#bug!Purple oc

[inksandpensblog]

Pollen's Arrival: a bug!Purple OC story

“I think I scared some of Purple’s friends.”

Everyone turned to catch Purple’s reaction to Blue’s confession, but the beetlestick appeared more nonplussed than anything. His eyes stole glances at the others, as if accounting for the presence of his known friends, before meeting Blue’s apologetic smile with a confused frown.

“They were digging up one of my beets,” Blue explained. “I tried to get closer, but they flew away.”

“D-d’you want our help with anything?” Orange managed to ask, as everyone was trying not to laugh at Purple’s suddenly affronted look.

Blue wrestled his grin into submission. “I was hoping Purple could join me next time I’m harvesting? In case they come back.”

“What would he tell them?” Green wondered, as Purple nodded his firm assent. “To get lost? To ask first? That it’s your garden?”

Red frowned at Green’s words. “But they’ve gotta know that already, don’t they? It’s so close to the house, and Blue is out there a lot.”

“I just wanna- okay, look,” Blue clarified. “They’re supposed to be scared of us, right? Giants, and all that. So what could’ve driven them to try taking what they see as our food? We’re not like the villagers.”

His hopeful eyes met Purple’s again. “Can you tell them it’s alright? If they need the food, they can take some. I just want to know if they are.”

There was a brief pause, as their resident beetlestick seemed to consider Blue’s course. After a moment, some realization seemed to spark, as Purple’s confusion cleared and he relaxed slightly. His nod this time was lighter.

.

.

.

When Orange returned, he didn't see any of the others immediately upon entering the house.

This wasn't unusual, but what was unusual was the silence. Usually the noises of activity the others made would filter into the ambience of the house. But there was nothing.

Not at first, at least. As he listened, he caught a faint, tangled string of musical notes. They must've taken the potion.

…had they all taken the potion?

It was then that he noticed the pale yellow beetlestick on the table.

He blinked down at them. A flurry of movement had been what had drawn his attention to the smaller form, but as he beheld them now they remained still.

They were drawn in on themself, antennae and elytra pressed flat against their body. Their head angled as he took a step closer, keeping him in their peripheral without meeting his eyes directly.

Oh, they were scared. He must've startled them when he came through the door.

He whistled one of Purple's usual greetings. As he did so, he brought his hands together, lowering his eyes and dipping his head forward into a nonthreatening bow.

When he raised himself up again, they still had not moved.

It was so quiet. Why was everything so quiet?

A sense of unease washed over him, and he found himself scanning the room before looking over the figure again.

…hands together…

…their hands were tied. A lead wound around their tiny wrists, binding their limbs fast before it trailed off to nothing on the surface of the table.

Well no wonder they were terrified.

Why had the others left them like this? He could still hear them singing a few rooms away, and he almost ran to them for an explanation.

Anything to get out from under this oppressive silence.

But he paused.

He approached the table.

He watched as their little chest heaved, and he noticed their breathing for the first time.

He couldn't just leave them alone here, again, bound and afraid as they were.

(He had to resist an almost instinctual urge to take them up in his hands, to comfort them, to hold them, to shield them from whatever cruelty in the world had brought them to this…)

(But no, he reminded himself; most beetlesticks wouldn't like that. Purple tolerated it from them. Purple seemed to have accepted that they would sometimes lapse into old habits, now that he held no reservations about making his comfort-level known. But it wasn't normal for beetlesticks to tolerate that sort of treatment.)

…and none of that helped him now, he realized, because he would have to touch them in order to free them from the bindings.

He lowered himself to one knee, as he whistled a tune he'd heard from Purple that he hoped was appropriately reassuring.

Carefully, so carefully, he took their arms in one of his hands.

Their breath quickened. They recoiled at his touch. They didn't resist.

"I know, I know," he soothed, he promised. "I've just gotta--"

He pulled at the bindings with his thumb, and they unwound with ease.

The perks of being a player, he thought ruefully.

