#agile concepts

[ryssbelle]

Click for better quality

Had a dream where Marcille made a Totk-esque dragon version of herself that she could summon and switch her mind to for various reasons.

Ramblings about the dream and art process below:

Warning for flashing lights, and colors especially towards the end

In the dream the main reason was to protect herself (and furina who was also there for some reason??) from an assassination attempt. Technically she succeeded because she didn't die BUT it was only because her mind and soul were evenly split between the dragon body and her body which was able to somehow keep them both alive.

Furina died tho rip to a queen I guess (tho technically she was already dead shes basically puppeting her own corpse literally all the time according to the dream, like her body is "alive" but her soul is in her gem thingy so she can "die" but as long as she has the gem she can resurrect herself infinitely and basically live forever, so to "kill" her they took the gem and are basically waiting for her body to expire, they can't break it cuz the gem is indestructible)

It was a weird dream all in all but I liked some of the designs, I have a doodle of furinas I might clean up. There was also a sense of unease for every character- Link was there too- and they all recognized they weren't supposed to be here and that the world around them was wrong. Like they could see that the logic didn't make sense, and that they shouldnt be able to do the things they do (furina resurrection and Marcille dragon)

But it wasn't a they are in a dream scenario (even tho yeah they were lol) they were taken from their world to a real place but that place was just wrong

Anyway enough rambling here's the process of making the dragon, warning for flashing colors

[lonestarflight]

Concept art of the McDonnell Douglas F-36 fighter, the production version of the X-36 Tailless Fighter Agility Research Aircraft.

Date: 1990s

source

[cherry-pop-elf]

Venomized Namor

This is a design concept for this fic/au I have called

“Like A Oil Slick”

Also my friend @sleepypsycopath said I should draw it so yeah

Hope you guys like it! It was a hard thing to draw but you gotta explore your boundaries to grow. Explore what I can do. Along with have a good vision on what Namor is to look like in my fic

Lemme know what yall think!

[fatedroses]

Zenos, but he uses his grandfather's name and imagery for his new armor so he can actually feel like a hero.

[0fbabylon-a]

RATE  YOUR  MUSE'S  TRAITS  0-10 !   repost  and  rate  your  muse’s  traits,   then  tag  your  followers

compassion : 5/10 bitterness : 9.5/10 happiness : 4/10 politeness : 4/10 chivalry : 0/10 pride : 6/10 honesty : 6.5/10 bravery : 10/10 recklessness : 10/10 ambition : 5/10 loyalty : 4/10 love : ?/10 sense of family : 1/10 attractiveness : 11/10 agility : 2/10 ( des: 'she runs in slow motion, her actions are sluggish, she needs to work on her tact' ) sex drive : 8/10

tagged by: @drachnslayer thank u love!! tagging: @faithsine @searaph @ozgog @sunmad @hellweep @rockerb0y + anyone who wants!

[brain-rot-hour]

Listen

It's a thing, okay?

Or it will be

I'm really really really excited

@dawnrider

[blueboyluca]

I practiced a bunch of crosses last night and Topaz was amazing! But also her ringside skills are so bad it's embarrassing. I have to stop bringing her on Tuesdays because she just practices all the behaviour I don't want while I'm trying to coach my classes. Ringside skills are so hard to train. If I can't give her my full attention she loses her mind. And I can't keep letting people see what's happening and think it's acceptable. I don't want to set a bad example.

[ask-suns-pup]

whats the toughest enemy you fought?

[yumecarnival]

erm.. evil evil timeline where . erm . aj just picks off slate from the stragglers and tries to use him for her own gain . [too bad he's useless and stupid]

absolutely abysmally cooked ... i call them glass cannon

[xbittersweet-nostalgiax]

Puppies~ ^_^

[lunar-skylar]

Do you think wizards and witches could amplify their agility, strength, endurance, and whatever else to a greater level than your average human being (and I mean this in a superhuman kind of way, where a punch to the wall or the floor can create a crater or big cracks, or whatever)? Maybe through some kind of ritual, potions, or spells.

