#these are some of his plainest clothes

[hiraethwa]

one summer day

02 fly high. where you have yet to realize what ushijima will mean to you.

<< 01 clear skies. | >> 03 shining light.

pairing: ushijima wakatoshi x reader a/n: double post this week, I'm feeling like i need some motivation to keep going. i wrote this a while ago, and am super excited with how this part ends, but i still feel like the flow isn’t the best here… word count: 1.4k warnings: some angst if you squint terms: furoshiki -- cloth that is used to wrap bento

june, first year

“curry rice!” you grin at the ash blonde haired boy, plopping a neatly wrapped bento on his desk as you slide into the seat in front of him. ever since your brother introduced you to him, he has become a constant in your everyday school life to the point that the two of you are almost inseparable. 

“are you coming over after practice again? we have that japanese homework that i need your help with” you shrug off your jacket, sweat sticking to your skin from the walk to school. summer is coming on quickly now, coaxing the spring blossoms that you loved so much away. 

semi hums in agreement as he unties the furoshiki and opens the bento excitedly. “it smells amazing, y/n! i am hungry thinking about it now even though i had breakfast.” he pouts at you. 

you laugh wholeheartedly, feeling something like satisfaction. it is one thing to have your family compliment your cooking, another to hear such sincere praises from your friends. you think this might just be it. high school might be better than you thought after all. after all the disappointments and heartbreaks from junior high and even before that. 

“thanks, eita. now keep it before you make the whole class hungry.” you poke fun at him as you pull out another set of wrapped bento, this one in plain cat print. it was the plainest, non-feminine-screaming furoshiki you could find after the one with crashing waves that you wrapped semi’s bento in. 

you didn’t normally bring bentos to school since both your parents are always busy with work. even this furoshiki is a recent addition after you graduated from junior high, when you started packing some meals for yourself. 

“so, you remember how ushijima-san helped me with my wound a few days ago?” you sound hesitant even to yourself. inside, you wanted to kick yourself for following through with this now that you are actually in the process of it, but it is too late. so you might as well get it over with. “i made an extra portion for him to thank him for his help… could you pass it to him at practice?”

“ehhh, why does he get one too? i have known you for two months now and it’s only my first time receiving a bento from you.”

you roll your eyes at the boy. “if you help me, i will make you a strawberry shortcake.” bribing him is easy when you knew he enjoyed the cake you shared last week. you breathe a sigh of relief when he does not pursue the topic any further. 

semi is quite the competitive persona, so it did not surprise you when that was the tangent he went off in, instead of the typical, do you like him? that other people would assume. this is good for you. you do not want him to misunderstand your intentions, and it’s not like you harbor those feelings for ushijima. you just strongly dislike the feeling of being in anyone’s debt. 

“how is practice for interhigh matches going anyway?” you smile at your newfound friend who you got along with as naturally as breathing. 

yes, high school will be different. i will see it so. 

it is pouring outside later that afternoon regardless of how clear the skies were when you walked to school in the morning. the sound of volleyball practice fades into the background as you pull out a blank music sheet and start scribbling the tune that has been rattling around your head today. 

today, when you climbed the stairs to the gymnasium and watched the practice match your school is playing against the college team that came in, you had expected to experiment with the melody when you get home later. you note that the usual starting lineup were on court, with the exception of one of the wingspikers being subbed out for ushijima. even though he is just a new first year. perhaps this is the lineup that the coach has in mind for the interhigh tournament, you had thought. 

and even though you have seen countless of your brother’s matches over the years, this one felt different. the spiking form of the player as he begins his approach, swinging both arms backwards before leaving the ground, feet kicked out behind him, and making contact with the ball with his left hand, sending it back into the opponent’s courtside, felt different. 

it had felt like you were given wings to soar high above the clouds when all life did was cover up the blue skies that you loved so much. it had felt like coming up for a full breath of fresh air after being dunked in water. it had felt like you were alive again, for once in a very long time. 

and the melody that you had been crafting takes on a life of its own, taking its first flight from your hands and rise high up into the sky. twisting, turning. triumphant. the notes flow onto the sheet as your hand struggles to keep up with your mind. 

before you know it, you hear semi calling your name from the court. eh, the match is over? you glance at your watch, showing two hours after when you arrived at the court. “yes! be right there!” you yell back, swinging your belongings onto your shoulder and making your way downstairs. 

music sheet in hand, mind far ahead of yourself, wanting to play it on your violin already, you venture to find your friend. semi is standing at the bottom of the stairs, arms crossed while waiting for you. “were you paying any attention to the game, y/n?”

“what– take a look at this first,” you shove the paper in his hands, excitedly waiting for his response. one could say one of the reasons you two got along so well is your love for music. 

he takes his sweet time reading your rough draft and giving you a “hmph” before returning it to you. “fine, i forgive you for missing my set. this is an acceptable excuse, i suppose. it is no small feat to overcome a creative block.”  

semi shoots you a mischievous smile before slinging his arm over your shoulders and messing your hair up with his other hand. “SEMI”

“well done! but no next time though” “no promises”

another voice cuts through the air, stopping both of you from making a bigger scene. you had resorted to trying to make his hair stick up vertically as revenge. 

“miyamura-san…” ushjima holds out the cat clothed bento to you, slightly amused by you and semi. “thanks for the curry rice, it was delicious.” 

“waa, a compliment from ushijima-san, your cooking must have been amazing, miyamura-san,” a red-haired boy pokes his head out from behind ushijima, whom you would later learn is none other than tendo satori, a troublesome boy who always seemed to be able to see through you. 

you beam at his compliment, “heh, thanks guys.” swinging your bag to the front, you shuffle the things around in your bag to make space for the box. he had neatly tied the furoshiki around the box, which caught you by surprise, as semi had returned his to you in a clumsily packed fashion. you surmise that the rising ace in front of you is an athlete who probably likes to keep his life neat and in order, he seems like the type. 

“so what are you up to later, semi-semi?” 

“ah, i am going to y/n’s to study”

“can i come with? i have nothing else to do.”

“no! if you’re so free you can practice more volleyball.” 

semi banters with the red-haired boy, which sounds like a regular occasion to you. you chuckle to yourself, picturing ushijima, the stoic spiker, playing the referee between the two boys. now that would be entertaining to watch. 

your eyes meet ushijima’s, to which he raises his eyebrow at you as if he’s saying what’s so funny? you shrug, feigning innocence before turning away from him. 

neither of you realized it at the time, but ushijima gave you wings to fly, even before you really knew each other. 

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[turning-monday-blue]

Obsession

I'm not a complicated woman, I swear.

I'm so boring.

I'm quiet. I live alone. I drink decaf. I file my taxes in January. I majored in art history.

I crochet, goddammit! I crochet cardigans, the most boring kind of sweater! And then I wear them! Like Mister Rogers, aka the plainest person to ever exist.

No one could possibly suspect how deeply weird I am.

I've been perfect. I've never left a browser history. I've never worn blue and red together. I've kept myself as trim as my mom's genes let me. No one's ever caught me watching the movie.

You know... the movie?

You know the movie.

Well, I mean, I guess it's "movies" now, but... I know which one left a violet stain on my soul.

You can't blame me.

Well... you certainly can't, anyway.

If you were me, maxed out on good karma, toeing every line you've ever met, perfectly alone in all the universe... what would you have done differently? What other choice was there?

Never mind how I got the chance. As soon as I found out about it, there was nothing else I could do. Everything I thought I knew about myself fell away. All the safe choices and good behavior just gone, poof, like they never existed. This is my fate, it was made for me.

I was always going to be the one chewing this stick of gum.

In the end, it was like they wanted me to find it.

Dodging through an unlocked door, stealing through low-lit corridors, drawn to it like the heartbeat of the universe.

It's so silly. I know it is. Some stray neutrino passed through my brain as a child, and I watched the wrong movie, and I twisted into whatever it is that I am. All I've wanted is to become something else, and that something is big, and round, and draped in the shreds of the last clothes she'll ever wear.

That last part is really important for reasons I just can't explain. All that matters is that I literally get too big for my britches. I just need to hear that little "pop". That's it.

I can never seem to imagine past that. Regardless, I'm putting the gum to my lips, completely, defiantly unaware of how this will end. It's on my tongue, and the flavor is unreal. I guess they didn't bother with the roast beef or anything. It's just violently fruity. Juicy, and warm, and way too sweet.

A door creaks open. I was so sure I wouldn't be found, but joke's on them. It's too late.

It's a mousy woman woman with huge glasses, wearing a lab coat. She peeks around the door before she enters, like she doesn't want to offend me.

"Oh-" she says.

"Um," I say around a mouthful of juice. "I-"

And then I think, hey, wait, I've made my choice. It doesn't matter how this ends! What's she going to do, save me? I'm in control here! Kind of!

"... um." I say again. Actually, it's hard to talk. I'm swallowing a lot of juice.

She steps all the way into the room.

"Uh, hi," she says, fiddling with her glasses. She looks at me, and then down at her clipboard, and then back to me. "Are you-"

"I'm not spitting it out," I say, before gulping down another burst of juice. I'm starting to feel kinda bloated.

"No, I mean. Um," she says, "sorry, I'm new here, um."

I'm tired of my mouth working so hard, so I make a show of swallowing the gum.

"Oh!" she says, "that was fast," and she makes some sort of mark on her clipboard.

What.

"Um, could you follow me this way, please?" she asks, gesturing toward another door I hadn't noticed. One of those big ones like they have on loading docks that roll upward.

"What?" I ask, reflexively.

She walks over and pushes a big red button on the wall. The door starts lifting.

"Oh, sorry, we can wait if you want," she says, "you'll fit, don't worry."

I start to have a thought, but then my stomach gurgles and I feel like I'm on an elevator going down. I clutch my sides and double over, but... it's getting hard to bend.

"Don't worry," she says again, "it just feels weird, but you'll be okay."

The thought comes back. Someone was expecting this. They're prepared for this.

I look back at the pedestal the gum was resting on. It's already been replaced with another piece.

The worst feeling in the world is thinking you're making a defiant last stand, only to find out that the hill you chose to die on was ready-made for your dramatic exit, and that you'll be asked to leave through the gift shop and pay way too much for the photos they take of you. You know, figuratively.

