#its the whole is the dress yellow or blue thing

[parisoonic]

24

'do you have a shameful art past?'

like every 10 year old (in the early 2000s on deviantart) i used to trace manga panels and colour them in lmao (so much one piece tracing LOL) and i used a lot of 'bases' on deviantart to make ref sheets for my crappy ocs. not sure if that's 'shameful' as learning to draw is SO tough that i think everyone references/traces/colour picks as a child or young teen in order to gain the vaguest foundation of 'knowledge' that they then can build on.

Colour picking (like recently...during photo studies) was literally how I made the power of mid-tone greys 'unlock' in my head despite being told countless times 'if you desaturate a colour it'll appear grey next to its more saturated chroma' it never clicked until I did some dirty colour picking and saw the pattern emerging countless times. 'hmm maybe those dang art books are right'

[tianhai03]

mfw i make a new design for my sona after like 5 years and i base it on clothing items i own irl and i accidentally end up becoming sonic the hedgehog

[kevindavidday]

see, the intriguing thing about kevjean is how insistent they both are that they aren't friends. they don't think anything is salvageable, that their friendship is in ruins because of what riko did and because of his ghost haunting them, but the way they treat each other is so explicitly tender that all their arguments fall flat.

it's about constantly reaching for the others hand.

everytime they are together their hands are reaching out to each other like anchors. in tsc this was such a sharp turn from kevin's behavior with the other characters because it was gentleness the likes of which we've only had glimpses of. in tgr, it was like they couldn't help themselves - immediately kevin took hold of jean's coffee mug, grabbed his wrist when helping him dress, jean teaching him how to cook, kevin taking jean's hand during the interview, jean stopping kevin's hand when he reached for more vodka.

it's about the way they talk to each other like they don't with anyone else.

"you've always known what i am." and "i can still hear him. can you?" and kevin's desperate "even with me?" when jean refused to talk about riko. its "california agrees with you." and "stay with me." and "you like the sound of your own voice too much to give this up." and "did you even read any of them or were you too busy fawning over his phot-" and "i will break it over your head" when kevin reached for more vodka.

it's the things they do for each other.

kevin's protective streak is uncommon enough that the interviewer chose to point it out. and kevin's only response was to put jean on the same level where people had previously been putting riko. "jean is the only brother i have left." that hurt jean because that's not how he feels about kevin, but in the long run that statement could work wonders for his reputation. kevin isn't baseless with the things he says, that was definitely calculated. even the "hannah. that is enough." was a harsher personality than he's ever shown the cameras. he sure kept his promise to jeremy there.

the way kevin fidgeted with the yellow wristband and turned over the postcards he'd given jean once only to see them destroyed. and then not hesitating to send another one so jean can have this at least (even though it was burnt away, he can always send more) he gave jeremy answers but stopped just short of exposing jean's secrets...the foxes see such cutthroat aggression from him because they're his teammates but in front of jeremy and jean it's so wonderful to see how much kevin truly cares.

and from jean's side it's the begrudging but deliberate care he shows kevin. god help him, he can't even hide it for a second because even jeremy noticed. it's like he tries to defy kevin but then all kevin has to do is ask and he shall receive. and the man knows it! but jean (and arguably neil) are the only ones who lash out when kevin self-destructs because "you're supposed to better than this." they want him to act like the pillar they've based their whole life around and seeing him in ruins is unnerving. the anger jean felt when he found out kevin was chugging vodka, the fight that ensued when they were both on edge but more importantly the easy way they moved past it.

it's inevitable that they say and do things that drive the other insane, but when it comes to, as jean put it, "unsubtle and idiotic devotion" they're always there for each other.

but they're not friends, no. and if you call them that they'll deny it till they're blue. but then again, their hands will always reach for each other in their own angered, careful, terrified or concerned manner.

this got super long but i enjoy their dynamic so much. i feel insane because this is how best friends who are deeply familiar treat each other; teasing jean about jeremy, pinching jean to clear his head, fixing his shirt for him and jean elbowing kevin when he wants answers and filling kevin's glass with tap water instead of filtered water out of annoyance. it's reminding me of one part of "using you" by mars argo:

[yandere-wishes]

which batboy does mittens have a crush on?

₍^𖹭 𖹭^₎⟆ ₍^𖹭 𖹭^₎⟆ ₍^𖹭 𖹭^₎⟆ ₍^𖹭 𖹭^₎⟆ ₍^𖹭 𖹭^₎⟆

Oh, good question!! @fancyfeathers mentioned that Mittens should probably be the eldest of Selina's sidekicks. And is closest in age to Dick Grayson. Which opens up one of my fav tropes of "Childhood friends to lovers" (but make it yancore!!!)

He'd been so sweet once, little boy wonder swinging along the skyline. Pretty like a sunset, decked out in reds and yellows. You'd watch him from your perch atop the scrappers. Arms nervously ringing around a bagged-up bundle of jewels. Your mentor would scuff making comments about fruitless morals and pretty boys.

Kittens chase robins. It's the way the world goes around, just like how black cats chase bats.

You sneak behind him, punching on his back and rolling him around. Robin kicks your ribs out of instinct, aims for your stomach next with his knee. He only stops when his masked eyes meet yours, when he sees the sweet playful smile adorning your lips. This is a game...

It's always been a game.

At least to you...

You'd only learn, years later, that it had always been far too real to Dick.

Your siblings are better than you at the whole "cat burglar" thing. They creep through the shadows and glide through half-open windows. They steal rubies and diamonds and pearls. They leave little scratch marks and lipstick stains on the safes they rob. They spend the nights being chased by bats and birds. And then when the sun threatens to shine once more they steal kisses and love bites.

You'd always preferred the day. The monotone ease found only under the sun's gentle rays. You prefer to give instead of take, your youngest sister always said it was Nightwings fault for that. That the first robin had rubbed off too much on you.

You still keep an old photo of Dick in your apartment, a silly little photo of two kids, smiling with blood between their teeth and haphazard empty gums. Dick's nose is bleeding, you have a black eye.

You can't quite remember who took the photo.

Bruce or Selina.

It doesn't really matter.

Some things are far too deep-rooted. Crystallized in blood. You've long hung up your mask, and handed in your whip. You've renounced the ways of the cat, renounced the ways of a rogues. You spend your days inside a school, teaching the young of Gotham, watching how the trauma seeps in prematurely, coiling and embedding itself into the lady Gotham's children. Hurt them young so they learn to survive.

You feel so guilty...

It's hard to leave lineage rotting in its grave, hard to abandon and reject that which pumps through your veins. You still pick the locks, still, slip through shadows as if they were a second home, you're still more feline than human. More freak than normal.

Only this time you don't have your mentor or your sisters.

You don't have your claws or whip.

There's a security guard with a gun.

Pointed straight at you...

Dick Grayson, Robin, Nightwing. He'd been so sweet once. You're glad to see the saccharine hasn't washed off. The boy wonder stands in front of you, although you guess he isn't much of a boy anymore. His uniform is hard on your eyes, reality glitches, you see him dressed in his sunset colors. Reds and yellows, young and free. Dick offers you a sweet smile,

"Hey, it's been a while..."

"Yeah, it has."

Dick assures the security guard he'll handle you. Still, you don't miss the way his blue eyes burn holes into the other man's back. He opens the car door for you before getting behind the wheel. On the way, you try to reason with him. For old time's sake, you beg. "I really was just trying to get those kids some toys, but there's so many of them and the prices these days are-"

"I know," Dick says, his bright smile sends your heart a flutter. "It's alright, I'll take care of everything." You laugh leaning back, looking at his reflection through the mirror, that broken nose did end up healing nicely.

He doesn't take you to the station, instead he drives to his apartment. Deep down you knew he'd never hand you in, he couldn't, he'd spent his whole life watching that bat excuse the cat. He can't go against his training, he too can't abandon his heritage. He pulls you out of the car and into a tight embrace promising he'll keep you safe. And you hate how he feels all so utterly safe, how he smells like home and happiness. You hardly notice how hard he squeezes and how hungrily his lips hover above your pulse point.

Thus he spoke but you don't remember listening.

He spoke of finally having you again.

Of loving you again.

You only ever catch the odd word.

Utterly distracted by the delicate twinkle in his ocean eye.

It's hard to focus on the words when for the first time in a long long time you finally feel like your old self again.

High off nostalgia.

₍^𖹭 𖹭^₎⟆ ₍^𖹭 𖹭^₎⟆ ₍^𖹭 𖹭^₎⟆ ₍^𖹭 𖹭^₎⟆ ₍^𖹭 𖹭^₎⟆

Okay, so all this being said there is an alternative.

@darkpeppermint had another idea, since Mittens is so different from the rest of her family, then she may not even fall for a batboy at all and just marry a sweet golden retriever farm boy...

And yet, despite the sweet fairytale twist they tried to propose. My sick and twisted brain heard the words "golden" and "farm boy" and immediately thought of PROFESSOR CRANE...

Maybe poor little Mittens ends up getting manipulated by the charming professor, Crane. Maybe they meet one day when she's taking her class on a field trip to Gotham U and ends up bumping into Jonathan.

There's just something so familiar about him. So nostalgic, he reminds her of home, of her family, of her childhood friends...he almost feels safe.

Welp Fancy, it finally happened we've become co-parents again.

Our children's list is Kachina and Mittens so far 🤣🤣 Let's see who gets adopted next lol.

[rocketbaby]

Heelloooo! I haven't ever really sent out a request of my own to any author so I'm not sure how it works wizhuejss but omgosh I love your writing so so much I cant help but atleast give it a chance yk :p

I was wondering if you could maybe write a bakugo x reader where the reader is an extremely girly girl and kinda like the total opposite of bakugo? Kinda like how his parents relationship is with mitski being all bash and loud and then theres masaru. I dont mind any scenario you have in mind whether its suggestive or not just have fun while you write it if you want to :p, that's all ty!

MHA master list

I hope it meets your expectations<3 I dunno exactly what you meant by extremly girly girl but I wrote what i thought of when you said that :( . Also please keep in mind I don't write for Kats that much so this is ass. I would say these are mostly some head cannons. Please excuse any grammar mistakes

trigger warning - vulgar words/swearing

Katsuki Bakugo x girly reader

Katsuki never thought he'd end up falling for a girl like you. He actually didn't think he'd fall for anyone at all but here we were.

