#red paint was not enough i wanted real blood for the art | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

dsknsk · 3 months

Text

Limbus Company and its visual portrayal of female characters, an essay

Limbus Company, and by extent, Project Moon has been a great example of how female characters are visually portrayed. In this article, I’ll try to dissect why and how, focusing on Limbus Company as it has by far the largest amount of images I can talk about. Let’s dive in.

Disclaimer: I'm by no means a professional so please, PLEASE don't clown on this i.e mention the summer controversy. I have a personal trauma on that and do not wish to revisit it. I know it's practically impossible to ask from tumblr, but still.

Visually portraying a subject

Where to start? At the very beginning, of course. Portraying a subject visually (not talking about female characters in specific yet) has a number of things attached to it. Perhaps the first question one can ask themselves is this:

Where do I want the focus to be?

Now, you can be short and say ‘the subject, of course’, but even then, that won’t often be precise enough. Let’s say you have a butterfly as your subject. Do you want the focus to be on its beautiful wings? Or its curious multi-faceted eyes, or its roll-up tongue? What do you want the viewer to notice immediately?

Arguably, even photos of landscapes have at least one point of focus. The pretty waterfall, the vast mountains, the green pastures or the starry sky. Some have the focus split up in two, where both the lake and the mountains are to be spotted immediately.

How focus can be created

There are multiple ways focus can be drawn to a specific part or to a specific subject.

One way is to simply make everything but your point of focus uninteresting. A common effect used is the Bokeh, which blurs out the background so that it will automatically appear as less interesting and more as a faded bunch of colors that contrasts with the point of focus which is sharply shot in HD. You can also make the background to be a flat color, like black or white. Some pieces of art additionally add colored shapes or lines behind the subject as to accentuate it further.

(an example of Bokeh. In addition, the direction in which another character looks shows what our main subject is, who is actually positioned off-center.)

You can also just…fill the space with the subject, as in a close-up of the thing in question. Following the previous butterfly example, it’s like only showing a small part of its wings, enlarged to comparatively huge proportions. This is also seen in portraits and to a lesser extent, similar art like waist-ups.

The eye is immediately drawn to what we should look at, which is the character who’s front and center in the image. Secondarily the blood. Her hair also uses the next point below: color.

If you’re working with color, then color is an excellent way to bring the focus to a subject. Bright colors and contrasts can be used, like what’s done here:

The bright red forms a direct contrast to the green that dominates the color pallette. It thus leads the eye to the red areas - aka the blood the character is spilling as well as her face, which is technically a tint of red. The red returning in her eyes which have a small trail, and on her bloodied face, as well as the yellow of her tie, further help to bring focus to her face and her expression. (Other than that, this image also has classic cartoon speed lines, which are minor but do help).

Light is also something I should mention. Using the image from above, the character is actually rushing towards the darker areas of the image. The light is coming from where she seemed to come from, judging by the speed lines and the trail of red we just saw in all its glory. The light forms a line around the subject which keeps said subject’s green uniform from blending into the darkness and the green of the image.

There is a specific technique called chiaroscuro (lit. ‘light-dark’) which is totally a real thing that even old masters like Rembrandt have used to bring focus. The gist of it is that the painting has very bright areas which is the subject, surrounded by dark areas, with not much in between. This technique is often used to make scenes more dramatic, and to immediately show us what the artist wants us to see, without any possible doubt. It’s like putting a spotlight on your head in a dark room. Chiaroscuro is also seen in Limbus:

You can’t actually see much of the room our subject is in. The only light is coming from the candles, illuminating the top part of our subject. The other, darker half is much harder to see the details of. This makes it so that the eye is led from either the character towards the source of the light (the candles) or in reverse, both of which are possible and valid because in both cases, we ignore the pitch black part of the artwork.

How to create focus with characters (in specific)

Now, humans and humanoids are fascinating subjects to focus on, because there are so many situations a person can be in, and so much stuff a person can be. Are they the commander of a spaceship? A medieval ruler? An overworked office clerk? There are specific things that more or less pertain to humanoid characters more. I’m going into two aspects, clothing and posing - I’m aware there’s more, but for the sake of making this not longer than it is I’m going into only those two.

1. Clothing

What someone wears makes up a considerable part of how they’re seen and what they are presumed to be. This is also a large part of stereotyping. If you're wearing a t-shirt with pants, sunglasses, and have a camera around your neck, chances are people think you’re a tourist. To them, it likely won’t matter if you are, they will perceive you as one anyway. This is also important here: you might want to pretend you don’t know anything about the portrayed character or show their image to an unknowing friend and see what they think that the character is.

And that brings me to this point that I have seen so many times with female characters: their description/role not directly matching with how they are supposed to look if that were true. I’m talking about the battle-hardened veteran without muscles or scars of both kinds (even if adequate healing/scar removal is available in the setting). I’m talking about the scientist with a leotard under their lab coat. However, I’m not saying they should look a certain way or be the same - that’d be boring - I’m saying that…hey, it might make the viewer not take the character as serious as you want them to be.

The way clothing is built up can also serve as a way to bring focus to a specific aspect. Which will most often be either the boobs or the butt (or both) in the case of female characters. Look at this (non-Project Moon) example.

The woman in the front (obviously the focus due to the place she is standing in being squarely in the middle, and her red hair standing out) is the leader of that squad…as well as the strongest in battle. Without any protection of vital organs. With a shape under her boobs that would stab her fatally in the liver if she does as little as bend over.

The way her clothing is built up also brings the focus to her boobs - not only with how they’re prominently on display, but also with the shape the top and the fabric covering her shoulders makes. In a similar vein, her ‘pants’ and the belt all lead the eye downwards to her crotch as well. Furthermore, her thigh highs look skin-tight, bringing secondary focus to her legs, of course.

And last but not least. The guys behind her are actually properly armored from the neck down, making them somewhat more of a homogenous whole… in theory. The different body types, hair, and colors of the armor of the right and left dude make them stand out slightly more, which in turn only accentuates this ridiculous difference.

I don’t really have many Project Moon-originating images on hand that are similar to this. Every time we’ve had an ID with a female character being the leader of their group (of which we’ve had surprisingly many, actually - Don has two Section Director IDs to boot) they have usually been posing alone, or well, posing…their full uptie art normally shows a moment when they’re beating their enemy into a pulp instead of posing for the camera like in the above image. This is really consistent with the other half of the playable characters, who are male.

