#the. blue. hair. one. with. mismatched. shoes

[tteotlma]

Sugar and Skin

1. First Encounter || Next

Bucky’s never been sure if normalcy is something he’s cut out for. But when he meets you—a baker with a pretty smile—he starts to think maybe he could try.

TattooArtist!Bucky x Baker!Reader (1.4kw)

tw: 18+ MDNI, mild language, subtle tension, implied attraction, slow-burn, strangers to friends to lovers a/n: happy new year! this year i'd like to actually begin and complete a multi-parter story so this is my attempt!

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“Welcome in!” Bucky heard as he stepped into the bustling cafe shop. The smell of freshly brewed coffee, and baked bread quickly engulfed him. He looked around for the source of the voice while taking in the neatly curated shelves of novels, mismatched wooden tables and the large handwritten chalkboard menu boasting about an array of the day’s specials. Despite its charm, Bucky felt heavily out of place in his chipped leather jacket, and mud cracked boots. 

With the patrons weaving past him like he was another display in the shop he continued scanning the area noticing a few stray cats lounging throughout the space. They basked in the early afternoon sunlight that poured through the large windows. One, a sleek gray cat with white mittens and socks stretched lazily on the windowsill, while another a white cat with piercing blue eyes, watched the room with curious intensity.

The customers greeted the felines as they entered the shop and followed the line that formed at the counter where a young man with boyish charm and unruly brown hair was expertly managing the register. Meanwhile a man with a clean shaven jawline and an infectious grin moved confidently between the counter and the coffee makers. 

“You need some help?”

Bucky turned to the voice, finding himself at the end of the display case with a woman on the other side. Her hair was pinned up in a loose bun, a few stray strands escaping to frame her face. She barely paid him any mind as she deftly unloaded a giant tray of assorted pastries and bread into the glass showcase, her movements quick and practiced. The faint smudges of flour on her apron and the way she handled each item with care hinted at her role in crafting the delicacies.

“You look a little lost,” she said without looking up, her tone teasing but not unkind. "Can I help you find something, or are you just here to admire the cats?” she asked, finally glancing up at him. Her gaze was sharp but warm, assessing him with a mix of curiosity and amusement.

 Her teasing tone caught him off guard, making him glance up sharply. His ears seemed to perk slightly, before he quickly refocused. “Pick up,” he said, his voice low and clipped, offering her a tight-lipped smile that was more reflex than intentional. 

She let out a small hum. “Name?” 

“Steve.” 

“Oh yes–” Her demeanor instantly changed as she put the tray down, wiping her hands on her apron. “Let me get that for you.” Her hands masterfully opened a paper bag with clear cellophane, and slid open the sliding door to the showcase.

“Sam!” She yelled, causing Bucky to jolt. “I need Steven’s special.” She called out, and Bucky's eyes flicked back to her. Steven.

He heard a faint reply from across the cafe commotion and watched as she used the metal tongs to grab two bear claws from the wax paper lined tray. Bucky almost let out a snort but instead, he opted to shove his hands in his pockets, glancing down to his boots. He watched as crumbs of dirt crumbled from his shoe and littered the linoleum floor.

“What’s the Steven Special?” Bucky suddenly heard himself say. He looked at her through his lashes. He watched a small smile sneak across her lips. 

“A medium white chocolate macchiato, with two bear claws.” She said, fingers crinkling the bag shut as she slid it across the clear surface. This time Bucky let out a snort. Before he could thank her, she went back to unloading her discarded tray. He hesitated on grabbing the bag. 

“So you’re the new guy then?” She asked suddenly, quickly glancing at him. He looked at her. “Stevie's mentioned he’s expecting a new comer, and I’ve never seen you before so—” she explained. Stevie.

“Then yeah.” He gave a curt smile, reaching for the bag on the counter. 

“Thought so,” she said, her tone a hint lighter now as she turned back to her work. “He’s been talking ‘bout you for weeks, you know.”

“Nothing bad I hope.” 

 She turned to set down the now empty tray, glancing over her shoulder, a glint in her eye. “Depends on your definition of bad.” Her tone was playful but laced with just enough intrigue to make him pause. She spins swiftly, closing the display case. 

“Nah,” She shrugs with a smirk, “He’s just psyched you're here, it’s kinda cute.” 

Bucky raised an eyebrow. She waves a hand in the air.

“He’s just got this way of talking about things—”

“Order up.” 

The sudden burst out causing the both of you to abruptly turn toward the man holding out an oat-colored to-go cup.

The woman cleared her throat, shifting back to allow space for the man to step in. Her smirk faded into a polite, neutral expression, her focus now on adjusting a tray of napkins nearby.

“Steven’s special,” the man announced, his grin wide and easy, breaking through the tension that had lingered just a moment earlier.

Bucky’s eyes lingered on her for a moment longer before he turned toward the man, who was now leaning casually against the counter, holding the cup out as if he were presenting a prized trophy.

Bucky nodded and reached for the cup, his movements deliberate. “Appreciate it,” he said, his voice steady. 

“No problem,” the man replied, his tone light and teasing. “Better get it to him quick, he’s been talking about the claws all morning.” 

“Noted,” Bucky muttered, though his gaze flickered back toward the woman, who was now bent over another display, her attention fixed on her work as if the earlier exchange had never happened.

The man cleared his throat sharply, drawing Bucky’s attention. When Bucky turned toward him, he was already side-eyeing the woman before shifting his gaze back to Bucky with a deadpan expression. It wasn’t accusatory, but there was a challenge in the look—like he’d caught Bucky doing something he shouldn’t be.

Bucky’s brow twitched in response, his face otherwise impassive, and he adjusted the bag in his hand.

“Thanks again,” he said curtly, stepping back from the counter.

Sam held his gaze for a beat longer, then turned his attention away from him.

Bucky stepped toward the door, the hum of the café enveloping him once more. His grip tightened slightly on the bag as he moved, but something tugged at his attention, making him glance back one last time.

The man was now leaning against the counter, his posture relaxed, but his head tilted toward the woman. Whatever he’d said caused her to laugh softly, her shoulders shaking with the motion. The earlier ease in her posture had returned, her movements efficient and unbothered, as though their exchange had been nothing more than a routine part of her day.

She brushed a strand of hair from her face as she replied, her voice lost in the café’s hum. They shared another laugh.

Bucky’s jaw tightened, though his face betrayed nothing as he turned back toward the door. Pushing it open, he stepped into the cool air outside, the bell above jingling faintly as the door closed behind him.

As he walked down the street, the warmth of the café began to fade, but the soft intensity of the exchange lingered. He shook his head with a quiet huff of air, the bag crinkling faintly in one hand while the other held the to-go cup. His boots scuffed lightly against the pavement as he approached a sleek, dark car parked a few steps ahead.

Bucky unlocked it with a press of a button, the quiet beep breaking the stillness. Sliding into the driver’s seat, he set the paper bag on the passenger side and the cup in the holder before resting his hands on the steering wheel.

For a moment, he sat there, the hum of the café replaying in his mind. He exhaled sharply, shaking his head as if to clear it.

With a twist of the key, the engine purred to life, the quiet power of the car grounding him. As he pulled out onto the street, the cool air rushing through the window carried away the lingering warmth of the café—but not entirely.

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Next

a/n: I know there's barely anything there but I have an idea and im jsut trying to roll with it -- so if you have any ideas let me know! i’m begging — pls reblog to support!

[fear-less]

anyone of your choice x a reader who is like luna lovegood.... hear me out

₊˚⊹˚ 𐙚 butterfly wings

paring: sirius black x f!reader

➥ In which Sirius Black, seeking solitude on a quiet Friday night, unexpectedly meets a quirky girl who hums Muggle songs, has silly looking hair and clothes, and sees the world through a completely different lens, making him question everything he thought he knew about life and himself.

warnings: written in 2nd pov, she/her pronouns used, flufffff, sirius experiences love at first sight lowkey, ditzy reader, hair described as wavy, lmk if i missed anything

a/n: enjoy this short & sweet fic 😋 feel free to request more pics like this.. lowkey had a blast writing this fic ngl, also how are we loving this alive era !!?? finals are gonna end me tho, hoping to post more when im on break <3

1.1k words

The sun was just starting to dip behind the horizon, casting a warm golden glow across the Hogwarts grounds. Sirius Black was leaning lazily against a tree near the edge of the black lake, watching the evening sky. His thoughts were far from the upcoming Potions exam, or even from the constant tension with his family. No, tonight he was simply enjoying the stillness of the moment—until the sound of a soft humming reached his ears.

He turned to see a girl wearing clothes nowhere near their dress robes, skipping through the tall grass, a pair of oversized, mismatched socks peeking out from beneath the hem of her skirt. In one hand, you clutched a jar that looked suspiciously like it was filled with glitter, and in the other, a half-eaten pumpkin pastie. The evening breeze tugged at your hair, but it only seemed to make you twirl in delight, as though you were dancing with the wind itself.

​​Sirius couldn’t help but smile despite himself. There was something about the way she seemed entirely out of sync with reality, like you were living in a world all your own. It was... fascinating. Most people would’ve been inside on a Friday night, but not you. No, you were humming a song Sirius couldn’t quite place, looking up at the sky as if you expected to find something wonderful there.

Sirius raised an eyebrow as you continued humming, a soft, dreamy melody he now realized was some Muggle song. He considered whether or not to interrupt your song with a conversation. He had come down to the lake to escape the raucous laughter of his friends—he hadn’t planned on talking to anyone, least of all you. But there was something about your carefree presence that pulled him in, something he couldn’t quite explain.

As he watched you, he suddenly felt a strange urge to approach. What am I doing? he thought, before shrugging off the hesitation. Usually, he had no trouble talking to girls. But you were different. There was no rush to impress you or prove something, no game to be played. You were in your own world, so completely other that he felt like he had to break through that bubble of yours, even if it meant making a fool of himself.

He decided, somewhat impulsively, to walk toward you as if he was leaving, hoping you'd say something to stop him—maybe comment on the sunset, or ask if he had seen any magical creatures lately. Something to start a conversation.

As he got closer, a familiar thought crossed his mind. Wait a second… He remembered you now. You were the girl with the wild ideas and strange ways of looking at the world. The one who always seemed to have her mind in the clouds, lost in thoughts others couldn’t seem to follow. You wore mismatched socks, and your shoes were always a little too unconventional for anyone else’s taste. Your hair—today it was streaked with a few colorful hints of pink and blue, strands loosely braided here and there on your wavy hair—was the subject of endless teasing. But you never seemed to care. Whenever the others made fun of you, you'd just smile and continue on as if you hadn’t heard a word. The kind of carefree confidence Sirius had always envied, yet never fully understood.

As Sirius approached, lost in this memory, you suddenly broke the silence, your voice light and dreamy. "If you walk any closer and choose not to move, you might just bump into me," you said, still gazing up at the sky as though you were watching constellations rearrange themselves.

Sirius froze, taken aback, his steps stuttering to a stop. A sheepish smile tugged at his lips, part embarrassed, part amused. "Oh, sorry," he said, rubbing the back of his neck, "I wasn't really paying attention."

He had been so distracted by the way your hair caught the fading light that he hadn't even realized how close he’d gotten. It was wild, yet soft, a tangled mess of waves and braids, with hints of color streaking through like a sunset painted in your locks. It was almost… magical.

You gave a simple nod in response, finally pulling your gaze away from the sky to look at him. The moment your eyes locked, Sirius felt an unexpected jolt of warmth spread across his chest. You weren't fazed, but there was something in the way you looked at him—as if he were just another curious face in the crowd. It was strange. Everyone knew who Sirius Black was. But to you? He might as well have been a stranger.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. You just studied each other.

Sirius shifted uncomfortably under your gaze, feeling the familiar prickle of self-consciousness creeping up his neck. Why was it so easy to talk to people who were busy trying to impress him, but with you? It was like he’d been dropped into a world where none of his usual tricks or charm worked.

You squinted at him, your gaze flickering as if you were trying to place him, but the recognition didn’t come. You looked at him like he was someone new, someone you had never seen before.

And, strangely, that made him feel more vulnerable than anything else.

When you finally looked away, returning your attention to the horizon, Sirius took a breath, trying to shake off the uncomfortable feeling of being seen in a way he wasn’t used to. He was about to say something when you broke the silence once more.

"Did you know," you said, your voice soft and faraway, "that sometimes the stars make shapes in the sky that are only visible to certain people? Some call it a ��soul alignment,’ but I think it’s more about... perspective." You looked back at him, your eyes sparkling with a quiet certainty. "Maybe we’ll see something special tonight. Something we weren’t supposed to."

Sirius blinked, his confusion evident. "Soul alignment? What do you mean?"

You smiled gently, not offering an explanation, but instead turning back to the sky. "You wouldn’t understand it yet. But it’s something that will make sense eventually."

Sirius opened his mouth to respond, but for some reason, his usual quick-wit failed him. The bizarre serenity in your voice, the way you looked at the sky like it held secrets only you knew, left him momentarily speechless.

He watched as you turned the jar of stardust in your hands, staring at the sparkles inside. It wasn’t real, was it? But somehow, in your hands, it felt like it might be.

