#character dressed in something vaguely resembling clothes

[ptashenka]

moonvelty "oops got murdered" ca'ara has come to face his death – quite literally this time 💀

context: moonvelty (he/they) is a sorcerer (and soon to be warlock) of mishasta, the mourning mother, goddess of sorrow and death. he was raised in a cult and was later sacrificed as many before him to honor and appease the goddess. strangely, he regained consciousness soon after the ritual and found himself resurrected in the realm of mishasta — only to learn that the thing they've been taught to worship never was the mourning mother to begin with

[bloomeng]

I absolutely love Superboys Halloween costume. What costumes do you think the batboys would wear for Halloween?

Oh I’m so glad you asked.

I think as a kid Dick was very typical in that he liked dressing up as things he thought were cool, Robin Hood, pirates, cowboys. One memorable year he tried to convince Bruce to let him go as Robin and for Bruce to go as Batman, and he was unrelenting. Finally they compromised and Dick went as Batman and Bruce went as something vaguely resembling Robin. (He wore a red suit with like a green shirt and yellow tie.) As retribution Dick went as Superman the next year and now that’s his go to costume any year that he doesn’t have a better idea. The last few years he’s been really into pun costumes. Last year he went in a running outfit, then over the top he layered like sewing items and went as “Tailor Swift.” This year he constructed a cardboard chapel and grabbed an oar to be “Chapel Row’in.” Get it… like Chappell Roan. Yeah his family all groaned too. (Credit to Micarah Tewers for those ideas, I’m not nearly that clever)

Jason loved Halloween as a kid. He was really excited by the idea of dressing up as his favorite characters, but none of his favorite characters were things that normal 13 year old boys liked. So it was always like Mr. Darcy or Dr. Frankenstein. And he’d really get into the accuracy of the costumes, totally taking advantage of Bruce’s bank account. Bruce would of course indulge him, though it was usually Alfred helping him put his costumes together. Post-Death Jason stopped dressing up all together. It’s only been recently that he’s been getting back into it. The first year he decided to dress up again he opted for something simple that he thought had plausible deniability as “not a costume.” Dick clocked him immediately.

“Are you dressed as the guy from The Shining?”

“His name is Jack Torrence. How did you get that so fast, you don’t even know his name?”

“Jason, you would never wear flannel voluntarily.”

This year he’s going as a Deep One from “The Shadow Over Innsmouth.”

Tim is the definition of low effort costumes. Most years he doesn’t bother to dress up and when confronted about it he’ll say he’s dressed as “Tony Hawk.” However, he absolutely refuses to be that person who throws on a witch hat or some animal ears. When he does actually dress up it’s usually as someone famous in a specific niche community/field that most people would never know off the top of their head. This year he is going as someone “very obvious;” Magnus Carlsen. (Aka he’s wearing a suit, no tie and carrying around a chess board.)

For his first few Halloween’s with the Waynes Damian just let Alfred choose costumes for him. He had to approve of them, but other than that he claimed to not care, but really he was insecure about picking something for himself. He had limited exposure to pop culture and didn’t really even know his own taste at that point, so Alfred dressing him was safe. Alfred’s picks were nice, if a bit generic, and super biased. One year he went as a prince, another year Sherlock Holmes, really anything Alfred wanted to see on Damian. Around 12 he started feeling comfortable enough to pick for himself. Last year he went as the male lead in his favorite Shoujo manga (I don’t know if the manga he likes in canon has a name). This year Jon talked him into a group costume, so Jon is going as Naruto and Damian is going as Sasuke (the designs from the original series, not Shippuden.)

Duke tends to opt for famous film characters. He prefers costumes that he can build out of normal clothing, but as a kid he totally dressed up in those cheap Spirit Halloween costumes. If Marvel existed in their universe, he would have loved going as Miles Morales’ Spider-Man. Now that he’s a teenager, he’s too embarrassed to go as things he deems dorky. He has toyed with the idea of a MMA related costume, but that’s still too embarrassing for him, so he defaults back to cool movie characters. He’s gone as a lot Quentin Tarantino characters. It started with Jules Winnfield, and it spiraled from there. This year he’s going as Warren from “Hateful Eight.” (Not his favorite Tarantino film but he’s running out of new characters and he thinks his outfit is cool)

You didn’t ask about the girls but I have ideas for them too.

Steph ADORES Halloween and she goes all out. She loves dressing up in costumes that she feels hot in. Not in the “insert costume but sexy” way just things that allow her to dress up nice. When she and Tim were dating she tried to get him to do a couple’s costume with her. The result was a very high effort beautiful Corpse Bride next to the lowest effort Victor you’ve ever seen. She learned her lesson and the next year she dressed Tim herself (he bitched the whole time but admitted he looked good when she was done). They went as Sweeney Todd and Mrs. Lovett. She usually planned their costumes a year in advance, but sadly they broke up before they made it to doing Ichabod Crane and Katrina Van Tassel. Tim awkwardly offered to still do it but she declined. Instead she went as Mary Van Tassel. This year she’s doing something classic, and going as a vampire, complete with Twilight-style sparkles. She’s also a big fan of fake blood and usually tries to incorporate into her costume in some way.

Cass is the wildcard of the family. She always keeps her costume a secret until the night of. As far as themes, her costumes tend to be all over the place. She tends to stay in the generic realm, so less referential, but she mixes it up whether or not she does something scary, or funny, or cool. I do think she tends to prefer costumes that include masks or helmets. I don’t know what they’re called but I have a friend who is really into those like cyberpunk robot helmets, I think she’d love those. However, this year she really mixed it up and decided to go as Ellie from “Last of Us” and roped Bruce into going as Joel. He had no idea who that was, but Cass sharing her Halloween plans prior to Halloween is a big deal, so he agreed immediately.

Babs is also a victim of the low effort Halloween costume. She’s fine throwing on a witch hat and calling it good. When she does dress up the costumes are usually fairly recognizable and comfortable. She likes to dress up as red haired characters like Kim Possible, or that one year she went as Lois Griffin (she thought she was hilarious). Another year she went as Link from Wind Waker specifically, just because she had a lot of green in her closet already. The most effort she ever put into a costume was when she poorly recreated (intentionally) the Discowing suit. This year she’s going as Ellie Sattler from Jurassic Park.

Also not a batboy, but we’ve done the whole family might as well do the Bat himself. When left to his own devices Bruce usually goes as one of two things: The Grey Ghost or James Bond. He basically just cycles between those two costumes every year, unless one of his kids requests something else (that is also reasonable). One year he lost a bet, and he dressed up as Superman and that was memorable. As I mentioned this year he is going as Joel for Cass. He hadn’t seen the show before she asked, and to be honest he’s probably only watched the first episode simply for the costume.

When asked Alfred says he’s dressed as the “Butler who did it” in reference to the murder mystery trope.

[edgeanescence]

alright so i know i already made that post detailing foreshadowing with larrys design. but i would also like to have a new post going more into character design of him just because i find myself obsessed once more

so to start, larry is designed to be clearly reminiscent of a businessman/salaryman/etc. obviously this choice is to go with the normal type theming for his gym, because whats more normal than a plain old office worker? in addition, working for the league seems to be fairly normal, given the abundance of suited npcs scattered around paldea. his eyes have lines under it, and combined with his general personality, serve to portray him as somewhat tired despite his dedication

however, he has a few details that play into his actual elite four status. first and foremost is the cloudy tie. its blue with white clouds, resembling the sky. hes got a string of buttons on his cuff that seem to be similar to a feather, and two triangle details in his lapels that give them a vague wing appearance. additionally, the flyaway hairs on his head, along with the black bit that wont quite stay flat, help to make it feel like hes standing in wind with the air blowing his hair about. these flyaways also seem to resemble grey hairs, as if larry started going grey due to the fact that hes always working so much for his color scheme, hes overwhelmingly using black in both his clothes and his actual hair/eye color. black is the ‘typical’ color one might think of for a suit, even if it is not the only color they can be. dark hair and eyes are also extremely common traits with people, falling on more prominent genes compared to something like light eyes or hair. it fits well with the everyman concept, making him blend in more as just some worker. black is a color of formality, yet also mystery and power, which fit well with the suit and the fact hes a member of the elite four. grey fits with his dress shirt and the flyaway hairs on his head. its far more minor in use, and seems to be a bit blue. greys a neutral color that can seem dull, slotting in once again with that ‘boring guy’ vibe. though because of the blue tinge, it helps keep his over all palette more cool and match better with the sky blue tie. blue can be seen as a more calm and collected color, and personality wise larry is definitely one of the less energetic characters in the game

for shape language, larry seems to be built with a focus on squares. squares are a dependable shape, but can come off rigid and boring depending on their use. they have a sense of stability and strength, yet also clumsiness because they can seem a bit unnatural at times. larry as a character seems to be reliable for his job in a more roundabout sense; hes dedicated to it, but hes not known as the best worker, according to his pregym encounter description. hes the normal gym leader, so using a shape that can be ‘boring’ works well. in addition, larry also seems to stumble over when he throws his pokeballs, before jumping back into a more rigid standing position. there is the use of a few triangles in the design too, which are used with his hair especially. triangles can be used to suggest movement, which with how the hair is shaped, checks out. the lapels and collar of his shirt serve to frame his tie, and the smaller darker triangles further serve to point it out. theres a bit of circles used to help soften his design, although not many. hes rigid with his schedule, but not entirely inflexible

now for a more fun analysis of the design, i feel like some aspects can relate to his pokemon, either in a more obvious or more abstract way.

first up is his hair. larrys bottom flyaway strands seem to be similarly shaped to braviarys lowest head feathers, while the top feel more flowy like altarias. the sides of his hair give me the impression of the sides of tropiuss head in terms of placement, but the general concept of hair in front of more hair is reminiscent of braviarys feather crown in front of the plumage. staraptor is the only pokemon to have a feather hang downward in the middle of the head, matching the lower middle strand of grey hair.

now to the suit. his tie with clouds easily connects to altaria, who has a cloud for wings. however i believe this can be further stretched to komalas rounded tufts of fur, given their color and shape. flamigo and komalas nose/beak could be behind the rounded shape of the suits buttons. the triangular bits on staraptors tail feathers could be referenced in the lapels on the suit. oricorios head feathers are set in threes and rounded, just like the feather detail on the suit sleeves. dudunsparce has a general rectangular theming to it, which fits well with the rectangular pockets adorning the suit.

in fact, dudunsparce also has rectangular eyes, which fits with larrys quite well. komala has thick eyebrows, and while not exactly in the same shape as larrys, id say they seem to be about the same thickness for the widest section

the shoes are probably more of a stretch, but the very top rounded bit reminds me of the front toes on tropius color scheme wise, the blue grey of komala seems awfully close to the blue grey used in larrys hair and shirt. the blue of the tie also seems to match up more with the altaria. but that would be going strictly off of concept art, as his in game model renders these shades far differently

its actually kind of insane just how much you can pull from a character who seems incredibly simple on the surface design wise. some of these points are likely to be stretching it just a bit, but im definitely sure that this man was designed with a lot of intent and purpose given his role in the game and how hes shown off

[bonesandthebees]

ooooh i love the idea of king elaric and the seer like having each other in a world of politics and being able to find a friend in someone and trust them and make the most of a childhood that is stripped from you by a title hanging over your head (sorry i get carried away with my own analysis of things) and i think that will definitely be a cool thing to see especially as it falls apart once the weight of elaric’s title falls on him!!! i also love the mental image of him looking like snow!

