#I just think her shapes and colors are neat

[lightsoutmatthews]

Hii! I was wondering if I could please request Joseph Woll x younger reader like by 5 years? or maybe Willy/ or auston with younger reader with not too big of a gap but like 6 years difference? Something about them connecting and she’s like someone with a background who isn’t really connected to the hockey world (moreso legal/psych) like the NHL players association member and how she’s not as open to wanting to explore the connection with Joseph because she’s different compared to other WAGS (not like the standard; like non-white)?? Thank you if your down to do this ask!!

I will preference this by saying I am NOT a person of color, any and all experiences described in this are inspired by what friends told me or from media!!

If anyone is in any way shape or form uncomfortable with me writing about people of Color please don’t hesitate to let me know!!

From different worlds – Joseph Woll

You weren’t even supposed to be at the game. It was one of those last-minute “you work too much, come out for once” nights.

One of your co-workers had gotten tickets from her brother who worked in media and dragged you along.

You weren’t dressed in blue or white, you didn’t know any of the chants, you didn’t follow hockey aside from the occasional headline that was popping up on your feed.

You worked in legal and that world didn’t exactly intersect with the sports one.

Your days were full of NDAs, document review, contract language and arguments about the intent versus the execution. Sitting in the lower bowl, with overpriced beer in hand, watching grown men slam into each other wasn’t your usual Thursday.

Still, something about the way the goalie moved coughed your attention. Calm. Efficient. Focused.

You didn’t know much about the position, but even a newcomer could see he was solid back there.

His name flashed across the jumbotron: Joseph Woll.

You made a mental note to look him up online later, more out of curiosity than anything.

Later, in the private media lounge (which you had no real business being in, but your co-workers brother waved you through), he walked in. He was taller than you expected, hair damp, suit neat but not flashy.

He didn’t carry himself like someone who wanted attention.

You didn’t notice him approaching until he stopped in front of your group, offering a polite smile and a greeting for your co-workers brother.

Then his eyes landed on you. “Hi,” he greeted.

You didn’t say anything at first, just nodded. It wasn’t nerves, it was some sort of distance. Like you weren’t sure what he wanted or if you wanted to be seen by someone like him.

Your co-worker elbowed you. “This is my friend. She´s the brilliant one who talks circles around judges.”

You gave a polite, short smile. “I work in legal. Mostly compliance,” you explained.

“Sounds complicated,” he offered.

“It is.”

He chuckled softly, clearly not thrown off. “I´m Joseph.”

“I know,” slipped out of your mouth before you could stop it.

There was a beat of silence, but not an awkward one. More like he was studying you, in a quiet, respectful way.

Then someone else pulled him aside and you figured out that was it.

You didn’t belong here anyway.

---------------

You didn’t expect to see him again.

The charity fundraiser was just another work assignment. Your form had sent you to oversee legal logistics for a client´s nonprofit initiative. Contracts, permits, donation tracking.

It was hosted in a boutique downtown venue, full of glass walls and strategic lightning.

You wore a structured black suit dress with minimal jewelry; your work badge clipped at your waist. Efficient and professional, invisible to everyone who wasn’t actively looking for you.

Then you spotted him.

Same calm posture, same composed energy.

His suit was different this time, lighter and a little sharper, but he still didn’t walk like someone trying to be noticed.

He was surrounded by people. Event photographers, fans that managed to get an invite and someone who looked like a PR person.

You didn’t think you were near him long enough to notice you, but he did, and when he did, he smiled.

No big wave, no dramatic move to get your attention. Justa simple, small smile. Like he remembered you.

You nodded politely, then turned back to your laptop.

------------

A few days later your phone buzzed with a new Instagram dm.

@josephwoll: Hey. I hope I´m not being weird here but it was wondering if you ever wanted to catch coffee or something.

You stared at it until your phone went dark, opened it again and starred some more.

You didn’t reply, at least not right away because if you were being honest with yourself, the whole thing made you feel a little uneasy.

Not in a really bad way, just in a way that forced you to think too much.

You weren’t one of the women he probably saw all the time. You weren’t blonde. You weren’t bubbly. You didn’t post curated outfits or spotted team merch in the arena.

You were a little sharp. A little too direct. Quiet, but guarded. You grew up in a house where respect mattered more than looks, where ambition wasn’t optional, where you had to fight your way into law school scholarships and navigate cultural codes every that just to be taken seriously in rooms that weren’t made for you.

And hockey? That wasn’t your world.

You didn’t grow up skating even though you lived in Canada and you didn’t watch the Leafs with your dad.

You didn’t know what a power play was until two months ago. You only knew his name because it had flashed across the screen, and even then, you had forgotten it until you saw him at the even.

Why would someone like him, who could easily date someone who fit the image, someone who already knew the system, be interested in you?

You weren’t naïve. You heard what people said about you. They said it like it was a compliment, but it always meant different.

And you weren’t in the mood to be a novelty.

So, you didn’t answer. For two days you left the message unread.

You kept working. Reviewed contracts, drafted redlines, responded to firm emails like nothing was sitting in your inbox that made your stomach flutter and twist at the same time.

On the third day, after a long day and a later dinner alone in your apartment, you opened the message.

Your fingers hovered over the keyboard, typed a few words but deleted them, then, tried again.

In the end you sent: I´m not really part of your world.

The typing bubble appeared almost immediately.

@josephwoll: That´s kind of the point.

You didn’t reply again. instead, you stared at the wall above your couch for ten minutes, trying to decide what kind of person you wanted to be in this moment.

Cautious? Or curious?

You weren’t sure yet. So, you waited.

-----------

Two weeks passed before you agreed to meet.

Not for dinner. Not for anything that felt too much like a thing. Just coffee at neutral ground.

He picked a small café off Queen Street. Something quiet and local with no cameras.

You showed up five minutes late, not because you meant to, but because you debated going right up until the moment you locked your apartment door.

A part of you were still tense when you entered, like you were about to walk into a room that required a code you didn’t know.

When you saw him, seated at a small table in the corner, hoodie and cap, sipping on something that looked like tea, you almost turned around.

But he looked up and smiled like he was genuinely glad you showed up.

“Hey,” he said, standing, not making a move to hug or assume.

“Hey,” you replied, sliding into the chair across from him.

The first few minutes were awkward. Not in a bad way, both of you were just guarded.

He didn’t push. You appreciated that.

He asked about your job and actually listened when you talked about compliance, how it was less about catching people doing bad things and more about preventing the bad things in the first place.

You expected his eyes to glaze over. They didn’t

“Do you like it?” he asked with genuine curiosity.

You paused. “I like what it means. I like that I´m the person they call when someone is trying to slip something shady through. It´s like quiet justice.”

He smiled at that. “That´s a great phrase.”

You shrugged. “It´s not catchy enough for a TED Talk.”

He laughed and for the first time, your shoulders relaxed a little.

Eventually, you asked about hockey. Not because you suddenly cared about stats, but because it felt fair.

He kept it light. Told a funny story about a miscommunication on the bench. Mentioned a teammate´s obsession with weird superstitions. Nothing arrogant or an over explanation.

You liked that.

When the conversation slowed, something pushed at you though. “I´m not…I don’t really fit the WAG thing,” you mumbled.

He looked up from his drink, seriousness overtaking his features. “I didn’t ask you out to fit a thing.”

“It´s not just that,” you added, “I don’t look like the rest of them. I didn’t grow up in this world. It feels too far away.”

You figured you should be clear with him from the start to prevent something from happening that would end up in chaos and catastrophe.

“Far from what?” he asked.

You hesitated for a second. “From me.”

He didn’t try to talk you into it. He didn’t say “That´s not true” or “Don’t think like that”. Instead, he said, “Yeah, I get that.”

You looked at him, skeptical. “Do you?”

He nodded. “I went to a school where most of the guys were trust fund kids who played golf and wore blazers for fun. I didn’t fit either.”

You snorted. “Not the same thing.”

“No,” he agreed. “Absolutely not, but I get what it´s like to feel like you´re visiting someone else´s life.”

That stuck with you.

Neither of you filled the silence for a while.

Eventually, you said, “I´m still not sure what this is.”

He tilted his head slightly. “It´s just coffee.”

That made you smile.

---------------

Dating Joseph wasn’t a performance. Not for the media, not for the team, and definitely not for Instagram.

There were no hard launches. No coordinated photos, no tagging locations or sitting front row in Leafs gear. You didn’t post anything, and he didn’t ask you to. If anything, he seemed relieved by how private you were.

It started with a few more coffees. Texts that didn’t feel obligatory. A night walk in Trinity Bellwood’s when the city was quieter and you didn’t have to share him with a hundred eyes.

You told no one at work. Not because you were embarrassed, but because explaining it felt like inviting opinions you didn’t need. You weren’t interested in becoming office gossip, or in fielding questions like “Wait, the hockey player?” followed by the subtle once-over, followed by the even subtler but you don’t seem like the type.

Besides, you liked keeping it yours.

At first, everything between you stayed in this safe, in-between space. Not casual, but not quite defined. You’d meet after his practices, usually later in the evening when your work was winding down.

You’d talk about nothing, or everything. Sometimes he’d come over, still in sweatpants, and you’d sit on your couch eating takeout and laughing over some weird legal story you’d picked up during the week.

He always asked questions. About your cases, your background, your parents, who he learned were immigrants with strong opinions and even stronger expectations.

“So, they don’t know about me?” he asked one night.

You gave him a half-smile. “Not yet. They think I’m working too much again.”

He didn’t push. Just nodded, and said, “I get it.”

And he did.

You could tell by the way he never assumed things. He didn’t act like his world was more important. If anything, he seemed to tiptoe around it, like he was wary of how much space it could take up.

But the space came anyway.

The first time you really realized was at a team dinner.

You weren’t supposed to go. He had RSVP’d solo; told you there was no pressure. But a few days before, he mentioned offhandedly, “I’d like to bring you. If you want.”

You said yes.

Then spent the next three days debating it.

You changed your outfit six times. Settled on a long-sleeved cream blouse and tailored pants. Clean, simple, nothing flashy.

When you walked in, holding his hand, you saw the way people glanced your way. Curious, maybe a little confused. Not rude. Just...surprised.

The other partners were friendly, mostly. Smiling, sweet, and immaculately styled.

A few made genuine conversation but others asked vague, surface-level questions that circled around the same invisible curiosity:

What are you doing here?

You laughed politely. Answered things like, “I work in legal compliance,” and tried not to wince when someone said, “Oh wow, you must be smart.”

But what stuck the most was the comment made halfway through the night.

One of the girlfriends leaned over during dessert, smiling at you like she meant well. “You’re really pretty. So… unique looking. Kind of exotic, you know?”

You blinked.

Joseph heard it too. His hand stiffened just slightly under the table.

You smiled thinly. “Not really a word I like.”

“Oh?” she blinked. “Sorry, I meant it as a compliment.”

You nodded once. “That’s what everyone says.”

Later, in the car, neither of you said anything at first. The silence sat there between you. Heavy, but not hostile.

Finally, he spoke. “I’m sorry.”

“You didn’t say it.”

“I still hate that it happened.”

You shrugged, looking out the window. “It’s not the first time.”

“I know,” he said quietly. “Doesn’t mean it should keep happening.”

You exhaled. “It’s not about her. It’s… the feeling. Like I’m a tourist in your life.”

He looked over. “You’re not.”

“You say that. And maybe you believe it. But people look at me and wonder why I’m there. They see you, and then they see me, and it doesn’t line up.”

“It does to me,” he said firmly. “You’re the only thing that feels real sometimes.”

That surprised you.

He didn’t say it like a line. It wasn’t rehearsed or dramatic. He said it like it had been sitting in his throat for a while and just came out.

You looked at him.

Really looked.