[oxeyesaint]

I see a lot of people talk about Wolverine's fighting and movements in the movie but can we appreciate Deadpool here for a moment??? Dude is so fucking cracked all the time

He is so flippy??? Like i honestly don't care that its like fake or a rigged animation or whatever hollywood bs, its genuinely so cool to see deadpool fight. Cuz it might just be my opinion but his fighting style is so unique? In a way?

I think its sort of rare to see male action characters have this much focus on agility over strength. It also fits him as a character so well i could not imagine choreographing his fighting any other way.

It feels very much like how dancing does. I strangely think about the concept of b-boy style being adapted to a fight scene very regularly so seeing a movement like this one was so exciting cuz thats literally something i've imagined for so long its so COOL!!

[blank-potato]

need that

Pairing: John Walker x Reader

Summary:

You watched as he stood at the sink, razor in hand, slowly dragging it across his jawline with practised ease. The muscles in his back flexed as he leaned in closer to the mirror. Thank goodness for inhibitions, otherwise you’d be going crazy and trying to pounce on him. He caught your eyes in the mirror and gave a small smirk. “You alright there?” You blinked, realising you’d been staring. Or You think everything he does is hot, and eventually he takes notice.

Tags/Warnings: Fluff, implied smut, confessions, pining, yearning, all hours are yearning hours for reader

WC: 2.3K

A/N: Thank you @fire-joestar for this request and idea! I have another one for Bob with the same concept here. Hope you all enjoy it!

☆☆☆

You wanted John Walker so bad that it was becoming a problem. Friends weren’t supposed to be crazy in love with other friends, but here you were, heart racing every time he so much as looked your way.

It came to the point where he’d be standing still, and you’d just be absolutely losing your mind. The way his jaw clenched when he was focused, how his biceps stretched the sleeves of his shirts, it was enough to short-circuit your brain.

Like when he caught you staring and started talking to you about his guns, “This one is pretty good for close-quarters. Lightweight, easy trigger…”

You nod along and pretend to pay attention, but it’s hot the way he’d handle them, all casual and confident. The way his fingers curled around the grip, the intensity in his eyes when he explained the mechanics, you’d transform into a gun right now if you could, just for the chance to be held like that.

“You still with me?” John asks, raising an eyebrow and giving you that crooked half-smile that never failed to melt your brain.

You nod, maybe a little too eagerly, even though he’d lost you as soon as you saw the veins in his hand flex around the barrel. You’re not even sure what he’s talking about anymore. Tactical specs? Firing range? Who cares. 

"Cool," he says, and goes right back to talking shop, completely unaware that you're about three seconds away from combusting.

It was an everyday occurrence. But during training, it was something else entirely. That’s when things really test your self-control.

Flipping you over like you weighed nothing during sparring sessions, he was strong and agile, all precision and power wrapped in that unfairly good-looking package. You found yourself on the mat more often than not, too distracted to fight properly. 

Not to mention listening to him talk, helping direct you on how to angle your arms, how to keep your balance and improve your fighting stance. It was so distracting the way he’d give directions, voice low and focused.

“Right foot here, and I want you to put all your weight behind it when you punch,” he’d say, tapping the mat lightly where he wanted your foot to go.

“Alright,” you murmur, trying not to sound like you're dying inside, and you try again, not quite doing as he instructed. He observes you for a moment, and you feel a shiver run down your spine. 

“Can I?” he asks, hands hovering near your hips, asking for permission, like you wouldn’t let him do pretty much anything. 

“Yeah,” you reply breathlessly.

He moves your hips into place with a firm, steady grip that has no business being that gentle. “Now,” he continues, voice closer now, “shift forward and twist your hips, it has to be all one movement.”

He’d basically been manhandling you, guiding your arms, adjusting your hips until you were exactly where he wanted you. But still, he was gentle and patient, never getting frustrated, always calm, always in control.

And it was so unbelievably hot.

You could only imagine where else those firm instructions and steady hands would come in handy. The way he said, "twist your hips"? Yeah, you were already spiralling.

“I’ve lost you again,” John says, catching the faraway, glazed-over look on your face, one brow raised.

“No, no, I’m… I’m here,” you stammer, blinking hard and trying to pull yourself back into the moment, even though your brain had very much left the building five minutes ago. He smirks, like he knows exactly what he’s doing. And you’re not sure if that’s better or worse.

