#this is an excuse to make you look at my ocs

[muniimyg]

⋆꙳•❅ jhs: last christmas ❆•꙳

series m.list // taglist

note: halfway thru the series !!! letsgoooo

warning: bratty oc, v light dirty talk, handjob,, cum/food play ???

//

“jung hoseok, hold it still!” you snap. 

glaring at the slanted wall of the gingerbread house, you huff as the creamy icing betrays you again. it smears rather than sticks. the roof slides off with an insulting little thunk, and you groan in defeat. 

you drop the piping bag onto the dining table.

“i am holding it still,” he bites back, one hand gripping the crumbling wall while the other hovers like it might somehow save this sugary disaster. “you’re the one using frosting that’s basically soup!”

“oh, so now it’s my fault?” you whirl on him, your hands sticky with icing and frustration. “you were the one who said, ‘just eyeball the measurements, babe.’”

he scoffs, dragging a hand through his hair, smudging a bit of icing near his temple. 

“okay, chef, excuse me for thinking we could be a team on this.”

“team?” you snort, grabbing the roof and attempting—futilely—to stick it back on. “we’re supposed to be competing against your friends in, like, an hour, and we don’t even have a house. it’s more like... gingerbread rubble.”

hoseok stares at you for a beat, the corner of his mouth twitching like he’s trying not to laugh but knows better. 

“you’re kinda cute when you’re mad.”

“don’t,” you warn, pointing a frosting-covered finger at him.

but he grins, that infuriatingly charming grin, stepping closer until the counter is the only thing keeping you apart. 

“i’m serious,” he murmurs, leaning just enough that you have to tilt your head to hold his gaze. “all huffy, covered in icing… kind of a look for you. reminds me of you at night—”

“hobi,” you grit out, but your voice betrays you, a little breathier than you want it to be.

“what?” his eyes flick to your lips, his tongue darting out to wet his own. “we’re already losing. might as well enjoy ourselves before the humiliation.”

“we have to be there in an hour—” 

“i’m hearing we have 45 minutes.”

“hobi…” you sigh. “i want to win like last christmas. i refuse to lose before we even get there—”

“is it really that big of a deal? there’s no prize.”

“i want to win.”

“yeah… but i want you,” he says, his voice dropping a notch as he leans even closer, his hands bracketing yours on the counter. the tension in the air shifts, sharp and electric, and you swear your pulse skips when he murmurs, “we could just call it a draw, you know. skip the party. stay here.”

the way his eyes drop to your lips sends a shiver down your spine, but you refuse to let him win. “... so, you just want to make out instead of fix this mess?”

his grin widens. 

“ideally, i wanna cum at some point. but, yeah, sure. let’s make out.”

you narrow your eyes at him, but it’s hard to keep your composure when he’s looking at you like that—like the messy gingerbread house and the ticking clock don’t exist, like the only thing in the room worth his attention is you.

“hobi,” you say again, softer this time, almost a warning, though even you can’t tell if it’s meant to stop him or urge him on.

“what?” he asks innocently, though the way he leans in, his breath brushing your cheek, betrays him. “you’re the one who’s irresistible right now.”

“i’m covered in frosting,” you point out, trying for sarcasm. 

“exactly,” he murmurs, his fingers curling lightly around your wrist. he lifts your hand, his thumb brushing over the smear of icing on your skin before he brings it to his mouth. his tongue flicks against the frosting, slow and deliberate. 

“hoseok…”

he doesn’t respond this time, just sets your hand down to his lap. 

“we’ll fix the house later,” he says, his voice low, almost a rumble. “right now… i have other priorities.”

you don’t get the chance to respond, because his mouth finds yours, warm and insistent, and everything else—the gingerbread house, the party, the sticky frosting—falls away. his hands guide yours to his bulge. you feel around it, already knowing what’s to come. 

and also, what’s to cum. 

you let out a small gasp against his lips, and he takes it as encouragement, deepening the kiss, his tongue brushing against yours in a way that sends a shiver down your spine. when he finally pulls back, his forehead rests against yours, his breath uneven.

“seriously… we’re going to be late,” you murmur, though your hands are still tangled in his hair.

“don’t care,” he replies, grinning that mischievous grin again. “we’ll tell them the gingerbread house broke in a… freak accident.”

hoseok doesn’t know what it is about you… but man, are you good at making him cum. 

his pants pool around his ankles as your body leans towards his. his head is thrown back and icing you two had once used on the gingerbread house has spilled over his cock. 

your hands have been wrapped around his cock for a good 15 minutes now and he’s on his second urge to nut. each time he approached his climax, you simply giggled, kissed him, and held his dick. 

you held it as it throbbed. 

as the tip grew angrier and angrier. 

as his precum leaked down to your wrist. 

“f-fuck, fuck, fuck! baby, please…” hoseok grunts. “can i cum?”

you pout at him, leaning closer and kissing his lips softly. as you pull away, you shrug. 

"but your cock is so pretty. i don't want it to go down yet."

"baby..."

you frown at him. "also, our gingerbread house needs more icing…"

"so?"

"what do you mean so?" you hiss at him. "i wanna use your cum like icing."

his eyes widen at your request. 

as innocently as possible, you bat your eyelashes as you tighten your grip around his cock. you move up and down, his skin dragging along with your motion. without breaking eye contact, you spit and let it drip over his tip. he hisses at the wetness. in fact, his entire stomach flips. 

hoseok has always loved your handjobs. he doesn’t know if it’s because you have such soft hands or if it’s because he liked the way they look wrapped around his girthy length. another thing is that you always have your nails done so… yeah. 

it’s a thing. 

your hands are so pretty to him and to see them covered in icing… it turns him on. he likes what he sees. he likes seeing how wet, sticky, and full your hands look. 

from his precum, from your spit, and from the icing you poured on top. 

delicious. 

the only thing that could make it any better is if you sucked his hard cock right now… 

but you don’t. 

and he doesn’t feel like begging right now. 

he knows you and knows that him begging would feed your ego too much. right now, he’s just lucky to be here. just 20 minutes ago, you were bitching at him about the icing… now, you’re milking him for some. 

as you pump his length, he moans and groans. you giggle as his upper body winces and you feel the way his hands roam to your ass. 

“___… p-please? can i... nghghhhhh... c-can i cum?”

you think for a moment. 

then, you reach over to the table and grab the piping bag. you open it up and prepare it for his aim. 

“okay,” you answer him. “but i want you to cum inside here, baby. can you do that? can you cum inside here?”

hoseok gives you a weird look, but agrees quickly. 

fuck it.

he doesn’t give a shit. 

if you told him to cum in your mouth, in your pussy, or a fucking piping bag—he’d do it. 

so, you continue to pump him. you stroke him, adding more and more pressure. the pacing goes along with the way he reacts to your touch, slow then you speed it up to match his breathing. he huffs and fidgets in his chair.

then, easily, he cums. 

"oh my god," hoseok nearly sobs. "mhmmmmphhh... fuckkkk... holy shit, ___. holy fucking shit."

he spills himself into your hands. 

it leaks and for a moment you forget the bag. when you remember, you wrap it around his dick and try to get the access off. quickly, you put it aside and continue to pump him, milking more out of his climax. 

blinking, you watch as more ooze out from his tip. 

hoseok’s cum is creamy and milky, prettily contrasting the colour of his angry pink tip. the way it mixes with the icing in your hands makes it look even more appealing. for a second, you contemplate sucking his dick. 

“you wanna suck it, don’t you?” he breathes. 

you look up at him, biting your lip. 

“yeah,” you admit. “bet it’ll taste good.”

he rolls his eyes and leans forward. this time, he kisses you. as he pulls away, he rests his forehead against yours. 

