#got rid of wool clothes

[zipquips]

so i've been breaking out into hives for like the past seven? months and it's def an allergy thing but i haven't been able to figure out what the allergy is to. but apparently too much vitamin b12 can cause hives and i've been taking vitamin b12 daily because i'm vegetarian and i am going to fucking lose my mind and combust if i find out i've been giving myself hives this whole fucking time ;-;

[littl3d0ll-art]

Lamb in lolita fashion you’ll always be dear to me

[aweina]

soft bi-han and how he interacts with his spouse

ᥫ᭡. broken hair tie , bi-han ( fluff )

tags gn reader. established relationship. implied height difference. soft boy bi-han. kind of ooc + 1k words.

this became a drabble, so i hope that’s fine. and so sorry i got to your request late, hope you enjoy ( ￣0￣) !

having his hair down was inconvenient for bi-han. dark strands blocking his view, leaving the grandmaster to dumbly stop mid stroll to force them out his eyes. the unkept knots pinched his scalp with each secret attempt to brush them with his fingers, hissing in at each burning tug and wishing he made more effort to care for his hair. bi-han glares at the broken hair tie in his icy grasp, floods of bad memories coming back to him — the ends of his hair already itching his neck.

it’s only good luck when he finds you turn a corner in the hallway, quirking a curious brow at his unusual look. he sighs in irritation when you laugh and stand in front of him, gently cradling his stubbled cheeks with amusement.

“keep it, it’s a nice look,” you quipped with a sneaky smile, brushing away the rogue strands away from his hardened gaze.

“continuing the day like this will be impossible.” bi-han retorts with a growl, subtly leaning into your soft palms.

you tilt your head ever so gently, hooking your finger around the elastic band wrapped conveniently around your wrist — teasingly waving the wool material front of his face.

“then let me tie your hair, you could peacefully continue your day.”

bi-han seems taken aback from your offer. nobody has ever laid a hand on his hair, let alone style it. he preferred to do everything himself, even if he wasn’t so good at it. the usual routine when tying his hair was simple and effective. fingers lazily run through the straight strands, hastily drifting his eyes on any loose stands from the mirror, and finally he looping his hair in a snug bun. by now it was a reflex to do his hair with the exact same slow energy — same untended care.

then your soft, feathery touch ghosted over his straight locks. he knitted his brows at the plaguing imagination of your much softer and careful manner — gliding effortlessly through the whirling knots that he struggled to maintain, his scalp soothed by your delicate fingertips. it’s only when bi-han realizes he closed his eyes from the warm trance your imaginary touches put him in, he slowly opens them to find you gazing at him with utter patience.

his eyes suddenly bright and hazy from his usual sharp, darken gaze. looking you intently, he nodded slowly. you grin as you patted his cheek with excitement, combing your fingers through his stands — getting rid of any painful tangles with much more care and precision than he ever would. with his stature towering over you, he knelt down on one knee — rough hands dragging down to your hips for stability and the urge to knead the plushness of your soft skin.

he gazes up at you, biting back a comforting sigh when your hands delicately brushed over his hairline and again, through his snared locks. the permanent furrow in his brows unknotted to a more restful state, all the nerves in his tense body melted away with your touch.

“it doesn’t hurt?” you asked knowing the truth. the moment your fingertips brushed against his scalp, the firm, controlled grip around your waist slipped into a loosened grasp onto your clothing. the scowl that you loved so much was blurry and no longer held irritated weight — bi-han was in a tranquil state.

the grandmaster sleepily hummed in reply. the thought of the passing trainees catching him in a vulnerable position never crossed his mind.

you gaze down at him adoringly, fastening his now much more smooth locks into a gentle grip. his hair was beautiful, but he had no idea how to take care of it. a shame, really. after this, you might convince him to try hair essences and intricate treatments that would do wonders for the complicated knots and tender pressure on his scalp.

slipping the wool tie through your free hand, you secured his silky hair into the usual bun he had but without firmly twirling the strands around into an immovable, neat style. you fixed the tie around the bun, a satisfied smile on your face when you gently tilted his chin side to side to see your handy work.

“you look perfect,” you whispered sweetly, peppering little pecks all over his restful face — waking up bi-han from his brief nap.

he hummed in content, his own way for him to say ‘thank you’. he blinked away the tiredness set in his eyes. the stray hair that you couldn’t seem to get tickled his skin, but the secure hairstyle made him completely forget the broken elastic that caused his exasperation in the first place.

“watch today’s training with me.” it was more of an unarguable command than a negotiable statement. not like you would say no.

“of course i’ll accompany you.” his grip around your waist seems more tighter through your assurance, his bent posture never seemed to straighten.

suddenly, a surprised yelp escaped through your lips, your feet cutting through the winter air. with effortless strength, bi-han stood at his full height as he carried you in a strong embrace — securing your body firmly against his as he let your dangling limbs wrap around him out of fear from falling on your face.

“you’ll carry me there, seriously?” you squeaked in exasperation, worried that you might’ve tied his hair too tight that affected his usual stern, closed off attitude.

“i simply need you to explain how you did my hair.” bi-han mumbles in your ear with a smirk, a poor excuse to keep you wrapped in his arms.

you playfully sigh in defeat, carefully guiding him through the process of hair maintenance and steps of his current hairstyle. the warmth of your breath tickles his cold skin as he plants a sweet kiss on your temple, making you shyly tuck your head in the nape of his neck — your firm instructions becoming much softer through your quivering lips. the stunned looks from his younger brothers and the passing lin kuei servants went ignored as bi-han concentrated on your detailed instructions and sweet voice, slowly guiding you both to the training grounds.

© aweina : please do not copy, repost, or modify any of my content.

[breakfastteatime]

Today's Fallen Order request is Biohazard for @ledeni-tm

“No.”

Cal stands at the bottom of the ramp and stares up at Greez, haloed in the ship’s internal lighting. “Huh?”

Greez points, specifically at the poncho Cal as clutched in his hand. “No more. Not a single one. By the gods, Cal, I can smell the damn thing from here.”