He gently withdrew his hand, watching as the rope fell away.

The beetlestick rubbed one wrist absently, before laying both hands on their knees. One antenna lifted slightly toward him, before wavering back down. He barely caught their brief upward glance before they stilled again.

Still frightened.

At least it didn't look to have been a painful binding, he thought, as his eyes lingered on their wrists, on their hands.

Their hands.

He rubbed his thumb and forefinger together.

Their hands had been wet.

His mind flew back to the flurry of movement that had drawn his attention to them in the first place.

He tried to catch their eyes.

They didn't look at him.

He whistled to them once more.

The notes rang stark, in the quiet.

He felt suddenly anxious.

…well, his looming wouldn't help them any more than he'd already managed.

He got to his feet, and sped as calmly as he could toward the voices of the others.

[bee-sidebranch]

beast of burden

[slumbergoblin]

[popplebot-art]

Messy redesign thing of my bee gal Vespria (again)

[jeffofink]

rock it buzz brain

[beelibub]

Raan is a highly mutable cybernetic insect who loves to put on theatrical performances with their troupe of rag-tag alien bugs! Some call their troupe a cult, but Raan just smiles and laughs when confronted about it.

They are a traveling troupe, usually appearing in impoverished places and for crowds who otherwise do not have access to other entertainment that more elite folks might. Should anyone ask to join the troupe, Raan will happily take them aboard, helping them find purpose and fun.

You may use any gender/pronoun for them.

Raan is very emotional, loud, and positive. Their colors and body respond visibly to their emotions; they use this to their advantage to allow them to fit their roles better. They dress fancy, but it is merely an extension of their personality. They make all their garments and the troupe's garments by hand.

Positive traits: friendly, generous, eccentric

Negative traits: manipulative, volatile, unknown motivations/hard to read

Some quick Q&A(Art/character questions)

Q: may I draw them?

A: absolutely! Any art is very deeply appreciated; I do however ask that you do not make nsfw art of them; I have had it happen to previous characters and it is very disturbing.

Q: why do they look like a protogen?

A: they were my redesign for my official rare, Renfred, however ZOR staff refused to allow me to adjust her design to this. I did not want this design to go to waste, so they are simply a cyborg now.

Q: may I RP as them?

A: if you feel so inclined, generally yes, But please ask first. I do not usually RP, but I understand it is a lot of fun for others and if my character can bring some fun, then awesome:)! But like I said; please just ask first.

Q: Age/gender/height/presentation?

A: very old; a couple hundred years. They have no assigned gender. They are 7ft 3in tall. They present however they are feeling that day.

Q: inspiration?

A: tarantula hawks, Hollow Knight, the numerous tophatted men like bill cipher and Caine, Tron, and various bugs I have loved like bees and mantises.

Thank you for listening to me talk about my bug person; have a wonderful day 💖

[windmills123]

guess what week

[foodlesoodlesdoodles]

Who cares about canon when you can draw Johnny in a wolf t shirt and a trans sweater

[girlvinland]

Day 16 of OC-tober involved drawing or writing with your eyes closed or with your non-dominant hand. I drew Mercurio with my left hand. I think I got the important details, like their fiddledeedees (iykyk)

[temqowo]

Butterfly Feed, he owes an inter dimensional circus. His workers are those who voulenteered to work there in exchange for a better life. He takes care of them. They are his family, and they are always welcome to visit or return home if they choose.

He has been wonderfully voiced in videos on my channel by dj6headphonesva on Instagram

[skelleste]

Scott's Halloween costume, the tapeworm from Mr. Meaty.

[inksandpensblog]

Azure's Reception: a bug!Purple OC story

Purple is only in the warrior’s courtyard because he’d just managed to catch the trailing end note of his dame’s song remarking something about him getting to see Cobalt at training today. In his alarm at this unexpected turn of events, he hadn’t thought to ask why his sire would be there, only grousing over his ruined plans for the day and quietly thanking his luck that Orchid had mentioned it at all.

