#I love this beetle fabric so much

[tj-crochets]

My next tote bag! I’ve got the first round of ironing done, all the pieces cut out, and the pockets sewn so the next step is another round of ironing and that’s going to wait for tomorrow

[gimmick-blog-bracket]

Now for the final round!

@hellsitegenetics

I love them

I didn't know I needed to know that the weed-smoking girlfriends post was genetically a wolf, but I did, and I do. Also puts great stuff on my dash.

it’s so fun to be scrolling unhinged posts and then boom. an organism!

so many moths‼ also, unexpected comedy with some of the matches

perfect blend of silly and informative, and makes for an excellent punchline at the end of a long post. puts creatures on my dash. literally what more could you ask for

It's a really unique blog concept and a lot of times the results are pretty funny. It's great when the sequence matches the post content too!

Creatures 👍

Finds beautiful creatures out of the mess of the hellsite

Offers finality AND gives us a creechur.

I love them. English speakers talk like moths

If this blog wins, they could run the text of the winning announcement, and determine the post's genus and species!

They're also very good about tagging the type of creature depicted in the results, so as long as you mute tags of creatures you don't want to see, it's a very fun time seeing iconic legacy posts (and new submissions) being reduced down to a string of letters and assigned a random species of fish or moth or something!

uhh it’s cool

BLAST

There are so many weird bugs in the world

Yippee!!

If, as Haldane said, God has an inordinate fondness for beetles, then surely this blog proves that Tumblr has an inordinate fondness for moths.

Top tier blog as a geneticist, I love seeing obscure organisms and MOTH

Admin got rate limited after trying to blast the bee movie

the knowledge of biology to pull this off (i have taken one biology class in my life) and also the work to find all the strings honestly deserves quite a bit of praise

This gimmick blog has it all: science, pictures of animals, interaction with the text of other peoples' posts, interesting information, and a unique and fun premise. As a biologist, I'm rooting for hellsitegenetics to reach the end and take the tournament, because it is truly a standout among gimmick blogs.

If they win, perhaps this blog too shall become a cool organism :3

@hasgavlebockenburneddownyet

What's more happy holiday cheer than cheering on the destruction of a giant straw goat?

The birds may have won 2023, but I believe in humanity's capability for arson for 2024 <3

a vote for me is a vote for arson! This message was approved by hasgavlebockenburneddownyet

gavle is SUCH a public service and holiday feature

what's more tumblr than comical destruction and holidays?

sometimes you just gotta vote with your matchsticks

Bringing a cultural staple to tumblr since 2021

Arson is so much more fun

It would be really funny and ironic if it survives the tournament

you have no idea how much joy watching the chronicling of the gavlebocken brings me every year

hasgavlebockenburneddownyet provides an essential public service

always love seeing a bit of Swedish history on my dash 'Swedish bamboo season'

the goat account is peak gimmick blog

If I don't get to beat the goat then nobody does. -pointless-achievements

Never ask Tumblr to choose between lies and arson! The winner threatens by nature to rip apart the very fabric of our DNA!

goat statues made out of straw are exciting and interesting

I wanna see things burn

the goat is an essential part of tumblr culture and the goat blog is a sacred keeper of the tumblr high holidays

watching to see if the big straw goat has burned down each year is a true delight, something I never knew existed until tumblr and the blog dedicated to it

the incredibly focused nature of @/hasgavlebockenburneddownyet is what makes their gimmick superior.

Please guys bite gavlebocken

Look, I'm Danish. I was put on this earth to annoy the Swedes and vice versa, but even I voted for @/hasgavlebockenburneddownyet

gavlebocken is also such a fun name and this blog informed be about its existence, so for that I am grateful

hasgavlebockenburneddownyet is providing a vital service! Every year, people rely on their updates regarding the fate of our most beloved Yule Goat! How could they NOT deserve the win!?

sacred anti-corporate arson

a vote for gävlebocken is a vote for anarchy!

pls vote for them they're the funniest gimmick keeping track on the funniest phenomena in recent human history, like when i look at their acc i think to myself this is what tumblr was created for

the goat is the GOAT

HASGAVLEBOCKENBURNEDDOWNYET DESERVES TO WIN, I have them on post alert for a REASON

the holiday season wouldn't be the same without them

they do important reporting. Do you look at the news and be like 'the reporters aren't doing work they're just telling you whats happening.' Have some respect for the goat news

let the weird burnt sacrificial ritual of it all appeal to you

nothing makes my December more interesting, arson should win

doesn't barge in on other peoples posts which is always a good thing in my books. not a fan when obnoxious gimmick blogs turn a decent post into a garbled mess

[rafesfawn]

🪽🧺 𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐂𝐎𝐎𝐋

𝜗ৎ⋆｡˚ when rafe sees a precious little doll on the side of the road with a broke-down car, how can he resist out of the kindness of his heart offering her a ride? just a ride home, that's all...

or how trailerpark!angel!reader and rafe met!

warnings: use of the nickname pet & little one, reader! is eighteen-nineteen! bit of perv!rafe, barely proofread!

a/n: first time writing a rafe fic/blurb! im so excited, also this is based on this ask and thank you so much for sending something I really appreciated it and I hope u like it mwah! I would say you two meet in like early season 2 (right before the cross storyline) also for the format slight ib to others on here esp @rafesangelita (sorry for the tag!)

this was based off of this ask! which tysm i literally love requests and rafe and trailerpark!angel!reader is my new obsession <3

a small, meaningless kick was made to the tire while you huffed and groaned, putting two hands over your frustrated features as all you wanted to curl up into a ball and cry.

“piece of shit,” you mumbled under your breath, kicking the tire once more, but immediately a whimper fell from your lips. the pain shot from your toe up to your spine. making you sniffle and tip-toe in pain. in your denim ruffle skirt, white socks, and pink converse, you sat down on the asphalt, on the side of the road, leaning against the side of your broken-down car.

she wasn’t the best car, but she surely got you around most of the time. most of the time. it was a little volkswagen beetle, light pink in color, covered in so many stickers some wondered if it was passing inspection. it wasn't.

sitting with your head against the car for what felt like hours (it was maybe ten minutes), but spending even that on the side of a main road in kildare island was torture. especially with the beating sun late august provided.

rafe was speeding down the road on the way to play golf and get drunk with topper and kelce. “ah shit, i don’t know, man.” he said into his phone, holding it up with one hand; his voice gruff and confident, topper on the other line. “you really think i won’t kick your ass today huh?” a smirk grew on his already smug expression.

letting out a short chuckle at toppers response, nothing anybody ever said meant more than a laugh to him. or that's what it used to be like anyway, his act wasn't together if anything, it was worse than it'd ever been. his father condemning him to disingenuous "discipline" to forget about the possible death of his golden daughter.

"the fuck?" he mutters into the mic, his voice laced with confusion. as he sees up ahead on the road, a pink car broken down, with the most precious thing sitting against it. a pout on the angels soft lips and the most defeated look in her eye. aw, you just fell right into my lap, didn't you? little angel.

your eyes glued on the pavement, your entertainment of watching a little ladybug try to make it to safety in the distance, was shortly interrupted.

a nice black truck coming into view it came to such a short stop it almost took your breath away, the breaks slightly screeching at the haste. a tire replaced the spot the ladybug once was.

you stood brushing the dirt and gravel off the backsides of your pale thighs, left bare by the short fabric of your skirt.

the man stepped out of the truck. he was tall, and the sleeves of his polo looked like they were about to burst at the seams, not able to contain the biceps beneath. his features strong and statue-like, his deep sea eyes hidden behind the curtain bangs that hung over his forehead. a grin that seemed too genuine, too good to be true.

you removed your heart-shaped sunglasses, placing them on top of your head to see him more clearly. your possible savior, but he was anything but.

he stepped a bit closer, seeing the state of her already pretty beaten car, "having some car trouble?" rafe asked as if he wasn't stating the obvious.

you pretended he wasn't either as you nodded, the frown only slight now but still on your lips as your eyes remained looking up into his.

"aw.. poor thing we can't have that, what happened?" his voice, a mockery of sympathy. as he inspected the piece of shit car she loved so much. his care coming from a place of ownership, of burning ache or want.

still, in slight shock, you hadn't answered him, following behind him as he reopened the hood like he owned the car. not even realizing you'd been rude and not replied till he spoke again. "little one, i can't fix it if you don't tell me what's wrong." a heady mix of gentle and firm that made your mouth go dry and your head dizzy.

"oh- it's been on her last limb for like ever, i guess she finally called it quits... right on my way home." you said with a little sad laugh that rafe wanted to bottle the sound of and listen to on repeat. "and I really need to get home," you added fiddling with your fingers in front of you.

a sweet girl all out of options, rafe was so glad he was here to provide her with his help. "tell you what, I'll take you home and come back and fix this thing up for you, huh?" he offered, there goes his saturday plans he presumed. it'd be worth it. he told himself he'd make it worth it, with those shy eyes and the expression you carried like a lost puppy. you'd owe him he'd make sure to get something in return.

just like he figured, you shook your head. never wanting to accept such a grand favor. "I can't ask you to do that, I mean, I don't even know your name." nerves, curiosity, and a glint of something else tinged in your voice, so many wonders in that head as soon as his truck came to a stop for you. why? the only question running through your mind.

"It's rafe, can I help you out now?" his genuine grin turned almost smug at his own remark, brushing that bangs out his face, the effort pointless as they immediately fell back again.

you paused. picking at the already chipped white nail polish on your sore fingertips, a larger-rougher hand covered your own, stopping your movements with that firm gentleness he carried around her. you looked up at him, he was so much closer. the scent of some cologne that probably could pay your rent, and a tinge of smokey wood filled your senses.

"pet?" he questioned with an expecting tilt of his head, calling you that like it was the most natural thing in the world.

your body and mouth responding before giving another second for your brain or anxiety to think it over, you nodded. "can you please give me a ride home?" you hesitantly asked, it felt weird. getting help, and even asking for it felt foreign, he offered it so graciously like it was nothing.

looking down upon her, his grin turned genuine once again, his eyes seemed almost proud it was a soothing balm to her nervous heart. a rosy hue to her cheeks as his palm covered the side of her neck, making a few pats to the flesh before leading her to his truck.

you'd owe him. something he was sure you were ready for.

[eternal-sunshine-222]

Oie, Sunshine

If you're not too busy, could you write something about Patrick Hockstetter? The idea would be to show him in a relationship with a girl who is completely the opposite of him, but still keeping his personality true to the character.

I was thinking of something where she truly loves Patrick and cares about him, despite him being... well, him. She would be a kind and affectionate person most of the time, someone who tries to take care of him both emotionally and physically, doing her best to please him and win a little of his attention and affection. She would be emotionally fragile, passionate about animals (never ask Patrick what’s in the fridge 💀), and she would have a black bunny as a pet (yes, a very specific detail, kkkkk).

Please. :3

I love detailed requests, thank you so muchhh!!! Book acurate Patrick is one of my favorites by far. And him with a girl completely opposite of him??? I love it!!!

INFATUATED - PATRICK HOCKSTETTER X READER

Characters: Patrick Hockstetter, fem!reader, Henry Bowers, Victor Criss, Belch Huggins, The Losers Club

Warnings: cursing, mentions of dead animals, mentions of death, mentions of decay, mentions of gore

She was new in Derry, which meant she was also ignorant. Ignorant to all things bad and evil, ignorant to all things Patrick Hockstetter. But being new also meant that she was the sole focus of everyone in the small town.

She had gorgeous eyes, resembling the brightest jewels there ever was or will be. Her clothes were of the most fashionable and pristine fabrics you could find, coming in multiple variations of her favorite colors. You could tell just by looking at her that she had a bright and caring demeanor about her, and an even brighter future.

Patrick Hockstetter, in this sense only, also had his entire attention on this new girl, this new conquest, this new...infatuation. Yes, that's what it grew to. An infatuation.

He watched her for hours, days, weeks, and eventually months. Peeking into her classes while skipping his own. Skipping out on hanging out with Henry Bowers and the others, though he didn't make any excuses to them all. He didn't need to. Henry knew not to come in between Patrick and his "interests" as he liked to call them. Because once Pat had his eyes set on something he did not stop until it was his. And boy were his eyes set.

At first, Patrick's thoughts were only about how he could corrupt her innocence, how he could ruin her. Maybe he'd show her his pencil case, full of flies and beetles with their wings and legs torn off ruthlessly. Or maybe his refrigerator in the middle of the woods, filled with dead and decaying animals, many of which he'd killed himself.

'No,' he thought. 'Can't do that.'

Overtime as he watched her he saw how much she cared for those around her, and not just people either. She cared for the birds that sang in the trees, whistling out to them every morning as she left her house. She cared for the ants in their hills, careful not to step on them and crush their home. She even cared for the slugs in the rain, moving them off of the sidewalk and into the cool wet grass so they didn't get squished by someone's shoe or tire. It was during one of these occurrences of him watching her leave her house for school that he decided to approach her finally, ready to conquer.

This lovely girl, filled with nothing but love and life, had exited her house in a rush, school books gathered in her arms and slightly scuffed up loafers on her feet. She was late for school. Patrick knew of course, wondering himself if she would even be leaving her house today, though he knew she would be going at least somewhere if not school. He'd seen her getting dressed in her room, peaking inside from between her open blinds.

It was while she was exiting her front door that she tripped, dropping everything while her legs kicked backwards knocking the front door open wide with a bang. Out dashed a small black void, faster than The Flash himself. It ran towards Patrick who had just rounded the corner of her house in his dirty jeans and destroyed boots. He stumbled back as the now seen rabbit tried to scale his leg. If he hadn't have known that it was hers he would've punted the furry little thing right then and there. Instead, he picked it up carefully and walked it over to her where she was on her knees on the slightly wet concrete from the rain the night before, stacking her books back up in her arms.

She hadn't even noticed her furry little friend had escaped until she had reclosed her front door and turned around, coming face to face with her. A small yelp left her mouth and she almost dropped her books again, not expecting to come into contact with her now eye level pet. She looked up at Patrick with wide eyes.

'She startles easily,' he thought to himself, a small smirk making its way onto his chiseled features. His smile only widens when he sees her cheeks turning the faintest shade of pink.

"He yours?"

She doesn't answer back for a few seconds, entranced with this boy she'd never seen before holding her dear rabbit. When her eyes refocus she sees Patrick still standing there, an eyebrow now cocked upwards the slightest bit.

"Oh! She, but yes." She leans over carefully and sets her textbooks down on the step to her front door. When she turns back around he's already handing the sweet fuzzy creature back to its owner.

Patrick waits outside for her as she takes her back inside. When she reemerges she's got colorful bandages on her scraped up knees from her fall, the dirt and pebbles cleaned out of them. He makes a scoff noise at the sight of the Tom and Jerry figures on them, though she doesn't hear him.

'Of course she'd have band-aids like that.'

He's so caught up in staring at her that he hasn't realized that she's already walking down the sidewalk towards Derry High School, only noticing when she calls back to him. Now it's his turn for his cheeks to turn pink. Involuntarily of course.

They walk in silence for a few minutes, only the soft clunking of Patrick's boots on the concrete heard, until she speaks up.

"Thank you for catching her. She's so fast, I would have never been able to catch her without your help." She peeks up at him from her spot beside him, arms clutching her books a tad bit closer to her chest.

Patrick just nods and puts his hands in his pockets, glancing down at her quickly, though in his mind he's practically jumping with joy.

'She's practically at my feet already.'

She's quiet the rest of the way to the school, the only sounds leaving her being her soft breathing and the few short whistles she gives to the birds like always. Even though she's late she still takes her time doing what she usually does.

Before the two of them can enter the school Patrick reaches out and grabs her arm harshly. She doesn't flinch like he expects her to from the tight grip he has on her. Instead she just looks up at him curiously.

"Patrick." He only says his name.