Cal holds it up to demonstrate the very funky pattern it has. Best of all, it’s a nice, thick wool. Once it’s clean and dry, it’ll be a favourite for sure. “I need it, Greez. It’s mine.”

“I understand and accept that five years on Bracca has ruined your sense of smell, but me and Cere? Ours is fine. And as such, we can smell that little poncho selection of yours no matter what we do. So, the following are your options – get rid of them all and we’ll find you a nice new one in a store that doesn’t sell actual biohazards.”

“Not happening.”

BD backs him up with a rude squeal.

Hands held up in a pacifying gesture, Greez waits for silence. “Or you stay out there and do some laundry.”

The sky overhead is thick with the promise of a snowstorm. Cal’s hands are cold and stiff from his journey across Zeffo. He’s tired and hungry, thoughts of dinner getting him through the lengthy journey back to the ship. He doesn’t particularly want to stay outside, but he also refuses to give up a single one of his ponchos. They’re his. All of them. He found them, and sure, maybe some are coated in mildew, and others have a smell he can’t quite get rid of, but none of them are actual biohazards…

…are they?

“Are they?” he asks BD.

BD’s scans suggest a couple might host bacteria unsafe for most organics, and while he has no capacity to smell, scans would indicate unpleasant odours would be a side effect of said bacteria.

“Fine,” Cal says. “I guess it’s laundry day.”

Greez’s ominous laugh echoes down from the ship. “I knew you’d say that.” He returns with a large container (honestly, it’s large enough to stuff Greez himself into). “Fill this with water. I’ve got various detergents to clean these things up.”

“I do wash them!” Cal insists.

“With appropriate laundry detergents, or with soap when you shower? Or does going for a swim in a poncho count as washing them?”

Opting for tactical silence, Cal places the new poncho into the container and plods onto the ship with it. He fills the container in the shower as it won’t fit under the sink, then lugs it back outside. He places it down and returns to the engine room to fetch all his ponchos. He puts them all inside.

“Now, watch a master at work.” Greez adds a blend of detergents and something called fabric conditioner to the water. It all sounds like a waste of credits to Cal. Greez also adds an entire bottle of disinfectant and gives the whole barrel a mix with a stick. “We’re gonna let this stew for a while before you heft it all back inside and stick them in the machine to spin. After that, we’ll bring them back out here to air dry. Might take a while, given how cold it is, but it will help with the stench.”

“Are they really that bad?”

“Worse.”

“I’m sorry, Greez.”

Greez looks up from his stirring. “Why do you always make me feel so bad about stuff, even when you’re in the wrong and I’m definitely in the right?”

BD suggests it’s a Jedi thing. Cal smiles. “I didn’t mean to,” he offers.

“See? There you go doing it again. Listen, kid, honestly, I wish you wouldn’t bring back stuff you find on these planets. I’m sure we can find you something during a supply run. However, I get that you like them and therefore you gotta meet me midway – keep ‘em, but clean ‘em. Properly. None of your wash your clothes while you shower or swim nonsense. And if you’re taking a breath to tell me that’s how it was done on Bracca, I do not wanna know.”

Cal breathes out and closes his mouth.

“You don’t have to live like you’re a credit away from financial ruin. We’re not multimillionaires, but we’re not broke. And if you don’t know how to use the machine, ask. I’m not gonna judge.”

“Thanks, Greez.”

“And maybe don’t stuff wet clothes into a box under your bed.”

“But – ”

“Ah! What did I say about Bracca?”

“You don’t wanna know.”

“Atta boy.”

[lovelyyandereaddictionpoint]

How would our favor Yan demon brothers be when seeing their lil sheep mc wearing something cute and modest for once when they have their human body back ( minus the sheep parts like her horns and fluffy tail )

Finally Barbatos has given you a more refined version of the potion and now you look like a normal human. Now you can finally get rid of all the immodest outfits they had you wearing because of your fluffy sheepy bits and horns. Finally able to wear the clothes you want to wear you proudly pose. 

“So boys? What d’ya think?”

“I’m happy for you, I’m sure you’ll delight in being taken more seriously.”

Lucifer will miss it 

just a lil’ bit

But nonetheless you are still the human he fell in love with from the beginning

And he’s not at all disappointed when he gets previews of the new (Y/n) calendar

Especially when you are willing to wear a copy of his normal outfit

“Now that you are back to normal would you like to try on this?

“Won’t get as much as those sheepy pics but this works too!” 

Mammon’s still excited 

You’re just so pretty 

He’s definitely getting outfits so expensive he’ll have to work to pay off for a lifetime

But it's worth it to see you walk by wearing what he’s got you

“Y-yeah I bought that for them! Of course, the Great Mammon has such good tastes! Y-you l-look half-descent a-at least.”

“Perfect! Now you really can be Ruri-chan! Properly this time!”

Leviathans elated

He’s been waiting for this day for far too long

He’s ready to recheck all your measurements as he preps the different cosplay he wants you to try

It is hard to style around your horns and wool without making it a part of the outfit

“Now I can properly get the (Y/n) experience!” 

“Good to know. Now I’ll be looking into making you part-cat next.”

Satan’s joking he’s not

He would often imagine what’d you’d be like without the sheepy bits

Of course, it just felt like an over-the-top censor bar 

But who is he to complain

Now you are unobstructed

“Here in the meantime, you can wear this headband and cattail. You’d look just fine.”

“Yay! Now wear this! What! This is going to make your little human butt look the  cutest!”

Asmodeus is not phased at all by the change

In fact, he was ready for it 

Already lining up the outfits in his closet that you could wear

And you are wearing it

Modest or not

After all you are a weak little human compared to the avatar of lust

“I’m ready to see all of you baby! Don’t run!”

“You don’t look like cotton candy now.”

For Beelzebub, Nothing’s changed much 

You’re still weak to him 

Still eating impossibly less than he

All he knows is that you no longer look like the carnival treat

You still look just as cute with food spilled on you

“I’ll help you clean up. It’d be a waste to not lick you this food up.”

*Yawn* “Doesn’t matter to me your just as soft.”