But you’re hopeless whether or not he’s interacting with you or not. Watching him work out in any capacity was a dangerous game. You were at risk of keeling over and dying on the spot every single time.

Watching him run on the treadmill, sweat glistening on his skin, shirt clinging to every sculpted line of muscle. Or when he boxed, the way his muscles rippled with every jab, every hook, every fluid, powerful movement. You were obsessed.

You put your head in your hands for a second, trying to cool down your spiralling thoughts, then looked back up at him.

He turned to you just then, wiping sweat from his neck with a towel, chest heaving slightly from exertion, and asked, “Did you need something?”

“N-nope,” You stutter out as you walk backwards out of the room, bumping into multiple walls, your eyes not once leaving his shirtless body. 

Though you liked the little things too.

He offers to drive you wherever you need to go, because, well, after a few incidents of reckless driving, your license had been suspended.

In your defence, it was a matter of life and death. Several times. But try explaining that you were being hunted by sword-wielding assassins and not getting laughed out of the room. 

You climb into the passenger seat, trying not to feel awkward about it. 

“Thanks…” You mumble as you buckle your seatbelt. He glances over at you, mouth tugging into a faint smirk. “You’re lucky I like you,” he says, teasing just enough to make your chest flutter.

He’s quiet at first, one hand on the wheel, the other resting casually on the gearshift. The windows are down, wind in his hair, sun in his eyes. Then once you reach your destination, he does the thing. 

The thing where he puts his arm around the back of your seat as he reverses, his jawline sharp in the golden wash of afternoon light, the clean, strong line of his neck exposed beneath the collar of his shirt.

You don’t know why it has you holding your breath, but it does. Maybe it’s the casual way he does it, like he’s done it a hundred times. Or the fact that he’s so in control and completely unaware of how stupidly attractive what he’s doing is.

You’re gawking, and you know you’re gawking, but you’re only human. Gawking was your speciality, and you’re always putting yourself in situations to do it. 

Like when he’d be on cooking duty and you’d jump at the opportunity to be his unofficial sous-chef, just to be near him. You’re currently struggling with this godforsaken onion. Eyes watering, grip awkward, and the knife refusing to cooperate.

“I can do that for you,” John offers gently, taking the onion from your hands with that same ease he handled everything. “The blade’s dull, that’s why you’re having such a hard time…”

You nod, blinking away the sting in your eyes as you watch him grab the knife-sharpening rod. He starts working the blade against it with practised movements.

John Walker is an acts of service king; you noticed it early on. One time, you had barely even acknowledged that you were thirsty. There was no glass of water in front of you, you barely even sighed, but before you could even stand, John had quietly placed one in your hand without a word. 

Or when you fell asleep on the couch, and felt the weight of a blanket being placed on top of you, the warm, familiar scent of his cologne letting you know it was him. You didn’t even have to open your eyes. He didn’t say anything, didn’t wake you.

Just made sure you were comfortable and tucked the blanket around your shoulders. He could be loud, commanding, the centre of attention when he needed to be, but moments like that reminded you of how soft he could be when no one was looking.

You snap out of the memory, focusing back on him as he now dices the onion with mechanical precision, the knife gliding like it was an extension of his hand.

“See? Easy when your tools actually work,” he says with a half-smile, glancing your way.

A few days later, you were searching for him to get some insight on a mission you’d all be heading out on later that day.

You try not to swoon. Or stare. Or let him see how completely ridiculous it is that someone chopping onions could look that good.

But honestly? It’s a losing battle.

“John?” you called out from outside his door, your knuckles tapping lightly.

“Come in!” he called back casually.

You step inside. His room was as clean and precise as you’d expect. Neatly made bed, organised, everything in its place. You glance around, not seeing him at first, but the moment you step into the bathroom, your soul threatens to leave your body. 

You’d seen him shirtless often enough that you should be used to it by now, but nope. Especially not like this. The room was steamy from the shower, and he stood there with only a towel slung low around his hips, v-line in full view, chest gleaming slightly in the light.

You watched as he stood at the sink, razor in hand, slowly dragging it across his jawline with practised ease. The muscles in his back flexed as he leaned in closer to the mirror.