I have to do something they won't see coming.

I turn around and lunge for the new piece of gum. Or, at least, I try to lunge, but my thighs are filling up and it's getting difficult to move dramatically. Still, I grab it and cram it in my mouth. Might as well be a brat.

"Oh!" she chirps again, and makes another mark on her clipboard. "Wow! So-"

God, I'm feeling so full. I can feel every inch of my clothes pulling taut against my skin. I gave in to temptation and wore a blue top, blue jeans, and a red belt. I couldn't help myself. Now, that belt is starting to dig in, trying to squeeze me in half.

I swallow the new gum, too, and look down at myself. I'm getting pretty big, bulging out around the belt. My shirt is riding up, exposing my swelling blue belly to the cool air. Out of the corner of my eye, I see her make another mark.

I try to touch my growing midsection, but it's getting hard to move my arms. They're filling up too. I feel warm all over now.

"You're blowing up so fast!" she says.

She opens her mouth to say something else, and that's when my belt snaps apart. My equator surges outward, jiggling and sloshing from the violent release.

It feels so, so strange, becoming something completely alien to what you use to be.

That said, it also feels amazing. Swelling bigger and bigger with gushing blueberry juice, bursting out of- wait.

I'm still growing, but besides the belt, everything's still on.

I try to look down again, but all I can see is the blue horizon of my belly. I flap my hands in frustration.

The lady speaks up again. "Since you're likely unable to move by yourself now, may I have your permission to roll you?"

"Um," I say, trying to think. I'm freaking out a little right now. "Uh."

I need this. It's all I've ever really needed. I just need need need to blow up and burst out of my clothes, that's it, and who cares what happens to the blueberry that used to be me.

All I need is to burst one little button and I'm done. I'll have won. Good day, miss.

The problems is, I'm perfectly round now, and my jeans are so, so tight but haven't so much as snapped a stray thread.

"Miss?" she says, "may I roll you away?"

I try to think of something to say, just to stall for a little more time. I'm so close, so so close.

Instead, I break down.

"Please," I beg her, "I'm going to lose my mind if I can't pop this button."

"Hey-" she starts, but I'm in a full-on panic right now.

"I have to, I have to, I don't know if I'll ever get another chance to be a blueberry, and like what if you roll me away and I never get juiced and I'm just stuck like this forever which would be hot but still or like what if this is as big as I can get and it's just impossible like what the fuck who even makes clothes that fit spherical women I knew I should have worn the red ones-"

"-but-"

"And I know what you're thinking! She broke the rules, it doesn't matter what she wants, she's just a blueberry now, blueberries don't want things, they're not even people! She had her chance and she blew it except she couldn't even blow it-"

"Miss! Please," she snaps, and she walks over, reaches up, and pinches my lips closed.

We lock eyes, because where else can I look, and for a moment, I just cry silent blue tears down my puffy cheeks, pouting all the while.

Then she smiles, and says, "I'm a trained professional, Miss. I can help you with that." She lets go, brushes her frizzy hair out of her eyes, and disappears behind me.

I feel her warm little hands on either side of me, like she's trying to give me a weird hug. Then I feel her squeeze into me. It feels startling, she must be way stronger than she looks. The pressure builds more and more, and I can hear her making an adorable little straining noise.

Then, there's a pop, and immediately a sense of relief. I hear a little zipping noise as the fly on my jeans explodes open. I gasp at the sensation.

Finally.

I give a little shudder, releasing the tension I hadn't realized was building the whole time. How Freudian of me, I guess. The oral stage ain't got nothing on this.

"Now then," she says, appearing in front of me again, smiling wider, making yet another mark. "May I please roll you away, Miss?"

[valeriianz]

For the fic writer asks:

4. Obviously you did research for BitB. I'd love you to ramble about it if you like I'm sure you've got STORIES

5. Did you outline it?

7. How'd you decide it would be Hob's pov?

25-27 I'd love to know a/some favorite lines, details, and any lore you might want to share

omg TJ what wonderful questions! thank you!! this is going to get LONG!

4: Rambling about research!

do you wanna see a screen shot of my bookmarks under my "band au" folder?

man, and that's only what could fit on the screen.

there is... SO MUCH i chose to ignore for this fic. ideas that i had to drop, lines or extra details about the other band members equipment. more logistics, what Lucienne actually does, what Mervyn has to put up with as the new touring stage manager... i realized very early on that i couldn't possibly cram all this (super cool and eye opening) information into the fic and still keep reader's interest and, most importantly, to not stray away from the fact that this is a dreamling fic. whenever i felt myself getting carried away with a side character or job or even social media numbers, gossip, outside POVs, i had to reign myself in and get back on track. there will be time for exploring everything i missed in side stories after BitB is finished. i just hope i still have the energy to write it all.

once, i was so deep into research that after publishing chapter 2, i went into work and when my chef asked what "GA" meant on my prep list, i answered with full confidence, "general admission."

(it means "get ahead.")

the worst part of this entire writing process is im still learning new shit. i havent rewatched or read a lot of what i've saved because, to be very honest, i was feeling a little burnt out. it's why we're kinda full steam dreamling now. it's why ive been glossing over a lot of technical stuff and being vague about conversations amongst the crew/not including it at all. i don't prefer ignoring my research, but at the end of the day i want to still enjoy writing this fic and finish it. even if i can't be as descriptive and detailed and nuanced as i used to be.

5: Did you outline the fic?

(also asked by @hardly-an-escape!)

i wouldn't call what i have a proper "outline," it's more like a 20k word document filled to the brim with notes that i skim at least a dozen times while i'm writing a new chapter (being in my brain is literally hell). i live multichapter life very dangerously. i copy and paste lines or sections (always scattered, never together! augh!) that are meant to go together and plop them in a new document titled "band au ch.#" and then i structure the chapter around what i want to happen.

but to answer this question in the plainest of terms: yeah. i know exactly what's going to happen up until the very end. even if its all in my head and the only concrete shit that's written down are beats/plot points. i'll figure out the rest later!

7: How'd you decide it would be Hob's POV?

i actually never even considered writing it from Dream's POV. this was my first fic in the fandom (which is so nuts to think about lol) and writing in Dream's POV sounded so scary lol. i also just thought Hob's would be easier because i have worked a few backstage shows, back in my college years. i figured eh, i can make this work. and i loved exploring how weird and mysterious musicians can be, from a normie's POV. making Hob a fan first and having him worry about developing a parasocial relationship... it was fun to explore.

25: Share your favorite line

oh god, i have so many haha.

“What are you thinking about?” starting in ch.2 and onward lmao

“It’s–” Dream laughs quietly, bitterly. “I don’t like change.” He says each word with emphasis, eyes trailing down to fixate somewhere past Hob. “And I still hold onto the things I can control, like my instruments–” his eyes swing up to regard Hob apologetically. “Or my clothes or my–” he brings a hand up and wiggles his fingers around his head. “My hair.” ch.4

"His majesty is pleased." ch.5

“You are obsessive,” he states, slow and cool and with a quiet smile cracking through his composure. “Just like me.” ch.7

“You look good.” Hob has to lean in to say so, unwilling to raise his voice amongst the roar of the fans. ch.11

“Del looks like porcelain, but she’s actually made of steel.” Desire swirls the contents of their glass before pushing their shoulders back with a deep breath. “She's tougher than all of us.” ch.11

“Everything. I want…” his fingers tighten in Hob’s hair, pulling him closer, speaking against his lips. “…Everything.” ch.14

26: Share your favorite detail

how intentionally coy Dream behaves. i love keeping him a mystery and deciding when and how much to allow his intentions to peek through has been so fun lol.

Despair is in fact covered in tattoos and piercings! i say this because i feel like sometimes i forget lmao. (but also her and Hob don't interact much so. my bad haha).

Delirium's constant explosion of color in the way she dresses <3

Hob's dedication to his job, Dream, and the people he cares about the most. i don't care if people think i'm making him too soft and good, im gonna project on that man and make him a sweet, sweet simp lmao

and ah, this doesn't matter anymore, and i kinda regret doing it but. i originally had Dream's favorite bass all black but the pickguard was white. so it actually looked like Jessamy. not gonna lie when @designtheendless drew it all black i decided i liked it better that way. and truly i do. that's when i went back to ch.1 and changed it haha. to actually see the guitar with Dream, all done up sparkling black and purple flecks... gosh it's just so him. but then i got up to the reveal that the guitar's name was Jessamy and i was like, "oh, right." lmao. no one seems to care so i'll leave it be.

27: Share a piece of lore you made up for the story

i have a lot lmao. and this post is already so long... im hoping i can get to some if not all of it in side fics in the future. but for now, here's some that's more like headcanons but:

Dream hates flying. he can full on go into panic attacks on the plane if he allows himself to get into his own head.

this was mentioned briefly in ch.4, while Dream was discussing the formation of the band, but Despair was in another band before joining Endless. she is the only character in the fic who gets to keep her English roots (lol sorry) and is the oldest in the band (30).

all of the band members ages: Dream, Desire, and Death are all 28 and Delirium is 22.

Dream can experience subdrop after going too hard during a performance.

Dream paints his own nails, it's very therapeutic.

as an exercise, i explored my own headcanons for Dream in this verse in a word doc, and one thing i will share from it that you might find interesting: If I were to ever give Dream a theological values, I would describe him as a satanist. He is a physical and pragmatic person, nonconforming, and although he is introverted, he enjoys being a part of a community (he loves his band).

also found this in my notes: How Desire and Dream got along was Death making them fight it out. Hob raises an eyebrow “like in a brawl?” He couldn't imagine Desire throwing hands. “No, in a pillow fight that escalated in hair pulling and verbal taunts.”

fic writer asks

[random-barba-hc]

How did Barba get his taste in the suits he wears? 

