#{I'm a shapeshifter: Visage}

[scentedpepper]

Embered Metamorphisis

JASPER HALE X WEREWOLF!GN READER

● gif by @goodomcns

Summary: The aftermath of transfroming into a giant, raging wolf isn't kind to you --yet, your sworn enemy is.

Content Warnings: Uhhhh, descriptions of bones cracking, hair sprouting and such werewolf things.

Other Pairings: Sam Uley x GN Reader, Wolf Pack mentioned, Carlisle and Edward mentioned.

AUTHOR NOTE(S):

Slowly slipping back into my twilight phase...

We didn't get enough struggles of being a quileute shapeshifter content so heres your stuggles of being a quileute shapeshifter content

Yeah I'm changing up my format but does that mean that I'm going back and re editing all 8 parts of leon kennedy series —lol

I have a marvel fic written and I literally have no excuse as to why its taking me so long to edit but yk

Heres twilight instead?

_________________________________________

You pulled your eyelids closer to your waterline, the splash of water against your searing hot face felt dull compared to the tear shaped lava dripping down the curve of your back, meeting at the waistband of your boxers and leaving a sour, pungent smell within the fabric. 

Your body shook with such agony, that had you been the fragile, human-esqu being that you posed as, your bones would have liquified; bones that turned a delicate peach flower shade of cream.

If you looked up into the mirror in front of you, you were sure, at this rate, you'd see steam floating off the very skin that had stretched and molded itself and grew hair the length of a beanstalk all over your body. But this wasn't the pain that tore apart every neuron in your brain, and rendered you to nothing but a shivering, aching mess.

It was something else, and even with your mind so sluggish, so disoriented and tired that you could easily sleep for several days and your stomach, pouring out gurgling noises of bregrudement that you could barely hear over the own ringing in your ears, ached with its hunger.

You seemed to be grunting to yourself, atop the linoleum flooring of your bathroom that you felt as if your feet were burning holes into. You made your own noises out in passing, brief, in and out moments where your ears tuned back to your surroundings. Huffs. Whistling. There was faint cursing.

Stupid. Fuckin stupid. The voice ran through your foggy mind, an echo of rage.

Your entire body shook with such a powerful force, so dolorous in nature, that your eyes held heavy purple bags beneath them. You squinted them ever further closed, yet the light seeped out from the crevices like tears.

You didn't dare look to the light, it'd be like blinding yourself to the sun because everything now was 10 times brighter, clearer, intense. You heard each beat of your pulse right behind your ears, it wasn't as much 'thump, thump, thump' as a constant noise that felt more like you were vibrating.

It was all the more aggravating, all of it.

Your muscles were spasming beneath you and the longer you stood the more you couldn't feel your toes. The longer you locked yourself in your bathroom, huddled into the furthest corner, the closer you felt death crawling along your own skin.

What are you? That question held such power to pull the rug beneath your feet. Objectively, you knew. Sam had crossed borders to ensure you didn't break the treaty anymore than he already was. And your mind held such a haze that not even now you could clearly decipher what exactly had happened.

The haze acted as a wall between your mind and Sam's, even as he commanded you, tumbled with you through the woods, wrestled you to the forest floor, leaves and broken branches caught in your fur as he snapped and snarled above you; he couldn't see clearly what happened. Let alone explain to you the precise point that your wolfy instincts -because apparently that was a thing you held within your very being- reigned.

All you could recall was a few faces.

Jasper's visage, etched with both horror and regret, staring back at you with rubies -as if you were the monster and not him. 

At some point, you could faintly remember him speaking to you from below as his hands fiercely held your snout, telling you to transform back into your usual self. But his face...it spoke volumes at how ready he was to run if not needed, to flee. Like in that moment, the only difference between life and death were the few inches separating you both.

Then there was Carlisle. You don't remember what happened in between but you remembered seeing the struggle in his and Edward's faces as they attempted to hold you down without hurting you and having themselves killed in the process.

With Sam, the memories were clearer, sharper. They kept surfacing like bubbles on a swirly tub.

He too spoke but the difference between him and Jasper was that his were demands, not pleas. 

Each plea was so faint against his normal voice -shockingly enough- and you could always recollect his words like a chanting, mantra of those just told a horrific, traumatizing tale.

 "Concentrate. " Was what he said.

Your name. Sometimes the shortened version with his southern drawl etched in at the edges.

But your bones didn't ease themselves in molding, twisting, grinding back into their shape until Sam got there. More importantly, that uncomfortable heated feeling of hair pushing itself out from your flesh faded to a shiver.

And your faint memories did not aid the man, who you'd previously held an unimaginable grudge against, in easing you into the subject. So, he stuck to what he knew, what he was sure made the most sense to any half-man, half-wolf in your situation. 

Quileute blood. This. That.

Each time you gritted your teeth, clacked them, your canines jarring against each other as he droned on about the treaty, about the vampires, about your time around all of them at once probably being the source of your trigger.

The magic in your blood lit ablaze like gasoline poured onto a pile of wood inside of you. And you didn't understand. Wouldn't for a while until you were coherent, not like this. But the idea of you simply being the one to blame had your mouth pursing shut, biting hard enough to draw that salty copper smell across your tongue.

Subjectively, as you stood in your bathroom, eyelids stapled shut, brain still muddled, body hotter than hot itself. Shaking. Teeth, sharper than usual, still dug painfully into the open wound in your mouth, pulling your lips back harshly.

You didn't know what to call yourself.

Werewolf.

Shapeshifter.

Monster.

They all seemed to mean the same thing.

Vampire.

Cold ones.

Blood sucker.

Those all meant the same too.

Enemy.

Your heart stung at that; painful. Sharp. There was something wet coming down your cheeks but you didn't acknowledge it. Barely registered the sound of your bones cracking from inside, the stretch and pull as tendons and ligaments reformed to shape your humanoid form.

Your teeth didn't let go of your lip as your body continued to reform itself in the correct places, your feet dirtied from the bottoms after you stalked through the woods behind your house, naked and scathed from your only 3rd transformation in counting.

You were not yet adjusted, that much was obvious as the rest of the wolves watched you stumble into your home before you were out of sight. Not because they could smell your shame or the pain you were in, not because your face was still smeared with mud and slobber. But because something struck their ears just then, the sound loud enough to echo from miles behind you and they recognized it for what it was.

A whimper. Pain, so visceral and agonizingly immense you almost keeled forward and gasped for air as soon as the shuddery whine passed.

You'd found your bedroom floor before you clung to the bathroom sink as you were now, the bite doing little but help rid the bitterness and tang on your tongue. The pit of your stomach tightened for a moment as your ears began picking up on your mother's soft shuffling noises and you could tell her exact location, how she fidgeted around on the couch.

But you were again drawn back into yourself and the memories seemed to flash once more as your body convulsed and twisted, feverously hot and unbearably sticky. But each pain felt like pure acid seared against a wound.