"So," he began, slowly, unsure of where this conversation was headed but unable to resist it, "how do you see the world, then? Different from everyone else?"

You paused, considering the question. Then, with a soft laugh, you turned to him. "Not different. Just... more patient."

And for the first time in his life, Sirius Black felt the weight of the stars overhead. Maybe it was the stardust in the jar, or maybe it was the quiet, patient way you saw the world—but whatever it was, he realized that he wanted to see it, too.

[shojizbae]

Wellness Checks

Spencer Reid x Reader

It was 11:37 when you checked your wristwatch. A knock sounded at your door, and you reached for your glasses on your nightstand blindly. Both your dogs sprang up and barked at the sound of the knocks.

"Nike, Artemis, Heel!" you shush them and rub your eyes to get them to focus. The two fluffy German shepherds follow your calves as you get to the front door, clicking the two deadbolts open. They sit as you open the door and reveal Dr. Reid. Only having been on the team for five months, you view Spencer as not just your senior but your superior. And not just the lanky piece of ass that he is.

"Uh, Spencer!" You attempted to smile, and he greeted you back. "Err, come on in." You stepped out of the way and widened the door. "Is there anything I can do for you?" You led him to the couch, where both your dogs sat and stared at him.

"Can I help you with something? Tea, maybe?" you start to walk away

"You were supposed to be at work almost two hours ago (Y/n)."

"I must have overslept, I'm gonna get some coffee would you like a cup."

"As long as it gets you to stop dodging my questions."

"Yes, Sir. How do two cups of sugar sound?" He's trying to be stern and show how cross he is with you, but it's hard to make a serious face when you're not wearing pants. You strut off the kitchen, and he can hear your faucet as you fill the coffee pot. He takes a moment to take you into your apartment. The walls were an olive shade, and there were giant purple curtains. It looked lived-in.

Organized chaos, as people liked to call this.

Your bag and shoes were tossed into oblivion. Your couch had just about a million throw pillows and a basket of blankets. It was cozy. You returned with two large mismatched mugs, handed one to him, and knelt on the couch. At the touch of your bare legs against each other, you realized that you had forgone pajama bottoms the night before. Instead, you had on an old gray UCLA raglan and some red underwear. Thank God you didn't wear a thong yesterday.

"Uh, I'm so sorry I didn't realize." You begin to stand, but a tentative grip on your wrist pulls you down.

"It's fine. You weren't expecting guests." you laugh but pull a nearby knit blanket over your lap

"Why were you sleeping so late? Normally, you are fifteen minutes early. What happened?" You take a sip from a mug that says '30 and flirty.' "(Y/n)." His voice is back to demanding.

"I'm sorry," you rub your eyes. I stayed in the office late to finish up my reports and help JJ with the debriefing.

"Bullshit, JJ was the second out; she had to get back to her son." He takes a long swig of his coffee and sits it on the table. "I've been profiling for over seven years. You're not going to get past me. Was it something on the trip?"

At the mention, you hang your head and whimper.

Tears pour uncontrollably from your eyes, and you hear them tap against your lenses. His mug clicks against your vinyl coffee table, and he pulls you into his chest by your shoulder.

"Shh sh, it's okay." His other hand rubs at your hair. "I know this job takes it out of you. It's important to focus on the fact that you're inciting real change."

"how could someone do that to a child? To ten children and keep going!" You pull up from your hands and look him deep in his eyes.

"I know it's not right." he holds the back of your neck as your forehead presses into his breast.

"How could- how could you do that to a poor sweet child." you begin to let out a mirage of sobs. Incoherent pleas. He pets your hair as you dampen his nice gray sweater. When you've finally calmed down you sniffle and wipe your eyes.

"You should get some water. Gets up and rummages through your cupboard and fills it with tap water. You throw back the last coffee and pull your knees up to your chest. You look up as he hands you a clear blue plastic cup.

"Thank you." you push your glasses up your nose. "You're free to grab anything in the kitchen. Although my groceries are quite lackluster."

"That's alright. I ate before I got here. I never knew you needed glasses."

"Oh, well, I try not to be public without my contacts. I was called four eyes more than I could count."

"Yeah, middle school is the worst."

"This was actually grad school." Your laugh is finally genuine, but you punctuate it with another sniffle.

"Well, I'm just going to text Hotch that you're going to stay home today." He reaches into his pocket

"No, no, I'll come in today. I just needed to rest a little." You push his phone to his chest and stand up. "I'll be right back."

You are ushered to your bedroom, which is basically a big closet separated from the rest of the space by three wide steps and two industrial barn doors. The two dogs follow you to your room and stand at the doors, scrutinizing Reid. You're halfway through buttoning your pants when you realize you're missing your good bra.

"fuck," you whisper to yourself "Reid!" You yell into your apartment

"Yeah!" As he responds, his voice gets louder

"Uh," you turn around quickly and cross your arms over your bare chest

"Oh, sorry,"

"I'm sorry, but could you get my bra from my purse?"

"Sure thing."

"Sorry, it's probably somewhere near the door." your forehead connects with your dresser briefly until you hear him knock on your door jam.

"Here." He taps your shoulder, and you turn slowly, but he squeezes his eyes shut like a 12-year-old boy.

"Oh, come on, Reid, it's not like you've never seen a topless girl before," You tease and spin around to put on your bra. "I'm decent now." You tap on his shoulder. A new method of communication for the two of you. He opens his eyes but looks away when he sees you're only halfway through buttoning your light blue blouse.

"Seriously? I know you didn't have a chance to have fun in high school, but this is ridiculous."

"Well, this is also unprofessional. You're my colleague." He put his hands in his pockets.

"I'm also ready to go. My shoes are by the door." You point to the exit, gather your belongings, put out food for the dogs, and make sure the dog door is unlocked. Reid insists that you take his car and that he'll drive you home at the end of the day.

His car is nice and clean, with only one of those clip-in air fresheners. He takes some sort of secret route to evade the Virginia traffic. You arrive at Quantico and log in to the relief of your coworkers.

"What took you so long?"

"Reid couldn't find my bra." You snort as you fill up another mug with coffee

"Heyo!" Morgan cheers

"That's not completely true." He interjects

"No, it's not. I was having a rough time processing our Alabama case. I guess I slept through some of the trauma."

"You should have stayed home (L/n)," Hotchner says

"No, I need to do at least three hours of work to feel like I've been productive. I'll be fine if I can stay behind my computer and file reports."

"Ok, but you'll be going home at five at the latest." He orders

"Yes, sir." You type in the government password and tie up some loose ends. Many of your reports were halted, and new cases sprung up. Your computer read 4:57 when your to-do list was empty.

"Hotch?" you knock on his door frame and poke your head around the corner. He politely hangs up the phone and rubs his temples. "I'm gonna head out now?"

"Good. And fantastic job finishing your reports. Go get some rest."

"You too," you meander to Spencer's desk and pat his shoulder. "Can you drive me home now?"

"Of course,"

"Hey, don't get too rowdy lovebirds. We need y'all tomorrow!" Morgn calls from his desk, but you're already speeding for the door when he finishes his sentence. Reid makes a sojourn at a nearby Chinese food place and returns with a doggy bag. He takes you and the food up to your apartment and watches you deadbolt him in with you.

"You understand, right?"

"Of course, I also noticed you don't have a ground or top-floor apartment."

"Yeah," Today, you drop your purse on the bench by your door and line your black heels up nicely on a rack. "Well, ground-floor apartments are easier to break into. And if I'm thrown off my balcony, it's low enough that I probably won't die—unless I land on my neck."

"Lovely."

"Feel free to make yourself at home. I'm going to put on some pj's." you start taking off your blouse as you walk to your bedroom. His worm-like reaction only entices you to embolden yourself. You shed your business attire, toss it in the hamper, and put on the same shirt from earlier and an oversized zip-up sweatshirt.

You grab a pair of grey sweats from your drawer and bring them to Reid. He's pulling small white boxes out of the brown bag. You tap his shoulder to avoid startle. He jumps slightly, though.

"Here, those slacks don't look couch-worthy." You hold them out, and he looks hesitant to. "Please, you're a guest who bought me dinner." He pressed his lips in a thin line. He got up with a sigh and put the pants on in your bedroom.

You flip through the channels until you get to BBC and play Dr Who. Reid joins you, wearing an undershirt and your sweats, and is shocked to see his favorite show on the TV.

"Those fit you better than me. You should keep them."

"You watch Dr. Who?"

"Of course," you open a box of Peking ravioli, "Come, take a seat." you open the blanket on your lap for him. "Oh, actually, I have to feed the dogs." You spring upright when he sits down, so he gets a view of your perky butt as he tries to take in the fictional storyline. You scuttle off while he struggles with chopsticks with some lo mein.

You rejoin him, pull the blanket over your lap, overlapping your legs on his. You laugh along with the absurdity of the episode, and as breakfast at Tiffany's comes on, you tell Reid that you're getting drowsy. It's not much later that your glasses are pinching on his arm, and he can feel your lips distorted against him. He pulls you into his chest.

As your snores overlap the sounds of the movie he slides his arm under your knees and by your neck to carry you off to bed. The dogs immediately start barking and leap toward him.

"I'm fine, I'm fine, Artemis Nike Down! Safe." You assure the dogs. Immediately, they lay down and whimper at you. Reid opens your blankets and tucks you in. Before he leaves he places a succulent kiss on your forehead.

"Spence, stay."

"Ok,"

[brights-place]

So twst x murder drones

A cyn yuu that mellowed down yet is Still a goofball but when a overbolt happened they go feral on it a few zombie and disassembly drones here and there. 

[TWST] TWST x Cyn!Reader Warnings: Fluff, Fights, Swearing, Gore

[TWST] Twisted Wonderland x CYN! Reader A/N: I HAD SO MUCH FUN WRITING THSI CAUSE ITS MY FIRST TWST REQUETS OMG OMG!! anyways I LOVED THE IDEA OF CYN! YUU SO MUCHHHHH anyways this will be placed in Book 6 and again I was kind of struggling since I haven't watched murder drones in awhile which sucksss plus I've been struggling with writing fight scenes so I hope this was alright in some sorts..?

Summary: Cyn! Yuu was something there was no acutal way if everybody knew her real personality and actual mannerisms, as little is known of her from before her disposal, and after rebooting she has no control over herself due to the Solver possessing her. So when given the chance to be in a different world she used it to her advantaged yet she would do these things that others couldn't question but the moment it came when Idia overblotted and Taking Grim. They all couldn't help but witness the more... destructive side of her

Footsteps echoed as each and every group finally ended up in their final destination. Your eyes staring ahead as you already were the first one there your hands were close to your chest head lodged to the side. Your digital pupils staring at the group that came down from different parts of stairs and back to the figure hovering over them from afar Idia’s overblotted form hovering body is dominated by black and glowing blue tones. Blue flames crown his head and twist around his figure. His sleek angular armor is adorned with glowing blue accents and a central heart-like emblem on his chest. His lower body dissolves into flowing, tattered flames, giving him a ghostly, unbound appearance. A jagged-toothed mask obscures his face, while his glowing mismatched eyes. One burning intensely with blue fire reflect his despair and rage. A overblotted monster behind him hovering roaring as your eyes darted around as you scanned Idia and the overblot monster. You smiled trudging forward to the others "Hello everybody" "Hi Epel" you smiled waving as Epel waved back witha soft smile before you were standing with everybody snapping your head over back to Idia while others were belittling him and talking/shouting at him while the firey blue haired male was monologuing you couldn't help but be bored. Raising one of your hands to lift up your head while your shoes started dragging on the floor before stopping as you scanned Idia and the blot creature from behind him Leon couldn't help but stare at you when you were moving and stating your next action "Lick" your metallic tongue sticking out licking one of your digital eyes that were glitching slightly. "(Your Name) What are you doing?" Epel shouted as he noticed you were walking closer to Idia who stared down at you with eyebrows furrowed blue smoke coming from his mask "What are you-" "Giggle" Leona eyes widened as he stepped back smelling something coming from you not the usual one of a robot like Ortho but of something coming from a rotting corpse while Epel went to go towards you he reached his hand out towards the lavendar haired male grabbing him back instantly handing him off to Vil "GET DOWN" That one singular word had everybody quickly move away as you snapped your head up to Idia "Oh Y-Yes" voice glitching "Get snuck upon" everybody froze seeing how your digital pupils turned into yellow X's giving a fangy grin darting forward to Idia. The males eyes widened when you vanished from infront of him before snapping his head to the side when you past him landing back onto the floor below grinning while the others saw your change of appearance that changed instantly that resembles a rotting human-child corpse wearing black heels and a black tattered dress.

