#like the cape was low-key purple | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

toaarcan · 1 year ago

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I’ve generally lost my ability to actually draw Sonic character proportions since I learned how to draw more humanoid proportions but I actually don’t dislike how this one came out.

So hey, Miles in a Super form.

The basics of this design are like a decade old at this point, me and a friend settled on the grey fur and purple eyes way back in the day. At the time we were writing him rather differently, depicting him as a very morose and bleak character in comparison to Tails’ optimism (though the story where we first used the design involved Tails having a Pretty Bad Day and he spent half of it in a Dark Super Form). That was where we got the idea to use grey as his primary colour, a very muted tone in comparison to the vibrant golds, pinks, and purples that other transformations have used. Even the actual process of transforming was described as being very low-key, with the colour just draining from his body and his aura just fading into view.

I don’t characterise Miles that way anymore, I now depict him as very bombastic and quite a showoff, but the grey fur remains. Because frankly it looks good, IMO.

Originally, the form didn’t change his attire at all, but I later decided to have his coat and boots turn white, to feed into the whole idea of him being a “Light is Not Good” character. The cape, however, isn’t a product of the transformation. He actually wears that all the time, primarily as a deception. It means that people can’t tell whether he’s in his base form or his Turbo form (here envisioned as a stepping-stone between base form and this one).

The purple eyes and aura are pure creative license on my part. I recognise that, officially, “Anarchy Beryl” is just Scourge using a thesaurus to rename what are otherwise completely mundane Chaos Emeralds, and that the energy of them is probably negligibly different from Chaos, but I’ve always preferred to think of Anarchy as being distinctly different. The antimatter to Chaos’ matter.

And so, I will always depict Anarchy Beryl as purple, and their energy the same colour. Hence, the eyes and aura.

As for the blade around his arm, well, I noticed that a lot of Chaos-capable characters have their own unique skills. Shadow most famously has Chaos Spear, but Sonic and Knuckles have their own versions too: Sonic Wind and Thunder Arrow.

My initial thought was to simply give Miles a dark inversion of Tails’ one... but Tails was never given one. So I just went and made one up myself. And, being me, I made it a sword. He can create them around his arm, in his palm, or even just from the vague vicinity of his body. They can be hurled as is normal, but also wielded like, well, a sword, and he has precise control over their flight paths. Also they can explode.

The attack hasn’t got a finalised name yet, as I generally view him as being adept enough in his power use that he doesn’t need to call out his attacks, but I’m currently referring to it as Sword of Ruin.

The primary gap between Tails’ and Miles’ characterisations these days is their focus. Tails focuses his genius in the fields of science and technology, and often seems to almost neglect his powers. I view him as someone who never wanted the Chosen One status and the Great Harmony and everything that came with it. If he wants recognition (and really, he doesn’t), he wants it to be for his academic achievements, not for his being a rare genetic anomaly with superpowers. Really, he just hopes that the war with Eggman won’t be forever, and in a peaceful world, he’ll be able to help more people with science than he could with his powers.

Miles is the opposite. While he’s perfectly capable of working with machines, he has little active interest in doing so. Instead, he focuses his study and considerable brainpower on his powers and the arcane arts. He relishes power and craves respect and recognition, and styling himself as a living demigod, looming over battlefields and raining down radiant swords on people, is a clear path to that.

Miles knows of the Great Harmony, and desires to perform it himself. But whereas his counterpart ‘foolishly’ cast all the Chaos Emeralds of the Prime Zone into the Zone of Silence, Miles doesn’t intend to squander such power. Instead he wishes to keep the power, and wield it himself.

Oh, also, he’s taller. Like a lot taller. Why? Well, partially because that’s how I draw things. But also because he actually did grow up, very quickly.

In the aftermath of ‘King’ Scourge’s defeat, and subsequent incarceration in the No-Zone, Miles finally had the freedom to start putting his plans into motion. Content to let Alicia have her throne, as long as she recognised where power really rested, he left the resurgent Acorn Kingdom and began to travel across Moebius, meeting with his world’s counterparts to the most powerful mages in the universe. Anti-versions of Mammoth Mogul, the Order of Ixis, Regina Ferrum, Dr. Finitevus, Athair, and his own uncle, Myrrdin Prower, were all convinced, one way or another, to tutor Miles in their arts.

Unwilling to leave his anarchic world to its own devices for long, and fully expecting Scourge to return in time, Miles made heavy use of a Time Stone to accelerate time for himself, enabling him to study and learn the finer points of each arcane system at a much quicker pace. While the outside world passed time in months, Miles spent years within his time dilation field. From his perspective, he’s actually just grown up at the natural rate.

Whenever he ran out of things to learn, he would kill his mentor and move on.

Of course, eventually, Scourge did return, sprung from the No-Zone thanks to Fiona’s trained devotion and the warden’s blithering incompetence. He would arrive on Moebius, loudly confident that he could easily handle anything his former comrades could throw at him, but found that he was in for far more than he bargained for.

After all, this time it was Miles that held the Beryl-stocked throne.

#Sonic #Sonic the Hedgehog #Miles Prower #Anti-Tails #Super form

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millylotus · 9 months ago

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I had a moment & did a thing sorry not sorry ;P

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Damian would definitely wear just below or above knee-length dresses with a high low style, all nature themed with flowers, plants & animals embroidered on them, he is just a kid after all & I think Talia [fashion icon that she is] would have had most if not all his dresses made when he was little, all mainly in green or white

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Duke usually goes for floor length pastel yellow & white gowns with shoulder-less sleeves & a low neckline & corset tops, I think he'd enjoy lots of lace in his fits as well, sometimes he'll use his powers to make his dresses shimmer

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Bruce is mothering no way else to put it, formfitting trailing gowns that are either velvet/soft fabric or lace with lots of detail, along with his signature black gowns or pure white floral gowns

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Dick is so big sister with his dresses, long but not trailing gowns with long sleeves that often turn into capes, he likes a low neckline with embroidery on the bodice for the most part, he'd usually where white or rich blues all with silver no in-between

Also Dick & Bruce low-key dress the same

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Jason has such youngest daughter of a victorian family vibes when it comes to dresses, he'll keep to this sort of nightgown style with delicate layers, & plentiful but dispersed embroidery across the dress, throwing on a shall when the outfit needs something new, all in whites or off-white pinks

Don't care that he went from itty-bitty-baby to giant man he is keeping this style [except for that on slit-dress rebellious phase but we don't talk about that [mainly cause i can't find the dress again o(TヘTo)]]

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Steph likes to make a statement with her suits [that i can't really find unfortunately] all extremely detailed in their patterns & layers & all very specific shades of light purple, it's all either purple mixed with a warm cream color & gold accents, she takes pleasure in looking fanciful

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Babs because of her wheel chair likes suits that aren't as stiff [regardless of what you see in the pictures :P] all with a perfect split at the waist so sitting does crinkle of discomfort, she like earthy tones with major cream & white tones & the occasional suit jacket of fancy cardigan

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Tim likes a sheer turtleneck for his dresses with some dimension to the skirt & a heavy amount of detail across the outfit, with long sleeves or a cape both things just as detailed as the rest of the dress, I think he wouldn't where much jewellery across his neck or arms because of that too, he'd either be in white or light deep reds, kind of wine colors actually

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Cass lastly likes a nice corset suit combo with very detailed embroidered or lace corsets & low necklaces to go with the corset, high pants of course, with sublet patterns on them, the most basic of her out fit tends to be her suit jacket but there's always a little bit of matching detail at the hems of the jacket, she's either in black or with a white piece to go with her mainly black ensemble

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I've done a thing & I shant not look back!

batboys wearing dresses to galas and batgirls wearing suits to galas that's it that's the post. yes batboys includes Bruce and yes batgirls includes Kate

#cassandra cain #damian wayne #dick grayson #duke thomas #jason todd #stephanie brown #tim drake #barbara gordon #bruce wayne #batman #dc comics #batfam #millyadds #millywrites

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barovianbitches · 1 year ago

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Wonderlust - Rorali Caspian

Wonderlust

A low, musical humming jumps through the medically still air, off key and out of step with the magical buzzing and the thumping of powerful surges of energy being pushed out in rhythmic heartbeats. The discharged knocked against polished stone walls decorated in thousands of papers, beaded trinkets and crafts held together with twine and resourcefully brewed paste. The pieces of parchment that are posted on the short cell walls consist of drawings of two women in both refined and completed detail, filled in wispy gesture drawing and quick, fond sketches. One of the women appears to be older, with pale skin graced with the warm touch of a sprinkle of freckles over her cheeks and nose and a wave of hot red curls cascading over her shoulders. From the figure sketches of her, she was a heavy set woman with full curves and she is depicted in mainly long, flowing dresses made of shimmering and light colored fabric. From the drawings that have been deemed important enough to be filled in with the valuable and limited resource of pigments, her eyes are a brilliant sea glass blue and her nose, lips and the apples of her cheeks are a rich and peachy pink.

The second woman that is posted is significantly younger than the other and appears in a multitude of different media and forms. She has a small and lithe frame often drawn under the sweeping motions of a large, navy cape and garbed in polished and intricate leathers. There are many drawings of her on long posters of parchment that show her vaulting over obstacles and leaping across gaps in rooftops. Some show her engulfed by smiling faces in taverns, sitting in the heart of the joyous festivities of her companions. Carefully selected pieces have an animation spell cast on them, demonstrating the sharpness of the blades that she wields as she drives them through the soft spots of her enemies. The pictures tell a story of her life, images ranging from an infant cradled in the swaddle of the red haired woman who rocked the bundle against her chest to a young child, missing a front tooth who is noticing the first pokes of her horns pushing through her messy tuft of purple hair, a teenager sitting at a round table of a poker game, her sly fingers slipping away cards from her poorly dealt hand and her keen eyes hunting down her opponents’ tells.

The most recent and overall a large majority of the art works that incorporate this character are portrait shots of her face. Far more pigments are used for her images, demonstrating her pink colored skin, violet strands and colored horns that curve around the back of her head in the shape of a ‘c’, mirroring those of a ram that are colored by an ombre of indigo that fades into a charcoal black. Her face is etched into parchment in an assortment of different poses, expressions and angles with ever changing backgrounds. Her hair is also drawn in different styles and lengths, both up and down, neatly secured with ornamental pins and hastily tied up with old elastic bands and twine.

Strung up like twinkling stars in the night sky are assortments of trinkets and small hand crafts. Glass and crystal beads of assortments of natural hues and vibrant colors sit side by side on string and twine and are laced into intricate shapes to make forms of small animals and reptiles while some pieces are simply nicely assorted bracelets and necklaces. Tassels of bundles of feathers and furs that look like they could be looped or clipped into the ends of weapons or used to decorate spell casters’ staffs and focuses are little across the floor of the cell that is cluttered with ceramic sculptures and hand drawn maps. From the ceiling a wooden wheel covered in a thick layer of bright green moss hands and from it dangle stained jars and terracotta pots secured by thick cords of rope. From the containers sprout medicinal herbs and plants, some planted in soil and home are hydroponic, floating in just a water solution.

As the wheel creaks and the bottles and pots clink as it turns ever so slowly, rocking from the force of the magical hits from outside the stone walls of the cell. It’s complaints sound softly along with the repetitive ‘tink’s that sound from the a mallet hammering against a smaller, fine metal tool with a flat head, pushing framing pieces of silver below the raised edges of purple and blue fragments of crystals, securing them to the leather cover of an age journal. The jagged and raw edges of the gems shone and radiated between colors in the rays of stun streaking through the barred, stained glass window that casted colorful refractions that danced across the walls and floor of the cell. The journal, it’s leather now soft and pliant from age, stood tall off of the ground. Already a very thick book due to its bent and worn out spine and separate pieces of paper with notes written on them, dried plants and flowers and whatever else is thin enough to close the pages around, the inclusions of the crystals only made it’s stature more mighty.

Hunched over the journal, sat with crossed legs just before it with a focused expression was the scrawny frame of a tiefling male with short little horns that licked over the back of his purple tuft of shaggy hair then flared back up at the crown of his head. From him originated the off-count humming as he paused his leather working to lift the journal from the makeshift workspace he made by laying out the forest green fabric of his cloak. Warm brown eyes surrounded in a yellow sclera stand out against the sunken skin of his face as they study his work. His spindly hands hold the journal at different angles, flashing it in different rays of light before letting out another hum and placing it back down on his cape.

“Alright now… Just a few more finishing touches.” The man spoke to himself as he pushed his glasses made of a thin gold frame and shards of colored glass up onto the bridge of his nose where they sat crooked because of the dents and bends at the bridge and ear pieces that they have developed over the years. He shifted from his seated position, moving only as much as necessary to reach the adventuring pack that he had discarded in one of the corners of the cell and searched through it, pulling small, bright yellow pieces of a calcite like crystal and an old and bent box that looked like it was about to fold in on itself. Quickly he went back to pressing the pieces of crystals into the cover of the journal, continuing to hum and mutter to himself as he worked. Again he studied his craftsman shift, judging to see if his efforts were up to standard, running a hand through his grown out, scruffy beard that was littered with stray gray hairs as his eyes scanned over the cover.