You were such a sweetheart compared to his rough and mean personality. He honestly has no idea why you'd even like in the first place..when you guys had met he didn't like you at all.

Your personality and just you overall were the exact opposite of him which he hated back then. He told himself that if he'd end up dating someone it would be a person similar to him, with a tough personality and strong character..and then he met you.

It didn't take long for you both to fall in love. He started finding you somewhat cute and he cringed at that thought at first. He couldn't lie though, katsuki kinda liked how you dressed. You would mostly only wear cute,fancy outfits, usually containing of white/pink thigh warmers with a pretty little Skirt and a cute top. You'd also wear lots of accessories like bows, jewelery and more.

Most of the times you wear your outfits in warm,cute colors like red white pink yellow and maybe even light blue/baby blue. Well surprisingly, Katsuki caught a liking for it,for your outfits.

Head cannon that this man becomes a lover boy when he meets the right person

You love him and his personality too even though he's sometimes embarrassing you in public. You'd go out with him on dates and he would randomly start a fight with one of the waitress's there because he thought the food wasn't cooked properly.

You being a sweetheart,tried to calm him down and assure him that it's not the waitress's fault. Of course Katsuki didn't really listen,he made a scene there while the whole restaurant was staring and whispering.

Obviously,you tried interfering.

"Not now,babe. I need to have a talk with the dude who cooked this shit right here. It doesn't even look edible"

You didn't know what to do anymore and you could just stand back and look at him being a dumbass. He was so fuckin embarrassing.

"You expect us to eat this bull crap?! Even a seven year old kid could do better than this!"

"I came out here with my girl so we could enjoy a good meal and this is what we get? They should hire me,for fucks sake! I'll do the cooking!"

He has absolutely no shame.

This took you by surprise but you found out Katsuki loves to watch you do your make up. He often compliments you on it, alongside with your outfits. That's one of the main reasons why he loves taking you out, because he adores seeing you get all pretty for him.

"The makeup really fits you,love. And that little shit you put on your lips,that glossy thingy,it makes your lips look so much more kissable"

Another thing that he really loves about you is your voice. God it sounds so sweet and nice,he definitely forces you to whisper or talk to him while he falls asleep.

You just sound so feminine and that attracts him. He never thought he'd be into that.

It was so calming to him because his voice is rough and sounds mean. He's loud and vulgar and you with your voice are exactly the opposite,that's what makes it so special to him.

Also because he is a fuckin dumbass and a rude bitch, people are never being kind to him and they also speak poorly to him and about him, he's not used to anyone talking so sweetly..so when you did,he immediately fell in love even harder.

He'd lay his head on your chest, getting comfortable and he would just tap your forearm to get your attention properly.

"Mmh..I wanna go to sleep..do your thing baby, please"

You giggle, knowing what he wants. You were confused on why he'd find this so pleasing but it's not like you mind.

He falls asleep the next second. He can't stay up late,never. Not when he hears your pretty voice.

[thefandomsfervent]

JayVik x Reader Personal Pigments (Part 24) - Raw Umber

Gala chapter coming soooon <3

Find my imagine that inspired it here. Previous and next chapter will be linked at the bottom.

not that I'm losing steam with this fic, but it has inpsired so many other things that i want to write too. Would y'all want other fics? I have other fics. Not written but they're up there. floating in my mind. This fic may enter a hiatus after a few more chapters so I can start other projects. Stay tuned and Thank you for reading <3 These aren't beta read, didn't really edit this one. May fix it up later this upcoming week <3

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You had shocked yourself saying you’d go, the heat of the moment and your own thoughts getting to you. Even more shocked when it seemed like Viktor had changed his mind on going a couple days after. A few days have passed since then.

Piltover lived for its socialite opportunities. Parties, dinners, galas, events, parades, and even luncheons were ever present in the calendar year. You were well aware of the expectations set for each occasion, and of how lacking your wardrobe was for it. Now you have around two weeks to find suitable attire. That itself wouldn’t be a problem if you hadn’t just placed a supply order. Whatever funds you may have had for a new dress or jewelry would be shipped in the form of oil paints and new brushes. You had dresses from gallery showings at the Institute, some old faithfuls hung in the back of your closet. “One of them would have to do.” With that you try to push all the wandering thoughts away.  

You take in the empty lab. Jayce was gone today, helping out with the forge. And it was still early enough in the day that Viktor was still recovering from whatever late night musings kept him up. No time to waste then. Despite it feeling like Spring had just started, Summer was looming above. And that meant that Autumn and Winter would follow suit. Your paints were drying fairly quickly in the heat but on humid rainy days it would set you back days, and the winter cold would mean that it may take a week for layers to dry. Today was a perfect day, the air was still and warm. Your washes of color didn’t take long at all to settle on the canvas. Purple, yellow, green, pink. Thin layers to color skin, thicker strokes of pale and tan flesh, blocking out arms and hands. Their faces were still unpainted, focusing on their hands and their clothes.

When it came time to finally realize their faces on the canvas, you wanted to make sure you’d be uninterrupted. You were considering even taking the whole painting back to your studio to work on it then. That would be then, and this was now. 

Right now you were in your element, breaking it all down into colors and shapes. Hands were easiest to deal with when you weren’t stuck on making them be hands, but connected shapes. Shapes can be shaded for depth, definition given with the context of what was around them. Long fingers were broken down into rectangles and rounded corners, diagonal angles and warm tones. Shifting between tinges of blue and green, purple and yellow. Red and Pink on knuckles, knuckles were just cut circles. The meat of a hand was an oval, a trapezoid, barely there veins were carefully lined to curve into wrists. Shapes and colors could be attributed to many things. To create form. An image. To build something from the ground up whether that was two or three-dimensional. And it could show temperature. States of matter. Emotion. 

Warmth was soft, it could be an orange glow from a candle flame, it could be the plush lining of a jacket. It could be the way hands held their tools, held each other. It could be shown in the richness of all hues of the Academy outfits that needed detailing next. Trading a flat wash brush for a thin liner, switching gears to focus on the details of shirt cuffs. 

“Wow.” You jump, the paintbrush dropping to the ground with a clatter. It rolls away from your station and you turn to follow its trail. When it stops at a pair of black boots your eyes shift to the source of your startling. A familiar face and that gap toothed grin greeting you with a small wave.  

“Oh gods, Jayce” You turn back to the painting. You’d gotten one hand done for each of them, where they were in a neutral light between the night and day sides of the work. 

“You’re easy to scare. Have you ever noticed that?” He says it with a laugh, he sounds tired. His steps are slow and heavy behind you. 

“Maybe I’m too busy getting scared to see the pattern.” The words come out in a huff, but you smile in thanks when he hands you the paintbrush over your shoulder. Now that you’ve settled you’re able to focus. Oh, well now your heart was beating too fast for an entirely different reason. You’d seen him come back before, sweaty brow and his clothes covered in soot. But this was… different. “I thought you were working at the Forge today?” The paintbrush in your hand gestures to his attire, and lack thereof. 

Same black boots being the only familiar attire to you. Brown pants that were similar to the Academy uniform. A brace-like toolbelt hugging his waist tightly. And then, nothing. No shirt. Just soot-splotches on skin and those elbow high gloves. His hair is tousled in a way you haven’t seen before, sticky to his forehead. You weren’t sure how far the forge was, but you were wondering how far he had to walk to get here. Run even, if he was as tired as you thought. 

“I was! But then I had an idea for Hextech and-” His eyes look around the lab. “Viktor isn’t in yet?” You don’t miss the slump in his shoulders, despite how small it was. A shake of the head is all you can give him, trying to catch your words, and make your eyes stay on his face. Having drawn him for as long as you had, you knew his proportions were insane. But this was just rude. The difference between his shoulders and his waist, especially with that belt on, was insane. You could probably pass off any lingering stares with that excuse. If it weren’t for the blush that you felt warming your cheeks. 

“You wouldn’t want to lose track of it. He’ll be here eventually.” You try to keep your voice even while gesturing to the chalkboard behind them, Viktor had cleared it sometime last night after copying down notes. A whole space for Jayce to work on. He smiles before clapping a gloved hand on your shoulder. It was heavier than usual, the insulated leather a thick press. The smell of oil and charcoal was not foreign to you, but they looked different here. Smelt different on him. He’s already going to the board, taking the gloves off to reveal a stark line of dirt and skin. 

“This cannot be fair.” A reward and a punishment dangling in front of you. Self indulgent stares at his broad back or returning to the bliss of full force work. Jayce seemed to be doing the latter, books propped open on the ledge for reference. The soft scraping of chalk on the board and excited mutterings, circles and lines, runes and words, arrows and numbers. In the span of maybe 10 minutes he had filled half the board with words you couldn’t quite decipher. As he reached across to scribble his theories the skin of his back was pulled taut, the muscles there were defined. Visible. A part of you wonders how they would feel under your fingertips, the movement and the power. Another part of you wishes you were bold enough to ask to draw him. Not that you couldn’t now, but for a real figure study. His physique was an anatomical study dream. 

Enough ogling. Jayce was working, deeply and with vigor. You should be doing the same. The cuffs needed some detailing, even if it was not nearly as entertaining. 

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Admittedly, Jayce did want to go to the gala. There were many days that he wanted to be at the lab or the forge or his bed more than anything else, but when you first came here Heimerdinger mentioned something that Jayce couldn’t let go. “You boys will be doing more dinners and speeches and galas and the like. It comes with the territory.” Anxiety was a feeling he wasn’t unfamiliar with. The thought of having to watch every interaction he makes? Every decision? It filled him with dread. This may be one of the last times he and Viktor could go out, and now as a couple, without too many prying eyes. The idea only became more enticing when you said that you’d like to go. Imagining you in some delicious draping gown, or would you prefer a tighter dress that revealed your thighs and arms? The sight of you and Viktor both in finery that daily wear didn’t require might make his heart beat out of his chest. An energy he would gladly redirect to more physical work. 