on the note of mental images do you have any other descriptions of the characters and how you want them to look and like their vibes like those littles details that make them unique like scares and clothing styles and things of the sort yk all the silly stuff :D

- 🪿

god yeah the two of them manage to find something resembling a friendship with each other but it's always overshadowed by their respective titles and roles. the closest they can get to childhood but never quite what it actually should be

oh yeah I definitely have images for most of them in my head. some of them I got from references either from actors or just random models I saw on pinterest, most though just kind of exist in my head

Ana, whose full name is Anara, kind of looks like the actress who plays Edwina in s2 of Bridgerton (Charithra Chandran) though not exactly. I think her skin tone is a bit darker, and obviously the actress is 27 and Ana is like 19-20 in my head so she's a bit younger looking too. but she's a good reference! I'm still deciding on if I want to keep the whole tattoo bit of death worship so I don't know if she has tattoos yet or not. Style wise when she's not dressing in more practical all black clothing for missions, she wears kind of athleisure type outfits. oversized sweatshirts and bike shorts, crop tops and leggings, etc. though if she's actually going out like to a bar or something she dresses in what's trendy, which is usually colorful techwear kind of clothes

when I was trying to figure out what the Seer looked like I just went on pinterest and scrolled through model pics until I found a girl who felt fairly close. again, not exact, but I picture the Seer as a redhead with lots of freckles and more angular, sharp features. her hair is also very long and is done up in very intricate braids with her Seer gowns and veils and all that. however, this isn't really her choice. the Seer hates her hair being long and doesn't really know how to braid it herself, so she usually either leaves it loose or pulls it back into a half-assed ponytail once she's with the Ghosts. she also hates all the gowns and everything, so when she has control of her wardrobe she adopts a more loose-fitting, androgynous sort of style with big sweaters/sweatshirts/hoodies and wide-legged cargo pants/jeans or just straight up sweatpants

the only other one I have kind of a reference for is Kestrel. But for some reason my brain is stuck on picturing Kestrel as kind of like the real life version of Lee from The Walking Dead video game. though unlike Lee who has short hair, I think he'd have dreads he probably pulls back into low ponytails a lot of the time. that's really not a great reference point and my mental image of him is still shifting a bit but like, it kind of vaguely works

while I know what the other Ghosts all look like, I don't really have references for any of them and this post is already long enough so that's what I'll say for now lol

[a-tale-of-legends]

Gijinkas are usually the way I am able the better connect with my ocs pokemon ( as better help me figure out they're like as individuals outside of being my ocs pokemon). But uh. Thinking of designs are hard, haha. Erise ( Amber's Gardevoir) was pretty difficult for me. I had a vision, but the only thing that was tripping me up was the bottom half. I didn't want her to wear a skirt, at least a traditional one? Rather I wanted her to wear pants with this cloth, flap thing around it that vaguely resembles Gardevoir's dress. It was very hard for me to find visualize it looking good, but I think I got it down!

In general, I liked Erise being a bit androgynous/ masculine? I dunno when it kinda became something important to her character, but it did! Also I gave her a sword, bc again, Gardevoir is a knight.....even if she technically won't be using it like a regular sword. It acts more like a wand than anything-

[fandommiss]

sorrow is not worth a dime

Rating: G   Relationship: Ineffable Bureaucracy Characters: Gabriel, Beelzebub Summary: 1916, Vienna The Archangel Gabriel is tasked with a new mission but he stumbles into a formidable adversary during his investigations: Lord Beelzebub. The two decide to work together despite their differences and Gabriel soon realises that the Grand Duke of Hell just might be what he was looking for. On other platforms: ao3

1916, Vienna

The Archangel Gabriel was feeling like a fish out of water, and he did not like it, not one bit. He would have been outright upset at the Almighty for sending him down to another mission in such a short period of time (Rome had not been so long ago, after all), had it not have counted as blasphemy. When the Supreme Archangel of Heaven receives a scribbled note with an address on it, he does not question it. Especially not when the paper in question had an angelic seal of the highest authority on it. Besides an address, there was only one word on the parchment, written in all capitals: RETRIEVE. What Gabriel would need to retrieve was unclear. He tried to contact the Metatron for further clarification but even his archangelic influence could not get the Metratron to answer a blasted call when he was immersed in something. 

Since the note seemed urgent, Gabriel did not bother to try the call again; if it was left on a note on his desk with such a high clearance, it was clear as day that it was a job only he could get done. And he would achieve it, that was guaranteed. As a messenger, he was rarely sent on artefact retrieval missions but he still had some vague memories about it when he was just a wee cherub; it was like riding a bicycle, or what were those human contraptions called again? Anyway, it was coded in his angelic blood from the beginning of time; he would retrieve this artefact without any incident whatsoever if the Almighty had ordered him to do so. However, that did not mean that he was going to be happy about it.

Alas, he resulted to inward brooding as the crowd dressed in all fancy garments and enveloped in cigarette smoke moved about him, taking seats at the tables with chipped polish on them, excitedly chattering about the weather, human politics or other nonsensical topics. 

Gabriel did not care for these people, did not appreciate this empire (whichever was this one again? Austro-something?), and especially disapproved of the era's fashion. It wasn't like the archangel did not appreciate a good form-fitting garment. Actually, he cared more about clothing than most angels up in Heaven, maybe that was why his uniform bothered him so much. He was dressed as some sort of official military persona, in a heavy grey dolman with a cream coloured chemise under it. This part of the uniform was designed to highlight the chest area and visually shrink the torso but Gabriel, already being in possession of a rather large chest and broad shoulders, felt like he was in no need of such emphasis. He looked into one of the large mirrors in the room and had to admit in terror that he resembled a caricature on a Grecian urn. The purple embroidered cuffs did not help his efforts in blending in, not to mention that the row of shiny silver buttons in the front clamped down on his chest like pins, mushing his respiratory organs together (not that he was in need of lungs per se but it was still an uncomfortable sensation). Humans and their stupid clothing sizes! 

He started to ponder whether he should have opted for a female set of clothing instead, but those seemed to be even less functional than his clothes. The women were dressed in bright coloured poofy skirts with stiffly structured crinolines underneath and even more strictly structured corsets above. The performers who were just entering the stage wore similar attires, albeit their outfits seemed to lack a lot of clothing items and were less embellished than those who were sitting among the audience. Gabriel's natural talent in fashion cautioned him against wearing dresses like this. He could not quite put his finger on it, but the way the women in this establishment dressed suggested performance and something else, something sinister.

The show started shortly and one glance at the stage was enough for the archangel to confirm his suspicions: whatever these women were performing was not something decent for sure. Their movements suggested frivolity and the emotions reflected in the faces of the audience bespoke of tales of sin, lust and all demonic things. While the archangel may not be the most well-versed in human affairs, he could clearly see that this place was tied to the other side in more ways than one. Gabriel, time-efficient as ever, wanted to move on, but since he was not given directions on how to retrieve whatever he had to retrieve, he decided to opt for blending in, taking a seat at a table in the back, face turned away from the stage. He tried not to care about humanity’s antics (they were far too below him, after all) but could not stop himself from eavesdropping on some conversations here and there. Unfortunately his attempts at espionage did not bear fruit: all the humans were talking about stupid politics, some kind of war (as if these creatures knew anything about what a real war is like!) and the women performing on stage.

By the time he turned his attention back to the performers, the obnoxiously mahogany wooden stage in the middle of the room was empty; the performance seemed to have ended. It took him no time to locate the ladies though, they were all huddled up at one of the tables, forming a loud swarm of red sequin, giggles and squeals, grouping around the table's occupant. As Gabriel moved closer to observe, he caught sight of the figure and his assignment immediately made more sense. The person – or rather, demon – at the centre of the attention was none other than Lord Beelzebub, the Grand Duke of Hell, in the flesh. More accurately, in black: they were dressed in an attire similar to Gabriel's in an inverse colour scheme. Their red shawl was currently draped over one of the performer's shoulders: she wrapped herself even more tightly in it as she pretended to stifle a coy giggle. Their hat –  a large furry black thing – was missing too, currently residing on another girl's head. Their uniform was black with polished silver buttons and Gabriel begrudgingly had to admit that it suited them way better than it did him: their shoulder blades were sharply highlighted, and their waist cinched in just the appropriate amount. They stood there in their dark getup sprawled in the wooden chair as the women in red around them preened and cooed and giggled, trying to get the demon's attention; a crow in a field of poppies. Gabriel held his breath, whether in anticipation or in fear, he could not quite decide on it. He did not want to scare the crow by any means, not that they would notice him, they were clearly too gone for that.

“Play the one with the barometer in it…” their German sounded slurred and botched as they waved their glass of wine towards the group of musicians standing in the corner and tried to recite the lyrics of their requested musical number. Whatever song the Lord of the Flies chose, it was met with enthusiastic squealing from the girls. The band started the song, one that was clearly meant to encourage more of the hedonistic behaviours Beelzebub was currently engaging in. 

Gabriel shook his head to shake himself out of whatever spell this demon had put him under. The artefact, he must retrieve it. He stepped forward, cleared his throat. The ladies paid him no mind, his subtle cough lost in the noise and pother. He clearly needed a firmer approach.

“Excuse me!” he did not mean to use his angelic voice, Lord saw his soul, he did not. It was just, all the noise and crowd and this enigma of mission frustrated him further by the second, and now here he was, booming like a vengeful warrior ready to smite anything on site at the smallest movement. The crowd froze: the girls parted in front of him,some of them grasping at their chests in earnest fear, the men at the tables reached for their swords, even the music screeched to a halt. Well, so much for subtle and easy missions, the archangel scoffed to himself. He got the demon’s attention at least: 

“Gabriel,” their eyes lit up with recognition after their gaze measured the archangel from head to toe. Gabriel suppressed a shiver in his corporeal form at the demon’s blatant glaring. He recognized it for what it was yet did not dare to say the word “interest”, not even in his mind. 

“Beelzebub,” he left off the honorific deliberately and the Lord of the Flies’ brows twitched in annoyance. Their eyes roamed over his form once again, Gabriel stood immobile under their gaze. If they wanted a fight, he would not back down, but Beelzebub just let out a delighted snort.

"Can you even breathe in this thing?" a silver of amusement danced in their eyes as they gestured towards Gabriel’s all-too-tight getup. Great, so his disproportionate uniform was that obvious.

"I don't need to," the archangel ground out through his teeth, intent on not letting his hellish foe wound him up as they often managed to do. It would always be like this: Gabriel would be on a mission, he would run into Beelzebub one way or another, the demon would snicker at him, taunt him and laugh at him until every coherent ability for reason left the archangel, forcing him to result to shouting, or other very unprofessional forms of expression of anger. They seemed to enjoy him losing his composure. 

“What the hell are you doing here, demon? Here to thwart me?” In reality, he did not need to ask: he knew that the demon must be after the same artefact he was searching for. The fact that Hell had sent one of their head operatives too only further confirmed his suspicions that this object was of utmost importance. 

“As if,” the Lord the Flies snorted, the little buzzing liar they were. “I have business to attend to.”

“What business?” the archangel raised an eyebrow. The heavily gendered space of the orpheum didn’t seem like something the demon would actively seek. Not to mention all the nasty activities the men and women engaged in after the pleasantries of the dances performances ended. Of course he could not be sure that these humans were anything sinful since Gabriel’s knowledge of human sexual activities were patchy at best, yet, there seemed to be a pattern of such establishments existing ever since Gabriel’s first visit to Earth.

