#they’re just sitting in my closet bc I LOVE that pair and the pattern on the denim. but I’ve gained weight in the hip/ass/thigh area

[lesbiciousbeginnings]

I have some too-small jeans and I’m thinking about seam-ripping sides at the hips/thighs and adding grommets to do lace-up sides. I do Not think I have all the skills necessary for this, but the image in my head is so sexy/compelling that I really want to try it.

#mine #they’re just sitting in my closet bc I LOVE that pair and the pattern on the denim. but I’ve gained weight in the hip/ass/thigh area #so I can barely get them on #but the thought of the pattern + sexy side slits to show my hips??? so good #I’m a lesbian so I can do anything

[blossom-hwa]

fashion major!kevin

ANYWAY THERE WAS LIKE ONE PERSON WHO CALLED FOR A FASHION MAJOR KEVIN SPINOFF OF THE COLLEGE MODEL JUYEON AU I JUST POSTED (linked below) anyway! hope you enjoy, please reblog if you did, and check out my other dumb overly long blurbs in the stream of idiocy tag on my blog <3

pairing: kevin x gender neutral!reader

wc: 2.5k

genre: fluff, university!au

triggers: cursing

college model!juyeon

TBZ Scenarios Masterlist | TBZ Drabbles Masterlist

kevin moon is known on campus for two things: 1. his bright personality literally everyone loves him and if you don’t you’re jealous of him like sorry not sorry i don’t make the rules you know i’m right and 2. his.... unorthodox fashion sense. like eric thought his snake patterned shit was weird as hell?? but there are weirder things in kevin’s closet i swear to you. anyway this unorthodox style is what got him accepted into the fashion program at the university and even though there are a few assholes who stick their noses up at kevin’s work the vast majority of people are cool w his outfits even if they personally wouldn’t wear them and kevin is v well-liked in his major and on campus in general bc he knows everyone and is nice and polite and really a v cool person to be around when he’s not being a fucking idiot

and on campus there are fashion shows a few times every semester to show off the fashion majors’ work, and let’s just say that this university if p well know for its fashion major so some famous people sometimes come along to these events so EVERY TIME a fashion show rolls around the fashion majors get nervous as FUCK and there’s a lot of speculation on who will get noticed and whatever and everyone is secretive about what they’re working on and just. everyone goes fucking haywire and kevin is always v happy when the stress winds down after a show

(no one knows it but kevin has gotten offers from several companies to work with them after he graduates. he hasn’t told anyone except a few friends like juyeon/jacob and his family)

anyway you are also a fashion major who secretly really admires kevin’s stuff?? like you just think he’s so daring and creative and all of his work is absolutely amazing even if it’s a little weird and honestly you don’t even feel overshadowed by his talent and hard work you just feel in awe that you can be in his presence at all. you’re p sure kevin has no idea who you are bc even though you have a lot of the same classes you’re always too shy to sit or work near him bc even though he seems so nice and approachable he’s also just.... god he’s so good

BUT THEN. one of your professors announces that for the next fashion show they’ll be modeling projects that he’s assigning right now. which is weird asf bc usually you’ll all take your best clothing and like fix it or tweak it for the next show, like sometimes people will make something completely from scratch but that’s nerve-wracking and not many people do it unless they’re in a real pinch but it gets even WEIRDER bc this is not a regularly scheduled fashion event?? it’s like a smaller event apparently that they’ve organized just for this project AND THE WEIRDNESS TAKES THE CAKE when your professor says that YOU ARE GOING TO BE THE MODELS. YOU ALL ARE GOING TO PICK SOMEONE IN THE CLASS TO MAKE CLOTHES FOR AND THEY WILL MODEL YOUR OUTFIT

and this SENDS EVERYONE FREAKING THE FUCK OUT??? bc oh god you can’t rely on the models you’ve been using all semester now??? and you have to make flattering clothes for someone you might not even know v well and it’s just. holy fuck holy fuck holy FUCK

meanwhile you already know who you want to create for (/ahem kevin moon/) but you’re also chicken so like??? you’re just sitting in your seat looking over at him but not saying anything until your friend chanhee just pushes you out of your seat in kevin’s direction and is like GO ASK HIM BEFORE YOU LOSE THIS CHANCE and you’re like JESUS FUCKING CHRIST CHANHEE but kevin’s noticed your movement and he’s looking over with a smile on his face and you’re like jfc i can’t do this but chanhee shoves you again and so you kinda smile (you really hope it looks like a smile) and your voice is LITERALLY shaking when you go over and ask if it would be ok to use him as a model for this assignment and he’s like.... oh my god yes

because what YOU don’t know is that kevin has been ogling your designs all year?? like he enjoys his own style and is comfortable in it but he loves your work as in LOVES IT. he thinks your designs are absolutely flawless and original and you combine styles so effortlessly that he just wants to look into your brain when you come up with ideas bc what the fuck?? you may have different styles but kevin knows how to admire art AND YOUR DESIGNS ARE ART. 

so you’re reeling a day later bc now you have kevin moon’s number and he has yours and he’s now texting you on when you think you’ll have the first preliminary designs ready and when you can meet up so you can get each other’s measurements and all that and when you eventually meet up your hands are shaking so much that you can barely take his measurements and kevin is screeching in his mind as well bc oh my god you’re going to model his clothes YOU’RE GOING TO MODEL HIS CLOTHES

most people are again being secretive about their designs and even though someone in their class is modeling for them this time so there’s a bit less secrecy they’re still working alone so you get a shock when kevin asks if you want to coordinate your outfits. like work on designs together and maybe make something that matches a little though ofc retaining your own styles and you just shriek when you get the text and poor childhood best friend younghoon spills his coffee (you have been friends since basically birth and there are no romantic feelings whatsoever ok it’s strictly platonic like you watched younghoon vomit after eating too much bread when you were like 10 and he watched you get tangled up in a soccer net when you were 13 there are no romantic feelings stemming from any of that)

needless to say you reply yes yes ye sYES and kevin is grinning so wide on the other end that juyeon wonders if he’s gone slightly insane (which he has but we’re not gonna dwell on that) and both of you show up to the work rooms nervous as all hell (i’m not a fashion major i have no fashion sense i still think t-shirts/leggings are the way to go so idk how any of this works do not sue me) but kevin has a natural ability to defuse any tension in the room so within minutes you’re comfortable and laughing with him and wondering why you were so scared to approach him before and THEN YOU’RE REMINDED WHY when he shows you his design for you because... oh god.... it’s unbelievable. like it has a distinctly kevin feel to it but he’s clearly been paying attention to what you wear and what you design because it’s something you would like to wear and something you even think you could look good in. holy shit

and you just blurt out like kevin what the fuck this is so good did you like stalk my designs or some shit?? and you mean it as a joke ofc but kevin just goes beet red and mumbles something about how he really likes your work and how it’s so sharply elegant but also insanely creative and you’re just. open-mouthed like. dude i’m in love with your work too oh my god i’m gonna cry my fashion idol just said he likes my designs i’m gonna screaM

kevin stops you from screaming though even though he also feels like he’s gonna scream and this is the start of a very productive partnership between the two of you like most of the fashion majors are friendly despite the competition but you and kevin are on a whole other level?? and you start hanging out more and more often even when you’ve finished designing and are actually sewing (you ask him if this part can be secret bc you want to add a few things as a surprise - he ofc says yes and winks and tells you he has things he wants to add too which just makes you want to scream out of excitement)

and it’s a week before fashion show day and you and kevin are finished with putting together the designs and you’re excited as all hell and kevin is literally about to burst from his own skin and you insist that he goes first and when he pulls the outfit from the bag you’re just. in absolute awe. the colors match the design you made, it looks like it’ll fit, and even though it screams kevin moon it also has a distinct vibe from your own fashion style and you just yell KEVIN MOON YOU GENIUS as you snatch it from him and go change

(you don’t know obviously but kevin is blushing like a tomato while waiting for you to finish changing)

it fits almost perfectly, kevin marks a few places to fix and is debating whether or not to compliment you bc??? that sounds like he’s complimenting his own work and that’s egocentric as hell but then you say something like does it look fine and he just blurts out more than fine. you look great

AND YOU’RE SO FLUSTERED THAT YOU ALL BUT THROW YOUR OWN BAG AT KEVIN and are like GO CHANGE 

so he takes out the clothes and goes silent and you’re like.... oh my god does he hate it i mean we worked on the designs together and he said he liked it then but what if he changed his mind but then he looks at you and his eyes are sparkling and he’s like y/n this is perfect. literally perfect and he rushes to go get changed and when he comes out your eyes are bugging out of your head bc holy hell you pictured kevin in these clothes obviously since they were made for him but he looks so much better than you ever imagined

and then you blurt out something like holy shit you look beautiful

and kevin blushes again

anyway you both take your measurements and run out and then the day of the fashion show rolls around and both of you are freaking out backstage but the instant you two go on it’s like you both are literal gods bc you feel so confident in each other’s clothing and the crowd can feel it THEY CAN FUCKING FEEL IT and they go nuts when you two walk out!!! and even though it isn’t like a huge major fashion show, it’s just for this one project that your professors cooked up, you and kevin are both beaming like the sun when it’s over despite the fact that it wasn’t an important event bc holy shit you two had fun and everyone’s complimenting your clothing and it’s great it’s just great

finally all the chaos is over and the clothes have been put away and the makeup removed and you and kevin are now standing outside the venue in a kind of stunned silence that all of it’s over. it’s all over. and then you suddenly thrust out the clothes you made that kevin wore and tell him to keep it. it’s a present. and kevin takes it but he also forces you to take the outfit he made for you. and then there’s silence again

but if there’s anything you’ve gained over the past few weeks it’s a bit of courage. courage that let you talk to kevin, courage that let you design clothes for him, courage that let you become friends (and maybe something more) with him. you’ve also learned that kevin is a massive dork and a lovely human being and you’d really love to at least stay in contact so in that the moment you smile and say ‘if i asked you on a date, would you wear that outfit?’