She smiles at him with her lip gloss coated lips and she gives him her name though he already knows it. They then travel indoors and he walks her to her class, leaving only when he can see that she's seated.

~~~

Being a member of The Bowers Gang has its perks. People leave you alone, they're scared of you. Even the teachers won't bother to do anything but give out detentions and lower their grades. But of course it also has its lows, one of which being the shit talking that happens about you to the new students. Patrick is no exception.

The end of the school day arrived fairly slowly for Patrick's new obsession. She had wanted eagerly to see if she could catch up with him again after school, maybe walk back home with him since he seemed to live out that way (he definitely did not, the complete opposite actually). But just like this morning nothing went how it was supposed to.

She hadn't even stepped one foot outside of her last class of the day when someone grabbed her arm. She knew it wasn't Patrick. His grip was rougher as were his hands, covered in callouses from who knows what. Maybe he did yard work or was an artist or maybe he even played guitar or something. All she knew was that she liked the feeling of his hands on her. They felt...new.

These hands were a lot softer and when she looked down she saw clean cut nails and pale skin with small freckles dotted around the knuckles. Following the freckled skin upwards she was met with the sweet face of a girl maybe a couple years her junior. Her eyes were a bright yet simultaneously cloudy blue, a flaming piece of hair dangling down over one.

Before Derry's newest resident could utter a word to this strange little girl she spoke quiet and fast, urgency in her voice.

"Stay away from Patrick."

She frowned in confusion. What was so bad about Patrick? He was so sweet to her this morning. Sure, he was quiet but who didn't love a little mystery? She voiced these thoughts to the mystery girl with the red hair.

"He's not who he seems. It's all an act. Trust me, he's evil." The girl lets go of her arm and leaves without another word, no name or anything.

She watched the younger girl walk down the hallway and get lost in the crowd of others before turning and walking the opposite way herself, looking back only one with a frown still on her face. But it seems that luck actually is on her side today unlike what she had previously thought. Standing by a blue Trans Am parked down by the road is Patrick with three others, though he looms over them all as the tallest. His back is to her and he can't hear her soft steps in the grass as she approaches but the others see her and signal to each other.

The softness of her fingertips graze Patrick's arm and he's quick to react, turning around quickly and pushing her up against the tree by her throat. When he recognized her face he's hesitant to let her go. Her reaction isn't what he expected at all. Her eyes are calm and a small smile plays along her lips, books still clutched against her test though just a tad bit tighter than usual. Patrick furrows his thick brows and lets her go easily.

She doesn't react at all really, as if the action hadn't even happened. She just stands and looks up at Patrick with wide eyes and a small kind smile on her face.

"Hello, Patrick."

He hates to admit it but he loves the sound of his name on her lips.

"I figured, well, since you walked with me here today that maybe you'd want to walk back with me? Maybe come inside for a little bit?" She digs the tip of her shoe into the damp grass, not too caring of the wet mud smudging over it.

Henry, Belch, and Vic can all be heard sniggering at her invitation, wondering who this chick is and why she seems to be inviting Patrick fucking Hockstetter to a tea party. They're even more surprised when Patrick accepts with a smirk pulling at his lips.

It soon became a normal occurrence for Patrick and her to venture to and from school together. He did it so much in fact that he had barely seen any of his friends aside from during what was supposed to be their classes. Hell, he spent so much time with her that he actually started to develop a somewhat friendly relationship with her rabbit.

The first couple times he had come into contact with the small furry creature he had grimaced anytime it came near him. These were the kind of animals he kept in his fridge in the woods, decayed and slaughtered. Animals - alive animals, that is - were never his forte. He couldn't stand the furry ones. If he had to choose he'd definitely prefer something scaly and badass looking. But over time he grew to actually care for the fuzzy little bastard - he never called it by its name, referring to it as only that.

~~~

It has been a few weeks since her and Patrick have started their routine and she couldn't have been happier. He was so sweet to her in her mind, and he was although it had all been an act at first. But just like with her rabbit he had slowly gained feelings for her just as she had with him. The moment he realized was a rough one for them both.

Both teens were relaxing in her living room, her little black rabbit darting all over the room. She was down on her haunches playing with her furry little companion, loud laughs erupting from her perfect lips. Patrick stared at her, a large smile on his own face. She looked amazing, so perfect and precious. These thoughts pushed themselves into his brain and once they did his smile faltered before dropping completely.

'Fuck.'

Patrick stood up suddenly, startling both her and her rabbit who darted under the sofa. She stood up from the floor and looked into his darting eyes with worry.

"Pat? Is everything okay?"

She reaches forward with short, pink manicured nails to gently touch his arm as if to comfort him but he jerks out of her reach wildly, almost stumbling from the force of his own actions.

"Don't touch me," he says lowly. "I gotta go."

With those last words he stomps toward her front door and slams it behind him, rattling the frame. She stands, confused at Patrick's behavior. Her rabbit crawls out from under the sofa and the two girls make eye contact.

"What do you think that was all about?"

It's days before her and Patrick talk again. She walks to school by herself for those days, almost late on the first because she was waiting for him to show up. Her mood sours over the course of these few days, especially because of the attention she's attracting now that Patrick isn't with her. Normally these people would leave her alone or at least act nicer to her because of her association with him alone. But now they all seem to be making fun of her, calling her daft for believing that he actually liked her and all sorts of other nasty things.

It's during one of these confrontations that Patrick shows up. She's almost in tears from the words these kids are saying to her. They're obviously younger, Freshmen maybe. And, boy, do they have the audacity. They aren't necessarily saying anything bad, just making her extremely uncomfortable.

Her back is against the lockers. She's caged in in the empty hallway with two boys surrounding her, laughing at her reaction to their words. The loud clunking of boots can be heard from around the corner. She thinks at first that maybe it's a teacher but once they get closer she recognizes the pattern and her heart rate speeds up. Her suspicions are confirmed when she sees Patrick's tall lanky figure appear.

The two make eye contact and his jaw clenches at her teary eyes. If anyone was going to make her cry it would be him. Only him.

Patrick stalks over to the boys and yanks them away by their shoulders, one of them stumbling to the floor and another into a set of lockers. He says nothing, just sending them a look that sends them scurrying off in opposite directions. Once they're gone he turns back to look at her, a softer look upon his face (as soft as he can get anyway). She sniffles and rubs her nose and cheeks with the back of her sweater covered hand, the other hand holding her books close to her chest as always.

They stare at one another for a moment before he takes ahold of her hand and roughly pulls her into his chest, resting his head on top of hers. She releases a heavy breath that she didn't know she was holding and relaxes into him.

"Thank you," she mumbles into the fabric of his shirt.

He says nothing, only pulling away and leaning down so they're eye level. And then he kisses her as gently as he can. Patrick has never done this, kissed someone without plans to fuck them. And he had to admit it was one of the most pleasant feelings in the world, kissing her.

She stands there in shock with flushed cheeks after, to which he smirks at her.

"Okay?"

She nods wordlessly, still staring up at him, before swallowing thickly and finally speaking.

"Does this mean we're dating now? Like, boyfriend-girlfriend?"