His hands carefully secured the journal closed by pulling the elastic ribbon over the pages inside and snapping the leather strap extending from the back cover into place on the front. Handling the book between his hands, he gave it one last look over before he stood, picking up the box of chalk that was tossed to the side while he worked. As he stepped away from his station his previously upbeat and eccentric demeanor shifted a more serious and critical one. He approached a uncharacteristically clear space in the clutter of the cell, an assortment of different runes and arcane drawings etched into the wall, a majority unfinished and smudged. The box strained as the man opened it and dug into the very bottom, carefully picking out the smallest sliver of multicolored chalk that radiated with a disorienting glow, creating a feeling of vertigo if one looked at it directly for too long. “Quickly now Asair, you’ve spent too long fiddling about, she’ll be here soon.” He hissed under his breath as he quickly sketched the shape of an oval onto the wall, about two foot tall and a foot across. As his outline transferred onto the stone, it began to glow with the effect of light refracting through a clear prism, its intensity growing stronger and the rays stretching further across the cell as the man brought a palm to the center of the shape. He let his tired eyes fall closed as he spoke in a foreign language under his breath, a familiar sensation of warm, glittering energy growing and balling up in his chest and flowing down a line down his arm and splitting off into separate branches in the pads of his fingers. As his murmurings progressed, his volume and intensity behind the words he spoke grew as he progressed towards the end of a spell, underneath his fingers appeared swirling orbits of the light and environment of another world. The swirls span and grow with a tearing sensation as they rip apart the fabric of reality to create a one sided mirror and portal. Because of the urgency that the man had while casting the spell, rushing it as much as possible without causing any detrimental side effects, the image that appeared was blurred and cast in shadows. Light sources shown too bright to be able to see clearly and cast a severe flare across the image and shadows were a murky, indiscernible mess. From his hurried glance he was able to make out the scene of a group of travelers gathered in a shared camp. A majority danced in pairs around a blazing bonfire while a handful stood out from the festivities, playing different instruments together to strike up a musical tone that was rung in muffled beats through the magic of the spell. Immediately, a short figure caught his eye and filled his heart with a sweet fondness and love as he watched her cloaked figure stumble through the fast steps of the unfamiliar dance. She seemed to bicker and fight with her partner, even taking a few ineffective strikes against him as his attempts to swoon her persisted even with her clear disdain for him.

“Oh my dear…You are quite a character.” He chuckled as he pulled his eyes away from the mirror and looked down at the journal in his hand, “I hope this finds its way to you safely…I double and triple checked my math, but I will admit it is not my strong suit.” The portal surged as the leather bound journal was raised to its surface, a few cracks breaking into the surface, from which crackles of white magical energy snapped from. The man filled his chest with air, feeling the twisting and turning ball of energy grow in potency. He took in a second big breath, pushing the energy through his arm and to his hand yet again as his murmurings picked back up. The mirror shot out more sparks of energy as more power filled it, straining as the man forced the journal through it causing it to collapse in on itself the moment the object passed all the way through. A blast of air brushed through his tousled hair as the corners of the oval he had drawn rapidly shut down towards the center like a force of gravity had pulled them in, a fiery ‘whoosh’ sounding through the cell as it did so.

The sound of a heavy metal door slamming shut just down the hall followed by the heavy footsteps of heeled feet echoed into the cell, along with the quiet murmurings of a posh and noble voice. A seed of dread began to grow in the pit of his stomach as the sounds reached his ears. He pushed himself to stave off the disheartening feelings with a smile and heavy sigh as she let his fingers drop from the wall where his spell was once cast, the remains of arcane energy uncoiling from the center of his chest and dispersing through the rest of his body where they lay dormant until use. He took a moment to himself with his back turned to the door of his cell as the footsteps neared, their volume growing loud enough that it was all that he was able to hear. He again pushed up the frames of his glasses, ran a hand through his hair and dusted off his clothes and put an easy going, welcoming smile as he turned on his heel, greeting the figures that cast looming shadows into the room.

“Back so soon? I’m starting to think you have a crush on me!”

#Rorali Caspian #Rorali #Lore #Background #D&D

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nerdyandfashionincorporated · 2 years ago

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My Winx Ball Designs

STELLA:

I put her in blue, not just to represent her Lunar side, but to also just to mix up the queen of fashion’s color scheme.

Natural colored lip stick, to show the mature side fans seem to forget Stella does have (at least in season 1-4).

If Stella could rock anything, it’d be a f*cking cape!

Braid Stella? Braid Stella.

Butterfly earrings, maybe Bloom could lend them to her since she probably doesn’t know what about earth creatures, but she found them cute anyway!

Sabrina Carpenter (my personal choice for Stella in my fancast) + this outfit = Goddess tier perfection!!!!

TECNA:

Something simple but still eye-catching.

Again, gave her colors she never wears in the actual show.

Dragon ring, no real reason, the color scheme just matches the outfit.

Flats since totally see Tecna as someone who HATES heels!

A nerdy looking choker just to show Tecna can look good, yet still show off her true passion...Being a nerd while slaying.

AISHA:

Put her in yellow since her season 6 dress was actually really good!

Low-key got inspired by Beyonce’s Lemonade dress.

Gave her a cute hairstyle.

Really nothing to say for this one besides that I’m really proud of it.

FLORA:

Gave her an all-around orange look, including orange blush.

Gave her a little flower hair clip because of course I did!

Again, nothing really to say here besides that I’m proud of it!

Terra deserved better than whatever the hell they put her in, people should always feel confident to put on a dress no matter the body type!

BLOOM:

Gave her a VERY fairy tale inspires dress, since that was her whole thing in the first season.

Put her in purple because it looks SO MUCH better than pink.

Gave her a dragon ring too, it was a gift from Sky.

P U R P L E F L O W E R S

Purple lipstick to match the choker.

Wanted to give off Disney’s ENCHANTED vibes, and I think I knocked it outta the park!

MUSA:

Honestly, I went ALL OUT with this outfit.

I wanted to give her something unique from the others, and oh boi did I succeed!

Gave her something that a bit of both worlds, a bit feminine and a bit masculine.

Decided on cute sneakers for her since there’s always those friends on groups that just can’t wear heels (I am that friend).

Really went all out with the makeup since musicians are all about that when it comes to performing on stage.

Music note belt buckle because... do I really need to explain this one?

I might do the other like Mirta, Roxy, and Daphne + the specialist (but that’s a strong MAYBE since I’m pretty lacking in men’s fashion).

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samuel-de-champagne-problems · 4 years ago

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And I Will Hold Onto You

Summary: They’ve never been apart for holidays since they started dating. That was until Spencer Reid found himself behind bars for a crime he’d never think of committing. Growing and healing, Spencer realizes that it’s not the holidays that matter, it’s the person. Because with that special person, who’s laugh he can recognize anywhere, even cleaning up the empty bottle the next morning is magical.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female Reader

Word Count: 2.1K

Author’s Note/Warnings: Body Image Issues (Male) nothing too descriptive, prison arc is mentioned/is central issue; loosely based of New Year’s Day by Taylor Swift

Also this is technically a part 2 to Drag Me Head First but it doesn’t have to be read that way.

And I Will Hold Onto You

There’s something special in the way that the first midnight of the new year feels. All that hopefulness and excitement packed into a 10 second countdown. The energy in the room slowly bubbles up, culminating as the ball drops. It fizzles out as loved ones share chaste kisses and friends hug. But all that remains are last year’s bottles and this year’s dreams. Maybe it’s something that Spencer always took for granted.

The cold midnight air is jarring, compared to his warm and cozy house. Spencer walks quickly, taking out the trash, filled with bottles of beer and wine. The snow crunches under his shoes and Spencer can see his breath in the air as he huffs to toss the bag in the black trash bin. Spencer, despite the way the cold air nips his nose, stops in his tracks and gazes up at the stars. It’s unfortunate living where he does, you can never really see all the stars. Maybe Y/N would like to take a trip in their cabin the next time he can get off? He could show her all the stars. But Spencer doesn’t need to go to the middle of the woods to see the stars; he can simply look into Y/N’s eyes and see all the magic the universe has to offer.

Spencer lets himself back into his house, just as Garcia and Derek are putting their shoes and coats on to leave. Y/N comes out of the kitchen carrying two trays of leftover food for their friends to take home.

“Penny, please kiss those sweet babies for me,” Y/N says, handing Luke the trays of food. She leans over to kiss Penelope on her cheek.

“They can only sweet when they are sleeping,” Penelope says, rolling her eyes and putting her coat on. It’s more of a cape in a spectacular plum purple color with cream colored faux fur trim.

“Don’t act so surprised, mi amor, look who their mother is,” Luke says, cheekily. He hugs Spencer and Y/N before grabbing Garcia’s hand with his empty one.

“Happy New Year!” Garcia and Luke call as they leave, shutting the door behind them. Spencer locks the door and heads back to the kitchen to help Y/N clean up. The plates sit in the sink piled high, with tall champagne glasses resting next to them on the counter. Glitter scatters on the floor, confetti in the shapes of “1s” and “6” lay littered on the tiles, remnants of the festivities just moments before.

Y/N stands over the sink, her hand rests on the ledge. She turns on the water and starts washing the dishes. Spencer walks up quietly behind her, nuzzling his hand into the corner of her ear and shoulder. He hums, the vibrations echoing into Y/N’s neck, causing her to giggle. He joins his hands together around Y/N’s waist, holding her tight.

“Happy New Year, my love,” Spencer whispers, his voice hardly audible above the stream of water. Even though Spencer can’t see Y/N, he can feel the way her cheeks grow against the side of his head. She’s smiling.

“It is a very happy, new year,” Y/N says, her voice strong, yet Spencer can tell it’s hard for her to keep it together. It’s not their first new year, far from it, it’s their 13th. But this time, it feels different to hold her in his arms and kiss her as the clock strikes 12.

They wash the dishes in silence, a comforting silence where certain things don’t need to be said. Like a well oiled machine, Y/N washes, Spencer dries. The sudsy dish soap smells like home and Y/N’s quiet hums sound like peace. Spencer really forgot how much he could love even the most mundane of tasks when Y/N stands next to him.

“Come on, Y/N we can do this tomorrow. Let’s just go to bed,” Spencer says, tugging on Y/N’s long sleeve of her thermal shirt.

“Hmm, I can’t argue against your cuddles, sweetheart,” Y/N murmurs tiredly, easily pushing the thoughts of clean up to the next morning. Her hand joins his, like a key finding it’s matching lock. They are cold from the water, but Spencer doesn’t really mind.

A tangle of limbs and hands, they make their way up the stairs to their shared bedroom. They pass the wall filled with pictures of their smiling faces or candid countenances in mismatching frames hung against the wall. It’s just a testament to how long they’ve been together, going back to their first date right before Y/N’s college graduation and Spencer’s fifth, leading up to their most recent Halloween. Each photo stuck in time, frozen with utter happiness and unadulterated joy. But there’s a gap in the collection, a gap that Spencer rather not talk about. A gap where, for the first time since they met, Spencer and Y/N were separated. Sitting in jail, all Spencer could think of was the personal mental prison that Y/N must have confined herself too.

They don’t like talking about the gap, but he knows they have too. Spencer knows that Y/N is proud of him, she tells him that everyday. Proud of him for keeping up with therapy, proud of him for letting go of the little things that he can’t control, proud of him for trusting her with his secrets and fears. It’s the strangest thing, to have someone be proud of you for just living.

“We’re going to need a bigger wall,” Spencer says, hoping that his attempt at referencing pop culture would land. Y/N stops to turn to Spencer, who in the moonlight that drips in from the window, looks much younger than he really is.

“Did you just make a pop culture reference that’s not from, like, 300 years ago?” Y/N says, her brow upturned in a quizzical stare.

“Come on, Y/N, you love when I recite all Sir Walter Raleigh to you,” Spencer says, reaching up to tickle Y/N sides, causing her to giggle and run up the rest of the stairs.

“Spencer! You know that I’m too ticklish,” Y/N says in between short laughs and gasps for air. She plops down on the bed, dragging Spencer down with her. He lays his head down on her chest and like a Rube Goldberg machine, her fingers come up and tangle themselves in his hair.

“Maybe our New Year’s Resolution should be to get some more exercise, Spence. Your heart is beating faster than mine and that run from the steps to our room is like a good 10 feet,” Y/N jokes as she continues scratching Spencer’s scalp lulling him into a peaceful, sleepy state.

“Two things, baby, one, we don’t exercise and two, that’s not why my heart is beating so fast, I think it has something to do with the beautiful girl laying so close to me,” Spencer murmurs quietly.

“Hmm, you certainly know how to charm a girl, even like 13 years later,”

“Actually it’s, 13 years, 7 months, 17 days, 17 hours, 58 minutes and 31 seconds,” Spencer says with a quick glance at his watch.

“And I’ve loved every single minute of it,” Y/N says, reaching up to sneak a pillow under Spencer’s head. She moves to get out of bed, much to Spencer’s displeasure.

“No, no, Y/N you’re so warm and I’m freezing,” Spencer whines, shifting so he can look at his wife, who has shrugged off her thermal shirt and jeans.

“And who’s fault is that?” Y/N chides. Spencer, almost bashful at her teasing, attempts to hide his blush with the pillow that rests under his head.

“I only turn the heat all the way down at night so we’re forced to cuddle for body heat,” Spencer says, his voice muffled by the pillow.

“So you say,” Y/N tells Spencer, sitting down back on the bed. She pulls on Spencer’s legs, dragging him down the bed.

“Come on lazy boy, get your PJs on,” Y/N orders. Spencer, who under Penelope’s less than pure supervision, had enough shots to make up for all the college parties that he missed. There’s happy drunks, forgetful drunks, and then there're sleepy drunks.

Spencer stands in front of the mirror, inspecting his body. The low, yellow lamp light casts shadows on his naked torso. He’s filled out a little bit since they’ve started dating, especially within the last few months of Spencer’s healing. Y/N knew that it’s a sore spot for him, but there’s something about the way that Spencer’s dress pants sit tightly against his thighs or the way his shirt clings to his stomach that just makes him look so much older. Both of them, including their bodies, have changed so much since 13 years ago. Or 13 years, 7 months, 17 days, 18 hours, 5 minutes and 12 seconds ago. They’ve grown up together, and now Y/N can’t wait to grow old together.

