It’s not Monday but it’s certainly Mayu Monday for me! This is my only artwork for March so I’ll see you all again in April or soon after! (⌒▽⌒ゞ
Pantyhose: I actually went back then forth trying to decide between bare legs and pantyhose but I ultimately decided pantyhose was the way to go. The pantyhose are meant to match the corset except no leather and comfort of course. It has lace details and a leather belt on her left leg. The lace stops around her ankles.
Hair: to stay within steampunk territory, I decided to make her hair fluffy, swirly, and lots of curl heart shapes. I don’t like to use one range of colors so I made the choice to go with my heart and make it extra colorful! (Although Mayu’s hair always proves to be a challenge (∩︵∩)
Makeup: I tried to make her extra girly- sorta 40s makeup vibe. So red lipstick and pink blush. I also tried to make her details more rounded to give a softer appearance :D
Shoes: it was my try of Mary Jane’s inspired shoes so please remember they are NOT accurate. She has small legs warmers over the shoes and tied off with pink bows, a short heel, and golden beads to go around the rim.
Gloves: blacks gloves with the tips of her thumb, middle, and ring fingers revealed, and well as leather and golden beads to go around and lace at the bottoms.
Dress: sheesh I’ll try to explain as well and possible… the dress comes with a color, ruffles, folds, and lots of lace for the underskirt. She has two belts below the sleeves to emphasize the ruffles. The dress also comes with a front tying corset that I took extra care to seem functional. The corset comes with lace, leather, and POCKETS! Because every girly in a dress needs pockets (she was originally gonna have a gun in her beta design shhh). The pockets are attached to the leather part of the corset in the back, and is also joined with golden beads? Buttons? Idk those things. She also has three rows of the golden beads on her skirt!
Hat: Her top hat is decorated in clocks, chains, and gears for a some steampunk effect, as well as a pink bow and pink bunny ears. Around the hat is black lace and under the hat is pink lace for some pop!
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Hey what would have happened if RTom died while a teen? Like you know, a dare gone wrong at a party, drunk driving, or just other stuff? What would Tord do if it was someone else's fault? How would he turn out? Would there be a difference?
Well first off, if it was someone else’s fault, he gets his first serious crime on his crime list [murder the crime is murder]
Secondly, since Tom is gone now, I figure it’ll play out the same, except that Tord would have started pulling away from Edd and Matt earlier. And of course, he gets his robot.
Which, in the Regimen universe, is a big yikes as he would also have the time to keep upgrading the design like the later weapons in the story.
I’ll strictly be talking in his Regimen characterisation now, so don’t take the following as my general hc for Tord, his thoughts and motivations here are built from his characterisation in Regimen’s universe:
See, the whole giant robot debacle really was Tord trying to cut off what he deems “unnecessary” in his life, distractions even. He WOULD have had some lingering feelings about his friends and thats BAD if he wanted to reach any of his goals. They were the last things from his old life holding him down, so it was VERY necessary to get rid of that part of his life.
Especially Tom, who has been his longest obsession and only foil, it’s why he didnt really hesitate to shoot at him, if he did it quick and without any second guessing, he won’t have time to regret doing it.
But in this scenario, Tom is gone, and there isn’t really any point in killing Edd or Matt, its not like they pose much of a threat, and Edd seems to still have some attachments to him, so he’d be able to use that against him if need be.
Theres really nothing keeping him tied to his old life here. It’s easier to go. It’s easier to win.
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THE CONJURING RIZZLES AU 😧 how is every au idea outta your head a straight banger damn (esp after reading your vampire au i know you’d do it so much justice omgg)
Sigh… yes 😭. I haven’t touched it in three years and I’m sad about it because I feel like it could be really good. However, I have too many other, more fleshed out ideas to finish before I get to it. I’ll post the bit I did complete here:
Maura Isles had to use the bathroom.
She’d felt the pangs in her bladder for almost an hour now. Unfortunately, there was still at least another hour until the sun came up, and while that was the case, she found herself unable to move, unable to even open her eyes. The darkness had been oppressive these past few months, preying on her exhaustion and squashing her empirical rationality.
