#I’ve been very normal about Purple’s appearance

[bittersweetbeet]

SLIGHT AVM 34 SPOILER

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I can’t stress enough how happy I am that Purple being a trickster and a schemer hasn’t been forgotten about even after his redemption. A lot of shows tend to make it so after a character is redeemed, they lose whatever trait that made them interesting and unique in the first place. The character just loses the charm they had before and it sucks.

It’s so refreshing to see that Purple is doing better (seeing how he has a treehouse and most likely hangs with the gang regularly) but he’s still a trickster underneath it all. Here’s hoping we see more of Purple being a lil shit in the future 💖

[cupcakeslushie]

First || Prev || …

Here’s the next part of the Kendratello AU! I knew it was going to be very dialogue heavy, so I figured writing it out would be fast, but I’m so ready to be done with it that I’ve not really beta read it. So I apologize for any errors. But enjoy!

Splinter loves his sons, but these last few days have been eating away at his already shriveled and fraying nerves. Watching his children ambling around their home, for months, each in varying states of anxiety, fear, and distress, hasn’t been easy on his old heart.

They’ve been through so much, experienced more hardships than Splinter has ever wanted for them. But the latest crucible tearing his family apart was caused, not by some ancient demon, or world-ending threat—but a fiendishly smart, young woman.

One who’d kidnapped his son and replaced him with a stranger that Splinter hardly recognized.

The bitter tale is too familiar for the old movie star to painlessly swallow. It seems fate played such cruel tricks sometimes. Always seeming to strike harsher the second go around. With outcomes even more brutal and painful. His son was stolen by a hateful, sadistic woman, and kept locked away, until she was satisfied with the new toy that emerged from the shadows.

So it stands to reason how…relieved Splinter had been that one, early morning. When his three sons had pulled Purple into his bedroom, piling into his bed, nothing but wide eyes and panicked shouting; one over the other. Looking back now, he can recognize how short-sighted his quick relief had been. But in the moment, as a father, Splinter had only seen this new, strange development as a blessing.

Donatello might have been confused, and irritated with his brother’s manhandling, but Splinter could clearly see more life in those eyes than he’d witnessed in months. Splinter had shushed the rest, and spoken to Purple directly, finally getting a better grasp on what his sons were shouting about.

Amnesia.

So, of course, relief. Because how could forgetting all those horrible, tortuous weeks in that woman’s grasp, possibly be a bad thing? By some miracle, Splinter’s boy had been returned to him. Nowhere near that frail ghost of Donatello, which Splinter would sometimes find curled up on the floor of his own lab, screaming Kendra’s name and sobbing to be returned to her care.

He had been spared all of that, like it never happened. Their family had been handed a gift, and Splinter truthfully wasn't interested in the whys of it all…

Until Michelangelo chose to contact Draxum, and words like “brain damage” and “tumor” were thrown into the mix.

An entire day of testing yielded…varying results. They were able to rule out the scariest of options. No dark shadows were seen in the X-rays of his son’s beautifully brilliant brain, and no concerning squiggles were pointed out by the Hidden City doctors who studied the fast moving waves appearing on the EEG. It was all a bunch of nonsense to Splinter, but Donatello nodded like he agreed, when he was handed the papers over to inspect himself.

Everything was normal, physically.

That left the most difficult part of the day. Getting his son to speak to a psychiatrist—seriously, and without snarking back at every possible question he would eventually be asked.

Draxum had thankfully picked a good one. Briefing her beforehand on…everything. She seemed prepared for Purple’s special brand of cynicism. The sheep yokai was apparently at the top of her field.

A tentative diagnosis of “dissociative amnesia” had been given, along with a small number of pamphlets and printouts. The doctor had informed Splinter that certain treatments might improve Donatello’s situation, but no cure had been discovered for something like this.

They would just have to take things one day at a time. And they’d been doing so well. Almost like everything was back to normal.

Splinter had become very good at ignoring that pending feeling of dread in the pit of his stomach. He smiled at his sons every day onward, like nothing was wrong. And all of them, in return, began falling back into a more comfortable ease around each other. The stress had just been starting to loosen in Red’s shoulders and jaw. Orange was giving real, honest smiles again. And Blue was no longer a shadow around corners, hiding from Purple like a bomb he was scared to set off.

But the other shoe that had been the root of Splinter’s dread, finally dropped, and the rug was pulled from under their feet once more, violently, with no warning.

Even after they’d managed to calm Donatello down. There was no negotiating the terms of his reality, and he was stubbornly convinced that the world around him was fabricated. Without caring about the consequences, he refused to be civil towards any of them, treating them all like jesters in a play, where no one had the script.

The family’s usual process for dealing with Purple’s anger–letting him cool off alone in his lab until he collected his thoughts–was unfeasible this time around.

Splinter didn’t think he could ever forget the image of his son, turning the knife he held in his hands inwards, and threatening to end his own life.

No; leaving him alone was not an option.

Which led back to Splinter’s previously mentioned frayed nerves.

Four days into this new, stressful change, and his genius son was still managing to find creative ways to sneak past their watchful eyes. Six attempts, in total. Each time, caught with seconds to spare, and just as traumatic for everyone involved.

Raphael and Michelangelo at the moment, were going through their home, removing every sharp implement they could find. Anything that could possibly be used to “put an end to the loop” that Donatello was convinced he was stuck in.

While the two performed their important task, Blue and Splinter had the harder of the two jobs; watching Purple.

Splinter was currently sitting comfortably in his chair, but it was far from his usual level of relaxation. Despite plenty of bean bags to occupy, the twins were locked in a shoving match. For some reason, they were fighting over the single, smallest one they must’ve owned.

“If you don’t get out of my personal space, I swear to Oppenheimer you will regret it, Leonardo!”

“And I swear to Ryan Renolds, that I’ll shred all of your softest hoodies if you kick me in the nuts one more time!”

“That Barbenheimer joke doesn’t even make sense, you idiot, that was Ryan Gosling!”

“Who mentioned Barbie? I’m talking about Deadpool and Wolverine!”

“What does that movie have to do with anything?!”

“Fuck dude, what did I just say about nut shots!”

“Then get out of my kicking radius, and your non-existent nuts will be safe!”

“BOYS!”

Both his sons quickly pause their arguing, giving their father their undivided attention.

“Leonardo, go help your brothers.” Splinter demands. “I will watch Purple. He has not had a moment of free time from any of you in days, and it is clearly wearing on all of us.” Blue gives his father one of his patented unimpressed stare downs.

“No offense, Pops, but how is you watching him, any different than me?”

“Because I will sit in my chair, and Purple will scroll on his phone, and there will be quiet.” Splinter can’t stand the bickering any longer. He knows both his sons will benefit from this time apart. It’s just convincing Blue of that.

Donatello’s gaze is boring holes into the back of Leonardo’s head while his second oldest son matches Splinter’s scrutiny. The rat can see the need for some fresh air battling against Blue’s desire to stay close. But Leonardo is his sharpest son, and even he can admit that his constant presence has become too grating for his brother.

“You need to watch him like a hawk, Dad,” Leo glares at his twin out of the corner of his gaze, “sometimes you can get a little…distracted.”

The new projector, playing Splinter’s same old programs, flashes against the curtain hung on the wall. The volume is set to low, but Blue still looks pointedly between his father and the screen. Splinter doesn’t blame him for his concern, so he tries to put all the gravity he can into his tone, enough that when he does promise to stay vigilant, it seems to convince Blue to place his trust in him.

Purple stays quiet through the exchange, only breathing a sigh of relief once his brother is long past the threshold of the den. He looks ready to lean back into his hard won pillows, but Splinter realizes that Blue had something of a point. Donatello is positioned quite far from him, and he’s suddenly nervous about catching something in time.

“Purple, how about you come sit with me.” Splinter suggests it kindly but firmly, and with a smile– so his son can’t refuse. He pats the bit of cushion next to his legs, “I will honor my promise to leave you alone, but I would be much more relaxed if you were within my reach.”

His boy merely blinks at him, blank faced, and staring at the very spot that Splinter has just created for him.

It isn’t as though his recliner is small, even if Splinter himself is. Donatello had custom made it for him, after one too many complaints about his old brown one hurting his back. It practically swallows Splinter, but remains just stiff enough to provide plenty of support for his lower back. He could even lay sideways and still have some space to stretch.

Splinter recalls very clear memories of all his sons fighting for a spot by his side when they were younger. But it has been some time since those days…perhaps Donatello thinks he’s far too old for such a thing as sitting by his aging father. Yoshi remembers himself at eighteen, and shudders. He’s forever thankful that no matter how lacking his parenting skills might have been, that his boys are kinder to him than he ever was to his Jiji.

Donatello pulls at some invisible thread of his black leggings. Since this new alteration of his memories, Purple has taken to wearing more layers. It’s nearing fall, but not nearly cold enough for the large sweatshirt, black leggings AND socks that his son is currently donning.

Splinter just barely hears Purple murmur a jumbled, “Huh?”

Splinter catches some sort of emotion actively being suppressed behind the bewildered shock at his offer, but it’s hard to tell what it is. Over the years Splinter is ashamed to say, he has grown very bad at reading his own children. Especially Purple, who, if he was being honest, has always been very hard to decipher.

Splinter starts to think the offer will be rejected, when Purple finally climbs to his feet and ambles slowly over. The unknown emotion skittering at the edge of Donatello’s expression morphs into something closer to suspicion. This one easy to identify, especially when it practically drips from his next words.

“Trying to endear yourself to me won’t sway me into falling for your tricks.”

The barb is said just as unkindly as everything else Purple has thrown at his family these last few days. Splinter lets it slide off him like water. He knows his son would (probably) never speak to him like that if he wasn’t stuck in such a painfully clear mode of survival and uncertainty.

“Yes, yes.” He says, untroubled. “Come sit and I can finally lean my chair back.”

Donatello watches him the entire time as he cautiously settles into his spot. He yelps when Splinter grabs his ankles and pulls his son’s long (thin, still much too thin) legs across his lap. For an instant, Splinter freezes, growing worried he’s overstepped. The act had been done without a thought. It’s the way Purple has always liked to sit, finding it more comfortable than any other way. Donatello preferred to keep his distance. A deviation from his siblings, for sure.

Michelangelo would press as close as possible, two sides smushed together like a hug, only without the constricting limbs (though, if Orange were ever to fall asleep in Splinter’s chair, those too would eventually find their way to catching him in their hold).

Leonardo preferred to sit on the arm of his chair, never staying still for long enough to find a comfortable position. But when he slumbered, after a long night of binge watching Novela’s with Splinter–he would curl up, head in his father’s lap, limbs held tight to his body. Like he was afraid even that was asking for too much.

Raphael, his poor, eldest son, hadn’t sat with him in so long. Splinter could still remember a little turtle tot in red, climbing up and splaying out onto his lap when he needed a good cry–or just a moment of peace from his much too loud siblings. Sadly, it wasn’t long before his Red was too big, and his father too small to provide such a refuge. The last time Raphael needed consoling; after the Krang, Splinter had been forced to climb up onto his own son’s knees in order to reach and wipe away his tears.

In the few rare instances of Purple seeking out physical touch, this was all he would allow. Legs stretched over his father’s lap, but his upper body was always off limits. Pulled just far enough away from the threat of any sort of long term contact.

Splinter used to wonder if Purple was scared to ask for anything more, like Leonardo, or if he thought depriving himself of a comforting hug would make him seem stronger, like Raphael, or even the rare times when Michelangelo wished to appear more mature and refused to be comforted. Eventually, Splinter caught on to the truth. His son was asking for comfort, in his own unique way. He was content with the minimal amount of closeness, as long as he felt like he was able to dictate the terms.

