#asking how to design well is like asking how to draw well in terms of like scope

[ace-and-the-rpg-horrors]

i'm having PJSK OC thoughts...

[cup-o-stars]

Relativity Falls!

Design Concepts (and my unnecessary thoughts):

Excuse the the colors, ig my apps are fighting.

I see Mabel finding success no matter what happens to her, but I really like the thought of her running an insane arts and crafts business in GF. Alternatively, if she fell in the portal, she'd come out acting confident as always, but she probably wouldn't realize how much the constant change and lack of family/stability wore her out until she settled back in. In either case, she's a bit cracked.

Dipper is investigative, but cracks easiest under stress and is not as inherently adventurous as Mabel or Ford- so the portal wouldn't treat him well. If he's not the one in the portal, he'd be into stargazing and real magic to share with people, while also warding tourists away from the dangerous stuff. In general, he'd be an unhappy adult if left to his own devices, lol.

Between Dipper and Mabel, I like Dipper being in the portal more. He's a great protagonist, but as a supporting cast member, he needs to be more insane to match the draw that is 'Mabel taking care of children,' ha. I also love the idea of there being no portal / some other looming threat for these two to struggle with (at least because Hirsche has made it clear that Dipper and Mabel are equally smart, and to me it seems like the portal would reopen way quicker with them), but I didn't plan on posting these and I don't know how my followers feel about me posting lore.

Stanford and Stanley:

Pretty much how they are in canon, but now they're in a setting where they can get over themselves, ha. They aren't quite as mature as Dipper and Mabel were at their age, but after coming to GF, they finally found other people to look out for them. Dipper could be a more emotionally available and level-headed role model (I think having people to take care of is calming for him in turn), and they'd both look up to Mabel as the peak of somebody who knows how to socialize.

Fiddleford:

He's a sweet, southern, farm-raised mechanical engineer just like in canon.

Idk why Fiddleford is in GF (visiting an unnamed grandparent?), but I really like his relationship with Ford in the journal. Following that thought, in this AU, he starts out more of Ford's friend than Stan's, and it's kind of a big deal. Unlike Dipper's arc on learning to be a kid, Stan and Ford clearly struggled a lot with interpersonal relationships / finding security outside of eachother, and that's what I think this AU could be about (it's great they realized they need each other in canon, but the part where they had no one else to turn to is also kinda crazy if you ask me).

Ford gets to meet another smart kid in a weird town, which helps him feel more normal. He has a better idea of what friendship is because of it, but also, since I can't imagine Dipper wanting an apprentice so young/vulnerable/impressionable or Mabel asking only one of the twins to stay- he'd have to come to terms with the fact that he can't live in his dream world forever. (Or maybe the apprenticeship comes from somewhere else, just because the conflict around going back to Glass Shard Beach at all, or sending Stan alone could be pretty good.)

On the flipside, I think Stan's initial jealousy of Ford and Fiddleford's friendship would force him to try finding his own friends / hobbies. I like the idea that he fails at first- and a lot- but Mabel notices his mounting frustration (which he is very keen on hiding), and her consistent and unorthodox support makes him realize he wasn't alone to begin with. He can be more open around her, which makes it easier to open up to others, and then he can make friends without having to pull any tricks. He probably starts with some animals, and then at least gets closer to Fiddleford anyways (I feel like they're both more practical than Ford and value human company more, so they'd bond easier once Stan gets over his personal hurdle).

Anyways- because that was way too much- Mabel's exes are a constant source of antagonists and Dipper is stressed about setting a good example.

(I was more of a Monster Falls fan back in the day, but I can't draw animals, lol)

[azureroses1]

So today I met Amy Parris the costume designer for stranger things at my local con and asked some specific questions with very peculiar responses. Not important but I was also cosplaying as Michelle wheeler (genderbent mike) because lesbyler

Anyway at first I asked her about colours that certain characters are seen wearing.

Question: Is there a meaning behind that?

Answer - well certain characters embody certain traits, for instance we put Will in a-lot of plaid to show his innocence and youthfulness. For Dustin we put him in a-lot of bright oranges specifically in s3. Etc

I then said

I notice that characters like Mike and Will seem to reflect colour theory in terms of complementary colours.

Her response- I can’t believe you noticed that.

In scenes with certain characters we want them to look together and complement each other through the use of colour. We want them to work well together and when it comes to planning that, a lot of thought goes into it. I consult the duffers about what draws their eye.

I then asked her about Mike’s airport outfit

Her response- well we paired with Quicksilver to create his outfit and it’s something he would have bought at the airport. This matches with the costume video from s4.

Me joking under my breath -

Who was he trying to impress anyway El or Will?

I don’t think she heard me thankfully

I said that I was excited for season 5 she said she was happy about that. Anyway she started mentioning how it was set in the fall and the use of colours reflect that.

I specifically mentioned Mike’s sweater the one we’ve seen in the bts pictures for season 5 - she was surprised I knew of it.

I then asked her if there’s a character in particular she loved putting together and she said season 5 Nancy. (I mentioned her denim jacket in s4 beforehand, which initiated this)

I then went to her panel, it was interesting, she spoke of character with development and environment and how it ties into costume. She showed us some concept art from season 4 specifically El’s rinkomania look that she called her ‘Will look’.

Anyway she opened up the panel for questions and someone asked a specific question relating to colour theory and Byler. However she deflected the initial premise of it and didn’t answer the question about the specific moment. She said that it wasn’t important 👀

I can’t think much more from the top of my head but here are some of the photos that I took

I’ll definitely be adding more later

💙💛

[nerdygirlramblings]

is it finally happening? 🤷🏻‍♀️

previous

The day you are cleared to return to duty, Adam texts you to come to the admin building, that Price needs to see you. You make your way back, sluggish and insecure. You hate your heats; they are a tangible reminder of your secondary designation. Yes, alphas have their ruts. They too get lost to their designated. But theirs is a drive to take and claim. Yours is, unfortunately, a drive to be taken. Claimed. Owned. And nothing embarrasses you more than the war inside between your desire to be independent, recognized for your own work, and your omega's desire to be possessed.

You're sure this meeting is about the pack. Price himself said you needed to talk about being pack after your heat. It was something you've been thinking about since Ghost's rut and the conversation with your parents, but you desperately need it to be on your terms. You know you want a pack - you've stopped lying to yourself about that - and you know they're open to courting you, at least they were when you first joined. But maybe that's changed? Maybe Price wants to tell you all you'll ever be is their teammate. And the rational part of you embraces that idea, likes being without a pack, appreciates the idea that any pack you might join wouldn't possibly interfere with your work. But your omega is violently making her presence known, snarling in your head, snapping at you when you think it would be better if Price and the others don't want you anymore.

Because she desperately wants them.

You're a little worried that you might have even cried out for Price and Ghost during your heat. Medical would have heard, but they won't say. You were too afraid of what the answer would be, so you didn't even ask when you left this morning.

Adam looks up as you walk over, comfort and concern clear on his face. "How are you doing?" he asks gently. His gaze travels over you, and you know he's cataloging every inch of your haggard appearance. With a frown, he asks, "Are you sure you've been cleared?" Technically, yes, base medical said you could resume your duties but they didn't recommend that you should. At least not for another day or two. This heat was apparently harder on your system than the previous one and the two you'd had at your last post. You know it's because your omega found her pack, and you denied her access to them.

Instead, you paste a smile on your face and wave Adam's well-intentioned concern away. "Yeah, just a bit tired is all. A little kip this afternoon should fix it," you tell him.

His frown is more pronounced, but he doesn't push. "Okay." You hear the skepticism. "They're all in the conference room."

You draw in a quick breath, and you can't keep your voice steady when you say, "Conference room? All?!" You hate how you practically squeak out the last word. Adam nods, and you walk stiffly to the door. When you open it, you're shocked to see Laswell on the screen. How humiliating will this be? It's one thing for them to decide they don't want you and cut off that avenue before it starts. It's another to do it in front of the woman who tasks your missions. How much of a failure will she see you as now? Will she even want your help?

"Ren, thank goodness," Laswell says when she sees you on screen. "We were about to get started, but I needed you here first."

You look at Price, hoping for some guidance about why Laswell would start a conversation about you not becoming their omega without you. The look he gives you in return is one of pure confusion. For the first time since receiving Adam's text, you find yourself unsure of your footing. Adam never said why Price wanted to see you, only that he did. Maybe this isn't about being pack after all.

You slide into the seat next to Gaz, same as last time, and Laswell starts. "First, the plan you and Gaz had, Ren, to snatch bits of info from everyone in Spinner's orbit gave us so much information to sift through we had to bring on extra analysts." You hang your head, ready to be scolded for causing trouble with your hairbrained idea. "But we picked up a number of threads we probably would have otherwise missed," Laswell continues. "That was some great out-of-the-box thinking," she praises.

Next to you, Gaz sits a little straighter and says, "The idea was all Ren, Laswell."

"Then, my thanks, Ren," she says, addressing you directly. "Between the little crumbs we got, and the information about the previous function Spinner attended, we were able to connect several targets to potential illegal activity. Which is why I want you and Gaz to attend the dinner in Waterloo this week. I was able to not only get tickets but put you at a table near enough to Spinner he'll be bound to spot you. Captain Price said he seemed to take an interest in you. I need you to lean into that-"

Ghost lets out a low growl, loud enough to be heard in the room but too quiet for the mic to pick it up. Price clears his throat, and from the corner of your eye, you see Soap reach out and put a hand on the lieutenant's arm. All the while Laswell keeps talking.

"-and see if Spinner is interested enough to reveal anything else. I'll arrange for Adam to take you shopping again."

"An' I need another collar," you blurt. Laswell and the team look at you. "I know 'e's this well-meaning socialite on the surface, but 'e's dark. I can get close to 'im, but I'm not doin' it without a collar." You try to keep the fear from your scent, but you haven't started the blockers again, and you worry it bleeds through the patches you threw on in medical.

Thankfully, Price and Gaz support you. "You didn't see 'ow he was wi' her, Laswell," Gaz says as Price tells you, "We'd never send ya into a situation like that without havin' yer back." You hear the whisper of Ghost's voice add, "We protect wha's ours."

next

series masterlist | main masterlist

~~

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[blyszczopies]

I’m now taking commissions for animated pagedolls like these for 70$!

Animated in a wobbly way, reminiscent if the Generation 5 Pokemon sprites. Perfect to use as a decoration for your blog theme or a personal website!

If you’re interested, please read the terms of service and how to contact me under the read more.

Terms of service:

I take payment through Paypal and I take it upfront; I will not sketch your commission unless you have paid at least half of the price. No refunds if I’m already past the sketch phase. Do not order a commission if you are not sure if you can afford one.

These are not first come first serve. I claim the right to decline a commission for any reason.

I do not work with deadlines. I will do my best to finish your commission as quickly as possible, but I can not promise to get it done in specified time. Keep in mind I've got a part-time job offline, too.

I will send you WIP images of your commission as I work on it, to make sure you’re satisfied with the final product.

The owner of the character featured in the commissioned drawing is allowed to use and repost their commission, preferably with proper credit. The commissioned image is only for personal use of the commissioner or the person who owns the character(s) from the drawing.

I claim the right to post a commission publicly. However, upon requests I can keep the commissioner anonymous or refrain from posting their commission online.

I will draw: Quadruped and anthropomorphic animals and fantasy creatures; Original characters and real-life pets; Characters based off a description, if no image is available; Complex designs and several characters in a single image (for an additional fee); Mature themes (blood, gore, nudity, substance abuse, etc)

I will not draw: Humans and highly humanoid characters; Artwork promoting bigotry; Pornography

I might draw: Fanart/fandom characters. Just ask if I would draw characters from a specific media you have on your mind! Same goes for anything not explicitly mentioned here.

By commissioning me you agree to my terms of service. If interested, you can contact either DM me here on tumblr or send me an email to timo666dlugiewlosy(at)gmail.com with everything I could use while working on your commission: reference images, descriptions, various kinds of inspiration sources. Feel free to ramble about the thing you would like me to draw! That will greatly help me get an idea of what I could create for you. ^___^ Please also specify what type of commission you're interested in!

I have several OCs and designs up for sale as well.

Thank you so much for taking your time to read this! Have a great day!

[chrissssssmut]

BOUNDED

Yandere Karina, Hanni, Danielle, Wonyoung, Liz, Chaewon and Yunjin x Male Reader

*SORRY I FINISHED THIS STORY WAY TOO FAST HAHAHAH but here enjoy!🙏*

You had never imagined your life would turn into something out of a K-drama. After your dad remarried, you suddenly found yourself with seven new stepsisters—each one impossibly beautiful and somehow way out of your league in terms of charm and charisma. At first, the arrangement was simple enough: they ignored you, rolling their eyes or tossing sharp remarks whenever you tried to bond with them. To them, you were just some awkward, out-of-place stepbrother who didn’t belong in their picture-perfect world.

“Don’t touch my stuff, oppa,” Wonyoung had said within the first week, drawing an invisible line around her side of the house.

“Do you even know how to use a dishwasher?” Hanni had teased one evening, earning giggles from Danielle and Liz.

Even Karina, the most composed of the group, had given you cold, detached stares whenever you tried to strike up a conversation.

It was fine. You figured they needed time to adjust, and honestly, so did you. Life went on, and you kept your head low, avoiding their world of glittering social events, designer wardrobes, and seemingly endless selfies.

But things changed when you grew up.

You weren’t the same awkward teen anymore. College life molded you into someone more confident, someone who knew how to dress well, speak up, and draw attention without even trying. Suddenly, your step sisters weren’t just tolerating you—they were noticing you.

It started with small, innocent gestures.