poor kevin looks like he’s about to have a fucking aneurysm and you start to lose confidence but then he’s nodding like there’s no tomorrow like yes ye sYE S OH MY GOD YE S and omg you now have a boyfriend whom you like very very much and kevin has a partner whom he likes very very much

you two may not be a pda couple but you ARE that couple that matches every outfit they wear, you make jewelry and accessories for each other and also make each other clothes every so often. everyone is jealous of your combined fashion sense bc even though the outfits might look outrageous, you two both manage to pull them off and look fabulous at it, but also they can’t even be that jealous bc you two are the sweetest couple and are absolutely lovely 

both of you do wear the outfits you made for that show on your first date which is to like a musical or smth bc theatre kid kevin is something you can pry out of my cold dead hands and everyone’s staring but you two are in your own little world and it’s amazing

kevin admits at one point that he was afraid to ask you out bc he thought younghoon was your boyfriend and you just snort and tell him everything stupid younghoon’s done and by the end younghoon is done with you, kevin is about to vomit he’s laughing so hard, and you are smirking like no tomorrow

for the end of year fashion show you and kevin fix up and accessorize the outfits you two made for the show that brought you two together and there is absolutely no surprise that several different fashion companies scout both of you (and a couple modeling agencies too since you and kevin decided to model your own clothing again - younghoon whines that you’ve replaced him but you shut him up with chocolate bread)

kevin’s a sucker for romance (you CANNOT tell me this isn't true) so your first kiss is on the roof of the fashion building at sunset when kevin does the cheesy thing where he says you look more beautiful the view and you almost slap him but you’re laughing so hard and kevin’s cackling and somehow it turns into a kiss

you are a dork and kevin is even more of a dork and it just works out beautifully bc you’re so absolutely in love that it makes people fake vomit from the sides (looking at chanhee right here) but it’s also really sweet in that you two trust each other completely and would do absolutely anything for the other except murder. kevin made that v clear but really only bc blood would stain his clothing and he doesn’t need that. you agree wholeheartedly (younghoon/juyeon are looking from the sides like what the fuck is this couple do they need help and you two are like just go away and let us be the weird couple we are ok). the conversation ends in a v soft v sweet kiss and just. ik i said it with juyeon but kevin moon is also best bf ever ok you cannot convince me otherwise. 

and that’s how it goes :)

If you enjoyed, please don’t forget to reblog and leave a comment to tell me what you thought! Thank you for reading and have a lovely day <3

(1 reblog = 1 prayer for this weird-ass couple)

#destinyverse #kpopscape #tbznetwork #the boyz #tbz #the boyz kevin #tbz kevin #kevin moon #the boyz scenarios #tbz scenarios #the boyz kevin scenarios #the boyz x reader #tbz x reader #the boyz kevin x reader #tbz kevin x reader #kevin moon x reader #kevin #drabble #fluff #tw cursing #university!au #stream of idiocy #scriptura-delirus

[lassieposting]

skulduggery/alt!serpine for the getting together ask game?

I’m bored, so. Send me two (or more) characters for a headcanon on how I’d have them get together

OHOHOHOHO SEE THIS IS A GOOD ONE BC

ive already been thinking about this and im. Lowkey really glad im not the only one

See I always hated skug with any serpine, like I was a passionate anti from 2007 - about three months ago but. I enjoyed their dynamic in phase one and then i read like three of their interactions from sow and got converted or some shit apparently idfk, anyway u know i love an angsty ship

this got really long so tldr; enemies to vitriolic hate-sex buddies to lovers, painfully slow burn, but they'll both die claiming they still hate each other

It begins with China.

She orders him to kill Serpine, and he refuses. He's not even 100% sure why when he does. It's not like they're friends. He's killed people he liked a good deal more than Nefarian Serpine under orders.

But she says, "kill him" and he says, "no", and then things spiral so quickly that it's actually a few days before he even has time to think about her parting shot, flung at him as he walked out on her: "if you want to keep him, you'll be the one looking after him. He's your responsibility, not mine. And if he hurts someone, you -"

He'd shut the door on her at that point, but he knows what she was going to say. You look after him yourself, you train him yourself, and if he hurts someone, you kill him yourself. A wonderfully old-world way of looking at things. He's fairly sure he remembers getting the same speech from the housekeeper when he tried to bring home the ugliest feral tomcat he'd ever seen as a small boy.

(This will come back to bite him. He's not sure how or when, but it will. That's the way of things, whenever he turns his back on China Sorrows. Her last parting shot - a classic "you'll regret this" - ended up getting him killed.)

But then there's Mevolent, and cleaning up a city in the aftermath of its latest Traumatic Event, and putting a size 10 to the backsides of the City Guard, so his priorities get reshuffled somewhat, and it's almost a week later that he thinks to ask, "Heard from Serpine lately? He's being oddly quiet."

Valkyrie blinks at him from the passenger seat. Her fingertips tap tap tap at the touchscreen. She's messaging someone. He doesn't know who. "He's...around."

"Why the pause?"

"Hm?"

"You paused," he points out, switching lanes to get around a hatchback dawdling along at 60. "He's...around. You're trying to hide something from me. I'm aware you still talk to him, you know."

She doesn't deny it. He's gotten used to that, in the last few years. She doesn't tell him things anymore. It's that distance, the distance he can try to banter over but never truly remove. She's a lot further away than his passenger seat. "He's been looking for somewhere to live, like. Now that he's here for good. So, you know. That's probably keeping him busy."

Nefarian Serpine is living out of a stuffy first-floor rented room above, of all things, Vaurien Scapegrace's pub.

He knows this not because China was having Serpine followed (although she was) or because plenty of old faces from the Sanctuary still owe him favours (although they do), but because he receives a text from Scapegrace at a quarter to midnight, in the middle of a grisly murder scene.

have u beaten anyone up lately? do u want to? think thrasher just rented one of our rooms to a war criminal

He taps out a response, half-focused on the screen and half on Valkyrie examining the photos on the dead man's mantelpiece. She looks like she's just figured something out.

Which one? Thrasher, or the other guy?

By the time he's dropped her home, said hello to the furball and returned to the city, morning is bleeding into the sky. He knocks sharply on Nefarian Serpine's peeling rented door, and then again when there's no response.

From inside, a thud.

Then another, followed by some deeply impolite language, and then the door jerks open. Serpine, wearing an impressive bedhead, a scraggly attempt at a beard and a pair of patterned socks with a hole in the toe, squints out into the hall and snaps, "D'you have ANY IDEA what time it is? This place is supposed to - ah, shite. It's you."

"It is," he agrees.

Serpine gives him a sulky jerk of the head - an invitation - and vanishes back inside. He follows, closing the door gently behind him. Inside the room is dark and depressing and smells faintly of mildew and sweat. There are clothes on the floor.

He pulls the curtains open and looks out the window, giving Serpine some privacy to get dressed.

"Found me at last, have you?" Serpine asks from over by the bed. There's a rustle of fabric and the sound of a belt being done up. "What do you want? Come to take my other hand?"

That's it. That's what's different. "Other? You don't seem to be missing any at present, Nefarian. Valkyrie's work, I take it."

Serpine sits down on the bed with a squeak of springs, and when Skulduggery turns to face him, he's smirking and, thankfully, wearing trousers. "Ever so nice of her, wasn't it? Doesn't work like the old one, though. You know. The one I used on you."

He sighs. "And here I thought this last week would've given you time to come up with some new material."

Serpine shrugs and spends a moment picking out a pair of shirts from the wardrobe beside the bed. If it's a test, it's a painfully obvious one. Almost an invitation. Go ahead, shoot me.

No, this is something Skulduggery knows far more intimately. A display of brittle confidence in the face of a threat. I'm not afraid of you. Do your worst.

Serpine is afraid of him. Afraid of being arrested, maybe, or killed, or worse. He'd have relished that fear, once. Delighted in flipping the tables.

He leans back against the desk, ankles crossed and arms folded. After a moment, Serpine turns around with a shirt on a hanger in each hand. He holds them up for an opinion.

Skulduggery points wordlessly at the green one, and the blue goes back in the closet. "If you're not here to kill me, what do you want?"

While Serpine is doing up his buttons, Skulduggery retrieves the folded sheaf of paper from the inside pocket of his long coat, and holds it up. "I came to drop these off."

Serpine's vibrant eyes narrow. "What is that? An arrest warrant?"

"A list of landlords in Roarhaven willing to rent to refugees. Valkyrie mentioned you were looking."

Serpine blinks at him. Skulduggery doesn't often bother with the facade in Roarhaven, but if he had a face right now, he'd be blinking back. It's a weirdly awkward moment.

"...thanks," Serpine says after a moment, tentatively reaching for the papers; Skulduggery leans forward to pass them over. "That'd be...helpful."

He sounds very uncomfortable saying those words. When Skulduggery responds, "You're welcome," he feels much the same.

Serpine unfolds the papers and skims them. Three pages of property listings. Tipstaff had printed them off for him with only a raised eyebrow and a, "Never thought you'd move out of Dublin, Detective."

"What brought this on?"

He looks up. "Hm?"

"You show up here at an ungodly hour of the morning, nobody to rein you in, and you're being helpful? I don't buy it. I know China as well as you do. She told you to kill me, didn't she?"

"She did," Skulduggery acknowledges, and a very old, very spiky part of him gets a kick out of watching the blood drain from Serpine's face. "I told her no."

"Bollocks."

"Hard to believe, isn't it? But it's true. Ah, don't look at me like that, Nefarian. It's got nothing to do with you. I was just feeling argumentative that day. And, if nothing else, I can always rely on China to argue with me if I tell her no."

"So -"

"For my sins, she made you my responsibility, see. I'm supposed to keep an eye on you, make sure you don't get up to any of your old tricks. And if you do, then I'll kill you. I'll be checking in on you to make sure you're behaving yourself. Think of me as a...probation officer, of sorts. With benefits."

More blinking. This version of Serpine is not a morning person. He bets his alternate self got to sleep in far later in this Serpine's dungeon. "I'm not seeing any benefits."

"The benefit is I get to kill you if you step out of line. I never said the benefits were for you."

"Are there any benefits in this for me?"

He considers this for a moment. "You get to live. Because of me. I saved your life. "

Serpine's face is emotionless and his voice is flat.

"Oh," he says. "Yippee."

He's interviewing a witness when his phone rings.

He politely excuses himself, and steps out into the hallway to answer it. "Pleasant."

"Hello!" Serpine says brightly, and launches immediately into, "I want a car."

Skulduggery's fake face blinks at the sigil-embossed wallpaper. It takes a second to even register the voice, and another to pick up on -

"How the -? Who gave you this number?"

"Valkyrie." Serpine sounds completely unapologetic. "And you're supposed to be teaching me to drive."