“as much as i’d love to say yes, we have a party to get to. besides, you got what you needed. should we get to icing?”

that night, your gingerbread house ends up winning the contest. 

not because the cum worked like glue...

but rather because the others had gingerbread houses in worse shape than yours... and partly because everyone agreed that the shiny glaze you put on top of your gingerbread house made it look extra special.

festive, even.

very, hoe hoe hoe vibes.

[liveyun]

a silent gift | eyes like stars — j.jk

drabble of the series eyes like stars

pairing. jeon jungkook x fem oc/reader

genre. (series) e2f2e2L (you get it), angst, drama, romance, boy next door sorta situation

warnings. (for this drabble) jeongguk and oc are both 15 in this! oc being grumpy and in denial, jealousy and loneliness, toxic parenting and neglect :(, overthinking,, a bit of fluff to balance it out tho 🥹, jungkook is so sweet and he deserves the world , oc is kinda.. rude. + feelings, feelings, a very cute stolen moment. english isn’t my first language so excuse the mistakes, + the ending..

wc. 4k+ wtf happened

divider credits to @issysh3ll ! 🌰

The ceiling above you is a dull, lifeless white.

You stare at it as if it holds the answers to questions you’re too afraid to ask aloud. Your limbs feel heavy, sinking into the lumpy couch you’ve claimed as your refuge. The faint glow of Christmas lights from the window bathes the room in soft, muted hues, but it only makes the emptiness feel sharper. . . colder. . .

You’re alone.

It’s not the kind of aloneness that you savor after a long day or the type that lets you gather your thoughts. No, this is suffocating — the kind that wraps around your chest and pulls tighter with every passing minute. It presses against your ribs and reminds you, with every flicker of those cheery lights outside, that this is what your Christmas looks like.

Your parents’ voices play in your mind, their parting words etched with an offhandedness that stings even now. “You’re a big girl now,” your mother had said, brushing your cheek with cold fingers before hurrying out the door. “You’ll be okay.”

The cash they left sits untouched on the kitchen counter. You hate the sight of it, its crisp edges mocking you, as though money could fill the void they left behind, the empty feeling in your chest.

You pull the blanket tighter around yourself, but it doesn’t do much to keep out the chill. Not the one seeping through the windows, nor the one curling inside your chest.

Your gaze drifts toward the window again, where the Jeons’ house glows like a beacon against the cold, dark night. Glows. Even from here, you can hear faint sound of their laughter, the flow of life and warmth spilling from their walls.

Your chest tightens.

You turn away from the window. You close your eyes and try to push it out, but it sneaks back in — along with the memory of that morning.

Mrs. Jeon had called you. She sounded like she was in a crowded place, probably somewhere in the market. You remember her voice, warm and soothing, like honey on a sore throat.

“Sweetheart, come over for Christmas dinner,” she’d said. “We’d love to have you.”

The invitation had been so kind, so genuine, that you’d almost said yes without thinking. Almost.

But then, in the background, you’d heard his voice. Jungkook’s laughter, loud and carefree, floating over the line like an unwelcome reminder of why you couldn’t go.

A spike in your chest, like a thorn pricked in your finger.

You’d stumbled over your words, mumbling some excuse about needing to stay home. You could practically hear Mrs. Jeon frown through the phone.

“Are you sure? It won’t be the same without you here,” she’d pressed gently, her concern as tangible as the warmth in her tone.

Your throat had tightened. “I’m fine,” you’d managed, though the words felt brittle and false.

She hadn’t argued, but you could tell she didn’t believe you.

Now, hours later, her words run through in your mind, looping over and over.

You want to go. You want to be surrounded by the warmth and laughter that seeps through their walls, to feel even a fraction of the joy that seems to radiate from their home.

But you can’t.

Not because you don’t want to.

But because of him.

Or. . . are you just blaming him?

You grit your teeth, hating the way his name lingers on the edge of your thoughts, unspoken but ever-present.

Jungkook.

He’s the reason you can’t bring yourself to cross the street, to knock on their door and accept the invitation that feels both like a lifeline and a trap. You can’t face him. . . at least not tonight.

Not when the sight of him laughing with his family would only twist the knife already lodged in your chest.

You don’t know when it started, this. . . thing. This feeling you can’t name, the one that makes your stomach flip and your heart race whenever he’s near.

You hate it. You hate him.

At least, that’s what you tell yourself.

But deep down—so deep you barely admit it to yourself—you know it’s not true.

Because no matter how much you want to hate him, you can’t. Not really. . .

You sigh, pressing the heels of your palms against your eyes as if you can rub the thoughts away. But they don’t budge.

The quiet stretches on, heavy and suffocating. Your stomach growls, but you don’t move. The thought of eating feels pointless, like trying to fill a void that’s far deeper than hunger.

You glance toward the window again, unable to help yourself. The Jeons’ house is as bright and inviting as ever, a stark contrast to the dim, lonely space you call “home”. Trying to read or write feels way too much of a chore, not when you feel like if you move the cold will consume you.

For a moment, just a moment, you imagine what it would be like to be over there.

To sit at their table, surrounded by laughter and warmth. To not feel so. . . alone.

But then, just as quickly, you shove the thought away.

You bury yourself deeper into the couch, pulling the blanket over your head like a shield. You tell yourself you’re fine. You tell yourself you don’t care.

But the lump in your throat, the sting behind your eyes, and the ache in your chest betray you. You want to go to the Jeon house.

You’re not fine. And you do care.

You just wish you didn’t.

────⋆☃︎⋆────

There’s a knock on the door.

Faint, but there. You ignore it, like you ignore every other thought which pops up in your mind. The house is empty. . . nearly empty, anyway. Whoever is in the door would go away.

So you don’t pay much attention.

Knock.

You close your eyes. Your feet are freezing. The visitor can fuck off.

Knock.

The knock comes again, just as soft and insistent as before, like the visitor knows you’re here but is too kind to make a fuss. You hesitate, a bitter taste in your mouth, still wrapped in the cocoon of your blanket, your fingers clutching the edges like it’s your last defense.

The third knock follows, a little firmer this time, and you sigh, dragging yourself toward the door.

Okay, you lose. Peeking through the crack, you catch a glimpse of Mrs. Jeon.

Oh.

Her familiar figure stands in the faint glow of your porch light, snowflakes gently dusting her coat and hat.

She’s holding a plate covered with a red-and-green kitchen towel, and the unmistakable scent of macadamia nut cookies wafts in as soon as you open the door wider.

“Hi, sweetie!” she says with a warm smile. Her voice is soft, laced with the kind of kindness that makes your throat tighten.

You glance at the plate, then back at her, trying to swallow the lump forming in your throat. “Mrs. Jeon?”

“I brought you some cookies, child.” she explains, holding the plate out slightly, her grin bright and sweet like her voice. “I thought you might like a little Christmas treat.”

Your stomach growls, loud and embarrassing.

Uh-oh.. You flush, tightening the blanket around yourself like it could shield you from her gentle gaze. “I’m fine,” you mumble, the words coming out far too quickly.

She tilts her head, her smile growing a little. “Your stomach doesn’t agree.”

“I—” You start to protest, but she interrupts with a soft laugh, brushing snow from her shoulders.

“No need to explain, darling. Just take them.”

You reach for the plate hesitantly, your hands brushing hers as you take it. The warmth of the cookies seeps through the towel, and the scent wraps around you like a hug. Holy shit, you don’t even remember the last time you had freshly baked cookies . . .

“T-Thank you,” you mutter, stepping back into the doorway.