Up until that point, it hadn’t occurred to Gabriel that Beelzebub might be engaging in carnal desire. While demons unsurprisingly encouraged it, and many did partake in such acts, the Lord of the Flies seemed like a demon who would rather indulge in the sins that of more… consumable nature, as illustrated by their very sloshed state. But now that the thought wormed its way into his head, he could not get the image out of his mind's eye. He felt a pang of something unfamiliar in his chest that was not caused by the embellished buttons on his uniform; Gabriel decided to ponder on its meaning later, and shoved it down.

“A business that is none of your concern,” how they managed to stare down Gabriel when he towered a good head above them was beyond the archangel’s comprehension. He did not like it. 

“We need to talk,” the angel changed tactics. “It’s about work .”

“What could we possibly talk about? You do your job, I do mine, all is well. That’s what we had agreed upon cent- a long time ago.” Beelzebub sneered.

“There has been a change in plans. In the plan. ” Oh that was sneaky of him, throwing The Great Plan into the mix! The archangel knew very well that carrying out The Great Plan was above all angels’ and demons’ personal whims and caprices. If it was something concerning The Great Plan, any ethereal being was obliged to cooperate, to secure the possibility of the Final Battle. Gabriel would have felt guilty for lying had he been sure that this artefact had nothing to do with The Great Plan. However, he could not entirely rule out the possibility of it, and hence, he was free of feeling any guilt. 

“We need to talk. In private .” He did not care for the onlookers but the silence that persisted in the room made him uncomfortable. Not to mention that the matter was a sensitive one that should be discussed without the presence of any humans.

Beelzebub stared at him for an entire minute: Gabriel was sure that they caught him on his bullshit, but they both knew the protocol. The Prince of Hell let out a woeful sigh and downed the rest of their drink.

“Follow me.”

They disentangled their body from the chair, gathered their hat and shawl and waved a lousy goodbye to the dancers, much to the girls' chagrin. Whatever they fancied in this demon, Gabriel could not for the life of him comprehend. Beelzebub was scrawny and messy, and yeah, sure they might have expressive eyes, but that is all to the package. These ladies could not know that the Prince of Hell was well-versed in three different instruments, or that they could lead diplomacy meetings like it’s nobody’s business, qualities that would surely be more appealing to humans than their appearance which was far from conventional. (Gabriel did not know about humanity’s tendency of setting norms and their fascination with everything and everyone who disrupts said norms, therefore he could not explain Beelzebub’s popularity with the ladies.)

Gabriel followed Beelzebub up on grandiose marble steps only to turn right at an ebony door and enter what seemed like an office space of sorts. 

“Is this your place?” the angel couldn’t help but inquire. 

“I need some air,” they replied, completely ignoring his question and the fact that, similarly to Gabriel, they did not breathe. They grabbed a pair of blood red curtains, shoving the heavy velvet away to reveal a small balcony, surrounded by thick white columns on the sides. Beelzebub unlocked the door and stepped outside, gesturing for the archangel to follow. 

“How long have you been drinking here?” Upon closer inspection, the demon’s clothes were piling, the wear and tear of their garments suggesting that the Prince of Hell might have already spent more time on Earth than the usual allocated two months for field agents.  

“Be brief,” they sighed, ignoring his second question as well. However, their tone faltered, confirming Gabriel’s suspicion that Beelzebub had not been to Hell for quite some time now. “My corporeal form is not having the time of its life.” the demon steeled themself and were now speaking in their no-nonsense, business-like tone they used whenever Heaven and Hell had matters to discuss. He heard this tone countless times icily cut across meeting rooms: a mixture of boredom and rigid unwillingness for compromise. Gabriel decided to honour their wish and get straight to the point.

“Hand it over,” he said, adopting his own signature business-like tone. Two could play this game just fine.

“Hand over what, Gabriel?” they sounded annoyed now.

“I will be gracious this time, and allow you a second chance, given the circumstances and all that," he made a circular motion with his hand to encompass the drunkenly messy silhouette of the Grand Duke of Hell.  "Hand me the artefact.”

"I have no idea what you're talking about," had they said this two centuries ago, Gabriel would have called them a liar, but after so many diplomatic meetings that had occurred between Heaven and Hell in the past decades due to rising tensions, Gabriel knew better. There was always more to the demon than what met the eye. He proved to be right because Beelzebub continued:

"And even if I knew anything about this mysterious artefact, I could not tell you. Not anymore," the demon's face twisted in discomfort; the archangel found that misery looked horrible on them. Beelzebub looked tired, messy and slow: the demon reclining against the marble railing was but a shadow of the sharp-witted and confident leader Gabriel knew them to be. “I am no longer in a position where I can divulge secrets to you as your equal.” 

They took a sharp and ragged breath that sounded more like a wounded sob and they finally spat it out:

"I have been demoted." Gabriel paled at the confession: surely the ears on his corporeal vessel misheard it: they could not be saying that they had been demoted. 

"Huh?" he only managed to say as much. 

"Bollocks, isn't it?" they huffed bitterly. "Apparently, I wasn't vigilant enough and have been consorting too much with the enemy ," they spat.

"It's called diplomacy ," Gabriel bristled indignantly, as if he had been the one accused of treason.

"I know," Beelzebub sighed in exasperation.

“Regularly scheduled corporate meetings ensure the harmonious end of times. It is not pleasant… but it is necessary. It’s a no brainer, basically Bureaucracy 101!” The Supreme Archangel was baffled.  

"Try telling that to the Dark Council though, good fucking luck," Beelzebub blew strawberries dismissively, their expression all pouty now. "My office had already been moved up three circles and I am back on purgatory shifts , the most boring ass paperwork you can imagine without any benefits and no reach at all. I became a blessed office clerk ," they were almost hysterical now. 

"Well, that can't be the end of it. I make sure to bring it up with the Metatron, surely he can…" Gabriel was cut off by the fondness in Beelzebub's eyes.

"I appreciate your determination, sunshine, but the Metatron has no power of jurisdiction in Satan's realm," the Lord of the Flies took in a sharp breath. "I can count myself lucky for getting demoted to another desk job and not to some on-the-field torturer agent. I just have to start over, I suppose, work my way up again and trust that Dagon's promotion won't get to her head. It's not like I don't have an infinity to work my way up the bureaucratic ladder again," they tried to be coy but the joke fell flat. Gabriel pressed his lips so tightly together in frustration the motion would have drawn blood if there had been any blood in his corporeal vessel. He didn’t say that he was sorry, he didn't need to; both of them knew he was. 

“Well,” the archangel cleared his throat in unease. “Seems that I have to look for that artefact elsewhere. I’ll be on my way then,” he bowed awkwardly (was that blasphemy, bowing to a demon?) and took two steps back.

“Wait,” Beelzebub said: there was no urgency to their speech, nor was it a command: it was a proposed truce. “Tell me about the mission. While I cannot share information on the artefact, I might be able to provide my personal input on the matter if...” the following words seemed the pain Beelezbub more than getting drenched in holy water. “ you insist on pulling rank.” And that was why they were the leader of Hell and his most formidable nemesis, Gabriel marvelled. Always finding loopholes, that blasted bureaucratic genius of a demon!

“I absolutely insist,” he grinned, way too pleased. Demons and angels liked to bare their fangs and assuring the other that they had no power over them, but in many cases, a major gap in ranks could intimidate lesser angels or demons into submission: that’s why the back channels existed in the first place.

Gabriel then recounted the events in Heaven, the strange paper, the Metatron and all. Angels had  fallen for lesser sins than confiding in the enemy, yet Gabriel was still here: surely that must mean that he was doing his job well. There was just one problem: Gabriel did not actually know anything about the artefact. 

“And, what do we know about this artefact?” Gabriel’s corporeal heart did not do a blackflip in his chest upon hearing the plural and anyone who suggested otherwise would be properly smitten down to Hell.

“Erhm... Well, it is an artefact that I have to retrieve.” No matter how closely he and Beelzebub worked together at times, admitting a lack of knowledge to the enemy did not suit Gabriel’s character. Cooperation was just fine as long as they remained equals; the minute there was an imbalance (especially if it was in favour of the demon), things had a tendency to… well… escalate.

“Yes, I’ve gathered that much,” the Grand Duke of Hell’s voice was dripping with sarcasm.

“Yes, exactly…” Gabriell hummed, stalling for time and desperately trying to come up with something. Every second passed in silence only further raised the demon’s suspicion and left eyebrow.

“Why so shy now?” Beelzebub took a step closer, looking up at the demon with a weird mixture of glee and wariness as the archangel’s posture stiffened at the close proximity of their corporeal forms. “Come now, I have offered my services before,” the demon purred and Gabriel knew the double entendre was intentional on their part, probably a byproduct of the alcohol. “There’s no shame in asking for help… Pride is a sin after all, is it not, Gabriel?”

The blasted demon was right. If he were to find this artefact, he needed to be less prideful about it. It’s not like Beelzebub would go and blabber about Gabriel’s lack of skill in artefact-hunting; and even if they did, no one would believe them anyway. He sighed defeated and fished out the envelope from the pocket of his well-pressed suit.

“I have received these orders. I must warn you, they are very vague.” He slipped the paper into the demon’s hand. “It is no surprise, given that the Almighty’s plan is indeed ineffable…” he tried to add to save some face but was cut short by Beelzebub’s laughter.  

“This is no Metatron’s seal,” they were hysterically howling now and Gabriel’s discomfort grew with each passing second. “This is Dagon’s forgery of the Metatron’s seal. Did you know she was a scribe before she had fallen? She has incredible penmanship, no wonder she is the Lord of the Files. But like all demons, she has a weakness and that is pride: there, you see that little curl on the top of the seal?” they turned the paper towards Gabriel who reluctantly moved closer. “That’s her signature. She can’t resist signing her own artwork, the narcissistic bastard,” Beelzebub shook their head incredulously. “Pft, if demons only knew how easy it is to fool angels with a piece of shiny paper and ink…”

“So what does that mean?” Gabriel cut them off impatiently. 

“It means you've been played for a sucker, sunshine” the Lord of the Flies was way too delighted at this discovery for Gabriel’s liking. “She had set you up for a wild goose chase. Must be a new trick up her sleeve to establish her dominance as the new Grand Duke of Hell. Marvellous! I would promote her for such a brilliant prank had she not, well, been promoted already,” their voice had a hint of bitterness to it. “One thing bugs me though,” Beelzebub started to say then stopped mid-sentence to giggle at their own unintentional pun. Almighty preserve him, Beelzebub was truly inebriated; Gabriel could count on his fingers the amount of times he could hear the Lord of the Flies laugh before today. He could sense that the demon really had hit rock bottom. 

“One thing bugzzz me though,” they tried again, buzzing slightly. “Why this address? I don’t believe in coincidencezz.” 

Gabriel did not either.

“Maybe she wanted to double-cross you?” Gabriel proposed, seeing no use in beating around the bush. “Hoped that I would smite you on sight? Two flies with one stone?”

“It’s two birds,” Beelzebub corrected him. “And Dagon is not like that. Although one time, she did eat an entire pack of printing-paper in one sitting, so who knows what goes through the brain of that gilled maniac. She was like a paper-shredder except faster,” they mused. “I don’t know, sunshine” they shrugged finally. “And I hate not knowing,” they pouted and slumped against one of the marble pillars.