So he’s already frustrated and wary when he notices the newcomer standing off to the side of the courtyard.

Something is…off, about him.

It’s not that he’s a stranger. It’s not that his bristles are shorter than Purple is used to seeing, nor that they gleam with a dull, waxy shine that makes him look almost slippery. It isn’t the half-erased markings of smudged brown powder on his chest and arms that isn’t grey enough to be mud and smells too sweet to be dirt.

Purple’s antennae flick at the scent, reaching toward it despite himself. It’s not unfamiliar. His memory attaches the smell to a brown, pebble-like item that the foraging masters had introduced to their apprentices.

He tuts, irritated that he’s been prevented from shadowing them, and does his best to put the thought out of his mind.

His attention returns to the stranger. A cotton-candy-blue, brighter than one would expect in this forest, almost as if he’s been saturated in the saccharine hue. The fronds of his antennae are thin and jagged, angled from his head in mild interest.

It’s not that he’s the only mature beetlestick in the courtyard without any armor on.

Because he isn’t; even as Purple observes this, he catches sight of another unarmored beetlestick. This one looks familiar, at least, down to their ceremonial garb.

Purple’s frown shifts to one of confusion, as his attention returns to the stranger once again.

It’s not that his hands are tied. It’s not that the trailing lead is held by one of the two guards flanking him.

It’s not that Cobalt is the one holding the lead, and that he has yet to acknowledge the presence of his offspring.

Purple’s breath catches. Doubtless, his sire has noticed him already. But aside from a lightning-quick glance and the redirection of one antenna, Cobalt doesn’t address his son’s recognition.

Gradually, Purple unfreezes, trying to soothe his frayed nerves by reoccupying his mind with the mystery of the stranger. Because something still isn’t right.

Eventually, he picks up on it: it’s the complete silence.

Everyone else is lightly humming or buzzing to themselves as they go about their business and get into their positions; even Purple’s wings had been quietly droning behind him a moment ago. But this cotton-candy-blue stranger? Nothing.

It’s only then that some other trainees notice the look Purple is giving the stranger, and take it upon themselves to explain that he was handed over as tribute from another clan. Apparently, his silence is attributed to this state of affairs, as tributary custom forbids him from vocalizing during the reception.

When this clarifies nothing for Purple, the trainees roll their eyes and elaborate further: the clan had threatened to launch a war over some offense committed by a different clan, and cotton-candy had been offered as tribute in an effort to pacify the court. The exchange had already been completed, but the warriors got leave from the council to perform the reception ritual for the trainees to witness. The ceremony would magically and diplomatically subsume the tribute into their clan, where he would act as a representative of his own clan as a whole, who had given him away to bargain. Cotton-candy’s presence in the clan would also act as an incentive for his own former clan to not upset the court further.

The conversation continues, one trainee wondering whether or not cotton-candy is in fact the beetlestick who committed the offense or whether he’s a stand-in, and another remarking that this distinction doesn’t actually matter; but Purple tunes it out and stares at cotton-candy-blue, taking him in with this new context.

He looks…

…he looks kinda bored, honestly. Like the lot of them are a rabble of riffraff that he’s deigned to grace with his presence. Not at all like a criminal delivered to justice at the hands of his enemies. Not like a scapegoat handed over by those he’d considered his people. Not like a hostage whose life depends on the compliance of people who are far away and can’t reassure him.

As Purple keeps looking, two mulberry-red eyes meet his. He gets caught in their gaze, and it isn’t until he notices the one cotton-candy eyebrow raising that he realizes the tribute caught him staring. He looks away hastily.

When he glances back, the tribute’s attention is elsewhere. But there’s a lingering smirk on his face. It’s a sneering, self-satisfied thing. Purple scowls to himself.

Then attention is called, and the guards move, and the trainees cease chattering to disperse about the courtyard in formation, and Purple remembers that his sire is here, and he straightens up and gets in line and wipes his face blank.