The way you moved on all fours with eyes sockets staring right at Idia that were dark showing signs they were ripped open with your X-shapes glowing a neon yellow-orange color that darted around each time deflecting Idia is throws and magic with the overblot monster. "Stab" You stated while fleshy like large tendrils came out poking out on your back, three intestine like tentacles protrude out of this form of yours is back as you used it to climb around walls and digging into the floor when skidding back neck snapping to the side as you stared at Idia who was heaving heavily as another spare of black tendrils shot out. Epel was frozen seeing how you were laughing and throwing Idia around as you continued to play around with him before Vil was shouting at you to get the overblot monster before you appeared behind Vil a large tendril appeared from you shooting out to stab Vil who was grabbed away by Rook "Angry." you said grinning while your X eyes staring at them. You were mentally cussing every human in here they were getting annoying to deal with these humans in this other world but you needed them for now and you wanted this done with as long as Grim didn't see this you were fine. It was annoying you on how when they tried to shoot magic at Idia they were close to hurting you in the trial so it made your job extra hard. Vil though being held by Rook before placing down was staring at your body and at a ripped part of your corpse like body reveals a drone identification number on her chest to be 1001 wearing a yellow "MARKED FOR DISASSEMBLY" armband wrapped around your left shoulder. Snapping your head back over to the overblot monster you grinned sprouting wings from your back that was slightly ripped on the bottom with camera-eyes appearing staring and zooming into Idia who's eyes widened when you lunged forward at him once again fangs showing with your smile, voice glitching "Let's eat." Riddle was petrified by how you were standing there unhinged and giggling how your body shifted into something else how you made the blot monster become into nothing toying with Idia. He wondered in his overblot form if you did anything like that but he didn't hear anything from any heartslabyul members so this situation with you was something he wouldn't have expect. Leona could smell the oil from your body the way your body and joints were snapping. The group even though trying to help you fight kept getting in your way especially when you in moments slammed them away to continue to torment Idia. Even though Idia deserved it he noticed how your mouth was drooling a black substance of oil. Azul was beside Riddle jaw slacking at how you laughed showing off numerous jagged sharp teeth with a dark gray metallic tongue that made him feel as if you were on par with the leech twins... He may or may not be considering on hiring you with how he saw you were handling the situation against Idia. Jamil felt useless in this entire situation not only with the time with Leona he was struggling with keeping up with you. Trying to shoot out large sums of magic but when he noticed how one of your tendrils shot out to him throwing him to the side he skidded to a stop.

Vil was beside Epel, and Rook staring at the scene. Epel looking horrified to see his so called friend having spike like tendrils throwing idia and impaling the overblot monster seeing you actually laughing without saying the word giggle or a word to describe your actions like usual. Rook though he would be complimenting your beauty or whatever someone was doing was holding a serious expression beside Vil nodding to eachother.

The after math with Vil saving Idia, Ortho also with Vil becoming old and everything though you were staring down at Idia who blinked letting out an 'eep' when you made a chomping motion to him "Bite" the moment you stepped on the ship with Grim going on first the air was tense the group staring at you while you used one of your hands to hold your head up properly "Blink" You continued to head over to a seat on the ship sitting down finally.

reblogs + comments are appreciated ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡ ©brights-place 2023 — do not repost on another platform, copy, translate or edit my works! if you fit my DNI list please don't interact!

[five-thousand-loaves-of-bread]

cumulus / nephos / “cloud” / ☁️

[plain text: cumulus / nephos / “cloud” / ☁️ cloud emoji]

[id: pastel fem looking person in pastel manual wheelchair looking down to slug in lap. there also slug on head n slug slide down skirt (don’t ask how). (all color pastel). person hair pink bangs, purple side hair, & blue low loose pigtails go below hips. purple eyes & medium-light ish skin. wearing bright turquoise ish color shirt collar with pink ruffles, & white shirt body with blue ruffles decorate, n green long sleeve cardigan over it also with ruffles. rainbow midi above knee skirt with white ruffles overflow from side of wheelchair. wear mismatch stockings, person’s left side rainbow stripes, n person right side turquoise blue with clouds on it. person not wearing shoes.

their wheelchair has yellow headrest, teal stroller push handle, green contoured backrest with supportive panels on two side lateral, teal to blue transition arm rest, orange big wheels with rainbow windmill candy swirl as cover & red push rim. frame is turquoise blue gradient to pink, has dump/slant, with yellow slug on one side’s turning point. purple fat caster wheels. attach to backrest is big white angel wings, & above arm rest has glowing yellow halo. their AAC device floating by them, has turquoise blue case with white cloud patterns. is saying “slug” icon. border of art lined with rainbow gradient lace. end id]

☁️.

(otherwise known as hate names terrible at decision)

VERY pastel n rainbow overload >:)

they level 3 autistic (“requiring very substantial support”) with high support needs—meaning they cannot independently do most adaptive functioning skills, needing other people physical help to do/do for them. they also need 24/7 supervision & physical help for all iADLs & bADLs.

they nonverbal & use AAC full time. their AAC is symbol based speech generating device.

their (most likely [<haven’t decided] partner who act as their) disability caretaker is hyacinthos shinya🪻🌌.

they also full time non-ambulatory wheelchair user with very specific posture & seating positioning needs so not out of it for long or really much at all.

angel wing on back of wheelchair is power assist! is magically powered by hyacinthos (who angel) & can be powered even remotely / far away. way control wheelchair & power assist part by intuitive / hand motions & gestures / etc, part by halo hover above armrest that act as joystick. can use it like traditional joystick or wear as bracelet n control that way! (gimme it i want one) (if you recognize this setting it may be because previous version)

they do mix of self propel, power assist, & caregiver push. their wheelchair have stroller style push handle instead traditional push handle for easier caregiver push, especially one handed.

is set in magical world & they do some magic (< haven’t decided]!

character not slug obsessed, artist the slug obsessed one

character sheet below cut!!

artfight character profile (VERY wip)

please do feel free draw them (with credit) n tag me!!!!!!

reblog welcome but please don’t repost

will fight you if debate about autism levels & support needs

.

hi under cut

[character sheet. functionally described below]

top left is full character clothing (with wheelchair translucent in background) because in original there some key parts blocked by wheelchair especially arm rest.

skirt around waist have purple band with blue small ruffles. center have rainbow bow with rainbow star on top.

n also have front n back of AAC device. what drawn here is 5x7 grid with various colored squares showing different parts of speech but grid size more so because like. is how much could fit comfortably. so even when redraw n isn’t exact 5x7 with colors exactly right where is right now, is okay. colors & where they are based on own AAC device >:) because of course

design of aac device case basically same as above. back side just have bigger clouds. oh also device has handles. tho it float around so handles get used less. float around so don’t have worry about how to carry it how to mount on wheelchair etc etc etc it follows you it automatic come to your hand when you wanna say something (kinda also acting as prompting bc sometimes think about say something but don’t actually say in device) it get out way when you don’t want it. if only like this irl lol

bottom left is info about character already said

bottom right is wheelchair design

parts covered up by person: rainbow gradient side guard, blue contoured cushion.

n also drawing of back of backrest: when not in use, wings power assist shrink to small decoration on back. not big there all time.

also have stickers! sticker of nessie, banana slug, sheep, cloud, star, rainbow, & an AAC symbol of “AAC”

wheelchair may also have magical tilt & recline & elevate. how? don’t know!!! why not just make full powerchair? uhhhh like manual chair look better

n picture of irl windmill candy

border of art also rainbow gradient lace.

yea that all please draw them 🥲

praise me put lots work into them

pls be nice to them

[diamonddaze01]

hello tara it’s me

if you’re still taking prompts for your game could i maybe suggest 40 “Are you okay?” “Why do you ask?” “You’re wearing two different shoes.” for our seokminnie?

kthnxbaiiiii

mismatched

pairing: seokmin x reader | wc: 1.0k prompt: “Are you okay?” “Why do you ask?” “You’re wearing two different shoes.” a/n: BENNIE HELLO! i loved writing this and honestly it was just what i needed after work today lol

The day had been relentless. Emails piled up like bricks in a wall, each one heavier than the last. Deadlines loomed, impossible to meet, and the cherry on top was your client—someone who, apparently, had made it their life’s mission to leave you frazzled and questioning your career choices. By the time you got home, your shoulders ached, your head throbbed, and the walls of your apartment felt closer than ever, suffocating in their silence.

You didn’t mean to text Seokmin. At least, not like that. You had typed it out and hit send without overthinking it: "Today sucked. Can I call you later?" Short, vague, but enough to convey the weight pressing down on you.

Seokmin had always been good at sensing when you needed him. Maybe it was the years of friendship, the countless moments you’d spent together, teetering on the edge of something more but never quite diving in. Still, you hadn’t expected him to show up at your door less than twenty minutes later.

When the doorbell rang, you frowned, dragging yourself off the couch. You opened the door, and there he was, panting slightly as if he’d sprinted the whole way. His scarf hung lopsided around his neck, and his coat was barely on, one sleeve dangling at his side. His hair was tousled from the wind, and his cheeks were flushed a deep pink from the cold.

“Seokmin?” you asked, startled. “What are you doing here?”

“Are you okay?” he asked, skipping right past pleasantries. His wide, dark eyes were locked on yours, scanning your face like he could piece you back together just by looking.

You blinked, caught off guard. “Why do you ask?”

“You’re wearing two different shoes,” you added, pointing to his feet before he could answer.

He glanced down, and the realization hit him like a truck. His left foot wore a white Adidas sneaker with faint blue accents, while his right foot was clad in a scuffed brown leather boot.

“Oh,” he muttered, ears turning crimson. “I didn’t notice.”

“You didn’t notice?” Your voice wavered between disbelief and the beginnings of a laugh.

“I came as soon as I got your text!” he protested, lifting his hands in defense. The plastic bag he carried swung dangerously close to hitting him in the face. “You said you had a bad day, and I thought maybe—maybe you needed me, or something.”

His words settled in your chest, warm and grounding. Your lips twitched despite yourself, the first hint of a smile breaking through the exhaustion that had weighed you down all day.

“Seokmin,” you said, stepping aside, “you didn’t have to rush over.”

“I wanted to,” he said softly, ducking his head as he stepped inside. His mismatched shoes squeaked against the floor, a detail so absurd it made you want to laugh and cry at the same time.

“What’s in the bag?” you asked, nodding toward the plastic he still clutched in his hand.

“Soup,” he said, holding it up like an offering. “And snacks.” He hesitated, then added sheepishly, “I panicked. I just grabbed the first things I thought might help.”

You couldn’t hold back the soft laugh that bubbled up. “Soup is a solid choice.”

He grinned at that, the kind of radiant smile that made your chest flutter no matter how many times you’d seen it. “See? I know what I’m doing.”

The two of you settled on the couch, and Seokmin insisted on heating up the soup despite your protests. You let him, partly because you didn’t have the energy to argue and partly because watching him move around your tiny kitchen—still wearing those mismatched shoes—was strangely comforting.

When he returned, he handed you the bowl with a dramatic flourish. “For the most amazing person I know,” he declared, settling beside you with his own bowl.

“Flattery won’t fix my day,” you said, though the corners of your mouth betrayed you, lifting into a smile.

“Maybe not,” he replied, “but it might help a little.”

And it did. As you ate, you told him about your day—the impossible client, the mountain of emails, the way your boss barely acknowledged your effort. Seokmin listened intently, nodding in all the right places and throwing in the occasional comment that made you laugh despite yourself.

“You’re amazing, you know that?” he said after a pause, his voice quieter now.

“Don’t start,” you said, though your cheeks warmed at the sincerity in his tone.

“I mean it.” He set his empty bowl aside and turned to face you fully, his gaze soft but unwavering. “You’re amazing, and I hate that you don’t see it.”

His words caught you off guard, and for a moment, all you could do was stare at him. Before you could muster a response, he leaned in, brushing a soft, tentative kiss against your forehead.

Your breath hitched, and when he pulled back, his eyes searched yours, as if he was waiting for a sign that he hadn’t overstepped.

“Seokmin…”

“I’m sorry,” he said quickly, his voice barely above a whisper. “I just—I wanted to make you feel better. Did it work?”

A small laugh escaped you, unbidden and warm. “A little.”

“Just a little?” He pouted, leaning closer, and before you could respond, his lips brushed yours—soft, warm, and lingering. The kiss sent a jolt through you, scattering your thoughts and melting away the tension that had clung to you all day.

When he pulled back, his smile was smaller this time, less teasing but no less radiant. “How about now?”

You laughed again, this time from somewhere deep in your chest. “Okay, fine. It worked.”

“Good.” He leaned back against the couch, propping his mismatched shoes up on the coffee table with zero shame.

By the time the evening wound down, your bad day felt like a distant memory, replaced by the warmth of Seokmin’s presence. You glanced at him one last time before heading to bed, and for the first time in hours, you felt okay. Maybe even better than okay.

send me an ask for my drabble game!

[estellan0vella]

Love In Print│Bang Chan

Chapter Four: Tequila First, Sage Later SS: 7 (ignore time stamps and dates) Word Count: 1.8 K Content Warnings: sex dreams, discussions of sex dreams in detail, Minho is unhinged and has no shame

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Ayame sprawls on her plush couch, surrounded by the charmingly ridiculous chaos of her apartment. Smurf figurines litter every available surface. Perched on bookshelves, clustered on the coffee table, and even lined up along the windowsill like a tiny blue army preparing for battle.

One particularly smug Smurf in a chef's hat surveys the room from atop a stack of novels near the TV, his expression seeming to judge her questionable choice in reality dating shows.