There were some parts that you noticed as things changed within your entire human psyche. For instance, the room, your room, smelled differently; it tasted differently. Your eyes, what were usually able to scatter quick glances about yourself yet it came off as completely relaxed and indifferent, your pupils darted as if you had a million things to look at.

This time, your lungs felt small, compressed and with that came each bit of scent the bathroom provided. All of it.

The hint of floral perfume that resided with your sister, most likely used the bathroom beforehand.

The watered-down aloe essence of a bottle of SPF that you guessed to be your brothers because it was strong, closer than the rest.

Then the sweetness of your mother's strawberry cream soap she splashed onto her hair in the morning and onto her skin not long before her eyes were drooping.

The musk of cologne, the sweatiness from the summer night. Some aftershave and others, toothpaste. The mint lingering from it assaulted your olfactories like the taste of charcoal briquettes did your dry throat.

It was everything all at once yet, each scent, noise, sight, touch was distinct. Picked out and pinpointed. You could hear your own heartbeat. You could hear how loudly the door caved a centimeter in its frame when the air from the fan swirled into the vent.

And when the sink began to crumble under your grip it was loud, deafening. A tidal wave and snap made entirely of your own anger. You couldn't bear to look in the mirror. You couldn't bear to lift your head and see a monster looking back at you.

You'd been in this state for hours, every minute, every single second, you could feel the warmth of the blood pumping through your veins, moving each muscle slowly, one by one. You knew the bone structure had settled as you curled in on yourself, facing the wall by the sink.

For the first half hour -though to you it felt like two- your mother had banged against the door, concerned by the slight creak and the heat you emitted through it. She cursed, cried. Stomped. After a while it became nothing but background noise to your ears, the vibrations going ignored against the center of your back, directly underneath her hand.

You heard her steps across the floor and the buzz of the phone line and then Sam but the searing hot pain encapsulating your muscles blocked you from hearing what he was saying; the only two words you picked up was 'let' and 'normal'. In short, he was barking reassuring sentences that were more mumbled than articulated in your ears.

More importantly, you could faintly sense just how long Sam had been on the line with your mother. Time kept going and the more it did, the clearer everything was from the white paint chipping off the door frames, to the noises in your own body.

But the heat never ceased, you couldn't find any salve that stenched and wouldn't flare your instincts even further, and any attempt to scratch yourself in frustration and ease the sting left a burning in your arm and no relief.

You were hot.

Hot.

Wet.

Hot and wet and burning.

You were burning, literally burning. Every nerve, every bit of skin was put on a sensitive scale against the brightest scalding iron fire and it fucking hurt. It fucking hurt so much, the longer it went on, and the longer it did go on, the quicker the seconds ticked by and you dripped and dripped in sweat and you couldn't seek any salvation of cold even as you continue to drown your face, your hair, your seething skin in cold water.

Your body reacted in the worst possible ways, taking every inch of your willpower to not lash out at your family members as they fussed over you in complete and utter worry, turning up the AC to arctic like degrees as they all bundled underneath quilts and heavy sweaters as the rain pattered harshly against the metal roofing.

It took an angry snarl, snapping from your teeth clacking together aggressively in the general direction of your family as their constant pacing, their buzzing over your conditions that they had finally settled. Tried to act like you weren't being tortured by your own cells, membranes, nerves and veins.

Your muscles cramped on multiple occasions in their adjustment and every time, Sam would be through the screen door, speaking loudly over the crashing of thunder and lightning, spouting off nonsense to assure you that, 'it gets better with time, it'll pass, focus on what it feels like to transform back faster'.

And you would cry out to him in rage, telling him to leave, go back home, to shut up, that this was his fault, his doing, and, for a moment, you seemed to scare yourself with just how animalistic your words were, sounding more like a literal wolf than actual human speech.

He was wrong.

Wrong.

Wrong.

Wrong. 

All wrong.

This shouldn't be happening.

With nothing to help ease the pain, you'd found yourself, wrenching the knob of the faucet off of the handle and it had shattered with a small zap that you felt against your searing hands.

Again, your body convulsed, your muscles twitched and you heard a shriek in your ears at the piercing stab, the fire that licked your insides in a vicious inferno.

You sat against the flooring of the tub, breathing quick and wheezy, knees bent upward as your arms wrapped around yourself.

Hot. Hot. Hot.

It was always hot.

It was so hot.

So fucking hot that you didn't hear the slight creak of the door opening. Or the light footsteps that moved behind you.

Burning, burning, burning. 

The freezing water felt like pebbles poking at your flesh until you could feel the fat beneath your skin being boiled.

You swallowed thickly, hard around the growl gathering in your throat.

Though you were drowning in what would normally feel comfortable and ease the fever swelling your skin, leaving it hot to the touch, instead it felt the same; you held no relief.

But this had worked before, or the pain eased enough that you were able to think without feeling your mind split.

On those occasions, you'd have a single moment of coherent thought before your body began trembling from an aching heat that came over you like a summer fog.

Last night had been the worst of it. Unbearable. Intense. It made your stomach do flips, threatening to spill out what little contents there were. Not even two hours ago you retched up a gallon of stomach acid, black tar-like muck. You shook through another shiver.

Ceramic shards clung to your nails like glue.

You had no care for them as you pressed your face into your knees, hoping, yearning that the water from the shower would return you back to how things were. How they should be. Normal. 

A body that wasn't sore, seething. Uncomfortable.

Normal skin. That didn't catch every hue of light in the bathroom or smelled like nothing but the strong detergent used to wash away the bloody pieces of bark from the night before.

You remained with your eyes screwed shut, but you felt how quickly they blinked with need for more water. A need for something below freezing. 

You waited.

Hoped.

Prayed.

You wished so hard on your breath that what was supposed to be a chilled drip instead fell like globs of goo, coating your head and shoulder blades.

You waited.

Waited.

Waited.

Each second ticked and like yesterday, everything was loud again. 

You heard the shower curtain crinkle slightly under the water falling freely atop you, it also made an abstract splattering sound as it hit the floor tiles but no longer fell in waves of droplets like it did before, no longer providing the soft chill to your inflamed skin.

Waited.

Waited.

Waited.

For your body to cooperate.

To fix itself.

You shouldn't have had to focus.

Focus.

Focus.

Focus.

That's the one thing that rattled your brain, pulled back and forth between each, as Sam continued with that word; he spat it out to you like it meant everything, like it should have you focusing. Yet.

Nothing.

Your muscles had ceased in the cramping but you assumed that was the first step in returning to normal.

It was still hot.

Furiously hot.

A raging wildfire.

Tears swam down your cheeks, across your lips, dipping in your mouth and clacking against your teeth and you remained as a lump of nothing in the dark room.

Waiting.

Waiting.

Waiting.

It wasn't the water that did it for you.

It was the loud, bitterly cold, small and circular patch of coolness that soon turned to multiples that struck you. You didn't feel it at first, couldn't decipher what it was you felt, but all the same, you tensed up.

