costume care

The signs as I know them

Aries: a fiercely protective lover, continuing an argument when you know you’re wrong, passionate loyalty, pushing past your comfort zone, fights that turn into sex, standing outside in the rain and screaming. Freedom. impulsive behavior. Loud and intense. Home.

Taurus: comfort food. Staying in bed on a rainy day. Smart but stubborn. Quiet calculations. Staying up all night talking. Outer space. Lazy days.

Gemini: books and coffee. Friendship tattoos. Smart and resilient. Beautiful. Making friends wherever you go. Two types; either wildly successful and organized like Pinterest in real life or a chaotic mess. Prone to addiction. Living art.

Cancer: musically inclined. Long walks downtown. Deep intellectual talks that leave you feeling calm but exhausted. Ambition. Second chances.

Leo: Staying up too late and drinking too much. Laughing until you can’t breathe. Doing your makeup drunk. Irresponsible decisions that make for good stories. Platonic kissing. Being held when you’re sad. Loyal friendships. Loud and exciting. Not talking for months and picking up where you left off.

Virgo: White furniture. Homemade Halloween costumes and holiday crafts. Careful and calculated. Cleaning for fun. Alphabetized book cases. Never saying ‘I told you so’ even when you’re always right. Motherly. Nurturing.

Libra: memes. Vibrant and super friendly. Always smiling. Eager to please and doesn’t like to disappoint. Goal oriented, and unstoppable once they have an idea. Surprise parties. Pretending you aren’t in love when you are.


Scorpio: staying up all night watching horror movies. Secretive and endearing. Will hold a grudge forever. Cemetery dates. Rough sex. The sound of a thunderstorm outside of your window. Feeling warm in a cold room. Extreme emotional intelligence.


Sagittarius: wanderlust. Forgetting to text back for days at a time. Always somewhere far away; unreachable. Feeing alone in a crowded room. Getting stoned and cuddling in bed all day. Japanese art. Staying out past curfew. Singing like nobody’s around. Inconsistent and deeply conflicted. Anime. Saying we’d still be friends.


Capricorn: Pretending to not like people but being really lonely. Cold. Immaculate attention to detail. Ambitious and unyielding. I haven’t met that many Capricorns.

Aquarius: Talking about alchemy and aliens all night. Doing drugs because I felt sad and you’re a good friend. Listening to me cry about a boy you told me was bad for me. Feels a lot more than they pretend to. Fireball whiskey. Marijuana.

Pisces: Knowing things before you’re told. Crystals. Tarot cards. Your life is a wreck but you always know what to say to help others. Die hard loyalty. Organized mess. Daydreaming all day. Boxed wine. Drunken yoga. A warm hug and a feeling of security. Selfless love.

2
2016-2017 Color Stories | 16-4530 TPX Aquarius

 Lutricia Bock - Love In Venice; Satoko Miyahara - Musetta’s Waltz; Yuna Shiraiwa - Night Waltz/Send In The Clowns; Evgenia Medvedeva - River Flows In you;
Amy Lin - Skyliner Elizabeth Tursynbaeva - Princess Mononoke; Dabin Choi - Doctor Zhivago; Yuna Aoki - Meditation

Going simple with Bandit’s Halloween costume this year: he’s going to be a beanie baby. Here’s my poem ideas for the tag:

You can look but please don’t touch
I am a service dog, as such
I help my mom in every way
I’m not here so you can play

or

No touch, no talk, no eye contact
When I work don’t interact
Service dogs have jobs to do
I’m not a walking petting zoo

A Real Prince Charming.

warnings: self-doubt.

pairings: prinxiety-romantic could also be read as platonic. and paltonic moxiety.

word count: 1,587

gifs not mine

tag list: @321angst @lostin–translation @ajumbleofwords @friendlyinternetmeerkat @zadi-jyne @yourdailysunshine @love-sanders-sides @musicphanpie-b @demonickittykat

Originally posted by prinanalogicality

Originally posted by sanderssides-fics

Virgil was never bothered by the black and white world he lived in. Many found their soulmates around the age of ten through thirteen. Seeing as Virgil was nearing his 25th birthday, far longer than normal to have met his other half, he had accepted that he just wasn’t meant to have a soulmate.

  Many pitied him, offering sympathies and condolences when the subject came up. Everyone thought that Virgil’s uncaring attitude towards solemates was just a facade, and that he was dying on the inside from being alone. Virgil always had rejected this, insisting he was fine.

…………………………………………………….

  Roman was a hopeless romantic from the day he was born. By age five he began to daydream about how or when he would meet his soulmate. He wanted something different than the others. He didn’t want the cliche story of meeting in class one day. But then, as everyone else found their partners and he didn’t, he began to regret that wish.

  On his fifteenth birthday he told his mother he gave up, he was fine with the monochrome life he lived. Even though he told everyone he was fine, he began to grow insecure at the thought that he didn’t have another half. His senior year, he joined drama and threw himself into it with a passion. If he couldn’t express his love to another, ten he could at least portray his feelings on stage.

…………………………………………………….

  “Patton, please! I don’t want to go.” Virgil complained loudly from his bed. Virgil had had a nice night planned. Pizza rolls for dinner, then hours of Netflix in his warm bed. He had been deciding between rewatching Parks and Rec or The Office when the older man showed up on his door step waving two tickets to the local theater production of Cinderella and demanded he go.

