#Go Team combat skirts!

[tiredfloridianbutverygay]

“But I look like such a dorkasaurus rex!” Ruby said as she adjusted her hanfu, decorated with bats and horses, signs of good fortune and perseverance. “Oh gods, you had to see-”

“That you are a dorkasaurus rex?” Weiss said. “Spoiler I knew that already. I’ve accepted that my girlfriend is a massive dork, even if it makes her look like a bit more of a dolt than she already is.”

----

Ruby takes her girlfriend home with her to the Dōngzhì Festival, much fluff ensues. She already feels like she's a part of that family...

@white-rose-week

[lisenberry]

The mountain is you

Ch. 2 - I don't know what it is that I'm climbing to

~2.4k

E/MDNI/18+

CW: BDSM negotiations, dom!Price, dom!Ghost, pain play

(Chapter 1, Chapter 3)

It’d been a while since John had spoken to his former lieutenant, and even longer since he’d seen him.  The last few years had passed in a fog, so it was a shock when he saw the familiar number come across his phone.  He only briefly hesitated before answering. 

Soap and Gaz texted him all the time.  Links of foolish videos on the clock app, and pictures of mysterious rashes on their body parts that they needed help identifying.

But Ghost wasn’t one to waste anyone’s time.  Whatever it was, it was important.  And as it turned out, he had a proposition for him.

“You need a project, Cap.  Something to keep you sharp.”

“Are you worried about me, Simon?”

“We all are.”

John had been the one to start Life Connect 141.  An opportunity that gave the lads a place to channel their post-combat restless energy in a way that wouldn’t get them a murder conviction or a stint in a maximum-security psych ward.  It kept them together as a team and gave them a purpose.  And the opportunity to launder some of the not-quite-above-board money they’d liberated over the course of their travels.

Some veterans of special ops worked with rescued pit bulls.  Others started fitness programs, backpacking guide schools, and preparedness training facilities.

His boys filled their own rewarding niche.  Even after John’s departure, the company had flourished and from what he could tell, they were all staying out of trouble.

Judging by Ghost’s concern, he was the one who was floundering.  A marriage to the wrong woman, and the subsequent messy divorce, had left him dangerously adrift.  He’d thought about returning to the work, but his heart wasn’t in it anymore.

“Just meet her.  Trust me.  You can decide then if you’re doing me a favor, or the other way around.”

And he did trust Ghost.  With his life.  And if anyone had been keeping track, he imagined the scales were just about even between who owed whom more.

In the end, he agreed to the meeting.  For no other reason than to see for himself what had one of the toughest, most resourceful bastards he’d ever known seeking his expertise. 

They’d been at the table for a half hour, going over your file and discussing the particulars when John glanced up to catch his first impression of you.  A breezy blouse and a long, colorful skirt.  You looked around the outside seating area but didn’t see them.

Or more likely, you didn’t recognize Ghost without his mask on, judging by the surprised laughter that met his ears a few seconds later.

“Ah, dove.  There you are.”  Simon grinned as he stood, pulling you into a friendly hug. 

“You’ll have to forgive me, I’ve never seen you without the mask before.  I’m trying to reconcile the picture in my head.  I’ll try not to stare.”  An endearingly warm smile lit up your face.

You weren’t at all what John had pictured, either.  He’d clearly have to adjust the conclusions he’d reached based on your file.  He’d read about your stressful, demanding job, your high intelligence and predilection for punishment, and he’d imagined someone harder.  Colder.

There was a notation in the margin on one of the pages that had stood out as well. 

Daddy issues??? Undisclosed but probable.

He made his own note to inquire further, suddenly anxious to know everything there was to know about you.

“The mask is an improvement, don’t you think?” Ghost shrugged.  Was he actually blushing? 

Surely it was just the heat of the sun or a trick of the light.

“It has its charms, but you have a very honest face.”  The way you laid your hand reassuringly on his lieutenant’s arm made John clear his throat and offer his own hand in greeting.

As cute as your connection was, you were there for him, and he noticed the way you’d nervously avoided meeting his gaze.  The way you’d chosen to cling instead to Simon, the devil you knew. 

He had no desire to forcibly extricate you from your bond with your previous Dom.  That wasn’t how it worked.  At best, John could match it.  Slowly.  If he did his job right, in time, you’d come to look at him with a similar trust.

“Nice to meet you,” your eyes finally flitted to his as he took your cool, smooth palm into his own. 

It was then that he felt it.  The twitchy, fevered thrill of a worthy mission.

“So, what does that file say about me?”  You sipped your pint, finding your throat suddenly dry and your forehead warm, and in need of something to do with your hands. 

Ghost had excused himself a short while before, after making the introductions and sharing a few stories of his and John’s time working together.   

You’d found being alone with him to be...intense.  He seemed impenetrable.

He didn’t look down at the folder, and kept it closed on the table.  His pen held between his two hands, contemplative and resolute.

“That you’re a pain slut.  With a high tolerance.”  His voice didn’t rise above his gruff, conversational tone, and you didn’t bother to look around at your fellow patrons seated near you.  With the din of the restaurant, they wouldn’t be able to hear.  “Does that bother you?”

“No.  It’s the truth.”  You didn’t have anything to hide.  Not from him at least.  Not if this was going to work.

“What is it about pain that you seek out?”  He crossed his arms over the table and leaned in closer.  Biceps bunching under his t-shirt.  Ghost had always worn a suit.  John looked like he came from a construction site.  Unshaven and slightly dangerous.

You didn't hate it.

“When it’s done right, there’s a moment right before it gets to be too much that my body starts to fight back.  As if to say, ‘Go on, I dare you.  Is that all you’ve got to give?’  And just then, right before I give in and quit, it’s the most powerful I’ve ever been.  The most alive.”

“It’s the rush then, is it?”  He studied you like a therapist.  And you felt like a patient.  Only this therapist’s job was to tie you up and make you cry.  And come.  And cry again.  The thought made you shudder inwardly with anticipation.   

“It doesn’t work for all pain.  It’s not the blood or the risk of injury.  I don’t get off at the thought of the dentist...” you trailed off with a light laugh, finding it easier to talk to him about this than you'd thought. “But sometimes, the more helpless I am, the stronger it feels.  There aren’t too many things you can do without thinking about it.  Against your will.  Beating, breathing, feeling.  There’s a freedom in it.  Again, if it’s done right.”

“You don’t like to think, then.  You’d rather be surprised?”

“I don’t mind surprises.  I like them, actually.  We don’t have to negotiate everything ahead of time, so long as it feels right in the scene.”

You finished off the last of your pint and smoothed the napkin that had caught to the condensation on the bottom.  A first date, a therapy session, and an interview all in one.  And yet it didn’t fill you with the same anxiety as it should.  It could’ve gone wrong in a hundred different ways, and yet the more you confided, the more you relaxed. 

“Talk to me about these hard lines.”  He opened your file, skimmed it, and moved his pen back and forth as if he was underlining something boldly.

“Always be honest with me about what you’re going to do.  Don’t play games or make me have to choose something in order to please you.  Keep me engaged, but if I have to make a decision it will take me out of it.”

“That’s important to know, thank you.”  He made another note on the page.  “It also says no choking, but with an asterisk next to it.  Care you elaborate?”

“When I was little, I had terrible asthma.  Life threatening at times.  It’s under control now, but not being able to breathe, or even the threat of it, doesn’t...” you paused, searching for the right word to convey your biggest fear, “arouse me.  Let’s just say.”

“I understand why it wouldn’t.”  No sympathetic indulgence, thankfully, just a solid nod of support. 

Could he relate?  You wondered what hard lines he had.  You couldn’t imagine anything scaring him. Ghost had reacted the same when you’d had this discussion.  No questions, no bargaining.  Just respect for your vulnerability.  Surprising, from two men who seemingly had none themselves.

It prompted you to delve in further, and leave no room for misunderstanding, just in case.

“No collars, no ribbons, bows, belts, neckties, your hands, anything please.”

“Neck is off limits.  Noted.” 

“You can still kiss me there, if that’s something you like.  Or you can slap me, to get my attention.  And if you need to move me around or hold me down, you can grab my hair.”

You punctuated the last with a helpful smile and a shrug of your shoulders.  His gaze seemed to find your neck then, perhaps contemplating what it’d be like to kiss it.  Did the thought bring him as much excitement as it did you?

“Fair enough.”  A contented grunt was all you received in response.

“You said that this would be a reciprocating agreement.  What do you want from me?”  The question that had been on your mind since Ghost had called you.

With him, you just paid him money.  That was your end of the deal.  Without payment, that left too much to your imagination and you’d let it run a bit wild. 

“I’ll tell you what I want, and when I want it.  Is that clear?  I won’t ask for your permission, and you’ll never have to wonder what I’m thinking.  I don’t hear yes and no, or green and yellow.  Red means take a break and try something else, and the safe word is a hard stop to call it a day.”

“Understood.  Thank you.”  It was a plan you could definitely work with.  “But what about you?  What do you hope to get out of this?”

“I like to be in charge.  Take care of things.  And do the hard things that need to be done.”

“And who takes care of you?”  A simple question, but he seemed to bristle at it.  Perhaps you’d pushed him too far, too soon. 

“Good little girls who listen and behave.”  He adjusted himself in his seat, straightening as if to get back some control.  “Let’s talk punishments.  No spanking, obviously.  You’ll enjoy it too much.”  His eyes seemed to darken in both amusement and desire.

No doubt proud of himself for changing the subject and redirecting the friendly interrogation.

“Hopefully I won’t displease you, but you could ignore me.  That will make me rethink my attitude real quick,” you replied, with an answering grin.

“Ignore you?  I think that would hurt me more than you, sweetheart.”

Sweetheart.  You liked that.  Probably said as much with the flood of heat to your cheeks and the breathless giggle that sounded so foreign to your ears. 

“I think we’ll get along just fine...John?”  You questioned what name he wanted to be called.

“Sir.  Just sir.”

On the day of your appointment, he texted you the location and the key code for the door lock.  You found the building easily, and stepped into the elevator, double checking the apartment number to be sure you were in the right place.

When the code worked on the door to the fifth floor, you entered to find that it was someone’s home. 

The office of Life Connect 141 was in a nondescript office space on the outskirts of Canary Wharf, not far from your office.  If anyone spotted you, you could use the excuse of taking a meeting or doing your due diligence on a property you were looking to liquidate.

This, on the other hand, was well off the beaten path.  A restored factory building in a neighborhood you weren’t familiar with, but appeared to be up and coming judging by the activity along the street.  You’d already noted a few restaurants to try on the short walk from the Tube station and filed them away to pick up something to eat on your way home. 

A flat of this size and builder quality must have cost a premium, or else the owner bought in cheap before the neighborhood began to blossom.  It was well-appointed and comfortable.  Floor to ceiling windows that opened to look just above the shorter buildings next door.  Privacy from looking directly at your neighbors, but still connected to the bustling down below.

Once inside, you followed his directions to the letter.  You’d arrived early, dimmed the lights and set your bag on the hook by the door.  Cell phone ringer turned off and your shoes in the basket in the hall.

"I’ll leave what I want you to wear on a chair, you’ll know which one.  Wear nothing else.  There will be a pillow on the floor, you’ll know which one.  You’ll greet me on it."