I want to give a special mention to two characters despite that. Faust and Rodion are both known as the more well-endowed characters, but from their IDs and E.G.O it is treated as something that’s there rather than something to be exploited.

The blue glint is the highlight here, illuminating her blood-stained clothing but also finding its equal in her small, blue eyes. I have found eyes like this and expressions like this to be quite rare on female characters. Just look at her and her face. She’s completely lost it, wrapped in twisted and warped euphoria of the moment of ‘purging’ another ‘heretic’ - and from the looks of it, the last one on the scene. She’s not even trying to clean her own clothing or face, or expose her boobs. That’s not what matters to her image, showing any kind of skin doesn’t add to her character. She’s caught in this violent moment, having her victim completely in her literal grip - not even her eyes are looking at the camera. This image showcases the violent and sadistic nature of the character.

I find this art to be a curious thing. The background is actually rather bright, making the inverse true: the character is dressed in dark clothing, so that’s what the focus is on instead. Her coat flared out in such a way it can almost be mistaken for the underside of her long hair, making her seem even larger (something certain animals use when threatened to scare others into leaving). Her actual figure is thus more obscured, it only being a few tones darker. The thing that keeps her from being a dark blob in the foreground is her sword, large enough to be an odachi. Because she’s unsheathing it, the glint that comes from the blade immediately draws attention - arguably away from her partially unbuttoned top. The animation of this in the game supports this: no boob jiggle, just her standing calmly in the moment she’s just about to unsheathe her sword.

Because I’m going to use this example further in this thing, keep this one on hand.

An image that’s again in the middle of the action. Rosespanner Workshop Director Rodion is right now turning an enemy into an unrecognizable stain on the pavement with her huge weapon. The highlight is her weapon again, but this time it actually serves as a secondary source of light, illuminating her face. The yellow coloration of this secondary light source also makes the whole thing more interesting than if it just had the background light that serves a similar purpose as it did in the first image of this post. Even though the image has a heavy pinkish tint, the red that splatters all over the scene is still very much present and they draw the eye back to the yellow light. While her pose is ambiguous, it keeps things vague by not putting any sort of focus on her lower body. In any other piece of media this pose would be viewed from another angle, as to profit from as much of her body’s curves. Not here. Her killing an enemy with visible ease is important. Not her pose. This sounds logical, doesn’t it?

2. Posing

Which brings me to this. The way a character is posed also plays a part in their portrayal. It is possible to accentuate certain body parts with this - like when a character brings their hand to their chin, or the way their legs are posed. No matter the actual scene that’s meant, the way the character is posed is a factor that decides how it’s viewed and where the focus lies. Most often I’ve found this to be when a character is shown wielding a weapon, but their ‘battle pose’ being rather something that accentuates their bare skin, or their little clothing that does the same thing.

Is your character actually showing that they’re dangerous through being shown fighting…or are they just sexily posing with a weapon in their hands to add a sense of ‘danger’? Some can be highly difficult to distinguish. Some CGs can show the middle of the action yet the way the character is posed still brings the focus away from the violence or brings a secondary focus to it. Unfortunately I don’t have examples of those on hand but I know they exist.

A character just posing with a weapon isn’t wrong - I draw that all the time - but when the focus is brought to a character’s boobs and/or butt with the pose the character is in, it will be kind of obvious (even if it isn’t true) that sexualizing those features of the character what the artist is really intending to do instead of showing how dangerous she is with the weapon.

I’m going to use this image from Echocalypse as an example. I regularly take poses like this as a reference point and then attempt to make them more realistic, or, funnily, point out their weirdness by putting a male character in it. Often I do this by using them for a different, more appropriately clothed character. This goes to show that clothing can already decide a lot in posing itself.

This character is posing with a weapon, a…particularly huge odachi in this case (I thought it was a staff at first until I saw the hilt). Which is exactly the same what Rodion is doing up there in the image we already handled. Yet, there are subtle differences between that image and this one, and it’s actually more minor than you think it is (disregarding the thematics of the pieces). Both characters…

are posing with an odachi of similar size (assuming that both characters are of similar height for ease of comparison) as opposed to being locked in battle; theoretically making the focus more on how pretty they look

have long hair (that, minus the bun and the bangs, have a similar cut) that makes their silhouette appear larger than it is

do have a relatively bright and sort-of detailed background going on

have large boobs

are unsheathing their weapon just slightly

However, to get to our first difference, we need to get back to point 1: clothing. Using the same two images, the largest difference is clothing. Kurokumo Rodion is wearing all-black clothing that covers her from the head down except for the unbuttoned top. If I had to describe what the other girl is wearing, I’d say she’s wearing a piece of armor on one of her arms, a flowered collar, thigh highs but no footwear otherwise, and something…obviously lingerie/bikini derived. I’m actually not sure if that’s a tail or part of the clothing.

But to return to our point: posing. The pose of Kurokumo Rodion is actually fairly neutral. She’s just standing there, menacingly! (I should note that their normal character talksprites are also just standing there neutrally) No, literally. Anyone with working legs and arms, can reproduce that. Just give them a sword prop and you’re done. Coat cape optional. The way she is standing does convey some sort of subtle confidence, however, just like the way she is actually looking down (at the viewer). It’s likely you’ll see the sword first for the reasons I mentioned when first discussing the piece above and then look at her from top to bottom as usual.

The way our other girl is posed…is a little harder to replicate in real life to say the least. Not only is this a floating pose (i.e you’d need support), the way her body is bent sharply brings the focus upon her boobs and butt. The human body is actually rather flexible, depending on how you’re built of course, but even so I do doubt whether anyone can do this pose even if they could somehow float in mid-air. Or do this lying down. I (someone with joints that are a little too flexible for my own good) haven’t tried and highkey don’t want to. The thigh and upper leg that is prominently on display, along with the way her body curves leads the eye to her butt or downwards towards her legs and feet.

Her facial expression is neutral, but I get some sort of… ‘dreamy’ vibe from it from the traditional anime-like proportions (huge eyes, tiny nose and mouth). Almost as if she’s doing puppy-eyes to beg for candy or something. It’s, well, what most people call to be a ‘babyface’. Kurokumo Rodion is also in ‘anime-style’ and her facial proportions are still a little bit unrealistic, but I do dare to say they’re more realistic than those of the other girl.