“Oppa, I made extra coffee. Want some?” Yunjin smiled one morning, sliding a cup toward you.

“You’ve been working out, haven’t you?” Chaewon commented one day, casually brushing past you in the hallway. “You look… different.”

Hanni started asking for your opinion on her outfits. Danielle insisted you join their movie nights. Wonyoung, who used to act like you didn’t exist, began hovering around you during family dinners, peppering you with questions about your day.

It felt harmless at first, even flattering. But soon, things began to escalate.

The Turning Point

You were excited for your first real date with a girl from your university. Her name was Mina—sweet, down-to-earth, and refreshingly normal compared to the chaos at home. But when you mentioned her name over dinner, the air in the dining room shifted.

“Who’s Mina?” Karina asked, her voice sharp despite her calm demeanor.

“She’s just a friend,” you replied casually, sensing the sudden tension.

“A friend?” Wonyoung repeated, her fork clinking against her plate. “You’ve never mentioned her before.”

“She’s not that important,” you said, trying to brush it off.

The next morning, Mina canceled on you.

“I’m so sorry,” she texted. “Something came up. Let’s reschedule?”

You were disappointed but didn’t think much of it—until you noticed Chaewon smirking at you from across the living room later that day.

“Plans didn’t work out?” she asked, feigning innocence.

Something about the way she said it made your stomach twist.

The more you tried to explore your social life, the tighter their grip became.

When you mentioned studying late at the library, Danielle would suddenly “accidentally” spill water on your laptop. “Oops, oppa! I guess you’ll have to stay home and fix that.”

When you came home with a new phone, Liz snatched it from your hands, scrolling through your messages before handing it back with a tight smile. “Just making sure you’re not texting anyone shady.”

And when you decided to crash at a friend’s place for the weekend, Yunjin and Chaewon appeared at your door that night, claiming they “missed you too much to stay apart.”

Every time you tried to push back, they found a way to pull you closer.

It wasn’t until Karina set the new house rules that things turned truly sinister.

“Oppa, it’s for your own good,” she said, her tone soft but unyielding. “You’re too naive. The world outside is dangerous.”

Before you could argue, Wonyoung locked the front door. The key disappeared after that.

Thrilling Descent

The days blurred together in a twisted routine. You weren’t allowed to leave the house, and your phone was constantly “misplaced.” Any attempt to escape or call for help was met with swift punishment.

“Why don’t you trust us?” Hanni whispered one night, her eyes glistening with unshed tears as she blocked the hallway. “We only want to protect you.”

Whenever you refused to comply, they’d gang up on you. “If you’re going to be stubborn, oppa, we’ll have to keep a closer eye on you,�� Liz said, leading you back to your room and locking the door behind you.

Their sweet smiles masked something darker—a possessiveness that sent shivers down your spine.

An Attempt

One night, you found a chance to snuck out—a window left unlocked, a moment of freedom within reach. You climbed out, your heart pounding as you sprinted into the night.

But before you could reach the gate, Karina stepped out of the shadows, a sinister grin attached to her face.

“Oppa,” she said, her voice calm yet chilling. “Did you really think you could leave us?”

Behind her, the others emerged one by one, their faces shadowed but their intentions clear.

“You’re ours,” Wonyoung whispered, stepping closer. “And we’ll never let you out of our sight, brother.”

The night after Karina and the others caught you trying to sneak out, they didn’t say a word. They didn’t yell, they didn’t cry. Instead, they simply guided you back to the house, their eerie calmness unsettling. Karina spoke softly as she locked the door behind you.

“I hope you learned your lesson, oppa. We don’t want to hurt you. But if you push us, we’ll have no choice.”

Your heart pounded as you stood there, drenched and trapped. You knew you had to tell your dad. He’d understand, right? He had to.

The next morning, you managed to get him alone in his office before he left for yet another business trip.

“Dad, I need to talk to you,” you started, your voice trembling.

He looked up from his laptop, his brow furrowed. “What’s wrong, son? You look stressed.”

“It’s about… them. My stepsisters. They’ve been acting really strange. They’re controlling everything I do—they won’t let me leave the house. Last night, they even—”

Your dad sighed, cutting you off. “I know they can be a little overbearing, but they’re just being protective. They’re girls, you know? They worry about you.”

“Dad, it’s not normal. They—”

“Listen,” he said, placing a hand on your shoulder. “I’m proud of you for being mature about this. They’ve had a tough time adjusting, too. Give it time. And if it gets too much, just talk to them directly, okay? You’re all family now.”

You stared at him in disbelief, your stomach sinking. “Dad, you don’t understand—”

“I have to catch my flight,” he said, brushing past you. “We’ll talk when I get back. Be good to your sisters, alright? I love you, son.”

The door closed behind him, leaving you alone in the silence.

Your dad’s absence wasn’t unusual. His work took him overseas for months at a time, and your mom—always tied up in her own international projects—was equally distant. It left you entirely at the mercy of your stepsisters, who wasted no time tightening their grip.

“Did you tell Dad?” Hanni asked innocently later that day, sitting cross-legged on the couch with Danielle.

The way she looked at you—head tilted, smile too sweet—sent a chill down your spine.

“Of course he did,” Chaewon said from the kitchen, her voice light but laced with menace. “Not that it matters. Right, oppa?”

You clenched your fists, refusing to meet their eyes.

A New Plan

Desperation clawed at you as the days dragged on. Your phone was still missing, and every attempt to sneak out was thwarted before it even began. It was as if they always knew what you were planning.

One night, you overheard Karina and Yunjin talking in hushed voices near the stairs.

“He’s been quieter lately,” Karina said. “Good. He’s learning.”

“Still,” Yunjin replied, “we can’t let our guard down. He’s stubborn.”

You realized then that the only way to escape was to outsmart them—to make them think you’d given up.

For the next week, you played along.

You smiled when Wonyoung asked you to help her with her makeup routine, even letting her brush against your arm a little too much.

You joined Danielle and Hanni for movie nights, laughing at their jokes and pretending not to notice how they pressed themselves against you on the couch.

When Liz asked you to cook dinner with her, you obliged, biting back your frustration as she leaned over your shoulder, her hand brushing yours.

“You’re being so good lately, oppa,” Chaewon remarked one evening, her eyes narrowing suspiciously. “I like it.”

You forced a laugh. “Maybe I’m finally getting used to this family thing.”

Your chance came late one night when you spotted Yunjin leaving her room, keys dangling from her hand. She’d been careless, leaving her door ajar as she went downstairs.

Heart racing, you slipped inside her room and began searching. It didn’t take long to find what you were looking for: your phone, tucked away in her nightstand.

You grabbed it, your fingers shaking as you powered it on. A flood of notifications popped up—missed calls from friends, messages from Mina, and even emails from your professors wondering why you hadn’t shown up to class.

But before you could call for help, the door creaked open behind you.

“What do you think you’re doing, oppa?” Yunjin’s voice was soft, but the anger in her eyes was unmistakable.

You froze, clutching the phone tightly. “I… I just wanted to check something.”

She stepped closer, her expression darkening. “You’re lying.”

Before you could react, the others appeared behind her, one by one, their faces shadowed but their presence overwhelming.

“Oppa,” Karina said, her tone calm but cold. “We trusted you. And this is how you repay us?”

Wonyoung shook her head, her eyes glistening with tears. “Why would you do this to us?”

“I just wanted—”

“You don’t need anything outside of us,” Liz interrupted, her voice trembling with emotion.

Yunjin snatched the phone from your hand, tossing it to the floor. It shattered on impact, the sound echoing through the room.

“Enough,” Karina said, stepping forward. “It seems you still haven’t learned.”

A Dangerous Game

They didn’t lock you in your room this time. Instead, they kept you close, always watching, always near.

When you tried to retreat to the bathroom, Danielle stood outside the door, humming softly.

When you went to bed, Wonyoung insisted on sleeping in your room, claiming she “had nightmares.”

Everywhere you turned, one of them was there, their sweet smiles masking something darker.

“You’ll see, oppa,” Chaewon whispered one night as she tucked the blanket around you, her fingers lingering on your arm. “We’re all you’ll ever need.”

The realization hit you like a tidal wave: there was no escaping them. Not while you were under this roof.

But you weren’t giving up.

Not yet.

The days turned into weeks, and you quickly learned that resistance only made things worse. The sisters weren’t just possessive—they were meticulous, calculating every move you made as if it were a game of chess. You were the pawn, and they were the queens, slowly closing in on you.

“You don’t need anyone else,” Hanni whispered one evening, brushing a lock of hair away from your face as you sat trapped on the couch. Danielle was curled up beside you, her head resting on your shoulder.

“We’re all you’ll ever need, oppa,” Danielle added, her voice a soft melody that sent chills down your spine.

They controlled every aspect of your life now. Your meals were prepared by them, your wardrobe was chosen by them, and your free time was spent under their watchful eyes. Any attempt to rebel was met with swift punishment.

One night, you tried breaking a window to escape, but before you could climb out, Karina and Yunjin dragged you back into the house, their strength surprising.

“We warned you, oppa,” Karina said, her voice icy. “You’re ours. Why can’t you just accept that?”

Yunjin smirked, holding up the shards of broken glass. “If you’re going to act like a child, we’ll have to treat you like one.”

They locked you in your room for three days after that, only letting you out when you promised—no, begged—to behave.

Your mental state began to deteriorate. The isolation, the constant surveillance, the manipulation—it was suffocating. You found yourself second-guessing everything, wondering if maybe they were right.

“We’re just trying to protect you, oppa,” Liz said one afternoon as she caressed your hair, her touch oddly soothing. “The outside world is so dangerous. People out there… they don’t love you like we do.”

“Love?” you repeated, your voice hollow.

Wonyoung nodded, her eyes wide and earnest. “Of course we love you. More than anyone else ever could.”

It was in the way they said it—in their unwavering gazes and saccharine smiles—that made you realize just how far they were willing to go.

The Birthday Incident

Your birthday was supposed to be a moment of reprieve, a chance to reconnect with the world outside. Instead, it became the turning point—the moment you truly understood there was no escape.

They threw you a party, decorating the house with balloons and streamers. The dining table was piled high with your favorite foods, and a cake sat in the center, candles flickering.

“Make a wish, oppa!” Danielle chirped, clapping her hands.

As you closed your eyes, you thought of freedom. Of running far, far away from this nightmare.

But when you opened your eyes, the sight before you made your blood run cold.

Your phone was there, fixed and placed neatly beside the cake. For a moment, hope flared in your chest.

“You’re letting me have my phone back?” you asked cautiously.

Karina smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “Of course. It’s your special day.”

You grabbed it, your fingers trembling as you powered it on. The screen lit up, and you quickly navigated to your messages.

Only to find them empty.

No calls, no texts, no contacts.

“What… what did you do?” you whispered, your voice breaking.

“We cleaned it up for you,” Yunjin said, leaning casually against the table. “No distractions. Just us.”

Your stomach churned as you looked at them, their smiles widening as realization dawned.

“This isn’t love,” you said, your voice trembling. “This is… this is insane.”

Wonyoung tilted her head, her expression almost pitying. “Oh, oppa. You’ll understand someday.”

From that day on, they tightened their grip even further. The locks on the doors were reinforced. The windows were barred. Every move you made was monitored, every word you spoke carefully scrutinized.

When you tried to rebel, they punished you—not with violence, but with manipulation.

“We’re only doing this because we love you,” Chaewon whispered one night as she held your hand, her grip firm. “Why can’t you see that?”

And when you begged for your freedom, they only smiled.

“You don’t need freedom,” Karina said, her voice soft but unyielding. “You have us.”

The Final Descent

One stormy evening, as thunder rumbled in the distance, you sat in the living room, surrounded by them. They were laughing, talking, acting like everything was normal. But you couldn’t take it anymore.

“You’ve ruined my life,” you said suddenly, your voice cutting through the laughter.

The room fell silent.

“Oppa,” Hanni said softly, her eyes wide. “Why would you say that?”

“You’ve trapped me here,” you continued, your voice rising. “This isn’t a family. This is a prison.”

For a moment, no one spoke. Then Karina stood, her expression unreadable as she walked over to you.

“Oppa,” she said, crouching down so she was at eye level. “You need to understand something.”

Her hand reached out, brushing a strand of hair from your face.

“You belong to us. And we’ll do whatever it takes to keep you safe. Whatever it takes.”

The others nodded in unison, their gazes unwavering.

And in that moment, as the storm raged outside and their words echoed in your ears, you realized the truth.

There was no escape…for now..

The storm outside grew more violent, the howling winds rattling the barred windows. As the sisters began retreating to their rooms for the night, you felt the familiar weight of hopelessness settle in your chest. But tonight, something was different. As you stared out the window, lightning briefly illuminated the outside—the gate was ajar. Maybe one of them had forgotten to lock it after bringing in groceries earlier. It was a slim chance, but it was a chance nonetheless.

You waited until the house fell silent, the sisters presumably asleep. Silently, you slipped on your sneakers, heart pounding as you made your way down the creaking staircase. Every sound felt deafening in the stillness, but you couldn’t stop now.

When you reached the door, you froze. The key was still in the lock. A miracle. With shaking hands, you turned it slowly, praying they wouldn’t hear the faint click as the lock disengaged. The moment it did, you pushed the door open and bolted into the storm.

The rain was cold, soaking you instantly as you sprinted down the driveway and toward the open gate. Freedom was within reach. The pounding of your heart drowned out the thunder as you crossed the threshold, stepping into the empty street beyond.

But then, headlights.

You turned just in time to see a car barreling toward you, the driver unable to stop in the rain-slicked road. The impact was sudden and brutal, sending you sprawling onto the pavement. Pain exploded through your body as darkness consumed you.

