any, fruit in Melograno, and I confess it's a surprise entry to a cologne-y summer list because it lists several flowers (and oakmoss! and patch!), BUT the reality of it on me is dry dry dryyyy. I have worn this in very hot weather, and the impression is a herbal soap in the cleanest italian bathroom that's ever existed, with a rigid linen handtowel, and some dried flowers in a bowl on the window.

Bergamotto di Positano (Floris): if you DID want fruit, but not syrup, Floris has you covered for orange and mandarin. It steers away from Body Shop fruit with marine notes, but don't let that dissuade you if you avoid CK One types: there's a softness to this from some ginger, green tea, and vanilla in the background. Never goes overly gourmand on me despite the fact that these are all edible things.

Ouarzazate/Series 3 (Comme des Garçons): whaaaaat, an incense in a summer list?? Adding it here as we can't have an entirely citrine list, and this makes the cut due to DRY. CdG did a little series on incense of various styles (the most infamous being Avignon, which does actually smell like a realistic in-use thurible, so hats off to them), and Ouarzazate is their desert incense vibe. It's clean in that dry sauna/spa room sort of way. It's the driest and woodiest of the 4 they did imho. Like walking into a shady, cool, dark wooden room when it's hot outside.

Le Pamplemousse (Miller Harris): MH perfumes divide into those made when Lyn Harris was the nose (interesting, lots of werird herbal combos), and those after she left (generally bigger and sweeter) - this is one of the former. Obviously grapefruit as a theme, which is always a nice bitter citrus for summer, this wears like a crisp white shirt. Despite mentioning things like rhubrarb, the notes are kept in strict order by rosemary, sage, and vetiver. The grapefuit fades as the herbs take over on drydown, manages to evoke clean laundry with no musk. (Bonus points: I have also loved Le Petit Grain from the same house for its twiggy orange tree bundle vibes, but it's discontinued)

Budget options: some countries get great sampling or decanting services (not mine, booooo), and getting 10mls of the above might be easier for you than me, but if not: here's some you can get for a lot less cash but still give you quality-

Vetiver Pamplemousse (Zara): done by theee Jo Malone, so that gives you an idea of the vibe (light, approachable). It's grapefruit, tangerine, and vetiver. Vetiver keeps it dry, quite linear development. Might be slightly 'spicier' than the MH Pampelmousse, or at least more vetiver-forward. Comes in a rollerball for those wanting a short commitment!

4711 (Mäurer & Wirtz): how could i not end on the OG, the classic, the unbeatable 4711. Four-Seven-Eleven has been freshening up people's bathroom routines since 1799, and boasts of a recipe (mostly?) unchanged since Napoleon was tramping around the area. It's citrus, it's lavender, it's romemary, it evaporates in 8 seconds, it's fresh lemony goodness. It's an aftershave, it's a cologne, it's a linen spray, it's a bath soak, is there nothing it cannot do? M&W have started to do endless 'remixes' of the base cologne, in many fruit and floral varieties, but the classic is where it's at. And it costs almost nothing.

[impossiblesuitcase]

I know this type of fic will seem strange, but do you remember where Cinder in the first book says that everyone will be aware of what Kai does, and that he will forget her, if this happened as an alternate universe, do you really believe that Kai forgot? of it, or remember it as nostalgia for what could have been as couple

Thanks your for your answer

I intended for this to be a five sentence response. Ha.

(Remember?)

He doesn’t remember her.

Granted, he doesn’t even remember what it feels like to take a full, unstrained breath. Kai is a busy teenager, a grieving son, an ill-prepared emperor and then the happiest widower alive. He can’t pretend to not be overjoyed by his wife’s untimely passing after her brief but bloody one-year stint as empress. The Earthen population didn’t seem to mind much either when the evil Lunar queen was assassinated in her bed by a group of revolting malcontents.

Kai only remembers her when the storm takes mercy on them and calms. The girl at the marketplace. Who’d never worn the gloves he’d given her to the ball she hadn’t attended. The brown eyes he’d never seen again. As the New Beijing Market celebrates a new era of peace with streamers and lanterns and sticky buns, Kai is pulling on his grey hoodie and weaving through the crowds to an unmarked booth. Instead he finds the musty, dark store replaced by a coffeé vendor. The nearby sellers tell him the young mechanic skipped town.

(Kai does remember her joking prod in the elevator, offering up that she was planning to run away to Europe. Now, Kai doesn’t think it was all that much of a joke.)