As you moved in past the entryway, the remaining room was an open concept.  A kitchen with an attached dining area, and a living space on the opposite side.  Two plush sofas and an assortment of chairs and tables.  You didn’t know what to expect.  A pleasure room, maybe, or a dungeon of racks and toys.

It was just a living room.

Any nerves you’d been holding onto dissolved when you spotted the fabric draped across the lapis lazuli velvet wing-backed armchair.  Was that going to be his seat?  It was large enough to hold both of you comfortably...if you were on his lap.  It was certainly a statement piece.

The outfit he’d chosen was a simple, pink silk backless slip dress.  Not cheap satin, but the softest, sheerest gossamer.  You shivered as you stripped from your street clothes and gently settled the confection over your skin.  It barely covered your ass as you folded your things and hid them out of sight.

You briefly warred with whether to leave your hair up or down, deciding on the former, before you finally took a deep breath to center yourself.  Whatever happened next was out of your control.

When your knees met with the pillow at the foot of The Chair, your mind emptied and you felt the tension that you’d been carrying for weeks start to fade.  

Just in time to hear the click of the front door.

[whitefeathers]

i’m literally day dreaming about mean daddy dom butcher yelling at me🫠

MDNI. cw: daddy kink, denial, butcher being a mean daddy dom, spanking (just the 1), spit kink, vvv light knifeplay

"You tryin' to be a fuck up or is it just in your DNA? You piss daddy right off to no end, you little cunt. Bend over." You know not to argue with Butcher when he shouts at you like this, and even though tears brim your eyes, you bend over the couch for him and present your ass. You wanna win back his favour, be his good girl. You just have to take his punishment.

He settles behind you, the slow thud of his combat boots against the floor getting louder until they stop, the shadow from his massive frame covering you entirely. He takes a switchblade from his pocket, clicking it open and grunting at you to not fuckin' move as he slices the waistband of your skirt. You flinch, and Butcher throws the knife to the floor, letting it clatter just to make you jump even more.

"Wearin' this stupid slutty outfit. Did you see Homelander eye fuckin' you? I know the bastard has x-ray vision but at least fuckin' try not to present your pussy to every man you see." He roughly palms the fat of your ass cheek, leaving skin blanched beneath his fingers. His hands feel cold and rough, and you shiver, biting down on a couch cushion to not whine. You know Butcher likes you quiet until he really starts. That's when he wants you screaming.

"And lookie here, eh?" He gets down on his knees to really inspect you, his face in line with your prettily arched ass. He's too damn tall to see shit when he's stood up.

His pointer finger traces your pussy through your panties, and the easy slide of his finger down through the wet fabric makes you hot with embarrassment. "This little princess cunt is all soaked. All cuz daddy yelled? Cuz daddy's getting mean?"

You don't reply, instead bucking into his touch, trying to grind your clit into his finger. He snatches it away and spits meanly onto the crotch of your panties, right where your cunt twitches beneath the fabric. His spit soaks through and mixes with your slick, making you feel uncomfortably slippery and disgusting.

"You wanna be wet, be wet, dumb cunt. Go put another one of your skirts on. Put that denim one on daddy likes, you know the one. Little short number. I ain't touchin' you til that pathetic little panty stain dries." He slaps your ass, hard, and stands up, turning away from you. You're left denied and confused, pushing yourself up on wobbly forearms and giving Butcher the best puppy eyes you can muster. You want his punishment, want his attention - anything but denial when he's gotten you so worked up.

He doesn't even have to turn back to look at you to know the look you're giving him.

"Wipe those puppy dog eyes off ya face. I don't care. If you're gonna be a slut, go be a slut. Go show off that wet cunt for everyone to see. Lemme know when you're all dry and know how to be a functional human and not a cum hungry cunt," he lights up a cigarette, settling himself down on the makeshift kitchen table and opening up his newspaper. He's still angry at you, you can tell. But he wants you to suffer for it.

"But- But daddy-"

"No buts." He glares over his newspaper at you, clicking his fingers and pointing at your bedroom door. "Do as ya told."

You do. Your panties don't dry up the whole night, not even when you and the rest of the team watch reruns of Midsomer Murders and Butcher ignores you completely, other than spot checks under the blanket to rub your cunt and see if you've gone back to normal.

Butcher loves being cruel to you, and he loves that you're this soaked for him. Even if you don't meet his conditions - which he knows you won't, your pussy is slick with arousal and he can practically hear the heartbeat in your clit hours after he yelled at you - he's still going to give you a good pounding later on. Make it all better for his good girl, yeah?

[outermaybanks]

mean jj! bsf reader. jj plays baseball and lost a game against their rival team. he takes his anger out on you and he’s super rough and mean, but you’re totally into it.

Homerun

a/n: them fucking baseball boys. CW!!! smut 18+, unprotected sex, oral m receiving, creampie, ROUGH & RUDE, spit, just to be safe im gonna say dubcon, but reader is def consenting moodboard | headcannon

You sat in the middle row of the metal bleachers, a red and white cap with #7, JJ’s number, kept the beating sun out of your eyes so you could keep them on JJ. At least the hot metal wasn’t burning your thighs anymore, as you had wore a skirt to try and combat the summer heat. This was the most important game of the season, the play-offs for state. You knew how important it was to your bestfriend, he hopes to get at least one state championship under his belt before you graduated, so he could get a scholarship.

Your hands were clasped together in a silent, but desperate prayer to no one god in particular. You wanted this for him more than anything. 

“And up next to bat, #7, JJ Maybank!” The announcer’s voice said over the speaker. “Wooo! Let’s go, JJ!” You shouted, hoping JJ could hear you over the other cheers.

“Strike one!” you heard the ump say, and you wished you could punch him. “Strike two!” your nails began to dig into the back of your hand you were so anxious. Then finally, he hit the last ball. “Foul!” The umpire shouted, and you felt your heart sink as you could only imagine how JJ felt. “Strike three, out!”

The team lost, 5-4. 

As soon as the game ended, you were trying to fight past the crowd to make it to the boy’s locker room. You had seen the entire team enter after the game was called, and they had to leave out that way. This was nothing new, you were JJ’s best friend, the whole team knew who you were, and they were used to seeing you wait outside the locker room for JJ after every game, so members of the team greeted you as they left.

But JJ didn’t come out. You smiled and waved to every member of the team, and JJ was the last one in there. You had a slight pout as you realized how long you had been standing there waiting, and the idea of JJ sitting in there all alone with the weight of the loss on his shoulders killed you. So you looked around before pulling up the door to the locker room.

“JJ?” you called out softly, also to give warning in case you had miscounted and someone else was still in here. “Go away, y/n,” JJ’s voice replied, you started following where it sounded it came from. “J, c’mon talk to me.” “Don’t wanna talk. I wanna be alone.”

You turned a corner, finding JJ sitting on a bench in only his pants and a wifebeater. “J…” “I said leave me the fuck alone, y/n! God, don’t you ever fucking listen?” JJ shouted. You had seen him angry, you had seen him disappointed, but it was never this bad; and it broke your heart. “JJ, I know you’re upset, but I’m not gonna leave you to feel shitty by yourself. What kind of a best friend would I be if I did?”

JJ stood up, his eyes dark and focused as he stepped towards you. “I don’t want to talk.” “We don’t have to talk,” you said softly, thinking you were finally getting somewhere with him. “You wanna make me feel better, y/n?” JJ was right in front of you now, you had to turn your head to look up at him, his eyes down on you. “More than anything.” “Get on your knees.”

At first you were confused, but then reality dawned on you of what he was really asking you. “J, I don’t know if that’s-” “You wanna make me feel better or not?”

You bit your lip, but nodded as you sunk down to your knees. JJ immediately unbuttoned his pants, and you could already make out the line of his hard dick in his boxers. “Open,” JJ commanded, and you obeyed. JJ’s hand took hold of your hair, pulling it back so you’d look up at him before he spat in your mouth. “Now swallow.” You did so without question, then stuck your tongue out to show him. “Good girl.”

With the hand that wasn’t tangled in your hair, he pulled his boxers down, allowing his cock to spring free, almost hitting you in the face. JJ gave you no time to prepare before he was sliding his tip past your lips, then the rest of his length down your throat, causing you immediately to gag, pulling off of him to cough.

“Thought you wanted to make me feel better, y/n?” JJ panted out. You looked up at him through blurry eyes, wiping the spit away from your mouth before you wrapped your hand around his dick, guiding him into your mouth. You kept your eyes on him as you worked your way down, easing him further down your throat with each bob of your head. JJ let out a sharp hiss, “Fuck, that’s it, y/n.” He was impatient, the second you managed to take all of him into your throat without gagging, he started moving his hips. Lewd noises filled the otherwise empty locker, the wet noises of your throat seemed so much louder.

When JJ suddenly unsheathed himself from your throat, you felt forward with a cough, your hands splayed on his thighs. “I need more. You gonna be a good girl f’me?” JJ asked, his words rushed as he pulled his pants down more. You didn’t know what he meant, but you nodded anyway, anything to make him feel better. “Bend over, put your hands on the locker.”

You were quick to do as you were told, and when you felt JJ’s tip rub you through your panties, a rush of adrenaline ran through you, long had you dreamed of the day you got to fuck JJ Maybank. You felt a wave of cool air hit you as JJ flipped the fabric of your skirt up. His thumb found the seam of your entrance with ease, petting you softly before pulling your panties to the side. “So wet, just from sucking my cock, y/n? Damn… didn’t know you were a freak like that…” You bit your lip to stop yourself from moaning at his words alone. “I’m gonna fuck this pretty pussy, then, if you’re good, I’m gonna take you home, fuck you some more, how’s that sound, princess?” “Please, JJ-” you whine, arching your back to push against him. A small chuckle fell from his lips, almost mocking you. “That’s my girl,” you barely heard him mumble before you felt his tip at your entrance, moving his head through your folds to collect the juices before he slid into you with one movement. 

“Fuck-” your hand immediately came up to cover your mouth, JJ gave you no time to adjust before he began thrusting. “No, nope. Wanna hear you. Wanna hear how good my cock makes you feel,” JJ said as he pulling your hand away, holding that arm behind your back. “God, you feel good,” you breathed out before a whine slipped from you. “Just me, no God here,” JJ grunted, the hand that wasn’t pinning your arm back came down to slap the flesh of your ass, his fingers digging into your skin for a better grip. You couldn’t manage words, only small whimpers as he started hitting your sweet spot. “So fucking tight… no one’s fucked you right, have they?” JJ asked, but it was taking everything in you just to keep standing. Another slap. “Have they?” “No, JJ!” you practically screamed just to satisfy him.

Suddenly, you were empty, and a frantic, needy whine left your throat. JJ used the arm pinned behind your back to push you onto the ground, your cheek pressed against the cold floor as he quickly slid back inside you. JJ pressed down on your mid back, hitting deeper inside you. “Should’ve fucked you sooner. Maybe we’d fix that attitude…” 

Your eyes threatened to close as pleasure overwhelmed your entire body, but another slap on your ass opened them. “Stupid… fucking… ump…” JJ said as he took all his frustrations out on your pussy, and you loved every second of it. You could feel yourself clench around him, desperate for more. “Stupid… fucking… pitcher.” “JJ…” you purred out. “Shut up and take it, y/n,” JJ hissed through gritted teeth, and his words made the coil in your stomach snap, as slurred attempts at words fell from you, the one you managed, “JJ… mmm-”

JJ grunted, his hips moving at a relentless pace, his grip on you would probably leave bruises tomorrow but you didn’t care when you heard his name fell from his lips as he came inside you. Panting, he stayed on top of you, finally releasing your arm from his grasp as he caged you in, both of you trying to catch your breaths.