Waking in a Nightmare

When you finally came to, the bright lights of the hospital room burned your eyes. The beeping of monitors echoed faintly in your ears, and your body felt heavy, restrained by the weight of painkillers and bandages.

“You’re awake,” a soft voice said, and you turned your head to see a nurse standing by your bedside. She smiled kindly, adjusting the IV line in your arm. “You’re lucky. The accident could’ve been much worse.”

For a moment, relief washed over you. You’d escaped. You’d finally gotten away.

“Where am I?” you croaked, your throat dry.

“The city hospital,” the nurse replied. “You’ve been here for a few days. Don’t worry, we’ve been taking good care of you.”

You tried to sit up, but the pain in your ribs forced you back down. “My parents… Did you call them?”

The nurse hesitated, glancing at the clipboard in her hands. “We tried contacting your parents, but they’re both out of the country and couldn’t be reached. So, we contacted the next closest people to you.”

Your blood turned to ice.

“No,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “Please tell me you didn’t—”

Before you could finish, the door to your room creaked open. One by one, they walked in—Karina, Wonyoung, Hanni, Chaewon, Yunjin, Danielle, Liz. Their perfect faces were painted with expressions of concern, but there was something sinister lurking beneath their sweet smiles.

“Oppa!” Wonyoung cried, rushing to your bedside. “We were so worried about you!”

“You should’ve told us you were leaving,” Karina said, her tone soft yet reproachful. “We could’ve kept you safe.”

“I’m just glad you’re okay,” Yunjin added, her hand resting lightly on your shoulder.

You stared at them in disbelief, your heart hammering in your chest. “How… How did you find me?”

“We’re family, oppa,” Chaewon said, sitting on the edge of your bed. “We always know where to find you.”

Danielle leaned over, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “You scared us, you know. But it’s okay. You’re safe now. And we’re not letting you out of our sight again.”

You looked toward the nurse, desperate for help, but she only smiled. “Your sisters have been here every day, taking care of you. You’re lucky to have such a loving family.”

“No,” you whispered, panic rising. “They’re not my family. They’re—”

Hanni shushed you gently, pressing a finger to your lips. “Shh, oppa. Don’t upset yourself. You need to rest.”

The nurse nodded. “She’s right. You need to focus on recovering. Your sisters will make sure you have everything you need.”

You wanted to scream, to beg the nurse to call the police, but your body betrayed you, too weak to fight back. The sisters crowded closer, their presence suffocating.

Karina leaned in, her hand brushing against yours. “Don’t worry, oppa. We’ll take you home soon. Everything will be just like it was before.”

“No,” you rasped, tears streaming down your face. “Please. Let me go.”

But their smiles only widened.

“You’re ours,” Wonyoung whispered, her voice dripping with possessiveness. “Forever.”

The days that followed were a blur of enforced care. The sisters rarely left your side, taking turns watching over you. Karina handled the paperwork for your discharge, ensuring you’d return home as soon as possible. Hanni and Yunjin fed you, their hands lingering a little too long as they helped you eat. Wonyoung fluffed your pillows, her touch oddly tender, while Danielle played soft music to “help you relax.”

You quickly realized there was no escape. Not here, not in the hospital, and certainly not once they took you back to the house. The accident had sealed your fate, tethering you to them in a way that felt unbreakable.

As they wheeled you out of the hospital on the day of your discharge, you saw the car waiting for you—sleek, black, and ominous. Karina held the door open, her smile as sweet as poison.

“Welcome home, oppa,” she said softly.

The ride home from the hospital felt suffocating. The rain poured down in sheets, blurring the windows of the van Karina had insisted they use to bring you back. You were silent, your leg still throbbing in its cast, while the others chatted in low voices, as if you weren’t even there.

“Don’t worry, oppa,” Wonyoung chirped from the front seat, turning her head to give you a sweet but unsettling smile. “We’ve made some changes to the house. You’ll love it.”

Your stomach twisted at her words. You had been too weak to resist when they insisted on signing you out of the hospital and taking you home. The nurse’s words still rang in your ears:

“They’re your family now, and they seemed so concerned about you. You’re lucky to have them.”

Lucky. You swallowed hard, your mouth dry, as the van pulled into the driveway. The house loomed in the darkness, its windows casting faint, flickering light like the eyes of a predator waiting for its prey.

The moment the van stopped, Chaewon and Danielle were by your side, unbuckling your seatbelt and helping you into the wheelchair. Their hands were gentle, almost too careful, but you could feel the iron grip of their control in every movement.

“Careful, oppa,” Danielle murmured, tucking a blanket around your lap. “We wouldn’t want you to hurt yourself again.”

The door to the house opened, and Yunjin stood in the doorway, her silhouette framed by the dim glow of the lights inside. “Welcome home,” she said softly, her voice carrying an edge of finality.

As they wheeled you inside, your breath caught in your throat. The house you remembered was gone. The cozy warmth and modern elegance had been replaced by something much darker. The walls were painted a muted gray, the windows draped with heavy blackout curtains that allowed no glimpse of the outside world.

But it was the dining room that sent a chill down your spine.

The large dining table had been modified—no, transformed. Each chair was outfitted with thick leather straps on the armrests and legs, as well as a wide belt across the backrest. The table itself had been cleared of its usual decorations, leaving only an eerie emptiness that seemed to magnify the oppressive atmosphere.

“What is this?” you croaked, your voice barely audible.

“It’s for your own safety, oppa,” Karina said, stepping in front of you. Her expression was calm, almost soothing, but her eyes betrayed something far more chilling.

“You’re so clumsy,” Wonyoung added with a giggle, her hand brushing against your shoulder as she leaned closer. “We can’t risk you running off and getting hurt again.”

They wheeled you to one of the chairs, and Chaewon knelt beside you, her fingers brushing your cast as she smiled. “See? This way, you’ll always be safe. Always with us.”

Your body tensed as Liz and Hanni began strapping you in, their movements precise and practiced. You tried to resist, but your weakened state made it impossible to fight them off. The straps were snug but not painful, their tightness a cruel reminder of how little freedom you had left.

“Please,” you whispered, your voice breaking. “You don’t have to do this.”

“We do, oppa,” Yunjin said from behind you, her tone soft but unyielding. “You don’t understand yet, but you will. We’re all you need.”

Bound Forever

As the final strap was secured, Karina crouched down in front of you, her hands resting lightly on your knees. “This is your home now. There’s nothing out there for you—nothing but pain and loneliness. But here… here you’re loved. Here you’re safe.”

Tears burned in your eyes as the reality of your situation sank in. There would be no more escape attempts, no more fleeting moments of hope. The house had become your prison, and your step sisters were its wardens.

“We’ll take care of you, oppa,” Wonyoung said, her voice almost a whisper as she kissed your cheek.

“Forever,” Chaewon added, her fingers brushing against your hair.

As they stood around you, their smiles unwavering and their eyes filled with an unsettling devotion, you realized the horrifying truth: you weren’t just bound to them by straps or walls. You were bound by their obsession, and there was no escaping it.

Not now. Not ever.

[goosewriting]

Could I get a scenario for joaquin x reader: where the reader is an avenger (she was like a protege to clint and natasha) but her main job was designing the suits and gear for other superheroes that works better with their fighting styles. Sams nickname for her is Sketch.

Sam introduces her to joaquin at Isaiahs gym (she trains there but looks after him on sams behalf). She starts to study joaquin to better understand how to equip his suit. After one of their cases, joaquin wanted to make a note in their sketch book where their designs are but ends up finding a different notebook that are not suit/gear sketches, but sketches of everyday things and most of the sketches are of him. Reader walks in to see joaquin found their personal sketch book and freaks out and becomes a stuttering mess. They end up confessing to each other and please make it extra fluffy. Maybe throw in a kiss or two lol. Sorry if this is long, but I had some inspo and your work has been lovely 😊

Sketch

summary: Joaquín discovers that reader’s sketchbook features a lot of drawings of himself.

relationship: Joaquín Torres x gn!reader

warnings: none, fluff! kisses, maybe secondhand embarrassment lol

word count: 4.2k

A/N: i decided to use ‘sewist’ here as a gender neutral term instead of seamster/seamstress. i also changed it a lil bit so that Sam hasn’t seen the green suit yet. and i added a lil bit more at the end to lead up to the kiss, which i hope you’ll like!<3 tysm for requesting, this was such an adorable ask,, it took form in my mind almost immediately and i kept squealing at how tooth-rottingly fluffy this one would be 🙈🙈

[all masterlists] 🪶 [mcu masterlist] 🪶 [ao3]

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

For years, you’ve been in the Avengers’ orbit, helping out by designing their costumes and fighting at their side. After coming back from the blip and getting the news that many of your friends were gone, you decided to fully go into the designing side of helping out all heroes. You’ve made countless garments and weapons of all shapes, sizes and materials.

So while you still keep up with your training, these days you consider yourself more of a sewist and tinkerer than anything else. You mainly hang out with Sam, who introduced you to Isaiah Bradley, one of the few super soldiers still alive from back in the day. He’s let you claim one of the empty offices of his gym as your workspace. You like working there while there’s background noise, be it music or other people training in the ring or with the equipment.

In exchange for using the gym as your base of operation of sorts, you help Sam take care of Isaiah by taking walks with him and making sure he’s eating properly. He may not be physically frail for his age, given the serum, but he’s as stubborn as he’s strong. Since he’s gotten a bit of a soft spot for you over time, you try your best to keep him busy and content. 

One day, Sam comes in with someone new. From where you sit in your office, which has a window to the main training area, you see your friend approach with someone you don’t know, so you get up and approach them. Immediately you come to the realisation that this new guy is extremely handsome and charming. 

“This is Joaquín,” Sam introduces him. 

“Joaquín Torres, Air Force Captain,” he says, stretching out his hand to you. “Pleasure to meet you.” 

“And this is Sketch,” Sam continues, pointing to you. 

“Sketch?” Joaquín asks with a slight tilt of his head. You chuckle and tell him your name, shaking his hand. 

“That’s just what Sam calls me,” you explain with a smile. 

“Yeah, well, you’re sketching in your book all the time,” he says and elbows your side playfully, then turns back to Joaquín to tell him how you’ve helped design most of the outfits everyone has worn over the years, including his new Captain America suit. 

“That’s impressive,” Joaquín says with raised brows and looks at you. A slight heat erupts on your face at the earnest look in his eyes. “Sam was so kind to let me have his old Falcon suit. You think I could run some ideas by you?”

“Of course,” you offer, pointing to your office. “Come by any time.” 

From that day on, Joaquín drops by the gym several times a week, with or without Sam. He mainly uses the time to train with Isaiah, but he also enjoys visiting you and watching you work, chatting about anything and everything while you sew away. 

One morning he comes in to train, and from where you sit at your desk, you can see Joaquín at one of the treadmills. Despite your best efforts, your eyes keep drifting to his figure doing some cardio, with his back to you. At one point he changes to another machine, where he pulls a bar up and down, with the weights lifting and sinking behind him, sitting so that he’s facing your office. Again, you find your gaze drifting to the window instead of focusing on the work on your desk. Risking taking a proper look, you lift your eyes and look to the side. To your surprise and shock, you find him looking at you as well. Both of you are quick to avert your eyes, cheeks prickling with heat. 

That afternoon, you come out of the office to take some measurements. Sam puts on a mock-up of his new suit you’ve made, and you diligently measure everything, taking notes in your sketchbook that you use for designing. Joaquín stands next to you, arms crossed over his chest, following your movements curiously. As you finish measuring Sam’s arm in different positions, you turn back to your book, using some piled up boxes as a table, and jot down the numbers. 

“Do you have all designs in there?” Joaquín asks, pointing to your sketchbook. You pause momentarily, caught off-guard by the question, then you turn to him.

“I mean, not all of them,” you explain. “There’s probably at least forty more books, all with previous iterations and ideas for everyone’s suits and gear.” 

“Wow,” he says, looking at Sam and giving an impressed nod. But then he turns back to you with a mischievous smile, and Sam rolls his eyes, knowing what he’s going to ask. “Do you also have sketches of Ant-Man’s suit?” 

You narrow your eyes at him playfully, then look over to Sam. He merely shakes his head with a chuckle. 

“Unfortunately no. It wasn’t me who designed his suit,” you say, and Joaquín looks a bit disappointed at that. Now it’s your turn to look at him with a glint in your eyes. “That’s oddly specific. Don’t tell me, you’re a fan?”

“Of course I am,” Joaquín retorts, and Sam laughs, giving him a pat on his shoulder.

“I’m still not introducing you,” he says, and Joaquín pouts. 

You laugh as well, then clasp your hands together, giving your sketchbook one last look.

“Okay, Sam, you’re all done, now it’s your turn.” You turn to Joaquín, who’s looking at you expectantly. “Your suit is in my office, there’s a changing room, you can go put it on there.”

“Hell yeah,” he says, starting towards the office, turning to Sam as he walks backwards. “You’re gonna love this.”

Sam looks at you with confusion and suspicion. 

“Just wait and see,” is all you give him. 

A couple minutes later, Joaquín comes out of the office donning his Falcon suit. Sam looks him up and down, recognising the design.

“Is that…”

“Yep,” Joaquín says with outstretched arms to show off his new look, doing a twirl. 

“The new colour was his idea,” you say, walking all around Joaquín to check if the suit sits properly. You come to a short stop when next to him, and lift your eyes to meet his. “And I think green really suits him.” 

As you continue checking him over, you miss the knowing look that Joaquín and Sam exchange. 

“Oh, this doesn’t look quite right,” you say, noticing how there seems to be extra fabric at his waist, instead of sitting flush. You grab your fabric marker, drawing some lines where you’ll need to take in the sides. Only when you’re done do you realise how close to Joaquín you’ve been standing, and how his gaze is cast to the side, a flustered look on his face. You’re quick to take a step back, thinking you might have made him uncomfortable. 