And in that moment, you realized how alone he probably felt too.

Everyone assumed athletes lived in the center of the world. But Joseph didn’t act like someone in the center. He moved around it quietly and cautiously. Like he didn’t want to get swallowed.

You weren’t so different, after all.

Maybe just in opposite corners of the same room.

------------

You didn’t call it a relationship.

Not because it wasn’t one but because calling it that felt like something you weren’t ready to explain. Not to your friends, not to your family, and maybe not even to yourself.

It was easier to keep it unnamed.

You weren’t hiding him, but you weren’t ready to invite him into the part of your life that came with history, culture, expectations, and a family that had never been subtle about what they thought made sense for you.

Still, the more time passed, the more you realized this thing between you wasn’t staying casual.

Joseph was consistent. He wasn’t intense. He didn’t overwhelm you with messages or big gestures. But he showed up in quiet ways, small ways that chipped away at your usual distance.

He noticed when you were tired before you said anything. He remembered the case you were working on and sent you good luck texts the morning of court filings. He made sure you ate, even if it meant dropping off dinner outside your office when you worked late.

It wasn’t showy. It wasn’t loud. It was steady.

That steadiness made it harder to keep the lines blurry.

So, one night, sitting on your couch with your legs tucked under you and his hoodie slouched over your frame, you asked the question that had been hovering for weeks.

“Is this something?”

He didn’t pretend not to understand.

He looked at you, calm and open. “Feels like something to me.”

You nodded. “It feels like that to me too.”

But the words caught in your throat again, so you looked away and said, “It’s just… hard to bring people into my world.”

Joseph shifted closer, careful. “What part?”

“My family. My culture. The assumptions.” You exhaled. “It’s not that they wouldn’t like you. You’re impossible not to like. It’s just that you wouldn’t be what they expected.”

He nodded slowly. “They want someone like them.”

“Exactly.”

“I’m not threatened by that,” he said simply.

You raised an eyebrow. “You should be.”

He smiled a little. “I’m not.”

You didn’t know what to say to that. You weren’t used to people not being intimidated by your background or, worse, trying to flatten it to make it more palatable.

Joseph didn’t do either. He never tried to decode you. He just listened.

Later that week, he asked, “Would it be easier if I met them as a friend first?”

You blinked. “You want to meet my parents?”

He shrugged. “Eventually. Not if it’s too soon but I’d rather show up than have you carry it alone.”

That did something to you.

Because no one had ever said that before. Not in that way.

You didn’t say yes that day. But you didn’t say no either.

----------

A few more weeks passed before you finally told your parents.

You mentioned him on a Saturday call. Your mom asked if you were seeing anyone, casually, like she always did. You hesitated, then said, “Kind of. His name is Joseph.”

There was a pause. Then: “What does he do?”

“He’s a goalie. Hockey.”

Longer pause.

“Like… for a team?”

“Yeah. Professionally.”

Another beat. “So… he plays for fun?”

“No, Mom,” you said gently. “It’s his actual job. He plays for the Leafs.”

Silence.

Then your father’s voice, in the background: “You’re dating an athlete?”

You sighed. “He’s not just an athlete.”

That’s as far as it went that day. They didn’t ask to meet him. They didn’t say much else, but you could tell they were turning it over in their heads. Running it against the mental checklist they had built since you were old enough to spell lawyer.

Still, you were proud of yourself for saying it out loud.

It didn’t fix everything. But it was a start.

-------------

A few nights later, Joseph came over with groceries.

You had been too tired to cook, and he showed up with enough ingredients for a real meal, chicken, rice, some kind of salad you wouldn’t normally bother with, but that he somehow made look easy.

You sat on the counter, watching him chop and season like it was second nature.

“Do you always do this?” you asked.

“What? Cook?”

“No. Show up like it’s nothing.”

He glanced over. “It’s not nothing.”

You looked at him, serious now. “Why me, Joseph?”

He looked up, took a second to answer. “Because you don’t treat me like I’m something I’m not.”

You tilted your head. “And what’s that?”

He dried his hands. “Famous. Special. A job.”

You blinked.

“I like that you talk to me like a person,” he added. “You push back. You challenge me. You don’t perform.”

You swallowed, because something about that made your throat tight.

He stepped closer, leaned against the counter next to you. “And if I’m being honest… I think I need someone who sees me that way.”

You didn’t say anything for a long minute.

Then quietly, you said, “I think I need that too.”

He smiled. Just a little.

And that night, for the first time, you let yourself believe that maybe – maybe – this wasn’t something you had to keep at arm’s length.

Maybe you weren’t a tourist in his world.

Maybe you were just new to it.

And maybe that was okay.

[arolesbianism]

Thinking abt my bndori ocs again... I need to draw them more I love them all sm

[picklesplitz]

Do you ever just get so bored you make a whole Alt design on the spot ...

I drew her nakey too so I could reference her markings if I ever needed. She got the pants built into her bro

[shkika]

Sliver overseer spotted??? Striggy??

Maybe even....

Stinky.

Though Moon's expressive overseer is a little special...

[dior-luxury]

How'd They Propose To You

PT.1 [trey clover . jack howl . jade leech . jamil viper . epel felmier . silver] PT.2 [cater . ruggie . floyd . kailm . vil . rook . idia . lilia . sebek]

( ✧ ) ────── fluff - she/her .

- [𝐜𝐡.] trey clover . jack howl . jade leech . jamil viper . epel felmier . silver

- [𝐩:𝐬] Emotional Intimacy / Fluff . Marriage Proposal . Mentions of Future (e.g., family, dreams) . Slight Angst (Epel’s insecurities, Silver’s loneliness)

Note: I wrote these with lots of love and character insight — Epel’s countryside roots and yearning to be seen, and Silver’s desire for peace and purpose are central to their proposals. I hope this gives you warm fuzzy feelings 💕 Let me know if you'd like versions with other characters ! ♡( ◡‿◡ )

Trey Clover

It started with a letter.

You found it tucked inside your baking apron one quiet Saturday morning—a soft cream envelope, the Clover family seal pressed neatly in wax. The handwriting was unmistakably Trey’s: neat, deliberate, comforting. Inside was a note asking you to meet him at the Heartslabyul greenhouse at sunset.

The walk there was quiet, peaceful. Spring had arrived in full bloom. The air was sweet with budding roses and the earthy perfume of garden herbs. As you stepped into the greenhouse, the world seemed to pause.

It had been transformed.

Fairy lights twinkled through ivy-draped arches. Rows of potted clovers shimmered with droplets of dew, and glass jars glowed softly with fireflies. At the center stood a small round table, covered with a hand-stitched tablecloth embroidered with the Queen’s roses. A three-tiered cake sat on a stand, iced in white and green, decorated with edible flowers and delicate gold lettering.

You blinked. The letters read:

“Every chapter sweeter than the last.”

And then you heard his voice.

“Hey,” Trey said, stepping from behind a row of flowering bushes, dressed in a crisp button-up and vest, tie slightly loosened, eyes warm. “Hope I didn’t make you wait too long.”

You smiled as he approached, his hands gently reaching for yours. He kissed your knuckles like he always did when words weren’t enough.

“I’ve been thinking about this for a while,” he said, voice quieter now, the weight of emotion in every word. “Ever since we baked our first cake together. Ever since you fell asleep in the library with flour in your hair and your smile still somehow sweeter than anything I could put in an oven.”

You laughed softly, eyes brimming.

Trey took a deep breath, pulling something from his pocket—a small velvet box, the color of forest leaves.

“I know life isn’t always going to be sugar and frosting,” he said. “There’ll be bitter days, tough bakes, and cracked crusts. But if I’m going to face any of that—burnt edges and all—I want it to be with you.”

He knelt slowly, the glassy floor reflecting the warmth in his eyes.

“Will you marry me?”

Inside the box was a ring shaped like a delicate vine wrapped around a single emerald, shaped like a clover leaf. Handcrafted. No doubt.

You could barely choke out the “yes” through your tears before he was standing again, arms around you, holding you like a man who had finally found home.

Later, you shared the cake. It was a perfect balance of tart raspberry and soft vanilla cream.

Just like Trey. Thoughtful. Grounded. Honest. And head-over-heels in love.

Jack Howl

With Jack, love had been something sacred. Not loud, not overly poetic—but fierce and deeply rooted. He wasn’t a man of flowery words, but everything he did—the way he protected you, respected you, always supported you—spoke volumes.

After finishing school, Jack had become a respected guardian of the Starlight Expanse—a sweeping range of ancient wildlands west of the Savannaclaw territory. He lived in a modest cabin, surrounded by pine trees, riverstones, and silence. And often, you visited, sharing weekends hiking the cliffs, lying under constellations, and sitting by campfires where he’d sneak glances at you like you were something he still couldn’t believe he deserved.

On the anniversary of your relationship, Jack invited you to hike a new path with him—an old trail he'd been restoring himself. It led high up into the mountains, through narrow ridges, blooming wildflowers, and old stone arches carved with symbols of the old tribes.

As dusk fell, you reached a cliff overlooking the vast wildlands. The stars began to prick the sky, and the moon rose—huge, luminous, casting a silver sheen over everything.

Jack turned to you, looking breathtaking in the moonlight. His hair fluttered with the wind, his tail stilling behind him.

“I always thought I was meant to walk alone,” he said, voice deep and honest. “Wolves don’t… usually need packs like others do. I was okay with solitude. But then I met you. And suddenly... it wasn’t enough anymore. Every mountain felt lonelier without you by my side.”

You stepped closer, heart pounding.

“I wanted to bring you here because this is where I made my decision,” he said, kneeling in the grass. From a small leather pouch around his neck, he retrieved a ring—hand-forged from stone and silver, with a single small diamond embedded in its center.

“It’s not fancy. It’s not perfect. But it’s strong. Like my feelings for you. I don’t want a ceremony or attention—I just want you. Always. Will you be my mate, for life?”

Tears slid silently down your cheeks. Jack’s hands were warm as he took yours, and his eyes—usually so intense—were soft, vulnerable.

You knelt with him, pressing your forehead to his. “Yes,” you whispered.

He exhaled, tail flicking once with relief, then pulled you into a tight, protective embrace—one that said “home” more than any place ever had.

And above, the stars bore witness, as the wild and the heart became one.

Jade Leech

With Jade, your relationship was anything but ordinary. From the beginning, he had been a puzzle wrapped in a smile—dangerous in his elegance, but mesmerizing. Over time, behind his teasing words and cryptic looks, you found a man who was curious about love, who had never quite known how tender a connection could feel until you came into his life.

After graduation, Jade returned to the Coral Sea, taking on a diplomatic role that let him travel between land and ocean. He’d often bring you rare mushrooms from distant forests, small ocean treasures, and letters written in his perfect, flowing script—always sealed with wax, always smelling faintly of salt and ink.

One day, he invited you on a private excursion—“an adventure,” he called it, voice light and playful. He guided you to a secluded sea cave he’d discovered, hidden behind a curtain of kelp off the southern coast. The tide was low when you arrived, and as the sunlight filtered through the surface, the cave glimmered like a cathedral carved by the ocean itself. Bioluminescent moss clung to the rocks, glowing faintly blue, and tide pools sparkled with tiny sea creatures.

Jade turned to you, hands behind his back, smiling just slightly.

“You once told me you wanted to see the place where I felt most like myself,” he said. “This is it. This place is both wild and calm… like you make me feel.”

You blinked, overwhelmed by the beauty—and the fact that he’d remembered such a small, passing thing.

He led you deeper into the cave, to a small flat rock that overlooked an underground pool glowing with a soft, enchanted light. There, nestled in a tide-smoothed shell, was a ring: a unique band shaped from coral and white gold, with a pearl set in its center—glimmering with the faintest swirl of blue, like moonlight trapped in water.