Thank goodness for inhibitions, otherwise you’d be going crazy and trying to pounce on him.

He caught your eyes in the mirror and gave a small smirk. “You alright there?”

You blinked, realising you’d been staring.

“Yeah,” you croaked. “Yeah, I… just came to ask about the mission.”

He turned slightly, not even trying to cover up. “Sure. Just give me a second to finish up. Unless you’re in a rush?”

You shook your head fast. “No rush. I can wait.”

So you stay there, doing your best to focus as he continues to shave.

You start going over the mission details to distract yourself, letting him know the objectives, listening to his responses, but it’s nearly impossible. 

Thankfully, the next, next mission, you sat out with Bob, spending the day chilling and playing Mario Kart with him. It was easy and a perfect distraction from the John problem, as you started dubbing it. Until the rest of the team walked back in.

They looked rough. Bruised, dirty, clearly fresh off a firefight. John was at the front, jaw tight, a few shallow cuts on his arms and a particularly nasty one near his temple that definitely needed attention, yet he still somehow looked unfairly good.

You barely had time to blink before his eyes found yours. Then he was moving, across the room, straight to where you were still curled up on the couch.

Without a word, he jerked his head toward the hallway. “We need to talk.”

You blinked, glancing at the others like someone might tell you what the hell was happening, but no one seemed surprised. With a sigh, you stood and followed him down the hall to a quiet, empty corner. Why this was his number one priority after a mission was beyond you.

“We do?” you asked, arms crossing defensively.

“You’ve been looking at me weird for a while now,” he said, tone unreadable but eyes locked on yours.

You froze. “What?”

He stepped a little closer. “You have. In the kitchen. In the gym. In my car. You stare.”

Your mouth opened but closed just as fast. How on earth would you rebut any of his claims? You doubt you had been subtle in the slightest; if someone made a compilation of you staring at John, they’d have enough footage to make a movie. 

“You’re imagining things,” you said, way too quickly.

He tilted his head, clearly not buying it. “Am I?”

You step back, but your back hits the wall, the space between the two of you impossibly small.

“You like me, don’t you?”

Hearing that you’re sure it’s over for you. You stand there waiting for the ground to swallow you whole. You look down, unable to meet his eyes, but then his fingers are under your chin, tipping your head up gently.

“It’s okay if you do,” he says, a teasing glint in his eye. “I like me too.”

You let out a breathy laugh and swat at his chest playfully. “Asshole…”

He laughs with you, but soon his expression softens, the teasing giving way to something deeper.

“I like you too,” he says quietly.

The words hit like fireworks going off in your chest. You mean that?” You ask to which John answers genuinely, “Yeah, I do.”

“Do you…” You start, heart racing, “Do you want to show me how much you like me?” you ask, voice dropping, the boldness rising in your chest before you can second-guess it.

He smirks at you, then he pulls you in, his hands cupping your face like you’re something fragile and precious. His lips meet yours gently, and you melt as you hold onto his arms. Without them, you’d be a puddle on the floor. The kiss slowly deepens, becoming more passionate, more desperate. Your fingers curl in his hair, pulling him closer like it’s instinct. He groans softly at the touch, one hand slipping from your cheek to your waist, then he slots his knee between your legs and…

“No, no, no. Not outside my room,” Yelena interrupts with a sigh, “Take that somewhere private.”

Alexei is grinning like a proud dad, arms folded, nodding approvingly. Bucky is concerned about how quickly you guys started making out against the wall.

Ava just throws up her hands in relief, muttering, “Finally,” under her breath, clearly thrilled that she no longer has to witness you making heart eyes at John during every single meal, briefing, and training session.

And Bob? Bob’s smiling, warm and supportive, genuinely happy for you both… though mildly overwhelmed, like he just walked into something he isn’t entirely sure how to exit.

John chuckles, slipping his hand into yours. “Well… you heard the lady.”

You groan into your hands, face burning.

Yelena’s already walking away, calling over her shoulder, “I’m ordering pizza for dinner. If you two are going to be gross again, do it behind a closed door.”

He pulls you towards his room, and the second you get inside, you shove him onto his bed, trying to peel his suit off. 

“Eager, aren’t you?” John chuckles. 

“Shut up.”