“So, how does it feel? Any pinching? Can you move properly?” you ask him, perhaps a little too quickly in an attempt to change the subject, and he starts moving his limbs in all possible angles, trying out the suit. “If there’s anything at all, please let me know.” 

You pick up your sketchbook to take some notes as he continues trying out the range of motion. 

“Nope,” Joaquín finally says, coming to a halt, and his smile makes your heart hiccup. “It’s perfect, really.” 

You look away, feeling the heat prickling at your cheeks, and the look Sam is giving you is certainly not helping.

“Well if there’s anything at all, or any ideas you might have later, feel free to add them to the sketchbook,” you say, showing him the page where the Falcon suit design is. “Even if I’m not around, there’s post-it notes in my office. Feel free to write down any ideas you might have.” 

“Will do,” Joaquín says.

“Alright, we’re done then. Thanks to you both,” you say, turning to Sam and then to Joaquín. They both nod in acknowledgement, and you walk back to your office with Joaquín to drop off your sketchbook and materials, leaving it all on your already cluttered desk.

You walk out again so that Joaquín can change in peace, and you see Sam get his phone of his pocket. He reads a text and announces he has to go, so you accompany him outside for a moment to see him off. 

When Joaquín comes back out from changing, he finds the two of you gone. Since he’s still holding the suit, he leaves it on the bench in your office, where there’s piles of fabric and other materials. He lets his eyes roam over the space, strangely endeared by how much it contrasts with the rest of the gym. This corner really feels lived in, he concludes. There’s hints of you everywhere. 

He scans the desk next, seeing little figurines, varying from various animals to faceless wooden people, probably used to design the suits. There’s also several bobbins with coloured thread, post-it notes all over, and the sketchbook. 

A thought occurrs to him of a change for his suit that he wanted to ask about earlier, but then promptly forgot when you ended up so close to him. Since you offered earlier for him to write down his ideas, he decides to do that before he forgets again. Without really looking, he grabs the sketchbook and opens it, his other hand going for the post-it notes and a pen. However his movements come to a sudden stop when his eyes land on the open book. He flips to the next page and realises that is is not your sketchbook. Well, it is, but not the one he meant. 

Joaquín quickly shoots another look to the desk below, only now seeing the other sketchbook peeking out from underneath some other materials which you had used earlier when he was trying on the suit. He knows he shouldn’t snoop, but when his eyes land back on the drawings in his hands, he can’t look away. 

This seems to be your personal sketchbook, full of ink and pencil sketches of different daily objects, landscapes, the gym. He recognises the ducks in a pond to be the park nearby, there’s a couple of sketches of Isaiah, Sam, and then him. Joaquín’s heart flutters as he flips another page. Him again. His mind is screaming that he’s very much intruding in your privacy right now by looking at all of these, but he just can’t stop himself, as he finds that the more pages he flips through, there’s fewer and fewer landscapes and animals and almost every sketch is of him. From the back, pulling weights, smiling, laughing, focused while reading something. The strokes around his face start out a little unsure, a bit squiggly even, like they were drawn in a rush. But with every new sketch, your hand seems to have grown more and more sure, flowing over the page until you knew the shapes by heart, his eyes, the curve of his nose, where each and every mole and freckle sat on his skin. He swallows thickly as he flips one more page, his eyes landing for merely a split second on an unfinished sketch of him from behind with no shirt on, the contours of his nape and shoulders marked over again repeatedly, the lower half only sketched out softly, like you hadn’t had a chance to–

Joaquín looks up at the sound that leaves your throat, something between a shriek and a horrified gasp. You’ve appeared in your office again, but he didn’t hear you approach at all. Your eyes dart between the book in his hands and his face, your own beyond flustered as you realise what he just saw. With quick steps, you shorten the distance and snatch the book from his hands, snapping it closed with a forceful thud. He opens his mouth to apoligise profusely, but you’re quicker.

“You weren’t supposed to see that!” Your voice is squeaky, and the embarrassment and shock on your face shift to something closer to anger. “What were you doing?”

“I swear I didn't mean to snoop!” Joaquín says, raising his hands in defence, then points to his suit still on the bench as he rambles. “Sam and you were gone and I wanted to check the notes on the suit again, but I guess I grabbed the wrong sketchbook, and I’m so sorry, I swear it was an accident.”

You groan, your anger dissipating and making room for the earlier emotions again, and you lift your closed sketchbook to cover your face, shoulders tense as you hide behind it.

“I hope you don’t think I’m a creep or something” you say in a small voice, and he chuckles. That’s not the reaction you expected, so you open your eyes and peek over the book to look at him. An adorable blush starts dusting his cheeks.

“Of course not,” he says softly, fidgeting with some clutter on your desk before bringing his eyes to meet yours. You hide behind the book again. “I’m flattered, truly. I get why Sam calls you Sketch, there’s a lot of them. They’re really good.”

There’s a pause, and your hands tighten around the book. Surely he’s just teasing you.

“You really think so?” you risk the question.

“I do,” he says. You’re still not looking at him, and you think you hear Joaquín take somewhat of a sharp breath. “You know, I’ve been stealing my own fair share of glances at you too, I just lack any artistic skill, otherwise I would–” He stops himself abruptly. You dare peek over the book again, and he looks just as flustered as you do, which you find reassuring, but doesn’t really help you calm down. He lifts his eyes to meet yours, and you hold his gaze this time.

“What I’m trying to say is that some of the sketches seemed a bit rushed. I wouldn't mind it if you… took your time.”

“Are you offering to model for me?” you say after a moment. His blush darkens a bit, and he nods sheepishly. You need to force yourself to breathe normally. “I’d like that,” you add in a small voice.

In that moment, Isaiah enters the gym and calls Joaquín over. He excuses himself and joins the older man while you sit down at your desk, finally letting go of your book, and find your hands trembling. Did that just happen?

After a moment of just sitting there and looking down at the book, now slightly bent from your grip, Joaquín comes back to your office, and you look up.

“Isaiah is going home, and Sam already left,” he announces, then seems to think something over. “Would you like to grab some dinner? Right now. With me, I mean. Or in a bit. Whenever you have time.”

“Let me just finish up quickly here and I’ll be right outside.” The words leave your mouth before you can even process his request. 

“Okay,” he shoots you a smile so radiant that it knocks the breath out of your lungs, and you hold onto the edge of your chair out of his sight, fearing you might collapse to the floor right then and there.

Without wasting a second once he’s gone, you’re quick to put everything away and place Joaquin’s suit on your desk so that it would be the first thing you work on tomorrow. You put the sketchbook with the design notes in the top drawer, and the one with your personal sketches you pack into your bag. Another wave of heat prickles at your cheeks when you hold it, thinking back to how Joaquín had seen your many drawings of him. 

After you join him outside, Joaquín and you walk to a nearby restaurant, it’s small and there aren’t many people there yet as it’s still pretty early in the evening. Sam and you come here all the time, the atmosphere is cosy and the menu is really good. You guide Joaquín to one of the booths at the end and order some food, a pleasant conversation taking place while you eat.

Once you’re done eating, you wipe your hands on the napkin and take out your sketchbook and mechanical pencil, clicking it a couple of times to get the lead out.

“Oh, right now? Okay,” he says, and leans back into his seat. “What should I do?”

You flip the pages as quickly and nonchalantly as you can magange until you land on the last sketch, and you clear your throat.

“M-maybe we’ll leave this one for another time,” you say in a small voice, flipping to the next blank page. Joaquín unsuccessfully tries to bite back a smile at the proposition. You scan the room around you. “Just, uhm, lean your head onto your hand and look to the side for now, at that picture with the flowers for example.” You point to the frame on the wall. 

“Okay,” he breathes, leaning his head on a propped up elbow and lifting his gaze to it, but it flickers back to you. “Should I like, smile, or something?” 

“Whichever you prefer,” you say, and start sketching on the paper. Your eyes dart up to him and then back to the page repeatedly. 

After a moment, when you look up, you find him with his face still tilted like you indicated, but his eyes are on you. Your movements stop and you feel a shudder climb up your spine, but it’s not entirely unpleasant, it makes your skin tingle. You hold your pencil to the page, unable to look away from him.

“You’re supposed to look that way,” you say, gesturing to the side with your chin.

“I like this view better than the flowers, though,” he says, seemingly completely unfazed, while your face is set ablaze. You can’t think of any good comeback, so as you look back down to your sketchbook, you mumble, “Suit yourself.”

The next few minutes are spent in comfortable silence, save for the music and background chatter, where your flustered face shifts into focus, and you work diligently to translate his handsome features onto the page. All the while, he watches you work, enjoying the different expressions you make when you get something wrong and erase it, or when you finally figure it out and confidently place stroke after stroke onto the paper. As he comes to the conclusion that he could watch you forever and never get bored of the sight, another blush spreads on his cheeks, and he has to look away for a moment. 

Once you’re done, you add final details here and there, then place down your pencil and hold up your book, checking the drawing over. He drops his hand onto the table, expectantly waiting to see the finished product.

“It’s done,” you say, suddenly feeling extremely self-conscious, and for a moment you consider not showing him. But after he sat so still for you, how could you not? So, gathering some more courage, you quickly turn the sketchbook around, placing it into his waiting hands, and you bring your gaze down to the table while he inspects it.

“Wow,” Joaquín breathes, and warmth spreads in your chest. “This is… This is incredible.”

“You like it?” you ask, daring to bring your eyes up to meet his.

“Of course!” He looks it over once more, pink still sprinkled on his cheeks, then gives you back the book. “You’re a fantastic artist. Thank you for drawing me.” 

He looks like he wants to add something else, but then decides against it. Your brows furrow slightly.

“What? What is it?” Your mind immediately goes to negative comments, like he was about to follow up with a ���but’, saying that it didn’t even look like him, or that you brought out all his worst features and insecurities. 

“How do I put this,” he says more to himself than you, propping up his elbows on the edge of the table and bringing his closed hands to his chin. It takes him a second to find the right words, and when he looks up to meet your gaze, your heart skips a beat. A warm smile starts spreading on his lips as he talks. “Compared to the ducks in the pond, I feel like you put more care and attention to detail into drawing me. Seeing myself through the eyes of someone who… You know. Someone like you. I kinda feel invincible right now.”

You can’t help but laugh heartily, not in a mocking manner, but more so in relief, as you feel exactly the same. 

“Well, I’m glad I could give you a glimpse, then,” you say, and for a moment, you’re so lost in each others’ eyes, you don’t see the waiter approach. 

“I hope everything was to your taste,” the guy says in a practiced customer service voice, and you both jump slightly. He starts taking your empty plates that you pushed aside. “Would you like to ordersome  dessert?”

Joaquín and you decide to share some ice cream, and once you’re done, he pays for the meal despite your protests, insisting that it was him who invited you to dinner after all, and you walk back to his car. 

“I’ll make sure to have your suit done first thing tomorrow,” you promise when you arrive, and your hand reaches out to open the door, but he takes it in his instead, interlocking your fingers, and you turn toward him with big eyes.

“I may not be an artist,” he says seemingly out of nowhere, stepping closer while still giving you enough space to back off if you wanted to. “But I can give you a glimpse of how I see you in other ways.”

Your brain short circuits for a second, taken completely off-guard by his comment. His other hand comes up to your face, softly brushing his knuckles over your cheek, which surely feels much too hot to the touch. You’re now somewhat trapped between Joaquín and the car, while he’s still making sure you can step aside, but you have no intention of doing that. So your own hands come up, trembling a bit, and you place them on this chest. He takes that as a sign to get even closer, and you can feel his racing heart through his shirt, matching your own erratic heartbeat. 

“For example?” you demand, but your voice is so weak, you're not entirely sure if he heard you.

“Can I kiss you?” he asks, and his hand fully cups your cheek. “I’ll admit I've been wanting to for a while now.”

Unable to produce a single word, you merely nod, your eyes fluttering closed as he leans in. It’s still pretty early and there could be people walking by and see you, but you don’t care. Once his lips are on yours, the whole world around you disappears. You’re glad the car holds part of your weight and you can partially lean onto it, since your legs seem close to give out underneath you. The hand on your face cradles the back of your head while the other snakes around your waist. Joaquín kisses you slowly, tenderly. He gingerly takes your bottom lip between his teeth and gives it a slight tug, and he swallows the shaky breath that escapes you, his mouth on yours again. 

The kiss lasts forever and not nearly long enough at the same time, and when he pulls back, you blink a couple of times, looking up him.

“Wow,” is all you manage to say, and he chuckles, backing off you so you can stand properly again. He opens the door for you and you take a seat, still unable to form a single coherent thought.

Joaquín walks around the front of the car and climbs in as well, turning on the navigation system.

“Where to?” he asks, and when he turns to look at you, waiting for you to tell him you address, you grab the collar of his bomber jacket, pulling him close to you once more to give him another kiss. But before he can fully melt into it, you let him go, and quickly sit back.

“Sorry, oh god.” You cover your face with your hands, and he chuckles again. He gently pries your fingers away so you look at him, and gives your hand a squeeze. 

“Don’t be,” he says, bringing your hand to his face and placing a kiss on your knuckles. 

The way his eyes glisten in the dark, only illuminated by the street light outside the car, sends an explosion of butterflies straight through your gut and you have to look away. To distract yourself from the erratic pace your heart is beating at, you bring your attention to the console and enter your address, starting the navigator. Joaquín starts the car and you take off. 

“Will you come back by the gym again tomorrow?” you ask after a while.

“If it were up to me, I’d be there every day,” he says, and you feel even more heat spread on your face, if that’s even possible. “I’ll try my best to come by, I’ll let you know, okay?”