“Thanks…” JJ finally spoke up. “I needed that.” You felt the weight lift off you as JJ sat up, moving to put himself back in his boxers. You were still out of breath. “No problem… Happy to help.”

JJ chuckled, pulling you towards him as he pressed a kiss to your head. He helped you to your feet, and stabled you when you wobbled, you clung to him for dear life. “Sorry if I was too rough.” “Don’t be, I liked it,” you confess, your face still pink. JJ smiled his million dollar smile that sent butterflies to your stomach, and to your- “C’mon. I’ll take you to get some icecream or something first.” Your eyebrows furrow, “First?” “Yeah, before we go back to my place,” JJ said like it was obvious, his smile turning a bit more cocky, “I got a promise to fulfill.”

©ᵒᵘᵗᵉʳᵐᵃʸᵇᵃⁿᵏˢ ²⁰²⁴

[novankenn]

Ruby and co: (Kicks open door) Jaune we are here to save you!

(Sees Jaune on a Therapy couch talking while Salem writes stuff down.)

Jaune: and then they start laughing at me. Like excuse me your egos can't handle that I was prettier than you or your date at the dance in a dress.

Team RWBY was nearly spent. Slogging their way through wave after wave of grimm to rescue their friend who had run off without them to face Salem. Standing in front of a set of ornate doors they prepared to rush in... at least until Ruby saw a note taped to the door. It was written in elegant script, but it still caused her some confusion.

Session in Progress Please DO NOT Disturb.

Ruby: Um... I... I...

Blake: What is it Ruby?

Ruby: There's a sign here... um...

Yang: Who cares. We're here to get VB. Let's go!

Weiss: The sooner we rescue the dolt the sooner we can get out of here. Hit it Yang!

Ruby: WAIT!

Yang: Too LATE!

CRASH!

Yang: Yo VB the calvary... huh?

Before them was Salem in a very professional black pant suit with a red blouse, sitting in a plush arm chair. A clipboard balanced on he crossed legs a pen in her hand and a pair of wire rim glasses sitting on her nose.

Jaune was in just his pants and a tee-shirt. His weapon and armor piled at the foot of the plush couch he was reclining upon.

The pair were completely ignoring the interruption...

Salem: So when you mother said that to you. How did you feel?

Jaune: Terrible. It hurt.

Salem: I see. So would you say that lack of support made you push limits and face extreme risks in an attempt to receive validation?

Jaune: I... maybe... I'm not sure?

Salem: That's okay. This is just your first session and it will take sometime to help you unpack all this emotional baggage and mental trauma you have been subjected to, at your own hand and that of others.

Ruby: ...

Yang: ...

Blake: ...

Weiss: ...

Salem: Can I have a moment Jaune?

Jaune: Okay. Should I...

Salem: No. You stay right there. I just want to have a WORD with these interlopers...

Jaune: Okay.

Salem rose from her chair, set her clipboard and pen aside before approaching team RWBY.

Salem: I am busy, so if you have any business with me that does not revolve around mortal combat... please see my secretary and schedule an appointment.

Yang leans backwards and gazes out the door to see a desk, that she could have sworn was not there before, off to one side of the door, stationed by a rather annoyed looking Beowulf in a skirt and blouse. A mug of coffee in its hand.

Ruby: And if it is about... mortal combat?

Salem: Then I will have to ask you to leave or the authorities will be called.

R_BY: ...

Weiss: Are you accepting additional clients? Maybe even couples sessions?

Salem: Those can be arranged. Please speak to my secretary and once I've finished this session I will come to see you.

R_BY: ...

[imagines--galore]

HELLO HELLO I SAW YOUR LITTLE JIM HAWKINS POST AND I GOTTA ADMIT! I LOVE THE BOY TOO!

was wondering if could request a little jim x reader who meet at the academy and have a little rivalry before becoming lovers? thanks! remember to take care, drink lots of water and stay safe!

Summary: Jim Hawkins & Y/n Y/l/n. Two of the most promising candidates to arrive at the Interstellar Academy in years. From academics to knowing their way around a ship, the both of them were on equal footing. Too bad they see the other as a rival. Then again, perhaps it was a good thing. For if they were to team up, they could conquer the entire galaxy if they wanted to. But when did that rivalry changed into something more? Pairing: Jim Hawkins x Reader Rating || Genres || Warnings: T. Romance. None. A/N: I mean who doesn't love the boy :3 Ok so the song I decided to pick is Téir Abhaile 'Riú by Celtic Woman. And I borrowed some elements from Kingdom Dance from Tangled because I love that scene. :3 And this got a little longer then I intended it to be.......I added too much detail to everything. Woops? Had a lot of fun with your request though!

You pursed your lips as you observed your reflection in the full length mirror. To say Emmy had been insistent about you donning a pretty outfit for the occasion would be an understatement. Your roommate had practically threatened you with it, saying she would no longer speak to you if you did not dress up. Honestly the female Canid didn't need to threaten you, no one could say no to her. Not even you.

So when she had dug through your closet and taken out the articles of clothing she deemed worthy for the event, you had put them on with no complain. A blouse and a corset with a skirt paired with shoes. The latter you had picked out yourself, having no desire to wear anything impractical should you need to kick someone in the nuts.

"You look gorgeous, Y/n." Parla your third roommate trained one of her several eyes in your direction, while simultaneously applying some black goo to the eyelashes of her remaining eye. "By human standards." Quel barely glanced up from where she was oiling her arms. You were thankful she was, your android roommate had a tendency to squeak when her joints would run out of oil. Emmy grinned proudly as she put the final touches to your hair and stepped away to appraise her work.

"Maybe you'll catch a sailor's eye while in town y/n." She giggled, prompting you to roll your eyes at her. "I doubt I'll have the time." You crossed your arms over your chest. "Since I will be making sure you don't run off half-drunk, Parla doesn't get in trouble because of her wandering eye and avoid Quel being stripped for parts by some con-person."

You had grown to be protective of your roommates over the years you had lived together. Emmy cooed as she reached out to embrace you sweetly. "You don't have to worry about us, honey! We've all excelled at our combat classes. Not to mention we'll have dates who can protect us." Both you and Quel glared at Emmy who only gave a nervous laugh. "Did you have to rope us all into dates?" The android asked, her mechanical voice somehow sounding annoyed. "Its best to go in a large group." Parla came to Emmy's rescue. "My grandmother says there might be some pirates or thieves in the crowd. And given the number of people that have come for the Ball, its best to find strength in numbers."

Emmy nodded enthusiastically. "Perhaps it is best to accept our fate and simply go along with the situation." Quel spoke as she stood and gently placed a hand on your shoulder. You sighed, closing your eyes briefly before shrugging and allowing a smile to play on your lips. You weren't about to be a spoilsport and ruin everyone's fun. After the month all of you had had, with the exams and revisions and tests and selecting the courses you would be majoring in, you all deserved a break.

A bright smile pulled at your lips and Emmy very early squealed at the sight. "Here's to having a night none of us will ever forget!" You stated with conviction, opening the door and leading your friends out of your shared room.

Little did you know how true those words would be for you.

                                          ————————–

The town of Aonadh enjoyed a rather prestigious position. On one hand it was the closest to the reputable Interstellar Academy. An Institute that had been thriving for years and housed the future generation of sailors for the Queen's Armada. Many living in town had relatives who went there, or had some other form of relation with the Academy.

On the other hand, the town served as a harbor for many ships. From merchant vessels carrying riches and trading goods, to the crafts bringing new hopefuls to begin the next phase of their journey. The port of Aonadh was always bustling, always busy. There was never a quiet moment. Every other hour would bring a new ship in. Either to relieve itself of its cargo, have repairs done, or pick up people who wished to travel.

Really town was a small word for Aonadh, but the people refused to call it a city. Their ancestors started as humble farmers before the location of the Academy changed their status to something more. They were proud of what they had accomplished over the years as well as their status so a town it remained. One could find almost every life form residing in town, Arcturians, Aquanogs, Canids, Centaurous, Cragorians, Densadrons, Felinids, Geeories, Humans, Macriki, Mantavors, Minotarous, Optocs, Roboticas, Sirenius, Tuskrus, Zirrelians and a hundred more. No one could remember the first specie that lived in Aonadh and no one cared. Everyone was treated on an equal footing and the town had a huge council that had a member from every specie living in Aonadh.

There were several attractions that beckoned the young Cadets at the Academy to spend their time off in town. From pubs that never ran out of ale, to shopping markets that overflowed with the finest wares. Not to mention the massive library that housed more then a million scrolls, books, hoverstories and maps. To say nothing of the lavish streets and squares where something was always happening.

Of course the ports were the most exciting place to be. One could meet new people, learn about shipping from seasoned sailors, or even catch a tour of one if a Cadet was so lucky.

At present the excitement going about had something to do with several large ships that had docked not a day ago. Ships carrying Cadets who had passed out over the years and were coming back for their annual party of sorts. The Annual Ball it was called. Held every ten years. A huge affair. One of the biggest ones to ever occur in the entire galaxy. Guests of honor and other people of importance were sent invitations, while the rest of them simply showed up. Unless they were on duty or had anything of importance to attend to everyone came.

                                          ————————–

It was certainly the busiest Jim Hawkins had seen it. In the years he had attended the Academy there had been several festivals he had attended with his friends, but not one of them came close to the excitement of today.

However that excitement had died down to be replaced by a burning annoyance at the sight of the only other human in his year. The very human who was now sitting at the same table as him, both of you sipping from your drinks.

It wasn't that you had anything against being set up for a blind date, it was the boy you had been set up with.

What existed between you and Jim was something of an anomaly. The both of you were the best in your batch, and quite frankly, some Professors seemed to be of the notion that you were both the best Cadets they had seen in years.

If only the two of you got along.

A bitter rivalry had formed between the both of you. Neither of you remembered who had taken the first shot, but all you knew was that you had to one up the other. And that was how it had been your entire career at the Academy.

Spiteful comments thrown at one another. Hateful glances whenever the other would be praised. Childish pranks just to annoy the other. Goading and baiting that resulted in either one or both of you getting into trouble.

The list was endless.

Honestly, if it wasn't so entertaining the Academy would've had taken action years ago. You often wandered if perhaps you and Jim had a betting pool going around in the Academy. Parla had dropped hints here and there, but you weren't quite sure.

Well, whatever existed between you and Jim, it was destroying your evening. As soon as it became clear who your date was, Parla and Quel had made themselves scarce, having the intelligence to stay clear of the obvious Supernova that was about to erupt given yours and Jim's expressions. Emmy had quickly taken you aside, begging you to go along with it, and explaining how Lyon, her crush for a good year and a half, had said he didn't want to ditch his friend while he had fun.

So Emmy had offered a solution.

Correction.