Also, small sidepath. What do you think the second girl is based off? One would judge from her tail that it must be some sort of water creature but whether she’s a shark or any other kind of sea creature isn’t really obvious. Would it surprise you if I told you she’s based on a bake-kujira, a SKELETON-whale (which sounds cool as all hell)? Without any kind of skeleton-parts worked into her design? To be fair, I wouldn’t have guessed it either if it were not for her canonical description.

Also, one last note about that latter image. I think that an odachi of that format would be extremely tricky to unsheathe in such a pose, because of the distance between your arms. Her arm that actually unsheathes the thing is also obviously reaching out, so she’d need more strength to do that than what the look of her arms suggest.

Speaking about arms…

On paper, our Limbus girls would have all the reason to have twig arms. After all, the City allows one to get stronger without visually changing their physique much. One can carry around huge weapons like chainsaws, lances and zweihanders without visible muscles. And yet. And yet.

One of the few times bare arms are seen (most art prefers to cover them up - for Limbus standards, this would be the ultimate fanservice thing), it becomes very clear that they at least have a basic tone. Like, the basicest of basic efforts is done to make them not look malnourished. Even if this girl above is not like, the strongest of the world (for as far as we know...) the muscles she does have are very lovingly shaded and detailed.

To end this, I’ll showcase something one last time with a funny in-game example: Roseate Desire. Roseate Desire is an E.G.O which wraps the wearer in pink ribbons and is highly implied to especially speak to the sin of Lust (which is the affinity of the attack). In the game, this E.G.O is given to two characters, a girl and a guy. In any other gacha game, it would only be given to girls.

While bent over and with a happy expression, she’s still coming to get you. How can you tell? For one, the huge anchor she has with her is within her hand (i.e opposed to it being tied up next to her or something like that), and the shield that’s tied to her arm. Despite being wrapped up, she does still look as if a portion of her is still in control, and her attack suggests the same.

Hong Lu wearing it always makes me grin. He does wear clawed gloves and his fingers are arched, that’s true, but the way he’s strung up like a puppet makes it so that he can’t even get you with those. The manner in which he is posed and his head is tilted is highly reminiscent of how one would pose a marionette. And ingame properly he doesn’t even use these claws in close combat! He wraps up the enemy in the pink ribbons with doll-like movement. Even the way he’s covered evokes a sense of powerlessness, like he’s led on by the ribbons instead of controlling them.

I think this example, along with the others, is implicative of how Project Moon’s visual portrayal of female characters is done so well. They’re equally portrayed as the male characters, if not arguably more powerful, and there’s an equal roster of 6 to 6. They’re not overtly sexualized by bare skin or impossible poses while the men are covered up in a sensible pose. These are characters designed for their personality and role first, not with fanservice or money in mind first. Even the female NPCs fit within this rule, even though they have less art to go from. When you have a game which had 97% completion on the story and a mere 64% on the systems (i.e monetization) it would kind of figure that character designs fall in line with the role the character fulfills, is it not?

#limbus company #project moon

175 notes · View notes

arealphrooblem · 1 year

Text

Mutually Assured Destruction Part 4

Synopsis: Villain x Civilian. Civilian can sense other people's powers through auras but hides this ability. They are terrified of the most boring person at their office job, who hides the most powerful aura Civilian has ever felt.

“How is this art?”

Civilian had never heard of Rothko before this date, but they had assumed they would be looking at normal paintings — portraits and landscapes.

Not squares of color on a rectangle canvas.

Sure they were impressive in their size. But their simplicity clashed against the other paintings in the museum, full of intricate details and delicate brush strokes.

It definitely clashed with their idea of art. But also part of them wanted to get under Jonathan’s skin.

“Did you grow up under a rock?” Jonathan grumbled. “How are you so uncultured?”

“It’s literally two squares of color. I could paint something like that,” Civilian argued.

“Yes, but you didn’t,” he pointed out peevishly. “And even if you did, these are so much more than squares of color.”

“How so?”

Jonathan guided them closer to one of the paintings, his hand gentle on their shoulders. He positioned them directly center of one of the paintings and then stood behind them, close enough for Civilian to feel his breath stir the hair at the nape of their neck.

“To understand and appreciate this painting takes time. You have to really look.” His voice, so soft, so close, sent a small shiver down Civilian’s spine. “Rothko uses simultaneous contrast in his colors to create the illusion of light. If you stare long enough, you can see the color shimmer and move.”

Civilian squinted at the painting, trying to see what he described. At first they just remained a block of color. But, true to his word, after a few minutes, they began to see the shimmer, the glow, of the paint. Faint hues appeared in the black — red-black and dark dark blue-black. They shifted into one another, almost like a dance. It was hypnotic.

“Do you see it now?” Jonathan whispered.

“It’s . . .surprisingly beautiful,” they murmured.

“Just like you.”

The spell between them snapped. Civilian jerked around only to be met with his wicked smirk.

“So the unrefined can be taught,” he said. “You should be proud.”

“Shut up,” they snapped, cheeks hot.

He gestured to the next room. “Shall we continue?”

As they coasted to a stop on the third yellow light in five minutes, Civilian side-eyed Jonathan.

“I think this is your power — getting every yellow light.”

“That’s not a power — that’s a curse,” he muttered.

It had become a game between them. A strange, fucked up game where Civilian guessed intentionally wrong answers about the power behind his aura and he neither confirmed nor denied it.

Downplaying such power made it easier to bear sometimes, but also . . .it was dangerously easy after a month of “dating” to forget that he even had a power. The aura had turned into the background noise of their life, the way people who live by train tracks learn to tune out the noise of the trains.

Jonathan treated them to lunch every day at work, and once a week he took Civilian on a proper date — dinner and bowling (he got a perfect score compared to Civilian’s five gutter balls) or trivia night at a local bar (they both lost miserably in the sports category) or an afternoon trip to the aquarium in the next city over (their favorite date so far).

Civilian did not have any choice in the activities or any knowledge of what each date would bring, but underneath the constant layer of anxiety and frustration that coated every interaction with Jonathan was genuine enjoyment.