“Okay…” 

“Maybe you can finish that one sketch of yours,” he says with a smug grin, and you playfully hit his shoulder with an embarrassed groan as you remember the drawing of his bare back you had started on a whim but couldn't bring yourself to finish. 

As Joaquín drives you home and you sneak another looks at his side profile, you realise that at this rate you'll need a new sketchbook, dedicated entirely to him.

○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○

🐥 taglist: [link to join in my pinned post!] @f1-tennisgirlie @magikdarkholme @tsunchani @Chuchu8293 @bitchy-bi-trash @guynamedaurel @crumbledcastle28 @sarahskywalker-amidala @crazy4lyricb

[thinkingotherwise]

I decided to publish the short stories about Basen that I had on my WIP list, for a long, long time, and I'm not sure I'll finish writing out the whole fic.

Basen x Fem! Seamstress! reader

First meeting HC and short stories

HC of some first interactions between the two as well as some bg info

(Y/n) BG info

(Y/n)'s very pretty and quickly catches the attention of nearby people with her light purple hanfu kimonos and gentle smile.

Because of her working mostly for Verdigris House, she knows a lot of things when it comes to conducting conversations and pleasing other people.

Inside her home, she's very disorganised and usually wears clothes with ink stains, because of her drawing new dresses. She has many pieces of materials and clothing, which are the only things that seem to be organised in her room.

She is often seen to be carrying a tube for her designs and/or a new dress in a pretty package.

She's not super strong that she could fight someone but she is strong enough to carry the materials she needs and she is agile and quick enough to run away if in trouble.

She's easily flustered and her cheeks are warm almost all the time. She doesn't wear makeup. Of course, like in Maomao's case the Madam from Verdigris wants her to be a courtesan but she disagrees, she thinks she's not pretty enough and has almost no tolerance for alcohol.

She prefers creating dresses and hanfu kimonos for other people.

She tries to be nice and kind to everyone she meets but if someone disrespects her she won't hold herself back to tell them off. She spends most of her money on new materials and clothes and with the rest she tries to help some people, that can't afford food or medicine.

Her father works at the police while her mother helps taking care of her siblings's children. Her father is very protective of his only daughter but hesitantly agrees to let her work as a seamstress for Verdigris.

MaoMao and (Y/n)

Maomao and (Y/n) are friends, as both girls while working at Verdigris met up and talked about different things usually about plants that can dye the fabrics or make the texture different.

(Y/n) is slightly older than Maomao, so whenever they meet she worries about the younger girl, especially after knowing how the apothecary tests poison on herself.

(Y/n) is sometimes called (N/n) as a term of endearment by those close to her: Maomao, the Three Princesses, Madam, and her family. She gets flustered when someone else calls her that, she especially flushes when someone she finds attractive calls her that.

First meeting

Basen was waiting for Maomao to be her attendant for another poison-connected task. When the apothecary finally appeared he turned towards the carriage but didn't notice the girl rushing with a tube and package in tow and bumped into her making her fall.

Maomao instantly recognised the girl and helped her get up while collecting the package as the girl grabbed the tube. "(N/n), what are you doing here? Are you rushing to Verdigris?" Maomao asked. The older girl wiped the dirt from her hanfu and turned happily to her friend. "Maomao, I'm happy to see you. No, I've just bought the new materials and can't wait to get to work on this new hanfu that I thought of." She smiled brightly and took a good look at the shorter girl. "You look happy, is it a new poison?" (Y/n) asked and Maomao joyfully nodded and wanted to talk but a cough cut her off. "Apothecary, we need to go. I don't have time for your chit-chats. I'm sorry Lady (N/n) but we must be on our way." Basen said firmly.

The older girl immediately flustered when she heard him call her by the nickname. She stared at him taking in his pretty eyes and good figure. Maomao giggled at the same time knowing well enough why her friend was so flustered. "I- I see. Then Maomao you can come visit me in my workshop after you're finished. I'm sorry for stopping you Sir, have a nice day." (Y/n) said quickly and turned in the direction she was going quickly running to her workshop.

Basen followed the girl with his gaze before turning back to the apothecary who was grinning widely. "Get in." He told her motioning towards the carriage and sat beside her.

Getting to know his name

"Master Jinshi, Sir Gaoshun, this is my friend (Y/n). She's working as a seamstress mostly for Verdigris." "It's a pleasure to meet you Master Jinshi, Sir Gaoshun. I'm thankful you're taking such good care of Maomao." "Wait, I thought her name was (N/n)." Basen asked confused as his gaze moved to (Y/n).

The girl flushed at that and shook her head before turning towards the younger male. "That's a nickname of sorts that my family and friends call me." He blushed after hearing that and bowed down. "I apologize for calling you that, Miss (Y/n)." "It's fine. In return, you can tell me your name." She smiled softly at him pointing the fact that all this time he hadn't introduced himself. "Aah.. my name is Basen, I'm the second son of Gaoshun and attendant of Master Jinshi." "It's nice to officially meet you Basen."

Gaoshun raises his brow at the conversation between the two and Maomao grinned. "So you're a seamstress? Isn't your father a police officer?" A voice called and (Y/n) turned towards the purple-haired male. "Yes, I sew hanfu mostly for the courtesans but I had some made for other officials as well. As for my father, yes he works in the police."

A little private cliche moment

"Miss (Y/n), what are you doing up there?" A voice called behind the girl making her startled. "Whaa-" The seamstress fell down the ladder as the male voice surprised her.

She closed her eyes before meeting the floor but all she heard was a grunt and she felt something holding her tightly. (Y/n) opened her eyes to be met with Basen who flushed under her gaze but his hold on her stayed and she slowly relaxed in his arms leaning against his chest. "Sir Basen, you surprised me. Why are you here?" She questioned and he sighed before responding. "Master Jinshi is asking for your presence" "Oh, did something happen to Maomao? Why would he need me?" (Y/n) asked slightly worried for her friend. "The apothecary is good, don't worry. It's something about a dress for someone in the rear court, that's all I know."

The seamstress's eyes glimmered at the mention of the rear court and she shivered at the possibility of her sewing a dress that would be worn by someone there. Basen felt the girl shiver in excitement and smiled seeing her gleaming eyes. "Well then, let's go." The girl said, smiling brightly, making Basen automatically turn towards the doors of her workshop. She then giggled and made the attendant stop when she patted his shoulder.

"I think you should let me down before we leave." At her words, Basen noticed that he still held her against his chest and quickly put her down stepping away and turning around to hide his red face. "I'm sorry about that." "No need, well I'm thankful you caught me when I was falling." She smiled in his direction noticing the red colouring even the back of his neck and his ears.

When he didn't say anything (Y/n) collected some of her things necessary for her work and stepped towards the doors. "Well then, can we go, or do you need another minute?" She teased him softly and he jumped at her insinuation. Basen coughed loudly and turned to her with a lighter blush then before moving towards the doors. "Let's go."

[wukyma]

I'm very curious about your Posepoli AU if you are OK with sharing facts about it ? Maybe what you have in mind? Or what Poseidon have in mind withvhis proposition 🤔 I can't only imagine the crew reaction

Also I'm in absolute love with your art ! The way you color? Your Odysseus ? Incredible. Make me think about fairy tales book illustrations you know ? And don't let go on your design of Poseidon ? He look so cold and distanced, it's actually genius!

Oh, thank you so much 💖 It means a lot! I loved illustrated fairytales as a kid and had a similar book of Greek myths, so that's probably where the style comes from, hehe

As for the AU... I lied shamelessly in the other post and speedran through coloring the panels and imma show y'all everything today!

If you haven't seen the previous one go check it out first

SO, Polites lives. But now he has to cope with the consequences of their recklessness,,

⬇️⬇️⬇️ cut because yapping again

The wind bag gets opened, and they're faced with Poseidon seeking revenge,,

Odysseus' apology isn't accepted (who even apologizes like that??), but Poseidon doesn't get to strike him —

Polites steps in and asks for them to be spared.

The god almost laughs in his face because that's an utterly ridiculous attempt, but decides that there's no harm in amusing himself a bit. Yet, no matter what Poseidon thinks about the man and how much he despises his ideals,, Polites is very different from most mortals he met, with his unshakeable belief in a better world (that realization happens much later in the plot, at the moment he's just pissed off)

So, yeah. Poseidon gives them a challenge: if they find another way around the storm, continue their journey without harming or killing (as per Poli's ideology), and get home, he will spare everyone, even Odysseus. The one who's formally "responsible" for holding up their end of the deal is still Polites, and he gets a kind of seal/tattoo as proof that neither side will go against the terms (yay ✨️aesthetics ✨️)

Forgot to mention: the whole crew is alive — 600 men making their way to Ithaca!

Next stop would be Circe's island,,, guess who will become besties? Ehehwhe

Things I believe are important to mention:

Poseidon REALLY doesn't like Polites in this AU (well,, for now) and wants to see him fail, then drown the fleet and be done with it

His main motivation here wouldn't be to avenge Polyphemus, but to prove that Polites is wrong (same as with Odysseus, but more intense)

Get ready for tons of mockery in the next part ( ；∀；)

I headcanon (not just in this AU but in general) that Polites, Perimedes, and Elpenor are also very close friends!

Odysseus is oblivious about Poli's feelings towards him (dude is mole-blind when it comes to that), but Eurylochus knows

Umm, so that's it for now! See y'all next time, because telling things without throwing pictures in seems meh... However, that's up to you, too. I can continue as it is and draw the scenes you'd like to see and/or choose later :3 Just write how u think would be more okayish i guess??

Bonus thing: congrats on reading till the end lol. there is one inconsistency in the comic above. at the sketch stage I flipped 3 of these panels, and they don't match with the other ones (seen in the details) first one to guess (say the nr order, idc) gets to request ANYTHING epic‐related from me :D

[hades-in-bloom]

Curious

Vergil Sparda x Reader

summary: after he finally (and by accident) stays the night, he finds a reason to leave again in the morning. Prequel | Sequel

warnings & contents: fluff all over; a little bit of angst; this silly little man does deserve good things (eventually); Vergil is vergiling again; could be age gap, could be none; the reader could be any gender; no mentions of y/n

a/n: this thing wrote itself. So it’s not my fault. As always, proceed at your own risk. Minors DNI! Masterlist xoxo

soundtrack: luma — devil saint

***

Everything about this feels strange to him. Foreign. Alien, even.

He tracks you with his gaze as you move around the kitchen, still in your pyjamas. He finds this particular piece of clothing strange, too.

"I need coffee," you grumbled at him right before that. To him, ‘need’ feels like too strong of a verb for something he doesn't consider essential. And he would never. Yet for you, it seems vital. This piques his curiosity. Or rather, you pique his curiosity. You—and those little frivolous rituals of yours that seem to shape the world you live in.

To him, it’s fascinating.

He continues to watch your every move until you draw closer to his chair. You hold two cream-colored cups filled with a dark, bitter liquid. Extending your arm, you offer one of them to him. His eyebrows furrow slightly in confusion. He doesn’t expect the gesture, you can see it in a way his shoulders tense, too.

“What am I supposed to do with it?” he asks bluntly, eyeing you up. There’s no malice in his tone of voice, just a smidge of frustration. Barefoot, he sits there clad in his well-tailored leather pants and an intricately designed combat vest, the buttons fastened all the way up to his chin. This way he makes an attempt to shield himself, clinging to the remnants of his dignity.

You give him a smile.

“Drink it,” you say, nudging the cup closer to him. You’re used to him slipping away without a word at dawn, so his decision to stay this morning leaves you taken aback. But you suppress your emotions, determined not to scare him off. “Come on, Vergil. It’s just coffee.”

He hesitates for a moment longer before his slender fingers wrap around the cup, taking it from you.

“Surprised you know what coffee is,” you tease gently.

He smirks faintly. “I’m a demon,” he retorts, “not a caveman.”

“Half-demon,” you remind him playfully.

He hums into the cup as he takes a sip. He doesn’t say a word back. You know he wishes he didn’t have a human heart. You know he believes it makes him weak.

“How is it?” you ask, watching him sip the coffee.

“Appalling,” he mutters in response. “Why do you feel the urge to drink it every morning?”

“Why do you feel the urge to flee from my bed in the mornings?” you counter with a teasing grin.

And then your heart stops. You heart sinks as you realise what you've just said in the heat of the banter. He frowns, and panic washes over you.

“Vergil…” you gasp, but he interrupts you.

“Silence,” he says firmly, though his voice is low. Gentle, even. You comply without question. He pauses to gather his thoughts. He needs a moment of his own to process.

“I am sorry,” you try again as the silence becomes unbearable.

“You have a right to be disappointed. I suppose,” he says suddenly, pinching the bridge of his nose. He looks as if this conversation is giving him a headache, but you know him better than that. He’s actually trying to talk to you about his feelings. Your breath hitches.

“I’m not disappointed,” you try to reassure him. He gives you a telling look. “Alright,” you admit quickly. “I am a bit disappointed. But I do understand.”

“Do you?” he muses, his eyes narrow. You understand his skepticism, too. He’s been through Hell and back, both literally and figuratively. You don’t necessarily share much in terms of life experiences.

Except for one thing: humanity. At least to some extent.

“I won’t hurt you,” you give him a promise.

“I’m not scared,” he scoffs, but there's a hesitation in his voice.

“Then what is it?” you ask bluntly.

“I…” He trails off, his jaw tightening. Abruptly, he stands up and sets his cup on the table. “I don’t need this,” he claims, grabbing his things and soon after leaving the house without glancing at you even once, retreating in shame.

You close your eyes and take a deep breath, trying to calm your racing mind and nerves. Your heartbeat soars before gradually settling as a realisation hits you: he will find you again.