Serpine can't see his head tilt. He does it anyway. "Am I now? And what gave you that idea?"

"I'm your problem now, remember? Besides, you agreed to it," is the smug answer. "Before our little holiday back to my dimension, I said I wanted a better house and a latte and a car. And driving lessons."

"I never agreed to that."

"Well, you didn't say no. That's agreement by default. Sorry."

"Plenty of people can teach you to drive, Nefarian. You could teach yourself, even. Watch a video on Youtube."

"Detective Pleasant, I am shocked," Serpine teases, suddenly dripping with insincere concern. "Think of all those poor defenceless mortals I could run into. There's an advert on the television about how you're specifically not supposed to hit them with cars. It kills them, apparently. How will I cope without you there to make sure I resist temptation?"

Skulduggery grinds his teeth. "You're enjoying this, aren't you?"

"Immensely. I'd completely forgotten how much fun it is to have you at my mercy. And you did say you're supposed to keep an eye on me."

Skulduggery goes quiet for a moment, focusing on reining in the urge to hit something. Serpine's face. He wants to hit Serpine's face. With a chair. Trust him to figure out that being Skulduggery's responsibility meant he could go to him for help.

"Fine."

"Excellent! And now you have my number, so you can let me know when you're free."

"Since when do you have a mobile?"

"Since today," Serpine says airily. "Tanith helped me pick one out. I can talk to anyone, anywhere, whenever I like now. Isn't that great? I mean, I only have two numbers, three now that Valkyrie's given me yours, but still. Now I'll always have someone to talk to."

"This is a work line. It is not for social calls."

A passing sorcerer startles a little at his tone, and he gives her an apologetic smile. As an afterthought, he rolls his eyes in a you know how it is gesture. But she's already walking away, so really he just rolls his eyes at her back, which is probably rude of him.

Serpine is still talking. "- can send little moving pictures, and I've downloaded all these little applications, so now I do all sorts of fun things. Do you use...whatsit...Snapchat? I have Snapchat now. And I've got Angry Birds and Candy Crush and Grindr."

And that? That right there? That is more than he ever needed to know about Serpine.

"Goodbye, Nefarian," he says firmly, and hangs up.

He checks in on Serpine once a week, officially. Unofficially, he clocks more hours than he'd like to admit parked in an alley outside Scapegrace's pub, waiting for someone to scream bloody murder. Serpine spots him a couple of times, gives him a jaunty wave with his newly-regrown hand on his way to the off-licence, mocking and unconcerned.

But nobody gets murdered. Serpine seems to be...behaving. For now.

"I've volunteered you for move-in duty," Valkyrie says, apropos of nothing. When he blinks at her, she shrugs and takes a sip of her coffee. "Serpine's found a flat. He needs some furniture shifting."

He's not going to throw anything at his partner in this busy mortal cafe. He's not.

"I see. And you thought that has anything to do with me because..."

She polishes off the last dregs of her drink with a slurp. "I can't float stuff up stairs."

The apartment Serpine is moving into is a decent two-bedroom on the fourth floor of a six-floor block in a quiet area with a history of minimal unexpected-demolitions-by-overpowered-supervillain. Skulduggery idly wonders, as he pulls up in the parking area behind the building, whether a mass murderer moving in - and the frequent visits by the other mass murderer charged with keeping an eye on him - will bring down housing prices. China will hate that, when she wakes up.

Serpine is waiting for him out front, surrounded by boxes and furniture, already looking a bit frazzled. His outfit is stylish and his slicked-back hair is sticking up in places where he's been running his hands though it. He startles and looks up at the sound of footsteps, and seems to breathe a sigh of relief. "Ah! You came. Valkyrie said you'd know how to go about getting all this, you know. Up there."

"You can hire people for this, you know," Skulduggery tells him. "Removal men."

"With what money?" Serpine asks, a little helplessly. "Valkyrie gave me some of her old things, but I got most of this from - what's the word? - second hand shops, and the refugee aid centre. I've been looking for work, but...you know." He gestures at his face. "This is my criminal record."

Which...is a fair point, so Skulduggery rolls up his sleeves and moves to one end of a squashed two-seater couch. "Fair enough. Grab the other end."

Serpine's mouth almost drops open. "You want to carry it? Like peasants? I thought you were here to float the damn thing!"

Well, he could. But the world isn't actively ending right now, so he can afford to be petty. "I don't use magic unless I have to, these days. We'll be doing this the old-fashioned way."

"But." The last time he saw someone look this aghast was when Valkyrie realised how the citizens of Roarhaven saw her. "But that's manual labour!"

"A little manual labour will do you good."

"Gods, I hate you," Serpine tells him as he moves to grab the other end of the couch.

Skulduggery turns the facade on specifically to give him a smug smirk. "I know."

By the time they're finishing up the boxes, Serpine's new neighbours have come out into the hall to see what all the banging is about. They seem young, mostly - too young to recognise him from the war. Skulduggery is starting to suspect that Serpine has accidentally moved into student housing, but he keeps his mouth shut. Serpine is being chatty and charming, holding court in the corridor, and Skulduggery mostly lets him get on with it in between trips to the bottom of the stairs to pick up more boxes, until a young woman who holds Serpine's front door open for him and chuckles, "Left you doing all the work, has he? He's a talker, your boyfriend. I bet you don't get a word in edgewise."

It's not often that Skulduggery Pleasant is lost for words. "I. I'm sorry. What?"

Fortunately, Serpine chooses that moment to interrupt the conversation he's having and interject, "Oh, no, darling. We're not together. He's just here to make sure I stay out of trouble."

There's something off about how he says it, though. There must be, because the woman taps her nose like he's just confided a secret, and Skulduggery can't help but feel like he's just been made the butt of a joke he doesn't fully understand.

He checks on Serpine once a week. Occasionally Serpine texts him. A blurry photo, usually paired with a caption like, "what the hell is this?"; a set of traffic lights, or a lollipop man, or a chihuahua in a little jumper. Sometimes he responds, but sometimes he doesn't bother.

It's not like they're friends.

The sun is shining, the birds are singing, Roarhaven's shopping district is bustling, and Nefarian Serpine is late.

Skulduggery's been people-watching, drumming his fingers on the tabletop, for fifteen minutes when he finally shows up with a to-go coffee cup in one hand and a stack of books under the other arm. He's frowning.

"You're late," says Skulduggery, by way of greeting.

Serpine shrugs, taking the seat opposite. He dumps his books on the round table and gives the menu a cursory glance. "Sorry. I was at the library. Almost missed the bus."

A waitress approaches wearing a shirt stamped with the logo of the little bistro they're sat outside, and while Serpine orders lunch, Skulduggery idly examines the titles stamped along the spines of his book mountain. Some of them look old, leather bound tomes with fancy gold lettering, and the rest seem to be...textbooks, of all things.

"A little light reading, Nefarian?"

"Huh?" Serpine - busy watching the waitress walk back inside - swivels round to face him, and shrugs. "Oh. Yeah. I want to see if they match up with the slanderous shite they're teaching at the university."

"Excuse me?"

Serpine shrugs. "Vapid and Ty - you know Ty, weird hair, lives next door - thought it might help me adapt if I learn more about how your world is different to mine, so. I've been sitting in on some classes. Unofficially. History. Mortal Relations. That kind of thing. You have battles here that never happened back home, you know."

Skulduggery folds his arms across his chest and leans back in his chair, amused despite himself. "Mortal Relations? You're going to Mortal Relations lectures. You."

"Shut up," says Serpine, pointing a finger at him. "You don't get to laugh. You're not the one nobody wants to hire. - because that's still a problem, by the way. Aren't you supposed to be helping me with that?"

"I'm supposed to be making sure you don't kill anyone or make a nuisance of yourself. Sorry to disappoint."

"Would it kill you to write me a character reference?"

Skulduggery coughs conspicuously into his gloved hand with the throat he doesn't have. He picks up the top book from Serpine's stack and flips idly through Religion & Warfare: The Rise Of The Church Of The Faceless In The 15th Century . "Think about that one for a minute, Nefarian, and you'll remember why it's not happening."

"Fine. Be like that." Serpine's shoe nudges his leg under the table. "Here, were you at the Battle of Black Rock?"

He has to think about that one for a second, then hums in the negative. "Hm. No. I missed that one. I think that was when I was holed up in Cork with a broken leg. Why?"

"History 201," Serpine muses. "I tagged along this morning. It was mostly about that fight, but it never happened in my dimension. It was borderline slanderous, honestly. The professor is an imbecile."

"You're dying to vent, aren't you?"

"Would you mind terribly?"

Skulduggery pulls his ornate pocket watch from his waistcoat pocket and checks the time. "You've got fifteen minutes. Better talk fast."

Time goes by.

He checks on Nefarian once a week. They have coffee, sometimes. Valkyrie knows not to cross the line of bringing Serpine to Skulduggery's home, but she adds them both to a group chat and neither one leaves.

Nefarian wrecks his first car, and Skulduggery makes the drive out from Dublin at 5.45am to rescue him. He calls the tow truck while Serpine sits, pale and shaken, in the Bentley's front seat, drenched from the rain and squelching miserably every time he moves.

He apologises for calling so early, and for once he sounds like he means it.

Skulduggery takes him through the McDonalds drive thru to cheer him up, and as Nefarian tucks into a box of fries with gusto, he thinks, oh no.

They're not friends. They're not.

"Is this a date?"

Skulduggery tilts his head, hand stilling over the car keys. "I'm sorry?"

Valkyrie tosses another piece of popcorn into her mouth. She's already in her pyjamas, fluffy ones with dogs on them, and she's flicking through the Netflix queue. "You're all dressed up. Is this a date? Have you two finally gotten over yourselves? God knows it's been long enough."

He snatches up the car keys and sniffs, disdainful. "After all these decades, Valkyrie, if that's what your expert detective skills are telling you, I have failed as a mentor."

"And now you're getting defensive."

"I'm doing no such thing. Where's Tanith, by the way?"

She laughs and does double fingerguns at him. "And that's deflection!"

He sighs - dramatically, for her benefit - and as he checks his pocket watch, she continues, "And, she's on her way. Get out, already. You have a date to keep and we have movies to watch."

"It's not a bloody date," he complains, patting his pockets to make sure he's got everything. "And I originally asked you."

"Yeah, but opera's boring. Here, is he meeting you there or are you picking him up?"