“You’re welcome little darling,” she says easily, but her expression shifts slightly, her eyes searching for yours. “Now, I know you’re planning on staying here all alone, but it’s Christmas, and nobody should be alone on Christmas.”

Your grip on the plate tightens, and you shift awkwardly. “I.. I’m fine, really,” you insist, even as your voice wavers. You cannot look up to her eyes. The kindness they hold, the softness they radiate, you’re sure to crumble down like cookies if you ever look straight to those kind eyes.

She shakes her head gently, her tone soft but unwavering. “Come on, sweetheart. It’s just dinner. We’d love to have you.”

The word we makes your chest tighten, your mind immediately jumping to him. “I don’t want to intrude,” you mumble, staring at the cookies.

She lets out a soft chuckle, her hand reaching out to rest lightly on your shoulder. “You’d never intrude. You’re family.”

Family.

The word hits you like a jolt.You glance at her, at the way her eyes crinkle with genuine affection, and something inside you twists painfully.

“I really shouldn’t. . . ” you start, but she interrupts again, her smile turning playful.

“Now, none of that,” she says, her voice firmer but no less kind. “Grab yourself a coat. You don’t wanna be freezing, yes?”

Your gaze drops to the plate, the cookies warm against your palms. You nod slightly, a very warm feeling in your chest settling down. “Okay, but. . . let me put these away first.”

“Of course,” she agrees, her voice lighter now, like she’s won a small battle.

You step back into the house, setting the plate down on the counter and carefully transferring the cookies into a jar.

They feel soft and delicate in your hands, plus the white chocolate chips on the top . . . ! you can’t resist sneaking one into your mouth before you close the lid. Your eyes nearly flutter close as the first taste settles down on your tongue. . . nutty, comforting, sweet and warm.

Chewing quickly, you glance back toward the door where Mrs. Jeon waits patiently. The thought crosses your mind — should I have invited her in? — but it passes as you grab your coat from the back of a chair.

Before you slip it on, though, you pause. “Maybe I should wear something festive,” you murmur to yourself, glancing at the mirror by the door. “I should look nice, right?”

You call the question over your shoulder. “Mrs. Jeon?”

“It’s family, darling,” she responds warmly. “You always look your best to us.”

Her words make you pause, guilt mingling with a faint warmth in your chest. You grab the nearest scarf, something red and soft, and wrap it around your neck. “J-Just a second!”

Her laughter floats in from the doorway. “Take your time, child.”

You tuck the jar of cookies onto a shelf before hurriedly shoving your arms into your coat.

When you finally step outside, she’s still standing there, her smile never faltering despite the cold.

“I-I’m ready,” you say, though your voice comes out quieter than you intended. You feel nervous, almost expecting her to make a comment about your old, worn scarf.

But she doesn’t.

Instead, she beams, taking your arm and gently taming a few stray strands of your hair. Her fingers brush your scarf, straightening it slightly, before she dusts off the crumbs from your lips with a soft laugh.

“There,” she says, satisfied. “Now you’re ready.”

The feeling in your chest intensifies.

Her arm wraps around your shoulders, pulling you close as she guides you toward the Jeons’ house. Her warmth seeps into you, her steps sure and steady against the crunch of the snow.

You glance up at her as she hums softly under her breath, her gaze fixed ahead. There’s something about the way she carries herself, so full of ease and care, that it makes you wonder if you’ll ever be as comfortable in your own skin. . .

When you finally reach the Jeons’ door, the laughter and chatter spilling out makes you pause. For a moment, you consider turning back, retreating into the quiet of your own home. But Mrs. Jeon’s grip on your shoulder tightens ever so slightly, a silent reassurance that steadies you.

“It’s okay, child,” she murmurs as the door opens, the warmth of their home washing over you like a tide. “You’re not alone anymore.”

Her words settle into your chest, soft and steady, and you nod slightly, stepping into the glow of their home.

It’s warm.

It’s the kind of warmth that’s more than just physical, though; it seeps into your chest, wrapping around you like a soft blanket.

The entryway smells of pine and cinnamon, and the soft glow of fairy lights draped around the staircase banister casts the entire space in a golden hue. A small shoe rack lines the wall, neatly arranged with indoor slippers and shoes. Mrs. Jeon nudges you gently.

You slide off your boots and try not to feel self-conscious as you step into the house.

The living room is straight out of a Christmas postcard. . . like the ones you see in magazines.

There’s a beautifully decorated tree in the corner, its branches adorned with red and gold ornaments. Beside it, a few neatly wrapped gifts are stacked, their ribbons catching the light. You feel your heart racing at the thought of presents. How good must it feel to receive presents from someone you love?

You’ve been in their house so many times that navigating through it isn’t a big job, but accidentally stepping on a decoration and ruining it is.

You crane your neck up as you see framed family photos hanging on the walls . . . — holidays, birthdays, candid moments. There’s even a framed picture of Jungkook as a baby, his toothless grin making you pause.

Cute.

“Ah, there she is!” Mr. Jeon’s voice booms from the kitchen doorway, already dressed as Santa, but he’s wearing bermuda shorts instead. His face lights up as he strides toward you, his apron dusted with what looks like flour. “You’ve finally decided to grace us with your presence.”

Mrs. Jeon laughs softly beside you. “It took a little convincing.”

“A little?” He quirks an eyebrow at her, then turns back to you with an exaggerated grin. “You mean you actually succeeded in persuading her? I’m impressed, love.”

You manage a small smile, feeling your cheeks warm as he ruffles your hair like you’re still the same little girl who used to kiss his cheeks for a toffee every evening. “We’re glad you’re here, kiddo.” he says, his voice softer now, full of genuine warmth.

“T-Thanks for having me,” you mumble, feeling awkward and unsure of where to place your hands.

“You’re always welcome,” he replies easily, gesturing toward the living room. “Make yourself comfortable. Dinner’s almost ready.”

Mrs. Jeon nudges you forward gently, guiding you into the heart of their home. The room feels alive, filled with the faint sounds of Christmas music playing from a vinyl recorder and the delicious smells wafting from the kitchen.

You settle onto the couch hesitantly, your hands folded in your lap as your eyes roam the space. Everywhere you look, there’s another memory framed — photos of family vacations, certificates, and little trinkets.

It just makes you realise you barely have any photo frames back in your own house.

On the shelf beside the sofa, nestled between two larger frames, is a photo of you and Jungkook. You don’t even remember when it was taken — maybe last. . . summer? — but there you are, smiling wide and carefree, with his arm slung casually around your shoulders, both looking like dorks grinning under the sun.

Your stomach twists.

The photo feels like a piece of home you didn’t know you were missing, but it also reminds you of what you don’t have. To be carefree. To be. . . happy.

You tear your gaze away quickly, focusing instead on the glow of the Christmas lights. But the feeling doesn’t leave—it sits heavy in your chest, a reminder of all the ways you feel like you don’t belong.

Mrs. Jeon appears moments later, handing you a warm mug of tea. “Here you go, sweetheart,” she says, sitting beside you and resting a gentle hand on your knee. “Are you feeling okay?”

You nod quickly, forcing a small smile. “Y-Yeah, thank you.”

She studies you for a moment, her eyes soft and understanding, before giving your knee a gentle pat. “You’re home here, you know,” she says quietly.

Home. You nod again, murmuring another thank you before taking a sip of tea to distract yourself.

The warmth of the tea doesn’t quite reach the cold knot in your stomach, though, and as the minutes pass, the room’s liveliness feels almost overwhelming. You glance around, watching the Jeons move seamlessly around each other, their laughter and conversation filling the space with a kind of ease that feels foreign to you.

It’s not that your parents are cruel—they’ve never been anything but practical, efficient, busy. But sitting here, in the midst of the Jeons’ warmth and love, you can’t help but feel the sharp contrast.