After all, he’s curious.

[esamastation]

fanciestgeckofella: desmond transmigrates into liu qingge

(This is not that, sorry, but I do have a snippet where Desmond transmigrated into Yue Qingyuan which I don't think I ever posted, so, have that one instead.)

-

First thing to go through Desmond's mind is something along the lines of, Oh fuck, here we go again. Next is complete and absolute bafflement. Because he's pretty sure he's supposed to be dead right now.

That alone is very confusing. Then there is… this thing.

[Welcome to the world of Proud Immortal Demon Way! This System is designed to guide you as you go about your existence in this world. Operating under the guiding principle, You Can You Up, No Can No BB, this System hopes to provide you with an pleasant user experience!]

Desmond blinks at the floating screen in front of him. It… doesn't exactly look like any kind of Animus screen he's ever seen - it actually kind of looks like it's from computer from pre-2000s or something, with blocky grey boarder like something he's seen in old TV shows. No Animus programmer would be caught dead using aesthetic like that. Right?

… Well, actually. He could totally see some retro-loving techie liking it. Not Rebecca, though, she's a futurist through and through, but if she'd been into the old style Window XP or something, it probably wouldn't have taken much effort for her to install some sort of theme - aaand that's completely beside the point.

It's an Animus. He's in the Animus again… somehow. Hm.

"Um," Desmond says out loud, and clears his throat. His voice is weird, different from how it should be. Not that unusual, in the Animus, that, but it feels… more than just having an ancestor transposed over himself. Man, they must've upgraded the Animus a lot while he was, uh… "I'm… aren't I supposed to be… dead?" he asks slowly and feels a bit silly doing it, because he's clearly still around, and yet…

[You have indeed died! Your consciousness has been transferred, and your role has been bound: Yue Qingyuan, the Sect Leader of Cang Qiong Mountain Sect.]

… Okay, that's a bit different, but he can almost understand it. Consciousness transfer, role bound, that's probably new term for running around in your ancestor's skin. Yue Qingyuan, that's his ancestor this time around then. Cool. Sounds Chinese, which is interesting, Desmond didn't know they had any family there, but hey, Rebecca did say he had ridiculously low pedigree collapse, so that would mean his ancestry spread pretty far, right?

Ezio did have a Chinese student, Shao Jun, so, some pre-existing connections there. Maybe few generations down the line, they became bit closer. Rubbing a hand over his face and finding some of those familiar markers he shared with Altaïr, Ezio and Ratonhnhake:ton - full lips, aquiline nose, high cheekbones… Desmond nods to himself. Yeah, yeah, seems about right.

And yet there's still something just a bit… off.

"Okay," he says, drawing a breath. "I'm still kind of stuck up on the being dead part. Did you reboot my DNA or something? How am I here being, like, a living - or at least a thinking - person?"

The System window seems to consider this for a moment before answering.

[Your consciousness was captured from your dead body and transferred into your new role.]

Oh.

Desmond squints. "Captured how?"

[Your consciousness was captured from your dead body and transferred into your new role.]

… helpful.

So it was the Grand Temple - the Grand Temple did something? He'd been digitised like Clay and Juno, maybe? Okay, yeah, cool, that makes sense. Not sure how well he likes it yet, but hey, he's around, he's thinking, maybe sorta-kinda living and breathing - it's a step above from not… doing those things. Yeah. He can do this. "Nice. And who's Yue Qi-qin - how do you say that name, again? Who is he?"

[Yue Qingyuan is the Sect Leader of Cang Qiong Mountain Sect, also known as the Xuan Su sword.]

Desmond hums in understanding, eying the window, waiting for more. Nothing more comes, so he says slowly. "… Okay. And what am I supposed to do with him? I mean. What are we after here? Another piece of Eden, or… what?" he asks, folding his - folding Yue Qingyuan's - arms. "What is the mission status?"

[…]

That's all he gets. Literal ellipses, before the System window slowly flattens and disappear, leaving him blinking at empty air.

"… O-kay…?" Desmond mutters, making a face. "That was weird."

He'd never been left hanging in the Animus before. Not cool. The whole initialisation here process was a bit weird, really. Almost feels like they'd left him with an automated answering machine version of the Animus UI, or something. Was he even talking to an actual person there? What the heck. Why resurrect his consciousness at all, if they're not going to tell him what he's supposed to do here? Even Vidic didn't leave him completely in the dark…

Who resurrected him anyway? The Assassins or the Templars?

Uncertain, Desmond glances around for some sort of guidance or clue. The place is nice, and the graphic quality has gone through some incredible upgrades, like, damn. You'd almost mistake it for reality. But there is something seriously off about this. Not just the weird answering machine Animus, but… everything, really.

It doesn't feel like any Animus he's ever been in either. Usually when he starts out, it's as a passive viewer in his ancestor's memory - it takes a bit before he gets control and even then it's sorta not… not full control. Desmond is more used to being the passenger to his ancestor's actual driver. There's never not a moment where he doesn't feel like a second wheel on a unicycle.

Here, it's just him at the steering wheel, just him on the pedals. There's no other mind, no framework of another life - no shell of a person that once was. It's just him, in another body. Weird.

The terminology used was weird too - nothing like the lingo Rebecca or Shaun would've used. You can you up? No can no BB? What does that even mean?

Desmond rubs at his chin for a moment - baby smooth, not even a stubble - and then shrugs his shoulders and goes to get up. Might as well take a look around and try and figure out the limitations of this version of Animus. And it's not like he knew anything about Altaïr or the others either, not before getting the synchronisation up and running, so… better get started with that.

It's still a bit weird though. Usually he gets thrown into a cut scene first to get started with. Waking up in someone's - frankly rather fancy - bedroom is new. Ezio not counting.

Oh well.

-

And then he walks out under dressed and scandalises all the disciples on Qiong Ding Peak.

Alas that is as far as it got really, but the idea of Desmond as Yue Qingyuan is still weirdly dear to me.

[forgettable-au]

In a Deltarune au of THIS au, would the "little brother" in the house trousling bones be Papyrus or Wingdings?

Okay this is an old ask and I was gonna answer with some drawings but ...

I DON'T HAVE A DESIGN FOR WINGDINGS THERE!!!! SO!!! I CAN'T...

Still, I'll try to answer :D

YES, PRECISELY

I DO HAVE A DELTARUNE AU OF THIS AU

And in this AU of my AU, the reason why we don't see Papyrus or hear his name is because it's actually still Wingdings lmao

Turns out he didn't shatter across time and space here

I need to make a design so I can draw some of these ideas but, uh, I'll explain the basics quickly!

So! Wingdings and Sans are still twins, Sans just likes to be annoying and call 'Dings his younger brother (which is something that actually does happen in the main forgettable-au lmao)

They're a bit older (I just generally hc everyone in deltarune is a bit older than their undertale counterparts) and they just moved to hometown from the city! That's were they used to work! Before Wingdings got fired for unnamed reasons! Also, Wingdings is using a fake name "Roman" !

And yeah!

Wingdings and Sans are currently in the middle of a fight? They're not on the best terms, Wingdings didn't want to move to hometown and refuses to get out of the house

Wingdings is not doing great! He has no job, no friends, he just moved out of the city he didn't want to leave, and there's other stuff too!!

Sans isn't doing that great either but he's trying to do okay! He sees hometown as a new opportunity and a he's already making friends with the locals! He's trying to get Wingdings to do that as well, it's not working!

Why would Sans ask Kris to hang out with his brother, a grown man? I DON'T KNOW, BUT LIKE, THAT'S WEIRD EVEN WITH REGULAR PAPYRUS! (I know a lot of people think Paps will be a teenager in deltarune, but idk, that feels weird?? Why would Toby make so many characters older and then Papyrus younger??? It's still a possibility tho... and it would be interesting to see)

You know how in forgettable-au they both still use proper grammar before the incident? That doesn't work here (because Sans in deltarune is clearly using lowercase and I can't just change that), sooooo... they both use constant lowercase!

Or I could just ignore that one theory of uppercase and lowercase and accept it's probably just a stylistic choice....but I won't do that............

And yeah that's basically it! :D

Imagining this au of my au as a thing to happen in game is very funny, because if something like that actually happened I don't think the fandom would ever recover.... just imagine the chaos...

For anyone that might ask this:

Why would the voice at the start of the game react to us naming our character Papyrus if Papyrus isn't in the game?

My explanation for that is: Well, if theories are correct and that voice IS Gaster, he probably knows that we know Papyrus from playing undertale! He's acknowledging that... not the fact that Papyrus is in deltarune...but there might be someone similar we can meet, he knows who we expect

Okay that's it! That's the AU of my AU! I really want to make art for it

But I seriously have no idea how Wingdings would look...

I'm just...very bad at designing regular clothes.....

[megbanned]

Hi Meg megbanned! It’s a pleasure to meet you. I just wanted to ask something. Your UWD concept fascinates me. How did you come up with it?

Hi hiiiiii!

Time for loreeeeeeeee XD

This is kind of old but basically- before entering the fandom I was creating a new fursona and sonicsona

Thiis one

But after knowing the series 1 year ago (November 1), it occurred to me to make my fursona into a drone, but I wanted it to keep their design.

So then I did this first concept for my drone

It looks a little weird since I didn't know how to draw the drones body, so I just made it similar to the Sonic style, I even included 5 fingers and the paws X'D

Although its appearance changed when it became a drone, I had more in mind that it would be like a small demon drone, something silly.

This was the first reference I made about my OC, it still had 5 fingers at that time and the design of the body where the lava was was different (I didn't know that drones had cores or the sign on their chests) and also my own oc was the first post about murder drones that I had made on twitter X'D and I call it just "A worker drone from the underground"

After creating this OC I said to myself "why don't I make more OCs with the same concept?" So I created 3 more

Although after a while I got a little annoyed that they looked so similar in terms of "drone model" and eventually differentiated them slightly in markings and colors (ABS was the second OC I created, so she is still very similar to her first concept and MB), I think by this point I was starting to think more that they were already a different type of Worker drones x'D

I mean: -They have Worker Drone bodies. -They have horns. -They have tails. -They have lava characteristics and different abilities and weaknesses.

They were definitely another type of drones and to clarify the above I had made this information sheet since I had been asked what my OC was about.

Pretty old information and designs x'D

And then I wrote a little more about my drones here https://www.tumblr.com/megbanned/744965835843649536/i-got-a-qeustion-so-pretty-sure-your-mascot-is?source=share

So after this I already had a simple base about what these drones were, they already had their first part of the lore and what they could do.

After a while, some friends and other people started asking me if they could create a drone similar to mine I didn't know what to answer because at first I only kept them for myself and my stories.

Unfortunately it took me a while to think about what to do…

After that I thought I could do something more with them, create more lore for them, establish their abilities and weaknesses a bit more, more basic information and more freedom regarding their designs. So I started making some custom designs for close friends.

Plus I also did some roleplaying since that helped me figure out what else they could do while answering my friends' questions.

In addition, other friends gave me advice on how to balance the drones and bring them closer to the Murder Drones canon but also leaving some artistic freedom.

Also, something funny is that at one point I got to write a script for a fake analog horror video about these drones XDDDDDD doing that helped me clarify more information.

And well, after a couple of months, having free time, and with my knowledge of closed and open species, I was able to compile all the information in this Guideeee

And that's how this subtype of drones appeared x'D

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

[factual-fantasy]

Bonjour Factual! Sorry it's been a bit since I sent an ask, life has been pretty crazy! But I finally found the time to write and tell you how AMAZING your Transformers art these past few days have been! As I've said before, Prime is a childhood show of mine, and I'm amazed to see how well you have captured the characters personalities, and how seamlessly you've mastered drawing the designs in your art style (even if it takes time!)

Also, Im so glad you've explored the Optimus/Ratchet dynamic the show occasionally showed- and also I just wanted to point out your observation regarding Ratchet is correct! Back during the war on Cybertron, as shown in the aligned continuity prequel novels and games, Ratchet was an absolute BEAST on the battlefield, fighting right alongside Prime as both a field medic and elite warrior.

He really only took a backseat by the time he got back to Earth because his age was finally catching up to him, and because, as the last living medic/space bridge tech in the area, was too valuable to risk losing. As you pointed out, the few times he does fight in the show he proves to still be very capable, only really outclassed by the Decepticon higher ups. (So feel free to make the old man as cool as you want in any future works!)

However! Before I go, there is one thing that I must protest as a loyal Vehicon enjoyer! In your recent post, you referred to them as Drones! Among Vehicons the term "drone" is considered a derogatory term, which you'll notice some Cons like Starscream (of course) use often in the show. This is untrue! Though a lesser known fact, one I believe I've mentioned before, the Vehicons are Clones, not Drones! Every individual we see is an individual cybertronian, fighting for the Decepticon cause!

The show even confirms this in several ways! For one, if you listen closely, every single Vehicon who speaks in the show is given a unique voice actor despite their shared bodies, and many display distinct personalities- some openly loathe Starscream, while others seem to highly respect him for example. Breakdown is even seen casually chatting with one! And on the darker side of things, Ratchet of course knew he could torture one for information when on his synth rampage- and also, the spark extractor super weapon works on them, showing individual souls pulled from each helpless Vehicon! 😢

On the bright side, several go on to survive the war, and prove their individuality in the various sequel series- including the bounty hunter Shadelock, who actually had his face seemingly reconstructed to stick out from his cloned brethren:

As well as the fan favorite, Steve! Poor guy got his brain module scrambled and forgot his original name, so he just picked one off a human billboard he saw! (He also ended up turning over a new leaf, and he, alongside some other Vehicons, decided to stop fighting the Autobots, and they left on good terms)

But forgive the rant! I've Always enjoyed the Vehicons small but important role as not-so-emotionless cannon fodder in the show, and if you rewrite them as Drones that's fine by me! The new movie TF One kinda did that with the Death Trackers, who were directly inspired by the Vehicons! Regardless, I wish you a wonderful day Factual! Hope your health is holding up! ( Oh, and almost forgot, thanks a million for drawing foxy again! Still one of my favorite series of yours! Here's to hoping to see him again someday! )

Thank you so much, I appreciate all the compliments! :DD But all this Vehicon chatter feels like.. honestly like its riddled with plot holes-

The reason I say this, is because all that you said about Vehicon clones clashes with what we see with Starscreams clones in season 2 episode 10.