Emmy had offered you as a lamb up for slaughter.

And being the soft-hearted idiot that you were, you had relented, agreeing to going along with Emmy's plan. Only because you knew she was half in love with Lyon, and maybe this night he would work up the courage to tell her of his feelings as well.

And as you sat there, watching your best friend sway in the arms of the half-felinid and half-human male, you couldn't help but give a small smile at the happiness that seemed to radiate from the both of them.

"There must be a Supernova freezing somewhere." Stars, even his voice was annoying.

You turned your head back to look at him, that annoyed frown returning. "And what makes you say that."

He smirked, hands behind his head as he rested against the back of the booth. "You were actually smiling. I thought she-demons never smiled. Something about bursting into flames and the world coming to an end, that sort of thing."

"I smile plenty Hawkins." You responded, pursing your lips. "I just don't happen to smile at maggots such as yourself." The insult, if it were called that, seemed to bristle him enough to warrant an eye roll, though he didn't respond.

Seemingly taking his silence as a win, you returned your attention to the dancing couples. The music was lively and there would certainly be more people coming in soon. Sighing, you wished you could join in the dancing. Of course there was no chance of that happening.

You had no desire to ask a stranger, for fear they would try something untoward. And there was no way in the entire galaxy you were about to ask Jim Hawkins to dance with you.

Glancing at your empty glass of drink, you stood and stretched, completely missing Jim watching you out of the corner of his eye. "If I am to tolerate your company for the rest of this evening I'm gonna get another drink." He rolled his eyes, prompting you to give him a glare that had one too many cadets backing off in fear.

But not Jim. Jim was used to your glares and stares and returned them at an equal footing.

Walking toward the bar, you waved at the many tentacled bartender who was quick to give you your drink. The glass was a little too full, prompting you to walk carefully back to your table.

Perhaps it should've been better that you kept your attention on the people around you rather then the drink you were trying not to spill.

A boisterous group of sailors jostled you, propelling you forward and causing your drink to spill.

Nearly emptying the entire contents of it down the front of one of the sailors who had bumped into you.

"What the hell!? Watch it!" He cried out, swiping at the front of his uniform in an effort to wipe away the liquid. Of course, that didn't help.

Angry at loosing your drink, you glared at the male. "You were the one too drunk to walk properly, how am I to blame for your incompetence?" Maybe it wasn't the wisest of decisions to be picking a fight with someone who looked like he had some Densadron blood in him, but you didn't care.

You were already having a horrible evening, so why not make it worse.

Your words only served to make the male, and his group of friends angry. Pursing your lips, your hand slipped to the hidden slit of your skirt where you kept a taser knife for safety reasons. Your fingers itched, ready to pull it out when suddenly the stare down between you and the male was broken by a very familiar voice.

"There you are! I've been looking all over for you."

Astonished, you pivoted on your feet, just in time to see Hawkins drape an arm around your waist and pull you to his side. That wasn't what shocked you.

What shocked you the most was the smile he wore. One that was directed at you.

"Making friends I see." He continued while your brain tried it's best to compute the situation that was going on. "I'm sorry about that, my girlfriend gets a little light-footed when shes had one too many."

Girlfriend?!?!?

The group of sailors seemed to be calming down somewhat. Jim had that effect on people whenever he stepped in to stop a would-be squabble.

Ironic considering the numerous fights he had started in his younger days.

"How about she pay for the damage to my uniform, and I let her go." The male grunted, scowling down at the both of them. Suddenly his eyes zeroed in on you the way they hadn't before. A lecherous smile formed on his lips, one that had you scowling in disgust. "She can either pay money or show me a good time. I don't mind either." The rest of his group laughed boisterously, elbowing one another, wearing the same smile as their friend was.

His words seemed to snap you out of wherever your mind was. Pushing aside Jim's previous words, and trying hard not to comprehend where his arm still rested around her waist you opened your mouth to tell the disgusting male where he could shove something where the sun don't shine.

A firm but light pressure around your waist had you stopping. You watched, astonished, as Jim moved to stand in front of you, his stance protective, and an anger in his eyes that had you blinking in surprise.

"Or maybe I should have you reported for showing such disrespect to a future Captain of the Royal Armada."

It was then that the group realized who they were speaking to. Their gazes flitted to the pin you had proudly stuck to the right side of your chest. A coat of arms that assigned your rank, despite having not even graduated yet. Jim had the same pin, though his was hidden by the jacket he wore. Though he made no effort to hide it as he pushed aside the front of his garment to reveal it to the buffoons.

Being Captain meant you had authority and power that no lowly sailor had. It didn't matter what age you were, so long as you were a rank above, you held power.

And at that moment you wanted nothing more then to throw the idiot in jail for daring to make such a proposition to you.

The group began to retreat, taking their friend with them. The danger past, Jim turned his attention to you.

"You okay?" He asked, his eyes roving over your frame, as if looking for some sign of injury.

You nodded. "I'm fine." Despite there having been no physical altercation, you were still a little shaken. "You didn't need to step in. I had it handled." You finally said, still clutching your half full glass. Jim rolled his eyes.

"Not from where I was standing."

You scowled. "I was ready to fight him if I needed to."

Jim raised an eyebrow. "And get expelled so close to graduating? You're reckless Y/n, but I know you're not that reckless."

"And why should you care? Wouldn't you prefer to graduate top of the class all by yourself? Not share your spotlight with anyone."

He nodded. "I would." He paused before a teasing smile pulled at his lips. "But then who would be my rival when I make Captain?"

You waved your hand. "I'm sure you would find someone else to piss off."

"I doubt they would be as beautiful as you."

You gaped at him, had barely voiced your astonishment when his eyes widened in realization of what he had just said.

A bright blush overcame his cheeks, one that had him gulping nervously, raising a hand to rub at the back of his neck.

"Y-you think I'm.............beautiful?" You could barely believe the words coming out of your mouth. An awkward shrug was his only response.

Normally you would've teased him mercilessly about revealing something so intimate. But right then? Having just been saved by him, and watching him stand there, unable to meet your gaze, you couldn't help but smile.

"Don't tell me its because of my beauty that you've been a pain in my ass all these years." Your tone was light, teasing, compelling him to respond in his usual sarcastic way.

"That and you're annoying." He stated, a smile pulling at his lips as his blush began to recede. You hummed. "I didn't take you as the romantic type Hawkins."

He leaned closer. "Theres a lot of things you don't know about me y/l/n. Though one thing I can tell about you, is that you've been wanting to dance the entire night but have been too stubborn to ask me." Now, it was your turn to blush as you glared at him. Had you been that obvious? But Jim wasn't deterred.

"Shall we?" He held out a hand, indicating that you take it if you wanted to fulfill your wish to dance.

You pursed your lips, your previous annoyance for him rising to the forefront. You would never call what you felt for Jim hatred, but you wouldn't call it affection either.

But right then, you mused as you took his hand and he led you the dance floor, maybe you could label your feelings for Jim as undetermined.

For the time being.

The dance floor had lost a few dancers as the musicians in the corner prepared to play yet another song. You looked around, feeling a little nervous. It had been awhile since you had danced, and while you had no doubt in your dancing skills, you didn't trust your partner fully.

"You're not going to drop me during a dip or something like that are you?" You asked, raising an eyebrow at him. Jim laughed before shaking his head. "No, I promise I won't."

You frowned, leaning up to press the back of your hand against his forehead. "You're not running a fever are you?" You inquired, feeling your own forehead to compare the temperatures. He flushed at the sensation of her touch against his skin.

"No, why would you ask that?" His questions prompted you to shrug. "Well you're being nice to me, and neither of us have thrown an insult at the other in the last five minutes.

Jim nodded, looking impressed. "Must be a new record for us." He commented to which you laughed softly. "And I'm nice to you because I am a nice guy Y/n." He stated, to which you let out a very unlady-like sound. "Oh please, you've been anything but nice to me since we first met Jim."

Alright so it was strange to call him by his first name, but he had used your first name. And when he had? You had felt a sliver of warmth flicker in your heart. Maybe he would feel the same sensation you did?

Well you were right. At least about the warmth part. And though Jim felt that warmth in his heart, same as you, he also felt it steal across his cheeks.

God! He had never blushed so much in such a short span of time his entire life.

"Well you didn't make it easy now did you? You just had to be a smartass." You smirked. "Better a smartass then an idiot." Jim rolled his eyes, crossing his arms over his toned chest. "I don't know, we've both done some pretty idiotic stuff over the years."

The musicians were still tuning and drinking. Apparently it was their break, and while there were several other couples standing around waiting for the dance to begin, your and Jim seemed to be encapsulated in your own little world.

"True, but they've been fun years. Memorable." You stated with a nostalgic smile, thinking back on all the times you had gotten into trouble playing pranks on your rival. "Ones neither of us will be forgetting for a long time." He agreed, matching your smile with his.

Your eyes met his, and you suddenly realized just how much Jim had changed over the years. He had been a little reckless and rebellious in the start, but those traits had toned down over the years. They would never be gone completely, but he had matured, no doubt about that. And not just personality wise, you mused, eyes roving his face, as if you were seeing him for the first time.

He had grown a lot taller the past few years. Taller then you at least, since he was a good head taller then you. And he was handsome, there was no denying that, and kind, given how he had just helped you out of what could've been an ugly situation. Not to mention he was extremely loyal, a trait you had always admired in him despite your rivalry.

Little did you know Jim was thinking along the same criteria. Remembering the day he had met you, and how annoying he had thought you were. With your perfect hair, perfect uniform and perfect scores. Then again his scores had always been perfect too, but he made up for it by being messy and a little rebellious.

You? You were always the picture of perfection. Even so close to graduation, every aspect of your life seemed perfect. From your scores, to your attendance record. Your gorgeous face, and expressive eyes to your hair that always looked so soft that he had to fight the urge to touch it at times.

Though today, he didn't hold back. Raising his hand, he brushed a loose tendril behind your ear, and if his hand lingered a little longer then necessary, and if it brushed against your ear, causing a gentle shudder to race through your body.

Your eyes never wavered, and it looked like he was about to say something.

Just then the music started.

Jim cursed, prompting you to raise an eyebrow at him. "Its a fast jig. I'm not really good with those." You smiled and shook your head. "Thats alright, I can teach you. Its easy."

So saying you quickly placed his hands in the appropriate places, one at your waist, the other holding your own aloft, fingers intertwining togther. As soon as you started moving, Jim cast his eyes downwards, trying his best not to step on your feet.

"Hey!" Your voice compelled him to look up, nearly catching your foot but you gave him a reassuring smile. "Eyes on me. You gotta dance right. Don't worry about my toes, they're made of steel."

He gave a dry laugh, but did as you asked him to. Neither of you looked away from the other, allowing the music from the minstrels and the voices of the singers to overtake all your senses.

You would sometimes tease him for a misstep, he would comment about your being a talented dancer who hid their talent, but there was no malice in your voices. Only playfulness, and dare you think, affection.

The jig began to pick up speed, the footwork getting a little complicated, but the steps were ones that kept repeating over and over, and Jim had always been a fast learner, and he had seen many people dance to this particular song over the years.

