#truly the ugliest color

[but-make-it-poly]

What’s Your Favorite Non-Color?

Ex. sunset, ocean, galaxy, etc.

My pfp is my favorite color which I like to call Supernova. If you go to my account, my background thingy is also a space-y thing. That's my second favorite color, Nebula. Yes, I have grown out of saying "Galaxy (blue & purple)" is my favorite color but... space, y'know?

But there's always THOSE kinds of people. People who say shit like “tHaT’S nOt a cOloR” FINE! Non-color! It's my favorite non-color! *Gasp*

So now I go around asking people 3 questions: What's your favorite color? What is objectively the ugliest color? there are 3 correct answers. (Beige, Khaki, and Ecru. Even u weirdos who like beige or Khaki have to admit Ecru is disgusting.) & What is your favorite non-color?

So?

[agreeewrites]

Christmas Karaoke | E.M.

He wasn't a Christmas guy, being the town freak and his all together hatred of capitalist bullsh*t, but when he saw you smile like that, your eyes dancing like the twinkle bulbs, he thought maybe he could be.

feat. Eddie Munson x fem!reader

SUMMARY: You go out to Christmas karaoke with your friends Robin, Steve, Vickie, and Eddie and get a little wild, liquid courage and some classic carols giving you the push you need to claim your man.

CW: MDNI 18+, smut, eddies pov, drinking/getting drunk, protective!eddie, mentions of blood/fighting, eddie is the sweetest (and filthiest) man alive, oral (f&m), dirty talk

Eddie flipped down the visor on the van, checking his hair and making sure he didn't have an spaghetti sauce on his chin from dinner at Wayne's. The van was idling outside your door, thick clouds of steam obscuring the outside world.

He was picking you up for Christmas Karaoke with Steve, Robin, and Vickie at the Hideout. It was a normal thing, he'd picked you up countless times for countless reasons, so why the fuck were his hands shaking on the steering wheel?

He clenched his hands, knuckles white and rings digging into his skin, and tried to take a deep breath. Things had started to change for him over the summer, after Eddie got into a fight with a handsy lifeguard at the pool.

He wasn't a violent man, truly. But when that fucker put his hands on your skin, glowing in the afternoon sun and dripping with chlorinated water, and your face screwed up with disgust and fear, he saw red.

It took an hour to clean the blood from his rings, and you'd been gracious enough to help him. Cramped into the trailer bathroom, scrubbing at his Cthulhu ring with some Palm Olive and an old toothbrush, your brow crinkled in concentration.

Now, he couldn't even wash the fucking dishes without thinking of you.

Every since that afternoon, he was a nervous wreck around you, clumsy and awkward, though you were too sweet to ever comment on it. You were oblivious to the change in him, at least as far as he knew.

He flipped up the visor and sagged into his seat, turning that Cthulhu ring on his middle finger. It was just karaoke, he could do this—

“Hey, Eds!” You chirped, tugging open the van door and climbing in.

His greeting died in his throat when he saw your outfit. Leather mini shirt and ripped tights, heavy boots, eyeliner…and what had to be the ugliest patchwork Christmas sweater he'd ever seen.

But somehow, you made it look sexy as fuck.

“What? Too much?” You asked, pulling at the hem of your sweater with a smirk.

Eddie clapped a hand over his eyes, letting go of the wheel. “You're gonna have to drive, babe. My eyes have melted from the hideousness.”

You laughed, the sound like Christmas bells, and swatted his arm. “It's not that bad! Robin helped me!”

“It's grotesque.” He smiled, dropping his hands to start driving. “And I love it—”

“You do?” You beamed so brightly, he almost didn't finish his sentence.

“Sure! The way I love “Night of the Walking Dead”, or when Ozzy bit the head off that bat—”

“Ha ha, go fuck yourself.” You stuck your tongue out at him and he huffed a laugh.

“I'm teasing you,” he chuckled, adjusting the radio to your preferred station. “It's perfect. And only you could pull of that kind of monstrosity.”

You smiled, settling into your seat, and cranked up the music.

It took a concerted effort for Eddie to keep his eyes on the road. The color splashed against your skin was so pretty, and the soft smile on your face every time he passed a particularly elaborate house made his heart forget how to beat.

He wasn't a Christmas guy, being the town freak and his all together hatred of capitalist bullshit, but when he saw you smile like that, your eyes dancing like the twinkle bulbs, he thought maybe he could be.

“So, will we get a Corroded Coffin performance?” You asked, jarring him from his fantasies.

He snorted. “Unlikely.”

“I’m sorry, you, Eddie Munson, who sings more than he speaks, aren't going to participate in karaoke?”

“It's not like Judas Priest has a Christmas song,” he chuckled. “I don't have the range for Sinatra. Though I'm flattered you think so.”

“What if I pick it for you?” You asked, batting those pretty eyes at him.

He sighed, thunking his head back against the headrest. “Stop lookin’ at me like that, it's not fair.”

“Like what?” You tilted your head, glossed lips pursing slightly.

He wanted to sink his teeth into that pout, see a sticky ring of your lip gloss around his—

“Fine, fuck. One song.”

“Yay!” You leaned across the seat, planting a smacking kiss on his cheek, and he nearly swerved off the road in his shock. “You won't regret this.”

“I don't believe that for a second, sweetheart,” he said, praying you chalked his blush up to the multi-colored lights.

“Oh god, not you too,” Steve said when you bound towards him through the crowd, Eddie on your heels.

“You love it, Harrington,” you teased, stealing the beer in his hand and taking a few, long gulps. Steve and Eddie’s eyes met over your head, both wide with surprise.

“Woah there!” Robin said, appearing to Steve’s left, dressed in an equally ugly sweater. “That kind of night?”

You set the now mostly empty beer on the counter. “Yep. What's a Mistletoe Mayhem?” You called out to Nick, the bartender.

Nothing good, Eddie thought.

“Green and sparkly,” the bartender replied.

“Perfect,” you grinned, slapping your ID on the counter.

“Make that two!” Robin chimed in, and Steve groaned.

“I want one!” Vickie emerged from the dance floor, also wearing a hideous sweater, though it was tied around her waist.

“Three Mayhem's coming up,” Nick chuckled, skimming ids before passing them back and moving down the bar.

“And can I get another beer? No? Alright,” Steve sighed, leaning back against the bar. “What's up, Munson?” He said, waving Eddie over.

Eddie tore his eyes away from where you were gushing with Vickie over the bars tiny Christmas tree and moved towards Steve.

“Oh, nothing. Kids have been asking me to put together a festive quest for our session tomorrow. Best I can do is Krampus.”

Steve chuckled, smiling when the pretty female bartender slid him and Eddie some beers. “Not into Christmas, huh?”

“Are you?”

“Nah, Mom was always the Hallmark family Christmas type, just felt so phony, y’know?”

“I do. Poor Harrington with his mountains of presents and immaculately decorated house,” Eddie teased, and Steve rolled his eyes.

“It wasn’t a mountain.”

“Oh, I apologize. A rather large hill of presents.”

“Three Mayhem's up!” Nick called, and the three of you bound out of the crowd like puppies called for dinner. Nick set down three fishbowls full of green, glittery liquid, topped with cranberries and limes, and a sprig of mistletoe.

Steve wrinkled his nose. “That looks dangerous.”

Eddie agreed, but held his tongue.

You took a big sip, needing two hands to hold the giant glass, and immediately pulled a face before unleashing a hundred kilowatt grin. “Very dangerous,” you hummed, taking another sip, and Eddie felt his cock twitch to life at the wicked gleam in your eye.

It was going to be a long night.

Karaoke began half an hour later, with Steve and Robin kicking things off with a dramatized rendition of “Baby, It's Cold Outside.”

Eddie was following you around the bar like a shadow, scaring away anyone foolish enough to look at you twice. But you were none the wiser, already buzzed and dancing around like a Christmas elf on crack.

You were already one Mayhem deep, and he bribed Nick to tell you they were out of the mix to spare the consequences of a second. But you just ordered a double margarita instead, so his efforts, and $20, were forfeit.

But Eddie was more than happy to be your guard dog for the evening, so long as you were having fun and safe. It's what any good friend would do. But when he ran into Gareth and they started talking about the new Slayer album, he lost track of you.

“Shit,” he cursed under his breath, surveying the crowd for your sweater. But with the fog and throbbing multi-colored lights, it was impossible to see anything clearly. “Excuse me,” he said, interrupting Gareth in the middle of a sentence.

He bee-lined to the high top where your friends sat.

“There he iiissss!” Robin yelled, waving her beer glass in the air. “Where ya been Edward-ed-son?”

“Have you seen y/n?” He asked, mostly to Steve, who appeared to be the only other sober person on the entire establishment.

“Thought you had her.” Steve shrugged. “Got my hands full.” He nodded towards Robin and Vickie, who were now loudly singing along to the karaoke.

“I did, but then Gare—”

The crowd erupted in applause as the song ended, cutting Eddie off.

“That was greeeaaat, Tina. Now, let's welcome y/n singing a classic, ‘Santa Baby’!”

Eddie whirled around to the stage and your friends burst into cheers. You sauntered out in your little skirt and insane sweater, grinning ear to ear as the spotlight swung towards you.

“Found her,” Steve chuckled, pulling out the chair beside him for Eddie.

Eddie dropped into it, rolling his eyes and laughing. He should have known. “What's ‘Santa Baby'?” Eddie asked as the song started.

Steve gave him a sympathetic look and clapped him on the back. “Oh, you'll see.”

You stepped up to the mic, the one Eddie's used on countless occasions, and wrapped your little hands around it. Something about it being his mic your lips were so close to made the primitive part of his brain purr with delight, and he relaxed into his seat, hiding his growing erection under the table.

Steve slid his beer to Eddie, who took a grateful sip, his mouth dry as the desert.

“Santa Baby, just slip a Sable under the tree, for me,” you sang, your voice breathy and so sweet. “Been an awful good girl.”

Your eyes locked on Eddie and he nearly choked, his cock lurching painfully against his jeans, heart pounding in his ears.

Surely you didn't mean to look directly at him, right? He had a habit of searching you out during shows too, you were probably just mirroring that. Looking for a familiar face in a sea of strangers.

“Santa Baby, so hurry down the chimney tonight.” You dragged your hands down the mic stand, swaying your hips to the music, and Eddie thought he might faint.

He maybe would have, if it wasn't for the roaring men pushing towards the front of the stage drawing his attention.

But your eyes were still locked on him, ignoring them entirely, and he gave you an encouraging thumbs up. He wasn't about to let his stupid crush, or a bunch of leering creeps, ruin your fun.

You kept singing, your voice a little wobbly, but airy in that way that made his pants tighten and his mind wander to places it definitely shouldn't. You looked so beautiful up there, laughing and swaying to the music, that Eddie found himself smiling too.

“Lookin’ a little lovesick there, Eds,” Steve teased, nudging him with his elbow.

Eddie waved him off. “Nah, just making sure she has someone that isn't a perv to look at.”

Steve nodded, popping some nuts into his mouth. Steve was the only friend of theirs that seemed to clock Eddie's shift in demeanor, though he mostly kept it to himself. Eddie knew he knew, and Steve knew that Eddie knew he knew, and that was good enough.

You wrapped up the song with a flourish, doing a little curtsy in your mini skirt, and Eddie cheered as loud as he could, ensuring you heard him over the roar of douche bags.

He jumped up, rushing to meet you at the edge of the stage before someone else could, adjusting himself as went. The crowd parted and there you were, bright as the morning sun, bounding down the stairs and into his arms.

“I did it!” You cried.

“You were amazing,” he murmured, lifting you up and spinning your around. It was totally platonic, but the rest of these fucks didn't know that.

“Phew, what a show. Next up we have a familiar face! Eddie Munson of our very own Corroded Coffin singing ‘Blue Christmas’!”

You squealed in delight and Eddie's jaw dropped. “Go, go!” You shoved against his back, pushing him up the stairs as someone handed him a guitar.

“Figured you didn't need the track, yeah?” Danny, the stagehand said with a grin.

“I don't know this shit, man,” Eddie protested, but Danny rolled his eyes.

“I'll play it in the background, you'll pick it up!”

Suddenly Eddie was in the spotlight, and you were jumping up and down on the side stage. It was far from an atypical experience for him, but butterflies still churned in his stomach. He never got used to you watching him perform, even if it was something as silly as Christmas karaoke. The pressure to impress you was paralyzing, but if it would make you happy…

The track started rolling softly in the background, and he focused on his fingers, finding the simple chord and replicating it with relative ease. The audience cheered even louder, and he smirked to himself.

He risked a glance over at you, confident he had a handle on the notes, and you were practically glowing with joy.

Shit, maybe Corroded Coffin needed to add some Christmas song to their set.

Words started to roll across the small screen at his feet, and he stepped up to the mic, absolutely delighted to find a smear of your lipgloss on the net.

“I’ll have a blue Christmas, without you,” he crooned, putting on his best Elvis impression, and the roar of the ladies was deafening. “I'll be so blue just thinking about you.” He let his eyes wander back to you at the end of the lyric, wondering if you understood just how close this song hit home for him.

You were grinning ear to ear, swaying happily to the music. Oblivious.

“You’ll be doing all right, with your Christmas of white. But I'll have a blue, blue blue blue Christmas,” he continued, finding that he did, in fact, know this song despite his earlier assertion.

C’mon, who didn't know Elvis?