Masterlist

[gojoest]

this was supposed to be a ramble post but i went on and on ;-; i might fw this idea some more in the future! tried to be as eloquent as possible but failed

royal au, crown prince!gojo satoru, f!reader (she/her), you reject him but that ain’t stopping the king to be from pursuing you, wc: 1.5k

crown prince gojo satoru, predictably, was the most desired man in the kingdom.

along with his royal heritage — the simple fact of being the next in line to the throne — his highness was undeniably a well-favored, handsome man that no other could hold a candle to. naturally, ladies would often throw themselves at him — some charmed by power, others harboring genuine feelings. he could see through them all and he would politely, and sometimes not so — depending on the intention — would turn them down.

his highness found no thrill in the concept of love. he saw no challenge in it and in someone dolling up for him and speaking to him of all the things that he, supposedly, wanted to hear. he deemed it boring. thus, he’d often sneak out of the castle (jumping off his balcony, unharmed) when the ladies arrived to visit him. other times he’d send the servants to deliver the unfortunate (and very much untrue) news of his highness being sick and needing rest to recuperate his strength. he truly could not be bothered while there were other things that piqued his interest more.

the battlefield, he admired it.

he grew up as — what others considered — a problematic child. ditching etiquette lessons to go into the forest and climb the trees, hunt animals and pick up branches to practice swordsmanship by himself. other times he’d simply act up in inappropriate ways, purposely so, that would inevitably bring punishment upon him, resulting in him being locked in his room to reflect on the unfitting of a royal behavior he displayed that day.

yet, nobody knew how agile and flexible he was, that he had learned how to climb and land safely after jumping from dangerous heights.

hence why, to this day, his highness uses his balcony as an exit when faced with unwanted guests. and to this day, nobody knows to where the crown prince has perished when the noble ladies line up in the castle to meet him.

truly, a problematic man.

his father, the king, was not having it. he thought, maybe, if he were to actually send his son the battlefield in order for him to come face to face with the harsh truth of it, that it was not as the fairy tales told so, that it was bloody, merciless and brutal, filled with death and decaying corpses — he would, maybe, come to his senses.

but, unfortunately so, that did not do it.

so far, everything was going the way the crown prince had desired — he had learned, early on, how to manipulate his environment to get what he wanted, through mischief. he had become a self-taught knight by his own means. he had caused enough havoc in order to be sent away to the most desired of places he wanted to be. the battlefield.

he conquered lands. each time he returned to the royal capital, he brought victory.

the neighboring countries were growing wary, avoiding conflicts and easily agreeing and bowing to the demands of the kingdom in order to prevent wars from breaking. the army’s strength, led by none other than the crown prince gojo satoru, was unheard of.

soon, the entire world knew of it. the clashes and conflicts seized. nobody dared oppose the kingdom anymore.

the prince returned to the capital, back to his boring days.

the days once filled with dull etiquette and history lessons were now replaced with the constant nagging to review a list of candidates in order to pick a bride to be the next crown princess.

it was a bothersome activity. his only challenge now was finding new excuses every day to avoid it.

but alas, there was only as much he could do to run away from his royal responsibilities of continuing the bloodline.

it was after the king had threatened to have the head of his right arm in combat and best friend, the glorious knight geto suguru, that the crown prince caved and considered looking at the portraits of the candidates presented to him.

in front of him were a list of the big families and the portraits of their daughters sent in.

“say, suguru”, satoru lifts a curious brow. “the lady of this house”, he points at the paper, “i can’t see her portrait”

suguru chuckles. “i am afraid, she did not send in one”

the prince scrunches up his nose. thinking. “i don’t understand?”

suguru, covering his mouth, tries to hold his laugh back. “she did not send in a portrait”

“did she forget?”

“i don’t think so”

“then? why?”, satoru stares. clueless.

suguru, with his entire willpower, is earnestly trying to fight the laughter climbing up his throat. the crown prince might be his best friend, but he didn’t really know how this man would react when faced with rejection for the first time in his life.

“in my humble knowledge”, he clears his throat before continuing, “when a lady refuses to send in a portrait to the royal palace, it only means she is politely withdrawing from the list of the candidates, your highness”

silence.

and then, a stretch — of lips, into a smile. a smile of disbelief. one that resembles the smile he shows when faced with a challenge on the battlefield that his audacious opponents throw at him.