Belphegor feels really pleased

He always liked your more human parts

Especially your skin

He sleeps on wool and cotton all the time 

So he’s happy all of you are just you

Though he’d really prefer it if you didn’t want to wear clothes anyway

“You don’t need this, do you? Or your shorts, right? I just want us both to be comfortable before we nap.”

[max-the-many]

It took quite a while to get some samples, mostly cause I definately didn't wanna waste this opportunity.

The flood of emotions, of insight, of trust was just breathtaking, literally, when I touched this heap of slime that turned out to be three, touched out of an indiscribable urge the moment I saw it.

I cant discribe it, but I just knew at that moment what needed to be done, and I wanted it desperately.

So I went to town, looked around until I found the first one, sitting in a cafe. Without much of a thought I blatently crashed into him in a fake stumble, grabbing his head, lucky enough find a single hair in my hand after appologysing heavily.

The swcond one was a bit harder. After crashing into him inmidst the walkway I wasn't so lucky. So I followed. Hours. He was just too perfect!

Finally he entered a store. And as he went for the booths to try some clothes I took a chance, buying a wool one after he put it away, hoping to have some of him in there.

The third one though took a while to find. As I wanted him to match as good as the first two would. So I walked around the cuty, seeing men after man. Nobody was good enpugh. I wanted this to be perfect! The thought of having them was just too good! Although I didn't really know what would happen exactly.

Then, when I saw him behind the counter of a hardware store it felt almost like a dream. It had to be him! Almost comically dressed in a red and black plaid shirt he smiled at me as I entered the store.

"How can I help you?" he said and I craved to just ask for some of his louvious hair, peaking out between the top of his shirt.

In desperation I had an idea. So I thanked him, looking around by myself, preparing for my plan before I asked about some random tool, trying to get him out.

He smelled so good when I stood besodes him infront of the display! And then, when he reached out to grab the tool I asked for I did the same, faking to touch the hairy back of his hand by accident.

"Oh shit, what..." he stated when the sticky underside of my hand pulled on his hand.

"Urh... damn I thought I got rid of it! Sorry, but I already washed my hand a thousand times!" I lied before finding an excuse to leave. Of cause it was glue that I smeared on there exactly to get what I saw in my palm, smiling widely. The final sample to return to those... whatever they were...

[yunamedkostobot]

Jacegan week 2024: Day One, Ritual

AU, where instead of training the dragons, Valirians were taught to turn into them, albeit the Doom still happened. However, instead of conquering Westeros, they decided to concentrate on Essos and create their kingdom at former Slaver’s Bay lands. So by the canonical Dance of Dragons time, Westeros is divided between Hoar’s kingdom(which includes not only the Iron Islands, but the Westlands, Reach and half of Riverlands)(another half is held by Arryn kingdom). The North is still an independent kingdom and Cregan is its king, newly got rid of his uncle Bennard. One day, Cregan decides to take a ride to Deepwood Moot with his half-sister Sara and lord Servin, his friend. The Hoar still attempts to conquer the North, and the castle is still the stronghold against them. 

Once they get near the castle, it seems that a big shadow flies over it, but it disappears as soon as Cregan looks away. 

And the next day, a young man appears at the village nearby. This man looks quite ordinary - dark hair, grey eyes, slender build - and wears simple clothes but no weapon but a simple knife. He wanders along the shore and village, chats with smallfolk, exchanges drinks with guards and relentlessly asks if some strange things happened here. 

At first, Cregan doesn’t notice him - until he notices that the boy’s clothes are not really made for North’s weather. They are made of linen, and not of wool or leather and totally are not suited even for summer in the North, yet the man seems not to give a damn about this. He doesn't even seem to feel cold.

Cregan is overcomed by curiosity and, despite Lord Cervin’s and Lord Glover’s objections, calls him in, while at the same time attempting to dig where this man comes from. 

At first, it seems it’s necessary, because the man(whose name is Jace) seems to wear his heart on his sleeve. He simply talks that he came from the Bay of Free Men in Essos, where he lived with his mothers, father, four little brothers and baby sister and he just came to travel the world. He tells of high pyramids and earthly gray rocks, of deep blue sea, orange trees and the dragons living among the people. He is ready to tell about long channels of water built and the gardens of thousand trees and flowers blooming in the places where there was nothing but sand one hundred years ago. He tells how the family running from the Doom of Valyria had taken these places for themselves and rebuilt these Bay from nothing.

From the distances of thousand miles, the story of the place is like a fairytale or a legend dating back to the Long Night, and maybe it is hard to believe it here, but Cregan finds it interesting. So, he starts to spend more time with the man from the Free Man’s Bay. He is still interested in why this man came to the North.

When he asked Jace about it, he just shrugged his shoulders and said:

— I need to complete one ritual here.

Cregan doesn’t understand. He knows of rituals people practice: of blood oaths and self-sacrifice, which was used by heathen priests of the Old Gods until the said priests were caught and executed. But what type of ritual does this man want to complete? 

It does not help that Jace is actually a very interesting person to speak with. He is smart, knows a lot of things, is ready to talk a lot about everything including the history of different lands and their legends, and nevertheless, never seems like he wants to boast about everything he knows. He is ready to allow other people to express themselves and listens to them patiently before starting to speak. He does not seem the man who is ready to immolish himself for unknown reasons. And so he soughts to spend as much time with him as possible.

One day, the Ironborn of Hoar attack the coast. Cregan, of course, can’t just stand and watch and enters the battle alongside Cervin. However, since the forces of Hoars are stronger than canon Greyjoys(because their kingdom is bigger and richer), the battle ends up being bloody and Northern men lose a lot of their men. 

Until the green dragon arrives. He flies over Ironborns ships and burns them, and then attacks and starts to kill those Ironborn, who are standing nearby them. The remainings understand what that means and start to throw themselves at Northern positions and one of them hits Cregan into his head and the latter loses his consciousness.

He wakes up at the cave. Nearby, the sea hums. The first man he sees here is Jace, with part of his clothes torn and the green-grey scales on the cheekbones.

Cregan asks for answers.