Jade took your hand gently, his expression uncharacteristically sincere.

“I’ve watched the tides change, the reefs grow and crumble, the land erode and form again… And still, I’ve never seen anything so constant as the way I feel when I look at you. Curious. Grounded. At peace.”

He dropped to one knee on the glistening cave floor.

“I don’t pretend to be simple, and I cannot promise calm waters every day. But I can promise loyalty, wonder, and a love as deep and eternal as the sea. Will you marry me?”

You nodded, tears slipping down your cheeks as you whispered yes.

He kissed your hand, slipping the ring onto your finger as waves echoed softly in the background. Then he stood, pulling you into a slow, wordless embrace as the ocean whispered around you, forever holding the secret of the moment it witnessed two souls choosing each other.

Jamil Viper

Falling for Jamil was like watching a guarded temple open its doors to you alone.

He was a man who had always lived in someone else’s shadow, who had learned to survive by hiding—his talents, his feelings, his dreams. But with you… he had finally started living for himself. And slowly, impossibly, he had allowed love to bloom—quietly, steadily, like a candle that refused to be extinguished no matter how many times the wind tried.

After years of study and work, Jamil had become a renowned performer and choreographer across the Scalding Sands and beyond. He was known for his breathtaking dance performances, his fire magic, and his unspoken magnetism. But despite the crowds and praise, he always made time for you—stealing away into the desert, where the stars were so thick they felt like they might fall.

One evening, Jamil asked you to accompany him to a rooftop performance in a palace overlooking the oasis. You assumed it was one of his shows, but when you arrived, the space was empty—just open air, flowing curtains, and a circle of candles laid out in a ring of red and gold petals. A lone tabla played softly from somewhere unseen.

“Jamil…?” you asked, bewildered.

He stepped into the candlelit ring wearing his traditional red and black, but tonight, his expression was more vulnerable than you had ever seen. No mask. No tension.

“I choreographed something,” he said softly, reaching for your hand. “Just for you. And me.”

Then, without further word, he began to dance.

It was a solo piece of story and soul—a blend of fire and emotion. His movements told the tale of a boy trapped in chains of duty, eyes always cast down… until a figure of light walked into his life. His steps became bolder, freer, as if each moment with you was releasing him, piece by piece. And at the end, as the final flame circled him, he dropped to one knee, his hand extended to you.

In his palm sat a ring—ornate and beautiful, inlaid with rubies and obsidian, shaped like a coiled serpent guarding a heart.

“I never imagined someone would love all of me,” he said, voice thick with emotion. “Not just the dancer, not just the servant or the schemer. Me. And now that I’ve felt that love… I can’t go back.”

He looked up, his dark eyes glimmering with a fire only you had ever truly seen.

“I want to build a future not in someone else’s shadow… but in our own light. With you. Will you marry me?”

You fell to your knees before him, nodding through your tears. He reached for you, holding you close as music, fire, and moonlight danced around your entwined forms.

The desert winds whispered over the rooftop, carrying the beginning of your shared forever across the sands.

Epel Felmier

It was springtime in Harveston, and the apple trees were in full bloom.

The countryside stretched out in a watercolor of soft pink petals, dew-frosted green grass, and gentle sunshine. You had come with Epel to visit his family for the season — partly for the festival, partly for a bit of a break from the whirlwind of NRC. Epel had insisted on showing you his "secret spot," a place hidden at the edge of his family’s orchard where the trees grew in wild, enchanted arches.

He led you there barefoot, the grass cool underfoot, laughing at the way your fingers intertwined. He looked so at peace here — freckles glowing, violet eyes warm like dusk skies, his country drawl a soft hum as he told you stories about when he used to climb these trees as a boy.

But today, something was different.

“I gotta confess something,” he said suddenly, his voice a little hoarse. He scratched the back of his neck, eyes flicking up to meet yours. “I’ve been wantin’ to ask ya somethin’... for a long while now.”

Before you could respond, he pulled out something wrapped in a handkerchief from his coat. He unwrapped it slowly: a ring made of braided silver and rose gold, shaped like twisted vines, holding a pale lavender gem — the exact color of his eyes. Handmade, by the local artisan. With love. With care.

Epel dropped to one knee in the soft grass, right beneath the blooming apple trees.

“I know I ain’t always perfect. I get worked up tryin’ to prove myself, ‘specially around people who don’t think I’m strong just ‘cause of how I look. But you... you see me. The real me. You’ve always made me feel like I ain’t gotta try so hard just to be loved.”

The petals were falling around you both like snow.

“I want to spend the rest of my life with you. Laughin’ with you, growin’ with you, maybe even raisin’ a family out here someday, in a house by this orchard. Will ya marry me?”

His voice cracked slightly on the last line, and his hand trembled just enough to betray how hard he was trying to be composed.

You said yes. Of course you did.

And as you kissed him under a sky of blossoms and sunlight, he whispered against your lips, “I’ll love you ‘til the apples stop growin’, and even after that.”

Silver

The sun was just beginning to dip below the horizon, casting the forest in golds and violets.

Silver had taken you to a quiet glade near the edge of Briar Valley — a place that few people knew about, where the trees whispered in ancient tongues and the breeze always seemed to hum lullabies. He had told you it was where he used to go to clear his mind, to think, to dream.

You both sat together on a blanket beneath a canopy of willow trees, surrounded by flickering fae lights that blinked in and out of existence like stars caught between realities.

“Do you know what I used to dream about before I met you?” he asked, voice low and soft, brushing a strand of your hair from your face.

You looked up into those calm, silvery eyes. “Tell me.”

“I dreamed of peace. Of stillness. Of finding a place — or a person — where I could let go. Where I didn’t have to always be ready to protect or to run. I thought it was just a fantasy. But then I met you.”

He took a small wooden box from his side — carved with delicate forest motifs, glowing faintly with magic. Inside, nestled in velvet moss, was a ring of moonstone and silver filigree, shaped like blooming lilies and crescent moons. Ancient enchantments laced it: protection, clarity, love everlasting.

Silver knelt, but not awkwardly or with nerves. No — he knelt with reverence, like a knight before a queen.

“I’ve spent my life dreaming with my eyes closed. But with you... I dream while I’m awake. You’re my dawn after centuries of night. Will you marry me, and walk through all the dreams and waking days to come — with me?”

You felt tears rise unbidden, your heart aching with the beauty of it. The way he looked at you — steady, unshakable, serene — it was like every fairytale you had ever read but more real, more raw.

When you said yes, he smiled — that quiet, rare smile he saved only for you.

Then he held you in his arms as the stars lit one by one, and you knew — truly knew — that you were his peace, and he was yours.

⟡ tag list : @dreaming-of-tae @chai-yas @yunar1 @fever-en @sol3chu @alastor-simp

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

even more tlm references

Part 1 (Episodes 1 + 2) / Part 2 (Episode 3) / This post covers Episodes 4 + 5, as well as references from the event boys' voice lines and vignettes (since those have also been unlocked now)!

OH MY GOD. Rook says he enjoyed a bath in the hotel's bathhouse. He and Malleus comment on the beautiful interior of it, mentioning a shell-themed bathtub and a carving of a fish. THEY'RE LITERALLY DESCRIBING THE BATHHOUSE THAT ARIEL WASHED IN???

While at an outdoor market, we spot a lady in a white dress secured with a rope. Jade explains that it is a fashion style unique to the Sunshine Lands. By simply changing the way you wrap the cloth and rope, you can make many different looks! This fashion originated from repurposing the cloth used to make sails and rope.

This might just be me buggin’ but 😳 Jade says the Coral Sea has high biodiversity, meaning when those animals and plants decay, they add a lot of minerals and nutrients that enrich the water. This makes rich, imami sea salt. I wonder if this is a reference to??? How the sea Ariel comes from is also very colorful and biodiverse, as we see in Under the Sea.

At the outdoor market, Malleus spots forks of a strange shape. These, Jade explains, are actually combs in the shape of forks. There is a legend about a mermaid that combed her hair with a fork because she had recently come to land, and at a time when her people and humans knew little of each other. She would go on to have a happy marriage. This is of course a reference to Ariel using a fork to comb her hair at dinner🍴(Jade also mentions the Atlantics Memorial Museum from book 3!! They have a replica of the fork the mermaid used on display.)

The market also has stuff salvaged from sunken ships! There’s precious antiques and things of value, but also tons of junk that can be refurbished or polished back up and made reusable again. This has to be a reference to Ariel’s grotto full of items collected from sunken ships!!! She has many things here, some useful, some not, but all interesting to her.

The people of the Sunshine Lands love song and music! An example, Jade gives is playing the flute on ships and the coast. You know who plays a flute??? ERIC. We see him playing one when Ariel sees him for the first time, as well as right before he spots Vanessa on the beach.

There are lots of clothes hung up to dry in the strong sun. There’s a scene in TLM where the maids of Eric’s castle are doing laundry!! Sebastian gets caught up in it.

The groom apparently works on ships and is quite familiar with the sea… LIKE ERIC.

The cove is the same as the one Eric and Ariel went in for Kiss the Girl!! Look at this neat new background and how they’ve nicely decorated it!!

The Eternity Float starts off with the groom gushing about the “first time [he] heard [the bride’s] name”. Definitely a callback to Eric guessing Ariel’s name on the rowboat 😭

Rook makes a thick fog by firing fire at water. Fog??? Like… THE FOG ON THE BEACH WHEN VANESSA APPEARS AND ENCHANTS ERIC?!!!!!?!?!

Riddle thinks to launch barrels at the bride and groom! This makes me think of when Ariel used a barrel to help herself catch up with the wedding ship departing with Eric on it.

Jade and Riddle get into a magic fight that produces fireworks. The couple reminiscence on the time they saw fireworks together. Fireworks appear over Eric’s ship on the night Ariel sees Eric for the first time!!

Malleus creates a mighty tornado with his wind magic. Is this maybe a reference to the powerful storm Ursula summons when she has all the powers of the sea at her disposal?!

THE BRiDE AND GRoOM ARE LITERALLY ArIEL AND ERiCCCCC (Side note: Jade leaping in his merform fr reminds me of that fucking leaping dolphin meme 🐬 which is funny because his fandom emoji IS the dolphin!)

The bride saves the groom by swimming with him to safety…! Like how Ariel rescued Eric after the storm at the start of the film!

Jade successfully capsizes their rowboat!! Similar shot to what appears in the film.

The event ends on a similar shot as the film too!!! 😭 The sea… the ship drifting out on it… the rainbow appearing… Even the font they use to write “The End” is similar to the font used for TLM title. This is setting off all kinds of nostalgia alarms for meeeeeeee 🌈

In Rook’s vignette, he and Malleus go fishing but catch nothing. Right as they’re about to leave, something snags on the line—and they fish up a fragment of a statue. They hear from a local that there is a sunken ship nearby, so it’s common to catch stuff from it. Rook is amused and wonders if the fragment once used to be part of a man with a strong will. This has GOTTA be talking about the statue of Eric that got busted up.

In Malleus’s vignettes, he practices maintaining balance while rowing. I don't think this refers to anything specific in TLM, but I'm thinking maybe it could refer to the scene where Eric's men are in those lifeboats during the storm and trying to keep afloat in the rough waves??

He has a voice line saying he would like to play violin at a wedding (and in the Sunshine Lands, they often take place on boats). We can see one of Eric's crewmates playing a fiddle on the night Ariel sees him for the first time!

Malleus also has a voice line about how they are many sunken ships at the bottom of the sea. This is pretty non-specific, but I'm sure all of us remember the film opening scene with Ariel exploring a sunken ship.