“is she rejecting me?”

“i am afraid so”

intriguing. it’s been too long since he felt that kind of thrill, and to think he’d experience it while flipping through mere portraits of his wife-to-be’s. perhaps, he should’ve listened to his father sooner, huh?

he chuckles to himself. “good. i want her”

from that day on, the crown prince, who was once apathetic and uninterested in banquets held by the nobles, attended every one of them that was rumored to have you as a guest.

sadly, you rarely showed up. during the times you were present, you obviated his approach in a crafty and tactful manner.

he started sending you gifts — luxury gems and stones, hairpins, foreign cloths and dresses that were considered hard to obtain even by the big noble families. you sent them all back to the royal palace.

but unfortunately to you and very fortunately to the crown prince, this uncourteous gesture of yours intrigued him even further. he already had a hunch from your previous encounters, that you were not one to be bound by etiquettes of high society nor were you one to be easily blinded by opulence. but just in case, he wanted to test you. he wanted to see more of your deviant nature.

yet, he almost felt defeated, ashamed of taking you so lightly — as if tarnishing and trampling on your character — every time upon seeing the gifts delivered back to him in the same state that he had sent them, unpacked. not even touched out of curiosity. spotless as they were — as a sign of unambiguous rejection.

maybe, he shouldn’t have acted so carelessly with you.

it was during a banquet hosted by the royal palace in honor of the visiting diplomats from the neighboring countries when satoru finally got the chance to strike a more private conversation with you.

eyes glued to you all night, watching as you danced and socialized with other nobles, he was waiting for the right moment to approach you.

and just as you happened to leave the ballroom and walk toward the balcony to catch some fresh air, he excused himself and followed behind you.

“don’t tell me you’re already bored and want to leave, my lady?”

you turn around, visibly unfazed by his presence.

“good evening, your highness”, you politely greet, bobbing a curtsy to him. “although it is not to my liking, i wouldn’t call such a fancy banquet objectively boring. i was merely getting some fresh air after dancing”

there she goes again with that witty tongue of hers, he chuckles. “i see. you find it subjectively boring, if i may assume?”

“you may and that wouldn’t be far from the truth”

he lets out another chuckle, wiping a hand across his face as if at a loss of words. you truly are one intriguing woman.

“i will be very frank with you, my lady”, he speaks. “i think, i might’ve fallen for you”

you remain unamused, not even a single feature on your face flinching at his very confession.

“love is not something you think, but rather something you feel, your highness. curiosity, on the other hand, might pick at your brain and make you think and ponder”

he chuckles. “they’re not mutually exclusive, i believe. can’t love start from curiosity?”

you crack a soft smile. “perhaps”

“may i assume this is you giving me permission to pursue you further?”

“excuse my impertinence, your highness, but — do you have a thing for getting rejected?”, you tilt your head, an impish grin on your lips. “how long are you going to keep this up for?”

he steps closer, “i promise i’ll stop”, taking your hand into his and courteously going down on one knee before kissing it — “when you stop rejecting me, my lady”

[thefearwithin]

The Bloodburst Rattlesnake

The Bloodburst Rattlesnake is named mostly for its striking red colorations that grow brighter toward the head. The name also has an unfortunate connection to the peculiar effect of the rattlesnake’s venom. The appearance of the bloodburst rattlesnake is certainly not cryptic, but it can use this to its advantage. The bright gold of its rattle can actually be used as a lure. The shining color often attracts the attention of birds, though small mammals are also known to fall into this trap. Despite its rattlesnake ancestry, this snake prefers the cover of forests and will leave most of its body hidden in the brush with only a glimmering rattle left in the open; placed right in front of its waiting mouth that is just barely concealed. These forests also allow the brightly colored snake to hide better in the shade of the trees.

When it comes to non-prey items, the bloodburst rattlesnake is extremely aggressive, willing to chase down any potential threats at the drop of a hat. This becomes even more true as the temperatures rise, making these already ‘hot-blooded’ snakes even more dangerous to encounter. This summer aggression is still largely a mystery, with some proposing that it could have something to do with either the hot conditions or possible mating events. To make matters worse, the snake may be slow to bite but it also almost never delivers dry bites. During the summer, the chances of a potentially deadly bite increase drastically.