But one thing Purple would always allow his father to do, was loop his fingers around his ankles. Trusting the grip would hold his legs in place and keep him stable. He once said the pressure was small enough that it wasn’t overwhelming, but strong enough that it could ground him when everything became too much.

Even now, the act of reaching out to pull his son’s long legs up had been so instinctive. When Splinter looks over and sees the uncertainty still on Purple’s face, he knows he’s pushed too far too quickly.

It’s a risky move, but he’s already pushed, and it’s something that never fails, not once since he’s discovered it.

Purple has always been the most ticklish of all his brothers. Another thing that never really helped his sensory issues. But Splinter long ago discovered that there was a particular spot, which could always earn him a giggle and a brighter smile.

Splinter grips the meat of Donatello’s right knee and jiggles it back and forth. The silly action seems to do the trick and knocks something loose in his son’s overwrought head. His gamble pays off spectacularly, and Splinter is overjoyed to see a small smile erase most of the uncertainty clouding Donatello’s face. It isn’t a full peal of laughter, but the wariness makes way for something softer, and the huff of air from his nose is just as rewarding as a full body laugh.

His boy rests his shoulder and head onto the cushioned back of the chair and Splinter presses the button that will lift up the leg rest, and recline them both into a more restful position.

After a few moments of quiet, Donatello slowly pulls his phone from the pocket of his hoodie. Even without looking directly at him, Splinter can feel his son watching and waiting for the reprimand he thinks will come. Instead, Splinter raises the volume of his show just loud enough for him to hear, but not enough to completely shatter their peace. He wants to make Purple feel more at ease; like he’s not being constantly surveilled–not providing more overstimulation.

They sit like that for some time. Splinter rubs a thumb back and forth across the meatier part of Donatello's calves. He’s learned that repetitive touch is the best kind of grounding technique for Purple. The patterned motion always worked to calm his nerves.

Even still, after only so long Splinter catches Purple lowering his phone.

He keeps his own gaze forward, locked on his commercials. Splinter can see, without looking, that his son is studying him, trying to take apart something in his mind that he doesn’t understand. Splinter allows him all the time he needs to gather his thoughts.

Finally Purple speaks, “Dad…?” It’s so quiet, if Splinter hadn't been waiting for it, he might’ve missed it.

He pauses the repetitive kneading for just a moment, squeezing his hold, and humming in order to prompt his son to continue his thought.

“Can I tell you something?” The inquiry is whispered to him so delicately. It takes everything in him to keep his face open and soft and his movements steady. It’s clear that Donatello is trying his best to remain aloof, but his gaze is locked on his hands that are settled in his lap, the fingers of one pulling on the digits from his other.

At some point he must’ve put his phone completely away. Splinter feels the pressure of having Donatello's complete focus aimed at him.

The tugging intensifies. Splinter wonders if he should reach out, but he’s not sure how well that would be received. It doesn’t look painful just yet.

“I don't know what Kendra is accomplishing by showing me this.” Donatello growls, suddenly digging his palms into his eyes like he can still feel the weight of the screen blocking his vision. “Trying to make me happy, only to rip it all away from me? Or attempting to make me feel, even more like a useless burden than I was?”

It’s the first crack in his armor that Purple has shown in days. A clear sign that he was not as unaffected by Kendra’s lies as he’d been trying to project. Donatello sighs, but as it dies out Splinter thinks it sounds closer to a sob.

“You can’t tell the others…” Donatello looks at him with wet, desperate eyes, and it’s unclear if his son still doubts who he’s speaking to, but Splinter works to ease his fears all the same.

“I swear, whatever you tell me will remain between us, alone.”

Donatello nods faintly, eyes trailing downwards once more. Splinter may have had trouble before, but now the many emotions jumping across his son’s face—fear, shame, frustration, all are easy to catch.

With a shaking breath he whispers his secret. “I lied.” He’s crying now, real tears that he doesn’t even bother to wipe away. The pulling at his skin grows more violent, and Splinter finally interferes to carefully pry Donatello’s hands apart before damage is done. In place he cradles his son’s hands like delicate porcelain and runs a thumb over Donatello’s palm.

“I told everyone that I could tell. That I wasn’t being fooled, but that’s not exactly true. The last few loops have…it’s been getting harder, and harder to remember things— how they really happened. Too much is…plausible.”

Splinter keeps silent. This confession has clearly been weighing on Donatello. He deserves to get it all out, and hopefully feel lighter for it. Even if Purple suspects the family, something is letting Donatello open up enough for him to share his fears.

“There was one loop…Mikey broke…he broke the remote…When I said I didn’t have time to fix it. He threw the pieces at my head. He would never do that, though…right?”

“No, of course not,” Splinter answers immediately, quick to banish the doubt from his son’s mind. Donatello only blinks at him, like his thoughts are moving too slow, and cannot comprehend such a simple, stark contradiction to what he experienced.

“It felt so real…it all feels so real. But…I could feel how one of the sharp, broken corners had cut through my mask and how the wet fabric stuck to my skin with blood.”

Donatello raises a hand and touches the spot where the phantom wound must’ve sat. The pain now gone, but the memory of it haunts his eyes and rattles the tremors building in his hands.

“I thought…I thought I was handling this—maybe not well…But I’d hoped I would be strong enough to last until you all came for me…And now Raph is saying it’s already over.”

It’s a simplified form of the truth which they had tried to get Purple to believe, but even that much clearly doesn’t sit well with him. “If it is over, why does my body feel like one massive bruise? How did you all find me? How long did I last? Was I in there long enough to…?”

He’s clearly scared to ask Splinter any more questions, so he trails off, curling in on himself and pulling his hands up to his chest, pressing there, as if checking to make sure he feels something still beating.

Splinter decides he’s waited long enough and slowly pulls Donatello out of his hunched ball and guides his head to his own chest, making sure his ear is aligned against his own pulsing heartbeat.

Donatello resists slightly at first, but the moment he’s close enough to catch the sound, his breath catches and he glues himself to the spot.

“I don’t want to be there anymore,” Purple murmurs. It sounds like sleep is catching up with his son, the exhaustion pulling him down and slurring his words.

Splinter cups the back of Donatello’s head and carefully tug his fur lined blanket down from where it’s been sitting on the back of his chair. The blanket slots over the both of them and Donatello curls even closer to his father, tucking himself into his warmth.

“Go to sleep, when you wake up, you will be right here.” He’s sure to say it softly but with as much reassurance as possible, and Donatello seems too tired at this point to hold onto his doubts.

“Okay…,” Donatello mutters. Then, practically hanging on to the waking world for one final query hesitantly asks, “…Dad?…Do you love me?”

Splinter doesn’t even think. “Of course, my son.”

Donatello’s breathing finally evens out, and Splinter feels a few tears finally escape.

He’s not sure what next steps they should take, or what kind of state his son will be in when he wakes, but Splinter can only hope this is progress. He prays it won’t be undone…but regardless, Donatello is home. Any steps back or forward will be taken together, and that is the most important part.

[lowtaperfeyd]

lady Jessica x fem reader fluff pleeeease preferably before arrakis but idc

Moments

Lady Jessica x reader

author's note: I did combine two requests together due to their similarities. Bare with me when it comes down to writing fluff tho...

warnings: normal dune things.

wc: 996

It wasn’t a surprise to the residents of Castle Caladan to see Lady Jessica and her lady-in-waiting, (Y/N), walking around the luscious gardens of the castle late in the afternoon. Them arm in arm strolling past yellow, red, and orange flowers blooming in the cool air of Caladan, talking incoherently. 

“Do you really think Paul is the Kwisatz Haderach?” (Y/N) questioned, knowing the plot that the sisterhood had been planning, “It’s a generation too early.”

“I do.” Lady Jessica responded, “He’s shown the signs. The reverend mother Mohiam is visiting later before we leave. She’s skeptical as well.” She added, poking a bit of fun at her partner. 

“And if he fails the test?” (Y/N) asked, “Not saying he will or not.”

“Then I would be wrong.” Lady Jessica utter quietly. 

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard you doubt yourself about this.” (Y/N) chuckled, “and you using ‘wrong’ and ‘I’ in the same sentence. But if you are right about him, which you most definitely are, then he’ll be fine.” “That’s easier said than done.” she chortled 

“You’ve taught him everything he needs to know.” 

“That’s very kind of you to say.” Jessica said as she looked at (Y/N). 

“You’re welcome.” (Y/N) added while turning her head to look at the woman beside her. 

As they continued to walk around the garden, they spoke about what needed to be done on Arrakis, what needed to be brought, and what needed to be gotten rid of. It was rather domestic they way they mentally sorted through silverware and bits and pieces of furniture like an old married couple. Their lighthearted arguments of whether or not the ornate chess table needed to come along. 

“You cannot just leave a gift behind on a planet we’ll never go to again.” Lady Jessica declared. 

“A gift that was given almost a hundred years ago, my lady.” (Y/N) retorted, “and besides when have you or anyone here last used it?” 

  “The point still stands, maybe even more so.” 

As well as soft affection to each other too. 

Other people in the castle also noticed these interactions as well. Gurney Halleck once spotted Lady Jessica with her head on (Y/N)’s shoulder as they were furiously arguing about whether or not Paul should learn universal history or mathematics first. Lady Jessica’s augment won with the fact that Paul would one day be duke. And dukes need to know what caused several wars which spanned centuries. Duncan Idaho was privy to see them argue with each other too. He saw them in the expansive library debating Bene Gesserit tactics and plans, while their knees ever so slightly tapped each other, more than once and in while. 

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Everything changed once they got to Arrakis though. There were no afternoon walks because of the scorching sun, there were no more arguments on what should stay or go because there was nothing to leave, and there were no more soft moments spent that lingered because they didn’t have that time anymore. Only after the battle at the Arrakeen, traversing the desert to find safety, and finally meeting the Fremen would provide some form of sanctuary. 

In Sietch Tabr, (Y/N) and Jessica were in a tiny bedroom they were given. Both of them had their hair messy and tangled, eyes set back into their faces with new purple eye bags now making their appearance. (Y/N) was walking pacing around their room, back and forth like a fish in a pond back home. Lady Jessica sat on the bed with her hands gently tucked onto her lap and one leg over the other. 

“You’re tired, aren’t you?” Lady Jessica asked. 

“We all are,” (Y/N) remarked, “my tiredness doesn’t sum to the tiredness of the people and group.” As she continued pacing. 

Lady Jessica moved back onto the bed so she was sitting in the middle of it. She crossed her legs over each other. 

“Come here.” She said, “rest, even if it’s only for a minute.” 

(Y/N) stopped in her tracks. She looked over to where the red headed woman was sitting. Her features lit up by the soft, golden light that seeped through thin cracks in the rocks. Her beauty was a thing that would always be captured in (Y/N)’s mind. 

“Alright,” The woman whispered as she walked over to the bed. She sat on the bed and slid back until she could comfortably lay her head on Lady Jessica’s lap. (Y/N) took her hands and laid them on her stomach as the red head started to smooth her hand over (Y/N)’s head. 

“What do you make of some of the Fremen calling Paul the ‘Lisan Al-Gaib’?” (Y/N) commented. 

“I think it gives us an opportunity to give the people what they want and have been waiting for.” Jessica shared, “They, also, need a new reverend mother.” “Does this mean you’ll drink the water of life?” 

“I’m not sure yet,” she swallowed, “I haven’t given it much thought yet.” 

“You’ll need to go to the south, Paul will need to go too if you do decide to drink it.” (Y/N) whispered, “You’ll need to go either way after becoming reverend mother.” 