Focused.

Focused.

Focused.

In annoyance, your muscles rippled and it put a gasp in your chest as the ice chips -or so they felt like- clanked in onto your back.

Ice. 

Someone was putting ice on you.

Someone was touching you.

Someone who wasn't Sam.

It wasn't your mom.

And they were speaking. 

But you couldn't hear. 

Couldn't make your ears focus just on the voice.

Couldn't force your neck to twist and look as the muscles spasmed beneath the movement.

You couldn't find who spoke to you as they ran their fingers softly along your back.

From your neck and spine to the small of your being.

You couldn't make out a simple sentence either.

You couldn't make out what had happened moments before, only that the water was ceasing and your body was scorching again at the lack, only to abruptly lower to a simmer when you felt something enveloping you entirely. Something cold.

Something that must have smelled familiar yet, sickeningly sweet.

Softer than the air moving around, swishing and swaying as the curtain slid back further.

Something soft.

Something familiar but not quite within your reach yet.

You could almost remember it but in doing so your head began to pound.

Everything was loud; if it weren't you were almost certain that it would be deafening.

But then, with the last drag of each blink, you could feel the anger in you being gradually drowned out by something else, something unfamiliar. An intruder. It made your body jerk, jerk away from the cold source of salvation, jerk from the very thing that was keeping you grounded and your memory on track to forming; it made you feel weak in doing so and at the same time, scared, horrified, but calm. It put you at ease.

Almost.

And again you could smell a sweetness that flooded your nostrils and set the hairs inside teetering away from the rot, the decay. Your body jerked again. Instinctively. Out of your control.

But the cold, the cold that you slowly came to recognition with, held you firm. Limbs they were. Your vision was clouded in and out but they were limbs. Chiseled, scarred arms that felt like an ice statue come to life. Pressed so tightly against you that you began to slack. You began to hear.

"There we go... That's it..." A voice cooed softly, a dulcet soothing tone that rocked through the room and filled your ears; smooth, deep and enticing.

You swallowed harshly, a snarl stuck in the pit of your gut that stung and left you winded the moment your eyes were directed upwards. Your sight blurred instantly but the more you blinked they began to regain life. The wolf of you was being pushed further beneath the surface and the whine of protest inside went ignored for a few seconds.

"Breath and just relax. "

It was him.

Jasper.

It was Jasper.

And this time you could get a better look of him.

There were two, thick lines between his eyebrows that pushed and bulged the skin as he stared down at you in concentration, as if he were attempting to figure out the world's greatest puzzle.

His pupils were a hazy gold.

Almost a yellow.

A pale yellow, mixed with orange.

Red orange.

Almost sunset like.

"It's just me. " Jasper spoke quietly. So quiet, so gentle. Unlike his kind. Something stirred and growled inside you but in doing so Jasper's shoulders tensed and his eyes were narrowed just the slightest. "Just me. " His voice came and wafted.

You hadn't the strength to pick your limp body off of him, only to relish in the cool feeling of his skin against you and when he saw the dark pools of your black eyes clear from the threatening growl the lines above his eyebrows disappeared.

Some sort of moment had passed, a moment where he seemed to have returned to a child-like manner and focused in on you to the best of his capabilities.

"You're burning up. " A cold finger against the heat at your forehead and you jerked back but not roughly enough to leave his arms. Though the wince on your face did. 

For the first time since your eyes adjusted, you met his gaze.

Slightly crumbled, Jasper's face relaxed as he offered a slow nod. "Healin' nicely. "

That's right, healing. You hadn't noticed that they were sore until he mentioned it. Scars along your face were slowly going away. "It shouldn't leave a mark. "

But what concerned you was how rough your skin felt. There was a sharp stinging as you slowly relaxed against him, and it stung like needles, and prickled like spines and thorns, the feeling was still dulled despite his cold flesh and the layer of cloth between his and your nearly-bursting skin.The white button up shirt was completely drenched, droplets slid off of the stark creams like shimmering diamonds.

"It's hot. " Was all you could get out, voice hoarse, grating against your tender flesh, torn and pulled in dozens of different directions. You wondered if talking was wrong. Wrong. Wrong. Your instincts bubbled to the surface but never quite breached to the point where you snapped and growled.

"I know. " You heard the drop in his throat, the way his breath rolled with his mouth and he bent forward, hand to your forehead, through your hair, pushing the wet strands away from your face.

He watched you intently, gaze scanning for signs that gave hint to your pain.

You closed your eyes tight but his hand slipped lower, down your cheek, and coming to just about your chin. His hand cradled you, making a cold burning under your bones, under your flushed flesh and a wave of want spilled over you that you couldn't wipe away.

"I didn't know it was like this. "  It was a whisper.

Your jaw hurt but you tilted to look at him more clearly. It was his touch. His hand.

"This wasn't what I felt from you when you first changed. "

"This is the aftermath. " Another voice. Booming. Louder than his. Slightly indifferent. And both your neck and head pounded painfully as you snapped to see the owner. It was Sam. Standing in the doorway.

Your mind cleared. "You shouldn't be here. " You choked on the second word. Heard a rumble in your head but it subsided when Jasper's large, cold hand pressed firmer to your cheek, bringing you back against him.

He was so soft to you. Too soft.

Sam addressed you. Tone even. "It's forgiven. " His eyes cross Jasper's. 

"Just make sure the boys don't find out. " He paused. Thinking. Then. "Be careful. " He repeated. Sam turned to take his leave. His tall frame filled the doorway almost entirely with his size but you thought nothing of him leaving, as there was yet another tremor in your stomach.

Pain, a horrible stabbing type of pain, began shooting from underneath your skin like needles and for a second you forgot of Jasper's existence, forgot of your situation, and curled into yourself in hopes the pain would go away.

It was then you felt his hands encase you, one of your shoulder blades, the other pressing to the small of your back. His fingers dug into the bare flesh and you held onto that as you shook. He felt how the veins rippled the flesh around them and an ache came to him as he reached and tugged you up, the material of his clothes catching against the shower curtain when you finally, after several minutes, allowed Jasper to pick you up, your body pressed entirely to his, and he whispered to you with his usual calmness, brushing away your hair that dripped, and gently told you to breathe.

"In and out. "

If it weren't for the fog swarming your better judgment, you might have found your resolve, snapped and jumped at the sweet gesture. But nothing was going to fight through the high fever, and aching, pungent sting from the very needle pricking every inch of your skin at once.

Jasper tried again.

"Just breathe. "

You sucked air, a short gasp and it was like broken glass sliding down your throat. Painful and nauseating but the moment Jasper's skin dug deeper into your body, holding you tighter than before, easing his embrace by stroking a cold hand along the length of your arm and slipping further downward.

"In and out... Slowly. "

The burn on your skin stopped abruptly and you heard him say "there" but it felt weird.