She whimpered into the cavernous expanse of the bedroom, besieged by fear she had started to loathe, frustrated by her inability to conquer this irrational terror. Her pulse quickened and her spine turned cold, all the while her need grew. Time slowed and her senses grew heightened, as though in collusion with whatever force sought to torture her. Stars pulsated behind her eyelids. The sheets clung to her body in swampy humidity, daring her to squirm, to move.
And she heard the tick-tock of the clock in the bathroom just a few short steps away. 3:07. It was pure cacophony when she’d gotten no sleep and something in the nighttime air had taken to terrorizing her. She tried, as she crossed her legs ever so slowly, to convince herself that it was something within: that it was her brain that waged war against her. Certainly, with all that had transpired, a certain amount of hysteria was warranted, and she even considered post traumatic stress as a cause.
But she feared what she might hear when the clock was done sounding. She feared that if she really concentrated, she would hear whispers dark enough to curdle every part of her. She knew not what the whispers would say, how they would sound.
She thought she knew who would be doing the whispering, thought, and she wasn’t ready for that yet. So, she slid her hand under the pillow on the other side of her bed, grabbed the rosary she never dared to look at in the daytime, and willed herself to get up with internal explanations of the rarity of disembodied voices, the effect of anxiety on the senses, the paranoia that would inevitably follow the agony of the invasion she had experienced only a few weeks prior.
The fall air bit at her skin as she rose, her silk, short, barely there black and white chemise more of an affront to the cold than a guard against it, but she dared not look into the corner of the room where her robe, a comfort against the chill, laid against a chair. Shadows took advantage of dark corners. And, Maura knew, though she would not have been able to explain how if asked, that the stench that had started to bubble up in the room was coming from that corner.
It smelled like death.
It smelled... offensive, and she clutched the rosary so hard it pricked her skin and spread her metacarpals. She trotted the last few steps to the bathroom and slammed the door so that she could turn the light on. She tried to grasp at an elusive and thin relief as she rested her back against the door, willing her thudding heart to calm before she walked to the toilet. She spread her fingers against her chest as if that would work, as if the beads of the necklace and the cross at its end could suck the fear out of her.
She gulped and pushed away from the door, finally deciding that her bladder could take no more abuse. She relieved herself, hyper aware of the vulnerability of her position, stuck until she finished, at the mercy of her body and its functions. The din of the overhead fan served as obscurity, but even that made her nervous - she didn’t want to be heard, she didn’t want to hear, but the sensory deprivation scared her almost as much as what she might discover in the dark.
She shrieked when a furious pounding shook the bathroom door.
The knocks were regular, but so frenzied in force and speed that they could not have been human. Maura crouched behind the half-wall next to the toilet and actually prayed.
“Maura?” rasped a voice from the other side of the door. Maura opened her eyes, relief and suspicion warring within her thundering heart. She said nothing for fear of being duped by whatever hunted her. The voice said her name again, this time a little more sure, a little more real. “Maura?”
“Jane?” Maura’s own voice was quiet, hoarse, small.
“Yeah, babe,” was the response in Jane’s unmistakable timbre. “You alright in there?” the question was hesitant and slow, as if Jane knew the answer to it and hoped that Maura wouldn’t lie.
“I’m, I’m ok,” Maura said on a shaky breath. She smoothed the silk over her thighs in a calming swipe, rising and walking toward the sink. She turned on the water more to muffle the sound of her own shame than to drown out Jane. She went through the scientist’s routine of wetting, soaping, scrubbing, and rewetting her hands for twenty uninterrupted seconds. For a moment she wondered if she hallucinated Jane calling out to her from the bedroom.
“I thought I heard you yelling,” said kind Jane in reply, infusing her response with doubt to buy Maura some dignity, some deniability. “Maybe I dreamt it.”