The dates were the only real social interaction that Civilian had outside of run-ins with neighbors and coworkers. A fact they tried not to dwell on too much.

Tonight they pulled into the parking lot of the movie theater. Civilian raised an eyebrow when Jonathan bought two tickets to Blood in the Stone but said nothing. Refined Art Museum Jonathan didn’t seem the type to like supernatural horror movies, but so much of him stayed shrouded in mystery that predicting anything about him was impossible.

Civilian, on the other hand, did not like horror movies. But they refused to let Jonathan see their trepidation. Instead, they watched the screen stone-faced and ripped the napkin in their lap to shreds. Something warm and ticklish slide down the delicate skin of their wrist just as the movie protagonist got caught up in some horrific tentacle monster and Civilian could not stop the scream from bursting out.

Jonathan’s warm breath brushed against their ear as he chuckled. His fingers slid down to detangle the twisted remains of napkin from their hands.

“Should we leave early, before you wet yourself?” he whispered.

“Why did you pick this movie?” Civilian hissed, refusing to look at him.

“Maybe that’s my power — I’m not afraid of things that aren’t real.”

“Maybe your power is being an obnoxious prick.”

He chuckled again, a low rumble in their ear, and Civilian had to bite their lip against the strange shiver that rippled down their spine.

A jump scare burst onto the screen. Civilian yelped, their fingers reflexively squeezing Jonathan’s hand. They expected him to pull away the second their death gripped relax, but his hand stayed throughout the rest of the movie, fingers casually interspersed with theirs.

Part five here

Tagging: @those-damn-snippets, @heroes-villains-side-blog

@anonymousewrites @follow-me-into-the-fog @sunnyside-world @rivalriotrenegade @trappedgoose-in-a-writblr-room

Let me know in the comments if you want to be tagged!

#hero x villain #villain x civilian #civilian x villain #enemies to lovers #my writing #not a prompt #mutually assured destruction

465 notes · View notes

stevetonyweekly · 2 months

Text

SteveTony Weekly - March 10 - Week 10

I’m late, I’m sorry! Spent all of yesterday in a haze of senior pictures for my kid, and I’m still not sure what day it is--ANYWAY! Here is this week’s reads--enjoy and be sure to drop a comment/kudos for your author!

business affairs by meidui

It’s two years of wanting him the way he hasn’t wanted Emma since their honeymoon to the pearl of the Pacific, eighteen months of Steve slipping into his hotel suite on business trips away from the prying eyes of New York, and twelve months of staying late after the cleaning staff clock out because Steve will ride him behind his desk with the door unlocked.

my thoughts: i’m a sucker for infidelity fics, and this one is just--very soft and tony’s love of steve and conflict with Emma, and the way that he focuses on Steve’s emotions over Emma’s was everything to me.

Clint Barton's Super Secret Snipers' Club by sara_holmes

Clint Barton's Super Secret Snipers' Club. (Invitation and pending mental health evaluation required.)

"When Steve brings Bucky back to the tower for the first time, Clint’s first thought is that Tony Stark’s pride and joy is quickly becoming a less of a very tall and expensive ‘fuck you’ in the faces of investors who don’t believe in self-sustaining energy, and more of a superhero rehabilitation center."

Boyfriends, compromises and learning to like oneself.

my thoughts: this is more focused on winterhawk than stevetony but what I LOVED about the stevetony background ship is how it looks at Steve as human, and the weight of juggling Bucky’s recovery and his ongoing relationship with Tony. Everyone of them--Steve, Tony, Bucky and Clint--are flawed and this fic doesn’t flinch away from that, but rather examines it in a real real and lovely way. The scene where Steve is sobbing in Tony’s lap is heartbreaking and beautiful.

The Scars of Your Love by blue_jack

On the day Peggy moved out, Steve stood naked in front of the mirror and looked at all the ragged lines running over his body. He felt like someone had taken a knife to him, slicing every inch open, and he didn’t understand how there wasn’t any blood. He traced one particularly thick scar on his stomach, gritting his teeth against the pain, the memory of the first time he’d brought Peggy over to meet his family and all the teasing that had accompanied it burning through his mind. He couldn’t imagine her marks ever disappearing, and in that moment, he didn’t want them to, didn’t want to ever expose himself to that much hurt again. Once in a lifetime was enough.

my thoughts: oh this was so lovely. The idea of heartbreak causing physical scars was gorgeously executed.

Hot Stuff by sayah1112

Steve is an art major who can’t stop drawing his muse. The problem is his muse…is a stranger he met randomly on the street.

my thoughts: this Tony was so adorable and Steve was so besotted--perfection.

Draw Me by sayah1112

“Draw me like one of your French girls, Cap.”

Tony, Steve thought with cheeks burning a brilliant shade of red that was bright and deep enough to match the shimmering paint of Ironman’s armor, was a little shit.

Such a little shit.

Only Tony could turn a lost bet into a punishment for the winning party.

Steve had won, he thought furiously as his hand moved across the parchment paper, the blunt pads of his fingers dusted with charcoal. His fingers sketched out a form that he knew from memory. That devious curl of a smile pulling at the corners of his lips, the way a lock of hair fell across his brow despite his best efforts to keep it tamed. The sharp line of his jaw, strong and willful, the arch of his brow as it lifted in mocking censure. Steve knew every curve and divot of that face from memory. Making this bet a really unnecessary one.

Or that one where Steve edges us all. A quick and dirty one-shot

my thoughts: I’m a sucker for artist Steve. It was delightful.

The Storm by sayah1112

Steve and Tony haven't seen eye to eye in a long time. Once inseparable, the two can no longer stand the sight of each other. But when he gets a call from Natasha telling him that there is something seriously wrong with his ex-lover, Tony rushes out into the wilds of Maine to meet her.

Only...there's a blizzard. And when he finally reaches the cabin, it's not Natasha there waiting for him. But Steve himself.

Crafty Russian.

my thoughts: I super love the drop everything for my ex trope and this is EVERYTHING.

with your own two hands by Thahire

There’s nothing quite like sitting still and letting Tony shave him, careful, precise strokes against his jaw and throat. Nothing quite like carefully washing Tony’s lovely hair while he sits and chatters away about his newest invention.

Steve and Tony take a bath together after a hard day’s work.

my thoughts: 1872 is such a depressing verse for the most part, and this one was very soft and gentle and I loved it.