The way they joke with each other, the way Mr. Jeon steals a kiss from his wife as she passes by, the way the house feels alive — it’s so different from the quiet, cold efficiency of your own home.

Your parents are either always fighting, on each other’s throats, and when they’re not, they’re on yours. There’s always these two options — nothing in between, nothing after.

Your gaze drifts back to the photo on the shelf, and the bitterness bubbles up again, sharp and unforgiving. You try to focus on the warmth of the mug in your hands, on the hum of conversation around you, but it’s no use.

You feel like a puzzle piece in the wrong box—close, but never quite fitting.

────⋆☃︎⋆────

The soft patter of footsteps pulls your attention toward the staircase.

Jungkook stands at the landing, the dim Christmas lights casting a warm glow over him. His face is flushed with the kind of easy joy you used to know so well, framed by a mess of dark hair that falls softly over his forehead. The thick, oversized sweater he’s wearing swallows his frame, its sleeves hiding his hands as he shifts awkwardly in place.

His jeans are slightly loose, cuffed at the bottom, and you catch a glimpse of fuzzy socks that make something in your chest twist unexpectedly.

But it’s his eyes that hold you captive, even if only for a moment. They’re wide, sparkly from the reflection of the lights, and impossibly soft as they lock onto yours. Innocent. Earnest.

A little too happy to see you.

Your breath catches, and for a second, you feel like you’re drowning — pulled into something you don’t quite understand, something that makes your heart stutter painfully in your chest. His face morphs from sheer surprise to that of great joy, his eyes lighting up like . . . stars, though you try to reason that they’re just the lights.

“Hey!” he says, his voice breaking through the haze. It’s cheerful, just like his face, and he’s already bounding down the stairs like a puppy too excited to sit still.

He nearly trips on the last step, catching himself with a sheepish grin, and it only makes him look more endearing.

You hate how cute he is.

“Didn’t think you’d come,” he says, his grin widening as he comes closer. His sweater sleeves flap slightly as he raises a hand to scratch the back of his head, his shoulders shifting with boyish awkwardness. “Eomma’s been trying all day to get you over here.”

You can’t stop staring, and it makes your chest ache in ways you wish it wouldn’t. He’s warm, in every sense of the word, and for a moment, you think it might actually burn you.

You wrench your gaze away, gripping the mug in your hands so tightly it’s a wonder it doesn’t shatter. “She convinced me.”

Jungkook chuckles softly, shuffling his feet like he doesn’t quite know what to do with himself. “Well, I’m glad you’re here.” His voice softens, and it’s so tender, so genuine, it nearly undoes you. “It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

The warmth in his voice feels too much, too close, and you hate it.

Hate the way it makes your chest feel tight and your head feel heavy.

So you pull yourself back, withdrawing behind the walls you’ve carefully built. “Yeah . . . I guess,” you mutter, barely glancing up.

For a split second, you see his smile falter, the light in his eyes dimming ever so slightly. He recovers quickly, his grin returning, but there’s a flicker of something in his expression.

“Still as talkative as ever,” he teases gently, but you don’t miss the way his shoulders drop, just a little.

You swallow the lump in your throat, forcing yourself to look away. “I’m just. . . tired,” you say, the words clipped.

He nods, his gaze lingering for a moment longer before he steps back, his voice soft. “Okay. I’ll leave you alone.”

And just like that, the warmth is gone, leaving you colder than before. You hear him retreat, his footsteps growing quieter, and the bitterness you’ve been clinging to feels hollow. You feel terrible. Shitty.

Why did you even do that?

Mrs. Jeon squeezes your shoulder, her touch firm but kind. When you glance up, her eyes are knowing, her expression gentle.

“He was so happy you came,” she says softly.

The ache in your chest only deepens.

────⋆☃︎⋆────

The night air is crisp, biting against your cheeks as you sit by the glowing bonfire.

You pull your knees to your chest, burying your hands under your arms in a futile attempt to stay warm. There’s this quiet crackle of the fire fills the space, the occasional pop echoing in the stillness of the yard.

Dinner had been. . . . a lot. You’d felt impossibly guilty throughout. Mr. Jeon had been all jokes and warmth, constantly refilling your plate despite your half-hearted protests. Mrs. Jeon had been the epitome of kindness, making sure you had everything you needed.

And then there was Jungkook.

He’d barely said much to you, only offering small smiles and passing glances, but each one had sent a pang of something sharp and unrelenting through your chest. He’d nudged your calf lightly under the table, trying to get you to take the hotteok he’d placed on your plate.

When you ignored him, pretending to be too busy with your food, he’d silently taken it back, the disappointment in his eyes so subtle it almost went unnoticed. Almost.

You’d wanted to say something, to apologize for how grumpy you’d been, but the words had tangled in your throat.

Why are you such a coward? Why is it so difficult for you to look him in his eyes and not be so mean?

Now, sitting alone by the fire, the warmth of the day still lingers faintly, like an aftertaste. And it’s not bitter. For once, you feel full — not just from the food, but from something deeper, something unfamiliar.

This house, this family, they feel like the kind of love you’ve only ever read about in books. It makes your chest ache, makes you want to cry, and you don’t even know why.

“Hey.”

His voice startles you, soft and familiar. Jungkook. You glance up, and there he is, standing a few feet away with a shawl draped loosely around his shoulders. His cheeks are pink from the cold, his hair a little mussed from the wind. The glow of the fire reflects in his eyes, making them look impossibly warm.

You swallow hard, looking away. “H-hey.”

“You look cold.”

Before you can respond, he steps closer, his movements unhurried but deliberate. You blink up at him, confused, as he sits down behind you and opens his arms, spreading the shawl over your shoulders in one smooth motion.

“Wh-what are you—”

“Sharing,” he says simply, wrapping an arm around you to hold the shawl in place. His voice is light, almost teasing, but there’s a quiet sincerity in the way he pulls you closer, his warmth seeping into your side.

Your chest is about to burst out.

Your heart thunders in your chest, and you’re sure he can feel it, but he doesn’t seem to notice. Instead, he reaches up to smooth your hair, his touch gentle. Soft.

“Eomma does this, you know,” he says softly, his fingers combing through your hair. “When I’m upset. It helps.”

You squeak, your whole body stiffening, but he only chuckles, the sound low and comforting. He’s so close now, his steady heartbeat thumping against your upper back.

“Relax, dummy.” he murmurs, his voice so soft it’s almost a whisper. “It’s just me.”

Just him. That’s the problem, isn’t it?

You want to be mad, want to shove him away and demand why he has to be so. . . so him. How he always looks up to you as the friends you two always have been . . . But you can’t. For some reason, you’ve understood today that not only are you a coward, but also very weak.

“I. . . ” You start to say something, anything, but the words dissolve before they can form.

Instead, you let yourself lean into him, just a little. His heartbeat is steady, a comforting rhythm against your own erratic one. You can’t bring yourself to apologize, but you hope he can feel it in the way you let yourself rest against him.

Minutes pass, or maybe hours. The fire crackles softly, the world around you growing quieter. . . warmer.

Slowly, your eyes grow heavy, your body sinking into his warmth as exhaustion takes over.

You fall asleep with your head against his shoulder.

Your brows are still faintly pinched, like you’re fighting off a troubling thought even in your dreams.

Jungkook stays completely still, his heartbeat steady as he watches you. There’s a softness in his gaze, a quiet wonder, like he can’t believe you’re here, like he doesn’t know what to do with the way his chest feels so warm.