Her head cocks to the side as she asks this question and he laughs at her but nods nonetheless.

~~~

Once the students in the school find out that she and Patrick are dating she's treated nicer than she ever was before. While they never approach her themselves they do play nice if she does. She doesn't quite notice their behavioral change. Instead she's focused solely on Patrick and showing him exactly how much she loves him. She thinks it's obvious that he never got the love he needed when he was younger and what better time to start giving it to him than now?

Gosh, this took me so long! Writers block is horrible and paired with many other wips, my goodness! I hope you like it. I'm thinking of making this a two parter. Let me know what you guys think <3

[your-local-uwu-artist]

it was suggested I post this to the tags as well >:D

fuck it ima tag @transcendence-au as well because tbh I'm very proud of my silly little animation

some me being a nerd under the cut!

okay so this all started when I read the original post this was inspired by and though 'wouldn't it be silly to add some art to this 3 year old post?' but then I decided to animate it for funsies!

and gosh I sure do love animating!

So I got the base sketch and then got into the lineart animation for each component!

i don't have the sketches/wips saved at all sense this wasn't really a project and it took less than a day to complete. but here's a peak at the timeline

I animate entirely in my ususal drawing software: clip studio paint. It's just what's easiest for me.

all of these layers outside that folder are just the sparkles! after I finished I added some sparkles for fun! there's a lot of them because it involved a lot of copy and pasting sparkle layers

the bottom folders here are the wings body and facial expression! for everything like the wings arms and flags I was able to just copy paste, reverse, and then align the timing correctly in the timeline

one thing unique about this animation is that the lineart and colors are in separate layers! I tend to do line and colors on the same layer but this time I was using a brush that doesn't have the same lack of anti-aliasing and sense it's a small animation I wasn't as worried about keeping a minimum of layers like usual.

also the movement of the body is only 4 frames! and one one of those is just the hat shifting position

initially I wasn't going to have the second facial expression but when I got stuck on animating the flags I added the second facial expression while taking a break.

the arm animation is just 8 frames! honestly the only tricky part in this is the flags, everything else was pretty simple, which made it super fun to work on because I got both a challenge and mindless therapeutic drawing out of it.

NOW THE FLAGS there was 3 throw away attempts before I got it: you see the thing that made this tricky is finding the balance between believability and visual appeal. a big part of animation is creating the illusion of physics, this is the 'believability' part, I need these to look like flags that are moving and made of flat fabric, HOWEVER if I animate these one-to-one with realistic physics: it won't look good! I can't apply wind to the whole drawing because then the hair would have to react, and wind goes one way, and I wan't the flags to be pointing opposite directions. so without wind the flags would be laying down flat, but that won't look good at all! and furthermore realistic physics would have the flag not being all nice and front facing most of the time. so the trick here was figuring out how much physics to apply to make it look believable, while still making it look good.

one trick I did to help me animate the flags is I actually made a plan rectangle flag as a guide so that the general mass/volume of the flag would stay consistent, this is something i highly recommend when animating! like having a circle guide along a characters head to keep their height and proportions consistent.

after I finally found the balance with the flag lineart coloring wasn't too hard! sense I just had to follow the lines, and THANK GOODNESS the trans and aroace flag have the same number of stripes: saving me time!

and then it all comes together to make a satisfying perfectly looping bundle of cuteness >:DDD I feel like the tau fandom doesn't have as many artists with particularly cartoony/chibi art styles so I've gotta play my part in spreading the joy-whimsy-adorable-sillys >:D

anyway! hope you get to see a cool beetle today :D

[shivunin]

Filed Under 398.2

In which Lucanis and Rook don't quite manage to have a post-game interlude in the Necropolis library. (Inspired by this post) *The beginning of this is a bit risqué, but not explicit

(Rook Ingellvar/Lucanis Dellamorte | 2,470 Words | AO3 Link)

“We only have—mph—half an hour, maybe forty-five—why do you have so many belts?”

“Poisons,” Lucanis murmured against Rook’s mouth, hands already working deftly at the buckles. “Throwing knives. Other things that I—ah!” 

Lenore caught his lower lip between her teeth, thumbs already hooked into her underthings to push them down and out of the way. The library shelves, carved sturdily from stone, absorbed his weight admirably when she pushed Lucanis back into it. Sometimes, she wished she was just a little taller, or that she owned any shoes with a heel. It was hard to reach his mouth for kissing without a little assistance.

“Where is everyone?” he asked, shedding three belts in quick succession and starting on the last. 

“Symposium,” she told him. “Compulsory. I waited until they swept for apprentices or we would’ve had company. That’s why we only have half an hour.”

And she was infinitely grateful she’d worn a dress for once. Lucanis was coming straight from a contract, and thus his clothing would take significantly more work to get off. She couldn’t complain, though; it’d been nearly a month since she’d seen him and he’d have to go straight back to Antiva from here. She was fortunate they had even this long. 

Climbing to her own quarters would have taken too long, and she’d been content with catching up in a crypt while they’d waited for the library to clear out. He’d given her the wide bracelet she wore on her left wrist now, malachite beetles inlaid with gold. She’d given him wyvern venom enchanted with a potent paralysis spell, just in case his target had built up a resistance. It was tucked into the bandolier on his belt now, discarded amongst the others on the library floor. It was gratifying that he’d seemed to appreciate it—his thanks had been enthusiastic enough that they’d wound up, well, here. 

It was unfortunate that she held the Necropolis too sacred to do this in the crypt because they probably would’ve had a little more privacy. Ah, well; she’d have to thank Emmrich later for holding a symposium at such a convenient hour. Sex in the library was so much better than no sex at all. 

As she thought so, Lucanis’s sword belt fell to the floor. In an instant, he’d gathered her up into his arms and reversed their positions. His mouth was—she’d missed kissing him so much. She’d gone much of her life not doing it or thinking about it at all; it seemed ridiculous that she would feel the absence of it so keenly now. It was not something she could understand through logic, so she’d stopped trying. 

There was something disarming about the way he sometimes curled his hand around the back of her neck, as if she was something precious, something that must be held carefully. Nothing else in the world—no accomplishment, no heady wine or hard-won victory—ever made her feel the way she did when he touched her. It wasn’t even the sex she needed, it was just—being near him, feeling his hands on her skin. The need was as urgent as breathing. 

His hands slid up her thighs now, pushing the dark fabric out of his way with agonizing care. Lenore had wrapped her legs around his back for stability, but she shifted them enough for him to move the skirt out of the way. All that remained between them was a thin, unfastened layer of leather. So very little was left to separate them.

“Are you ready?” he asked, and tipped his head so his kisses fell over her exposed collarbones. Lenore squirmed against him, half-laughing. 

“Ready? I’m melting,” she told him, and made a soft, wanting sound when his hand slid between them to trace the length of her. She loved the quiet Antivan curse he mouthed against her skin, the devastating care present in every touch, the heat of his skin, the—

She loved him. She loved all of him. 

Lucanis removed his hand from her waist and looked up—presumably to find a spot to brace against. Slowly, his eyes focused on something to the left of her head. Oh, dear. There were spiders and wisps and things in here sometimes. Had one of them crept closer? She turned her head to look where he did and smiled. 

Ah. No, not a wisp or a spider at all. 

“The Ways of Wyverns: Provincial Folklore and Mythology,” Lenore read aloud. 

Lucanis cleared his throat, glancing at her and then up again. 

“I don’t suppose I could…borrow that? Return it to you later?” he asked. 

“Enchanted, I’m afraid,” she told him sympathetically. “Whole section is. We’ve the best research collection on monster hunting here, all donated by a foremost Nevarran scholar on the subject. There’s a standing bounty for any copies of a lot of them and they’re only lent out on special occasions. After the third or fourth theft, they took measures. Nothing from the collection leaves the Necropolis.”

Absently, she reached over her head and slid the volume free, propping it on her exposed thigh. 

“Oh, I’ve read this one,” she told him. “It’s actually rather interesting. The folk in rural Orlais have all these elaborate traditions around wyvern hunts. There are altars and rituals associated with them, even given how dangerous wyverns can get when fully grown. One of the families even…”

She trailed off, abruptly aware of the position they were in. Half-naked in the arms of the man she loved and hadn’t seen for a month and she was telling him about wyvern hunting traditions in Orlais. How were things like this always happening to her? It was nearly as bad as the time she’d had to stop touching him so she could coax a freshly animated skeleton to leave her quarters. 

“Go on,” Lucanis said, angling his head to look at the book. “What do they do? I have heard about the hunts, but I have never seen this—” 

Lenore snorted, then laughed, moving the book out of the way so she could press her face into his half-exposed shoulder. For a moment, laughter overtook her and she was helpless to explain herself. 

When she gathered herself at last, she lifted her head to look at him. Already, she could see the shift in his expression. It was the same one she felt herself. It hardly mattered that they’d been waiting to see each other for a month or that they had very little time before he would leave again. The idea of sitting propped in his arms while they read together was every bit as attractive as making love against the cold bookshelves of the Grand Necropolis. 

Actually, it sounded more attractive than what they were doing. Her hip was starting to hurt and the shelves really were frigid. This had seemed a lot more spontaneous and romantic than it actually felt. Ah, well. One fantasy punctured by reality, one likely realized—if he felt as she did. 

“You are perfect,” she said, and unwound her legs from his back. “Why don’t we read this together instead?” 

“You’re certain?” he asked, setting both hands on her hips. He was frowning, as if trying to work something out. “You don’t want to…?”

“I’m certain if you are,” she said, still half-laughing. “But only if you stay close to me. I’ve missed having you close enough to touch.”

“I was going to say the same to you,” he told her, dipping his head to kiss her again. 

He really did feel perfect, she decided happily, sliding down his body. She could see her underthings just behind him. If she hurried to get them back on, they might make it through two or three chapters before their time was up. Last week, she’d even found an inordinately large chair near this section, one big enough for two if the two were comfortable with each other. 

They passed nearly an hour together in the quiet library, Lenore snuggled back against his chest while he paged through the volume on wyverns. At intervals, Lucanis would set the book down to exclaim over some piece of trivia and Lenore would respond with other things she’d gleaned from the library. 

“Why do you know so much about wyverns?” he asked her after one such moment. 

Lenore, now fully clothed and comfortably ensconced between his chest and the arm of the chair, grinned at him. 

“Why do you think?” she asked him. 

Lucanis set the book face-down on her lap, which covered his. 

“You read this for me?” he asked, reaching for her face. Rook pressed her cheek against his palm, closing her eyes. 

“When I miss you, sometimes I come down here and read about them. I think about which things you’d like, what I ought to tell you later. I have a list somewhere. Under a book in my rooms, probably.”

“You—” 

Lucanis cut himself off, surging forward to kiss Rook. Carefully, he lifted both hands and cradled the base of her skull, holding her exquisitely still. His lips moved against hers, delicate at first, as if conveying some unspeakable emotion. Slowly, he leaned into her, pressing his cheek to hers. Lenore’s hands slid down his shoulders, touching the leather below, the criss-crossing belts, the vee of bare skin below his throat and above his heart. She’d grown accustomed to the soft brush of his beard, the way he angled his lips against hers, and she cherished it all. 

How horribly she’d missed this while he’d been away. She’d never truly understood how lucky she was to always have him near the Lighthouse. Being with him, especially like this, felt right in a way she had no means to articulate. 

For long, sweet moments, he simply rested against her, their lips pressed softly together. When he pulled away at last, it was only far enough to rest his forehead against hers. 

“You think of me,” he said at last. 

“Of course I think of you. Both of you. I’ve boxes of things for Spite to smell and touch too, if we have time. When we have time.” 

He touched her face, tracing the angle of her jaw and the curve of her cheek. He didn’t move away from her. 

“I want to stay,” he said. “For tonight, at least.” 

“Don’t you have to go back to Treviso?” she asked him. The lines beside his eyes deepened. 

“I can send word that I’ve been delayed. It will give us until dawn at the earliest.”

Lenore leaned back, studying his face. They both knew who’d demanded he return as soon as this contract was completed. It was the same person who’d chosen contracts increasingly far afield. Any contract would do, so long as the fee was paid and the target was far away from Nevarra. 

“I can’t ask you to do that,” she said at last. 

The book still rested on her lap. She flipped it closed to protect the pages, leaving a finger tucked into the edge to save their place. 

“You don’t have to ask,” he said. 

“Lucanis, I don’t…” 

Didn’t what? She wanted him to rest in her bed, to read with her, to be there when she tracked down that list of things she’d wanted to tell him. How could she say no to any of that, especially when she’d rather his grandmother trip into a canal than get to have him back? 

And it was precisely that—the animosity between her and Caterina Dellamorte—that meant she was reluctant to be the one who asked him to stay. His family was everything to him; it was not a bond she would test for her own gratification. 

“Do you want me here, Rook?” he asked, resting his hand over hers on the book. 

“Of course I do.”

“Then I will stay,” he said. “We can take this book to your rooms. Finish what we started.”

Yes. Oh, she wanted that so badly that it almost hurt to imagine. She’d resigned herself to sleeping alone already, had braced herself for the pain of curling up alone in her bed after having him for so brief a time. 

Solitude still came more easily to her than company. That was what she told herself when he was gone, anyway. It was easier to tell herself so than it was to admit that it cost her something vital every time she left him at the eluvian to Treviso. 

Endearments did not trip easily from his tongue, and she would have accepted them with just as little grace if they had. Long experience had taught her that there were other words that amounted to the same thing. 

“Lenore,” he said quietly, and brushed his thumb over her cheek. “Lenore. I would always wake with you if I could.”

“I know,” she told him, and slid from his lap so he couldn’t watch her gather herself. “Come on. If we stay up late, we can finish this in my rooms.” 

Already, there were voices at the doors to the library. The symposium must be done, later than expected. No doubt, she would hear the broad strokes of it tomorrow. If not, she’d get the tale from the one who’d led it. Catching up would keep her busy, and that would be good. 

But—none of that had to matter right now. Corpses and spirits and necromancy could wait for tomorrow. Right now, she had a book to read and an assassin to hold. 

The voices drew closer. As if he did not care whether or not they saw, Lucanis took her hand and kissed it slowly, one knuckle at a time. It had been the first place he had kissed her and the gesture, no matter how briefly it was performed, always did something funny to her knees. When he was done, he did not let her go. His thumb ran over her knuckles instead, back and forth, as if reminding himself where they were. 

Lenore swallowed around the tightness in her throat and hurried toward the exit. Every moment of happiness they’d ever had together had been carved from a universe that didn’t want to share. This would be no different than any of those other moments. They had a whole night ahead of them—eons and eons of time stretching out before her, so much more than she’d thought she would have. She didn’t want to waste a second thinking about his inevitable departure, how he would turn to look at her one last time before he stepped through the mirror to the Diamond. 

No. Instead, she would think about…about wyverns. 

As long as he was with her, as long as she could feel him near, she was satisfied.

[brella-boi]

HALLOWEEN COLLECTION IS HERE!!

It finally has happened... at last... spooks arrived after a gruelling week of preparations. On this day we bring you:

Spider plushies

Two headed beetle plushie

Franken shrimp plushie

Left over plushies from ACME (same listing as always)

Wooden pins in 3 designs

Gothic pin banners

This update's items are LIMITED and will only be available until November 13th.

I have decided to make a second spider for the update after seeing the interest. Cannot promise a third one until I see how much fabric I have left.

This update is shared between my personal store and Etsy. All the items on Etsy are 20% more expensive to account for the awful fees it takes. I kindly ask everyone to use my personal store instead <3 It's a win-win for us both The inventory between the two sites is not automatically synced.

Unfortunately there's no third party that can do that for me as of now. So I will be manually changing inventory on both sites. (I am saying this as a precaution that you might be refunded if an item gets sold out. It is a first come first serve basis.) The only unaffected item by that are the wooden pins, which I can make more of easily.

Thanks so much for the continued support and excitement towards this update! :D I am so happy to finally bring it to you guys and debut the spider pattern <3 (I will have customs of it soon!)

Shares are SUPER appreciated on this! Thanks so much again! I love you guys <3

Happy Halloween!

Link in source and replies!

[the-bear-and-his-sunbird]

Last week I was tagged by @thequeenofthewinter but I was too busy posting for thedasweekend and finish the first chapter of "The scared boy and lonely girl" (which is a part of the "beetle on the lilac" series)

I am far too late but I'll tag @dymme, @ollypopwrites and everyone who wants to join.

Have a (bigger) snippet of the second chapter now, which is mostly Emmrich remembering Siobhan and his shared past. This snippet focuses on the time where she is lost in the Fade.

Time and time again he ventured to her hiding spots, as if he was a broken puppet. Filled with the faintest of hopes to find her curled up fast asleep somewhere, like he did so many times before.

And he would have waked her in the softest way- or better yet laid down with her, just to hold her tight, telling her a story about his younger days, about a boy afraid of being alone. And she would have brought the warmth back to him, surely and steadily until every dread he felt was nothing more than a faint dream; already fading in the golden light of early mornings.

But she never appeared and his mouth tasted of unspoken words and regrets.

(...)

What a fool he had been.

Would they ask him to corpse whisper her, to ask the questions that needed to be ask? How do you wish your remains to be dealt with? A sentence that has become second nature as a Watcher. Would she answer him? Would she accuse him of letting her die or worse: would she forgive him and ask him to move on? Would he even dare to rip her back for questioning or be too afraid to do it, like he was with his parents?

New questions that tortured him at night.

__________________________________________________________

The first week he did not dare to venture into her room. What good would it have done anyway? Siobhan hated it with an unparalleled fierceness.

