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circleofcavan · 3 years

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Nebraska

Macey daydreams about spending winter break somewhere else, with some envy sprinkled in there, too; suite shenanigans and some $300 Bose noise-cancelling headphones. One-shot. Content warning: themes of parental neglect, mentions of alcohol use, smoking + abuse.

(Read it on AO3 here.)

There are moments when Macey wishes everything could just be stable and balanced.

“Normal” is too much to ask for; it’s a big ticket item that’s just out of reach, that she hasn’t worked quite hard enough for just yet. Instead, she’d settle for stable: an ideal situation with no boat-rocking, no absent fathers or narcissistic mothers, no forced appearances or quick-changes in the back of limousines, no hidden hangovers, no concealer on the bruises along her upper arm. Stable. Secure.

Idealistic. At this point in her life, there’s no chance she’ll ever know balance. If she keeps down the path that Gallagher has her going down, it’ll be a constant chase – maybe not a sprint, but a jog, and even that can get exhausting after a while.

She envies Cammie, even despite her hardships. Cammie has support, she has crumbs of normalcy to cling to, a warm home to run to during breaks and tight spots and panicked moments. She has options, even when she thinks she doesn’t. Even when she feels like every door is closed, there are always more.

Macey watches her chatting with Bez and Liz, her feet curled under a blanket, back to the wall of their suite. Cammie has a slight smile on her face, a fullness in her cheeks that made a return when she did, another escape on a lark that she magically realized had consequences; Bex is trying to reverse engineer a heist, Liz is French braiding Cam’s hair, which is brown now, thinner but longer. She can only slightly hear her roommates over the music she’s blasting, $300 Bose noise-cancelling headphones be damned, but she can imagine the conversation, more or less – more homework trouble, more boy trouble, more girl trouble, more acne trouble, more TV cliffhanger trouble, more “I can’t believe I got a B on this test” trouble, more normalcy. A feeling she’ll never have.

The conversation halts for a moment, all of them on the precipice of laughter, but they look to her, expectant, waiting on an answer; she points to her headphones and down to her book (Art of War, of course), and loudly yells “What?” as though she’s clueless and miffed, out of the loop. Bex laughs, Liz joins in, Cammie smiles and her volume goes back up. Stability. Everything is level again.

She’s damn great at playing the part, something she was born to do. (Is she talking about herself or about Cammie? She’s not sure. Projecting, much?) Macey is the perfect daughter, even when she’s a rebel; she’s the supermodel even when she’s strung out and hungover in the Great Hall at breakfast, stumbling through Farsi between sips of Gatorade; she’s America’s Sweetheart, Vermont’s darling, even though she hasn’t been back to Vermont in years. (Not that there’s anything there for her, aside from a hiking trail where she used to run or smoke cigs, plus the parking lot where she had her first kiss – awkward, sloppy and too much teeth – and her childhood home – her permanent address, she should say, because it’s not like she’s ever really felt like it was a home for her at all.)

They’re talking about winter break plans now. “Nebraska” floats past the music, clinging to her brain, cloying and sweet. What she wouldn’t give for a proper, home-cooked meal, a scratchy wool blanket, a too-warm-but-too-cold room with a draft. Farm smells. Barn chores. Callouses. Sweat. Burnt coffee in smooth metal thermoses, a cold winter sun, some dustings of snow, a hot mug of potato soup – a too tight pickle jar lid. It’s so vivid it hurts, digging into her brain like it’s eating her alive from the inside out, starting at her brain and burrowing its way into her heart. Nebraska.

She can only imagine what that reality would be like; there’s something lived-in about it that she won’t be able to come close to touching, an inherent familiarity that she’s just not cut out to experience. Her winter break will likely be Aspen or Geneva, maybe both, and that’s a dream, too – she’ll probably see some classmates there as well, the ones that fit the Gallagher mold, the one that she’s apparently supposed to fit, too.

The trip will be booked as a family affair, but her parents will be anything but present, her mom chasing after seasonal ski patrol staff, college students in their prime, her dad on “work calls,” probably brokering some deal that will just line his pockets a bit more than his congressional salary. She’ll be drunk and alone, partying with ski bunnies or diplomats’ kids, settling into her old-money-rich-heiress role like she has so many times before.