“I know.” Jessica sighed out as she continued to brush her hand over her head, “But all that can wait for tomorrow, rest.” 

(Y/N)’s eyes would soon begin to fall as they got more and more heavy. The soothing nature of Jessica touching her head made her feel calmer than she had felt in days. Her muscles slowly began to relax and her head didn’t feel as tight and weighted as before. It didn’t take long before her eyes were fully closed and she was asleep, asking in the presence of Jessica and the love that was between the two. But the last thing she felt was Jessica pressing a tiny kiss to her forehead.

[zombieclown16]

Going back to an ask I had gotten about my ancestor designs, I’ve decided to do a deep dive into my process for making them and just my thoughts/inferences on their themes. I plan on doing more designs, so I may add more to this thread later!

Mosura Briati (The SuperNova)

Mosura is definitely my most straight forward design. With the little amount of info we have on her, I mostly dedicated my time to making her look like her namesake, Mothra. Her coat is meant to mimic moth wings and her pant design is supposed to be reminiscent of not just moth legs, but specifically moth Jentha’s appearance in WDYDTT.

Her radiation coloring is more saturated and intense than Jentha’s pastel pinks and blues, more close to the warm colors you’d find on a Geiger counter (I did want to keep that neon blue though!) Originally, I wanted to give Mosura more techy apparatus’, something like what Jentha had when she was younger that could potentially reign in her powers, and I still just might in an alt outfit! But for the natural approach, this is what she looks like when she’s able to chill out and not worry about exploding everything around her. Mosura is a treat to me, because even though she is surely the most powerful being the planet had to offer, her biology is what makes her so strong. Not magic or tech or anything, but just her body as it was made. I feel like that is an important factor to how the VE ancestors function, within an unnatural or a natural. Mosura especially was an attempt to bring back order to a terrible place, like when a volcano erupts and the land around it starts anew. Love her for that.

Fortmistress Deadlock

For the Fortmistress, my most controversial designs, I wanted her to be dramatic as hell with a sharp silhouette and a spiky appearance. Deadlock has her own semi canon design lost to the sands of VE time, so her leotard and face paint is a call back to those parts of her old look (I don’t want to post it if VE isn’t comfortable with that, so if you find it you’ll see what I mean!) However, my main inspiration for her was punk fashion mixed with the clowny wrestler appearance that would be inherit to her design. I find that the Fortmistress gets a strange rep within VE, as canonically during her time her caste and specifically purple bloods with psyops (including her) were fighting against the Fuchsia Bureaucracy who were attempting to use them as militia assets. The Mirths were confirmed as a cultural religion formed during a time of oppression, to gain community and commonality between people who had gone through the same as them while also standing up to a suffocating governmental system. That’s punk as fuck!!!!! To include this, I made her jacket a repurposed violet military vest, decorated and all, with the system she was fighting against! She’s big and intimidating and her psyops are a main focus of this piece because they really influenced her path in life and how she was likely treated by others. Cultural religions like this are not bad and Vilcus had very lovingly described a time period in which the Fortmistress would’ve been present where the Mirths were normal trolls finding community. (If you come in here with “the Fortmistress made them suck! She’s crazy!” I’m gunna do something drastic CHARACTERIZING AN OPPRESSED INDIVIDUAL AS WRONG FOR FIGHTING BACK AGAINST A BAD SYSTEM ISN’T VERY COOL there is no perfect minority and I’m not gunna pretend Deadlock was some amazing figure wronged by time, but someone who we don’t know all of the facts on)

I’m not going to dig too hard into my thoughts about Fortmistress Deadlock, (nor am I saying VE is intentionally doing her wrong because a very big theme for the ancestors is that they are mischaracterized by modern day Reptions cause it’s a huge game of historical telephone) so all I ask is for us to think very critically about her and the placement of making her a blood purist when it seems like she was fighting for people who didn’t have a voice at the time. Like why would I believe that fucking loser Pozzol Boyer has the best takes on her? Come on guys.

outside of that, that funny little key choker is canon and passed on to Taz, I wonder what it could be for?

Acerigger Switchem

So I was like “what if a casino hall was a person?” And that’s how I made Aceriggers design. If a building could manipulate someone it would be a Casino in Vegas so obviously the guy named ACE takes a lot of that in. Seriously though, this guy is chalk-full of card suits, casino motifs and GOLD. Gold is a Turkin ore just as much as it is for a Kerian(I mean Murrit’s weapon is literally gold too) because of how it acts with TIME. Gold never ages or erodes, it is permanently shiny and beautiful, always captivating to the eye. Acerigger is chronically vain, he’s hot, he’s young, and he likes it that way. Gold would be his forte, as it is everlasting beauty that persuades you to think it’s actually worth something. His design is supposed to exhibit these traits!

I want to talk about his big bright coat specifically, as it is directly inspired by an article I saw titled “Ugly Vegas Carpets Want You to Keep Playing”saying that Casinos make their carpets so ugly cause they want you to focus more on playing games and not hesitate to see them by looking around at all the gaudy patterns. For Ace, it’s meant to mimic those ugly Vegas carpets that want you to focus on his pretty face telling you everything you want to hear instead of letting you look at all of the blaring red flags. The neon vomit pattern is like the classic animal kingdom warning sign screaming TOXIC STAY AWAY! (Murrits outfit is just as important to his bit characterization so Ace is the same. It’s all for the act, babes) Alongside all of that is the color red, associated with promiscuity and passion. The promiscuity is obvious, but Aces use of red is also a time player callback just as much as it represents a passionate display. He’s less so wearing red for himself as he is wearing it for others, displaying himself “bare” in way of a color associated with heavy emotions (specifically love) on his chest. This is also why I deigned to not give him shades, playing the opposite to Murrits party shade appearance. Aces act wants to coax people into him, make them feel comfortable and secure with an open face smile while Murrit means to create distance and close himself off, hiding away behind a face of disconnection.

Tbh also Murrits Twelfth Night design was a big inspiration. She’s like really gay and slutty for some reason there, so I made Ace gayer and sluttier to counterbalance.

Anyways, my personal characterization(made over several years of hyper fixation on the ancestors. Like I’m sorry I’ve been here a while, the lore is deep) for Ace is a pretty big influence into why I designed him the way I did, so I’ll include some analysis to explain myself in a really round about way. A lot of what Ace does is meant to draw people to him, to captivate an audience of individuals with smoke and mirrors. We know he is the opposite to Murrit, a character who cares greatly about others but hides it under a facade of combative and annoying traits to stave off the scent of her having genuine feelings(therefore the chance to be vulnerable with those feelings). The opposite to that is a person who is outwardly kind and compassionate, so wonderful in fact it’s hard to not be captivated(and even fall in love) with him. Ace is the antithesis of true love and genuine feelings while that’s exactly what Murrit needs to accept about herself, that she isn’t all of her facades and can form real relationships. Ace doesn’t do that, Ace is fake love and fake relationships and there is nothing under his lies, though he doesn’t act with the petty insecurities that Murrit harbors, he is all around heartless. It’s interesting because it is a contrast between two connected characters who though are oppositional, compliment each other nonetheless. All of the ancestors are like that with their descendants! It just sucks for Murrit that he got such a bad card draw. Oops this became a Murrit analysis I FUCKING LOVE FISH

That’s all I got, remember all of what I’ve said is subject to change because the ancestors probably have a page of accurate info on them BARELY. These interpretations I’ve made are based on what we’ve been provided already, which is not a lot! So if you have any questions I’d love to dive even more into my thoughts.

[wexhappyxfew]

crash landings and all

(a/n): to my annie x brady girlies, here is the piece i’ve since promised and since fallen in love with!!! featuring annie, brady, coffee cups and the rising sun + some heartfelt talks about reality. and of course all those emotions annie doesn’t really need but feels instead. enjoy!

It was 0600 and she couldn't sleep.

But this had been happening far too many times in the past few weeks for her to ignore it and call it nerves, or worry, or any other bothersome symptom that would have one of the girls nudging her and asking her if she was okay.

Which she was, alright?

Or she was at least trying to tell herself that.

When there were mornings without missions, that's usually when she would come and sit out, just outside of the mess hall, and stare out towards where the B-17s sat, silhouetted against the purple and pink skyline as the sun began to appear. She'd usually sit there for about an hour, before she started seeing people moving about, and then she'd disappear inside, grab herself a coffee, avoid one of Major Egan's horrible jokes in the morning, and then be on her way to her crew, or to Silver Bullets, or to anything really - to distract herself, get her mind active, get her brain focused on something other than the worry.

This morning was no different - beautiful as the early dawn was, it was also incredibly reflective. She'd sit in the silence, the only noise the breeze in the trees and past her ears, the birds beginning to wake up and sing. It was usually a lot of her convincing herself things were fine and that everything was okay. That she was okay. But usually that didn't last very long and she was off worrying about one of the girls, or that one damn engine on Silver Bullets, or better yet if Lemmons had screwed that one bolt in enough. It kind of ate her alive at the worst of times.

"Hey." Annie looked up and found, stepping down onto the step, and nestling in beside her was Brady, an outstretched hand with a steaming mug of coffee opposite her, and a tired smile on his face.

"Hey," Annie said, trying to hide her surprise and current spiral that she thought was normally drawn across her face, "you're up early. Thanks." She took the coffee and watched as he settled beside her with a sigh, sipping at his own cup of coffee and glanced her way.

"I could say the same about you." he said back, his voice still waking up it seemed from sleep, knocking her shoulder gently. Annie watched him, the first rays of the morning son painting his face a beautiful golden with his eyes and she nodded.

"Couldn't sleep." she told him honestly, "Haven't been sleeping too well anyway, so. What's not to lose with a sunrise, you know?" Brady watched her for a moment, his lanky knees bent up to his chest, the mug resting on his kneecap and his expression quiet.

"Something worrying you?" he asked her, seemingly the first assumption of many on this base - was something worrying her? The sun would shine and she'd be worried, she'd be sat at a table and someone would cough and she'd think she'd have to get the doctor, someone would come in with a headache and she'd assume the worst. So, yeah, maybe there was something wrong, but she wasn't about to spill that to Brady at 0600 in the morning.

"I just worry about the girls, you know how it is. Making sure people are sleeping, eating, feeling okay, not feeling too homesick they're bedridden. That their letters get sent, get read, they get comforted, listened to." Annie said, "Just making sure they're keeping what smiles they can on their faces." Brady caught her gaze as she glanced his way and she found a small smile lingering on her lips.

"It's just what I have to do. Make sure things work like a well-oiled machine." she told him honestly, sipping at the coffee, "I must say, you know how to make a coffee taste good." Brady smirked slightly, a bit of a laugh escaping his mouth, before he looked at her.

"I'm glad you like it," he told her, his voice tender, "but don't try to worry yourself over your crew. They're a good group of ladies flying a B-17. And they've got a great pilot to lead 'em."

"Thanks, John."

"Just make sure you keep an eye on yourself, alright," Brady said, leaning into her side a bit, causing her to glance his way, "you're a part of that crew and just as important." He spoke with a gentle ease of tone, but equally just as serious, like he was coaxing someone to calm down.

"John Brady, you are full of compliments this morning." Annie said quietly, sipping her coffee and peering at him over the edge of coffee cup, just in time to watch his ears flame red a bit and he gulped and smiled at her.

"I don't lie." he told her and Annie grinned and held his gaze for a moment.

"Humor me then," Annie said and a brief moment of reflection passed over Brady's face, "Croz sort of let it out, about those 'mechanical failures' when he mistook France for England…..what was that about…..?" Annie watched him expectantly and Brady's ears flamed a deeper red to the point it spread to his cheeks.