Hesitantly, his hand rises to brush a stray strand of hair from your face. His fingertips linger, ghosting gently over your cheek. It’s a small, familiar motion — one he’s picked up from watching his mother. His thumb strokes your cheekbone with the utmost care, almost like he’s afraid he’ll wake you if he moves too quickly.

“You’re kinda cute when you’re not glaring at me, you know that?” he whispers, though he knows you can’t hear him.

From the corner of his eye, a movement catches his attention.

He glances toward the house and freezes when he sees his mother standing at the kitchen window. Her arms are crossed, her expression practically glowing with amusement. She doesn’t say anything, just raises her brows at him with a playful smirk that makes his whole face flush.

Jungkook’s hand quickly drops from your cheek, and he hunches his shoulders like that might somehow make him invisible. His mouth opens, ready to deny whatever it is she’s clearly thinking, but no words come out. Instead, he huffs, pulling the shawl tighter around both of you and burrowing his face into your hair in an effort to hide.

“I wasn’t doing anything!” he mumbles, as if she can hear him through the window.

When her footsteps fade back into the house, he lets out a shaky breath, glancing down at you. You’re still sound asleep, your face soft in the firelight but not without its usual furrowed brows.

His heart squeezes; you even look grumpy in your dreams. Somewhat. . . troubled.

That’s when he remembers.

He wiggles a hand into the pocket of his PJs, fishing out a small, clumsily wrapped package. The corners are wrinkled, the tape slightly askew, but the tiny red bow on top makes up for it . . . or, at least he thinks so.

His fingers hesitate over it.

Maybe it’s a dumb idea. Maybe you won’t even like it. But. . .

Carefully, as if any sudden movement might wake you, he nudges the present into your lap, tucking it snugly beneath the edge of the shawl.

His lips twitch upward at the sight. Satisfied, he leans back just a little, his arms still holding you steady.

He rests his chin atop your head, smiling to himself, silently vowing that no matter how grumpy you act tomorrow, you’ll surely smile when you see what’s inside.

“Merry Christmas,” he whispers, his words meant only for you.

a/n : aw 🥹 i would really love to hear what you think! i would also recommend you read the original series to get a glimpse of their world <3 merry belated christmas. i hope you smile a bit more today 🤍

[anavatazes]

Decisions

Summary: Magneto is called away from Utopia to help care for an injured Rogue. Set just after the Schism, when Mags is still in Utopia, and Rogue is with Wolverine at the Jean Grey School for Gifted Youngsters back in Westchester County, NY. 

Pairing: Rogue/Magneto

Warnings: Trigger Warning: I am ruining the plot for my own story here by choice. There is a discussion of and partial scene of a character having a miscarriage. Because this can be a very sensitive topic and triggering for some, please proceed with caution. I did not go with anything graphic, but to each their own on what they can and cannot handle. You have been warned. 

Author’s Notes: I am working on a rather large Magneto/OC fic, and I am behind on the schedule I set up for myself for it. This is partly to blame. It wouldn’t leave me alone. Anywho, enjoy. There may or may not be a second part. 

********

Checking on the generators of Utopia, Magneto found himself listless. Since Rogue left to join Wolverine's team of X-Men, communication and visits have been brief to non-existent. He was not thrilled with this situation, but he could not abandon Scott, nor could he force Rogue to stay. He missed her. Her companionship. Everything. The generators were just an excuse to avoid the others right now. Erik did not want to intermingle with the others. If he could use the excuse of being busy, then all the better for him. And them, if he was being honest. In the last few training sessions with the younger members, he had been needlessly rougher than he probably should have. If Rogue had been present…

“Your helmet is useless right now, Erik. I don't need to use telepathy to know your thoughts. What you’re thinking about? Or should I say, who?” Emma Frost's voice broke through his introspection. It was softer and gentler than it normally is with him. 

“What may I assist you with, Emma?” Wanting to get this over, Erik turned his back to her, looking over the readout from the machines, again. 

Shaking her head,” Wolverine has been in contact.” He stopped ignoring her then. To have the full attention of Magneto on you when he was in any kind of mood other than neutral or happy, the entire area he was in felt static and alive with electromagnetic energy. It was his way of letting everyone know they had his full, undivided attention. And Emma reasoned, it made it difficult for others to concentrate on anything but paying attention to him. Even using mutant abilities under those conditions was difficult. “It's Rogue. She's been injured. He's asking for you to be at the mansion.”

“She's not?” He didn't want to think of why.

“He said get there as soon as you could.” Emma, taking a chance, reached a comforting hand out for this complicated man. She rarely had a soothing word for anyone, but seeing the slight change in him since Rogue's departure, she hoped this simple gesture would help him. Utopia sure needed it. 

He accepted the comforting hand on his shoulder, holding her hand with his. “I leave in thirty minutes. I assume Cyclops already knows?”

“He was there when I took the call. He knows what she means to you. Go, take what time you need. We'll keep you in the loop.”

He was gone in fifteen minutes. 

*****

Beast led Magneto to the medical labs beneath the Jean Grey School for Gifted Youngsters. The younger mutant caught him up to speed about the battle, protecting the school, again. Before he leaves, if he does, looking over and ensuring school security is more than sufficient was an item he placed on an ever-growing list. Dr. McCoy said that Rogue had attempted to absorb the renegade mutant's abilities, but Gambit hadn't seen her making her way, nor had he heard her saying what her intentions were. The blast threw the both of them back, the renegade using the force to incapacitate Rogue with a serious head wound. Beast backed out of the fight, getting her out of danger. 

Holding a clawed hand up, the blue-furred man stopped their progress outside the room that contained Rogue. “Now, she has been in and out of consciousness for the last hour, but not coherent. I normally hold to the strictest of practices when it comes to HIPAA and my patients and their privacy. But I felt this was something you deserved to know.”

Feeling his anxiety spiking, Erik had to force himself to calm down, lest he lose control and affect whatever machinery was assisting Rogue. Not speaking, he gave the doctor a decided and pointed look. 

Glancing around them, Hank assured himself that no one was nearby. Pushing his glasses up, he took a breath. “Were you aware that Rogue was pregnant?”

Erik felt the world shift as he grabbed the wall, using his powers to help keep his balance. They'd been so careful… except that last night together. Neither had said anything, knowing full well they hadn't been careful. They let their emotions get in the way. A baby? She was carrying… wait?

He swallowed hard, “Was?”

“I'm sorry, Erik. I truly am. Rachel was helping me with her exam when we noticed the blood.” Hank saw all the emotions on display on Magneto's face. A rare show for the older mutant. Anger was the emotion one would most associate with him. Pure, unadulterated, anger. Right now, it looked as though despair and heartbreak were fighting for ownership. 

Voice cracking, Erik barely got out, “I need to see her…”

“Of course,” Beast nodded, opening the door. Rachel Summers sat in a chair next to Rogue's bed, but Magneto barely registered her presence. Beast motioned her to leave, which she was doing anyway, wanting to give the distraught man time alone with Rogue. She sent a gentle telepathic message to him that she should be waking soon, and the last time she was more herself. He barely nodded in acknowledgment. 

As soon as the door closed behind them, the man known as Magneto climbed upon the bed, wrapping his body carefully around Rogue, allowing himself to cry.

*****

Warmth and safety. That is what she felt when Rogue began to awaken. The room was not hers, she knew that. The lights were dimmed really low and it smelled too sterile. She also smelled something familiar, someone she’d been missing. Attempting to move about, Rogue felt strong arms around her. She cuddled into them, having needed them for so long. “Are you awake, libechen?” 

That voice was music to her ears. “Gettin’ there. Am Ah dreamin’?”

“If this is a dream, then it's not a bad one. You are in my arms.” Erik kissed the side of her forehead ever so gently. 