Clad in an oversized fluffy sweater that slips off one shoulder and a pair of shorts, Ayame lounges with her legs tucked under her, scrolling mindlessly through her phone, ignoring Minho's spam texts. Her hair is piled into a messy bun that's more chaos than style, a few strands escaping to frame her face. The sound of keys jingling in the hallway pulls her from her aimless scrolling.

The door flies open, and Minho bursts in like he lives at the place, which, considering their years of friendship, he practically does.

"Okay!" he announces dramatically, throwing his arms out as if delivering divine proclamation. "It's an Oppa-and-Ayame day! That tyrant Haechul accidentally gave us both the same day off, so we're drinking wine and shit-talking the Four Devils. Especially Jisung, that squirrely little fucker."

Ayame grins lazily from the couch, not bothering to move. "You two should just fuck already. All that tension? It's gotta be sexual."

Minho freezes mid-stride, a look of exaggerated horror overtaking his face as he heads for her kitchen. "I considered it once," he says, yanking open her cabinet with unnecessary force, "but then I realized, ew. I'd get Miroh slime on my dick. Hard fucking pass."

Ayame snorts, watching as he emerges triumphantly with a bottle of red wine and two hilariously mismatched glasses, one a delicate crystal goblet, the other a mug with a cartoon penguin on it. "Bold of you to assume you'd be the top between you and Jisung."

Minho freezes, the wine bottle in one hand and the penguin mug in the other. His face twists in mock indignation as he glares at her. "Yah! I am a fucking top!"

"Sure you are," Ayame hums, accepting the glass he hands her. She takes a sip, savouring the rich flavour with a soft sigh.

Minho plops down next to her, kicking off his shoes. He watches her for a moment, his usual playful smirk softening. "You okay?"

Ayame twirls the stem of her glass between her fingers, staring into the wine like it might hold the answer to all her problems. "I think I'm going to have to quit."

Minho jerks upright, his glass clinking as he slams it onto the coffee table. "What the actual fuck are you talking about?"

"Haechul's going to pull strings to make sure Chan gets the managing director job," Ayame explains. "And I made that dumbass deal with him. If he gets it, I have to leave."

Minho stares at her, his mouth agape. "You can't fucking leave. Who the fuck would drive Chan insane if you're gone? More importantly, who's going to keep me sane?"

"Minho," Ayame says, smirking softly, "you're already insane."

"Fair." He shakes his head, exhaling sharply. "But I'm serious. If you leave, I'm leaving. No way I'm sticking around without my favourite pain-in-the-ass maknae. Besides, if you're gone, there'd be no HR complaints to keep me entertained. What the fuck would I even do with my time?"

Ayame snorts, taking another sip of wine. "You'd miss me."

"Of course, I'd miss you," Minho says, his voice dropping to something softer. "But seriously, that deal? Fucking stupid. You're a pabo."

She grins, leaning her head against his shoulder. "I love you too, Oppa."

He rests his cheek against the top of her head. "You're still a pabo."

They sit in comfortable silence for a few moments, the sound of the city humming faintly in the background. Then Minho speaks again, his tone laced with mischief. "Have you ever thought about just getting it out of your system with Chan?"

Ayame jerks her head up, her glare sharp enough to cut steel. "I'd rather fucking die than have sex with Bang Chan."

"Yeah, but he's hot," Minho says, grinning like a cat who's cornered a mouse.

"Too hot," Ayame mutters begrudgingly, her nose scrunching as she sips her wine. "Oh, speaking of disasters, you'll never guess what I found in my closet yesterday."

Minho raises an eyebrow, intrigued. "What?"

Ayame sets her glass down and stretches dramatically. "Remember that BDSM novel manuscript from before the merger? The one with the dolphin metaphor?"

Minho's eyes widen, his grin practically splitting his face. "No fucking way. You kept it?!"

"Oh, I kept it," Ayame says, grabbing the bottle of wine and glasses as she stands. "This is bed and wine reading material. Let's go."

They head to her bedroom, fairy lights strung along the headboard casting a soft, warm glow over the space. The Smurfs have infiltrated here too, perched on her bedside table and dresser like a tiny blue cult.

Minho flops onto the bed, spreading out like a content cat as Ayame rummages through her closet, eventually pulling out a thick stack of papers.

She plops onto the bed beside him, flipping to a random page. Clearing her throat, she reads dramatically, "'Her body bent like a bow, her legs both entwined and spread apart as his hands worked magic she didn't know existed.'"

Minho chokes on his wine, doubling over as he coughs. "How the fuck do you do both?"

He attempts to mimic the described position, his limbs sprawled in every direction like a broken action figure. Ayame howls with laughter, clutching the manuscript as tears stream down her face.

"Okay, okay," she gasps, flipping to another page. "'Electric pulses shot through her as his velvet tongue traced-'"

"Velvet tongue?!" Minho interrupts, his voice high with incredulity. "Is he a man or a fucking fabric swatch?"

Ayame collapses onto the bed, laughing so hard her stomach hurts. "This is even worse than I remembered!"

"It's art," Minho declares, striking a ridiculous pose. "High-brow erotica for the mentally unhinged like us."

Ayame's breath hitches as she lies in her bed, her room dimly lit by the soft glow of her bedside lamp. The air feels thick, heavy, as Chan's voice cuts through the silence. "Ayame," he says, his tone low, almost a whisper.

Her heart pounds in her chest. "Chan," she whispers back, her voice trembling.

Before she can say anything else, his lips are on hers, firm and unrelenting. One of his hands grips her thigh, the warmth of his palm searing through her skin as he pulls her leg over his waist. His kisses trail down her neck, soft but insistent, leaving a path of heat as he moves lower, his mouth grazing her sternum.

Ayame's breathing grows shallow, her fingers curling into the sheets. He lifts her leg effortlessly over one of his impossibly broad shoulders, his movements deliberate and assured. The room feels like it's spinning, her senses overwhelmed by the weight of him, the feel of his lips, the strength in his hands-

Nope. Nope. Fuck no.

She slaps a hand over her face, jolting up in the bed. Beside her, Minho stirs under the covers, mumbling something unintelligible before flopping onto his side.

"Minho," Ayame hisses, shaking his shoulder urgently. "Red light. Code fucking red."

Minho grunts, his voice muffled by the pillow. "What? Fire? Bug? Break-in? Mouse? Talk to me, Maknae, I'm barely alive."

Ayame sits up, hugging her knees, her voice trembling as she whispers, "I had a-"

Minho rolls onto his back, squinting at her through the haze of sleep. "A what? A bad dream? A good dream? A fuck-you dream? Spit it out."

Her cheeks burn as she finally blurts, "A sex dream. About Chan."

For a moment, the room goes silent. Then Minho's entire body stiffens, his grogginess vanishing in an instant. "No," he whispers, sitting up like he's just heard the world's worst news. He grabs her by the shoulders, staring at her with wide, horrified eyes. "No."

Ayame groans, burying her face in her hands. "It was so fucking real. His stupid hands, his stupid voice, his stupid fucking broad-ass shoulders. Why the fuck does my subconscious hate me?"

Minho's face twists in exaggerated pain as he pulls her into a tight hug, rocking her gently like a child. "No, no, no. We're cleansing this shit right now. You are not allowed to let Miroh trash like him into your brain space. Not even dreamspace."

She laughs weakly into his shoulder. "It's not like I fucking invited him. I didn't send out an RSVP."

Minho pulls back, his expression deadly serious. "Tequila. Sage. We're getting both. Right fucking now."

Ayame snorts, wiping her face. "You're overreacting. It's not that bad."

"Not that bad? Not that bad?" Minho leaps out of bed, pacing dramatically. "It's the end of the fucking world, Ayame. Next thing I know, you're gonna tell me you dreamt about licking his abs while he growls stupid shit like, 'You're mine, shortcake.'"

Ayame flops back onto the bed. "Stop. You're making it worse."

Minho stops mid-pace, snapping his fingers. "Wait here. I'm getting the tequila." He toddles out of the room, his bare feet pattering against the floor as he makes a beeline for her kitchen.

She sits up, her hands pressed to her cheeks, muttering to herself. "What the fuck is wrong with me?"

Minho returns moments later, a bottle of tequila in one hand and a shot glass in the other. He unscrews the cap dramatically and wafts the bottle under her nose. "Smell that. Salvation."

Ayame leans forward, inhaling the sharp, familiar scent. "Smells like my saving grace."

"Exactly." He pours her a shot, his movements precise. "This will cleanse your soul. Tequila first, sage later."

Ayame downs the shot without hesitation, grimacing as the liquid burns its way down. "How do you even know this works?"

Minho pours himself a shot, his expression unreadable as he takes it like a pro. "Because I've had to do it, Maknae. More times than I care to admit."

She raises an eyebrow. "You? What, you had a sex dream about Chan?"

"Jisung," Minho says matter-of-factly, pouring another shot for himself. "His cute little cheeks, full of my cock. Tequila and sage every fucking time. I call it a sanity reset."

Ayame chokes on her laughter, falling back onto the bed. "I hate you. I hate this. I hate everything."

"You'll thank me later," Minho says, patting her leg as he sits beside her. "These men are like incubi, Maknae. They latch onto you. But tequila? Tequila is your tether to reality."

Ayame groans, throwing her arm over her face. "I can't fucking believe I'm having this conversation."

Minho smirks, nudging her with his knee. "You should've seen my face the first time I dreamt about Jisung. I woke up like, who the fuck am I? But you know what? I've survived, and so will you."

She pulls her arm down, her laughter bubbling up despite the lingering embarrassment. "You're insane."

"And you're welcome," Minho says, holding up the tequila bottle. "Now, another shot. For good measure."

Ayame sits up, taking the shot he pours and downing it like it's medicine. The warmth spreads through her chest, dulling the edges of her anxiety. "Okay. Fine. This helps."

"Of course it does," Minho says, leaning back with a satisfied grin. "Now, for the record, if you ever even think about looking at Chan like that in real life, I'm moving out of the country and dragging you with me."

Ayame laughs, shaking her head. "Deal. No Miroh trolls in my headspace."

"Damn right," Minho says, raising his glass. "To tequila, sage, and exorcising Bang Chan from your subconscious."

"To my stupid fucking brain," Ayame mutters, clinking her glass with his before downing her shot.

The tequila's warmth settles into her, and as the laughter spills out between them, Ayame feels the weight of her nightmare lift, replaced by the comfort of Minho's ridiculous, unwavering loyalty.

Taglist: @fackeraccount @ot8girlfie @nightmarenyxx @reimaybeidk

@ismelllikechlorine247 @drewsandsebastianswife @my-neurodivergent-world @rhonnie23 @hanji-coffee

[mist1e]

SICK

𝓜𝓪𝓱𝓲𝓽𝓸 & 𝓡𝓮𝓪𝓭𝓮𝓻

Mahito doesn’t do kindness. But when he finds you sick and helpless, he decides to make an exception — in his own twisted way.

☙ 𝓡𝓮𝓪𝓭 𝓸𝓷 𝓐𝓞3 ❧ ☙ 1900 words ❧

The troubled slumber crawled into your mind on its sticky paws, lulled you to sleep, and then jerked you awake with a treacherous poke, preventing you from truly resting. You sank deeper into the black cosmos of nothingness, only to surface again, like a buoy bobbing up and down at the whim of restless waves.

Somewhere in the depths of the flat, the front door slammed.

You opened your fever-red eyes and sat up in bed, listening intently. You heard the sound of a shoe flying off to the side, followed by a second one, which smacked against the half-closed wardrobe door.

Ah. Of course. It was him.

Mahito.

“Oh, I'm going to cheer you up real good!” A childishly joyful voice shattered the dusty silence of the slumbering flat, cutting through its stiff air. “I thought the hardest part would be twisting the shapes, but it turns out that inflating them is an enterprise of its own!”

His voice, sparkling with mirth, flowed like a brook, drawing closer and closer to your bedroom. Soon, Mahito's head appeared in the doorway. An impatient smile played on his slightly pinched lips, the kind of smile that barely contained laughter. His mismatched eyes twinkled with mischief as he tilted his head to the side, a stray strand of ash-blue hair falling over his face.

Eagerly, he stepped into the room. His tall, slender figure made your bedroom seem tiny.

“Ta-dam!” Mahito exclaimed, pulling the object of his pride from behind his back.

In his hands, he held something that resembled a poorly twisted balloon dog. Squinting your watery eyes, you took a closer look. The ‘dog’ silently gasped for air, its empty eye sockets staring blankly into space. It fidgeted incessantly, as if trying to untie the tight knots Mahito had made. The sight was both mesmerising and utterly grotesque.

“I burst nearly twenty of them before I could reshape a human right enough to inflate it,” Mahito said, his voice tinged with unmistakable pride.

He looked at you expectantly, waiting for your praise. You had known Mahito for a long time, but the contrast between his murderous cruelty and his childlike directness never ceased to amaze you.

“It looks... Interesting.”