And Jace - who reveals himself to be Jacaerys Velaryon, son of the ruler of the Dragonmen of the Bay of Free Men - tells him everything. Tells  not only about the kingdom, which is ruled by his mother now, but about his relatives as well, about his brothers and little sister, about his uncles and aunts. He also explains what brought him to the North. The Dragonmen have their special initiation rituals and the young dragonman should make his 12 feats - 6 by his own volition and 6 by another’s choice. He already completed 11 of them and now is doing another the last. He came to the North to complete his ritual and rise to full-blown member of Dragonmen society.

Cregan remembers the stories coming from Vale about dragons kidnapping young maidens, and asks if it is a ritual too. Jace laughs and says that they do not kidnap only the maidens but the handsome knights too - it is how his mother meets his father. However, they do not cause them any harm and the only dragon who burned them alive was his great-granduncle Maegor, who is considered a monster by their tribesmen.

Cregan doesn’t remember, for how many time they kissed eachother after this. 

After that, Jace suddenly gets more serious and tells Cregan about the reason he came to the North - to stop one of the sea snakes terrorizing the costs of the islands. The sea snakes are the bitter rivals of Dragonmen like the fireworms(From whom they descend) and unlike them, are pure animals. He says that those creatures crave human blood and arrive at the places of battles to eat it and leave them after catching humans to be eaten alive. He says that smallfolk believe that giving a young woman to them to fend it off and bring prosperity in winter. For a lot of them this is the ritual. Cregan suddenly understands what those implications mean, gets what to do with it and gets up to rush to the shore to help. Jacaerys understands and goes with him.

And they turn out to be right. After the sea snake comes to the battlefield, the smallfolk uses the usual panacea - Sara ends up as the sacrifice for this sea snake. She ends up chained to the rock formation. 

But as the day closes, and the nobles and smallfolk meet an unlikely couple - a dragon and thought to be a disappeared young lord - who come to rescue the chained lady and get rid of the attacking sea monster forever. 

[sleepysuburb]

chinnery, pauline, bernice and mrs levinson 😩

these feel TARGETED

under the cut because i have a lot of hcs and they might get long

chinnery

he'd love a pet of his own more than anything, but can't have one for obvious reasons. instead he has a bunch of those little animatronic toy animals with touch sensors, so he can pet them to decompress after work.

once he starts drinking he finds it extremely difficult to stop. more than once he's gone for a half pint to take the edge off and wound up blackout drunk and sobbing. at this point barbara's fairly used to him being in floods of tears in the back of her cab.

he smells like disinfectant, silage and wet wool. it's not unpleasant, just musty and weird.

he's hopeless with dating. yes, he's tried it - but as soon as someone finds out he's THAT vet, they make an excuse to leave and never talk to him again. even attachments wouldn't help him and to this day he's devastated they put 'not at all kind to animals' on his profile without even asking him.

pauline

he can't sleep without his nature soundscape cassette. either it's birdsong and rainfall, or a sleepless night.

bernice

she's an astrology freak and treats herself to a trash mag every few days, mostly so she can check her horoscope.

she's rarely sick, so when she is she makes it a whole event. constant complaining, duvet on the couch, game shows, cartoons and bargain hunt on the TV all day... whoever's there looking after her has to make her chicken noodle soup - and feed it to her - and keep her topped up with lucozade, otherwise they're "ruining it".

tells people she drinks black coffee, but she actually loads it up with mental amounts of cream, sugar and syrup.

she has hoarding tendencies. it's a constant battle to keep her space clean and tidy, because she has a habit of trawling charity shops and grabbing any bric-a-brac, clothes, books or soft toys she takes a liking to. no, she's not getting rid of her garfield plush collection, she's imprinted on them all and it would be like chucking out family.

her eyesight is horrible and she's blind as a bat without her glasses. one time in prison she got into a fight and broke them, and requested to be sent to solitary until they were fixed so she wouldn't have to worry about fumbling her way around.

her favourite pen is the one mickey gave her at the end of his restart course. that's what she'll say if you ask her in front of him, but her actual favourite pen is a metallic pink gel pen she never uses to keep it in pristine condition.

under her clothes she's absolutely covered with tattoos, all blue linework and traditional designs (mermaids, anchors, stars, angels and devils...)

mrs levinson

she has a massive unlicensed weapon collection, but being the vicar, everyone turns a blind eye.

she hates christmas, but her favourite holiday is halloween; she likes drenching herself in fake blood and revving a real chainsaw at trick or treaters to scare them away, and then steals the sweets they end up dropping.

the communion wine hasn't been wine for ages, but somehow nobody's noticed she swapped it for vodka with red dye in it yet.

despite everything she loves her job because she enjoys hearing everyone's business. it gives her a huge amount of power to know the intimate details of everyone's life, who's shagging who, who's got crippling depression, who's stealing from work... she could ruin everyone's lives in an instant, but she likes to bide her time until someone really pisses her off.

she's a bottle blonde. for years she had mousy brown hair and hated it, thinking it made her look plain and dull. pretty soon after she bleached it, iris bleached hers too in competition, so now it's a constant battle to see who can maintain it the best.

she's cycled through lots of self-employed jobs to try and find purpose after eddie's death - counselling, making her own jewellery, countless pyramid schemes, the massage parlour. none have worked out.

she does some "romance" (read: dirty) writing in her free time under a pen name, and it gives her a real ego boost to go out in royston vasey and hear people discussing her books without knowing she's sitting right there.

any 'designer' clothing or bags she bought after eddie's death are likely cheap fakes. nobody except her would ever know, but she does sometimes get paranoid that someone's going to see the wonky coach logo on her handbag and call her out for it.

she has hookups occasionally, with both men and women, if the loneliness gets too much for her. her sexuality is complicated and she doesn't want to label herself, but as time goes on she's finding herself favouring women more and more.

[admistedenslush]

The Silent Sister - Aegon Targaryen/Reader - Chapter One

Summary: Cast away in disgrace, your family dispatches you to King's Landing, condemned to join the female clergy of the Faith of the Seven.

━━━━━━━♔━━━━━━━

In the dead of night you were still awake, haunted by your dreams you couldn’t bare to fall asleep. Your skin is inflamed red by your constant itching caused by the cloth of your garments. In your grim welcoming in King’s Landing, the head of the division, an elderly crow of a woman, told you to rid yourself of your pretty silks.