"Goodbye, Valkyrie."

"See?!" She shouts after him as he shuts the front door. "Date!"

#skulduggery pleasant #remember when my shame post of shame was mere valdug? nope u get this now #thats right yall #i got WORSE #goodnight ✌🏻 #there were gonna be more scenes in this believe it or not it just got SO FUCKING LONG #skulpine #which is not a ship tag i ever thought id be using rip

[tirednotflirting]

on a summer evening (baby, you’re the end of june)

please enjoy more soft lashton that i wrote for stress relief after another week of job applications

special thanks to @another-lonely-heart for giving this a read last night and saying such kind things about it and also @calumcest bc she yelled at me enough the other day to convince me to start actually posting my writing lol. 

The early summer, golden hour sky is dark with swirling gray clouds and a windy rainstorm when Ashton realizes he’s in love.

There hadn’t been any rain in the forecast for the day. It was four days past the solstice so it should have been miserable out, but LA decided to give its faithful citizens a little treat in the form of a light breeze so sitting outside with a cool drink and a guitar was quite pleasurable. Which is exactly why when he received a text from Luke asking if he could play through some of the melodies he had been playing around with the past couple of weeks, Ashton replied to tell him that the front door would be open and to grab himself a drink before coming to the back deck.

Ashton locks his phone and turns when he hears the sliding door open and attempts to control the blush he feels rise to his cheeks when he watches Luke step toward the chair beside him in a white linen shirt that floats against his chest, one hand holding the neck of his guitar and a beer in the other. His hair is back in a tiny bun and his sunglasses threaten to fall off the end of his nose. He's a vision of a nice summer day, like the one they’re having right now, Ashton thinks to himself.

They spend the next couple of hours working through some of what Luke had come up with that he plays for Ashton from piecing together bits from voice notes on his phone. Luke giggles at the older boy whenever he stumbles over some of the more technical patterns, still not a native to the strings like Luke. (And okay, yes, maybe he was faking some of that a little bit. But it made Luke laugh in the way that his nose would scrunch up far too adorably so there was really no harm to it, he thinks.) The stuff he’s been working on is really good, Ashton repeatedly tells him. He can see all of them ending up in their future singles.

They've just started working on one of the last voice notes that Luke has when a raindrop splashes off of the body of the guitar Ashton was holding from when he had run down to his studio about halfway through the list. A matching pout appears against the lips of both boys as they gather up everything they had brought out as the raindrops pick up, their clothes dampening as they hurry through the glass door.

It’s within the next couple of minutes that the storm neither of them had noticed previously really rolls in and picks up. It's still relatively early, only about 4.30, but as Ashton stands just inside the sliding door looking up at the sky, he knows this is going to go on for a while. His weather app confirms the thought and Luke groans when he looks at the screen Ashton is holding out toward him. “Guess I should head home then?”

Ashton turns from his spot just inside the kitchen where he’s just plugged in his phone to the charger at the island. They’ve had a really good afternoon and for some reason he really really does not want it to end. “I mean,” he starts, a hand running through the hair at the back of his neck, the ends now wet from their escape out of the storm. “I wouldn’t mind the company. Unless you’ve gotta get back to Petunia?”

Luke shakes his head quickly, a small smile appearing as the curls that have escaped his bun fly around like a little halo. “I dropped her at Cal’s place on my way here for a playdate with Duke, I'm sure he wouldn’t mind her being there awhile longer.”

Ashton tries then to control the deepening of his dimples as he nods at the response. “Well, we should change then and maybe we can break for a bit and make an early dinner?”

Luke agrees to the plan and follows Ashton down the hall to his bedroom. Ashton hunts around for a pair of sweats and a long sleeve with the band’s logo from the previous tour, the current weather allowing him to ignore the calendar for the time being in terms of wearing something cozy. He turns to face Luke and gestures towards the closet as if to say “have at it” and changes on the opposite side of the room, leaving Luke to do the same inside the walk-in.

They all practically grew up living out of suitcases in shared hotel rooms, so naturally, all four of them have pieces that belong to the others in their closets. Knowing that any of his pants would run just a little bit too short on Luke, Ashton assumes Luke would go digging through the drawers for a pair of his own that are inevitably tucked away somewhere. He figures he’ll do the same with his t-shirts. So it comes as a surprise (though not one he’s even the slightest bit upset about) when Luke steps out from the closet with one of Ashton's bigger hoodies covering his upper half. The sleeves hang a bit long on Luke, his fingers able to wrap around the cuff to make sweater paws.

(Ashton silently prays that the lack of light in the room due to the storm blocking much natural light from entering will obscure the blush he knows is boldly sitting on his cheeks at the sight of the cozy boy.)

“Is it cool if I borrow this? Kinda chilly,” Luke asks.

“Yeah, no, of course,” Ashton nods back, knowing he answered the question far too quickly.

Luke grins his thanks. “Let's make something, I'm starving.”

Ashton soon realizes that when Luke asked if they could make something, what he really meant was if Ashton could make them something. Not that he minds at all, knowing that growing up as they did made learning skills around the kitchen a little difficult on the blonde. He needs to go to the store soon so he pulls out what odds and ends he can find - some chicken, some rice, random vegetables still in his produce drawer. Ashton sets to work cleaning and chopping up the vegetables after figuring out the spice situation for the chicken.

Luke watches him work silently from where he’s hopped up onto the counter, telling Ashton stories from his week. He talks about Petunia, talks about the call he had with his parents and brothers. They discuss plans for the Fourth of July (ignoring their lack of American citizenship in favor of lighting sparklers and eating loads of good food in Michael's backyard). It’s a nice, lazy (incredibly domestic, Ashton thinks) activity, catching up on the week while Ashton makes them a meal. He wonders if the simplicity of it all has Luke feeling as warm as he does.

Luke decides he wants a mug of hot chocolate and pulls the powder and milk from their respective spots, despite Ashton's complaints that it was too much sugar before a meal. Luke is stirring the powder into the microwave-warmed mug of milk when his phone starts playing a tone letting him know he’s getting a call. He drops the spoon in the sink before reaching into his hoodie pocket and swiping his thumb across the screen. He smiles as he brings the phone to his ear. “Hey Cal, my girl behaving?”

He picks up the mug and walks out from the kitchen, standing at the sliding door that leads to the backyard, a bright smile lighting up his eyes despite the lack of sunshine from beyond the glass, obviously laughing at something Calum has just told him. Ashton reduces the heat on the pan he’s just tossed the sautéed vegetables into with the chicken, knowing the rice needs a few more minutes. He turns then to lean against the counter and look at the boy standing in his living room as he wipes his hands on a dish towel.

And it's then that he feels it. Watching Luke giggle softly through his response to whatever he’s speaking with Calum about, his mug held close to his face to warm his cheeks, Ashton feels something. He’s watching Luke comfortably move through his home, wearing Ashton’s clothes, talking to their friend as he sips from his designated favorite mug while Ashton makes him dinner. It's a scene that has a mob of butterflies flying through his stomach straight up to his heart and taking over his thoughts because Ashton suddenly finds himself knowing he would give up anything to watch this exact moment play out everyday for the rest of his life if he could. Watching this person he cares so so deeply for be warm and safe and happy and with him. Ashton had always thought he had been in love before but now as he watches Luke's eyes squeeze shut as he laughs against the rim of the mug, the porch light illuminating his face with a soft yellow glow, he knows this is new to him and it’s love.

He's given about three seconds to process all of that before Luke turns to him. He's still smiling but his eyes give Ashton a confused look, as if asking if he’s okay. Ashton's lips turn up and he waves his hand as if to tell him to dismiss his concern. Luke lifts his mug to acknowledge the response as he lacks a free hand and turns away as he wanders to the couch, phone still pressed to his ear.

Ashton turns back to the stove, attempting to force himself to focus on plating the food he’s made rather than the thoughts swirling and racing through his mind about the man on his sofa. He’d come to terms with this crush a long time ago, not permitting himself to ever think about it for too long for this exact reason. He’s internally blaming the long spring of being cooped up inside his house with his thoughts when he feels a presence behind him. He moves to turn to face Luke, to try to make some joke about why he’s bugging Ashton while he cooks, when a gentle hand is placed against his left hip to hold him in place while Luke holds out his phone in front of Ashton's face.

“Look at Duke and Petunia,” he coos. “They’re cuddling.”

And the picture is incredibly cute, the two dogs cozied up together on the floor in front of Calum’s couch. Ashton tells Luke this in a tone that the drummer realizes probably sounds just a little too strained to be talking about dogs napping together. The tone must have been recognized by Luke as a puzzled look falls on his face as he squeezes the hip his hand rests at and bumps his head against Ashton’s temple. “You all good?”

Ashton reaches up, rubbing at Luke’s messy curls teasingly. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just hungry.” He steps out of Luke’s hold then as he turns and hands him a plate, gesturing over to the bar where they can eat (his dining room table being covered with papers since the band’s tour meetings earlier in the week) and asks Luke to grab him a water while he finishes making his own plate.

They eat relatively quickly, neither of them realizing until they sit down that they never bothered to eat lunch before working on music earlier. Luke volunteers to clean up while Ashton flips through Netflix for something to watch while they wait for the storm to pass, the radar predicting the heavier part should be past the city within the next few hours. 

Behind him, Ashton hears the dishwasher close and start a cleaning cycle as he clicks play on some indie movie that’s been sitting in his queue for awhile. He takes a seat close to one of the arms of the couch as he watches the opening credits roll. Luke flicks off the kitchen light, leaving the room dark aside from a lamp near the hall that leads to the foyer and the glow of the TV. He takes a seat beside Ashton on the couch, his head immediately falling to rest against the shoulder of the other boy. 

Ashton tenses for just a moment at the pressure against his shoulder and the smell of Luke’s conditioner hitting his nose before he relaxes some. He sits up just a bit so Luke isn’t having to bend over to a weird angle to allow the position. Luke hums his thanks and pulls the sleeves of the hoodie back over his palms. 

They watch the characters on screen go about their lives in pretty normal situations that indie movies tend to be fond of romanticizing. Ashton still feels warm with all of his feelings and butterflies flapping around in his body when he feels a hand reach over, fingers slipping into the spots between his own, a slightly smaller palm pressing against his. He turns his head just slightly but makes no move to change the position, only moving their clasped hands to rest against his lap as Luke’s thumb rubs gently against his first knuckle.