There was something about the Forge that relaxed him. A completely different process from the equations of the lab. Helping out in the Forge was easy because the team there knew he was skilled enough to handle almost anything that they could throw at him. It was especially helpful during Holiday seasons. Things were slow at the Academy and he would grow restless with nothing to do. Making gifts and construction orders was an easy way to stay busy. Today Jayce started out on a bulk order, early enough in the day that there weren’t many people there. It quickly devolved into new prototypes for the lab, and that turned into thinking about the lab. About Hextech. In his own station there was no paper to write down on. He was able to stave off some of the racing thoughts by stealing the back of old order papers, but eventually there was no more room in the margins. And before he knew it he was running across Piltover desperate to cling onto the ideas in his head before he lost them. 

Practically bursting into the lab, eyes wide, holding on to several quickly loosening mental threads. The chalkboard was empty. Good! Great! An empty base, more movement, no need to turn pages that filled too quickly and then having to flip back for references. In the lab there was also you, working on your painting. The morning light filtering through the window, you were hunched in a position that could not be comfortable. He walks closer. Eyes laser-focused onto the canvas in front of you, hand slowly moving across the hands you were bringing to life. You looked intense and gentle, a soft smile on your lips. Humming some tune he didn’t recognize. He didn’t mean to speak, but the moment was so unique. Often there was not an opportunity to admire you without your noticing, without flustering you. 

Suddenly you whorl around, your paintbrush on the ground. All the stillness is catching up to Jayce, he’s tired. Having pushed himself at the Forge, pushed himself to run, and now? Now he needed to work. Viktor may not be there to bounce ideas off of but he could work without his partner for now. Still, he catches your eyes and blush. He is no stranger to being stared at. It fluffs up his ego for a minute, and if he wasn’t so ready to get to work he would have gladly pushed the moment. Seen if he could get you to admit what you were looking at. If you were looking for anything. Now is not the time for distractions, as delicious as they may be. 

Jayce moves his attention to the board.

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-------------.·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙-Part 23.-Part 25.·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .---------------

------------‧̍̊·̊‧̥°̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥‧̥·̊‧̍̊ ♡ °̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥ ·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙· Master Fic List *̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ °̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥ ♡ ‧̍̊·̊‧̥°̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥‧̥·̊‧̍̊--------------

[rafeshoeeee]

Be my wife?

Rafe was the best at treating you like a princess and always had little things planned for the two of you to do together. Like dinner at the fanciest restaurants and long weekends in Europe, so you expected no different when he gave you $500 dollars and told you to get your nails and hair done and buy an expensive dress.

You were so grateful for him and everything he did to make you happy. He wasn't the best at expressing his emotions and you knew the way he showed his love towards you was spoiling you until it burnt a hole in his pocket. You used to tell him how it wasn't necessary and you knew how much he loved you, but he insisted because he thought you deserved the world.

He hadn't given you much insight into what to wear, so you went for a dress you've been putting off buying for ages due to not having a special enough occasion for it, so you thought today was the perfect excuse to. A long, pink ruffle dress with hints of blue and yellow splashed throughout, it had a slight low cut but nothing too much. You always got the same nails, almond french tips and today didn't change that. The same with your hair, you just let the lady blowout your hair so all your layers framed your face perfectly.

You had no idea what Rafe had planned, it could be anything knowing him, he always went above and beyond to surprise you. Little did you know the evening you had ahead...

You were just finishing lining your lips with a nude liner when Rafe entered your makeup room. You noticed him immediately and looked at him through the mirror whilst you sprayed your perfume behind your ears. He looked so handsome, but you couldn't help but draw your attention to your sleeping mask in his hands, you turned to look at him properly and slightly furrowed your eyebrows at him.

"what are you up to baby?" you asked, his smirk growing bigger as he closed the distance between you, his hands finding your waist.

"don't wanna spoil the surprise, put this on" he said softly. He sounded almost nervous, but you didn't question him.

You took the mask from him and gently placed it over your eyes, giggling to yourself at the extent he goes to.

He smiled at you, not that you could see, then he grabbed your hand and led you out the house towards the beach.

"careful angel there's a step" he told you, voice low and sort of quiet. You could feel his warm breath brush against your neck, enhancing your excitement even more.

He guided you slowly, being gentle and patient and you let him take full control. You listened to your surroundings, the gentle sound of the waves and the sand creeping its way into your wedged sandles, tickling your feet and making you feel slightly uncomfortable.

"wait rafe, can i take off my shoes? the sands tickling me" you asked, a smile painting your whole face, making Rafe's heart melt.

He loved seeing you happy, your smile making him a little nervous because he wanted everything to be perfect for you.

"of course angel" he reassured, stopping whilst you slipped off your shoes and wiggled your toes in the sand. He picked up your shoes and you continued walking.

The sun was setting before you left and you could still feel its intense heat whilst it descended, but the light breeze made it tolerable.

Rafe firmly but gently grabbed your shoulders, you assumed he wanted you to stop but you weren't certain.

"stop?" you asked, your voice laced with anticipation, having to avoid the urge to not rip off your sleep mask and see what he had planned.

"mhm, just give me two seconds" he said.

He took a deep breath and positioned himself behind you, hands gently grabbing your sleep mask, and yours quickly followed on top of his. Your hands were shaking with excitement making Rafe lightly chuckle to himself.

"ready angel?" he asked, kissing the top of your head.

"yes!" you squealed, your manicured toes still wriggling in the sand.

You heard Rafe take a deep breath before he took your mask off. It took you a second for your eyes to adjust until the realization finally kicked in.

No. Way. Big letters lit up spelling 'be my wife', a pathway of white roses lined up perfectly symmetrical in the sand and white rose petals scattered in its path

You felt your eyes well up with tears, and your hands shot to your mouth before you turned around and Rafe was down on one knee.

This was really happening, Rafe Cameron proposing, the moment your lives joined as one and your love became endless.

The smile on his face was so bright, it made a single tear run down your cheek.

He cleared his throat, "you know i'm not good at stuff like this so don't expect anything too major" You couldn't help but chuckle at his honesty, but little did he know you didn't want anything more, you just wanted a lifetime with him and that was all that mattered to you.

"since the moment i saw you i knew i wanted to spend the rest of my life with you, your perfect in every way possible and i couldn't ask for anything more" He took another deep breath, you'd never seen him so nervous, vulnerable, but it was beautiful to see him like this. "so, will you marry me? be my wife?" he finally asked, opening the red velvet box revealing the ring.

You gasped, tears now streaming down your face, the ring was beautiful, but that's not what matter to you, Rafe was what mattered.

"oh my god!" you breathed out, "yes! yes!" you squealed.

Rafe didn't hesitate before slowly sliding the ring on your finger. it fit perfectly, and now that you had it on, you never wanted to take it off.

He cupped your cheeks and closed the remaining distance between you. The kiss was slow and passionate, like nothing you've ever experienced before. You could almost feel the love radiating in the air around you and you never wanted this moment to end. It was like the world came to a standstill whilst you both savored the moment whilst you still could.

You both pulled away smiling from ear to ear before Rafe added, "shit i was so nervous"

You quickly pecked his lips again, you couldn't help it. You couldn't believe you were engaged, you had never felt so solely connected to someone before and you were so grateful Rafe was the person you were experiencing these feelings with.

You looked into his eyes, they were full of love and warmth, making your heart flutter in your chest, "what? why?" you asked softly, gently scratching the nape of his neck with your nails.

He shrugged, his hands never leaving your face, "dunno, scared you were gonna say no" he uttered quietly, sounding almost embarrassed.

You sighed gently, "baby i love you so much, of course i wasn't going to say no" you reassured him, pecking his lips again, never getting enough of him.

He groaned lightly, "i love you too angel, so much" he grazed his hands down your body, and gently squeezed your ass, causing you to jokingly roll your eyes at his gesture.

His eyes undressed you with his intense stare, "cmon angel, let's go and really celebrate" he grabbed your hand and walked you back towards your house.

He leaned down and whispered in your ear, even though there was no one around, "gonna fuck you so good now that your my wife"

His unhinged comment made you look up at him, a small smirk playing on your lips, you playfully nudged his shoulder before he swept you off your feet and peppered your neck with kisses.

[bradshawssugarbaby]

Meet The Teacher - Bradley Bradshaw x Reader

summary: Bradley Bradshaw's re-entering civilian life with a new mission - teaching second grade.

a/n: thank you to @nerdgirljen for suggesting the idea with her breakdown of Bradley's military file, and thank you to @floydsmuse, @mamachasesmayhem, and @purelyfiction for reading this over for me last night 😅

pairing: teacher!Bradley Bradshaw x single mom!reader (last name is given to reader) warnings/content: mentions of trauma/injury, mentions of death/parent loss, Bradley pining for a student's mom, allusions to smut (masturbating (m)).

word count: 2.9k

taglist: @avengersfan25 @nouis-bum @sorchathered @hangmansgbaby @sarahsmi13s @jessicab1991 @atarmychick007 @b-bradshaw @djs8891 @primroseluna @silversprings-mp3 @drxgxnslxyer @gardenavenue @seitmai @unhinged-bitch @mattyskies

“You’ve got this, Bradshaw. You’ve got this. It’s just two dozen second graders. You’ve flown fighter jets and stared enemy aircraft in the eye, shot them down midair, you can handle a classroom of second graders.” 

Bradley repeated his mantra over and over in the rearview mirror of his car, taking a deep breath as he nodded his head. He adjusted the collar on his baby blue and white striped dress shirt, fingers tracing over the silver chain of his dog tags. His breath hitched in his throat as he ran his fingertip over the beaded chain, letting it out in a strained sigh. He was venturing into uncharted waters here, and he was beginning to wonder if he was in over his head. 

Six months ago, he was flying planes, one of the US Navy’s finest aviators. He’d never cared much about what he could have been doing if he hadn’t become a pilot - he’d known as long as he could remember that he wanted to fly. Since his accident though, he began to process all the things he’d let himself miss out on over the past 18 years. At 40 years old, he knew he was pushing his body to its limits, but he didn’t think he’d reached that threshold yet. 

He was wrong. 

It’d been a routine flight exercise, the kind he’d done about 40,000 times before in his career. His plane’s engine cut out, a mechanical failure beyond anyone’s control that couldn’t have been predicted. He kept his composure, pulled the ejection handle and parachuted his way to the ground below. In an ideal situation, he would have landed perfectly, safe and sound and taken to the hospital for observation but released the next day. 

Instead, he’d blown his knee out on his landing, making walking next to impossible, let alone flying. 

