I've been looking at the drawing of Atrox hosting Tanner, and his pink clothes have me wondering... If a mime were to take off their host's clothes, would the clothes regain their original colour? And if the hosting mime were to put new clothes on, would they become tinted, too, to the mime's hemolymph colour? Apologies, if this is worded weirdly!! ^_^;;
Not worded weirdly at all! And a very fun question to see asked.
Clothes on a body, when hosted by a mime, do typically change color schemes to match the mime's color. And when they leave the body, the colors revert. There's a bit of cartoon logic here, isn't there? Objects they hold do not change color. The ground they step upon does not change color either. It is only clothing.
When any article is taken off, while still hosting, that article of clothing will remain their color scheme. It is considered a part of the host. If their host's shirt turns blue when they take over, is off and laying on the ground, and they walk away, it will remain blue. If they leave their host while shirtless, even though this shirt has no contact with the host, it will revert to its original color.
If the mime, in host, puts on a new article of clothing, it is considered a new part of the host and will change color accordingly. Taken off, it reverts back. Their old clothes that they have swapped will revert back to their original colors when they make this wardrobe change, if the mime recognizes that their new article of clothing is a sufficient replacement of the last. (A shirt swapped for a new shirt is a total replacement. A dress swapped for shirt and pants is a total replacement. A shirt swapped for a bra is not a total replacement, and the shirt will remain their color.)
As an aside: If a mime dies within a host however, the color scheme of the entire host curiously remains. If the original owner this host were to somehow become resurrected in this particular state, they would have the colorscheme of a mime, minus what pigment their blood brings to their new, much paler skintone. That is unlikely to happen though; Resurrections are difficult to accomplish and it's rare the circumstances are correct for one, so chances are you'd probably never see something like this happen.
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trick or treat! 🎃
let's see... how about. the opening scene to kryptonian superbat au...... this was my nano project last year (only got to 20k or so though). i'm so tempted to like.... footnote every single scene of this bc it's mostly a labor of love towards precrisis kryptonian worldbuilding Lore <3
465 words, superbat, this scene is gen
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Kal stares at the notification. “Kelex,” he mumbles. “Why didn’t you remind me earlier?”
Kelex whirrs. “You requested not to be disturbed.”
…fair enough. They’d been busy on the ride back from the conference. Very busy. But now, Kal has to wake up his husband. Best to get it over with quickly.
He opens the shadowed door, wincing at the soft rumbling snore. Pads across to the bed, and slides in. Brus shifts towards him, and Kal kisses his forehead regretfully.
“Brus,” he murmurs. “Brus-kir.”
A furrow appears on that brow. Kal brushes a lock of hair away, cupping his husband’s face, and slowly, one of Brus’s pale eyes cracks open. “Kal,” he mumbles. “You’re insatiable.”
Kal should have woken him up differently, maybe. “Brus. Light of my life. Sun to my moons.”
“What do you want,” Brus mumbles, but his lips curve up ever so slightly.
“Can you talk to the :dhosurro tomorrow morning?”
A grunt. That eye shutters closed for a second. “Why.”
“It’s science, zrhymin. I forgot I had an appointment.”
Another grunt. Brus turns to bury his face into the pillow. Kal goes in for the kill. “It’s for Kim-Da’s class. It’s for the children, Brus...”
A strangled sigh into the pillow, and then Brus turns over to look at him again. “Fine,” he agrees. “But you owe me.”
Kal kisses him, and Brus kisses sleepily back. “Oh?” he breathes against his husband’s lips, and Brus makes a noncommittal noise.
“How about you wake me up better next time,” he mumbles, and Kal buries his forehead into Brus’s shoulder.
“Agreed.”
“When do I need to talk to your plants?”
Kal winces. “Two wohl thirty dendahr.”
Brus fishes for the pillow and puts it back over his face.
“It’s science, zrhymin.”
Brus heaves another sigh, and then slides the pillow down to eye Kal, hair messy. “You’re so lucky I love you.”
Kal melts a little. “I-“
He’s about to say I know. I love you too. I love you so much.
Instead there’s a twinge of pain in his chest.
I don’t understand why you love me so much.
He doesn’t say it. He doesn’t say anything, but something in his face must change, because Brus reads him. Brus reads him like he always reads him, like he’s an open book. His eyebrows draw down a little, and he reaches out, touching Kal in the center of his chest, flattening his palm right over Kal’s heart, where the ache lies. “Kal. I love you,” he says, softly.
The pain sharpens a second, and Kal squeezes his eyes shut, reaches up to clasp Brus’s hand in his own. Hold on to him, hold him closer. He lets out a shuddering breath. “I love you too.”
Thank you, he thinks, but doesn’t say.
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