#she is SO weirdly hard to draw and its mainly like her eye situation

[lolathepeacocklord]

gay people i do not respect

[mxdotombra]

Bloom! So I am indeed rewriting season 1 and honestly Bloom is one of the more changed aspects so to suit her I changed her style! This is not set in stone at all, well her fairy form at least.

More notes on outfits and how I’m portraying her under the cut! 

Bloom is a very flat character to me, or season 1 really. While yes she is a good character, she seems to respond to situations weirdly to me, her whole returning home and just abandoning school comes out of nowhere to me and I literally had to read about her tendency to run away from the wiki. As well, hobbies are mentioned in ep 1 and a little in ep 2 and completely abandoned! Like?? My rewrite is sticking to the plot, so I changed her to make it make more sense.

Bloom is incredibly family oriented, its her everything, especially in a town that slowly began to turn against her for how strange she seemed to become over the years. She’s anxious but curious, willing to face the world yet is seated deep in a pit of fear and only willing to open up to those she trusts. Even than, she is compassionate and protective of her friends, and can grow angry and emotional when those she cares for is threatened. She’s also incredibly stubborn to a fault, strong willed and willingly to get angry if she trully thinks its whats best for her family, friends, or herself though is often strangely a mediator between friends. She’s a fish out of water and afraid of the world of fairies, largely due to her obsession with traditional folklore and belief of them being like traditional fae, and as well, she’s afraid of herself. 

Still, she’s an artist true and true and adores her strange little friend who looks like a rabbit but acts to smart to really be one. She once preferred to spend her time in the woods drawing where the people of her town who hated her wouldn’t find her, yet now she just adores being with her friends, who, while she is deathly homesick, become her home away from home.

Bloom is based in issues of identity and family connections.

ALRIGHT SO AS A NOTE: Bloom is a bit tanner because she spends more time outside in my Fanon! She also has a bunch of freckles because of this! Also she has lizard eyes, and I’m not going into detail with this cause spoilers for ch. 1 lol though its not big. Her hair is still long and that red thats so shocking into almost impossible, I like to think it moves like fire in the sun. She’s also got sharp teeth! She isn’t very used to them and bites her tongue a lot and its just generally annoying in general. I think this is also pretty obvious, but I have a big issue with the original body types of the characters/how they’re drawn. Now, I won’t go into it today (I may one day because reasons), so I’ll go into the reason for her specific type? I like to think fairies are generally lighter in order to keep airborne and have less strain on magic, BUT I also think that their kind of magical attacks can affect their body type. Bloom is large shocks of power and getting away. She also draws a lot, bikes, helps in her mom’s shop so she is also active but apparently she also really likes baking? So idk. She needs to get hit a lot but I also wanted to display that and her having a softer frame, obviously having meat on her bones, especially one who isn’t acrobatic or working out constantly. I hope that makes sense?

Her outfits reflect her past really, she isn’t the richest of families so her clothes are supposed to be interchangeable yet still comfortable. She just likes feeling safe. 

Outfit 1 is what I wanted for ep 1 really, the sweater is handmade from her grandmother and yes she wears it in the summer. The little hair pin I like to think is from Stella who decided it matched Bloom’s eyes. Mainly I like Bloom wearing pants because she literally bikes everywhere in my fanon and chases Kiko in the woods. 

Outfit 2 is just what I wanted for fun! Her favorite colors are white, blue, and pink and gosh dangit she can wear her favorite colors! The locket (not that you can see it lol) says Daphne as a small nod and honestly I just like baggy shirts.

Fairy Form? I had no idea what the fuck I was doing with this. I wanted a more armored princess effect with shorts because. She. Is. In. The. Air! Gosh dangit! She also has scales (thanks fuz!) because dragon motif, they offer armored resistance because she hits hard and takes hard hits, she’s a tank basically. I wanted to keep a few key points, the jem on the chest, the crown (symbolism lol), and arm pieces, but I altered them a bit and darkened the colors because it looked weird originally on my design. Her wings are meant to mimic the bones ones of dragons and I like to think they’re stronger than an average fairies but she can’t fly as quick with them. She gains a bit more gold in her eyes. 