  “No” Virgil had said before turning and walking back to his room and crawling into bed.

  “Get up you’re going! You have to get out more if you ever want to find your special somebody.“ Patton was Virgil’s best friend since childhood, and the only one who hadn’t given up on finding Virgil’s soulmate yet.

  “You’re going to this play, Verge.” Patton said, his dad voice at full power.

  Virgil sighed knowing he couldn’t fight Patton. He would give in the second he gave him the puppy dog eyes. Sighing loudly again, more for effect than any actual protest, he stood from the bed and walked to the closet to change into something more suitable for being around other people. Patton clapped his hands in excitement, barely giving time for Virgil to get his shoes on before dragging the younger of the two out of the house.

…………………………………………………….

  Roman’s insecurities always made him a tad nervous before he performed, but tonight was so much worse. He was so nervous he was almost sick. His friend Logan took notice almost instantly.

  “Ro, you look like Snow White are you sure you’re fine?” he asked. Roman nodded.

  “I’m fine, it’s just nerves.” he lied. Logan looked suspicious, but nodded. It was too close to show time to argue now. He made his way over to the sound booth, leaving Roman alone to prepare for the opening scene.

…………………………………………………….

  Patton had insisted that they get there early to have a good seat. They arrived nearly half an hour early and the crowd in the lobby only added to Virgil’s distaste for the situation. Patton chose a seat close enough to the front that he could see, but his anxious friend wouldn’t be in the center of any cast member’s focus.

  They sat at the end of the row so that nobody would be directly next to Virgil and if he needed he could leave without a fuss. They had only been sitting in their seats for five minutes and virgil was already uncomfortable. He felt as if he had a large rock sitting on his lungs, and he could barely breathe.

  He thought about telling his friend they needed to leave, but before he could speak the lights dimmed and the play began. Despite his best efforts to focus, Virgil felt his attention slip from the show. Around the ballroom scene a nagging feeling began urging Virgil pay more attention to the stage. It was hard to tell from the stage but the Prince looked pretty good. Virgil continued his silent admiration of the royal figure on stage until their eyes met for just a split second.

  Virgil’s world exploded. Suddenly he could see the color of the red sash crossing the prince’s chest. Whipping his head to the side, he could clearly see the blue of Cinderella’s dress. Turning to Patton revealed that his friend’s hair was a darker brown than he had suspected.

  The rock that had been on his chest grew, breathing became even harder, panic setting in. Thoughts flooded his mind, ‘He’s on stage, how will he know it was me?’ flashed in his head followed by ‘But what if he didn’t see anything?’ The rock was crushing him now, he had to leave. Standing, Virgil ran from the theater and out the building.

…………………………………………………….

  Roman still felt that sick feeling in his stomach when his cue came. He was supposed to say a few lines then look towards the audience, but the urge to look before his cue was nagging in the back of his mind. When it was finally time to look, he scanned the crowd. A habit he had formed long ago in hopes he would see his soulmate. It never worked but he always did it.

  Roman held back a gasp as he made brief eye contact with a member of the audience, and suddenly everything changed. He quickly averted his eyes from the crowd, trying hard to finish the scene but he had forgotten everything except the startlingly bright brown eyes of his apparent soulmate. He stuttered out what he thought was his line before quickly looking back at the crowd, only to see the person had left their seat and was running towards the exit.

  All at once Roman’s doubts over so many years hit him hard. ‘They left because they didn’t want you! Why would they want you?’ The moment he was off stage he ran to Logan.

“Take my place!” he said, ripping of his mic, leaving his confused friend behind.

…………………………………………………….

  Patton raced out of the building after his friend, worry clouding his eyes.

  “KIDDO! WAIT UP!” he yelled.

  When virgil finally stopped running, he leaned on a building, sunk to the ground, and buried his face in his knees. Patton came to a stop beside him slightly out of breath.

  “What,” he gasped out. “What happened?”

  Virgil couldn’t think of a way to tell his friend what was wrong. Everything was happening too fast and he blurted out the only thing he could think of.

 “Pat, your shirt’s blue”

  A gasp left the older man’s mouth. He quickly sat, pulling Virgil into a hug.

  “You saw your soulmate.” Patton whispered. There was a moment of silence before Patton’s words sank in. Nearly crushing Virgil, a now very excited Patton suddenly yelled, “WE HAVE TO GO BACK!”

  The sudden loud noise caused Virgil to jump, and his friend quickly lowered his voice

  “Sorry kiddo.” patton whispered.

  “But we have to get you back to meet them!” Patton exclaimed, his vpice quickly rising as the excitement built again.

  “Patton…” the broken sound of Virgil’s voice caused the worry to return.

  “What if he didn’t see the colors? What if he’s my soulmate but I’m not his?” he asked, looking to his friend.

  “Pat, i’ve seen black and white my whole life! I convinced myself that I wasn’t made for anybody and now that I can see colors I can’t pretend anymore. Patton I don’t know what to do! I’m scared…” Virgil’s anxiety fueled rant trailed off as tears began down his face.

  Patton had no answer, he just held his friend and gave him time to calm down.

…………………………………………………….

  Roman had left the theater building still in his costume, not even caring about the multitude of weird looks he got. He walked down the street, mind running a million miles an hour.

  ‘Why did they run when they saw me?’ he wondered only for the negative voice from before to reply with ‘why wouldn’t they run when they saw you?’