He searches for her, briefly. Her name turns up no more net results than what had been there the first time he’d sought her services. In checking government records he learns that her guardian reported the disappearance, inciting a police investigation. He has his own staff put on the case, who probably interpret this as a conscientious initiative to apprehend a fugitive as any responsible emperor would. 

Reading the conclusions from the fruitless search by his agents, this is where Kai learns that Linh Cinder is a cyborg.

Something blankets him. Not...disgust or revulsion. Thick, encompassing understanding. He’s near laughter when it strikes him precisely between his third and fourth ribs because he knows that it doesn’t matter if he finds her.

The gloves. The obfuscation. A cyborg, an emperor. This is why she rejected him.

After this, the expressed need to find find find her feels vain. Find her and what? Tell her that—although he likes her—a cyborg would never be accepted by the public as his partner? Then he’d be tearing her away from whatever sanctuary she’s found herself in and subjecting her to capture by the authorities. Because she has cut out her ID chip—illegal. Fled the country without a permit—illegal. Disobeyed orders from her guardian—illegal for cyborgs. Whatever Imperial pardon he could try to extend would be nullified by the Cyborg Protection Act.

It doesn’t matter. She hasn’t been found. He’s no luck at searching for things anyway. That’s why he gave up on Selene. What’s one more thing to give up on?

So Kai doesn’t remember her. But he does revise the Cyborg Protection Act. He is appalled to discover that—despite having Levana’s antidote in his tenuous possession—the cyborg draft is still in operation. Luna is not a trustworthy government under regent Sybil Mira, they fearmonger. They might still need to develop an antidote of their own, they reason.

Both Earth and Luna are barely refraining from seeking blood as it is. After Levana was assassinated, Luna declared full-scale war on Earth, killing hundreds of thousands. Earth retaliated by detonating bombs on the craters of the moon, threatening that next time they wouldn’t spare the inhabited domes. The ceasefire went as follows: Luna and Earth would not intermingle. Luna would provide Earth with the Letumosis antidote in exchange for Earth sending Luna their desperately-needed supplies. No one deemed this agreement as trustworthy. No one had better ideas.

His decision to end the draft is met with mixed response. Kai just secretly hopes that Cinder is watching, holed up in her new musty, dark booth in her new European city with a flicker of pride.

Years past. Funnily enough, Kai learns that—at some point—pretending to forget and forgetting are not so dissimilar.

But sometimes he sees a malfunctioning android down a palace hall and remembers her steady gloved hands on Nainsi. Sees a woman with almost the right shade of brown in her hair and eyes and skin but never close enough. Yet each time, he collects himself, shakes his head and doesn’t give in, and when he marries a second time to a woman he actually wants to be with, his wife’s radiant smile expels any romantic thought of any other girl that has ever crossed his mind.

— — — 

Fourteen years. That’s how long it takes for his loose threads to finally fray. Kai is in his office being briefed by Torin for an upcoming public statement by his cabinet. It has taken fourteen years after Levana’s death to fully uncover all the scrupulously concealed records of the atrocities she committed. As former empress, her crimes have to be reported by the Eastern Commonwealth, though no reasonably-minded Earthen would attribute her crimes to anyone but her own wicked self.

This report intrigues him. It’s not the usual analytics of Levana’s sins against the Earthen public, rather a detailed list of all the Lunars she victimised.

“Why are we reporting this?” Kai asks Torin, keeping his daughter from bouncing off his lap with steady hands. “What Levana did to the Lunar citizenry is beyond our scope of responsibility.”

“Not those on Luna, Your Majesty,” Torin informs. “This report refers to the illegal Lunar refugees who were hiding on Earth.”

Kai vaguely recalls Levana screeching once about how she would kill all the Lunars he had insubordinately smuggled into the country. He hadn’t believed that there were any Lunars on Earth at that naïve eighteen, but a thirty-three-year-old Kai is not surprised. He scrolls past the initial pages of exposition and gets right to the list of victims. He wants a number. How many Lunars were there really on Earth? That day on the balcony, when Levana had claimed that there had been a Lunar among those protestors—had it been true?

It’s page eight that he sees her name.

Linh Cinder. Cyborg. Lunar. Licensed mechanic in New Beijing. Records found to be falsified. True age unknown. True name unknown. Date of immigration unknown.

Cyborg. Lunar.

Kai’s hands are shaking. He places his daughter on the ground. “Torin,” he wheezes, “take her to her mother.”

His daughter’s soft, “Daddy? Was wrong?” goes unanswered.