He wasn't waxing his usual poetic, so she knew something was wrong. Her head hurt, and her lower body was cramping. “What happened?”

“You were downed in battle and now you are in the Infirmary. Do you need, Dr. McCoy?” He had already sent a few thoughts to Rachel, who had perched herself nearby, to alert the doctor that Rogue was awake, and likely experiencing pain from a headache and cramping from the miscarriage. Rogue nodded in ascent. 

“Rachel send for ya?” 

“Wolverine did.”

Rogue lay in silence, dumbfounded. 

“This surprises you?”

“How bad am Ah hurt?”

Erik didn't relish this next conversation. He didn't know if Rogue was even aware of the pregnancy. Rachel told him as much. She never acted like it. They both doubted that she would have risked a pregnancy like that if she had known. And he hoped that if she had known, that she would have shared the information with him. 

As it was, if she didn't know, that would mean four people who knew before her: Erik, Beast, Rachel, and Wolverine. The latter because he’d barged into the room to find out how she was when Beast and Rachel were discussing it. Erik reasoned with himself that was the reason why Logan called and sent for him. 

“You have a concussion, a large wound on your head, and…,” It killed him to say this next part. How did one say this? Was there ever a good way to do this? “You had a miscarriage.”

Rogue stiffened in Magneto's arms. The first two made sense. Those were a dime a dozen in this business. But… a miscarriage? That meant she had to have been… “Ah was pregnant?”

Magneto breathed an inward sigh of relief that he was correct that she didn't know. His Rogue was many things to many people, but like he was to her, she was always open and honest to him. “You were, my dear.”

Feeling her shake in his arms, he knew from experience with Magda, that words were no longer needed. What was needed was to be there. They’d never talked about children, and never about a future for them. But he decided that once the dust settled from this if Rogue desired a future with him, he was more than happy to stay at her side, wherever that is. 

He wanted and needed her in ways he hadn’t needed a woman since Magda. But even still, this was different. Rogue didn't depend on him for survival. Not like Magda had. She treated him like an equal, and someone she wanted around, desired to be with, and cared for a great amount. He felt all of that, and more. And now that he knew that a baby was in the realm of possibility with Rogue, he had to admit, it did increase his desire for her more. That, however, was something for later. The now concerned Rogue and her present condition. 

Rachel entered the room, with the medicine, fresh bandages, and clothing for Rogue. Together, in silence, Erik assisted Rachel in caring for Rogue. She refused to let him out of the room. She was showing him a vulnerability that was rarely let out. Even for the others to see. He welcomed it, as he needed her just as much. The child lost had been just as much his. He was gentle with her, surprising Rachel with the care and love he showed for her friend. 

Rogue was a robot on the outside. On the inside? On the inside, she was a complete mess at war with herself. Learning in one breath that not only were you pregnant, but that you also lost the baby?! That was devastating. The fact that Magnus was being so kind and understanding, and not yelling and screaming at her scared her. She went into how many battles and fights with his child, and then she ended up killing it? She killed the baby! Her baby! How could she be so stupid? The signs had been there? Hadn’t they? Did she miss her period? Did she even have her period? 

Could the ringing in her head stop? The room was closing in on her, and spinning, her breathing becoming erratic. Magnus kissed her forehead and put a hand by her uninjured side, speaking calmly to her. The room soon became dark.

“What did you do?” Rachel checked over Rogue's vitals as Beast came into the room. 

“I merely gave her the hypnotic suggestion to sleep,” Erik replied.

“And this won't cause an issue with her injuries?” Beast asked, concerned and slightly accusatory. 

“None. I have done it before. It is faster than medicine and won't cause any groggy after effects.” They settled Rogue back down onto the bed and Erik covered her up with a fresh blanket. 

The other two looked at him conspicuously. Glowering, Erik explains in a steady and angered voice, “In cases of medical emergencies, it has proven beneficial to give a hypnotic suggestion of sleep when the patient is suffering from severe anxiety, like Rogue. It helps to keep them calm, and to keep them from further injuring themselves and others.”

Beast nodded in acknowledgment, dropping the silent subject. 

****

“Are ya mad at me?” Rogue was frightened, that much was clear to him. And it did not sit well with him. Having the woman he cared for so deeply, to be frightened of him, in any way? No, this will not do.

“Rogue, how could I be mad at you? You did not know.” Clasping her hands into his, he kissed them. Seeing her relax some, gave him hope. “I cannot be angry with you over any of this. None of it is your fault. If anyone is at fault, I am. It was gross negligence on my part, my dear.” 

“But, Magnus, how, ya didn't know either…?”

“Shhhh,” he interrupted. “Had I possessed the balls to join you here, instead of being a stubborn fool, I could have prevented you from being injured in such a way. I also would have kept you from being in distress, you and I both would have noticed the changes in your body. And we would have made the appropriate decisions from there. So, if there is anyone here who is truly at fault, I am.”

Sitting there, for a moment, ruminating over his words, Rogue stroked his cheek, feeling Magnus lean into her touch. “So we're both damned fools. An’ you aren't to blame. Ah could have just as easily stayed behind with ya. But ah, didn't.”

“Then, do us both a favor,” his eyes pleaded with her.

“What?”

“Do not ever feel you need to be frightened of me or that I could ever be angry at you for something like this. Ever.” Looking deep into her eyes, he hoped his words rang true with her. Rogue's hormone levels would be all over the place for the near foreseeable future, making life topsy turvy for her and him if they didn't navigate it with love and care.

She nodded, waiting to see where he went with this. “I am here for you during this, Rogue. I love you. And you need not apologize for anything, either.”

It clicked then. He was being very attentive. It was like he knew what to do, what to say. What she was going through. He'd been here for almost a day now, much of that time spent with her asleep. He'd been through this before. “Magnus?”

“Yes?”

“Did Magda ever miscarry?” His crestfallen face told her that yes, she had. “Oh, Magnus.”

“Do not fret over my past, Rogue. If I can draw on those experiences to aid us both now, I do so willingly and without trepidation.” Reaching his arms around Rogue, Magneto pulls her into a loving embrace. 

“Ah love you.”

“And I you.”

“Ah am glad that you came,” nuzzling his neck, Rogue seeks and freely gives him comfort. 

Magneto smiles sadly at her words. Had they defined their relationship before she left, perhaps she wouldn't have the feelings attached to those words that he knew were present. 

“You are injured, my dear. You need me. And I must confess,” leaving a peck on her cheek Magneto continued, “I missed you.”

Rogue, his Rogue, began crying. While this made others uncomfortable, he refused to shy away. Magneto held her closer, cradling her head, leaving the occasional kiss and comforting word.

A few minutes pass, and Rogue breaks the contact. Wiping her tears away, sniffling and stuttering slightly, she says, “Look at me, Ah'm a frightful mess.”

Chuckling slightly, Magneto moves her hair from her face. “Liebchen, you are beautiful. Even after everything you have faced in these past twenty-four hours. You are my strong, beautiful, fully capable Rogue. And I am here to be at your side for as long as you want me there.”

This stunned Rogue. She was used to Magnus calling her his. Saying she was strong, capable, and more. But… for as long as she wanted? “Are you serious? Or is it because Ah was carryin’ your baby?”

“I would be amiss to say that the baby wasn't a small part of this decision. However, I have given this some thought since your departure.” Magnus stood up from the bed. He took her right hand, holding it above his heart. “A decision does not need to be made at present. You are dealing with a great deal. However, my impatience to share my feelings at an inopportune time may be my undoing…”

Rogue interrupts him by placing her index finger over his lips. “Look, we both heard Beast's speech about how it could take a while for muh body's hormones an whatnot, and Ah’m all sorts of confused, and Ah want to cry and break things. But,” dropping her hand from his lips to join his and her hand over his heart, “one thing Ah know for sure, was Ah had already made up muh mind before this happened. Rogue needs her Magnus with her. Here or in Utopia, it don't matter.”