The One That Got Away by lomku

Steve Rogers wants to go on a coffee date. Maria Hill is out for the enemy’s blood. Tony Stark is arguing with himself about what to do with a certain super-soldier’s advances.

Oh, and the Skrulls are invading. Again.

my thoughts: oh this one. This was a better of a mindfuck and I really loved that because so few of them are. Read it.

Leaves Me Wanting More by lomku

“You’re compromised,” Romanoff tells him one day. Steve doesn’t look up from where he’s swirling the spoon in his coffee cup.

No shit, he thinks. He’s been compromised since he first met Iron Man, all these months ago. He’s been nothing but compromised.

my thoughts: Villain Tony!!! I love villain Tony and Steve being so damn soft for him.

copacetic by starvels (dinosaur)

The man Tony spots across the market square looks just like Sheriff Rogers. When Tony catches up to the man, he moves just like Sheriff Rogers, touches Tony just like Sheriff Rogers, gets spitting mad just like Sheriff Rogers.

The problem is, Sheriff Rogers was murdered 4 months ago.

my thoughts: the 1872 angst I mentioned? Here it is.

wolf like me by starvels (dinosaur)

It's been a busy few days for Steve Rogers: he's been thawed from the Arctic decades after being frozen, battled a villain or two, joined a superhero team called the Avengers, and now been invited to come live at their new base of operations.

There's just one little thing they forgot to mention, and Steve can smell it the second he gets inside the mansion: there's another werewolf who lives inside.

my thoughts: I really love the sense of desperation that starvels conveyed in this and in steve finding someone like himself. It was gorgeous.

Confessions by Neverever

Tony is perfectly okay with his crush on Steve. But then Peter tells him that Steve might be in love with Tony. That can't be right, Tony thinks and needs to find out the true answer.

my thoughts: the oblivious pining is everything. Perfect.

what a way to lose (all of you) by tinystark616

On the night that the Superhuman Registration Act becomes law, Steve shows up in Tony's penthouse.

my thoughts: love this angsty beautiful sad thing.

The Billionaire Hooker's Deceived Artist by tsukinofaerii

During Tony's senior year at MIT, his partying habit finally hit the edge of his parents' patience. When Howard and Maria cut him off from his usual sources of money, he decides to turn to less conventional ones.

my thoughts: This is a reread, but a favorite. Love the identity porn and just how soft both of them are.

#stevetony weekly #steve rogers #tony stark #stevetony #stony #iron man #captain america #stevetony fic #stony fic #fic rec

30 notes · View notes

yourantag · 2 months

Text

The Red Means I Love You (Edgar×Reader)

AN: This was supposed to be finished and posted on Valentine's Day. However, as you can see from the word count, that was a fool's errand. I wanted to delve more into yanderes since I find them fascinating in writing, and now, here we are. Staining White Day red, I present to you the most generic title for an Edgar fic you will ever see. (Btw, I apologize to Edgar fans- I might've massacred your boy but I swear I tried my best.) Word count: 4.9k words TW: Blood, violence, murder, yandere themes, and blackmailing. Summary: Accepting the invitation of a dubious letter sounds just about as bad as it actually was. Oletus manor is not a name spoken without notoriety, after all. Was that where it all began? Was this your first mistake? No, it was further down the line, wasn't it? Yes, perhaps it was when you became the muse of an artist with no inspiration.

Reality has disappointed you time and time again. The expectations of a life of peace was crushed easily under the hands of society. So, you fled. You fled inside your head, transporting yourself into worlds of fiction. Romance, mystery, fantasy, and the likes kept you alive. It was the only thing you could really call safe.

Among many genres, you favored one above the others.

Horror.

There’s a certain comfort that comes from these fictional tales. You know they aren’t real, that the killer can’t find you, that these psychopaths don’t exist. Are there people similar to them? Sure, but they aren’t in your life. Thus, they merely stay as silly little people within a book.

But, it’s not quite enough. The thrill of words upon a page cannot compete with the real deal. While you weren’t stupid enough to seek out murderers or the like, you were still dumb enough for Baron DeRoss, apparently.

The envelope is white as a dove, a blood red stamp sealing it shut. It whispers promises and praise, false hope and rewards. It’s an enticing offer, truly. Would you let it guide you astray?

Well, you were never one to turn away from the call of the abyss.

“I really don’t get it. I know it’s game changing, but it’s not helpful for anyone else but me! Why do they want me to team up with them?” You huffed, resting your face on your palms. Edgar merely rolled his eyes, flicking his wrist. Focused on the canvas in front of him, he let the brush streak red through white.

“You said it yourself, your abilities are game changing. We don’t even know the full extent of your abilities– who knows? Maybe you could completely uproot the current meta. Besides,” He smirked, peering at you from the corner of his eye. “The hunters are terrified of you.”

You paused, letting your arms fall flat against the table.

“Scared? Of me? I’m just another survivor– what do they have to be afraid of?”

Edgar hummed, tapping the handle end of his paint brush against his lips. “I don’t know about you, but I don’t quite fancy being stabbed.”

Okay, yeah, that was fair.

Most survivors didn’t possess the ability to fight the hunter, not really, yet here you were. When Jack had first chased you, he had the reckoning of his life. You wince at the phantom feeling of stabbing steel into flesh and bone. That was, admittedly, not what you had expected to be your special skill.

You pouted, cheek against the cool wood of Edgar’s table as you glanced around. His room was an odd combination of an art exhibition hall and an actual bedroom. It was big and extravagant, but you wouldn’t expect any less from him.

Well, kind of.

Edgar confused you. Intriguing, even among the sea of other unique characters within the manor. You suppose that’s why he’s your favorite comrade and closest friend, if you could call him that. He’s never kicked you out of his room or flat out yelled at you, so safe to say he didn’t hate you, at least.

He’s neutral on all matters within the manor, composed regardless of what he faced. All he cared about was his art, nothing more and nothing less. Perhaps that was how he was unaffected by everything.

You suppose that’s natural for an artist. You can’t claim to understand it perfectly, but in a way, you truly understood.

“It’s like… you’re a moth drawn to a flame, right? Art is something you’re willing to give your life to, dedicate your whole body and soul to. Even if you have to sacrifice your time, energy, or health, for the perfect outcome, you’d do it.” You had said it off handedly, not thinking much of it then. In some respects, wasn’t his passion for art just like your obsession with thrill?