“The frocks shall not be pleasant nor beautiful, girl. You shall not be comfortable in your own flesh. Nothing is pleasant about serving the stranger. You shall take your oath of chastity and silence, and then death shall be your companion.”

With a hazy smile, you thought about your first encounter with the woman.

Upon your arrival, you had the initial apprehension that the first thing you would face would be the severing of your tongue. However, much to your relief, it turns out that this notion was an unfounded rumor. As you reminisce, you realize that quite some time has passed since that moment in question. It feels like a distant memory, locked away in the annals of your mind, reminding you of how much has changed since then. Your hand slipped into your wool cap and you stroked your hair.

They cut a full mop of hair to sit above your shoulders.

“Long tresses are a privilege for ladies and princesses,” you whisper to yourself to calm your nerves.

Almost falling asleep, you hear isolated footsteps accompanied by occasional giggles. With your heart pounding, you get up immediately. When was the last time you heard the sound of joy? Surely, it couldn't be one of your fellow sisters because as you look around, everyone is still fast asleep. Slowly, you got up, not thinking of putting on your respectful clothes. In the depths of the Sept, your eyes scanned the area, seeking the origin of the commotion. A disheveled man stood before you, his hood partially concealing his features. Even in the dimness, his renowned glossy silver hair caught your attention. As you gazed upward, your heart skipped a beat. It was unmistakably a prince; though momentarily uncertain which one, both his eyes indicated he must be the elder brother. With each step he took towards you, you felt an overwhelming urge to cry out. His unsteady footsteps revealed his inebriated state, his presence looming right before me.

“Who are you?” he boisterously proclaimed with a swollen chest and held breath. Horror filled your expression, but he exhaled with a jovial laugh. Like a playful child, he covered his eyes with his hands, peeking at me between his fingers, and gleefully announced, "I'm Aegon.”

Following a tense pause, he pouted and reiterated, “Aegon, the second to bear the name,” punctuating his statement with a giggle. You bowed respectfully, attempting to adjust your hair beneath your cap.

“You are quite lovely,” he remarked, swatting your cap away. With a surprising force, he shoved you against the cool stone wall, causing a sharp ache in your back. Aegon scrutinized your attire, his eyes nearly bulging out of his skull.

“You can't be,” he declared incredulously. Aegon's eyes glistened with a hungry desire as he whispered, “You're a Silent Sister, Gods.” His smile resembled that of a mischievous child who yearned to indulge in forbidden actions. With a sly grin, he extended two fingers towards your lips, opening them and swirling his digits within your mouth. Shocked and taken aback, you found yourself paralyzed, unsure of how to react to this unusual intrusion. A realization hit you, and without thinking, you instinctively bit down on his finger. Aegon let out a groan, his expression shifting from curiosity to mild pain. The prince asserted his dominance once again, pushing you backward with determination.

“It's not as if you can say no, even if you wish to. But deep down, I know you do,” he sneered. In response, you fought back, slapping him across the face. The color in his cheeks deepened, turning rosy. With his signature pout, he looked up at you, his eyes filled with both frustration and annoyance.

Straining your voice, you declared, “You can't always have everything you desire.”

“She speaks, You may have broken one oath, but what about the other?” Aegon retorted.

A blush warmed your face as you picked up your cap, attempting to tidy it up.

“My father once taught me that if you lie down with dogs, you are sure to catch their fleas,” you revealed.

Aegon couldn't help but burst into laughter, collapsing to the floor in amusement. Feeling a sense of urgency, you retreated to the safety of your shared chamber.

[asknerdyalastor]

You're so sweet!

Got any good advice to get rid of blood from the floorboards?

Oh! And there where some leftovers, what do you usually do with that?

"I have plenty of advice in getting blood out of wooden floorsh. Try mixing a tableshpoon of dish detergent with two cupsh of cold water, shponge the shtain with the sholution and blot until the liquid ish abshorbed. Repeat until the shtain ish gone. You could alsho ushe Hydrogen Peroxide directly on the shtain with a cloth or mix it with water or dish detergent. Let it shit (lol) for 5 minutesh then blot with a paper towel. Gently rub with a microfiber cloth until the shtain ish gone and rinshe with cold water. If it'sh dried blood then it'sh shteel wool you're after! Lightly brush the dried blood shtainsh with shteel wool ushing gentle force and a few passhesh. After the shtain ish gone wipe the area with a damp cloth to remove any residue. Although, you may need to re-shtain or apply a new finish to reshtore the appearance of the floor. Another way to get rid of dried blood ish by adding an even layer of baking shoda over the shtain and masshaging it into the shtain with a dry cloth. Then, shoak a toothbrush in vinegar and vigoroushly shcrub the wood. Once the bubbling shtopsh, wipe away the mixture with a dry cloth. Keep repeating thish process until the shtain ish completely gone."

"ash for the leftoversh, you could wrap them up and place them in the fridge dear. I know I will going back for more later!"

(thanks to this blog my search history is now extremely concerning lmao)

[ceruleanmusings]

A Batch Made in Heaven: Mickames

dusting this one off from 2020. have fun with james being a mess - literally.

@partiallypearl @witchofinterest @raging-violets

------

Pulling faces at the acrid stench, James waved a mitted hand over the smoking hunks of cookie sitting on the baking tray. His nose wrinkled. Calling it a cookie was being generous. Disaster was a better word. Blowing out a sigh, he removed the oven mitt and tossed it onto the counter. A plume of flour shot up and hit him in the face, making him slam his eyes shut and press his lips into a straight line.

Great. Just great. Now there was no point to the apron; his nice, pressed shirt was ruined and the flour in his hair had to be sucking up any bit of moisture left. He couldn’t have dull, dry locks. Any bit of shine less than the surface of, well, a diamond was completely unacceptable!

Wrestling the looping neck hole over his head, James tossed it aside, casting a forlorn glance at the flour and dried cookie dough clinging to the once pristine fibers of his shirt. Now he was two for two. Thankfully his dark denim and sneakers were left unscathed but now he had to change his outfit; he could make anything look amazing but even he had to draw the line at oil stains and sticky residue. They weren’t exactly his idea of a good accessory.

