"Stede needs to dress in his old clothes"
"No Stede needs to keep it simple and wear plain clothes"
All of the above are incorrect, Stede needs to wear a series of shirts that all inexplicably get torn open no matter how hard he tries to keep them on. The shirt we see him wearing in the finale is torn up ten minutes into season 2, and after weeks of pirating, they find an untorn shirt, and Stede gratefully puts it on. Two minutes later, it's torn again, and he looks around for another shirt but finds none.
Cut to a montage over the course of weeks of Stede finding new shirts and immediately getting them torn in increasingly dramatic ways.
When he finally reaches Ed, he's given up on wearing shirts.
Ed scoffs and goes "you think you'll just seduce me by showing up here without a shirt?"
Stede looks down, he forgot he wasn't wearing one because hes so used to it now.
"Not at all! I mean, if it sways you-"
"It doesn't."
"Right, of course. Well, the truth is I can't seem to keep a shirt on without it being destroyed in some way. So, here I am."
"That's ridiculous. Can someone get him a fucking shirt?"
Frenchie runs off and grabs one and tosses it to Stede. Stede looks at Ed.
"Are you sure you don't care what happens to this shirt?"
"Nothings going to happen to it."
"Edward, I'm telling you something will."
"Its not mine, so I don't give a fuck. Besides, nothing will happen."
Stede shrugs.
"If you insist."
He pulls it over his head and comically the shirt just seems to fall apart at every seam when its just barely over his head, falling to his feet in a pile of fabric, only one scrap hanging barely over his shoulder.
Ed blinks.
"Oh."
"Yes, exactly. It's a curse, really."
Ed's eyes trail down Stedes torso.
"Mm, yeah, totally. Curse."
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Prompt: "What? Where?!" (Discord Drabble)
"Steve," Eddie says, giving a weary look as he smoothes his hands over his jacket.
Not that the leather would actually crumple. But he does suspect Steve stepped on it at some point.
"What?" Steve hums, palming at his polo.
He needn't worry, the thing is so tight it naturally irons itself out.
"Your hair!" Eddie warns, eyeing the great mess atop his boyfriend's – somewhat flushed – noggin.
"What?" Steve whips around to look in the mirror of Claudia Henderson's powder room, "Where?!"
Eddie can actually see Steve's brain catch up to the hair catastrophe at hand, a recoiling shiver running through his body.
He opens his mouth to laugh but instead finds himself yelping at the distinct sound of Dustin squabbling with his mother in the kitchen. Eddie clamps his hand over the door handle, heart picking up speed again. They were supposed to be out on the back patio!
His mind races through a myriad of excuses as he stares at the pink tiles encasing them.
Claudia's disapproval! Wanye's reaction. A fast-approaching, chastising "Boy!" from the old man...
Dustin's inevitable disgust and cacophonous laughter...
He rolls his eyes as he looks up at Steve's reflection. He'd meant a quick fix-up, a combing of fingers through hair.
Not Steve meticulously picking at individual strands in efforts to reconstruct his signature coif.
They both scream at a banging on the bathroom door.
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Little things are more special to the First Class trio than sharing an order of Neapolitan ice cream.
~
Angeal loves it, only having to pay for a single item
Genesis loves it, enjoying stealing scoops from his friends’ respective flavors.
And Sephiroth loves it, for what it represents. How he no longer he has to go to the parlor and order a lonely cup of vanilla. How he no longer has to get something plain, something dull. How he can still get his favorite flavor, but have it be accompanied by the sugary meld of the other two. Two other flavors blending into his own. Making it better. Making it more colorful. Two other flavors, so distinct and lovable, merging into his mundane life… and making it into something special. Joining together as one.
He also likes battling Genesis’s spoon.
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Guys please vote for my silly little guy. My oink oink. My pink princess. My blood warrior. My big brother. My favorite wet rock. My braid buddy. My idol. My anarchist. My advanced interrogationer. My potato prince. My crown king. My little pig guy. My animal lover.
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