At ease, the moment you began breathing slowly, his cold digits like magic against your arm, traveling gradually, in circles, all the way up to the bend of your neck and just the very corner of your jaw, and then falling to your thigh and repeating the same motion. It was soothing. Like your muscles didn't know what to do with themselves.

"Are you better? " The voice bounced against his chest and you weren't quite sure how, but you managed to nod, the action causing the world to spin. Jasper nodded back at you, gaze in that constant look of concern, as if he'd never been worried a day in his life. "Do you want to stay here or do you want me to take you somewhere else?"

A low and rather aggressive growl surfaced in the back of your throat and you felt your limbs all come to a standstill and tremble. Jasper's body tensed as he looked to you. All the muscles that were massaging the sting in your body hardened, no longer soft as you wanted.

"Alright, " his eyes didn't waver from you and the golden depths had you staring, he swallowed and sighed out a heavy breath, "it's just me again. Remember that. Okay? Only me. " His voice rumbled his chest and made you feel comfortable again, easy, the boiling in your bones all began to settle.

Still, that anger you felt inside continued with that growl that made him ever so tense, ever so weary. You could feel his body lean back, situating into the curve of the tub. "I'm alone. " Jasper whispered now, lowering his head to yours, cheek to your forehead and your eyelids slid half-way down, pupils dilating just the slightest, "Breathe. " He said. "Deeply. " The tip of his cold nose brushed along the space of your skull and for a moment it appeared as if he contemplated his actions but continued on.

There you could smell the strength of his scent with an underlying sweetness to his dead flesh, the scent of a vampire; still, you didn't jump or shove him off. And he exhaled the biggest breath you had ever seen a vampire take.

He did this several times, took several deep, calming breaths. As if it were to sedate your beast within, that monstrous, ravenous hunger that lay buried beneath the confines of your now flesh and bones, but far beyond control of your own.

Eventually you caught the air without it stabbing into your lungs like those needles and his arm moved to become wrapped, almost entirely, completely around your chest, and pulling you firmer to him, moving from the crook of the bath to the center of the room, sliding in a motion so inhuman and smooth, past the wash rack and the closet, to the wall, leaning your sore back against the plaster. You leaned. Not just leaned, but collapsed against him as your body relaxed.

So strange, so inhumane and entirely disgusting at the fact that a vampire, an immortal, the vilest, putrid stench to nature, could make you feel so comforted, so tranquil, and ease all the pains you had felt.

As if the moon had begun shifting its cycle of phases while in his arms, you found yourself staring into his eyes, watching the shadows of darkness become your savior.

The pressure in your head was gone, the aching and pinching in your bones were coming to a comfortable stand still, leaving you numb in parts, and full of an incredible urge to drift off into the darkness, where you felt more... At ease.

Jasper's gaze swept over your flushed features and he slowly reached to push the loose strands of hair from your face, fingers caressing your cheek bone and over the prickled skin on your neck and slowly, down to your left shoulder.

Your collar bone.

"Is it any better?" A whisper to your ears. Rough, jagged along his cold tongue and you fought the urge to show your teeth back.

"Yeah. " It was the first word that came to you, coherent, but the word itself sent a sharp pain up the muscle and you winced visibly. Jasper's eyes searched your face once more but never directly met yours. 

When your heart began spazzing for his affection, you bit your tongue.

"Don't try to talk anymore. Rest. " His voice was soft and the muscles below your flesh rippled as he acted as a crutch on the way to your bedroom. It was at the end of the hall and to the right.

At the door his nose wrinkled, as did the skin along his upper lip, but he said nothing of the burning smell of wet dog.

His steps were swift as he carefully positioned himself through the threshold.

You stumbled to your mattress and fell weakly at the foot of it, Jasper's grip loosening and fingers unfurling from your flesh.

You settled into the cooled sheets and watched him intently as he carefully closed the door behind him. You only lifted your torso and crawled on your knees up to the pillows and got lost in there. They hid your flushed, irritated body against the rough surface.

Jasper stood for what felt like a long time near the door, standing by your closet and watched. You were too exhausted to think, it was nearing the start of daylight outside, and your eyes shut involuntarily, each blink longer than the last.

You were so tired but the anger persisted even when sleep took you. You dreamt not.

Unintentionally, you fell asleep.

For Jasper, however, he stood for several minutes just staring at your still body.

All was quiet and peaceful, the world outside was just wakening with the sounds of the birds, and the leaves were still, unmoving, but the air was dry. Just a couple of hours ago and this same place was like a cave. Smelling of beasts, of fur and musk, the woods themselves had a strong scent in this area, yet it changed suddenly.

To normalcy. And he wasn't quite sure how he felt, what the rest of the family, of his brothers and sisters, his mother and father would say when he returned smelling of dog.

The type of dog that sought to cease their existence. 

Their natural doom.

The very dog that'd nearly tore their heads from their bodies days prior. 

However, being this close to you and noticing the increase in hormones among all other smells, though, for the most part, the odor was horrendous, more specifically, that you were feeling better, not dying or in any more pain, was enough for Jasper to ignore anything else.

[azuremallone]

Why it is that people need to pressure women to meet their sense of beauty is beyond me.

This isn't just me taking a defense for Kate Beckinsale. This is me getting angry that she's forced to respond to jackasses who want her to meet their ideals. She's a person. A Human who, whatever issues there are, has needs and troubles of their own to contend with. Suffice it that she has to explain an illness and personal tragedies she'd rather keep than share; There's always a contingent of assholes and bitches just itching to shit on someone without any consideration whatsoever to their personal well being, and disguise it in a maligned sense of "trying to help."

I can look like anything or anyone I want. I'm fortunate to be a shapeshifter. Yet that too has a price. It's uncomfortable and sometimes it makes me bitchy because I'm uncomfortable. Sometimes, I don't even want to go outside because I'd rather lounge in my true form watching TV shows and movies that no critics liked. And therein, when I go outside, I choose to take on a form that's appealing to other Humans.

I don't choose to look like anyone in particular or specifically, but I do take bits and pieces of other people's appearances that I like and incorporate them into the visage I see myself as in looking like one of you. I can't hide every little bit of me being an alien, but damnit if I have to still carry a sense of "normal" beauty to simply hide amongst you and avoid people looking too closely.

No one notices the average on the short-side height pretty girl who looks way too youthful to stare at for too long lest one get looked at as being a creeper. No one wants to gaze too long at me because I intentionally look like I could be a model just to make people feel nervous but also acknowledge my presence. And it's hard work.

I can't fathom how hard it is for women who can't shapeshift. They are who they are, flaws included. A bad skin day or a medical condition that flares up and suddenly you've got everyone's attention because you look different, unappealing, or gaunt. Heaven forbid that there's evidence you've been in the hospital because OH NO! You're there for some self-induced reason!

Decide to cut your hair short and people who love it longer make comments. Let it grow and people who love it short make comments. Gain a little weight and you're fat. Lose a little weight and you're anorexic. Too pale, too dark, looking tired, looking wired? On and on and on...