But then he had grabbed your hands, looking into your eyes with such fervor. His gaze burned, a certain desperation flickering within it. What was he seeking so fiercely? What was making Edgar, apathetic, snide Edgar, act like he had found an oasis in the desert?

“You get it?” He whispered, almost pleading.

“Maybe,” You responded.

That had been enough for him.

Since then, you and Edgar had become an odd pair. Not quite friends, but too close to be acquaintances. You gravitated towards him, as he did to you. More often than not, you’d ask him if he’d like to team up for matches. More often than not, he’d say yes.

You suppose that’s another reason why other survivors regard you with care.

Edgar isn’t the most difficult person to work with, but definitely not the easiest. He’s all too much and too little: haughty and snide, distant and cold. He’s a reliable teammate, not a likable one.

Still, the playful sparkle in his eyes as he led the hunter straight to you made you beg to differ. You’d curse him out as you ran, glaring at him after the match was over, before begrudgingly thanking him for supporting you with a painting or two.

However odd it was, you wouldn’t trade your friendship for the world.

There’s a letter in your mailbox.

That isn’t especially weird, considering that’s what a mailbox is for. Letters, mail, packages, whatever. Still, you can’t help but pause as you stare at it. A white envelope with a lovely red seal, the stamp itself in the shape of a camellia. The embossed flower is outlined in gold, shimmering softly in the low light of your room.

Gently, you pry open the seal, careful not to damage it or the envelope. Once you’ve successfully extracted the letter without destroying everything, you stare at it with uncertainty.

It seemed like this was a love letter from the presentation alone, yet you couldn’t help but feel a bit unsettled. You couldn’t understand why, however. It was beautiful, but simple. It wasn’t overwhelming, nor alarming. So why, from the depths of your heart, was your subconscious screaming at you to run? As though you were about to open Pandora’s box?

You unfold the letter and read.

Edgar gives you the nastiest side eye you’ve ever seen. Perhaps you deserve it after the stunt you pulled. Then again, what else were you supposed to do? He was going to be sent back to the manor if you hadn’t let yourself go down.

In the end, thanks to your sacrifice, the potential tie had turned into a win. Sure, you were the one sent back to the manor instead, but a win was a win! Though, Edgar seemed to disagree.

“You’re an idiot.”

You would be offended if it weren’t for the fact that he was wrapping your wounds. The tender touches were barely there, like the flutter of a butterfly's wings. He was being careful, making sure you didn’t feel even an ounce of unnecessary pain. The concentration he was putting into taking care of you was something you had only seen when Edgar was painting.

The subtle quirk of his lips, eyes barely narrowed, and relaxed shoulders expressed more to you than any words ever could. The guilt that pooled into his chest, made evident by the quiet sighs he’d let out, seemed to manifest itself as kindness and gentle care.

It made you really want to tease him.

“Ow!” You hiss, flinching slightly away from the man. Edgar freezes, staring at you with concern.

“Shit– sorry, I didn’t mean to.” The sincere remorse in his voice immediately makes you regret your decision.

“Wait, wait, wait, no, I– gah, sorry. I was just messing with you.”

The painter’s formerly soft expression faded into a scowl, a glare sent your way even as he finished wrapping you up. Edgar immediately stands up, leaving you scrambling to do the same as he leaves the infirmary.

“Ahhhh, wait, I’m sorry! Wait, Edgar, I’m sorry, I swear I won’t do that again! C’mon, don’t leave me like this! I–” You trip on something, stumbling as you lose balance. You fully expect to kiss the ground, what with one of your arms in a cast, when lithe arms catch you.

You glance up at Edgar with a sheepish smile, gazing upon the apathetic look upon his face. Apathetic, to anyone else but you. You can see the little curl of his lips, the faint swirl of amusement in his eyes.

He helps you reorient yourself, hands on your shoulders. Once you’re safely standing, Edgar turns and continues down the hallway. His steps are slower than usual. It’s probably the closest you’ll get to an invitation.

You grin, chasing after him once more.

“So does this mean you forgive me?”

“No.”

“How do you manage to stay sane, painting the same thing over and over again?” You ask, half dangling off a couch. Edgar’s room is still as grand as ever, but you can see the changes. It seems more lived in, more homey. There’s a table that isn’t covered in paint, brushes, or other art supplies. There’s shelves with books instead of art supplies. Then, those cabinets have, wait for it, something other than art supplies.

It seems like a small shift to others, though that’s probably because they don’t visit Edgar half as often as you do. The first time you saw the couch, you thought you were hallucinating.

The Edgar Valden, using something other than a stool? Incredible, revolutionary, absolutely groundbreaking.

He did not appreciate your dramatics, or so he claimed, but you knew he was covering his mouth to hide his smile.

“I’m not painting the same thing, and I am, in fact, going insane.” Edgar responds, frown deepening as he mixes a few colors together. You hum, peeking at the canvas as much as you can from your position. From the sketch, you could tell it was a portrait. A rare occurrence, considering Edgar preferred landscapes.

“Why the sudden interest in portraits?” You ask, sitting more comfortably on the couch. Glancing at the shelves, you skim through the books. Edgar wouldn’t mind if you read one of them, right?

The man pauses, his expression almost bashful. It’s so bizarre you can’t help but raise a brow. Edgar has never been afraid to draw attention to himself. He’s no pushover, willing to fight for what he wants while still remaining relatively neutral. To see him like that, a dust of what can only be blush upon his cheeks, twists something in your heart.

Before you can untangle what exactly you were feeling, the painter coughs.

“Well, I tried talking with Victor about expressing oneself. He suggested letters, or other mediums I’m comfortable with. So…” Edgar stares at his canvas, his smile more so a grimace. “I’m trying out his suggestion, I suppose.”

You tilt your head, humming to yourself as you nod. Sliding off the couch, you grab one of the books on Edgar’s shelf. “Well, then I wish you the best of luck.”

His eyes linger on you, closing softly as his expression relaxes. When he opens them again, he starts creating new hues with more focus.

“I’ve been getting letters recently.” You mention, flipping another page in your book. Edgar paused, turning to look at you.

“And?”