Presented with his options, returning to flying seemed unlikely. His knee would only likely get worse, and he realized, he sort of liked the idea of settling down someday — he knew forty was a little late in life to realize it, but damn it, he did want a family. He didn’t want to be that dad who couldn’t keep up with his kid. He wanted to be an active, fun parent like he’d remembered his mom being in her lifetime. He wanted to be able to dance with his new bride at his wedding, if it ever happened, and he couldn’t do any of that if his knee was fucked beyond repair. 

Dreams of coaching Little League and dancing around kitchens in the soft, yellow glow of overhead lights had suddenly flashed before him in his hospital room, and when the proposition of an honourable discharge came up, an offer absolving him of any guilt for abandoning his post in the pursuit of a civilian little fairytale life, he seized it. He loved flying, but he knew he couldn’t do it forever, despite his best efforts. He needed something to fall back on. And if these hopes and dreams suddenly crossing his mind — having a wife and a family, being a doting dad — were to come true, he needed to start somewhere.

Bradley always swore he’d never leave a wife and family behind. He’d seen what happened when a service member didn’t come home first hand - his dad was killed in a training incident when he was just over two years old, and he’d seen how his whole world turned on its side when it happened. Even as a toddler, he remembered a lot of crying from his mother, and suddenly noticing a huge absence in his life that couldn’t be explained. 

He didn’t understand what happened until he turned five, when he finally worked up the courage to ask his mom where his dad was. Why he left. Why he didn’t want to be home with Bradley. The moment he was old enough to decide his career path, he knew he wouldn’t be able to put a wife and children through the things he and his mom had been through. He was better off alone if he was serving. And it suited him just fine for the most part. The odd pang of jealousy when a colleague got married, the occasional feeling that he was missing out on something each time someone he knew announced the arrival of a new baby — they were easy enough to ignore when he focused his attention on his work.

Now, sitting in his parked car, an hour before the start of the school year, he was talking himself through how to survive his first day in his chosen back-up profession — teaching. 

He’d minored in education studies at university when he went. He’d promised his mother when he was applying to colleges that he’d pick a good back-up option to flying, just in case he didn’t get into the academy, and everyone knew he was great with kids. He’d often babysat for his mom’s friends, volunteered to coach softball teams and run summer camps at the community centre throughout high school. Teaching seemed like a no-brainer.

He let out a heavy sigh as he strolled into the school, his head held high, lesson plans tucked neatly in a file folder under his arm, his coffee cup in the other hand. He was ready to face the day, and whatever these seven-year-olds had to throw at him.

The day went on without a hitch, much to Bradley’s relief. Twenty-three little darlings sat in their desks, on their best behaviour for their first day of class. He knew it was unlikely that they’d continue to be so well-behaved, but he savoured it while it lasted. His co-workers seemed laidback and relaxed, friendly smiles and waves exchanged frequently in passing, words of advice and encouragement spoken at length over lunch and prep times. 

Three o’clock came faster than anticipated, and Bradley felt like he’d barely covered any of his plans for the day. At dismissal, he’d politely waved goodbye to each and every child, introducing himself to the parents he’d missed that morning at drop off, and greeting the ones he’d already met with brief updates about their child’s day. The last child to be picked up was a sweet little boy, with blonde hair and hazel eyes, freckles dotted across the bridge of his nose. Bradley’s brown eyes scanned over the attendance record in his hand. Wells Montgomery. 

At 3:10, Wells had grown bored of kicking his soccer ball around the grassy area around the side of the school. He picked his ball up under his arm and hurried back to Bradley. 

“Mr. Bradshaw, is my mom here yet?” 

“Not yet, bud. She’s probably stuck in traffic coming over the bridge into town. You know, it gets really busy around now. Do you want to come inside and read for a little bit in the classroom?” Bradley squinted, the sun shining brightly into his eyes as he scanned the parking lot for anyone who might be Wells’ mother. 

“Ok,” Wells said with a heavy sigh. Bradley furrowed his brow for a moment before looking back to Wells as the two of them headed back into the building. 

By 3:20, Bradley was beginning to worry about his new pupil. He didn’t anticipate a parent going missing-in-action on him on his first day of teaching, but faced with the possibility, he began going through the list of possible actions he could take. Just as he pondered over the idea of taking Wells down to the staff room to rummage the cupboards for a still-at-school-after-school snack, you came practically flying through the door, a panicked expression on your face, cheeks reddening when you saw Wells sitting at his desk, quietly reading. 

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry! I got held up in a meeting until 2:45, and then traffic was a nightmare, everything was backed up and there’s only two ways onto the island but I couldn’t ditch my car to take the ferry over, I’m so sorry,” you apologized profusely, nodding your head as you looked from Wells, to the teacher seated in the desk and back again, unsure who you needed to apologize to more.

Bradley turned to face you, his eyes raking over you as he assessed the situation. Dressed in a fitted lilac coloured pencil skirt, white tank-top and matching lilac coloured blazer, you looked like something out of a dream to him. He’d never given much thought about what his type in women was before. He’d dated blondes, brunettes, redheads, the occasional girl with bright pink hair, curvy girls, petite girls, mid-sized girls - he never had much of a preference one way or the other as far as appearances went, but God, if he had to sum up his dream girl right now - you were it. 

“It’s alright, honestly,” Bradley nodded his head, smiling warmly at you in an effort to ease your concerns. “I’m Mr. Bradshaw, Wells’ teacher for second grade. He’s had a great day today, we were just about to head down to the staff room and see if there were any rogue granola bars hiding in the cupboard for him and I to share.”

“Thank you,” you nodded, your expression softening as Bradley spoke, an instant wave of relief washing over you. “You ready to go, Wellsy?” 

“Mom, please,” Wells whined, shaking his head as he grabbed his book and shoved it into his backpack. “She thinks I’m a baby,” he griped, turning to Bradley for a sympathetic smile.

“Moms, huh? Mine was the same way with me.” Bradley laughed softly, waving as you and Wells headed out.

Later that night, Bradley sat on his couch, settling in to watch a baseball game as he poured over the plans for the upcoming week. Cracking open his beer bottle, he sipped the drink, sighing tiredly as he read over the social studies plan, visiting the list of important historical figures he was expected to familiarize the class with over the course of the school year. With one hand, shakily written notes were made in a notebook, scribbling out ideas for fun ways to engage the kids with each important person he was required to introduce. 

Setting the beer down on a coaster, he exchanged it for a slice of greasy pizza, his reward for himself at the end of a successful first day of school. He shovelled it into his mouth, sighing as he watched the baseball game unfold. The Padres were down 3-7 in the bottom of the eighth, with not much hope left for them to pull through tonight. Bradley swallowed his mouthful, brushing the grease off his hands onto the leg of his grey sweatpants.

Bradley yawned, tired bleary eyes blinking as he padded down the hallway to his bedroom. He sighed softly and settled into bed, his mind wandering as his head rested on the pillow. Before he realized it, you were on his mind. He’d thought about you a lot that evening, brief intrusions of your smile flashing through his mind as he tried to plan out the upcoming week. 

This time though, as he laid there looking up at his ceiling, he thought about your apologies for being late, how it felt like you were pleading with him or Wells to not be upset with you. He thought about how your hair, although tousled from clearly running through parking lots to your car and to the school, framed your face perfectly, and how even in the harsh fluorescent lighting of the classroom, you managed to look nothing short of beautiful. 

He thought about how well the soft, purple hue of your skirt and blazer suited you, bringing out the glow of your skin and the colour of your eyes. He thought about how it hugged your curves as you left, hand in hand with Wells, the swish of your hips as you walked down the hallway. He thought about how he was pretty sure he didn’t see a wedding band on your finger, but also admonished himself for even checking. He couldn’t date a student’s parent. He knew better than that. 

But still, he couldn’t help but think about you. 

The next couple of weeks went by and Bradley’s interest in you grew fonder. He’d begun watching for you subtly at morning drop-offs and pick-ups, hoping to at least say hello once a day. On the last Friday of the month, you stopped him as he headed for his car, watching as Wells played on the playground equipment facing the parking lot.

“Mr. Bradshaw!” you called out, and Bradley couldn’t help but feel like you were making his name sound like a chorus of angels singing. 

“Hey, Mrs. Montgomery! Is everything ok?” Bradley asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Everything’s fine, yes,” you nodded, smiling as you gently corrected him about your name. You hadn’t been Mrs. Montgomery in two years, but, you couldn’t fault Bradley for slipping up, you knew the school secretary likely didn’t alert him ahead of time. You stifled a giggle as Bradley’s cheeks flushed red with embarrassment, now his turn to apologize profusely to you.

You waved a hand dismissively and smiled, turning to watch Wells play once again. 

“You know, it may have only been a few weeks, but Wells speaks very highly of you,” you started, nodding in confirmation as you watched him play, your gaze turning to land on Bradley for a moment, “He hasn’t been this interested in anything since his dad moved across the country.” 

“Oh? I’m glad I could help him enjoy school again. I try my best to keep things fun and exciting in the classroom — kids learn better when they’re excited and interested in something. No one has fun being read to from a textbook over and over again all day,” Bradley explained.

“Well, Mr. Bradshaw, you’re doing a really good job of it. He came home excited to tell me that he learned about George Washington yesterday. I’m pretty sure two days ago he had no idea who that was.”

“Please,” Bradley laughed softly, shaking his head, “You can call me Bradley. It’s less formal.”

“Bradley,” you repeated, nodding as you chuckled to yourself, “Bradley Bradshaw?”

“My dad had a sense of humour,” Bradley shrugged, looking out at the playground as Wells chased one of his friends around. “He’s a good kid, you know. Wells.”

“I know, I’m proud of how well he’s handling things now that his dad got relocated. Pensacola’s a lot further than he anticipated. He was hoping for Corpus Christi at least.”

Bradley’s ears piqued at the mention of Wells’ dad relocating. Pensacola and Corpus Christi both housed Naval Air bases, he was more than familiar with both of them. He’d only ever been stationed between Oceana, Miramar and North Island, but in his eighteen years of service, he’d met plenty of service members who hailed from one of the two bases originally. 

“Wells’ dad is a pilot?”

“Mhmm, well, mechanic, actually. He doesn’t fly them in combat,” you commented, raising an eyebrow at Bradley. “You seemed to guess that really well. Most people don’t guess pilot.”