Despite the well-documented displays of danger and aggression, there are those who suggest that this is a mischaracterization. There are those who would have you believe that the bloodburst rattlesnake is not only potentially tolerable toward human interaction, but actually responds well to handling. This is, most likely, a simple remnant of a rumor from the old pet trade.

[akisteahouse]

Soulmates. A concept where in a world of magic, talking direbeasts and overblots, were believable enough, with families passing down tales of romance and tragedies generation to generation. Some describe meeting their soulmate like a love-at-first-sight encounter, others say it feels like finding a missing puzzle piece, an instant click.

So… what do the Savannaclaw boys think of meeting you, their soulmate, for the very first time?

Jack Howl! Who had been fed all the fantastical stories of soulmates ever since he was a child - constantly begging his parents to tell him the tales over and over again, before repeating the tales as bedtime stories to his younger siblings, to the point that they had long gotten sick of it, asking him to read them something else for once, please? So, of course, Jack had expected - no, waited - for his soulmate to come, eventually. Hopefully, by the time he’d graduated Night Raven, opened up maybe a gym, with a nicely furnished apartment of his own, with a small balcony to put his cacti… but fate had other plans. You. Just another student walking the vast halls of Night Raven. And yet. Just the sight of you made his face burn hotter than the many days of running track under the sun ever could, the blood roaring louder than waterfalls in his ears, the steady thump-thump-thump of his heart beating against his chest… oh, and his tail thumping on the floor. Wait, what? Thanks to you, he simply can’t focus on any of his classes and club activities anymore… what a bad influence! >:( As his soulmate, you ought to take responsibility… By following his principles, of course! Which means he’ll have to be around you to make sure you follow them! Whatever shall you do… ;)

Ruggie Bucchi! Who never really thought much of it. Sure, sure - he’d meet his destined soulmate, and then what? Partners were costly, and he was pretty sure it wouldn’t be worth it. Besides, what kind of idiot would want to date, much less marry, some poor street rat? No one, he supposed - and he really couldn’t blame this mysterious soulmate either. Sure, granny would nag him constantly for this belief, telling him to ‘Have a little whimsy!’ But he couldn’t. Because whimsy took up time, and time was something he couldn’t afford. Until he met you, that is. It was a complete accident - you were simply yet another unassuming person who had just bought a sandwich from the school’s canteen, the same sandwich that everyone wanted. Which meant Leona had to get it and sent Ruggie to steal it for him. So, Ruggie did what he always did. He sneaked up to you, snickered, and was about to use his unique magic when - oh. You heard him. Well, that didn’t happen often. Your eyes locked into his, and he felt his knees weaken, his tail twitch, and his hands tremble. “Y-You - Laugh With Me!” Who then proceeded to run away with non of the limbless agility he usually possessed, face burning pink. Ohnonononono - absolutely not. Unless? But you - agh, he forgot Leona’s stupid sandwich! Hey, soulmate - help him out here, pleaaaaaaaaase? ;)

Leona Kingscholar! Who wasn’t really fond of all that soulmate crap. After all, his parents weren’t soulmates, and the only soulmated pair in his family were Falena and his wife, and that was just a lucky fluke. Besides, even if he did meet his soulmate, if they weren’t royalty? End of that relationship. Who was he to say that he’d even meet his soulmate? Hundreds and hundreds of people lived in Sunset Savanna, much less the entire world of Twisted Wonderland, so the chances of finding them realistically were slim. The thought had never really bothered him much - after all, he couldn’t miss someone he don’t know. And then, you happened. Just another fool who’d stumbled upon him napping in the botanical gardens, with the luck of accidentally waking the prince up. He had lazily cracked his eye open, tail twitching in annoyance when - huh. His heartbeat raced, eyes boring into yours with an intensity. Great Seven. His ears twitched for any sounds from you, tail unconsciously curling around your ankle. Soulmate. He’d actually managed to meet his soulmate. What kind of cruel prank was this? (Do expect to get trailed and used as a human pillow now. Sorry not sorry. ;) )