But the look in his eyes is not pride over his growth or confidence over his physique. It’s confusion. Spencer stares at himself like he’s an unsolvable puzzle. Y/N knows he must hate that; Spencer hates things that he can’t find an answer to. Y/N walks up behind him, lacing her finger together so her arms clasp against his waist. For a moment, Spencer flinches. Even her gentlest touches and softest kisses can’t wash away the fear of much harsher contact. Their eyes meet in the mirror, but Y/N can feel that Spencer’s not looking at her. After all these years, she can still see the terrified young man who brazenly kissed her in her car in the middle of a rainstorm. After all these years, Spencer is still the only man she ever loved.

“Spencer,” Y/N says quietly. His name off her lips is more tender than any pet name in existence.

“I’m sorry, Y/N. I’m being immature, it’s just,” Spencer closes his eyes, trying to focus himself in the present. It’s something that his therapist suggested. In moments of distress, find your anchor. Luckily for Spencer, his anchor has been his anchor for quite awhile.

“You can tell, I’m not going to judge you,” Y/N says, her lips leaving small kisses on his exposed shoulders.

“It’s just I thought this whole nightmare of prison was behind me. Therapy has been helping, I’m better on cases and I love teaching,” Spencer says, the pain in his voice leaking out.

Y/N doesn’t say anything, instead she guides Spencer to sit on the edge of their bed. She rubs her hand down his back, tracing his spine and around the freckles that collect on his right shoulder.

“I thought that the emotional healing would be the hardest part, I mean it is, but physically, I don’t recognize myself. I can imagine you don’t either,” Spencer says, he turns to lay on the bed, bringing his feet up to his chest in a textbook self-protective position.

“Spence, your body is gonna change, baby. God, mine has changed so much since we met,” Spencer gives Y/N a confused look, like he’s not thoroughly convinced by her explanation.

“It has Spencer. We’re not 22 years old anymore, we’re going to be like 35 in a couple of months. But you know, this is something we can work on together, I’ve gone my whole life not loving the skin I’m in. But being with you makes it easier, Spence.” Y/N says, running her fingers across the bridge of Spencer’s nose and down to his lips, that always a ridiculously gorgeous shade of pink. Spencer doesn’t say much, he’s still trapped deep inside his mind.

“I don’t know how you put up with me and all my antics, Y/N”

“You do my taxes every year,” Y/N jokes, making an effort to kiss every freckle and dipple on the expanse of Spencer’s back.

Spencer turns in the bed so he’s facing Y/N, he cups her face all the way from her ear to her jaw. It’s an intimate gesture that somehow is more loving and vulnerable than saying “I love you,”

“You know you make me fearless, Y/N,” Spencer tells her, not blinking because he doesn’t want to miss out on any more time looking into her eyes.

“You say that everyday Spencer Reid,” Y/N responds, letting herself melt into the touch. She grabs onto his wrist, physically telling him to not let go.

“I have a lot of days to make up for,” Spencer says, solemnly.

“It’s not making it up if it’s the rest of our life, Spencer. Besides, there’s no one I’d rather spend New Year’s Day cleaning up all those bottles with,”

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**Taglist** (Comment to be Added or Send in An Ask)

@calm-and-doctor @shemarmooresfedora

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x reader fluff #dr spencer reid #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid smut #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fic #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid you #criminal minds #spencer reid fanfic #criminal minds fics #spencer reid fanfiction

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bibewilderedandbuck · 5 months ago

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Oh my god i love that. Tommy’s like low key about it for no other reason than he worked it out of his system. He’ll wear the rainbow/mlm cape if buck asks but he doesn’t NEED to anymore if that makes sense. Buck is wearing pink and blue and purple and yellow and telling people bi is not transphobic but he’s come out all of thirty seconds ago and he’s still deciding

But he mostly is wearing lafd rainbow merch and its just making ppl tell him shit unprompted like “i was afraid to call 911 when my drainage tube fell out and i almost passed out from the pain” and he’s like “i don’t know what that means dude but it sounds like it hurts! Feel free to tell me more if you want! And you wouldn’t believe the stuff I’ve had to help pull out of ppls asses so no need to feel nervous!! We first responders have seen it all.”

my most important question on june 1st is what dumb matching slogan tshirts do we think buck makes tommy & him wear to pride

#911 abc #personal #fic ideas #bucktommy #pride 2024

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whitleyschn33 · 3 years ago

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Color in RWBY’s Designs

I’ve been trying to reblog this post for a good 10 minutes, and Tumblr just refuses to let me, and I don’t think I’m blocked, so @strqyr , have a reply

...

Okay, ignoring the out-of-left-field (hah) pivot to politics that cropped up in the comments -

I’m not an artist, but I do follow a few that discuss character design and have attempted some recolors myself, and when it comes to the various designs and colors of the RWBY girls, it’s not so much about the in-universe importance of color, it’s about the more meta principles of character design. Once again, I’m not the most qualified person to talk about this, so excuse me if I get something wrong or ramble.

In visual mediums, a character’s design, more specifically their silhouette and their colors, is what makes them stand out and memorable to an audience; in a lot of cartoons and anime, you’ll likely be able to recognize characters by their designs long before you remember their names, and even if you don’t know their names, seeing the silhouette or even color palette of that character can bring their image to your mind. For example, I haven’t seen an episode of Sailor Moon in my life, but show me Usagi’s silhouette, and I can tell you exactly who that is. I can show you this, and I would bet that 99% of you can tell me what character this is meant to represent despite it literally just being 5 rectangles.

(On a slight tangent, in action shows, colors and the smart placement there-of are doubly important, as they help with keeping track of a character as they move through a cluttered environment and interact with other characters, and keep track of how they move their bodies in that space. To use a specific example from RWBY itself, check out the Nevermore fight from Volume 1 - despite all the debris flying around the screen and the amount of wide shots, it’s easy to keep track of how the characters move around the screen. Yang’s gauntlets help direct your eyes to her punches, and the splash of red in Weiss’s collar makes sure she doesn’t turn into a white blob moving around the screen.)

RWBY specifically is a show that quite literally advertised itself and its character on the premise of color. The show is named not just after the main characters, but the main characters’ colors. The first trailers were the Red, White, Black, and Yellow trailers. Their original designs, while of course using other colors in the palettes, give an overall impression of red, white, black, and yellow, making the characters pop against the stark black, red, and white backgrounds of the trailers, as well as stand out against the background characters that were literally empty black voids of silhouettes. Their initial character designs are tied completely to them representing a specific color, and this color gimmick also makes the girls stand out as characters. Ruby’s red cloak and ruffles, Weiss’s white side ponytail and dress, Blake’s black bow and tuxedo vest, and Yang’s fiery yellow hair and gauntlets are instantly recognizable from a glance, and that’s a sign of good design that makes them distinct.

So, when you get to the later volumes and suddenly the characters are wearing less and less of their original, iconic colors on top of getting new silhouettes, it makes them start looking less and less recognizable as the characters they were originally designed to be, and more like completely different characters. Lets look at Blake and Weiss as an example. If you’d never seen RWBY, could you tell me if these were the same characters?

Alright, let’s fill in the details.

They look like two completely different pairs of characters. It’s not even the clothes themselves, but the colors and shapes of their clothes combined with the radically different hairstyles make the V7 designs look very much unlike the original designs. The girls got alternate outfits in V2, but they all fit the general silhouettes and color schemes of their typical outfits, and were still very much recognizable as the main team, just with new clothes. Such a drastic shift in what types of clothes and the colors they wear in V7, on the other hand, makes them look like different character designs. If you’re going to change what a character is wearing to something very different, keeping the colors consistent helps with keeping them recognizable as the character they are.

Now, changing the design of your character beyond the specific clothes they wear isn’t necessarily a bad thing. Characters change as they progress through a story, and in visual media, changes to character design can be used to signify how they’re changing or how they’re reacting to their environment and new situations. For example, in the S2 premire of Avatar, Zuko cuts off his distinguishing topknot to represent his fall from a Fire Nation prince to an outlaw on the run, and in season 3, the GAang don red Fire Nation clothes as a disguise, ditching their usual blue, orange, and green clothing. In the Owl House, Amity dyes her hair purple to represent her making her own choices rather than letting her family control her life (and I picked this up from gif sets, without having even seen the show). Design changes, even to hair and color, can be used to represent change - and RWBY has managed to do this fairly well in the past! For example, Weiss’s V4 design is very different from her original design - her sleeves and collar are tight rather than poofy, her colors are muted and overrun with greys and blues, her whites are mostly hidden and her red is nowhere to be seen. This works, though, because it represents Weiss’s current situation - she’s being controlled by her father, her individuality represented by her whites and reds being driven out, and her dress is mostly tight against her wrists and neck, like shackles and being chocked. It’s a good way of showing a character’s changed situation, while keeping her recognizable from her side ponytail and poofy skirt remaining the same.

The latest redesigns of Team RWBY, however, don’t do this. They change radically, in color, hair, and clothing shape, and there’s no clear reason why. Why do they change how they look so drastically? What prompted them to style their hair so differently, to cut it so short? Why have they decided to choose different colors to wear? To circle back to the initial post, what part of their character development has changed them from the color they were representing to the color they’re now representing?

For more specific question/examples - what prompted Blake to cover herself in a heavy white coat in V4, when she was heading to a tropical island to recover? Why does she wear a bright white coat for official Huntress business when she’s meant to be a ninja? Why does she cut her hair so short? Why does Weiss cover herself in blues and greys in V7 when blues and greys were used to show her unhappiness and imprisonment by Jacques, rather than returning to lots of whites? Why does she go from a sleek ponytail to a thick heavy braid? Why does Ruby replace her cape and start styling her hair differently? Why does she go from a poofy skirt with ruffles to a very sleek, low volume skirt? Why does Yang not wear any yellow anymore? Why do none of them seem to wear anything suited for the cold? None of these questions have real answers. We can speculate all day, but at the end, that would still just be speculation.

Why does Lillie in Pokemon change her hair and clothes? To prove that she’s not just something for her mother to control and dress up to her ideal of beauty; that Lillie can make her own choices and is ready to stand on her own two feet and do what needs to be done, rather than relying on Repels and the player character.

Why does Blake cut her hair and start wearing so much white? ....

Why does Persona 5′s Akechi’s palette switch from bright white, reds, and golds to dark blacks and purples? To show the tearing down of the Detective Prince façade to the true darkness underneath.

Why does Weiss start wearing so many dark blues and greys? ....

I could go on, but I think I’ve made my point. Things just change on RWBY, key aspects of their designs like their hair and colors, and for the most part, there just seems to be no reason given to change. I’m not saying things like colors can never change, clearly they can, but for character design, especially in a show so heavily focused on colors and how characters are represented by their colors, it’s not a thing that should be taken lightly; if a character has grown so dramatically that the manner in which they express themselves as a character has changed, like the original poster is implying it can, it should be clear to see why this character has changed in this manner.

Without a good reason for it to change, it feels unnatural, like the character isn’t the same character - so when RWBY’s colors seem to be changing without good reason, creating designs that don’t look right for the character they’re meant to be in the situations they’re meant to be in, it causes people to want to revert back to the original palettes. Not because they’re denying individuality of the characters, but because the characters are no longer designed like the individuals they once were, and artists want to bring that individuality and striking design back through the use of the colors these characters use to define themselves.

#rwby #art #long post #please my more artistic mutuals #please correct me if i'm wrong #i'm not an artist

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canary3d-obsessed · 4 years ago

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Restless Rewatch: The Untamed Ep 17 part one

(Masterpost of all the rewatches) (Canary’s pinboard of original content)

Warning: Spoilers for All 50 Episodes!

Inaccessible

Wei Wuxian hides in a boat among the lotuses next to a pier in Lotus Pier, the second-most-literally-named home in the show, after The Burial Mounds. This pier has a railing that goes all the way around it, without any ladders or anything. Not to be ADA on main but this means if you can't Jedi jump, you're fucked.

Hefeng Liquor

While Wei Wuxian waits and tries, not very successfully, to keep his shit together, he hears the guards talking about the local booze that they're going to drink at their murder victory party. We learn, in a desaturated flashback (that OP has done her best to resaturate), that this is lotus-infused wine invented by Wei Wuxian during happier days.

He kicks the flashback off with his favorite activity, Unnecessarily Erotic Beverage Drinking. (gifset) I’ve slowed this gif down so we can all appreciate the unnecessariness. The way his hand caresses that leaf OMG

Hopefully he is not drinking lake water out of that leaf. Side note: How is it possible that Xiao Zhan doesn't have a drinking water endorsement deal? I had to resort to Zhu Yilong's brand of water for this gag. I figure if it's good enough to pour directly onto a lightning burn like they do in The Lost Tomb Reboot, it's good enough for a leaf hummer chastely drinking out of a leaf

(more behind the cut!)

In his memory, Jiang Cheng tells him to stop fucking around and come help with the basket of lotus pods. Wei Wuxian responds by grabbing one for himself and then sitting his ass down and not helping. Cause he’s a motherfucking P.I.M.P.

Emotional Rescue

Wen Ning arrives on the pier with Jiang Chang, to Wei Wuxian's extreme relief. Look how much emotion Xiao Zhan is able to convey even with half of his face hidden, my lord.

Wen Ning carries Jiang Cheng on his back, in an echo of other significant piggyback rides in Wei Wuxian's life.

Wei Wuxian's relief is at war with his fear, seeing his brother in such bad shape. Remember, these are cultivators, who heal quickly and mostly don't get their asses beat this hard. The only time Wei Wuxian has been comatose was after the Xuanwu cave, and that was probably because of his prolonged contact with resentful energy/Yin iron.

Hibernating Zidian

Wen Ning gets ready for his first, but not his last, boat ride with an unconscious Yunmeng brother in it. He tells Wei Wuxian that Jiang Cheng is pretty fucked up but isn't dead.

Then he gives Zidian to him. Before we talk about Zidian, let's talk about BAMF Wen Ning. Wen Ning is an awkward goofball. He’s also insanely competent at just about everything--wine-drugging, dude-smuggling, corpse retrieval, dog acupuncture, drug pushing. As well as shooting rocks out of the air and, later, beating zombie ass, and resisting mind control. .