  He was so consumed with his thoughts, he didn’t notice the two figures sitting against the wall until he tripped over their out-stretched feet. He was barely able to catch himself from a rather less than princely faceplant, before a voice not unlike that of a concerned father called out “Oh my, are you okay?”.

  “Yeah, i’m fine!” Roman replied, sitting up and brushing off his costume. It was another few moments before Roman looked up to see a very familiar face.

  “It’s you!” he gasped, nearly throwing himself at his very startled soulmate. He felt his other half rest his hands on his waist to hold him steady. In a different situation, Roman might have felt awkward practically sitting on a stranger’s lap, but he couldn’t look into those eyes and feel anything other than pure joy.

  “Hello, I’m Roman. And i’ve been waiting for you my whole life.” he said quietly, looking absolutely awestruck.

  “Im Virgil.“ His shy, cute, wonderful, soulmate responded, looking up at him with a small smile.

  "Well then Virgil, thank you for bringing color to my world.”

i can’t believe robin only had like one jacket and henry’s got only one scarf to keep him warm and emma’s only possession clothes-wise is that red jacket (we don’t talk about that ugly ass burnt sienna one) and snow’s lost all her hats and hook literally lived in that musty pirate uniform for two and a half seasons (during which there was a whole year time jump) and meanwhile,, regina goes into her limitless closet every day and picks out one of her 50 coats and pulls out one of her 200 scarves to match and i guess i’m just happy the costume department at least cares for regina’s well-being

2

israel hands + costume details

Being an actor with Dick Grayson

•Dick Grayson was arguably one of the most liked and attractive actor.

•He always had scenes in movies where he was doing some kind of trick or had clothes that showed off his muscles.

•Being casted for the Nightwing movie, people were absolutely thrilled.

•Fans said it was because he can do all his gymnastic tricks.

•But we all know it was the tight suit that got everyone hot and flustered.

•You never been in a movie with Dick Grayson, but have worked closely with his mutuals like Jason Todd or Damian Wayne.

•They always told you how funny Dick was.

•Dick was known to be quite the flirt with his co actors.

•And a co actor you were.

•The first meeting between you two he gave you a long and lingering hug.

•"I’m glad I get to work with someone cute this time.“

•He insisted on practicing the scripts at his house with you.

•Sometimes he gasps at the stuff he reads.

•"Y/N we have to kiss 7 times in the movie.”

•"Really?“

•"Yeah, would you like to practice now?”

•Dick was always known to mess up the most.

•"Y/N I care so much for you… I want everything-pfff hahaha.“

•"CUT.”

•He once kissed you too long.

•"CUT. Dick, only kiss Y/N for about 4 seconds.“

•"Where’s the fun in kissing if I have to count?”

•There was one scene where you had to slowly take off Dick’s suit for a sensual and touching moment of the film.

•It was touching until Dick blurted out.

•"This is turning me on so much right now.“

•"CUT. DICK!”

•Surprisingly he messed this part up the most and you had to take off his suit.
Several. Several. Times.

•Dick also has the record for the most stunt fails.

•Imagine Dick jumping onto a raining rooftop and him slipping.

•And imagine Dick accidentally hitting himself with his weapon.

•He makes the whole cast laugh. A lot.

•Going to night shows with him was the best.

•He’s the one that goes undercover to work at some food place or something.

•He’s the celebrity that accidentally reveals his feelings on air.

•"Y/N is great! I mean, I wish I can get her number or something… uh..“

•"What better way to ask me in front of thousands of people.” You replied with a smile.

•After that night magazines went crazy over Dick’s accidental confession.

•The whole cast teased him about it.

•One of the best things about Dick is that he’ll hang out with the little kids dressed up in superhero costumes.

•He doesn’t care much for publicly and secretly visits the children dressed up as Nightwing.

•Dick will sign literally everyone’s stuff until nothing else can be signed.

•He’s a big advocate for safety and always partners with companies who help teach kids that.

Jacket Advancement

Worth noting…

Last year, for some inexplicable reason, they dressed Oliver like the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man on numerous occasions. I mean, this is like something your Dad wears to Home Depot in February. I complained loudly. I wanted it burned.

This year, he’s got a much more flattering, sexy jacket. It makes me so happy. He looks ten years younger and much fitter in it. I want to touch the jacket…preferably when he is in it.

Special Instructions (4/?)

Summary: Drunk Emma really likes pizza. She also really happens to like the cute delivery guy who seems content to carry out all of her wishes via the “Special Instructions” box on the website. (AO3)
Rating: E (fuck it, I’m upping the rating bc I know this will turn into filthy smut by the end)
Word Count: ~3000
Chapters: One Two Three

well this was a bitch to rewrite since the original chapter got accidentally deleted. sorry for the wait, babes. have some UST. 🍕😏

reader requested tag: @lenfaz @ilovemesomekillianjones @like-waves-on-the-beach @emmaswanchoosesyou

.

Special instructions: spook me!

It had been nearly a month since Emma had gotten stupid drunk at home and thrown herself at the very attractive pizza guy whose name she now knew was Killian Jones.

Jones, as in, “Jones Bros. Pizza.” Literally his last name, and apparently a poorly executed cartoon caricature of his fucking face, was on the logo on every pizza box she’d gotten from them and she’d had no idea. She hadn’t really given a flying fuck to the name of the place before; she just knew that they had a website, online ordering, quick delivery since they were located only a few blocks north of her apartment, and actually great tasting pizza that wasn’t hit-or-miss like the big chains.