Magnus lowered his lips to hers for a soft, yet powerful kiss. 

******

The next day, Wolverine was in his office when his door was slammed open by a magnetic force. Magneto stood in the doorway. “Took ya long enough.”

“I made sure Rogue was well and resting comfortably first. There were things we needed to discuss, though those full discussions will have to wait until she is fully recovered.” As he stepped into the room, the door shut behind Magneto. Standing before the desk, he narrows his eyes at the other mutant. 

“The only decision that has been made thus far is where Rogue goes, I go,” Erik smirked as Logan visibly bristled at this. “If she decides to stay here, I will sign on as your new physics instructor. And your poor treatment of her will cease.” 

“She tell ya ‘bout me not trustin’ her anymore?” Logan figured she went ballin’ to him.

“Mortimer did. And he will not face any repercussions for talking to me. Any issues you have with me, take them with me, Logan. Not Rogue or Toad.” The need to snarl and become primal against the man in front of him was great. But, he did not want to upset Rogue. 

“That a threat?”

“A promise.”

“She aware you’re up here?”

“Fully.” Magneto reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small thumb drive. “Here. I promised Miss Pryde I would hand you a copy. I upgraded the school's security systems. These are the schematics. You should experience fewer attacks and if you are attacked, have more assistance from the school itself. The probability of teammates becoming injured is decreased by half.” 

With that, the Master of Magnetism turns and leaves the room. Wolverine looks on in stunned silence. 

[kokoasci]

could you give us a rundown on project nova please!! i'm so curious what it's about you make it look so fun 🤍

oh absolutely i can (i will take any excuse to talk about my ocs)

project nova is a slightly dystopian fiction story/comic set in Nova, a city somewhere near what was once the U.S.-Canada border. due to uprisings and international turmoil (along with an increasingly harsh climate change disasters) that destroyed the previous countries where it stands, Nova is broken into four different classes (kind of like, big labor unions) that specialize in different areas needed for a city to thrive. each class has its own rules and regulations for their members, some are stricter than others, etc. these are:

Technics: industrial, mechanical, infrastructure, urban planning

Astutes: medical, scientific research, education

Executives: company administration, police enforcement, distribution and manufacturing operations

Laymen: other roles for either private or public sector, can be baristas, office workers, farmers, etc.

there are 6 main-ish characters:

August Anderson - Layman barista/skilled thief taking jobs from the underground illicit market

Maple Fernsby - a Technic who owns a small mechanic shop in uptown Nova

Beau Jones - recent graduate from the Astute academy focusing on virology research for therapeutics

Amelie Hargraves - an apprentice Exec operative with a strange ability to influence memories and manipulate deceased souls

Rowan Sawkins - estranged youngest son of the affluent Sawkins Exec family, who's bad falling-out led him to join the Astutes as a physician

Rosie - the western sector resistance leader unaffiliated with any class and wants to get out of the city by any means necessary, and take as many people as possible with her

the main story follows August, who's close friends with Beau and Maple living in the outskirts of the inner city. chance lands him to meet Rowan, a physician that works with Beau and who ends up saving August's life after a job gone wrong. on the other side of the city, Amelie is taken in by the Execs after finding out she has an almost supernatural ability to manipulate memories, thus making her an incredible asset. after a combined agreement between the Execs and the Astutes leads to Rowan's manipulation into a pawn for a mysterious plan called Project Nova, the 6 chars' lives now get tangled together as they all pursue conflicting goals

at least, that's the basic rundown !! most everything i draw or post about takes place before or slightly after this exposition dump, who knows if ill ever get around to either writing and/or drawing this story in the first place. mostly they're just my ocs that i will draw situations for, small skits, stuff like that. none of this is set in stone it changes all of the time and ill probably retcon half of it later but for now this is what i have

more info: primary charas + info, secondary charas

[firedragon1321]

If you happen to have RPG Maker, it has a character generator from at least VX Ace up. Plus you can add parts. Plus you can change the colors of most parts. PLUS if you can use a digital art program, you can export the file into a PNG and edit it.

(RPG Maker is pricey but when there's Steam sales, you can get it easy.)

I used this to make concepts for my OCs Jovie, Elly, and Jonas, along with others from their respective universes and a few novella guys. Here's Jonas as an example of a single "side view" sprite (edited in Krita.) And also Jovie (unedited).

And because I can draw too, here's a better view of these boys-

alternatives for ai to design ocs

hero forge

picrew

the fucking sims 4

your local furry artist

bitmoji

shitty photoshoped collage

DeviantArt bases

zepeto

making edits of your favorite character

searching "dress up game" on the app store

learning how to draw

[miriaocs]

GET TO KNOW YOUR TWST OCs (and their relationships)

(Or how I make up excuses to blabber about my OC lol. Most of the "who" questions are aimed at the twst cast, but feel free to include other twst OCs as well!)

Name: What does your twst OC's name mean? Why does Rook/Floyd call them [insert nickname]?

Inspiration: Is your twst OC inspired by any villains? Concepts? Anything Disney-related?

Age/Birthday: How old is your twst OC? When is their birthday? Whose birthday (among the cast) is closest to your twst OC's? Does the horoscope lie or do they get along well?

Dorm: Which dorm is your twst OC in? Why? Which qualities they have make them suitable for said dorm? Do they have a roommate and how is their relationship?

Class: Who is your twst OC's classmate(s)? How would you describe their relationship? Did they have different classmates in previous year and did they get along?

Height: How tall is your twst OC? Are they conscious about their height? Are they close to someone with similar leg length?

Hair/Eye color: What are your twst OC's hair and eye colors? Who got the closest/opposite palette to them?

Homeland: Where is your twst OC from? Do they know anyone from the same hometown prior to NRC?

Club: Which club does your twst OC join and why? Is there anything memorable about the club fair day/their first day at the club? Which clubmate is their favorite?

Subject: What is your twst OC's best subject? Worst? Do they study with another whom excels at the same subject? Do they ask anyone for help with the subject they are bad at?

Hobby: What are your twst OC's hobbies? Who among the cast will they possibly ask to join in their pastime?

Pet peeves: What are your twst OC's pet peeves and which one in the cast accidentally (or not) commit the "crimes"? How will your twst OC deal with that person?

Food: What is your twst OC's favorite and least favorite food? Why (optional)? Is there anyone they can share their favorite food? Is there anyone they can count on to take over the food they dislike?

Talent: What is your twst OC's talent(s) and who can properly appreciate that?

Unique Magic/Signature spell: What is your twst OC's UM (if applicable)? What can they do? What is the incantation? Is there any weaknesses/loopholes and who can exploit those?

Quote: Give me something your twst OC will say. Either something they always say or something iconic they said. Something that helps solve the problems or something that is a catalyst to even more issues.

(Ok I'm kinda running out of ideas here) Personality: Give me 3 adjectives to describe your twst OC. Or an essay. Whichever works. Whose personality among the cast is closest to your twst OC and do they get along?

Backstory: Tell me anything about your twst OC's backstory. Their childhood, their parents, their siblings etc. Does their backstory affect how they are as a character now and how they interact with the cast?

Pick only one: Let your twst OC pick only one and explain the reasons: only one favorite from each dorm, only one favorite housewarden/vice housewarden, only one favorite first/second/third year etc.

(For my beloved yume shippers) Partner: Who do you ship your twst OC with? Are they in a relationship? If yes, how did it start/end? If no, why?