Maybe if she’s lucky she’ll be able to slip away – if they’re preoccupied for a few days into the weeklong trip, she could pack a bag and hitchhike her way a few towns over, blending in like she’s new in town and visiting extended family, weaving a cover story for herself and patching it up every time she gets caught in a lie. She might have normal clothes on but she’s still anything but; they’ll remark on her beauty and her perfectly-manicured nails, ones that wouldn’t be in such pristine condition if she were just a girl from just a farm in just Nebraska.

Then she’ll get call after call to her phone, her parents demanding an appearance because it’s time to fly home now, and she’ll have to abandon the fake life she created for herself in this little mountain town, the cover that was just on the verge of being blown. She won’t be a girl from Nebraska with boy trouble and homework trouble and normal trouble, she’ll be the Macey McHenry, heiress and stone-cold bitch, sugary-sweet but too much to handle.

She’s not sure how Bex was able to get on her bed without her knowing, but she’s got a hand on the right ear of her headphones before Macey can turn to stop her with a bewildered laugh. “We’ve been trying to get your attention for ages,” Bex says, sitting back on her haunches, glancing at Cam and Liz. “What movie do you want to watch tonight? Tina’s running a Bourne marathon, but we were thinking Clueless, but then we realized you haven’t picked a movie yet, so it’s your call.”

Macey slides the headphones off fully now, settling them around her neck. She pauses her music. She pauses herself. Maybe this is the closest to stable and balanced that she’ll get: the closest thing to normal is four teenage girls watching 80s movies in their pajamas, LUSH masks smeared on their faces, shitty manicures and burnt microwave popcorn, falling asleep on the floor next to an overheated laptop and projector and her roommates, snoring softly.

Tomorrow’s Saturday. She could sleep in, pretend like the meal she’s having is home-cooked. She could wander around the halls and act like this was the home she deserved all along, because it was, and maybe even talk a bit more about winter break plans. Macey knows enough social graces to not invite herself to spaces where she might not be welcome, but maybe it could happen; maybe things will balance out in her favor. It might not be Nebraska, it might be London, or maybe it might just be here, in the mansion, if she can talk her way into it. The only people who normally hang back anyway are ones who either can’t go home or won’t go home, and Macey surely falls into both or either.

But that’s neither here nor there, and they’re still waiting on an answer. Macey dogears her book page, the same page she’s been stuck on this entire time, reading the same paragraph over and over, and sets it aside. “Clueless for sure,” she finally says, forcing a grin, cutting a glance at Cammie. “But only if we stay up way too late talking about how much Paul Rudd kind of looks like J-O-S-H.” (He doesn't.)

Liz squeals, Bex laughs, and Cammie blushes. Mace flashes her a knowing smile and grabs her blanket, ushering them up, while Bex says something about stealing cookie dough from the kitchen. Liz is convinced that they need to swipe Madame Dabney’s projector, even though there’s a perfectly good one in their room (apparently the one that isn’t theirs is 10 times more energy efficient and smells like the essential oil of their choice), and Cammie is watching her, grabbing her hand, helping her up. Cam’s hand doesn’t have callouses yet, but it will, and Macey thinks about what they’ll feel like after break. Will they be rough and ragged, or torn, exposing new, smooth, bright pink skin, the outline just barely visible?

Macey snaps back to reality for a moment; Bex and Liz have left on their respective conquests, and Cam is lingering near the door. “You coming?” she asks, gesturing to the hallway with her chin, and Macey can’t help but remember the annoyed (and annoying) girl that she met on her first visit, the one who just wouldn’t leave her alone. “You know we can’t let them traipse around by themselves; Liz will end up with a sprained ankle and Bex will probably burn the place to the ground.”

“Let’s do this,” Macey shoots back, grabbing a compact fire extinguisher that Liz had made in the labs a semester prior. This was normal. And she’d create balance and stability where she could, starting with her two renegade roommates. “I’m right behind you.”

#gallagher girls #macey mchenry #cammie morgan #gallagher girls series #gallagher girls fic #also on ao3 #one shot #ally carter #hahahahah this is my distraction from zoom university

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thequeenofcronuts · 5 years

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Justify My Love - Chapter 3 - Visions

Chapter 1 Chapter 2

Book: The Royal Romance Word Count: 2,190 Pairing: Maxwell x MC (Kristina Hampshire) Chapter Characters: Maxwell x Drake ( Friendship )

Warnings - Language

A/N In this TRR au Series: Kristina (MC) decides she cannot stay in Cordonia after the events of the Coronation Ball. Not so much caring about her own reputation, but caring for the life of the man she has been falling for, which is not the prince. She returns to New York and is faced with her heartbreak and regret while Maxwell is left in Cordonia struggling to understand the truth behind his feelings. Will they let each other go?