So when the part came where he had to twirl you away from him before bringing you back, the move was so effortless and fluid that it looked like you had rehearsed it. Your hair and skirt flew about you as you twirled back into him, your back against his chest, his arms around your body, hands clasped, keeping you close.

You tilted your head, breathless from the dance, your gaze meeting his. Suddenly all that playfulness became charged, and your eyes glimmered with a passion you had never felt before. His lips were so close to your own. To him your lips looked so inviting.

But then the dance continued, and you straightened in his embrace. This time though, this time neither of you spoke. Neither of you looked away as you continued to dance. Hearts beating faster, steps picking up speed, your movements becoming wilder more impassioned.

You twirled away from him, holding one side of your skirt aloft. The song was coming to a close. The last verse had begun, where you would dance around your partner, slow and playful, never breaking eye contact.

And the final chorus? That was the main attraction. Knowing what was to come, Jim braced himself. You took a running start, jumping a little as you neared him to give yourself enough momentum to fly upwards, only to have Jim catch you around your waist, spinning in a fast circle.

A laugh fell from your lips, your arms held aloft at your sides, enjoying the sensation of flying through the air. As Jim began to lower you, your head tilted to look at him once more. Your arms dropped to wrap around his broad shoulders, while his rested around your waist.

The song had ended, the both of you were breathing heavily, twin smiles of jubilation stretching your mouths as the crowd around you roared. It seemed both your dancing had attracted quite the crowd.

And the cheering doubled tenfold when Jim suddenly closed whatever distance was left between the both of you and fused his lips with yours. A moment of disbelief, where your eyes widened almost comically, before closing shut, lips moving as you kissed him back.

It was blissfully sinful, the way he kissed you. You sighed almost dreamily against his lips, allowing your fingers to play with his hair. Jim was no better, he was doing his best not to let his hands explore too much. You were still in public after all.

"What in the furthest reaches of the galaxy is happening here?"

The shrieking voice tore your apart. Extremely reluctantly, you might add as you both turned to glare at Emmy and Lyon in annoyance. Emmy looked like she was about to faint, while Lyon looked utterly bemused.

"We weren't disturbing you while you locked lips, so why're you disturbing us?" You asked, your arms still around Jim's shoulders. Then again his hands still rested on your back, keeping you close.

"Weren't the two of you just at each other's throats?" Lyon asked, blinking stupidly at the two of them. Jim smirked. "Well I can get to her throat again if you prefer. Though not in the same way as before." His words had Emmy squeaking, Lyon gaping, and you rolling your eyes and smacking the back of his head. "Lets not ruin their innocence Jim." You grinned.

"Maybe we should take this someplace private?" You whispered, gesturing between the both of you. "Away from prying eyes." Jim needed no further prompting.

Grasping your hand, he began to lead you out of the tavern. "Don't wait up!" He called out to your two best friends.

"What did I just say about ruining their innocence Hawkins?"

"What? We can always say we just played a game of battleship?"

"Really? That's the euphemism you're using?"

"So long as it clarifies that I'm gonna beat you at whatever we'll be doing."

"What makes you think you're gonna win?"

"I always win."

"Oh, we'll see about that!"

Emmy and Lyon stood blinking in disbelief as you and Jim walked out of the tavern, continuing your arguing.

"Were they talking about having sex, or actually playing Battleship?" Emmy asked, sounding just as bewildered as she looked. Lyon made a face.

"Knowing them, they were actually talking about the latter before moving on to the former."

Emmy shook her head. "Oh, there was nothing in the betting pool for this." She giggled. "Everyone is gonna be so angry."

[auncyen]

Pre-incident Siffrin being actually a lot "stronger" than the other party members is a favorite pet theory of mine. ("Stronger" because they're not physically so, exactly, but there's a combination of experience and other things.)

Reasons:

Especially with Adrienne saying Sadnesses aren't ONLY due to the King and were around before (but the Curse is making things much worse) Siffrin has a strong case for having more practical fighting experience than the others due to scraps with wildlife and Sadnesses. Isabeau would probably be next closest but he even says himself that the worst Defenders see is burglary so Isabeau's experience would be mostly training/theoretical still.

They also might have given themself a slight "boost" by skirting Craft cooldowns at times. Like going off of above, pre-game Siffrin could have been that one post about classically trained wizard vs. self-taught wizard where the latter is terrifying for how much they've learned by practical experience while completely missing certain safety fundamentals (or. well. forgotten them). Since Craft cooldown has physical feedback, Siffrin probably never completely wrecked themself but like. I can imagine very early on Siffrin having a habit of pushing themself hard in fights to end them quickly and make sure everyone's safe and then at the campsite for the night they're just kind of. trying to keep going to at least get their share of chores done but ow ow ow. (They probably slowly learned to stop doing this with the combined experiences of 1) fighting with a team 2) fights with Sadnesses becoming much more common and thus making it worse to overextend themself every single fight 3) recovering from the incident probably forced them to respect cooldowns more which ties a bit into next reason--)

The incident with Bonnie is given a good amount of weight in narration but then doesn't seem to have kept Siffrin from being as strong a party member as the others in combat, which might seem slightly odd. ...Unless it was actually that he was stronger before and him being at the same level with them IS him having gotten weaker, which could also mesh well with him having seen three people fighting a Sadness and being like 'hey. obviously you need me to stab it.' (Counterpoint, I can easily believe Siffrin getting himself in a fight to help people even if he wasn't confident about the odds of winning. Like, I've written that. When he's not confident about fighting, he's confident in his ability to run like hell. But maybe he was confident about being able to kill the Sadness!)

Basically like. Pre-incident Siffrin in terms of party levels/gameplay coming off more as a overpowered guest NPC escorting your party and doing their own thing and skirting Craft cooldowns (I can just imagine part of Odile's 'assassin' suspicion being no normal person learns to fight like this? what the hell) and then the Incident happens and it's like oh they're a regular party member now. Okay.

[kurithedweeb]

I know we always talk about Garroth ending up looking exactly like his father, but what about Dante growing up to look eerily like Gene.

When he joins up with Phoenix Drop, he's still young. He's a little on the short side, still a bit too thin from life in the wild and imprisonment, and he's a little anxious and shaky around so many people after having grown unused to living in a village. The smiling faces of the citizens remind you of your old home, of clamoring crowds and standing frozen in the plaza as your brother . . .

Anyway, it's good here. It's easy to fit in. The guards joke around with you and make sure you're healthy. They don't know a thing about dual wielding, but you get plenty of sparring partners out of helping the local baker practice her magick, and you maybe make a friend too. You're not too sure how you feel about the Lord, but she's a kind soul and does her best to make sure you're comfortable here in town, and her kids are great. Babysitting the boys is easily your favorite duty. Yeah, it's good here. For the first time in a long while, you feel like you're doing good.

Then the war comes. The children and non-combatants are sent away. The jovial atmosphere of the guard tower has soured into solemn silence as you make your final preparations. In the morning, you step into the battlefield and you go to war for the first time in your life. You have a horrible feeling in your gut that it won’t be the last.

You, Sir Laurance and Sir Garroth make a good team. It makes you sick. The three of you cross the battlefield at a slow and inevitable pace, cutting down any soldier that dares stray too close, and together you cleave the enemy forces in half, scattering them. The killing comes easy to you. You had hoped that in this peaceful new village, with time, you would become unfamiliar to how easily you were once able to take a life, but right then you’re glad your body never forgot the motions of death. Glad for the blood that stains your hands—how can you be glad?

You can’t remember how long you fought for. Days, weeks? Surely not months, or so you think. Yours is a small force, and though Miss Lucinda is a good healer, she grows tired while the other army’s numbers are replenished time and again. You remember the bags under her eyes as she tipped a potion sip by sip into your mouth the time you were shot through the face.

You remember sneaking into the enemy camp in the dead of night, skirting around the edges of it to the back line where the archers rested. You quietly slit five of their throats before you were noticed, and managed to slash another across the belly before the arrow caught you in the side of the face, in one cheek and out the other. The wood of the shaft cracked when you bit down. It was everything you could do not to scream as you fled. Dale thought you were a fiend when you first stepped out of the shadows, face obscured in blood and cradling your jaw as you cupped a hand beneath your mouth in an effort to catch more blood before it left a trail. Laurance held you while Garroth split the arrowhead from the rest of it with a knife and pulled the shaft out the other side of your face, your jaw gripped tight in one hand to keep you from struggling. It took hours to pull the splinters from your cheeks and tongue before they sent you to wake the healer. The whole ordeal had been excruciating. You might have cried. You remember that a lot more clearly than most other times at war. After a while, it’s hard to tell which side spills more blood when so much is shed that red squishes out of the earth wherever you step.

Every day, you fought dawn to dusk. And then one day you won. By Nicole literally knocking some sense into her father, of all things! You find a quiet corner to throw up in and for a beautiful moment, you think life in this little town you’ve started thinking of as home will go back to being good. Until your Lord tells you to guard the village as she races past the gates, and she doesn’t come back. None who followed her do either.

For days, you stand waiting at the gates. You don’t eat, you don’t sleep. O’khasis is gone, Scaleswind has made a refuge of the plaza, and still there is no sign of your Lord or your brothers-in-arms. You won’t even leave to have your wounds seen to. Nicole has to drag a doctor to the gates to treat you, and the entire time you watch the forest hoping that any moment they will reappear. You only step away when someone brings you news that the ship that took the children away has returned. You should be the one to tell them.

Zoey knows something is wrong the moment she sees you. Levin and Malachi smile and ask where their mother is—they call you ‘uncle’ while they do. You get down on your knees before them, and you gather them close in your arms, and you cry as you tell them their mother has been missing since the day the war ended. You’re still holding them when the exhaustion catches up with you.

Zoey is with you when you wake. She tells you you’ve been out nearly two days. She fusses over you, and you know you’ve worried her because that’s what she does when she’s worried. You’re a mess anyway, so you let her fuss. You drink the broth she makes you, you change into the clothes she provides, you sit still while she cuts the unruly mats of your hair and shaves your face. You used to cut yourself shaving all the time, no one ever taught you how and you were only six or so when Gene was learning to; you don’t remember now how he showed you each step or the laugh in his voice at the face of disgust you made when you slapped a little hand into the lather on his face and left behind a tiny palmprint. Zoey doesn’t cut you once. When she’s done with you, she takes you by the arm and guides you back into civilization, where everyone who remained has decided already on search parties to go out looking for your missing friends.

You head each expedition. Dale brings himself out of retirement to watch over the town while you’re gone, and asks only that you also look for his son. Does he know you used to be a tracker, used to spend days in the woods trailing coyotes and runaways for enough coin to carry you through the cold months? You try for him, but the ground is soft still and every step anyone takes leaves a print, all overlapping and muddled. You keep an eye out as you circle the same stretches of woods for days, but you find nothing. Your group goes further and faster than any other, the first to find and dismantle bandit camps and dens of fiends, but no matter how far you go you find not a sign of anyone who has disappeared that day. It’s as though they vanished into thin air. Every time you return home, Dale looks at you with hopeful eyes, and every time you must take him aside and break his heart a little more. Eventually, he stops asking.

For a year, you search. The area has never been safer. You have never felt so alone as when people start to suggest that a funeral may be in order.