“Days with you are nice,” Luke says softly, so much so that Ashton barely hears him over the dialogue happening between the characters on the screen. “And slow.”

Ashton lets out a laugh, one he hopes doesn’t sound as nervous as he feels. “Slow?” 

“They feel slower, but like,” he stops the motion of his thumb for a minute and Ashton lets his head tilt some to rest against Luke’s curls. “But a good kind of slow? Like the universe is allowing more time to fit into the hours somehow.”

Ashton’s heart is soaring at his words. It practically leaves him at a loss for them himself. “Nice of the universe to let us have that, I guess.”

“I feel pretty lucky, yeah.”

That’s all he says then, his focus returning back to the screen. Ashton isn’t quite sure what the short exchange just then meant but he can tell that it meant something and for now he decides that’s good enough. He wants to be big and bold but it’s obvious that Luke likes slow things. And Ashton really likes Luke. So he can do his best to do slow, for him.

He lifts his head then and shifts some to allow his hand to stay pressed against Luke’s but moves to rest his head against the fluffy arm of the sofa on his left. It’s still pretty early but Ashton suddenly feels so sleepy. He’s silently debating with himself about whether or not the exhaustion is due to his racing mind or the cluster of butterflies still flying between his head and his heart when he lets his eyes drift shut.

(It’s about twenty minutes later that Luke carefully slides a pillow under Ashton’s head and drapes a blanket over him, knowing he’s prone to getting cold during the night. He quietly moves about to slip his boots back on and leave his empty mug in the sink. He considers going back to the bedroom to change into one of the shirts he knows actually belongs to him in Ashton’s closet before heading out. But then he catches a whiff of the other boy’s sunshiney, bright cologne on the collar and thinks about the look in Ashton’s eye when he saw Luke walk out of the closet in it earlier and decides he can’t bear to part with it tonight - the hoodie of course, not the way he felt from that look. Definitely not the look.)

*

#lashton #lashton fic #5sos fic #will i EVER learn how to tag things in a way that works? probably not #i am not kidding i wrote most of this from like midnight-2am last night if there are some grammar things that i missed fixing i am v sorry #also i have yet to figure out a good time to post but eh

[diisenchvnted]

KIERNAN SHIPKA,  DEMIGIRL,  SHE/HER.  —  looks  like  BEATRICE “TRIXIE” BELLEROSE  is  attending  AURADON PREP  in  auradon.  they're  the  NINETEEN  year  old  child  of  THE ENCHANTRESS,  which  means  they're  from  THE ISLE.  heard  they're  ENERGETIC  &  CREATIVE,  but  can  also  be  OFFBEAT  &  NAÏVE  ;  we all have our bad days.  people  normally  associate  them  with  RED PETALS FALLING OFF A BLOOMING ROSE, A CRACKED HANDMIRROR BY YOUR BESIDE, RUBY RED LIPS AND BIG BROWN EYES, WORN STUFFED ANIMALS SALVAGED WITH A POOR SEWING JOB.  —  hylia.

                             ❛ it’s only me who wants to wrap around your dreams                                 and...  have you any dreams you’d like to sell ?? ❜                                playlist. pinterest. to listen as you read.                                tws : mental abuse ( by a parent )

so hi again i am hylia and this is Baby. idk how long this one’s gonna end up eITHER bc my allergies are kickin’ my ass today and I should be resting but I cannot stay away from this group for that long. So yes !! pls continue reading for more info abt trixie bby here. i lov her.

HISTORY

The daughter of the Enchantress - yes , the same Enchantress that turned Prince Adam into a beast - Trixie never really understood why her family was stuck on the Isle. Since of course , the Enchantress only taught Adam a lesson , yes ?? It was maybe through more harsh means than one would think , but . . . she wasn’t a bad guy.

...Right ??

All Trixie knew was that this was the life she was given , and she had to suck it up and deal with it. And never one to really sit around feeling sorry for herself , she took it. And her life was pretty normal for an Isle kid , save for her mother projecting her anger at being thrown on Isle onto her child. 

There was always a talk of showing them. Telling Trixie , One day we’ll show them what a real lesson is since they didn’t learn from last time. Excessively tutoring her in all things magic and enchanting despite the fact that powers like that actually terrified the child to her core. 

But there was always pressure - and it only increased when it was found out the Isle kids were getting a chance. In Trixie’s mind , this was a new way to explore , a new opportunity for a brand new life - UNTIL Trixie’s mother decided it would finally be able to kick their plans into motion. All of that tutoring , all of the training that made it so Trixie never had many friends , couldn’t leave the house much - it would have to pay off.

Gifted with an enchanted mirror and an enchanted rose by her mother - exact replicas to the beast’s , the Enchantress gave Trixie an ultimatum to make sure revenge was sated : give the Beast’s family the same fate he once bore ( essentially , transform them all into beasts like he used to be ) by the time the last petal falls , or be doomed to become a beast herself.

And . . . that’s where she is now. 

FACTS / CHARACTER

SO YES THAT’S IT - Trixie’s mother basically wants her to turn Belle, Adam , and their kids into beasts to get revenge or else Trixie’s gonna be the one turning into a beast if she doesn’t do it. And yes it’s fucking terrifying.

Nobody knows of this secret except for the two people involved in the deal - Trixie , and her mom. And by God Trixie does not want to do this.

And realistically , for RP purposes , I’m gonna inform you now that there is no way that the revenge is gonna be carried out. The Florians are fine. We all know she’s not gonna do it. But right now , since Trixie just got here and has that ultimatum , she doesn’t know that yet. So she’s struggling with a lose-lose situation since if she does do that , she makes herself an Auradonian criminal , and if she defies her mother and doesn’t , she becomes a beast and she has no idea how to undo a spell like that.

So yeah , just to clarify - nobody else really knows about this. Trixie keeps this deal hidden , and also hides the two items related to it in her closet ( the handmirror and rose ) so nobody finds them. Even though she routinely carries the mirror around with her and checks on the rose frequently because yes , its petals are starting to fall. 

Which brings me to my next point - Trixie has AMAZING power , and essentially , later on in her life it’s destined that she’ll become the next Enchantress. But because Trixie’s magical prowess isn’t manifesting fully yet , aka - it’s not showing on the outside , she doesn’t think she has much of a talent with it. She doesn’t know her own strength yet.

And of course , her mother knows of this. Her mother knows she’s going to excel - but there’s both difficulties in keeping that a secret and letting her become aware.

She keeps it a secret right now - it’s in an effort to keep Trixie under her thumb. But this is also proving difficult for Trixie to carry out the revenge scheme due to a lack of confidence paired with her morals.

If Trixie becomes aware of her power , then that means she’s going to find out she’s growing stronger as her mother’s magic is waning - kind of like the deal with the Supreme in American Horror Story. Trixie’s power grows stronger as her mother’s grows weaker , but that isn’t showing yet in the former of the two. 

So right now , Trixie is forcing herself to practice her magic to get stronger to appease her mother - even though honestly ?? She does not like magic. It terrifies her , and she blames her ability to use it for why her life kind of sucks right now.

To sort of make sure nobody is suspicious of her , Trixie doesn’t even tell people who her mother is. She just says her mother was a fling of Gaston’s banished to the Isle by association - that’s it.

And this is sort of how she’s managed to get a part-time job working in Ben’s castle as a maid to get close.

...Even though she really , really , really doesn’t like that.

But also !! One thing she has going for her is that despite everything - she is very outwardly FRIENDLY and optimistic - always smiley , always chatting up somebody up. This is sort of an effort to make herself feel better rather than put on a facade , since Trixie’s more keen on focusing on things that don’t make her feel sad to distract herself from the actual situation. 

“Trix you’re in denial” “I know.”

Also this sort of influence her tendency to ignore or run away from situations as much as she can bc... mood.

Acting in her own world is very normal for her - and it’s a major coping mechanism. She’s very creative , obsessed with fairytales and stories and probably knows the whole story about your parents more than you do. She in fact writes some of her own in her spare time , always keeping a journal around with her for writing when she’s bored.

Also keeps a dream journal ( mR. ELECTRICDAD SEND HIM TO THE PRINCIPAL’S OFFICE AND HAVE HIM EXPELLED !!11!!1!!!!!! ) bc she is big into the belief our dreams have deeper meanings n stuff

She’s not the type to shy away from stuff tho in the sense of like... conversing about very out there topics or saying weirdass things that pop into her head. Sort of seen as a little weirdo for this but it all comes for the fact that Trixie is a HUGE thinker.

Also into the supernatural even on the slightly more malevolent side just bc she finds it interesting - she’s 100% the friend that proposes u guys try and summon demons during sleepovers

My lil weird baby

Looks rly good in green and red tbh and probably owns like forty-five different shades of lipstick since coming to Auradon 

Also has a lot of rose-patterned/themed stuff just bc frankly it’s cute. 

God as a character it’s so hard to describe her like... in words this sounds so pretentious but I do so much better showing and not telling bc her character is so complex in the sense that she’s. She’s like a dream. That’s the best way I can describe her - a dream as in the random , thought-induced , fantasy-like parts of dreams rather than the romantic parts of everything.

That probably makes no sense but. Yeah.

She’s weird I love her

Probably would do well in Wonderland if she didn’t have her mother lOOMING OVER HER HEAD

WANTED CONNECTIONS / PLOTS 

OKAY SO PLSSS GIVE ME FRIENDS TRIXIE USED TO HAVE ON THE ISLE BUT SHE LOST TOUCH W/ FOR BEING SO... CLOSED IN

In general I just want friends that Trixie has that she can’t rly tell what’s going on with her. At all. And it breaks her heart bc she finally has the chance to fit in and get along with people but either way she decides to take her mother’s deal makes it so she can’t keep them.

Lots of secrets are gonna be passed about.

I’d lov her to eventually bond with sb so she can actually EXPLAIN her problem to and cry about it bc baby lowkey feels like she’s on her own in this and can’t turn to anyone for it

PPL WHO TRIXIE HELPS WITH WRITING BC SHE LOVES IT

Ppl who Trixie rly likes in any sense to point where she bases some fairytale characters in her own stories off of them

I’d also love some enemies pls gimme gimme gimme

Some ppl who suspect Trixie bc she seems so... vague. Like she’s not giving the full story.