"Supposedly you covered for Croz, real gentlemanly, too, I must admit." Annie said, "Lying to Major Egan of all people, John Brady, I wouldn't suspect such a thing." Brady chuckled at her words and shook his head.

"I was putting it how it was," Brady said, "God, it was embarrassing though. In front of both Buck and Bucky. Land the plane on its belly, Croz vomiting just below, the thing about to blow up but it doesn't, our first introduction to the base. You do what you gotta do for the crew. I was a bit of a shithead to Croz, but to be flying over France -Nazi-occupied France - it wasn't the most pleasant." Annie smiled, watching him as he spoke.

Knowing how he cared how he flew, how he coped. He was so fluent in what he thought and believed, right and truthful. Caring, gentle, but firm and purposeful in his speech.

"The worst was that belly-landing though," Brady said, shaking his head as he sipped his coffee, "that was horrible." Annie watched as Brady seemed to relive it for a moment. She bit back her lip and then reached a hand forward and placed it on the sleeve of his wrist, the touch warm and welcoming and causing their eyes to meet.

"I crashed an AT-6 when I was doing hours for my license." Annie said - she had never dared to tell a soul such a thing, she wanted to take that to the grave, bury it, hide the humiliation. She'd jumped out of it like she was losing her mind, a lunatic sprinting across the base, with her hair ends crispy and black, her blonde hair suffering from the smoldering smoke, looking more monster than woman in that moment. Not her finest, but it had taught her a whole lot of lessons. Brady watched her for a moment, surprised.

"You?" Brady said with a nod, "Crashed not only a plane, but an AT-6? No, I don't believe you." Annie could get his joking tone pretty solid by this point and instead laughed at his words, leaning back to wrap her slightly cold fingertips around the mug and nodded.

"I did in fact crash-land it. Crazed eyes, hair-on-fire and all." Annie said and Brady watched her as if amazed.

"I must admit, it's hard for me to picture that because you're one of the best pilots I've ever met." Brady said and if she were honest, they both looked surprised as that came out of his mouth, but he was quickly talking next and she took a moment to relive those words.

"I mean, you look so calm and collected….what…what happened to warrant that?" he said, leaning a bit closer, evidently interested in the tale that had her losing her mind for weeks after.

"Truth be told, me learning to fly was like telling a fish to live in a tree," Annie said watching as Brady chuckled, "I wasn't always….this." She pointed to her face and Brady smirked.

"Oh c'mon, you're a goddamn good pilot, Annie, really." Brady said, and then smiled, "Go on though." Annie sent him a look with a playful smirk.

"You, asshole." she said and nudged his shoulder, "Don't try to get back at me with that or something in the future."

"Never, my lips are sealed." Brady said, sending her a wink - why would he do that at six am when she's somewhat still fogged with sleep and brain exhaustion.

"Anyway," Annie said, catching his smile again, "all the engines crapped out on me as I was coming in for the landing, the tower was telling me to eject, ejector was jammed, and the wheels were stuck at 45 degrees. So, I did what I could, braced myself and the thing slid across about hundreds of feet of sand before tilting to the side, me pouring out like Ma's soup for dinner. It was so bad, and horrifically embarrassing. God."

"Hey," Brady said, leaning into her peripheral, "'least you can say you know how it's done." Annie let out a laugh at his words then and there, her heart feeling warm for one of the first mornings sat out here; usually alone and now in good company.

"I mean, it wasn't the first time I even crashed landed." Brady offered with a shoulder shrug. Annie stared at him, trying to keep the smile from her lips.

"You're joking."

"Wish I was, Annie," Brady said, "back in training, went down, Croz could tell you all about it. Became pretty well-known among the base and the training groups." He smiled.

"But," he said, "'least I can say I did it." Annie let out a laugh, clasping a hand over her mouth as she glanced at him and watched him chuckle, his eyes glowing in the morning sun that was slowly peaking its way over the horizon line.

"You should join me for mornings like this more often," Annie said quietly, looking out towards the sunlight, "get some things off your chest. It's why I do well….usually alone, but it helps me think. Through things like that." She looked over and met his gaze and smiled. His expressions in the early morning were so much gentler than at dinner, and it almost made her wish he could stay like that forever in some selfish way. All of them, truth be told.

"I think I will," Brady said, "I'm glad you like the coffee. I wasn't sure what you went for, but….you seemed like a cream type of person."

"You either are really good as guessing or someone snitched." Annie said, catching Brady smirking.

"Nah, Bessie was in there the other day getting coffee for you two. I know she drinks straight black and was wondering who the hell she'd be getting a coffee full of creamer for so…." Brady admitted, glancing her way, "I hope you enjoy it." Annie looked to the cup of coffee and took another lingering sip. She wanted to stay like this for a while, freeze time maybe. But that would never be such a thing in their lives.

"We should take a spin together some time," Annie said looking towards him, a smile growing on her lips, "if you ever wanted to be in Silver Bullets when she gets going in the air. You could be my co-pilot." Brady watched her, his face still for a moment, held in a graceful balance of seriousness and surprise and then the corner of his lips ticked upwards.

"I think Francis would drop-kick me from the cockpit." Brady whispered quietly to her and Annie chuckled.

"She'd be fine with it, I swear to you," Annie said, "maybe not anytime soon, as long as we're going up, dropping bombs and all. But maybe when this whole thing ends. And we just get to be. When we get to go home." Looking over, she found Brady already watching her. Home, seemed to echo in her mind the longer she held his gaze.

"Hey! That you Brady?" Annie watched Brady turn away from her face and glance behind her, her own gaze following to find Crank coming towards them, waving an arm, "Buck's been trying to get a-hold of you!" Brady nodded and then looked back at her, a sudden shift in whatever it was that existed between them. He slowly got to his feet, brushed off his pants and then stopped to lean down towards her ear.

"I'd love to be your co-pilot," Brady whispered, sending chills up her neck, "ma'am." Then, he was up and off, sending her cheeks flaming red, her eyes going over her shoulder, as he went and caught up to Crank, shaking his hand and nodding to him, exchanging all the pleasantries. Annie caught his eyes one final time as he glanced back at her. He winked.

[galactic-magick]

Beach Day: Adam Warlock x Reader

Summary: Seeing your boyfriend on the beach awakens your insecurities about dating a perfect golden boy, and said boyfriend is more than willing to silence those insecurities.

Words: 0.9k

Warnings: talk of insecurities, also some making out

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You never thought you’d be having a beach day with the Guardians of the Galaxy—but here you are, sitting on a sandy towel within eyesight of beautiful waves. The sky on this planet is a gorgeous purple, reflecting on the water. Phyla, Rocket, and Groot are building the most complex sandcastle you’ve ever seen, Kraglin is using the trees for target practice, and Adam is playing fetch with Cosmo. It’s quite peaceful—a nice slowdown from the last chaotic mission you had.

This was somewhat your idea actually, since you mentioned a memory of going to the beach back home on Earth. Everyone on the team had either never been to a beach before or it had been so long they didn’t remember what it was like, so the next planet you came across you decided to take a mini vacation.

Your boyfriend, Adam, was definitely the most excited. Not only did he want to experience something like this with you, but he never would’ve had something like this with the Sovereign. Beaches are messy, and certainly no place for an elite race of people.

Still, even though Adam’s been removed from that world for over a year now, he continues to be out of place. You watch him as he laughs with the others, the sound of an angel. His hair falls all over the place, but even when it’s tousled it’s still perfect. His golden skin glistens in the sunlight, complimenting the purple sky. His body is perfectly sculpted, not a single flaw in sight. He is gorgeous in every way.

You’ve never told him how it makes you feel sometimes, dating a man who was quite literally designed to be perfect. You’re just a normal Terran, full of blemishes and insecurities. You have more faults and defects than you can count, both on the inside and the outside. You look so plain compared to him, and even beyond appearances you’re not sure how much you really have to offer him.

After the sun sets, you all pack up and head back to the ship for the night to sleep. Adam notices something is off with you as you settle down in your shared quarters, which greatly confuses and concerns him.

“Are you alright?” he asks, taking a step towards you. “Did you have fun?”

“Yeah I had fun,” you turn your back to him while you change into your pajamas, “I’m fine,”

He grabs the hem of your pajama shirt as you’re putting it on, pulling the rest of it down as his knuckles graze your sides. He then snakes his arms under your arms gently, wrapping them around you in a hug.

“Please tell me what’s wrong,”

You sigh, turning around to face him, “I did have fun. I’m not lying about that part,”

“Good!” he smiles, “But you’re not fine?”

“I’m fine, I’m just...not feeling good about myself,”

An even deeper wave of concern falls over his features, “You don’t feel good? Are you sick?”

You can’t help but laugh despite your melancholy. Sometimes you forget he still doesn’t understand many things.

“Not that kind of not feeling good, more like I don’t like myself right now. I’ve just been getting in my head a lot and overthinking stuff,”

“How could you not like yourself? You’re the most wonderful person I’ve ever met! Did something happen today that made you feel this way?”

“It’s going to sound so stupid-”

He puts a finger to your mouth, “Hush. It’s not stupid if it hurt your feelings like this,”

“But what if it was you?”

His eyes widen, “I hurt you?”

“Well, no. I don’t know. Ugh…” you sit down on the bed, face in your hands. “You didn’t directly hurt me or anything. I guess...I guess I just don’t understand why someone like you is with someone like me,”

He comes to sit beside you as you continue.

“I mean, you’re so perfect, and I’m very much not. You look like heaven as a person and I can’t find a single thing wrong with you. Watching you on the beach today made me think about how beautiful you are. And it’s not even just that, you’re also the sweetest person ever. You treat me better than anyone I’ve ever been with in the past, and your heart is just as golden as your skin. I just don’t get what you see in me when you’re...well...you,”

Adam is stunned at your words, instantly feeling horrible for indirectly making you feel this way. In his mind, everything is the exact opposite. He sees you as the perfect person, and himself as just a messed up monster with gold plating. He couldn’t possibly put into words what he feels for you and how he sees you.

So rather than fumbling over his words, he takes your face in his hands and kisses you, tenderly and passionately. After caressing and kissing every feature, he moves down to your neck and shoulders, roaming his hands over your back and torso. There’s nothing needy about his movements, only a pure demonstration of his undying love for you.

He doesn’t go too far down before coming back up to capture your lips, remaining there while his hands smooth over the rest of your body. He pulls your close, as close as he can without risking hurting you with his strength. He touches you like you’re a masterpiece, a piece of art created from the divine. He’s grateful beyond belief that you’ve chosen him as a partner, and he knows he wouldn’t be who he is now without you.

He pulls away for a brief minute, looking into your eyes.

“You’re the one who’s perfect, not me,” he says. “Don’t you dare believe anything different,”

You nod in understanding before bringing his lips back to yours, determined to return the intense amount of love he just gave you.

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Read this to make a Guardians request!

[xaeyrnofnbe]

been thinking reaaally hard about the tritons on mana. i’m making things up as i go but damnit this is fun (yes they’re naked. i didn’t want to bother covering them up with clothes. and i wanted to show off the markings n stuff. but realistically they would wear clothes.)

