Duck-Feet

When her body won the race to womanhood against her person, Diane began to hear that she was tall, short, fat, skinny, ugly, sexy, smiled too much, smiled too little, had bad hair, had beautiful hair, had something in her teeth, dressed nice, dressed cheap, had duck feet, had elegant feet. She was too dark. She was too pale.
  She heard a lot of different descriptions of her, and she took them all as truth.
—  Joseph Fink and Jeffrey Cranor, Welcome to Night Vale
flickr

Custom order 4 rs by Mingle Doll 鳴娃娃

Via Flickr:
The custom order is finished. grin emoticon:D Here I present to you the owner of those happy feet - Donald Duck! Ta Da! Ain’t he cute? It’s a diffcult work because it has so many small parts and sewing involved, but I love to crochet, especially create patterns! It feels great when the design came to life! More pictures coming soon.

bokuaka; even people like bokuto koutarou need a little reassurance sometimes.

Sliding open the glass door, Keiji sticks his head onto the little balcony. “Koutarou-san. It’s getting cold, please come in.”

“Huh? Oh.” The bigger man climbs to his feet reluctantly, ducking back inside without much fanfare. His skin is tinged red, and he’s sniffling slightly. The smile is absent from his face, replaced by a faint frown.

“I heated some milk tea, here.” Keiji nudges a mug into Bokuto’s hands, and Bokuto follows him to the couch. They sit pressed against each other, body heat mingling as the tv plays muted in the background. Bokuto is staring down into his drink, quiet and still. Strange, but not unusual. Keiji waits.

“Akaashi,” Bokuto says finally. His fingers tighten around the mug. “Are you… Do—Do you ever wish… that I was different?”

He studies the other for a while. Bokuto has been quiet since he came home, which is fine, because even people that follow their heart rather than their rationale sometimes needs time to think, too. But it’s been a while since Bokuto has been this deep in thought, and Keiji can’t guess what’s bothering him at all. Now, though, Bokuto hasn’t looked him in the eye since he came in. His knuckles are turning white around the mug. Keiji sets down his own mug.

“Yes,” he says, and immediately Bokuto’s shoulders droop, and he hunches in towards himself. Keiji doesn’t pause. “I wish you wouldn’t yell so loudly when I’m sitting right next to you. I wish you wouldn’t snore like an elephant tap dancing. I wish you would stop eating my stash of Pocky and then insisting that you didn’t.” 

Bokuto has been trying to shrink himself further, but Keiji isn’t done. Gently, he pries Bokuto’s fingers from the mug. “I wish you wouldn’t ask me such questions. I wish,” Keiji says in a soft voice, “you would have more faith in yourself. I wish you could see yourself the way I see you.”

Gold eyes, suspiciously bright, glance up to catch his. Keiji doesn’t look away. He pulls back his arms. “Come here.”

Bokuto doesn’t need telling twice. He throws himself at Keiji, burying his face into his stomach. His arms find their way around Keiji, and he whines softly. His skin is no longer freezing cold, but Keiji can feel him trembling slightly in his hold. Sighing to himself, Keiji pets Bokuto’s hair. 

“You’re fine the way you are, Koutarou.”