Isle kids who know EXACTLY who Trixie’s mother is and for some reason resent her for tht bc I don’t think the Enchantress is the nicest magic user out there rn

Friendships that went sour bc Trixie’s been keeping so many SECRETS

First love who went sour for the same reasons : /

The general uhhhhh exes, crushes, that sorta stuff

Any ship that’s gonna b like a full on sHIP SHIP will have to b seen how chemistry works out !! But Trixie’s a panromantic asexual bby who I adore. 

I’d love some folks she aCCIDENTALLY exposes her magic to and they can either

A .) Blackmail her n threaten to expose her for it

or B.) Find it RLY RLY RLY cool n she just shows them a bunch of magic... trix

hahaha HAHAHAHAHA

please clap.

BT ALSO LETS DEFFO BRAINSTORM SOME !!! again i’ll be making an official connections page for her like i am w/ luke but in the meantime ! lets plot !

#no graphic atm bc i can't b bothered i'm so sorry #usoa:intro #abt tag tbd #mental abuse tw

[embrues]

*snoop dog vc* greetings loved ones let’s take another journey.. if you like insomniac boys with shitty pasts who don’t give a good goddamn who GOT that juicy redemption ark then do i have a deal for you ! for one easy payment of a fruit roll-up, you too could have this aforementioned fella !  ( there are absolutely no refunds bc i eat the payment immediately sorry )

☾*✧･ﾟ:*「 lee hoseok ( wonho ). transmale. he/him. 」did you know that there’s a human in seoul named hyun jitae? they have been here for their entire life and they are an officer. they are currently twenty-five and is not a part of the ju jak and does know about the magi. i heard that they are known to be pugnacious, but worry not ! i heard they are also very stalwart too. remember to stay out of trouble, the magi are lurking around every corner ! ( markus, nineteen, he/him, cst. )

tw for transphobia, abuse, in general just some awful parenting, violence and death.

so, let’s start from the beginning, where all full stories rightfully have to. born to a hunter and housewife, he was the third of three children and was the first girl of the family.  his innocence could only last so long with the corruption in his bloodlines, an ancestry of hunters stretching many years through the hyun family and long standing supporters of the ju jak cause. it was a poison that was passed down to each generation when they matured and he would be no different.

his parents had been fairly lax, bringing his twin brothers up, two years his senior, but they toughened up when he was born. jitae was expected to be their picture-perfect child, ideally one who would marry into another family of hunters to keep the lineage going, seek out magi and do as he was told. from a young age, a gender divide was very much enforced upon him ; he was told that pink was for girls, blue was for boys and all the other ridiculous stereotypes. he wasn’t allowed to play with his brothers’ toys, even though he clearly had a much higher interest in them. they insisted on having him wear skirts, even though all he really wanted to do was steal his brothers’ shirts.

his father was always far too busy to be emotionally involved with anything he was up to, his mother, though she held the same ideals as his father did, was much more encouraging – even when he seemed to only want to throw mud outside with his brothers or spend his time sat quietly maneuvering small bugs around his hands. life seemed easier then, and if you ever were to ask he’d like to come back to here, the fragile and comfortable age of five.

at nine, he officially ditches his full name and takes on the shorter, snappier shortening of it, blatantly ignoring anything else. he also ditches a lot that was forced onto him, and begins to slowly tarnish the image that has been built around him – the first step in that is cutting off long, brilliant locks with a pair of safety scissors. ( he’s grounded for a solid month for that particular endeavor after a rather long beating, but they at least take him to a barber to clean up the botched job. )

up until he was about thirteen, the veil over his eyes remained. he’d always been warned to not get to curious what his father got up to in the late hours of the night, or why his brothers always went with him. up until then – and then shit starts to hit the fan when he is thrown head first into long training sessions. he finds comfort in ripped jeans and stolen shirts, cardigans and hoodies have become his safety net. at least, he surmises, he has this one thing that he could have for his own. ( even that was something borrowed, snagged from his brothers’ closets. )  his mother seems to catch on, discreetly leaves recently bought t-shirts sprinkled within his wardrobe. he dyes his hair blonde for a few months, not without strong opposition, before returning to his natural black – he’s experimenting, more than anything else, wants to smash as many of the buttons set in front of him as possible and come into his own instead of the mold he was crammed into. teacher often being an older cousin, or his elder brothers the days his father will allow, endurance and agility training quickly become his daily after-school activity. knives and hand-to-hand combat were his favorite though, each unfortunate mistake earned him a new nick or a bloodied lip when he wasn’t quite fast enough. wasn’t quite good enough. ( even though he resented his father, he wanted him to be proud. )

at fifteen, he starts sneaking out with his elder brothers whenever they can manage. instead of paying attention to their father’s long lectures on preparation and being adaptable, the three sit outside and complain together. his brothers smoke cheap cigarettes that they buy with their minimum wage ; he steals a drag here and there, and makes his brothers swear not to tell. ( he doesn’t really care if they do, though. maybe hopes that they did. )  gets much too competitive during short spars and more than satisfied when he can manage to beat any of his older relatives.

seventeen brings a new form of rebellion, but most notably confusion about his identity. his brothers wholeheartedly accept his requests to refer to him by jitae but his father remained adamant and bigoted in his ways. outbursts aimed at him became frequent, to be dubbed unfit for the family had brought more than feelings of rage within jitae but snapped something he didn’t know he had. halfway through that seventeenth year, he’s arrested for defacing of property. ( he may or may not have painted profanity in bold red letters on some unsuspecting victim’s vehicle. ) in homage to his first arrest, many long summer days spent doing community service.

at eighteen, it seems as if all the world’s anger has seeped into his body. where mischief and joy once lingered, pure hatred for the situation around him blackens his entire being. he starts getting into fistfights, and comes home ( more often than not ) at three in the morning. if his parents wanted to disown him before, they’re on the verge of it now ; they can’t stand who he has become, and it all comes to a very ugly head when he brings a girl home and his parents find out.

everything seems to click into place, somehow working in his favor that makes even his nihilism fall silent. his father gives up the prospect of the short fuse having any use as a hunter, and that’s his chance and he takes it. flees their family home with well wishes from his older brothers who offer him a hand, an out. he politely declined, his pride always more prominent that the two combined. he lives in something like peace, it’s quiet and almost maddeningly so but he maybe can equate that to comfort. eventually manages to get access to hormone therapy, taking up a job as a cashier for some local understaffed business that was understaffed. he manages, daily phone calls to his concerned mother who’s always sure to tell him that his father still does love him. ( fat chance, he’d always butt in before she can finish the phrase. )  

easing into a monotonous pattern of life comes with great difficulty but he does manage, heads to the gym near religiously everyday to work away any stresses. learning to loosen when strangers smile at him, even smiles back some days. things were fine, a little rough but fine. he’s on the cusp of twenty-four when he gets the call from his hysteric mother, his father has been killed. things.. things change then. he heads back home because he cannot abandon his mother there and leave grief to eat away at her. ( like slipping on an old glove- it fits perfectly yet it was unfamiliar. he thinks maybe this is how life truly spits in his face. ) what comes next can only be described as a domino effect.

he takes up the torch, when he knows he shouldn’t and even with the reasoning voices of his brothers. he had fallen back into the cavern he worked so hard to crawl out of, a stout pillar of the ju jak standard all over again. he is certain he doesn’t have the strength to make the climb up a second time. he keeps a pistol holstered to his thigh, a trained eye on everyone around him. heavy circles are a stain under his eyes, the scars that litter the canvas of his body remind of a past almost escaped. ( something screams that this is what he was made for, BORN FOR. NOW HERE’S THE KICKER ; he knows that once he slips, he will not rise & will only greet depravity like an old friend. )

but he doesn’t. with the reappearance of a certain elder hyun, the decision to drop his role as a hunter, fall from the ju jak emerges and it doesn’t take much deliberation on his part. he leaves, abandons the cause and everything he once stood for. (  thought he stood for; CONVINCED himself he stood for. )  joins the police to stand alongside his older brother.

personality-wise ? he’s STILL an absolute shit most of the time, pretty abrasive. y’know, rubs just about everyone and their grandmother the wrong way. he’s aggressively opinionated and he’ll break your goddamn nose if you try to pull any shit on him or his loved ones.

curses like an absolute sailor.. every other word is likely a swear. 

feel free to slide on up into my ims or hit me up on discord for plots ( you might have to give me yours since i don’t think.. you cAN ADD MINE SINCE I DON’T ACTUALLY HAVE A NAME OK IT’S A WHOLE THING )

#haneulintro #jitae in bryson tiller's vc: i'm back and i'm better #WE TRULY LOVE A DEVELOPMENT AND IM SO .. SAPPY.. SAD HAPPY..

[spookbusters]

I Feel It Coming (Pt. 1)

Summary: It was supposed to be a fun night of drinking and dancing. What will happen when the co-owner of the club takes an interest in you?

Pairing: Armitage Hux x Reader (Nightclub!AU) // Word Count: 1.5K (I HAD TO END THIS PART EARLY BC IT WAS GETTING SO LONG) // Warnings: I am an idiot who can’t write so Hux isn’t even mentioned until the end, oops :((

This turned into a nightclub!au so I am so freaking sorry Anon :’( There WILL be more Hux in the next one, obviously. This is honestly a prologue more than anything substantial. I really hope you guys like this though, I’m so sorry it took me so long! Enjoy!

You couldn’t believe your best friend had managed to drag you out of bed to go out tonight.

“Y/N,” she had called, bursting into your room, “C’mon, wake up! We’re going out.” In that moment, you heavily regretted giving her the key to your apartment. She ruined a perfectly good nap. Rolling over in your bed, you groaned sleepily. She giggled softly, immediately walking into your bathroom and turning the shower on for you. “Shower’s on! I’m getting an outfit for you.”

You sat up, rubbing the hazy exhaustion from your eyes. “Nina, why are we going out,” you mumbled. Peeking her head from the closet she’d moved on to, you could see the excitement on her face, “They’re opening a new club downtown and I got us VIP entry!” You lighten up a little at the mention of a new club. If there was an outing you ever enjoyed, dancing with Nina was at the top of the list.

“What’s it called,” you inquire, trying not to let your enthusiasm show. As soon as she knew you were eager to do anything, Nina tended to take things a little out of hand.

“Starkiller,” she answers, and you can hear the entertained smirk plastered on her face. Damn, she knew you too well. “It’s supposed to be a newer, darker kind of club scene. You know; less pop, more goth?” You stand up and stretch, your brows raised, “Hmm… edgy.” You hadn’t really delved too deep into your black clothes in quite a while.