BASICALLY the idea i have is that a very long time ago tritons were split up into three main groups, the ones who live in the shallows, the ones who live in the open ocean, and the ones that live in the deepest depths available. (details, of which there are many, under the cut. oh and additional versions of the drawing) (do take a look if you can, i wrote a lot)

the shallows variant, living near islands in shallow kelp forests and in coral reefs (sometimes even inland lakes and rivers), were the smallest. a bit shorter than the average human, in fact. they came in bright green-blue colors with a vibrant and diverse array of brightly colored fins, webbing, and gills. they were also the most humanoid.

those in the open ocean lived just about wherever as long as it wasn’t too deep or too near the oversea, and were bigger than humans. averaging well over ten feet in height, and nearly double that if you include the tail. they came in darker blues accented with green, often mirroring the deep blues of their environment. they are most defined, however, by their slightly uncanny features. they lean a bit more towards fishiness than their little cousins.

and in the deepest, furthest reaches of the ocean, where hardly any sunlight reaches at all, are the biggest, and least humanoid breed of triton. they’ve gone by many names, colossals, poseidons, leviathan tritons, you get the idea. coming in dull blues and purples, but with dazzling displays in the form of bioluminescent markings, along with coral-like horns or antlers growing from their heads, suggesting draconic influence in centuries past. they are enormous, so big in fact, that because i’m not great at eyeballing measurements i’m leaving it up to the concept art i’ve done to show off just how big they are. once upon a time, they lived among the leviathans, oceanic gods of their time, truly colossal in nature. but they were just as advanced and intelligent as their relatives. they were also the earliest tritons, from which the rest are descended.

now, the leviathan tritons are gone. whether something killed them or if they simply vanished, it’s impossible to know for certain. but the two surviving variants put aside their differences and became one, and now modern tritons sit comfortably between the appearances of both their ancestors. and as for what remains of the leviathan variant? well, it’s less obvious, but some bloodlines of modern tritons still carry those magnificent flashing spots and stripes, and on occasion, an infant is born with budding, brightly colored horns that grow with them as they develop and age.

these horns are generally thought of as a sign of powerful magic, or of godly influence. it can skip generations, but is passed down nonetheless.

here are the unshaded version, and the sketch, of the drawing seen above (oh and. i completely forgot to give the Big Tritons hair. as an excuse let’s say this is a bald one, but they’d normally also have hair.)

[banjjakz]

➡ Fall asleep.

When you blink back into consciousness, a gentle warmth welcomes you to the land of the living. At some point in your slumber, you pitched sideways to huddle your achingly cold bones in a fetal position. Now, you find yourself struggling to activate your joints after succumbing to a slumber so deep it’s seemed to have left you with rigor mortis.

As you sit up, an unfamiliar layer of fuzzy fabric slides from your shoulders. A blanket! Ah, that explains the extra warmth. But you don’t remember bringing a blanket with you… and you’ve never seen this particular blanket in your entire life. Sure, it’s cozy and high-quality, but the pattern of wide-open eyes littered across the black cloth is off-putting – although, not entirely unpleasant.

Oh shoot, did someone put this on you? Have you been discovered?

“Hello.”

Spooked, you whip your head to the side, where you had not even registered the presence of another living being. “Ahh!!!”

“I did not mean to frighten you. I apologize.”

Are you – are you dreaming?

You must be dreaming. They term isn’t “yumejoshi” for no reason. There is no way Choso squats in front of you, less than a meter away, so close that you can smell his earthy, metallic fragrance. He hasn’t even changed out of his stage costume: his customary white robes are still soaked through with sweat from the earlier performance, gracing the pale fabric a tantalizing semi-translucence. His purple gi is nowhere to be found, which exposes the unholy caverns of his collarbones, the inviting jut of his skeletal sternum. The signature pigtails are also undone, leaving his stringy black hair to metastasize down the sides of his gaunt face, across the barren valley of his jagged shoulder blades. And yet, that solid bar of black remains perfectly applied across the center of his face.

“…Nn?”

“Are you alright?”

Choso stays where he is, head cocked in concern. Quickly, you realize you have two options.

You can tell the truth and admit that you’d been waiting outside just to see him walk a few paces before getting into a nondescript vehicle. Totally normal fan behavior that will definitely go over well.

Or, you can lie.

“I-I don’t have anywhere else to go,” you demure, casting your eyes down in false bashfulness. You would feel bad about this if you were a better person.  “And the memories from ShinShow’s performances always sustain me…I just thought, if I could enjoy the positive energy for a little while longer…I would be sustained. I’m sorry…”

“Why do you apologize?”

One of Choso’s most appealing charming points is his overly formal, somewhat antiquated manner of speaking. He sounds like a historical figure who has been yanked from the past, inserted haphazardly into contemporary pop culture. Very fitting for his lore. But you’d also been under the assumption that this was merely a stage act – is he that committed to his image? Or is it innate?

The thought of Choso simply being Like That is too endearing to bear. You hide your face behind your palms, concealing the tremulous smile that possesses your lips.

“It’s embarrassing… and I’ve troubled Choso-nii…”

The last thing you expect are cold, impossibly cold, hands to wrap around your wrists, kindly (but firmly) uncovering your face. Choso has drawn closer to you, so close that when he breathes, it brushes the bridge of your nose.

His face is impassive, as usual – but upon closer inspection, you notice a strange, wavering quality in his eyes, a slight tremor in his lips. There might actually be color on the tips of his ears. Usually, he appears as though he is so pale there is no blood coursing through his veins that could produce a blush.

Evidently, this is not the case.

“Choso-nii is not troubled,” he states plainly, leaving no room for argument. “The night is no place for a little one to be sleeping unguarded.”

Oh, you could faint here and now. It’s an active choice on your part to remain conscious. “Mn…”

“You will come with me now.”

And so you do.

This is how you find yourself in the back of an unmarked, utilitarian white van. To anyone else the vehicle would appear as little more than a maintenance truck. But you know better.

Inside the living-quarters is a mish-mash of discarded clothing items in varying degrees of cleanliness; discarded guitar picks; empty takeout containers; and a random jumble of electronic chargers. Inexplicably, there is also an abundance of first-aid supplies, with over half of it apparently already used. As he sits you down on one of the distressed leather seats, Choso uses the medical kit to tend to a few scrapes on your legs and arms earned from your impromptu nap on the concrete.

“It’s really not that bad…You don’t have to—”

“Enough.”

Embarrassed, you shut your mouth. How do you even cope with this situation? Here you are, in the back of your oshi’s travel van, as he sits on his knees in front of you, hands impatiently pushing your clothes away to reveal your bare skin. His touch leeches the body heat out of you like a parasite. You want to be sucked dry.

“This will sting.” That’s all the warning you get before hydrogen peroxide is unceremoniously dumped on your fresh scrapes.

Unbidden, you let out a strangled whine, hands flying to the closest part of him you can reach – which happens to be his head. You clutch at his hair to absolve you of your suffering. “Choso-nii! It hurts!”

Ker-thlunk. Glug… glug… glug…

Fuck! Your spasming must have knocked over the hydrogen peroxide…. the upended bottle spills its guts across the floor, drenching the air in an oppressively medicinal stink.

Oddly, no irritancy mars Choso’s features. If anything, he looks more flustered than you feel, which doesn’t make much sense to you.

“I’m so sorry! I c-can clean it up, I promise---”

“Leave it.” He speaks without meeting your eyes. “You are injured.”

Barely, you want to retort. But acknowledging the fact that your so-called “injuries” are very minor surface scrapes would shatter the illusory bubble of realized fantasy into which you have miraculously stumbled.

Before you can reply, Choso continues: “The human mouth is the fastest-healing part of the body. Saliva heals.”

“Okay,” you say, because there is nothing else you could possibly respond with. He can’t mean—surely, he doesn’t—

But there he goes, leaning in close to the supple flesh of your bared leg, breath ghosting along the very surface, raising the hairs that quiver in eager anticipation. “I said I would help you feel better. Please allow me this. It is my duty.”

And then he begins to suck on your wounds.

“Oh-kay,” you squeal, entirely convinced that you have begun to astral project. The scrape on the inside of your knee is laved over by his tongue, which is, strangely, just as chilled as the rest of him. When his eyes flick up at your exclamation, you realize that you have yet to release his hair.

Nor do you want to.

“B-be gentle, please…” You’re laying it on thick. You know it. How could you resist? He’s eating it up – literally – mouthing repeatedly over the sensitive area as though he is spiritually compelled to do so. And just because you’re a little too observant, a little too greedy for your own good, you decide to push your luck: “Will Choso-nii make me feel better everywhere?”

With a wet pop, he unleashes your leg from his wet, red mouth. “Where does it hurt,” he asks, pupils blown wide, nothing more than a twin pair of black holes.

“Mn…all over…I’m sore, from sleeping on the ground…”

Choso rises from his knees to crowd you into the back of the seat. Of course, you willingly melt back, pliant in the wake of his potent desire.

“Do you need Choso-nii to make it better?”

“Please,” you whimper, peering up at him through your dewy, tear-damp lashes.

Holy shit, you can’t believe this actually worked. Two hours ago, you were just one of hundreds of faceless, sweaty fans, screaming their hearts out to some of the most hauntingly morbid lyrics.

And now, you are caged in the unforgiving embrace of your oshi, completely at his mercy, littered in hickeys and lovebites and bruises as he has his way with you. Your sharp cries of pain do the opposite of dissuade him; with each groan and plea for him to slow down, take a pause, ow, ow, it hurts Choso-nii--, he grows all the more impassioned, all the more frantic.

He only pulls away from you when there is not a single inch of exposed skin left for him to mark. The sound of your comingled pants fill the van, fogging the windows with physical evidence of your salacious tryst.

Neither of you speak for a moment, content to simply gaze into each other’s eyes. His hair is frazzled every which way, due in no small part to your rough handling. Is it normal to be turned on by such a trainwreck of a human? Should you really be wet between the thighs at being mauled?

“Do—” his voice cracks in a way you have never heard before, not on any livestream, not in any video, not on any stage. “Do you feel better, now?”

Maybe it’s fate…maybe, somewhere out there, far, far away, there is a benevolent being who wants nothing but the best for you. Maybe they concentrated their divine powers into finding you, in this moment, and directing your gaze to the loose pocketknife innocently resting on the grimy floor next to his clunky black platforms. In this moment, as you pick up the blade, unsheathing it without breaking eye contact with the ghoulish specter hovering above you, an inexplicable wave of love and appreciation washes over you, bathing your half-dressed body in the warm waters of some distant, far-off shore.

It's almost too easy to slice a surface wound – a cat-scratch, really – into the plush swell of your upper thigh.

“What about here, Choso-nii?” You ask, enraptured by the peculiar twitching of his facial muscles. “Can you kiss it better right here?”

Once again, you are right on the money.

Choso dives to chase the rivulet of blood running down your leg like a man stumbling across an oasis in the desert. Devotionally, he tongues at the gory slit, sucking more blood from your self-inflicted wound, moaning as if he is the one being pleasured right now. In a strange way, you think he might be.

Your initial quick-thinking unleashes an outlandish chain reaction which finds you, inevitably, entirely unclothed with a not-insignificant amount of reddening slashes across your naked form. When it’s all said and done, Choso will tend to each and every cut, diligently disinfecting and dressing the disrupted flesh, allowing you to weakly tug at his hair (now pulled back from his face into two twin pigtails) when it burns.

Upon the final swipe of antibacterial ointment, you are halfway in dreamland, barely cognizant enough to recognize that you should probably be getting the hell out of here, at this point. However, shunning reason and common sense is the exact behavior that’s gotten you this far – so you decide to stick to what you know.

“Choso-nii,” you murmur groggily into the leather seat. “Blanket?”

“What blanket?”

His confusion is confusing you. “The one you gave me… ‘s cold…”

“…I did not give you a blanket.” For the first time since he’d picked you up behind the venue, Choso’s voice sounds grounded in reality. Released from the shackles of lust and taboo desire, he speaks with lucid candor. “Was that blanket not yours?”