Once they’ve left the room, Kai is alone with the horror lying in his hands. He clicks on her profile and a full page with her name and portrait appears. It’s a mugshot, but without the official stamp of the Earthen Union law enforcement, he knows it was Levana’s own team of minions doing the arresting. Her hair is loose, glossy and slick. Her eyes defiant but sunken into dark sockets. Her cheeks are full. She was not starving, wasting away in poverty. Evidently she did manage to make a life for herself on the run.

The biography is short. Linh was reported missing by her guardian on 28 August 126 T.E. at 08:31. CCTV footage shows her driving a second-era automobile from New Beijing to France over the course of 8 days. Linh hid in Nice for 7 months using a false ID chip and started a small mechanic business. Records of an apartment lease were found under the false identity. She was discovered by Lunar authorities when a mandatory Letumosis blood test identified Lunar genealogy in her genome. She was swiftly sentenced and executed without a trial on an unknown date for crimes of illegal departure from Luna.

That’s it. The only information. It limns a tale of another victim of the tyrant with not a stroke of sympathy. Kai thrusts down the port, clawing his hands through his hair.

Cyborg. Lunar. Executed.

He calls his wife.

The line clicks immediately. “Honey, is everything okay?” asks his wife, concern cooling her timbre. “Torin said you were all out of sorts.”

His words are faint. “Hey, love, do you remember that girl I liked before you?”

He can hear her smile. “The mechanic?”

“Yeah.”

"What about her?" her voice heaves and Kai hears a small giggle; Torin has brought their daughter back to their quarters. His wife is picking up the heavy three-year-old.

He has no strength to censor himself, even with young ears present. “She’s dead. Levana killed her.”

A long silence. The thread being pulled, pulled, pulled as the fraying creeps up to the heart of it. The girl whispers to her mother, “who Mummy? Who’s Daddy talking ‘bout?”

Her mother doesn’t explain. “Oh, love, I’m so sorry,” she consoles plaintively in that genuine lilt he knows is sincere. His superlatively gracious wife has never judged him for his grief over the lost cyborg, for regretting he couldn’t help the troubled young girl from a bad home. Never has she assigned ulterior motives of him mourning ‘the one that got away’ in some jealous plea for validation. 

He says nothing. He had forgotten her brown eyes, her smile and her gloves. The sarcasm and the pessimism. Each detail had slipped away and now a single photo, an unuttered apology, is trying to resuscitate the dead.

“Are you okay? Do you want to talk about it?”

Kai reclaims his port and returns to the cover page. It’s entitled: A Comprehensive Account of the Genocide of Lunar Refugees by Queen Levana Blackburn: Names and Implications.

A name. An implication. That’s all she’d be, immortalised in a forgettable list. After the cover page, a number is bolded.

3,582.

The number of Lunar victims. Miniscule compared to Earth’s population. Cinder was almost certainly the only Lunar Cyborg on the list. An oddity. A friendly statistical anomaly.

Never meant to exist. Always meant to be out of reach.

“Kai?”

“It’ll be fine,” he promises, convincing himself of it. “I’ll be fine.”

“You’ll be fine?” she repeats.

That picture is burnt in his retinas; Cinder, forever sixteen. He, now so much older. He doesn’t mourn a lost love. He didn’t love her; he didn’t know her. He mourns an abandoned child who never even knew that someone was looking for her.

Kai exhales slowly and rests his port on the desk next to his wedding photo and his father's signet ring. 

“I’ll be fine,” he affirms, “You know, I don’t really remember her.”

— — — 

@cindersassasin @hayleblackburn @spherical-empirical @salt-warrior @just2bubbly @gingerale2017 @icarusignite @kaider-is-my-otp @slmkaider @luna-maximoff-22 @cosmicnovaflare @kaixiety @snozkat @mirrorballsss @skinwitch18 @vincentvangothic @bakergirl13 @wassupnye @linh-cindy @therealkaidertrash21

[pheonixxfoxx]

Christmas In July Unboxed!

Time for that flashy collection update, hooray!!!

This is what was all inside the wondrous box. Buyee consistently does a brilliant job with their packaging, though I also pay for the extra protection. Gotta keep my precious Buggy stuff safe after all!