Your throat felt as if it had been scraped with sandpaper, and you broke into a fit of dry coughing. With your back hunched, you arched forward, a hand pressed to your chest as if trying to soothe the pain tearing through your lungs.

The smile slid off Mahito's face. Displeased that his trick had failed to make the proper impression, he irritably tossed the mutilated, reshaped human-dog into the corner of the room, where it squeaked pitifully.

“What’s the matter with you?” he muttered, eyeing your twisted, shuddering figure. Mahito folded his arms across his chest. Once your coughing subsided, he added, “It’s noon already. Why are you still in bed?”

“I’m sick.”

Mahito raised one eyebrow in surprise, tilting his head curiously to the side, studying you like an odd specimen.

“Is that so? Interesting. And why would you be sick?”

Despite your miserable condition — the chills racking your body and the pain pounding in your temples — you forced out a smile at his innocent question. You looked up at him, meeting his scrutinising gaze.

“When it happens, there’s nothing you can do, Mahito. You just... get sick,” you began to explain patiently, trying not to speak too much so as not to irritate your sore throat further. “All you can do is take some pills and wait for it to go away.”

“For what to go away?”

You suddenly felt incredibly embarrassed by your weakness, by your stuffy bedroom, your unkempt hair, and the pathetic sight you made. You lowered your eyes again. The last thing you wanted was to let Mahito in on the details and become the object of his ridicule, but you knew he wouldn’t leave you alone otherwise.

“When you’re sick, you feel incredibly weak. Every bone in your body aches as if you’re being stretched on a rack. Your throat hurts, your eyes water as if they’re filled with sand. Your head swells from the inside out, a dull pain throbbing in your temples. The simplest actions you’ve always taken for granted become a struggle. You can’t do anything; you’re completely useless. You’re trapped in a sick body that’s rebelled against you and taken away your control.”

Every word slashed painfully into your mind, lashing you like a red-hot whip, making you feel more and more wretched in your own eyes. You always felt lonely and abandoned, when you were sick. The vile feebleness of it all drenched your soul in sorrow and self-pity. Your fever-stricken brain plunged you into a state of hopeless longing that made your shoulders slump, and your throat tighten with a sense of powerlessness. You fell silent, staring at the patterns on the blanket, waiting to hear the ringing of Mahito’s mocking laughter.

Instead, you heard soft footsteps, followed by the creak of the mattress.

“You’d better stay away, I don’t want to get you sick,” you said uncertainly, instinctively backing away from Mahito as he sat on the edge of the bed.

“Oh, please. What do you take me for? Your human nonsense doesn’t affect me. Now, scoot over.”

You hesitantly moved to the side with an effort, making room for Mahito. He climbed onto the bed and sat down, his back resting against the soft headboard, still warm from the heat of your body. With a deft movement, he pulled you to him, his long fingers wrapping around your trembling shoulder. You tensed at the suddenness of his touch, icy compared to your feverish skin. You flinched, then melted against his chest with a sigh.

Silence stretched between you two, growing more and more comfortable with each passing moment. The room around you seemed to recover from Mahito’s sudden intrusion and slipped back into its oblivious slumber. It was so quiet that you could almost hear the rustle of dust motes swirling in the sunlight filtering through the curtains. The measured rise and fall of Mahito’s chest slowed your heartbeat, making it match his deep, steady breathing.

You wanted to ask, wanted to know, wanted to understand. Your lips parted, but no sound came out. More than anything, you were afraid of ruining this fragile, elusive moment.

Mahito broke the stillness, as if he had read your mind, sensing your distress.

“When I transfigure a human being, they go through immense agony,” his quiet, purring voice crept through the silence. “But one thing is constant. I stay with them until the very end. Our souls touch for a moment, and I feel the echo of their harrowed being. The anger, the hatred, and the fear that spawned me return to me like a falling raindrop that dissolves on the surface of a bottomless lake. This is the price of my Cursed Technique.”

Mahito fell silent, seemingly lost in thought. His fingers brushed over your shoulder, mindlessly tracing invisible patterns. Suddenly, he turned his head and pressed his lips to your forehead, inhaling your scent deeply. His lips lingered, leaving an icy seal on your inflamed skin. You froze, eyes wide, afraid to breathe as Mahito revelled in this moment of unexpected intimacy.

His distinctive scent — ozone with a medicinal edge, layered with burnt sugar and sweet amber — tickled your nose, filling you with his presence as if he were seeping into your very being. A torrent of conflicting emotions raged in your chest, momentarily eclipsing your pain. You hadn’t realised how much you needed this small act of tenderness, how famished you’d been for even the faintest hint of affection. The sudden awareness hit you like a deafening explosion. The seconds stretched on unbearably, and when your lungs began to burn from lack of air, Mahito broke the kiss and pulled back to look into your eyes. His gaze was calm and soft, but something lurked behind the warmth of his stare — something you couldn’t quite name.

“You know I will kill you in the end, don’t you, little one?” he whispered.

His whisper coiled around your heart, filling it with a weird sense of trepidation. His hand touched your cheek, brushing aside a stray strand of hair. Gentle fingers slid over your face, stroking, caressing, as if he wanted to imprint every contour and curve into his memory.

“That’s why I can tell you,” he continued. “My birth was unpleasant and painful. Hate flowed through my veins, rage roiled in my chest, disgust twisted my muscles into knots. Now I bestow this feeling on the humans I transfigure, and they give it back to me again. The circle is complete — Ouroboros sinking its teeth into its own tail.”

His fingers moved lower, and his graceful hand rested on the centre of your chest, right over your fluttering heart. You continued to stare at him, unable to utter a word, completely enchanted by his hypnotising voice and the tenderness of his touch.

“Weakness, helplessness, powerlessness — I felt it too when the void spewed me into this world. That feeling still flares in my chest when I reshape human souls.” Mahito’s lips stretched into a smile that was at once affectionate and ominous. “Someday, little one, when your time comes, we’ll share it, and the drop of your soul will return home. But not today.”

Mahito closed his eyes, and you felt the space around you crackle with the energy filling it.

“Mui Tenpen.”

The words of his Cursed Technique escaped his lips, and in the same instant, your body arched up, torn by the unstoppable streams of energy bubbling through your veins like molten metal. A shriek froze in your throat, and your eyes rolled back. You thought you were about to be torn to pieces, and only Mahito’s firm, yet gentle embrace held you together. The air around you quivered, throbbed, and buzzed like a swarm of angry wasps.

It ended as abruptly as it had begun. The buzzing reached its peak and then collapsed into silence. With a swift tidal wave, the Cursed Energy drained from your body. White spots still danced before your eyes as you struggled to focus your gaze on Mahito. He slowly opened his eyes, observing you with a content smile. Your skin hummed with the ghost of his Cursed Energy, a faint echo of his power that shot through you. His hand remained on your chest, spreading warmth where it rested — a lingering connection, a shared secret. The weakness and malaise were gone. The searing pain clawing at your windpipe had dissolved. You involuntarily put a hand to your chest, where a lump of sticky heaviness had vanished.

You were perfectly healthy.

“Mahito... You…”

“Yes, yes,” he waved it away impatiently. His seriousness vanished without a trace, replaced by the usual carefree and childish grin. “Don’t get all mushy. And don’t take this as some sort of kindness. I just need a playmate.” His smile tightened briefly, and his eyes flashed to the side before returning back to you.

He moved away, putting distance between you, but there was a sense of reluctance in his hand, that lingered on your shoulder for a fraction of a second longer than necessary.

Or did you imagine it?

“Get out of bed and get dressed. I need you to help me figure out how to twist a rabbit.”

[micksture]

hello i’m back on the grind and today i bring you the fullbody refs i nearly did a backflip over 🌞 hope you’ll like em

notes under the cut

CHARLIE

- Former Princess of Hell. She resigned from her role and place in the royal home because if she didn’t, she wouldn’t be able to fulfill her dream of redeeming Sinners. Her parents had different plans and expectations for her, and deem her as an embarrassment. Charlie lived in a dingy apartment and worked a couple of jobs for a few years to gather money. She struggled, but she finally earned enough to afford an empty, run down building. At the start, she and the gang will have to start rebuilding and renovating it to make the hotel she planned to build :p

- More goat motifs (ears, nose, horns, pupils, legs and hooves)

- Doll-like joints, which make her movements awkward and robotic at times

- Fangs and buck teeth <3

- Fluffy, puffy hair!!! The color is a mix of Lucifer’s hair back when he was still an angel (golden) and the hair he has now, after falling (red)

- One snake on each side of her head. Both of them are different species and have different personalities. They’re also super venomous, but she doesn’t rlly use that ability

- A mole under her left eye because I just couldn’t help myself hehe

- Tail that she can’t retract and has all the time. It’s a bit too short and just bothers her most of the time by accidentally knocking stuff over

- A blue ‘blouse’ (it’s actually a long sleeve top with buttons printed onto it, kinda like those silly faux tuxedo t-shirts) and shoes with accents of the same color, as any variant of blue is a vital part of the very loose dress code for the hotel’s workers. She also wears blue earrings and always adds a bit of blue to her makeup :3

- Other than that I think her outfit is pretty much similar? At least to the Pilot one

- I tried to sneak in some hearts to her design and just overall make her look friendly and awkward lolz

VANHI

- Former Exorcist angel. She gained consciousness during an extermination and was discarded solely because of that fact. Exorcists are programmed to be killing machines that feel nothing and don’t ask questions, so when they gain consciousness (which is very rare), their higher ups – so Lute and Adam – get rid of them. Vanhi was found by Charlie two days later, miraculously still alive. Charlie rushed her back to her apartment and slowly nursed her back to health, recognising her as an angel, but not an Exorcist. They’ve known each other for 3 yrs now, and they took some time to grow fond of each other but they’re getting there

- Obviously, the name change… She did used to be called Vaggie (when she was still an angel), changed it after being banished from the holy troops and left behind in Hell

- STRRRONG 💪💪💪💪 probs the strongest one out of the main six characters, at least physically

- Lots of scars all over her body from previous battles

- Long teased hair put up in a high ponytail for practical reasons. The black tips are dyed. Also RACOON TAIL!!!!!!!!

- Some moth motifs, like the antennas that mimic a bow and also her hair kinda resembles the wings of a moth when it is down.

- A funky ahoge (I think that’s what it’s called..) that looks like a halo :3

- A different eyepatch + protective gloves

- She wears a pink and white striped pullover under her blue shirt and she also has mismatched socks 👾

- Angelic spear, obvi.. its’ handle is a little bent in the middle, because Adam tried to snap it in half for dramatic effect and failed LMFAOJEBW BOZO

ANGEL DUST

- He’s a famous pornstar under Valentino’s contract, and he has been for some time now. Before that, he’d perform in clubs

- Lots of Valentino’s influence in his choice of clothing: shorts, boots, the black top, pink gloves + fur scarf, rings and the collar. The only thing that wasn’t gifted to him by the overlord is the pinstriped shirt and hat that he’s had since the very arrival in Hell. ALSO SHOUTOUT TO MY FRIEND FOR THIS IDEA: the buttons on his suit are little flies because he’s a spider!!!!!!

- Six eyes, four arms (but he can also grow out two more), pedipalps and abdomen to rlly play into the spider theme

- His teeth are stained with Val’s red saliva

- He has lots of toned pink spots all over his body. I couldn’t rlly decide on an exact design for his markings and I felt like there was already a lot happening on him so I just went with little pink speckles

- Very fluffy :v

ALASTOR

- Powerful Overlord that came back from his seven years of radio silence to invest in the biggest flop of a project in Hell and stick around, seemingly just to laugh at its’ failure

- Toned down colors yay

- Long, pinstriped crimson suit worn over a beige dress shirt, 1930s inspired shoes (they still have the silly hoof prints on the bottom don’t worry) and a tie because I’m sick of the bazillion bowties 👿👿👿

- Voice box located between the top of the knot of his tie and the bottom of his high neck ruff. He often uses it to speak without moving his mouth

- The two sharp ridges that peek from under his neck ruff and have a white glow to them are actually a part of a collar. He’s forced to wear it because of his deal. It’s made of angelic metal, so he can’t really take it off anyway

- For the deer features, I changed his ears to be a little more deer-like, made his antlers bigger and gave him a deer nose :p He has a tail and hooves too but he hides them as much as possible

- No fuckass bob 🙏

- Couldn’t help myself and gave him a pencil mustache 🕴️

- Staff inspired by a 1930s microphone. It can be shortened to a regular mic or expanded to work as a cane!! It's a sentient being and it often adds to situations/conversations by playing sound effects. And yes it does have tiny antlers hehe

- Different monocle

- Some green accents because his magic is green idk

HUSK

-A former Overlord, long past his prime. His enjoyment of Alastor’s 7 year absence was short lived – now, he has to deal with even more annoying people in the hotel. He works the bar and because of Charlie’s request he’s allowed to only fix up mocktails instead of real alcoholic drinks

- Based his design on a mainecoon cat, so he’s super fluffy. Lots and lots of fur, which is unkempt because he gave up on trying to care for it a while ago

- Owl wings. His right wing is clipped (because of the deal with Alastor) and he can no longer fly. He can’t even expand this wing to its’ full length without having to painfully strain it to get it to move out even a little bit

- boy why u so eyebrow…….