Whirling around, his eyes landed on the glowing neon green numbers on the oven clock. 1:07. Okay, that gave him a little bit of time. Not enough to fix everything but maybe he could get a new shirt on and at least add some fresh spritzes of Cuda Man Spray to his neck. It would do in a pinch and had to be much better than the smoldering ashes left on the baking sheet, reminding him of his failure. As if he needed their physical presence to do that.

“Knock knock!” Drat, too late! Why did she have to finally get over her habit of not walking right into the apartment? And why did she have to be so punctual? A few extra moments to himself and he’d at least be an eight on the James Diamond Presentation Scale rather than sitting at a mediocre seven.

It was an odd combination, the swooping flutter in his chest colliding with a spiking throb of dread at the sight of Mickey coming in through the door, eyes shining, bounce in her step as always. He’d never felt so torn between wanting to dive right into the pure shot of joy at seeing her or succumbing to the aversion of her seeing him like this: unkempt, messy, disheveled. Elation won over, lifting his mouth to a cresting smile, spreading a pleasant buzz right beneath his skin when she wrapped her arms around his waist in a hug, burying her face in his chest.

“Mmm,” she hummed, tilting her head back, resting her chin against him to look up at him, “you smell good.”

“Thanks, I make it a point not to smell bad.”

“Well, yeah, that,” she said with a laugh, “but I meant something else. Something sweet. Like icing or sugar or…” Taking a step back, he relished in the drag of her fingers against this sides, lightly pulling at his clothes. “This.” Her finger jabbed at the spot on his shirt; he looked down as well, as if seeing it for the first time. “What’s that?”

He brushed his hand against his shirt, batting the dough away, mentally groaning at the darkened stain left on him. Maybe Mama Knight could find a way to get rid of the stain; she was good with all that laundry stuff. The first and only time James tried he ruined a good shirt. All Mama Knight said was to scrub to pre-treat a stain. Who knew you weren’t supposed to use steel wool? “Nothing.”

Her eyebrows lifted. “So…you make it a habit to walk around looking like you got beaten up by the Pillsbury Doughboy?” The backslap of her hand to his sleeve cast another puff of flour off him.

James snorted. “Okay, for one, if I actually got into a fight with the Doughboy I’d win.” At the amused expression on her face he added an emphatic, “easily” which made her laugh. “And, no, I don’t. I just…I wanted…” His mouth pressed into a line and his fingers twitched by his sides.

It wasn’t that he didn’t want Mickey to know he was baking. Or, rather, that he tried. She could sniff out the smell of vanilla or browned butter from a mile away. He didn’t want her to know he failed. He was James Diamond. He achieved every dream he put into place, he won every competition he entered, he and his buds played on a winning high school hockey team. Failure wasn’t a word that existed in his world. His parents made sure of it; his pride doubled down on it. Sure, he may have suffered a few setbacks, but he didn’t fail. He couldn’t fail. Not like this, not now.

Heaving a sigh, James rubbed his forehead. Maybe he could still salvage this somehow. People always said honesty was the best policy; someone had to be right about that at some point or else people wouldn’t keep saying it. But that usually ended up with the guys being mad at him over stating their inadequacies during rehearsal (compared to him anyway.) But Mickey had only two things she wanted when they started dating: respect and communication. Something told him honesty fell in there somewhere. “Don’t laugh, okay?” James took Mickey’s shoulders and spun her around. He counted the seconds ticking by looking at the back of her head, waiting for her to notice the chunks of cement arranged on the pan. It took seven seconds; the same amount of time it took her to fail at restraining a laugh at a good joke.

“Hey! Hockey pucks!” Tilting her head back, she smiled up at him. “That’s cute.”

“They aren’t hockey pucks. They’re cookies.”

She blinked, smile fading. “Oh.”

“I made them.”

“Oh.”

“For you.”

“…Oh!”

James grumbled. “Stop saying that.”

“Sorry! I just…don’t know what to say.” She paused. “You don’t bake.”

“I know.” Well, that wasn’t exactly how he expected it, though he was glad the guys weren’t there. They’d never let him hear the end of it.

Mickey approached the cookies, poking at the side of one. It crumbled into a pile of ash, and she pulled her lips into a line. Pulling a face, James rested his arms against the side of the counter. All that work for nothing. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you cook anything either,” she commented.

“I make chicken nuggets all the time.”

“That doesn’t count. All you do is heat them up.”

“Yeah, but I have to push a button to do it.” In one fell swoop her eyelids drooped to half-mast and her weight switched to one side. “You push a button to turn on the oven, it’s the same thing!” he said.

She shook her head. “Not really.”

“Yeah, well, it takes a lot of effort to pull off the plastic wrap for the nuggets.”

“All that hard work at the gym has finally paid off.”

James pouted. “Stop being mean.” Her mouth turned up in a half smile and she picked up a cookie, one of the few that didn’t look too terrible. It wasn’t until it was halfway to her face realization thundered in him and he jerked upwards. “Wait, you don’t have to eat it!”

She gave him a look. “You made them for me. I should at least try one.”

“You really don’t!” His words had no effect on her as she took a bite. Muscles in her face twitched, her chewing slowed, and he swore at one point she went cross-eyed. She placed a hand on her chest and let out an audible swallow. Groaning, James shoved his face in his hands. “I told you.” His muffled words slipped out between his fingers.

“It’s not…entirely…terrible.” Peeking through his fingers he watched her stick her tongue out a few times, touching the edge of her bite mark. “I just have a question,” she said, turning the cookie one way and the other, “did you use root beer in this?”

“Yeah.”

“Follow-up question: why?”

James shrugged. “Because we didn’t have baking soda.” Her head whipped up and the alarmed expression on her face made him take a step back. “What? They’re both soda. Says so on the box.”

“Not…not that kind of soda.” She brought the cookie to her mouth again only to toss it down on the tray. It made a loud and heavy clang. “…Why is it…weirdly sweet? Is that dairy creamer?”