This is the foundation of their friendship; it’s not actually about Wei Wuxian being nice to the weird kid. He initially sought Wen Ning out for the same reason he sought out weird kid Lan Wangji--his martial skill. He accepts his weirdness and is protective of him because of his missing-spirit problem, but he did not befriend him out of altruism.

Wei Wuxian is so forgiving that he can smile fondly when looking at the weapon that whipped the shit out of him a couple of days ago.

Wei Wuxian puts Zidian down right next to Jiang Cheng's hand and...nothing happens. It doesn't recognize him or spark to life. This didn't seem meaningful when I watched it the first time, but rewatching...yikes. It KNOWS.

Wei Wuxian admits, with tears in his eyes, that there is nowhere safe for him to go with Jiang Cheng, and Wen Ning immediately offers care and shelter. Even though that is putting his own life at serious risk.

Life obligation is a common theme in CDramas. It’s often something a person chooses as a way of showing love. Guardian builds an eternal romance out of two people saving each other’s lives over and over. But accepting the obligation is a choice (in fantasy dramas, if not in real life). Love and Redemption has a gloriously harsh sequence where a life is saved, and the save-ee cooly rejects the saver.

Every time Wen Ning saves Wei Wuxian, he cites that one time that Wei Wuxian saved him from the water demon. And Wei Wuxian cites this rescue right here when he throws everything away to save Wen Ning. Meanwhile, Jiang Cheng doesn't acknowledge any debt to Wen Ning at all, only--grudgingly--to Wen Qing. And people are ok with that.

Basically all this is to say that I think Wen Ning leans into this life debt because he loves Wei Wuxian, and Wei Wuxian leans into it because he loves him back. Non-romantically, I think...at least on Wei Wuxian’s part. YMMV.

They go to pick up Yanli from their Granny, telling her to go into hiding. She starts to cry, not knowing how she'll manage on her own. Wei Wuxian tells her that they will come back, as Wen Ning looks super unsure about that.

Of course Wei Wuxian can't know, at this point, whether they will come back. Wei Wuxian always wants to make everybody feel better, and sometimes you really can't make someone feel better except by lying. He compulsively says shit that he thinks people want to hear, almost as if he was beaten frequently and arbitrarily as a child.

Wen Ning is doing his best for the recreational boat ride industry, as he rows the Yunmeng trio through some amazingly beautiful scenery.

Core Melting Time

Meanwhile, back at Lotus Pier The Yunmeng Supervisory Office, Wen Chao is hung over, Wen Chao is angry, Yawn

For some reason, Wang Lingjiao has suddenly decided to talk to Wen Chao in the most cloying and annoying way possible.

Also, the fact that she still addresses him as Gongzi when she is totally fucking him is kind of great. This is like those fics where Elizabeth Bennet calls Mr. Darcy "Mr. Darcy" even when they're married and hitting it.

Wen Zhuliu demonstrates why he's called Core-Melting Hand, by punishing the wine guard. He's able to melt a guy's core by grabbing him by the throat, and also picks him up, Darth Vader style, for extra meltyness.

All that stuff I said last time about Wen Zhuliu feeling ambivalent about being a villian...yeah, he seems to have gotten that right out of his system.

Chilling in Yiling

Wen Ning is doing his best for the recreational carriage ride industry. Wei Wuxian, after presumably several hours in the cart, decides that now is a good time to get curious about where they are going.

Here we start to see a new side of Wei Wuxian. Before this he was carefree, other than specific worries about his friends. He confronted danger with lightness and humor, or with temporary fear, that he let go of once the danger passed. Now, after all the deaths and seeing Jiang Cheng so injured, he's twitchy, anxious, and angry.

Very, very angry.

When he realizes that Wen Ning has brought them to the Yiling supervisory office, he goes off, demanding to know whose home this was before the Wens took it and grabbing Wen Ning and shoving him into a decorative...decoration. He thinks Wen Ning brought them here to harm them.

I wouldn't have thought such a pretty dude could be so menacing, but holy crap.

The way he's confronting Wen Ning here is not his normal style. He's not trying to provoke a bigger fight like he usually does; he's not trying to create distance, the way Jiang Cheng does. He's very intimate, getting right in his face and maintaining eye contact. He trusted Wen Ning and feels personally betrayed.

Shy little Wen Ning is remarkably calm when confronted like this. Wen Ning really isn’t afraid of anything, despite his general air of nervousness. (Full gifset of Angry WWX over here.)

He calmly and kindly explains the situation. He doesn't appeal to Wei Wuxian's trust, saying "oh I would never;" he appeals to his logic, which gets through to him.

Wen Qing comes out and the guards start banging on the door and Wei Wuxian flips out again, grabbing a sword and pointing it at Wen Qing as she decides what to do. Wen Qing seems unruffled by Wei Wuxian's sword pointing, and we see her weighing up the situation.

She makes her decision, sending the guards away and deciding to help the fugitives, officially joining the Clear Conscience Club. She could probably get Wen Ning out of trouble by turning them in, but she opts to put personal loyalty and her belief in her own ideals ahead of her family's safety.

Wei Wuxian is not ok. He’s just not ok. He tries to act like it after they get settled in with Wen Qing, but he's not, and I think that plays into his next several choices.

Next comes a whole sequence of Jiang Cheng being unconscious with pins in his head--ow--while Wei Wuxian twitchily tends to him.

This sequence is kind of unfair to Jiang Yanli. What matters to the story here is Jiang Cheng and Wei Wuxian's relationship, so that’s the focus of these scenes. But really, there is no way Jiang Yanli would not be at Jiang Cheng's side unless she was literally unconscious herself. Let's assume Wen Qing stuck a needle in her to make her rest while she has a fever. Shippers should also feel free to assume that Wen Qing spent hours at her bedside, tenderly wiping her forehead and holding her hand as she recovered. In his sleep, while Wei Wuxian sits by his side, Jiang Cheng calls for his sister, mother, and father, but not for his brother. Ouch.

Let's pause to appreciate Wei Wuxian's new outfit, which is the sort of getup most people in this society probably imagine Yiling Laozu wearing, rather than the low-key homespun stuff he actually spends his Yiling year in. This robe has fancy shoulders, shiny material, touches of Jiang purple, strange red hoody strings, and a fuckin' CAPE. He didn't bring any luggage with him from Lotus Pier, although he's still got his Yin Turtle Sword hidden in a bag of holding. So the most likely explanation is that Wen Ning hooked him up with this lewk. "Wei Wuxian is a nice person. He should have a magnificent cape."

Wen Wing and Wei Wuxian take a breather to stand on the porch and work out what their status is with each other, like a couple of fucking adults, which is amazing. Basically Wei Wuxian is ready to forget earlier Wen shenanigans, but is going to avenge Lotus Pier.

Wen Qing isn't enthusiastic about that but doesn't argue, just asking, mostly rhetorically, if he plans to kill her too. He's uncomfortable considering that; the role of avenger isn't one that's comfortable for him, although he turns out to be extremely good at it. He does not, of course, plan to kill her too. In a few months, imprisoned in a Wen dungeon, she will be the only Wen left alive after Wei Wuxian 1.5(No-Gold Edition) and Chenqing come to visit.

Jiang Cheng finally wakes up, and the first thing he does is to test out his spiritual power by hitting Wei Wuxian as hard as he can.

DUDE.

Look at Wei Wuxian's face, as he goes from happy, to shocked and hurt, to laughing it off. It's exactly like when Jiang Cheng shoved him in the Rock Lady temple. Has Wei Wuxian spent all of his years with Jiang Cheng going from affection, to hurt feelings, to pretending it's fine? God, I think he probably has.

This episode raises a question that will come up again later, but never be answered. That question is, what the fuck are these weird footies and why the fuck does Jiang Cheng wear them to bed?

Jiang Cheng reveals that his golden core is gone, that he can't cultivate any more, which means he can't avenge his parents or achieve any ambitions in life. Nobody has apparently given any thought to why Wen Zhuliu is called "Core-Melting Hand" before this, which is hilarious, frankly. If I fought with a guy called, for example, Brain-Eating Mouth, I think I would make certain assumptions about him and what he planned to do with my brain.

Something interesting is happening in this moment, because as he comes fully back to consciousness, Jiang Cheng pours out all of his trauma and horror to his brother, telling him about the core melting and practically wailing about his feelings over it all. And his brother understands, and ultimately finds a way to help him. What does Wei Wuxian do after his own trauma? Keeps it secret, so nobody finds a way to help him, although many people try to. So Jiang Cheng is, in this way at least...emotionally healthier than Wei Wuxian? That's unexpected.

Jiang Cheng is super upset and is mad at eternal scapegoat Wei Wuxian for saving him. Jiang Cheng would rather be dead than be a regular person. Whereas Wei Wuxian, faced with the same problem, is like, *shrug* I’ll adapt. These are both valid emotional responses to suddenly becoming disabled. Losing a golden core is definitely a disability, in this environment; it's not just about magic sword fights. Jiang Cheng's home is designed for people who can fly; Lan Wangji's home is designed for people who don't feel cold, and Wen Central is made of actual lava, for example.

Jiang Cheng is already struggling with a lot of difficulties. He was raised by shitty parents, he's got anger management issues, he has a crushing weight of responsibility. And now he's also lived through the deaths of most of the people who matter to him. If sword cultivation is the one thing that gives him joy in life (ok one of two things, obviously fashion also gives him joy because he WORKS it), he can't reasonably be expected to rally when it's taken away.

Oh, honey. Oh, baby boy.

Wen Qing picks the worst moment to come in and tries to tend to Jiang Cheng, who starts off being devastated that the girl he likes is seeing the wreck he's become, and then moves along to helpless rage when he remembers that she's a Wen, and he screams at her to get out.

Jiang Cheng is not able to put personal loyalty ahead of clan loyalty like Wei Wuxian is. Partly this is his nature, and partly it's his role as the lineal descendant of the clan leader. As a firstborn son of a gentry family, his destiny as clan leader is in his blood, and so is his responsibility to the clan. When Wei Wuxian praises Song Lan and Xiao Xingchen for caring less about bloodlines than about shared ambition, he is speaking from the position of someone who's bloodline ain't shit. Jiang Cheng will never be able to share that perspective.

Next: More of this excruciating episode!

Writing prompt: The Day I Discovered I Could Melt Your Fucking Core, by Wen Zhuliu Drabble prompt: Why I Wear Socks to Bed, by Jiang Cheng

#fytheuntamed #the untamed #the untamed gifs #wei wuxian #jiang cheng #wen qing #wen ning #restless rewatch the untamed #canary3d-original #my gifs #the untamed spoilers

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lunatens · 4 years ago

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since we’re alone

word count: 1.7k

genre: angst + fluff

pairing: hwang hyunjin x gender neutral reader

requested by...too many people to count ksjdfbskg

a/n: im so sorry this took so long, i think like 10+ people asked for me to write a sequel (which is kind of a lot considering tmta has like..less than 100 notes lmao) but i really struggled to find the motivation til now ;-; i really hope you guys like the direction i decided to take this!! also yes i did name this series after niall horan songs what about it

*this is a sequel to “too much to ask” so if you haven’t read that, you probably should read it first!*

confusion hits you as the rosy glow of the morning sun lands on your face. why the hell is it so bright? you groan as you pry open your sleepy eyes only to see the sunrise blazing through the large windows of your living room, and the memories of last night’s events come back to you. your head hurts a bit; probably a mixture of the morning light, the alcohol you had last night, and then crying yourself to sleep.

you rub the sleep from your eyes, surprised to see a blanket you don’t remember using falling to the floor as you stretch. you reach for your phone on the coffee table to check the time—too early to be awake, dammit—only to notice a glass of water right there. yeah, that definitely wasn’t there when you fell asleep. picking it up, the cool condensation leaves your fingers wet to the touch, and the icy water feels nice on your throat.

your eyes begin to water as more and more of what happened last night comes back you—in particular the words you said to him in your drunken state. a tsunami of guilt washes over you, mixed with lingering waves of anger and hurt. taking another sip of the water, you try to calm down and think about things. maybe it’s best to talk to hyunjin about this and tell him everything that’s on your mind now that you’re sober. yeah, that’ll work.

you groggily stand up from the couch, pulling the blanket over your shoulders like a cape and letting it drag along the floor as you tentatively walk to the bedroom. the door swings open with a quiet creak, and you bite your lip nervously.

“hyunjin?” you call into the darkness, voice loud enough to wake him but gentle enough not to startle him. you’re met with silence, and you frown as your eyes adjust a bit to the darkness only to see an empty bed in front of you, cotton sheets carelessly thrown aside. your heart sinks deep into your chest, the small rays of hope and forgiveness quickly fading. gone to practice again, you’re not even sure if he’ll be back until later and even then he might not return at all, considering what you said to him last night. your heart feels like it’s been torn in two; you were ready to talk things out with hyunjin and work towards a solution, already ready to forgive him, so seeing him leave just like any other day sends daggers through your heart.