He spends the next few minutes trying his darnedest to run through the routine he hadn’t been present for nearly enough times. He’s memorized the steps, but his sire would hone in on any poor technique in a heartbeat. Fortunately, it seems Cobalt’s attention is occupied with keeping the tribute in line.

Not that it’s taking much work. Cotton-candy just stands there, weight back on one leg, hip cocked slightly, and surveying the trainees like he’s waiting for them to do something worth his time.

Finally, everyone stills, the master of ceremony steps forward, and the rites begin.

Purple…honestly does try his best to follow along, but his attention keeps being drawn back to cotton-candy-blue, whose half-lidded look of faint amusement hasn’t left his face.

When the master of the ceremony calls the tribute forward, he obliges. There’s no other way to describe the manner with which he lifts his chin as he shifts forward to approach. He strides forward like he’s humoring them, a swagger in his movement, and all Purple can read in his posture is confidence.

The tribute is bade to kneel, and when his head bows and his knee touches the floor it’s like he’s doing them all a favor. The corner of his mouth twitches in time with one antenna as he closes his eyes, both eyebrows rising almost tauntingly, and Purple wonders if the master is blind to how they’re being indulged or if they’re aware that the tribute is merely playing along.

The master of ceremonies raises their hands over the tribute’s head, and says the final words.

“The tribute hereby relinquishes his ties to his clan, until such a time as the court considers the debts of his clan repaid. We hold him and his clan to their promise. We accept this tribute, on behalf of our enemies, and welcome him as one of our own.”

The master of ceremonies raises their voice, spreading their hands wide.

“Welcome, Azure.”

There’s a slight delay, and then— cotton-candy shoulders go rigid. A head darts up, antennae curling tightly, mulberry eyes flashing with something Purple can’t identify.

And that’s it. The ceremony is over.

Except…Purple is still looking at the tribute. At Azure. Whose elytra had lifted, a movement so natural that Purple almost hadn’t noticed it until it stopped, and he remembered in the same moment as Azure that no permission had been given for him to speak.

And then everyone is talking, and moving, and the trainees have somewhere to go, and the warriors have somewhere else to go, and Azure is being beckoned to his feet by the guards.

“If you have any questions, ask them now.” That’s his sire’s voice. Purple turns to see him untying Azure’s bonds.

“That’s not my—”

“Questions,” Cobalt emphasizes, turning away slightly to toss the coiled rope aside, his eyes moving from Azure’s newly-bared wrists to his piercing glare.

Azure’s nostrils flare, irate, face tilting downward and stance widening as his antennae lay flat down his head.

“My name is—”

His wings are still moving, but their song goes quiet suddenly.

Something like uncertainty steals across Azure’s face for the first time in the brief moments Purple has known of him. Mulberry eyes blink once, then rapidly, then dart over the ground as the tribute shakes his head and shifts unsteadily, teeth bared in agitation.

“…is Azure,” Cobalt finishes, something final in his song. “Come now, your quarters have been prepared.”

Purple can’t stay to witness any more. The crowd of trainees is herding him away.

But as he turns to catch one final glimpse of Azure, it’s to see a wary tension that had been absent for the entire ceremony finally appear in the tribute’s frame.

[bitlngs]

stimboard of my roblox avatar under cut

🫕 -> gif credit -> me ! :3

🧁 -> requested by -> me! :3

💐 -> taglist -> @kolektsiakomah @gravestone-sys @allister333

🍮 -> requests -> open !

[hanv-iyxn]

.+fireflies+.

@Hanv-Iyxn/deviantart

@Hanv-Iyxn/Artfight

Oc: Starlette

[popplebot-art]

(Sorry for posting so many edits of the same drawing; I swear this is the last one for now) Been super indecisive towards Vespria's design lately, but this one... I really like..... prob also one of the the biggest changes I've ever made to her overall look

[jeffofink]

UPDATED BUZZO SHEET

that old sheet on my account is ridiculously outdated so here