Thankfully, it was an incredibly brief song, and he finished off with a freestyle riff, earning another cacophony of drunken cheers.

He bowed and hustled of the stage to where you waited for him, arms open. He held the guitar behind his back and scooped you up around the waist with his free arm, lifting your feet off the ground.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, wafting your sweet perfume and the bitter sting of alcohol over him. “That was amazing!” You gushed.

“Thanks, sweetheart. But you were better,” he replied, passing Danny the guitar. He started to carry you down the steps, but you shook your head.

“Wanna go backstage,” you murmured against his ear, and his heart stopped.

He pulled his head back to look at you, eyebrows raised. “Backstage? Why?”

You worried your lip between your teeth, eyes like melting honey. “Please, Eddie baby?”

He could do nothing but obey, backing up the steps and ducking behind the curtain with you still in his arms. He shifted his hold you, your legs wrapping around his waist, mini skirt pushing up to enough to give him a glimpse of the cherry red of your panties.

You dragged your nails down his shoulders, your lips finding his throat and leaving soft, sticky kisses along his jugular vein that may as well have been along his cock for how intense the contact felt.

“Honey,” he grunted, stopping to press you against a dressing room door. “How drunk are you?” he panted, eyes crossing when your tongue laved over his pulse, your teeth grazing his pierced lobes.

“Not too drunk, I promise,” you said, pulling back to look him in the eye. “Been wanting this for so long, Eddie, please—”

He swallowed your sweet words with a kiss, tentative at first, but quickly devolving into a sloppy mess, your cherry flavored lip gloss and the lingering taste of cranberry vodka flipping a switch in his brain that had his long-held control unraveling. This was his one shot to impress you, his one shot to get you as addicted to him as he was to you, and he was not about to fuck it up.

Eddie was the town freak, and dating him came with all the baggage of that title. But he’d show you the benefits of it, too.

He had to make like Santa Clause and fucking deliver.

With a quick turn of his wrist, he opened the door to the dressing room and carried you through. He dropped you onto the leather chaise before climbing up your body, capturing your lips in another hungry kiss. Your tongue probed at his lower lip and he opened for you, your smaller muscle licking curiously along the inside of his mouth, when he felt the tip of it brush the warm metal of his tongue piercing.

You gasped, apparently having forgotten about that particular modification, and pride blazed through his chest like an inferno.

He leveraged your surprise to turn the power into his favor, driving his tongue into your mouth, feeling drunk himself on the intoxicating taste of your drool. He dragged the piercing over the roof of your mouth and you shivered, your hips rising to press against his thigh.

He pressed his leg harder against your deliciously warm cunt and you whimpered, you hips rolling in a more deliberate motion. He brought one of his hands down to grip your hip, his rings digging into your soft flesh as he helped you ride his thigh.

“How long you been wanting this, baby? Huh?” He rasped against your ear, hearing your breath hitch. “Barely touched you and look, so desperate already.”

Your hands curled against his shirt, your hips stuttering against his thigh as the pleasure mounted, your slick starting to seep through your panties onto his jeans. “Fuck, feels s’good,” you whined, burying your face into his neck.

“Yeah? Little pussy getting nice and wet for me? Such a good girl. Look so sexy riding my thigh.” He encouraged, noting the way his words made your hips move incrementally faster, the filth spurring you on.

Despite thoroughly enjoying the sight of you dry humping his leg, his mouth watered for something even sweeter.

He moved his thigh back, the denim wet with your honey, and he lowered to his knees on the ground. “Can I taste, sugar? You’re not the only one that's been waiting ages for this.” He started kissing up your inner thighs, wet and loud smacks on your tender skin as he moved closer to your sopping panties.

“Please, Eds, wanna feel you,” you panted, spreading your thighs wider for him like an angel opening heaven’s gates.

His heart gave an elated thump. How could this be real life? Here he was, moments from devouring your drooling, pink pussy and you were saying his name like that? Asking to feel his tongue against you? Maybe he really had gone to fucking heaven.

“Fuck, so pretty. So fucking perfect.” He dragged his tongue over the clingy fabric of your panties, sucking the material into his mouth to taste you. His eyes rolled back in his head—so fucking sweet.

With deft fingers, he slid them down your legs and stuffed them in his back pocket, before settling back between your legs.

You were trembling with anticipation, worrying your lips between your teeth as you watched him through your painted lashes. With a flattened tongue, he licked from your entrance to your clit, feeling the heat, the velvet softness of your slit without obstruction.

You keened, throwing your head back onto the arm of the couch when he swirled the tip around your clit, flicking his piercing over the sensitive bud.

Shit, he could do this forever. Just live between your legs, making music with the most beautiful instrument he'd ever played: you.

With two fingers, he dipped into the pool of slick at your entrance, lubricating himself before easing them inside, watching your face over the stretch of your body for signs of discomfort. But you only continued to moan, already looking gorgeously wrecked.

He worked you with his tongue and fingers, finding that spongy spot inside you that made you sing, and let himself get lost in the rhythm, the mind-numbing bliss of pleasuring you.

“Eddie baby, fuck. M’getting close,” you whined, and he could feel the truth of your statement, your walls starting to twitch and clench around his fingers, your clit swelling under his tongue.

“That's it, sugar. Come all over my tongue, wanna drown in you—”

You cry drowned out his words, the cunt clenching hard around his aching fingers, a fresh gush of honey soaking his palm and chin. Pride soared through him, and he greedily lapped up every drop you released for him, watching your body twitch and writhe while you came down.

“You’re a goddamn dream, baby. Did so well f’me,” he cooed, easing his fingers out of you and cleaning them with his tongue before placing a final kiss on your puffy clit.

“Fuck, Eddie,” you panted, pulling him up onto the couch with shaky arms. “You're too good at that.” You leaned in for a kiss, dragging your tongue over his lips before smushing your lips together in a quick, sloppy press.

“Thank you, honey,” he hummed, feeling like a damn king. The luckiest bastard alive.

But then you shifted off the couch, settling on your knees between his thighs, and his brain turned off.

“What are you—” His words fractured into a strangled moan when you dragged your tongue over the hard swell of his cock, separated by the rough fabric of his jeans.

You continued to mouth at his bulge while undoing his belt with quick little fingers, unzipping his jeans. He reached into his boxers and freed himself, still half-dazed by the sight of you on your knees for him in a dirty, dive bar dressing room.

He was painfully hard, the head and angry red and leaking, his balls already tight and hot. And you, being the sweet thing you are, didn't waste a second, popping the head into your mouth and sucking the precum from his skin.

Your mouth was scalding, melting his mind at the wet pliancy of your tongue and cheeks while you took him deeper.

“Fucking shit, baby. Oh god—” he fisted the couch cushions, the temptation to fist your hair and push you deeper overwhelming. But he wanted to see what you would do on your own.

You hollowed out your cheeks, bobbing your head up and down his shaft with messy, drooling strokes, your hand wrapped around his base. His vision went fuzzy, heat curling low in his stomach as pleasure spilled through him.

Shit, you were too fucking good at that.

“Baby, baby, baby,” he chanted, head thrown back against the couch, and finally he let himself place his hand on the back of your head, careful to keep his rings from catching in your hair. You leaned into him, moaning softly around his length.

He picked his head up, needing to watch you as you reached the base of him, a sticky, soaking mess in the thatch of his dark pubic hair.

“That's it, sugar. Just like that—fuck,” he grunted, his hips canting up when he felt the tightness of your throat, your tongue lapping at the throbbing root of him. He was deliriously, embarrassingly close already, but he didn't have the heart to slow you down for even a second.

You pulled back, suckling the head with your plush lips while your hand twisted up and down his slippery shaft, the swallowed him down again with a sinful slurp.

Like a bolt of lightening, his balls drew up and he was coming, unable to give you more of a warning than his hand flexing, his cock swelling on your tongue. Sparks danced behind his eyes, his nerves frying beneath his skin as he released rope after rope of come down your throat.

And like a good girl, you swallowed it all and sucked him dry, broken whines falling from his lips as your nursed his oversensitive head.

“Baby, fuck, take it easy on me—”

You released him with a pop, flashing the sweetest, most angelic smile with your chin covered in drool and lipgloss, and he dragged you up into his lap, desperate to hold you close.

“I do good?” You asked, batting your lashes at him, a smug little smirk on your face.

“Good? Honey, you rocked my world.” He pulled you in for a kiss, toothy and playful since neither of you could stop smiling, giddy with the shock of it all.

You giggled as his rained kisses over your face, down your neck, his fingers tickling along your hips and up over your ribs. He wrapped his arms around your waist, leaning back against the couch as he slowed his movements, coaxing you to relax into him.

“Wanted you for long,” he murmured into your hair. “Please tell me you'll be mine.” The words came out so soft, for a second he wasn't sure if you'd heard him.

But then you pressed your hands to his chest and sat up a little, looking into his eyes. “I already am, Eds.”

He grinned, cheeks sore and heart pounding, and kissed you again while a terrible rendition of Ella Fitzgerald's “I’ve Got My Love To Keep Me Warm” bleed through the thin walls.

Looked like it wouldn't be a blue Christmas after all.

[skyenish]

Rook is so full of love, I think we should all strive to be a little more like Rook honestly | book 5 animatic 👸🏹❤️🍎🐍☀️|

(This animatic doesn't have a very amazing structure, so just enjoy the pretty pictures and the RookVil teasing/ book 5 content!)

I think we can all learn something from Rook, because I think no one truly understands just how much he loves almost everything- especially Vil. He saw the beauty in Vil's overblot while also acknowledging that it wasn't Vil at his most beautiful. He loves him so much and genuinely wants the best for him; he sees Vil’s beauty! Remember, even when Vil was at his ugliest, he still saw beauty.

He sees the beauty in pimples, in fat, in tears, in color, in wrinkles, in smile lines, in every single "flaw" a human body can have. He sees beauty in something as simple as a flower or a well-crafted chair, and also in something as complex or horrible as trauma or anger and hatred. He sees beauty in everything that today's beauty standard would call "not beautiful", but Rook knows better. He knows that beauty standards are doodoo! He believes that the most beautiful person is a person that loves themself. Ironically a stark contrast to how Vil sees it, since he relies more on external ways validation to measure beauty. Rook truly believes that a person is only ugly if they're very ugly on the inside.

Rook is optimistic, curious, kind and positive. Yeah the guy may be a little very weird, but at the end of the day he's definitely not a bad dude! He wants to seek and protect beauty and spread it to the world :)

I know we're all mad that he voted for Neige, but it was the right thing to do. If he voted for NRC, he wouldn't have been honest, the main trait vil likes in Rook. He wasn't biased, he simply knew that their performance wasn't as beautiful as it could've been. This doesn't mean that their performance wasn't beautiful of course!

Also the fact that what Rook tells Vil after the competition is so important to his character development! Vil shouldn't need an audience to tell him that he's amazing and beautiful, that’s what Rook means.

If NRC had won it would've ruined the entire point of Vil's character arc in my opinion (though of course I would've loved for us to win). In conclusion, Rook is a neat dude who we should learn from (minus the stalking part cough cough)

Remember, this is just my interpretation of Rook! *drops mic, all your ears explode*

[queenimmadolla]

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: You surprise Eddie with your baby's first trick-or-treat costume. Spoiler alert: she's adorable.

a/n: for maisie 🩷

more penny and Eddie here

“I’m waitiiiiiiiiing.” Eddie sang out from the couch, tugging at the neck of the cream colored turtleneck you’d guilted him into wearing. It wasn’t as bad as the sweater he had to wear with it. Truly the ugliest thing he had ever seen. 

  It was so ugly, it offended him and he was a little grumpy about it, which you teased was appropriate considering he was supposed to be dressed as Bert from Sesame Street. 

  Yeah. Sesame Street. 

  The (totally) gay puppets.

“You’ll have to get close.” Eddie had threatened when you pulled out eyeliner, not to line his eyes like you did before one of his shows or a date night, but to link his brows together in the most unrealistic looking unibrow ever. 

  Once upon a time, up until like two Halloweens ago, Eddie had used this day to be completely and thoroughly chaotic. Messy. Well, as messy as the social pariah could be on Halloween. So just really drunk, maybe high—sometimes both—making out with someone who wouldn’t acknowledge his existence the following day (and he was very grateful for you for breaking the curse on that last carefree Halloween). But that was the old Eddie Munson.

  Gone was the Eddie Munson that either went all out–in leather, eyeliner and fake blood–or barely tried with some devil horns and a bad sense of humor for halloween to deal weed and drugs, smoke weed and drink til he threw up, or get fucked. Granted, he wasn’t going through this change alone. 

  Your opportunities to party on Halloween night with your friends–having all gotten ready together for the big, slutty night out–drinking ‘til you were stupid only to wake up on your bedroom floor (sometimes not even yours and on one year, the top of your neighbor’s car) with no real repercussions were no more.

  Your days as primarily careless teenagers and now young adult were over, replaced with enjoying the night in a way you were both surprised to find that you didn’t hate, even as early twentysomethings. 

  Hell, the both of you were eager–even if Eddie had to wear a lame costume. He’d wanted to be Ernie, at least.

  “Shut up!” You called back from the bedroom. Eddie snickered at the amusement hidden under your voice and shifted until he was lounging on his side, arm propped up with his hand.

  “Still waitiiiiiiiing!”

  You’d been hiding a certain costume from him for the past three weeks, and the anticipation was killing him.

  “You are the most impatient man I have ever met.” 