Minutes after the box was carefully emptied, it was quickly claimed by a furry grey potato. Jiraiya is the best little assistant and clearly loves when Mom receives large Japan packages. *LOL*

While everything in the package is beyond sexy, this is likely the most unusual item I eagerly awaited. Clearly this is a reproduction, but it is official and ordinarily had a limited release. No, it isn't yellowed either. That is just my awful worn camera for you. If I stopped purchasing Buggy stuff, then maybe a new camera could be afforded? *hum*

There will be respectively a bunch of cards, not quite sure what my apparent obsession with them is? I just know that my poor binders are over following.

This specific card came out in 2002. I genuinely enjoy the fact that it is embossed which gives the card more flashy flare! Very happy that I stumbled upon it.

The two distinct cards, all the way on the left were an interesting find. They came from a specific set called, "One Piece Kings" and were produced in 2014. So, the one at the top left was labeled as a "tournament prize" by the seller. Not sure if it truly is? No matter what, I still treasure it the same way I naturally do with all my precious Buggy cards.

Eeyup, more amazing Buggy cards. The one in the upper left-hand corner is a holo too!

Finally moving away from the cards, for now. The MVP of this photo is the flip flop charm with Buggy's Jolly Roger! This notable item was such a random find. I traditionally knew that if I didn't buy it, there would be much regret. Indeed, the oddly unique charm is official and another one has not been seen by me since.

Those rubber coasters are the best thing ever! Not sure if I will properly utilize the spare one? I would absolutely hate insulting a certain clown by placing my tumbler on his sexy face. All the same, my tumbler is unsurprisingly Buggy themed too.

Yes, the interesting blue watch is not of Buggy. Oh, the unspeakable shame, but the watch is SO me! A battery is just required to get it running again. The watch is even brand new and never worn too!

The clearfile to the right additionally includes Marineford stickers of Buggy and Mr. 3.

No order from Japan is complete without some doujin. *wink*

The talented artist who made,"Go Go!! Cross Guild" exhibits an incredible sense of humor. It is possible I will display some images of the inside here sometime. Buggy actually puts on a suit and looks rather sexy, yum! *drools*

Last two items are Mercari gets that showed up on the same day.

That's it for this update. I some how managed to discover suitable places for almost everything, but three specific items. Currently, another box is being filled too. There is a unique keychain plush that will hopefully be among the next lot.

[adiosterror]

What's up gang, I'm here with the long awaited egbert collection, call this shit MTV cribs: selfshipper edition

This is just a post to share my collection of merch related to John/June Egbert since I got the Heir of Breath hood today, which is the blue in the back of these photos

Warning: may be too cool for your naked eyes, please wear safety goggles when viewing this post

Here it is!! This is everything I have john related or at least with john on it lol, I'll give y'all a tour

Here's the left side, I'll count the actual hood in here which is what I got today!! It's about 5'4 long and I LOVE IT it's so cozy,,,

To the far left is my breath t-shirt that I got with a comfort character package from etsy, which is also where I got that letter!! What's in it is for my eyes only ehehe,, and up top there is the john candle from Honey Weasel Candles!! I got it at SAHCon this year along with a lot of other candles and I love love love it, I highly recommend them for candle girlies

Those two little paper things are some stickers I got with the Heir hood today!! They're absolutely adorable, I don't wanna use them lol

And in the very center is my prized john keychain from Requiem x Homestuck 2023, I have all four of the kids from 23, but not any from 24 since I wasn't a huge fan of the artstyle

And that breath pin is another thing from etsy! I got it to wear on my work hat and I got some compliments on it lol, I have it since I'm a breath player but he is too, so I counted it

Also!! I didn't take any pictures of it specifically because I'm dumb but that 4/13 book is an art zine from my local convention this year!! I love the art SO much and I'd love to share it with y'all if you're interested!!

OH MY GOD I FORGOT MY BRACELET I WAS JUST ABOUT TO POST THIS HOW COULD I FORGET

This also came with my comfort character package with the shirt and letter!! The bells on it used to be pink and blue but they've worn down a lot now,, and one of the bells got crushed by wear and tear

This bracelet is my biggest comfort,, I never take it off and the jingles soothe my anxiety if I'm overstimulated,, I totally forgot about it because I'm wearing sleeves lol, but this is my prized possession,, along with my ancient mew pokemon card, but that's a collection for another day

Thank y'all so much for coming to the ted talk!! And thank you so much to the etsy and convention sellers that helped me fuel my addiction lol

If you're curious about any of the shops I got these from, please do ask me!! Especially with the comfort character package, they do a ton of different fandoms!

Much love, and byebye 💖💖

(Watch me remake this post later today because I forgot something else.. it always happens lol)