- I live for chubby Husk <3

- A bunch of scars

- A rough beard and a droopy mustache

- A stained, patterned blue shirt with rolled up sleeves and a missed button at the top, tiny magician hat, black pants + suspenders and a green cloth to wipe empty glasses

- Give this poor man a break…

NIFFTY

- Used to work at a tailor shop and one day, she came across Alastor when he went in to get his suit fixed after a fight. Rather than being presented with a deal offer, she offered her soul to him herself. He agreed, of course, but he was so weirded out by this that he decided to spare her life to further observe her antics. They’ve grown fond of each other and now have a father-daughter relationship of sorts

- I rlly leaned into the idea of her being a bug… She’s a grasshopper/ant mix, so she has antennae and mandibles

- Fluffy, glowy hair that she curls with hair rollers every day

- Green eye (same shade as her dress)

- Freckles :3

- Big patterned dress, a matching head scarf, blue apron and blue cleaning gloves

[tzyuki]

hello! can i request enhypen members trying to style their s/o? (doing their hair, picking their clothes etc.) thank you and i love your works 💗

— (06.05.23) ENHA-QUESTS

IN WHICH ✶ enha styles their s/o!

genre 𓏸 ͘ ࣭⸰ enha x gn!reader. fluff fluff fluff!!!

warnings 𓏸 ͘ ࣭⸰ swearing, if any more please tell me!

ej note 𓏸 ͘ ࣭⸰ hi anon!!

⏤ ☆ yang jungwon / 양정원

jungwon would style you in a cute little beanie and like a comfy sweater, something very chill so you guys can hangout and you’d be comfortable!

⏤ ☆ lee heeseung / 이희승

one time you let heeseung pick your hairstyle and now it’s his favorite thing to do. he even asked you to teach him how to braid so he can help you when you’re struggling or when he just wants to play with your hair and braid ittie bittie braids.

͏͏⏤ ☆ park jongseong / 박종성

jay loves to pick your outfits, atp he’s your own stylist . before going out you always ask for his opinion because you trust him and know he’s not gonna let you leave the house looking a mess, you’re honestly thankful for that. although one time he was having a phase with mismatched colors and let you go out wearing orange shoes and a blue shirt.

͏͏⏤ ☆ sim jaeyun / 심재윤

jake likes to pick out what shoes you will wear bc he likes to match them with his outfit. he also likes to match your outfits up without you knowing so. he’ll make up some dumbass excuse like “omggg whattt noo i didn’t purposely match us. i planned this outfit last night.”

͏͏⏤ ☆ park sunghoon / 박성훈

sunghoon also likes to style your hair, he likes to play with it, tie it in little pigtails, braid it, curl it, etc. you were shocked and surprised he knew how to do so much with hair. he says it’s because he did his little sister’s hair growing up but in reality he had sunoo teach him how to do everything to impress you.

⏤ ☆ kim sunoo / 김선우

sunoo loved to style your hair as well. he liked to straighten your hair and put pretty little clips on it. he would put matching ones in his hair to twin with you.

⏤ ☆ nishimura riki / 西村 力

riki liked to style and buy you with jewelry because he thinks it completes an outfit. you barely owned any, only a couple of necklaces so he bought you some and would tell you which one to wear with what outfit.

enha-masterlist — permanent taglist (open) ; @jangwonie @cwsana @luvyrin @amara-mars @ineedaherosavemeenow @mintydayeon @love-4-keum @kpopx-xlover @abdiitcryy @beepjeongie @ox1-lovesick @ja4hyvn @shinsou-rii @winkura @ddeonudepressions @tnyhees @wannabeyn @kpoprhia @svnghoonsonly

[lazycranberrydoodles]

a visual guide to all of hua cheng’s adaptations :D / follow for more hua cheng appreciation posts / transcribed notes + versions without my deisgn below the cut if you want this as a reference!

donghua

(by haoliners animation league) (i found multiple necklace designs in the manhua so i picked the most recent one - the S2 trailer)

very dark gray, straight hair

pointier nose

human ears

slightly paler than xie lian

parallelogram shaped eyepatch

thick braid

tall collar

broad shoulders

low neckline (cleavage)

tunic more form fitting

butterfly + geometric design (on belt and vambraces)

two belts

short red thread

e’ming has large red + white hilt

criss-cross chains (on boots)

white sole (on shoes)

book covers

(by 曰出的小大陽 / tai3_3)

same skin tone as Xie Lian

dark brown hair

trapezoid shaped eyepatch

very long hair + thinner hair

human ears

long nose, thinner face

red liner under the eyes

brain behind shoulder

big necklace charm

simple, loose fitting tunic

wavy + intricate design (on belt and vambraces)

long vambraces

minimal e'ming

endless red thread

lower boots

manhua

(by starember)

wavier, ink black hair

heavy eyeliner / shadow

mismatched earrings

very gray / pale skin

shield shaped eyepatch

arched eyebrow + piercing

lip glos

no hair strands in front of shoulders

beefy / dorito shaped

many outfits + hairstyles

extra straps on belt

pointy vambraces

floral design (on belt and vambraces)

very cool toned red

more detail overall

dark colored pants

e'ming is LONG

my design

(by @lazycranberrydoodles ) (subject to change)

blue / purple toned hair + skin

wolf cut type hairstyle

red & black eyeliner

trapezoid shaped eyepatch

pointy ears

black choker

lipgloss

many earrings (one is a fic reference :))

skinnier (died @ 17)

warmer toned red

big ol sleeves

floral + butterfly design (on belt and vambraces)

extra chain on belt for style

rings

simple e'ming

high boots w/ heel

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

To the Other Side

Spontaneous fic I decided to write because I want to witness Fellow and Rollo interact (outside of fan art) 💕 I took a lot of inspiration from The Other Side and The Greatest Show from the same musical, and this fan comic and this fan art.

There’s just something so fun about Fellow’s happy, playful vibes mingling with Rollo being deadly serious and hateful 😂

***SPOILER WARNING: Glorious Masquerade and Stage in Playful Land!!!***

Imagine this…

The nearby town was the only reprieve Rollo had from Night Raven College. Magic was school-sanctioned (in theory), but the rule did little to curb the spells fired off in spontaneous spats between classes, pranks, resolving minor inconveniences, and—this made his lip curl the most—for fun. He turned the other cheek in the presence of instructors, chided classmates when catching them in the act, and vented his anger in private.

Soon, he told himself. Soon, this loathsome school exchange program would be over, and Night Raven College put behind him. But one man can only take so much sin before his patience threatened to give, irritation spilling over his carefully constructed walls.

Out here, a bus ride away from campus, he was free from those vile villains, however fleeting it was. The air cleaner, his mind clearer, as he breathed in the salt-kissed, balmy air. Waves lapping against the pier, the town’s comfortable hum as time rolled by, a soothing song.

He looked out at the waters, blue tipped with the white of sunshine dappling a painting. It was alive, yet at peace with the world. Knew its place.

Rollo's eyes drift shut, and he allowed the sea to envelop him. Quiet, calming, completely—

“Oya? Oya oya oyaaaaa?"

An exaggerated drawl invaded his ears. It was an unfamiliar man’s voice, slick with overly honeyed friendliness.

“You there, sir!” he called out. “Might I have a moment of your time?”

Ignore him, Rollo coached himself. He is not referring to you. There are many people in the town he could be accosting.

The crack of a clap on his shoulder suggested otherwise.

Rollo’s tranquility splintered and shattered, like glass dropped. His eyes snapped open again, alert and irritated.

A man had emerged on his left, and a small boy on his right. They stood too close for comfort, and seemed to be leering at him. From up, from down, encasing him in a web of excited stares.

The man had ginger hair in a widow's peak, the rest swept aside to make way for sharp eyes. His suit was fine at a glance, olive vest and neat cravat, violet coat with golden details and tassels cinched over it—but upon closer inspection, there was a hole in the pinkie finger of his long white gloves, and a miscellaneous diamond patchwork of patterns running down his trousers.

Something about him screamed “showman". Perhaps it was the jaunty half cape that hung off his left shoulder or the knee-high spats over shoes that clicked loudly, calling attention to him, with each step. Maybe it was the sparkle-studded top hat upon his head, nestled between two twitching ears, or the cheery flicker of his bushy tail, or the cane in hand, topped with a golden fox. (... Rollo suspected it was his boldness, the sheer audacity to insert himself where he wasn’t needed.)

The boy with the showman was a cat beastman, shorter and disposition shyer. His hair was a red-brown rat's nest even clamped under a smaller, brightly colored top hat, his fur just as unkempt. The only thing that seemed to fit on his slight frame is a lilac shirt and a small bow tie. His mustard yellow jacket looked as though it has had its body sheared in half, then the fabric stuck back onto the oversized sleeves, the pants attached to his overalls saggy and patched up with the wrong patterns. Even his boots were wrong—untied—and socks mismatched.

He blinked at Rollo through eyes that sloped downward, his expression lax. His mouth was steady beneath a spray of dark freckles. The boy held onto a comedically large hammer, hands still trapped in his enormous sleeves as he gripped its handle.

Suspicious, Rollo concluded. They are highly suspicious individuals.

“… May I help you?” he asked, not out of kindness but as a courtesy.

“Ohoh!!” The man grinned broadly. “That composed stride! That stern, solitary gaze! Those extravagant robes! So sensible, so conventional. There’s no doubt in my mind! You, my good man, must hail from THE Noble Bell College!”

Rollo’s mouth was quickly forming a frown. A fan of flattery he was not. "What of it?”

The stranger chuckled, the coy hand on Rollo's shoulder not budging. The warmth of it made his skin crawl in spite of the layers of fabric separating them. "You've come a long way from the Shaftlands then! Tell me, how do you find Sage's Island? Is it everything you’ve dreamed it to be—or, dare I say, more?”

“I was beginning to enjoy it, right up until you and your companion happened upon me,” Rollo grumbled, jerking his shoulder away from the stranger’s touch. “I do not have many opportunities to steal away into town.”

“You have my humblest of apologies!” The man bowed deeply. It took a few seconds of lag, but the boy clumsily followed suit. “Gidel and I, we’re the curious sort, you see! We come across many wary souls on our own travels, and we want to get to know them. Isn’t that right, Giddie?”

Gidel nodded eagerly.

The fox beastman stuck out a hand, taking Rollo’s before he was given the chance to reciprocate or decline. He shook firmly, with enough strength to rattle around Rollo’s bones. “Fellow Honest’s the name! And you, my esteemed gentleman?”

“Rollo Flamme.” His reply was curt, intended to cut the conversation short with its bluntness. He tried to sidestep the man, but failed as Fellow slid to block him.

“Rollo—may I call you that? Great, greeat!!” he gushed, again not pausing for a “no” to potentially slip in. “From just a glance, I can tell you’re an upstanding, diligent student. You’ve been hitting the books so hard, you’ve barely gotten in a wink of sleep!”

Rollo’s mouth pinched. It was not an uncommon comment for him to hear, but he wasn’t the least bit delighted to have it spun as a compliment either.

“You poor, poor boy! You must be a nervous wreck!” Fellow sighed, sympathetically stroking the back of one of Rollo’s hands with his own. The student shuddered and pulled away with a slight glare. Rather than taking note of the displeasure, Fellow brightened, snapping his fingers. “That’s it! You are a nervous wreck!! We must diagnose this case at once.”

To Rollo’s bewilderment, Fellow produced a pair of spectacles from his breast pocket and slipped them onto his face. Gidel whipped out a notebook and a pencil from his overalls, poised to take notes.

“Let’s have a look at you!”

Fellow circled the dazed Rollo, poking and prodding at the boy’s lean frame with the butt of his cane. It bit into his ribs, his cheek, his thighs, as Fellow rattled off nonsensical phrases, Gidel reverently scrawling them down. Rollo swatted at the fox as if dispelling a pesky bug—but Fellow was too fast, too slippery, to land a clean hit on.

He at last stepped back, snatching up the notes from Gidel. (Rollo caught a brief glimpse of the writing—it was nothing close to what could pass as language.)

Fellow raked a hand through his hair as he seriously took in the report of scribbles. With each passing second, his features increasingly crinkled with concern. "Oh me, oh my, oh dear!! Alas, it's just as I suspected!"

"... What?"

The glasses and the notepad were promptly discarded. Props made meaningless now that their purpose was fulfilled.

Fellow snaked an arm around Rollo. Firmer this time, not something to be shaken off. "You, my boy, are allergic! To this drudgery! This cage, these walls!" He wildly gestured with his cane to their surroundings. "This life you're trapped in! You're stressed, depressed, mad, sad, miserable, all of the above!"

Each adjective thrown out drew Rollo's brows closer and closer together until there was no hiding his grimace. “I do not appreciate the unwarranted judgments being made of my character.”

"You see! My hunch was right!" Fellow flicked at a corner of Rollo's frown. It deepened. "There's only one cure for what you have: a vacation! And luckily for you, I have exactly what you need right here…!”