“Sunshine, really?” he asked incredulously, ignoring the rest of the sentences for the moment; it was the third time they called him this nickname today. 

“You're so bloody bright. With your stupid halo and your stupid fake smile, and your stupid white uniform, it’s blinding like goddamn sunlight. Can’t see shit, can you turn it down?” the demon slurred, their eyes crossing in a dangerously impossible way.  

“I think you had way too much alcohol. I turned off my halo before landing on Earth.” Gabriel’s brows furrowed in confusion.

“Oh, then I must already be hungover. Blessed demonic metabolism.” They propped their elbows onto the balcony, staring out into the city shrouded in night. In the distance, the dark curls of the Danube rolled by, the foam glistening in the moonlight. The streetlamps were already lit, casting orange halos on the coaches standing nearby the establishment. Coachmen and stableboys bustled by, gathering hay and water for the horses, should any of the distinguished gentlemen decide against staying the night. A peaceful silence stretched between the two ethereal beings.

“Hey”, Gabriel suddenly bumped his shoulder into Beelzebub’s, whether to keep the demon from falling asleep or to get their attention was unclear. They looked up into his face in response. “I know my word does not mean much to you, given that I’m an angel and all that, though I am The Supreme Archangel might I add, so…” he cleared his throat when he realised he was getting sidetracked. “Anyway, so for what it’s worth, I think you are an amazing Grand Duke of Hell. You are competent, tough, calculating” the archangel was counting the adjectives on his fingers. “Albeit a bit hard-headed at times, and in all honesty, quite scary, but… But they were lucky to have you, they just hadn’t realised it yet.” Gabriel looked into their eyes with no hint of sarcasm or patronising intent. “Give it a few days, let the place fall apart a bit, and trust me, the whole Dark Council will be coming back on their knees, begging you to rejoin their ranks.” 

Beelzebub turned away from Gabriel, looking down onto the street below, and the warm smile slowly melted from the archangel’s face.

“I suppose you’re right,” they mumbled finally to no one in particular, their gaze fixed on the waves roaring in the river now. Gabriel let out a sigh of relief he did not know he had been holding. He finally understood: the scribbled “RETRIEVE” did not mean a thing but a being , a demon more precisely. The Supreme Archangel was not the sharpest tool in the shed, but he didn't need to be in order to know that the Lord of the Flies had few whom they could confide in. Dagon, accustomed to her master’s tendencies to drown their sorrow in booze and attention, must have grown sick of Beelzebub’s wallowing and took matters into her own hands. So, the Lord of the Files in her despair turned to the next person Beelzebub was known to confide in: him. For a brief moment, he entertained the thought that Dagon might have been worried for Beelzebub but it suggested something dangerous: that demons, like humans, had feelings too – which would have entailed an entire set of questions in itself, so Gabriel shut his musings down quickly. The thought that another demon knew about their fraternising should have scared him but it produced a warm fuzzy feeling in his chest instead. As Beelzebub started snoring beside him – having fallen asleep as they were, half-draped across the balcony – the archangel looked up at the stars. He wanted to put this moment in a chest, to lock it away deep down where not even the Almighty could reach it, and he did not care if it was blasphemy.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

The following week, he received another sealed envelope while he was filing away the weekend’s miracle roster. This time, the letter was more elaborate, even if only slightly. "LB is home. Ty." it read, followed by the Metatron's seal of approval. If Gabriel squinted hard enough, he could see the signature little tail that wasn't supposed to be there. He smiled as he tore the letter to shreds and set fire to the remains. Beelzebub might be demoted but they are working their way up slowly until the two of them can meet on equal grounds again. And every day, that day was getting closer.

[beesbeesdragons]

I am not asking for more I am begging for more I am on my knees plz

alrighty!!! ive got some more, so lets get right to it!!! with some picture references this time!!!! (this is very long so buckle down I have so many thoughts)

so first off: fashion. specifically children's fashion! if you look here at Nina and Elicia (the two most major child characters), you'll see the general clothing style of the children in FMA. (first photo is Brotherhood, second is 03)

here, we can see that the general clothing for young girls is dresses and, though Nina seems to be in play clothes, while Elicia is in party clothes. The styles doesn't appear to have changes all too much from the other appearances of children in the show (Ed, Al and Winry)

We can see here that it appears to be a similar style, though in my headcanon, I imagine that while the style hasn't changed all too much, it's a bit more dressed-up. Here are some fashion plates and magazine pages from the 1930s-1940s for children's fashion for a visual reference!

for the girls, at least at the age that Elicia and Nina would be, they'd be wearing something like this, or like this:

they're still the same vague style, but a bit more practical in terms of fabric usage. HOWEVER as children's clothing tends to use less darts and tailoring, they'd be able to get away with a bit more decoration in terms of ruffles and trim. For Ed and Al, I imagine they'd be wearing something similar to this:

or this:

They're a bit more practical, and I imagine that, because they grew up in a warmer area (judging by the fact that they got snow apparently only once in Resembool), they'd have been wearing shorts until they were roughly 12 or so.

A specific thing I mention in the third letter in From the Desk of Dorothy Mustang (found here) is that Dorothy is gifted an old coat by Ophelia, who is one of the most up-to-date women in Resembool when it comes to fashion. The coat is in this style, and is intended to look something like the top right coat, with fur at the collar, lapels and cuffs.

next. the UNIFORMS!!!!

ok military uniforms are absolutely fine, lets get that over with. I'm talking specifically Dorothy's uniform, aka for medics and nurses. now. I havent actually posted the chapters which specifically describe the uniform and regulations surrounding it, so you get some extra insight (yayyyyy)

now, in the context for letter 4, it specifically references that civilian medics (those working in civilian-run clinics in civilian areas) are required to wear two red cross symbols on them at all times. the following quotation is from the chapter, in the explanation of this.

"it outlined where and how the red cross symbol was to be displayed and visible on the uniforms of those providing medical aid. All medical personnel, it was stated, were required to display at least two red crosses on their uniforms; one (like is mentioned in the letter) would take the form of an armband, and the other could be located anywhere, as it simply had to be visible. For certain uniforms, the second red cross would be on the back, but for others, especially nurses, it would decorate the apron’s front. "

the actual, official uniform for medics is also described in the context for letter five, as explained below.

"the uniform in the picture she enclosed in the letter bore a striking resemblance to the uniform that would later be made compulsory for medics in military hospitals. The uniform has two variations; a light cotton one, and a heavier wool one. For female medics, it was a blue dress, worn with stockings of either a natural tone, or black, and a white apron with a red cross on the chest. The dress was knee-length, to avoid getting caught on loose floorboards and for ease of movement. Medics of all genders wore white armbands emblazoned with a red cross, alongside red stripes to denote the years of service. Female medics also wore caps with another red cross if they had longer hair, with a hairnet pinned to the cap. For those with shorter hair, there was the option of a headscarf to keep the hair away from the face, or wearing the hair in set curls, close to the head. All medical personnel were required to wear a pair of black, rubber-soled boots. For those in more hazardous regions, with damp ground or heavy and consistent rain, boots made predominantly or entirely from rubber, such as wellingtons, were heavily recommended."

this uniform is based off of this uniform

as well as this VAD uniform

though it is described to have been changed in 1905 for ambulance drivers and field medics (though only them) to a more practical set of denim overalls with a red cross symbol on the front, though a whie armband with a red cross was still mandatory.

here's a vague sketch of the uniform Dorothy wears during her training period (from 1901-1905)

this is all I have for now (because this took an hour) but be sure to ask more questions if you've got them!

[inharmcnia]

Basic information

Name: Nora Jazairi, born Noura al-Jazairi

Title(s): None

Referred to as: Miss Jazairi

Nickname(s): None

Age: Forty-one, born 3 February 1882

Gender: Cis woman

Sexual orientation: Biromantic, bisexual

Occupation: Lady’s maid

Nationality: Naturalised British citizen. Previously French Algerian.

Religion: Technically Roman Catholic, but her relationship with religion is complicated. She was brought up vaguely Muslim, but was educated in Catholic school and regularly attends Mass.

Class: Working class

Place of birth: Algiers, French Algeria

Hometown: London, U.K.

Faceclaim: Sofia Boutella

Physical description

Height: 5’5’’

Weight: Around 125 lbs

Build: Slim, long and lean with narrow and sharp edges

Distinguishing marks: None

Hair colour: Dark brown

Hair style: Long, always worn up and pulled back. While shorter hair would be more fashionable, she finds long hair is easier to keep out of the way. Besides, she doesn’t mind resembling a Pre-Raphaelite beauty.

Eye colour: Dark brown

Clothing: What is expected of her. Simple day and evening dress depending on the occasion. While even the clothes she wears on a rare day off are far from showy, they’re always neat and fit her well.

Scent(s): Pond’s Cold Cream, lemon hand lotion, whatever soap she’s using.

Accent: Something between RP and Estuary English. Decidedly English.

Personality

Summary: Both extremely easy to read and nearly impossible to truly figure out, Nora has spent her adult life leading a fairly uncomplicated existence. Her face will betray her if she's expected to lie for any reason, but she knows when to speak and how much she needs to say to avoid any questions she might not want to answer. As much as she would love to be the mysterious, dramatic female hero of her own story, the truth is much more simple; she's a quick learner and knows what is expected of her. Still, she's not some artful manipulator, either, nor is she interested in becoming one. Truly, she's much too soft-hearted for that.

Virtues: Affable, diligent, perceptive, resourceful, self-aware.

Vices: Credulous, indecisive, nosy, short-sighted, single-minded.

Moral alignment: True neutral

Natal chart: TBD

Habits: Emulating and matching the body language of those around her, tidying up and straightening things in her close proximity, fiddling with anything she’s holding when nervous, smiling when anxious or uncomfortable.

Character tropes: Single Woman Seeks Good Man, Idealist vs. Pragmatist, For Happiness, (hopefully) Earn Your Happy Ending

Family ties

Parent(s): Emir al-Jazairi & Rabia Mahrez

Sibling(s): None

Spouse: Has never been married. Has been almost engaged once.

Child/ren: None

Miscellaneous headcanons:

In addition to English, she speaks French and Arabic. Having been educated by Roman Catholic nuns, she also obviously understands a fair bit of Latin.

TBA

Wanted plots

Nora might dream of an easier life filled with some sort of wealth, but her loyalties lie with the working class and those with similar circumstances to her. Someone could potentially exploit said loyalties and make her more sympathetic to whatever cause they themselves believe in.

That being said, she does have perhaps unearned admiration and loyalty towards whatever lady or family she's serving. Her devotion and love cannot be bought, but she's not above being bribed with either material goods or social capital. So, please test her. It's going to be torturous for her.

TBA

[imperial-nuisance-rudje]

Exalted Secret Santa!!

and this year i will be taking measures to NOT be horribly late...!

Characters under the cut! Names link to Toyhou.se profiles with more detail/refs.

The Crimson Mask - No Moon Lunar, nonbinary (he/him), Tell - Opal eyes+eye scarring

Crimson is generally agreeable and friendly, though he tends to be somewhat cold with people he is unfamiliar with (due to fear, mostly), and his flaky short-term memory and sacrificed sense of time makes him a very strange conversationalist. He has a fairly easy smile and generally does not actually show true anger unless he is in an extremely bad space.