With that revelation came another: Killian was not a delivery boy.

Well, he wasn’t supposed to be one. He was co-owner of the place, along with his older brother, and only went out on deliveries if he was filling in for a sick employee, or if he needed a break from the atmosphere (read: his overbearing brother), or, as it turned out, if her name came up on the order list. (He’d been sick the night that his sister-in-law had delivered to her sober self; go figure.)

It had been a pretty damned good feeling to know she got special treatment. After their first encounter, he’d been “captivated” and felt “compelled to see her again” (his words) – yeah; sweatpants, HANGRY, hot mess Emma in all her broken-hearted glory. She sent him a middle finger emoji as a reply to that particular text message, assuming that he was being a sarcastic ass but somehow knowing that beneath it all he was probably sincere.

Keep reading

Sweet nothings [ Saeran x MC ]

The MC in this fic is a costume one called ‘Sharon’. If you don’t like it, then don’t read it. But please don’t spread hate about it~

Inspired from this.

Genre: Fluff
Words: 487 (yeah, it’s fairy short actually-)

- Admin Ice Cream




“You are my world.”

It was one of those days. Where they just sat on the couch. Cuddled with each other and whispered sweet nothings to each other. Most likely, it was Saeran who whispered those to Sharon. There was a smile on his lips, when the brunette started to blush from his words. Just like now, after he has said those words to her.

He loved it. To see the slight red on her cheeks. It showed him, that she liked it. His arms around her body, wrapped tighter around her. The redhead didn’t want to let go right now. Not now… not in the nearest future.

“I could stare at you all day.”

It was something, he confessed to her so often already. Never will he forget the feeling at the beginning. He was so scared that she would get scared, if he would say this sentence to her. 

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

yeah i don't think its a flashback either. i just want to see it on 19, hopefully malec will be okay

YOOOOOOOOO I just remembered something! Remember that scene where Jace and Clary checked Izzy’s room?

Izzy had a photo of her and Max on her dresser and I THINK, they took it the same day of shooting (LOL) because Max was wearing his grey hoodie and though I can’t see what Izzy is wearing, I have a feeling she’s wearing her costume as well that’s why it wasn’t shown. 

ANYWAY. Setting aside the fact that they’re wearing the clothes they were wearing when it all went downhill- WHAT IF the photobooth photos are in photo frames in Magnus’ loft or in Alec’s office? WHAT IF those photos are Magnus or Alec’s phone wallpaper? WHAT IF there’s a scene of Magnus or Alec, fucking looking at the photo? MY GOD. I’M GOING TO LOSE IT. 

Flood my Mornings: Samhain

@abreathofsnowandashes said: There would have been A LOT of Irish emigrants in Boston in the 1950s, particularly Irish speakers.  There would have been Scots too, but in much smaller numbers and Gàidhlig would have been much less likely to have been spoken for obvious reasons. I’d love to see Jamie overhear Gaelic (Irish Gaeilge or Scottish Gàidhlig, he’d understand both) being spoken, or maybe come across a hurling/shinty game and make a connection


Notes from Mod Bonnie:

  • This story takes place in an AU in which Jamie travels through the stones two years after Culloden and finds Claire and his child in 1950 Boston.

October 31, 1950

“Happy Halloween,” chirruped the pimple-strewn lad pumping the Gasoline.

Jamie gave the boy a smile and a nod. “Aye, many thanks, and the same to—Bree, no!” He lunged across the wide seat of the Ford and grabbed her round the middle.  She protested and scrabbled vainly for the door latch she had very nearly gotten open. “My apologies,” he said out the open window as he righted himself, holding the lass firmly on his lap, “she’s quite the handful.”

The boy gave Brianna a little wave. “Got big trick-or-treating plans tonight?”

“Ach, no, not this year. Just a bonfire with some friends.”

Burgers, marshmallows, candy, and beer! Nothing fancy! Tom had assured him. Just bring you, the family, and maybe some ice? 

Jamie had left work an hour early to drive home, shower, change into clean clothes, and pick up Brianna to drive the two of them back to Fernacre for Tom and Marian’s gathering. Claire was working overnight, this evening, and Jamie was feeling just that wee bit awkward about the prospect of a social gathering without her at his side. Granted, he would know nearly everyone present; and they were his work comrades, after all; hardly strangers. 

Still, when the convenient topics and tasks of work were removed from his social scenarios, there would always come the odd moment where his ignorance of modern times or American tastes or both would be thrust into the spotlight (“What did you think of the game?” or “What’s your favorite John Wayne film?”) and it was Claire who so adeptly diverted attention so he might collect himself, even as he wracked his brain to recall where he had heard the name of Mr. Wayne before. 

Still, Claire had her duties, and a festive night shared among good folk (for whom he had genuine affection) certainly outweighed the other available option: being obliged to bide by the door all evening, passing out sweeties to any costumed child that cared to ring the bell. Would that strangers had been so generous when I was wandering Boston looking for Claire. Baffling, the lot of them, these Americans.  

“Whoops, I’m sorry, mister, I don’t have enough change,” the boy said apologetically. “Can you hold on a minute while I run inside?”

“Aye, dinna fash, lad.”