In Riddle’s vignettes, he mentions that a horse's demeanor can change depending on the handler. Then an incident occurs in which a horse gets spooked and runs off without anyone in its carriage; Riddle and Rook chase after it and are able to get in the carriage. With Riddle at the helm, they're able to get the horse to leap over a valley. THIS A NOD TO HOW WHEN ARIEL TOOK THE REINS TO THE CARRIAGE... and then she and Eric bolted off... AND THEN SHE GOT THE HORSE TO LEAP OVER A GAP.

In one of Jade's voice lines, he talks about how he used to look at the city longingly from the waters. JUST LIKE ARIEL... JUST LIKE ARIEL AS SHE SINGS PART OF YOUR WORLD REPRISE ON THAT ROCK AND THE WATER GOES SPLASH!!!!!!!

Finally!! In Jade’s vignettes, a storefront sells items imported from merfolk. Items include seaweed for fortune telling, musical instruments, and accessory cases made from shells, and seahorses with anemones on their heads. This calls to mind the general seashell accessories of the merfolk, musical instruments used in Under the Sea and the concert scenes, and Ursula's little potion ingredients cabinet + skrungly clients/prisoners.

He tells a tale of how he got caught in a whirlpool while chasing after something shiny that had fallen into the sea. Could this be a reference to Eric using glowing under the water to try and attack Ursula?? asjdhasdsalid I MIGHT BE OVERTHINKING THIS ONE AND IT'S NOTHING

Jade ends his vignettes by mentioning there may come a day where he “returns to the sea”… THE LITTLE MERMAID 2: RETURN TO THE SEA?!?!!

[rainrot4me]

hello! I love your writing but just wanted to know if you allow requests I mean I'd just like to be sure if you're comfortable with it, and if yes I was wondering what fashion style would the creeps like, have a good day and stay hydrated<3

Including more people than usual because I really enjoyed this prompt :)

── .✦

✦ . jeff the killer

Careless edge, boyhood recklessness dressed like a dare.

Straight dark jeans, scuffed high-tops, worn hoodies he never washes. Sleeves pushed up, hood always on, always bloodstained but never ruined.

Doesn’t think about style, but there’s an accidental charm to how he wears destruction like it’s tailored.

✦ . ticci toby

Restless movement in soft cotton layers. Like static electricity in human form.

Wears things for comfort and speed—light-wash jeans, oversized hoodies or zip-ups, fingerless gloves. Brown and gray tones, hoods that swallow his face, sleeves bitten at the cuffs.

Clothes always look slept in, like he’s just rolling from one place to the next. A little chaos in how he wears it all, like even his outfits vibrate.

✦ . eyeless jack

Sharp, subtle, and clean. Like a cigar lounge at midnight.

Dark button-ups, neat pants, structured jackets. Always tidy. Always dark. Wears his collarbones like jewelry. Never flashy, always composed.

His clothing feels like silence—precise and heavy with meaning. When he speaks, you notice the stitching on his cuffs.

✦ . masky (tim wright)

Earthy weight. Sturdy denim. A man-shaped shadow in workwear.

Simple flannel, boots, jeans. Everything thick, practical, worn to hell. Never changes much, but it still suits him. Utility has its own sort of aesthetic.

Always looks like he’s ready to disappear into the woods or fix your car. The kind of man you see once, and feel like you’ve known him in another life.

✦ . hoodie (brian thomas)

Distant, layered, unreadable. Like fog rolling in through alleyways.

Neutral tones. Deep hoods. Thick fabrics layered like secrets. His clothes always look too warm for the weather—intentional.

He dresses like a quiet warning: don’t ask, don’t follow. His outfits aren’t curated. They’re calculated.

✦ . kate the chaser

Blade-sharp and body-aware. Confident utility.

Sleek silhouettes, cinched waists, sharp boots. Clothes that show off her strength, her control.

Everything dark, matte, or muted—no frills, no mess. Looks like a woman you don’t want to cross in a parking garage.

✦ . ben drowned

Comfort buried under chaos. Unwashed charm. Neon laziness.

Baggy hoodies, video game tees, too many rings, chipped nail polish. Clothes smell like Mountain Dew, controller grease, and anxiety.

Wears things just for the color, the logo, the joke. Looks bad on purpose but makes it work with a smug grin.

✦ . clockwork

Sharp lines, dark lips, hands on hips. Structured femme with bite.

Cropped jackets, leather pieces, silver jewelry. Heavy boots. Clothes like armor. Dark eyeliner and a don’t-touch-me energy.

She’s Wendy Corduroy on crack heroine. There’s elegance in her edge—never messy, always meaningful.

✦ . nina the killer

Flirty grunge with way too much lip gloss.

Everything she wears feels like it’s daring you to look—too short, too tight, or just a little too pink. But it works.

Cropped graphic tanks, distressed low-rise jeans, cherry-red sneakers, smudged eyeliner, oversized rings she could punch someone with.

✦ . jane everlasting

Sleek, striking, and effortlessly deadly.

Always dressed like she’s about to avenge someone or destroy your entire bloodline—with perfect eyeliner.

Fitted leather jackets, high-waisted trousers or sleek black dresses, combat boots with a feminine edge, always silver jewelry.

✦ . liu woods

Moody, layered, and slightly disheveled—like he grabbed whatever was on the floor but still managed to make it work.

Brooding without trying.

Worn flannel shirts over band tees, chain necklaces tucked under the collar, dark jeans, and that one old hoodie he never takes off.

✦ . x-virus

Sharp in a cold, techy way. Clean lines, dark colors, subtle military undertones.

Almost sterile—like he’d rather wear function than fashion, but still knows how to look good doing it.

Tactical black cargo pants, fitted black long sleeves, sleek combat boots, matte metal accessories, and gloves with the fingertips cut off.

✦ . bloody painter

Artist’s mess meets quiet elegance.

His clothes are worn but intentional—paint-stained jeans paired with something oddly refined, like a turtleneck or tailored coat.

Soft oversized sweaters, smocks he never washes, leather satchels full of charcoal, fingerless gloves, paint-splattered boots.

✦ . jason the toymaker

Victorian flair mixed with something more sinister.

He dresses like a porcelain doll maker who never stopped mourning, but with flair.

Ruffled blouses, long coats with ornate buttons, fingerless lace gloves, sharp dress shoes, and maybe a single red ribbon tucked somewhere.

✦ . laughing jack

Clowncore meets couture—chaos, but intentional.

Layered textures, loud patterns, asymmetry that works. Always something dramatic: long coat, too-tall boots, stripes that clash.

Looks like performance art, dresses like a walking carnival ghost.

✦ . slenderman

Stillness in motion. Timeless, clean, unnerving perfection.

Tailored suits in deepest black, polished shoes, gloves. Everything fits like he was born into it.

Style untouched by trend. Looks like a painting in a hallway you never meant to walk down. Even the way he stands feels dressed.

꩜ .ᐟ

[lovemomhatepolice]

jude bellingham nswf alphabet (part 1) (minors DNI!)

navigation taglist requests

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex) Oh, Jude is very adhesive after sex. He likes to cuddle with you until you both fall asleep. He places gentle kisses on your head, shoulders and arms, in fact wherever he can. He always talks to you for a long time, whether everything was okay, how you feel, if you need anything…. Well, Jude is a great guy

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s) Jude is well aware that he is damn handsome. And not since he started being famous, oh no, Jude was already aware of that before. However, what he likes most about himself is his face, I think. He really likes the fact that he is similar with his family, which is so important to him, and he likes his looks. He is very fond of his dark brown eyes and his lips, which, according to him, have the perfect shape (to kiss you!!). As far as you are concerned, I think Jude is definitely an ass man. Of course, he loves your breasts, but your ass is definitely something Jude always looks past when he sees you. He loves to squeeze it, kiss it, everything, really. He always has his hands on her when you're somewhere together, and he's not ashamed to show it. Unfortunately, on the contrary, sometimes you have to correct him so he doesn't get caught up. And besides, he loves your whole face. He thinks everything matches perfectly - your nose size, eye color and lip shape, ay, this boy is drowning.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically) Jude Bellingham looks like a total creampie fan. I think he repeatedly stopped his seed at your entrance to watch it mix with your juices and slowly leave your body. But I also think he's too delicate to let his cum linger on your face, which is why he's not a fan of it. Even if you asked, there's no chance he'll let himself cum in your face

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs) I think he likes it when you take the initiative. He often does a lot on his own, but the sight of you having fun with him in a way that no one else has ever done before, god. Jude is already on his knees and begging for more

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?) Nah, Jude is not very experienced. Well, after all, he's only 21 years old and hasn't scored any major ones on his relationship record. Therefore, everything you experience together is quite new to him. It was with you that he lost his virginity and began to discover what he likes and what he doesn't quite like But nevertheless he is a fast learner, he has become so skilled that if you met him for the first time, you would not be able to say that he is a fresher in these matters

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying) Jude likes to have you on top. Really, that's why the cowgirl position is just right for him. He likes you to take the initiative, however, alone from below he can also do a lot, especially since compared to him, you are in his hands like a feather. Another option is standing up - as I mentioned before, Jude is a fan of sex in the shower, so the standing option had to be practiced to perfection to make both of you comfortable and perfect

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.) It depends on the moment. Jude is hardly a person who is against any jokes in bed or giggles, on the contrary, it even happens to him often. However, when your sex is heavily geared towards romance and the heat rising around your bodies, he rather tries to be serious and committed to the situation

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.) I think Jude is not completely shaved, but it is trimmed so that it is neat and not too much. He has dark curly hair, so I'm betting he has that all over his body too, so it might be hard to eliminate it. As for you, I think similarly. Either completely shaved or trimmed so that everything is neat and not too much.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect) Bellingham can be truly romantic. He may not look like it, but he loves to plan your entire evening. First take you out for an expensive dinner with wine, then prepare you a joint bath with petals of your favorite flowers, followed by the intense sex you've both been waiting for all day. And then long conversations in bed and gentle touches...

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon) This often happens to him - mainly due to the fact that you often don't see each other through his constant trips to matches and life in other countries. He's not averse to pornographic movies, but since you've been together, he tends not to watch them. You prefer to connect together on the webcam and experience it from a distance, or he copes by simply thinking about the fact that you could be you next to him…

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks) Honestly, I can't find any sensible kink to match Jude. He does not seem to be a person who is drawn in any particular direction. Maybe a creampie? Hm, I think he could watch with fascination as your shared juices of fulfillment come out of you…. Oh, and combined it with breeding kink? Well, what? He's young, but he can definitely see you with a pregnant belly in your future home together in Madrid

L = Location (favorite places to do the do) Shower. Jude Bellingham shouts shower. Or possibly a bathtub, but definitely something on the toilet. I honestly don't know why, but it's what I associate with so damn much. Sex after the game? In the toilet. Sex with romantic candles and rose petals? In the bathtub. Sex without any occasion? In the shower. Well, don't say no. Jude definitely looks like a man who loves to take a bath together with you, and the opportunity to get close is even better

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going) After the match. I don't know why. It's just that after a match, Jude is always, and I mean always, somehow more horny, and that's when you turn him on the most. Whether it's won or lost, Jude just needs to have his girlfriend in his arms after it Or the other option that turns him on is you in mini dresses. Well begging, the boy is already on his knees in front of you (or rather, behind you too)

A/N: next part will be here soon! i will be very pleased if you leave something behind - orders are open!

please do not copy and translate my works! in case of any issues related to this - I invite you to discuss privately :)

[dresshistorynerd]

Sewing 1890s Day Dress in Doll Scale

I went slightly overboard with this second historical doll project. Here's my first one. The style is from around 1897 and more of a middle class style. As with my first doll outfit, I tried to stick to historical methods as much as possible, but the scale forced me to do some deviations. I hand-sew everything though sewing machine was already widely used, because in this scale it's easier to control the stitch, there's not that much to sew anyway and also I just really like hand-sewing. Here's all the items I made. As said, I went a little overboard. One thing that's missing is the corset cover, but the layers of fabric were creating enough bulk on the waist as is so I decided to not make one.