With practical experience he gained at Harvard, as well as the impressive network he built-up, Barba was quickly hired as a first-year associate at the law firm he worked at before becoming an ADA. Though it was for the potential he showed in becoming a future partner, Barba’s looks are definitely what helped him win out over the other candidates. Straight out of college and from lower class, the plainest suits are the only ones Barba can (barely) afford since they’re the cheapest, but that simply won't do. There’s an unconscious connection between a lawyer’s competency to their apparel. A capable lawyer gains people’s trust, and no one seems more competent than a professional. Nothing gives off an air of professionalism more than a sophisticated outfit: suits and ties made of high class material, waistcoats, pocket squares, and suspenders. 

He’s taught how more attention is paid to someone with a notable appearance, so decorative and patterned designs are a must. Things don't even need to coordinate well with each other, an unusual look is just as effective. Barba is lent some old tailored clothing and accessories from one of the firm's partners, who advises him to get some designer suits as soon as possible. Leaving to become an ADA, his certainty in the new path he’s taking is strengthened when he’s praised on how well he wears his suits. From then on, even when it took a lot of budgeting, he invested a lot into his clothing.

[starkstruck27]

It's been forever since I posted on here, so since I'm trying to get back into the swing of things, have some ftm Billy Hargrove. Also, ignore the timeline here, it isn't exactly accurate, but I don't really care lol. TWs: Very minor nod to domestic/child abuse, a touch of body dysmorphia, and depression

Billy usually wasn't this talkative after hooking up with someone, but this wasn't an ordinary hook-up. It was the 27th time he'd hooked up with Steve Harrington since he'd moved into town almost 6 months ago (not that he was keeping track or anything), but that wasn't what made it different.

It was different because this was the first time he'd ever let Steve see him naked. It was the first time he let him fully take in the body he'd been touching and praising and thrilling for months, and Steve hadn't immediately been repulsed and thrown him out. Billy had been terrified of that, if he showed Steve the scars on his chest and the distinct lack of anything between his legs and he reacted badly, he could end up dead or nearly dead, broken and bloody and devastated.

But none of those things happened, and he knew he shouldn't have worried, anyway. Steve had known for the last 2 months about the way Billy was. He'd finally told him after he pitched a fit when Billy wouldn't let him jerk him off in exchange for a blowjob behind the school. Steve had been raving and ranting so loud, Billy was afraid people would hear, so he shoved him against the wall, put a hand over his mouth and just told him he couldn't. Steve had been confused at first, but when Billy explained it, he could actually see the lightbulb clicking on in Steve's head. He'd reached up and taken Billy's hand from his mouth then, and told him that he understood, but that it didn't change anything. He still thought Billy was hot, he still liked spending time with him, and he still wanted to hook up as long as Billy was on board with it. That'd been another time when things changed during their hook-ups, because that'd been the first time Billy kissed him.

But this time felt even more different than that, because Steve had seen him, truly seen him, for the first time ever, and he didn't care. It didn't change anything, and yet everything had changed. Billy felt completely normal, and completely safe, for the first time in his whole life, and that was everything to him.

He figured that was why now, after they'd cleaned themselves up and gotten settled in Steve's bed, he was so willing to talk about everything.

It was the most he'd talked to anyone since he'd first moved to Hawkins, and as he laid there, resting his head on Steve's chest, he didn't know whether the floaty feeling in his chest was the weight of his burdens being lifted or air sickness from flying on the high of being completely honest with somebody else.

"So, you said you were six when you first noticed something about you was different?" Steve asked, tracing his fingers up and down Billy's side and giving him chills.

"I think so. That was at least when I figured out how to voice it. I think I always kinda knew, I just didn't know how to articulate it, so I never tried. Besides, I was afraid of what my dad would do if he ever found out. It was hell trying to live with that for as long as I did. I didn't hate playing with dolls and stuff, but if ever I was playing house or something with my friends, I always volunteered to be the daddy while everyone else always wanted to be the mommy. And if we were playing princesses or something, I was always the knight or the dragon because I hated being the princess. I always chose the plainest solid-color clothes the girl's section had to offer because I couldn't get the ones I really wanted from the boy's section, so I had to make do. I felt like I had a pit in my stomach and every time I was reminded that the way I looked outside didn't match who I was inside, it would grow a little bit until it felt like that was all that was left of me. I felt like a captive animal, stuck in a cage against my will for people to come and look at for their own amusement. But I couldn't tell any of this to my mom, otherwise my dad would somehow know, so I just kinda kept it to myself. When he eventually did find out, I was really surprised because he didn't even seem to care. I don't know if it was just because he didn't care about me in general or if he saw it as another thing to use against me. I assume his logic was that if he let me change myself, he could get around that whole "a man shouldn't hit a woman" thing, although that never stopped him before, so I don't know," Billy said, keeping his eyes fixed on the wall in front of him. It felt good being able to be so open and honest with somebody else, but there were still things that were hard to talk about for too long. But Steve seemed to understand that, and he never pushed, he just leaned down and kissed Billy's head softly.

"And you were how old when you told them?" Steve asked, pulling the blankets up a bit as he felt Billy shiver again.

"Twelve. It was right after my mom left, and my dad said we were going to move, so since I was going to have to start a new school, I asked if I could register under a different name, and I told him then. I think I had a heart attack when he said yes. Then I spent the weeks leading up to the move the happiest I'd ever been. I gave myself a haircut, which wasn't half bad for my first attempt ever at cutting my own hair, and then I thought about what name I wanted to go with when my dad signed me up for school. That was the hardest part, I think, because I had no idea what to call myself. None of the names I tried out really fit me, and I agonized over it for weeks, but nothing felt right," Billy said, snuggling closer to Steve under the blanket. "Eventually I had to pick something, so I just went with Fred."

"Why Fred?" Steve chuckled lightly, making Billy blush and smile a little sheepishly.

"Because he was my favorite character on Scooby-Doo," he replied, his heart soaring at the sound of Steve's laugh resonating in his chest. He couldn't help but laugh a little himself, his blush burning bright in his cheeks as he did.

"So then how did Billy come about?" Steve asked as he settled down a bit, his hand moving up to play with some of Billy's curls.

"Well, I cycled through a few names throughout the years, trying to find something that felt right. Fred didn't cut it, and neither did any of the other names I'd tried throughout middle and high school. I was going by Jamie right before we moved here, but I was trying to come up with something new before that, and I couldn't think of anything. But then a buddy and I went to see the movie St. Elmo's Fire when it came out, and I got it from that," Billy explained, starting to trace patterns on Steve's chest. "Rob Lowe was in the movie, and I remember when we were trying to figure out what movie to see, my friend stopped next to the poster outside the theater and said, "Oh my God, he looks just like Jamie". So we decided why not give that movie a try, and it was really good, but my friend could not get over how much I looked like Rob Lowe. It was honestly kind of surreal for me, too, because it was like looking in a mirror whenever he was on screen. But it wasn't just that we looked alike, it was also the fact that his character was everything I'd ever wanted to be. He was a smart ass and he was confident and a complete mess and he had style and he cared about his friends more than anything, and he was just so complex. And I remember watching the movie and just wanting to be him, not just look like him. I wanted to be as horrible and as funny and as messy and as complex and as layered and authentic and devil-may-care as he was, more than anything else in the world. So when we moved, I decided to try and become him, starting with the name. I wasn't ever gonna be Billy Hicks, but I figured being Billy Hargrove might be just as good. And the first time I said it to myself in the mirror, it finally felt right. It was the first time any name made me feel like a normal person, like a normal guy. I knew then that Billy was the only name I'd ever go by from then on."

"It was a good choice," Steve said, "It's perfect for you."

"Thanks," Billy said, smiling shyly to himself.

Neither of them said anything for a while after that. Billy had talked himself out, and Steve was perfectly fine with just lying there with him. He cared a lot about Billy, and it made him feel the strongest sense of pride he'd ever felt that Billy trusted him enough to tell him about himself, to let him see behind the walls he constructed, when so very few others got that privilege. He knew a little more about what made Billy tick, and he loved knowing. Or maybe he just loved him.

Billy was beginning to drift off by now, the quiet stillness of the room allowing Steve's steady heartbeat to lull him into drowsiness, but then it began to get faster, and Billy could feel Steve breathing deeply, like he was about to ask something else.

"You don't have to tell me this if you don't want to, but..." he started, his voice barely a whisper. "What was your name before you figured out who you were?"

"Like, the name my parents gave me?" Billy asked, leaning up on his arm as he woke up a bit, "Why?"

Steve shrugged, "Just curious. You don't have to tell me, though. Now that I'm thinking about it, it was kind of an invasive question. Sorry, I shouldn't have asked."

"Hey, don't worry, it's okay," Billy said, using his other hand to turn Steve's face so he was looking at him. "I was just making sure it wasn't for any other reason that you wanted to know. But I trust you, and I like being able tell you things. It's nice being able to talk about my past without being afraid of what might happen," he paused, leaning down to kiss Steve before coming back up and looking into his eyes. "I'll tell you, but you gotta make me a promise that it'll never leave this room, okay?"

"I promise," Steve said, holding out his pinky and making Billy smile as he linked it with his own.

"Okay," he said, taking a deep breath, "It was Kimberly. My mom said she always liked that name, but she always shortened it and called me Kimmy, which I hated. But my middle name was Janice, which is even worse, so I had to live with Kimmy until I was twelve and my dad let me change it."

"Thank God he did. No offense to your mom, but she cannot pick a name to save her life," Steve said, making Billy snort. "Billy suits you much better."

"Thanks, Pretty Boy. That really means a lot to me," Billy said, giving a shy smile before it morphed into a nervous bite of his lip. "Just you in general mean a lot to me. I care about you a lot, and I don't always know how to show it. And I know that I need to work on that, so I'm trying to, but the way I feel about you, it's like I'm a kid again and I don't know how to put it into words. But you're everything, really. You're funny and smart and hot as Hell and the best thing that's ever happened to me in my whole life and I... I just don't even know how to explain it... but I'm trying and..."

"Hey," Steve said softly, leaning up on his arm and looking Billy straight in the eye, "I get it. And I love you, too."

"Y-you do?" Billy asked, and the smile that he gave was so bright and beautiful, Steve almost felt bad for kissing it away.

"Yeah, I do," he mumbled as they parted, "Every trait, every emotion, every complexity. I love every part of you."