  “I just gotta have you, baby.” Came his immediate response and his grin widened when he realized he didn’t even have to think up replies for your quips, it just came natural now. He knew you that well. Still made him giddy and want to kick his feet in the air.

  He loved being married to you. Sue him.

  “Okay, here we come!” You announced and Eddie scrambled to sit up straight, eagerly leaning forward to get an early peak. 

  You walked down the short hall, dressed in a striped sweatshirt, jeans with the bottoms rolled into cuffs and a pair of red converse. Ernie. But Eddie already knew what your costume was, it was a couple’s costume and you were indeed a couple. 

  It was who you were glancing back at, just out of his line of sight, that held his curiosity. 

  “C’mon, baby. Go show daddy!”

  At your prompting, your baby–just a couple of months over a year old–came waddling out, footsteps awkward as she got used to the orange duck feet covering her own and the padding and stuffing of her yellow duck costume, clutching a bottle you’d given her to keep her from fussing while you got her dressed. Her curly little head and chunky cheeks were framed in the hood of the costume, with the duck’s  head resting on hers.

  “Are you kidding me?” Eddie asked, mouth dropping open as his eyes darted from his cute little spawn in her adorable costume to your smug expression and back, “Are you joking? OH MY GOD!”

  Eddie reached his arms out to Penny, fingers curling into his fists as he made grabby hands, “You are so precious, my little baby, come to daddy!”

  Penny was delighted with his praise, drooly mouth dropping open and big brown eyes sparkling as she rushed forward. Her lack of coordinated motor skills paired with the duck feet and the padding of her duck bottom throwing her equilibrium off meant she immediately lost her balance and you and Eddie both inhaled sharply, quickly rising to attention as she wobbled forward briefly, then fell back on her cushioned tail feathers.

  It was far from a dangerous fall, so you and Eddie stood frozen, waiting for her response so as to not sway her to have a certain response, having taken her to the doctor’s after a fall once only to learn she was perfectly fine and had only started crying because you had. 

  You both learned real quick to wait for her response after falling, sometimes she cried and had a boo boo that Daddy and Mommy could fix with some first aid and a kiss, and other times she'd run right into the wall, get up, and walk away (albeit while muttering in angry baby gibberish).

  Penny blinked once, eyes flying from your face to her dad’s before she wiggled her bum against the floor, set her bottle down next to her and tried to stand up. 

  You both let out matching sighs of relief before Eddie darted forward to scoop her up.

  “Are you rubber ducky?” Eddie asked once he had her situated in his arms. All she did was give him that big, beautiful smile of hers (no longer gummy with the teeth she had coming in but thinking about that made Eddie teary eyed) before her attention strayed to his long curls and her chunky little fist flew out to grab some of it, staring it down before she put it in her mouth.

  “Say, yes, baby.” You encouraged her after picking up her bottle, hand tucking in one of her curls peaking out.

  “Yesh.” She parroted, mouthing aggressively at the hair in her fist. While she was distracted, Eddie took the opportunity to press kisses into her cheek, smothering her in them until she grew annoyed and snapped her head in his direction, mouth wide in protest.

  “Sor-ry!” He huffed, still grinning as he pressed another one into her soft cheek. She was all talk  and no bite. Mostly.

  “What does the duck say, baby?” You asked, trying to prompt her. She could do some of the animal sounds and she’d gotten the duck right a few times.

  “Moooo.” And sometimes she moo’d.

  “That is one interesting duck.” Eddie commented and you shushed him.

  “No, baby. Quack.”

  “Cack.”

  Your heart dropped into your stomach. “Okay, that’s a little too close to–we’ll stick with moo.”

  You grabbed her trick-or-treat bag, a disposable camera and a couple of other things you thought you might need to take her trick-or-treating for the first time, while Eddie continued to coddle her, only putting her down when you were all ready to go. 

  Penny was little miss independent until she caught sight of the steps outside of the trailer. Then she whimpered, dropped her bottle and turned to Eddie, shoving herself at his legs as she reached her little arms up to him.

  “Up! UP! Up!”

  It was mean of him, really it was, because Penny was genuinely afraid of the steps but that also meant she demanded her daddy hold her in his arms, and that wasn’t really a loss for him so he hoped she’d hang onto that fear for a while before she got inventive and found another way to climb down them without him.

  Eddie picked her up and she curled into his chest, chin on his shoulder as she clung to him with the duck head on her hood hitting the side of his face. He was trying to hide his smile but it was much too large to conceal and you glared at him with no malice, more amused with Eddie than anything.

  “It’s okay, sweetpea. Daddy will protect you from those big, mean steps.”

  He cackled as you shook your head with a smile. 

  “You are so messed up, capitalizing off of her fear.”

  “Hey–it’s easy for you, she still demands and needs your boob. Did you see her refuse my kisses in there? I’m fighting for her affection here. And I’m gonna keep doing it, as soon as she gets over her fear of steps, I’m telling her a monster lives underneath them. Now, let's go get some candy I’ll also eat on her behalf.”

  He bounded cheerfully out the door, Penny bouncing in his arms while you locked up behind him and called out in your laughter.

  “And using your baby for candy–oh, you’ve got to choke tonight. I’ll save you, but you’ve got to choke.”

  Eddie paused, waiting for you to catch up as his lips curled into smirk in a very Grinch like manner and you groaned, eyes squeezing shut as you realized what he was implying without having to verbalize it. 

  “I mean, I’d be happy to arrange that–”

  “Keep walking, Bert. We only have an hour and a half so we’d better get a move on if you want a decent amount of candy to steal from your own baby.”

  “I’m not above taking candy from any baby.” He confirmed leaning down just as you leaned up to meet in a kiss, the both of you smiling into it. It was brief, ending when Penny accidentally pecked the both of you with the head of her costume.

[saylor-twift]

i just need to rant a bit-

i truly feel like genshin has gone down since natlan, and not even because of the nation itself, but the way the fuckass fandom has reacted to it. i’m not going to lie, i am also disappointed in the execution of many of the characters and the archon quest so far, but i also do not think natlan is nearly as bad as people are making it out to be. i’ve also heard people say that the landscape is the ugliest in the whole game, and can I be honest? i think the biggest reason is because it’s different. most of the other nations have been more muted and/or monochrome, but then we get natlan with its loud music and bright colors and people are upset. (do they not realize that latin america, what natlan is heavily based off of, is also extremely colorful and vibrant??)

i used to love being in this fandom so much because of the community we’ve built, but now it’s all so negative because people look for the bad in everything. like i said, i also think natlan could be better in so many ways, but i also at the same time think that it’s so cool and fun and unique and it makes me sad to see the once passionate community shitting on it every fucking chance they get.

i think if hoyo was better at giving us the diversity they supposedly advertise they have (i.e i am so mad that literally just about every character in the whole damn game has the same skin tone-) that people would be enjoying natlan the way they did sumeru or inazuma (fontaine is still peak imo). when natlan first came out, i remember most people were happy and excited to explore and try the new characters but then people started hating and it festered into this big ugly thing and now i can’t go to a single platform where the genshin fandom exists without getting death threats for saying i like Chasca.

grow up, guys. you’re allowed not to like things, that’s totally totally okay. but we’ve turned the genshin fandom into this nasty place (granted, it was never that great to begin with.. but at least before natlan i didn’t have rats in my ear bashing on me for liking a character/nation every second). it just makes me sad because while natlan could be so much better, people refuse to even try and enjoy it a little bit and now ion even wanna talk to anyone about it anymore.

anyways sorry for this it probably doesn’t make sense sorry for sounding angry but yeh.. i’ve enjoyed natlan. just don’t send me death threats if that makes you angry ig 🤷‍♀️

[bloodbruise]

@croptopjames happy birthday to the one and only jfp <3

jegulus | 933 words | trans reg & themes of gender identity and transition

Regulus felt his cheeks heat up as he snapped out of his daze and met James' eyes. He was wearing a knowing look, "Oh, I'm definitely keeping this," James declared, his smirk widening. "Especially if it gets this kind of reaction from you every time."

Regulus’ room was a disaster. James had finally coaxed him into sorting through his old clothes, only managing after he bribed him with promises of kisses and takeout afterwards. The closet had all but exploded, leaving piles of clothes scattered all across the room. With ‘yes’s,’ and ‘no’s,’ and ‘maybes’ occupying every available flat surface, Regulus was sure he hadn't seen the darkened wood of his floor in hours. 

Sat on his bed, he watched as James dug through his dresser for another shirt. He let out a thoughtful hum as he grabbed two, throwing one over his shoulder and holding up the other: an awful plum-colored blouse. His mother had bought it for him—form-fitting, smothered in ruffles, and, in her words, “the perfect blouse for a sophisticated young woman.” 

Regulus thought it was the ugliest fucking shirt he had ever seen.

“Ugh,” Regulus wrinkled his nose in distaste. “Absolutely not, that thing is a monstrosity.” 

James barked out a laugh, amused at the disgust evident on Regulus' face, before flinging the shirt into the rapidly growing ‘no’ pile. He grabbed at the one resting on his shoulder.

“And this one?” 

It was worn, fabric soft from years of wear. The dark green and gray had dulled, now just muted shadows of their original hues. The words printed on the front, cracked and creased, read ‘Hogwarts Women's Rowing’. It had been his favorite shirt for a long time. His parents had always been on him to join something– a club, a team, an honor society. If he was honest, he only chose rowing because it kept him out of the house the longest.

And he's so grateful he did, because it brought him Pandora. He suffered through early morning rows and long race days, soreness in his body and blisters on his hands. But every discomfort was worth it for the times he and Pandora would steal an extra hour to lie in the sun by the Great Lake, laughing until their bellies felt as sore as their arms. Worth it for the times Evan would cram them into his shitty jeep and drive them to their races so they didn't have to take the bus. Worth it, most of all, for giving him the first people with whom he could be honest—really, truly honest.

"I don't want to get rid of it," Regulus admitted, a hint of reluctance in his voice. "It was my favorite, but—I’m not ready to wear anything that might make people mistake me for a woman. Not for a while, at least.”

James nodded. He turned the shirt around, head tilting slightly as he considered it. “How about I hold onto it for you? That way it's not gone, just... repurposed.” He looked up at Regulus with a wicked grin. “I bet I could pull it off.”

Regulus couldn’t help but scoff as James began to pull on the shirt. “I’d like to see you try," he challenged, amusement evident in his voice. 

But as James stretched out his arms and did a little spin, Regulus wasn't laughing. Instead, he felt his heart swoop. A familiar mixture of fondness and arousal swirled in his gut at the sight of James. Glasses knocked a little lopsided from pulling the shirt on, pajama pants hanging low on his hips and socked feet– it was a picture that made Regulus go warm with affection. But, it was the shirt that really kept his attention. Visibly too small, the letters strained as they stretched across the width of his chest. The hem of it hitting right below his navel, exposing his hip bones and the trail of hair leading down from his belly button. Regulus felt all the breath leave his chest. “C'mere,” he said softly.

James shuffled over to him. “Good?” He asked, a hint of uncertainty in his tone.

Regulus shook his head, he was in awe of James. “Better than good. It suits you much better than it ever did me,” he mumbled, voice low and distracted. Reaching out to place his hands on James' waist, he absentmindedly dragged his thumbs back and forth over his hipbones, eyes stuck to the sliver of skin peeking out from beneath the shirt. 

“My eyes are up here, love,” James gently teased, his voice laced with amusement. 

Regulus felt his cheeks heat up as he snapped out of his daze and met James' eyes. He was wearing a knowing look, "Oh, I'm definitely keeping this," James declared, his smirk widening. "Especially if it gets this kind of reaction from you every time."

“I lied,” Regulus deadpanned, “you actually look ridiculous.” But his face was betraying him, unable to fight the smile spreading across it. 

James hummed in response, the smugness in his tone unmistakable. He was clearly enjoying every moment of this.

"Oh, shut up," Regulus groaned playfully, his hands gripping the exposed skin at his waist to pull him down. James yelped in surprise before their lips were meeting in a kiss filled more with laughter than anything else. But then James was deepening it, and Regulus let himself be kissed breathless. After a moment, he gently pulled back, hand tenderly stroking through James’ hair.

"Thank you," he whispered, his hand tracing a path down James' neck, over his shoulder, and along the length of his arm until their fingers intertwined. "For being here, for—everything. Everything that you do for me."

James responded with a gentle squeeze of their hands, his eyes meeting Regulus’. "Always, love." His voice was soft but firm in promise. And there it was again, his heart swooping in his chest as James pressed a kiss to his temple. "Always."

[athenagc94]

Dear Daddy Long Legs - Chapter 24

Jason Todd x Fem!Reader

TW: Non-consensual drug use, PTSD, body horror, self-inflicted mutilation, blood and gore, hallucinations I will include a TLDR in my author note at the bottom if you decide to skip this chapter based on the TW.

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Chapter 24

Dear Bruce,

Vicki Vale mentioned that you would be attending the showcase in a few days. I don’t want to assume that I’m the reason you decided to go, but I do want to reiterate how much your attendance means to me, even if you’re only there for the sake of publicity. I know we’ve had a few hiccups along the way, and I’m not the most emotionally vulnerable person when it comes to these things. I have the feeling you might be the same given the fact you’ve only responded to one of my letters. I doubt I’ll muster the courage to approach you at the showcase either, so I’ll let this letter say what I can’t:

From that start, I was hesitant to accept this scholarship because I never wanted to be a charity case, even if I supposedly ‘earned it’.