“he could’ve at least made the bed,” you grumble to yourself, haphazardly throwing the sheets and pillow back to where they belong. as you do so, you can’t help but wonder if maybe it really is for the best if you just end things with him. sure, there are lots of great moments with hyunjin and you have so many special memories together, not to mention the fact that you’re completely head over heels in love with him, but as high as the highs in your relationship feel, the lows are just as extreme, if not even more so. you check your phone again, the lack of any sort of message from hyunjin helping you make up your mind; when he hopefully comes home tonight, you’ll break things off with him.

you shuffle back out to the living room, now brightly lit by the fully-risen morning sun. flopping down on the couch, you grab the remote so you can look for something mindless to watch; maybe it’ll help take your mind off of the impending doom that ticks ever closer to you, since you’re too antsy to go back to sleep. you’re about to turn the tv on when a loud thump at the door startles you into dropping the remote. you turn to look at the door, peerings over the couch wide-eyed as you hear keys fumbling in the lock before the handle clicks and the door swings open. when hyunjin’s tall frame quietly enters the room, you think your heart must’ve stopped beating for a moment. your emotions are in turmoil as a million questions and thoughts race through your mind; what’s he doing back so early? do i still break up with him? where did he go if not practice and schedules? and what’s in that box??

hyunjin gently places a white box on the nearest surface before putting his jacket and mask away. you don’t think he’s noticed you’re awake yet, as he seems to be trying his best to be silent. you almost giggle at the thought, but then you remember you’re mad at him and you just continue curiously watching his actions. he finally turns to peek over at the couch, expecting to see your still sleeping form, so when his eyes meet yours he’s a bit taken aback.

“oh, um, goodmorning y/n,” he greets, a little bit awkward. you can tell he’s having trouble reading your emotions and he’s trying to tread carefully, so you remain quiet to see what he’s up to. he picks up the box in both hands and walks over to you, placing the box on the table beside your empty water glass and sitting down beside you. you turn to look at him, expression neutral as he furrows his eyebrows and takes your hands in his.

“y/n, i am so, so sorry for what happened yesterday. i-i know that doesn’t cut it, but i can’t even describe to you how sorry i am. i love you so so much, and i really don’t want to lose you. i understand if you don’t feel the same and you’d rather just en-end it, but i want to do whatever it takes to keep you in my life.”

you didn’t even notice you were crying until his thumb is swiping away a tear on your cheek. he leaves his hand up against your face, and you can’t help but lean into his touch.

“you’ve been so supportive of me following my dreams and being an idol, and i’ve been awful at showing you how much you mean to me. so i’m taking today off, i’ve told chan what happened and he said he’ll cover for me, so now i can be here with you. is...is that okay?” hyunjin asks, eyes searching yours to try and read what your tears mean--are you sad? do you hate him forever?

all you can think to do right now is lean forward to capture his lips in a deep kiss. as soon as your lips touch you can feel the relief wash through both yourself and him. he pulls you closer and wraps his arms tight around you as if he’s never letting go. you pull apart with a soft giggle, wiping your tears away and gently smiling.

“i love you too, jinnie. we can make this work, just please-please don’t make promises you can’t keep ever again, ok?” you ask as you squeeze him in a tight hug, breathing in the welcoming scent of his sweater. he kisses your forehead and lightly caresses your tear-stained cheek.

“deal,” he says, and the two of you just lie there in each other’s arms in silence, your arms wrapped tightly around hyunjin’s torso and his fingers tracing circles on your back. you’re overwhelmed with emotions right now, and you hardly know what to think, but you’re relieved to have hyunjin back in your arms. suddenly, you remember you still don’t know where he went this morning.

“what’s in the box?” you ask as you pull away to examine it, reaching out to touch the white cardboard.

“ah, i mean it’s nothing really, i mean it’s a day late anyways and it’s so early i could hardly find anywhere that was open, let alone actually had something decent,” hyunjin rambles as you open the lid to see a small cake inside with “happy birthday y/n! sorry i ruined your birthday” written in purple icing. the sight makes your heart swell with happiness and you can’t hold back the smile in your face.

“you got up this early just to get me a cake?” you ask in excitement; if this is hyunjin’s way of making things up to you, it’s definitely working.

“not just a cake,” he says nervously as he pulls a smaller white box out of his pocket and hands it to you. opening it, you see a delicate silver chain necklace with a tiny locket on it. inside the locket is a super dumb picture of you and hyunjin from back when your first started dating, and the word “stay” is engraved on the back. you blink furiously, trying and failing to rid yourself of the tears filling your eyes.

“i was gonna give this to you yesterday, but i felt like it might not have been the bets time...and i know it’s kind of cheesy, but i wanted you to always have something to remember me by when i’m away. i got one for myself too so you’ll be with me too, i’m gonna try to even sneak it with me on stage so you’ll always be by my side,” he says, cheeks flushed with embarrassment but that just makes the moment even sweeter.

“i love it so much, hyunjin, thank you,” is all you can say in fear you’ll burst into tears if you speak any more words. you lean in to press another kiss to his soft lips, this time lingering so you can savour this moment. hyunjin helps you put the locket around your neck, and you do the same for him, smiling shyly at each other.

“so what do you say we dig into this cake and get the day started?” hyunjin asks.

“but it’s so early to eat cake!” you respond, to which hyunjin shrugs his shoulders.

“who cares, we have the whole day to spend together and we can do whatever the hell we want,” he says with a smile, and you couldn't be happier to have hyunjin in your life.

#skz #stray kids #stray kids scenarios #stray kids oneshot #stray kids drabble #stray kids imagines #hwang hyunjin #hyunjin x reader #hyunjin x you #hyunjin scenarios #hyunjin imagines #hyunjin oneshot #angst #fluff #kpop fanfiction #kpop imagines #kpop scenarios #since we're alone

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hisunshiine · 4 years ago

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𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘨𝘪𝘳𝘭

♡ 𝘯𝘢𝘮𝘫𝘰𝘰𝘯 𝘹 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘹 𝘫𝘶𝘯𝘨𝘬𝘰𝘰𝘬

♡ 𝘧𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘴

♡ 𝘴𝘮𝘶𝘵

♡ 𝘸𝘤: 3343

an: commissioned story

Walking up the stairs to your best friends’ apartment, you hang your cape over your shoulder, defeated. Waiting patiently as Namjoon unlocked the front door, Jungkook shuffled side to side, just as upset as you, the evidence written across his face. His signature bunny smile, nowhere to be found, was replaced with a pout fixed on his face as he followed you into the apartment while Namjoon struggled to get the key back out of the golden deadbolt lock.

The sound of shoes being slipped off filled the silence along with jangling keys and the low murmur of curses followed by a soft exclamation of joy as Namjoon shut the door.

“I’m sorry babe. I didn’t know it was cancelled. I didn’t check my email before we left...”

You tossed your purple cape over the couch and got comfy in your favorite spot. Tucked into the left corner of the couch, your sheer pantyhose legs crossed, you dropped your head onto the back rest of the couch and attempted to look at Namjoon still in the entryway. Dressed up as Thor, his arms flexed nicely as you watched him put his shoes on the rack by the door, grown out blond hair falling in his face.

“Joonie, it’s fine. I don’t blame you. I’m just sad we didn’t get to show off our hard work.” You gesture at your outfit, Raven from Teen Titans, and shrugged. Left in just the black long sleeved leotard and hosiery, you sigh.

“Poor Kookie here has been doing pushups and crunches for the past two weeks so that he could pull off a gladiator from 300.” You turned your gaze to Jungkook, perched on the barstool next to the kitchen counter, elbow braced on the table to hold his head up as he sulked. “Nice job by the way, you got a lot of looks when we were walking up to the convention center.”

He laughed, shameless as always when showing off his beautifully built frame.

“Hey, I think the woman with the baby stroller really enjoyed the view.”

“I would hope so, she damn near tripped over her own child breaking her neck to stare.”

You lean up as Namjoon makes his way over to the couch, your eyes following the way his well-built body moves in the ludicrously tight Thor outfit.

“What can we do to make it up to you? We rarely get a day off like this, all together.”

He was right. Adulting had made the time spent with your best friends almost nonexistent. Attempts to hang out, all three of you, rarely went off without a hitch; with Namjoon receiving calls from the office about accounts in progress, or Jungkook having to go in to work with the local sports team as their trainer during both on and off seasons, and you working your 9 to 5. It was stressful.

“Honestly, just spending time with you guys is all I need.”

Namjoon lifted your legs to sit next to you, placing them in his lap as Jungkook jumped up and grabbed a dusty, small box off the living room bookshelf. An old deck of Uno cards that you all used to stay up late and play in college is tossed onto the coffee table while Jungkook’s feet carried him to the kitchen, where he grabbed a few beers.

“For old time’s sake?”

——————

Uno had turned into Strip Uno quickly, once you all were a few beers deep. The opaque green glass bottles were set off to the side of the coffee table as the three of you sat around, tipsy and half naked, laughing at each other.

Jungkook had been the first one to lose an article of clothing, his Leonidas style crown tossed on the other side of the couch with Namjoon’s discarded cape. Namjoon followed suit with his costume shirt being next to disappear from his body. The males’ losing streak ended when you were the unlucky one to lose a large item, your black leotard. It wasn’t long before Jungkook, who had already been shirtless, had lost his roman gladiator skort, and Namjoon’s pants made it onto the clothing pile, leaving the three of you sitting comfortably in half-nakedness.

“God, I can’t believe we used to really trade girls back and forth, hyung.” Jungkook was laughing as he remembered some of their crazier antics, which you knew all about as their best friend. You’d even walked into some compromising situations once or twice, and saw exactly what each of them was working with below the belt.

“I can, man, we were insatiable. Fuck, we still are Kook, don’t act like just because we’re working now crazy shit still doesn’t happen.”

Namjoon’s eyes were low, the alcohol in his system making him feel nice.

“You’re right,” Jungkook giggled, face red from intoxication, “just way less often. It’s been what? 4 months or so? We need to throw a party or something.”

“You guys are just as bad as you were in college.” You say, leaning back into the couch behind you. None of you had moved from the floor where you had sat around the table to play Uno.

“Oh, right. I forgot that you were our ‘goody two shoes’ girl. Never did anything wrong...” Namjoon tried to roll his eyes, but the half-moon shape barely showed the whites of his eyes.

“That’s not true… I was just way better at being discreet. It wasn’t the campus’ business who I let between my legs.”

“We played ‘never have I ever’ so many times, though… You never did anything bad.” Jungkook pouted at you, thinking you were lying to him. In reality, you lied back then. It wasn’t anyone’s business and you weren’t going to expose others’ sex lives just for some drinking game.

“I did, I just didn’t put a finger down,” you laughed. “I still drank what I was supposed to, I just didn’t want to be questioned about my threesomes and shit.”

Namjoon couldn’t believe what he heard. You, his precious best female friend, had a threesome before. The air in the room shifts, the tension palpable in the room.

“No, not my YN. You’re the good one.” Namjoon stated jokingly, though you could sense he was still serious.

“I need the details, YN.” Jungkook stared at you, eyes steady as he pinned you with his gaze.

His look is full of desire, and you can see him move ever so slightly as if he was uncomfortable. Jungkook’s hand moves to cover his hardening cock, but not before you can see that it was exactly what was making him so uncomfortable in his boxer briefs.

“It was nothing wild, Koo. We were drunk, it was college, one of them, the girl, said that getting eaten out feels better by a woman, the other said no way and said he was the best ever to do it, so I volunteered to test out their theory and draw an end to the pissing contest.”

You chuckled to yourself as you remembered how much fun it was. The memory turned you on slightly; you can feel your arousal drip onto your thong.

“So who was better?”

“She was, definitely.”

Namjoon shakes his head and Jungkook leans back, incredulous. Both had leaned in towards you as you told the short story, falling on every word that you said.

“Pfft! No way, I could totally out-do the chick.”

“Same. He didn’t know what he was doing, clearly.”

You shifted your body to get more comfortable, sitting with your knees bent and spread open in an L shape as you leaned back against the seat of the couch. You may have been curvy, but you were comfortable around Jungkook and Namjoon as they had known you for so long and seen you in various stages of undress, sobriety, and moods.

“I mean, we can always test it out.” You gesture your arm out at the 2 of them, resting your forearm on the knee that is bent up to the sky.

It’s silent, deadly, as they stare at you. Jungkook’s eyes roam your body that is on display for him, instinctively licking his lips. Namjoon, who was still leaned towards you, gives a smirk that has you… excited.

“Baby, you couldn’t handle me.”

“Awe, Joonie, it’s cute that you think so.”

“I’d be better at it anyways.” Jungkook chimed in. That cocky confidence oozing over him as he mimics your pose, though leaning back on his palm, arm extended to share part of his weight.

“Mmm.. I don’t know Kookie, I think Namjoon has been at it a little longer than you, plus, no offense, but he has fuller lips...” You turn away from Jungkook’s pout toward Namjoon, who’s still got that damn smirk on his face.

He moved forward, practically stalking on his hands and knees as he brings himself into your personal space. You watch the way his chest and arms flex, mouth practically drooling at the sight.

“You've been sizing me up, baby?” His voice is low, deeper as he let his hunger for you show. His hand slides along your hip, fingers curling gently around you. “You think about how good it would feel, my tongue between your legs?”

He’s surprised that you didn’t pull away. When you reached up and grabbed a handful of his blond locks and tugged, you reveled in the low groan he let out, eyes fixated on his quivering Adam’s apple as the sinful sound reverberated throughout the apartment.

“Damn—” your eyes snapped to Jungkook, whose pupils had dilated as he watched the interaction between you and his hyung. His mouth hung open; he hadn’t realized he had verbalized his thoughts.

“Everything okay, bun?” you asked, using Jungkook’s pet name that you loved to use when teasing him.

He cleared his throat, his hand stroking gently at his clothed cock, trying to ease the ache.

“Yeah—please, continue.”

You realized he was addressing Namjoon when you felt his parted lips skim across your neck, soft and wet as his tongue joined. Latching on gently, you rolled your head back allowing him more access as you yourself were now the one affected, moaning breathily as his solid frame hovered over you, pressing you back into the couch. You tightened your grip on his hair, and he bit your neck a little harder in response.

Eyes fluttered closed, you felt a second set of hands on you, palms sliding along the pantyhose that still covered your legs.

“I know you’ve thought about this...” Jungkook’s lips moved along your tummy as he talked, small kisses along the waistband of your hosiery. “Can practically feel how badly you want this.”

His fingers dipped into your band and began to tug them down, freeing your thighs from their confines. You arched your back, unable to not react as he mouthed loudly at your clothed core, his tongue flicking against the cotton to trace the outline of your needy clit as he groaned with the inhale of your arousal.