If I really thought that Humans wouldn't run screaming from me and could accept my true form, my lovely prismatic bluish-white scales, Azure colored dragon-like eyes, and my rippling musculature down to the tip of my dagger-shaped tail, I'd step outside and roar at the top of my lungs. But no, I can't, because you don't. Some fucking chode will pop their fucking head out of the basement, scratching their fucking neckbeard and comment how I'm poor CGI because I don't have the right size of tits for a proper furry, look stringy and could use a burger while wearing some better done makeup.

For fucks sake, treat people of any walk of life like any other person you know for once. Doesn't matter if they're rich, poor, famous, infamous, Human or alien, vampire or werewolf, politically aligned with you or not: No one is your enemy unless you make them one. Shut the fuck up or be kind and honestly compassionate.

"Oh, Ms. Beckinsale, I'm hoping you're well and wish you improved health. If you're willing to share, we would like to understand what's troubling you. We're all here for you if you need our support. We enjoy your work, so do be well soon!"

How fucking hard is that?

No, you get, "Your cheekbones are showing, eat something."

[gold-rhine]

For the sub!Venti fic, may I ask what was your thought process on this section?

“After, he curls against you, lets you clean and hold him. He created his own body, so he can control it, make it resistant to weakness like this, but he likes it, feeling raw and tender after being used, he always liked bringing others joy, at least for a few moments, be it from his songs or his body. And when you whisper sweet praises for him, stroke his hair and back, hold him close, and just for now, it feels like even as he truly is, weak and sinful, not living up to the visage of the Nameless Bard, he can be good enough.”

okay disclaimer i am not a venti scholar, i didn't do character study for him like i usually do for my fics, this quote is from more casual compilation where i did only couple paragraphs per character so i'm open to discussion or corrections

ok that said, what i think is impossible to not mention in like psychosexual context about venti is that he's wearing nameless' bard body, but unlike NPC in his quest, he doesn't try to act like him most of the time. like, that fake adventurer was trying to ACT like his dead friend full time to spread his name, to make sure he's known as the greatest adventurer. venti doesn't do that, he acts almost in opposite from the idealistic, driven, inspirational nameless bard we see in flashbacks and stories. UNLESS he's acting as Barbatos, which we see him do with said adventurer in one scene where he reveals his godhood to bring the dead friend's soul to rest. his demeanor shifts drastically into the benevolent, inspirational and poised.

adding this to the general theme of his quest, the fake adventurer feeling inferior to his dead friend and also guilty that he survived when "greater" adventurer died, it reads to me that when he's acting as Barbatos, venti is performing what he thinks Nameless Bard would have done, he's making sure Bard's legacy lives on in this image of god of freedom, inspiration for the freedom fighters, giver of hope for the hopeless, etc. and the rest of the time he's distancing himself from being seen as Barbatos, living as venti the bard, local drunk goofball, as if on purpose exaggerating the difference.

so all the great deeds he's done, all the good and influential, is done and remembered from the visage of the Nameless Bard, while venti is just kind of goofing around, trying to keep himself entertained, in a drunk haze or actual slumber, until the next time comes when he needs to embody the ideal of the Bard again. like, he's channeling what the Bard would do, so doesn't feel like it should be credited to himself, does it make sense?

so in that quote i was trying to hint at the kinds of coping mechanisms that he would do to deal in living in this duality of being a shapeshifter wearing a body of a ghost who he believes should have been the one to become a god of freedom

[ghoulpepperv]

Like Yngve, I want more art of Lamia in the near future from the fabulous @countslimeula. Today I just want to gush about my characters AND encourage you to get some RPG art yourselves! @countslimeula has commissions! I'd one day love to get art of Lamia's sidekick, Allie the Dragonborn, too.

I keep going back and forth on writing stories for Lamia and Yngve. Or, perhaps, one day they'll get to be part of a D&D podcast. (It doesn't HAVE to be D&D. I'm open to other types of RPGs.)

If I'm ever in a position to just organize something myself, I will. I just do not have the time right now.

Lamia Ambler

Pronounced: LAH-mee-uh ahm-blur Race: Changeling Class: Rogue Age: Mid-20s to Early 30s Alignment: Chaotic Neutral Pronouns: She/Her/Hers

Lamia and her sidekick, Allie the Dragonborn, recently escaped from prison. Lamia acts as the brains while Allie is the brawn. Lamia's a con artist and thief. She considers herself more intelligent than most people, even in situations where that isn't true. She's smug and her ego is often her downfall. She likes to be perceived as tough as nails, but she's a lot more sensitive than she lets on. It doesn't take much to hurt her feelings.

On the run from the law, she and her accomplice, Allie, are constantly on the move. They steal and con to make ends meet. Due to her ability to shapeshift into any humanoid, Lamia is able to blend into any crowd. She has the skills and brains to take care of herself. It's just that her bloated sense of self-importance always lands her in hot water.

Lamia is loyal to her closest friends, especially Allie.

[Reworking her stats now I know more D&D knowledge]

Abilities:

Shapechanger: Lamia can change her appearance and voice to any Medium sized, humanoid creature she has seen before. The biggest downside is that she will still need to find appropriate clothing and equipment if she plans to deceive others with her changed appearance, and she will still need to act appropriately.

Unsettling Visage. When a creature she can see makes an attack roll against her, she can use her reaction to impose disadvantage on the roll. She must use this feature before knowing whether the attack hits or misses. Using this trait reveals her shapeshifting nature to any creature within 30 feet that can see her. Once she use this trait, she can’t use it again until she finishes a short or long rest.

Languages Spoken: Common, Draconic, and Thieves’ Cant Weapons: Crossbow, Rapier, Shortsword.

Songs

Opportunities (Let's Make Lots of Money) by Pet Shop Boys

Daisy by Ashnikko

Never Had Nobody Like You M. Ward and Zooey Deschanel

Cops and Robbers by The Hoosiers

Last Night (Beer Fear) by Lucy Spraggan

Thumbs by Sabrina Carpenter

Video Games by Trixie Mattel

Give Them What They Want from Dirty Rotten Scoundrels

Dolls by Bella Poarch

[lyemohan]

"Hey, wyrm. You remember Ser Astrort, you savage monster?"

Amgerdr looked at the young elezen with a side glance, the pale tone of the male Ishgardian contrasting his black hair and blue eyes. His jawline was sharp, with a thin stubble starting to grow along it, give the bigoted man the appearance of a Fury-damned log of shite.

Amgerdr would not dignify the man's aggressive request, instead more focused on the cider in their gloved hand, the dark blue shade matching her long gunbreaker's coat. She closed her magenta eyes, the eyeliner of the same color meeting in the middle as her long black hair, bound in ponytail, was shown to the vile-natured man. "Hmm? Who? Don't know him, and I'm no heretic. Swive off."

"Oh, no little lass, you are," the man responded with a grunt of satisfaction. "You're the bloody shapeshifter, the monster among man. A vile wyrm that strikes in the night. You're Nott."