You said that you picked me for a reason. You saw something in me that I couldn’t see in myself, but I think I’m beginning to. When you see me on that stage, whether I win or lose, I hope you know this is only the beginning.

Thank you, truly, for being my real-life Daddy Long Legs.

“That’ll be $96.73,” the elderly woman behind the florist's counter said as she rung up his order. Jason never asked your favorite flower, so he opted for the safest option was all of them. While not the most fiscally smart and a recipe for what was probably the ugliest bouquet ever, he didn't want to come empty-handed to your showcase.

He would ask your favorite flower for next time.

Hopefully, there would be a next time.

Once you learned the truth about him, about the scholarship, and all the secrets littered in between, you could decide that you never wanted to see him again. He would respect that, even if it killed him to walk away.

Sensing his nerves, and how could she not with the way he kept flexing his fingers on the counter, the florist smiled and asked, “Would you like to write a card to go with it?”

“Please.”

She handed him a card and pen before turning to bundle up the flowers he picked out. A lot of yellow, a lot of red, some pink and blue, and, well, all the colors, really. Each of the flowers conveyed something romantic or fond. He was a sucker for symbolism. Sue him. Jason jotted down a quick note, confidence waning once he hit the sign off.

He almost wrote Jason.

That was one way to rip the bandage off, but not quite the avenue he wanted to use to broach the topic. The truth was coming.

Just not tonight.

He tried to tell you. Really, he did, but anytime he flirted a little too close to a confession, he struggled to articulate it. There was no easy way to tell you, nor was he entirely sure how you’d react when he did, but one thing was for certain.

Tonight was about you.

Jason wasn’t going to sour it.

He signed the note with a simple J despite the insistent voice at the back of his mind telling him to stop delaying the inevitable. It went away if he ignored long enough. Pulling out his phone, he sent you a quick ‘see you soon’ text to temper the guilt of another missed opportunity. It only succeeded in fanning the flames.

“Here you go, dearie.” The florist handed him the bouquet, now wrapped with twine and brown paper. “I hope this makes up for whatever you’ve done.”

He blanched. “Oh, I didn’t do—”

His protests died on a puff of air. Let her think what she wanted. It wasn’t an apology bouquet. He had nothing to apologize for...

Yet.

As he shouldered through the door and stepped outside, his phone vibrated in his palm with an incoming call. Unknown Caller flashed on the screen.

Unknown, his ass.

He sighed and answered, “Can someone else handle it?”

“I wouldn’t be asking if they could,” Babs said sympathetically.

“I’m busy.”

“Aren’t we all,” she countered, “Mark Westfall is on the move, and he’s finally crossed into your neck of the woods. If we follow him now, we can find the next link in the chain, bringing us one step closer to Black Mask.”

He stopped short of his motorcycle with the bouquet gripped tight in his fist. “I ironed my shirt today. I’m wearing a tie.” Jason bought dress shoes for Christ’s sake. He’d yet to fully break them in, the backs rubbing his ankles raw. “If I get blood or dirt on me, I’m sending you a dry-cleaning bill.” Jason had never dry cleaned anything, but he would start to prove his point.

“Does that mean you’ll check it out?”

He checked the time. There was still forty-five minutes before the presentation began. He planned accordingly, allowing himself adequate time to mentally prepare himself for a potential run-in with Bruce. A quick detour through the streets of Crime Alley would minimize the likelihood of seeing his estranged father, but it also ran the risk of showing up late to your event which he wanted to avoid.

Jason huffed.

However.

A chance like this might not come again. Once it got too warm, Mark would probably stop wearing the jacket and they’d have to shift to more pointed surveillance methods which would take more time, and he was done wasting time. It was now or never.

“Ten minutes. Not a minute over. I have places to be.”

“I’m sending coordinates now. He’s a few blocks from you. If you can do some light surveillance, I’ll handle the rest.”

“Fine, but you owe me.”

“I’ll come up with something worth your time, Jacob.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Can we not do this right now? I know it was stupid. You don’t need to remind me.”

She cracked her knuckles before she continued typing. “Believe it or not, you’re not the first one to make a bad judgment call on this sort of thing. Need we revisit Robin’s overuse of the Alvin Draper alias? Mr. Draper is wanted in six countries. I’m surprised Spoiler still talks to him after parading around as Alvin while they dated. I half-expected him to do the same thing with Bernard.” She snorted. “So, when’re you going to tell her the truth?”

“Soon,” he assured her as he tucked the tucked the flowers in his saddlebag, “Really soon.”

“I’ll hold you to that, big guy. She’s good for you, so I’d hate to see you fuck it up by acting like B.”

“Social folly is a curse we’re forced to bear under the tutelage of the Bat.” Even for the ones who tried to remove themselves. He still bore the weight of being a former Robin without any of the benefits. A shit deal if you asked him.

“With that philosophy, you guys will kill me.” She paused before adding, “And sent.”

His phone buzzed with the coordinates.

“Got it. I’ll let you know what I find.”

“Better hurry. I’ll tune into the livestream of the showcase. Spoiler tells me she’s a good a writer.”

He chose not to dignify that with a response and hung up.

Zipping the front of his leather jacket, he stuffed his hands in his pockets and headed off toward the location on his GPS. He recognized the area where Mark had gone. A labyrinth of alleys and dead ends made this place a breeding ground for illicit activities. Bold to do it while the sun was up, but that explained why Jason hadn’t caught them before now.

It would be smarter to get a bird’s eye view, but he didn’t bring any of his gear with him. Nor was he looking to get his clothes dirty before the showcase.

Ill-equipped as he was for this, Jason pressed on despite every instinct telling him to hold off. That instinct sounded a lot like Batman, but he tried to ignore it. Batman didn’t call the shots anymore.

He stepped carefully, ensuring his shoes didn’t crunch under the loose asphalt as he drew closer to the location.

Almost there. Just a few more—

“—nough for the rest of the month.”

He paused at the intersection between two streets, ears keen as he slowed his breathing and listened.

“They expect twice the distribution this time.”

“Twice?” That was Mark. He remembered the quivering fuck from the Wayne party. Hard to believe the same guy cowering behidn the bar was pushing drugs for Black Mask. “I don’t know if I can manage that. April is light month for—”

“Figure it out.” It was a woman’s voice. Low with the barest hint of a vocal fry that gave the impression that she smoked. “We don’t pay you to sit on your ass.”

Breath soft, eyes sharp, he used the shadows to his advantage as he pressed himself flat against the wall and crept closer. It was natural at this point. Jason crouched near the mouth of the alley and poked his head around the corner until he could see the two figures near the far end. Mark faced him with his back nearly pressed against the stone.

He tried to appear indifferent, but the way his eyes darted around betrayed him. An amateur dealer—how disappointing. They really were starting from the bottom and working their way up. His companion had her back to Jason. She was shorter than Mark with curly brown hair that fell past her shoulders.

Jason pulled out his phone to snag a photo for Babs. “Come on. Turn around,” he mumbled under his breath.

“If you can’t figure it out,” she continued, her voice syrupy like the drip of molasses, “We've found other means of distributing bête noire on the streets. Mask doesn’t need you.”

Bête noire. Seemed appropriate.

Mark grimaced. “I’ll see what I can do.”

“Be sure that you do.”

She moved to turn.

He readied his camera.

Only for her to stop short.

Damn it.

“We’re being watched.”

Jason swore his heart stopped beating. How did she know? He was hidden. He did everything right. She never turned around. Slowly, he lifted his gaze to find a blinking light on the adjacent rooftop.

Babs owed him big time.

He bolted as the bullet ricocheted off the stone over his head. At least the lookout was a lousy shot. Footsteps crunched noisily behind him as he took a sharp left, then a right. He knew these streets, but so did his pursuers.

Two blocks turned to three and four. One turn too many. Double damn it. He was quickly closing in on a dead end. Jason scanned the area for an out. A fire escape sat ahead of him with a dumpster in front of it.

Perfect.

He used the lid of the dumpster as a springboard, aiming for the lowest rung in the ladder. He caught it and moved to hoist himself onto the grate. He might not be as flippy as Mr. Circus-performer, but he was a close second, even at his size. If only the grips on his new shoes weren’t absolute ass.

The sole of his shoe slipped on the final rung, and he plummeted. He hit the asphalt a second later, pain lancing through his bad shoulder and into his chest like hot needles. Jason wheezed, curling in on himself as if folding himself like a pretzel would smother the pain.

“And who do we have here?”

Shit.

A woman with narrow eyes and a flat nose stared down at him. She had a notable freckle under her left eye shapes like a crescent moon, not that a description would matter if he didn’t get out of here.

Shoving through the pain, he lunged at her. She stared down at him, unimpressed as a set of meaty arms caught him around the waist, hauling him back. He turned to face a man with a nasty scar carving down his lip.

“I didn’t see nothin’,” Jason insisted, playing up his Jersey drawl. If they thought he was just another druggie on the street, they might leave him be. Or offer him a job if he was lucky.

Luck didn’t seem to be on his side tonight.

“Hm. Yes. We’ll make sure of that.”

She nodded to her partner who pulled a syringe from the depths of his coat. Jason shoved him away, raking his fingernails down his cheek. Blood beaded his skin, not that the man flinched. Back and forth, they wrestled with each other, Jason drawing more blood as he did.

His vantage was awkward and the pain in his shoulder brought tears to his eyes. It was a valiant effort, but valiant wasn’t enough.

The man yanked him by the tie, effectively choking the fight out of him. His hesitation created a window of opportunity, and he brought the syringe down on the soft patch of skin where his shoulder met his neck. Jason’s tendons constricted with the release of its contents.

Its effects were instantaneous and familiar.

Fear toxin.

A sudden spike in his blood left him breathless. Sweat beaded his brow as he pawed at the injection site. A vain attempt to rip the wending snake from his veins. It slithered, branching off through his capillaries until he burned like an exploding star.

Oh, this was bad.

He reached for his phone, finding nothing in his pocket. He must have dropped it during the chase. Somewhere in the labyrinth of streets.

Devastation buckled his knees, and he dropped like deadweight, head bouncing off the concrete with a sickening crack. He writhed and twisted, fighting uselessly against the intoxicating pull of the toxin.

It was hot.

Too hot.

He ripped his jacket off, but it failed to alleviate the burn.

Jason squeezed his eyes shut to stave off the hallucinations, but the darkness was much worse. Like taking a plunge in fetid water, until it closed in on him from all sides. Burning, drowning, and everything in between. He thrashed violently against the abyss, desperate to find the surface.

When he found the strength to open his eyes, he was alone once more. Nothing made that fact more poignant than now, as the shadows closed in on him.

Left to their mercy until—

The darkness consumed him once more.

His time spent with you had created a false sense of security. When it mattered most, he would face his demons alone—time and time again. No one would come to save him. He accepted that with a fleeting peace that loosened his muscles.

The toxin snagged on his insecurities and dredged them from the depths of his psyche. Forcing him to bear witness to them like the world’s most fucked up claw game. There was no escape. His best hope was to ride it out and pray his past didn’t kill him.

Sickly green light cast the crags in the abyss in harsh contrast. It bled from the scars on his hands, on his arms. His breath caught in his throat as he flexed his fingers. Each curl tugged at the seams of flesh until they split anew, luminescent green oozing from the sores.

He puckered the skin, willing it to fuse back together. His flesh melted like putty in his hands, rotted. Not dead, but not quite alive either. His scars told the story of a dead man. A creation of the pit and nothing more.

Disgusting.

Blunt nails raked across the pockets of flesh.

Horrifying.

He peeled it away until there was only pulsing muscle on bone. The pain hardly registered.

Monster.

“Failure.”

Bruce. No. Batman stared down his nose at Jason as he unraveled at the seams. Disapproval mixed with pointed disgust. It was a look he imagined Batman made often where he was concerned.

“I thought I could save you from yourself.”

His rough voice grated on his ears. He ripped more desperately at his skin as if that might save him.

“But there was no saving what was already damaged. One day, in the not-so-distant future, your recklessness, your anger, this warped sense of justice you hold close to your chest will get you killed.”

Jason quivered.

“And this time, I hope you stay gone. This city, my city, is better off without you in it.”

“No. Pl—”

“You really thought you could replace me?”

Dick took Batman’s place, dressed in his Nightwing—

No, his Robin—

No.

It flickered between the two until his vision blurred. That should have been his first clue that the hallucinations had begun, but his mind was too much of a whirlwind for rationale. He stepped toward Jason, his visage an amalgamation of the past and present. It was still hauntingly beautiful, even in his nightmares.

As his nails raked over his forearms, Jason flinched.

Now, it stung.

“Little broken Wing.” He hadn’t used that name in years. He only used it because he couldn’t stand to call him Robin. Dick had gotten over it eventually, but now, here he was—using it again. “You were never going to replace me. At least the Robins who came after you—”

Tim.

Steph.

Damian.

They appeared behind him dressed in their Robin costumes, each more distinct than the last. They stared down at him with soulless eyes.

“They were better. They made the mantle their own. And what did you do? You mimicked me. And a poor imitation at that. Even if you hadn’t died, you never embodied the spirit of a Robin like I did. Like any of them did.”

He crouched down so they were nose to nose. Jason tried to lean away, but he gripped him by the back of his neck and forced his forehead to press against his. It was almost tender, if not for the way his nails dug into the nape of his neck and the vitriol in his words.

“You were always meant to fall.”

The ground fractured beneath him.