Billy usually wasn't as talkative as he had been tonight, but now, it seemed like the well of his words had run dry as he tried to come up with a response to what Steve had just said. Even if he had the words, he wasn't entirely sure he'd be able to string them together coherently enough to convey even half of what he wanted Steve to understand. So he didn't use words.

He sat up reached down to untwist the covers, he fluffed the pillows a little, and then he reached for Steve, gently turning him onto his side before settling down behind him. He pulled Steve to his chest and tangled their legs under the blanket, one of his arms pinned beneath Steve and holding him with a hand over his heart and the other playing with his hair and scratching at his scalp in just the way Billy knew he liked it. He wanted to tell Steve that he loved him with his whole heart, that he trusted him and that he'd never known he was even capable of feeling this strongly about anyone or anything until he'd met him, but the words wouldn't come.

As Steve took the hand that Billy had rested on his chest and intertwined their fingers, though, he knew he got the message.

[aneurinallday]

Green Eyes

Chapter 6: Fruit

The next time the door opened, Thomas was greeted by a warm smile. Alec had been looking forward to seeing him.

“You’re late,” the young man chided him.

Thomas checked his gold pocket-watch.

“By barely a minute,” he said, “Are you that keen to see me?”

As Thomas stepped inside, Alec saw that he was holding a brown paper bag.

“What have you got there, Mister Shelby?”

“Fruit. Thought it might be rude to show up empty-handed.”

“That’s very kind.” Alec took the bag from Thomas’s arms and set it on the kitchen counter.

Clara was sitting on the small rug, babbling in delight, thoroughly engrossed in an old teddy bear. Thomas reached down and tweaked her cheek before taking his seat. From his chair, he glanced around the flat, noticing that it seemed a little brighter than the last time he’d visited. A bunch of wild flowers, probably picked from the overgrown canalside, had been placed in a glass of water on the windowsill.

“Are you hungry?” Alec asked, “I can make a sandwich. I’ve got bread and cheese.”

“No, thank you.”

“What about tea?”

Even though Thomas had shown no expectation of sex, Alec seemed to have prepared for the eventuality. He smelled of cheap perfume and cheaper soap. His clothes looked a little newer, and the bed was neat and fresh. The thought filled Thomas with a deep discomfort. This wasn’t the Arcadia, a separate dimension where he could lose himself in smoke and make-believe. This was Alec’s home.

“Just tea,” he said firmly. “Nothing else.”

Alec rustled through the paper bag, unpacking a bunch of bananas, a pineapple, and a net of oranges. Exotic luxuries for a Saltley boy.

“Mister Shelby, you really shouldn’t have. These are expensive.”

“You strike me as someone who likes expensive things.”

Alec felt the unfamiliar texture of the pineapple between his hands, feeling the sharp rind prickle his palms, and then sniffed its leaves.

“I’ve never had one of these,” he said, “Thank you.”

“It’s nothing.”

Reaching the bottom of the bag, he hesitated before pulling out a small box.

“What’s this?” he asked.

“Chocolates. Do you like the chocolates?”

“I’m not sure. I only ate one once, a long time ago. I remember liking it.”

“Why don’t you jog your memory?”

Alec opened the little box. To him, the variety inside must’ve seemed dazzling. Milk, dark, white, caramel, hazelnut, almond, berry, even the newly invented orange-chocolate. Some were naked and topped with sprinkles of nuts or ornate swirls, others wrapped in gold or silver foil. He was spoiled for choice.

“Oh, Mister Shelby…” He picked the plainest-looking one and tentatively took a bite. Delight spread across his face. “They’re delicious!” he said.

“They’re from Belgium.”

“I love them. Can I give you a kiss?”

“If you want to.”

Thomas expected a kiss on the mouth, but Alec leaned down and gave him a peck on the cheek. It somehow felt sweeter. More genuine. Not the kiss of a lover, but the kiss of a wife.

Alec picked another chocolate at random, carefully unpeeled the delicate foil, and popped it in his mouth. Thomas watched as he munched innocently.

“Can Clara try one too?” Alec asked.

“No. She’s not old enough.”

“Then I’ll save the rest for later.”

Alec put the lid back on the box and set it aside. Then he fetched a spoon from the drawer and a small bowl from the cupboard, peeled a banana and began to mash it into mush.

“I was thinking,” said Thomas, “I know you said you don’t want my charity, but I’d still like to help you. If not for your sake, then for the little girl’s. If you’ll let me, I’ll find you a better place to live.”

“A proper house?” Alec asked. “With a bathroom and everything?”

“Yes. A proper house, somewhere nice. It doesn’t have to be in Birmingham - it could be London or Manchester or wherever you want. You could finally leave this life behind. Make a good home for yourself and her.”

After a pause, Thomas added:

“Or you could come and stay with me.”

The sound of the fork faltered. Alec was caught off-guard.

“I don’t know,” he said quietly, “If I stayed with you…You would own me. I don’t want that. Mister Cobb owned me for a long time. It’s not a life I want to live again.”

“I’m not Cobb.”

“Still…You might change. People show one face when they want something, then a different face once they’ve got what they want.”

“That’s true of some, but not all.”

“Then perhaps you don’t know people like I do, Mister Shelby.”

“You’d be surprised at the things I know. I’ve met all sorts of creatures.”

“Did you ever meet one who had the power to take everything from you? And you had no brothers to protect you and no family to shelter you?”

Thomas said nothing. As he listened to the fork clinking against the chipped old bowl, he felt the lamp-lit dream of happiness slipping further and further away - and for a moment, he almost accepted his fate. He’d been a fool to even entertain it, let alone to suggest it. There were too many questions, too many obstacles, too many ways that he and Alec could fall apart. Was it even worth attempting?

He thought of Grace, and how she would feel about him bringing a strange whore into their lives. Into their home. Into their bed.

Then he felt a surge of resentment, and pushed away the thought of her. She was long gone - just bones in the ground. Just a painting on a wall. Just unworn jewellery gathering dust. So what did she have to worry about? Why should he care about the opinions of a dead woman? Why shouldn’t Thomas Shelby have everything he wanted?

Thomas rose to his feet, crossed the room to where Alec stood, and slid his arms around Alec from behind. He’d forgotten how good it felt to stand that close - to feel Alec’s curly hair tickling his cheek and breathe in his subtle scent.

“Come live with me,” he murmured, “I’ll take care of you. Of you and Clara. You won’t have to worry about her any more. She’ll have a painted nursery and all the toys and baubles she could ever want. And when she gets older, she’ll have a violin teacher and a white pony. And you…you’ll have a good night’s sleep every night.”

“And in return?”

“In return, nothing. I’ll never ask anything of you.”

“I’ve had offers like this before. They were all lies.”

“Do you think I’m a liar?”

“...No.”

“Then trust me. This is no place to raise a child, and you know it.”

“It’s better than the street.”

“She deserves more. You both do. Let me help you.”

Alec put down what he was doing, and placed his damp hands on Thomas’s arms, clasping them tightly.

“What about your son? Won’t he mind?” he asked.

“He doesn’t spend much time with me anyway. He prefers his nannies and his tutors. What do you say?”

Alec looked around at his flat, as if weighing the emotional cost of being in Thomas Shelby’s debt with the financial cost of being a Saltley whore.

“Can I think about it?” he asked quietly.

“Of course.”

Alec gave Thomas’s forearm a grateful squeeze. Behind them, Clara mewled.

“Let go, please. I need to feed her.”

Thomas released him and returned to his chair. With the bowl in one hand, Alec walked to where the baby lay, and sat cross-legged on the small rug. He scooped her up and cradled her on his lap. She babbled happily to see his face.

“My little love. My Clara,” he cooed to her. With the spoon, he began to feed her. “What do you think, my love? It tastes nice, doesn’t it? Mister Shelby bought it for us. He doesn’t look nice, but he is.”

For a while, Thomas simply sat and looked on as Alec fed the baby. Then he asked:

“Where’s the mother?”

“Gone.” Alec didn’t look up.

“Not coming back?”

“No. She was one of the girls at the Arcadia. Clara was…”

“An accident?”

“Yes. There was a client who…he…he liked to watch us together, and…”

“You don’t need to explain.”

“She wanted to keep it. When she started showing, we thought Mister Cobb would give her the sack. But he kept her around. Some clients like it when a woman is…well, you know.”

“Ah.”

“She had Clara in the back of the club, and then quit. Said she’d changed her mind and didn’t want anything to do with it. I’m not sure where she went.”

“And you’ve been raising Clara by yourself since then?”

“Yes.”

“You’ve done alright by her. She looks happy and healthy.”

A faint smile crossed Alec’s mouth.

“I wasn’t sure if she would live,” he whispered, “She was too small and she…she cried all the time. It’s why I stopped living at the club. I was afraid her crying would bother the customers, and Mister Cobb would take her away from me. One time, he got angry and wanted to get rid of her. He…”

Alec stopped, caught by the bad memory. He took a deep breath to recover himself.

“...I didn’t let him, though. I begged and begged until he got fed up and left her alone.”

“Well, you’re alright now, and so is she.”

“She’s perfect,” Alec corrected him. “She’s my perfect Clara. Aren’t you, Clara?”

He held her close and kissed her head lovingly. Behind Thomas’s calm blue eyes and placid face, there ached a sudden yearning. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d held his son.

The two years which Grace had got to spend as a mother, the short period during which the three of them were happy together, had been the only true and untainted joy he’d ever felt. It was a joy he knew he would never feel again, but that knowledge didn’t stop him from wishing - hoping against hope that Charles would shake him awake one morning, eager to play, and that he would open his eyes to find Grace alive at his side. Even a logical mind could wish.

As he sat there and watched Alec dote on his daughter, he knew that Alec had forgotten about everything else - about rent, about Cobb, about being a whore living in a rundown room in Saltley, about how his dreams of being a singer were never going to come true. In that brief moment, all Alec was thinking about was how much he loved Clara, and how happy he was to hold her.

And in that moment, Thomas knew he would do anything to protect that happiness.