Reaching into his sleeve, Fellow retrieved a single ticket, sandwiched between two lithe fingers. The sepia image of an amusement park wreathed in flags was frames in crimson, blue, and gold. Admit One, trumpeted the ticket, to Playful Land.

“It just so happens that I, Fellow-sama, am the manager to the fabled amusement park of wonder, hopes, and dreams... Playful Land! Have you heard of it? It's a magical place with a plethora of rides, games, song and dance! Why, there's even a big stage where any member of the audience can be a rising star! The food, all free and ample!! You can gorge yourself on fun!! Doesn't that sound like a swell dream?"

Rollo deadpanned. "If by 'dream', you mean dreadful. To encourage casting aside one's inhibitions to indulge in all manner of vices... Your establishment is no paradise. It is a den of depravity, hell masquerading as heaven.”

"Eh?"

The strong hostility seemed to throw Fellow for a loop, gave him pause. He fumbled for a moment before finding his words again.

"My, my! Your allergies are worse than I thought...! Every kid needs to kick back one in a while, and you most of all! Since we're such good friends now, I would be more than happy to gift this prized ticket, good only for tomorrow, to you free of charge!" He winked, giving a theatrical twirl of his cane. Stars and sparkles exuded out from it. A small charm, a harmless trick. "No need to thank me!"

Rollo's eyes flashed, instant recognition setting him on edge. Similar items infested the City of Flowers every Topsy Turvy Day—enchanted handkerchiefs, tambourines infused with meager magic.

Disgust roiled through him.

"We have no such friendship," Rollo snippily corrected him. Is this man delusional? "Furthermore, tomorrow is a school day. It wouldn't do to miss it in favor of gallivanting."

“Now, now, I insist!!” Fellow pressed. “Please accept this ticket and take a load off, enjoy yourself. Live a little, laugh a little! The last thing I would want is for you to miss out on this once in a lifetime opportunity!! Skipping a single day of school wouldn't be too harmful for a star-studded scholar like yourself."

His gaze flicked to Gidel. The two shared a keen glint, a subtle signal, then broke out into a show, a flurry of tap dancing along the pier.

"Trade in your typical for somethin' magical!” Fellow cried with the tip of his top hat. “Where it’s covered in all the colored lights!! Where the runaways are runnin’ the night!”

Gidel fished out a party popper from under his own headwear. When he tugged on its string, crackles filled the air, the popper letting loose a shower of glittering particles. Fellow belted out a hearty laugh, swinging his cane to catch confetti.

"Come on to the theater!!” he urged—mostly likely reciting some park motto, Rollo ventured. “In Playful Land... Life is Fun!!"

Fellow struck a pose with his arms thrust out, punctuating the performance. Gidel was less dexterous, and settled for an awkward approximation of the same pose.

Expectant for applause.

“… Charming display,” Rollo remarked dryly. He picked out a limp streamer from his hair. With a huff, he blew the remaining confetti off of him. “However, only a blithering fool would accept such a dubious offer. Is that what you take me for, Mr. Honest? A blithering fool?”

Fellow recoiled, his ears flattening, and his bravado faltering. Gidel glanced at the older man, soulful eyes full of worry.

"You must have fantasized about a day off before! Don't you want to get away and forget about your work and worries? Don’t you crave freedom?”

"No."

"What of the desire to chase thrills? To see and to experience what few others have before, or to relive a childhood you've perhaps never had? Don't you want to cut loose? Go crazy? Party all day?"

"Never."

"How about stardom? Play a different role? Have you a longing to stand upon a grand stage, hundreds of thousands of adoring fans applauding your passionate performances?"

"Not once."

His patience wore thin like a braided rope down to its final connecting threads. Rollo tapped a finger against his folded arms. "Are you finished? I tire of my precious time being wasted. If you will kindly excuse me."

He turned back toward the town. Rollo was a few steps along a shop-lined street when, suddenly, the odd duo reappeared. They skidded to a panting stop before Rollo, walling off his path. Well, more Fellow than Gidel.

A look of annoyance ripped across the fox’s face. “HOLD ON!! What kind of person plays hard to get and then walks away from a conversation like that?! Would it kill you to stop and just listen to me, you bra…”

Fellow petered off midsentence and backpedaled, smoothing out his spite into a smile. "...aaave soul! I've yet to meet someone as assertive and as self-assured as you are.” He reached out and brushed off an invisible fleck of dust from Rollo’s robes. Simpering. “You're a man that knows exactly what he wants!”

Rollo bristled. He hadn't missed the sudden shift in his chummy behavior. All the more reason to suspect them. They’re very clearly up to something.

"Yes, yes, I can see it now!" Fellow continued, stroking his chin in contemplation. "What you seek is not amusement! You’re longing—no, aching—for something far greater, more ambitious!"

He leaned into Rollo's ear, cupping a hand to it. Gidel came from the other side, staring up curiously. Fellow’s voice dropping to a sultry whisper. "Power, perhaps? The magical kind, even.”

Rollo visibly stiffened.

“Oh, have I got your attention?” The curve of Fellow’s mouth cocked, going crooked. A triumphant smirk. “You’re interested, I know it! Buried in those bones of yours, there's an ache, a thirst, for knowledge that you can't ignore!"

The fox wiggled a finger, his words rapt with wonder. “Playful Land is the product of maaany wise and talented mages! If you pay us a visit, you might be able to learn a thing or two from observing how we run the show. It's a valuable learning opportunity for a student of an arcane academy! How about it, kid? This surely is a deal you wouldn't want to pass up!!"

There was no indication of any feeling in Rollo's face. His eyes had glazed over, as though haunted, a veil shrouding his vision. He stared at Fellow as though he were a distant phantom.

Spin, spin. Fellow's cane did a little dance of its own. "Think of it: the fire, the freedom, the flood of magic. Blinding and outshining anything that you could know!"

Fire.

Rollo blinked. The veil lifted, and the man was rudely roused from an awake slumber. Neutrality replaced with a kindling emotion, sparse embers that did not yet know they would converge into flames. "... What did you say?"

"Everything you could ever want. Everything you could ever need," Fellow tapped the waiting ticket, "is here right in front of you. This is where dreams are made, where the impossible comes true: Playful Land. This is where you want to be—"

The fire flared, bile rising from his throat. Beneath his skin, blood came to a rapid boil. Hot, screeching, an intense fever pitch. The heat like a knife slashing through strings.

Hands lashed out, fervently seizing Fellow's arms. Rollo clutched onto him, a desperate parishioner to a priest preaching at the pulpit. But there was no such blind devotion in his expression, only something wild, untamable, twisted.

“What did you say?!” Rollo hissed, low and dangerous. Threatening.

Gidel jumped and skittered behind Fellow, hiding himself from view. The fox's hand found its way to Gidel's back to support the trembling boy.

"You've been mouthing off for quite some time, and I've been far more patient than you deserve." Rollo cut to the mustard yellow sleeve clinging to Fellow's leg. "You have a child with you. Refrain from spouting such ridiculous vulgarities in front of them.”

“Wh-What…!!”

“Is this the game you play?” Rollo’s grip tightened. Voice hoarse, a pained shudder threading through it. “Tempting children with the promise of whimsy and fun, encouraging them to be intoxicated by magic...!"

While you stand by, doing nothing.

An untimely demise by magic, a fate he knew all too well.

Consumed alive in a hellish inferno. Only a curtain of smoke and ash remaining. Slipping through his grasp when he was standing right there.

Brother...

Hot tears stung his eyes—but they dissipated near instantaneously, staved off by his burning fury. Anger and upset rapidly overtaking him.

Not again. He would not stand for it to happen, would not surrender. This, he swore, with a resolute breath, and cried out with all of his seething soul.

"Hmph! I thought you witless before, but it seems you are not a clown," Rollo spat. "You are the entire circus."

Fellow gave a light, cumbrous chuckle—but his eyes narrowed. Gone was his cheer, his merrymaking. What remained was serious, astute. "... Hey now, that's a scary face you're making. Is this really how you want to spend your days? Let's lighten up a little."

A bitter scoff sounded.

“Continue this farce, and I will not stop at raking you across the coals," Rollo warned darkly. Fire licked his fingertips, close to bursting free. "I will show you just how scary I can be. The righteous flames of judgment are cleansing. They will purge all sin, reducing the wicked to mere specks of ash."

He released Fellow with a slight shove. The older man fell back a few steps, finding his balance again when Gidel pushed him upright with a silent grunt.

“If you understand, then I will be on my way. Good day to you.”

With the path cleared, Rollo stormed right by them. Robes billowing in a passing sea breeze and austere face to the town, he almost looked the part of a hero emerging triumphant from battle.

Back to his everyday life, the same side as always.

Fellow gaped after the boy’s retreating figure. At the prey slipping away from every carefully placed trap he and Gidel had laid out for him.

"Well, I never...!!" he groused. A fresh, foul mood ripe like a rain cloud over his head, Fellow discarded his smile for a sneer. "HIIIIIIE~ What was up with that arrogant brat?!”

Gidel shrugged, his comedically large sleeves flopping as he threw his hands up.

"Damn it!!" The curse was out before Fellow could cut it off. "Next time I see that guy, I'll teach him a lesson for looking down on us!"

He angrily kicked at a soda can on the ground—abandoned by a wayward townsperson. With a CRUNCH, the can launched into a nearby lamp post, ricocheting off its base and bouncing back. The can connected with Fellow's kneecap. He yelped and seized his injury, trying to contain the pain.

Eyes blown open in alarm, Gidel rushed to him. The boy was waved off, Fellow's whimpers eventually dying down.

"My sulking worried you? … You're seriously too good for this cruddy world, Gidel," Fellow muttered, shaking his head. He ruffled the cat beastman’s mane of hair, the roughness of it grazing the unguarded pinkie poking out from his one damaged glove. "Never change, got that?“

Gidel bobbed up and down in agreement.

“Good.” Fellow drew himself up and adjusted his jacket. “Tch. Kids these days sure are spoiled rotten. You promise them the world and they still blow you off."

His thoughts settled on the boy from before. The remarks they had traded, the resistance the target had put up.

I thought a bit of magic would help loosen the kid up—but Life is Fun didn’t work on him, Fellow mused. I cast it so many times too. Between my magic and charisma, they usually cave so easily.

Yet Rollo had regarded him like a man possessed, had regarded him with such hatred. The mad, tormented look in his face. An iron barrier against the fluttery, champagne laced lull of his spell.

"... Must be somethin' wrong with him," Fellow concluded. All kinds of fucked up in the head and in the heart. "Yup, that's gotta be it! This Fellow-sama's way too cool to be outdone by any old student.”

Again, Gidel nodded enthusiastically.

“It’s alright, there’s bound to be flops! We’ll have to pick out our next mark much more cautiously.” Fellow shaded his eyes and squinted. “Let’s see…"

Gidel trailed after his gaze. Combing through a crowd for easy pickings was child’s play for Fellow, but the young boy struggled to hone in on the monotony of minute details. Little nervous tics and hesitations, chinks in armor to exploit. They were present, but Gidel’s eyes were like a broken camera. Zooming in, then out, blurring, never able to fully focus.

His attention strayed, slowly meandering back back to the piers. The sea was a simple thing compared to the town—natural, unrestrained. So easy to understand.

“Maybe that one… no, no, that would never work,” Fellow mumbles to himself. “They’re in too large of a group to comfortably break through. The girl over there? Tsk, the parents are hovering, can’t risk that…”

His eyes ran along the bustling town and along the docks. Like fingers along book spines or piano keys, a quick, light caress. Effortless.

Then he came to a full stop.

Did a double take.

And stared.

Hard.

There, lazily parked by the piers, was a small gang of boys, each dressed in the same smart black blazer and trousers, vests and armbands an assortment of colors. Tucked into their breast pockets were fountain pens topped off with magestones. Their style, those emblems, famous.

Fellow smacked Gidel’s back, snapping the boy to attention.

“Look alive, Giddie! You see that?” He pointed with his cane. “Those uniforms are…!”

His face lit up with understanding. Mouth ajar, eyes wide, brows raised.

“We’re in luck today!” Fellow snickered. He tugged on Gidel’s sleeve, yanking the youth to him. “Hurry, let’s get in front of them! We’ll cut them off, pretend as though we’ve bumped into them by accident. Then, we pounce…!!”

Gidel lifted his hammer—a cheer.

The duo scampered down the street, hearts drumming in their chests and adrenaline pumping. In that moment, they brimmed with all the hope and the excitement that Rollo had failed to exhibit. They were children racing to a dream destination, fools wishing upon stars.

Elsewhere in the town, someone sneezed.

Rollo pressed his handkerchief to his nose, retreating further into his robes. “… The weather suddenly took a turn for the worse. What an ominous omen.”

[inneedofsupervision]

Wind Breaker Scenario 6/?

Imagine Sakura wakes from another nightmare at the crack of dawn. Sleep won't come to him again. Instead, he keeps tossing and turning under his futon before giving up on resting altogether. Getting dressed, the teen steps out of the door. The chilly fall morning forces him to bury his hands inside his pant pockets. Despite the people of the town greeting him kindly, handing Sakura snacks, and wishing him a good morning, the lack of sleep and the last fleeting images of the dream make him feel agitated. The irritation and restlessness caused by the lack of rest continued to be his partner for the rest of the day, clinging to him and picking on his subconsciousness.