The boy blinked and made a face of incomprehension. “Dinner what?” Then, realizing how rude he sounded, he raised his hand, looking distraught and about to start babbling. 

“I only said,” Jamie interjected, “‘Take your time.’”

He said it patiently, wanting to be kind, but as soon as the boy was out of sight, Jamie closed his eyes and felt himself sighing, wearily practicing the proper phrases in his mind for the next such time. ‘No problem, man.’ ‘Don’t worry about it, Sport.’ Flatter “R”s. Shove sound to the back of the tongue. Quieter. Less.

We c’n go-to play th’game, too, Da?” Brianna asked suddenly in Gaelic. 

“Game?” He blinked his eyes open and studied her face, looking up from his lap excitedly. “What game d’ye wish to—”?

But then he, too, heard the voices drifting across the lot.

“Oh, definitely: Dan’s crew don’t have a chance.”

“I don’t know, they’ve been training hard—and they’re giving Michael and the boys a run for their money, so far!”

He craned his neck out the window. They were men of about his own age or a little older, their arms loaded with sweeties and Soda Pop bottles from the wee store. And they were speaking GAELIC. 

Irish, from the sound of it, the Gaeilge; but the cadence and syllables were so like his own mother tongue that he actually was gasping from the rush of shock and euphoria.  

He was just about to call after them, but at that moment, the young attendant reappeared. Jamie hastily completed the transaction, tipping a bit too heavily as he watched the men out of the corner of his eye, feeling a pang of dismay as they disappeared down over the hill beside the filling station. Jamie thought he could hear the sounds of a small crowd not far off. 

“Beg your pardon,” Jamie blurted, as the attendant was walking away. “What’s going on over the hill, there?”

“Just a bunch of Irish playing—it’s kind of like football, but with sticks and they’re loud as all get out!” he laughed confidentially. 

Game, Da!” Bree whispered in Gaelic.

“They’re harmless, though, I promise,” the boy said hastily, leaving Jamie to wonder what exactly might be feared from a bunch of Irishmen. The boy blanched. “Oh but you’re–you’re Irish youself. I didn’t mean any–” He didn’t bother to correct the boy as to his heritage, simply thanked him once more and sent him on his way. 

He checked his Watch, and finding that they were still ahead of schedule, he set Bree on the seat next to him, saying in Gaelic, “Aye, a leannan, let’s DO go see the game.”


It was a group of about thirty men on the field, playing a fast-paced game that Jamie wagered was very close indeed to shinty.  The players’ wives and families (and a fair number more, it seemed) were congregated on the sidelines, tending wee coal-grills, drinking, chatting, and calling after the swarms of children running about hither and thither. And all of it was in Gaelic. Jamie wanted to cry, just hearing and seeing this slice of something so like home, the drink-fueled joy of a Gathering, something he hadn’t experienced in many, many years. He could feel the warmth of it all surrounding him with every step he took closer, like the arms of a long-lost friend slowly coming around him. 

As he and Bree drew within a few dozen yards, a whistle sounded and the match broke. The players jogged to their wives and comrades to drink and chat. One man on the nearest edge of the crowd, dark-haired and wiry, caught sight of Jamie and did a double-take, turning sharply to face him in the first pink rays of nearing-sunset. “Can I help you?” he called in English, strongly accented; not unkindly, but definitely on guard.

Jamie called back a greeting in as close to Gaeilge as he could recall, though he wasn’t at all confident in his pronunciation.

It must have been close enough, though, for the man’s face brightened at once. “HEY, NOW!” he roared, walking forward with his arms raised in welcome. “A new kinsman! What county?”

County *Scotland,* I’m afraid,” Jamie replied, slipping into the Gàidhlig without thinking as he returned the man’s warm handshake. “James Fraser, and my daughter Brianna. Do forgive me for intruding; it’s only that it’s been so verra long since I heard anything like my own tongue. I just couldna resist seeing what was what.”

And we’re glad you did! It’s grand to get to meet a new cousin from the old places.”

The Irish tongue did have its differences, certainly, but Michael Riley seemed to have no trouble understanding Jamie, nor he, him, with only the occasional What was that word? or confidential laugh over differences in emphasis or tone. 

Bree had been staring at Michael intently, apparently astonished at hearing Gaelic spoken at close range by someone other than her Da. When Jamie nudged her, she gave a tiny, startled ‘Hi’ in English, then grinned and buried her face in his shoulder, making both men laugh.

D’ye live in these parts yourself, Fraser?” Michael asked eagerly. 

Not far, but no—I was just stopping for Gasoline on my way out to the countryside. Do all of ye live nearby, then?” Jamie asked, astonished, surveying the huge, lively crowd of players and onlookers. 

Sure do—the station owner turns a blind eye to us using the field, thank the saints, else we’d all likely be arrested.” 

“Arrested? For playing a wee game?” 

Well, technically, it *could* be considered trespassing—have a drink?” Jamie politely refused and Michael shrugged, wiping his sweaty brow and taking a deep swig from his own bottle. “There’s a long history of bad blood between Irish and the other folk in Boston. I’m sure there’s plenty of arseholes that would love to see us get comeuppance for whichever dumb mick offended great-great-uncle so and so.” 