“Nope,” you hum, blissfully dazed. “Where ‘s ‘t?”

Sleep descends upon your worn, battered form before you hear his answer.

Oh well. As long as Choso-nii is nearby, you have nothing to worry about.

[ROUTE CLEAR.]

next suggested route: okkotsu yuuta

> main menu > prologue > guide

> report an issue

[paradise-and-cola]

[Image description: three character profile cards for the Monster of the Week tabletop game system. Each card has a drawing of the character, their first name, their class name, their stats, and some descriptions. The last names are redacted with black ink strikes.

Card 1 shows Pause, of the Mundane class. Pause wears a short sleeved red shirt with blue highlights, beige shorts, as well as a red, white and blue bracelet. He has square glasses, and two small feathers are tucked behind his ear.

Pause’s stats are: Charm +2, Cool +1, Sharp +1, Tough 0 and Weird -1. His description reads:

- works a regular 9 to 5

- had a completely supernatural-free life until a woodland cryptid collided with his car

- now travels with Beef and Etho, solving paranormal mysteries all around Canada

- the designated driver

- is the only one in the group who can pass as a "normal" person. don't let appearances fool you, though, he's just as unhinged as the other two

End of card 1.

Card 2 shows ?????? (six question marks) also known as Etho, of the Monstrous class. Etho wears a green jacket over a grey shirt, grey jeans, black boots, as well as a headband and a scarf over the lower part of his face. The jacket has patches of the Canadian flag, the meme rabies pride flag, and a simplified cryptic creature. There is purple skin discoloration on the left side of his face and his left hand. In his right hand, Etho is holding a wrench.

Etho’s stats are: Charm 0, Cool -1, Sharp +2, Tough -1 and Weird +3. His description reads:

- a literal cryptid from the Canadian wilderness. normally a shapeshifter, Etho's been stuck with this half-human, half-monster appearance ever since Pause hit him with his car

- is weirdly good at car maintenance and engineering in general

- needs to feed on blood to survive. Beef, being a butcher, provides him with enough animal blood to sustain him for now... but ultimately, human blood is a much tastier snack

- immune to garlic, silver bullets etc, but is badly allergic to carbonated drinks

End of card 2.

Card 3 shows Beef, of the Flake class. Beef wears a blue baseball cap, a light brown coat, a black shirt, grey pants and black boots.

Beef’s stats are: Charm 0, Cool +1, Sharp +2, Tough 0 and Weird +1. His description reads:

- a butcher by day, a wannabe paranormal investigator by night

- (he's not very good at either)

- knows a lot about the supernatural in theory, but had little field experience - until an old friend called him about hitting something not quite human

- the others live with him for now, since Pause is from out of town and Etho never had a home to begin with

End of card 3. End description]

Here they are, the three heroes of the Monster of the Week Team Canada AU!  I’ve never played the game myself, but I think these three would make a pretty fun monster-hunting, mystery-solving team. I briefly considered making Beef an Expert class, but if you’ve consumed any Team Canada content, it makes it very hard to call them experts on anything...

This is technically for @shepscapades’ hermit redesign challenge, but I’ve deviated from the original prompt quite a bit (the prompt was DND characters and I’ve boldly chosen a different TTRPG system) so I don’t know if I even qualify for this week. Regardless, I’m very happy with this AU. Check out this little introductory comic I’ve made for it, if you haven’t yet.

[noyoucannotpushthevoid]

Raven Cycle characters as Things People I know have Said (basically Henry/K Edition)

“What’s up chuckle fucks?” - Ronan “Bigger is bigger” - Ronan “I summon thee, [Chainsaw]” - Henry “Taking lethal levels of psychic damage at age 7 isn’t good for development” - about Ronan “Bitch” (about a crying child) - Ronan “When a fish and a woman love each other very much…” - Henry, no explanation “He’s deceptively smart for his appearance” - Henry about Ronan “Hi, I’d like to buy one mayoral office please?” - Henry joking about Gansey’s parents “I’ve been told I make a good distraction” - Henry “We’re all fucking lemmings here” - Blue pointing out they’d all do anything Gansey asked them to “The magic sex wizard put them in the same body” - Henry “‘[D]o a superhero landing’ (Ronan) ‘I was just going to ask if I [could] do a superhero landing[!]’ (Noah)” “I have no context for lemmings” - Ronan “That’s alright Captain, we can buff out those scratches” - Ronan after absolutely wrecking the pig beyond repair “[Gansey] and [Ronan] couple moment” - Henry “Raisinify your bucket hat” - Matthew scrunching up his bucket hat when nervous “How can [Gansey] be depressed with that much cake?” - Henry “There’s pee on your key?” - Declan after finding bird poop on the Barns’ spare key and confronting Ronan about it “God’s eepiest soldier” - about Adam "'...his hair's not doing to well' (Gansey describing their new latin teacher) 'I was going to ask if he was a dilf, but that answers my question' (Henry)"  "The man [in the BMW] said the password was 'go fuck yourself'" - Adam to Declan after Declan asked what the new passcode at the Barns was "Oh, I died...oopsie" - Gansey dying for the eleven millionth time "They're uncivilized, they don't know what vodka is" - Kavinsky "May I history?" - Gansey asking to lore dump on any of his friends "If I can't clean my wounds with it, then I don't want to drink it!" - Kavinsky "Need a fire starter? Just buy Everclear" - Also Kavinsky “Your rat friend … he’s not your friend” - Gansey about Kavinsky “Oh damn he livin” - Everyone about Noah before they found his body “The fucking hot tub? Why not the regular one?” - Henry, like my DM, thinks he’s funny (he is) “Does anyone have a blanket? Just swaddle me like a fucking baby” - Ronan while sick “Can I roll insight on something? … does he think I'm a child?” - Blue anytime she meets another Raven boy “[she]’s normally small, not cursed to be small” - Ronan explaining the difference in small vibes between Opal and Blue “Who would win: some dumbass flying lizard or 50 action express?” - Ronan to Adam at 2am “‘I forget what color phosphorus burns so I'm going to say purple’ (Gansey)  ‘The answer is hot’ (Adam)”

[lady-ashfade]

The Song Behind Bars.

Six of crows x Fem!reader.

(Reader being…Well, you’ll see.)

Notes: honestly had a very small idea and it turned into this. I’ve been editing this for a while, it’s 5:45 am here…So sorry for the mistakes.

The readers appearance: Purple eyes, purple spots. Other then that you look as you do.

Warnings: Blood, killing, and I mean a lot of killing, gory, kinda bad writing but I was trying sometimes new, the crows being hurt, the reading being held hostage, the reader being powerful as hell. Spelling mistakes.

“Do you remember where the door is?” Kaz asked the smaller boy beside him, his voice hushed a quiet. “Hmm, the one on the left of the bar.” Wylan played with the collor of his shirt, it was itchy and tighter then he had wanted.

But he had to look the part, they all did. Kaz was wasn’t that much different then what he usually dresses like. In fact all of the clothes he had on were in his dresser beside his bed, but he rarely touched them. His vest black and silver, his coat black but the sleeves wived with red silk, matching his button up shirt underneath. And normal black pants, his favorite pair actually.

“What do you think is going to be showed?” Wylan asked curiously. “I don’t care as long as we get the necklace.” Kaz was quick to reply and end the conversation. But wylan wasn’t satisfied but he stay quiet and let his own mind wonder.

Soon they spit up, wylan going straight and into the workers room and kaz to the entrance with all the other visitors. He had been giving a marker to say what number he was. It was a auction, a hard one to get into but their place was already payed for. A man needed this necklace stole, not payed for.

Nina was standing behind the bar, cleaning the cups that were going to be used. The place was packed with the wealthiest people and the killers, a perfect match. But she was there to get them all out, since she had access to the back door, the only way out.

“I must say I look devilishly handsome.” Jesper popped his collor and sat down at the table with kaz. Kaz just rolled his eyes and looked around at room.

He looked up at the railing and saw Inej carefully hiding in the dark, he smirked and looks down before anyone caught him. “This suit fits me so well, the violent feeling- Oh, thank Nina for picking it out.” Jesper went on about himself.

Soon began the showing. Small items of value were first to get the audiences wanting more, some old paintings and weapons. Kaz was keeping his eye out for the necklace but it was never shown. Wylan come over with a tray of drinks in his hands and set glasses down, he smiled at them like he did all the other people and walked off to the next. Kaz looked down at the glass and saw a small note under, smirking he had a peek at it.

“The workers say the showcase is almost over, they are acting suspiciously. We were told to all leave when the sword of bran comes out, I think this whole thing might be a trap. -Nina.”

Glancing back at the bar Nina stared at him with worry in her eyes. She looked over at the door to hint at him to leave, kaz shook his head and looked back at the stage. Jesper asked what was wrong and he was givin the note. He thought it could also be a trap but also wanted to stay, he did love the food.

“Next up, The sword of bran.” The man shouted as he was given a covered blank and set it on the showcase. “The great black sword of Bran Helster himself, he used to kill the golden king.” The speaker man pulled the cover to reveal the big sword. Kaz noticed the men that guarded the stage lean over to talk to one another.

Next was the workers who left their place and the crowd to head in the back, nina and a man behind the bar stayed in place. The man with a black beard beside Nina whispered something to her and placed something in her hand. Nina’s face drop and went into a slight panic, she looked at kaz with worry. “We need to leave.” She mouthed at him.

He was never one to like a failed plan, the price for this job was high. Whatever was going to happen his crew could take it, all they need was that damn necklace. “It’s seeming like a trap.” Jesper keep his voice low and he earned a glare from kaz.

Wylan was no longer where he needed to be, but he couldn’t go back because it would look suspicious. Nina didn’t know what was about to happen or why she needed earplugs. But it wasn’t going to be good.

Once the bidding for the sword was done the man went off to the side and talk to someone. He smiled and walked back as the lights dimmed, and a sound of something being moved was slightly heard. “Now ladies and gentlemen, we come to a close for the night with a big ending.” He clapped his hands together.

“For hundreds of years we have wondered if saints were real, until the sun summoner appeared. What I have today was only a tale in story books, but what we have here is real.” He flashed one last smile before the lights came back on and something big hid under a cover. Kaz leaned up and so did jesper, this was very strange and to big to be what they wanted.

“The Seducer of the sea.” The cover was pulled off to reveal a big cage, one that would hold a bird but it was too big. At it was not a bird who was trapped in it. A woman with a short dress stood in the cage. Gasp throughout the crowd as they looked at her skin, purple spots over her legs. The people in the first row could see the color of her eyes, the same color as the spots.

“She could make sweet music with her voice, one that draws you in and could make anyone fall into her trap.” But that was ironic as she was the one in the trap. Kaz should have known what was coming but he was to focus on the shiny thing wrapped around her neck. She was wearing what they had come for.

“Is that?..” Jesper trailed off and kaz only gave a slight nod. “How are we going to get that?” But Kaz didn’t have a answer. This was not planned for and but he could work around it, he just needed a moment.

“And you might be wondering if I’m telling the truth. How could you tell if she is what we say?” He spoke and moved to the end of the stage. “She is has a song, we have train her well.” And with the he hopped out of sight. The men below put their hands up to their ears. Nina hated it but she did as she was told and put in the earplugs before the girl could sing. She had to stay out of it so she could get out the others.

The girl opened her mouth and a beautiful voice came out, it was so intoxicating. Kaz tried to cover his ears but it didn’t work because he already wanted more. Jesper was count up in her voice and stared at her, eyes going blank until kaz was too. That’s when something else was heard, screams like torture souls tried to break them. It was to loud for everyone.