No, no, no.

“H-He picked me.”

“Because we’ve always trusted Bruce’s judgement.”

The ground shattered like glass, leaving him in free fall. He flung out his arms, seeking purchase in the abyss. Their faces faded from view, but his words stuck with him. Jason smacked his temples, desperate to dislodge them.

He was a Robin.

A good Robin.

So, so good.

It gave him hope.

It gave him magic.

He was a—

“Liar.”

He hit the ground.

You stared at him. Horror played plain on your face as you studied him. He refused to look down, knowing he’d vomit at the sight. He could feel it. The twitch of exposed muscle beneath his fingers even as he continued to rake his nails across his arms. Each pump of his heart brought warm blood that soaked the front of his shirt.

“I didn’t—”

But he had.

Every time you called him Jacob.

Every time you talked about college or your letters.

Every time you asked a question, and he deflected.

How could he trick himself into believing that he ever deserved someone as good as you?

“If I’d know this was who you really were...”

You turned your back on him.

“You really are a monster.”

He wasn’t strong enough. Losing you would mean he had nothing, and Jason couldn’t lose the one good thing he had in Gotham. Walking away wasn’t an option. It never was. He would rather grovel.

“Please,” he begged through his tears, “Look at me.”

You kept your back to him. He would have preferred you melt into the shadows like the others, but you remained. Watching you reject him was its own flavor of torture.

“Look at me,” he pleaded again, “See me. Say my name.”

But you didn’t know his name.

Jason Todd was dead.

He was better off that way.

“See me, see me, see me.” He curled in on himself, trembling.

See the man beyond the blood and gore. Beyond the hood with his violence and guns. See the timid man who so soft for you that it caused physical pain to watch you turn your back on him now.

A man who yearns.

A man who lo—

Jason gasped and rolled onto his side. It was dark. Thin strips of light bled into the alley, casting the pitted asphalt with shadows. They danced like devils around a fire, celebrating his fall. Blood caked his nails—his blood—dried and nearly black in the dim light. A feverish shudder wracked his body.

He willed himself to move, but his limbs weighed like lead and pinned him to the ground.

“Please,” he croaked, throat raw and tasting vaguely of copper. He had no idea what he was asking and of whom. His eyes drooped as darkness threatened once more.

“Oracle, I... Others... Stand down...”

A mass dropped from the roof, swathed in black. Fear gripped him as he gazed up at the Bat. Backlit by the streetlights, Jason couldn’t make out the particulars of his face, but he readied himself for more abuse.

It never came.

When he opened his eyes again, Batman had knelt at his side. He smoothed his hair, creating a strange dichotomy when paired with the severe pull of his mouth. “I’ve got you, Jay. It’s going to be alright.”

Jason broke on a sob.

He felt like a kid again. Scared, broken and bleeding. It was all too familiar except for one thing.

This time—Batman arrived in time.

“Thank you.”

When unconsciousness reached for him again, Jason let it drag him under.

---------------------

Hey…

How y'all doing?

TLDR of the Chapter: Jason buys flowers for your showcase. As he leaves, Babs calls him and asks him to check out Mark, who is on the move a short walk away. He agrees #reluctantly. As he's doing surveillance, he is discovered. A chase proceeds and he is caught. They dose him with a pure fear toxin directly into the veins. Cue horrifying imagery of undead Jason. Mostly, he is told visited by Batman and Dick who tell him he was a poor imitation and always meant to fall. Then he sees you. You call him a liar and turn your back on him. He begs you to look at him, to see him. When he comes to lucidity, he is found by Batman. Jason is relieved as he goes unconscious.

---------------------

Tag List

Let me know if you want to be added!

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[shadow-riley]

FIREWORKS {Simon Riley x reader}

written by yours truly

gn!reader simon riley fluff? SFW [plot w a lil sum at the end] [feel free to skip to the 'not boring part']

(scroll to red letters if u wanna skip this part)

It was New Years eve, at 23:30 (11:30pm). Task Force 141 was celebrating loudly, either down stairs in the base lounge, or in the backyard doing fireworks.

You, however, were in your room, lights off, the fireworks changing the color of your walls with each boom. You exhaled, smoke leaving your lips from the blunt you were smoking.

Your best friend, Simon, knocks on the door frame, standing there with whiskey in hand. There was a strange understanding between the two of you. Two broken souls in a broken world who fixed each other and only each other in a beautifully symbiotic way.

Ever since your bf died, KIA, (k!lled in action) you were a wreck, Simon being the only person who would see you vulnerable. Ghost was there on your hardest, lowest, ugliest days though. And you were the one who held him when he sobbed. He was your best friend and you were his. You both hated everyone else, only having a soft spot for the other.

He came over and sat next to you on your bed.

"It's crazy out there, don't blame you for hidin'. how you doin'?" Simon says. he hated everyone but you. Though he was still tough, he had a soft spot for you.

you pass the blunt to him and he takes it from you and chuckled, a low chuckle from somewhere deep in his chest. He smoked, and looked up at the ceiling, the only source of light coming and going, changing the room to a different color every couple of seconds before fading out like footprints on sand.

He leaned his head back against the wall, his hand on your back slowly moved up a little bit, now it was fully on your side, his warm hand rubbing the skin of your side.

Simon continues to rub your side, his other hand bringing the blunt up to his lips again to smoke.

"You alright? ....Y'know, fireworks remind me of Hunter (kia bf) sometimes." he said as continued to rub your side.

you turn your head to face him but don't make eye contact.

"Why's that?"

"he liked to blow shit up" Simon answered, his gaze on the wall facing him. He took another hit before passing it to you.

He watched you closely, knowing that if the weed wasn't in your system you would have been halfway through a breakdown at the mention of his name.

Your voice is low and smooth, if anything, slurred as you speak up after the smoke from another hit evaporates from your mouth. "you ever done the midnight kiss thing?"

He glanced down at you, his hand had settled on your hip now, he chuckled a laugh that rumbled from his thick chest. "No no, never have. Never really cared for it.." he said, a smirk on his lips.

"yea i find that shit for the Instagram couples" your tone relays something almost envious, but not noticeably so.

He laughed again, deep in his chest. "And the overly cutesy couples who are 'so in love' that they need their relationship validated by other people, by kissing in front of them."

A sharp exhale of a laugh sounds from the back of your throat, a small smile that doesn't quite reach your eyes tugging on your lips. "oh definitely"

Simon takes the blunt back from you as you pass it to him, his arm around you tightens, subconsciously pulling you ever so slightly closer to him.

Your eyes flicker to the photo of my bf who was kia that was on my desk.

Simon follows your eyes gaze to the photo of your ex. he swallows a little, watching as your eyes flicked to the picture of your boyfriend.

He didn't know what to say, but he knew that you missed him… a lot.

Simon continued to look at the picture, a pang of sympathy washed over him as he knew you missed him dearly.

"Right…" he said, gently rubbing your hip with his hand in a gesture as to silently say 'I know you miss him..'

"thats why i'm high right now"

Simon knew your vices, and what you turned to when you missed him.

"The reason you're always smoking, the reason you're always high…" He mumbled as he glanced down at you.

You nod as the smoke leaves your lips.

The two of you looked like a couple from a grungy romance movie from the 90's.

He took took another hit before changing the subject. "New years resolutuon?"

"not murdering Soap" you say straight forward.

A smirk appeared on his face behind the black mask as he let out a gruff, deep chuckle. "I don't blame you, i've almost shot Soap myself a few times."

THE NOT BORING PART~

"yea...what time is it anyways?"

Simon lets go of you for a moment and looks at his watch. "It's 11:50pm.. why?"

"You gonna go find someone to kiss?" you were half joking.

He raises an eyebrow, face bare before you, before he looked down at you.

"Me? Nah, I'm fine right here." he said as he wrapped his arm around you again, his hand resting on your hip this time.

"here?" you ask, but it's more of a statement then a question.

He hummed, it almost sounded like a scoff as he glanced down at you.

"Yeah, right here. With you…" he said as he continued to smoke the blunt, and look at you.

"yea but im no fun…im here moping, you should be getting wasted and having stupid sex, know, all that shit" you say to the wall.

He chuckled again, this time as he shook his head. "Why should i go out and do that… When I can be in here, with you? I don’t mind the moping, and you’re fun to me." He said as he moved the blunt from his lips.

You turn to look at him.

He looked back down at you as he exhaled the smoke.. He had a soft spot for you, and right now it was showing through.

"What?" he asked, his voice thick and gruff.

You take in his features for a moment before answering. "i d'nknow"

He smirked a little as he looked back at you, his arm around your hips tightened a little as he leaned back against the wall, his head resting back as well.

He held the blunt up to his lips for another moment and took another hit, as he exhaled the smoke he spoke, keeping his eyes on you. "You're looking at me like I did something."

"j's thinkin'..." you continue watching him.

"Thinking? What are you thinking about…" He said in that deep voice of his. He took another hit of the blunt, and held in the smoke for a moment as his eyes lingered on you.

"you…" you look at the wall "you're the only one im vulnerable with…and i think you can say the same about me" you look at him.

He looked down at you, eyes scanning your face as you spoke. He knew you were right, and he also knew you were the only one he was vulnerable with. "Maybe i do… So? Whats your point?" he asked, not meanly. He exhaled the smoke he was holding in as he waited for an answer.

Simon looked back down at you, his arm around you stayed tight. "You're staring at me again..." he said as he took a hit of the blunt.

"maybe its the weed, but your eyes are pretty...." your tone is soft.

He chuckled a little as he inhaled the smoke from the blunt and watched as you said that.

"My eyes, you think my eyes are pretty.." he said with a scoff. "Never heard that one before." he said.

He glanced down at you, watching as your eyes lingered on his own. Something sparked between the two of you in that moment.

He slowly started to lean into you, his head tilting to the side as his eyes continued to watch you. He could feel his heart start to beat a little faster, thump thump thump, the sound deafening in his ears.

The sound of the fireworks outside was faint, but you could still hear it. It faded away slowly as he continued to get closer to you. His hand on your hip tightened as he came even closer to you.

"I don't get it… why now…" he mumbled as he was inches from your face.

"maybe it's not now...maybe it was that day you picked me up off the floor and told me to keep living."

Now that you said that, he remembered that moment vividly.

When he found you crumpled up on the floor in a ball of tears, and he picked you up and told you that you'd keep going, despite whatever happened.

He exhaled a breath through his nose, almost like he sighed in realization. His head had been even closer to yours, his eyes still watching you intently.

"maybe…it's just now that we're both…feeling"

He hummed a low hum, it was almost like that was exactly what this was.

Him realizing that he felt something for you, and you realizing that you felt something for him.

"Maybe you're right…" he mumbled, he was impossibly close to your face now, as his eyes continued to look into yours.

The loud cheering and counting down signaled midnight, fireworks going off outside… but the two of you were trapped in this moment.

Simon's breath hit your skin, a shiver ran down both of your spines, it was an intoxicating feeling that pulled you two closer together.

"Si..." Your voice is breathy and soft

Those two letters coming from your lips sent shockwaves through his body and soul as he heard them.

He didn't know if he was supposed to do this, but he needed to. He needed to get even closer to you, to feel more of you.

He shifted close to you and brought his other hand up to your face, holding your head in his large, calloused hands.

"its midnight" you say, tone gentle and voice low.

He glanced over to your alarm clock, the red lettering on it said 12:01am. Simon looked back down at you and hummed.

"Yeah it is, what about it?" he said, he was so painfully close to your face. "Are you going to do anything special now that it's midnight..?" He mumbled, the two of your faces were only about a centimeter or two a part, his hands were still on either side of your face.

"are you?" you ask.

He exhaled from his nose, as you were so close he could smell you and you could smell him. It was a mix of gun powder and sweat.

"You're supposed to kiss someone at midnight…" He said, his eyes lingering on your lips.

"yea.."

"And are you gonna kiss someone at midnight..?" He asked, he knew damn well he didn't want you to kiss anyone else…

"im waiting to find out" your voice almost becomes a whisper.

He chuckled deeply, his eyes continued to switch between your eyes and your lips.

"Are you going to make me say it…" he mumbled, his face was so close to yours that you could feel the heat radiating from his skin.

"are you going to do it?"

"Depends…" he said, a smirk appeared on his face under the mask, a smirk that made your heart skip a beat.

He brought his face even closer to yours, he was millimeters from your lips, his hands still on your face. "Are you going to let me kiss you…?" He mumbled, he was so close to your lips that both of your breaths mingled together.

Your nod is almost non existent, as if you're scared to move.

He let out a breath, it was a breath that said 'it's about damn time'.

Simon closed the space between you two, and kissed you, his lips pressed up against your and he took a breath through his nose.

Simon's hands slid off your face and onto your hips as you kiss him back, pulling you closer to him as you two kissed. He needed you closer to him, he needed more of you. His hand held onto your hips, pulling you even closer to him.

PART 2:

https://www.tumblr.com/shadow-riley/758940387954032640/pt-2-fireworks-simon-riley-x-reader?source=share

[wizzard890]

as long as it's pride month, let me take the opportunity to say that I will be laid out in my grave on my way to meet jesus before I ever engage with that tacky ass lesbian flag. truly the ugliest colors imaginable.

[jisungsdaydreamer]

Dress

«GENERAL M.LIST» · «NAVIGATION» · «TALK TO ME» · «TAGLIST»

SYNOPSIS When Minho buys a really ugly dress for you, but you don't want to hurt his feelings.