Perhaps that went some way toward explaining the odd looks Jamie tended to get when speaking to strangers about Boston. He’d always tacitly assumed something in his manner was out of place in some indeterminate way—some eighteenth-century way, that is—but perhaps it was that he was being assumed Irish in a place where that wasn’t altogether a pretty thing to be. He would have to ask Claire. 

Christ, he chuckled to himself, an Outlander thrice over, he was, in Boston. At least he wasn’t the only one.

Michael introduced him to the members of his team, one and all bringing Jamie and Bree further into the crowd, offering drinks, and asking about their history and family. He felt as if he’d walked into a clan gathering, even after only ten minutes among the Irish. “And what about you, then?” he asked of Michael, after giving his (presumed) backstory for the half-dozenth time, “From whence in Ireland do you folk hail?”

“Well, we’re mostly Corkmen here—” Michael said, which elicited cheers from the Cork contingent. “Some like me, born here stateside, but plenty of folk fresh off the boat, like Barny, there, except he’s from Tipperary. Then there’s Fergal whose folk are from Sligo,” he said, scanning the crowd and methodically cataloging. “Then Vance and Peter and the other Michael, of Galway. And then over there, there’s Charlie, but he’s not—OY!” He gave a sudden whoop of excitement and cupped his hands around his mouth to yell, “EY, CHARLIE!! COME OVER HERE!! FOUND YE A WEE CLANSMAN!!

A stocky blonde man jogged over eagerly and Michael clapped him on the shoulder. “Charlie, here, plays for those bastards on Dan’s team, but we won’t hold it against him just at present. Charlie, this is James—James, right? Aye, good—James Fraser. He’s from your precious highlands!

Charlie was an open, eager sort, ruddy-faced and jovial, quick with a joke and an easy word. Jamie quickly learned from rapid conversation in the Gàidhlig that the man was a Highlander-born, a MacAlister whose family had come to America when he was nearly sixteen. He’d hated the new place, and had planned to return to Scotland the moment as he was of age; but then war had broken out just days before his eighteenth birthday, and he’d been compelled to go fight. He worked as a builder, now, feeding the demand for suburban homes from families in the growing prosperity of the post-war times. Jamie decided he truly liked the man, and knew without asking that he must have children himself, when he grinned at Bree and said, “And hello there, a leannan,” with a little bow. 

Hi, how-wer you?” she responded, to Jamie’s astonishment, in almost-perfect Gàidhlig. 

I’m verra well, thank ye verra much for asking, sweet lass,” the blonde man laughed, straightening and looking impressed. “Does she speak it at home, then?

“No, not often,” Jamie said, rather apologetically. “I do try to speak it around her when I think of it, but her mam is English, so we—

“American, you mean?”

“Nay,” Jamie laughed, with a mock-sneer, “an honest-to-goodness Sassenach.”

Charlie matched Jamie’s manner with groan of false-disgust. “Christ, but ye must have balls of steel, Jamie, to  oh!” he said abruptly, looking a bit embarrassed, “Sorry—is it alright that I call ye Jamie?”

Jamie could feel the warmth of kinship flood through him like water. “Of *course,* friend,” he said with feeling. 

Charlie introduced his Irish wife Saoirse and their two small boys, to whom Bree took at once, sharing their toys on the grass.

They talked about Scotland, about America, about Boston. About Gaelic. About talk of a free and independent Scotland. About the Celtic traditions that had crossed the ocean, and those that had not. Of gatherings that apparently took place all around the country, in hill-and-mountain places, for folk to remember the old clan ways, even if in naught but a faint imitation. Even of bannocks, whiskey, and wool; the simple things of highland home, even two hundred years hence, it seemed. It was more a balm to Jamie’s heart than he could comprehend: that the Scotland he knew hadn’t vanished entirely. 

A whistle blew and Charlie brandished his stick deftly as the crowd began to shift. “Ever played a game of hurling?” 

“It’s like shinty, no?”

“Not too far off, not at all. Here,” he said, beginning to walk backward toward the pitch, “come wi’ me and I’ll give ye the rundown.”

With a jolt, Jamie noted the position of the sun and remembered the ice in the back of the Car. “Sadly, we must be going, Charlie.”

Oh, come on!” Charlie wheedled, taking one last deep swig of beer and kissing Saoirse exuberantly. “Wee Brianna seems to be having a fine time wi’ Nolan and Will. And I’ve got some extra gear if —”

“it isna that at all,Jamie said, turning an apologetic smile toward his new companion, “it’s only that we’ve got a Halloween gathering to attend, and we’re expected shortly.”

“Och, that’s too bad. First one since you arrived? Weel, it isna nearly so ghostly as Samhain, let me tell ye. All the spooks you’re like to encounter look as if they came out from a children’s book or a Walt Disney film. I tell wee Nolan when he’s scairt in the night that all the ghosts are back in Scotland. No doorways to the otherworlds in America, so no Old Folk to be afraid of.“

(Oh, aye? Ye have one right in front of ye, man.)

Charlie held out the stick once more, inviting. "Sure ye canna be persuaded to celebrate wi’ us instead, Jamie?”

“I truly canna stay, but thank ye, Charlie, I should verra much have liked to.” Jamie knelt to break up the play-circle. “Can ye say ‘farewell’ to your new friends, Bree?” 

Farewell,” she chirped, waving her chubby hand enthusiastically.

That’s not’th’right way,” chided Nolan, who was a year or two older. “You say it funny.” 