He is an exceptionally beautiful person with thick, kinky red hair (usually kept in box braids outside of Hair Care Time), nearly black skin, and intensely striking eyes made of opal, crossed with paler scars. He's extremely short, barely 5'2", though his raw presence makes him feel taller. He usually (though not always) wears a mask that hides, at minimum, his eyes, and more often he hides his entire face. He usually wears a qixiong ruqun with a light blouse, though he does add pants under the skirt for practicality's sake when he has to travel or ride long distances. He always keeps his artifact cane (made of moonsilver and bone) nearby, and also usually has a metallic fan and unusually heavy sash on him as well.

He has a hybrid form; when looking at the refs on TH, go for more recent ones.

His Iconic anima obscures his body almost entirely, and visually is more the vague, shifting impression of being hunted by a Utahraptor in a moonlit forest than something clear and solid.

Do not draw him doing anything that 100% requires sight to do or without his moonsilver cane--he's totally blind, the cane is an important aid for him. Any alternate clothing should be loose at the wrist.

Calligraphic Chain - Serenity Sidereal, man (he/him)

Chain is a manipulative little bastard man that hates all the bad shit about his job and most of his coworkers, and is at the same time a deeply sympathetic person who wants to make things better (though he has no faith in his work in Heaven achieving anything resembling that). He is used to hiding his deep rage and disdain for others for his own safety, so he tends to present himself as someone who is willing to help if he's helped in return. He has no stomach for violence, even as he acknowledges that it's sometimes needed.

Chain is a claw strider beastman--specifically, the tiny fluffy desert kinds (Velociraptor mongoliensis). He's very small compared to a normal human, only about 2'6" or so, and he tends to get stepped on by those not used to looking down. His plumage is a dull white-and-beige and his scales are dull grey, both colors common on males. He has darker markings under his eyes that make their golden color quite striking. His hands have human flexibility and movement, but are still tipped with raptor claws. His face is less innately expressive than an ordinary human's; he usually expresses emotion with head/neck posture and crest movement. This does not mean all expressions are impossible for him, just that he’s more limited in what he can do and many of the ordinary human ones he’s capable of are obviously not natural for him. His tail is long and feathered, and is held parallel to the ground at rest. He dresses very brightly and ornately, usually in cuts based on his native Chiaroscuro, though he's considered downright subdued for Heaven.

Mountain Heart Empress - Full Moon Lunar, woman (she/her), Tell: Jackrabbit ears

Empress is a rowdy, reckless, and headstrong woman who tends to punch first and ask questions later. The things she cares about she cares about at maximum intensity, and the things she doesn’t care about may as well not exist. Despite this she is extremely successful, having survived multiple centuries by knowing which fights demand a cut-and-run approach and which fights she can actually take on.

She’s a short and lean woman, with pale(ish) skin darkened by the sun. Her extremely long hair is a light brown with blonde highlights, and is very straight and smooth. She wears very little actual armor, most of it being the gorget and belt she wears, trusting entirely in her skill and regeneration to keep her alive. She flaunts her Lunar status by wearing lunar symbols like the one keeping her chest wrap in place.

While she has a hybrid form, it has not been designed. Her tattoos are on her lower back and have also not been designed. 

Ragara Shayun - Ghost (formerly a Water Aspect Dragon-blooded), man (he/him)

Much of Ragara Shayun's better qualities have been subsumed by his desire to see his house destroyed for scapegoating him. They still surface when he's not in a situation that isn't driving him into a murderous frenzy, but he no longer has any social obligation to fake not being full of acid and hate. When he isn't focused on his vendetta, he's a shockingly charming and witty man who tends to be polite, and at all times he is terrifyingly cunning. He remains loyal to and affectionate with the now-Abyssal who was his mortal lover in life, though their relationship has been warped by Shayun’s ghostly obsessions and Wanderer in Flame’s nature as a deathknight.

I don’t expect anyone to pick him since this placeholder pog is literally the only image I have of him, but for a body type ref the Viera i made using that character data is still viable (including the terrible case of gamer spine tbh). Shayun looks mostly as he did when alive, save for the obviously severed neck and a head only kept in place by ironclad self-image. He is a tall, delicate, pale, and pretty man with long, dark purple hair that he often elaborately braided--an affectation picked up by his time in the North. He was rendered odd-eyed due to a sorcerous lab accident, dyeing his left eye a magenta that contrasted strongly with the original dark purple in his right. He was nearly blind to normal sight in the affected eye, and he was notably more nervous and jumpy even despite having the ability to actually see the flow of essence after. He "wears" (insofar as any ghost wears clothing) the style he preferred in life, not what he was wearing at death; a mix of then-current fashions from his workplace and the Blessed Isle proper. In life he often wore vibrant eye makeup, and this is reflected in his shade. He has aspect markings of some kind, but I am not totally certain what they should be; have fun with that.

...I guess there’s Hunter of Hunters but they’re not visually distinct enough from their source material. If you want the challenge of making them visually distinct... have fun? 

Note that for all of them while I don’t mind, like, blood/bruises I’d prefer they remain mostly intact.

[hyde-the-toad-bard]

Can we be honest about how much of a nothingburger XX Dizzys character design is

Obviously the main standouts are the wings, but beyond that, what do we really get here, some straps and bits of cloth that may, if you squint, vaguely resemble a nuns outfit. Maybe there's foreshadowing to marrying Ky in her boots, but that doesn't really tell us anything about her.

There's bits and pieces here that make some sense when you understand her pacifist nature, and how her wings actively fight against her, but no one would guess that just from looking at her.

Xrd does manage to improve, mostly in adding details to the wings, but the clothes are still really weird.

Like, Dizzy as a character doesn't need sex appeal, and I argue that it takes away from her character appeal of a wide eyed innocent dragged around by her sheer power(her wings). At the very least, her clothes better indicate guilty gear's aesthetic of holiness.

Ultimately, these character designs seemed intended to invoke and to some extent subvert the concept of the heavy metal angel, but it just ends up being weird in the execution.

Strives design starts over with her design and it works wonderfully. Simpler colors imply she's more in tune with her powers than ever before, and her dress seems like something she would actually wear. The flowers vibe with her pacifism, and I feel like I can tell who this character is just by looking at her. It's fantastic.

Anyways thats my rant. Bye

All I'm gonna say is this, these designs are good when you don't have an annoying person in your ear telling your they are bad, mid, or a letdown down from their previous designs

[amdigitalcharacterillustration]

GROUP DESIGN TASK 07/06/24

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………

For the Thursday lesson, we were out into groups and tasked to create a character, with a simple backstory and vague design. These characters then got swapped around the class, with the idea we were to draw the character we got like a faux commission. The catch was that each group member was assigned a specific style to replicate for the piece. There were four styles given out, the same for each group. - Graphic Novel - Childs Book - Mobile Game - Cartoon None of the four I was particularly fussed about receiving, so picked out Mobile Game style on a whim, since it isn't an art style I explore on the regular. …………………………………………………………………………………………………………… The character we were given was that of Johnson Leebourne. A troubled Victorian man who is two people combined into one! We were told he has a violent temper, a cane, and the tendency to like money over his peers. As a group, we first decided on the colour palette of this man, and soon agreed that he'd have more dulled down tones. A possible splash of colour here and there to keep values balanced, but overall nothing insane to look at. Also while bearing in mind that this palette had to work for each style without massive adaptation. The palette finally agreed upon.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………… Now I have everything I need, it's onto the actual drawing. I gathered references. I knew I wanted the character to look like a character meant to be tweened, and to have a simple-ish palette with a lack of shading. Most mobile games to date have very little effort put into them, and I wanted to replicate the low-effort' nature, while actually producing a decent product. My first come across was the popular late 2015 YouTube series ASDF Movie. The characters simplistic style, yet emotional and poseable range, was perfect. Round heads, simple eyes and limbs, that just barely resembled something human. Putting my mind into the head of a cheapskate developer, that certainly tickle my fancy of being cheap, easy and appealing design choice.

I then thought of the app store game 'Dumb Ways To Die', a funky yet gory game that had a choke hold on me as a child. I liked the flat colouring style, which was pulled off effectively enough to not seem lazy. And decided to take inspiration from there are well.

I also picked up a few references for some Victorian era clothing, keeping in mind the colours and styles that would have been available at the time. And as much as I looked to real-life examples, I sought out cartoon versions as well, to give myself a better idea of how I'd simplify a suit design.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………… I then thought about what kind of game my hypothetical mobile character would be from. My mind instantly landed on a tycoon style game, maybe with a side story of our brief character. I concocted the title 'Coin Capers', with the idea that Leebourne was most likely a tax-evading rich man, and his dodgy company a mass cover up for his true money-leeching plans. There'd be scenes where he'd talk to the player, though the game would mostly consist of repetitive, boring coin clicker gameplay. Those scenes would look like how most narrative story games do.

A semi- transparent text box, that contains the dialogue, and a solid box of colour above it that contains the speaking characters name. …………………………………………………………………………………………………………… And here is my design for Johnson Leebourne, after everything I just talked through. I tried to incorporate all my ideas in a cohesive manner, that I feel came through better than I hoped. I apologise since I completely forgot to record my timelapse for this piece.

I did his full body character design, a dialogue box, and the app icon for the fictional mobile game. One half of his body better resembles his 'ex-wife' who's personality merged into his, with a dress and noticeable eyelashes to differentiate her. I wanted his face to look like it was almost split in half to resemble both sides of his personalities. His eyes are a simplistic cartoon-like design that would be easily interchangeable with his other expressions. ……………………………………………………………………………………………………………

[justaz]

Saw your posy about your fic with the aliens that sound too similar to minions. I think you just gotta add details that pull it away from the first gut instinct to visualize a minion.

Like, are they humanoid or are they more reptile/bird like? Or a different mammal? Do they have sharp teeth? Do they have hair, fur, feathers, scales, something else or a combination? Are they a prey or predator species? This will affect things like the placement of the eyes at the front or sides of the head. These details add physical additions that minions don't have and help distance the race from those little guys.

We can also describe more of how their colouring is different as well to change our mental image. For example, are they varying shades of yellow? Are they yellow because it's a natural camouflage for the planet? Are they completely yellow or do they have a gradient from the limbs inward or a completely different coloured stomach? Are they yellow mainly due to mating reasons as yellow was the most attractive colour of this species causing most of the population to end up a shade of yellow over time. I mean so long as they aren't literally entirely one shade of yellow all over then it's less likely to be a minion.

Finally the additional clothes, technology, and societal norms will change our perception again. Like are they highly advanced or in the beginning stages of their technology. If its just figuring things out the clothes will likely be more hand made and simple if not simply woven together directly from the planet itself or taken off the back of an animal. If it's advanced go nuts, who knows what people wear in the future. And is it a highly modest society covering everything up or more accepting of their bodies with skimpy clothes or even none at all? Is it a cold planet, moderate, or a hot planet because that will also affect the styles of dress the aliens have. Literally so long as they aren't all wearing goggles and Jean overalls and sometimes lab coats (this is all I really remember the minions wearing) you'll once again make these aliens seem unique.

Anyways, point is you don't have to redesign your aliens for your fic, you just need to ask yourself a whole bunch of questions as to why they look the way they do and then describe them in your fic to the point that we get a better mental image of what your aliens look like to the point that we won't even think of anything else they could resemble. You don't need to go overboard and write 5 paragraphs in one go as soon as they show up in your story but you can add at least one of each of these categories to your initial description to start off and then as the story progresses you can weave in more details about the alien's world and specific characteristics of specific alien characters your main cast meet with to eventually add more depth tk your species overall.