„Too much of Solas looms there,“ she said. „The only good thing are the fish.“

It was a shame that even a room to withdraw to seemed to be denied for her.

But after a very long and very tiring week, the lighthouse being too silent without Siobhan and Bellara to discuss theories in the library, without Harding ushering everyone to Bookclub, eyes gleaming with joy when there was a violent part, he caved. What if there was a hint, an answer in her room. If none of that, at least her smell would bring the smallest comfort, as if she was here with him as if she hadn‘t left at all.

Emmrich steeled himself before entering Siobhans room. How would her room look? Would it have changed, be warped entirely by the Lighthouse to mirror her absence?

But it wasn‘t. As he entered slowly, his footsteps echoing across the walls, Emmrich took the room in.

It smelled like her. Warm, spicy, earthy and with a floral note at the end of it.

"Smell like the flowers and the earth and you may catch some beetles." she had said when he asked her.

Maps were stacked on the various drawers in her room. Ink and quills roaming next to them, ready to put plans to paper, to make sense of the labyrinth in front of them.

The blanket the group gifted to her lay next to the couch. Emmrich touched it gently. It was soft and purple and it reminded him so much of all the times she sat before him, the fabric wrapped around her shoulders, drinking tea and telling stories. A small part of him protested when he picked it up and pushed his face inside its folds. He felt so very small again.

In front of the green monstrosity that was meant to be slept on sat the table with the unlit candles, giving a place to write down any thoughts, as one stared into the turquoise abyss behind the glass.

Something white caught his eye. A piece of paper placed neatly on the table, with his name on it.

His heart, which had calmed somewhat in the familiarity of it all, started racing again, making his hands shake both with fear and longing. Emmrich sat down on the couch and unfolded the letter with Siobhans handwriting.

"Dearest, Emmrich, Love of mine,

If you find this, I am dead. Forgive me for leaving you, before being able to make amends.

You seemed so afraid earlier, my love. I fear everything I could say to you know would make it worse but I will try my best to ease your pain.

My dear Emmrich, I never would hold it against you, but I fear you will so please know: I forgive you for what you said. No buts. No ifs. I forgive you.

I know what you said comes from a place of fear and worry, even when you have hurt me. I wish to apologize for my words too. I never wanted to hurt you and I shouldn‘t have let my anxieties get the better of me. You are always a comfort in the most dreary moments. The blanket that shields me from the horrors and keeps me warm. My guiding star.

I am writing this at Bellara’s place (again forgive me for not coming to you). I didn‘t know if you needed to be alone or craved company but I could not bear the silence of my room. The silence disgusting when you are not around to share it with me.

Bellara worries about you, you know? About me, too. She is entrusted with informing you about the letter if I do not make it. Take care of her when I am gone, will you? She needs her friends. As do you. If I can‘t be with you, I take comfort in knowing you still have Manfred and the others looking out for you.

Could you do me a small favor? Can you tell Vorgoth that he was the best caretaker I could have wished for? He needs to know. I haven‘t told him that in years and I was rather ungrateful as a child. Maybe you could send Myrna and Cerise my goodbye too? They are wonderful and shaped me in ways I never could have anticipated.

May I also ask for a second favor?

Live.

Fight the gods for me. Show Manfred all the marvels of the world, show him the wisps at the lovers graves. He will like them and they will tell him a few stories about- anything really. Tell them who sent you, maybe they will remember me. Who knows what they will whisper to him. Maybe light a candle for me there and remember all the good times we had, too.

You should also make new friends. You thrive when people are around.

Even if it paints me to say so: If you wish to fall in love again, dearest, please do. I only ever wished for you to not be lonely and I promised your parents I wouldn‘t let you. I am sorry, that I failed.

Do not fret. I will always love you, in this life and beyond.

And when your end comes in so many years (because you will get ancient, I feel it deep within me) I will await you on the other side.

If you still wish for me by then, as I selfishly hope, I will be:

- Eternally yours,

Siobhan"

He cried for hours after reading it, missing her with an intensity that tore right through his core. How could he ever love another when she had taken his heart with her when she left.

When he found the strength to move again, he steadied his hands and folded the letter neatly, before carefully stowing it away in his pocket.

„You are not dead, my dear,“ He whispered to himself, cradling her blanket as if it was the most fragile and precious thing in this world and carried to his room; where it belonged.

„I will find you. No matter how long I have to search.“

[tange-my-rine]

find yourself (and me) || Tangerine x trans male!reader

Summary: You knew Tangerine well, you'd fallen in love with the guy. But when a mission goes wrong and you fake your death, he can't know a word of it. And when you finally transition after years of wishing, you can hardly even imagine running into him again. If you thought you might, you'd run the opposite way. But fate had different plans.

Request by @random-thoughts-004.

TW: mention of deadname (it's like your codename but like still), fake death, grief, blood, wounds, murder, guns, knives, scars, cursing (it's Tangerine), and all things bullet train.

[[A/N: Thanks for my first request !!! I hope I did it justice! Enjoy this slowburn and kinda angst riddled oneshot. Reader's first codename is Butterfly. Second is Beetle. (You work with Ladybug's agency.) ]]

The first time you met Tangerine was one of your first jobs ever. You remember it so well because well, the twins made it memorable. They made everything memorable, you'd come to realize but not now.

It was a gala, and you were dressed well -fancy even, with hair perfectly in place and shiny fabric cascading.

The job was an easy one, getting your feet wet and whatnot; not that you hadn't wanted the harder ones, it was just like a test run for your agency -seeing if you could do it. Which, with your experience, was kind of ridiculous but you didn't want to get into it right now.

All you needed was information from a man, some sort of billionaire -you weren't honestly sure. The location of someone else, his brother... cousin? You knew his name and that was all that mattered.

You finished your drink, and with a walk that could kill, you made your way to the floor. He was talking to some men (tall with bleached tips, and another one broad shoulders with a mustache), but you simply pushed yourself through.

His eyes, naturally, rested on you, and you used it toward your advantage.

"Hi," you smiled over the rim of your glass, fluttering your eyelashes for good measure, "-do you mind if I interrupt? I've been dying to talk to you all day."

The man, Richard you remembered, smiled smoothly, "'Course, honey. We can always pick up this conversation later."

With a glance toward the men, you pushed your arm into his and began walking away.

You had felt the eyes boring into your back at the time, but you didn't think anything of it. You probably should have, but to be fair this was a test run, was it not?

The man guided you to a balcony, empty with the night sky and stars twinkling. You would've thought it was pretty, if you didn't have an objective.

"Name's Richard," he spoke, still close by your side, "-what's yours, sweetheart?"

Swallowing the bile in your mouth (he really wasn't your type), you smirked -playfully, trailing your fingers onto his upper arm, "I prefer to be a mystery to the men I meet, Richard."

He grinned, it was working well, "I'm not the first then?"

The rest of your conversation was much of the same, low chats about things that didn't really matter -hobbies, jobs, etc. And when you casually mentioned family, it was smooth sailing.

"Got a cousin visiting one of my houses down in Miami, but I haven't seen the rest in years."

You weaseled out the name, and with a cunning smile, went to refill your drink. He'd said he'd have someone do it for you, but you said something about 'clingy already?' and his masculinity came in check.

Your job was done. You were 30 minutes from getting home, out of these heels, and watching your favorite show with the emptiness of your apartment. These kinds of crowds were exhausting, you needed it.

That was until hands shot out of a closet and pulled you in so fast you couldn't even scream-

"What the hell?"

The light was on, thank god, as you took in the man. He was broad shoulders from before, dressed in a fancy suit -three piece, with curly gelled back hair and blue eyes. Oh, and the mustache. He was your type.

You shimmied out of his grip, pushing yourself to the farthest wall, "What are you doing?! You can't just pull women into closets-"

"Who fuckin' sent you?" He uttered out, harsh and brash -british accent, your mind noted.

"Sent me?" You played dumb, "-This is a gala, I was invited, prick."

"Don't fuckin' lie to me," he hissed, pulling out a gun and suddenly, this was all very real.

"Jesus Christ," you raised your hands, "-why the hell does it matter?"

"You're after my hit," he clarified, like it was fact -pushing the gun further into your face.

"Yeah, no," you laughed, "-my job here was information. I literally just talked to him, if you paid any attention to your surroundings-"

"Awfully snappy for someone with a fuckin' gun in your face," he retorted, but you could tell that his frustration had significantly lessened.

"Shoot me then," you egged on, "-lose your cover, and your target, and shoot me."

His mouth flattened, eyes hardening, as the realization slipped over his features; you loved being right.

Gotcha.

With the speed of a snail, he lowered his gun -jaw muscle flexing. You could tell he was pissed that you were right. This was fun, you would've stayed all night to get on his nerves, if this dress didn't make you feel like your skin was peeling off.

In very different circumstances, you would've been glad to be trapped in a closet with him. But, we can't always get what we want, can we?

Without another word, you slipped out of the closet and made your way to the door. And when you got home you scrubbed your skin clean until the flowery scent of your perfume went away (it made you sick), but that was nobody's business but your own.

The second time you met him was very different. Your job was a hit, a CEO of some fancy business -you didn't really care. You'd posed as some meeting for him -after hours, it was actually really simple to get this guy alone.

Anyway, you had just shot a bullet through his head when the door came crashing open -easily, you switched targets.

Instead of some innocent, however, it was the man -still wearing a three piece suit and the same mustache. He wore it well though, so you couldn't blame him.

"Not you again," you groaned.

"What the hell are you doin' 'ere?" He replied eyes scrunched and eyebrow raised.

"My job?" You answered, still pointing the gun at him without hesitation.

He raised his hands, begrudgingly, and looked you over, "You 'ere for a hit?"

You kicked the body at your feet, sarcastically, "Ya think?"

His eyes flicked down to the man, before back up to you, "Lucky for you, I'm just 'ere for a drive. You let me go, we call it even?"

You pursed your lips, tilting your head to the side -thinking on it, "Fine, but if I see you again it's fair game."

"Can't fuckin' wait, love," he remarked, and you honestly weren't sure if it was all sarcasm. Huh.

"Butterfly," you said as an introduction.

He furrowed his brows for a moment before a wave of understanding crossed over his face, "Tangerine."

Needless to say, you left that building laughing your ass off.

The next time after that you met Lemon, and then suddenly you were a trio. You switched agencies and were constantly partnered for missions, and even when you weren't, they'd follow you and keep an eye out for you. Even when you told them that you could handle it, they still showed up (Lemon always blamed Tangerine).

You don't know when Tangerine started shifting in your head -from friend to... something else. A scary something else. But you think it started here.

You were in a safe house, one you'd crashed in a lot actually. An apartment in the city with three bedrooms and a fancy kitchen, you could picture it as a home if you thought about it long enough. Couldn't see it without Tangerine and Lemon anymore though.

It was late, and you were watching some late-night reruns of a show you'd never seen -it was some sort of love triangle, and you somehow already had a favorite actually. You couldn't sleep, it was just something in your head -nightmares. You had close calls before and tonight was one of them; you wanted to be alive a little bit longer because of it.

"Hey," the voice interrupted your haze, drawing your attention to your right.

It was Tangerine, he was wearing normal clothes -baggy sweatpants and a t-shirt with his hair ungelled (you were still getting used to it). Blue eyes flickered across you, he could read you really well -you hated it.

He didn't ask if you were okay, didn't have to he knew, just sat by your side on the couch -you offered him some blanket. He took it, closer into your side than he was before -it made your head spin just a little. You figured because you hadn't been so close to someone in so long.

Before you could stop yourself, you started talking, "You ever think about what your life would be like if we didn't do what we do?"

It was sleepy coming out of your mouth, slightly slurred, but still genuine. You always got a little talkative around him, you weren't sure entirely why.

Tangerine deflected, blue eyes fuzzy over your face (you weren't looking at him), "Do you?"

"Yeah," you muttered, low and quiet, "-all the time."

"What would you do?" he asked, and he was genuine -you could always tell when he wanted to listen.

"I think..." you started, trying to decide your words, "- I think I'd want to be married. Is that stupid?"

"'s not stupid, love," he spoke, soft with his gruff sleep voice.

"It'd be nice, I think," you hummed, perhaps saying too much but you didn't care then, "-forever with one person. With this job, you're always alone. Jumping from place to place, partner to partner. I think it'd be nice to have somebody who was always there."

Tangerine didn't say a word.

"The real question is if I'm marriable," you laughed, "-do you think I have enough positive characteristics for someone to marry me, Tan?"

It was kind of a joke, and you expected him to respond that way. He didn't.

"Yeah," he whispered, dead serious, "-I do."

You were taken aback a little bit, something unfurling in your chest that you hadn't quite named yet but you knew it now, "You think so?"

He wrapped an arm around your shoulder and pulled you closer -your head settling on his shoulder without hesitation. You stayed that way for a few moments, breathing in his cologne and shampoo -he smelt so good, how?

"Someone would marry you," he finally responded -something there in his voice but you couldn't name it, "-'d be fuckin' stupid not to."

It was going great, really great. Until it wasn't.

You can't even remember the mission now, but it was one that the twins followed you in on. You convinced them to wait out in the car, you could handle this.

And while you were, your earcon went off -static voice in your ear. You had to strain to hear it, but once you did, you wished you hadn't. It was Maria, your previous handler -you had no idea how she got your connection, actually. It didn't matter then, the voice echoing through your head.

"Butterfly, listen to me, you have to get out of there."

"Maria?" you questioned, slamming a guy's head into a wall, "-'Would love to catch up but I'm a little busy right now-"

"Butterfly, listen. You are in danger."

"Aren't I always?" you laughed, sliding a blade across another guy's neck -he sunk to the floor.

"I got intel on a manhunt for you, the White Death is looking for you. You are not safe, listen to me."

You stalled in place, your heart dropping to your stomach, breathless, "What?"

"He's been surveying your safe house. He knows what job you're on, you have to get out of there now."

One of them rushed you from behind, you promptly elbowed his throat and he let you go -you spun on your heel and shot him square in the head. It was on instinct, your brain was running a thousand miles a minute.

"I can't hide from a guy like him, Maria," you spoke, a sort of shake in your tone, "-he'll find me. He'll find the twins-"

"Listen to me," she repeated, "-we have a plan, but it's not going to be easy."

"Yeah," you sighed, "-okay. I've got nothing to lose, right?"

"There's a car on the westside of the building, you need to head that way and-"

"Maria," you thought of the twins, "-I already have a ride."

"I want you to listen to me very carefully, you are not making it out of this building alive."

"Jesus," you laughed, "-have a little faith in me-"

"Butterfly, you are not making it out of this building alive."

"I am," you replied, "-I don't know what you're thinking but I'm perfectly capable."

"You, Butterfly, are not making it out of this building alive. Are you listening?"

"I don't-"

"As far as anyone knows, you are dead. As far as the White Death knows, you are dead."

"Oh," you responded, softly, "-this is... I'm... What about the twins?"

"They can't know. The White Death will be surveying them for months after, if they don't play the part-"

"They would," you ushered out, tears burning at the backs of your eyes, "-they... They could not see me for awhile but they would know-"

"I'm sorry, but if you're actually going to stay alive, they can't know. The White Death is smart, he knows how close the three of you are. If they know, he'll know."

"Please," you whispered, you felt like you couldn't breathe, "-without them... You don't know what it'll put them through, Maria, I can't-"

"I'm sorry."

Tears fell before you could stop them, heavy and your throat felt like it was closing up (good god, you couldn't breathe). You stumbled to the window, eyes catching on the car that waited for you by the entrance -if you squinted you could see them, you just wanted to see them again. Even if it was the last time-

"Butterfly, breathe, I need you to focus, okay? For them and you."

"Will you tell them first, before... before anyone else? They deserve to-" your voice cracked, "-They deserve to know first."

"Of course."

You swallowed, gasping for a breath and desperately wiping at your eyes -it felt like you were suffocating. Even still, you righted yourself -for the twins.

"What do you need from me?"

"Leave your phone and something they would know you wouldn't leave behind. They have to... They have to believe it."

With a shaky breath, you threw your phone to the floor -it cracked, but you didn't care. You scanned over yourself, digging into your pockets for something -anything. And then you remembered, the scratching on the fabric -it was your bracelet.

It was a gift from the twins, a simple charm bracelet with one single charm: a butterfly.

You remembered when they gave it to you, you promising to keep it on every day. It was the best gift you'd ever been given-

Hands shaking, you unclasped it -watching as it clattered to the ground, butterfly looking up at you. With another breath, you pulled your knife out of your pocket -three initials carved into the handle. Something in you cracked then as you looked at it, a little shrine to you -this is what they'd see. When they were told you were dead, they'd see this. That was... That was it.

You couldn't stay here anymore.

"Maria," you swallowed, blinking back as many tears as you could, "-where's the car?"

The next 4 years were a lot. You'd finally become yourself, a man, and you lived out in a small little cabin in the woods. You lived next to a teeny-tiny town where everyone knew each other, and you made your life there.

It was a sunny day when a car pulled up to your home -a fancy, expensive one. You knew it well, it dropped you off here all that time ago. Maria.

She smiled when she saw you, skimming over you -she knew about the transition but she hadn't seen you since before, "You look good, happier."

"Thanks," you smiled, leading her into your home. She was well aware of your home, every few years, she visited. Told you things, about the twins -their successes, their failures. They were infamous now. Sometimes it felt like you were there again, you could close your eyes and smell Tangerine's cologne and see Lemon's smile-

"I have some news," Maria started leaning against your countertop -she was always so rigid, all business.

"Yeah?" you smiled, "-What did they do now?"

"The White Death is dead," she spoke -frank and direct.

Something in your shoulders lifted, tears burning the back of your eyes -it had been so long, "Did they...?"

You knew very little about what she told them then, but you do know it had to do with the White Death. You knew they'd try and avenge you one day, it was just in their blood. You hoped they had peace now.

"A few people did," she clarified, "-remember the bullet train I talked about last week?"