Bree looked crestfallen, but Charlie ruffled his son’s hair, laughing as he gently scolded. “Nay, a chuisle, you’ve just grown up wi’ Gaeilge—YOU’RE the one who ‘says it funny.’” 

Jamie scooped Bree into his arms, whispering in her ear about how proud he was of her before turning back to Charlie. “Do ye play every week, then? I’d truly be honored to come back another time.”

“Oh aye. The winter snows will start falling soon, but we’re here most every chance we can get, when the ground’s clear.” Charlie sized him up frankly, nodding with approval. “You’re a braw-looking fucker, alright. Dinna let Michael steal ye for his lousy crew, aye? They’re naught but loud bastards. The *real* talent’s wi’ us.” 

Jamie made a general farewell to the crowd and received a hearty chorus of well-wishes and toasts in return. 

At the risk of seeming too eager, Jamie…” He turned to see that Charlie was looking sheepish, “might the wife and I have ye and the family over for dinner, sometime?” 

When Jamie didn’t immediately respond, the man shrugged, but didn’t falter. “Mebbe it’s daft, but as much as I love my Irish folk, it’s grand having someone to talk to in the old ways again; who’s truly my countryman. D’ye ken what I mean?”

Jamie swallowed down the lump in his throat as he clasped the man’s hand. “Aye, a caraidh, I ken it more than ye can possibly know.”


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tinkdw  asked:

So, I have this question and I thought I'd send it here :) What are your thoughts on Sam x fashion aside from the crack? Do you have early Sam x fashion meta? I'm feeling it's reflective of his making his own choices as he had wacky weird fashion sense in earlier seasons then during the time he follows Dean cos guilt copies Dean's lumberjack style until season 12 when he gets some weird clothes again (orange jacket cough). I kinda hope we see him in wacky fashion now he's more independent again?

hahahaha

I feel kind of like the asshole cat who’s always knocking things over until someone comes to give me attention

But no, yeah. Sam’s clothes are weird, man. Weird. *shuffles the purple dog shirt to the bottom of my drawer of t-shirts*

In season 1 his quintessential look to me is the brown hoodie and backpack, and sometimes the leather laptop satchel he has. He could be wandering on a college campus, and that’s intentional, because, well, that was what he had been doing. He has t-shirts with things on them, favouring purple and dark red for symbolic reasons but he does have a couple of different designs of each if you squint.

I always like the immediately established pattern that Sam and Dean essentially wear the same clothes with minor differences, but that Sam ALWAYS buttons up his shirt, and Dean ALWAYS leaves his loose. It’s the no. 1 thing that bugs me about fan art of the two of them, that I can tell casual “Lol just dipping into this fandom” art immediately because they’ll depict Dean with a buttoned up shirt or Sam with his open and loose. Sam wears his open in like… 4x07 when he was half-undressed, and Dean wears a button up shirt in 6x01 and 9x13 in a job interview. I may be missing some others but that’s like… in all my years of caring about this and rewatching the show with a meta mind, and keeping half an eye on their clothes in case of Symbolism, I don’t see much variation. (Also: Sam always wears v-necks once the patterns get entrenched, and Dean always wears round necks.)

Of course, the easiest explanation is Sam keeps his shirt buttoned because Secrets and Deep Hidden Layers, while Dean wears his heart on his sleeve slightly more literally, in that his shirt is flapping open exposing the t-shirt beneath, and of course he has the amulet to accent that look for the first 3rd of the show, hanging over his heart. (Dean also is the only one of them who wears henleys, ever. Sam just wears a t-shirt exposed when he’s being vulnerable, while Dean has a little more variation.)

Anyways. Sam’s look is less practical than Dean’s - more white shirts, more dressy shirts to start with. The godawful white one with the red patterning underneath. Pin-stripes. He has patterns and Dean has block colours. Even as the show goes on, Sam collects shirts with stripes and mixes them in with wearing plaid, all in the same manner. I think that is basically again a little link back to the early costuming.

One of the funniest moments of the show to me at the time when it was about all the canon we had, was in 6x18 when Sam’s only concession to time travelling is to change his shirt, and he pulls it off in comparison to Dean’s wildly over-enthusiastic time travelling, and issues with it and eventual re-costuming, again into a whole ensemble. I think that particularly tells us about Sam that he doesn’t really sweat the details like Dean does because his surface layer is such a strong, placid force that people don’t question it. In 8x11 Dean dresses up and Sam stays in his fed suit for most of the episode, and it doesn’t cause him problems in anywhere near the same way. In both episodes there’s a lot more to say about Dean and his need to fit in/exuberance to dress up and be someone else, but I do love the light it shines on contrast to Sam, that somehow his lack of caring about his clothes just beams out and makes everyone else not really care that much either. 

But yeah, Sam’s shirts get more interchangeable with Dean as time goes on - he starts wearing some of the same colours, and they have shirts I am sure that in a non-TV world where the costume department takes care of this for them they’d always be mixing them up and accidentally wearing each other’s clothes. Or at least putting them on and then Sam stares in disbelief at how his arm grew another 2 inches overnight and - wait a minute this is one of Dean’s shirts.

(Dean also got a shirt in season 12 with the same pocket buttons as Sam’s rusty bacon shirt, but I think it was a block colour shirt. Of course.) 