Maura sighed. She wiped her hands dry and then ran one through her sleep-mussed hair. Objectively, she looked beautiful, skin rosy with rest and nightwear salaciously short, a gold pendant the perfect accent to the smattering of freckles across her chest like a constellation. In actuality, she was a mess. Nerves were shot, eyes were bleary - but the perfect antidote for her woes, at least in this moment, was waiting just a room away.
All she had to do was open the door, so she did. “No, you heard correctly.” she said, her hazel eyes bashful, downcast.
At least it allowed her to survey Jane from the toes up. Jane Rizzoli was planted firmly on the floor, and Maura adored the way the skin over her long feet, runner’s feet, provided dark contrast to the bathroom carpet’s light. Maura adored Jane’s slim ankles, her open stance, her defined quadriceps poking out through a pair of short basketball shorts she wore to bed. She adored Jane’s cocked hips, as though ready to fire, she adored the torso that went on forever and the arms open for her already.
More than any of those things, however, she adored Jane’s handsome features knotted up in sleep and concern. Dark and wild eyes glossed over with worry and the harsh lines of her cheeks bunched forward in a sympathetic grimace. Her mouth was a hard, closed line. “C’mere,” it finally said, and Maura collapsed into the hug waiting for her. She wanted to cry, and figured that if Jane’s face was buried in her hair, maybe she could without being seen.
Jane was warm, she was soft, and her unruly black hair provided the perfect shield to the outside world. Perception was failing Maura and up until very recently, Maura relied completely on perception to process her surroundings. The only truths were the ones she could see, hear, smell, taste, touch. The only things that existed were the provable ones, and what other way to prove them but by sensing them?
Now there were very clearly things that existed which could not be explained by natural processes. There were things that assaulted her senses, manipulated them, but operated completely outside the realm of them. And, just thinking about all of it ratcheted up her anxiety again - she clawed at the back of Jane’s t-shirt and inhaled as much of her as possible. “I’m sorry I woke you,” she said against Jane’s sternum.
“It’s ok. You grabbed my rosary and I think I started waking up then. You know, eventually you’re gonna have to tell me what happened at the Theriault house,” Jane whispered against Maura’s temple.
For fifteen days she had actively avoided speaking about the Theriault house in rural Maine. She actively avoided even thinking about it. Days one through four were spent in a self-imposed isolation in this very bedroom, and when she broke it to find Jane in the kitchen one morning, making coffee, she had said nothing, only wrapped her arms around Jane from behind and sobbed into the t-shirt stretched across a broad Italian back. “I… I know,” she said, a monumental acquiescence, “but for now, I want to go back to sleep.”
Jane sighed. “Then let’s do that,” she said. They labored through the cold back under the covers, and when Maura burrowed against Jane’s front, her face at the conjunction of Jane’s chest and throat, she finally felt herself fall back into a fitful sleep.
___
Maura, in a high-waisted plum skirt, a multi-colored, purple-tinged sleeveless blouse, looked nothing like the scared woman hiding in the bathroom only a few hours before. Her heels made her nearly as tall as a barefoot Jane when she stepped into the kitchen. Sun poured in through the expanse of windows on either side of the fireplace, and the light accentuated all of the wisps of light brown around the crown of Jane’s black hair. Jane was all brightness in light gray suit pants and a pastel yellow t-shirt, and together they looked immaculate.
“You hate the espresso machine,” Maura teased, her eyebrows knitted tight with her smirking mouth. She spread her fingers over Jane’s outspread ones when the portafilter clattered to the counter and grounds splattered across the granite.
“Shit,” Jane popped her pointer finger in her mouth; it smarted with the pressure of the uncooperative portafilter. “Well, I thought I’d surprise your mother.”
Maura laughed and her cheeks tinged red with pleasure. “You refuse to learn for me for years - my mother stays for one night and suddenly you’re interested?”
“I feel like I need to get on her good side,” Jane shrugged, “we didn’t start off so smooth.”
“You were defending me when she had neglected to put me on the list of an event that she invited me to,” Maura reasoned, “she respects you for that.”
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