Whatever was happening was having more of a affected on them. Blood started to leak out of the crowds ears and eyes, it was crushing everything from the inside. “Shit.” Lucky it wasn’t as bad for kaz and Jesper yet, since they sat in the back but Nina had to acted fast. She looked over to the man beside her and hit him in the face as hard as she could. He fall into the floor and she apologized and took off his plugs and ran to her friends. She place on in each ear, but she only had two.

She heard shouting behind her and looked back as the guards jump on the stage. The crowd of people fell from the seats from blood lose and the eyes in their heads popping. Blood started to leak from Jesper eyes and kazs ears bled more. “Saints, I’m sorry.” She said and stuck her finger into their uncover ears to try block out the noise.

On stage they pointed their guns at the girl who turned to them, her voice stopped and she looked at them. She smirked at them as if they had no real power over her. A roaring scream came out of her lungs and pointed her powers at them, only them and enough to get passed the earplugs. Within seconds they had dropped to the floor with bursts eyes.

Nina shook her friends and tried to wake them up, she looked to to see if Inej was still alive but she saw no one. She prayed she wasn’t dead and on the floor. Huffing she raised her hands up to kazs cheeks and strike it, hoping to wake him up. “Wake up!” She shouted. Kaz slowly opened his eyes and took a second to realize what had happen. Wylan poked his head out of the door and saw the people on the floor and a unconscious Jesper, he ran quickly over. Not caring for anything else.

“Jesper.” Wylan grabbed ahold of his boyfriends arm and shook him as tears picked up in his eyes. “Jesper! Wake up.” He wiped off the blood off his cheeks and eyes. He was still alive, his chest falling and his heartbeat still beating for Nina to hear. Kaz groaned when he sat up, his head hurt like something was crushing his skull. And his ears were ringing and wouldn’t stop.

“Hands up!” The group turned to the sound of men. They stared down the barrels of guns that were pointed at them, more guards have shown up. “Look, we have no clue what’s happening.” Nina push towards them back but backed up as they shouted at her. There was no way to get out, no where to run. If they tried to make a run for it they would be shot, kaz knew that. Jesper was out and it would be hard to carry him back.

Humming caught all of their ears and guns were no longer pointed at them but behind them. They a looked at the girl how had a sharp look, her hips swaying as she stared at the armed men. She looked mad. She sang again and the men tried to fight it but couldn’t move their fingers to pull the triggers. The crows covered their ears to keep her out of their heads but they soon realized it wasn’t affecting them. Nina threw jespers arm over her shoulder and wylan followed her.

Kaz looked at the necklace the mystery woman had on. “Kaz, let’s go.” Nina broke him out of his his trance. “We need that necklaces.” Even as he almost died, he still had his eyes on the price. Nina huffed at him and went to yell at him but the sounds of bones cracking stopped her. The guards necks twisted and fell on the ground, the woman hands up and smirked at the lifeless bodies below her. The crows hearts stop when she looked over at the team.

“Where am I?” She asked calmly, no aggression in her voice like she didn’t just slaughter many. “Ketterdam.” Kaz replied because he was not afraid as the others, but he was wary. The woman hummed in response and looked at the unconscious man. “He’ll live.” They wanted to smack her, they already knew that. Wylan wanted to yell at her because this was her fault but he stood no chance.

She looked away from them and walked away not interested in them anymore. They were no threat to her and she considered them innocent. Her mind started to run and her stomach began to turn. Killer. Killer. Killer. Her inner voice scream as she tries not to look at the blood on the ground. She did what she had to do to get away. She opened the door to leave, as soon as it was open and before she could react, she was hit with something and her mind blacked out.

Her body feel back onto the floor and Inej steps over her body, nose having a small bleed but that was it. “Hope I wasn’t to late.” She looked over at her friends and their face washed with relief that she was still alive. “You’re okay.” Nina shouted. Inej nodded and then she saw Jesper. Inej rushed over and looked concerned, “He’ll live.” Wylan said. Kaz walked over with a tight grip on his cane to keep himself up.

He looked down at the girl below him. He remembered the stories of the women who lived out in the waters, killing the men on bouts. Their looks just as beautiful as their songs, but a ugliness inside. She was clearly beautiful, and he had seen the darkest and witness her song. She was a siren but she had no tail, and gills. He leaned down despite the pain and grabbed ahold of the necklace.

“Fuck.” He shouted as a pain shot through him, it was shocking and felt horrible. He let go of the necklace as soon as he grabbed ahold of it. Kaz tried picking it up with his cane but just it traveled through it.

“We need to leave.” Inej came beside him. Kaz looked at her and to the others who carried Jesper, already heading to the door.

“She comes with us.”



[silver-tooth-the-panther]

Some Ideas For A TADC

AU!

Now, I’ve had some ideas since I got into The Amazing Digital Circus, so I figured I should share them!

First off, I thought up of an OC! He’s a tall navy blue wolf plushie that has yellow slinkies (yes, the spring toys) for his neck, legs, and arms! His eyes are similar to Barnaby from Billie Bust Up, but instead of them being different shades of orange, they are different shades of purple. His name is Party Animal (his human name is Percy Atticus) and he’s a rather strange one at the circus. Party doesn’t seem to care about finding the exit…I wonder why…

Anyways! There another idea that I had as well. What happens to the memories and character traits that are removed from the humans when they go inside the digital world? Well, perhaps they are turned into whole other beings that get thrown to the depths of the digital world!

Here are the creatures known as The Identities!

Penny (Pomni): Penny is a black and white character who wears a white suit with a black suit vest. A soft bow tie takes the place of a normal tie and a spear’s blade takes the place of where the bell should be on her tail. She still has her signature jester hat, but it is black and white and bears no bells. Her eyes are as dark as tar and tiny white spirals replace her pupils. A bone is wielded in her hand at all times. Her and Bubble would get along well, since they have the same smile. She does seem to wear a mask that covers the rest of her face though…Personality wise, She’s sweet, but can be rather off putting, and is incredibly loyal. Just don’t let her horrific appearance fool you, she’s a sweet lad. She’s the official leader of this rag tag gang.

Annie (Ragatha): A weeping raggedy doll who has a serrated mouth and one loose button eye. Her functioning eye was ripped out, thus she is completely blind. Her dress is covered in rips and tears and her mitten hands are covered in black blood and have been turned into sharps claws. She cries most of the time, she carries the burdens of Ragatha’s past life. Luckily, Penny makes for great company (and a lovely girlfriend!)

File 1 (Jax): His real file name is 17384295, but his friends just shorten it down to 1. Since he is an NPC, File 1 is supposed to exist in the circus, but here he is! He’s mostly silent, but is very loyal to the Queen. File 1’s senses are incredibly heightened senses. This mixed in with his teleportation abilities makes him a lethal prankster! His body is a bulky, black mass with long arms and a head that resembles a rabbit. Red teeth and eyes glow on his face. If you miss them, you’ll never know he’s there…

File 2 (Gummigoo): File 258963 is his real name, but the gang shortens his name too. This creature is a melted mass that fused with machinery to keep his body as stable as it could be. File 2 is the most rational of the group and remembers every little detail. Even details that never existed…

Angel (Gangle): This mess of ribbons of broken masks is best described as unpredictable and shy. The only mask that isn’t broken is a pitch black one that has a strange eye to the left. She typically serves as the group’s security.

Zoey (Zooble): Oh where to begin on this mess. They’re quite literally in shambles! This creature is made from various parts of random beasts! A bear’s leg, a dragon’s tail, a donkey’s hoof, you name it all! They seem to be very depressed and tends to sleep than play.

Kevin (Kinger): A broken king chess piece with a makeshift mouth, spider legs, and veins connecting its hands and eyes to its body? What could possibly be creepy about this one? He’s incredibly stable and is typically the one you go to when you need a problem solved!

Tex (Party): Tex is a black furred, two-headed beast. One of his head bears no soul, so it limbs down and its eyes swing from side to side. His limbs are now made of jump rope and his claws are large enough to pierce the heart of any human. STAY AWAY FROM HIM! This creature is genuinely abusive and will try to steal your code to free itself from the depths. He was the one who blinded Annie and who overthrew Penny. Maybe…that’s all about to change…

That’s a wrap! I hope you enjoy this little idea! If you wanna leave any questions or requests for this AU, my ask box is always open!

[pianocat939]

Yan Snail Humanoid

That’s it. I can’t hold my amass of thoughts. Firstly, I’m gonna explain the snail humanoid itself because I can.

Alright, imagine scientist MC is assigned to study a species similar to that of humans. Except the species has some features similar to that of a snail. The species is called Gastravians. (I just took the scientific name and added a bunch of letter lmao)

They tend to have flexible soft antennas (not eyes like regular snails), and a shell.

They aren’t born with shells, rather when they’re around the age they start school they pick out their very own shell. Which also explains why they can separate themselves from their shell. Picking your shell is a big ceremony for the parent.

With their antennas, it can depict their mood. The brighter the glow is, the more positive the mood is. And the duller, the more negative. The antennas can also act as sensing the emotions of others.

They’re born as a single gender, but when reach maturity can alter between the two.

They can be born in many different colours. They can look totally human or literally pink and purple.

Each snail secretes their own cream from their hands. It’s generally to help them climb on surfaces or letting them know they’re staying hydrated. But they also may rub the cream onto their crush’s arm if they like them.

Snail people are snuggly. Like it’s normally romantically or platonically.

.

.

.

[Note: The following Yan uses any pronouns because of gender-free morphing]

That’s all the lore I got for now. Anyway, moving onto the actual Yan stuff-

So MC is observing this one specimen. Generally goes in a male presenting form, but changes to female once or twice a week (stays the whole day as a female-presenting if he changes)

The specimen goes by the name Jovyanus or Jovy for short. Jovy at first is very shy and sleeps in his shell a lot. But slowly starts to come out an hour a day.

Jovy doesn’t mind MC asking questions. Just fearful since she’s self-conscious. Not to mention she’s still learning English. Her grammar and vocabulary is good, it’s just she has odd pronunciation since Gastravians gurgle a lot.

The more Jovy trusts MC, the more he presents himself in his female form. In a way, he feels safer to show his non-biological form.

Jovy loves feeding time. To Jovy, feeding time is when she can share her thoughts. So she talks in little gurgles or chirps.

Jovy is very self-conscious of their appearance. Often wanting to look more human for MC. Sometimes they’ll be out from their shell multiple hours a day.

Jovy loves nuzzles. Prefers nuzzles over talking actually. He wants them to know it’s literally him confessing, but MC thinks he’s being snuggly like your typical Gastravian.

Jovy can and will get territorial. He will use acid and target it at anyone he deems a threat.

Jovy is kind of delusional. Since Jovy was made for being pink despite being born male (yes there are some colour norms for genders in snail people. I haven’t decided them yet. And not saying colours define gender, I just think it’s fitting for his backstory) he tries hard to appear intimidating. But once he realizes MC likes him he’s obsessed.

Jovy is absolutely delusional that they’re mates. Jovy wants to snuggle and live with MC-

“MC, *gurgle* should I curl my antennas for today?”

…

[GUYS IM SORRY IF THIS WAS UNORGANIZED/SEVERELY UNFINISHED. I’ve been thinking about this for a few days and just spat out lore and ideas]

[I’ll make a formal story post soon, but for now have this.]

[I’m not good at making OC’s, but snail people are just booming in my head right now]

- Celina (It’s like 4 AM haha-)

[pomefioredove]

Heyyyy if you are still open to some more matchups can I request a romantic one? You can pick anyone Students, Staff, or RSA/Noble Bell college people, i don't care either way. I really just want to know who you think fits me personality-wise best lol. 