Namjoon on the other hand was quieter, mouth busy sucking light bruises to your skin as his large hands palmed your ample breasts. As he kissed down your neck and collar bone, he pulled one mound from your bra, laving his tongue around your aroused nipple to pull sounds out of you.

So enthralled in the feel of Namjoon, you don’t notice that Jungkook has you stripped bare, not until he’s nudged your thighs apart and settled himself between, a trail of wet kisses along your inner thigh almost unnoticed due to the amount of pleasure you’re feeling—that is until his lips latched onto your clit, a combined sucking motion with a flicking tongue, made your free hand dive into his mess of dark strands, directing his ministrations.

“Fuck, Jungkook, d-don’t stop.”

Namjoon moved to be behind you, replacing the couch as your backing as Jungkook circled his arms around your thighs and pulled you down closer to his feasting mouth. Namjoon began to kiss at your neck, hands resumed their massaging of your chest, nipples rolling between his fingers as you held Jungkook’s head so you could roll your hips, fucking yourself on his tongue.

Feeling it build, the delightful coiling in your abdomen snaps when Jungkook enters you with a thrust of his two fingers and strokes roughly along your walls, brushing the rough patch of bundled nerves. You cry out, head thrown back onto Namjoon’s shoulder as you buck, hips rolling as you ride out your high on Jungkook’s face.

“Definitely think that I was better than that girl, huh, angel?”

You nod, never one to lie about how good or bad someone is sexually.

“You let me have the control to fuck your face, it was amazing.” You tell him, your chest rapidly moving as you attempted to regulate your breathing.

“My turn.”

You feel more than see Namjoon switch places with Jungkook, maneuvering your body to a more comfortable position. Jungkook’s cock, hard and erect, is now pressed between your back and his abs when you leaned back onto him.

“Oh, he left you such a mess, baby.” Namjoon licks a stripe along your swollen clit, lapping at the juices. You’re still sensitive, but he pushed your thighs apart so his large hands could hold you in place as he slowly teased at your folds until you felt yourself leaning into it, wanting more instead of squirming away.

“Right there Joonie—shit, that feels—oh!”

Namjoon’s thumb rubbed wet circles on your swollen nub as his tongue explored every inch of you, teasing and tasting. Jungkook held you tight in his embrace, preventing you from running now that you could feel your second orgasm building.

To make your judgement fair, Jungkook’s lips and hands touched your body where he could reach, knowing that Namjoon’s ministrations had added to your heightened senses when it had been him gracing the spot between your thighs.

Namjoon’s nose pressed against your clit as he open-mouth kissed your heat, devouring as much as he could of your release before you replaced what he had cleaned up. You could feel the growing orgasm spreading through your veins, the thrum of your beating heart loud in your ears until Namjoon inserted his fingers. The squelching sound as your walls sucked his first two fingers into you caused both men to groan, the vibrations of the one feasting leading you to arch your back into Jungkook’s chest. Toes curling, your mouth is open as you try and catch your breath, but Namjoon did the same move as Jungkook and you squirmed as it consumed you, a crackling of electricity taking over your senses.

Sitting up, Namjoon grinned over your shoulder, knowing that the move his younger roommate taught him all those years ago never fails.

“I would say that makes it 1 for Jungkook, 1 for Namjoon, as we now hold the title ‘better than the girl who rocked your world’, right JK? Our good girl is finally enjoying being bad.”

Namjoon’s chin and lips were slicked with your cum, and you nodded, still a little fucked out as you came down.

“Damn, I wonder what prize we should get?”

Lifting an eyebrow, you sat up off Jungkook's chest, propelling yourself forward until you were on your hands and knees, eye level with Namjoon’s obvious hard-on. Licking your lips, his eyes followed the movement. He watched your every move as you leaned down, opened your mouth slowly, and lowered your tongue to the fabric covering his erection. You hear Jungkook inhale at the view you provide, sopping cunt on display.

“Mmph.. shit, baby.” Namjoon’s cock twitches as your mouth, hot and wet, teases his most sensitive area, and when he lifts his hips slightly, chasing as you pull away, you decide to show him exactly how much you enjoy being bad.

Your hands have pulled his boxer briefs down and the bulbous tip has entered your mouth before he was able to see the glint in your eye. Taking him into your mouth fully, he let out a sound you never thought you’d hear from him, a loud moan higher than his usual tone and accompanied with movement from his hips as he thrust up. Spit from your mouth dripped down his shaft as you pulled back.

You heard Jungkook mutter a curse as your hips swayed seductively in his face, and you removed your lips off of Namjoon with a wet pop sound, replacing your mouth with your hand as you stroked his length. Turning your head to peek over your shoulder, you follow Jungkook’s gaze, smirking.

“Hey Bun, you gonna stare at it all night, or are you going to fill me up?”

You giggled as he scrambled up onto his knees, his hands tugging at his underwear to free himself from the restraining fabric. You grasp Namjoon’s thighs before you lower yourself again, the thrust of Jungkook entering you from behind pushing you farther onto Namjoon’s cock. The moan vibrates along his shaft, and Namjoon’s toes curl as you swallow around him, tongue tracing the thick vein.

“Fuck, you’re so wet...” Jungkook’s voice, melodious as he vocalizes with each thrust, causes you to clench involuntarily as he splits you. The burn from the stretch feels good, so good, and you push back onto him, fucking yourself as his hands hold onto your curves.

“Her mouth… Jungkook, her mouth is—” you hollow your cheeks as you vacillate up and down, and Namjoon can no longer form words. His hands cup your face as he watches you worship him, oblivious to the words of praise Jungkook is saying.

“YN, fuck baby, your pussy is squeezing me so tight… You take my cock so well, better than I dreamed of.”

The spit that had gathered in your mouth dripped down and as you massaged Namjoon’s balls, the spit added to his pleasure. You felt them constrict in your hands, his cock twitching as your first warning.

“Baby, I—” you nod, knowing what he wants to say, and the action made him squeeze his whiskey colored eyes shut before he came, ropes of hot cum filling your mouth. Once he opened his eyes again, you made eye contact, pulling off of him and opening your mouth so Namjoon could see the translucent coating on your tongue before you swallowed it.

“Shit.”

His dilated pupils watched as you continued to use Jungkook to massage your g-spot, impaling yourself on him while you used a free hand to massage at your clit. Your third orgasm was a little harder to come by, not without a little help, so you told Jungkook what you needed.

“Choke me.”

You couldn’t see the way his doe eyes grew unimaginably wider as he maneuvered his right hand to grip your throat and apply just the right amount of pressure, allowing you to ascend towards climax. You fucked him harder, ass slapping against his thighs harshly. He released your throat, both hands firmly grasping your hips. A slap to your ass from Jungkook’s hand spurred your words.

“Cum in me Kookie, fill me like Joon did—”

“Ah, fuck, I’m cumm—”

When your walls fluttered, Jungkook groaned and immersed himself as deep into your dripping core as he could so he could fill you as you gushed your arousal around him, juices mingling as you collapsed onto the carpet, Jungkook’s softening dick slipping from inside you as he moved to lay next to you.

Panting, you rolled onto your back, head on Namjoon’s thigh as you waited for your breathing to settle. Jungkook was already smiling and looking none the worse for wear, physically. He moved to lay his head on your tummy, an arm thrown over your body while Namjoon’s hand smoothed the hair away from your face.

“I think that’s… 2 for me,” you say, “and 1 for each of you.”

Both men look at you in awe as you finish speaking, “...so what were you saying earlier about me being your ‘good girl’?”

♡

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pixxiesdust · 4 years ago

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Crimson Snow (pt. 1) • Bakugou Katsuki

Summary • We all know the story of Little Red Riding Hood. But all stories, especially ones passed through spoken word, can change with time. This is the true story of a girl who wandered into the forest, wearing a cloak white as snow, and left on the back of a beast with a crimson cape trailing behind her.

Pairing • Shifter!Bakugou Katsuki x Reader

Word Count • 4.9k

Tags and Warnings • Fairy tale AU, kidnapping, experimentation, violence, blood, swearing, angst, eventual happy ending (just not in this part oops)

Note • This is a fic for the @bnhabookclub event! It’s also my first time writing for BnHA, so thank you to the lovely @lesbian-peanut-writer for reading over it for me! I intended for this to be a one-shot but it started to get very long so it’s going to have one or two more parts.

part 1 • part 2 • part 3 • part 4

–

It is dark inside the hunter’s mansion.

You can’t even guess how a hunter could ever make enough to buy a mansion. Maybe he inherited it from a family member. Or maybe, just maybe, the hunter has a side business that makes him profitable amounts of money, like kidnapping young women. Oh, just an example, of course. It definitely isn’t your reality or anything.

And the room isn’t exactly dark. The hunter left a candle on the ground for you when he locked you in this room, and a full moon shines through a small window near the ceiling. But it just feels dark. The room is pristine and is devoid of furniture. There’s no dust to be seen and the air carries traces of lemon, probably from whatever soap someone used to clean. There's something off about this place that makes you shiver and wrap your white cloak tighter around you.

Before you can do anything else—not that there would be much to do in an empty room—the lock clicks and the door swings open, revealing the hunter that had brought you here. You immediately take a couple steps away from him, back straightening.

The hunter doesn’t move. He only stands in the doorway, hands behind his back, studying you.

You glare back, ignoring the plague doctor mask that covers the bottom half of his face.

“You’re filthy,” he says. You look down at yourself, taking in your wrinkled dress and the mud that has crusted over the pale green cloth, all from struggling to escape the hunter when he came upon you in the forest. His outfit—a full suit, the type noblemen wear—is perfectly clean and crisp, even though he had kidnapped you in it.

“At least your cloak is clean."

It is, and you have no idea how.

“Change into this and keep the cloak on.” He pulls out a set of clothes for you—all white—from behind his back and tosses them at you. You don’t move to catch them, watching as they land on the ground. He throws a pair of white slippers on top of the pile. “You have two minutes. I’m afraid it won’t be pleasant for you if you make me wait.” He exits the room and shuts the door behind him, turning the key in the lock.

You hesitate for a second. Can you escape? But the only exit besides the door is the window, and it's so small that you won't be able to fit your shoulders through it even if you could reach it. So you take off your cloak, letting it drop to the ground. Two minutes isn’t a lot of time to change, especially with the layers you have on, but you manage. You finish with getting your feet into the slippers and fastening your cloak around your shoulders just as the hunter reopens the door.

“Come,” the hunter says, moving back into the hallway.

You follow.

The hall is just as clean as the room you were in, though it’s even darker because of the lack of windows. You follow the hunter in silence, slippers quieting your footsteps. As you turn the corner, the wall to your left is replaced by a railing as the hallway opens into a balcony at the top of a staircase.

A door is at the bottom of the staircase. Your heartbeat quickens.

The hunter walks closer and closer to the stairs. He passes the wooden railing of the staircase and you throw yourself into action, pushing past him and flying down the stairs, skipping three steps at a time. Chest heaving with every breath, you sprint to the door, nearly tripping in your haste. With trembling fingers, you struggle to slide open the bolt, and a heavy thump behind you makes you whip your head around to look.

The hunter is now on the same floor as you. How? you wonder as you manage to slide open the bolt. He must have jumped over the railing. What kind of monster is he? You wrap your hand around the doorknob, turning it all the way, pulling the door open, you’re free–

But your entire body jerks away from the door as the hunter yanks on your cloak. One gloved hand wraps around your throat, pulling upward so you struggle to stand on your toes and air no longer flows freely into your lungs. “It’s such a pity,” he says, watching as you scrabble at his fingers, trying to pry them away. “I was expecting so much of you. I’m disappointed that you tried to escape; you were the purest one I’ve found yet.”

Anger burns in your veins, as powerful as your fear. And though you gasp for air, chest burning, you manage to spit out two words. “Screw. You.”

The hunter tightens his grip in anger. A wave of darkness overtakes your vision and your body goes limp in his hand, struggling no more.

Chisaki Kai lets go of your throat, watching your body fall to the floor. “Filthy,” he mutters, pulling a handkerchief out of his pocket, wiping his gloved hand on it. “Such crude language, too. It matters not; I will cure her. And I will cure the beast as well.” He folds up his handkerchief, taking care to fold the used part on the inside, and tucks it back into his suit pocket.

“Chronostasis. Bring her to where our other guest is residing. I’m afraid you’ll have to chain her up. She’s a bit flighty at the moment.”

“I’m sure you’ll fix that soon, Overhaul.”

–

You first feel the cold stone leaching warmth from your back. Shivering, you slowly sit up from the ground and look around, immediately freezing when you see a massive wolf lying halfway across the room.

Room? It’s more like a dungeon. Stone floor, stone walls, and stone ceiling. An array of sharp tools hang from one wall and heavy chains dangle from metal rings attached to the others. You shudder, this time not from the cold air.

The hunter walks into the room, not sparing you a glance as he strides towards the wolf. Looking at him makes your throat pulse and you wince as you gently press on your skin. If you could look into a mirror, you’re sure that five finger-shaped bruises ring your throat. You start to move towards the nearest wall as quietly as you can to avoid drawing the hunter’s attention to you, but the rattle of chains makes you freeze. There’s weight attached to your left ankle. Before you even pull up the hem of your white dress, you know that you’ll see a metal shackle wrapped around it. Your eyes follow the chain to an iron ring in the wall, and your heart sinks when you realize that it’s impossible for you to break free.

The hunter moves to the wall that has all kinds of deadly instruments of torture hanging from hooks embedded in the stone. He stops in front of a table pushed up against the wall. His gloved hand plucks a syringe off the table and deftly twirls it in his fingers as he approaches the wolf. Your heart skips a beat as gleaming crimson eyes snap open and the wolf starts to growl, a low rumble filling the air. It struggles against the cuffs wrapped around each limb, the thick silver collar around its neck, and the band of metal clamping its muzzle shut. The hunter bends over the animal, jabs the needle into the wolf’s neck above the collar, and pushes the plunger, emptying it of the misty purple solution.