This time I decided to try repainting the face. I don't have any doll customization materials, so I used acrylics. After couple of attempts I got decent results. Acrylics can't make as smooth and delicate finish as pastels, pencils and gouache, which can be used on vinyl with basing sprays, and I'm not experienced with painting small details on 3D objects, so it's a bit smudged at points, especially with the other eye. I aimed for 1890s very neutral make up and the type of expression that was popular in fashion plates and other illustrations.

Undergarments

Combinations and stockings

The combinations are split crotch as they were in the period. They are from thin cotton voile I have a lot of and is very appropriate. I didn't have really tiny enough lace for this, so it's kinda bulky, but I think it's okay enough. The stockings are cotton knit, which fits well. The garters are not actually necessary for this doll since her legs are rubbery.

Corset

I made the corset from a firm-ish linen and satin rayon pretending to be silk as the fashion fabric. The stitching of the boning channels is not super neat, this fabric is very unforgiving, I didn't have exactly matching thread and the scale made it very difficult. I of course didn't have tiny busk, so I used small hooks, sewed thread loops for them and used narrow metal wire for the edges. I think it looks surprisingly right on the outside. I used the same wire as the boning to reinforce the lacing on the back. I didn't actually use boning elsewhere but the tightly packed linen edges in the boning channels kinda work like lighter boning. I think it keeps the shape pretty ways even with just that. I stitched cotton tape inside to shape the corset further. I also didn't have tiny metal eyelets so I hand-sewed the lacing holes.

Bustle pad

The bustle pad is from linen and stuffed with tiny cabbage.

Petticoat

The petticoat is from the same cotton as the combinations.

Outer wear

Skirt

The fabric is cotton half-panama. It's pretty thin, but firm. I would have liked to use a woven wool, but I didn't have any that's thin enough to work in this scale. I think this cotton looks close enough in this scale to a wool with a tight weave, so I'm imagining it's that. My problem was that the cotton was white, but I wanted light brown. I wasn't going to buy any fabric for this, so I did the reasonable thing and dyed it with red onion peals (I've been doing natural dye experiments so this worked well for me).

Shirtwaist

The shirtwaist is from the same cotton as the undergarments. Yes, I dyed it too. I didn't have thin enough cotton in a color that would fit with the skirt and the purple bow, so I dyed it light blue with fabric color. Since I already went the trouble of dyeing I decided I might as well make a small flower print to it since that was popular in the era. I didn't want it to jump out too much but the lighting makes it even less visible. I made it with a white fabric pen. The collar and cuffs are reinforced with linen. I also sewed small stick-like beads to the cuffs on both sides, so one acts as a button (I sewed a buttonhole too) and the other makes it look like they are cufflinks. The bow is from the same fabric as the corset and the belt is sewn from the same cotton as the shirtwaist. The buckle is from a barbie belt.

Waistcoat

The waistcoat is from the same fabric as the skirt, thought the lapels and the back are from another satin rayon. I tailored the front panels and the lapels by stitching the linen interlining with tailor's stitches (I don't remember if that's the correct word in English) into shape. There is some wonkiness on one side of the hemline for some reason.

Boots

I made the slightly insane decision to make the shoes fully from leather, like they would have been in the period. I had an old broken leather wallet I had saved in case I needed some leather scarps. It has fairly thin leather, so it was workable here. It's light brown though, so I used black shoe polish to darken it. I wanted black or very dark brown shoes. I stacked the heels from glue and leather pieces and carved them into the right shape and sewed the shoe itself to leather shaped as the sole and glued it to the heeled and shaped sole. After I had shaped the shoes and the heels as much as I could I painted the heels black.

[sherbetgreeceuh]

Unfuses your Princesses

I was just doing whatever with these. Making stuff up. I just started slapping flowers on their flanks whenever I couldn't think of another relevant cutie mark. Most of these cutie marks ended up more elaborate than their original ones lol

With Cadance I was like, we got crystals, we got hearts aaaaannnnd.... the little gold things next to the heart on her original cutie mark I guess. And then I just added a flower to tie add some color and tie it in with her eye color. I guess the flower could represent how love grows, idk

The purple one got the hair curls. The pink one got the shape of the bangs and sort of the shape of the original hair, I also based that one off of how she styled her hair when she was younger. The yellow one got the hair length I guess.

I was just making stuff up for the accessories, same for Celestia and Luna

For Luna there wasn't really much to work with for her cutie marks. The spots on her hip aren't part of her cutie mark so she really just has that simple moon. The first one is based on Nightmare Moon and her cutie mark is the moon eclipsing the sun. She has the night sky part of Luna's mane. The second one has Luna's main body color and her hair color is from what the color of the transparent part of her mane is in front of a white background. The curls that I gave to both her and Celestia's unfusions are based on the depictions of both of them in some of the murals and the storybook at the start of the first episode. I know they likely never had hair styled like that but I just thought it would look neat. Her cutie mark is a full moon and the 4 stars around it represent the stars that aided in Nightmare Moon's escape in the first episode. In all I think the cutie mark represents a truly free and happy Luna. The last one I based on Luna's younger self from the second episode. The cutie mark is a moon with clouds obscuring it. It represents Luna before she became Nightmare Moon and how she felt. The clouds covering the moon representing how she felt that the ponies did not appreciate her night sky.

The green Celestia has the hair length and I kinda blended the first two colors of her hair into one for this one because she has 4 hair colors and I was only splitting her into 3 ponies. This one is an earth pony and her cutie mark is sunflowers. I guess it represents her love for the land she rules over and how she loves to see her subjects grow and learn and change, idk. The second one is a pegasus, the wings are under the cloak. The curly hair on this one is also based on the murals of her. The cutie mark is clouds in front of the sun, or a cloudy sky. I think this one represents her feelings after having to banish her sister to the moon. I choose the blue one for this because of that. And the cloak and the hair more in front of her eyes for more of a withdrawn look. The pink unicorn is meant to look more royal. She's got the more wavy part of Celestia's hair. Adorned with small bits of armor like accessories and her cutie mark is swords and a shield meant to symbolize how she is a protector of her kingdom.

[ilium-ilia]

In Limbo

simon "ghost" riley x fem!reader | mafia!au | masterlist

Chapter Eleven: red ink

tw: animal cruelty/death

“But I don’t wanna go to bed.”

Joseph stands at the center of the living room in plaid pajamas, an airplane themed blanket tossed over his shoulders, and a pout on his face. A bright red dusts the waterline of his eyes as he rubs at them like he can will his prostration away and hide it beneath the blanket he pulls tighter around him. He wants to smother it until it vanishes, or is small enough to at least hide from his mother. 

“I know you’re excited, big guy, but you gotta. Stanta’s coming tonight, remember?” Beth coos. She’s kneeling in front of him, hands on his shoulders as if afraid he’ll lose balance and fall asleep at any moment. The poor thing is dead on his feet, swaying as the silent lullaby of slumber beckons him to give in. “He can’t do his job if you’re awake, now can he? Besides, the sooner you fall asleep, the sooner tomorrow will come.” 

Just as Joseph begins to yawn, Tommy swoops in behind him, arms wrapping around his small frame in a bear hug. He’s instantly swaddled, blanket pulled tight around him as if he were a mummy, leaving him no room to fight or struggle. Soporific giggles escape the boy’s chest as his father lifts him into the air, limp legs dangling and swaying as they begin to march off towards the back of the house. 

“C’mon,” he urges, playfully grunting as if the child’s weight is too heavy for him. “I’ll tuck ya in nice and tight. Gotta build up your energy for tomorrow, yeah?” 

“Okay,” Joseph yawns back just as his mother joins in behind them. 

Everything is warm. Viridity shrouds your eyes with rose tinted glasses and the glow of the Christmas tree diffuses like little halos. You are elated—happily content being shoved against Simon’s side, legs curled underneath yourself on the couch, head resting against his shoulder. Something sordid still lurks there between the fibers of your muscles; the sinews that hold you together. A pestilential rot that refuses to wash clean, but for the moment—at least—it’s nothing but a gentle vibration. A meaningless hum in your bones that doesn’t quite reach your brain. 

Mindless fingers trace Simon’s forearm as you study the ink that bleeds into his skin. It’s dark—sharp shapes and deep shadowing gives each piece depth, and still they blend together seamlessly. Many of the pieces blur in your vision—skulls and smoke—but there’s one that pops. One that steals the focus of your fingers as you circle it over and over again. 

It’s a fox. A simple, small fox. Every other piece on his arm is in black and white except for this one, which sports the same crimson fur you’re used to seeing. She’s a beautiful creature sitting proud and tall on the inside of Simon’s forearm with shining eyes and a curious, fluffy tail. Your index finger presses into her nose—his skin is so warm you swear you feel her exhale. 

“Havin’ fun?” Simon humors after a moment of letting you wander. 

“I like your fox,” you smile, head still pressed against his shoulder. 

“I like her, too,” he concurs with a hum. 

You trace the side of her chest before following the curve of her tail with your fingers. “Why is she the only color tattoo you have?”

“Cause she’s special.” 

“Special how?” 

Simon sucks in a deep breath. His ribcage expands, widening his shoulders and moving your body with his, and when he lets go, you sink back into him all over again. His fingers twitch, and you watch his tattoos dance with the movement of his muscles. 

“She was the first tattoo I ever got,” he admits. 

“Yeah? I like foxes. I think they’re neat. They’re very… cute.” You hum, fingers still dancing on his skin. “Why a fox?” 

Pausing, he tilts his head to the side as if it’s suddenly too heavy for him to hold up. He cautiously rests it on top of yours. “When Tommy ‘n I were kids, mum took us to see our grandparents. They lived in some old cottage in a rural town further north. Had a lot of land with it that we used to muck around in. We were always told not to cross the stream in the pasture because we’d be getting into the neighbors property, but we were kids so we did it anyway. 

“We found a trap in this small patch of trees. You know, one of those cages that shuts behind an animal to keep them there until someone comes along to let ‘em out? There was a fox in there. Scared out of her mind, too. Poor thing was spitting and crying at us when we got close, just thrashing around in the cage. I wanted to let her out, but Tommy said that someone else would come by to take care of her, so we didn’t bother.” 

As you listen to his story, you find your fingers slowly dwindling in their movements. Everything suddenly feels colder as you stare at this artwork. You wet your lips with your tongue. “And?” 

“And we left,” Simon continues. “Came back to Manchester. We didn’t visit our grandparents again for another year or two, but when we did, I crossed that pasture again. She was still there, stuck in that cage. Starved to death. Left to rot. Dunno why I got so mad. I ran out to the neighbors house and pounded on the door until my hands nearly bled. Mum dragged me off before I could do any real damage, but I never forgot it. Never forgave them for it, either. Guess I got this as a tribute to her. Not that it makes her any less dead.” 

You see his story clear as day as Simon shares this piece of himself with you. You see the verdant field with its hidden, rusty cage. The withered creature trapped behind bars as its fur darkens and decays over time. A young Simon Riley as he stomps up to some house and demands answers—demands justice. Your fingers trail further down his arm, ghosting by his wrists. It’s strange realizing that he’s always been this way; that he’s always been so selfless. 

Always helping poor creatures who spit and trash at the sign of help.

“That’s so nice of you, getting this for her,” you whisper. 

“Is it?” he challenges, unconvinced. 

“I think so,” you shrug. 

“It doesn’t really make much of a difference.” 

“It does,” you insist. “You get to keep her alive in some way. She might have died for nothing then, but she lives for something now.” 