Pairing: Lee Know x fem!reader Genre: established relationship, fluff Warnings: none :) Word Count: 1.4k

P.S. ♡ If you like my work, please consider giving me feedback in the form of reblogs, comments, and asks! ♡

“Honey, I got you a surprise!”

You immediately toss aside the book you were reading and practically leap off the couch at the sound of Minho’s voice. You love surprises. Your husband enters the room with a tired look on his face, but nevertheless, he smiles lovingly at you, holding out a cute beige-colored shopping bag to you.

“I stopped by the store after work,” Minho explains, sitting down next to you as he loosens his tie.

You pause while pulling out the sparkly tissue paper at the top of the bag, touched. You know how busy Minho is these days, and the fact that he took time out of his day to get you something made you melt. “Aw, Min. You’re so sweet.”

The tips of Minho’s ears turn pink, like they always did whenever you praise him. “Look inside the bag!”

You tear through the wrapping paper, your fingertips meeting something soft. Intrigued, you pull the mystery item out excitedly, only to realize that it is the absolutely ugliest dress that you have ever set eyes on. For a moment, you just stare at it, surprised in the worst possible way.

“So? What do you think?” 

Minho’s eager voice snaps you out of your mini reverie. You gulp, racking your head for something to say. “Oh! Urm…”

His face falls. “Do you not like it?”

You shake your head vigorously. “No! I’m just so… amazed! You normally never buy clothes for me.”

Minho grins. “I know. But hey, maybe there can be two fashionistas in the family now.”

“Yeah, definitely!” You swallow, hoping he doesn’t see right through you.

Satisfied, he tilts his head towards your bedroom. “You should try it on!”

Defeated, you turn and trudge to your bedroom. Once you’re inside, you quickly pull off your favorite pajamas and change into the dress. Minho enters the room as you step into the mirror, and you truly have to clench your jaw to keep the horrified gasp that nearly escapes you.

The dress is an insult to fashion, if you’re being honest. The geometric pattern sporting an unflattering shade of orange makes you feel like a pumpkin. It looks like a shapeless blob on you, the swaths of fabric pooling unflatteringly at your waist. The knitted design is scratchy on your skin, making it incredibly uncomfortable. And to make everything worse, you catch the number on the price tag, and you want to faint.

Clearing your throat, you glance to your side over at Minho, who gazes wordlessly into the mirror at your reflection. “How do I look?”

He shakes his head softly, genuinely awestruck. “Beautiful. Just beautiful.”

You have an idea or two of what you really think you look like, but you plaster on a fake smile, hoping you’re selling it. “You’re the best husband ever.”

“I saw it in the store, and thought it would look so pretty on you.” Minho beams proudly, and he looks so innocent that you feel your heart break a little in guilt.

“Minho, baby.” You place a hand on his shoulder. “You really didn’t have to.”

He pouts. “But Changbin is hosting dinner tomorrow, and I wanted you to have something nice to wear.”

So what other option do you have than to thank him and give him a little kiss? You would wear that god-awful dress to Chanbin’s party for everyone to see, rather than hurt Minho’s feelings, right? Definitely.

“Y/N, Minho! Come on in!” Changbin opens the door, welcoming you into his home.

You don’t miss his expression of shock as he lets you in, but ever the gracious host, Changbin smoothly covers it up with a smile and hugs you both. As you and Minho walk into the living room, where all of the guests are mingling over cocktails. You get similar looks from the others, but you glance over at Minho worriedly, hoping he doesn’t notice. Luckily, he doesn’t seem to, joining in on the conversation and laughing at someone’s joke.

You inhale and let yourself relax, searching the crowd for Hyunjin and Jisung, your two good friends. You spy Jisung loitering by the dessert table, discreetly piling brownies into napkins and tucking them into his pockets for later.

“Sneaking extra brownies, are we?” You creep up behind him, making him yelp and nearly drop his brownie. 

“Seriously—” Jisung looks over at you, prepared to shoot a comeback at you when he halts. “What in the world are you wearing?”

You roll your eyes. “A dress, okay? Minho got it for me.”

“Oh.” 

“Is there something you want to say, Jisung?”

He stuffs the brownie into his mouth to obviously conceal his laughter, but you don’t miss the faint smirk on his face. “Nothing.”

You give up. “Where’s Hyunjin?”

“Late, as usual.” Jisung swallows his brownie before eyeing the mini pizza bagels at the end of the table. “I’ll be right back.”

You turn and look for Minho, finding him chatting with Seungmin. Seungmin finishes refilling his wine glass and exits the kitchen, and Minho takes the chance to slip his arms around your waist, pulling you close.

“Enjoying the party?” He asks, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

You nod, taking a sip of Minho’s drink. “Mhm.”

Minho looks down at you. “I’ll bet you’re getting a lot of compliments on your dress.”

“So many.” You flick an imaginary piece of lint off of said dress. You hate lying to him. 

Minho frowns, noticing how you’re avoiding his eyes, and opens his mouth to say something, but before he can, Hyunjin waltzes in, two hours after the party began.

You take the opportunity to change the subject. “Fashionably late, Hyunjin?”

“Yes, but I can’t say the same for you, Y/N.” Hyunjin bursts into laughter. “Where did you get that dress? It’s actually hideous.”

Usually, you wouldn’t mind such a comment coming from Hyunjin, because this kind of teasing banter was a normal exchange between you both. However, this time, Minho is the one who is responsible for your outfit.

And from the way the smile fades from Minho’s face, he is also listening. “What?”

You glare at Hyunjin. “No, it’s not.”

Hyunjin snickers, still not getting the hint. “You know damn well—”

“Y/N said she loved it.” Minho steps in, looking equal parts confused and upset. “I bought it for her yesterday.”

Hyunjin shuts up at last, finally realizing why you are shooting daggers at him with your eyes. “Ohhh. I was just kidding, Minho. Please don’t murder me.”

With that, Hyunjin quickly bolts out of the kitchen, leaving you and Minho alone. You peek over at Minho, only to see him sadly looking down at the floor. 

“Min…”

“I knew you hated it.” Minho puts his glass in the sink and walks out. With a frustrated groan, you follow after him, only to catch him in a very deep one-way conversation with Jisung, who just chews on his food while watching Minho rapidly ramble about cars. You understand that Minho is mortified and doesn’t want to talk to you, so you go back to Hyunjin, who has wandered into Changbin’s home gym and is messing with the weights. 

For the rest of the evening, there’s this tension you can’t name between you and Minho, and you both don’t exchange any words. When it’s time to leave, you both say goodbye to everyone before getting into your car. For a few minutes, there’s an awkward silence as Minho drives and stares straight ahead, not looking at you even once. Once you arrive at home, Minho parks, and you prepare to get down out of the car, but Minho speaks up. 

“I wish you just told me that you didn’t like the dress. Then I wouldn’t have been so embarrassed,” Minho says softly.

You sigh. “I just didn’t want to hurt your feelings, and you were so excited.”

“You should have been honest.”

“I know. I’m sorry.” 

Minho stays quiet for a moment, and you think he’s still disappointed, but then he looks over at you, a small grin on his face. “I’m sorry too. When you opened it I realized it really was so ugly, but I was too stubborn to admit it.”

You chuckle, relieved. “Maybe leave clothes shopping to me. You’re good at so many other things.”

“I agree. I can’t be too perfect, after all.” Minho winks at you playfully.

With an amused smile, you lean over and kiss your husband. His fashion sense may not be incredible, but you love him just the way he is.

«GENERAL M.LIST» · «NAVIGATION» · «TALK TO ME» · «TAGLIST»

TAGLIST @hamburgers101 @chansburgah @ajxreads @hash2013 @pixigreen @ana-marais98 @ohish @chizumiyoshi @lilydaisyyy @jetblackbelle @143hyunes

Network: @kflixnet

©jisungsdaydreamer 2023 | All rights reserved. I do not condone translations or transfers of my work onto other platforms such as Wattpad, AO3, etc. Tumblr is my only platform. Acts of plagiarism are strictly prohibited.

[thatguythatdrawsalot]

Yang - Mistral Design Critique. 

Before we begin I just want to say thank you to everyone who’s been patient with me, I’ve been away for a while and this critique would’ve came out sooner if the end of February and beginning of March wasn’t so awful for me- but I’m finally OKAY to just go back to drawing and talking my s***.

RWBY Archives

I miss my $90 sometimes, wish I got it back cause the archives have some pages of info that can make a character designer cry but not in a good way. Now from what my eyes are witnessing and reading, there is more information about Yang’s Returning Home outfit than her actual combat outfit. All it declares to be is a rider outfit which is okay… not bad… do they wanna expand on the color choices? The decision to not have her wear yellow? How does one flap on her belt make sense but the other doesn’t? Why give the character gloves when it’s in the way of her gauntlets? Or why does she have huge coattails that don't make sense to add or remove? Anything? Like I’ve seen others go in depth with their own redesigns in explaining their thinking process, why is Yang’s description so brief??? You can be brief in explaining a background character’s outfit but why to one of the main four girls who’s gonna be slapped on every merch with this outfit on? No, not just the merch, on every EPISODE!

“Rider Style.” That’s it. No wonder this outfit is so boring and yet so BAD. I get the genuine impression that they cared the least about Yang’s outfit or just Yang in general as they didn’t want to delve into her character- cause she isn’t even wearing her emblem on her! Bet you didn’t notice that!!!! :D

Hair

In my last post about Yang I said that her hair very much gets in the way of putting her in yellow, as it acts as a large yellow cape much like Ruby’s own red cape, hence why even she wears limited red. I had the idea that maybe it would be best if the designer just got Yang in a ponytail to put more yellow on her which they did give her a ponytail! Instead it was only for one Volume before it went back to drooping down, and also they made her wear orange instead of yellow when she did have the ponytail-

A headache later, I would’ve loved if she had the ponytail be kept because not only will it make life easier in putting the girl in yellow, it would also show how mature she’s gotten. Character growth before my very eyes! Large yellow hair would get in the way of combat and this is her returning back to the battlefield to find Ruby, she should be taking this journey more seriously from her actions to her appearance. And also just, look at Yang with a ponytail, it’s so good!

Primary Color - Yellow?

Yellow ≠ Orange, Brown, Gold, Hair, and Gauntlets!

They hate the color yellow, I can tell. I get it, I hate the color green but that doesn’t mean I refuse to work with the color green if it’s really important to the character. No offense to people who like the color green- but JEEZ is it a plague or something? She doesn’t have yellow on but you know what she does have? 2 shades of orange, 3 shades of brown, 2 shades of gold, black, and purple!~ Fine, fine, it ain’t fair, she does have yellow which is just her gauntlets and hair which I wouldn’t count but fine, I’ll be lenient on it- why is it the ugliest shade of yellow? Highlighter Yellow. Yang bought the wrong color of spray paint. 

If they insist on Yang wearing leather, why can’t they just pick a lovely shade of brown to compliment her? 

Positives?

Not Found. 

I’m sorry to disappoint or be negative but it’s legit true. I cannot find anything positive with this outfit just like how I couldn’t with Blake’s Atlas Outfit, once again it could look good on any other character but Yang. Perhaps on a character whose name didn’t mean Yellow but instead meant Orange or Brown.

Sometimes I want to make a side post in asking for anyone’s opinion to put for this specific section because truly, I don’t like being negative, especially on an outfit that’s bad. I’d like to sprinkle in some positivity for it in the very least or cling to a nitpick but for this outfit, yeah I can’t-

Redesign

Not stellar yet stellar- pretty 50/50 on this. For Yang’s redesign, right away, a ponytail. She just looks amazing with one during her Volume 4 recovery arc and in the latest DC movie where she had the ponytail on her superhero outfit. The giant fiery hair is tied back to show she’s more than ready to fight while also making it easier on me to add YELLOW on her again. I’ve had like three inspirations with this one, first being my last Blake redesign in which I wanted the girls to look like a pair with some similarities to their outfits. Next was one of Kiriko’s skins from Overwatch 2 to have a jacket wrapped around her waist, that way when she gets to Argus she can just staple that on ((Wish I did draw a version of her with the jacket on)). Then there was Tifa from Final Fantasy for a shoe design… when in doubt go to Tifa. I do think it’s not combat ready enough, if anything this is too casual, like she’s on a journey to a Planet Fitness in Anima than going to look for her sister and passing by bandits to get to her. I’ll be the first to admit it. I also wanna pat my own back in saying the lower half of the outfit to me is good! But the top half is too boring, like a blank shirt isn’t visually cool. I think a bandana might have actually done some miracles in balancing some stuff out. 

Conclusion

This outfit SUCKS. Yang’s Mistral outfit is the perfect embodiment of Volume 5 as a whole. Nothing of the design is flattering, it’s boring until you take a deep dive just to find it be more aggravating at best upon the design. Too many colors, ugly colors, unfocussed colors, or even her main color… non-logical elements such as having gloves and coattails that will be a pain to fight in but also animate! 

The insistence on leather being a core design aspect is something I’m not against but dang leather ain’t looking good in the Maya engine! A design that shoots itself in the foot in trying to be casually cool only to look like a tryhard. Yang, I’m sorry you were done so dirty, cause this outfit was truly Yang at her worst. 

But of course it’s just my opinion. If you love this design or hate the design, please share your opinion. I’d love to hear it! :D

[kayusenreads]

Star-Crossed || Chapter iv.

In a city divided by power, loyalty, and blood, love was never meant to be an option.