You closed your eyes, contemplating. This really wasn’t something you had to tell him. But, well, nothing too interesting has been happening lately. The matches have finally grown duller, the thrill fading as you stayed longer. You were running out of things to ramble about, so why not?

“They’re love letters. Nicely decorated, with neat handwriting. If I had to guess, someone born into privilege.” You think Edgar flinches at that.

“It’s really sweet, honestly. A shame they’re anonymous.” You skim over the words on the page, brows knitting themselves tight. The main character was oblivious to the danger so close to them. How frustrating.

“A shame, really.” Edgar echoes back, delicately brushing shadows along the red camellias. His painting seemed nearly finished, if you only stared at the beautiful flowers. The rest of the canvas was rather barren, a figure still not yet painted whole.

“C’mon, theorize with me! Who could it be? I put my bets on Jack.” You sighed dramatically, head thrown back with your hand on your forehead.

You received no response, however.

“Hear me out! He called me darling, dear, and tried to kill me. Obviously, he fell for my sick kiting skills and great looks. I rest my case.” Still, nothing.

You were getting really worried with how unresponsive Edgar was being. Usually, when you started overexaggerating like that, he’d make a snarky remark. Something like “please, you get terror shocked at 5 ciphers” or “you make amphibians look appealing.”

The silence was really getting to you.

“I mean, he’s got confidence in spades so it probably isn’t him. Still, I kinda hope it is, he’s rather attrac–” SNAP!

Your head snaps up from your book, turning to Edgar so quickly you nearly give yourself whiplash. There, in his hands, are the remains of a broken paint brush. Blood oozes from his tightly clenched hands, slowly trickling down his palm and under the cuff of his shirt. That was reason for concern as is, but the most startling thing of all was his eyes.

Blue, like the sky. Blue, like the sea. Blue, like the wings of a morpho butterfly.

Blue, like the swirling vortex of the night sky.

You rush over, grabbing the first aid kit you know he keeps for you, before standing next to him. You’ve never seen him like this, eyes so dark and blank. It’s honestly scaring you a little, but that means nothing when he’s hurt.

So, you kneel, pulling out tweezers, disinfectants, and bandages. Gently prying his hand open, you discard the larger pieces of the brush. With the tweezers, you pick out splinters of wood embedded in his skin. You whisper apologies as you do, knowing this definitely hurts, but he doesn’t so much as flinch.

By the time you finally disinfect his hand and wrap it, Edgar seems a lot more like himself than before. He gazes at you with quiet consideration, blinking slowly. Languid, calm, almost cat-like.

“Are you okay?” You ask, holding his hand. In all the time you’ve known him, you’ve never seen him react like that. The kinder side of you hopes it’ll never happen again, if only so he won’t needlessly hurt himself like that. The morbid side of you wants to see him like that again, what you can distinguish as cold, searing rage threatening to consume him whole.

Edgar leans his head forward and onto your shoulder. The scent of citrus, chamomile, and something chemical tickles your nose, brushing against you as the painter sighs. He seems… tired.

“Let me rest my head, just for a bit.”

You don’t have the heart to say no.

The next few letters you get are… odd. Passionate as always, but far more obsessive. The first few had been sweeter, more tender. This was escalating in a weird direction, and as much as you loved yourself a good horror story, romance and horror never mix well. They were starting to threaten you, saying they’d hurt the people around you, and that was where you drew the line.

So, you start ignoring them. It sounds foolish, especially for a connoisseur of all things freaky, but life is more mundane than fiction. If this person doesn’t have the guts to confess to you, does it make sense that they’d have the guts to actually go through with their threats? Logically, no.

Besides, even if they did, the people of the manor are strong. They can hold their own. Even if they can't, that person will get outcasted for hurting a survivor, regardless of if they’re a hunter. “No violence outside of matches,” that was the first rule both factions set.

So, it was safe to assume you had nothing to worry about. You have more important things to deal with, anyway, especially with a new survivor arriving. His name was Orpheus, a novelist. You were thrilled, especially since he was the author of some of your favorite series.

You were busy with preparations, practically skipping with joy. The other survivors poked fun at you, both for your enthusiasm and the lack of a certain painter at your side.

Edgar was concentrating on his art, as per usual, and you didn’t want to bother him. He seemed a little lonely, though, so you tried to convince a few people to talk to him. They all just looked at you as if you grew another head.

“Are we… looking at the same person?” Mike asks, smile strained. You frown, turning away from the banners you were fixing.

“Yes! Edgar Valden, our resident painter, our sassy rich boy, our lovely old friend. I say he is lonely, and I think you should talk to him. I mean, you’re easy-going, fun, and silly. Who wouldn’t like you?” Even if half of it was an act. Still, Mike was one of the people Edgar tolerated better than most. Perhaps it’s because he’s another form of an artist?

“Why can’t you just, I don’t know, talk to him yourself? You guys get along just fine.” Mike looks away, fiddling with his hands. You narrow your eyes at the sight.

Mike Morton, local funny man, someone with dedication and deceit running through his veins, nervous? It’s not faked, the sweat rolling down his neck and the faster breathing all indicating he was genuinely nervous. Maybe even scared.

“Edgar, I really do love him, but he needs more friends. I think the only people who talk to him on a regular basis are Luca and I. Adding a few more people to that list would be nice, so…” You bring your hands in front of you, clasped tight as if you’re about to pray. “Could you please talk to him?”

Mike deflates, sighing as he nods. You smile brightly in response, promising to make it up to him.

“Hey bestie! You excited for the new survivor?” Demi croons, grinning as she tosses an arm around your shoulder. You laugh in response, leaning into her.

“That’s about the dumbest thing you could ask me. Of course I am! He’s written so many good books. God, I don’t know how I’m supposed to act around him. He’s made some stories that have basically shaped who I am now!” You sigh, smiling so widely your face hurts.

“Well, don’t forget your boyfriend in all the excitement! I can see he’s basically seething with envy.”

You pause, turning to look at Demi.

“Who?”

Now, it’s Demi’s turn to look confused.

“Uh, you know, Edgar? Are– are you guys not together?” She asks, genuinely shocked. You feel your face heat up, your hands itching to cover your blush.

“Wh– no! We are not! Why would anyone ever think that?”

Demi gives you a deadpan expression in response.