Simon doesn’t answer you. You’re not sure if he believes you or not, but you’re glad you’ve at least sowed that thought into his mind. When the silence drones on for too long, your jaw unhinges in an uncomfortable yawn as your eyes begin to water, exhaustion pulling at your body like the damned attempting to drag you into your grave. 

“Tired, sweetheart?” Simon asks. He doesn’t move—he stays politely still as you blink the bleariness from your eyes. 

“Maybe a little,” you admit with a chuckle. You lift your head from his shoulder, and the absence of him feels wrong. When you turn to look at him, you find Simon already staring at you. 

“Been a long day,” he agrees. Long legs stretch out in the empty space in front of him before he scoots away from you and stands. “C’mon, let's get you settled. I’ll show you the room.” 

A weightlessness lifts you off the couch as you trudge after Simon, following in line behind him as you wander into the back of the house. Quiet giggles bleed through one of the doors you pass in the hallway, and you can’t help but chuckle as Joseph—once again—declares his excitement for Christmas tomorrow. His joy emanates from the door as if the room is too small to hold back the cheer of a young soul. 

Simon leads you to the end of the hallway at the very back of the house. A room sits tucked just across the bathroom where a lamp illuminates a queen sized bed with argentine sheets. Barren walls close the room in, but you find that if you squint hard enough you can see old marks. Tiny holes from long gone tacks—perhaps used to hold up posters. It’s painted over; hardly even visible. A slight dent makes its home next to the door where the doorknob rests against the wall. 

“Used to be my bedroom,” Simon informs, shoulder leaning against the doorway as you step in. “Well, mine ‘n Tommy’s anyway.” 

Your thoughts are flooded as you picture Simon as a child again. Small frame, smooth skin—or maybe he was always large. A heavy, broad boy who gave his parents trouble as he ran around the house causing mayhem. An imagined giggle echoes in your mind, a shrill squeal of unadulterated joy. You wonder how often the two of them played together here, the secrets they would whisper to one another at night, and the endless bickering and kvetching. 

You’re only brought back into your body when you notice that his bag is sitting next to yours at the foot of the bed. 

A blink clears your vision and it’s still there. Two bags. A single bed. The steady thudding of your heart leaps into your throat where it makes its new home. It’s impossible to swallow, to force it into submission, back into the cage where it belongs. Stiff joints refuse to work with you as you turn to face Simon. He looks around the room wistfully, yet with a tinge of something darker. Something haunted. 

“Are… are you and I sharing this room?” you ask timidly. 

He nods. “Mum’s got her bedroom upstairs, Tommy ‘n them got the old office, so we get the guest room.” He pauses, eye scrutinizing your face before he pushes away from the door, heavy feet causing the floor beneath him to creak. “That alright?” 

Choking on your words, you stutter through a sheepish smile, though you’re not sure it’s enough to cover how mortified you are. Molten blood suffocates your veins, and you feel it coagulate and clot. Really, it shouldn’t mean anything; sharing a bed with someone. You and Aelin have shared beds plenty of times together and it’s never meant a thing. 

Does it only feel terrifying because you want it to mean something this time?

“Yeah, no, that’s fine. I just- I’ve never- erm.” All you can do is spew nonsense. It worsens the heat building in your face, bleeding through your skin, antagonizing the tips of your ears—you wish you would just shut up but you always have to explain yourself in some way. 

“Hey,” he says, raising a hand to stop you. “If you’re not comfortable with it, that’s fine. I can always sleep on the floor, or out in the livin’ room if you don’t want me here at all.” 

For a moment, your brain entertains the idea of him in both scenarios. A hardwood floor is hardly a proper surface to sleep on, and the thought of him shoving his large frame onto Mrs. Riley’s small loveseat nearly makes you cringe. 

“What? No, I can’t do that to you. I’m not gonna make you sleep on the floor in your own home. Or, at least your family’s home,” you retort earnestly. “I can take the couch.” 

“Not happenin’ sweetheart,” Simon says as a small smirk pulls at his lips. “Really think I’m lettin’ you sleep anywhere but a proper bed? If you’re comfortable with it, we’ll both take the bed, and if not, then I’ll take the floor, or you can kick me to the couch. Those are your three options.” 

“But-”

“No. No nuances here.” It isn’t until his hand brushes against your arm that you realize just how close he is to you. His attention drifts, fingers picking at a piece of fuzz on your clothes before flicking it somewhere to be forgotten on the ground. “Don’t worry ‘bout me, I’ve slept on worse before. And you’ll only hurt my feelings a little bit,” he teases. 

While your body freezes, your mind is nothing but a whirlwind of thought. Torturous, you feel trapped; unable to speak your thoughts. How do you tell him that you don’t think you can sleep next to him not because you’re uncomfortable, but because you’ll crumble at his touch? Because you’ll fade into nothing but soot and ash that would blow away at the mere huff of his mirth? You’d lay next to him, and like Icarus, you’d melt before you even get to brush against his warmth. 

And still—you refuse to let him sleep on the floor. 

“No. No, it’s fine. The bed is good,” you say with a stiff nod. 

“You’re sure?” he asks.

“Yeah.”

“Certain?”

“Certain,” you repeat. 

He stares at you for a moment too long and you feel your bones morph into jello. He’s giving you an out—the time to change your mind. Gelatin muscles and rubber tendons; you’d collapse if it weren’t for the panic constricting in a spiral around your body. You swallow it down, willing it away just long enough to convince him you’ll be fine. 

“Alright,” he says as he takes a step back. He glances at your bags, still sitting neatly next to one another, before nodding. “I’ll step out. Let you change. Gotta grab presents out of the car anyway, so take your time.” 

After confirming the plan, Simon begins to back out of the room. Hand on the door, he begins to shut himself out, though he quickly pauses in order to point at the bed. “I get the side closest to the door, yeah?” 

“Okay,” you nod.

You aren’t able to breathe properly until the door latches shut behind him. Your knees nearly give out as you sigh. Stumbling back, you collapse onto the springy mattress and throw your face into your hands in an attempt to muffle your groan. How anyone can stand to be around you when you’re so gauche is beyond you. Your mother always told you that you would outgrow this awkwardness one day. Turns out, you’re just as small as you’ve always been—you haven’t outgrown a single thing. 

The only thing that calms your thoughts is a series of gentle, controlled respires. Anxiety sizzles then fizzles out, leaving your nerves scorched, but not completely useless. You rise. You shuck off your dirty clothes and allow fresh pajamas to hold you close—something you’ve yet to ruin. 

You stare at the bed, and it stares right back at you, just as confused. How the hell are you going to have any room on this thing with someone as large as Simon laying next to you? 

A problem for later. 

Simon is in the hallway when you open the door. He stands with his hands shoved into his pockets as he faces the wall, eyes blankly staring at picture frames. Dozens of them sit in asymmetrical lines, haphazardly shoved together. Nothing but a collage that had suddenly grown too large to fit properly. If he notices you—which you’re certain he does—he doesn’t say anything as you cautiously approach him, eyeing the glinting glass. 

Some of the pictures are old—much older than either you or Simon. Black and white film displays a young, happily married couple. They grow and morph throughout the series of photos. Love slowly decays over time until it rots into nothing but contemptment. There’s undersaturated photos with brutal lens flares burning the images, and other digital pictures with crisp quality. The younger the film becomes, the older the couple gets. The more their smiles fade. 

Swallowing, you stare at the man. There’s something familiar about him with his dark eyes and tight lips, but that recognition fades as he gets older. He becomes skinnier. Wastes until his flesh pulls at his bones like a skeleton with sunken eyes, gaunt face, and sallow skin. His stomach distends, dark eyes dull with a benevolent hate for anything within his gaze. He vanishes from the pictures eventually where he’s replaced by kinder, softer faces. 

“Who’s that?” you ask. Your finger points to the wasting man as if the gesture alone might shatter the frame. 

Simon is silent for a moment before he responds. “My father.” 

“Oh,” you chirp meekly. A part of you already guessed. You see the parts that Simon shares with him—how eerily similar they are to one another. 

“He’s dead,” he says, answering the question burning on your tongue. 

You swallow. “I’m… I’m sorry.” 

Huffing, Simon shakes his head. His weight shifts but his eyes stay glued to the pictures. It takes a moment for him to loosen his jaw enough to respond. “I’m not. Glad he’s gone. His bad habits had to catch up to him eventually.” 

His brutal reply catches you off guard. You don’t think you could ever be glad about either of your parents being dead. It’s… a strange thought to have. One you’re not sure you can hold against him. Never for a moment did you revel at either of your parents' funerals. Really, you couldn’t stop crying. 

Then, you think of sharp blades—gasping breaths—blood on linoleum—and you remember that some people’s parents don’t deserve to be mourned. 

“Well, that’s something we have in common at least. Dead dads, and all,” you attempt to humor. 

Much to your surprise, it works. A gentle titter reverberates in Simon’s throat as he finally tears his eyes away from that dead, wasted man and looks at you. His eyes gleam in the pale living room light that bleeds into the hallway. The gentle glow melts the darkness of his irises until they’re pulsing and smooth. He’d melt in the palm of your hands if you asked him to. 

Maybe he already has. 

It isn’t long before you’re under freshly washed covers with your head on an unfamiliar pillow. The only thing that is familiar is Simon—the scent of him especially. That faint, smothered nicotine and fresh cotton. You wonder if he can feel the thud of your heart ring throughout the mattress, or if its reverberations crawl up his spine like the heat of him crawls up yours. 

There is something strange about forcing yourself to be apart from him after being glued to his side for most of the evening. Like driving a wedge between two magnets, you feel his pull like you’re the earth and he’s the sun. Forever caught in the cosmic storm of one another. Yet, something even stronger holds you back. 

It’s all consuming—this terrible obloquy that fluctuates in weight. One moment, it’s as light as a feather. Some timid thing that can do no more harm than a single flake of snow. Other times, it’s a brutal storm. Unrelenting and frigid, tearing you apart at the seams. Perhaps it’s the bed. The connotation. The blood that has yet to soak the sheets and stain the mattress. 

Your blood. Your tears. 

My offer is still on the table if you find yourself having trouble.

Your heart trips. It stumbles on itself, skipping a beat and forcing your blood to run cold. No matter what, you always carry a piece of him with you. He shoved it inside of you like a blade, and you’ve been too terrified to rip it out. Too afraid to see how much blood would come with it. Too afraid to witness the rot that’s festered inside of you because of him. You’re choking. Breath caught in your throat like a windpipe between slender fingers. Eyes bulging. Ears ringing. Soft lips on skin hiding sharp teeth waiting to tear you apart. 

You sit up like you’re able to run from the feeling and leave it far behind, but it doesn’t help. It’s still here. Writhing beneath your skin like maggots. Burrowing into your bones. It’s always here. It will always be here. Dormant and waiting to erupt. To tear open the tender flesh that only a monster covets. Your body has not belonged to you in years—you fear that it never did to begin with. 

You might never belong to yourself again—not with this infection. 

“What’s wrong?” 

Simon’s gentle susurrus hardly reaches you. It’s dull and cottony. Your head snaps to look at him in the darkness of the room and you see the fuzzy outline of his frame laid flat on his back. One hand rests behind his head, opening up the arm closest to you like an invitation. You swallow. Your throat is dry and sticking to itself. You try not to tremble. 

“Can’t sleep.” It’s blunt. Quick. If you speak any further you swear you’ll deteriorate. 

Cautious fingers brush against your arm, forcing your skin to twitch at his presence. He pauses, then moves slower, torso curling as he lifts himself off the bed to further his reach. His arm snakes around your back, and then to your shoulder before he carefully pulls you back down to earth. 

“C’mere,” he says before leaning you back with him. 