**All characters and named places are owned by Pixelberry Studios. Rights to the songs, and their titles, used for inspiration in this series belong to:

Justify My Love (Madonna) - Warner/Chappell Music, Inc, Universal Music Publishing Group, Reach Music Publishing, BMG Rights Management

Visions (Maroon 5) - Universal Music Publishing Group

——————————

Maxwell’s POV

“So Hana is already on a flight to LA? And Bastien has already gotten our travel arranged? And we have an actual address for Tariq to go to? And…all this…is set, right?” The truck is silent for a moment as Drake takes a deep breath while his knuckles turn white on the steering wheel. “Yes, yes, and yes Maxwell. For the hundredth time yes. So stop asking.” “Well, Savannah is the one who literally pushed me into your truck. I have nothing to occupy myself with until we can buy what we need since I wasn't allowed to pack or even have the chance to say I was going with you.” Maxwell huffs all in one breath. “And let the record show that I didn't want to go on this ridiculous trip. On top of that now you’ve forced me into an anxiety riddled wreck.”

“Maxwell, we all know you better than you know yourself right now. So just go with it.” “Why Drake, this is pointless. So, if we find Tariq, and somehow talk him into making a statement to clear Kristina’s name what is th-“ “Dammit Maxwell,” Drake cuts him off, “quit saying the same shit you’ve been saying over and over since she lef….went back to New York. Why can't anyone convince you that the worst case scenario is we clear Hampshire’s name so the tabloids and garbage nobles can't continue to gossip about her.” They’ll find someone else in less than five minutes to start on. “This ‘all or nothing’ idea you’re hung up on is not the only answer. We all get it, you want her name cleared so she’ll come back to you.” Maxwell's mouth is agape as he stares daggers into Drake. “Why…what…no it's not like that.” “For fuck sakes Maxwell, why can everyone see this but you. No, don't answer that, I don't have the patience this second. I’ll get you to grasp this when we get settled on the plane, but right now, mercifully, we’re here at the airport so get out of my damn truck.”

After easily checking in for their flight, they head to the gate and wait. Drake lets out a sigh and says out loud to no one in particular, “Thank gods Bastien has the magic of making travel happen fast.” I have to keep my emotions in check, or Maxwell will shut down again. Sinking back into his chair, he watches from about five yards away the younger Beaumont sit, then stand, then pace, then sit, then stand, then pace until they are called to board the plane. While taking their oh so close to each other seats, Drake admits to himself that any hopes of escaping this conversation are now squashed, making him huff out suppressed air.

As the plane takes off Drake turns to Maxwell and states flatly, “Lets chat.” “Drake, you don't chat, ever.” “That is a true and fair statement. So instead what I am going to do is ask you questions and you give me answers. And be warned, I WILL keep you focused and on track. I’m not wasting time on this when I could be sleeping.” Maxwell hears the crescendo of frustration, impatience, and a little anger peppered in, as his unlikely traveling companion speaks. Drake’s tone makes Maxwell involuntarily lean away wide eyed until the plane’s window stops allowing him to go back any further. “Um Drake, you look pretty upset and kinda scary right now.”

“Just follow the rules and it will be fine. I ask questions, you answer honestly, and we stay on track. Also remember you are the worst lier. You got all that?” “Do I have a choice? Because I’m not feeling like there a choice since I’m in the window seat, and you're blocking aisle. Plus, even though the seats are tight I’m pretty sure you could still find a creative way to punch me.” “Yep, you’ve got no choice. So now we're on the same page. Ok first question. How much time did you and Hampshire spend together during the Social Season?” Maxwell kinda wiggles in his seat and sheepishly answers, “Um, a lot? Not specific, I know, so please don't hit me!” “Not going to, that's a fair answer. I wasn't expecting a down to the second count.” “Whew, because that would really be impossible to figure since you have to subtract hours of sleep, and activities with the other su….” “Maxwell FOCUS.” “Uh, yeah. Sorry.”