[chocodile]

N...Neopets AU Hyden......bro would be the first cybunny to end up in the Gallery of Evil

Gallery of Evil - Lord Hyden

Lord Hyden was advisor and high court wizard to Lord Darigan, serving under him alongside Lord Kass during the events of Champions of Meridell. Scheming, duplicitous, and power-hungry, the Cybunny advisor had his own motives, playing the two against each other and eventually assisting Kass during his hostile takeover of Darigan Citadel. However, when Kass fell and the citadel was reclaimed, Lord Hyden was nowhere to be found.

Some say he was defeated during the battle. Others say Lord Darigan sentenced him to jail for his crimes during the war and that he is currently being held in a high-security prison cell deep within the citadel. Still others claim he fled after his betrayal was discovered and is currently living in disguise, hiding somewhere in Neopia.

Some years after his disappearance, rumors began to circulate of a powerful Kyrii wizard taking up residence in an old castle in the Haunted Woods. It is said that he offers travelers dark spells in return for signing dubious magical contracts. Could there be any relation...?

Additional period-appropriate art of this totally real Neopets character. First is him during his Darigan years with his evil bride Milana... er, "mate", sorry child-friendly censors! Second is him post Mutant Kyrii-fication, lording over his "neutral gray with transparent black shading" evil castle in the Haunted Woods.

[soundleer]

....this was funnier in my head

[cannibalcreeps]

Ghoul in Knight Armor!

Friend and I discussing about fallout armor and how much leather and metal they use, which devolves into how they like knight armor and how cool would fallout characters be in knight-like armor and then BAM Ghoul in knight armor So, this is Sir Aldric Manford, a pre-war Ghoul who was a Museum curator with a love for history and medieval times.

[noxious-fennec]

Lilie likes tattoos but doesnt necessarily go for them all that often, she only gets them for major milestones (Religious tattoos for career milestones / Sun to celebrate her marriage to Nour / Matching Apollo tattoo to celebrate her brother getting clean)

Andre on the other hand has been getting them since he was 16, he treats his body like a scrapbook for whatever he thinks looks cool, in the end they're all small rewards for hanging in there. Some have more meaning than others tho (Scorpion on the 20th anniversary of his father's death / sun for Nour / Matching artemis tattoo when he got clean / Dionysus to celebrate 5 years clean)

The most meaningful one he has is the sleeve. His arms are a vulnerable spot for him and he used to keep them bare (his left still is, just in a compression sleeve) until a spur of the moment decision to get the sleeve with the medusa, daffodils, and lilies.

[oozeandgoo-art]

wish this site was like dreamwidth and i could do multiple dropdowns. text below the cut

Haven's monologue:

I hear some of you halfwit morons think you're efficient enough that you're entitled to waste time gossipping about fffucking fashion? It's great to hear that you're all confident enough in your work that you seem to believe that you can have a laugh about your fucking field commander's choice of clothes? It's funny. I thought you were all expendable. You must know something I don't. But maybe you're too stupid to know how to shut your fucking mouths and do your fucking jobs. It happens. Sad but true. You wouldn't be the only shit-sucking idiots I've had work for me. But I thought better of you. So I'm going to offer you a chance to prove yourselves. Go ahead. Say it about me. See what it fucking gets you.

very small text next to the 'shit-sucking idiots' line: Note: It is black-ops. Poor enough judgement is a liability that can mean death, not reassignment. It's a threat.

Erica's paragraph: Has already promised to smash their skulls in with her obuch if she hears one more snide comment, but this will really hammer the point home, so she's not complaining. Plus Haven looks damn good in a dress.

[tvntheatre]

Eight full bodies, holy smokes???

User @ballcrusher74 I hope you know Faux plagues me daily whenever I feel down. and is also very spindly to draw, that's always fun.

if the cut-off for the close ups here break I'll fucking kill someone.

I hate paper it distorted thy perfectly good Faux!!!

I no wanna ballpen this what if it ruins

[mel-loly]

-Happy Easter..💛

[katyspersonal]

Thinking about that time when a popular artist was a prick to me personally (claimed that I "baited" them for a conflict when all I did was pointing out something in lore contradicting their claim, without any rudeness or condescension, and basically told me to go hang out with other autists instead of bothering them) but the reason I blocked them was not that, it was the fact that they've admitted on not even caring about the source material and just using scraps from it to do their own thing. Priorities hfngkfngj

[liquidstar]

Between commissions I finally managed to finish this OC set of parent characters! If the looks aren't enough to show you who their kid is, the background colors match them ^_^ but of course more details below!

Name: Thuban

Name origin: The former pole star, before the north star (Polaris), it's name means "Large snake" and is referred to as the “Dragon's tail”

Pronouns: He/him

Age: N/A

Relation: Raised Polaris, though they're not related by blood and have a somewhat distant relationship, until he suddenly went MIA

Weapon: Spear (Same as Polaris's)

Ethos (Power): N/A

Flaw power is based on: N/A

Notes: Make no phallic jokes about the large snake thing and you'll be rewarded

Name: Ananke

Name origin: A moon of Jupiter, named for the mythological spirit of necessity, inevitably, and compulsion

Pronouns: She/her

Age: -

Relation: Bella's mother, she raised her to be a warrior

Weapon: Bardiche

Ethos (Power): Indomination (The ability to freeze the movement of objects and people, and lock them in place)

Flaw power is based on: Her strict enforcement of obedience through authoritarianism, and a lack of concern for the wishes of others

Notes: She believes in tough love. It's better in the long run to give your kid strength rather than affection.

Name: Rhea

Name origin: A moon of Saturn named after the Titan known as the mother of the gods

Pronouns: She/her

Age: 38

Relation: Saiph's mother, though she gave him up to the guild when he was very young

Weapon: None

Ethos (Power): None

Flaw power is based on: N/A

Notes: Was unable to take care of a baby at the time, and gave Saiph to the guild. She wishes she'd visited beyond that but it's probably too late now...

Name: Arche

Name origin: One of Jupiter's moons, it's name comes from the muse of new beginnings and is associated with springtime

Pronouns: He/him

Age: 7

Relation: Saiph's half-brother. Neither currently knows the other exists

Weapon: None

Ethos (Power): None

Flaw power is based on: N/A

Notes: He's just a little guy. He likes flowers and playing with toys. He wants to be a cool hero like his dad

Name: Poerava

Name origin: A star in Tucana, the Maori word for a black pearl of mystical beauty and perfection

Pronouns: She/her

Age: -

Relation: Al's mom. She mostly raised him on her own while her husband was with the knights.

Weapon: None

Ethos (Power): None

Flaw power is based on: N/A

Notes: Probably the best parent of the bunch if we're being real.

[roboyomo]

about to go sleepyy but. Insane Kenix Thoughts (Again! An Another Time!) (How Many Fucking Times!— ^_^)

Something about Kenix comforting Sora the day she joined the sins crew while she was full on crying and confused at everything surrounding her. Something about him Resonating with a child's helplessness, offer a warm embrace to hold onto. Did you see your own past self in that girl? The days where you were left all alone in the dark, being able to only weep and wonder why everything around you was like this. Yet you had no one's shoulder to cry onto. You had no one by your side, and now you have decided to be that someone for an another lost kid. Have you seen your own desperation in that child, wanting to help her because deep down you know how scarring this situation is for her? To seek comfort despite the unknown environment, because you wanted someone to let you know it is safe?

Have you wanted to save someone from what you had to endure yourself because you just knew how deeply terrifying it must all be to experience such loneliness at a young age? Have you just wanted to not let someone else go through what you had to? Have you just wanted to show the lost child that compassion that you didn't get yourself when you needed it the most.