"Yeah, you had Ladybug on that one, right?" you asked, you knew of the guy -never met him.

"The twins were there," she hummed, "-Turned out to be planned by him. He was going to kill them all by the end of the line."

"But they survived?" you asked.

"They did," she assured, before pausing for a moment, "-I'm here to ask you something."

You pursed your lips, something catching in your chest, "I can't see them, Maria-"

"That's not-" she started, before clearing her throat, "-I want to ask if you want back in."

"Into... work again?" You asked, curious.

"Yes," she said, laying it all out, "-We have a spot open, you'd be under me. We can start out with small jobs-"

"Isn't this what we planned? All that time ago?"

"We did," Maria confirmed, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, "-but, you've been here so long. Your plans can change, you know. You could live a normal life."

You thought back to that conversation that late night with Tangerine. You had wanted it then. At the time, you didn't know who you wanted it with but now... you did. And that... that wasn't happening.

But going back to work, that was familiar, that felt normal. You'd be yourself again. You hadn't felt that way fully since that day, but you could achieve it now. Mostly.

"Okay," you responded, "-I'm in."

That is what brought you here in some office building for a drive under the name, Beetle. Well, you weren't alone. A couple of months ago, you'd been at a meeting of the agency -Maria had requested you come. You'd said something a little bit snappy and from the back, a guy with blonde hair, glasses, and a huge smile, had yelled, "I like this guy!"

That was your introduction to Ladybug, and he'd immediately requested to be your partner to Maria. He even threw in some 'pretty-please's, you'd laughed really hard that day -you hadn't in a long time. And with a little hope of some normalcy, you agreed.

Now this was pretty run of the mill, you'd worked with Ladybug to know most of his quirks -like forgetting literally everything as soon as you stepped into the building, and not wanting to kill people on Wednesdays ('My therapist says I need to start taking care of myself, this is me doing that, Beetle.').

"Listen," you turned to him, "-just keep the guy distracted, I will find the drive."

"Hey," he mumbled, eating some kind of finger food, "-Aren't we supposed to be a team? What was it that Maria said-"

"Ladybug," you sighed, he could really annoy you, "-firstly, you know she never says anything in your favor-" he nodded at that in agreement, "-secondly, do you even remember what you had for breakfast this morning?"

He paused, squinting his eyes.

"Exactly," you pointed out, "-so I will go find the drive, and you go... mingle."

"I don't wanna mingle," he nearly whined, "-I should've retired after the bullet train."

You froze for a moment, at the mention, before coming back down to earth, "You can do that after we do this, yeah?"

"Oh," he waved his hand with a grin, "-you know I could never leave you, Beetle."

You smiled then, "I know. Now, go, seriously-"

"Yeah, alright," he swatted you, "I'm going-"

With that, you slipped over to the elevator -squeezing past a few stray people and pressing the top floor. Luckily, it was some sort of company party, so every office was unattended. You, yourself, needed the top office, so out of respect for your knees -you'd decided to use the elevator.

You would later wildly regret this decision.

Around the fifth floor, it stopped. You fully prepped yourself for some stray office worker, probably holding a two-liter to bring downstairs and the awkward conversation that would ensue. Instead, it was much, much worse.

Because in front of that door stood Lemon, tips still bleached and dressed in a casual suit -the same kind he always used to wear. Your heart was in your throat, so you casually arranged your tie -trying not to let your voice come out squeaky.

"What floor?" You offered.

He didn't say a word, was just staring for a moment -brown eyes solid on you like he was reading you. You knew you looked different, and even sounded different but you still thought maybe-

"Seventh, thank you," he smiled, sauntering up to your side.

You smiled with a nod, and pressed the button.

The silence was unbearable, and you were certainly going to give Maria an earful when you got back because this. Was. Not. Supposed. To. Happen.

That was literally your one clause for this work-

"Do I know you?" Lemon asked, looking at you questioningly, "-I feel like I've seen you somewhere before. You're so familiar-"

Your tongue was quicker than your brain, "I'm Carl, Mr. Madison's assistant?"

He pursed his lips, like he was trying to believe it.

"I work on the third floor, mostly," you lied through your teeth -it was just keeping cover, "-maybe you saw me there?"

"Yeah," he settled, still eyeing you weirdly, "-probably."

The rest of the ride was silent, just before he stepped off, "Carl, if ya see an uptight guy in a suit with a mustache, tell 'im I'm on seventh, will ya?"

You instinctively nodded, and as the doors slipped shut -your brain started screaming. Of course, Tangerine was here. God, you could handle Lemon, but-

You pressed your com on, hissing out, "Maria-"

"Yeah, Beetle, what's going on? Everything okay?"

"The twins are here," you spoke -tone wavering, your breaths felt shallow like you weren't getting enough no matter how hard you tried.

"Oh shit."

"Wow," you came back to earth for a moment, "-that's the first time I've heard you lose your cool. Too bad I'm losing my mind-"

"Beetle, listen to me, okay? They don't know who you are. You look different, you sound different."

"I know," you let a breath out, "-I just. I never wanted to see them again. I don't... I don't deserve to."

"Beetle, we've talked about this."

"I know," you took a breath in, "-I know. It's just a lot."

"Is Ladybug there with you?"

"No," you spoke, like it was obvious, "-he can hardly remember his name sometimes, Maria-"

"I'll tell him there's an emergency. Send him up to you."

"But there isn't?" You countered, hand slipping up to run through your hair.

"If the twins are there for the same thing, there's about to be."

With that, you were on the top floor. You kept your eyes peeled -fancy shoes clopping along the tile. You'd always wanted a pair, but now you felt like a prick, honestly.

You figured if Tangerine was anywhere he was here, or shuffled into the party. That was if you had the same motivation.

Which was probably your best bet.

Somehow, you made it to the office in one piece. No peering blue eyes anywhere or accents melting into your ears, you were alone. Huh, maybe you were lucky.

You shuffled through some drawers, scattering paperwork and knocking a tin of paperclips over. It really didn't matter, the man would notice the USB gone anyway so no need for it to look like someone hadn't stolen it. With the drawers, you came up empty-handed.

You pursed your lips, before brushing your fingers along the top shelf of the bookshelf, maybe it was hidden? Nope.

You spun on your toes, before your eyes landed on the laptop. It was literally plugged into his laptop, out in the open.

"Idiots," you mumbled, before pocketing it with the slip of your hand.

Ready to go and fetch Ladybug, your job was done-

"Give me the fuckin' drive," his voice bounced around your head, and you very nearly cracked your neck spinning around to see him.

The first thing was the gun in your face, which was familiar, actually.

You raised your hands in surrender, instinctively muttering, "Jesus Christ."

He stalled for a minute when his eyes met your face like he was processing something -you thought out of anyone he would recognize you. The gun faltered in his hand as his eyebrows crept together into a furrow, confused.

You washed over him too, his hair was slightly longer and he was stronger -you could tell. His mustache was the same, and the suit too, just tighter. But along his neck, right at the collarbone was a nasty scar -it was new, fresh, you could tell. A couple of months at most.

"Look, I'm just Mr. Madison's assistant," you started, your voice shaking but it actually helped you here, "-I don't know what you're talking about."

"Do you think I'm fuckin' stupid?" He countered, frustrated again, but there was still something skewed in his face, "-I saw you slip it in your pocket."

"Right," you swallowed, "-glass doors."

He leaned forward, the gun doing the same. And you heard the jingle of his necklace, the one he always wore -something from his childhood he said, but there was another sound, another noise. Before you could think any better, your eyes dipped to it.

The butterfly charm.

Your heart stalled in your chest.

He had the butterfly charm, your butterfly charm, around his neck. The silver was stark against the gold, so you really couldn't have missed it -how long has he been wearing that?

A sob trickled up the back of your throat, but you held it back -blinking away tears.

"Look," you echoed, voice heavy with wear -you wouldn't cry, not now, "-we can work this out."

"I said," he stepped forward, and you could smell his cologne -it was still the same, "-give me the fuckin' drive."

You didn't move.

"Do you want a fuckin' bullet in your head, love?" He asked, his face getting redder, but there was still something in his eyes -he was hesitating. He never hesitates.

Not... not at work. He pulls the trigger and is done but he's hesitating-

Your heart pounding in your chest, you stood your ground -digging your heels in, "Shoot me. You can take it off my corpse, just shoot me."

Tangerine frowned, something in his face flickering between your eyes -you knew he saw you, but you didn't know how he did. Did he think it was just a coincidence? Did he know? Did he think he was hallucinating?

He opened his mouth, but before he could say a word -Lemon walked in with a gun pressed to his temple. Your eyes caught on Ladybug's and he visibly seemed to relax at the sight of you breathing.

"For old times sake," he spoke, "-you give me my guy, I give you yours."

"You almost fuckin' killed me," Tangerine seethed through his teeth, "-why should I 'ave any leniency?"

Oh, you thought, that scar was from Ladybug?

"He's got a point 'ere," Lemon replied, rather plainly. You wanted to laugh.

Ladybug paused, "I said I was sorry, I thought we were past that, guys! We killed the White Death together, remember?"

Both of them froze, tense and lips twitching. Was that... Was that because of you?

"Oh, right, sorry," Ladybug recanted, "-sensitive subject."

It was. Something in your chest panged, you'd never thought you'd see it firsthand. You never wanted to-

You stopped the train of thought, hissing to Ladybug, "You are not helping here, you know that?"

"I'm trying my best," he practically whined back, "-you try reasoning with these guys! It's like talking to two brick walls-"

"Ladybug," you chastised.

"Right, sorry," he repeated.

You sighed, leveling to look at them, "Look, I'll give you guys the drive, okay? Just let us go. I'll get him out of here."

Tangerine softened just a smidge -blue eyes matching yours, you may have looked different but your eyes stayed the same. You knew that, and you hoped somewhere in him, he recognized them or they reminded him or anything-

Because if they didn't, you weren't making it out of here alive.

Wordlessly, Tangerine put his gun down and held out his hand. So he did see it.

Ladybug's eyes nearly bulged out of his head, he was clearly not expecting him to relent. But then again, you weren't either.

You pulled it from your pocket, dropping it into his open hand -careful not to touch him, you couldn't do that to yourself.

"Ladybug," you spoke, motioning for him to follow, "-Let's go. We'll tell Maria on the way."

He did as such, giving the gun back to Lemon, and slowly following you out of the door -back turned to the outside, keeping watch.

"Did you-" Tangerine interrupted, stalling the two of you in your path -your heartbeat quickened in your chest, as he turned to look at you, only you, "-Did you know Butterfly?"

"Everyone knows Butterfly," Ladybug responded, "-she's a legend, even for our agency."

He didn't react to his response, only solidly looking at you, Lemon too. You felt like every move you made was outing you, revealing you. That they would realize and hate you and never understand-

"I never knew her personally," you answered, swallowing, "-Just... Just stories."

And with that, you spun on your heel and walked out the door -Ladybug following dutifully behind. You felt their eyes on you every step until you turned back around in the elevator.

You didn't do a job for quite awhile after that. Ladybug, following your lead, took a break too -said something about meditating. You didn't listen, you couldn't.

All you could see was that charm hanging on his necklace -right next to his heart. Did Lemon have your knife? Did they split them?

The next few months were boring, Maria kept calling you and you kept telling her you were okay, you just needed some time. She even sent Ladybug on you a couple of times, but even he could tell you weren't at your best. He just kept recommending things his therapist said, you appreciated it, really, even though it didn't help at all.

When you finally got back to work, Maria sent you as a solo -Ladybug was something you had to limit after a while. All you had to do was get a package before it was delivered, simple.

You didn't know why god seemed to hate you.

You were posed as a delivery truck driver, you even had the truck, the outfit, and the lift. It was something you genuinely enjoyed and everything should've gone perfectly.

It should have been as easy as walking in and walking back out.

That was not the case.

You arrived at the hotel lobby, dressed in the uniform and smiling at the front desk. Politely asking for the boxes you needed, something about office supplies or pillows or something. The hotel had too much of it. All you had to do, was get the package and sneak it in with the others.

"Can I run to your bathroom?" You asked with a smile -you had to get out of the lobby somehow.

"Of course," she smiled, bright and beautiful, "-There's one down that hallway and to the right."

You followed those directions, and then decisively took off into the bathroom -despite it not being a part of the plan. Somewhere in the back of your head, you noted that someone was definitely following you. It was a shadow in the back of your eye, but you still saw it.

So when the door opened behind you, you raised your fist and-

Stopped.

Tangerine stood there, eyes wide as your fist was mere inches from his face. He was wearing a coat, maybe like a trenchcoat, that was brown and gave his whole outfit something entirely different.

"What the hell?" You hissed out, lowering your fist, "-What are you doing here? Following me?"

Tangerine seemed to pause for a moment, before wiping his hand over his mouth, "I'm stayin' 'ere, saw ya out in the lobby. This isn't... It's not a job. I'm not 'ere to... to hurt you."

"Did you just want to say hi?!" You asked, sarcastically -this could not be happening again, "-Last time I saw you, you had a gun pointed at my head. Forgive me for being afraid."

He licked his lips, and you noticed it then, something was very off. He wasn't angry, no, he looked exhausted like he hadn't slept in days; his eyes were red and puffy like he had been crying. Had he been crying?

"Um," you started, trying to act normal, "-is everything okay...?"

"Tangerine," he finished for you.

"Beetle," you offered in response, before repeating, "-Seriously, is everything okay? Should I call your... your partner?"

"You knew 'er," he interrupted, voice worn.

"Knew who?" You questioned, squeezing your nails into your palm -you knew where this was going.

"Butterfly," he clarified, "-you fuckin' knew 'er, you had to."

"Look, Tangerine," you replied, "-I already told you-"

He interrupted you again, quietly letting out a wet sort of chuckle, "You even say it like 'er."

"Say what?"

"My name," he bit at his lip, gnawing at it, really, "-you say it the exact same way, and I... I fuckin' remember that, so you knew 'er."

You were speechless for a moment, before settling yourself -trying to stay away from this, "Do... Do you need to talk for a minute? Or?"

"Are you 'er brother?" He asked, something heavy in his gaze, "-It's the only solution I can think of, and it's drivin' me fuckin' mad. I have to know-"

"Why would I say I don't know her if I'm her brother?"

"I don't fuckin' know," he breathed out, hands running through his hair, "-are you afraid of the White Death? What he... he did to 'er? He's dead, very dead. You can say you know 'er-"

"But, I don't," you offered, a little weaker.

"You do," he replied simply, "-you fuckin' 'ave to, you look just like 'er. You can't- I can't... Just tell me the truth."

"I'm not her brother," you repeated, it was the only thing you could say.

"Did she ever say anythin' about me? About... About Lemon?" He continued, his voice scratchy and eyes blinking so fast you knew he was holding back tears -your stomach churned.

"Tangerine," you sighed out, "-I don't know what to-"

He interrupted you again, hand pulling on his necklace, the charm, "'s hers, you were starin' at it the other day. 'Was her bracelet, but I think ya know 'at."

"Look," you swallowed, heavily, "-I can't do this now, I'm on a job. We can talk later, though, if you need to."

You ended up finding the box in ten minutes and leaving without another word.

By the time, you were ready for missions again -you were half convinced you wanted to just go back to the cabin, and live your life there. Away from mustaches and feelings and fear, you could enjoy yourself -listen to birds, observe nature, even.

Maria even offered it, after the last trip, she'd smiled at you in the solemn way she did and offered you the home back, the life back.

You thoroughly debated it for a few days but wanted to feel like yourself again and this was the closest you'd get, ever.

You loved him, and this was the closest thing you'd get to him. It was all you had.

Even if he did love you, you were... different now and you couldn't imagine that would be okay with him. You didn't let yourself.

The next time you saw the twins, you decided to embrace it -try and be as close as you could. If they figured it out and left you in the dust, so be it. You wanted them in your life.

It was another solo mission, Ladybug was in one of those 'I'm going to quit and move to Costa Rico' phases of his career and you didn't exactly want to cozy up with anybody else.

Maria understood, and sent you alone.

It was a hit, some guy with a big life insurance policy -his wife hired you, apparently. He was a loner, and didn't go much of anywhere, so you were to stage a robbery and simply kill him in the kerfuffle. Or, at least make it look like that.

The job was so easy that you'd taken to the city afterward -you wanted to live a normal life for a minute, and after it all, you ended up in a bar. A sort of quiet one with a wooden bar and dim lights -the only people in there being men watching football games, and even they did say much of a word.

It was calm, peaceful.

You heard the door jingle, you knew the sound but assumed it was a normal person -sipping on your drink in your booth alone, away from prying eyes. You didn't exactly want any company, not really, but you ended up with some.

The steps of fancy shoes, it was ingrained in your brain, only getting louder -you thought maybe someone was going to sit close to you. Until they abruptly stopped at your side, you promptly turned your head -eyes peering over your drink.

Tangerine stood there in much better shape, blue eyes focused gently onto you (not red and puffy) and hair perfectly gelled back. He was wearing the blue suit that matched his eyes really well -you'd told him it was his best one once.

"Tangerine," you hummed, sipping your drink, "-weird seeing you here."

He paused, eyes flicking over you for a moment -maybe taking in your outfit, just the same as you did. Before muttering out, "'Ere's a safe house nearby, me and Lemon are stayin' 'ere."

You knew that one, the three of you stayed there a couple of times but then again, where hadn't the three of you stayed?

You pondered over that for a moment, before speaking, "You can sit down, you know, I won't bite."

He seemed to tense up.

"Unless you do," you clarified with a bit of a smile, "-in which I retract my statement."

His lips quirked for a second, as he slid into the booth across from you, "'M off the clock."

"Ah," you nodded your head, "-lucky for you, me too."

"Lucky for me?" He asked, it all seemed so natural -you knew he'd ask questions about it later.

"I'm a good fight," you shrugged, "-what can I say?"

"I imagine," he laughed, and something in your chest swirled -you missed that.

He sat in silence for a moment, tapping his fingers against the table, as you messed with the napkin you had. It wasn't uncomfortable, not really, (you didn't think it would ever be) but there was still something hanging over the two of you.

"Look," he said, suddenly, "-about the other day. I'm sorry, I was... I was in a really bad fuckin' place. Just brought up some memories... I didn't mean to-"

"Relax, Tangerine," you sighed, something bubbling up your throat, "-I know what it feels like when you've seen a ghost."

Something in you twisted, tired, and thinking you were lying. God, you were lying to him. But you couldn't chance losing him again, you didn't want him to hate you. Force himself out of your life, his choice.

Not yours. It was selfish, you knew that much.

"They treat ya well?" He asked, and you tilted your head, "-Your agency? I had a friend... switched over, so..."