Ok, so I guess I’ll tell you my appearance first, I’m 169cm so like 5’6, I’ve got very very curly reddish brown hair, and blue eyes that look purple to gray depending on the light. I have a lot of tattoos. Started with a stick and poke piece when I was 13 and have kept getting them even years later. I joke that instead of a sleeve I have a pair of pants, both my legs are covered in tattoos, one side black and the other color. People always tell me I'm incredibly easy to spot in a crowd. Pronouns are She/Her and my voice is kind of low and monotone maybe a bit husky.

As for hobbies... I love Boxing and MMA, I’ve been doing it competitively for a few years so I can comfortably say I can kick most people's ass. food is a bit of a love language for me so I cook pretty often and try a lot of different cuisines (current fav is Georgian, you have to try Khachapuri it's soooo good). I used to sing and play the drums though it's been a while so I'm probably not too great anymore. You know how some people listen to music for the lyrics while other people listen for the beat? I definitely listen more for the sound, I don't care what the song is about just how the sounds flow together... which is why I mostly listen to music in foreign languages, don't need to understand to lyrics to enjoy the beat.

My interests are mostly low key I like to study languages but I don't really try to become fluent just conversational i guess. I'm more inclined to learn about the aspects of a language than the grammar and stuff. Reading horror and what I like to call weird fiction. I love finding books that are a little odd the best example of this that I can think of is "House of Leaves" by Mark Z. Danielewsk. I really like weird things, normal things that have been a little twisted and made up in new ways if you get what I mean.

As for my personality... ugh I think I'm probably an acquired taste... it sounds bad but like I'm a really difficult person to get close to. I just don't trust easily and I'm not someone who entertains too much small talk without reason. An example is the fact I've known people for five+ years and still don't really consider them friends. Sure we hang out but like they don't know me and I don't know them. I'm just kind of prickly, with a major resting bitch face too. Though to make up for this I'm incredibly loyal. Once we've actually become friends there's nothing I wouldn't do for them. If they need help hiding a body I'm not gonna ask questions just gonna bring a shovel, take out for two, and tickets out of the country.

Oh and a current project of mine is to reverse-engineer a printer so that i can stick it to shitty corporations who think its reasonable to make you pay a subscription to use a printer that I ALREADY PAID FOR!! That last bit was mostly because i need to print out an essay of mine and I had to dust of the printer i haven't used in forever only to be met with a error message saying i had to pay my subscription to use the thing ugghh. So now i need to actually learn how to a soldering gun.

Sorry if my ramblings don't make much sense, I really don't think about myself too much so trying to describe myself was like insanely hard. Thank you!!!!!!!!! ❤️ ❤️ ❤️ ❤️ ❤️ ❤️ ❤️ ❤️ ❤️ ❤️ ❤️ ❤️ ❤️

I match you with 𝐑𝐮𝐠𝐠𝐢𝐞 𝐁𝐮𝐜𝐜𝐡𝐢

The First Impression:

Okay. His honest, true, first thought? You smell good. You smell like spices and warmth, so much so that he forgets what he's doing to turn in your direction.

Why He Fell:

"Prickly" and "hard to get close to" aren't terms in Ruggie's dictionary. He would crawl into a sewer if he thought he'd get something worthwhile out of it, and, hey- to him, you're pretty worthwhile!

He may or may not trail behind you like a lost puppy for a little while, at least until you take pity on him and give the poor thing a good meal. But, like with most stray animals, feeding him only brings him back.

Over time (and a few meals), Ruggie starts to bond with you on a more personal level. He'll ask about each of your tattoos, let you ramble to him about whatever it is you're working on, and take little notes on how sharp and crafty you are in the meantime.

The Relationship:

Ruggie has absolutely no shame. Will gladly eat every single thing you make him without even asking what it is, all while dousing you with compliments about it. If making people food is your love language, then eating food is his.

You're just really nice to have around, right? And hey, your beat-em-up skills definitely don't hurt! He's a scrawny guy, he can appreciate standing behind some muscle. He also finds the way you understand sound, in both music and language, to be fascinating, especially considering how sensitive most beastmen's ears are. He can relate to how you describe it.

He's never one to judge, either, so take your time getting comfortable around him! He'd never admit it, but he's pretty much the same way- it takes a lot to actually get his walls down. You can do it together, huh?

[sunshinesteviee]

Purple Lilac - love at first sight

for robin please!! :3 have a lovely day bae <3

another one that took me forever i'm so sorry i hope it's ok ily!!! fem!reader obvs

-

Robin has never been very smooth. Flirting has never been her forte, and she knows it, thanks to Steve’s constant reminders. But somehow, she flounders even more when she sees you. It’s love at first sight, she’s sure of it. Though it’s not something she’s ever really believed in, there’s no other explanation for the way her heart nearly beats out of her chest, the way she feel like she can’t breathe just at the sight of you. Her brain is moving even faster than normal, which she didn’t know was possible. 

When she sees you, you’re walking in the front door of the bakery, and she’s busy bringing a new tray of pastries from the kitchen to the front of the store, nearly tripping when she glances up to the door. She and Steve are working at the bakery downtown now, and they’re still new to the job, so it really won’t look good if she drops the hot croissants on the floor. Steve sighs, like Robin is the bane of his existence, and she knows he’s mostly teasing, but he huffs, “Robin, be careful! What are you—“ 

“Pretty girl!” she squeaks, ducking behind the large metal rack that holds all of the trays of pastries. 

“What?” Steve asks, still confused as he turns around to find you walking up to the register. Realizing what’s happening, Steve thinks quickly and starts heading back towards the kitchen, “Just remembered I have to put some muffins in the oven! Robin, you can help her, right?” 

Robin panics, eyes wide and arms flailing as she whisper yells, “What?! Steve, no, don’t—“ He’s not listening, though, and disappears behind the doors to the kitchen, leaving Robin alone with you in the front. She takes a deep breath and appears from behind the tray storage, giving you a nervous smile, “Hi, sorry, just let me—“

Unsurprisingly, Robin bumps into a counter on her way to the register and she feels like she’s on fire as she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, “Hi, what can I get for you?” 

Though Robin doesn’t realize it, you’re feeling just as flustered. You feel warm and your palms are sweaty as you stare at the beautiful girl in front of you. Her freckles and pretty blue eyes are mesmerizing, and it takes you a moment before you realize you haven’t replied to her yet. “Oh! Hi, um, I’m not sure… is there anything you’d recommend?” 

“I just started here last week, so I haven’t had everything yet, but the chocolate croissants are really good, if you like that kind of thing. And so are the muffins! Actually, everything I’ve had is really good, but I know that’s not very helpful, so—“ Robin is rambling, and she knows it, but she can’t seem to stop herself. 

You can’t help but giggle, finally noticing the pink coloring her cheeks, and listen intently until she finally trails off in embarrassment. You feel the need to save her, and nod, “Okay, I’ll have two chocolate croissants! I totally trust your judgment. Will you put them in two separate bags?” 

Robin thinks nothing of it, chatting aimlessly as she goes about getting your food and drink. Steve is, annoyingly, but unsurprisingly, still in the back, leaving Robin to likely make a fool of herself in front of you. When she finally places your drink and two bags on the counter, you leave one there and give her a shy smile, hoping you’re not reading the situation wrong as you say, “That one’s for you.” 

A look of shock passes over Robin’s face and then she’s blushing again as she stammers, “O-oh! Thank you, you don’t need to do that, I—“

“I insist. I hope I’m not reading this wrong, but I’d love to see you again. Preferably not while you’re working. I-if you’re interested, that is…” 

“I’d like that!” Robin blurts out, causing you to giggle as you slide a napkin with your number across the counter. 

Robin is still standing behind the register, somewhat shell-shocked, when Steve finally emerges from the kitchen. He laughs at the expression on her face, and asks, “So?”

“I think I just met the love of my life.” 

Steve scoffs, used to Robin’s hopeless romantic dramatics, “Okay, Robs.” 

Pushing Steve’s shoulder, Robin huffs, “I don’t appreciate the skepticism. It was love at first sight, and apparently she felt the same, because I have her number, and we’re going on a date!”  

[tellodona]

hello hiii dcd anon (i’ll just use 🤡 anon from now on its easier) here, i hope i’m not making too many requests i’m very sorry if i am

a thought i’ve had for like a while is how demon skin works like, i feel like it’s less stretchy and soft to the touch than human skin because demons are simply just tougher, and also it heals faster. so what i am trying to get at is that demons probably don’t have like stretch marks? it rarely gets to a point their skin would do such a thing and even if it does it heals very fast so it’s not ever acknowledged.

so what about mc with like an abundance of stretch marks? like i can somewhat confidently say at least 15% of my body is just purple lines everywhere so i wonder how would the brothers react to that? once again sorry if i’m doing too many requests

it's alright ! all your requests are so fun to do so don't feel bad about them ! they're topics that i really like learning about

the brothers with an mc who has stretch marks

heads up: gn!mc, hc that demons and angels alike get stretch marks when overworking

lucifer

is probably curious about it

"so you're telling me humans don't smoothen out their skin easily? i see, i see"

probably doesn't even care, if you're still alive even with that abundant of stretch marks, there shouldn't be any problems

he might think it's a condition you're not telling him though

he'll try to rub pride on you if you're insecure about them

you're great just the way you are, mc. your appearance isn't going to change the person you are today

mammon

"what the hell happened to ya?????"

pretends he isn't worried, but he totally is

he'd ask a lot about how you got them because as far as he knew, demons get them when doing lotsa strenuous work

so at first he'd say you're stupid and to stop overworking

when you probably tell him it's not because of that he blanks

he'll understood soon enough

but he'll bark at people who'd look at you weirdly

leviathan

he raises an eyebrow at you

dang, what happened?

wouldn't speak it out though, afraid you're insecure and you'd dislike him

if you're self-conscious about it and see someone with "better" skin than you, he'd feel envy off of you right off the bat

he'd try to comfort you as much as he can

he likes sewing, so if you're insecure, he'd sew some clothes for you to make you feel better and look "prettier"

you're already pretty/handsome/great/awesome/good in his eyes, mc

satan

"i've read humans don't heal easily like demons, but i didn't expect this..."

he didn't mean it in a bad way, though. he'd have to assure you, he's just curious

he thinks it makes you prettier, because it's unique on you

encourages you to accept yourself, because these don't make you less beautiful

he turns demons who make fun of you into shreds behind your back

asmodeus

oh, sweetheart! those marks look so beautiful!

this man sees art in everything, so it's like seeing some intricate designs on your body, and he absolutely loves it

he offers you some soothing lotions though, because he knows they're not normal

if you're insecure about it, he'll absolutely fight you because honey, you're so beautiful!

you shouldn't think that way, it makes him sad

spa days bi-weekly to help soothe your marks

he destroys every demon's social lives when they make fun of you even just once

beelzebub

oh, you have marks, mc?

he sometimes gets them when he exercises a lot, so it's nothing new to him

but why aren't they going away for you

oh right, you're human

you look nothing different to him, anyway, it doesn't matter to him

he'd eat the people who'd look at you wrong

belphegor

this is why you should always nap with him, mc, now look, you've got marks-

oh, they've always been there on you?

he'd grimace since he sees stretch marks as a sign of lack of sloth, but he wouldn't judge you

would always use it as an excuse to cuddle with you though

demons looking at you wrong? eternal sleep, it is

IM SO SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG I WAS SO BUSY :SOB: IM SORRY THEYRE SHORTER TOO RGAHH