He nodded. “We didn’t have butter.” She let out a whooping laugh and slapped her hand across her mouth. His lips vibrated as he blew a raspberry and dragged a hand through his hair. “I messed up, I get it.”

“Well, I mean, baking’s a science.” His nose wrinkled. Ugh! What did science have anything to do with love gestures? No wonder it all went south. Science ruins everything. “Hey.” She approached him and lifted her head. On instinct, James leaned down, turning his head for her. A pleasant buzz in his stomach at the touch of her lips to his cheek. “Thank you. No one’s ever made cookies for me before.”

He shrugged. “Well, I mean, you make things for everyone else all the time and take care of us. I wanted to try to take care of you too.”

Gratitude lit up her dark eyes and she kissed his cheek again. “You know you don’t have to be perfect at it. The effort’s all I care about. Though I have to say I’m kind of relieved you messed this up.”

“Why?”

“Because now I know you’re bad at something. You were starting to freak me out. Plus! I can show off.” With a flourish, she whipped the apron off the counter and adorned it with a few quick twists of her wrist. As she went to the refrigerator, James rounded the counter and hoisted himself onto the orange bar stool. Grabbing the abandoned bag of chocolate chips, he turned it over.

“What are you doing?” Mickey closed the refrigerator with her hip, clutching a carton of eggs in one hand and a bowl holding the bag of flour and sugar in the other.

“Looking for the recipe.”

Her chin tilted forward and focused look came to her eye, making James sit up straight. “You think I need a recipe?” she asked, a smirk slowly forming on her lips. “You’re cute.” She set the bowl and the carton on the counter. “You just sit there and look pretty.”

“Is that all I am to you?” Not that he minded. Some people were born to look pretty, and everyone else were born to entertain. Lucky for him, he could do both.

“Every artist needs a muse. Lucky for me, you’re very a-muse-ing.” She laughed to herself, cackled really. James’ smile reached halfway, fading when his eyes slid past her to the tray of wrecked cookies nearby. His mouth twisted to the side and he pushed a breath out his nose. Mickey glanced at him at the sound, then her eyes followed his gaze to the pan, and then back to him. He did his best to rearrange his face but it was no use; as she once, said he didn’t wear his heart on his sleeve, he wore it on his face. And yet, even then, his mother still found a way to ignore it.

“Just so you know, you’re not messing up.” He scoffed. What kind of boyfriend couldn’t even manage to make something as simple as cookies? “I mean this”—she motioned to the pan behind her—"yeah, this is a lost cause. But for the boyfriend part, you’re doin’ a pretty good job.”

“Just pretty good?”

“I have nothing to compare you to so, no matter what, you’re always the best in my book.” And he knew she was being honest; she tended to avoid eye contact, finding it a little too close and too intimate and too vulnerable. But now her gaze held strong and steady; the earnest look in her eyes pierced through him and dropped down to his toes. He held out his hand and she placed hers in his, letting out a soft giggle when he kissed the back of her hand.

“Thank you,” he said.

She pulled his hand forward, kissing the back of his in return. “You’re welcome.”

[cigarettesandinevitablebetrayal]

glance and texture for Rashad? 👀

Holy Shit, Glitchy, you're a damn champion sending me new asks when I had forgotten this one rotting in my inbox. I'm so sorry!

Rashad Basri

Glance: At first glance, what stands out most about your OC's appearance? What's their distinguishing feature?

I want to say anything but height, but they're 6'5" so it's high up on the list of things people first notice about them. It's made worse by the fact that they're very lean. A walking optical illusion of They Make People This Tall? It was definitely worse in Rebirth, when they were gaunt on top of being lean and tall. Looked a bit like a scarecrow with a mop of curls on top. Which might very well be their second most noticeable trait about them: the absolute rat's nest of hair.

Texture: Does your OC favor any specific kinds of cloth or textures? Is there anything they can't wear or don't like? What sort of fabrics do they prefer?

Rashad likes heavier fabrics, which should be a hint that they should live somewhere colder. They like the weight and feel of stiffer, sturdier fabrics. Knit sweaters and wool coats. Reminds them that they don't need to worry about someone seeing their tattoos. They will stim with corduroy.

If they ever got rid of the tattoos, or got comfortable enough with them, they'd probably switch to linen and cotton and lighter materials.

Find more OC Design Questions here!

[disastersteps]

having to finally settle down anita's revelations look had me thinking on it more and comes to a conclusion-

beside anita's ponytail get floof and longer (because they refused to cut their hair for obvious reasons)... i think anita wearing clothes they're more comfortable in than skinsuit and a wool sweater- not because they dislike it!! they were wearing it because they had been looking into their own past as well as having regaining fragments of their memories as Sidestep bit by bit. in other words, they were trying to be the old anita but it was. not so them. which is why that despite acting like the old anita, they continue to be themself more as time progressed in retribution-

but also because they uh, got legs rights revoked and uh got exposed so there's nothing to hide anymore so they rid of the skinsuit (...althrough they prob only wear it when they really need to go as harbinger) and wool sweater- replacing them with a tank shirt covered by a long coat and. yeah. uh greens. a lot of greens and now it's more harbinger since. you know, they're revealed. they still make sure its completely covered the tattoos, they're not really comfortable showing it off despite being revealed as such.

and not only that, they get a cane- not just for fashion but also for mobility aid because their right leg is completely fucked from the car crash- the other leg is heal naturally but the right leg? its because it was also where they got that scar from psychoraptor fight as well as that fall during heartbreak incident, so three times a charm and now neets limping. they hate it.

(at least for now.)