When Kim [Y/N], the daughter of an influential family, steps into the gala celebrating her, she's only looking for a distraction from the relentless attention of the night. Instead, she finds Jungkook, a boy from the wrong side of the war—a world of neon lights, whispered promises, and inevitable ruin.

Their love is reckless, electric, and entirely forbidden.

But in a world where family names mean everything and betrayal is paid in blood, love is the most dangerous gamble. As tensions rise and secrets unravel, they must decide: can love rewrite fate, or were they doomed from the start?

This is a re-interpretation of Romeo and Juliet, weaving a story of desire, power, and the price of challenging fate.

Pairing - Jeon Jungkook x fem!reader

Genre - 18+, smut, romance, angst

A/N - Hope you enjoy another update, still on mobile so I hope structuring looks good. I enjoyed writing this one, and I things will begin to pick up soon I promise. Let me know your thoughts :)

Also because I'm not well versed in trigger warnings yet, if something is triggering to you or may be potentially triggering to others, please notify me so I can fix it. I will add a full list here and a list at the beginning of each chapter.

Thank you I hope you enjoy!

Wordcount - 2.3k

Y/N

There is a saying in Italian that goes, “arrampicarsi sugli specchi.” It translates to “to climb on mirrors” in English, and while the literal meaning may seem to make even less sense, the actual meaning of the phrase is worth knowing.

The gist of it is to intentionally and falsely portray something as the opposite of what it is, to try to prove that black is white. It’s about twisting a narrative by misrepresenting truths and making falsehoods appear authentic.

When I carried myself strong in front of my mom while trying to hide the cracks in my mask, she would pull me aside and ask if I was truly all right. I would lie to save face, not wanting her to think I was unhappy or ungrateful for the life I had.

“Smettila di salire su quegli specchi, tesoro.” She would say. “Stop climbing on those mirrors, darling.”

She could always tell just by one glance I was pretending to be content. It was like she was the only person in the world who understood and listened to me and my feelings. She made sure to stick up for me in situations I wasn’t comfortable in and that I got my way when necessary.

When she passed away so suddenly, it was devastating for me. Of course, any girl losing their mother would be heartbroken; she was my friend and caregiver, not to mention she gave me life itself. But the day I lost my mom was the day I lost my voice. I no longer had a say in anything involving my day-to-day life or my role in the family.

With no one else caring about my point of view, I’ve spent the last several years pretending to care about theirs.

So even though my grandmother picked out the ugliest plum-colored gown for the gala tomorrow night, of course, I feigned appreciation. It was a floor-length dress with an A-line silhouette and a neckline that was so high it guaranteed my breasts would stay tucked away. There were a lot of sequins all over the dress; I could be a disco ball.

It looked like a mother-of-the-bride type of dress. The gown was no doubt meant for older, mature women, which makes sense why my grandmother liked it.

“Please don’t tell me that's for you,” My uncle Yoongi said mockingly, having suddenly entered the lounge from behind where I was sitting.

I shrugged, not even bothering to turn and meet his eyes, and continued to fixate on the dress draped over the chair in front of me. “What’s wrong with it?”

I could make a long list of the things wrong with the dress, but what's the point of that? Why would I go through the trouble and have to keep it to myself anyway? My uncle didn’t even care about what I actually thought about the dress and was just teasing.

Officer Min Yoongi had a knack for trouble. He went around the city not just looking for lawbreakers but for anyone whose patience was already worn thin. Anyone who looked like they might snap with the right nudge. With a crooked smile and a few well-placed words, he baits them into arguments, stirring the pot just enough to watch the anger spark in their eyes.

He thrived on that tension, the moment right before things got ugly when pride and fear tangled up and people showed him just how weak they were. Yoongi wore authority like a weapon. The second his games tipped toward chaos, he dropped the smirk and replaced it with a cold and commanding scowl.

Backed by his badge and the weight of the law, he loved turning petty arguments into official business, shoving people against walls, barking orders, and escalating harmless situations until they spiraled entirely out of hand. It was never about justice for him. It was about control, about reminding everyone who held the power.

Even his own family knew better than to stay out of his way, to never cross him. Everyone looked the other way, including Mayor Hoseok, pretending not to see when Yoongi pushed it too far. Others, like Dad, admired him, mistaking his bullying for strength.

But the truth was more straightforward, much darker; Min Yoongi was a man who needed the world to fear him because he feared what he’d be without it—just another small, angry man with nothing else to provide him with worth.

“Are you serious?” His baffled tone pulled me out of my thoughts about him. “You can’t go to the gala with that? I know you’re a little weirdo, but this is just too much?”

Keeping to myself and indulging in introverted hobbies apparently makes me a “weirdo.”

“Well, I don't know if you care to know, but Dad asked Grandma and his new wife to pick out my dress. I’m not even allowed to dress myself anymore.” I informed him and rolled my eyes, saying that last part under my breath.

“Hey,” He shouted. “Don’t disrespect your father like that?”

Like clockwork, there it was. I could just feel the satisfaction my uncle was feeling radiating off of him. But I don’t have the energy he wants from me to keep fighting back. The past few days blurred together, heavy and colorless, like walking through thick fog. I haven’t stopped thinking about what my dad declared were my plans for the future.

He told me I would be moving out of state to attend a university I never was interested in, studying something I knew nothing about. It felt like the life he was planning belonged to someone else. But it was always like that, wasn’t it? My life never felt like mine at all; I was just an empty husk of a person going in whatever direction Dad wanted me to.

And part of me was devastated; I had real plans. I had dreams I held onto so closely, so quietly, for years. But the other part was just too numb. I know I should’ve fought back. I should have been more angry, but instead, I felt…nothing. I felt nothing but a dull ache somewhere deep in my chest, too faint to move me but too constant to ignore.

But what is the point of doing anything? What was the point in planning anything, wanting anything, when my fate had already been written for me?

When I didn’t bother to respond to Yoongi, I heard him slowly approach me. I stood still while leaning back on the couch with my arms crossed, never looking away from the ugly dress. There was nothing more I was meant to say to him other than “Thanks for the ride” when he decided he was done messing with me and took me home.

“Are you in a bad mood tonight, Y/N?” He gibed, taking his place beside me and wrapping his arm around me to pull me closer. “Did your boyfriend break up with you?”

Again, no response. Not even a falter to my breath to indicate Yoongi’s words bothered me. I couldn’t break out of my numb state. It was like my body was holding me prisoner, and I couldn't react how I wanted, only watch it play out.

And Yoongi noticed something was up, and it didn’t sit right with him the way I was reacting. He continued his tactic to try and get anything out of me, rambling about everything that would normally upset me. Not being allowed to date, have a car, or pick out my friends.

“You’re forgetting a few things,” I interrupted his blabbing, and I could hear his breath hitch. “My dad doesn’t love me, and to prove it, he's sending me away to university so that I can become another cog in this machine of his I want nothing to be a part of. How about the fact I want nothing more than to be a mother and bear children, but my body autonomy isn’t even my own, and the family matriarch decides when he is ready for grandkids?

“Or better yet, Dad bought me an entire loft apartment to live in, but I'm not allowed to head back home until he says ok. So I think a stupid fucking dress for the gala celebrating me is the least of my worries. Especially when in all actuality it's nothing more than a glorified event to get more investors so he can grow and continue to treat his daughter like shit.”

Finally, I’m released from my internal cell, and the first thing I do is cry. I sob so hard it confuses Yoongi, and he leans away, my wailing filling the room, looking for more witnesses to this embarrassing breakdown. If anyone else were home right now, I'd be worried, but I was sort of dumped back at my family’s estate while my grandmother and stepmother went out again. It's kind of unfortunate my uncle had to be here to witness me at my lowest.

What I was expecting was for him to tell me to cut it out, stop crying, and act like a big girl. But instead, he moved closer and wrapped his arms around me, albeit in an awkward hug. It caught me off guard, and that forced me to calm down slightly, focussing all of my attention on slowing my breaths.

“Look uhh…I know you’re upset with the arrangements,” Yoongi started to speak uncomfortably. “Being a part of this family isn’t easy. I’ve done things in my past I didn’t want to, and I uhh…I’m not proud of it. But your father is a wise man whose every move is calculated to ensure the protection and class of this family.”

“I wish Mom were here. She’d know what to do,” I whispered, trying to hide the cracks in my voice.

Yoongi sighed and let go of his embrace. I began to wish that we could stay like that a little longer; I was already missing his warmth. I sat up straight and began to wipe away my tears while he took that as his opportunity to get up off the coach. He stretched and audibly groaned like he was trying to expel his embarrassment from making that mushy speech.

I watched him as he slipped his hands into his uniform pockets and started to make his way back around the couch. I sighed deeply and scrunched up my face due to the cringe, realizing that I had an embarrassing breakdown in front of Yoongi. He will surely use this moment against me in the future, but for now, I'm happy he didn't take advantage of my mental state.

“Are you coming, crybaby?”

Maybe I shouldn’t give him the benefit of the doubt just yet.

I reluctantly pushed myself up off the couch, snatched up my ugly dress, and followed my uncle out of the lounge. After a long and dragging day, I was so ready to go home and collapse in bed. I want nothing more than to get a good night's rest. After all, I'm spending all of tomorrow getting ready for the pointless gala.

But I was super confused when Yoongi turned right towards the staircase and not left towards the front door. My footsteps slowed as I adjusted to the change in direction. Why was he taking me deeper into the house? There's nothing left in here for me, not to mention it was already so late to be wandering the halls.

Well, he was my ride anyway; I didn't have much of a choice, and curiosity was getting the better of me. I quickly caught up to him and walked up the flight of stairs.

There were many rooms I wasn’t allowed in, and I'm not even sure what could be up here that would be of interest to me. Even though this was my family’s house, I couldn't help but feel like I was trespassing. The second-floor hallway we walked through mainly contained sleeping quarters; even my old bedroom was down this way.

But my heart dropped when my uncle stopped in front of a room with large white double doors and an intricate floral design painted on the wood. I met yoongis gaze with wide eyes, not believing what he was doing.

He reached into his pocket, and with a jangle, he pulled out his large key ring. He searched for a specific key, and with a little struggle, he separated from the rest. I held my hand out to receive it, and taking a closer look, I confirmed everything.

“Yoongi, I-I don’t know what to say…”

“How about starting with ‘thank you’?” He chuckled, stepping back and motioning me towards the door. “And be careful with that. Your dad doesn’t want anyone in there, but I figured you could find a nicer dress to wear tomorrow. After all, you don’t want to be representing the family in the old lady getup.”

I started to tear up a little and rushed toward Yoongi, hugging him to show my appreciation. He has no idea how much this small gesture means to me or how much trouble he could be in for giving me the key in the first place. Afterward, I wasted no time unlocking the door. I had to see with my own eyes what was behind it.

Mom's old room.

And even after all these years, it still smelt like her. A lump in my throat began to form as a result of the emotions I felt just being in her old space. Dad wanted this space to be preserved perfectly; no one was allowed to enter the room, let alone touch her things. But the memory of her locked away and out of sight was doing her a complete disservice.

How often does he even enter this room? Would he even notice if I started taking Mom’s stuff back home with me so that she could be honored and remembered properly?

“Don’t take too long. I got to get back to work.”

I can worry about that another day. Right now, let's see if Mom can help me find the perfect dress for the gala.

[the-six-that-thrive-if]

Mario Kart ask is hilarious and I can't believe you already had it locked and loaded, but now I am curious about what each ROs' Animal Crossing islands/experiences might be like? The idea of them crashing on the couch for chill time with a Switch has got me 😂

RO'S AND ANIMAL CROSSING

THE DEMON — A junkyard like it's so ugly. And he purposely grabs the ugliest shit. Like dead trees only, horror themed with a whole lotta red. Is trying to make the pits of hell. He also punishes his villagers.

THE ANGEL — Gorgeous island. Best island absolutely. Everyone has a pretty house with pastel colors and a garden. With fences and yards. She got wild flowers and custom paths and decorations. She tries to have bird only residents. Truly paradise. With Warden's pitch black house in the farthest corner.

THE DRAGON — Water themed, everything is blue and gorgeous besides her punishment pit for her Islanders she seems ugly.

THE ARMADILLO — Sells every. House bare. Island bare. But you know what ain't. His bank account. Debt don't know his name. But his horses are quite orderly and everyone leaves near each other in one area.

THE WARDEN — Doesn't have a switch so shares with Angel. And only joined cause she begged and now he has a house that's decorated with the barest of essentials. The only reason the outside looks nice is that Angel did it for him.

THE KING — He's so bad at this game. Like it's not even funny how he's so bad at this game. But he's also really lucky and has some of the rarest items and Islanders.

[ixiot-ghostrebel]

𝐀𝐧 𝐔𝐧𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐓𝐫𝐢𝐩 𝐭𝐨 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐏𝐚𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐞.

Alright, here's the oneshot I promised! Sorry if it isn't up to your standards- my motivation was running low on this series. This might be the "Grand finale" to end it all- I don't think I'll be able to provide another part after this. I'm sorry, everyone.

Key Information: This will be in Reader's POV. The Reader has made it to the Abyss, and found out more information about themselves. They almost know who they are, but something is missing. Something big, something major.

Before they could discover what it was, though, they were captured by the Imposter's puppets after they had left the abyss, with no chance of escaping. They are being escorted to the Palace under the (literal) watch of the Imposter themself, through the character's eyes.