In this episode, Starscream walks into that lab and calls the base bodies "protoforms". But right after this he says "Lets give cloning a whirl, shall we?" And later on Megatron refers to them as "clones". So its safe to say that these 5 Starscreams are CLONES.

This is where the Starscreams clash with the Vehicons. First, they all have Starscreams exact voice. And they claim "We are as one commander." "We share your memories." "Your very feelings." "Even your insatiable quest for power." Yet despite the Vehicons ALSO being clones, they all have different voices and opinions. How?

So by extension, if they are clones and are meant to have the same feelings and opinions as each other- just like the Starscreams- then how come some of them turned Autobot, while others took pleasure in beating Orion (amnesia Optimus) down and kicking him in the face while he refused to fight? That doesn't line up with what we saw in S2 EP10.

And another point, the Vehicons had their sparks ripped out by the spark extractor. A spark is the "soul" of a Transformer. So are you saying that Cybertronians have the ability to create souls like primus did? These measly mortal bots have the ability to create literal souls and life via cloning? Talk about overpowered technology and playing God..

These few points made me lean towards other options that in my mind, make a little more sense then what we see with the Starscreams and Vehicons..

The main solution I'm leaning towards is to make them like Starscreams clones. An important point is they do NOT have sparks. They are like robots or.. dare I say drones- in the most literal sense. They all have the same voice and same mind. They were probably cloned long ago from a few specific loyal warriors that Megatron had. The originals don't exist anymore so now new sets of clones are clones of clones of clones. Which slowly degrades the quality of the clones overtime. Which is why you'll have like 10 surrounding 1 bot and NONE OF THEM land a single shot. Its because their aim and reaction time had deteriorated over the multiple clone generations.

Its also why they are so expendable and Megatron never seems to run out of them. If they don't have real sparks, they're not real people. So there is absolutely no loss to the Deceptions when they die. They can just make a copy of that exact fallen soldier over and over again. Its why the Autobots don't seem too upset when they kill all of those Vehicons and don't hesitate to hurt them.

Also Optimus could have gotten on Ratchets case when he attacked that miner because even though it's just a clone, its still a miner clone. His morals still apply to this creature. Also it doesn't have the mind or emotions of a fighter. It was afraid and wasn't designed to/couldn't protect itself. So Ratchet attacking it- despite it not being a living Cybertronian, was wrong.

Now all this to say- I'm not trying to insult Vehicons or anyone's love/opinions on them. I feel like some of my TFP views have been clashing with a lot of people lately.. I just cant help but read things wrong or get analytical or try to sniff out plot holes.

The Vehicons don't seem to make sense to me because they are nothing like Starscreams clones. And they have sparks, which shouldn't make sense.

So either I change the canon and remove their sparks and individuality to line up with the Starscreams clones, or I make them all real and individual people who would absolutely be much harder to fight then the canon Vehicons because they have real battle experience and real minds like the Autobots do. (Having real people would also cause so much more chaos in the Decepticon ranks that I don't think Megatron could keep them under control)

[cherries-c0la]

🍒Flash sale🍒ft. Piecer Katsuki Bakugo

You weren’t exactly sure how your night came to this. Well you kind of understood. One of your friends had recently broken up with their long term boyfriend. It was one of those messy break ups you know, with lots of yelling, lot of crying and lots of energy had been drained and sucked into all of it.

The sounds of laughter, catching up and singing off key to the shared playlist that you all had made to remind yourselves that men were not needed within your lives. Once the make up was finished, pregame seltzers were finished and the Lyft was called it was finally time to hit the bars. From one bar to another the drinks flowed into you guys and quickly the night went from a romance funeral to friendship celebration.

You weren’t typically the type to enjoy going out but you could spare one night for the sake of helping a friend mend a broken heart. By the last bar you figured the girls would be ready to go home which seemed to be the case as you guys stumbled out on to the crowded sidewalk filled with other bar hoppers and climbers. To your luck though something had caught the other girls eyes.

Flash sale on tattoos & piercings.

You’re friends all jumped to excitement, quick to all ready go back and forth on the ideas they had for the what they should get. You on the other hand weren’t so sure about it.

You hadn’t had a piercing since you gotten your earlobes pierced. Which also happened to be before you could even remember cause your mama got them done six months.

You also never had a tattoo and didn’t exactly have a reason. Ideas have crossed your mind multiple times but the thought of a commit wasnt exactly for you. Even with that you found yourself being dragged into the excentric shop. You were greeted by a worker at the front desk who was happy to show your eager friends the tattoos for the sale and some of the piercing prices.

You on the other hand was focused on taking in your surroundings. The walls held a vintage like wall paper that held framed work of different tattoo designs and different gold antiques. It definitely wasn’t the type of shop that you seen in the movies but it did calm your anxiety a bit.

“ omg what are you going to get?” The sound of one of your friends dragged your attention from the wall paper to them as some of the girls had already started to fill out the paper work. You only had a few seconds to think so you went with what came to mind first.

“Piercing ,” you answered trusting the gut feeling you had. It felt less permanent than a tattoo since you had the option to take it out but there was so many option on where you could get it place.

Plus it would be quick right? Hearing you answer the pink hair girl at the desk nodded with a smile before passing you a form to fill.

“Oh perfect, our piercer has an opening now, what are you thinking? Septum, Medusa? Nipples,” she asked excitement and curiosity laced in her words. The sound of your friends snickering only made your cheeks flush more.

They knew you well enough to know the thought of your nipples being pierced horrified you. Not in the way that you would never do it but in the way that you don’t think you could bear the pain. “Oi Pinky stop scaring my clients !” A harsh voice boomed quickly drawing the attention of everyone. That attention had easily been stolen by the blonde who had entered the room.

Bright vermillion eyes stared down to the four of you with a scowl that was the tie definition of if looks could kill. Silence fell between you all as he made his way over to you all.

At least to you it was silent. The sound of your friends giggling and whispering about the handsome male as fazed out by the sake features that had them gawking.

“You know I think I might get a piercing now,” your one friend giggled with a cheeky smirk looking over at the male who was too focused on reading your paper work.

“We were just discussing what kind of piercing she was thinking of getting ,”the other worker said still as cheerful as ever.

“So what are we doing then Mina?” He asked his eyes still glued to the paper not acknowledging the way your girls were looking at him . That was till you decided to speak up for yourself, nervously but still for yourself. “I was still thinking, but I was considering my lip.”

Your words came out shaky as you fidgeted with your fingers. Something about the way he looked at you made you feel like he could smell the fear in you. His eyes flickered from your eyes down to your lips, licking his own before giving you a nod. Something about his eyes on you made you heat up.

From an unknowing eye it would had looked like he was checking you out.

Wondering what your plumped lips felt like and thinking of what they tasted like but he surely was just trying to figure out what would look nice.

“Alright, come with me and we’ll get you a new piercing, Deku and half n half will be grabbing you two in a second,”he said simply before gesturing to follow him.

Now here you were sitting on the table similar to the ones for the tattoos. Taking in your surroundings. The room was surprisingly neat, something you hadn’t expected from the seemingly handsome grump. The walls were covered in posters of different rock bands and some drawings. You were looking them over when his gruff voice pulled your attention over to him. “So what’s your name,” he asked as he started pulling his tools out from his drawer.

You blinked, realizing you’d been staring at a drawing of a skull with roses long enough to lose track of time. Quickly turning your attention back to him, you cleared your throat, trying not to let your nerves get the best of you.

“Uh—It’s Y/N,” you said, the name catching in your throat with how tight your chest felt.

He gave a nod, pulling out a pair of gloves before tossing them onto the tray. “Y/N, huh,” he repeated, letting the name sit on his tongue like he was testing it out. The sound of it sent a flicker of heat down your spine.

“I’m Bakugou,” he added, already busy organizing his tools with quiet precision. He didn’t ask if you were ready. Didn’t fill the silence with small talk. Just worked—focused, steady. But there was something in the way his eyes flicked up to you, in how sharp and direct his gaze was, that made you feel like you were being studied.

“First piercing besides your ears?” he asked, voice low and gravelly.

You gave a small nod. “Yeah. Sort of on a whim.”

Bakugou huffed—half a laugh. “Tch. Thought so. You’ve got that look.”

“What look?”

“That ‘what the hell did I just sign up for’ look.”

You laughed nervously. “That obvious, huh?”

“Only ‘cause I’ve seen it a hundred times.” He stepped closer, tapping your chin lightly with his knuckles. “Chin up.”

You obeyed, pulse jumping as his fingers tilted your head. He marked your lip with a quick, practiced hand—but instead of stepping back, he lingered. His thumb brushed along your bottom lip, slow and deliberate, tracing the soft curve like he was figuring something out.

“Nice lips,” he murmured, mostly to himself. “You’d pull off a labret easy.”

Your breath hitched, but he kept going—fingers brushing along your features like he had a map in mind. “But you’re not sold.”

You blinked. “What?”

He cocked a brow. “You keep lookin’ at the mirror like it’s gonna decide for you.”

You let out a small sigh, sheepish. “Yeah. I don’t know. I didn’t think I’d actually go through with it, and now I’m here, and I feel like I’m about to make a forever decision in five minutes.”

Bakugou clicked his tongue. “It’s metal, not a tattoo. You change your mind, you take it out. You won’t even have a scar.”

He leaned one arm against the counter, angling his body closer to yours. His voice dropped, smooth and low. “Alright, indecisive girl. You want help deciding? I’ll give you options. You just tell me what kind of chaos fits you best.”

You laughed under your breath. “Okay. Shoot.”

“Lip piercing’s a classic. Labret sits just below the lip—edgy but clean. It draws attention. Can be cute, hot, a little bratty depending on how you wear it.”

He moved his thumb across your bottom lip again, slower this time. “You? You’d wear it hot.”

Your breath caught in your throat.

He continued, hand shifting to gently graze your nose without quite touching. “Now, septum—that’s bold. Sexy. The kind of piercing that says you’re not afraid to ruin someone’s life.”

Your eyes widened slightly, and he smirked like he knew exactly what he was doing.

“Or we could go stud,” he added, brushing a knuckle along your nostril. “Simple. Subtle. Soft. That kind of pretty that sneaks up on people.”

He let his hand drop, eyes locked on yours. “You’ve got a face that could pull off any of it. Question is… how loud do you wanna be?”

You bit your lip. “God, you’re making this harder.”

He gave a small laugh, teeth flashing. “Not tryna sell you. Just giving you the truth. But—” he stepped back slightly, reaching for a sterile wipe, “I will remind you… we’ve got that buy one, get one deal tonight.”

Your brows rose. “Wait, seriously?”

“Mmhm.” He gave you a look. “So if you’re gonna spiral about one, might as well commit to two.”

You stared at your reflection for a second, heart hammering. Then turned to him again.

“…Screw it. Let’s do both. Septum and labret.”

Bakugou’s grin was slow and dangerous. “Now that’s what I’m talkin’ about.”

He pulled a fresh pair of gloves on, voice a murmur as he got the tools in order. “Gonna look real fuckin’ good when I’m done.”

And from the way his eyes roamed over your face—hungry, confident, certain—you believed him.

You sat watching anxiously as he turned his back away from you getting set up. He moved with practiced ease, pulling on gloves and cracking a fresh saline wipe. “Alright, chin up. Gotta clean you first.” He said as he turned back to you. You tilted your head obediently, and his fingers were gentle but firm as he dabbed along your lip with the cold saline. He was focused again, back in his zone, but that tension was still there—something in the way he touched you, like he wasn’t just going through the motions.

“Little sting,” he warned, then cleaned the area beneath your nose. The swipe of the wipe sent a cold jolt up your spine, but you didn’t flinch.

“Look at you,” he muttered, just loud enough for you to hear. “Takin’ it like a champ.”

You rolled your eyes, trying to stay steady while your pulse absolutely wasn’t. “You say that like the hard part’s over.”

He chuckled low in his throat, tossing the used wipes in the bin. “This part’s just the foreplay, sweetheart.”

You choked on your breath, and he knew it, the smirk on his face proving he said it just to mess with you.

You watched his next move as he pulled out a small black tray and slid it toward you on the counter, revealing rows of neatly organized jewelry. Some simple and sleek—others a little more bold, even flashy.

“Alright, trouble,” he said, snapping on his gloves with a loud pop. “Pick your poison.”

You raised an eyebrow. “You call all your clients that?”

He gave a lazy shrug. “Only the ones who walk in lookin’ like they’re about to make bad decisions.”

You let out a soft laugh, eyes scanning the tray as he leaned in close again, resting his arms on the counter beside you like he had all the time in the world.

“Start with the labret,” he murmured, voice low and near your ear now. “You want something simple to start—flat back, maybe a little gem, or something black if you’re feelin’ badass.”

You glanced at a sleek black stud and a silver one with a tiny clear crystal. “What do you think?”

He smirked. “Black’s got attitude. But that one?”—he pointed to the gem—“That’s the one people’ll notice when you talk. Especially with lips like yours.”

Your face heated, but your fingers hovered over the gemmed one anyway. “Okay. This one.”