“I used to be a Naval pilot, m’am,” he nodded, smiling proudly as he thought about his accomplished Naval career once again. “Lieutenant Commander Bradley Bradshaw, US Naval Air Force. I was stationed at NAS Oceana, transferred here to North Island, wrecked my knee, now I’m a teacher.” 

“That’s quite the pipeline into teaching, Lieutenant Commander.”

“Please, it’s Bradley. It’s nice not going by my rank, actually.” 

“Well, Bradley, I’d love to hear how exactly you landed on teaching second grade as a backup to flying F/A-18s for the United States Navy some day.” You nodded, hoping Bradley wouldn’t take offence to the suggestion of getting together at some point. Even if it was just as friends, you’d welcome it.

“That sounds like a good idea to me, actually. I’d love to.”

As Bradley headed to his car, he felt a little bounce in his step. He couldn’t help himself. Even if this just turned into a friendship and nothing more, he felt grateful that you wanted to spend time getting to know him better. 

His drive home was filled with more thoughts of you, thoughts of your pretty pastel coloured outfits you always seemed to favour, thoughts of your perfect smile, always beaming and cheerful, bright enough to brighten his entire day in a way that should make the sun jealous, thoughts of your hair, how it always looked so perfectly imperfect. 

In bed that night, Bradley thought about your legs, how they were long and lean, curving at your thigh. He thought about how good your ass looked in your skirt earlier today, how the material hugged it tightly. He thought about your thighs, how they looked so perfectly smooth and soft, how your plain white t-shirt that was tucked into your skirt did little to hide the swell of your breasts, and the way the curve of your neck looked irresistible, how badly he wanted to plant his lips on your skin and cover you in a trail of kisses. 

Bradley thought about you in a lot of ways that night. None of them were ways he was proud of. But as he stared up at the ceiling this time, you were the only thing on his mind. He didn’t know much about how he’d go about this newfound infatuation with you. All he knew was that if he was going to settle down with anyone, he was almost positive it would be with you. 

[chipadequeso]

hi so i posted a drawing just now and heres a long post under the cut on my design choices If you were curious . or you can just look at this image for the basic color motifs

Ok. hi. waves

overall its 100% obc + motf oobc based etcetera If you know me you know this is Always basis for everything marvin trilogy i draw

detailed descriptions + other things linking characters together that arent covered by the Image:

marvin dresses like shit but there's Some cohesion there keeping it together. his family shares his warm colors; mendel uses his browns a little differently, and whizzer doesn't share his pallete at all

trina's favorite color is pink :) there are literal articles of clothing that are tied on her, one is red for marvin and the other is green for mendel. as the story goes on she would probably swap this and have a green tichel instead

trinamarvin have similar shades of pants/skirt, and jason has the mix of their yellow and red as an orange on his arms. travel travel travel from side to side!!!

^ on this note jason has things from his 4 parents and theyre all strangely layered all together

ie both him and whizzer have white over the rest of their clothes

whizdel and whizzvin are the only combinations which don't share at least one color, but:

whizdel have light/dark blue contrast and complementing red-green

whizzvin blue yellow contrast babyyyyyyy yeaaaahh boyyyyy!!!!!!!!! they wont agree

whizzer's got the most unique color palette also the least direct connections to everyone else: only trina, who wears a tichel paralleling his ascot and ties them back to marvin, and jason

trinamarvin's shoes are the same, each their corresponding hair color; mendel wears something most similar to marvin's shoes but he gets silly with it; whizzer gets to have shoes that stand more. he's cool; jason's got sneakers! and theyre whizzer colored because whizzer has his own whole deal with running

^ jason trina and whizzer all have red around their necks; mendel also very specifically doesnt have it

mendel and jason Dont have belts or anything resembling ones. this was deliberate but honestly theres not meaning to it

so yes. marvins setting the base the others generally interact with; trina tries to be plain; mendel is goofiest; jason is still figuring things out; and whizzer outsider themes Save me. whizzer outsider themes. save me whizzer outsider themes

ok That is all thank you. small bow

[red-riding-wood]

Lost in the Rhythm

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x F!Reader

Fandom: Peaky Blinders

Summary: You convince Tommy to go swing dancing.

Warnings: brief mention of panties, Tommy being a little down bad, slightly suggestive content, other than that just fluff! Or at least my attempt at writing fluff!

WC: 1522

Written for @runnning-outof-time's Caught in 4k Follower Celebration. The idea came to me one night listening to some swing and I thought... shit, I am gonna need to write this. Sorry if it seems a little rushed, kind of smashed this one out when I wasn't feeling like I could write anything.

Tommy’s hand weighed heavy on yours, nearly pulling your arm from its socket as you dragged him onto the dance floor. But you were almost too hopped up on adrenaline to notice, still humming with barely-contained energy you were eager to release from your body, still drunk off his acceptance of your invitation that nothing else really seemed to matter other than that you were going to dance with Thomas Shelby. 

Brilliant yellow-white lights seemed to bleed against the dark ceiling as you spun to face him, a cherry blush flushing your cheeks and the breath stripped from your lungs. He was watching you with the hint of a smile on his face, the glint of something warm – dare you say, affectionate – in his piercing blue eyes.

Tommy still couldn’t believe your boldness, the way you had shimmied over to his desk in that little sequined dress, how you’d made him set aside the paperwork and the bottle of whiskey and had more or less told him that you were going dancing. How he couldn’t help but have smiled at the time, only when you turned your back to go fix up your makeup, because God forbid you know he might enjoy the notion of such ridiculous things like dancing. He’d been able to hide the slight heat that had crept to his cheeks, in a way that you weren’t now that was so endearing to him, your whole being seeming to glow, skin shivering under his touch and your eyes gleaming brightly in the lights.

“You sure you don’t want to just go for drinks, eh?” he said, having to raise his voice slightly over the loud crash of cymbals and the yearning cries of the trombones. But you knew from the look in his eyes that he was already sold, if only to watch you all giddy and elated like this in a way he’d never seen of you at the betting shop or even the Garrison.

“C’mon, Tommy, you’ve danced before. Surely,” you said as you pulled him in, fingers lacing through his own and your arm drawing round his back. He began to lead naturally, though his pace was slower than the music and the mad tapping of shoes around you. He pulled you in real close, so close that you could smell the faint trace of the cologne he wore past his usual musk of whiskey and cigarettes and earth, your chest brushing his and your nose nearly pressed to the heat of his neck. Your heart pounded wildly against your ribs, and for a moment you caught your breath.

“Move your feet a little faster,” you instructed him, allowing more space between the two of you with a slight reluctance. You wondered only briefly if people were looking at you, the thought crawling its way beneath your skin like an insect, but such a cruel feeling was banished with a glimpse of those piercing blue eyes, always cold yet so warm for you whenever you caught him looking.

You guided Tommy into more appropriate steps, knocking a few shoulders with other couples that spun and twirled around one another. You noticed his gaze leave yours only to take notice of them for a few moments.

“Good, now just – “ A squeal burst from your lungs with your remaining breath as his hands dug firmly into your lower back, and he dipped you, blood rushing to your skull and lurid lights undulating across your vision. Your bare thigh came up to brush along his waist, attempting to ground yourself, the hem of your dress pooling over the lace of a garter that he couldn’t help but sneak a peek at.

When he brought you back up, his eyes were glittering with mischief.

“That works, too,” you breathed, and Tommy was nearly lost for a moment in the frizzy ringlets of hair that fell across your forehead, in the shock that passed through your bright eyes and the curve of your mouth before you grinned again, beaming.

Your fingers loosened from his as he brought your arm up, and the world spun as you twirled on your heel, nearly tripping over yourself in your own excitement but caught by a warm, sturdy hand against your spine.

“Show-off,” you teased, smacking him lightly against the chest. Of course he was trying to best you in this.

“I’m sorry, you were trying to tell me something?” he jested, a smugness laced thick into his tone and a quirk in his lip that made a competitiveness flare to life inside you.

“I was actually going to demonstrate.” You changed course, your nimble legs pirouetting across the floor to establish distance between the two of you, the crowd spilling around you like a tide peeling back from the shore. You became lost in the music, feeling every snarl of the drums and whinny of the trombones through the deepest fibres of yourself; you twirled and kicked your feet, swaying to the beat of the music and locking your eyes on your blue-eyed partner whenever you could.

You were an image of glorious, unabated joy, grinning so wide and moving with such energy that it was almost infectious. The sequins of your dress caught the light as they swished at your hips, begging for attention, and every so often, he was rewarded by a flash of your panties as you came into a graceful twirl, but the real show was how you moved, how you commanded each limb with such ease and intensity at the same time. Like you loved every second of this, like you were born to dance, and he was born to watch, that despite all the cruelties of this bleak and ruthless life, you were both made special for this moment of cheerful innocence and pure exultation. 

And he accepted you, willing, into his arms, as you came tapping and spinning over to him, putting on your little show that he drank in with darkening eyes, hypnotised by every shake of your shoulders and sway of your hips. Almost unable to find his breath, he inhaled the scent of your sweet, honeysuckle perfume and the invigorating trace of your sweat.

And he had no choice but to fall into stride with you now, the two of you side-stepping across the floor as the music halted only to come crashing down around you, the crowd beginning to move as one uniform shape.

Your blood pounded in your veins like hot fire, burning brighter than the thrill of alcohol would ever do for you. Still not entirely believing that this was real, thinking that at one moment maybe you might wake to find it was all a dream, you tried to focus on Tommy; he struggled slightly with some of the footwork, but he made up for it with his usual, normally insufferable confidence that tonight you found endearing, and your careful, gentle guidance that you ensured wasn’t swallowed by your excitement. Each touch placed or pressure applied to his body was a signal to move one way or another, and once you’d fallen into a rhythm both of you could keep up with, it was like you had become one being, that you shared each limb and fervid breath and fierce beat of your heart.

Your body lost to the music but your mind lost to his eyes, the world seemed to melt around you, the lights glittering like stars in the background and the movements of the crowd becoming nothing but a rolling tide. A few wisps of dark brown hair had sprung awry from his usually-tailored cut, clinging to the sheen of his forehead. The baby blue of his eyes twinkled at you with equal parts adoration and joy and lust, and his smile…

You hadn’t seen him smile like that since France.

And you thought, maybe you’d be so privileged to see it again. That maybe this was the beginning to many more nights of unadulterated happiness, an escape from the blood and bullets and smoke and soot of your usual life.