Anxiety quells into confusion as Simon situates you on your side, head resting on his chest. His arm stays around you, supporting your head as his hand lays politely on your waist. Ragdolling, you go along with him as his free hand grabs yours. His thumb gently prods your fingers, prompting your fist to relax and unfurl before he places your palm flat on his chest and right above his heart. His breaths come heavy and deep, chest expanding beneath your palm, prompting your own diaphragm to do the same. 

Your eyes grow heavy as you listen—breathe and listen. Your good ear presses against his chest, and you can feel his steady pulse beat against your cheek. It’s strong—hypnotic. Eventually, the tightness in your chest wanes and your body goes limp in Simon’s arms as you’re lulled to sleep while he rubs soft circles over the back of your hand.

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[lewismcqueen]

the chase

lh44 x black!reader

summary: as the only heir to your mother's throne, the constant merry-go-round of suitors vying for a slice of power has gotten terribly boring. that is, until one is actually able to keep your attention. wc: 2k a/n: I have a confession...I do still have an entire princess au series thing lined up, but this isn't it. This was actually the first draft for it before I realized I wanted to tell a slightly different story, but I didn't wanna let this one go! so you all can have it now lol. I'm willing to write all sorts of scenarios for a royal au because they're fun and egregiously anachronous, so don't be scared to send a request my way!

“Oh!” 

Your governess exclaims as the book falls off of your head, making your eyes squeeze shut as it tumbles to the floor. 

You sigh, staring dejectedly at the dusty brown poetry book lying on the ground, the expensive tassled carpet soft under your slippers. 

A few years ago, when you were eight, the governess would have looked upon your clumsiness with kind eyes, reassuring you that you'd blossom into a “fine young lady” with enough practice. 

Now, at the age of sixteen, your mistakes were far fewer. But that meant that they were tolerated less.

After bending down to retrieve the book, you look up to see the neat old woman frowning, deepening the lines in her mahogany skin like grooves in an ornate table. The lines are quite pronounced, and you think that she must've had years—decades, even!—to practice frowning just so.

She wears a conservative dress and overcoat in a jewel-toned blue, hands wrinkled with age but still clean and primly folded in front of her. Silvery-gray hair with streaks of black peppered throughout is tied back into a tight bun. 

When you were younger you hated your governess, thinking her a wicked old witch like the ones in your storybooks. But then you realized that she wasn't so desperate or smelly-looking as they were. The woman stepped into a room and made even your father straighten up beneath her piercing gaze. People looked at her like she was worth listening to. You had begun to think that maybe it would be a good thing to grow old and become something like her, and that to earn her praise would grant you whatever magical powers allowed her to command a whole room. Old age seemed to make her more important. It became important to you, therefore, to make sure that she was pleased with you as often as possible.

But the book had fallen off of your head. Instinctively you straighten up, but you can tell she's already caught you slouching.

“We are finished for today. Do wash up, your father asks that you make an appearance this afternoon,” She gives you an unimpressed look. “I assume you already know where to go…?”

What is about to occur this afternoon, she needn't say. You know, and hold back another deep sigh at the thought.

More suitors.

Also known as: some stuffy nobleman brings his stuffy, snot-nosed son over to walk you around the grounds three times with his arm linked with yours, the boy listing off his various talents and all the languages he can speak the whole while.

A flurry of servants surround you in the powder room first, tugging your braids in all sorts of directions in order to get them into rollers. Someone very carefully has you tip your head back into a bucket of steaming hot water so that only the rollers are dipped into it without scorching you. The feeling of a hot towel around your shoulders is terribly uncomfortable and makes you sweat, but it makes your braids take the shape of some very pretty ringlets. 

Your gown is made of fine silk and tulle with the muffin sleeves trimmed with lace, a sensible pale peachy color that brings out the rich tone of your deep brown skin. A gold necklace rests just below your collarbone, the jewels arranged in a pattern that mimics rays of sunshine. Or so it was said.

You're escorted into the living room, the doors parting to reveal a scene so repetitive and mundane that you could very well paint it and frame it in your room.

Your father—or rather, the back of his head—observing. A man and his son, being observed.

The man is in a very fine coat, a deep navy blue with a crimson cravat. He's the same shade as your father, but with decidedly less hair. He's got a firm hand placed on the shoulder of his son, who is sitting on the plush camel back sofa with a posture rivaling your own governess. He’s dressed in the same color, only his cravat is a bright summery yellow. His dark hair is shorn close to the scalp, to the point where it sits flat over his head. You can see tiny waves that suggest that it looks much curlier when grown out.

The resemblance almost uncanny, the boy is essentially just a lighter version of his father. His skin is the shade of sandalwood with a golden undertone. His cheeks and the bridge of his nose look particularly bronzed and sun-kissed compared to the rest of his face. Must be outdoors a lot, you think, before immediately pushing away the thought. You're learning to scrutinize, and you don't like it.

“Ah, here she is. I present to you…”

Your own father gestures towards you as he recites your ridiculously long title before finally reaching your name.

The nobleman only has to give his son a quick sideways look for the boy to rise from his chair swiftly—almost gracefully—and bow. They've practiced this. 

The other suitors surely had as well, but there is always some sort of clumsiness that makes it through, a moment of delay before they’re elbowed in the rib or have to be prompted by a hissed whisper to start the performance. 

The senior Hamilton gestures towards his son, seeming to offer him up to you as he rattles off some more titles. The only important bit is that the boy's name is Lewis.

You curtsy in turn. Judging by the approving look on your father's face as he turns to you, it is well-executed. 

“A pleasure,” you greet in your best impression of the queen. Your mother is out on business, but you hear her announce things often enough to try and mimic her cadence.

You meet the boy’s gaze. His expression is stony, revealing nothing save for the way that his brows are slightly furrowed. He doesn't look dazed or distracted - he looks…focused. Dark brown eyes gleam with something like anticipation. Or challenge.

Fascinating.

“The Hamiltons,” the king says, mostly to you. The next bit is spoken very carefully, his eyes boring into you as if he's imploring you to play nice. “They've come from a long way off, so please, do show the young one around while his father and I discuss.”

And that was that.

The two of you are sent out into the garden to take a turn and ‘get to know each other’, which is code for ‘figure out just how painful it would be to be married to him’. Lewis offers his arm with a tiny, polite smile and you take it. 

The first minute or so is silent as you watch him take in the estate. His eyes are casually floating over the garden, then the fountain, then the carriages stopped out in front before his gaze finally returns to you.

“Right. Let's begin,” you launch into the usual list, “I play the harp and the pianoforte. I speak Latin, French, Spanish, Italian, German, Dutch, and Japanese. When the weather is suitable, I like to paint. Now you.”

Lewis’ brow lifts just slightly, the corner of his lips twitching like he wants to laugh. But he doesn’t miss a beat. 

“Of course. Pianoforte as well. Latin, French, and Spanish. My Italian leaves much to be desired, though I do study it diligently. Haven't yet started on Japanese. I enjoy fencing and horse racing.”

His speech is surprisingly eloquent and smooth. ‘Trained’ is the word you keep landing on to describe it. 

You've reached the part of the garden where the roses were now in full bloom. Their bright red and pink hues remind you of all the fun you should be having, studying them with your sketchbook in-hand. You hum in consideration. 

“You speak well,” you remark flippantly without looking at him. “My father will like you.”

You hear a tiny snort next to you, and the impolite, decidedly un-trained noise makes your head snap towards your young suitor.

He's fully grinning now, dimples forming on freckled cheeks as he stares ahead. 

“That's all very well, but I'm not looking to marry His Excellency.”

Heavens above, is that…a sense of humor? You school your expression into neutrality, not wanting to get your hopes up.

“Well, of course not,” you deadpan. “It’s me you're here to marry.”

“Precisely,” Lewis laughs, and it’s a beautiful sound. Reminds you of a breeze that carries the scent of flowering plants with it. “I need your approval as well, else we’ll both be miserable.”

You shrug. “My father's opinion matters more. If he hates you he'll just send you back home.”

“All true. And yet here I am, taking a turn with you in the garden and rattling off languages to impress you.”

You stop walking abruptly, which nearly makes him stumble over his own shoes.

You ask sharply, “What's your point?”

His eyes widen, and for the first time he looks a bit nervous. 

“I don't mean to offend,” he says carefully. “It's just—well, I'll be honest. All I have to do is bow and sit still to get the king to like me. My father says that's hardly half the battle.”

Despite his delicate tone, the statement lands like a veiled insult. You remove your arm to cross it over the other one. “What's that supposed to mean?”

Now free of your arm, he folds his behind his back. Still respectful, but not at all apologetic. Like he knows he’s right.

“My meaning is, we've not known each other for half an hour, and you're already bored of me.”

His words hang in the air in the quiet garden. No one has ever said it out loud before, and you aren't quite sure what to do now that the routine has been broken.

You lift your chin indignantly. “Says who?”

The boy is grinning again, and tilts his head. 

“So Her Highness was not, in fact, trying to get rid of me just now?”

“I was…speeding things up. I find the introductions tedious.”

His face is very smug, like he’s about to call ‘checkmate’. “Name one of my hobbies, then. The ones I've just mentioned.”

“I will!” You nod curtly. “Let’s see, uh…”

You look up in deep thought. The first was practically on the tip of your tongue. Some kind of sport, and probably something leisurely to be done during the summer months. He had just told you.

“You do archery, right?”

The boy blinks. “Wow. Not even close.”

“Well, that's not fair!” You whine. “Too many suitors come around here for me to remember everything. It's not fair at all!”

Lewis offers his arm again with a smirk. “One of them was horse racing. Well, watching it at least. I’m a mediocre archer.”

You take his arm, and the two of you set off walking once more. “Never seen a horse race. Mother never lets me go to them.”

His eyes widened. “But you're the princess! You ought to be able to go see all the racing in the world!”

Something about that stings a bit.

“I don't see what's so great about it anyway,” you retort. “Horses running after each other. Sounds terribly dull.”

Lewis laughs again, revealing a gap-toothed smile and incisors as sharp as his wit.

“Well I’ll have you know that it’s riveting. Especially when the riders tumble off of their horses and fall arse-first into the mud.”

You take a moment to conjure the image of noble young men with their rear ends caked in grass and mud, and you immediately cover your mouth to stifle a giggle.

“Well in that case, I think I’d like to see one once I’m old enough.”

Lewis winked. “Your mother can’t keep you from the race track if I’m courting you.”

Despite yourself, the sudden flirting makes your face go hot. Before you can respond, though, you hear a voice not dissimilar to Lewis’ call after him. It’s slightly deeper - accent clipped and not as relaxed as his, so you correctly guess that it’s his father. The man is standing near the entrance of the garden next to your father, looking rather pleased with himself.

“Do say your goodbyes, the carriage will be ready soon!”

Gently, Lewis unlinks his arm from yours and turns to you with a polite bow of his head. “Seems our discussion’s come to an end. I do hope to see you at a race one day, Your Highness.”

Like he’s practiced it a million times, he reaches out to take your hand. You let him, and he lifts it to his lips, planting a light kiss to your knuckles. It’s the first time you feel yourself smile at such a gesture.

“We’ll see,” is all you can manage to get out as he turns to leave.

[groovy-rat-man]

behold! the punch out promotional comics and a few (or more) words I have to say about them!!

this is.. uhh. this is gonna be a long ish post

I dont know why but i do NOT like how joe looks here. I think it's the teeth... The bread belt is pretty funny tho and the fact that him and the ladies make the french flag and also mac is here so thats fun!

Aaaaaaa the babies!! The kaiserlings!!! I always love it when people bring up the fact that vk is a teacher and have him interact with his students and stuff, and they seem to like him as a teacher!

Omg hes so pretty and I love him so so so so much i wanna kiss him all over ohhh and his shy little pose when he talks about his win/loss ratio dont worry babe you'll get there, by the way did I mention I love him? (also this is one of my favorite ones art wise, the colors and expressions and sparkles are so so so fun!!)