Pulling an underwear set and a towel from your dresser, you step into the shower. “So, how did you manage to get us VIP entry in to this place,” you questioned, lathering your hair with shampoo. You were genuinely curious. Your city was quite well known for it’s night-life, and the opening of a new club or bar was always an event packed with local celebrities.

As much as you loved her, she was not one of them.

“Remember that guy I dated in junior year of high school,” she begins, “The one who’d put love notes in my locker every Friday?” You made a sound of confirmation as you rinsed the conditioner from your hair. “We reconnected online and I found out he’ll be a bartender there! He was hoping we could get back in touch,” she enthused, “So he got my name and a plus one on the list for opening night!”

You emerged from the shower, slipping into your undergarments and towel-drying your still dripping hair. Lying across your bed was an ensemble you almost couldn’t believe came out of your closet. “Holy, hell,” you murmured, picking the long sleeve up, “ Did you tap into my Halloween stuff?” The material between your fingers was a turtleneck crushed velvet and deep red.

“That one came from a devil costume I found,” she confirmed, “And I found a pair of fishnets in there too.” You immediately pulled the shirt over your head and admired the way it floated just below your navel. Staring at the reflection in your mirror, you become increasingly anxious to get the rest of your ensemble on. Starting with those fishnets. The diamond pattern ended at the bend of your waist, allowing it to be seen in the gap between your top and whatever bottoms you’d don.

Nina was having the time of her life dressing you, and by the time you’d pulled the black skirt on, she was ready to reveal the pièce de résistance.

“Okay,” she grinned, “You gotta close your eyes for these.” You did so, but quirked a brow nonetheless. “I picked these up from a thrift store when I saw they were your size, and got them fixed up.” Her explanation stoked your curiosity and when she finally told you to open your eyes, you were floored. In her hands were a new-looking pair of leather boots. The heel was moderate in height and the lug sole was an eye-catcher.

“No way,” you squealed, leaping to hug your best friend, “You’re the best!” She stated remembering how much you wanted a set and when she saw this particular pair, she knew you’d love them. “So, put them on so we can get out of here,” she giggled, “ I want to get there a little early so we have time for drinks!”

The drive over was a tad turbulent. You’d brought your makeup bag with you to work your magic in the car, but in your haste you’d left all hairstyling items on your dresser. Which meant you hair would be a tad more unruly than you’d like. Incidentally, you’d have quite a while to do your makeup. Traffic was awful. In the time it took the two of you to get into the parking lot, you’d managed not only a smoky eye, but winged liner to boot. As nice as you looked, you were quite upset about not being as early as you wanted.

As you walked up to the club, you admired it’s aesthetics on the outside. The building itself was painted black, with vivid neon purple and red lighting designating its name. “Looks nice,” you commented to your counterpart. She nodded in agreement, “I’m so excited to see what it looks like inside!”

The two of you strolled right up to the bouncers, by-passing the line of people hopeful for an entry not guaranteed to them. You felt a little bad.

“My name’s on the list. Nina Kinsley,” Nina says to the man. He’s tall, muscular, and undoubtedly intimidating. “I see you,” another man with a clipboard says, “I take it this is your guest?” You nodded, and the two of you were welcomed inside. The same color scheme of red, purple, and black played along the interior decoration and lighting of the club.

Almost as soon and you’d entered, you were being pulled toward the bar. A swift, “Let’s go find Mike,” was the only explanation you got.

On any usual opening night of a club, you’d lose Nina in the swarm of dancers, drinkers, and other patrons. This time, though, she was able to lead you through the small crowd without much incident. The bar wasn’t crawling with people either; a welcome refuge from your usual outings. The two of you found seats and it wasn’t long until a bearded bartender notices your presences. Or rather, notices Nina. Her name is on his lips in a happy introduction.

“Mike,” she calls back happily, and when he arrives in front of the two of you, he’s beaming. “You remember Y/N, right,” she questions. “Yeah,” he smiles at you, “Great to see you guys again, it’s been so long!” He offers the first of many on-the-house drinks and Nina decides cosmopolitans would be a fun way to start the night.

Several of these deliciously fruity drinks later, you were loose enough to be on the dance floor with everyone else. Your hips rolled and swung to the music blasting over the speakers. You could feel the sweat drip down your back, but you didn’t care. As far as you were concerned, this was the best club you’d been to in your life. You could dance to your hearts content without bumping into people, the drinks were amazing, and the music was definitely your style.

The song ended and you made your way back to the bar. After all the alcohol and dancing, a water was in order.

As you step up towards the bar you hear Nina’s giggly cheering. “Hell yeah, Y/N!” You laughed along with her. “I feel amazing,” you breathe. You stretch, your top riding up a little, and with that lone action you feel a single set of eyes watching you intently. It sends chills through your body and you look over your shoulder to see a man in an all-black suit.

“Who’s that,” Nina asks curiously. You take your seat next to her, your eyes never breaking contact with the ice blue ones across the dance floor, “I don’t know.” You run your tongue along your upper lip. Your mouth felt so dry. “Well, he’s hot.”

Unfortunately for you, she was right. A smirk directed at you lazed on thin lips; a gaze that could stop even the most determined in their tracks burned holes into your eyes. High cheekbones and a sculpted jawline made your heart jump. You admired the way his hair was gelled back in sheer perfection. You were in actual awe of the beauty of this man. Who obviously had taken interest in you just the same.

Calling Mike over from his station at the further end of the bar you sit up straighter than normal. “Do you know who that guy staring at me is,” you asked, keeping you voice low as to not draw much attention to the conversation. He peeks over your shoulder briefly only for his eyes to widen.

“That���s the co-owner of the place,” he chokes out, “And he’s coming over here.”

DUNDUNDUNNNNN WHAT WILL HAPPEN NEXT??? I DON’T EVEN KNOW JUST YET!!!! If you have any suggestions or ideas, lmk and I’ll consider them while writing part 2!

Taglist: @songforhema

#armitage hux #general hux #general hux imagine #armitage hux imagine #hux x reader #general hux x reader #armitage hux x reader #star wars imagine #Star Wars Fic

[himbowelsh]

For BabeRoe: Five times Babe caught one of his friends wearing his clothes and very much minded and one time he didn't mind at all.

AN: these five times prompts always take me a long time bc, well, i’m essentially writing six fics, but i LOVE them and i love writing them!

The fault might lie with Babe, if he'd been idiot enough to leave his clothes lying around where anyone could pick them up. The thing is, he didn't. Bill is anal about keeping laundry in its proper place -- “in your drawers or in the basket, the hell is this, rocket science?” Babe doesn't get the chance to leave articles of clothing lying around anywhere except his disaster zone of a room, and if he somehow manages to leave something behind, it never stays there for long.

When he traces it back, his friends’ awful track record of pilfering his clothes starts with Julian.

“What the hell are you wearing?” Babe demands, striding into the studio (their glorified term for the rec room they all spend their time in when they want to hide from their responsibilities). His question is accusatory; he doesn't care. There is no good reason for Julian to be sitting cross-legged on the couch, soaking wet, in nothing but a pair of boxers and a sweatshirt.

Neither articles of clothing belong to him. Babe knows this, because he is the house’s unofficial Laundry Guy. He's dealt with Julian’s mess of a wardrobe to recognize when his friend is wearing his own clothes and when he isn't. Right now, he definitely isn't, because that's the same sweatshirt Babe wore to the movies a few days ago.

And those boxers… also do not belong to Julian.

“Julian,” he repeats when his friend seems too caught up in his phone to look up at him. “Where did you get those?”

“Hmm?” Julian glances up, looking surprised -- as if he’s just noticed Babe’s presence, the faker. He shrugs thin shoulders concealed in Babe’s sweatshirt and leans back into the couch. “I got caught in the rain. These were the only dry things I could find.”

The storm outside is a killer. It swept in out of nowhere, while Babe was lucky enough to be inside the house. He heard Julian stumble through the front door a few minutes later, but he never considered the implications of his friend getting caught in the storm until now.

Staring down Julian, wearing his sweatshirt and his boxers, he's not sure what to say. A part of him feels defensive; another part feels a little violated.

“You're wearing my boxers,” he emphasizes, as if this justifies every baffled emotion swirling through his head.

Julian glances down at them, shrugs, and twists his pale legs beneath him before returning to his game. “I thought these were Bill’s, to be honest.”

Bill doesn't wear checker-patterned boxers. Bill wears solid colors, the Italian flag, and (on rare occasions) briefs. Babe would love to not have to know this, but now he kind of wishes Julian did.

“Am I…” He pauses, hesitates, wondering if he's breaking some sort of unspoken friendship rule. Or just a house rule -- no one wants Julian going commando on their couch. “Can I ask you to take off my underwear?”

“Sure. You can ask.” Julian sounds almost bored, but when he looks up at Babe, there’s a smirk on his lips. “Don't mean I'm gonna do it.”

Torn between defeat and fury, Babe styles for the least-offensive option and just stalks away. He doesn't want to throttle Julian, but if he has to look at him wearing his underwear anymore, he's not going to be able to be held responsible for what he might do.

He loses this round. At least, he thinks, it's just one (weird) isolated incident.

He thinks wrong.

He’s just stepping through the door when he comes face to face with a sight he could have gone his entire life without seeing. (Okay, maybe not -- he’s seen it before, and he’s not happy about it but he knows it’s inevitable that he’ll see it many times again before he dies.)

“Dammit, Bill, will ya put some pants on?”

Bill waves a hand over his shoulder, not even bothering to glance up at Babe. He’s laser-focused on running the vacuum back and forth over a particularly stubborn spot in the carpet. He’s been whining about that stain for weeks now, ever since Julian dropped a taco (and then picked it up and at it). Today, he’s finally decided to do something about it.

While dripping wet, wearing absolutely nothing.

Babe shields his eyes and walks straight into the coat rack, because of course he does. It’s that kind of day. “I don’t need to see your bare ass!”

“I didn’t need to haul your stupid scrawny ass up to bed when you got wasted on tequila bombs, tried to go skinny dipping, and hit your head in the pool. Did I? Fuckin’ no, but I did it, because I’m a great goddamn friend.” Bill leans down to train the suction right on the stubborn stain. Babe feels like he’s been dropped into a very screwed up production of Macbeth.