Drake looks past Maxwell for a few seconds out the window and then turns back. “I just need a simple yes or no for this one, so try for me. Was a good portion of that time with Hampshire spent shopping for cloths, dancing and whatever else it is that makes you, uh…Maxwell?” Maxwell squints as he thinks, “Yes, but don't forget the spectacular screwup I am too.” Drake shuts his eyes and massages his temples. “Ok, not a simple yes or no answer like I asked for, and lets forget your ‘screw up’ thought for now and stick to one ‘Maxwell’ issue at a time. So even though the time was supposed be done in the name of House Beaumont’s suitor, you and Kristina enjoyed a lot of time that technically wasn't necessary, and maybe without one-hundred percent consideration of Bertrand’s scheming to push her to ‘win’ the prince?” More like a blasted reality TV competition. “Yeah, I guess. We had so much fun though! This one time when we were at…” Drake glares. “Uhhh, focusing. Absolutely focused.” Maxwell sits on his hands.

“What was the best part of the Social Season for you?” Drake sees the look in Maxwell's eyes change from apprehension to tenderness, while he answers softly. “Well, honestly, waking my little blossom up in the mornings. She is completely adorable when all sleepy and so funny with a foggy head. It was always a fun time to pick on her with her slowed down witty comebacks. And just to start the day with her. Mornings were the best, usually just the two of us before breakfast each day.” Maxwell’s mouth begins to form a huge grin as he gazes off into space. Drake just shakes his head trying to hide the smirk on his face. “What Drake? I answered your question with an honest answer.” “Oh, I know you did. But, do you know you just really smiled for the first time since the night of the Coronation?” Maxwell was at a loss for words for a minute. “No, I’ve smiled since then.” “Not ones like this Maxwell.” Maxwell just looks down at his hands and doesn't say anything.

“That's what I thought.” Drake shifts in his seat. “Damn these commercial planes are uncomfortable. Ok, next question.” “Really, more Drake?” “Yes. If you can't hold a conversation without going around in the same circles, and you keep running away from any of us when we breach the subject of Hampshire, I’m going to keep this simple and direct.” Trust me, without whiskey this is killing me. Hell, even with whisky this would still be a form of torture. “I don't see why we are bothering at all with this, Drake. She, she left her best friend…er…friends.” Drake pinches the bridge of his nose between his forefinger and ring finger finally snapping. “We are continuing because we don't know any concrete reasons for her decisions. Only you seem to think you know for certain, and you're so, ugh, fucking frustrating right now. I mean to me you always are, but this is so madding. Furthermore, we are continuing because Hampshire is one of all of our best friends, and…awe hell…she broke through and turned you all into really good friends of mine too. Now back to the part where I ask questions.” Maxwell is wearing small crooked grin. “Why are you smiling at me?” “Because Drake, you just said I’m one of your good friends.” “Ugh, don't let it go to your head. Getting back on track now. Recently when you’ve been doing all this shit for Bertrand, and the estate, what are you trying to ignore? And don't deflect the question or say you're not ignoring something.” Maxwell shrugs. “It's because Bertrand expects my help. That's all.” Drake rolls his eyes. “Remember the part where I said you are a shitty lier?” He arches an eyebrow at him, while Maxwell turns to look out the window.

“Ok, lets try another route here. When you wake up what is the first thing you think of everyday?” Maxwell slowly turns from the window and quietly answers, “Kristina.” “And who does your mind wander to throughout the day?” Maxwell avoids Drake’s stare and sighs. “Kristina.” “Who have you missed most while you’ve you put yourself into this forced exile?” “Kristina.” “Ok, last one. Who do you wish you were holding at the end of each day, and even holding right now?” “Kris…” Drake quickly sits back with a smug look. “So, Maxwell, we finally agree that you love her.” Maxwell raises his voice a bit. “So what if I do. It changes nothing. She left me…alone…with no contact.”

Maxwell turns his head and again stares out the window for a few minutes, while Drake just leans his seat back waiting for him to speak. Finally in a soft and almost somewhat defeated voice, “But Drake, even if she did like me too, in that way, she had a prince who was choosing her. There is no way she would see me…see me more than a best friend. I’m nothing like Liam.” His face changes to a pained expression. “…but Drake, every time I close my eyes I see visions of her, and during the day sometimes I see mirages of her as if my mind is playing tricks on me.” “Maxwell, look at me.” Maxwell won't turn from the window. “Seriously…” Drake shakes his head, “look at me. Good gods I never knew this happy go lucky thing you have, and seeing the good in everything was just fueled by such stubbornness.” Drake grasps Maxwell's shoulder lightly. “There were signs that you and Liam missed, and Bertrand ignored, seen by everyone else. For one, how the expressions of her eyes began to change almost daily when she looked at you and stole glances. How her body language changed as she danced with you. How she had a special laugh just for you. It didn't take long for Hana to pick up on it, and then she drug me along until I saw it too. She turned it into a mission to get you both to admit your feelings for each other. And so here we are, clearing names and playing Cupid.” Drake shakes his head, “Things I do for you people.”