Although Sam would never, ever wear the denim shirts Dean does. It’s that sneaky little class divide between them again. Not a major thing, but Sam’s striped shirts vs Dean’s denim and henleys does tell the tale, that no matter how much closer their style seems to get, Sam’s always got that different backstory to his fashion. 

(In 3x12 the close up of their feet always makes me notice Dean’s jeans are all fraying and old and Sam’s look new. I think for one thing Sam had to start mostly from scratch after season 1 because he took just a weekend of clothes with him to Jericho. But also just that maybe he has slightly more pride in his clothes while Dean will wear out whatever he can wear out (that doesn’t get too torn or weirdly stained.) I like in 3x11 you get the contrast to their ways of living and hunting with Dean clearly the controlling factor in the boot of the impala being all messy and esoterically organised and Sam locking it down in moulded foam to hold everything… Dean having scruffy trouser legs, dream catchers in the boot of the car, all that jewellery, on the other hand, makes me feel like he’s got much more of an instinctive, stylistic connection to the job as a *lifestyle* rather than a *job*, which was an old theme…

Oh gosh what else :P Well Sam’s new jackets… Yes okay I do actually love he’s getting new jackets which stand out so much as actually being items of clothing instead of boring camouflage/background radiation to being a hunter. You got me >.> I still think Sam’s got a baseline dodgy approach to clothes and style but it’s sort of quirky. It’s VERY Sam to get a red shirt under an orange jacket or to wear a jacket with a plaid lining over a plaid shirt. I mean… I would dress just as badly because it’s still practical over style in many ways. 

I also wonder about his shoes because Dean’s boots or at least combat boots in general would be more practical in their line of work and they’re always being accused of dressing in army surplus, but Sam started off wearing trainers and I swear he never wore them on screen but I just headcanon him in converse all stars anywhere in like season 1 and 2 because it goes with the whole student/overgrown child thing the hoodie and backpack did… But anyway his shoes are more grown up styles now but he still doesn’t exactly dress for the JOB, while Dean’s always wearing good boots. I always remember an ex of mine wore similar shoes to Sam and I, being me, had a reputation for being pretty wonky and useless, and we were walking and it began raining, and we were in this plaza with slippery tiles, and my ex was like, “DON’T RUN, YOU’LL DIE” but I was wearing boots with a tread? And I legged it. And he was slippy sliding after me, barely able to function in the rain on a smooth surface. And I was watching from the shelter. 

(PS: the moral of this meta is don’t date me unless you understand we are 2 completely autonomous humans because I am awful at being a team player or at willingly getting soaked because you wore the wrong shoes :P)

Jolly Cafe

For @cinnamonduckling​ who thinks this is a fic where everyone dies and suffers and I make her cry, but no, it’s a fluffy and cute fic and I promise you Sofia, you will love it. 

Many thanks to @killiancygnus​ and @swanandapirate​ who helped with the story and were my betas. 

Based on this: 

“Omg I just went to get a latte from my regular coffee shop and I always have the same guy serving me and I must bug him so much as I would always ask for almond milk (I’m lactose intolerant) but they would just have lacto free so I could tell the difference in the milk and asked if they started serving almond milk and the guy just shyly said “well you always ask if we have it so I got it specially for you” this GUY BOUGHT THE MILK WITH HIS OWN MONEY I FEEL SO PREVILEDGED RIGHT NOW”

Rating:T

Words: 3220

FLUFF

CAPTAIN SWAN AND FROZEN JEWEL!

AO3

 Enjoy! 

And I would appreciate if you would let me know what you think, since this is the first fic I wrote after a few (five I think?) months.

______________

The first time Emma Swan stepped into Jolly’s Cafe, she was stunned by the nautical theme that was all around. The walls were covered by old maps, anchors, pictures of the sea and different ships, wooden tablets decorated with ship’s wheels and even a replica of a ship on a wall. She fell in love with the place, not just because of the way it looked but also because it was near the beach (which Emma thought was part of the reason why everything was so… nautical) and their drinks were better than Starbucks or even Granny’s.  Another important thing that made Emma go back to the coffee shop, was the presence of the two brothers that worked there: Liam Jones, who was the owner of the shop which she found out thanks to Elsa and Killian Jones, Liam’s brother which found out about that thanks to his big mouth.

Elsa was the one who discovered Jolly’s Cafe and started to develop a crush on the owner since her first time there. Starting from the second time she went there, Elsa took Emma with her both for support and because she wanted to have her best friend there with her to talk about “the hot owner of the place”. Secretly, Elsa hoped that Emma would see something in the “even hotter brother of the owner’s business” (Emma’s words, not hers) too, but since Emma was very good at spotting a lie, and Elsa a really bad liar, Emma found out very soon what Elsa’s real intentions were.

“I’m not going to fall in love with him as soon as I lay eyes on him, Elsa. That’s you, not me,” Emma told her friend.

“But he’s hot,” Elsa whispered to her.

“And I thought you had a thing for his brother,” Emma added hoping that Elsa would stop.

“I do, but I also have eyes, Emma.”

“Still not going to happen. So stop.”

The two began to go to Jolly’s daily, sometimes even twice a day, when they had their breaks, but Killian Jones mostly stayed out of their discussions.

Emma rarely asked for something that wasn’t a normal coffee, a hot chocolate in the morning or an iced tea in the afternoon so when she asked for a latte one morning, she should’ve expected to see a look of surprise on Killian’s face. And yet, she did not.

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