[bearsinpotatosacks]

Saw this post and it inspired me to share my fic idea for Richie realising that he isn't alone and people do care for him. I might frame it as a 5 times people showed Richie he wasn't alone kind of thing. So here's Richie being ill and taken care of

Nat - Richie’s been under the weather for days. She’s not the only one who's noticed and she keeps trying to get to go home but he insists he's fine. Richie Jerimovich doesn't take sick days as he doesn't get sick he's never been able to there’s always been too many people relying on him. This is until he comes in very feverish, running solely on paracetamol and espresso until midway through service where Carmy forces him to 'calm down' as he looks like shit. He sits by the lockers to take a breather when he collapses. He wakes up a few minutes later with Nat & Ebra sitting next to him, someone gets him water and they insist on sending him home. Nat says she doesn’t trust him to drive home so drives him home, makes him something to eat, then rubs his back as he throws it up, then makes sure he goes to bed.

Tiff- She calls him when he wakes up, 14 hours later, shouting at him for not picking Eva up after ballet and for not answering his phone. Then he explains and she’s straight round with half a pharmacy's worth of supplies, Eva reluctantly with Frank so she doesn’t get ill, she helps him get into the shower, puts his clothes in the wash and generally looks after him. He insists that he'll be fine, that she, as his ex wife, doesn't have to. She reiterates that he's all the family she's got, and forces him to eat even when he throws it up after. He falls asleep on her lap, she covers him up in a blanket and leaves him to sleep.

Tina- Her and Sydney come over. They make more food, Sydney says she’s only there because he was disney+. Tina brings along a lot of home remedies she insists worked for her son, ginger, peppermint etc. He's at a very pathetic part of being ill, swaying when he stands, can't stand up, walking around with blankets on as a cape, pale and out of breath. She keeps him company for a few hours, even when he says she could get sick. When they go to leave, Syd sees how weak he is and doesn't have the heart to leave him there

Syd - I want to add for context, let's say this is post s3, I am unsure whether Syd is still working there but let's say this is after she takes Chef Adam's offer. She's on good terms with Richie & Tina, shaky terms with Nat & Marcus and no talking terms with Carmy. She’s also been kind of dating, kind of fucking Richie since part way through the month of services in episode 3, Doors. So her staying is a new step in their relationship, they binge watch Friends until he curls up on her lap. She makes him the plainest food ever, boiled vegetables and potatoes, and helps him stand up in the shower before cuddling him to sleep.

Carmy- As this is post s3, this is into Carmy’s "oh shit i've been acting like Chef David and need to sort out some shit" era. He's trying even though he no longer has Syd as his work partner, and his and Richie’s relationship is extremely fractured. So he turns up on Tuesday morning with Berzatto chicken soup that Mickey used to make when they were ill and is surprised to see Sydney there but forces all of those thoughts and urges down when he sees Richie shuffling in. There's some not-really-communicating communicating where Richie appreciates Carmy coming but won't say it, and Carmy feels bad for not being there, but also doesn't say it. He gives him the rest of the week off, heats up the soup, and leaves

[peachymilkandcream]

Kingdom of Ash and Greed|Part 5|King Levi x Evelyn

WARNINGS: noncon/dubcon, big age difference, kidnapping, slavery, violence, power imbalance, implied somnophilia, forced pregnancies, mind breaking, yandere behaviour, yandere themes, etc.

===============================================

It turns out even Levi's plainest clothes were still too fine, the man was a king so it should've been obvious to her that in order to conceal herself she should've gone as the maid first.

The poor victim had been not much younger than she was, a wide-eyed girl who stared in disbelief that her master's muse had managed to escape and overpower her so easily.

Granted, the girl was frail as anything, and a former princess who was used to eating the best foods and have the best medical care of the time was no match for her.

Evelyn clothed the lifeless body in Levi's discarded garments, that particular maid hadn't done anything to her, so it wasn't fair that she should die and be found ashamed. The least Evelyn could do was offer her some last dignity before she was inevitably buried in a nameless grave.

However she couldn't dwell too long on that, time was wasting and someone else could walk into that room and discover her missing. She had to cover as much ground as quickly as possible before she was found out.

================================================

Perhaps it was the enemies he had made but Levi was nothing if not paranoid.

He had guards stationed at every possible entrance and exit to his castle, worried that some mercenary would come in and slit his throat.

That's just what it meant to be king.

In truth, he was already getting bored of his captive. She hadn't shown him that feistiness that would be so enjoyable to break. He had humiliated her, beaten her, used her as nothing more than a cum dumpster.

And yet she didn't fight him back.

Where was her fight? That spark of rebellion he could crush in the most cruel ways possible to ensure that his kingdom saw the true extent of his power and influence.

Maybe he should give up and pass her around to his servants to keep them loyal and happy. Take another lady or even one of his maids to his bed to keep this frustration at bay so he could focus on the task at hand, running his empire.

He was just about to back out of the idea when he spotted a cute little maid stealing into one of the closets where he held supplies for his servants to clean and take care of his castle.

Now was as good a time as ever. So he made his way quietly behind her and shut the door.

================================================

Evelyn felt him instead of seeing him, the closet was so dark. Her heart beat in her chest, she had been found out, already? What would he do to her? Cut her into bits and throw her to the dogs?

She was about to confess when his hands caressed her waist, feeling her body, his hot breath on her ear.

"Did you know how lucky you are...?" He kisses her ear, grinding slowly into her backside.

Not wanting to speak and give herself away she shakes her head, maybe he had mistaken her?

"I have a royal bitch upstairs with a prime cunt to breed, and yet...your king has taken an interest in you. A lowly peasant and maid. You should feel honored..."

In the darkness he had assumed she was another woman, one of his poor maids. And as horrible as it was, Evelyn wished it was another one of his maids and not her in this position.

He reached under her skirts and pulled them up, taking the little cloth concealing her most sensitive areas and moving it aside.

Only then did she feel that age old feeling of panic rise up in her, her breathing increasing audibly.

"Shh...shh...I know it's scary...just don't fight it..."

All of a sudden he pushes into her, causing her to lean against the walls of the closet to keep herself upright, cries and tears pouring out.

Levi groans and starts to move, one hand covering her mouth while the other held her hips in place. "There you go. Calm down, no need to panic. You're doing your king a favour, don't you understand?"

HIs hips moved faster, the only sound her muffled sobs and the sound of her arousal easing the way for her.

Before she knew it his cum was dripping down her legs as they trembled, Levi sighing as he finally left her body.

"I'll see you're rewarded well for your service to your king."

Just as suddenly as he came Levi left her alone, not even bothering to look back at his victim, not knowing who she really was.

Evelyn was taught to see the good in everything, and while it was hard in this scenario at least she had fooled even Levi that she was just a regular maid and not his "royal bitch" as he had called her.

===============================================

Quietly she left the closet and continued to flee, acting casual as she passed guards who viewed her as just another maid in service to their king. Another pretty face Levi liked to surround himself by so he'd feel good about himself.

That was until she was stopped.

"And where are you going?"

She takes a deep breath. "His Majesty requested fresh flowers as a humiliation tactic against the former princess. I was going to the garden to pick some."

"Humiliation tactic? Don't lie to me girl."

"He said he wanted her to have a taste of the outside before stripping it away again. You'll have to ask him."

"I think I will. Wait right there."

The guard leaves, naively thinking that she would wait for him to confirm with Levi.

As soon as he's out of sight she quickly walks through the gate and out into freedom.

She would escape.

[undying-lilies]

a long-awaited sneak peak of the story concept I utterly failed to ignore

a.k.a. the Little Mermaid gets adopted by pirates who are hired to kidnap the prince she may or may not have saved :D

A knock sounded on the door. Captain Harlock’s eyes flitted over to the prince, but he said, “Come in.”

The door opened, and in walked a girl that was so stunning she looked like she belonged in a painting.

She wore the plainest clothing Lorcan had ever seen - a skirt that had clearly been fashioned out of an old sail and a beige blouse - but she wore them with the grace of a princess. Hands so pale and dainty they looked like alabaster held a tray and hair so glossy and black it looked like the depths of the sea was pulled back with a simple gray handkerchief. There was a choker with a single pearl attached to it around her neck.

On the tray was a hunk of bread with a knife sticking out of it, a pot of something that smelled like coffee, two crude mugs that had been fashioned out of scraps of metal, and a little bowl of sugar cubes. She breezed by the prince and set the tray on the desk before the captain.

“Is it tea time already?” Harlock said, taking the tray from her. “Thank you, Lassie. I would’ve forgotten if it weren’t for you.”

These pirates made time for tea? Lorcan had a sudden vivid image of Harlock making him walk the plank while sipping a cup of tea with his pinky out.

The girl smiled at Harlock and turned around to leave - but when she spotted Lorcan, she froze. Her coral-colored eyes slowly widened to the size of dinner plates.

Then, without so much as a “goodbye”, she ran out of the captain’s quarters.

“Hmm. Strange,” Harlock commented from the desk. 

Lorcan leaned sideways to catch a glimpse of the girl as she hurried downstairs. He turned back to the captain. “Who was she?” 

“Lassie?” Harlock started pouring tea into the mugs. “She’s our little free spirit. She sorta flirts about from one thing to the next on our ship - she’s mesmerized by almost anything. She’s usually much more friendly, though. One lump or two?”

“Er . . . one lump.” Lorcan wasn’t about to refuse tea from a pirate who could kill him any second. “Where did she come from?”

“Well, we’re not really sure,” Harlock said, dropping a sugar cube into one of the mugs. “We found her in the middle of the sea with nothing but a pearl. I mean, absolutely nothing. Had to use an old sail for some of her clothes. Here you go.”

That was maybe a bit more information than Lorcan needed. He took the mug from the captain and took a sip to distract himself from scandalous thoughts he had no business thinking - and nearly spat the tea out. 

“This is scalding!” Lorcan cried. “Are you trying to burn my tongue off?!”

“Yeah, that’d be Melshi,” Harlock said, dropping two sugars into his own mug. “He’s our cook. He has a habit of boiling the water for a bit too long. He has a habit of cooking everything for a bit too long, actually.” He sipped on his tea and seemed to relish in the extra-hot liquid. “Mm, just the way I like it.” 

“You’re all deranged,” Lorcan said. “All of you. I can’t survive much more of this.”

“Feel free to die, Your Highness. Care for some bread?”