Amgerdr would open her eyes. She attempted to not respond to the remainder of the life she used to live. The life she tried all her life to throw away, along with the name.

She played dumb for the man, shrugging. "Don't know who in the hells that is." She would go to take another sip, only for her cheek to meet the flying fist of the man himself, knocking Amma down with a grunt as the falls to the floor, her mug flying away as she let go of it, glass shattering as it hits the ground, shards flying into her face.

She grunts as she lay on the ground, black boots with spurs over the cuffs of black pants starting to move in an attempt to gain her bearing. "You lie," the young, vengeful man, spoke. "You do know him, because you're the bloody wyrm who killed him! Who killed my father!"

His shouting was enough to get the bar to turn, despite them understanding very little. "You. You're the wyrm that took my father's life. So I'm going to take your eyes." His tone was hushed, only being heard by Amma herself, and very few others.

Swive this, she thought. She brought her right leg up to his face, kicking him hard as he went to pull out his knife. The young child of man yelped as he clutched his face, falling over against the bar. He would cry out in pain, wailing with a dramatic performance. "She hit me! That wyrm-bitch hit me! Why, I didn't do anything!"

His testimony was more convincing, as 5 other men slowly started to get up from a table, wearing the same chainmail the young man wore. Amma swore to herself, recognizing the signature red of the Convictors. The camp of aggressive dragon slayers.

"Aye, you there, bloody coward. You think you're tough, eh?" The lead Elezen spoke with a wicked tone, preparing to strut toward Amma at an intimidatingly slow pace.

She stood up, hand grasping the handle of her gunblade. Though, she wasn't able to clear leather until the 5 slayers piled on top of her, throwing fits and feet at her visage, her glasses cracked and flying off, her back facing up as she was forced to lay on her stomach.

The metal being thrown at her was leaving the flesh she had on bloody and bruised, the woman unable to fend for herself while the 5 men went to town on her. She hissed as her eyes returned to slits, bringing her arms into her chest before throwing them back out, the aetheric vessel that hid her true self from the star being cast away as wings fling the men off of her, claws and tail swinging at her assailants as she regained her bearings once more.

The bar erupted in a song of fear.

"A dragon!!"

"Fury help us!"

"Someone call the Knights!!"

Amma had no advantage here. The only option was to escape. She let out a short but loud roar, dashing to the exit of the bar and pushing it open with her black-maned-and-horned head, the crown shoving the door open as she makes herself as thin as possible, tucking her wings in close to just slip though the opening.

Outside, she could still hear the screams. She looked up in the alley she exited into, not even thinking as she hopped onto building after building, getting as high as possible as she tried to take off into the sky.

After hitting a decent sprint along the obtuse Ishgardian rooftops, she opened her wings, taking off into the skies and soaring away from the commotion.

Only for the sharp sting of a lance to enter her back, causing her to yowl in pain as she descended to the ground with a hard thud. As she blacked out, she could hear the words of her assalint. "A bit far from the Spine, are we?"

---

The next day, the dragon was released, as an eyewitness at the bar stepped forward to tell the true story of what happened. A week later, she fully recovered.

Though, as she went back to the bar, the servers turned her away, banning her from the place outright.

Amma would sigh, taking a long walk through the Pillars once more. Alone.

[geometricalien]

aaaa character game!! what’s a character you’ve been wanting ppl to ask u about lately??

venti from genshin impact 😌

character: hate them | don’t really care | like them | LOVE them | THEY ARE MY PRECIOUS

shipped with: aetherrrr

general opinions: I love them so much, he's such a fascinating character to me, shapeshifter, a wisp given godhood, his relation to time and the timeloop theory (WHICH WAS PROVEN TRUE BTW BY A PAPER JUST LAYING AROUND IN FONTAINE), he's a little bastard meow meow- "I'm the weakest archon" such a liar, an archon's strength is not given by ruling over people but by their belief in you. And the FACT that the people of mondstadt are so reverent to barbatos- there's a big fucking statue of him in the center of their city- he is hella fucking powerful. He wants us to underestimate him. No WAY should signora have been able to steal his gnosis. He has said to our face that as long as there is wind- he is there with us, hearing and seeing. He has some fuckery going on. As for the ship- I love the devotion and angst that they have. I love the idea of Venti going to Lumine in Aether's visage and bearing the bad news that Aether passed, bringing fated destruction to Tevyat. I love the angst of not being able to hold down the wind and God of freedom being unable to ask the Traveler to give up soaring across worlds with their sibling to stay with him. The whole "may wind protect you" and.it.has. with xiao. with kazuha. with scaramouche. lynette needs to save us at this rate because!! It! Has! Happened! Everywhere! Else!

[suncrayon]

thinking about Hera having the ability to create a little avatar for herself, if she ever wants to have a literal face (and I'm honestly not sure she would, but bear with me for the thought experiment anyway). like, she could look completely different, depending on what she felt like 'looking like' at that point, and I find that a really interesting insight into her psyche.

would she choose to appear entirely human? would that freak her out? would she always make sure to have unnatural coloured eyes, or deliberately include some wires in her visage?

if she gave herself a body, would it be in uniform like the rest of the crew? I personally love the idea of her 'borrowing' shirt ideas from Eiffel (don't think about her wearing a star wars shirt every day for months when they get back to earth)

she could essentially shapeshift, and that's SO interesting for someone who likely has no physical form she feels particularly represents herself. more thoughts to follow probably

[marchellas]

a cute lil hatchet ( not used ) from here

brown   eyes   flicker   between   the   ❛   ᵍᶤᶠᵗ   ❜   placed   atop   her   bed   &   wednesday   where   she   stands   a   few   feet   away—   unwavering   stoic   expression   upon   her   pale   visage   leads   march   to   assume   this   isn't   some   𝙾𝙳𝙳   𝙰𝙳𝙳𝙰𝙼𝚂   humor…   but   instead   a   𝑔𝑒𝓃𝓊𝒾𝓃𝑒   𝑔𝒾𝒻𝓉   as   confusion   mixes   with   gratitude   ,   despite   how   𝔪𝔬𝔯𝔟𝔦𝔡   of   a   gift   it   might've   been   ;   something   about   it   made   the   shapeshifters   eyes   light   up   at   all   the   things   she   could   do   with   such   an   item   (   mostly   containing   things   she   probably   ˢᴴᴼᵁᴸᴰᴺ'ᵀ   ᴰᴼ   with   the   hatchet   ,   to   be   sure   )   .   ❝      gee—   thanks   ,   wednesday   .   ❞   there's   a   pause   ,   but   she   also   can't   help   the   way   lips   curve   upward   at   each   corner   in   a   small   ,   but   𝓅𝓊𝓇𝑒   smile   .   ❝   you   know   ;   i'm   starting   to   think   you   might   actually   not   entirely   hate   me   giving   me   things   like   this   after   making   sure   i   didn't   like   ,   die   in   my   sleep   last   time   i   saw   you   .   ❞

    …   𝖆   𝖌𝖎𝖋𝖙   ?   𝖋𝖔𝖗   𝖒𝖊   ?         (      accepting      )

[wailshe-a]

@benbraeden / continued from here.

it's not something that she wanted to ask outright, a question that bears so much weight that the fear of it consuming him outranked her curiosity. in truth, all lydia wants to do is lend an ear and let him talk about all the things he's been holding onto so tightly. she knows what it feels like to drown in the past, for it to hold a grip so brutal on her throat that she just can't seem to be free of it's horrific suffocation. the past haunts her, as does the present: if anyone can relate to that, it's her. her gaze softens as it lands on his features, his scruff beard hiding the boyishness of youth from his visage. she can tell he's crumbling, piece by piece, and she doesn't want him to break.