Maxwell takes a long time to process it all. This conversation, the Social Season, and the little signs he guesses he missed along the way. Drake is almost asleep when Maxwell bolts up straight in his seat, tapping his now bouncing legs while his countenance beams, and he asks with a voice full of excitement, “So, you think it might actually be possible? I mean her… me…I mean it seems crazy but…there's hope, right?” “We’ll find out. But there's been time between then and now for things to have happened, but, aw hell, I’m a guy. I don't know.” Maxwell can't sit still at all now. “Oh for fucks sakes.” Drake grimaces. What have I done? “Now you’re going to be more normal,” Drake uses air quotes around the word normal, “Maxwell on this trip from this point on, aren't you.” Drake drops his head into his hand. “You know it, buddy!” Maxwell is on the edge of his seat still bouncing, which is coincidentally bounces Drake’s seat. I can't believe I’ve made it this far into this conversation without alcohol. Where is the stewardess?

“Sooooo, you think Hana will know? I mean she must. Girls talk about this stuff. When does she land in LA?” Drake, with his head still in his hand, looks at Maxwell through the space between his fingers. “Even if Hana knows anything from before the coronation night, I’m sure there's some kind of girl code or Hana knows some kind of protocol for these types of things. Doubt you'll get anything out of her.” “Okay, so we find Tariq, get him to give the statement, then what Drake?” Drake sits up seeing Maxwell's unabashed hopeful look, “Then we try and find Hampshire.” “Really? YES!!!! Where have you and Hana decided to look first? Ohhhh, does Hana know where Kristina is?” “Unfortunately, no. She hasn't heard from Hampshire at all. Just like the rest of us. But, we are going to start in New York.” “Ummm, New York City is huge!” Maxwell’s eyes grow large as he looks at Drake. “We’ll start where all this started.” Drake says matter of factly. “At a little dive bar we both know.”

#the royal romance #choices the royal romance #maxwell beaumont #maxwell x mc

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sweet-star-cookie · 6 years

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Stolen again aha

1. Describe and inside joke with little to no context

“Bean”, “Muffin”, “Noodle”, “Cinnamon Roll” and “Star-shaped Sugar Cookie” are all terms that have been used to describe me in any given situation. It’s like a bakery up in here.

2. Describe something that makes you happy

Finishing a piece of art and feeling really happy rather than doubtful about it after, or finding something new to completely lose myself in, like a new game or TV show. Both are really good feelings, especially if I can share with my friends.

3. What’s the funniest joke you know by heart?

Myself.

... Too soon?

I actually don’t consider myself that humorous so I have no idea what to put here, sadly. I wish I was funnier in a linguistic sense but outside of sarcasm and my reactions to things I’ve got nothing. My friends seem to find entertainment in it though. Entertainment in my emotional suffering while watching fictional content, that is. (love you guys)

4. What’s the craziest conversation you’ve overheard?

Not really a conversation I guess but outside my window some people walked by and all I hear is “I FUCKING LOVE PARADES” and no following response. You hear a lot of things from the surface when you live in a dragon’s lair basement.

5. What’s your favourite song at the moment?

I have several at any given moment based on what I find in my YouTube subscriptions, but if I were to pick one right now I guess it would be Flashin’ Like I’m Gatsby by Atom Smith, it’s an electroswing hop track. For a slower track right now I’d pick First Things First by Neon Trees. That and the entire Owlboy OST by Jonathan Geer. Quality content.

6. What languages do you wish you could speak?

Japanese and French probably. Japanese for anime/manga purposes and French because I’m in Canada and I used to love learning French in school.

7. Describe your idea of a ‘perfect day’

Oh boy time to crank out some radical, overly detailed hypotheticals. -cracks knuckles-

I wake up at a decent hour, well rested for the first time in forever, no anxiety or depression clawing at the walls of my brain. I had a dream that night that was either interesting enough to right down or gives me an idea for a character design. I get out of my bedroom in my own apartment, and greet my two cats who are likely named after my characters and have subsequent Warrior cat names as well.