The hunter steps back and places the empty syringe onto the table. He stands and watches the wolf. Waiting.

The wolf starts to shake, rattling the chains attached to its limbs. Its growl grows in volume until it tapers off into whimpers of pain.

Your heart aches for this beautiful, wild creature that is now subject to the cruel hands of the hunter. “What are you doing?” you cry out over the wolf’s misery.

Yellow eyes gleaming in satisfaction, the hunter does not look away from the wolf as he answers, “I am curing him. I’ll purify him from the disease that has taken hold of his body! And when the filth is purged, he will thank me for it.”

The wolf growls again, which grows quieter in volume, before he collapses onto his side and his red eyes close.

“But you’re hurting him!”

“No one is ever redeemed without a little pain,” the hunter says, almost poetically. He leaves the room, pushes the door shut, and locks it behind him.

You get up from the ground, wincing when sore joints pop and shift as you stretch. You want to see how long the chain running from your foot to the wall is, so you walk toward the middle of the room, toward the unconscious wolf. When you’re right in front of the wolf, the chain is at its limit and you can’t move your left foot forward anymore.

If the wolf were awake, you wouldn’t even think about trying this. But it hasn’t shown any signs of waking up, so you sit down on the ground in front of him. You sit there for a bit, studying him.

The first thing you notice is the color of his fur. It’s a cream color, just a few shades off of pure white, but most of it is matted and dirty, or is clumped into spiky tufts, held together by dried blood. It makes you sick to think about the amount of time this animal has been in captivity, subject to the hunter’s cruel experiments. And if the hunter can do this to an animal without feeling remorse, what will he do to you?

The next thing you notice is the size of the wolf. Looking at him from the tip of his muzzle to the end of his tail, he’s definitely longer than you are tall, likely the length of the larger horses people own in your village. If he stood up, you think his back could reach your waist. He’s certainly larger than any of the dogs that people in your village own. And even though he's likely been a captive for a long time, there’s still muscle on his bones. If you met him in his full glory in the middle of the woods, you’d probably run off screaming.

In addition to the sorry state of his fur, the areas around his restraints look strange. You reach out a hand towards his head and use a finger to gently stroke a line between his ears, past his eyes, and stop at the silver band that is tightly wrapped around his muzzle. Anger heats your blood as you take in the puffy flesh around the band. The hunter had tightened it so much that the band digs into the wolf’s muzzle, and when you try to gently nudge the band down to get a glimpse at the fur underneath, the band doesn’t budge.

You eye the sliding bolts on either side of the muzzle.

It’s dumb to even contemplate it, but the silver band looks painful. Besides, the wolf hasn’t stirred at all since he fell unconscious. Even if he does wake up, he’s held in place by all the other shackles, and surely you’d be able to tell when he is starting to come to.

You fumble with the first bolt for a minute before it slides open and the right half of the band loosens.

The wolf shifts. You freeze. He doesn’t move again, but lets out a noise of pain. Your panicked expression softens and you work on the next sliding bolt.

It opens, and the band is loose enough for you to gently pull it off with one hand. Your other hand supports the wolf’s head off the ground until you finish taking the band off and set it down by your side. Your breath hitches and your eyes widen in horror at the sight that the silver band—no, the sight that the torture device reveals.

A ring of exposed skin goes all the way around the wolf’s muzzle. There’s no fur left, as if the silver band had burned it away. The skin is pink and angry like your hand was after you once spilled a kettle of boiling water over it.

Is there poison or something on the inside of the silver band? You shudder and rub your hands on the stone ground. You didn’t touch the inside of the band when you removed it, right?

Are the other shackles doing the same? You move until you can get a good look at the wolf’s front legs. Thankfully, the silver cuffs aren’t as tight around his legs as the band was around his muzzle. You slide one of the cuffs up his leg a bit, taking in the missing fur and irritated skin that rings his leg where the cuff was. A quick peek under the cuff on his other leg shows the same thing.

It just looks so painful. You’ve only been wearing the metal shackle around your ankle for a couple hours at most, yet it’s already growing uncomfortable. The wolf seems like he’s been here for a while now, and if there is some sort of poison on the inside of his shackles that eats away at his fur and skin, he must be in so much more pain.

You can help him, you decide. The dress the hunter made you change into has multiple layers and is frilly with ruffles and lace. It makes you sick to think that he wanted you to change into the dress and keep your white cape because it made you look "pure." You shudder and push away the thoughts of the hunter.

If you rip the lace off the hem of your dress, the hunter surely will notice with his observant, amber eyes and might deem it necessary to punish you for it. You don't want to find out what that entails. So you lift up the outer layer of the dress and rub one of the thinner layers underneath between two fingers. This will do.

It takes a bit of effort, but you manage to rip three uneven strips of cloth that work as makeshift bandages.

You pick up one of the wolf’s paw with gentle hands, noticing the size of it compared to your own, and set it into your lap. You start wrapping a strip of cloth around the exposed skin, taking care to not press down hard. The cloth goes around the wound a couple of times, before you tuck the end of it under the rest.

Sliding the shackle back down the wolf’s leg so it covers the bandage, you let out a little hum of satisfaction. It shouldn’t hurt the wolf so much anymore.

Now onto the other leg. You move the wolf’s leg off your lap, take up the other one, and start bandaging it too. You’re concentrating so hard on covering all of the wound that you don’t notice the wolf starting to shift.

A growl fills the air, and before you can try to move out of the wolf’s reach, sharp teeth latch onto your left wrist, freezing you in place.

Your heart pounds heavily in your chest as you slowly look into the wolf’s crimson eyes. You wriggle your left arm just a little, trying to pull your hand out of his mouth, but he’s biting down hard enough that it stings—although he hasn’t broken skin.

“Hey,” you say softly, trying to keep your fear from bleeding into your voice. “It’s okay. I’m sorry if I startled you–” He growls, causing another spike of fear to shoot through your veins, but you continue. “I was just trying to bandage your legs so the shackles won’t hurt anymore. I think the hunter put something on them to eat away at your fur and skin, maybe some kind of acid.”

You continue to explain what you are trying to do, keeping your voice low and even, finishing with “–you’re so...so magnificent, and wild, and I don’t like seeing you suffer at the hands of such a monster.”

The wolf stops growling and lets go of your hand. You quickly pull it back against you, looking at your wrist. There’s little imprints of where his teeth were, and it does sting, but there’s no blood.

“Thank you,” you tell him, meeting his eyes once more. “I think it’s better if we help each other here, don’t you? It’ll be easier to escape if we’re both in good health. Would you let me finish bandaging your leg?” You wait for a second, then huff a small laugh, wondering why on earth you’re talking to this wolf like he can understand you.

Then the wolf shifts and you freeze, but he just places the leg you were bandaging back into your lap. You look at him for a moment, amazement shining in your eyes, before continuing where you left off. When you finish, you make sure the cloth doesn’t peek out from under the shackles, so the hunter won’t see them and remove the bandages or do something worse.

You have one more strip of cloth left, and you look at the wolf’s muzzle. “Would it be okay if I bandage your muzzle too? The silver band that was around there looked like it did the most damage.” The wolf huffs and turns his head to the side. “I’m sure you can handle it,” you say with a smile, “but there’s no need to make it worse.”

He turns back to face you, red eyes boring into your own. You reach out a hand slowly with your fingers curled towards you and let him bump his nose into the back of your hand. “Okay then,” you say, and start wrapping the cloth around his muzzle over the injury.

You’re just tucking the end of the cloth under the rest of the bandage when the wolf’s ears perk up. A low rumble fills the air and the wolf turns his head toward the entrance to the dungeon, baring his teeth even with the bandage on.

“What is it?”

His head snaps around toward you and you’re taken aback at the ferocious expression on his face. He lowers his head so his nose points at the silver band on the ground next to you. You pick up the band, looking at it, then at the wolf. “This?” you ask. His growling grows louder as he nudges hard at your hand. Your eyes widen. His growling stops. And then you hear them.

Footsteps.

They’re growing louder and louder with every step.

“Shoot, shoot, shoot.” Your heartbeats pick up speed as you slide the silver band over the wolf’s muzzle. Despite your haste, you try to not let it touch his muzzle any more than necessary until it’s over the bandaged part. You fumble with the sliding bolts for a moment before you get them closed, grimacing as the silver band tightens again, digging into his muzzle. At least it shouldn’t burn his skin anymore. “Sorry,” you murmur, stroking him behind his ears. You reflexively press your lips to the top of his head before you scoot back against the wall, pulling your chain with you.

You don’t see the wolf’s red eyes widen in surprise, but you watch him shift onto his side, returning to the position he was in when he collapsed from the hunter’s injection.

The hunter enters the room, still dressed in a full suit with the plague doctor mask covering his nose and mouth. He’s carrying a plate, though you can’t see anything that is on it from your position on the ground. He sets the plate on the ground a couple of steps to the side of the wolf. “I’m sure you’re hungry,” he says. “It wouldn’t be good for my guest to starve to death.”

Guest? You stifle a scoff. If this is how he treated his “guests,” you don't want to see how he treats his enemies.

The food on the plate is clearly scraps left over from a meal. But the sight of food makes your stomach growl in hunger. Hours must have passed since you last ate—an early dinner before you headed to your grandmother’s house.

You’re hungry and you need to eat, even if it is those scraps on the plate. But you’re not going to do it until the hunter leaves the room. You won’t allow him to watch you scarf down leftovers like some pet, eager to take whatever he gives.

So you stay in your spot against the wall, watching as the hunter moves to the other side of the wolf.

He eyes the still animal.

You hold your breath, wondering if he can tell that the wolf is faking it.

The hunter turns his back on the wolf, and you exhale in relief–

But he spins around, swinging his right foot forward, pointed toe of his boot smashing into the wolf’s side. The wolf jerks, eyes snapping open, a yelp of pain leaving his throat. He gets onto his feet and lunges for the hunter, straining against the chains, a low growl rumbling in his chest.

The hunter only looks at the wolf before he turns around, moving to the table. He picks up a syringe filled with the same purple fluid as before. As he walks back to the wolf, you recall the immense pain that the wolf experienced after the last injection.

“Hey! Stop!” you shout, getting to your feet.

Both the hunter and the wolf turn to look at you. You freeze for a moment, having no plan in mind to prevent the hunter from administering the syringe. But you can’t just not do anything. So you march toward the hunter, going as far as the chain around your ankle allows, then cross your arms over your chest. “What the hell do you think you’re doing, huh?” you sneer, “Trying to pick on something you’re so afraid of that you chained him up so he can’t fight back?”

The hunter closes the distance between you and him with two long strides and his empty hand suddenly grips your face, holding you in place. You glare at him defiantly, despite the nerves coursing through your veins.

“I was not planning on working on you tonight, but if you insist, we can get started,” the hunter says, fingers tightening on your skin. You don't let yourself flinch. “Unless you will behave?”

You keep your eyes on his own as your lips curl up in a smirk. “How about,” you say, body tensing, “you go screw yourself!” With that, you push your weight into the hunter’s body, snatching the syringe from the hand by his side, and throw it to the ground. A hard stomp with your right foot shatters the glass, and you hold back a whimper of pain as shards pierce through your slipper and cut into your skin. Misty purple liquid pools on the stone, soaking into your shoe and seeping into cracks in the floor.

Chest heaving, you straighten up and glare at the hunter. His yellow eyes meet yours before they narrow into slits. “Very well," he says.

The air is forced out of your lungs as the hunter drives his fist into your stomach.

Gasping for breath, you fall to the ground and curl up on your side, disregarding the glass and liquid. Over your rapid inhales, you can hear the wolf snarling and pulling against his chains.

“You’re lucky I still have more of the cure left. It would have been worse for you if I had to stop and make more.”

You can only work to pull air into your lungs and watch through watering eyes as the hunter returns to the table and picks up another syringe. You manage to choke out a weak “No!” before the hunter drives the needle into the wolf’s neck and presses the plunger.

As the hunter places the empty syringe back onto the table, the wolf starts to convulse, sinking to his belly. The hunter looks on for a moment with satisfaction before he leaves the dungeon.

You stay on the ground for a few more moments to catch your breath, letting the pain in your stomach recede to a dull ache before slowly sitting up. Crawling to the wolf, you sit down in front of him, frowning as his body twitches periodically. He’s unconscious now, and you hope that he can’t feel the pain that the injection causes him. But you can make him a little more comfortable.

In smoother movements than the first time, you slide open the bolts on either side of the silver band. Removing it from his muzzle, you set it to the side. You rub your fingers over the copper pin that keeps your cloak on your shoulders before you unclasp it, sliding the cloak off your back. A shiver runs down your spine when that extra layer no longer warms you, but you ignore it as you fold up the cloth. You raise the wolf’s head, slide the folded cloak underneath, and gently lower his head onto the makeshift pillow.

Sighing, you move to where you had shattered the syringe, glass and liquid still on the ground. With careful movements, you pick up the needle and as many pieces of glass that you can. You get to your feet and hobble over to the wall that your chain connects to, wincing each time your injured right foot hits the ground. At the wall, you move as far along it as your chain allows you to, before bending down and letting the needle and the glass pieces slide off your hands. The shards tinkle like bells as they hit the ground.

With your hands empty, you’re able to crawl until you return to your spot in front of the wolf. You take off your right slipper, now partly stained red, to examine the cuts on the bottom of your foot. Thankfully, you can't find any glass in your cuts. Ripping up a strip of cloth from one of the under-layers of your dress, you bandage up your foot as well as you can, and put the slipper back on.

Your foot stings, your stomach aches, and your ankle is getting rubbed raw by the shackle. Everything that has happened since the hunter kidnapped you weighs down on your shoulders and chest, making it hard to breathe. You just want to be free.