A few fun facts?:

-She runs at a hotter temperature and isnt affected by hot temperatures, as well cold doesn’t bother her as bad. 

-She can’t see auras but she is an empath. 

-She’s bisexual in this, because my friend likes the alliteration of Bisexual Bloom.

-She has a few hobbies! Drawing and reading mainly though appreciates baking.

-She likes the little magic creatures around Alfea that are more like the traditional folklore, even if they are a bit more cutesy and strange. She’s friends with the brownies and little sprites and such!

-She and Sky would break up Season 2 fight me. They also wouldn’t bond with pixies because I hate them with a passion.

- A lot of her clothes have burns on them and she refuses to let anyone magically repair them, especially her favorite sweater which she’s waiting to get her grandma to get.

Oh and you should know in my rewrite she somehow becomes really attached to Tecna? Like they bond a lot? And I’m so down because its Stella, Bloom, and Tecna and its an odd dynamic but I adore it. 

[delicrieux]

RIVALS [ peter quill x reader ] 0.5

a/n:  sorry if it seems a bit weirdly paced or there are too many mistakes, it’s just that this is the first thing i have worked on for a long long time (since i’m busy with college and other bs). anyway, hope you like this story till the very end! 

summary: Some things are just obvious from an early age: you and Peter were meant to get along no better than a cat and a dog. And not the modern spin on a cat’s and a dog’s relationship either (none of that Disney fun-loving BS). No, we’re talking about that good old fashioned thirst for blood, spite and rivalry.Only that your situation really was Disney like. Which is ironic, since you’ve been raised to spit in anyone’s face that even mentions the name ‘Starlord’.

words;   3,234

warnings: swearing

MASTERLIST KO-FI. WRITTING CHALLENGE! 0.4

an unflattering end.

Fucked. That’s one revelation going through his head as he stares at you with brief wonder of ‘Did you plan all of this?’. He is fucked, he realises so, through-and-through, because when he meets your friendly open gaze all he can think about is kissing you and he has to gulp down those unsavory feelings and pretend that he isn’t a man that spent nearly twenty years in a desert and that you aren’t his fountain of clear cold water. You tilt your head. Fuck, why do you do that? Your expression remains so soft and raw and you reveal more space on your neck for him to just…He doesn’t know. Admire? Yes, admire is the PG word for it. He will stick with admire.

Your cheeks burn and you aren’t entirely sure is it the heats fault this time. Behind you, outside of the safety of Mr. Toko’s home, you hear shots being fired into mountains of sand and Gamora’s lazy clapping going along with Rocket’s excited screaming. His stare is making you a bit uncomfortable, mainly because it’s so intense and you aren’t used to be looked at like that. Like what?, the squeaky voice in the back of your fuzzy head inquires. You don’t know. Like that. Like he has seen you for the first time ever and he can’t look away or even blink. Did he blink? Now that’s a bit creepy. But you hardly let that train of thought run as you don’t want to ruin whatever moment the two of you are having. It’s obviously important to him… You respect that, but why is it—

Oh. The realization dawns onto you and your eyes widen almost comically as you take in a sharp breath. Did you just seriously call him ‘Starlord’ for the first time ever without even realizing? It just slipped, as easily as a confession of love when you were little to this boy in your group that was the only one who never teased you. You suppose you recalled that exact moment because it is so similar to now: it was a slip of the tongue, you sprung your feelings free without realizing in the middle of him telling you how much he loved coral. In turn, you said you had loved him (which now, once you’re older and smarter, you realize it was merely puppy love). But this moment holds a different weight and different feeling. It’s almost like you’re acknowledging him as equal, as a person, and putting all that childish bullshit behind you. On accident.

He takes a step closer and you suddenly wish he saved all the dramatism for another time and just hugged you already. Or kissed you. Your heart jumps at the thought and you instantly focus on his lips that look so delicious in this warm sandy lighting. Perhaps he notes your wandering gaze because it takes him no time at all to let his hand land on your waist and gently tug you to his chest. Slowly you tilt your chin upwards, running your gaze along this face and admiring it for all its burly beauty. Letting the warmth of his skin seep through your clothes and spark excitement once the thought of smashing your lips to his came to mind as clear as ever. His look is killing you; it is safe to assume that you’re killing him too, by how precise and hungry he is.