And the Reader sees just how much of a tyrant and evil doer this imposter of theirs truly is. And what seems to be the aftermath of Nahida and Venti's punishment.

Click Me For Part 1!

Click Me For Part 2!

Warnings: Bad Grammar, Spelling Mistakes, Not Beta Read, OOC Characters, Violence, Rushed Plot & Mind Control/Mind Manipulation.

Read if you are okay with these terms. Please also let me know if I missed a warning!

I was so close. So close, yet so far.

I remember so much, yet it seems it meant nothing. It probably would mean nothing now, now that I'm caught and everything.

Just great. I'm probably going to be tortured and killed painfully. My mind is probably going to break under that imposter's will or something.

Now that I think about it, is Nahida and Venti alright? They were the two that helped me not get caught during the earlier days. I hope they're alright—but judging how this imposter is, I doubt they are.

Even more "great," I suppose. I am not ready to see how they are.

That son of a...nevermind, actually. I need to think of a plan to escape. I have all of the elements of Teyvat: Abyss, Anemo, Geo, Dendro, Hydro, Cryo, Pyro, and Electro. Mostly undetected.

Yes, surprisingly, I had managed to enter into Inazuma even though it's probably in some sort of lock down with me running loose around Teyvat. But I still got to the statue and that's all I care about.

I nearly jump when I hear the sounds of gates opening. Crap. We were here. I am literally here...at the Imposter's Palace.

Holy crap, doomsday has suddenly started to feel more deadly with each passing breath I took. It felt suffocating with each step that it took to be brought near that Palace's front doors.

Holy crap, I really might just get die today. Holy crap...

I could barely focus on anything else going outside of my moveable prison, as I try to put together my scattered thoughts to form some sort of escape plan.

Perhaps I could create an illusion of myself and quickly leave? Or maybe I can manipulate time and find a way to break through this ridiculously elemental-proof cage. Maybe I can create some form of structure to get myself out of the situation. Or maybe I can use my hydro and pyro abilities together to make a clone of myself and trick them!

I couldn't think of anything more, because, before I knew it, I was pulled out of my thoughts. I was dumped out onto the grime floor of the place I dreaded to be for all my time here in Teyvat. I catch myself, my hands stabilizing my fall under me as my knees bang on the floor.

Gosh...I'm really here. In the most ugliest palace I've ever seen, even with the colors going well with each other.

Because of that one person sitting on that damn throne as I look up. My Imposter. The one that caused everything from the beginning.

"My, my, what do we have here..." They chuckle, their eyes gleaming with malicious intent as their sinister smirk turns into a monstrous grin. "My Imposter, finally caught before me, after a good 8 months of searching. Well done, People of Mondstadt and Sumeru. You certainly don't disappoint." The Imposter's voice was off, but it was clear that they were just simply talking through the other people's voices, their voice being the more dominant one.

And besides, I doubt the People of Mondstadt and Sumeru would've been praised like that if Venti and Nahida hadn't been punished. Whatever the Imposter did to them, it must've also affected their nations as well. And they were going to pay for that.

This world didn't see any blessings, it only gained more curses. Not even the world they stood upon knew that. Not the people, not the world...nobody knew they were in a endless scam.

Not wasting any time, I direct my glare at the Imposter. I don't care if they're going to be all mock-y about it—this is the least they deserved.

If only I could remember...that last missing piece of myself...

"Getting upset already?" The Imposter chuckles. "Such a shame. We haven't even begun your punishment. Not even a second in, and you already think you're better than me, huh?" Their grin widens.

"Such a shame. I guess I'll put use to the Anemo and Dendro Archon to punish you...as a 'Round One,' of course." My eyes widen in shock. Their eyes gleam with amusement.

The audacity of this....this below-grime idiot!

I didn't even get a word in as I see two familiar figures walk my way. I don't need the Imposter to talk to know that they were under the control of the Imposter themselves. It was all too obvious by the way they walk.

It was all too obvious by that grin that doesn't suit them a single bit.

But what shocked me the most was how many bleeding scars they have. Like Xiao in the Perilous Archon Quest, Venti and Nahida bled in the colors of their elements they were dominant in. And it seems like these scars were never meant to heal—the blood was seeping onto the clothes they wore, which were slightly tattered.

It looked like they were victims that had just came out of a war zone. Holy cow.

"What the hell..." I mutter under my breath. I glare back up to the Imposter. "What the hell did you do?!"

"Hm? Oh, you're wondering about their scars?" Their smirk turns more dangerous, more forced. "I made certain...adjustments to their behaviors. After all...to help you certainly meant I had to step in."

"They're traitors!" someone said, and I feel my blood boil. "They should be blessed that the All-Seeing Creator has given them mercy—to be forever blessed under the Creator's presence and guidance!"

"No!" I exclaim. I can't help it—I couldn't take it anymore. "This—this isn't a blessing!" I gesture towards the controlled archons, who were still slowly approaching. "This is the opposite of benevolent! This is the work of a tyrant!"

"You no nothing about the Creator!" someone else exclaims in the throne room. "You dare to spread lies with your face, flinging dirt on their ever graceful image—and now you dare to question their judgement? The audacity!"

The Imposter chuckles. "See? Your efforts are futile." They smile down at me, as if they won. As if they had everything they could ever have, once I'm dead. "Now get them!" They point a finger at me, and that was all the warning I get before Venti shot an arrow towards me.

I use my anemo abilities to fling it elsewhere just in time, but Nahida was already sending dendro towards me without warning. They push me back, as I try my best to use geo to form some sort of shield.

Well crap. I guess I have no choice but to hurt them. With a heavy heart, I summoned the all the power of Anemo, stopping time so that I could knock them out.

When I let time continue, the crowd that was in the Throne Room gasped. The Imposter glared down at me with suspicion...and a hint of jealousy. Hah, loser.

"Hm. Pathetic," they mutter under their breath. "I suppose I'll just finish you myself...with a special little weapon of mine." They summon a black gadget in their hands. Turning it one with a button on the side, it glows. The Imposter smirks as they look down at my shocked expression.

No. Absolute freaking. Way.

How the HELL did they get my freaking phone?!

"How did you—" I interrupt myself, fuming. "You took my phone!" The Imposter laughs.

"Really?" They said, amused. Their eyebrows were quirked up, mockingly. "More like you were the one who doesn't know how to keep their hands to themselves. You stole what was rightfully mine, and I just got it back."

"And I'm going to make sure you regret ever trying to tarnish my reputation—my work."

— — —

The battle was longer than anyone had anticipated, but alas. The "Creator" won, standing over a beaten "imposter." Everyone was cheering. Cheering for a fricking tyrant.

Cheering for the fact that I was about to be killed. Tch, fine then. If I die, I hope they all suffer for their audacity. If I die, I hope this "Creator" dies of a panic attack trying to fix their world. If I die, I hope they realize how big of a mistake they made, taking the position that which doesn't—never—belonged to them.

If I die, I hope this world burns in hell.

"Creator..." Hm? Who said that? Probably someone from the crowd—who else would it be? My imagination? How cliché, even for this manipulated world—

"Creator...get up..." The same voice speaks, and this time, I can hear it better. It's echo-y. It's calm, yet angry. It's blank, but filled with emotion. I look up, and I see a spirit made of light.

But the most fascinating part? The spirit looked like me. The Spirit looks like it came out of my phone.

It smiles down at me. "You see me," it muses. "Good. Come on, get back up."

"I...I can't." My meek voice comes out. It gets covered by all the cheering and all the praises for the Imposter, who stands atop of me, smugly.

"Yes, you can."

"I can't."

"This world needs you."

"This world already betrayed me."

"And are you willing to give up so easily? Knowing that you'd let your..." The spirit looks at the Imposter, who was blissfully unaware of its presence, with distaste. "...your false image of you ruin your creation?"

"I don't even know who I am," I insisted, making sure my voice was but a mere whisper. I don't want the Imposter to notice me. "How can I fight for a world I barely know?"

"You do know it," the spirit muses. "Just from a different perspective. You know it because you became a 'player' of this world. You see it with fresh eyes, but with a body so ancient it knows everything like the back of your hand."

"Why...why do you mention all of this?" I question. "How will this be relevant to the fact that I can't even protect a world I came to cherish—to love with 'new eyes'?" The spirit smiles.

"You want to know where your last piece is," it says. "Yet, you have been staring at it for the past moment." It reaches its hand out towards me. "Tell me, what do you see in me, that makes me special—makes me divine?"

"You aura..." I mutter, too in trance to realize I spoke louder than I intended. The Imposter looks down at me, evil triumph heavy in their eyes.

"Finally tasting my power, huh?" They say, smirking, but I could care less. My eyes were still staring at the spirit. It's still staring at me, smiling at me with a brightness so radiant it could rival the gentle days that were peppered by the sun's golden rays. It sounded so poetic, but I could care less.

"Metaphorically, I am but a mere illusion of the sun—the moon," it says. "But only until the sun has found themself, can the world recognize their true star." They give me their hand.

"If you wish to continue to fight, let us be one, and let the world sing you songs for all civilizations to recognize." I stare at the spirit, awe-struck.

There was no way that my power—the final piece, was being handed over to me on a silver platter. There's no way.

Yet, the very existence of this spirit was proof enough. It was...almost too cliché for me to believe, but it was the truth. Holy cow, I really am the Main Character.

With a quick motion, I place my hand on top of theirs. "I will let the world hear me, once and for all," I say, my voice firm and loud. The Imposter sneers down at me, distaste evident in their features.

"What are you on about this time, you slimy little—" They never got to finish their sentence, for I felt the spirit finally intertwine with me.

All the memories I've collected in this long, hard journey come flashing through my mind, as the power that felt oh-so familiar runs through my veins yet again.

"Happy Birthday, Mx. Y/N!" I hear the voice of a young child.

"Thank you, for lending us the knowledge to repel those awful demons, All-Seer," the voice of an elder Priest spoke.

"Please, Mx.! You mustn't overexert yourself for this!" a proud, yet nervous soldier, warning me as I stood firm against the dangers of the time the world first fell into disaster. "Please—let me take you to safety!"

I owe all those people I knew back then their mercy. Mercy for their descendants. And once I'm done with this stupid Imposter, I'll rebuild this world from dust and up if I have to.

The last thing anyone saw, was my form turning into a supernova. I hear the world singing, recognizing me. I hear it hum as it starts to tear and crumble the palace of the Imposter.

With a quick wave of my hand, I let the light of the supernova fade, but trapped the Imposter in a cage. I let all control they had over everyone disappear.

My intense, sharp gaze is what everyone sees, as my form is now cleaner, more graceful. The Imposter cowards, paling as they realize how much of the real deal I am. Haha, the sweet taste of revenge. Of Karma. This is what I longed for, and it's finally at my grasp.

"Since you love playing the 'Creator,'" I mock, sneering down at the Imposter's petite figure. "Why don't we place your little skills to the test, hm?"

𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑬𝒏𝒅.

Ghost Rebel Side Notes: FINALLY, PART 3 IS OUT! I AM SO SORRY FOR TAKING 30 YEARS ON THIS OMG—Y'ALL PROBABLY FORGOT THIS EXISTED DIDN'T YOU 💀💀💀 MY BAD I AM SO SORRY.

Also! It is entirely up to you of what punishment the Imposter gets! Tell me what you think best suits them :) Perhaps I might write a sequel? 👀 No promises on that, but something I can promise on is that Venti and Nahida are now forever being pampered with affection and gifts! <3

✦ Check out The Ghost Rebel’s Blog Description & Info Page to See if Their Mailbox is Open! ✦

[svjetllost]

"Are we... trying to camouflage ourselves with the world’s ugliest tablecloth?" He glanced at the gaudy, mismatched explosion of colors and patterns spread across the table behind her—truly a Capitol masterpiece of bad taste, complete with their questionable idea of gourmet finger foods.

"If you step back any further, you might just become part of the décor. "He offered his arm with a flourish, the picture of effortless charm. "Come on, let’s make the rounds. I’ll even rescue you from your tragic lack of small talk skills. Consider it my good deed for the day."

@qverdia liked this for a short starter!

[illarian-rambling]

Thanks for the tag @mk-writes-stuff!

Character Voice Tag

My line: “All the souvenirs in the world, and you bought that?”

Your line: "No, no, your pronunciation is all wrong!"

.

Izjik: "You really spent money on a plant? There are plants for free outside! Go dig one up!"

Sepo: "That is truly and without a doubt the ugliest shirt I've ever seen. Honestly, I'm impressed at how you even found it."

Twenari: "Please tell me you didn't spend all that money on a gas station pocket knife.... I don't care that it has a cool handle!"

Djek: "Only you would consider a book a souvenir. Aren't these things supposed to be fun?"

Astra: "A godsdamned pair a' slippers, of all things.... I ain't laughin' at ya, love, but when in the hell are ya gonna use 'em?"

Mashal: "That's not a souvenir; that's a stolen lamp. You stole a lamp because the light was a pretty color. I get it, but that's not a souvenir."

Ivander: "Now, I wouldn't be caught dead in a hat like that, but I suppose your style is your own. Just like a rotting corpse's style is its own."

Elsind: "A- A snowglobe. But we live in Skysheer? It snows literally every day?"

Avymere: "If you'd like to remember this life-changing trip by way of a novelty photo, then so be it. Just don't expect me to hang a copy in my hall."

.

What a fun line! I'll tag @corinneglass @modernwritercraft @ladypersimone @rkmoon and anyone else who wants in :)