You were unsure of who drew closer to who, but your nose ended up brushing against his shoulder, and as his fingers bunched the fabric of your dress at the base of your hip, you tried to hide your sudden blush by burying your face in the crook of his neck.

A giggle that put the most talented musicians in the room to shame chimed against his skin, and wild strands of your hair brushed his lips as he lowered his head to murmur against your ear,

“If you tell anyone about this, Y/N, I swear I’ll have you fired, yeah?”

Laughing again, you shook your head. “You’re enjoying this too much to make those kind of threats.”

His eyes widened slightly, and you smirked at him, leaning in to place a hastened kiss against a freckled cheek. A smear of red lipstick remained, and you giggled again, your glittering eyes mirroring the mischief of his, your voice lowering as if to whisper something scandalous,

“It’ll be our little secret. I promise.”

MASTERLIST • REQUEST

Please let me know if you would like to be added/removed to any of my taglists and notified of new works!

Taglist: @emotionalcadaver @zablife @shelbydelrey @call-sign-shark @look-at-the-soul @fiercelittlemouse @ohwellthatslifesstuff @brummiereader @mrkdvidal1989 @minaethrym @purplesnorlaxplush @henrywintersdearestgirl @goblinjnr @mizzbel @forgottenpeakywriter @chris-seb-marvel @muhahaha303 @thatonesinglefriend @s0urmarvel @onasmoko @elenavampire21 @aurorag98

[rosiebun28]

COSMIC HRT Month 1 (The Dream and First Encounter)

Hi, I'm Rosie and this is part of a story I've been wanting to share for a long time. Cosmic HRT started as a comic but I have ADHD really bad and I have struggled with consistently working on art. But as I continue in the community I want to try other mediums like writing to get my story out there. Hopefully one day I can work on turning it into a comic but I just want to at least get something out for my own sanity. This story was inspired by Dragon HRT by @ayviedoesthings and by Eldritch HRT by @dawning-mars The format was Inspired by Arynia's Hellhound HRT story over at @ariathelamia so Definitely go check all of them out if you haven't already! Also Special thank you to @dawning-mars for the Cameo!

Hello, my name is Rose but I like to go by Rosie. My Therapist suggested I should try Chronicling my journey as a way of reflecting on the crazy events that have been happening to me. I've always had problems interacting with other people so I figured I should share these journals online as a way of initiating interaction. (Sorry if that’s weird, I’m still working on my communication skills) I’m really bad at self expression so forgive me if I say something weird or mis-remember something.

Well the whole thing started a while back, I'm a 30 year old transgender woman and things had been getting worse where I lived for people like me. I heard about a new type of HRT that can actually turn people into animals! After doing A LOT of research into it and a lot of self reflection, I Felt this was something I needed but nothing I looked at felt right, felt like me. There were short periods of fancy where I got excited at the thought of being a bunny or a mouse or even a hybrid species, but the excitement always faded after a time. Nothing felt like the real me, I didn’t even know what the "Real Me" was supposed to feel like, just the feeling that something wasn’t quite right. I was stuck at an impasse, walking past and seeing others transitioning and becoming closer to their true selves every day. I liked to try and keep up to date on things so I started following some Therians online but while I was happy for them, I still felt just the tiniest bit of envy and wished I could figure out who I am.

However, that changed one day when I had a weird dream. It's a bit difficult to describe but there was a tall Being in a bright yellow robe with an expressionless mask and horns, we stood on an expansive black plane, the sky behind a stark white with what appeared to be black stars in the background. I couldn’t feel my arms or legs, I couldn’t move and could barely feel myself, I watched as the figure slowly moved towards me in a way I can only describe as smooth, not quite gliding, not quite shambling. Once it reached me it  whispered something I couldn't quite make out and I suddenly woke up with a chill. The next day I had an unexplainable urge to go for a walk through a part of town I'd never been through but it was like something was pulling me there, like I was being drawn in. 

I made my way down to what was locally being called the "Therian District" though some would call it "The Zoo" though I never liked that name personally. As I was walking past a doctor's office, I suddenly bumped into someone and fell to the ground. I felt a cold chill suddenly rush into me and down my throat but it was gone so fast I wasn't even sure if it even actually happened. As I looked up there was a tall, vague figure covered in shadow. When suddenly my vision doubled, one side blue and the other yellow, before recombining. The shadowy figure was gone, in its place before me stood the most beautiful person I'd ever seen. She was extremely tall and had skin that was a lustrous purple, she wore a simple black dress with a black bow and a large black hat. Her face stared at me for a few seconds with five deep, caring eyes that seemed to be full of anxiety, not sure how I could tell that to be honest. She quickly apologized for bumping into me and ran off. I was stuck there for a few seconds going over the image in my mind before someone came over and helped me up. They asked me if I’d been hurt by "That Monster" and I gave them a sharp glare that made them back off and walk away muttering "freak" under their breath. I don’t know why but I'd felt an anger wash over me from hearing them insult this person I’d never even met. It was so out of character for me that I didn’t know how to respond so I called them an asshole and walked away.

That night I had another dream about the Being in Yellow but this time they spoke only four words to me: "Open Your Eye Youngling" After which I heard a cracking sound followed by my vision splitting again into blue and yellow, but this time they didn't recombine, instead they split and my perspective shifted to viewing 3 different angles at once. One blue, one yellow, and one gray in between them looking at glowing blobs of energy, a blue one on the right and a yellow on on the left. They were connected to me by thin white fluctuating beams of light. They seemed to be where the other perspectives are coming from. 

I started to hear and feel one of myselves saying some but it was muffled and all I could make out was a vague feeling. Then the blue and yellow selves seemed to start having a conversation that I could not seem to process. It was like I was hearing words and vague wisps of intent but had no idea what was being said. After a while I woke up again, but something was different. I felt like I could see more, but I wasn't sure what it was I could see that I couldn't before. It felt like a heavy fog had lifted from my mind. Whatever it was, started to make me feel a lot more overstimulated than before. The trade-off being I suddenly didn't feel as lonely anymore for some reason.

I went to take my morning meds and noticed that something was different, my normal estrogen pills seemed to have changed from the little white circles I was used to. They were now a bit bigger and football shaped like my Progesterone but I couldn’t find any seams on them and they appeared to be filled with some kind of milky white pearlescent liquid. I tried to break one open but I couldn’t seem to penetrate the outer shell so I examined the bottle. There were a few things different about the label now too, The patient name was a strange Sigil I’d never seen before. The medication name now said "Dreamadonteride" and the Prescriber information was some kind of symbol I’d never seen before that looked like a dot surrounded by a circle with three squiggly lines radiating out from the center. I looked at the pill again and felt a mix of conflicted feelings and voices inside, but one feeling rang out louder than the others. A voice telling me that this mysterious new pill would help me finally find my true self, would help me finally be happy. So I ignored the other voices in my head telling me to stop as I popped the pill into my mouth and took a drink of water. The voices finally calmed and went quiet. I still don’t know if this was the right choice, but I made it and I was going to stick with it.

[pillowbugs]

so uh. that poto au i did just over a week ago.

was playing around with some ships to figure out who would fit the roles of the other characters, and landed on airplaneshipping for christine and raoul. preferably ignore all the plot that would have to happen to lead to this point. (the scene where the phantom shoots fireballs, except in the pokémon universe it's a full on battle against the phantom and his chandelure. for an added bonus, look up the name of the 'song' sung during this part of the musical.)

unmasked ver. (additional design notes under cut)

elesa:

christine's dress in this scene is light blue, which is a colour that is indeed present in elesa's design (her bw2 outfit moreso). elesa not wearing any yellow felt wrong though, which is why the layers underneath are yellow-tinted.

went with her bw1 hair colour because christine was blonde in the original book.

her cloak is mostly based off her bw2 jacket in shape; it's black with a red clasp, which makes it not only similar to the cloak donned by christine in the musical but also retains the same idea of the cloak being a visual representation of the phantom's (who wears mostly black) hold over them. (+ the other colour ingo is most associated with is red.)

however, because of the lighting, said cloak appears yellow on the side closer to skyla - more similar to her canon design, and being close to skyla in a way rids her of the darkness.

she gets to change her hairstyle as a treat.

skyla:

it wasn't common for women to wear waistcoats at the time (1900s), but sapphics in history quite famously fucked with a lot of gender norms.

actually both of these lovebirds are blue now. sets up a colour contrast between the lighter, friendlier blues of the couple and the darkness and reds of the phantom. (blue = friend and red = foe like it's fire emblem)

the way swanna is placed is intentional, to set up a more angelic imagery mirroring the phantom's darker version (more on that in a bit).

both women wear matching white roses in their hair. something something flower symbolism. but skyla does also have feathers in her hair, for obvious reasons.

swoobat because hearts :D

ingo:

was debating on whether to make him actually more deformed in this au, but didn't really feel in the mood to sit down and design it in detail for this piece.

there isn't much i can say about his outfit design given it's literally just mashing his usual uniform together with his butler alt from masters. though upon actually looking up the phantom's outfit, the end result is actually surprisingly close. not surprising given both wear victorian suits and primarily wear black.

my original concept for the au was that he still works with the subway, he just does it from the shadows instead of being a public figure - hence he still wears a train conductor's hat. though since the battle subway isn't a thing (or at least not in the form we know it) he doesn't have its logo.

his cloak is intentionally flared up in this scene, for a few reasons: 1) it looks cool, 2) it resembles gliscor (albeit it isn't present here) and 3) mirrors skyla with a darker angelic imagery - the original musical had the whole "angel of music / death" thing.

i actually went through quite a few variations of his mask before settling on this one, and even then i'm not entirely satisfied with it.

version 1: exactly the same as the one used in most advertising for the musical - decently terrifying, but considering ingo's main 'issue' is his mouth, which this (and the one actually used within the musical) doesn't cover, this would be completely useless aside from probably hiding his identity and especially his resemblance to emmet.

version 2: leaned more into the angle of trying to alter his expression, particularly to be smiling instead - to be more similar to his brother. also suitably unsettling, but this specific style wouldn't work if you looked at him from any angle besides this one though. also, from this angle, because his actual mouth is obscured, i was worried he would actually be mistaken for emmet instead (given generally fandom tends to make emmet the unhinged one - let ingo have some fun too, guys).

version 3, the one i went with: has patterns at the cheeks simulating the edges of a smile (and also has the black-on-white contrast); his actual mouth is hidden but visible through the cloth.

why is there a litwick on the gravestone? good question!

in all honesty, this was part me drawing blorbos into an au and part me conceptualising what the pokémon universe version of POTO would look like.