It’s hard to breathe and you draw in slow breath that feels too hot to actually feed your lungs. The contours of the room fade into nothing as you focus whichever functioning part of your brain on Peter, and he does so for you. Your faces inch closer without any help, or logical thought for that matter, and you can practically taste him already. Your body yearns the touch and so your chest presses to his and—

A loud beeping sound scares you shitless and you abruptly pull away, snap your head to the computer and see it flaring in bright red flashing lights. Tom Toko crashes something in the kitchen – a glass you guess, since the sound was so sharp. Suddenly embarrassed and tingly you let go of Peter completely and he does the same. You pretend to not see the disappointment in his face as Tom Toko stumbles into the room and passes the two of you without a second glance. You pretend to not feel your own disappointment burn in your abdomen like hot coals.

You clear your throat and cross your arms over your chest. Peter, unsure of what to with his own, simply shoves them into the pockets of his jeans and turns to his slightly mad friend hitting the computer screen. Silence. The beeping has stopped and you feel more awkward than ever. Tom Toko fixes his glasses and his eyes go from the screen to you and back.

“(Name) (Lastname)?”

“Y-Yeah…” You didn’t expect your voice to tremble. You clear your throat again and pray that this all will be done soon so you could go and hide somewhere in Peter’s spaceship and think all of this through. In a way you are thankful for the machine stopping that, whatever that was, from happening. The bigger part of you is sadder than anything, as you genuinely wanted him to kiss you.

You shouldn’t think that, you really really shouldn’t think that.

“Ah, so…” Toko scrolls, narrowing his eyes and reading off the lines, “You live in Heine?” You nod, though are unsure if he saw or not. He scrolls some more, “With…Your husband L—“

“Wait, what?” Peter exclaims, snapping to you and a part of you dies inside. You gulp. Toko lifts his head from the computer and ponders whether he should involve himself with your meddling or leave the two of you to sort it out on your own. Neither, is what he decides, opting just to watch things unfold without throwing in his two cents. Peter frowns, trying to catch your gaze. You try to avoid his. “(Name),” holy shit…you last heard him say your actual real name at the end of your big fight that broke you two off. “You didn’t tell…You didn’t tell me you were married.”

You take in a deep breath, “It’s…complicated.”

He looks hurt. More hurt than you realize most likely, and when his jaw tenses and he looks away from you, in panic you realize that he is done listening to you. “Peter…” You say warily, but he doesn’t respond. “Peter.” You call with more confidence this time, “Look, I was an outlaw, yeah? You still are. And I needed to hide from the people that have been trailing me since—“ You try to recall, but your brain is frying and you can only vaguely remember todays date, “-however long.” You finish dryly. He doesn’t buy it. “It’s a—“

“-False marriage.” Tom pipes up and the both of you turn to him. He shrugs, “I hear it’s pretty popular in Terra with visas and such. No idea what a ‘visa’ is, though.” He finishes and you, with a new breath of hope, look at Peter as if saying ‘See? Makes perfect sense!’. Peter doesn’t share your enthusiasm however. Not that being married is a big deal to him: he has loved many ladies, taken and not, but that wasn’t it. It was you. You being married. You lying to him. You, in general, just you, why does his whole fucking planet have to spin around you of all people? And why do you have to look so hopeful and desperate and why did you look like your dream was about to come true when he was about to kiss you? You, you, you… (Name) (Lastname). You’ll lead him to an early grave.

You bite your lower lip and roll in between your teeth – it hardly looks sexy (not that you intended it to be) – as a show of anxiety. Tom Toko single handedly decides that you all have overstayed your visit and mumbles something about making you the ‘damn passport’ so you could all ‘get out of his hair’.  It takes a couple more minutes for him to punch some things into the machine, type out a few words, and before you know it a fresh card with your pretty face on it and a bunch of fake information is handed to you. Tom Toko gave a strained, fake smile and plainly told you to leave and take your ‘pet’ with you before it destroyed his home by accident.