In any case, sorry to dump literally all of this on you over a quick funny blurb about your situation, but I hope this helps. I just really love world building and character species creation and figured that you shouldn't have to give up the ones you have right now due to a tiny bit of common description. I hope to read your story soon, anyway, and wish you good luck with your writing!

omg HAHA thank you, i appreciate this and will definitely consult this on any world building i have to do in future writing but in the context of what i was writing, it was a short passage of the characters passing a few aliens that rlly didn’t play a role in the scene AND the character i was focusing on was kinda panicked and didn’t rlly give a shit about who was around so it was a super vague description

i am kinda proud of myself bc i DID think of a few of these questions on my own. they live in the desert part of the planet so their coloring was for camouflage (and i edited it to add that they vary in shade, from dark brown to pale yellow) and i did give them lightweight robes, not unlike what you see people wearing in like the middle east. i did add extra arms and modified their noses to a kind of flap that opens and closes on command over just a couple holes in their face so their “noses” don’t protrude and solid black eyes

hopefully that gets rid of the minion visual LMAO

[audreydoeskaren]

Hello hope you're having a nice time! uwu

What do you think of the cdrama "Miss S" set in Republican Era.

Hi! In terms of the costuming, short answer is I think it's not good. It's an adaptation of the Australian series Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries, which I love, and its costuming cannot hold a candle to the original. The time setting is kind of vague----most say 1930s, but Miss Fisher is set in the late 20s and there are places where the costumer is probably trying to go for a ✨1920s flapper✨ vibe but couldn’t do it. This is definitely one of those Republican era dramas that try to recreate the vibe of "old Shanghai" or whatever using modern clothing and don't bother to be even remotely historical. Any attempt at identifying historical precedents for their costumes is reading too much into it, because it's technically Republican era guzhuang. I'm sorry if this sounds really harsh but that's the thing for this entire genre of drama costuming, and I've already covered some examples previously (see Rookie Agent Rouge, Couple of Mirrors, Fall in Love). I think I'll make a new category in my masterpost for this particular kind of stock Republican era costuming.

Miss S 旗袍美探 (2020)

We're just gonna look at some individual outfits.

The cheongsam worn by the lady to the far right is kind of legit for the late 20s, but then the protagonist in the middle is wearing a tacky modern cheongsam that just coincidentally looks a bit late 30s. Definitely not intentional though. The "Western" outfit on the lady to the left doesn't resemble anything in Western women's fashion from any decade of the 20th century, and is likely a generic Taobao "vintage" outfit.

They have a weird obsession with capes which I don't understand. The fit, collar and fabric of the cheongsam are all unusual (in a bad way). The "Western" outfit is again not legit.

Weird cape obsession, weird fabric and fit.

For reference, there was a 1928 film about a lady detective starring Hu Die (女侦探). This is what their costumes look like:

Uhh, so elegant, so classy, so avant garde. I'm swooning.

By the way, I know Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries is a great show and generally has very good costuming, but they have some instances of characters wearing Chinese fashion and they’re all handled poorly. There is this one episode featuring a female Chinese character and her outfit is just... pure cringe. I know English language info on Chinese historical fashion is rare but, there are quite lot of films and artworks from the late 20s that should give the costumer an idea of how a Chinese girl from that era would've dressed, definitely not the cheap modern cheongsam they put her in. They even had Miss Fisher comment on how that cheap ass dress "must have been her wedding dress" or something. If you wear that to a Chinese wedding in 1929 be prepared to get roasted. I've been wanting to rant about this since I watched the show and finally have the vessel (this hellsite) to do it.

From @phrynefishersfrocks

I couldn’t find that particular episode so here is a complimentary photo of Miss Fisher also in a (highly inaccurate) cheongsam. This is a million miles away from a late 20s cheongsam, and would be more appropriate for a late 40s evening occasion. However, I can assure you this is not because the costumer wanted to put Miss Fisher in a late 40s cheongsam, but simply because they researched late 20s Chinese fashion very poorly (or didn’t bother to research at all, because how dare Chinese people have fashion and not just a single dress that didn’t change for decades).

Miss Fisher could I interest you in a dress like this:

[mynameisnowwyrm]

Spoiler warning

TL;DR horrible adaptation, but very enjoyable on it’s own

(Also just wanted to say I was so sure I was going to hate this bc of what’s different but they changed so much the cartoon and the live action are barely connected in my head)

Okay my review will be split up into two parts: fate: the winx saga as an adaptation and as a standalone work

As an adaptation:

0/10. Maybe 0.5 if I’m being generous.

The things that were unchanged from winx club:

There are characters named Bloom, Stella, Musa, Aisha, Sky and Riven

Aisha, Bloom, Stella and Sky resemble their cartoon counterparts

Riven is an asshole

Bloom is a dumbass

Magic exists

The specialists exist

Main characters go to schools for magic and specialists respectively

The dragon flame is a thing

Witches exist

Other than that it’s a completely different show. The plot vaguely resembles season 1 of winx club only in that Bloom is trying to discover her true heritage. Musa, who is supposed to of East Asian descent is not, Flora was not included and in her place is a different character with similar powers, Tecna was excluded entirely ( I believe this was to distance the show from the futuristic elements of winx club and focus only on fantasy, which doesn’t make sense since they changed Musa’s powers ).

The magic system was changed. Fairies don’t on the regular transform since in the show the know-how to do so was lost, though Bloom does unlock the ability in the finale. Instead of each being a fairy of an individual concept, everyone’s powers ale element based, with Musa’s powers being changed to her being an empath. While this does feel more generic, it makes more sense from a world building perspective and I can see why they changed it.

The fashion is horrible. You will never be able to convince me teenagers dress like that. One of the reasons the original cartoon was enjoyable was all the colourful, fun clothing. The clothes feel dated and too mature for the characters, like I can see a twenty-something person in 2013 wear some of those outfits. It especially feels like a missed opportunity since 2000’s fashion is coming back into style.

The characterization of some of the characters compared to winx club was hit and miss. Riven was an ass and Bloom was impulsive and naive, which is accurate, but Stella, oh Stella was a disappointment. Stella was a jealous, manipulative bitch, which in context of her character backstory makes sense, but is so far from her original portrayal. Cartoon Stella was spoiled and at times self centered, but she was also genuinely kind, helpful and bubbly. To see her character take a 180 and become the all too familiar jealous ex archetype was upsetting.

Now, aaaaall that being said, I don’t believe we should judge this as an adaptation. They changed so much that it is quite literally a new story. So let’s see how it stands up on it’s own.

Summary, taken from the wiki

The series tells the story of Alfea, a fictional boarding school where teenagers study. The world inside this universe is not only magical and full of monsters, but it is also a world of real teenagers who do the most common things: make friends and enemies, go out and of course... fall in love. They are eager to find their place in this world. This universe is different from the one we have all known for a long time.

The attention is focused on a group of proud teens, also well-designed female characters. Sometimes they are heroines, sometimes weak girls. Sometimes they are friends, sometimes rivals. Of course, they are not perfect, but they are real. A group of girls who did not know each other until they are included in the same team inside a school that is strange to them. They will meet forces that are beyond their control and things they do not understand. But, throughout the series, they will find themselves, form an indestructible bond, and transform into powerful and strong girls, ready to change not only the supernatural world, but also ours.

Character summary:

Bloom is a newly discovered fairy from the human world who is attending Alfea college in the otherworld. There she meets her new roommates: chatty Terra, athletic Aisha, uptight Stella and stand-offish Musa. She also meets Sky, Stella’s ex, who is training as a specialist.Shortly before coming to Alfea, Bloom discovers she has magic powers by almost burning her house down and killing her parents. She is distraught over this and it is why she is eager to gain control of her powers.It is discovered that Bloom is a changeling, a barbaric practice where a fairy baby is exchanged with a human one. This leads Bloom on a quest to discover her true heritage.

Musa is an empath, she can feel the feelings of everyone around her. To shut them out and escape she listens to music through her headphones. This leads to her initially coming off as uncaring when Terra tries to get to know her better.

Terra is an earth fairy with a particular talent for making plants grow. She is very nice and chatty, eager to make friends, but not afraid to stand up for herself. She struggles with finding someone to like her and compares herself to “cool girl” Beatrix who has boys following after her.

Aisha is a water fairy who swims twice a day every day. She comes off a a good person who wants to make friends and do the right thing. She also tries to do everything in her power to protect her friends.

Stella is a light fairy and princess of Solaria, the realm in which Alfea resides. She is repeating her first year due to an event prior to season one where she lost control of her powers and blinded her best friend. She is very uptight due to her perfectionist mother and tries to exert control in every other area of her life, when this doesn’t work, e.g. when someone flirts with her on-again-off-again boyfriend she gets jealous and causes trouble. She is also generally rude to the people around her.

Sky is a specialist legacy and Stella’s on-again-off-again boyfriend who has an interest in Bloom. His father was a famous specialist and he was raised by his father’s best friend.

Riven is Sky’s roommate, best friend and a genuine asshole. He insults and antagonizes everyone around him and gets involved with Beatrix. He seems dissatisfied with the life of a specialist.

Beatrix is an air fairy with a lightning powers. She seems mysterious and looks to be the villain of the season. She has enlisted the help of Riven and Dane.

Dane is a first year specialist who first seems to be friendly with Terra but gets sidetracked after spending time with Riven and Beatrix.

What I didn’t like:

The world building is sparse and the magic system is generic. I feel like things could have been better expanded upon. Throughout the show they bring up archaic fairy magic but it’s never really explained how that’s different from current fairy magic.

The interactions between Riven and Dane come off as a bit queerbait-y although they could be setting things up for a second season.

Everyone is constantly so rude towards Terra. Even her supposed friends are mean to her. What gives?

Stella was constantly rude to everyone but by the end they are all the best of friends when she really hasn’t changed much. Also Stella being the jealous controlling ex archetype and not enough people calling her out on her bullshit.

What I did like:

For a Netflix teen drama there is surprisingly little sex between the teenagers. This might be subjective but it was refreshing for me.

Again subjective but I could definitely relate to Bloom’s antisocial teen flashbacks

Beatrix was a fun villain

Though the story might be a little generic, I felt it was compelling throughout. I genuinely wanted to know what happened next.

The story was well paced. It never felt like anything was dragging along

Overall:

The show was definitely enjoyable to watch. There is a lot of room for improvement. It sometimes felt like different plot lines were unconnected and the costume choices leave a lot to be desired. Aside from that they set up a solid story and likable characters (some of whom I love love and love to hate) which I very much want to see further developed in the future. As a stand-alone work 6/10

[kjack89]

Belle Épitaphe

Because this post has lived rent-free in my head for the past six years :’)

Happy Barricade Day, y’all!

ExR, canon compliant(ish) soulmate AU.

As was not uncommon, Enjolras’s parents hosted a party for him when he turned sixteen. Not quite a debut into society, it was instead an opportunity to gather and to wait for the words that would appear on his skin, just as they did on all upon reaching one’s sixteenth birthday.

The words would indicate his soulmark: the last words that his soulmate would ever speak to him.

It was an old tradition, the gathering for the words, dating back as long as any could imagine. But where once an entire village might gather to pray for good words, for words that revealed a name, or clue, of his soulmate’s identity, now it was more a formality to see if his parents need wait for a specific person to marry him off to, or if easier arrangements could be made. Now, instead of praying for a name, his parents – and more than a few young ladies from surrounding houses – hoped for vague words that could be uttered by anyone.