[anapotatowriter]

Hi there! I saw your requests were open and I absolutely adore your writing.

I am officially back in my Edmund Pevensie era (sorry Five Hargreeves, LOL). Do you mind writing something based on Save The Last Dance For Me by Michael Bublé?

Save the last dance for me

Edmund Pevensie x Reader

A/N: HI DARLING BESTIE! THANK YOU FOR THIS REQUEST, I REALLY LOVED DELVING INTO SOME TROPES I COULDN'T FIT IN MY PREVIOUS WORKS! I really loved this song, and gained random inspiration from a Bridgerton clip- Did I get up in the middle of the night, and write this whole thing under 3 hours until 2:34 in the morning? Yes, yes I did. Did I do this when I am meant to be studying for my finals? No comment. I hope you like this story. If you don’t, feel free to message me, and I’ll make whatever changes you would like! Also, bonus points to people who can get the different references I have made in this fic~

Summary: Edmund Pevensie is from Narnia. Y/N L/N is from Terenbithia. They are supposed to be enemies, but are they really?

Contains: Fluff basically, a little, teensy-weensy bit of angst, some political rivalry that I *really* didn't explore, a secret relationship, some use of fan language that I think is inferrable??? and a bit of jealousyyyyy! Also, my writing is trash in this fr fr.

Requested: Yes

Now you can dance every dance with the guy 

Who gives you the eye, let him hold you tight 

And you can smile every smile for the man 

Who held your hand beneath the pale moonlight

“We now announce Queen Y/N L/N, Queen of Terebinthia!”

I stepped out from behind the double doors that announced the entry of each royal guest arriving at Cair Paravel. Light applause rang out as I stepped down the stairs, a smirk gracing my face. Four distinct members in the room didn’t bother hiding the subtle displeasure on their faces—the kings and queens of Narnia, enemies of the Terebinthian courts, and thus my enemies. My dark green dress was sewn just to contrast the yellow, red, purple, and blue of the royal members of Narnia, reflecting the political tensions between the two kingdoms. The black lace fan that hung off my wrist reflected the age-old Narnian diamonds, another symbol to rub salt in the wound. My eyes, however, wandered to the younger king, whose silver crown glinting in the candlelight was rivalled only by the sharp flicker in his caramel-brown eyes. 

I stayed as far away from the four monarchs as possible, mingling with the population of royalty surrounding us all, a ruse to put up for the family. “Queen Y/N,” said a voice behind me. I turned to meet the eyes of the prince of Archenland, his blonde hair hiding the gold crown he donned. Prince Orlando’s eyes roved over my appearance, a breathless gasp escaping as he said, “Queen Y/N, I simply must have your first dance.” “It would be an honour, Your Highness,” I responded, curtsying slightly, looking up at him through my eyelashes. I opened the fan in my hand with a light flick, bringing it up to my chest and fluttering it, bringing the prince’s attention to the diamonds that adorned my neck and the lace of the fan. My eyes flickered beyond Prince Orlando’s shoulder, meeting the similarly entranced eyes of King Edmund. A secret smile graced my face as the fan “slipped” out of my hand and onto the floor. The eyes of King Edmund and Prince Orlando followed its path, the King stepping forward only slightly before resuming an indifferent posture. I glanced down at the fallen fan, my lips parting slightly in mock surprise. The prince bent on his knee to pick up the fan, just as Edmund’s jaw clenched subtly as he stared at us. Orlando held up the fan to me, my eyes flitting away coyly before meeting his again. 

I held my wrist out to the prince, making him gulp slightly when I slowly removed the lace gloves that adorned my hand. He widened the fan’s strap and fit it around my wrist, his fingers brushing against the recently uncovered skin. But my eyes were focused on Edmund, who watched the fluttering glove as if it had done him a personal disservice. His vision flitted to my wrist, and then to my eyes. He gazed in my direction with extreme focus, making my hand tremble slightly as I replaced the gloves on my hand. Orlando offered his hand to me, which I accepted, and joined the dance floor. Moments later, the brunette king joined the throng of dancers with a partner of his own. I smirked as I curtsied, taking hold of the prince’s hands. The prince, whose blue eyes met mine eagerly, pulled me in closer with his grip on my waist. I gripped his shoulder subtly, before manoeuvring into a spin and out of his arms. The moonlight filtered through the windows of Cair Paravel, casting a light blue hue along with the orange from the candles. Despite the dim lights of the ballroom, I could feel the pair of eyes belonging to Edmund boring into me, making goose bumps rise on every inch of my skin. 

Baby, don't you know I love you so

Can't you feel it when we touch

I will never, never let you go

I love you oh, so much

You can dance, go and carry on

I glanced at Edmund for a moment, who was already staring back with an unrivalled intensity. A drop in the music signalled a switch in partners. My hands immediately left those of the prince, seeking their return to the place of comfort. Home, home, home. Warmth, comfort, and callouses which marked my heart, my hips, my body, my love. I twirled over to the man next to me, Edmund immediately taking hold of me as my dress whipped around me. His fingers dipped tantalising low on my waist, just far enough from being deemed scandalous. The warmth of his palm cut straight through the layers of satin, silk and net that adorned my dress as if they didn’t exist. His hand grasped mine firmly, intertwining our fingers as a means of saying, “I will never let you go.” The moonlight littered over his freckled cheeks, the adoration in his eyes making my heart thud pathetically against my chest. The world around me seemed to disappear as I gazed into his eyes when light applause around us broke me out of my reverie. The music had stopped, indicating the end of the dance. The fan that hung off my wrist was clasped in my hand again. I manoeuvred the fan and swiped the open fan along my cheek. He chuckled under his breath, glancing away quickly before looking back and bowing. As his face dipped just near my ear, he whispered, “I love you too, Y/N… I love you oh so much.” I smiled cheekily at Edmund, curtsying in response before walking back to Prince Orlando for another dance without a glance back.

'Til the night is gone

And it's time to go

If he asks if you're all alone

Can he walk you home, you must tell him no

“Are you going to be travelling home alone, Queen Y/N?” asked Orlando, his eyes flickering with concern. “You need not worry yourself, Prince Orlando. I can do just fine myself,” I replied, smiling. “I can drop you home, Queen Y/N if that would be safer or more comfortable for you.” “No, Prince Orlando. I appreciate your offer and kindness, but I will be fine,” I replied, sharper than intended. He nodded his head in understanding, bowing deeply one last time. He took my hand and grazed his lips against my gloved knuckles before walking out of the ballroom. I caught the eye of Edmund, who was conversing with one of the foreign dignitaries. As if sensing my gaze, his eyes shifted to meet mine. I took my fan into my right hand, placing it in front of my face for a few moments. His eyes glinted in recognition as I walked away, an invitation to follow me. I stalked through the halls of Cair Paravel, which I had crossed through multiple times in the cover of darkness and shadows. I finally emerged through the trap door into the Cair Paravel Gardens, the lingering scent of something citrus infiltrating my senses. As I admired the view, the scent of the gardens was drowned by the smell of coffee and old books. Before I could turn around, Edmund wrapped his arms around me, pulling me into the warmth of his chest. A sudden chill raced down my spine as King Edmund's arms enveloped me, the temperature from the cool gardens contrasting against the warmth of his embrace, making me shiver slightly. “Hello Darling,” he whispered, not wanting to disturb the tranquillity of the gardens. Snippets of music still drifted from the ballroom, but the incessant chattering of crowds was silenced. And there we stood, hidden by the hedges and wisteria-festooned walls of the gardens.

'Cause don't forget who's taking you home

And in whose arms you're gonna be

Save the last dance for me

Oh, I know that the music's fine

Like sparklin' wine, go and have your fun

Laugh and sing, but while we're apart

Don't give your heart to anyone

And don't forget who's taking you home

And in whose arms you're gonna be

So darling, save the last dance for me

“So, are we going to do anything, or just stand around? Because I must admit darling, I am getting rather bored,” I murmured. I could feel the way the corners of Edmund’s lips upturned against the joining between my neck and shoulder. “Maybe I should have taken up Prince Orlando’s offer of taking me home,” I said jokingly. Edmund chuckled lightly, before abruptly spinning me around and gripping me so I faced him. “Don’t forget who’s taking you home, darling. Would be a dam shame to miss out on me for some prince of Archenland,” he quipped. “You might have danced with Prince Orlando, but I'm the one whose arms you’re going to be in tonight.” “May I have the honour of your last dance, Queen Y/N?” asked Edmund as a new song began to play in the background. I chewed lightly on my lower lip, feigning contemplation as I said, “Oh I don’t know. I mean, the music’s fine, but I have already had my fun for the day, I think.” I placed the handle of my closed fan against my lips and pretended to think, watching as Edmund’s eyes tracked the shape of my lips. “Ask your question out loud instead of through your fan, and maybe I’ll agree,” responded Edmund, quirking his eyebrow. I looked away from his gaze and murmured a small, “Kiss me… please.” Before I could finish the last word, his lips pressed against mine softly, the tension leaving my shoulders almost immediately. His hands moved to my gloved ones, tugging at the fingers of the glove gently before pulling the gloves off. His hands traced the newly exposed skin, moving up my arms before placing one on my waist and holding the other one. I shivered at the contact with the skin of his palm, the hardened scars from battles finding their home in my hands. He pulled me into a slow dance, slowly, slowly, slowly tugging my heart to his. “Don’t ever give your heart to anyone else,” he said in my ear, a trace of insecurity running through his words. “I will always save my last dance for you, Edmund Pevensie,” I said in reply, holding on to him like it was my last day.