Silently, you and Peter waved that man goodbye and wordlessly left. Again, he chose to walk in front whilst you tagged behind and kept staring at that picture. It’s odd. You were never the one to stare at yourself in the mirror for more than necessary, perhaps that’s the reason why you find your mind drawn away from Peter and to the person you’re doing all of this for – your mother. You look like her, in a way. Some things are near identical, like the shape of your eyes and the tip of your nose. If you wanted to take the picture you have in your locket and compare it to your ID, you’d definitely notice even more resemblances. But you don’t. You can’t bring yourself to burn more energy than is needed to walk. You feel exhausted. Sweaty. Maybe a bit horny, but that’s a whole other issue.

A sense of dajevu washes over you as you and the gang make your way back to the spaceship. Peter and Rocket trot in front while you and Gamora, in much slower steps, lag behind. The said woman was hoping that something positive had happened between you and Peter, but much to her dismay it obviously didn’t. Once the ship was in eye-sight, she leaned over and whispered, “Hey, what happened? Did you have a fight again?” much to her surprise you shook your head.

“I…don’t know what happened, actually…” You reply raspy, watching the grains of hot sand stick to the sides of your shoe, “I…” You shake your head again, “I don’t know. I think I really messed it up this time, Gamora.”

~*~

You wanted to go alone. You insisted on it, actually. And you said your goodbyes soon after entering the spaceship: hugging Gamora and Groot and giving a high-five to Rocket since he didn’t want to share an embrace. You were ready to hop into your small 0.82 Yellow Stripe and possibly never see any of them again, except that Peter didn’t allow it. He promised to drop you off and that you had no say in it. He didn’t leave much room to argue, or to talk for that matter, so you found a comfortable seat and watched as slowly but surely Terra was finally seen by the naked eye.

Night. The air is crisp and cold and the wind howls occasionally along with a spooky hook of an owl. Far away street lights glimmer in the distance like fairy lights, and somewhere behind you a cat meows and knocks over a vase. The graveyard is quiet and vacant of any visitors. It took you a while to find your mothers resting place, and before you did you even came to enjoy the welcoming aura of being back at your home planet. Once you did finally read (M/NAME) (LASTNAME) on a chunk of marble whatever excitement and joy you were feeling was wiped clean and you stopped in your tracks. Peter did too.

He followed you, again, it wasn’t much you could do to stop him and you didn’t really want to either. Gamora opted to stay behind and look after the remaining boys, giving you one last shoulder squeeze and wishing you the very best. You really do like her. You hope you will be able to see her again.

It feels hollow, somehow, and a bittersweet smile makes its way onto your face as you re-read your mother’s name over and over again. You feel ashamed. Ashamed for not feeling nearly enough grief or pain. Perhaps if you lived with her you would be too heartbroken to stand. But now…It’s almost like reading a name of a stranger. You never got the chance to find out her favorite color, her favorite song or the day of the week. The taste of her perfume had long faded away and the delicate warm touch had cooled in memory. You can see her face clearly and it’s forever smiling thanks to the one and only photograph of her you hold dear to your heart. You have no clue how she looked when she passed, and perhaps that’s for the better.

You stare and drown in silence. Peter doesn’t break it; possibly he thinks this moment is too precious for you to be inconsiderate, when in reality it really isn’t. Your shoulders brush when he steps closer, but you don’t really pay it any mind. Only when his fingers intertwine with yours do you owlishly blink and glance at him, see him already looking at you but the curtain of darkness reveals no emotions or intentions. He squeezes your hand and something spurs in your chest, so powerful that you have trouble containing it. You squeeze back.

“No more secrets…” He breaks the silence, “alright?”

You smile tiredly, “No more secrets.”

He turns to your mother’s grave, “Did she name you?”

“She did.”

“Then Mrs. (M/Name) you did a damn fine job.” He cracks a small grin of his own, but it abruptly fades, “My mom named me too…Starlord.” His gaze shifts to you, “That was her nickname for me.”