Sunlight comes in through the sliding doors, the cats watch the birds on the feeder outside on the balcony. I see some of my favourites there to meet us: cardinals, blue jays, maybe an oriole or a hummingbird depending on the season. If it’s winter, snow is gently falling, with no wind to whip it around. I live in a small enough town or city that the view out the window is of more organic scenery rather than concrete, maybe there’s a river or a body of water nearby and it’s at least relatively quiet.

I stay in my comfortable clothes for a while as I mull over the idea I have in my head and make breakfast (or lunch, depending on the time), listening to music as I make it. Maybe pancakes with bacon, strawberries on the side. Or if I’m feeling like a sandwich I’ll have a BLT. I don’t feel sick after eating it so close to waking up like I usually do.

Suddenly, the design I had clicks into a viable story. The ideas start flowing, and I’m completely taken into my imagination, reality doesn’t exist for a little while as I dive headfirst into this world of new if unclear possibilities. I write and draw things for it, likely pacing around the room and talking to myself to work things out. Much to the confusion of my cats, I’m sure.

I make something viable enough to post, and I feel excited enough to rant about it to my heart’s content, no fear. Feeling satisfied in my endeavours, I get to work on what I need to do that day, like making a comic page for the week and making a new design for Redbubble. If I have freelance work to do, that takes priority, knowing that I’ll need the evening to get together with my friends.

I wear my favourite colours, hat and scarf probably with a star on it somewhere, I feel cute but comfortable, no inhibitions about what I look like for once. We go out to eat (knowing my friends it’s probably sushi), maybe see a new animated movie that’s out and analyze the heck out of it. We laugh and talk for hours, a complete unit of solidarity in our combined friendship. I hear they’re all doing well in their endeavours, and I’m immensely proud of them.

I get back home in the evening, greeting my cats once again. The stars are out, and I stargaze for a little bit. I come back in and relax on the couch to watch TV or play a video game of some kind, probably scroll through my social feeds / check messages. I see pictures of the time out with my friends and I’m actually in them this time.

I get a message from whoever I consider to be my best friend, either from after the hangout if they were there or from earlier. We start chatting about art we’re making or ideas we have, bouncing them off left and right and encouraging each other the whole way. If we’re old friends, it’ll feel like it did back in grade school with our late night Facebook chats.

I go to bed feeling happy, and probably with at least one of my cats sleeping on me in a precarious spot. It doesn’t take long for me to fall asleep, aside from maybe the ideas still flowing. If so, I take some time to read or something down and then sleep, not too concerned about what’ll happen tomorrow.

8. What’s the worst movie trope in your opinion?

The first one that comes to mind for me is the “liar revealed” plot, overused and often a lazy source for conflict in the third act. I also hate forced romance in general but I’m not sure if that’s consider a trope or something broader. This applies to TV shows too.

9. What made you laugh the hardest ever in your life?

Hysterical laughter at reckless hours of the morning is what allowed me to survive college and the apocalypse that was 2016, so there are quite a few moments. One of them happened during a particularly bad bout of depression while I was alone in Toronto for the summer. Out of morbid curiosity I watched a shitty theatre rip of the Emoji Movie online to kill time while I couldn’t sleep (don’t ever do that, not recommended). Then my friend sends me her drawing of Spyro to make me feel better (important note: she doesn’t draw dragons) with a funny caption and I lose my fucking mind. Just... gone, immediately. After the soul-sucking depravity of that movie and my depression combined I’ll bet anything was funny. At that point I didn’t even care if I was being loud at whatever time it was at night I was WHEEZING. Bless my friend.

10. What animal is the most majestic?

All.

(though I am partial to dragons, cats and birds)

11. If you could afford everything, what kind of clothes would you wear?

I’ve noticed I often dress myself like a character designer would when it comes to colour coordination (hard to turn that part of my brain off lol), so I guess I would continue doing that but tailor it even more to that idea. That and fandom shirts all the time. And custom cosplay outfits that I could commission from other people, of both my fave characters and my own OCs. I make armour designs a lot so that would be so much fun. If I were a bolder personality I would probably wear the cosplays in public and see how many people notice, or see if it makes a kid excitedly point at me. If I could act I would recite a quote or two for them. It would be quite the game with something more subtle, and you get that one fan on the subway coming out of the woodwork like “...are you dressed like _____ from ______?”.

#stole from my buddy again lmao #long post #this was fun #if you want to do this go ahead!#i don't really tag aha #text

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