Lorcan would’ve thrown his hands in the air, but then he would’ve sploshed the hot tea all over himself and probably die from first-degree burns instead of the pirates. “Fine.”

[insufficientchill]

👻🎩🧸 for the miscellaneous symbol headcanons ask game?

Ahh thank you so much! This was fun. <3 Con and Kell in combination, since they go together.

👻 - How does your muse handle feeling scared? Do they enjoy horror? Do they believe in the paranormal? What calms your muse down? Do they have any scary stories?

Conall is extremely good at compartmentalizing and, while he is frequently afraid (of falling, of failing, of not being enough), he remains extremely reserved and collected in most circumstnces. Even when he’s alone he tends to tell himself that he can’t be afraid—can’t in the sense of mustn’t but also can’t in the sense of isn’t able to, because pawns don’t feel. Kell mostly notices this as Conall constantly flexing and stretching his fingers, and, assuming they’re just sore from casting, Kell will catch hold of his hands absentmindedly while talking about something else and massage them the way he’d massage a comrade’s sword-hand after a long day on the road. Fortunately this does in fact help. 

Kell will happily tell you he’s a coward, but what he really means is that he’s not particularly bothered about honour or glory, and he’ll gladly cut a deal to end a fight quicker. Actual in-the-moment fear is something he’s almost desensitized to; he’s had a lot of near-death experiences, and at this point he’s good at laughing them off. He knows some hair-raising ghost stories and tall tales, and he also knows how to string them out as long as someone keeps buying drinks.

They both absolutely believe in the paranormal (how could they not). Conall doesn’t particularly enjoy horror—fiction generally is a luxury he doesn’t allow himself unless he feels it reveals something useful about the world—but Kell likes any rollicking story with twists and turns.

🎩 - What would your muse wear to a formal event? Do they dress more modestly, or do they go all out?

Kell hates looking too pulled together—it kind of undermines his whole easy-lazy-please-underestimate-me thing—so, unless under duress, his preferred formal-wear involves open collars, leather breeches and rag-and-bone-shop velvets. He sort of cultivates an air of decayed luxury, with mismatched jewellery and even more kohl than usual. Might swing for a black silk eyepatch, maybe. There’s probably some cologne going on (smoke, sandalwood, damask rose). 

Conall’s default approach to formalwear is to ask if what he’s wearing now will do, and if not, to find the plainest black robes possible: he’s just a loyal servant, after all. It's not the choosing that bothers him so much as the spotlight on choice; really he's fairly picky about what he wears day-to-day, as long as no one points out that he seems to have a preference. Kell has to cajole him into dressing up—c’mon, people are going to think I don’t treat you right—and even then he’s so unsettled by the process he just ends up telling Kell to pick something for him anyway. (He might, after too long trying on clothes, let his eyes fix on a silver-chain pendant for a moment—moonstone, set it sterling—and Kell might buy it for him, or nick it, depending on whether he likes the seller. Kell also tries to get Con to do “something nice” with “all that hair,” but Conall usually doesn’t got for it.)

🧸 - Does your muse own any sentimental objects from their past? What makes it/them so special?

Kell still has the bootknife that was his first dagger, left to him after its owner—a hard-living “old man” who, in retrospect, can’t have been more than 45 or so—fell in a meaningless little scuffle on the mountain road. It’s not a well-made or elegant thing—a heavy-bladed hunting knife, honed and sharpened down over years into a poorly balanced, oddly narrow blade that happens to fit between the joints of a knight’s full-plate—but it has a wooden handle polished to a shine by many hands, and it still serves its purpose. 

Conall has a pouch on his belt with a few things in it: a smooth river stone, a steel fishhook, a cracked and charred red gem cut for a pommel, a single dried flower, a twist of leather cord. He has no memory of what these things mean, but he takes them out sometimes to look at anyway. 

Miscellaneous Symbol Headcanons <3

[myveryownfanfiction]

18+ MINORS AND THOSE WITHOUT AGE IN BIO DNI

requested by @onedirectionlovers2014

request from @firstclassthot:

Otp prompt #59

Imagine person A and B going shopping together, whether it’s holiday shopping, plants, clothes, grocery shopping, whatever best suits them.

Do they bicker about what to buy? Make stupid jokes about things they see? Talk way to loud and gain stares from those around them?

tags: @illiana-mystery, @eclecticwildflowers

warnings: swearing

AN: Reader is short in this. And the two are newly married. Sorry it’s long.

I had my arm linked through Dan's as we walked through the mall. His other hand was on top of mine, subtly playing with the ring that sat on my finger. I had my hand on top of his, doing the same.

"So where are we headed again?" Dan asked as we stopped in front of a store to look in the window before moving on.

"Bed, bath and beyond." I responded. Dan nodded slowly. "We need sheets, towels, plates, and a few other things. We can get them all there. For a relatively cheaper price."

"You know money isn't really a problem right? I say I'm broke but that's just to get out of things." Dan said softly. I nodded.

"I know. It's just..." I sighed and looked up at him. "First off I don't want people knowing that. Second, it's what every newly wed couple does. Buy the cheap stuff and then later on gets the good stuff." Dan chuckled as we entered the store.

"Alright." He agreed. Taking in the store, he let out a puff of air. "So where to first?" I pulled away from him to grab a cart, missing the quiet whine that he let out. I pushed the cart over to him and smiled as he pushed me out of the way to take over.

"Plates?" I asked. Dan shrugged and looked over the store again. He pointed in the direction of the kitchenware.

"How about we start over there and work our way back around?" I nodded. "This way we can grab everything we need in each department."

"Sounds good." I wrapped my arm around Dan's again as he headed in the direction he had pointed. "We can get appliances later I think." Dan nodded.

"I think Harry or your parents bought us some anyway. So we don't need to get that stuff right now. We can see what we got and then come back if we need to." Dan agreed. We went up and down the aisles, grabbing things we were pretty sure we needed and weren't gifted. Dan and I looked at each other as we found the plates. "This is a lot of options." I nodded.

"Should we just get the plainest set here and then get fancy ones later?" I asked. Dan shrugged.

"Honestly?" He asked. I nodded, a worried look on my face. "I say we get the most basic, cheapest set here. It's just us. Not like Harry or Christine will make fun of us for it if they come over for dinner." Walking down the aisle, I found a set. I picked up the display plate and showed Dan.

"Most basic they have." I said as he joined me. "But..." I trailed off as I put the plate back.

"But what?" Dan asked. I pointed above my head at the box.

"I can't reach it." I laughed lightly. Dan laughed as he stepped up and pulled it off the shelf. Carefully putting it in the cart, Dan turned back to me and hugged me. "Thank you." I whispered. He pressed a kiss to my head before grabbing the cart again.

"Is that the only reason you married me? My height?" I laughed as I wrapped my arm around his again.

"Not the only reason." I teased. "But it sure is a bonus." Dan laughed before turning to kiss my temple. "Next is bedding I think." Dan pushed the cart down the next couple of aisles before we got to the sheets and blankets. I immediately went to the throw blankets before looking back at Dan. "Did you...uh...have a preference?" I asked. Dan shook his head.

"You've seen my room." He said as he looked over the comforters. "Grey sheets. Black comforter. Two pillows." He waved a hand at the wall of comforter sets. "I have no idea what I'm doing here. Go ham." He laughed at the smile I gave him. Picking up two throw blankets in different colors, I tossed them to him. Dan put them in the cart and turned back to the wall of comforters. I grabbed four pillows and put them in the cart.

"Get whatever color you want." I called over. "We have a queen sized bed so anything will do honestly." I turned to look at the options for sheets. I rubbed the back of my neck as I looked at the patterns they had.

“you alright?” Dan asked as he came over to hug me. I nodded absently and waved a hand at the wall. “Oh I see. Too many options.” I nodded.

“well I got a (Y/F/C) comforter and a black one. Figured we could switch them out occasionally.” Dan mumbled. “So…” he trailed off before reaching above my head to get a striped set. “This one? both colors in one?” I nodded and he passed them to me. “How many do we need?” He turned to look at me.

“well growing up I always had four or five.” I muttered. Dan nodded.

“I always had three.” He said. “So four?” I nodded. “How about I pick one more and you pick two? Whichever ones we want.”

“sounds good.” I agreed. I grabbed a set with stars on them and added them to the cart. Sighing, I put my hand on dans back. “Dan?” He hummed as he turned to put his grey set in the cart. “See that checkered set?” Dan nodded.

“I got it sweetheart.” He kissed my cheek before grabbing it. Dan tossed it in the cart before pushing to our next stop. “Towels?” He asked as we passed by. I nodded.

“We need four so get whatever color. We need two big ones, a hand towel and a bath mat in each color.” I listed off. Dan nodded and ducked into the aisle to grab the towels. He came back with a mini tower and at me from around it. I laughed at Dan as he made a face and dumped them in the cart. “I think that’s it.” I said as I consulted the list on my pocket.

“let’s double check we have everything.” Dan said as he pulled the cart over to the side. “Four sets of towels. Including big ones, hand towels and bath mats.” Dan moved them to the side before pulling out the sheets. “Four sets of sheets. Two comforters. Four pillows.” I picked up the throw blankets.

“two throws.” Dan furrowed his eyebrows. “what?”

“why do we need two?” He asked.

“one for you. One for me. For when we’re watching tv or something.” I said. Dan nodded slowly. “What?”

“we can’t share?” He asked softly. “We need separate blankets?” Dan looked from the throws to me. I blinked at him before smiling. “What?”

“you’re cute you know that?” I put my hands on his chest and tugged him down to kiss him. Dan hummed in confusion.

“I don’t get it.” He mumbled. I kissed him again before letting him up.

“we can share.” I whispered. “One is for the couch and one is for the bed. In case it gets cold.” Dan nodded slowly.

“oh.” He turned and put everything back in the cart. “Wait. You said that just to get me didn’t you.” Dan looked at me as I smiled and nodded. “Dammit. For fucks sake (y/n).” Dan chuckled. I moved to hug him and Dan rolled his eyes. “You’re lucky I love you.” I nodded as I laid my head on his chest.