(i know someday down the road, they will embrace it and slowly became part of their own lifestyle but that's far into the future so shhh)

bonus:

anita get to use the cane to slap julia's shin when they're annoyed with her, and/or hooking the cane around her neck to pull her down and make her look at anita before kissing- i meant- demanding to look at them.

mortum over there is safe, she may or may not had plans to make anita's cane be extendable so that they can use it as a bo staff someday-

[everyonehateserik]

my brother-in-law (i mean, only partly in law, they’re not married yet) gave me a bunch of his old stuff from the military yesterday.

a fuck ton of wool socks, a fleece pullover, some really nice gloves with two layers and my favourite of them all: a really good wool sweater.

it’s baggy, it’s comfortable, it’s really fucking warm, and it has thumb holes!!

i’m wearing it today because it is raining and i’m cold. plus, i ripped my flesh open binding with tape for three days in a row, so i can’t bind today. it’s doing a great job at hiding everything.

this dude gives me free cool stuff all the time because he’s trying to get rid of his old stuff and make room for new cool stuff.

he’s given me clothes, programming gadgets, backpacks, even a bloody hammock!

he’s really kind and funny too. i can see my sister is happy with him. they even got another dog together, so i think that solidifies things.

i’m always sceptical towards my sister’s new boyfriends at first, and last time i was correct in my scepticism.

but this one, he’s good in my book. i’d be okay having him as an older brother.

[shiawasekai]

for the character design asks, how about Motion, Texture and Favourite for Nela!

Thank you for these, Crow! And sorry for the delay!

Asks from this meme.

motion: How does your OC move? How does their clothing help or hinder their range of motion? Are they flexible, coordinated, clumsy?

As far as movement goes, Nela isn't particularly graceful but she has fairly decent coordination. She is good with her hands particularly, used as she is to manipulate delicate and small utensils both during her magical studies and in her past daily life at her parents' shop.

Her lack of grace, however, has always been a sore spot. She doesn't have the time to waste in doing things "elegantly," so to speak and, besides, it helped her in further breaking the idealized aasimar image. She was often scolded at the institution she studied at which, being aimed to children from rich families, highly valued refined manners.

That education means she knows how to be elegant and graceful if she puts her mind on it. She, however, rarely does it. That is until it becomes an essential skill in her life once again. Nela is not amused, but it's one hurdle in her rise to nobility that's at least easy to overcome. She still only does it when strictly necessary.

As far as clothes go, she is a very practical person and all of her clothes are chosen with ease of movement in mind. Especially so her adventuring gear, of course, but she vastly prefers to keep her range of motion unhindered at any moment.

texture: Does your OC favor any specific kinds of cloth or textures? Is there anything they can't wear or don't like? What sort of fabrics do they prefer?

Nela isn't particularly picky. In the sense she can bring herself to wear almost anything. That doesn't mean she doesn't have preferences!

Of note here is that, personal headcanon, her body temperature and resilience to cold weather are higher than normal due to her emberkin heritage. Even in the cold, which given the geographical position of Mendev and the Wound is the average temperature there, she can wear very light fits with short sleeves and the like without any problems.

That means that heavy wools and furs are excessive for her, she would overheat. Instead she favors heavy cottons, some lighter woolen fabrics, leathers (when used sparsely) and maybe, for a fancier outfit, some velvet or other expensive fabrics. She enjoys quality over all and, once she has the money for it, that's one of the few things she more-or-less freely splurges on.

favorite: Does your OC have a favorite article of clothing or accessory? What is it? What's the meaning behind it? Do they wear it all the time or do they wear it sparingly to keep it safe?

Not a favourite piece of clothing perse. She had a very limited wardrobe during her childhood and for most of the game before two certain someones ensured her wardrobe was ever full to the brim, so she wore often the same things over and over. Not so much because of personal preference but a sense of practicality. If it's not beyond saving, why get rid of it.

She's in fact really good at mending clothes, and she may not love it but its necessity has been ingrained on her since early childhood. Which means all her clothes last long, even more so when she can make her own handiwork even better with magic by melding and transmutting the added thread and fabric to perfectly match the original.

Going back to the topic at hand, there are two accessories she wears almost constantly. Unlike clothing, which she maintains for practical reasons and a dislike for waste, these two are out of sentimentatily.

The first one is the Nethys charm. It can detached and attached to any other of her clothes! So it's always the same charm. The original (no longer existing) one was a present from her mentor back when she joined the Congregation. During the game, she made a replica of it herself as soon as she got the chance and she has kept it around ever since. A keepsake of sorts.

The second one is Daeran's key necklace for obvious reasons.

Also worth mentioning that her spellbook was a present from her parents once she settled on becoming an arcanist, a show of their support. It's not particularly fancy, just a sturdy leather book with some reinforcements in a cheap metal, but it's the only single keepsake she retains that's 100% the original item. The only item in her possession at the time of the kidnapping that Areelu actually bothered to keep. She may not carry it around all the time, but it's one of her most precious possessions if not the most.

She could afford a much better spellbook by now, but she has no interest on it whatsoever. No matter how fancy, it's no replacement for the one single reminder of her home.

[botchallthethings]

I'm in a bit of a weird place where I want to be the person who comes to the defense of non-"soft" wools and is devoted to fibers seen as "scratchy" compared to merino and alpaca, and gently pushes back on modern expectations of how a textile should feel. I also really like working with my springy, interesting wool so far...all the way until I have to touch the finished product, and then I'm torn.

See, what I forget about myself is that I'm very sensitive to sensation/touch, and I forget that about myself because I wasn't quite so obvious about it as my brother (who wore the same athletic shirt and gym shorts to school for years). However, I too completely refuse to wear things that cause mild discomfort (wore the same pair of shoes to highschool for years, cut out the tags on clothing, got rid of anything remotely scratchy, wear my hair up because i hate how it feels against my neck and face, etc).

So it's actually completely to be expected that I'm drawn to alpaca and am wary of making scratchy yarn. But a little disappointing.

To deal with this, I've been focused on different types of touch sensitivity. I read a book that made the (unqualified claim) that the palms were the most sensitive part of the body (they're wrong, I think--wouldn't try to read braille with my palms, for example, if I had that ability, because fingers are a lot better at reading and distinguishing that kind of texture, but right about how they are texture-pressure sensitive), and it made me think about how different parts of the body are sensitive in different ways.

For me, next-to-skin matters in two main places: elbows and neck (and ears, I guess). Those are the skin areas most likely to be distracted by texture. When making mittens, the part most likely to be itchy would be the wrists, I think. So if I focus on making those parts with the softest stuff I have, I can use the less soft stuff for the less sensitive areas.