You feel like a monster for the rage in your voice when you denounce these people. You know they aren’t dead—you would have felt such a thing, you know, you would have felt pieces of yourself snapping like wire pulled too taut, you would have felt the sharp edges tangling inside you—it would have felt like it did when the brother you killed rose from the grave to slit your throat and cut your very existence from the memory of Boboros. You hear white noise rumbling in your ears when the first brave soul says Sir Dante, there’s been no sign for a year now, and your blood is boiling when you slap their comforting hand off your shoulder. You spit that you’re not giving up just because everyone else has taken no evidence of life to mean the surety of death, and with their pitying looks burning into your back to return to the woods. You scream into the trees until you can’t anymore. When it doesn’t help, you use your considerable tracking skills to hunt something, anything, until you feel human again.

You crawl back home the day before the funeral with your cape stained with blood; they held it back so you could attend. You polish your armor and swords until they shine, and the warped reflection of your own face makes you feel sick the way waging war did. You stand at attention the entire ceremony without moving a muscle. When Dale reads the names of the deceased at the end, offering their souls into the embrace of the Matron, you salute, and the clatter of your armor silences the crowd.

Everyone who fought in the war salutes with you. So do your Lord’s sons. You’re too tired to cry. You hold your salute long after everyone else has left.

The remaining forces of Scaleswind return home. One by one, family by family, the streets of your home empty. Without your Lord, without your guard, the citizens trickle out the front gates and never turn back. Some apologize to you as they say their goodbyes, and some of them you actually believe. You close the gate behind each of them until all that remains is you, Zoey, and your Lord’s sons. Then Zoey tells you she’s taking the boys to the Yggdrasil Forest. She holds you tight for too long and kisses your brow when you show them to the gate for the last time.

You can’t believe you ever thought you knew what loneliness was before this.

For five years, you are completely and utterly alone. You search and you patrol and you do your best to maintain the village. You don’t believe in Irene, but every day before dawn you stand before her statue and look down down down over the cliff’s edge and pray that this won’t be the rest of your life. That you haven’t deluded yourself into believing a fantasy, that you haven’t made such an incredible fool of yourself that people can’t bear to be around you, that you haven’t been forgotten. For five years, you pray that someone, somewhere, remembers that you exist. You look down down down over the cliff’s edge and have the terrible thought that you don’t know what you’d do if you were forgotten again.

The gate is falling apart. You don’t know how to repair the damage the weather’s done to it, you tried to patch the cracks but it never holds. With each year, you’ve been pushed further and further outtowards the coast. The only places you have the energy to maintain anymore are the guard tower and your Lord’s home. You blockaded the gates when the mechanism broke, you check it on occasion to be sure no bandits get in, and one day you hear voices from the other side. Familiar voices. You scramble up the wall and look over the other side at a boy you don’t recognize looking back up at you. He says, Is that Uncle Dante? and you climb down as fast as you can to embrace Malachi.

He’s nearly the age you were when you first met his mother. He’s grown tall, and strong enough to carry his brother on his back. Levin is fevered when you first see him, flush and hurting even as he dozes, and Malachi tells you he can’t walk from how bad he hurts. You remember how Zoey fretted over him when he was young, how sometimes he’d scream for seemingly no reason, and once you show them to their mother’s home Malachi refuses to leave his bedside.

You sit with them and ask where Zoey is. Malachi tells you of her obsession, and the relief that you are not alone in the belief that those who disappeared are alive feels like a hint of betrayal. You’re relieved that she’s driving herself into a downward spiral because of what? Because it makes you feel like you were reasonable to fight not to let their souls be put to rest?

You wait for her at the gates deep into the night and take her to her boys when she bursts from the woods, frantic that she’d lost them, and safe if your Lord’s home she holds you so tight your ribs hurt from the force of her grip. After so long, you’re not alone anymore.

You wake before dawn and strap your swords to your back. For the first time in a long time, you feel safe enough to go without your armor. You hike up the steep cliff to the Irene statue. You kneel before her to offer your thanks. You look into the pool at her feet and fear grips you by the throat.

Your brother’s face looks back at you.

You wear your swords the way he did. Your hair falls like his, dark in the shadow of Irene. Your face is gaunt and pale from old habits, eating only enough to sustain yourself so rations will stretch long enough for you to find more—do you remember how they starved Gene before they killed him? How they weakened him so he wouldn’t have the energy to fight? How pale and gaunt he was, dirt streaking over the side of his face, blood and grime drying in his hair, shaking and sweaty with how hard he fought back? Do you remember the scar that twisted around his throat when he returned from the dead to get his vengeance? Your collar is open over the scar he left twisting across your own, and it matches his own so very well. In the shadows of your eyes, you see his own staring back.

You think of the war. You think of how easy the killing was. You think of how easily Gene cut through the guards, the Lord, the memories of Boboros. The rage in his voice when he denounced you as his brother, the twist of his smile when he told you he would leave you to rot, Dante. No one will ever remember you. You can see that twist in the corners of your own smile, pushed into shape by the deep scars on your cheeks. You and your brother are the same.

You’re shaking too much to stand. You never go without your armor again.

[dokidokitsuna]

RWBY: Next Steps

This is just a design collection (remember when I used to do those? 'Winter Mission', 'Summer Tour'?? Fun times~)...and it may be my last. Its only real purpose is to give me something fun to draw for the NeverFell Projects wrap-up series. The recent Adam and Cinder designs are technically part of this collection, too. ^^

These were much harder to do than those two, though...I've spent ~2 months chipping away at this set, trying and retrying to address several different RWBY design criticisms while still making the girls look good. ಥ_ಥ I've finally begun approaching success, though, so I wanted to talk a bit about these ideas.

Ruby The only one I managed to design in one try. ^^; This was my answer to the question I felt was posed by Ruby's Vol. 7 design: i.e. "how do we do a new Ruby design that feels more 'mature'??" Because I never liked how the V7 design attempted to do that. :/

Between the new hairstyle and the new 'generic adventurer' clothes, it felt less like they were trying to evolve Ruby Rose and more like they didn't like her original design and wanted to get as far away from it as possible. V1-Ruby was such an iconic look (and STILL IS), and yet there's no trace of it in V7-Ruby. None of the goth-lolita style or playful edge that even V4-Ruby managed to preserve...instead they just scrubbed everything out to start from scratch, with a new design that's honestly 'meh' at best.

So what I did was stick closely to V1-Ruby, while adding just a few big changes to make the look distinct. You say a 'combat skirt' is too childish for an older Ruby? Well then we'll make it shorts...but shorts that are just as frilly and cute as the original skirt, with a similar overall shape. You say her original hairstyle is too boring and 'safe'? Well, then we'll change it...by simply shaving half of it off. It's a much edgier look that simultaneously preserves the original shape of her hair: from every angle except front and back, her silhouette will remain the same.

You say you want to give her new shoes, but don't want the fandom to make fun of you for covering them in dozens of belts again? Here's a wild idea: cowboy boots. ^^ A totally unexpected, unique item that still fits in with the antique-ish vibe of her goth clothes.

Basically, I just wanted to prove that you can do something dramatically different with Ruby without completely abandoning her fashion sense.

Criticisms: The details are still lacking; I think I should work some red accents into her corset and boots. Also, I originally designed this outfit with a white shirt, and I kinda want it back (she had the team colors! R, W, B, and Y! ;_;)...the problem is that it clashes with the sheer thigh-highs. One must go...I'm sure I'll figure it out

Weiss The toughest of the bunch: I did three different Weiss designs before landing on this one. ^^;;; The big epiphany came when I realized that Weiss looks her best when she mirrors Ruby. The girls' original design concepts share a lot of features; I feel like the characters were designed to look like they belong together, and figured I might as well honor that.

ALSO-- and this was the biggest priority for Weiss' design-- I firmly believe that she should not look like a princess anymore. From a character designers' perspective, it is ludicrous that they gave her the giant Disney ballgown in the same volume where they put classism at the center of the plot and have her send her bourgeoisie father to jail. That right there is the definition of mixed messages...

I thought the whole point of Weiss' character arc was to distance herself from the uber-rich parasites of her family and fellow 'Atlas elites'. I thought we cemented that when she officially lost her "heiress" title in V4. o_O I expected her next look to ditch the crown and visually show that she's past the point of 'rebelling'-- there's no more authority in her life for her to rebel against; she's free now! But alas...

So as usual, I had to do it myself. This Weiss outfit is definitely still fancy, with the coattailed vest and ruffled sleeves, but there's a lot less 'decoration'; fewer jewels, fewer details. The construction is straightforward and simple. And of course, no more tiara. Instead I decided to give her a li'l snow pea flower and ribbon, which ended up inspiring her new periwinkle purple-y color scheme. Like her original design, it's actually fairly colorful, but does its job and puts the emphasis on the white elements.

Criticisms: ...Not many, this came out pretty good. ^^ I might reconsider the black coattails, but if I do I'll probably just switch it out with the indigo inner vest. I like the idea of her outfit construction mirroring Ruby's, but her color scheme mirroring Blake's, since they have a closer bond in NeverFell.

Blake Blake designs are notoriously difficult; if you wanna hear some great reasons why, I suggest you check out this old Twiins iink RWBY design ranking video, which always helps guide me when I do redesigns for the main 4. Anyway, this phenomenon makes it hard to describe what I did...I guess you could say I tried to combine all the best elements of all her outfits, while clinging to the 'fancy action girl' vibe of her original design.

I'm most proud of her new hairstyle-- I dunno why, I just enjoyed working on it and making those decisions. ^^ It's hard to tell, but it IS shorter; now shoulder-length instead of back-length. We make up for this with additional volume, emphasizing the waves in her hair texture by pushing them outward. And most notably: she keeps the ribbon. She just wears it differently, using it to accentuate her ears instead of hiding them. This way, we keep the point of interest on her head while still showing her character growth.

Criticisms: Infinite, countless. This is a good look, but something is definitely still off. ^^;;; I think some additional detail in certain places (not sure where yet...) might help 'finish' it, so to speak. Maybe some extra yellow accents...? Also, the bow obviously gets lost in her hair this way. I've tried several color changes and don't like any of them; I think I may just have to texture it differently in the final product. Fingers crossed...

Yang Another tough one...I only made 2 design drawings, but the colors took several rounds of trial and error. I think my excitement over finally arriving at a good color scheme TODAY was what spurred me to make this post. ^^;

Anyway...there is a specific piece of Yang design criticism I hear fairly often that drives me up the wall: people commonly complain that she doesn't wear enough yellow; that she doesn't represent her character color well because all she wears is a yellow shirt. And the character designer in me wants to rip my teeth out whenever I hear this, because it blindly ignores the giant fairy-tale-inspired mass of yellow that is her hair, and the purposely attention-grabbing pops of yellow that make up Ember Celica. They're not "clothes", technically, but they're still part of the design! It's like saying a character with green skin can't represent the color green if all their clothes are black...without realizing that maybe their clothes are black BECAUSE they have green skin, in order to draw your attention to it...!! (╬▔皿��)╯I just jifjkdsnfksahujknsjnfufh

...Anyway, anyway...the point is, it's difficult to take a character design with so much natural yellow in it and add yellow clothes and still have it read well. But because I like a challenge, I decided to take it on. I think the difference between the mustard leather and neon yellow hair is large enough to make it work, while still feeling casual enough for everyday wear. The champagne off-white she wears in her 'Hunter' outfit (which heavily inspired this) looks great, but it feels too 'classy' to me; like something specifically meant to dazzle the audience with her beauty for one special adventure, not for her to wear often.