Enjolras hated every minute of it, dressing in uncomfortable, fancy clothing and pretending to make polite smalltalk with all of his parents’ friends. But most of all, he hated the very idea that some words that appeared on his skin might bind him to someone without his – or their – consent.

No matter how unlikely their meeting one day might be.

So he alone did not celebrate when he felt the words sear against his wrist; he alone did not hold his breath as he twisted his arm around to see the words that stood out starkly against his pale skin.

“Do you permit it?” his father read aloud for the assembled crowd, and his mother let out a small, delighted gasp.

“Such romantic words,” she told Enjolras, holding onto his other arm with both hands. “Think of what kind, loving wife will utter those words at the end of your long life.”

There was nothing Enjolras would rather imagine less.

And as he glared down at the words that had appeared on his arm, he vowed silently that he would never allow any to get so close to him as to say those words in any kind of final parting.

----------

It was, bluntly speaking, an easy vow to make and a far easier one to keep than Enjolras had at first anticipated, in no small part because he escaped from his parents before they could force him into anything resembling a courtship. Once he was in Paris, once he was surrounded by like-minded youths, he felt no need to give literally any thought whatsoever to soulmates, to soulmarks, or to the last words fate had destined someone to speak to him.

It had long since fallen out of fashion to endeavor to search for one’s soulmate, so it was not something of which most young men spoke, save in – gently or otherwise – mocking the lovelorn among them. How many times had Courfeyrac sighed and made an excuse for his errant roommate, telling them, “You really must forgive Marius; he is looking for his soulmate, after all”? 

It was something to roll one’s eyes at, if the subject even came up at all.

And around Enjolras, whose sole concern could be best summed by those three words liberté, égalité, and fraternité, it very rarely came up.

He may well have gone to his grave without ever giving it another thought, were it not for a casual utterance by someone he knew not at all.

When the barricades arose, Enjolras was filled with conviction, even more so than what usually filled him, conviction and righteousness enough to displace what little patience he had for things not associated with the Cause for which he had pledged his life, and very likely his death.

Which was perhaps why his temper soured so quickly upon hearing the latest of Grantaire’s many drunken soliloquies. Usually he could block them out, or ignore them as he tended to more important things, but standing on the crest of the barricade, facing down what was to come, he could not find it in himself to ignore it, or Grantaire.

“Grantaire,” he shouted, “go get rid of the fumes of your wine somewhere else than here. This is the place for enthusiasm, not for drunkenness. Don’t disgrace the barricade!”

Had he known what effect his words would have on the man, he might’ve tried shouting at him sooner. Immediately, Grantaire sobered, something Enjolras couldn’t quite read softening his expression. “Let me sleep here,” Grantaire said, almost gently, and Enjolras shook his head, already turning away.

“Go and sleep somewhere else.”

But Grantaire did not turn away, and something in his voice kept Enjolras rooted to the spot where he stood. “Let me sleep here—until I die.”

Anger welled in Enjolras’s chest as he stared balefully at Grantaire. When so many would doubtlessly lose their lives in service of freedom...what right did Grantaire have to use death as a bargaining chip, there of all places?

“Grantaire, you are incapable of believing, of thinking, of willing, of living, and of dying.”

He knew the words were harsh even as he was speaking them, a cold pronouncement of Grantaire’s character. But if Grantaire seemed affected by them, his expression did not show it. Only his tone seemed affected as he told Enjolras, his voice low, “You will see.”

He mumbled something more, something incoherent, but Enjolras was saved from having to decipher what else the man might possibly have said to him, but Bahorel shouting, “Here’s the street in its low-necked dress! How well it looks!”

And then Enjolras’s returned to the barricade and directing the efforts of the newest recruits who had arrived just as the rain stopped. They were a motley assortment of troops, but still Enjolras called each comrade as he gave out instructions.

As he paused near two men arranging a table on its side against the barricade, he could not help but overhear a snippet of their conversation. “I am confident we will survive this,” one said with a grunt as he shouldered the table into place. “After all, my wife did not utter the words marked on me before I left this eve.”

“Strange,” his companion said. “Your wife said the words marked on me when I left her this eve.”

The first man guffawed and shoved his companion with the camaraderie many of their number shared, their jokes about bedding each other’s wife continuing as they headed in the opposite direction, and Enjolras just shook his head before returning to the task at hand.

That should have been the end of it, an offhand joke shared between brothers at arms, but instead, the thought of the last words he might speak or hear stuck with Enjolras, even as the barricade was completed, even as they lost Prouvaire, even as they discovered the spy among them.

He endeavored to put it out of mind, and succeeded in ignoring it until they finally all settled in for the night. Then and only then did the thought begin to twist, low in his stomach. Especially when he thought of what he had said to Grantaire.

To say that Grantaire vexed him was a vast understatement; Grantaire vexed, irritated, confounded, and infuriated him. And yet for all his drunken ramblings and professions of belief in nothing, for his interruptions and distractions, for the way he had offered once to black Enjolras’s boots and for his failure to complete the one task Enjolras had ever deigned to assign him, Enjolras had never once been able to bring himself to send him away.

Not until that night.

And now, as he tried to get what little sleep he could in the shadow of the barricade as they waited for what battle was to come, he felt something like guilt seep through him.

He had not meant it, what he had said to Grantaire, and he knew better than most that the chance of them both surviving the barricade was not high. As much as he had never wished to care about the last words he said to any, the thought that those were the last words Grantaire might ever hear from him was unbearable.

After everything, he owed Grantaire a better farewell than that.

Mind made up, Enjolras stood to return to the Corinthe. The motion woke Combeferre, who had settled nearby. “Enjolras?” Combeferre asked quietly. “What is it?”

“Nothing,” Enjolras assured him. “There is simply something that I must do.”

He could not quite make out Combeferre’s expression in the darkness, but he knew him well enough to guess what look he might wear. “The best thing for any of our number right now is sleep,” Combeferre said. “And to let those already asleep continue so undisturbed.”

“And if the last words I said to you were in anger, would you sleep undisturbed?”

There was a challenge in Enjolras’s voice, but Combeferre did not rise to it. “Had I drunk that much wine, I imagine so,” he returned instead. “There is but one thing Grantaire would wish to hear from you, and as you cannot offer that, it is best to let him sleep.”

“Perhaps,” Enjolras said. “But still I must try.”

If Combeferre made any further argument, Enjolras did not linger to hear it, instead slipping into the Corinthe and making his way to where Grantaire still lay with his head against the wooden table, fast asleep. Despite what Enjolras had said to him, his expression looked almost serene in the dim light, and Enjolras hesitated for a moment before shaking his shoulder. “Grantaire,” he said, his whisper sounding overly-loud as it pierced the silence. “Grantaire, wake up.”

Grantaire’s eyes blinked open, and he stared, unfocused, at Enjolras for a moment before his vision cleared enough to recognize the man half-kneeling beside him.

Then, to Enjolras’s surprise, his eyes widened in horror. “No!” he half-shouted, scrambling backwards from Enjolras and almost falling out of his seat. “No, no, please—”

“Grantaire—” Enjolras started, concerned, but Grantaire shook his head wildly.

“Do not speak to me, I beg of you,” he pleaded, and Enjolras frowned.

“I must,” he said firmly, and Grantaire let out what sounded almost like a whimper, covering his face with his hands. “Grantaire, please, you must let me say this. The words I last spoke to you – I would not have my last words to you be in anger.”

Grantaire lowered his hands, looking at once very sad and very tired. “But you must,” he said, sounding more sober than Enjolras had ever heard him. “Those words were the best gift you have ever given me.”

Enjolras’s brow furrowed in confusion. “What are you—” he started, breaking off when Grantaire turned suddenly, and yanked his shirt up to show Enjolras his back. “Grantaire, what—”

Again he broke off, but this time not in confusion. He broke off in recognition, seeing the words he had spoken reflected back at him from where they were marked on Grantaire’s skin. Almost without meaning to, he raised his hand to trace with trembling fingers the words he had shouted earlier. “Grantaire,” he whispered, though he knew not what to say after that.

Grantaire flinched, just slightly, at the sound of his name, and Enjolras pulled his hand away as if he had been scalded. “So,” Grantaire said, lowering his shirt after the silence that stretched between them had turned uncomfortable. “Now you see.”

Enjolras shook his head slowly. “I do,” he said, “but I also do not. Those are my words, but they are not the last that I will have spoken to you.”

“Apparently not,” Grantaire said. “Though how I wish that they were.”

“What do you—” For the third time in as many minutes, Enjolras broke off as realization hit him. “Because if they had been, I would be your soulmate.”

Grantaire couldn’t seem to meet his eyes. “Long have I imagined what it would be like to hear those words,” he murmured, so quietly that Enjolras could barely hear him. “What might my soulmate be like, to have such harsh words be the last spoken to me? But then I met you, and I knew, if there was any from whom I could hear those words fall off his lips and have them be sweeter than any confession of love…”

He trailed off, and Enjolras bowed his head, his chest feeling tight. He could not pretend that he had been fully unaware of the way Grantaire looked at him, or spoke to him, but to have it confirmed like this was more than he thought he could bear. Especially now, with those words between them and so little time left. “So when I said them earlier…”

“I knew that if I were to die, it would be worth it to know that you were my soulmate.”

Grantaire delivered the words evenly, even as Enjolras looked away. “I am sorry,” he said finally. “For what I said, and for all I have said after if I have ruined what peace you found.”

“May I ask one thing of you?”

Enjolras glanced over at him. “If it is again to black my boots…”

Grantaire barked a laugh. “No,” he said. “I wish to know what words are marked on your skin.”

Enjolras hand flew almost immediately to the words on the inside of his arm, and he rubbed them subconsciously. “I am not certain what good it would do now,” he hedged. 

“Perhaps none. But that does not change the fact that I wish to know.”

Enjolras hesitated before bowing his head in acquiescence and rolling his shirtsleeve up until the words were revealed, as dark and imposing as they had been when first they had appeared so many years before. He thrust his arm toward Grantaire, who bent his head to read the words silently to himself. Then he straightened and met Enjolras’s eyes. “I have seen the problem.”

Enjolras frowned, rolling his shirtsleeve down again. “What problem?”

Grantaire nodded toward his arm. “I’ve once asked you for permission to do anything.”

Enjolras laughed, a sharp, surprised sound. “I suppose not,” he agreed.

“And I doubt that even now I shall suddenly start.”

“Again, I suppose not.” Enjolras hesitated. “I have never given much thought to my soulmate, even to the idea in general. What good is a soulmate found only at death? My concern is with the rights of the living. Including the right to never find their soulmate if they do not wish.”

Grantaire’s eyes flew to his. “I would never dream—” he started, but Enjolras shook his head.

“I know,” he said softly. “And yet, there is a part of me that now hopes that I will not go to my death without hearing you say those words.”

He would never know what possessed him to say it – undoubtedly, the same instinct that had driven him to wake Grantaire in the first place, the same instinct that had stopped him from removing Grantaire from their meetings all these years, the same instinct that drew them together when they were the last two in the Musain late at night. It was that same instinct that made him painfully aware how close they were even then, and how little effort it would take to close that space and press his lips against Grantaire’s.

But he was saved from that instinct by Grantaire saying, quietly, “I am sorry.”

Enjolras blinked, confused by the apology. “What for?”

“That I will never speak those words.”

“Even if I were your soulmate, I don’t think I could ever bring myself to.” Grantaire gave Enjolras a small, sad smile, and the breath seemed to catch in Enjolras’s throat. “To utter the words that would sever us...if those are the last words that I am to speak to you, then I would rather be struck dumb than speak our last.”