“I know. And I love you too.” I whispered. Dan shook his head before kissing my head. “Let’s go check out.” I pulled away and Dan kissed me before letting me pull away completely.

“let’s check out.” He agreed before pushing the cart to the check out counter.

[krankittoeleven]

Snippet Sunday Saturday!

Look, if you are expecting me to be consistent about things...ever...you've come to the wrong place. LOL I have a bit to share from CH 13 of Water of Life, but I'm pretty busy the next couple days so its Snippet Saturday this week. Although, I guess it's Sunday now for some of you. LOL

Since this is long, part of it is under the cut. Slightly heavy convo, but nothing to warn against that you haven't already experienced if you've been reading the fic. As always, this is not the final form, it's subject to change, and a bit rough around the edges.

The third chest Vili picks is the smallest of Ubba’s and also the plainest, and for a moment Vili is filled with hope that this utilitarian looking box will hold the bandages he wis looking for, but as soon as he opens the chest he knows he’s opened the wrong one; and not just because of the smell, which is musty, and old and earthy.

At first Vili thinks that, for some reason, Ubba had been carrying around the untreated pelt of a small animal in his chest for quite some time, perhaps even in an absent minded way that might be concerning if he hadn’t soon realized that the burgundy lining of the chest was not actually the lining of the chest at all but cloth. A cloak.

Ubba’s cloak.

Or, what had once been Ubba’s cloak, before he had covered Vili with it as a makeshift blanket and doomed it to its fate a lifetime ago.

Reaching into the chest, Vili buries his fingers in the fur collar that had once been soft and fuzzy and had smelled so strongly of Ubba. Now it is rough and matted in places with mud and bits of crinkly leaves and what Vili is certain are spots of his own blood. Now it smells musky, like the earth after rainfall; like dirt, like leaves, like trees, like rocks, like—well, like being trampled.

Heart pounding in his chest, the scar there aching more than it has in a very long time, Vili stands and pulls the cloak up with him, the fabric unfurling like a flag, like a sail, like a dream, as it rises out of the chest like a ghost; his hands gripping the fur collar as they had once gripped that elk’s antlers, white knuckled and full of fear and a dawning realization—

“Have you found the bandages yet?” Ubba asks, his voice still far off but drawing closer as he speaks. Vili instinctively turns to the sound of it. How could he not? How could he not?

Ubba stops short as he rounds the corner into the room and he looks surprised, but Vili thinks maybe he doesn’t look surprised enough. He’s not forgotten about the cloak, Vili is certain of it. He’s only surprised that he had found it.

For a moment longer Vili holds it up between them, as if it were some finery that he had spotted at the tailor’s stall in a market, as if he wanted Ubba’s thoughts on it.

What do you think of the color? He would say.

It looks good on you. Ubba would reply.

As if they weren’t in the middle of another war, as if he wasn’t supposed to be looking for bandages instead of old memories; instead of old nightmares.

“I thought it was lost,” Vili says as he lowers his outstretched arms. He’d thought that in the rush to get him back to the camp it had been left behind and long forgotten. Ubba had never even mentioned it again. It had been just one cloak of many after all. “You went and found it?”

“Do not give me too much credit,” Ubba says after a gentle laugh, before closing some of the distance between them. “I did not know to look for it, but it did fall back into my hands. It had been found under the elk’s body when they moved it.”

In hindsight, that made a lot more sense then Ubba actively searching for it. He hadn’t meant to be wearing it that day, and Ubba hadn’t seen him wearing it.

“I kept it in case—”

“I died?” Vili finishes when Ubba’s words fail him.

“Yes. In case your past deeds were not enough. To prove to Eir that you had a good death.”

Vili snorts and looks down at his fur filled hands.

“I would have been the fool of all Valhalla,” Vili says, laughing a little.

“Death makes equals of us all, Vili. But even so, I am certain that Odin has a sense of humor.”

[soichirosgayson]

ok so we all know L is mega loaded right?? and that he wears the same outfit all the time??

well what if he wears like super mega expensive brands but theyre all just like the plainest clothing ever from each brand. bc hes rich and doesnt care about branding (hc: only nike L is aware of is the greek goddess). maybe watari, like he’s in charge of procuring L’s desserts, is also in charge of getting L’s clothing; L just doesnt ask or care bc he’s rich enough not to

i also made a crappy little fashionboard bc i needed my one hour of vigorous research to have some point to it:

i made sure all the clothes were baggy, but since L would most definitely get blown away in a mild breeze (source: L’s wiki page), pretty much anything would look baggy on him. he also wears a size bigger than he should to make up for his height

[aevyk-ing]

Finally watched Wish...

And yes, it's bad. So here we go! (pun intended)

-I really don't get all that about wishes being easily crushed. I mean, yeah, it's foreshadowing, but I know a thing or two about wishes that didn't come true (most of us do) and there are different kinds of wishes and most of them aren't crushed in our very eyes (except if you're surrounded by awful people).

-Giving Magnífico that backstory doesn't mean anything in the end. We don't have enough information and he's not even redeemed.

-Search for "Mediterranean islands" in Google. Do they look like that? No? Okay, move on.

-The abuelo looks way too good for being 100. Search for "100 years people".

-Valentino is not talking yet and I already want him to shut up.

-Sakina doesn't know anything about her daughter's life. Come on, apparently she has a job. Wait, she has a job?

-There's been too much exposition in this few minutes my head hurts. First narration, then talking, now a song... She doesn't even need to be a tour guide... for five people.

-Somebody get this girl some camomile tea.

-Again with that wish stuff. I mean, some wishes you can pursue yourself, others would need a miracle. It makes no sense to wish for your purpose to come true (like Simon, we'll get to that later) when you can just do it! It's like daydreaming for your life to change while you do nothing! Yeah, I'm with Tiana here. You need to work hard to make your wish come true.

-The music sounds Andalusian. But just in this one song. And it doesn't match the background. BTW, I only liked the What I know now, even though it's too long.

-I like Dahlia way more than Asha. She's smart, calm and we know more about her. But still, she doesn't warn her friend with allergies that he can't eat the cookies... or smell them.

-And every apprentice has their wish and their family's wishes granted? Why? Also, what happened to the last one?

-I quite like Bazeema. Grumpy is just realistic. And that Dopey is just Fred from Big Hero 6. And Simon... he's there moping so we feel sad for him, but then he betrays Asha for no reason (yeah, they try to explain but it makes no sense).

-Asha has an actual, modern interview and the Queen herself fetches her because she has nothing else to do (like ruling a kingdom) and there are no servants in this castle.

-Magnífico has his bathroom break just before Asha's interview so he can make a grand... I mean, an entrance.

-Also, everything has been exposition (even that notebook) so far.

-Sharing your sad backstory so you'll be hired. "Oh, you have a sad backstory too, you're hired!" No, wait, they're singing. Why are they singing?

-Magnífico plays Ariel as Asha is more focused on finding Sabino's wish so she can trick Magnífico into granting it because they're bonding.

-So yeah, Asha looks desperate and Magnífico gets angry and dumps even more exposition over her. But because what he was saying made sense and Asha was looking like she only wanted that job to make her abuelo's wish come true, they made Magnífico angry so he looks like the bad one.

-Magnífico is so thin-skinned he gets angry easily and forgets to keep up appearances.... too soon.

-"Sania". Don't you mean "Sonia"? Oh, yeah, this is not Spain. Also, the person who wants to make the most beautiful dresses has the plainest, greyest clothing ever.

-Asha just tells her abuelo his wish would never be granted. Don't do that! Never do that! Don't break his heart!

-They talk about Magnífico not owning the wishes but... hear me out: the people gave them to him willingly so he can make them come true. And they even forget them! So... they're technically his.

-This Wish is the worst song. The lyrics are bad, the rythm is all over the place and it's too much for just climbing a tree.

-I haven't talked about the animation yet but she looks like plasticine clay. Everything is unfinished and the watercolor effect only pops up from time to time.

-Magnífico thinks a beam of light threatened him. He needs a holiday.

-Everybody is adorkable. The star is also adorkable. It doesn't matter it's creepy, stupid and just stole and destroyed someone's underwear.

-And apparently, it only can make animals (and funghi) talk but it also gives Asha a magic wand. BTW, those mushrooms are creepy (give me the Fantasia ones! (or at least make them look similar)) and I wasn't expecting the squirrel from The Sword in the Stone to talk like that.

-Valentino has no reason to be able to talk. He's insufferable and even makes the Dreamworks face when saying "his voice is so low" (wink-wink). So is this for kids or not?

-Yeah, it is for kids because they had to make the shape of a star (Star looks like a balloon) and they hammer you with the message that everybody is a star like 30 times. "A really simple answer." You've gone crazy, King Magnífico has gone crazy, we're all mad here!

-Also this is like the lesson that should be learnt at the end. But anyway...

-The King and Queen have no chemistry at all. I don't believe they love each other.

-Magnífico just has a tempting book there. I don't think he has never used it. Why does he even have it? Lock it in the dungeons.

-Why is everybody so thin-skinned? Safi acts as if Asha doesn't care about his most precious feelings. She's talking about chickens! Chickens!

-"I made a wish..." "You wished for a chicken musical?" And yes, this is the scene that made me decide I wasn't going to pay for watching this movie. Thank you, I hate it.

-Magnífico is stupid too. Like everybody knows you shouldn't alarm anyone when you don't even know all about the danger. Yes, he wants to look like a hero, but still... them doubting is on you, bud.

-Dahlia waits until she's called a genius to use long words.

-So everybody starts questioning everything, as you do, and Magnífico decides he'll be a tyrant then. He sings a song about his parents being aliens (I got these genes from outer space), song gets interrupted because we don't deserve a villain song and I keep on thinking how Ludmila's song from Bartok the Magnificent did the same thing but better.

-"My heart knows this feeling." Who talks like that? Also, is she dying? Why are they leaving? Asha should tell the Queen the King has gone crazy! You're putting everyone in danger! But it doesn't matter, she leaves Sakina and Sabino there so the strongest 100-year-old on Earth can row their way back... 10 minutes later.

-Why does Magnífico need a staff? He's been doing magic just fine.