“Oh, fuck.” Is the best you can come up with as you can practically feel the color drain from your face. “I-I didn’t…shit…” If you had known how important that stupid word is for him you wouldn’t have made fun of him for so many years. He shrugs lightly.

“It’s no big deal.” Peter says, “I actually liked your various nicknames for me. Was fun to watch your imagination slowly detreating as you stuck with ‘dipshit’.”

“Thought it suited your personality best.”

“It does.”

Having a heart-to-heart right next to your mother’s grave sure is morbid, but a part of you thinks she’s enjoying this just as much as you are. A couple of more minutes of content silence pass as you say your prayers and goodbyes, lastly turning to him and tugging on his arm gently, “Ready to go?” He nods, reserving all the ‘hell yeah’s’ for another time.

You land on a quiet street with blank yellow light shining down on you and Peter. The spaceship is still ways away, and your own one is just beside it. You wonder should you really leave Terra, now that you’re back in and there is a whole whooping zero chance that anyone from out of space will come looking for you. With a fake ID and your mothers presumably unoccupied home somewhere around this town, you could live out the rest of your days in blissful peace, finally enjoying all the Terra things you always dreamed of – like gardening and stuff. You have never actually tried that, only read about it on a magazine a long time ago. It seemed fun, at the very least a way to pass time. Space fights and guns and loot were never your strong points, nor did you even find any joy in operating a spaceship.

Staying on Earth is really your best option. You could start a whole new life here. Possibly get a pet. Listen to sad 80’s music as an homage to Peter—

All of those bubbly thoughts of a new life with a white picket fence pop as soon as his name echo’s in mind. Peter Quill, the man you have known for pretty much your whole life, the man who had always had questionable intentions towards you, the man you cared enough about to bitch about, the man whose hand feels so nice and secure around yours and of which you don’t want to ever let go. Peter lives for the life you want to give up, have given up, and there is no way he would quit it nor would you let him. You turn to him. The bleak light doesn’t do ill to his handsome face as he continues walking without a care in the world, even looking happy. He notes you staring at turns to you, flashes you a grin and you don’t have it in you to ruin his happiness for your own selfish desires.

But you can never be happy in space, even if he is by your side. You are no Starlord. Your place is here and you realize just how severely you missed Earth by the second. You trail his face, as if trying to print it into memory. You have seen it so many times, from up close and from far away, yet it’s always a sight for sore eyes.

“So,” He starts and you are immediately drawn to his lips again, “what our course of action, Captain?”

You stop moving. He does too. With a deep breath, you try to collect your stray thoughts and form a coherent sentence. Your cheeks redden, heart quickens its pace. It seems like everything in your system is dying to tell him, but your mouth is unprepared and refuses to cooperate.

“Peter, I…” Your gazes meet and the same wanton desire to kiss him washes over you like a wave, “I…” Words struggle to form and instead you inch closer as if it is a subconscious reaction. It dawns onto him, quicker than to you, and he meets you halfway as his free hand comes to cup the side of your jaw. His lips move against yours in a frantic, chaotic matter, as if he had waited for ages to finally taste you. It feels right, ultraviolet and dizzying and you have trouble standing. No one could make you part, not even a moving truck. Only except the need for oxygen; he slowly pulls away and in the nick of time you catch his lower lip with your teeth and lightly scrape it. Taking a deep breath you feel his forehead touch yours.

“Me too…” He murmurs, huskily, “Me too, (Name).”

It will hurt. You know it will hurt to leave him if you continue down this path, you know you are done for if you kiss him again but you can’t help yourself and he doesn’t either. You’ll solve this issue, tell him you want different things after you enjoy this brief true love you had wished your whole life for. And so you kiss him again, and again, and only when a moving car blares its horns does he with a hearty laugh tug you away from the speeding vehicle.

You will most likely die alone and forgotten like your mother had, leading an unhappy ordinary life. Because you will say goodbye to Peter once morning comes, you will break his heart and you will live out your days on Earth, in a small home, where the only danger are taxes and possibly bears. Is it worth it?, you wonder, holding his hand, is it really worth being so selfish?

You hope it is. You don’t let go of him until morning.

end.