It's it's my adult son who could crush my skull with one hand, my beautiful boy! But yea anyways he looks absolutely adorable here especially in the 1st and 5th panels also how did he get in this ring he doesnt know anything about anything. (oh yea and macs here too and that's always a plus)

Wifeeeeeeee noooooo don't sit like that too long.., honey your legs... (also i love his angy face at the end an d i wanna kiss him also)

This might sound dumb but I like this comic more for having Ms. Bear than for having Bear Hugger, we actually got to know her name! I also really like the colors and the FIGHT!! thingy those are really cool

Okay so I'm gonna talk about something real quick, it feels like ALL of the promotional media for punch out wii mentions gt's gem. Did they think the fight would be to hard if you didn't know about his tell? Why did they keep bringing this up?? Also he's really pretty and I like the way they draw his little clone thing and mac is here too and his confused little face is funny. (also does anyone know what he's saying in the first panel i really wanna know)

I really like this one but I always thought that the blatant use of his official art is a little jarring lol. But yeah I love how much of an absolute pimp he is here and also how his ass GETS GOT at the end and ALSO how he talks to the audience and references the game itself, that's WILD! Sadly I'll have to dock a few points for a lack of Carmen :'(

I'm not gonna talk about this one too much because I Do Not like what it does to me. I will say that I am (disrespectfully) looking at his boxy little ass

Ayyyyyyyy my main man Soda Popinski!! I'm also not gonna talk about this one too much because the ending is. Not for me. It's for someone though! Anyways yeas I really like the portrait on the first panel and also this was a thing with Joe's comic but he also has an unnamed coach so that's neat. Also Popinski is kind of an inconsiderate asshole so that's fun lol

I love how the first panel has him being all intimidating and scary but every panel after that is just him being harassed. LET HIM LIVE, FOR FUCKS SAKE!!!!!! However much he beat the shit out of the guy in the last panel was completely deserved, paparazzi are parasites <3

HUMMINA HUMMINA, AWOOOOOGA!!!! But in all seriousness the art (NOT MACHO MAN'S ASS >:/) is just wonderful, the colors and shapes and the text bubbles and hears and stuff AAAAHH it is beautiful!! This might unfortunately be my favorite of the comics actually. (also the spotlight and his shy little pose at the end is cute i will admit)

I friggin love sandman yall, I also love how it shows all the other boxers and stuff. Also what kind of asshole challenges a guy in boxing gloves to rock paper scissors? Sandman was completely justified tbh. Although I will admit I wish they added SOMETHING to his character, but I guess they didn't add much to anyone else either so it's whatever

ALSO I JUST REALIZED THAT DOC ISN'T IN ANY OF THE COMICS AT ALL, LIKE NOT EVEN IN THE BACKGROUND WITH MAC LIKE WHAT THE FUCK????

[asidian]

Set breakdown time! Next up: Niko's room.

As before, I've circled the points of interest and numbered them to make them easier to talk about. Cool? Cool. Let's do this!

1: Niko's mom's name! This part is her and Niko's surname. The kanji are 佐々木.

佐 – sa, meaning help or aid

々 – an iteration mark. When you see this, basically it means "exactly what the last one said, one more time." So another sa meaning help or aid

木 – ki, meaning tree

It's really neat that they picked a last name for her that doubles down on her role in the narrative. Just like Niko is there to support and help other characters in whatever way they seem to need, her surname hammers it home by including 佐 not once but twice.

2: Riza (リザ) Niko's mother's given name. Somewhat odd here is that it's written in katakana and not kanji. Without getting sidetracked too much (you can pop over here to read more if you're interested) most Japanese people write their names in kanji.

Katakana seems like a bit of a strange choice here, unless a) Niko for some reason doesn't know the kanji for her own mother's name (weird, given that she's in high school) b) her mother is a foreigner (a possibility; foreigners usually write their names in katakana) c) the set designer/whoever prepped the letters didn't know the appropriate kanji for "Riza" (seems unlikely, given how accurate all the rest of this is) or d) some sort of personal habit. An interesting side note is that her letter to Niko also puts Niko's name in katakana.

3: Cutesy stationery, used for marking your place in a document or book

4: A cute blue purse!

5: Watermelon! Judging by the shiny material and placement near the other bag, I'm going to guess this is another purse

6: Niko's clothes :>

7: Pink luggage

8: Lots of instant noodles

9: A rice cooker

10: Rice vinegar

11: This girl LOVES her some plants

12: Probably food items…? The one on the right looks like it might be a five-pound bag of rice, but I don't recognize the brand

13: Lots of unwashed dishes

14: A toaster oven

15: Chopsticks

16: A cute octopus pillow. I think I saw someone mention that it's from Ikea :>

17: She often leaves dirty dishes sitting on the bedside table

18: A painting of what seems to be a skyscape

19: Brightly colored pillows

20: Metal art in the shape of a moon

21: A decorative window hanging

22: More plants :)

23: Candles

24: Her tv

25: Cute pens with pompoms on the end

26: Regular tape

27: A cute cat statue

28: Marble Pop Ramune, strawberry flavor. Ramune is a type of soda that's a popular festival drink in Japan. It's sealed with a  glass marble and you have to pop the marble down into the little catch basin before you can drink it.

29: Anime wall décor

30: Fruit jelly cups. In Japan, small gelatin based snacks like this are popular. They're tiny, about an inch tall, and you eat them in just one or two bites.

31: Niko's laptop. She has stickers on it

32: Washi tape! It's decorative Japanese tape, often with bright colors and patterns, used for crafting.

33: A lot of cute magnets, including the bunny one, which serves double-duty as a kitchen timer

34: Niko's grocery list. The only thing on here that's here because she wants it is strawberry ice cream. The rest of the items, licorice tea, manuka honey, and Epsom salts, are all natural remedies. She's been trouble-shooting how to get rid of the effects of the sprites. She knows she's sick, but not why

35: Cutesy craft supplies! Sequins, glitter, and pompoms

36: More washi tape!

37: Niko's manga collection. She is that particular brand of organizational mess that does not put her numbered volumes in order. She has made an exception for the series that makes a complete picture when you line them up, though

38: More plants :)

39: Manga posters! Issho is one of the series that she has on her shelf

40: A decorative jar

41: Little metal bird sculptures

42: What seems to be the only framed picture in her room. The angle is wrong to see what the photo is, but it's interesting that they added just one in here. Maybe it's her family…?

[dock57]

Have you ever seen or saw the old version(s?) of Shrike, if so, what is your opinion on them?

Hes so dumb screams

[Yes. Yes I have. The best part about getting hooked on a series is that you start to really dig for all the concept and early artworks of said creations. I love seeing where ideas and characters develop from. Seeing Shrike an Beebs old designs is a whiplash- honestly I would have never guessed these were the same characters unless it was not said so.

Oh you made me go looking for all of these, HA! I know even the bottom right is not his first design either, he had an earlier one? Honestly though, I cannot say anything as someone who also had their DA days and had an ‘anime’ phase, I look back at old designs I made and can say I am quite proud of how far I have come along too. I think when designs become more consistent and symmetrical (in a way) just shows how far you have improved.

Like I said, I cannot really say anything about them. If you’re looking for me to bash them- you’re asking the wrong person, buddy. They definitely reflect that era of the internet I would say- the early 2000s. I can definitely see the early inspiration of anime styles from the first early designs of Shrike. I’m not too sure when his design began to become more similar to the Shrike we know now- the internet does not always give me a time stamp on images.

Now I do know that I seen some people who may have been around with Monkey Wrench since the beginning (I was not one, I was very wary of the internet as a kid) do still prefer the OG Shrike. Get that, it’s nostalgic.

Personally I do prefer the current Shrike design. I mean, he is the character who did pull me into watching the series. I love how consistent and symmetrical his design is- especially the overall shape. Shrike has a very unique silhouette to him- if you just gave me a cut out of Shrike with no colors attach, I know EXACTLY who that is just from the silhouette itself.

I will say when I first saw Shrike- I did call him String Cheese, but really the overall design is really creative. I have never seen another character like Shrike. I love how he is inspired by a squid but doesn’t heavily look exact like one either. When I was creating Eight, I was inspired by a Cobalt Blue Tarantula. I didn’t want to make her the actual spider, I just wanted to use it as inspiration. That’s the fun thing about aliens- you can literally make anything an alien- that’s pretty neat! Which is what makes the Monkey Wrench universe pretty fun to make stuff for- the sky- or space? Is the limit??? You get what I mean.

Anyway, Shrike has come along way. I think its pretty cool that Zeurel kept working on these characters but definitely change the story over the years. As an artist myself, sometimes I have ideas from the past that don’t stick and are best to be left in the past. Its really cool to see the progress of it. Every story artist starts somewhere! Its super encouraging to see someone’s idea become a real deal, I hope to do the same myself one day.

I wonder how heavy that giant zipper would have been… you could have use that thing as a weapon alone…]

[thoughtsroamguy]

A character sheet for Xivo and her counterpart Marix! This pair of Goddesses were there first, so it’s only right that they share a sheet.

Right off the bat we can see a stark contrast between their designs. Xivo, a being of Chaos has multiple colors and an asymmetrical pattern to her ‘clothing’. I wanted her to have that feel of letting a tornado dress you on a Goddess level. Marix, a being of Order has a much more restrained palate but is no less intricate than Xivo’s. Order doesn’t mean boring in this case. Originally, I only wanted just black and white in her design, but some other colors made their way in there. And, considering what happens in the game, that actually works in her favor. I never noticed that she’s taller than Xivo. There’s some symbolism there maybe.

These two gave me very different challenges in their designs. Xivo originally had a lot more makeup but she already has a lot of layers in her design that takes a long time to render, a full body shot of her takes an hour and a half whereas Marix takes 20 minutes. And close ups like this take 2 hours. So if I had a more powerful computer, she’d be even more colorful, but I still love how she looks. I especially love her headdress, the pendulums (to me) represent the potential to move in any direction: infinite possibilities. For Marix, I didn’t think she’d end up with many accessories or makeup, but they all accentuate her focus on Order and symmetry so I like them. Their halos were fun to pick out. Marix’s halo is purple cuz it’s the closest to black one can get. The tombstone shape is self explanatory. Her eyes are black and white while Xivo has rainbow eyes.

I wanted them to have opposite hair lengths; Xivo to have long wild hair, and Marix short and neat. But the hairstyles I tried for Xivo took away from her design and blocked her other features, and didn’t really work with the rainbow coloring I needed her to have. I wanted her hair to definitively be Afro with a tight curl pattern 4A-4C. And while it was hard to find a shader that looks good with such a curl pattern, I’m very happy with how this came out. For Marix, her halo kept overpowering any short hair I put on her. So I picked this hairstyle we see on her but I didn’t love at first, and cycled through a LOT of others to see how a black and white pattern would look on them. Then I came to this one and came to love them, now I can’t imagine her without them. The alternating colors looks great here.

Xivo is very expressive despite her hair and headdress covering a lot of her face. There’s an almost maniac energy about her. Marix has more subtle expressions but no less powerful. She also has a naturally melancholic aura to me, she looks really good sad.

When I first conceptualized Xivo, I knew I wanted a starry, ethereal look to her and I feel like I nailed it with this. This constellation pattern all over her body really eats up the render time but so worth it. I feel like this isn’t “clothing” or “accessories” to Xivo, as a Goddess of Chaos and Creation, they’re simply extensions of her own thoughts. But Marix feels like she’s wearing clothes, these are things she added to herself. The torso chains give her a softness with their flowy quality.

Overall I love how they came out and I can’t wait for y’all to see them in Tears of Xivo.