“Good choice,” he said, already setting it aside like he knew that’s what you’d pick.

He moved on to the septum options, reaching into another case and laying out a few small rings. “Now for this—same deal. You want subtle, we’ve got a clicker with a tiny gem. You want bolder, I’ve got a gold segment ring. Or you could be reckless and go horseshoe—keep people guessing.”

You eyed the horseshoe ring, feeling something flutter in your stomach.

Bakugou noticed. “That one, huh?”

“It’s kinda… edgy.”

“It’s hot,” he said flatly, meeting your gaze. “You’d wear the hell out of it.”

You swallowed hard, heart thudding. “Okay. Horseshoe, then.”

He gave a satisfied hum and straightened up, snapping the jewelry into place on a small tray. “Alright, Y/N,” he said, stepping closer and gently tilting your chin again, “I’m gonna do your lip first. Deep breath, yeah?”

You nodded, but your heart was racing.

“You sure?”

You nodded again, a little firmer this time. “Yeah. I want this.”

That earned you a rare, approving smile.

“Good. Then chin up, pretty girl. Let’s make this official.”

He marked the spot with a surgical pen once more, leaning close—too close—as he inspected it, thumb brushing across your lip again with maddening slowness.

“This part’s gonna sting,” he murmured, voice a little rougher now, “but just breathe through it.”

And before you could reply, he was focused again—steady hands, sharp eyes. You barely had time to process the clamp before—

A quick, clean pierce.

A sharp inhale.

Then it was done.

“You’re good,” he muttered, threading the stud through like he’d done it a thousand times—but still with the care like this one mattered.

When he stepped back, he tilted your face gently toward the mirror. “Take a look.”

You leaned in.

The gem caught the light, small but striking, nestled just beneath your lower lip.

“Damn,” you whispered, not even meaning to say it out loud.

Behind you, Bakugou chuckled. “Told you. Hot.”

You turned, nerves buzzing as he changed gloves again.

“Alright,” he said, grabbing the septum clamp. “One more. You still with me?”

You nodded—because, honestly, what else could you do?

He stepped in again, brushing his thumb along the tip of your nose this time. “This one’s a little spicy. Eyes might water. Don’t freak out on me.”

“I won’t,” you whispered, though your voice shook just a little.

He gave a low laugh and lined everything up. “You better not. I just started liking you.”

And then the clamp went on, the pressure sharp and cold.

Deep breath.

Another quick sting—and then it was over.

Bakugou wiped at the corner of your eye with a soft chuckle. “Told you it’d get you.”

You blinked, a tear slipping down uninvited. “Okay, that one hurt.”

“But you took it like a champ.”

He carefully twisted the horseshoe ring into place, then stepped back again, letting you turn toward the mirror.

And wow.

The mix of the delicate gem below your lip and the bold, silver ring through your septum hit like a switch. You barely recognized yourself—but in the best way.

“…Holy shit,” you muttered.

Bakugou crossed his arms and leaned against the counter, watching you.

“Told you,” he said again, with a small, satisfied smirk. “Badass.”

You stared at your reflection, still processing the image staring back at you. The mix of the gem on your lip and the silver horseshoe ring in your septum made your features pop in a way you hadn’t expected. It was bold, it was daring—it was everything you never thought you'd be.

And yet, you couldn't stop staring, almost in awe at how well it suited you. Your lips quirked into a half-smile as you glanced back at Bakugou, who was still leaning against the counter, arms crossed, looking more like he owned the room than ever.

"I’m actually... kind of obsessed with it," you admitted, still a little surprised by how good it looked. "You were right."

Bakugou’s smirk softened into something a little more approving, but his eyes were still sharp, like he was analyzing every little change in you. “Of course, I was. You wouldn’t have come to me if you weren’t ready to take it up a notch.”

You raised an eyebrow, a playful challenge rising in your chest. “Is that your way of saying I’m not badass enough without it?”

His gaze locked with yours, the faintest hint of amusement tugging at his lips. “Nah. You’ve got that covered,” he said, stepping closer and looking you over again, like he was inspecting a masterpiece. “Just needed the right touch.”

A soft chuckle slipped from your lips, feeling a flush of warmth at his words—though you weren’t entirely sure if it was from the piercing or the weight of what he was suggesting. "Right touch, huh? Guess you know what you're doing after all."

Bakugou shrugged, the smirk still playing at the corners of his mouth. “I don’t half-ass anything.”

You met his gaze, the room suddenly feeling smaller despite the space between you. Something unspoken lingered there, an energy crackling, like the quiet before a storm. “Well, it definitely shows,” you said softly, taking a step closer, eyes not leaving his.

Bakugou’s expression flickered for a second—something almost soft, almost warm, but it was gone as quickly as it had appeared. He cleared his throat and glanced away, but not before you caught the brief flash of vulnerability that he never usually let anyone see.

“Yeah, well,” he muttered, the usual gruffness returning to his voice, “don’t get used to it.”

You chuckled, the air between you two suddenly thick with something more than just tension. Something that made you feel alive, like maybe, just maybe, you were both capable of breaking free from the personas you wore.

“Right,” you said, smiling to yourself. “I’ll just enjoy the badass moment while it lasts.”

Bakugou scoffed, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes—an acknowledgment, maybe?

“Don’t get all sentimental on me now,” he said, but there was no malice in his voice, only a hint of something close to... affection.

And for the first time, you let yourself smile, genuinely, without thinking about the next step, the next word. Just enjoying the raw, unspoken connection between you two.

"Maybe I'll just keep coming back then. Who knows what else I could get you to do?" you teased, taking a step back and turning toward the door, ready to leave.

Bakugou’s voice stopped you, rough but with an underlying warmth. “Next time, don’t wait so long. I won’t always be this nice.”

You turned to face him, a mischievous grin tugging at your lips. “Oh, don’t worry, Bakugou. I’m already looking forward to it.”

Bakugou gave you a quick nod and gestured toward the hallway. "Come on, I'll walk you to the waiting area," he said, his tone still casual, though there was an unmistakable edge of interest beneath it.

You followed him as he led the way down the corridor, past the other tattoo stations. The buzz of machines filled the air, but it was his steady footsteps that seemed to echo in the space. You couldn’t help but notice how easy he made it look—his confidence, the way he moved through the shop like he owned it.

When you finally reached the check-out area and the waiting section beyond, Bakugou turned to face you. The faintest smile tugged at the corners of his lips, and he crossed his arms again, his eyes scanning you with that same intense gaze.

“Guess this is where I leave you to wait, huh?” he said, voice soft but still carrying that teasing edge.

You nodded, about to sit down, but before you could, Bakugou stepped a little closer. "But I’m not leaving without something," he said with a smirk, his eyes flicking toward you with that familiar, flirtatious gleam. “I’m gonna need your number. Can’t just let you walk outta here and leave me hanging.”

You shot him a playful look. "You're really not shy, huh?" you teased.

He shrugged nonchalantly, his grin widening. "Why should I be?"

With a roll of your eyes but a smile tugging at your lips, you grabbed your phone and handed it to him. He took it with a small chuckle, quickly typing in your contact and handing it back with a wink.

“Now I’ve got a way to reach you,” he said, his voice smooth and low. “Don’t keep me waiting too long.”

As he turned to walk back toward his station, Mina, who had been watching from a distance, gave you a teasing smile. She leaned against the wall, arms crossed, and raised an eyebrow, her gaze flicking between you and Bakugou.

"You two look cozy," she called, her voice light and teasing.

You shot her a playful glare, but there was no hiding the flush creeping up your neck. Mina simply grinned wider, clearly enjoying the moment. Bakugou, however, didn't seem to notice—or maybe he just didn’t care—striding back to his work station with a casual, confident swagger.

You settled into the waiting area, your heart beating a little faster than usual. It wasn’t over yet, not by a long shot.

[crunchybeards]

Could you do a breakdown of Xaria and Monty please? I think they're a bit misunderstood in the fandom and I've grown to appreciate their characters

I'm gonna be going hella off script for like the actual ask thingy that this stems from because my rambling/ answer style is very loose, like the skeleton is there but I prefer just going nuts with it lol. Like this will be a bit of mini-breakdown for these two, nothing too in depth but I just gotta yap about these two.

Usual rambling beneath the cut, with a TL:DR at the end:

But anyways, hard agree. I'll preface with this, I think certain people in the fandom just kinda saw/ heard about the dinner interaction/ cutscene where Xaria kicks the Rat Child and immediately dismissed her character and by extension Monty as a result. Like as ridiculous as this sounds, Xaria does care for the greater good, she does care about animal rights, I wouldn't even be surprised if it were revealed that she attended rallies or protests for the greater good. On paper she's a kind person. Monty just does his own thing whilst hanging with Xaria. 

And one of the things that I usually say with my buddy is that Xaria cares but she doesn't care about you, the player and Sam respectively (Not in a fourth wall type of way lol, just like in terms of mucking up the gameplay for you). And Monty honest to god couldn't give a damn about anybody that isn't Xaria even if he was bribed so there's no way in hell that he cares about Sam/ players. I think that's another thing that tends to ruffles peoples' feathers about Xaria and Monty, they couldn't give a rat's ass about you but they sure as hell love fucking with you. AND THAT'S THE BEST THING ABOUT THEM. Them not caring that much about you/ Sam is fucking great.

And I obviously quite like how Xaria and Monty are written. You cannot deny that they are well-written characters. I've always seen them as characters/ companions that were meant to kind of test how tolerant we as players are to the people we let into Sam's apartment. I've said it a few times before but there are certain aspects of the game that are specifically meant to impact us, the players, in terms of how we choose to engage with the in-game world. The door mechanic is once again a pretty good example of this. It's both how Sam sees those beyond the door and it is one of the ways in which we, the players, are able to interact with characters through the perspective of a scared and paranoid person, obviously this would affect how we choose to let Sam interact with these door interactions. Another really good example of intentional game design that was meant for us the players as opposed to Sam's character would definitely be the mushroom colony "quest" because if you're a big rpg fan, obviously you'd be excited as hell for the upgrades presented and subsequently gutted as hell for the crushing reality that none of it was real. Why the hell am I even yapping about this? Mainly because I find these choices to be really cool game design and to also establish that we as players do need to distinguish between what is meant to impact us as players and what is meant to, in universe, impact Sam. Is this meant to impact my gameplay or is this meant to impact Sam and where do we draw the line between the two and Xaria and Monty somehow got intertwined with both.

Xaria and Monty ultimately have no overall impact on the greater playing experience but they do have in-game interactions that absolutely test our mettle. And for people who don't like these two, I kind of see it more as they don't like that they are experiencing some form of discomfort/outright aggression directed towards them specifically. Obviously, you won't like it if you helped somebody out and then were subsequently met with open hostility, aggression and even kicked out of your own room. But it's the end of the world and they need a place to stay and you are capable of housing them. Like are they suddenly unworthy of being supported because they're really annoying assholes? Does that suddenly mean they deserve to die or get cursed/ fused with a cursed individual? You have every right to reject them at the door, to not let them in, this is your space and all that and you're just trying to be safe. But wouldn't that just kind of prove that you're caving into the paranoia and fear of the situation by purposefully rejecting them based on first impressions. You'd be rejecting them based on a bias, not because they've done anything particularly bad (not yet anyway lol) And yes, they do kick Sam out of his room but that's honestly the most aggressive thing they even do outright.

What I truly like about Xaria and Monty's characters is that they are incredibly flawed. Xaria oh my days I love her so much, she's such a hypocrite and I love her for it. She says she cares about the safety and care for animals and is the same person who will kick the Rat Child just because of a mistake, a mistake that anybody in that apartment could've made and yet she gets weepy for a pixilated octopus. Monty is, fun fact, THE ONLY RECRUITABLE WHO CAN KILL YOU VIA CUTSCENES. They're fucking dangerous, genuinely. But they're so distinct in caring about each other that that's what makes them so interesting. They care about each other and aren't built around Sam and if I'm being honest, the players. Every companion is distinct and separate from Sam but none of them are as hostile towards Sam as these two. They care about each other first and foremost and enable each other because they're just that close but Sam isn't close to them, he's just the dude whose place they sleep at. They don't see him as a friend, so they won't treat him as such. They drag their feet about helping you and fight with Sam as both a form of begrudging repayment for the stay and because they like kicking people's teeth in.

It's these flaws that make them the weirdly compelling characters that they are. They're a danger, only if you enable them. They're annoying assholes if you let their bullshit get to you. They're an interesting reflection of how kind is too kind. Of course you'll wonder if you made a mistake by letting them in but also people are just like that sometimes. Sometimes in order to be the bigger person you gotta deal with assholes like Xaria and Monty, not because you get anything out of it but because you showed that you cared. This isn't me excusing their behaviour or endorsing it, this is me saying that quite literally every companion is going to be different and I like Xaria and Monty both because of their specific character and the fact that they do shake things up. They aren't undeserving of a place to stay, and fans shouldn't beat down on them for that, by just dismissing them for one pissy action you're missing out on characters who are so damn interesting. I love that they represent the nuance of letting people into Sam's apartment, that their existence isn't a punishment nor a burden but understandable. You would be a bit naive to believe that every companion would be chill, that the game would fully reward you for being kind. There are assholes and selfish people in the apocalypse but that doesn't mean they're unworthy of shelter too. This is a game about self-sacrifice and caring for your neighbours, you know, being humane during the end of the world. This is most pervasive with the cursed people you save but it's also important to remember that this is applicable to non-cursed people too. Yes, even the ones that fucking suck.

TL:DR: Xaria and Monty suck on purpose. How you react to their shitty characters is a further reflection of how far you, the player specifically, are willing to act on the game's theme of being humane.