On that note, my secondary mission with this design was just to make Yang look cute again, by following the structure of her V1 look, and even adding a little skirt on top of her battle shorts, which looks surprisingly natural considering she almost never wears one.

I don't know what happened in the canon to make the character designer forget the 'Yellow Beauty' part of her character concept; tbh even if her gender presentation gets more masculine she can still look pretty. Designs like Ozma, V7 Qrow and V4 Ren show that they understand this, but choose to cover Yang up in flavorless sheets of beige anyway. :T Making sure she always has a boob window isn't enough; the clothes themselves need to say something too.

Criticisms: ...Honestly, none? I think this might be solid. :> We'll see what happens when I draw it properly. I hope the white socks work out, because then she'll successfully be wearing the RWBY color scheme, which fits her (former, implied...) role as the glue holding the team together.

[mrowtastic]

Ok I had a cool Idea about a dp x dc au that i want to throw out here.

The story takes place after the show. Everyone is in their early-mid twenties, (I'm thinking the Trio is around 22-23 and Jazz 26-27, depending), Everything that happened in the show happened here. It's been over five years now and Team Phantom is a well-oiled machine of ghost kick-assery.

The Drs Fenton are retired from the ghost hunting business. Inventing new gadgets and theories is their game and they enjoy it. They have gladly passed the torch to their two kids that they are so so proud of. (Maddie insists that they call at least once a week to chat).

Everyone has stuck together. Amity is healthier (ghost-wise) and is particularly peaceful. The gang goes to the same college (take your pick, i prefer Gotham thanks to ghosty biz), and realize just how much their ghostly know-how is needed outside of Amity. (Maybe Gotham calls in a favor and asks them to [spiritually] clean up her streets to help with the strain of everything?).

Team Phantom comes out of retirement to address the spiritual turmoil, hunt down naughty ghost, help the dearly departed to the other side, and steal mementos, haunted artifacts, and other dangerous occult items best left to the dead. The more morally-grey parts of the job force the Team into stealth mode. They work mostly at night but can work during the day depending on the mission. In order to stay anonymous they have motorcycles (with their assigned colors, the sporty kind) with helmets. (I'm imaging so many motorcycle chasing scenes. Maybe the Fentons invent a ghost whip that snags ghosts mid-chase? That sounds cool).

It's easy to get what they need between Sam's and Danny's wealth, Tucker's programming skill, Danny's engineering skills, Jazz's organizational skills, and Sam's ability to see the big picture. It's just like old times.

In a sense they make themselves a superhero group. To everyone else, however, they have come out of nowhere and are way to skilled to be newbies. It has the bats and other heroes scratching their heads. Shenanigans ensue. Constantine loves them and loathes them in the same breath. The Bats are running in circles because How do they keep getting away?

Everyone gets a superhero identity:

Danny: Sticks with Phantom. I know, boring, but no one outside of Amity really knows about him. (I'm thinking an info blockade from the government like in so many fics). He specializes in all the ghostly, magical parts of their exploits. Anything that needs to be done regarding ectoplasm and weird symbols is his business. Also is the only one able to make chemicals needed for their weapons and handle a hammer for repairs to equipment. I imagine him in either a black trench coat or motorcycle jacket with combat boots, black jeans, and regular black t-shirt. He wears goggles like Maddie's. (Like mother, like son). They make him look unhinged.

Sam: I'm leaning towards the name Thorn? She's the sharpshooter. The muscle. She can and will crack your head between her thighs and possesses 90% of the trio's impulse control (in most situations). I imagine her in knee-high, laced up, goth boots, leggings and killer skirt with a leather jacket and crop top. Her colors are still black, purple, and green. She is SWOLE. I love her.

Tucker: Now, I'm not sure what his name would be but he's basically the field tech. Having an on-site hacker is super useful. He's got twenty ways to get into every building. Security means nothing to him. He's great at stealth (not counting Danny cause ghost powers) and is great at thinking on his feet. His color are black and orange. Instead of wearing his red beret and yellow shirt duo he wears sneakers, tech glasses, a motorcycle jacket with a hoodie attached.

Jazz: Prophet is her codename. She's the lady in the chair. Tucker may make the programs that run the computer, but only Jazz can run them efficiently. She gets them where they need to go, gets them out of tough situations, gets info, assists Tucker, and so much more. Also, I want her to fly a ghost jet. I dont know why but she would be so cool doing it.

[tiredfloridianbutverygay]

“...heh, in a way, I’m actually kind of glad I get to hide behind a digital avatar because… heh, I’m really not much to look at in real life.”

-----

Little does she know it, but Weiss disagrees. It's hard to be Ruby Rose, trans girl extraordinaire with feelings for your best friend.

For @white-rose-week

[insomniumstella]

sweetest peach 

bucky x bimbo!reader

warnings: implied smut, clueless!reader, pervy-ish!Bucky — the reader is more than fine with his behaviour though, corruption kink (?), explicit language

word count: 1,285

author’s note: this was supposed to be a headcanon, but it turned into a drabble real quick. i’ve been wanting to try writing something different though, so if you have any nsfw bucky thots or opinions, please do not hesitate to send an ask!

.•° ✿ °•. he’s a tad confused when you first join the team, clad in a pink crop top and a denim mini skirt. Steve doesn’t speak of the concern that swallows the space while you reapply lipgloss before freshly manicured fingers drum against the wooden desk in the conference room. 

✧.* “hi,” you giggle, “i’m y/n,” and it’s then that James decides you’re just too cute and too oblivious to be perceived as a threat, gazing at him through doe eyes. you're so much different than anyone else on the team, gleaming with happiness and innocence, and James almost wants to corrupt you. 

.•° ✿ °•. “hi, pretty girl,” he answers with a smile, “i’m Bucky.”

✧.* Maria Hill orders everyone to find a seat, so she could go through your file and inform the other avengers of the newest member’s abilities, but the soldier cannot focus, catching your wandering glance every once in a while. heat and desire itch underneath his skin as your eyes run across his firm shoulders and biceps, lingering on the metal arm before your stare finds his face again, and you offer him a sweet grin. he’s done for, Bucky realizes — he’d protect you with his life if it came down to it. 

.•° ✿ °•. it’s a couple days later when James comes to Steve with a proposal, suggesting he should be the one to train you as the captain has far too many responsibilities. Steve agrees, too lost in the pile of documents to notice Bucky’s true intentions visibly etched into his facial expression. 

✧.* you make it almost impossible for the soldier to focus during sparring, giggling and gasping, and whining when he manhandles you into different positions. it’s wrong, he understands, to make you accidentally straddle him time and time again, but he stops caring because you don’t seem to mind, grasping onto his muscled biceps for balance.

•° ✿ °•. “you lost again, peach.” Bucky chuckles, clutching your thighs to lift the two of you into a standing position. his hands come to rest under your butt while your arms latch around his neck as a plea for him to hold you a bit longer. mmmh, you hum with a sly smile, and Bucky’s taken aback slightly. he searches your face for an emotion he hasn’t yet decided upon, but it’s as warm and as charming as always, “sweets,” he leans in, “have you been letting me win on purpose?” 

✧.* a giggle slips past your lips at his comment, “maybe,” you admit, but James cannot find it in himself to be mad because you’ve been letting him twist your body into outrageous positions for the past several weeks on purpose, whining in frustration—or pleasure—when his rough hands would handle your flesh. “i’m a witch,” you remind, pushing a piece of hair that’s stuck to his glistening forehead aside, “i could’ve used my magic on you, but i like it when you touch me.” 

.•° ✿ °•. the ocean’s still for a while as Natasha begins taking you on missions. James continues to train you at hand-to-hand combat, though, and much to his satisfaction, you’re not only the most attractive student he’s ever had, but one of the best, quickly learning to fight without magic. 

✧.* the swift glances and soft touches you often pay him outside the comfort of the gym’s walls bring the most delicious of pain and pleasure. he’s one of many you pay attention to, and it suffocates him, the sight of you acting so naive and sweet around other agents drowns him. but i like it when you touch me, James reminisces night after night, and so touch James does because how else would he know if you truly desire him. 

.•° ✿ °•. you’re making coffee one morning when you feel him press into your behind to reach for a mug in the cupboard. the action is harmless, you think, and shift to smile at him as a good morning. he returns the gesture, bucking his hips into the plush of your ass before hastily retreating. 

✧.* in your mind, the next few incidents are just as innocent. Bucky’s a righteous man, who’s only trying to be friendly to a newcomer, right? he must be because he pulls you into his lap during the compound’s movie nights when the sofa lacks space or holds the dip of your back to lead you through a crowd of people. James even offered to do your laundry, neatly folding tiny clothes into organized piles, including brightly colored panties. you noticed your favorite thong was missing from the stack of clothing he returned but stayed silent, grateful Bucky helped you in the first place. 

.•° ✿ °•. it’s several months later when James decides he’s had enough. the team is hanging out at a nearby dive bar, indulging in countless dirt-cheap cocktails and heated rounds of pool. you’re standing beside Steve as you attempt to strike the cue ball, the cue stick gliding right above it. the frustration is evident in your face, eyebrows all scrunched up, wrinkling your pretty features. lacy panties peek out from under your skirt when you bend down, and James can feel his jeans tightening. lately, leggings and suits Tony designed with your specific kind of magic in mind have been the core of your attire, but it’s friday, and the night’s supposed to be fun, so you’re back to low-cut tops and barely there denim. 

✧.* “shit,” you curse. the word is foreign to Bucky’s ears when it comes from your plump lips, and he abandons the conversation with Sam to come stand behind you. he places his hands on the cushions, caging you between his body and the table. pouting, you turn around to glance at him, “the stupid stick won’t hit the stupid ball,” you whine, unintentionally squirming against his hard length. 

•° ✿ °•. “let me help you, peach,” James chuckles, holding your arms in his hands. he maneuvers you into the right position, helping you strike the ball. The cue ball strikes a purple neighboring sphere, and it rolls into one of the pockets. swiftly, you turn around to wrap your arms around Bucky’s neck, slightly jumping up and down from the happiness of a successful shot. “good job, sweets!” James celebrates with you, but it ends early when his metal arm detaches you from his body, clutching your waist to twist you, so that your back is against his chest again. “do that without my help this time.” 

✧.* you comply as he takes a step back, but your focus is soon blurred when his nimble fingers caress the skin of your exposed thighs. James is so close, you can feel the warmth radiating off him, and he shifts to shield his wandering hands from unsuspecting gazes. leaning down, “focus” he murmurs into your neck before his fingers drift higher, nearing your core. it clenches around nothing, and James seems to notice, chuckling before he withdraws his touch to correct your form. “lower,” he instructs, pushing down on the dip of your back, “this hand should be further away from the cue ball,” Bucky informs, but you’re putty in his hands. 

.•° ✿ °•. he retracts, allowing you to concentrate. the sphere misses a colored ball, striking the rail, and stops. “i missed,” you pout again and shove the cue into his hands, “i’ma get a drink.” 