" yes, i've seen it. " the redhead admits with a tentative bite of her lip, dark hues analysing his expression for any hint of reluctance on his part. she doesn't want to push, but she knows that he wasn't the one to commit matricide: the creature stalking him was at fault. lydia hasn't told him yet, but she's been experiencing nightmares of the shapeshifter taking his form and killing the people that he's previously interacted with, even if simply for a fleeting moment. it's a terror that hugs her skin, has become a part of her. since becoming close with ben, she's felt the connection of the shifter to him: feeling it's emotions mirroring his. she knows she's at risk now, but she cares more for the weight that puts on his shoulders.

" i always do my research, it's a genius thing. " she emits a tiny chuckle in response, hoping to diffuse the evident tension that has built up in the room around them: hanging in the air. lydia reaches out to take his hand, more out of a comforting instinct than anything else, ignoring the surge of death that follows with his touch. yet she feels oddly content with it, to finally touch him and be free of the fear. " i want to know how you're feeling. and i need to tell you something, but i'm afraid that. . . you'll run for the hills when i do. " brows furrow, the ache of possible abandonment settling in her chest.

[visage-of-hell]

What are some things about Visage that you think more people need to pay attention to? What are some facts about her that you aren’t well-known?

I'm so VERY glad you asked! <3 While she's obviously very "hellhound-passing", folks should definitely be paying closer attention to the fact that she's only HALF hellhound--the horns are a dead giveaway. She also has a lot of powers that she doesn't often make use of, but absolutely could if it suited her (namely the ability to shapeshift between various types of hellborn). All this ties into the very interesting fact that her father (a Baphomet demon from the Sloth Ring) was actually once an Overlord, himself. Hellborn don't often achieve a position like that, on account of the fact that unlike mortal sinners, they have a finite lifespan--until they start collecting souls, that is. But as the know-how of forming soul contracts isn't widely known, most either don't bother or don't realize they even CAN. Where's Vizzy's Overlord daddy been all this time? Why's he not an Overlord anymore? HMMMM! Guess you guys will just hafta stay tuned in order to find out. ^_~

[sonicasura]

Related to this post.

My dumbass forgot to write the abilities for the options in the Resident Evil poll. So this page is completely dedicated to that. I'll be using Leon and Claire for the example since I'm currently watching a RE2 Remake walkthrough. Let's get started!

Spikanor, Spiky Brawler

This bulky 8'2 fighter is known not just for their sharp looking spikes but unique battle style that combines weight with sheer power. Any martial arts can also be used.

In exchange for the loss of gun use, the Spikanor transformation CAN outmatch Mr X in physical strength and tank the hits from Birkin Monster's second mutation very well. A very satisfying boon as Leon's weapons aren't that good without a weak point. Plus I bet he wanted to punch Mr X's teeth out from how many times he got chased in the canon game.

Spikanor also offers the ability to create a powerful shockwave, has a strong immunity to poison and plant based strikes. The latter two can be shared with any companions. Dealing with Poison Zombies has never been so better.

This form makes protecting companions easier as both protagonists can carry em and they have access to ammunition like Sherry or Marvin(if you chose to save him as he'll have immunity against the virus like our in-game protagonists in this situation). Claire can easily scare off the corrupt police chief or crush him the moment he gets too close to the young Birkin.

Mummymon, Gunning Necromancer

An 9' Ultimate Level Digimon whose gun, Obelisk, is as powerful as their necromancy. Just like any other Ultimate, this form grants great power and durability alongside a vast knowledge on the undead.

Leon/Claire are still able to use any weapons they find but their Obelisk will outmatch all gun based weapons. Our female protagonist can use any acid or flame rounds with her weapons. Just like any necromancer, the Mummymon form uses the Necrophobia technique to summon phantoms to aid in various tasks or battle.

Bandages on our protagonist bodies aren't just for show as they can be manipulated by sheer will. This technique is Snake Bandage since the bandages move similar to snakes. In Claire's case, both main attacks can keep zombie hordes away while she can go through each room and gather supplies.

Leon might be able to undo any zombification like in Marvin's or the little girl's case if they retain enough humanity/human consciousness. The secrets of the undead are theirs to use.

Nightmaren, Soaring Dream

This unique dream based entity is more crafty and bewitching than it looks. The Nightmaren grants the natural ability to fly alongside even more hidden potential if the wielder knows how to use their imagination to the fullest.

All weapons can be used in this form so Claire/Leon can maintain their arsenal while staying out of attack range. The Paraloop, a portal based ability makes gathering items or grouping enemies together a snap just by circling around them. Squishing Mr. X between random junk or other zombies hasn't felt so delightful as Leon can make a quick getaway.

Drill Dash makes traveling through different areas not only faster but can tear apart the lesser durable foes like average zombies. The Nightmaren form also grants the ability to shapeshift for mobility and more powerful transformations such as Dragon if our protagonists can find a mask.

Finally Dualize makes keeping watch over any companions much easier. This technique allows Claire/Leon to assimilate with any person through physical contact like a high five or handshake. Powers and abilities are equally shared while the less durable half is protected from harm.

It'll look like Marvin or Sherry disappear when they're actually sharing a body with their Nightmaren protector. A certain asshole chief can't easily kidnap a little girl if she's safely nestled in Claire's visage.

Hapaxion, Camouflage Creeper

This 8'3 armored reptilian is more stealthy and powerful than it appears. Hapaxion grants great mobility such as climbing any surface to sheer power that it can send Mr. X flying with a tongue slap.

Leon/Claire can't use most of their weapons except for knives and maybe grenades. Of course being able to tear into more durable zombies such as Lickers to the Birkin Monster is a good enough exchange. Just like with Spikanor, Hapaxion grants resistance to plant based attacks and poison.

Unlike the Spiky Brawler, this form bears a long needle tipped tongue that can tear through solid steel like tissue paper. Gross in Claire's opinion as Licker blood definitely wouldn't taste good. Hapaxion comes with advanced camouflage so avoiding enemies is less of a hassle especially the stalker kind like Mr. X.

Just like with Spikanor, they're big enough to carry their respective ward alongside offering more items to defend themselves with. Marvin can use any firearms Leon finds and provide cover fire if needed.