So darling, save the last dance for me

Oh baby, won't you save the last dance for me

Ooh, you make a promise

That you'll save the last dance for me

Save the last dance

The very last dance

For me

“Darling, save the last dance for me?” asked Edmund, holding his grip over my light blue gown that matched his outfit. “You have asked the same thing at every ball the last 5 years, and my answers never change, darling. I promise that I’ll save the last dance for you,” I replied, kissing him softly on the cheek. As he moved away from me to make his entrance into the ballroom and greet the royalty visiting our home, his sleeve caught on the black fan that dangled from my wrist. He lifted his wrist to his eye level, bringing mine up in the process. Instead of separating the fan from the button on his sleeve, he removed the fan from my wrist, leaving it bare. The diamonds on the fan, once a symbol of the enmity between two lands, showed the union between them. He opened the fan and brushed it against his cheek before walking away, a smile on his face as he glanced back one last time. “I love you, too,” I said to no one, the ring on my hand glistening in its position up high. I shook myself out of my reverie as the person at the doors declared, “We now announce Queen Y/N Pevensie, Wife of King Edmund of Narnia, and Queen of Terebinthia!”

[cl-0v3r]

Okay this is gonna be super rushed and probably have alot of mistakes but I need this out of my system so it will most likely be like half a shitpost !!!

When i think of Jinx and Mel at a flat level, i assume that they are very different from eachother, there is no personal connection between the two at all, they don't even know eachother and they both have very different roles in the show, not to mention the difference in demeanor and character as well.

But Arcane, a show full of parallels, always knows how to connect each of its characters to one another somehow, I find it amazing that you can find so many similarities despite their vast differences even if it was the most subtle thing ever, its like the tiniest bits of detail SCREAM at you.

One of my favorite (and most obvious) things about Mel and Jinx is the fact that they speak of their past THROUGH THEIR ART, I don't think I really need to go ahead and dissect this to the last atom since it's already very clear what their drawings mean to them and to the story, but they prefer to cope with their trauma by painting/making things that remind them of the past or has a relation to it, there is ALWAYS a piece (or pieces) of art about something that continues to HAUNT them to this day, for Jinx its "doodles" of the hallucinations of Mylo, Claggor & Vi who are almost everywhere she is, as for Mel its the bloody necklace thats hung above her head and over her bed alongside the painting of the immortal bastion to remind her about "home".

Whats even crazier is the fact that their art is also tied to the people who cast them out from their family, Powder before this was always called a Jinx ESPECIALLY by Mylo and she was considered weak and unable to handle things like the others, leading her to change and become somebody new after they left, sound a little familiar? Because Mel was also considered weak, sentimental, too soft to be a Medarda E S P E C I A L L Y by Ambessa at a young age, and what happened after? Gone. Afterwards, they find themselves in a new place where people "look up to them" or they're seen as someone with higher importance.

And I've spoken a bit about the visual similarities in an earlier post, but we gotta appreciate their attitudes towards their "parental" figures, I don't know why but its funny to see how much sass they throw at them, its what inspired this post actually. Maybe its just the satisfaction of seeing my two least favorite characters get the same honest reaction I have by my favorite characters 😭

They're both tired of their shit and its the best thing to ever exist.

Let's not forget how they both got genuinely angry at them as well? Jinx snatching Silcos injection from his hands and being pissed at him for lying to her about everyone being dead, while Mel slapped the goblet out of Ambessas hand, upset that she played with Jayce unrightfully so.

The color and design differences is a beautiful parallel too, Jinx is often surrounded by cold or dark colors like Blue, Green, black with a hint of purple and pink and dressed like her personality, while Mel is more light & Warm-toned with yellow/gold, red, white and a wee bit of black which is all matching to her Elegance. This is just a general parallel between characters of Zaun and Piltover overall, but its always very appealing when you compare them together.

And finally, its them completely letting go of their past selves and starting out new literally by the last episode after struggling with who they are the whole time, Powder was officially gone by the end of the season, and Mel was no longer Medarda. Jinx is just Jinx, Mel is just Mel, and they are both going to do things their own way and that was shown with how Mel took off her ring and painted over the Immortal Bastion with gold , and how Jinx launched her rocket towards the council with her own art on it too.

Its funny to think that thats the only physical connection they could possibly have and that its related to their character arcs, its related to them making a new big decision, it has a strong relation to their art, and a strong relation to them saying goodbye to their family.

Hope this made sense !!!!!!!! I honestly just want them to like idk hug or something and go to loo loo land and paint together or whatever in a different universe and cope with their shared trauma together no fuss no muss. Fanfic writers where did you go y'all are missing out on this super mega awesome cool older&younger sister / mother-daughter duo.

[hostilemuppet]

my attempt at redesigning satin & chenille! now, i dont think their original designs were as bad as CREEKS, they just... werent particularly fashionable, is the main thing, which is awful bc their whole thing is fashion! this could have been solved just by giving them new outfits but... wheres the fun in that? more in depth rambling under the cut (it gets long, be warned)

when redesigning the twins, i actually went largely off of this concept art i showed before

i loved how much better it conveyed them being into fashion by giving them a tonne of accessories, and i think them being japanese instead of swedish makes more a lot sense thematically; when thinking about fashion, you tend to picture harajuku before you picture sweden. um. sorry, swedes. im sure youre very snappy dressers!

i kept something similar to their final colour scheme, since pink and blue has a better contrast than magenta and red. while keeping the rainbow accessories might have looked nice, i do like how final s&c have a very neat palette of pink/blue/purple + yellow accents. nice and clean and simple and effective. theyre very colour coordinated. i swapped the skin and hair shades, honestly it was mostly because i knew i wanted their little cheek stamps (which replaced their glitter freckles, so that could be a trait specific to poppy and creek) to be yellow/gold and it looked a lot better on the deeper colours than the pastel. and im glad i did, bc now their hair looks like marshmallow twists! so cute

for their clothes, i kept chenille wearing a kimono (although obviously a much different one, opting for pastel pink and lace instead of highlighter yellow and thin ribbons) and gave her satins leg warmers , while satin has chenilles anklets. for satin, i knew her not wearing a skirt or dress was mandatory; she just looks way better in shorts and trousers while chenille wears skirts. her exact style was VERY SLIGHTLY based on fairy kei, but with how simplified it had to be to fit on a chibi troll body, that isnt particularly obvious. still, i think its sufficiently cutesy enough to contrast chenilles more put together style, which fits since how satin... isnt the brightest, and chenille doesnt tolerate any nonsense (unless it is her own nonsense, of course)

this is unrelated to the design itself, but since they are no longer swedes and are now japanese, for obvious reasons they would not be voiced by icona pop. im not into the jpop scene but im sure theres a popular jpop girl duo out there! or maybe two specific members of a larger group. you 🫵 the audience can decide!

[wrencatte]

febwhump day 2: holding back tears except less whump and more angst. feels like these febwhump things are going to be me smashing out quick ideas that might be expanded on later, might not Fallen Order-Era. Cere POV. Time-travel

A figure stands at the end of the Mantis’s ramp, not even a toe of the edge. He radiates such strong wistfulness, and no small amount of grief, Cere can feel it to the marrow of her bones even without the Force. Still, she keeps her blaster in hand, tucked out of sight, and stares down the stranger, eyebrow raised.

He’s dressed in a garish blue and yellow poncho, hood pulled low over his head against the torrent of rain but makes no other effort to shield himself. She can’t see much of his face other than a glint of eyes on her and a crooked sort of smile. He looks at her with a familiarity she shouldn’t understand – yet she does. The Force stirs in the back of her mind, perking up like a bogling out of its burrow, whispering trust-trust-trust so loudly she wants to cover her ears. It’s bright and shining, like the sun on a cloudless day, and it’s so different than the shadowy darkness that’s been haunting her since Nur she’s….she’s pretty tempted to listen, just this once.

“Can I help you?” she asks curtly.

The figure shrugs. “I don’t know,” he says. “I’m looking for charter. I’ve got credits.” His voice is low and oddly thick, but Cere can’t say if that’s his natural tone or something else.

No is on the tip of her tongue. Yes, they’ve taken passengers before when their collective funds were too low – they tried not to rely too heavily on Cere’s stash – but usually they’re advertising, not simply accepting every random person’s offer of credits on a whim. But when Cere goes to dismiss him, something stops her. The Force. Her instincts. The way he continues to stand just off the ramp, radiating grief and longing in a way Cere is intimately familiar with.

“Where are you going?”

“The Outer Rim, I think,” he says.

“You think?”

“A gut feeling.” He tilts his head, his smile growing cheeky, and Cere blinks, taken aback by how young he looks. “Something tells me I need to be there.”

Bogano is in the Outer Rim. Cere dares not to hope that maybe this gut feeling speaks of something deeper. She sighs and gestures for him to come up the ramp. “Get inside. Can’t have you drowning while we hash out the details.”

His whole expression brightens as he scampers up. “Thank you!”

“Slow down. We haven’t agreed to anything just yet.” She doesn’t bother hiding her blaster now, making sure he can see it. The moment he tries to pull something she’ll shoot him dead, kid or not. “Captain! We’ve got company!”

Greez sticks his head out the cockpit, eyes narrowed in suspicion. “We running a babysitting service now? What are you, ten?”

“Seventeen,” the stranger quips as he pulls down his hood to reveal a shock of copper red hair. He’s smiling so hard it has to hurt, his gaze flickering from Cere to Greez then back again. His eyes shine with what look like unshed tears, but that could just be remnants of rainwater. “I’m seventeen.”

“Yeah, and I’m the Queen of Naboo.” Greez warily comes out of the cockpit, one set of hands on his hips. “Whatcha want, longbean?”

The kid laughs. It sounds brittle. “Like I told her,” he gestures to Cere. “Just looking to get to the Outer Rim. I’ve got the credits. I can lend a hand too, with maintenance. I’m pretty handy with it comes to ships. I can cook and pilot – I had a really good teacher.” His eyes linger on Greez before tearing away to focus on Cere again. He swallows thickly, voice a little less steady. “I can haggle and fight. I won’t be a dead weight.”

Cere holds up a hand before he can keep going, her stomach twisting and her heart aching. The kid is running from something, she’s pretty sure, but even that doesn’t seem quite right. “Credits will be enough,” she tells him. Then, against her better judgement, she adds, “I’ve got a good feeling about you.”

He beams and rasps out, “Yeah. Me too.” He sticks out a hand, the poncho sliding across his arm to show the edge of a dark tattoo. “I’m Cal.”

“Nice to meet you, Cal.” She takes it, holding firm. The Force dances happily around their clasped hands and she can’t turn away. “I’m Cere. This is Greez. Welcome aboard the Mantis.”