“I swear to god,” he says, still fumbling to figure out where the stairs are with his eyes closed. He’s touching something that might be a fur coat, but could also be Spina’s chest. “If you don’t put some clothes on now I’m calling Frannie.”

“She loves my ass.”

“I’ll take a picture and send it to everyone, then.”

“I’ll strangle you.”

Babe doesn’t even know where his phone is, let alone which direction Bill’s standing. He also doesn’t want something that horrifying on his phone. It might melt, or explode, and none of his awful friends will buy him a new one.

“Bill,” he finally sighs, slumping in defeat. “Just put some pants on. Please.”

Bill considers this question for a long moment (way too long, in Babe’s opinion) before snorting. “There’s a t-shirt and shorts in the bathroom. I saw them when I got out of the shower. Go get ‘em.”

He’s so eager to not have to stare at his friend naked any longer -- and, frankly, to have an excuse to leave -- that Babe scrambles to the bathroom. He doesn’t look at the clothes he grabs off of the towel rack. All he registers is that they’re a t-shirt and shorts, actual clothing for Bill to wear so he doesn’t traumatize the nice old couple that lives next door. (The curtains were wide open. How the hell could Bill be doing that in full view of the whole neighborhood?)

He makes it back to Bill in record time, and flings the wad of clothes at him like he’s scoring a winning touchdown in the Superbowl. He keeps his eyes screwed shut until he hears the vacuum switch off and Bill sigh.

“There. I’ve got clothes. You happy now, Heffron?”

Babe finally risks opening his eyes, and doesn’t bother stifling his sigh of relief. The shirt is too tight and the shorts are too short, but Bill’s full moon is no longer offending everyone and their mother. Babe is content up until the moment he realizes something that kills and buries his good mood.

“Hey, those are my clothes!”

Bill just casts a wink over his shoulder. “You gave ‘em to me.”

The vacuum switches on again, drowning out Babe’s groan of frustration.

Of all the people he expected to stab him in the back, Spina was the most unlikely suspect. Spina is the nicest of them all. He’s loyal. He’s a stand-up guy. He has a closet full of comfy clothes all of his own.

Babe doesn’t know what he’s done to deserve this.

“Spina! Buddy, you've betrayed me!”

Spina just shrugs, pulling Babe’s baggy sweater (which isn't quite as baggy on him) tighter around his shoulders. “It's freakin’ cold, Babe. Sorry.”

The heat has been off all weekend because someone (no one wants to say Bill, but two people pay the bills in this house and Fran has never missed one in her life) forgot to pay the company. This wouldn’t be such a bad thing, except it’s the middle of winter, and Babe is pretty sure humans need warmth to survive. If someone doesn’t get the heat turned back on soon, the rest of the house has made it clear that they’re going to murder that someone and use him as a human fire log.

So Babe can understand why Spina would be wearing a sweater, just not his sweater. “Come on. That’s the one Gene got me for Christmas!”

“Why d’you think I’m wearin’ it now?” Spina demands. “It’s the warmest thing in this goddamn house.”

Gene is from Louisiana, where the coldest they get in winter is still enough to melt ice cubes. His experience of northern winters have been nothing short of a horror story, so he’s become an expert in remaining a human furnace at all costs. He’s always wearing the warmest clothes, and he gives them as gifts too. Gene’s sweater might be the only thing standing between Babe and life as a human snowman, and currently that sweater is on Spina’s ungrateful back.

“Buddy, I love you,” he says, “but take off your clothes.”

Spina wraps his arms tighter around himself. He sees the glint in Babe’s eyes, and he’s ready. “I can’t do that, Babe.”

“Spina --”

“No!”

Spina lets out a yell as Babe tackles him. They both go tumbling off the couch in a ball of flailing limbs, hollering bloody murder all the way. When they hit the floor, it’s a wrestling match. Babe has got a good grip, but Spina’s not going down without a fight.

They wind up tearing the sweater, messing up the couch, and Babe smacks his head against the coffee table. When the stars clear from his vision, Spina is already sprinting from the room.

Well, at least they exercise is keeping them warm.

Just as Babe is starting to think he has the worst friends in the world, they still find a way to surprise him.

He steps out of his bathroom in full-on Spiderman regalia. He’s got the suit; the mask; even a tiny miniature “web shooter” that really sprays silly string everywhere. Smokey Gordon’s costume birthday bash is going to be wild, and Babe is ready for it.

He stops cold in the doorway when his eyes land on his two friends, clustered together in the middle of the kitchen. Liebgott is stooped over, his head buried in the fridge, muttering to himself as he paws through their leftovers. Grant has hoisted himself up on the counter, and is swinging his legs while munching on Bill’s favorite potato chips.

They’re both wearing Babe’s clothing.

Grant has stolen Babe’s favorite yellow and orange striped t-shirt, matching it with basketball shorts, with a bright red Phillies hat backwards over his messed-up hair. Liebgott is in a striped button-up, and wears a pair of skinny jeans that do not fit him at all. He has his hair slicked back, and looks all the more uncomfortable for it.

For a second, Babe can only gape. Then he tries to inhale, chokes on air, and remembers how to use his words again. “What the hell are you assholes doin’?”

Chuck raises a nonplussed eyebrow. “What’s it look like? We’re dressed up.”

If he’s being honest, Babe has no clue what the hell it looks like, but he knows one thing for sure. “You raided my closet!”

Liebgott emerges from the fridge, half a pickle hanging out of his mouth. “We’d agreed that we'd all go as each other. I'm Grant, can't you tell?”

“The correct question,” pipes up Grant, “is what are you wearing?”

Babe glances down at his (amazing) Spider-Man costume, then back up at his friend's again. His eyes are close to bugging out of his head at this point, but he doesn't care.

“If you're Grant,” he says to Liebgott, “why the hell are you in my shirt?”

“Because this guy wouldn't let me anywhere near his closet.”

“Do you think I'm an idiot?” Grant stares and Liebgott hard, daring him to answer. Liebgott opens his mouth, closes it again, then tries one more time before giving up. Grant smiles. “Not to mention, you're the one who left your door unlocked.”

“Yeah,” agrees Liebgott. Babe gets a very good view of the half-chewed pickle in his mouth. “Who's really at fault here?”

Babe gapes at them. His eyes swivel between Grant and Liebgott. He opens his mouth, makes some weird noises, chokes on his own spit, and realizes that nothing he says will make a difference. It's his own fault for agreeing to do anything with these two in the first place. Great as they are, Babe always winds up the butt monkey in their trio, and even though he doesn't like it, he also doesn't know what the hell to do about it.

Finally, he sighs. He's not going to argue; they've got a party to get to, dumb costume arrangement or not. “You like superheroes,” he says, pointing at Liebgott. “Now let’s move, I ain't gonna be late because of you idiots.”

He storms out of the house, Grant and Liebgott following behind him. Liebgott brings the pickle jar.

All he wants is a glass of water. A parched throat is the only thing capable of dragging him out of bed after a long, trying day spent learning to kickbox from Toye. (Babe relearned two things that he already knew: he is not made for kickboxing, Joe Toye is a beast.)

Swallowing stings, and his mouth is dry as the Sahara desert. When he finally manages to haul himself out of bed all his muscles protest. He knows he'll have one nice collection of bruises tomorrow, but he'll wear them like battle scars. They'll hurt like a bitch, but the defeat will just be a reminder of why he should avoid getting into the ring with someone who could probably benchpress him. (Not that Babe is one to shrink from a challenge, but Toye is his friend, thereby it's okay not to want to fight him.)

He stumbles out of his room on feet that feel like lead blocks, and is halfway down the hall when he realizes that he isn't alone. The hallway light is on, illuminating a figure standing in the doorway of the living room. A head full of curls is silhouetted against the dim light; a black t-shirt hanging just above to the middle of bare thighs. Babe blinks hazily for a moment, brain not quite registering what he's seeing, before he recognizes the person in front of him.

“Frannie?”

“Babe.” Fran’s silhouette is backlit against the dim hall light. She is frozen in place, torn between looking awkward and guilty. She does a weird side-step to block the living room doorway, which does nothing to disguise the oversized band t-shirt she is wearing. Babe’s eyes settle on the worn logo, and he feels a familiar exasperation creep over him.

“Tell me that's not my shirt.”

Fran hesitates for a moment before answering, “I’d love to.”

“Are you wearing anything under it?”

Another pause, too long to be interpreted as anything other than the negative that it is. Fran’s lips purse, and she tilts her head like she's considering the question. “Well...”

That's all Babe needs to hear. He holds up both hands, doing an about-face before he can see any more than he needs to. If Fran is standing there half-naked in the shirt Babe left lying around the living room this morning, chances are that Bill is just inside the living room -- probably less decent than Fran, filthying up the couch they all share.

It's par for the course for his friends at this point, but Babe is still disgusted.

“Oh my god. I'm moving out.”

“Good luck finding someone else who’ll take you,” Fran calls out to his retreating back. Then, after a beat -- “This shirt is really soft! What detergent do you use?”

Babe’s bedroom door slams behind him. He never gets his glass of water.

“Are you wearing my shirt?”

In the hazy morning light, it's hard for Babe to make out much; but the figure of Gene standing over the coffee maker, wearing nothing but an oversized Phillies t-shirt, is impossible to miss. For a second Babe isn't convinced he's really awake. It would be all to easy to dream of a sight like this.

Then Gene turns around, smiles at him, and Babe knows this is no dream at all. “Do you mind?”

In spite of himself, Babe feels a grin spreading across his face. He sidles into the kitchen, not bothering to flick the light on, and loops his arms around Gene’s waist. Gently, he presses Gene back against the counter and leans in to capture his lips.

Babe’s mouth is still dry. Crust stings the corners of his eyes. The both have morning breath, and Babe’s half-awake brain makes everything feel hazy and out of focus.

But he knows the contours of Gene’s lips as well as the back of hand. The taste of him, the hand cupping his cheek, the eyelashes fluttering against his own -- this is all very, very real. The best way to wake up is with Gene’s lips on his, Babe decides.

When they pull back, Babe can feel a small flush on his face. Gene’s lips are still quirked, like Babe’s told him a funny joke, but his eyes are gut-wrenchingly gentle.

“G’morning to you too, cher,” he mutters, and Babe grins.

His boyfriend can wear his clothes any time he wants.

#baberoe #band of brothers #my writing #babe heffron #eugene roe #Anonymous