When it threatens to escalate, as his irritation grows overboard, and his hands tremble while his mouth opens to retaliate against his friend's well-meant teasing with something that would cause harm, Sakura does something he hasn't done in a long time.

He runs.

Surprised shouts come from within the classroom. The teen bolts, not wasting a second to look over his shoulder and see if anyone dares to follow him.

Sakura's heart hammers in his chest as he leans against a metal door, the cold and hard material pressing into his back. Looking up, he dreaded the sight of concerned blue eyes greeting him, having fled to the rooftop of all places. Mismatched eyes frantically scan his surroundings, and taunt shoulders drop as no one's in sight. Glancing around, Sakura steps away from the door. Tired eyes wander over the neatly planted seedlings and the on-the-side standing pots.

Umemiya seems to be taking a break.

The fatigue makes itself known, Sakura's eyelids heavy as if stones were hanging from them. The sun is showing itself, but the sleepiness makes the teen's body more sensitive, and he shudders as a slight gust of wind blows some leaves over the rooftop.

Sakura is about to rub the sleep out of his eye. His hand freezes in movement when he catches sight of something that draws him in as if it were the song of a siren. His fingertips run mindlessly over the soft textile, the worn-out blanket feeling amazing under his cold fingers as it has been lying in a sunny spot.

Standing before the hammock, Sakura wondered if it had always stood there and why he hadn't noticed it sooner. Does it belong to anyone? Maybe Umemiya or another third year?

Too tired to care, Sakura dazedly stared at the alluringly cozy-looking hammock and the invitingly soft blanket spread out on top.

"Just for five minutes," mumbles the teen as he slips his shoes off and crawls ungracefully into the hammock. It takes some winding and wriggling until he's satisfied. As soon as the teen lets his muscles relax, his breathing slows down, as well as his tumbling and turning thoughts.

For the first time that day, Sakura feels at peace.

He vaguely registers the sound of a door opening. The last thing his consciousness picks up on is the sound of an amused puff of air leaving someone's mouth and the familiar feel of a hand ruffling his hair.

[bruisedboys]

congrats on 3k ml, so so proud of you, you deserve it and so much more! and if i haven’t said this sooner, i’m in love with your account and your writing is gorgeous, you’re just so incredibly talented, and aerial too <3

I was wondering if I could have KNIVES OUT please? i’ve been in a bit of a rut lately, not really feeling the best all of a sudden and was thinking of something comfort related with pete. maybe something with breathe (muse a holds muse b closely to help them wind down after a stressful day/event) and possibly with a bit of o4 (sender offers receiver an earbud to share their music), maybe as a way to say that they’re there for them without having to say the words and that they’re here to listen when they’re ready to talk?

thank you so much for considering my request and take your time. congratulations again on yet another milestone!

thank you for your request lovely! this was such a good one I loved writing it. and I hope u feel better soon angel!!! x

summary: peter helps you feel better after a bad day

gn!reader 0.9k words

You’re close to tears by the time you get to Peter’s. It’s been a hard day. Your heart hurts and your mind is tired and your body is unfortunately taking the toll. Your limbs ache and your head pounds. Plus, it’s raining, which never helps.

You let yourself in because he gave you a key months ago, along with a little spiderman keyring that you think is simultaneously awful and adorable. At least it makes you smile every time you look at it.

You shed your jacket and shoes at the door, hang your bag on the hook he’d added for you next to his. You can hear him in the kitchen, cutlery and pots and pans jostling around.

“Peter?” You call.

No response, but you think you can hear him humming. He must have his earbuds in.

You make your way to his tiny kitchen, with its overgrown plants that have managed to claim the entire windowsill, and the colourful mismatch of mugs collected over years of thrift shopping. Sure enough, Peter’s stirring something that smells like tomato soup at the stove, earbuds lodged in his ears, the wire threaded under his shirt and into his jeans pocket. He’s humming a song, head bopping as he stirs, and it makes your heart smile.

“Hi, Peter.”

Peter starts, then relaxes when he sees it’s you. A smile stretches across his face like a sunrise. Slow and beautifully warm and golden. He puts down his wooden spoon and takes out his earbuds, letting them dangle over his shirt collar.

“Y/N,” he says, and the way he says your name makes your chest ache. Like he was meant to say it. Like it’s his favourite word in the world. Like maybe he loves you more than you or him can even comprehend. “Hi, honey. I didn’t hear you come in.”

The corner of your mouth lifts in the whisper of a smile. “It’s okay,” you shrug. You peer at the rich red substance on the stove. “Is that tomato soup?”

Peter grins. “Yes, ma’am. I thought we’d have that and grilled cheese.” He strides across the floorboards until he’s right in front of you. You’re suddenly overwhelmed by how lovely and homely he looks. With his soft blue t-shirt, his hair all mussed, freckles glowing in the warm kitchen light. He smells like tomato and garlic and butter. He takes your face in one hand and drags his thumb over your cheekbone. “What d’you think?”

You almost forget what he was talking about in the first place. You blink, overwhelmed by his closeness, by the presence of him. He feels very safe. Safer than you’ve felt all day.

“Sounds good,” you say weakly. You know you sound funny. It hadn’t meant to come out that way, but you were already feeling bad and he’s come along and been so lovely that all of it combined is gonna make you cry.

Peter smiles again, and dips his head to kiss your forehead. His warmth is intoxicating. You want to hug him so badly it hurts. He pulls away, his hand still at your jaw, and he must catch the look on your face because his eyes are suddenly all concern.

“Are you okay?” He asks, suddenly a little bit urgent. “You look sad. You’re not sick, are you?”

You shake your head. “No. Um, no, I’m not sick. I just, um.” You swallow. It’s hard to tell him, because you don’t want to ruin how happy he is. But you know he’d want you go tell him the truth. “I had a hard day today.”

Peter melts, makes a pitying noise that’s so nice your chest hurts. He takes your face in both hands now, and steps closer so his arms are lodged between your chests.

“Aw, baby. Why didn’t you call me, hm? I’d’ve picked you up earlier.”

You try to shake your head again but it’s hard when he’s got his hands all over your face.

“Pete, it’s okay,” you tell him. “It wasn’t anything in particular, really.” You shrug. It’s hard to explain, but you know he’s always patient with you so you don’t try to explain it all now. “I’m just happy I’m here now.”

Peter smiles at that. It’s pretty in its softness. Gentler than the big grins he gives you when you make a joke. Soft as warm butter. “I’m happy you’re here, too. Hey, you can stay that night, if you’d like. Would you like to?”

Just the thought of it makes you want to cry. He’ll probably talk to you later tonight about your day, help you get to the root of the problem and then work through a solution with you. He’s good at that.

“Yeah, I’d love to,” you say, desperately trying not to give in to the growing urge to cry. Only, now you don’t know if it’s because you’re sad or happy. “That’d be nice.”

Peter hums as he drags his thumbs under your eyes, his skin calloused against the soft, velvety, skin there. He studied your face for a moment. Then,

“You want a hug?”

You smile. He knows you too well. “Yeah, please.”

He hugs you so tight it’s almost hard to breathe. Then he lets you share his earbuds and he puts on your favourite song while you stir the soup and he cooks up two grilled cheese in the pan. The earbud wire stretches dangerously and they fall out of your ears every two seconds, but it’s worth it to be next to him.

It’s safe to say your bad day is saved.

-

[tartrat]

Sara in the 1989 yellow blue combo.

First time drawing one of the main characters, and honestly this one just suited Sara. She sorta fits 1989 the more that i think about it. Also the shoes were probably mismatched at the show but it was easier for me to do both blue.

At some point she started looking like Hatsune Miku. It was a combination of the blue hair and magenta hair baubles. Also thanks for the help with the eye colour. I was thinking between blue and yellow for some reason. I was slightly against blue because of her hair and thought that it would clash. I was using her classic avatar as reference, which made her eye colour look black. i never notice the eye colour on the coaches unless they are right up at the camera (eg end of Darkest Hour beginning of Witch) mainly because of how far away the screen is when i'm playing. Other wise i choose eye colour based on theme, for Agent D and Mothigan i used their primary colours and Talia i gave blue eyes since she's based off of Taylor Swift.

One thing i've learnt from drawing the coaches is to include the black eyeliner that they all wear. Since it helps them to look normal, it makes drawing their eyes look normal. Normally i actually use a darker, almost black colour of blue or magenta. Probably why i was used to seeing their full faces when 2023 came out as they didn't look uncanny like the price tag coach.

As i mentioned in the last post this is the only other coach/actual human being that i could think of putting in an era's tour outfit. Mainly because of the colour scheme. Like kapyy in the midnight's bodysuit was because the idea popped into my head and i thought it was horrible so i just had to do it, it honestly suited him. Originally i was thinking of doing Talia in the Lover Body suit but then i didn't want to think about the rhinestones because i hated that whilst doing the midnights bodysuit, so because the Rep bodysuit is just infamous at this point i did that instead. And then here the Blue and yellow just suit Sara, its also kinda similar to her actual outfit.

Heres an in progress pic. Someone get her some brown contacts.

Of course there's the matter of where she got this outfit.

Bonus (ft. My Kappy Talia twins headcanon. Talia is going to recreate Fort Knox but for a wardrobe of clothes she doesn't remember buying):

I bought a storage trolley with a table top cover that is in the right place for me to use the camera scoring feature in a more comfortable place. I also preordered jd2025. I'm sorta in a good mood today for some reason. Sad that the basket case early access ends tomorrow, indifferent to Calabria 2007 (its fun but its not basket case).

[fatherfigurefusion]

My personal design headcanons for the choir (but I don't use the 2016 cast as inspiration)...

(Bet you can't guess my favorite cast!)

Uniforms: (primary inspirations: McCarter Theatre, Chance Theatre, and Roxy's Downtown) dark blue and silver argyle sweater vests (with their school's insignia on the front) over white long-sleeved dress shirts and red ties/ribbons, grey pants for the boys, grey skirts for the girls

Ocean: (primary inspirations: Jackie Wilberton, Juliana Balzano, Addison Ward, slight inspiration from Nat Beaumont) 5 ft 4 in, long and wavy brown hair with a headband, has bangs, pale skin, a wide smile with a noticeable snaggletooth, wears a black blazer over her sweater vest and a sparkly red bowtie instead of a ribbon, black tights, and brown loafers.

Noel: (primary inspirations: Erwin Guerrero, Benjamin Michael Hall, slight inspiration from Ricky Johnson, Miclo Gonzalez, and Andres Lagang) 5 ft 11 in, Mexican, long and straight black hair that is often in either a bun or a low ponytail, chubby build, tanned skin, nails painted red, lets his hair loose and switches to a black dress, red feather boa, ripped lace leggings and arm warmers, and black heels, when playing Monique.

Mischa: (primary inspirations: Wyman Wheeler, Eli Mayer, Brad Hutchinson, slight inspiration from Jared Machado) 5 ft 9 in, curly dirty blonde hair in a faux-hawk, has stubble all over his chin and is attempting to grow a soul patch, slightly pudgy and stout build with "tattoos" scribbled all over his skin, pale skin with noticeable eyebags, wears a blue hoodie over his dress shirt instead of a sweater vest, stuffs his tie in his pants pocket, has rings on his fingers and a golden heart necklace that holds a picture of Talia in it.

Ricky: (primary inspirations: Ciara Kenny, Yannick-Robin Eike Mirko, Bennet Preuss, slight inspiration from Josh Otero and Link Hagerty) 5 ft 3 in, half-Puerto Rican, wears a backwards cap and glasses, shoulder-length curly dark brown hair, slightly-tanned skin, perpetual cat smile, wears black fingerless gloves that help with their joint issues, short and skinny build, is often seen with either forearm crutches or in a wheel chair, switches to a galaxy printed bodysuit with a purple and silver jacket and a matching star-studded and fur-lined cape over it, grey boots with cat paw prints on the bottom, clear purple glasses and white cat ears on their head, when performing "Space Age Bachelor Man"

Jane Doe: (primary inspirations: Em Flosi, Mary Jane Oken, Scout Graham, slight inspiration from Bryn Studer, Sara Dukes, and Janelle Catherina) 6 ft, primarily based on a Raggedy Ann doll, is tall and gangly, flops around like a ragdoll when she moves, has slightly charred red hair that falls over her eyes in uneven twintails, a stitched-up smile and cracks all over her face, wears an oversized white sweater that's charred and torn-up over her equally charred and torn-up school uniform, has mismatched black and white socks, and one missing shoe.

Constance: (primary inspirations: Tiffany Polite, Zoë Lewis-McLean, slight inspiration from Sereniti Patterson and Melissa Goldman) 5 ft 3 in, African-American (is part First Nations), has long curly black hair with two afro puffs on the top, the left puff is dyed pink while the right is dyed blue, the bottom of her hair is dyed purple, chubby build, wears a dark blue cardigan with a rainbow design instead of a sweater vest, wears short white socks and blue Converses on her feet.