"Very well," you hummed, "-My handler is... she understands my breaks."

"You had a break?"

"Long time ago," you spoke, vaguely -you couldn't be specific, "-stayed in a cabin, lived normal for awhile."

He leaned back into the booth, something in him curious, you could see it, "How was it?"

"Boring," you decided.

"Yeah," he murmured, "-always thought it fuckin' would be."

You took a leap then, even if the answer would hurt. You wanted to know.

"You ever thought about it?"

"Bein' normal?" He clarified -eyes smooth over your face.

You nodded, finishing your drink -he seemed to notice, and you half thought he'd offer you to get another.

"Yeah," he breathed out -not matching your eyes now, something heavy on his shoulders, "-once a long fuckin' time ago. But... things change."

You wondered if it was because of you -that one night. If he wanted that with you-

He wouldn't anymore, your mind chimed -stinging under your skin, you are different. So is he.

Timing would never be right, it made your lips snap shut anytime you thought of telling him. The idea that he had loved you then, and now... now he wouldn't. That was worse than him hating you for life, just not... just not loving you anymore.

You swallowed, thick -you wanted to know more, but you couldn't just say that, "That they do."

He paused for a moment, before sliding out of the booth, "I 've to go, Lemon's waitin' on me."

You nodded your head, toying with your glass -eyes slinking across the rim, something in you disappointed. Something in you wanted him to stay, but that wasn't going to happen. You couldn't have him.

Not now.

"Beetle," he spoke, slow and measured, "-'S nice talkin' to ya. Maybe we can catch up again when we aren't at each other's fuckin' throats, yeah?"

"Yeah," you agreed, the tips of your mouth turning up just a little, "-I'd be alright with that."

You started seeing Tangerine every once in a while, strange little cafés and dimly lit bars. You didn't know how he always ended up in the area with you or close by, but it felt familiar. Like when the two of them would follow you into jobs, even when you said you'd be fine because they wanted you to be okay. Just in case. You supposed now that they actually had something to worry about.

That led you to now, you laid on the tile of a building -head pounding and the lights blinding. You had successfully cleared it and killed your hit, but someone had snuck up on you -gun drawn, they took a cheap shot.

"Maria," you breathed out, "-Maria, come in."

"Beetle? Everything alright?"

"They got a cheap shot in-" you hummed, "-I think in my chest? It hurts to breathe-"

"Okay, alright. I'll see who's around you, okay?"

"I think I can walk-"

"Don't move, keep your hands on the wound. What floor are you on?"

"Second," you faltered out a breath -a sting in your lungs, even still you shifted putting all your weight on your hands, "-shit, never get used to that."

"Never will."

You laughed, leaning your head back down against the tile -it was cold against your skin. You felt like you were burning alive, so it was actually a little refreshing.

The lights above you hurt your eyes, but it was easier to breathe this way. Inhale, exhale -a sting, inhale, exhale -a sting.

You imagined for a second this was years ago, that you were actually dying then. The twins would come rushing in, burst through the doors, and Lemon would be darting all over you -trying to figure it out. And Tangerine... Tangerine would grab your face and keep you awake -soft words but every once in a while shaking you to keep you awake. You wouldn't have been able to die then, not with them there -trying to help. You supposed you could die now, bleed out on a tile floor alone or with someone you didn't even know.

This dream of it being Tangerine and Lemon, that was something you could live for -you could almost see it in your head.

And then you heard it, a door busting open and fancy shoes clattering down the hallway -like yours that made you feel like a prick. You wondered if you got the idea of them from Tangerine, he surely owned so many pairs-

"Shit," there was a voice then, and your eyes snapped to the source.

Oh, I'm definitely hallucinating.

Tangerine stood over you before falling to his knees, mumbling -frustrated, "I just fuckin' knew it was you."

"Am I..." you spoke, breathlessly, "-Am I hallucinating?"

"What do you think I am? A fuckin' angel?" Something in your mind answered yes, "-Hate to break it to you, love, but it's just me."

"How the hell were you around here?"

"A job," he said, a little too quickly -it was suspicious.

"Lying-" you slurred out, "-I can tell you're lying."

Tangerine didn't say anything in response, ignoring it, "'S your chest, yeah?"

"Yeah," you hummed, "-where I'm holding."

"Alright," he breathed out, "-alright. Don't stop holdin' it, okay? Keep your hand 'ere."

"How am I gonna move?"

He rolled his eyes, "Can't give me an inch of fuckin' trust, can ya?"

"Sure, I can," you breathed out, flinching slightly, "-just tell me your plan."

He let out a chuckle, before without warning -slipping his arms under your knees and back. The movement jostled you a little and it hurt -you hissed out.

"Sorry, love," he echoed out, softer than you expected, "-'s the only way to get ya out of 'ere."

"I know," you exhaled, "-I know. Keep going."

It felt like you hadn't even blinked before he was pattering out of the building -he was going so fast. Your head was spinning now, but you were still conscious.

"Shit," you heard Lemon, as Tangerine slipped you into the backseat, laying you across the seats -head first, "-a bullet?"

"Fucking cheap shot," you breathed out, "-Killed a whole building full of people and some asshole came up behind me and shot me-"

Lemon seemed to laugh slightly at your frustration; it made you feel a little lighter.

Tangerine shut the door and you waited for him to slip into the passenger seat. You were getting tired, you just wanted to bandage it up and go to whatever hotel was open.

Instead, Tangerine slipped into the side with your head -carefully lifting it and setting you back down onto his lap. You froze -his cologne surrounding your head so much it made you woozy. Why had he done that?

"Stay awake, yeah?" He spoke, breaths raggedy -he really must've been going fast, "Beetle, do you hear me?"

"Yeah, yeah," you swallowed, the smooth cushion of his suit pants was tempting, but the situation you currently were in kept you awake. Your heart was pounding, your brain spinning, you were so close.

You'd been closer, but that was over 4 years ago. Even further when his hands made their way to your face and hair -trying to keep you awake. It worked very, very well.

Had he ever held your face before?

Something in you said no, but it could've happened. You were also so close and any time you got injured he'd always wanted to see it for himself. He usually refused to leave until he took care of it himself, with gentle hands. Whose to say you hadn't gotten a cut on your face?

Why did it feel so different now?

You looked up at him, just for a spare second -you saw his hand run through his hair, unveiling the curls by the second. You'd always liked his curls, when he'd shown you his natural hair -it was all soft and bouncy. It wasn't good for his image, you totally understood.

He's nervous, your mind chimed, does he care about you like this too?

You slapped away the thought and decidedly started staring up at the plush ceiling -this car was definitely expensive, you knew that much. The cushion on the seats, the detailing, the roof, the speed-

This thing had to be stolen.

"Ya alright, love?"

You swallowed and met his eyes, big blue blinking down at you and you could see it, the concern. Since when was he concerned for you? This you? Something had changed at some point and you didn't even notice.

"I've been shot," you retorted, obviously, "-I'm currently bleeding out on your fancy seats."

"That's not-" he huffed out, pinching the bridge of his nose -you couldn't hold back the grin on your lips.

Lemon laughed from the front, "'Give 'im a real run for his money, you know 'at, Beetle?"

"I try my best."

Lemon laughed again, and something in your chest felt lighter -you had missed them, so much. All those years at that fucking cabin, you had missed out on them, on knowing them, watching them, being with them.

God, you regretted everything then, but it was for the best. It kept them safe.

"Seriously," his voice was lower now but still so pointed, "-are you alright?"

You blinked away the fog of tears in your eyes, not now, and nodded, "Yeah, yeah. I'm alright."

The ride was short after that, it was wordless. Even though you think Tangerine wanted to say more, he didn't pry. Which you thought was very strange because he's Tangerine (he prods and pokes until you're set on murdering him) but you were literally bleeding out, so maybe it was courtesy.

You didn't have the heart to think it was anything else.

The twins brought you up the stairs, each taking a shoulder, and although it wasn't as dizzying as before when Tangerine had physically held you... It still was overwhelming.

These guys were like your family. You hadn't been this close to them in years.

"Alright, I'm assumin' you got the wounds?" Lemon asked, directed at Tangerine.

With a succinct nod, Lemon spun back around in the doorway -talking as he walked out, "'M off to get some food, don't bite each other's heads off, yeah? I'd hate to clean up the mess, personally-"

And then he was gone. You were currently sitting on a stool, hand still pressed intently into your chest, as Tangerine gathered up what medical supplies they had. Which was a lot, actually.

You spoke before you could think about it, "You know I can do this myself, right?"

"God, you've got quite the fuckin' head, don't ya?"

"You're one to talk," you replied.

Tangerine pursed his lips, in a way you could tell he was hiding a smile, before his eyes drifted to the ground for a moment. He didn't respond immediately, thinking on it.

And even when he brought everything onto the counter, he didn't say anything. It wasn't until he stood in front of you, nearly in between your legs as you sat on the stool.

"Just let me help you, yeah?"

Your eyes flickered over him, trying to read him but all you could get was -please. Almost like a desperation to help you, like he'd wanted to do this not just offering it-

"Yeah, okay," you responded softly.

"Shirt off," he quickly spoke -right to business, reaching over to the counter to grab what he needed.

You swallowed, you still weren't used to that. Taking your shirt off in front of people, off the top of your head you couldn't think of anyone who had seen your scars. Your top surgery scars. They were very obvious, right in the middle of your chest, and unavoidable. Did you want him to see them?

"Can't I just..." you started, "-unbutton the bottom?"

Tangerine turned back to you then, furrowing his eyebrows, "The gunshots in the middle of your chest, love, it'd be fuckin' half on anyway. Just take it off."

You frowned.

"No judgment here," he put his hands in the air, "-I couldn't care fuckin' less what your chest looks like, personally."

You licked your teeth and swallowed, before unbuttoning the dress shirt, slowly, but keeping it solidly on your shoulders. Kind of like how the men in cologne ads looked, with their opened-up shirts and the epitome of masculinity-

He didn't say a word, but you saw his eyes flicker over them -almost like he was noting it in his head before he switched his attention to the wound. He promptly dabbed it with an alcohol soaked cotton ball, and you nearly bit through your lip.

"Warn a guy, will you?"

Tangerine didn't even look up, "If that hurt, you're gonna have a fuckin' problem later, love."

"I've been stitched up before," you clarified, "-I'm not a newbie."

"Might as well be, yeah?" He hummed, tossing the cotton ball in the trash -flawlessly making it in (how does he even exist?), "-With your break."

"How do you know it was a long one?"

"I've never fuckin' heard of you," Tangerine explained, "-Ladybug's never heard of you and you're a part of his agency-" he dabbed another one over your wound, "-Must've been a long break."

He had a good point.

"Why are you so interested anyway?" You asked, quirking a brow, "-Plus, there are other agencies, how do you know I didn't come from one of them?"

"You're too good to 'ave," he replied, simply.

You fell silent, something stirring in your stomach -was that the first time he'd ever complimented you? Beetle you? Huh.

"Wow," you hummed, "-you can be nice. Who knew?"

"You're soundin' like fuckin' Lemon now," he groaned, before taking the needle from the counter.

"Lemon's smart then," you diverted your eyes -never could stand looking at being stitched up.

Tangerine rolled his eyes, and you looked back up to the ceiling -a smile ghosting onto your lips. Not that you'd ever let him see.

It went fairly smoothly, his hands made quick work of it and even quicker with the wound on your back (the bullet had gone right through your chest, luckily not hitting anything). Nothing happened, you were worried about nothing. He was Tangerine-

Just as you had started buttoning your shirt back up (you started from the bottom to the top), Tangerine froze.

Without a word, he walked closer to you -tilting your chin up with the ease of a finger and looking under it on your chest. You froze, his skin on yours was still something you couldn't deal with.

"Where'd you get 'at one?"

Fuck.

You knew what he was talking about immediately. It was a scar, just above your heart. You'd been stabbed on the job, and Lemon had fucked up your stitches so it had healed weird -came out curved somehow.

And then Tangerine was so paranoid that you showed him because he needed to know you were okay -it was so close to your heart.

"You almost fuckin' died, Butterfly. One inch down and..."

It was a one-of-a-kind scar. At the time, it didn't matter but now? You knew Tangerine could recognize that scar anywhere.

"Tangerine," you spoke out, measured. You tried to keep your voice calm, maybe you could save this-

He stepped back, eyes making contact with yours -they darted between them for a moment and then back to the scar, and then to your top surgery scars. You could see the wheels turning in his head, and everything in your body was screaming-

"Tangerine, listen-"

That was enough, something in him stiffened and he grabbed his coat off the back of the couch.

"Tangerine," you echoed out, but you knew it was no use now.

He didn't say a word, slipping it on and with the fastest steps you'd ever seen in your life, he disappeared out the door and slammed it shut.

The walls shook after.

You swallowed dryly, tears pricking at your eyes -this was never supposed to happen. This was never supposed to happen-

Your hand was on your com before you could even think about it, breaths shuddering out of your chest -sobs breaking in the back of your throat. You tried to stop it, hold it all back-

"Beetle? Hello? I see your com is on, everything alright?"

"They know," you whispered, nearly silent -tears streaming down your face.

"Who knows what?"

"The twins, they were... they were the ones nearby," you started, and your voice cracked, "-Tangerine offered to stitch me up and I have a scar-"

"Beetle, slow down. I can't understand you."

"They know who I am, Maria," you breathed out, tears catching in your throat, "-Tangerine knows and he's going to tell Lemon, and I don't know what the hell to do-"

"Beetle, breathe."

"He left," you echoed out, and you were crying -god it had been so long since you cried, "-he left, Maria. He didn't even say anything-"

"It's a lot to take in. Give him the benefit of the doubt."

"He's gone," you swallowed, "-I know it, Maria."

"You know him. Do you really think he's gone?"

You thought back to the pendant on his necklace -the butterfly, your butterfly.

"I don't..." you started, "-I don't know."

"Just wait, if nobody comes back... Give me a call, alright? I'll send a car your way."

So, you did.

You waited, buttoned your shirt back up, tried to wash the stain, and waited. You ended up flicking through TV shows, and smushed into the couch, waiting. Even thought about ordering your own food, but a part of you wanted to be sure that Lemon wasn't coming back.

After about two hours of waiting, you swallowed down the tears -eyes all red and puffy, and started gathering up your stuff. You accepted it now, you'd never see them again.

It was your decision, you would regret it for as long as you lived. Something in your chest heavy and exhausted, you readied yourself to call Maria back.

Just as your finger was about to touch the com, there was a jingle of some keys outside the door. You froze in place, slipping on one of your shoes without another thought -ready to leave. You knew he'd ask you.

The door slowly opened, and Tangerine peered inside -he looked worse for wear and you think if you focused hard enough you could see blood on his knuckles. You wouldn't ask, not now.

His blue eyes flicked over you, to your shoes and your coat all gathered up on your arms, he gnawed at his lip for a moment.

"Where the fuck are you goin'?

It was all harsh edges and sharp points, it made you bring up your own barriers.

"I'm leaving," you answered, straightening your posture and putting on your other shoe.

Tangerine didn't move for a moment, as you slowly made your way to the door -footsteps echoing in the heaviest silence you'd ever experienced in your life.

Just before you got there, Tangerine stepped in front of the door -something in his eyes heavy.

"Tangerine," you sighed, "-let me go."

"No," he answered simply, eyes meeting yours and you saw now, they were red and puffy too, "-hell no."

"Look, I really don't want to-" you started before briefly rubbing your temples, "-you want me to leave, just let me leave."

"Who the fuck said 'at?"

You tilted your head.

"Why would I want you to leave?" He furrowed his eyebrows, still angry, "-You... I just got you back, why the fuck would I want you to leave?"

"I lied to you, Tan," you breathed out, and something caught in your throat, "-I lied to you for years."

"You're fuckin' alive-" Tangerine exhaled, chuckling a little in disbelief, "-I have so many questions, yeah? That is far, so fuckin' far, from wantin' you to leave."

"Tangerine," you spoke, voice shaky, you just wanted to go. It would be so much easier if you just left-

He paused for a second, "Are you fuckin' listenin' to me?"

"I am," you replied, tears rising to the backs of your eyes, "-I just can't..."

"Love," he grabbed your wrist, something softer, gentler, "-Love, look at me, please."

You swallowed your tears and with a big breath, you looked at him. His eyes were always so very blue, but something about them then was vulnerable. Broken wide open, Tangerine sat in front of you.

"I want ya to stay, yeah?" He breathed out, wiping over his mouth, "-I want you to stay."

You pursed your lips, trying so hard not to cry -you shouldn't be the one crying, "Okay."

"Now," he sighed out, a little lighter, "-fuckin' sit down, you shouldn't aggravate the wound."

You wordlessly sat down on the far edge of the couch, closest to the door. Your hands were shaking, so you laid them flat on your lap -trying to calm down.

He wants you to stay.

"You said-" he started, his voice getting caught up in his mouth, "-You said you were in a cabin, yeah? Where?"

You opened your mouth, confused, "Why does that matter? You have... I lied to you for years and that’s your first question?"

He was standing up, pacing, and then suddenly stopped. He looked up at the ceiling for a moment blinking.

"You know, when they told us you were... dead," he echoed out -something caught in his throat, "-they didn't have a body? All we had was-"

His hand went to his necklace putting the pendant in between his fingers, "All we had was your things, there was no fuckin' body-"

"What does this have to do with-"

"I looked for you," he finally said, "-everywhere I went for a job, I fuckin' looked for you. Because if there wasn't a body, you could still be-"

He fell silent, for a moment -swallowing, eyes swimming over you like he couldn't believe it, "...alive."

"So," he continued, clearing his throat, "-I want to know where the fuck you were. 'At fair?"

Your mouth snapped shut - he looked for you? For how long? That wasn't important now though.

"Alaska," you answered, wiping at your eyes, "-small town, in the middle of nowhere. I had... I had an alias."

"Fuckin' Alaska," he muttered, under his breath.

"It was cold all the time," you added -a bit awkwardly, "-snowed nearly everyday."

Tangerine scanned over your face, maybe like he was trying to imagine you there, alone in the cabin. Or maybe, you out in the snow.

"That day..." he started slow, "-did you fight it? When you were told what you... what you had to do, did you fight it?"

"What are you asking?"

"Did you even think about telling us? Or, or-" he swallowed and his voice was husky and his eyes were bleary, "-coming back to us?"

"Tangerine," you echoed out, emotionless -trying to reign it in, "-I didn't have a choice. You know that."

"I know," he agreed, "-but did you fuckin' try?"

"You think-" you exhaled out, tears gathering in your eyes now, "-You think I didn't try to say goodbye? That I didn't beg Maria to change her mind? That I didn't tell her you guys would keep the secret-"

"Beetle-"

"-just so I could stay?"

"Beetle, I didn't..."

"I did," you swallowed, "-I did beg. It didn't work. If I... If you would've known, we both would've been in too much danger. I couldn't risk it."