✧.* "how about i come with you," a slight smirk dances on his lips as he drops the stick into Tony's lap. his hand slithers to rest on the dip of your waist, and he pulls you into his body. you only giggle at his antics, the sound of it syrupy and genuine. 

.•° ✿ °•. “alright, Buck,” you say, fluttering your eyelashes, and James swears he's going to completely corrupt you one day. 

[alevolpe]

Out of curiosity, do you see each sailor guardian's uniform having it's own spin to it?? Like keeping the base but having each guardian have a different design that's unique to them?

Absolutely!

To me it’s very important to have each uniform, not only tell a lot about the character, but have the uniform itself be made to optimize and support each of the senshi in different ways. They have varying sets skill sets and powers, so each uniform should work to compliment and, again, optimize that while keeping key elements that keep the designs tethered to each other.

To me the key elements are mostly:

The color scheme. Each member of the sailor team has 3 main colors following the 60-30-10 rule. If you don’t know what that means, it’s basically a rule in character design where each character has their main color scheme limited to 3 colors, one main color (60% of their color), a secondary color (the 30%) and an accent color (the remaining 10%). Even tho each senshi has different colors associated with them I still consider white to be their main and connecting color. So it’s white (60), their main+secondary color (30) and their accent color, which I consider to be gold (10).

Their sailor collars. The collars are one of the main elements that, to me, connects them together, yet can still be played with while keeping it recognizable. It’s very much something I’m still experimenting with, but look at examples of collar designs I’ve implemented or even saved on Pinterest as reference. (You can also see how much i experiment with them in my silmil redesigns, tho those ones I go more wild with since they don’t have to resemble the iconic senshi uniform)

The gem/bow. This kinda goes along with the collars, but it’s not as crucial to me, since having either the gem or bow is enough in my eyes if it means making the design less cluttered (just look at my Mercury redesign, the second in the pics above). The bow is also an excellent place to put the secondary main color, like Mars’ purple or Jupiter’s pink.

The tiara. The tiara follows a similar philosophy to the collar, where it’s a crucial element for the character, but you can still very much have fun with it. It’s also where the main focus of the accent color is located (gold). Tho this is something I’ll admit, I have played with much less than the collars, just cause it’s kinda hard. (I have played with it more in my silmil redesigns, but again, those are much wilder than what I’m willing to do with their current designs and there’s in lore reasons for it)

These are really the main elements that I go back to the most. They are the musts, and while I do plan on keeping other aspects too, not all of them will have it. For example the earrings, chokers, bubble sleeves and gloves.

If a senshi does a lot of hand to hand combat, I’ll prob give her different types of gloves than say one who fights from afar. Same with earrings, I won’t have a brawler wear massive dangling earrings, while I feel a more passive character can def afford more luxurious and extravagant wears. Also skirts. I’m not opposed to giving some of them mini skirts, but with others.. it really doesn’t work. I’ve said before that I think Moon works quite well with a very puffy tutu pettiskirt (imagine something similar to Madoka’s skirt from PMMM).

It’s a lot of trial and error :)

[white-rose-week]

White Rose Week 2023 Officially starts now!

PLEASE REMEMBER:

-Follow the rules! Rules:

DO NOT post art that is not yours unless the artist has given you explicit permission.

DO NOT use another artist’s work as the base for your fanart. Any kind of plagiarism WILL NOT be accepted.

DO NOT post prompts before the event begins, however, once it does begin, you can post any prompts in the week. For example, posting art on the prompt for Friday on Monday that same week.

Your post must be tagged as #white rose week with spaces. This needs to be one of the first 5 tags or it won’t show up in the White Rose Week tag.

Please specify the prompt you’re using in your post.

NSFW posts must be under a cut and/or tagged accordingly. This includes anything triggering to audiences and severe degrees of violence/death/tragedies or possible gore.

DO NOT post racist, sexist, homophobic or any kind of offensive material.

It is completely okay to post anything dedicated to this event once it has passed; your work will still be posted/reblogged on here.

If you have posted your work and you see I haven’t reblogged it yet or posted it, it could mean I couldn’t see it on the tag or just simply haven’t checked the tag or my submission box yet. If this happens, feel free to just notify me if your work still hasn���t been posted for a while.

HAVE FUN! IF THESE RULES ARE NOT FOLLOWED YOU WILL GET STRIKES:

Strike 1: A simple warning that what you did was not okay and you’re free to still enjoy and participate in White Rose Week.

Strike 2: Final warning without consequences!

Strike 3: You will be blocked from this blog and event for the rest of this year’s event and the next year’s. The block will be lifted after next year’s White Rose Week event passes.

NOTE: of course, you will not get a strike for accidentally tagging your post wrong or posting too early without knowing. However, if rule numbers 1, 2, 6, and 7 are broken, you will definitely get a strike.

-These are the prompts:

Voted/Audience List

Body Swap

Scar kisses

Vampire Schnees and Vampire Hunter Ruby

Time travel Ruby searching for a reincarnated Weiss after every death

"WAIT! That was YOU?!??!!!"

Wolf/Werewolf AU

Secret Identities

Free Day

Admin List

Atlas Ball

Homecoming

Weiss Crying Over Ruby’s Heavy Ass Weapon

Vtuber or streamer or youtuber AU

Childhood Promise

Maid Cafe AU

Ruby is a single mom with a baby and one day Weiss babysits and the baby starts calling her mom

Free Day

YES you can pick from either list

YES you can mix and match the prompts

NO you don't have to do all of the prompts

PLEASE REMEMBER that the admins and I are all human with our own busy lives outside of this event, which means if we're behind on reblogging your post or addressing something, please have patience and understand we will get to it in time.

HAVE FUN!

GO TEAM COMBAT SKIRTS

Header credit: @thegreatweissshark

[liam-neesons-best-girl]

Going to the Gym . . . .

Summary: How different Liam Neeson characters interact with you when you go to the gym together.

Pairings: Bryan Mills (Taken) x reader, Hannibal (A-Team) x reader

Warnings: F! reader, bits of fluff, bits that are NSFW, 18+,

Bryan Mills (Taken) gif credit to @eellisikki4o4

Bryan trains in hand to hand combat when he is at the gym (boxing mostly)

He will spar with someone who works at the gym while you take a dance class offered at the same time

If your class finishes before his you will watch him at his craft

His gaze is so intense as he punches the pads of his sparing mate but he instantly turns soft when he spots you across the way in your soft blue leggings and razor back tank top

If he finishes before your class is over he will sneak in the back without you noticing as you finish the last song

He loves seeing how graceful and fluid your movements are

He'd never admit it to you but he gets a bit hard seeing you all sweaty in public

It makes him think of you under him at home like a whimpering mess asking for more

Somedays he'll greet you from behind and grind his hardening cock on you and suggest a quickie in the car or right when you get home

He doesn't mind the sweat, if anything he likes the salty flavor of your lips and the mixing of your bodies musks

Hannibal (A-Team)

Hannibal doesn't train traditionally in the gym setting

He likes to do more realistic drill pattern type of sessions to be best equip for what battles may come his way in the field

One day he'll suggest to you to join in his workout with his crew mates and man does he regret extending the invitation

First you show up in the most delectable tennis skirt and matching white tank top

"You're killing me, doll"

Then his mates will show up and be checking you out the whole day and Hannibal will feel a sense of protectiveness over you

He will run his mates into the ground by delegating to them to do the harshest 5k run, followed by an obstacle course and mountain hike to round off the day

All of the men are so wiped afterward and can hardly catch their breath, never mind sneak a glance at their commander's girl

You are beat from the training too but Hannibal is the first to suggest an icey cold shower for two as a reward for all of your hard work

needless to say there is a second round to the day's workout but Hannibal is more than capable to go all night long

[stellanslashgeode]

WiP Wednesday on a Friday

Here's a sneak peek at the start of the Vampire Hunter AU. I'm inspired by @charmwasjess and their own WiP to get this underway.

  Autumn leaves crunched under her feet as Ahsoka reentered the long-abandoned power plant. The sky was turning vivid orange and purple behind her; but the rising sun did little to subvert the gloom of the building interior. The leaves were the only sound, and the dawn’s light and whatever anemic light penetrating the dust and cobweb patina on windows to the exterior provided the only light. 

  Ahsoka sought to swallow the knot of nervous energy in her throat and reached for the glowrod attached to her belt. She shined a vivid bright white LED beam cutting a blade through the gloom, light bouncing off every dust mote.

  She could have called out to her partner, but the plaintive exclamation died in her windpipe, blocked by that knot of grief at her trachea. 

  “Go on in, Ahsoka. That fiend must be asleep by now.”

  She was retracing steps she had taken with Barriss a week previously. Ahsoka looked over her shoulder as if she could see her companion, her fellow Jedi vampire slayer at her side.

  She looked up from her trusty datapad and smiled brightly. Her adorable Cupid’s-bow lips gently curled into a sly smile just for her. Just for her. Like lucious ribbons securing a present for her to unwrap. The screen left dual rectangles of reflected blue light on her glasses. Her stupid sexy glasses. She had her hair tied back in a bun and covered with a kerchief. 

  Otherwise she was dressed like an office secretary. Ahsoka never could grasp how she refused to alter her costume for missions. Ahsoka had her combat gear on, her plate-reinforced vest with the stiff metal collar over her throat. A garlic garland strung across her shoulders like a feather boa. She was holding her stake already, even here at the door in morning sunlight.

  And Barriss in a blouse, pencil skirt, kitten heels, and hose like it was a Tuesday at the office.

  “You’re sure she’s in here.” Ahsoka sought to intone it as a statement rather than a question.

  “According to my data this is the central point where the attacks originate. We are doomed to chase down its victims in villages all over the province unless we slay the monster inhabiting this old plant. Exterminate the queen, and the nest withers and dies.” 

  She pushed up the tortoiseshell frame of her glasses casually with a pinkie finger. Ahsoka was suddenly struck by the urge to grab her wrist and take that delicate digit into her mouth and surround it with her warm wet tongue. But she banished that urge lest her fellow Jedi hunter read her thoughts or emotions.

  She nodded and gave her a half-smile. “Okay.”

  Ahsoka was scared, but having Barriss here both as support and as a loved one to protect bolstered her. This wasn’t their first rodeo. As Jedi Knights they had joined a holy army of the light in opposition to these Sith bloodsucking freaks. Their masters had paired the two together after they showed how effective they were as a team. Perhaps they had also noted the attraction that grew by the day when they were together? Perhaps. Perhaps they sought the knights to overcome the temptations of the emotions and the flesh by serving the light together as a dyad.

  But damn, she wanted to kiss her right now. In this lull before confronting a great evil. Just to reassure each other and to get Ahsoka’s blood pumping rearing for the fight.

  “Let’s go, then. For light and life.”

  She tilted her head and her smile grew. Ahsoka’s heart leapt into her throat.

  Ahsoka sighed. She was returning here a failure and alone now. Barriss was either dead or a creature subverted by evil. And the best option was death. It would be a blessing to find her corpse inside.

  She spent a few days and dreamless nights at the tavern, in the room they rented together, in the one bed they had vacant, drinking herself into a stupor each night and secretly wishing to be awakened by Barriss’s fingernails tapping on the exterior of the third-floor window. Asking to be invited in.