This time, when Enjolras again felt the instinct to close the space between them, he did not fight it, leaning in to kiss Grantaire. Grantaire was frozen for a brief moment before melting against Enjolras, curling one hand in Enjolras’s shirt and pulling him even closer. Enjolras reached up to cup Grantaire’s cheek, kissing him desperately, the weight of the moment leaving him wishing he could stretch the kiss into infinity.

But all too soon, he knew he had to pull away, to end the moment, because he knew Grantaire would never have been able to bring himself to. “I love you,” Grantaire told him, his hand still balled in Enjolras’s shirt, and Enjolras covered his hand with his own, squeezing his hand gently.

“I know.”

“Will you do one more thing for me?” Enjolras did not answer, just looked at Grantaire expectantly, and Grantaire swallowed, hard, before asking, a little hoarsely, “Will you say them again to me?”

Enjolras knew instantly that he meant the words he had spoken earlier, the ones written on Grantaire’s skin. “Grantaire—” he started, the name sticking in his throat.

“Please.”

Enjolras released Grantaire’s hand. “I cannot,” he said softly. “They were needlessly cruel then, and unspeakably so now.”

Grantaire just lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “Perhaps,” he said. “And yet, I am asking you to.”

Enjolras tilted his head, trying to read Grantaire’s expression. “Why?”

“Because hearing you speak those words again…I will go to my death with a smile. It is all I have ever wanted, to hear those words from you. And I beg of you the chance to hear them again.”

Again, Enjolras’s chest felt unbearably tight. “Grantaire—”

“I have been resigned to my fate for longer than you could ever know,” Grantaire told him, though there was no resignation in his expression. Just something as close to hope as Enjolras had ever seen there. “Will you not do me this last kindness?”

“Grantaire—”

Grantaire’s expression did not flicker. “One way or another, I die with this barricade. So I beg of you, let me die in peace knowing, for however brief, that you were mine.”

For the third time, Enjolras said his name, but this time, it was not to deny him. “Grantaire—” He could barely speak around the lump in his throat, but he knew he must. He owed Grantaire this much. “You are incapable of believing—” Grantaire’s eyelids fluttered closed and Enjolras could not help himself, reaching out to again touch Grantaire’s cheek, his fingers so pale against the flushed skin. “—of thinking, of willing, of living—” His voice broke, and Grantaire opened his eyes and reached up to lay his hand over Enjolras’s, turning his head to press a kiss, featherlight, against Enjolras’s palm. “—of dying.” 

They stayed like that for a long moment until Grantaire let go of Enjolras’s hand. “Thank you,” he whispered. “Now go. And if the Lord is kind, I will see when I wake.”

Enjolras bowed his head and swallowed, hard, before nodding, just once, and retreating from the Corinthe without speaking another word.

It was done.

And he had a battle to prepare for, one he hoped would make him forget how much, in that moment, he wished to hear Grantaire say the words marked on his own skin.

----------

It was fitting, in a twisted sort of way, that Enjolras found himself back there, not even twelve hours later, backed into a corner with the barrels of twelve guns aimed at him. 

They had offered to bandage his eyes, but Enjolras wished to stare down his death with what defiance he had remaining. He lifted his chin as the sergeant repeated his order, “Take aim!”

But then, another voice shouted from beyond them, a voice that Enjolras knew, a voice he had resigned himself to never hearing again: “Long live the Republic! I am one of them.”

There were no words that Enjolras could muster as Grantaire crossed the room to stand next to him, but he did not need any. 

His words to Grantaire would be his last. For whatever peace it might bring both of them.

“Finish up both at one blow,” Grantaire said to the sergeant before turning to Enjolras.

As their eyes met, Enjolras understood, finally. Romantic, his mother had called the words on his arm, because she had envisioned them said by a doting spouse at the end of a long life. But she could never have imagined how much more beautiful they would be when spoken by someone he had not realized until too late was the one person who could ever have been his soulmate, the one with whom he would die in service of the idea of freedom for all men.

“Do you permit it?” Grantaire asked. The first, last and only time Grantaire had ever asked his permission. The only time he had ever needed to.

And Enjolras wordlessly pressed his hand with a smile.

[hayleyb100]

The Ribbon, Part 2

Part 1

❗️ Notes

-TRIGGERS INCLUDED: SCHOOL BULLYING AND ANGST WITH FAMILY -This is a dedicated story of the swap version of my OC Richard(Father of Raihan) and his granddaughter, the shipchild of Leon and Raihan called Ari. -The character Ari belongs to @weclownstoday​. Huge appreciations for letting me add her to the story!

An uncomfortable silence filled the whole room. Richard saw the girl scanning him from top to bottom, just like how he is doing the same. Without the girl having to explain, Richard could feel in his intuition that she is his granddaughter. She had the purple hair that looks so familiar to him: The unique hair color of the Former Champion of Galar, who got married to his son Raihan. It was on the news headline for years. On top of that, she also had the peculiar turquoise-colored eyes that are passed down in his Pendragon family.

As Richard's face frowned more from trying to investigate who the girl is, she fiddled with her wooden doll nervously. Richard's dragon glare is already scary as it is, so it was far worse for a child who is left alone with a stranger.

"Who are you?" why, that is such a sweet first question for a child.

"......." she only stared back at Richard, grabbing the doll closer.

"......." Richard stared her back, making the atmosphere even more awkward.

The girl finally made a move other than fiddling her doll. She hesitantly put her hand in a pocket, pulled out a slightly crumpled paper, and gave it to Richard.

Richard was pleading his intuition was wrong. A child that resembles him standing in front of a stranger's home in the middle of the night alone with a note to give him? It was obvious but he wished his intuition was wrong and silly for once. But his intuition was written precisely on the paper. Familiar handwriting of his son-in-law, the Champion, he sees as a Gym Leader was there. It claimed they can't care for the child anymore and sending her for his care.

That short message pushed Richard to the whole chaos of emotions. He first got extremely upset for them deciding this without a word of discussion with him. He was also confused on how to explain this situation to the child since it was obvious they didn't explain this to the child. There was no way a child can be so calm and collected when their parents dumped her in front of a stranger's door. Another wave of rage overwhelmed as Richard realized those two irresponsible parents tossed the hard part of the explanation to him. It was even more difficult since, it may sound ridiculous, but he didn't even know about his granddaughter's existence.

'What a beautiful first encounter for sure,' thought Richard.

'Normally, I expect this kind of the first encounter in the maternity ward, right after their birth, or at least right after they are discharged from the hospital.'

He inhaled deeply, asked the girl to stay here while he went to call alone in the room. The number he desperately wanted to call for decades but honestly scared not to.

"Hello?" a familiar woman's voice came.

"...Aliyah."

"Richard..." an awkward silence filled the whole atmosphere.

"Did she arrive there well?"

Richard sneered to suppress rage.

"So, the first thing you ask from getting a call from your ex-husband after decades is how is your abandoned granddaughter?" a clear snap with rage. Richard couldn't help it.

"It would have been nice of you to at least told me of her existence before doing something so reckless. What is all this?"

"Richard, please don't say that... We didn't have a choice."

"Oh? I heard the Chairman, your father, passed away three years ago. So who ordered you to do this now? Are you still the same old woman who can't decide anything on your own?"

"......." after a brief silence, Richard hears someone snatching the phone.

"Hello?"

Richard's heart drops, as the voice pierces into his ears and tears his heart in two.

"...Raihan."

"I'm surprised you remember my name, considering you abandoned me for your career as a Gym Leader."

Richard was lost for words.

"Is that what your mother told you?" even at Richard's shaky voice, Raihan interrupted.

"Doesn't matter who says what now, is it? You abandoned me, and that's the only fact here."

Richard falls into silence since it's true. No matter if it was his shitty father-in-law who threatened him, his wife wasn't cooperative, and the world turning a cold shoulder, he DID leave his son behind.

"Well? You did me wrong, so at least take care of my mistake."

"...Please do not tell me that you just addressed your daughter as a mistake."

"What? It's what you think of me, so can't I say the same? It's what I learned from you."

NO, RAIHAN, NO!! Richard nearly screamed, but something stopped him.

"I don't even know if I'll ever forgive you for caring about my mistake, but eh... Whatever." with that as of last, the long-overdue phone call ends.

Richard couldn't breathe from the pain. He thought he did what was right to protect his son, but he is now engraved in his son's heart as a horrible father and the butterfly effect from that is about to tear his grandchild's life apart. He started to question all his decisions and motives. His life is about to crumble down. But the grimmest thing of all is that he isn't even allowed to do that. He knew that girl needs a caretaker and there is no way he'll send her away somewhere else. Not after what happened to him and his son.

He stroked his face to calm down and went out to the living room where his granddaughter is.

________________________________

She was still fiddling her doll, showing a clear sign of anxiety. Richard took a sharp inhale and called her.

"Umm... Your name is?"

"Ari..." she said shortly, looking down at her tip of the toes.

"I see... Greetings. My name is Richard Pendragon."

He was as anxious as the girl, since judging from Raihan's attitude, it was obvious how Aliyah and his son described him to his daughter.

"...Ari. Please listen to me carefully." another inhale.

"From today onward, I will take care of you. You are staying here with me, your grandfather. Alright?"

Richard thought it would be better for Ari's sake to open everything up before she finds out everything later and gets more pain.

"O... Okay..." Ari said nervously. "For how long?"

Richard's throat got blocked with intense torment. How can he dare to just bluntly answer 'forever' when she has no idea that her parents abandoned her and she is solely believing her parents would get her later?

"For... as long as we have to." Richard ended up giving a vague answer where he didn't lie but wasn't clear either.

Richard had no idea what to do with a little girl, so he started by shopping the stuff for her like clothes and children's books. She came with a suitcase of clothes but that was not enough. He didn't know what's popular among girls these days so he bought a pink ribbon as an accessory. 

 Ari had no idea why her grandpa was buying so many clothes when she's just going to stay for a couple of days until her dads come to get her. But since she heard all the horrible and scary things about her grandpa from her father, she just listened and followed him around without arguing. Sooner or later, the old storage room next to Richard's room turned into a lovely room for a little girl. Ari still was in wonder, but just watched how things go. She realized her grandpa wasn't too awful like her father described. He cooked some delicious food for all three meals and although clumsy, he tried his best to tie her hair and dress her. He also registered her to the local trainer's school to get appropriate lessons.

But that's when Ari started to feel something's wrong.

If dad is coming to get her soon, why would her grandpa register her to a school?

________________________________

She still was in denial until days turned into months and months turned into years without any contact from her parents.

"Umm, s, sir?" Ari nervously called him.

"Yes, Ari?"

"Can I call my father?"

"............."

Richard hesitated. But in his head, he knew the answer. He can't hoard a secret like this. Look how keeping that secret from his son ruined the relationship between him and his son.

"Ari, umm... Your father will not come for you. Do you remember I said you will have to stay here as long as you have to? It means..." Richard just couldn't continue. The pain came back at his granddaughter's frowning face.

"N- no!" Ari shook her head in denial. But deep within, she already knows what her grandpa is telling her is true. She tumbled on the floor and started wailing.

"Dad! Father! I'm sorry, I won't be naughty again! Please come and get me!"

Ari's helpless tears brought Richard down to his knees too. He was so sorry for her, thinking everything that happened is because of his foolish choice.