"The White Death, yeah?" He clarified, and he was closer to you then he was before. His fingers kept twitching like he wanted to do something.

"He was after me," you hummed, "-knew where I was, where you were, where Lemon was."

"I just-" he started, "-I don't fuckin' get why... after you- After the White Death was killed, why didn't you- why didn't you come back? Tell us?"

"It's... complicated."

"Why?" he stressed out, "Why was it complicated? You were alive, and I don't know about Lemon, but, personally, I would've loved to fuckin' know 'at."

"Tangerine," you started, "-I'm different now, and you guys... you grieved me. How was I supposed to come back from that?"

"I don't give a flyin' fuck 'at you're a man," he interrupted, "-I just wish you would've felt comfortable enough to tell me- tell us earlier."

"Tangerine," you could feel the tears in your eyes.

"And we grieved you, yeah, but-" he explained, messing with his hands for a moment, "-knowing you're alive? That you were fuckin' breathin'? The grieving... It wouldn't 'ave fuckin' mattered, love."

"It would have," you stopped him, "-you thought I was dead-"

"Love," he suddenly sat by your side, gently holding your wrists in place, "-listen to me for once, yeah?"

You nodded, wordlessly, tears slipping down your face, this was guilt you were holding onto for years.

Without hesitating, Tangerine gently started swiping them away with his thumbs, "I thought I was in a world without fuckin' you. Lovely, annoying, beautiful fuckin' you."

You opened your mouth, but he merely continued.

"I couldn't imagine my life without ya in it, and then suddenly it was the fuckin' life I was livin'," he sighed out, eyes matching yours and hands cradling your jaw, "-you being alive changes fuckin' everythin'."

"Why?" You offered, eyes scattering between his -looking for an answer.

He paused for a moment, before dropping his hands, pushing his hair back for a moment, and swallowing. It was like he was readying himself.

"Lemon used to tell me that I was stupid," he finally said.

"Doesn't he always?" You furrowed your eyebrows.

He smiled a little bit, before grabbing one of your hands with his and fidgeting with your fingers -kind of like he just needed to be close to you, "Right, yeah. But this... He told me 'at one day I would regret not tellin' you."

"Telling me what?"

"When you... when you died, I realized the idiot was fuckin' right," he hummed out, a sob catching in his throat but he just kept talking, "-and then, I met a fuckin' self-righteous bloke who had the nerve to dare me to shoot 'im. Looked me right in the eyes."

"Tangerine-"

"And then the guy kept showin' up, and I kept seein' 'im and it was the always same back and forth," he continued, tracing along the creases of your palm, "-but at some point I started thinkin' that I wouldn't shoot 'im, even if he asked."

You laughed.

A smile flickered across his face at the noise, but he kept his eyes downward, "And then, I see 'im bloody and hurtin'. And I think back to the first time, when I didn't say it and if now I wasn't gonna be fuckin' able to-"

You raised an eyebrow.

"And then they dared to be the same fuckin' person."

"Tangerine," you asked, "-what the hell are you talking about?"

It was then that he finally looked up, and then you realized how close his face was to yours. You feel the puffs of his breath against your skin, and it made your head fuzzy. Your thoughts became blurry and all you could see was him-

Tangerine. Tangerine. Tangerine-

"I really don't give a fuck 'at you're a man," he repeated, blue eyes laser focused on yours.

You furrowed your eyebrows, "What the hell does that-"

His eyes dipped down to your lips.

Oh.

"Really?"

"Not a flyin' fuck," he echoed out.

You smiled, before letting your own eyes drift -just for a second. It was like a confirmation, a consent.

Before you could say another word, his hands reached up to grab your face and bring your lips to his. It was all force, desperate, like you were oxygen and he just wanted to breathe-

But somehow still gentle, holding you -fingers rubbing along your face like he was reminding himself you were there. That you were alive. That you were sitting there beside him breathing. It made sense now, all of it.

The grieving didn't matter because you were alive.

He finally separated, keeping his forehead on yours for a split second -staring into your eyes and huffing out breaths.

He kept you there, until it felt like you couldn't breathe -he stole all of it away.

When there was a knock on the door.

Then, there was another knock.

He groaned, throwing his head back -decidedly not letting you go.

"What do you fuckin' want, Lemon?"

"No way to treat someone who got you food," he chastised, "-you 'ave the keys, let me in."

"Come back in ten minutes," Tangerine answered -eyes solidly on yours, you felt frozen in your seat.

"The food's gonna get cold, mate," Lemon retorted, "-don't ya want it warm? I worked hard to get it, ya know? The closest restaurant was like a fuckin' block away-"

"Ten minutes," Tangerine repeated.

"I'm not fuckin' leaving," Lemon started again, "-it's cold out 'ere. You gonna leave your brother out in the fuckin' cold-"

"Fuckin' go, Lemon," Tangerine groaned out.

"Fine," he breathed out, "-keep snoggin', but don't fuckin' complain if I eat some of your food."

Yeah, you really missed this.

"We won't," you chimed in with a smile.

Tangerine smiled at you like you held the sun.

[saddled-on-stars]

Beetlejuice x coquette reader? btw I love love love ur writing teehee

Hi, Anon!! OH MY GOD I WOULD LOVE TOOOOO! Beej is 100% a softie for people like this, I can guarantee it!! ALSO, WHAAAAT?? Thank you so much, you're so kind!! I hope you enjoy this one :)

Happy Reading! - Star ★

-★-★-★-★-★-★-★-  Trigger Warnings: Suggestive Themes, Reader Wears a Dress -★-★-★-★-★-★-★-  Key:       ★ (Y/N) = Your Name       ★ (L/N) = Last Name     ★ (Y/NN) = Your Nickname  -★-★-★-★-★-★-★-  Requested by: Anonymous

- ★ - Beetle's Bow - ★ -

‘Hmm… a little higher here, maybe?’, you thought to yourself, fixing the little bow of white ribbon on your new dress, hanging upon the black-felt mannequin that resides in your room. 

The dress is white, about mid-thigh-length, rising just above the knees. It has a very frilly-ish style on the torso and shoulder straps, as well as having a pink ribbon covering the waistline. 

It was the first dress you had ever made yourself, to say the least, you are quite proud of it. It isn’t the most perfect thing in the world, but it definitely isn’t bad, either.

You had designed dresses and other clothing items in drawing and sketch form, but it was none other than your boyfriend, who encouraged you to bring them to life, straight off of the paper.

As you tied the final ribbon on one of the shoulder straps, you hear your bedroom door creak open, the hinges slightly old. However, it isn’t an unpleasant sound, but rather a comforting one.

“Hiya, Babes! Whatchya doin’?”, your curious boyfriend asks, walking through the door. He's in his usual striped suit, his hair it's usual vibrant green. The stubble of his beard covers his face, giving him that warm, cozy look.

You smile at him proudly, hopping up from your stool to rush over to him, as you grab his hand, gently pulling him over to the mannequin to show off your first creation, which he inspired of course.

“I took your advice, Beej! I put the dress into real form!”, you exclaim excitedly, practically bouncing on your toes. “And it’s all thanks to you, Baby!”, you exclaim, wrapping your arms around his neck, peppering his cheek with kisses. He chuckles slightly embarrassed, his hair turning a deep rose color, “Ah, don’t sweat it Babes, you did all the work, here,”. 

He begins gazing at the dress in awe, imagining how you’d look in it. He begins examining the shoulder-straos and waist ribbon, knowing that it would practically hug your figure perfectly. 

Obviously, he would never wear anything like that. Stripes and wacky patterns is clearly more his style, and he likes it that way-

“By the way, Beej! This was obviously my first dress, but I’ve made a lot of sweaters recently-”, you say, beginning to rummage through your ‘creations box’, which is just an old shoebox that you’ve stapled some fabric to. Its got character, and it’s yours. 

Beej’s hair immediately turns from its deep rose color, to a colorful mix of his usual green, and a few little strands of his fearful blue. 

You liked ribbons, and frilly things, there was no doubt about that, and he doesn’t mind that you liked it one bit. In fact, he secretly likes it, how cute you look in all of your coquette stuff; it makes you look all cute and cuddly. “Ah-ha! Here it is!”, you say with a tone of enthusiasm, holding up a white knitted sweater, and it actually looks quite cozy. 

What’s different about it is that there’s some white lace around the sleeve cuffs and neckline, sewn on top of the sweatshirt. 

But what really catches someone’s eye is the little pink ribbon bows sewn in vertical lines across the sweaters. They’re everywhere on the sweater, but they’re small enough to make it seem like a cute pattern.

It definitely seems close to Beej’s jacket size, which makes him pause for a moment, his eyes widening slightly. Did you make it for him?

You drape the sweater over your forearm, fiddling with your hands sheepishly, noticing his reaction. “I-I made it for you, really…”, you begin, but you quickly look at him with a slightly alarmed expression.

“B-But if you don’t want to try it on, you obviously don’t have to, I just thought-”, you begin reassuring him, but you’re quickly cut off.

He’s kissing you, cradling your neck in his hands. You notice his hair fading from that colorful mixture, back to that nice, deep rose color.  You wrap your arms around his neck and let your eyes flutter closed, leaning into the kiss. You feel the sweater begin to fall off your arm, but Beej catches it with no problem.

He pulls away from the kiss with a smirk, immediately saying, “Well, now we can’t have this beauty falling to the floor, now can we?”, leaving you breathless and giggling.

Beej shuffles into the sweater, his faded pink hair peeking through the neckline, and he jerks his arms forward gently, as if to adjust the sleeves.

Before you can say anything, he begins walking to the other side of the room, leaving you standing there confused.

Knowing Beej, he usually has some sort of commentary after anything. Sometimes it's sweet, sometimes it's not.

He whips around, his hand on his hip, and his leg on the opposite side sticking out, as if to pose as a model, causing you to giggle.

"Now presenting, 'Cute Cuddly Warm Sweater'. Creator is my girlfriend, (Y/N).", Beej says dramatically, as he begins strutting across the room over to you.

You're laughing so hard that your stomach hurts, and you sit on your stool. He finishes his 'Catwalk', and whips around again, strutting to the other side of the room.

After belly-laughing for some time, you notice that he's in front of you again, as you're about to fall off of the stool, he helps you up.

"Thank you Babes, I love it. Very cozy, too~", he says as he nuzzles his face as if to sink into the sweater.

You nod with a smile, as if to say, "You're welcome."

Walking over to the mannequin, you sew the final bow on the other shoulder strap; the final detail, and then it's finished.

Taking a step back from the mannequin after sewing on the final ribbon, you stand there admiring your work. Sure, it's not perfect, but it's pretty damn good for your first ever dress.

You feel two arms wrap around your waist from behind, and you lean backwards onto the figure's torso.

"Y'know Babes, I bet that dress would look way better on you, than some black fuzzy mannequin.", Beej says softly into your ear.

Chuckling, you reply, "First of all Beej, it's felt, not fuzz." You then turn around to face him, planting your hands on his shoulders, while his hands still rest on your waist.

"You sure you want me to try it on?", you ask him shyly. You're not really used to him asking you to show off your work, as he admires it himself enough, whether that be your sketches or your sweaters.

He nods quickly and eagerly, with that stupid grin of his that you've grown to love.

You take the dress carefully off the mannequin and head to your closet to change. It's surprisingly comfortable, and as expected, it fits your body perfectly.

Seeing a pair of white mary-jane-style heels, you decide to throw those on as well to complete the look.

Glancing at the full dress on your body in your full-length mirror, your think you look quite nice. The dress looks better on a person than on a headless mannequin, in your opinion.

You knock on the closet door a couple of times softly, just to let Beej know you're on your way out. Knowing him, he was probably already waiting eagerly at the door for you, like a dog waiting for it's owner to come home from work.

Sure enough, there he is sitting on the miniature old vintage sofa in your room, his legs crossed like a child's, but you don't mind. He actually looks cute like this, to you at least.

His hair, which was a vibrant green almost instantly changes to an instant deep fuchsia. "Wow, Babes...", he says in total awe.

You blush slightly, but lean against your stool across from the couch, where he sits, his cheeks now following suit of his hair color.

He scrambles out of his sitting position, to cross over to you in just a few strides. You two don't need words right now. Just eye contact.

Holding out his hand as a simple gesture, you take it, as he helps you up from the stool, and he quickly spins you and dips you, causing you to let out a tiny squeak.

Ugh, that smirk always gets you. If your face wasn't totally tomato-red before, you're almost positive it is now.

He winks, causing a slight shiver to go down your spine, and then he plants a kiss on your lips, your arms once again naturally finding his neck.

And it turns out, even though your creation wasn't perfect, but how he cares for you in so many ways is perfect.

- ★ - Written by Saddled_On_Stars - ★ -

[inexplicifics]

Hi im a fashion designer/fabric artist (in training) and I have Many Ideas about witcher fashion via monsters!

Some background — as witcher lands become bigger, and trade becomes bigger, and witchers travel in packs — well monster parts become easier to carry, right? It starts with the ichor black dyeing — the laundresses start to wear the clothes and they occasionally travel, and they have extra fabrics so it sells on occasion too, but because 1) rarity and 2) Witcher, it becomes a status thing to own ichor black clothing and a way to try and be in favor of the witchers (“see? We wear your clothing we Totally Support You” whether thats true or not is up to the court the clothing is in). And then the dyeing laundresses start to do different fabrics too (like silk), to sell for even more money. This gives them the thought to ask for monster skin to be turned to leather. Or griffin feathers/skin. Or just their Outsides in general to see what can be sold, dyed, or both.

And Triss is a bit of a perfectionist, and she’s a researcher, so sometimes the boys will bring her back parts she wants to make sure they cant be used or cant be used in a better way — and well beetle wings and feathers are good in fashion so I wouldnt be surprised if Milena saw the monster leather, feathers, etc, and saw Triss discarding various bones and claws and something clicked.

So my list of fashion choices in Kaer Morhen that eventually travels out comes down to two big items seen in almost every culture on earth:

• dyed cloth (ichor black in this case)

• and (monster) remains such as hide for leathers, furs, feathers, scales, and bones for adornments or accessories

Any monster you look at can be categorized in this, for the most part. Some monsters have special items, like vampire fangs, and I could see warg feet being like rabbits feet, a sign of good fortune or ward against evil.

Cultures like what they cant have and is seen as rare, so Ciri walking into court on Progress having a diadem or tiara made of vampire teeth, her ichor black dress studded with silver and bone, embroidered with wyvern scales, griffin feathers in her hair and the ends of her dress, and warg fur around her collar and ends of her sleeves (or any combination thereof) — she’d be a picture of Rich and Powerful.

And with how sharp Milena is (pun intended) i could see her very quickly realizing how Witcher court would have a very specific style (the same way people say something is very French or “that outfit is very Redanian Noble”) because thats the power of world building!!! Different places have different resources and that reflects in fashion!!

Thank you for listening to me ramble I love fashion, historical fashion, and fantasy fashion so this really tickled me!

This is marvelous; it adds so much depth and knowledge to the world-building! Thank you!

[lucimiir]

MY FAV DUNE PT 2 COSTUMES

And my (mostly visual/aesthetic) reasoning

(In no particular order)

Ok starting off STRONG with this Irulan look:

It’s simple, it’s classy, it looks comfy AND elegant. I love the beadwork on the headpiece and how it’s Bene Gesserit-adjacent but you can still completely see her face and hair. The light colors look good on her and that collar made me question it for just long enough to make it better.

Next up is Jessica’s early sayyadina look, and I loooooove this robe. The earth colors are nice, I like how it kinda blends in with the sietch while emphasizing her eyes, and the fabric is very rough and functional looking while still being beautiful. Mostly I’m psyched about the patterns in the weaving (I think it’s woven) and the way that creates continuity with her tattoos.

I had trouble finding good pictures for this, but

Everything about this scene was GORGEOUS. I swear I didn’t breathe for the first ten minutes of the movie, and these Harkonnen uniforms were part of it. The colors here are amazing and make the black look so harsh and unnatural compared to the sand and rocks and the Fremen clothing. Their shiny helmets are terrifying and sterile and buglike and I am living for it. (Little me would have gotten nightmares)

Obviously we’ve all acknowledged Lady Margot’s amazing dress, but it’s just That Good. The structure! The open shoulders and low neck + hood! The color! Sinister and sexy. And despite the fact that I loved the color, I might love this even more in the black and white scenes because it shows off the construction so well and the opera glasses honestly tie it all together.

Ok bringing back Jessica because she Doesn’t Miss:

I loooove this. The gold printing (?) around the hood might be my favorite part, and the beads under the collar are awesome without weighing down her whole face like the outfit she wears for most of the film with all the metal on the forehead. I also like how the structure and design of it is extra similar to Reverend Mother Mohiam, with the giant rectangular hood, but the color and the face beading are actually more reminiscent of the gown she wears when the Atreides arrive on Arrakis in part one.

A shoutout for Feyd-Rautha’s armor in the duel:

Idk I just really like how shiny it is. All the Harkonnen stuff reminds me of bugs (those evil looking shiny black beetles) I like how this is actually very much like a stillsuit and really similar to what Paul’s wearing, but more evil and shiny.

Last but CERTAINLY not least is just Chani’s blue scarf. BOY does this pull its visual weight. Like symbolism and meaning aside, it’s such a necessary piece of color in the all the desert scenes, and adds visual interest to what is a largely beige movie. In tons of the scenes most of the color is bright bright blue in the characters’ eyes and this scarf. And I think it adds a lot of joy and lightness to Chani’s appearance, which obviously symbolically changes as she does.

I just love costumes! This was a visually stunning film! I’m feeling very happy!

[enby-jellyfish]

Appreciating the Little Things

Loki x GN!Reader (POC friendly)

Pronouns: You/Your, They/Them

Summary: In an easier time, decades before his brother was cast out to Midgard, Loki was in love. The subject of his affection has an eye for the littler things, like bugs. The adolescent prince does not understand their fascination.

Warnings: Bugs, fluff, Loki and Reader being cringey teenagers, bad writing (I am cringe but I am free)

Word Count: 656

A/N: This is my first fic ever! Loki was the first character I ever read a fanfiction about, so I felt it only right that he be the first I write about. English is not my first language, so please be kind.

It is a beautiful spring morning. You can feel the sun softly caressing your skin, hear the birds singing their songs of love to each other, and admire all the beautiful blooming flowers of the palace gardens.

The perfect day to go bug hunting.

Your life has been very busy as of late. This has mainly been due to your betrothal to the infamous second born prince. The choosing of fabrics, foods and flowers has been very draining. Planning a royal wedding is a lot more work than you were anticipating, so you could really use a small break before getting back to your duties.

As you sit in the grass, amongst the wildflowers, looking for the small subjects of your interest, your brooding betrothed, who usually spends his time somewhere dark and quiet with a book in hand, has also made the decision to come outside.

Loki enters the palace gardens. He looks around and sees you sitting hunched over in the grass.

"Did they drop something? Are they hurt?" He thought whilst walking over.

"What are you doing?" He asks, making you jump.