Chesnaught, Spiny Armor Protector

(Move list here as I ain't going through all of that.) This 5'03" juggernaut bears a bomb proof hide and immense power despite its size. Chesnaught form can send a 50-ton tank flying with a mere Tackle so fighting the Birkin Monster's second/third mutation would be a fair match in an all out brawl.

Leon/Claire can't use guns or grenades so knives are the only weapon they have. They do have access to Bulletproof which renders any blast harmless to them. Being a Grass/Fighting Type, healing moves such as Aromatherapy (cures any status ailments) and stat boosters such as Bulk Up(boosts physical attack alongside physical defense).

Leon is quick to regrow any herbs (healer role due to Marvin) while Claire would boost her abilities to fend off the more vicious zombies (defender role due to Sherry). Chesnaught also has the signature move Spikey Shield which not only blocks any attack buy also damages the opponent if it's a physical strike.

Zombies are dumb enough to impale themselves as they'll usually go up close for their attacks. Countering Birkin Monster or Mr. X takes time but is worth the hassle. Any weapons can be given to companions although it'll be awkward for Leon to carry Marvin as it's either piggyback or fireman carry.

Goss Harag, Limb Reaping Snow Oni

This last choice is a 21' heavyweight Fanged Beast from a region so cold that it's known as the place where wyverns die. Goss Harag bears incredible strength, durability and a nasty temper. This form is also quite agile despite it's large size as it can maneuver in midair to keep an eye on its opponents.

Any weapons are useless for Goss Harag so it can be delegated to companions. By breathing in cold air, Leon/Claire can freeze their own bodily fluids and release it as an icy laser from their mouth. This phlegm can be used to form blades of ice on their arms than just freeze anything that the blast hits. Shockwaves by powerful leaps or breaking the ice to attack far off opponents are also viable.

Making smoothies out of Plant 43 zombies is much easier for Leon when he has to get the solution to kill that monster plant. The ice Goss Harag generates can cause the status known as Ice Blight which doubles any ice damage but also reduces the target's mobility.

Fast zombies such as hounds will be easier to escape or handle. Now if either take enough damage, it'll activate rage state which is signalled by Goss Harag's hide turning red. This boosts attack power, form ice armor faster and make it harder for them to get knocked off guard.

Despite her adventure (Scenario B) being shorter, I bet Claire just going apeshit would feel so good as Mr. X likes to come at her early. Goss Harag can carry their respective companions with the least hassle and have enough tools in their arsenal to make if difficult for any unwelcomed company to get close.

And that's all I have! I hope this helps with voting in the new poll. Until next time folks, I'll see you later!

[cybernexus]

A crap ton of picrew Aihrens I have since lost the link to!

[fatexbound]

"Actually, my eyeliner was given to me by a friend. Midnight black number 3--” tags.

[fracturedxprospice]

Tag Dump: Desa & Silva

[ruki--mukami]

High clicking sounds filled the manor, but it turned out that Metsu bought heels... not any heels tho, "Ruki-kun! Look! I bought them 20 inch heels and now I'm gonna rock those babies-!" Her voice cracks as she slipped and to her luck fell down the stairs when she tried to pose in the tall shoes, "Ruki?... is it normal for my ankles to feel this numb? It feels like they're non-existent. Also... I think I miss-located a bone... I don't know which bone- oh wait that's my ribs saying hi to my colon... it's all fun and games but I got one arm stuck under me.... help? Please?" She whines out from the bottom of the stairs.

“Metsu—?! Oi, idiot!!”

Unfortunately, the poor girl collided into the hard mahogany surface of the floor before the Vampire could rescue her from the impending doom of fractured ribs, a rearranged spine, and crushed arms. More so than the catastrophic fall, however, her lack of concern for her own well-being bewildered Ruki above all.

“You moron… Don’t walk in those kind of shoes if you can barely stand on your own two feet!” A genuine visage of utter distraught overcame him as he lifted her off the floor to allow her arm much-needed reprieve. “Are you out of your mind? Good grief… I ought to punish you for making your master worry so much.”

With consideration for her sustained injuries, the Vampire scooped Metsu into his robust arms and carried her to the nearest bedroom downstairs to lie down in a comfortable supine position, all appendages splayed beside her most likely aching body in an attempt to nurse her back to health. The whole time his eyes never left her, which both perplexed and irritated him simultaneously over her own recklessness.

“The stupidity never ends with you. Just stay put for now. Truth be told, I had something special prepared for you today. One that might even complement your shoes had they been several inches shorter. Although it seems now a punishment, rather than a reward, is in order for you. Of course, that can wait until after you’ve recovered.”  

Unbeknownst to her, a vibrant pink dress remained in the closet, one that he intended to give to Metsu had it not been for her unforeseen descent down the stairs.

For now, he stayed silent about it and instead watched over her.

“Human bones take weeks, perhaps even months, to heal on their own. Though I’m uncertain if the same can be said for shapeshifters like you,” he let out the most annoyed sigh he ever has in years. “Rest well, Metsu.”

[pinkiepiebones]

Cryptid anon back at it again with the word salad. I didn't have a real question this time, just sitting bere having feelings about the fact that Ghouls get to, to an extent, CHOOSE what they look like when shapeshifting. And not in a weird way, but like...Special, right? Like, that means he CHOSE to have that sort of warm "everybody's dad friend" look. He LEARNED to look at people like that, to emote with just his eyes when his face is covered so you know when he's just joking with you, and I'm just feeling...a lot of things...because you know as a Ghoul he was never seen that way...Never probably had someone look at HIM that way. And just...decided that was the human he wanted to be. He could have picked something else...And he chose that. And that's just...alshfbeisnfvdidn...I felt like somebody needed to Say Something about that.

Well I can tell you Copia's been looking at him that way so

Yeah, they're pretty neat for being such low tier demons. Special brushes it off as "just glamour, you know, with some studying mixed and mashed in," but yes, it did take him a while to perfect all these things. What's most interesting, I think, is that in the thirty or so years he's been putting on his "humansona" as he calls it, he's never gone for an aesthetic of perfection. He likes to give his human visage a nose that looks like it was broken once and never set right. He likes to form his teeth in a crowded gnarl. He likes to make pores and wild eyebrows. It's funny, isn't it, how a ghoul can succeed in looking so human. You would think that, with his early days of nicking magazines from congregants, that he would have built up a gauzy, airbrushed, glowing vision of committee reviewed and panel approved beauty... but instead Special glamours up into, as you so eloquently put it, "everyone's dad friend."

In my younger and more naive days like four or five years ago I wrote several little fics where Spesh would talk to Papa III about makeup and aging because, well, Special is jealous of humanity. Ghouls don't grow- there's no baby ghouls, no children, adults, old folks. Ghouls just Are, and then they Are Not. Spesh is fascinated by how makeup works and how it can hide aging. There's a lot of feelings inside that animated lump of primordial sulfur, you know?