-"Asha did this!" "Asha who?" Oh, yeah, they are only like 40 people in this kingdom. And none of them are kids or babies. Now.

-Let me get this straight: you have narcolepsy (or are just tired all the time) and you wish to become a knight? Yeah, I'm sure they'd trust you. So he should wish to have more energy and work his way to become a knight. But hey, doesn't matter because even though Simon is depressing and sad, he's attacked by bunnies! And that's funny! We don't care about the saddest character of all!

-Bazeema has a whole basement for herself because "introverts deserve some space" instead of saying she discovered it because she's an introvert and sometimes needs lonely time. But of course, this is only here so her "friends" can scold her.

-Asha doesn't try to convince anyone else via song because... reasons.

-"It's a lie, lie, lie..." Yeah, we get it.

-Magnífico thinks it's okay to wake up everybody to show them he's angry.

-Giving the clumsiest character the power of magic. Give it to Amaya! She's capable!

-Asha forgets Simon is her friend. Everybody forgets Simon is their friend. Nobody cares about Simon. Cough, cough... Simón.

-"Good evening, Rosas!" "What?" "We can't hear you!"

-Okay, what's Magnífico's plan? Killing them? BTW, he's the most pathetic villain since... nope, he's the most pathetic.

-So first we have a song saying you're a "star", then this. I think this is another tale about female empowerment and how men are bad. Don't believe me? Tell me one male character that shows to be intelligent, caring and that carries the plot. Yeah, Starboy, we needed you.

-Magnífico is hinted to be Queen Grimhilde's mirror when he's stuck in a gem. And he pleads so Amaya would free him when she has no magic... yet. I think.

-Valentino wishes for a mammal utopia when he's been living between humans his whole life and doesn't even have another animal as his friend. BTW, humans are mammals!

-Why do they need a fairy godmother? Why?

-"I know you too well." No, you don't. Asha and Star don't have any relationship. The Star has just been there to be cute and do cute things while Asha was clumsy and did clumsy things.

Overall? Bad. A few interesting things but none of the main characters are likable (Amaya, Dahlia, Bazeema and Simon had some potential), the songs were meh and the style looked unfinished. It's so sad to think this is the 100th anniversary movie but after seeing how lazy Disney has been lately (in movies, I loved the Once upon a studio short), it doesn't surprise me either. Anyway, you can check out my Wish rewrite here and, if you've come this far, thanks for reading and have a good day!

[drhu0806]

8 – “Give me that, before anything happens.”

Fandom: Baldur’s Gate 3 (fanfiction) Characters: Astarion, Tav/custom player character Rating: G Warnings: none

“What have you done?”

Astarion is disgusted, scandalized, truly horrified. The mantle that hangs from Kainé’s shoulders is in tatters, shredded and mangled, a far cry from the elegant article it once was. He thumbs the end of it in his hand in disbelief.

“Did you end up in a fight with a murderous onion chopper? You look as though a wyvern tried to chew you up and just spit you back out.”

Kainé grimaces, sheepish. “There was… some trouble…”

“Clearly.”

Taking a step back, he takes the rest of her in, eyeing her critically. “And while we’re on the subject of clothes, my dear, can we talk for a moment about everything else you have going on?”

“Uh, what do you mean?”

“Don’t take this the wrong way, darling, you’re gorgeous. But sometimes it helps to look the part a bit more, hm? It seems like every time I look at you, your shirt is some level of ill-fitting or torn, and for some reason you always have holes in your trousers. I know we’re in almost constant peril, but it really wouldn’t hurt to keep up appearances.”

She laughs, but it’s weak and forced, and Astarion senses that he’s misstepped somehow. “I suppose you’re right, I do look like a mess, don’t I?”

“Wait, Kainé, I’m not saying you’re a slob by any means—”

“Oh, I know, and you know I really would love to have clothes that I don’t ruin constantly, it’s just… I don’t really have that option.”

“What do you mean?”

She picks at a small tear in her shirt, one of many across a number of her casual clothes. Kainé doesn’t have many; while there’s been no shortage of abandoned, unused clothing in their travels, for some reason she gives away most of what they find to the rest of the party. Astarion himself is in possession of more clothes than he’s had in quite some time.

Kainé gives him a smile, forlorn and small. “I’m a tiefling, Astarion. It’s not exactly easy to find clothing that works for us.” She points to her horns. “You would not believe how hard it is to find a shirt that slips over my head easily.”

He suddenly remembers when Wyll was first turned into his devilish form, the hours of consulting with the tieflings in the party, the numerous times they’ve had to untangle his horns from his shirt. At the time he’d found it hilarious but...

“There’s also the matter of this lovely little thing…”

Turning to her side, her tail whips into prominence. “Tough to find pants that are comfortable enough to fit around these bad boys. Not a lot of tiefling tailors out there so… Growing up I never had a lot of clothes that fit me in general, and I never learned how to sew, so it would usually be really baggy shirts or trousers with holes just punched into them. Dresses were actually pretty nice, just not practical to wear often.” Kainé shrugs. “It was fine for a while; no point in having nice clothes I’ll just end up ruining from all the work I was doing.”

It isn’t the first time Astarion’s said something he shouldn’t, but it is the first time in a long while that he’s genuinely regretted it. No matter how hard she tries to shrug it off, he can hear the years of childhood shame behind her words. Little, seemingly inconsequential things he’s noticed during their time together come to mind: the slow, meticulous manner in which she puts her shirt on in the mornings, the times where she shifts uncomfortably in place, pulling at her trousers when she thinks no one can see.

He’s never denied that he’s been one to preen and pick at his own appearance; even his plainest clothes were carefully tailored to his tastes. But he’s always at least had good options to start with; what must have it been like, to not have that choice at all?

“Give me that, before anything happens,” he mutters, gesturing at her torn cloak. “And the rest of your free clothes as well. Gods forbid something rips in an unfortunate place at the worst time.”

“Wait, all of them? Why? It’s just my cloak—”

“Less questions, more clothes please! I don’t have all day!”

----------------------

Later, when Kainé returns to her tent, she finds her clothes returned, laid out individually. She’s about to curse Astarion out for leaving her a mess until she picks up the first shirt. She runs her fingers over it, feeling out curves that weren’t there before, outlining the trails of crisp, cleanly stitched embroidery. Without a second thought, she switches out her attire, and she’s immediately struck at how much easier it is to slip her head through the collar, the way the shirt actually conforms to her rather than sagging loosely at her sides.

She kicks off her pants and shimmies into a returned set, practically giddy that for once her tail doesn’t catch as she pulls up the waist. Not caring whether anyone sees, she hums to herself as she dances a little in place.

One last item remains: the mended cloak. The repaired article looks almost as good as new; Kainé marvels at how neat the needlework is, how the threads seamlessly blend into the existing pattern. Yet when she reaches the collar, she pauses as a new addition catches her eye.

A small white flower is sewn underneath the collar. She recognizes the shape all too well: a white moonflower, her favorite. Kainé wraps herself in the cloak as if it were a blanket, burying her face into the embroidered design.

“Oh, good, you’ve already tried them on.”

Astarion appears at the mouth of her tent. “I was hoping I could catch you to make sure everything fit, though I’m sure my skill is perfectly good enough to—Why are you looking at me like that?”

Without saying a word, she rises and embraces him. He’s caught off guard, his arms held out as he scrambles to figure out what’s going on. Eventually he comes back to himself, returning her embrace and holding her close.

“Well, I guess that means everything fits just fine.”

[yellowistheraddest]

sending you my hcs that are varying degrees of quality but. eh. it's my media perception so i have no shame in them

1. obviously asd/autistic miles because that is the truest thing ever? i don't think it's something he discovers as an adult, more like he got diagnosed before dl-6

2. maya to me is a girl that wears leg hair with pride. i'm sorry i can't imagine her in any other way and i picture her chubbier than capcom made her just bc she deserves that powerful look

3. miles edgeworth is a quiet rebel to me. this hc started when i saw a post about how putting your hands in trousers pockets isn't proper etiquette and miles does it anyway so... i just think he does these small things to feel mischievous and like his own person, maybe he did them more in his youth. and i also think the steel samurai and watching it also feels like rebellion to him and gives him a certain thrill? idk if this makes sense honestly

4. i think i made fanart of this one before but i basically hc that the short animations we see before a case (esp the ones in aa1 revealing the culprit) are phoenix's dreams that he barely remembers but they guide him like an intuitive sense. because yk how in aa2 the animation we see is an actual nightmare of his... and he definitely has some spiritual ties there somewhere.. and in aa4 he deadass predicts the future ominously to apollo sometimes... and he goes through spirit medium training with maya bc she makes him.....it makes sense

5. pearly's aged-up design is way different in my eyes. like i'm sorry but she should rebel so much after the ways she was raised, let her have the most unfortunate haircut in the world and funky makeup and cool clothes

6. yeah that's it im not going to embarrass myself further 👍

damn, let me get my reading glasses (i don't have reading glasses)

1. miles is the final form in the evolution line of the autism creature, so agreed. although i think gregory is not around enough/too old fashion to notice it, and von karma is a dick and would purposefully avoid getting him diagnosed; i think he got diagnosed after moving out. overall a strong 9.5 out of 10

2. i can definitely see her with body hair, but idk about the body fat because she has to stand under waterfalls for days so the training probably requires a restrain from food (kinda how monks fast) but im not in opposition of her being chubbier. 7 out of 10, capcom give us more details about the training plsss

3. lets just say ive been planning to draw something related to this idea... so 10 out of 10, hes shy and unsure about it but hes still a rebel at heart.

4. i think he just smokes weed when he reads case files and we just get to trip with him (yes this chronologically doesn't make sense but idc). Brother is the plainest cringefail guy - hes the last person anyone should give magic powers to, theres like 7 billion people who'd be better off with them. this one is a 6 put of 10, im not big into magical powers.

5. i hate pearl. well more like i hate children and pearl is a child, but they failed with her so bad the design... 9 out of 10.

pearl, send me a dm and well go clothes shopping and get you a haircut so it actually looks like youve actually been affected by 7 years of no longer dealing with your bitch of a mom

6. 0 out of 10, be shameless its the internet noone knows who you are. just don't be a weirdo!