"Oh, Loki!" You exclaim, trying to compose yourself. "You startled me!"

He suppresses a smile. "My deepest apologies, darling." He says, putting his hand up in mock surrender.

You roll your eyes at him, redirecting your attention back to the beetle you've been attempting to identify.

"What are you doing?" He asks again.

"I'm looking at bugs." You say, not taking your eyes off the task at hand.

"Well, why would you do that?" He puts his hands on his hips.

"Because I like it, it calms my currently restless mind. They're such fascinating little creatures, don't you think?" You say softly, your mind occupied by the insect crawling over your hand.

"Not particularly."

You shoot him an annoyed look and playfully hit his leg.

"Be nice! Here, just look." You gesture to the insect you're cradling in your palm.

"I am!" He attempts to defend himself.

You roll your eyes again, a motion you seem to be doing more and more, the more time you spend with Loki. You pull him down to sit next to you.

You hold your beetle up again, continuing to rant about the intricacies of insects and their importance.

Loki hums noncommittally, looking at you instead of the beetle, admiring the way your eyes light up when you talk.

"A rose chafer."

Confused you stop your ranting and look at him. "What?"

"The beetle you were trying to identify, it is a rose chafer."

You sit up and look at him in disbelief. "Now, how do you know that? A few moments ago you didn't care for bugs."

He sighs, fighting back a smile. He starts picking at the skin of the palm laying in his lap.

"I... I might have found an entomology book in the library. I started studying it after our courtship started."

You grin at him. "Careful my dear prince, if you're not careful I might start thinking my affections for you are reciprocated."

He blushes as you grab his hand and kiss his cheek.

You smile lovingly at each other, a feeling of mutual love and understanding washing over the both of you.

He gently brushes his hand over your cheekbone. "As much as I would love to spend the whole day in the dirt with you darling, we really should get back to the palace." He says, attempting to sound teasingly but not quite succeeding.

You decide not to comment on his sudden softness this time and sigh. "Yes, we probably should. I love your mother, but she would kill the both of us if we were late to the preparations for our own wedding." You say getting up, brushing off your clothes.

Loki smiles at the mention of his mother and gets up as well, offering you his arm.

"I don't doubt that for a second, my love."

Masterlist

Thank you for reading <3

[seabirdtxt]

Hey, back at it with a request. I wanted to dump you with requests, but I also know that it takes you a bit to write, and I didn't want to overwhelm you ^^"""

Honestly though, with the requests I have in mind, I have a feeling they're going to become a spinoff series called "In which the Puppets learn the Creator is really, really bizarre."

With that said, this request will consist of some habits I have, and how our puppet boys would react to them! That being: reader is a night owl magpie who likes to collect a number of things. Whatever sparks their fancy, they hoard (It's why the Traveller has such a hoarding problem in the first place).

They collect some semi-formal things, like flowers and different plants, and like shiny rocks (Reader is familiar with the Language of Flowers, and I can fully see them and Kabukimono spending hours going over them. With Scara, Reader finds a piece of Rose Quartz in the shape of a heart and gives it to him, saying "You said you wanted a heart, right? Here you go! I know it isn't a real heart, but that's okay: because you already have a real one!")

But then they have the weird stuff they collect, like bones -and teeth -and scales - and bugs (Scara or Wanderer: "Why do you have this?" Reader, holding up the carcass of a beetle: "I just think they're neat!")

Or the worse part: literal trash. I'm talking broken pieces of glass and random metal parts, and like old candy wrappers that they've been keeping. (Again: Scara or Wanderer: "Get rid of this." Reader: "But it has sentimental value-!!!" S or W: "IT IS LITERALLY TRASH!!!")

But yes. Reader is a hoarder of many things.

i love this LOL i also hoard some pretty random things so like 🤝

(Might not have touched on all the same points as your ask bc i tried to keep it in-universe, but i tried to hit the major themes of each!)

WC. 1.5k

----- ⚘ -----

Flowers and Gems: Kabukimono

This collection is one of your gentler ones, and you take care to replenish it often with new blooms and interesting stones you pick up along your way. There is so much more novelty to collect here than back on earth, after all!

Kabukimono is fascinated by the variety of it, begging to be taken along with you the next time you venture out into the world to add more to your stash, and maybe take inspiration to start a collection of his own! It takes a bit of convincing, but you eventually relent and allow him to accompany you.

He follows you with wide eyes and an awed grin, asking you all about the various plants that the pair of you come across. You try to remember them as best as you can, reciting what you remember from the ingame tooltips.

“Wow! What’s this one?” Kabukimono asks, bounding up to a reddish pink bush. He delicately plucks one of the flowers, showing it to you proudly.

“That’s a silk flower!” You tell him, smiling as you take the flower from his hand. He only smiles and picks himself another one. “The people in Liyue can process them and make them into a very fine fabric!”

Kabukimono nods in understanding. “That makes sense! I know lots of kimono makers back home often talk about the quality of fabric from Liyue.”

“Fun fact,” you add, “back in my world, silk is such a sturdy material that it can resist piercing damage, to a certain extent! But it is very weak to slashing, or cutting damage.”

“That’s so interesting!” Kabukimono’s eyes go wider at the information. “I wonder if that's true of the silk from this world, too!”

“We probably shouldn’t, y’know… test it or anything,” you interrupt him before he lets his curiosity get the better of him. “We can probably ask a seamstress about it later.”

“Ohhh, good thinking.” Kabukimono agrees. He pockets his flower and looks around the area, scouting for the next object to collect. “Hey, do you have an electro crystal, yet? I heard you can only mine them using pyro!”

You let Kabukimono lead you to your next destination, already planning to press the new flower for your collection. Distantly, you wonder how the two of you are going to get an electro crystal, considering neither of you have pyro visions.

----- ⚘ -----

Beetles and Bones: Wanderer

“I went back to Springvale to ask if those hunters still had some of those ancient boar bones,” is what you say, offering a sheepish grin to Wanderer, who stares down at you with his arms crossed. In all honesty, you probably deserve the scrutiny for having somehow escaped his supervision for several hours.

“Did you at least get the, uh,,” Wanderer gestures at the cloth bag you’re holding in your arms. “Special bones you were looking for?”

“Yeah!” You exclaim, shaking the bag excitedly. It makes a rattling noise as you move. “Do you want to see them?”

You don’t wait to hear the answer, instead leading the way to your room, where part of your collection resides. You hear Wanderer step in and close the door behind you, waiting in curious silence as you carefully put your bag on your bed, pulling open the drawstring with reverence.

One by one, you bring out the intact bones the hunters were able to unearth from you. You brush off some of the remaining dust, then you begin laying them out on your bed in their approximate positions.

“That’s your special ancient boar?” Wanderer asks, sidling up to you and looking at the bones with you.

“Yes!” You finally place the jawless skull at the top of the unfinished skeleton, putting your hands on your hips with satisfaction. “I found it during a quest when I was still guiding the Traveler. I knew I had to have it in my collection when I got here!”

“Fair enough,” Wanderer nods. “Can I see the rest of your stuff?”

You are more than eager to show off the cool stuff you’ve been hoarding since your arrival in Teyvat, from smaller animal bones, to surprisingly intact shed lizard skins and molted duskbird feathers, and even some hollow onikabuto shells.

Wanderer picks up each one with care, mindful of your enthusiasm for your strange collection. He turns each object over slowly, inspecting them as you’re explaining the particularities of your collection.

“Hey, do you mind if I borrow some of these?” Wanderer eventually asks, as you’re nearing the end of your impromptu lecture. “I’ve got this Amurta elective that I haven’t started my project for, and some of these are interesting enough. I could probably write something about them.”

Your sudden silence is worrying, and he’s quick to backpedal in case he’d offended you in some way.

“Or, forget it, I mean-” he turns and pretends to scratch his nose to hide the dumb expression he knows he must be making. “I know this is all probably hard to get, so if you don’t want to risk it getting broken or stolen…”

“I would love to share it with you!!” Your sudden shout scares him out of his foul mood, and he looks at you in bemusement. Your eyes are wide and shiny, matching the stupid grin that settles on your face. Just as he’s about to reply, you leap up and scramble for one of the unopened drawers.

You proudly present a wooden box, and when you open it Wanderer can see the interior is padded and separated with thin wooden strips, creating protected compartments just big enough to fit some of the larger items in your collection.

“You’ve got to take extra good care of this stuff, okay?” You instruct him, and you help him pack the items he’d chosen into your carrying case. “I mean, I can probably find some of this stuff again, but the more delicate things are harder to come by. Promise you’ll be careful?”

He looks up at you, closing the lid of the box slowly and fastening it shut. “Yeah, I promise,” he says, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

----- ⚘ -----

Literal Garbage: Scaramouche

“You’re throwing this shit out, right?”

The noise you make, of absolute disgust and denial, is enough to make Scaramouche second guess his own words for a moment. He recovers faster than you’d give him credit for, picking up the broken clay jar and the dull shard of a broken sword. He holds up both in front of you, an accusing glare pinning you.

“Does this look like normal stuff to collect, to you?” he demands, tossing both back into the bin where he’d found them, retrieving a foil candy wrapper and a graphite pencil with no nib. Again, he discards both items with a noise of exasperation. “None of this stuff has any use! It’s all just garbage! Where do you even find this?!”

“Like,” you say, shuffling closer to your collection bin and putting the cover back on it slowly. “On the ground and stuff? I don’t know what you’re expecting.”

Scaramouche pinches the bridge of his nose with a loud sigh, but doesn’t make any move to reopen the bin. “You’re seriously testing my patience, here. Why are you collecting all this garbage? Can’t you collect something less… bizarre? Like seashells, or something.”

“I have some of those, too!”

“Not the point, here!”

You look down where your hands are pressing down on the lid of the bin, then back up at Scaramouche with a bit of a pout.

“Are you really making me throw it all out?” You ask, pitifully. He takes one look at you and grumbles with displeasure.

“That’s not what I said,” he rolls his eyes, crossing his arms as he looks down his nose at you. “You want to waste your time picking up other people’s trash and pretending it has meaning to you? Fine, be my guest. But don’t come crying to me when you realize you’re stuck with a container full of useless junk that nobody wanted anymore.”

“Sometimes, even the things that people feel have no practical use can be worth a lot to someone else,” you tell him. “Things don’t have to be worth anything to be wanted.”

Scaramouche chews on your words for a moment, then shrugs. “Sure, whatever you say, I guess.”

He doesn’t seem to be leaving anytime soon, so you tentatively open the bin and reach inside, fishing around until your fingertips grasp what you’re looking for.

“Are you sure you don’t recognize this one?” You ask, holding up the candy wrapper so he can see it. He scrunches up his nose at the offending item.

“Am I supposed to?”

“It’s from that festival in Inazuma,” you smile, bringing the wrapper to yourself gently. “The one you guys took me to when you found out I hadn’t been to one before.”

Scaramouche looks at it closer, out of the corner of his eye. He lets his shoulders slump and shakes his head with a huff.

“Whatever,” he says. “The rest of it is garbage, though.”

You put the wrapper away with a cheeky grin.

[m--rtyr]

@that-one-i-think told me to talk about Tu’La in my rewrite AGES AGO and I’ve been hunting for my actual already-made Tu’La docs but idk where they went.

So.

This is a bunch of clothes stuff. Because. I can.

Tu’La has a lot of access to pigments. There’s a lot of colourful plants and beetles and rocks and such, so colour plays a very large aspect of the culture.

Especially in Meif’wa cultures, as a lot of Meif’wa come from areas like Rainforests, where colour discourages predators, or desserts where shiny clothes and smothering your skin in clay (which tends to stain it the colour of the clay after a certain amount of time) helps to protect you from the sun and heat.

Tu’La is a very varied region in terms of geography, and because of this has a large variation in cultures, but colour remains rather prevalent throughout. Clothes will often be dyed a myriad of bright colours, with colourful and shiny embroidery, and not only as a display of wealth but of patriotism. Their colour and overall flamboyant style of dress is very particular to their culture, and when multiple other regions have been colonised, or have lost large amounts of their cultures as the result of wars, it’s something that Tu’Lans tend to be very proud of.

It’s not uncommon for Tu’Lans, and especially Meif’wa to dye their hair and fur also. Some hues can be achieved using hair-specific dyes and clays, but others are achieved by using wool dye and similar materials to get bolder colours. This is actually a practice that can be also found in Ru’Aun though it is far less common, and those in Ru’Aun tend to lean towards darker, more muted shades.

The sun is a very significant religious symbol in Tu’La and always has been, from even before Menphia. It’s a typically quite hot region, and so many older religions have worshipped the sun, often thinking that they could appease it to be more gentle. Part of the reason their clothes tend to be very shiny is to reflect the sun to keep cool, but another is to pay an odd homage to it, as it’s very ‘in vogue’ to have as much of the sun visible on your person as possible, whether it be depictions of it or just actual sunlight reflecting off of your clothes.

There are some religious groups however that believe so strongly in the ideal of the sun that they refuse to wear colourful dyes. This is a very small amount of very… evangelical fundamentalist sorts. They will only wear fabrics that are sun-bleached, and nothing else. They will put mixtures into their hair to allow it to bleach easier in the sun. And such.

Anyways this was all done to justify all of the Meif’wa having colourful hair and KC’s addiction to the colour pink. Also bc I love colours RAHHH

[josephscoat]

Tintin, and his time spent as a scout; a sister piece to this bullet essay that I wrote some time back | Jo presenting their other story called Tintin and the Cockchafers.

Tw/Cw: Bullying, Racism and Entomophobia trigger

Okay, a bit of background on the subject matter first; before Hergé created The Adventures of Tintin, he first wrote and illustrated a comic strip for the scout magazine Le Boy Scout Belge called The Adventures of Totor, Chief Scout of the Cockchafers, which ran from July 1926 to the summer of 1929.

Also, for those of you who are curious in what the hell a cockchafer is, it’s this absolute darling of a bug right here:

Cute, right? Cockchafers are a type of scarab beetle; they also go by the name May/June bug since they’re a prevalent summertime insect.

Returning back to our main topic, the strip followed Totor― a Belgian boy scout who travelled to visit his aunt and uncle in the US; upon arriving to, he encounters hostile Native American tribes and gangsters, whom he outwits before eventually heading back to Belgium.

If you haven’t noticed it already, the plot’s very much like that of Tintin in America which was published later in 1931.

Totor served as Tintin’s sort of prototype, if you will.

Hergé himself did state that he wanted Tintin to possess the traits of a boy scout since he loved and supported the movement― it’s also sort of known that he himself was a scout in his youth as well.

With all this to bear in mind, this leads to me just diving head first into headcanon category; me and a mutual have this shared headcanon that Tintin participated in the scouts as a kid.

This is also, sort of going to be like an intro post to my other story, Tintin and the Cockchafers; some world-building stuff and the likes will be mentioned in here.

I really liked Hergé's boy scout premise for Totor and was inspired to write a story about it (minus all the racism of course).

I like to imagine that the troop Tintin’s a part of, their ranking system is based off of different kinds of bugs and currently he’s a cockchafer; hence the story’s title.

I plan for this to be the typical coming-of-age story about Tintin going on a camping/hiking trip with the scouts.

This aforementioned trip takes place on the summer of the year he’s decided to run away from the orphanage that housed him, drop out of school, and pursue being a reporter full-time, shortly after he was promoted to it from being a paperboy.

The events of the trip were what finally pushed him to skedaddle out of there and live.

And boy did he make the right decision in doing so.

Tintin joins the scouts at around age 10 and stayed as an active member up until he was 14 (his age in Cockchafers).

While he is no longer a scout in uniform, he’s most definitely still a scout in action and in spirit, as you can see with his resourcefulness that permeates all throughout the comics.

I like to imagine that one of the reasons why he took the job as a paperboy was to save up enough money to buy materials for the uniform (e.g. fabric, buttons, elastics, etc.); since the official ones from the store were too expensive.

Mrs. Murphy, (this sort of hermit-librarian OC of mine from the oneshot I wrote back in March 2024; which I have a whole ‘nother series and set of headcanons just for her if you're interested) offered to tailor one for him since she's taken an interest in sewing lately— the rest of the materials he couldn't buy was bought by her out of pocket, (like the official pins/badges).

Tin’s obviously stoked since he’ll go out venturing into the great outdoors; sleeping under the stars and being ‘one with nature’ all that jazz.

He’s been cooped up for too long in that orphanage and feels oppressed whenever he’s at school by the other kids and adults…

The older boy scouts bully him for two reasons; first reason for being a quote/unquote pansy —the second reason is because of him surpassing them in almost every single one of the scout activities lol

They're sour because someone significantly smaller and younger than them is quicker and better at first aid/setting up tents/making a fire/tying knots and other typical camp activities of the like than all of them combined.

I have a gut feeling that Tintin would manage to snag all the boy scout badges in like, give or take, a day — the kid's a walking Swiss army knife for crying out loud! (Carrying and making good use these skills up into adulthood).

And he doesn't even mean to outdo them, he's just that more efficient at doing these kinds of things since he does them a lot during his free time.

Especially in knot tying— have you seen this kid tie up crooks with anything that remotely resembles a chord???

And how do you think he's able to sneak in and out of the orphanage without getting caught? By making a rope via tying his blankets and bedsheets together of course!

This leads to my other headcanon that after he mastered knot tying, it segued into him getting into fibre arts like macramé and crochet which he does with the girl scouts.

I just know that once he's manage to collect all the boy scout badges, he'll try to collect all the girl scout badges next.

The older girl scouts love him; they see him as a little brother figure and honourary member which is the sweetest thing.

He and his scoutmaster (I won't introduce him just yet because of spoiler reasons) are pretty close, with him trying his best to look out for Tintin, since he knows that the kid is being bullied but won't say a word about who's been doing it to him.

Throughout the trip he tries to figure it out. (He does eventually guys, dw)

The other boys mistake their connection for... something else... and think that Tintin's leeching off their scoutmaster to get extra merits which made their harassment more vicious.

The insults they throw being laced with more venom; them tripping him up and shoving past him are done with increasing aggression each time, etc.

There's this one scene I have planned where they knock him unconscious and tie him to a tree.