Tears start forming at the corners of your eyes and you blink hard, trying to hold them back. I can be brave, you think to yourself, I’ll make it.

But you’re tired, and in pain, and you’ve had to witness and experience cruelty at the hands of the hunter. So you lay down, head resting on part of the cloak that the wolf isn’t using, ignoring the cold, hard floor that draws the warmth from your skin.

Your shoulders start to shake and the tears finally fall, and you can’t stop them from streaming down your face.

Keeping one hand over your mouth to muffle the sobs, you let out all the sorrow and anger and fear in those salty tears, before exhaustion overtakes you and you slip into a deep, still, sleep.

–

Bakugou Katsuki is barely conscious from the injection, but the smell of salt is so heavy in the air that he notices it immediately and it wakes him up further. He slowly raises his head from something softer than the stone floor, a quick look revealing a familiar folded cape that was not there when he fell unconscious.

His ears twitch when he hears your teeth chattering, even in your sleep. He ignores it and tries to fall back asleep, but the sound continues right next to his head because you're also on the makeshift pillow.

A displeased rumble fills his chest. Annoying, he thinks. But you helped him when you saw the burns from the silver band and shackles, and Bakugou does not like being indebted to anyone.

So he shifts to his human form, wincing as the cold air of the dungeon brushes across his naked skin. “Fuck!” he hisses. No wonder your teeth were chattering. He lifts your head from the cloak and pulls it out from under you, then sets your head back down on the ground. Shaking the cloak out, he drapes it over your still form.

His own body starts to shiver so he turns back into his wolf form, wincing at the unnatural pain that wracks his body as his bones and muscles shift. It’s those goddamn experiments from that fucking Plague Doctor. I won’t have much time left if it continues, he thinks. His red eyes look over your sleeping body.

You certainly showed bravery—or stupidity—today, willing to bandage his wounds despite the fear he could smell on you when he took your wrist between his teeth. And you stood up to the hunter, although it was useless to try and stop the injection.

Maybe, Bakugou thinks, maybe we’ll make it out of this shithole before it’s too late.

He shifts his paws under your head so you’re not pressed against the floor, and rests his own head next to yours. The warmth of your body seems to alleviate some of his pain, and sleep is quick to pull him under, taking him to a better time and a better place.

547 notes · View notes

mythgirlimagines · 3 years ago

Photo

As the third day of the week begins its start, Fusion Anon began to work on his art. The submission is ready, and you better know it! Presenting Myth Anon, the Former Ultimate Poet!

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BACKSTORY AND TALENT

When it came to academic subjects, Myth was very skilled in anything requiring creativity, for she is able to gain creative inspiration from just about anything. While she has a love for all art forms, the one mode that catched her eye in particular happened to be poetry, particularly poetry related to people and romance. As Myth became a teenager and romantic feelings began to blossom on both sides of the hill, she began writing poems to try and woo the people she had feelings for, but alas, not many people returned the sentiment, mainly due to Myth’s odd mannerisms and speech patterns. But despite her odd speech patterns and mannerisms, no one can deny that Myth is a stellar poet, with perfect flow and emotionally-moving verses, to the point that she managed to get into Hope’s Peak, thanks to her poetic skills. As an adult, she is currently living off the revenues gained from her live poetry readings.

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RELATIONSHIPS

Wyre Anon, Former Ultimate Procrastinator

When you consider the two’s personality traits, a friendship between Myth, the eccentric and flamboyant poet, and Wyre, the chronic slacker and part-time delinquent, would seem utterly and patently ridiculous. But Myth and Wyre have been the best of friends ever since they were young children. Whenever Myth gets rejected by a prospective love interest, Wyre would always be there with ice cream for Myth, and a little “something-something” for the people who rejected their best friend.

Outfit: A messy black gakuran over a white undershirt, longer hair that she didn’t even bother to cut, glasses from her original design.

Anon Scar, Ultimate Conspiracy Theorist

As the mastermind behind various outrageous (yet credible) conspiracy theories, Scar proclaims herself to be the “Savior of All” and yearns to protect people from the hypothesized threats that Scar claims are looming around the horizon. Scar’s whole chuunibyo act provides inspiration for a lot of Myth’s poems, particularly ones themed around darkness and evil threats. While Scar is glad to help her senpai, she is also low-key embarrassed about her whole middle-school chuunibyou act.

Outfit: A camo-patterned t-shirt, a dark purple overcoat slung over her shoulders like a cape, cargo pants, mask, gloves, and boots from original design.

Fusion Anon, Ultimate Ice Skater

Famed for his grace and sheer energy upon the ice, Fusion won loads upon loads of awards from ice skating tournaments, particularly specializing in Salchows and speed-skating. Fusion is currently attempting to teach Myth and the other conmates how to ice-skate. Myth is still far from an expert, but her newly-gained skill in ice-skating gave her even more inspiration for her poems. Because Myth’s vocabulary is very similar to his good friend Purple’s, Fusion can easily understand Myth.

Outfit: A fluffy blue parka over a red and yellow leotard, red mittens that were knitted for him by a fan, glasses from original design.

Fusion Anon II, Ultimate Trivia Expert

Having appeared on various trivia game shows and often seen studying in the library, Fusion II has a vast amount of random knowledge on a vast amount of random things. While Fusion II views Myth as a confident role model and wishes to emulate her coolness and confidence, Fusion II wishes that Myth didn’t intrude in the middle of her study session and start loudly reciting her poetry. The irritation is not helped by the fact that Myth can’t seem to pick up on Fusion II’s sarcasm in the slightest.

Outfit: A blue and yellow baseball cap with a yellow question mark on the front, a blue letterman’s jacket over the same red shirt from her original design, the skirt and boots from her original design.

Just Anon, Ultimate Personal Assistant

Despite being polite and very efficient with his duties when on his various jobs, when off-duty, Janon couldn’t be any further from that façade, being lazy and crude to just about anybody. It was very clear that having all of those jobs at such a young age really took a toll on both his psyche and his sanity, and he wants nothing more than to finish all of his duties in record time and then collapse on the spot. Janon can’t stand Myth and her flamboyant and eccentric mannerisms, for they give him a headache that just wouldn’t go away. But deep down, Janon envies Myth’s independence and confident in being herself, while Janon views himself as a slave to PR and can’t show his true and vulgar attitude towards his bosses.

Outfit: His hair and bangs slicked back, a brown vest over a white dress shirt and a pink bowtie, matching brown pants, black gloves and boots.

Sparkle Anon, Former Ultimate Voice Actor

Famous for starring as the leading ladies in magical girl anime, Sparkle’s loud and hammy vocals have garnered her fame, despite her young age. Even when she isn’t playing a character, Sparkle’s voice is still as loud and flamboyant as you can get. Because of their similar temperaments and personas, Myth and Sparkle got along very easily. Myth was over the moon in joy, from finding someone who behaved a lot like her (flamboyant, loud and appreciates the “fine arts”) and appreciated her poetic masterpieces, on top of that. Myth regularly lets Sparkle read her poems, as vocal exercises, and Sparkle’s voice just sounds so hypnotic, when she is reading Myth’s poems in a hammy and energetic magical girl’s voice.

Outfit: Same outfit from the original, but with bedazzled microphone and headphones.

Egg Anon, Former Ultimate Romantic, and Wet Sock, Former Ultimate Paleontologist

Egg is famous around their school for their romantic advice, while Wet Sock is a pioneer in paleontology. Despite the very different domains of their talents, Egg and Wet Sock are practically peas in a pod, particularly when it comes to inserting cursed comments into just about any situation. But just because they’re both cursed, that doesn’t mean they aren’t geniuses and respected in their respective fields. Egg, is willing to put aside their cursed comments and help Myth with her romantic troubles, and even giving her advice for her romantic poems. Egg’s twin harbor some more-than-platonic feelings for the poet, but good luck getting those feelings out of Wet Sock, for they just might threaten you with a bone shiv.

Egg’s Outfit: Smoothed down hair, a pink off-the-shoulder sweater with a red heart stitched on the front over a white tank-top, black leggings with small pink hearts on the knees, pink slip-on shoes, glasses from original design.

Wet Sock’s Outfit: A brown sleeveless jacket over a white tanktop that shows off their scarred arms, a tan apron with a dark brown dinosaur skeleton on the front, brown cargo shorts, brown steel-toed boots.

Curious Anon, Jr. Ultimate Ornithologist

Having mastered the art of standing quietly and motionless, Curious is so placid and peaceful, that birds can’t help but perch on them. Thanks to their calm and passive nature, Curious is able to get closer to birds and study them. Despite being a respected genius in the study of all sorts of bird species and is even the discoverer of nearly-extinct species of birds, no one knows where Curious came from, for they spent pretty much all their life is the forest, yet is exceedingly formal and polite. Curious’s modest, polite and romantically-dense nature, contrasts heavily against Myth’s loud, dramatic, and flirtatious nature, but somehow their friendship still works, thanks to Curious’s heavy respect towards their senpai.

Outfit: A green poncho to help them blend into the grass over a white shirt, a brown belt, black pants, brown boots and binoculars across their neck.

Anon Nerd, Former Ultimate Astronomer

Yearning to reach the stars, and stopping at nothing until he accomplishes his goals, Nerd has brains and brawn and he is not afraid to use either of those (his brown, in particular). Graduating at the top of his astronomy academy, both physically and mentally, Nerd’s disagreeable and explosive personality means that he wasn’t able to become an astronaut, particularly after he scouter-burned a teacher who gave him a bad grade. Bad grades aren’t the only thing that can enrage Nerd, for he particularly hates flirty and flamboyant poets who constantly try to seduce him at every opportunity. But Myth is one determined poet, for she will constantly write love poems for Nerd, even if she suffers in the process.

Outfit: Same suit from his original design, but with a galaxy patterned tie.

Eldritch Anon, Ultimate Essayist

Despite the sheer number of academically-acclaimed essays that Eldritch wrote, it’s near impossible to find any other traces of Eldritch’s existence, apart from his self-reviewed and academically-revolutionary essays. Eldritch double-shooted, to make absolutely sure that no one could find him and trace the essays back to him. Eldritch is truly a textbook example of a shut-in, who finds it impossible to trust anybody. Because both Myth and Eldritch have talents that involve writing, Myth keeps trying to interact with Eldritch, but Eldritch just repeatedly pushes her away, while loudly claiming that he doesn’t trust her, for reasons left unknown. But Myth keeps trying, hoping that Eldritch could let his guard down one day.

Outfit: A grey hoodie with the hood-up, shorts and slippers from the original design.

Dream Anon, Ultimate Puzzle Solver

Despite being physically gifted, Dream appreciates a great mental challenge, from time to time. Whenever she’s not dancing or playing volleyball, Dream is often in the corner with a sudoku puzzle or a Rubix cube. Eventually though, Dream made world records, despite her age, thanks to her sheer speed and accuracy at completing puzzles. Eventually, Dream managed to get into Hope’s Peak with the title of Ultimate Puzzle Solver. Whenever Myth gets writer’s block, Dream would supply Myth with a puzzle to get Myth’s creative neurons firing, and it usually works, at least half of the time. Dream may not understand half of what comes out of Myth’s mouth, but she’s still a great friend to her.

Outfit: Two pink barrettes shaped like jigsaw puzzle pieces, a black t-shirt with a Rubix cube design on the front, a pink and cream flannel shirt tied around her waist, sheared green shorts, shoes from the original design.

Iris Anon, Jr. Ultimate Speedreader

Iris has a reading comprehension way above even most adults, and reading is practically a breeze for this clumsy, yet well-meaning, bookworm. Being a massive book nerd and proud of it, Iris proudly read the entirety of her local library two times over, at unparalleled speeds, all with a big smile on her face, causing her to become a local sensation, until she was accepted into Hope’s Peak’s middle school division. Because of the vast walls of text that she reads, Iris can easily understand Myth’s eccentric and grandiose speech patterns, and translate for people who can’t understand. Iris’s naturally positive and friendly personality also helps in making friends with the otherwise eccentric and friendless Myth.

Outfit: A blue overcoat over a black shirt and skirt, black stockings and blue slip-on shoes.

Purple Anon, Ultimate Surgeon

As a veritable medical prodigy who was born to two affluent medical professionals herself, Purple primarily specialises in surgery and operations. Despite her age and general timidity when in social situations (to the point that she often hides from others behind much larger doctors), Purple is a master at surgeries and is revered by her patients for her maternal attitude and her kind heart. Both Myth and Purple bond over their hard to understand and oddly-vocabulary, and Purple’s vocabulary helps Myth come up with new words for her latest poems. Myth is also working on giving confidence lessons to Purple. It’s taking some time for Purple, but Myth is confident in her skills, and claims that it’ll work one day.

Outfit: Same outfit from her original design, but without the beret and an added white lab coat.

This series would center around the egotistical yet lovable poet, getting the love that she truly deserves.

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PERSONALITY

Poet!Myth is flamboyant, eccentric and likes to think of herself as a charmer and a genius, and wouldn’t hesitate to show off her talent and intellect, at every chance that she gets. Poet!Myth speaks a lot like her poems: with odd metaphors and old-fashioned vocabulary, and quoting famous poets and playwrights. She usually responds to her haters by claiming that they “just don’t understand art”. Ultimately though, Poet!Myth yearns to find love and people who could accept her for who she is, and she constantly puts up the charmer facade, in hopes that it’ll work out one day.

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APPEARANCE

Poet!Myth wears her purple hair in a ponytail that is pinned by a feather quill, and the glasses from her original design. Myth wears a black overcoat with internal velvet that is slung over her shoulders like a cape, a blue vest with pink stripes on each side and a matching pink cravat, over a white dress shirt, black pants and matching black loafers.

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I hope you like this talentswap! Let me know what you think of this AU!

-Fusion Anon

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