“You two are basically glued to each other’s side, go into every match together, hang out almost every day– Hell, you’re the only one Edgar has allowed in his room without it being necessary!”

Well, that’s news to you.

You furrow your brows, blinking in shock. Sure, you two hung out a lot, but it wasn’t like you guys were friends exclusively with each other. You had Demi, Mike, Melly, and even Violetta while Edgar had Luca, Victor, Andrew, and Galatea. It wasn’t like you… hung out… every… day…

“Oh fuck, we really do look like a couple.” You mutter, having half a mind to smack Demi as she laughs. She’s completely unapologetic about it, struggling to breathe as slowly calms down and giggles.

“So, you two aren’t dating?” She asks, wiggling her eyebrows. You huff, fighting back a smile.

“Nope, not at all.”

“Then in that case, I’m allowed to flirt with you as much as I want!” Demi cheers. She spins you around, causing a laugh to bubble up from your throat. The two of your twirl around in a silly dance, the faint sound of Frederick playing the piano the only background music.

At the end, she dips you down, smile upon her lips. She leans close to your ear as your smile is wiped away.

“Be wary of him.”

With Edgar, it’s like you’re taking three steps forward, then five steps back. Just when you think you’ve got him all figured out, he throws a curveball at you.

That desperation he had in his eyes the day you became his friend, flickering like a brilliant flame, you understand it now. However much he claimed he didn’t need people to understand him, how he didn’t need to understand others, it didn’t mean much. He still craved it, to be understood. To not have to be questioned, to not be approached with dishonesty, with intentions that lied beyond just him being him.

You suppose that’s exactly why you got along. You wanted to understand him, and he wanted to be understood. A match made in Heaven, you suppose.

It’s why it miffed you a bit that you really can’t understand Edgar at the moment.

He hates drawing portraits, yet he draws a figure, the same exact one, in every one of his new pieces. They look familiar, a lot like you, but you’re pretty confident Edgar would rather die than paint you. You’d tease him to Hell and back, all while he complains and swears up and down he’s never being nice to you again.

The landscapes, adorned in reds of all shades, always have that figure in each one without fail. Is he in love with someone? That would explain why he’s so weird lately.

Edgar’s odd behavior was already messing with you, but on top of that, the letters were getting worse. Instead of being slid into your mailbox, they were flat out in your room now.

Normal people would think someone just slipped it under the door. Reasonable assumption. However, unless that person has not only a very thin arm, but a long one, you don’t know how they’d manage to get it all the way to your desk.

You stare at the white envelope, stamped shut with a red seal in the shape of a camellia. The outline of the flower is in gold, though the beauty of the letter and the seal means nothing. Not when it got into your room. Not when it clearly has a splotch of dark red glaring at you.

Your hands are shaky as you open the envelope, a familiar curl of thrill fighting with your new found protective instincts. The letter is white as a dove, the red tainting it made all the more stark.

With adrenaline coursing through your veins, you read.

‘I didn’t imagine love would be like this. Wonderfully warm, like the rays of the sun in winter, and unbearably painful, like a knife in my heart. Do you just like hurting me? No, I know that isn’t true. After all, you always look at me with concern when I’m injured. Still, it’s hard to believe you’re this dense.

These past few weeks have been driving me mad. Your attention has been solely on the arrival of the new survivor. You’ve been ignoring me so much I can barely stand it. Can’t you spare even a moment for me? Is that novelist really that important? Seeing you look at him with stars in your eyes… it makes me want to rip his head off his shoulders. He doesn’t deserve your attention, nor your admiration, not like I do. I’ve known you longer, loved you for longer. He doesn’t deserve anything from you, yet he gets everything I could ever want and more.

Did you know? When you’re excited, your smile turns bigger, more genuine, till dimples show. Your eyes crinkle just a little, your hands moving to curl in front of your chest. You stand taller, you shine brighter.

It’s such a beautiful sight, I hate that I have to share it. Sometimes, I wish I could just put you in a cage and never let you go. Then, you wouldn’t look at anyone else but me. You wouldn’t think about anyone else but me. But, that’s not how you should live. You deserve to be free and happy. So, I’ve decided to get rid of anyone that doesn’t deserve to be around you.

I think I’ll start with that novelist.’

Your blood runs cold.

Fuck.

FUCK.

Just who is this? Who are they and just why are they so obsessed with you? Get rid of those who don’t deserve you? Who gave them the right to decide that!?

You take a deep breath, desperately trying to calm your nerves. Your heart is racing, and for the first time, the thrill in your heart turns into true fear.

You’ve never minded being the one hunted. In fact, you practically adore it, the addicting rush of adrenaline pumping through you. It’s why you came to the manor. But your friends? They’re not the same, and you wouldn’t want them to be. You want them safe and happy, not hunted down by some freak who thinks they “aren’t worthy of you” for whatever sick reason.

“Fuck, fuck… Orpheus, I need to find– no, it’s probably too late for him, there’s blood on the letter. Okay, okay, stay calm, stay fucking calm. Who would be the next victim? Mike? Melly? No, it’s probably Ed–” You pause.

Almost comically, everything clicks in place.

Camellias.

Red.

Ignoring them.

Edgar.

You bolt out of your room.

Normally, you’d knock. You know Edgar hates it when people barge into his room. However, considering the circumstances, you think that’s the least of your concerns.

You can’t help but pray in your mind. To whom? You don’t know. You don’t think anyone can truly help in this situation. It couldn’t be anyone else but Edgar, but still, you prayed. You hoped against all hope that your conclusion was wrong.

Edgar would scold you for barging in, sigh, before smiling and asking if you were really that desperate to see him. Everything would be fine. It would all be just a cruel joke.

But just as life is more mundane than fantasy, reality is far cruller than fiction.

The large windows to Edgar’s room let in the light of the falling sun, casting the room in many shades of gold and orange. In the middle of the room, in all his glory, is Edgar. His back is to you, paint brush in hand. You’re hit first by relief, then with the heavy scent of iron.

You shake, hands covering your mouth as you finally process what's around Edgar. Orpheus, drained of blood, head sat on a chair, body left haphazardly on the ground. Jack, ghastly white and face twisted, his horror eternally memorialized in death. Demi, eyes closed and serene, seemingly asleep if not for the purple veins that roam along her arms.

You fall to your knees, the shock hitting you so strong you can’t stand up any longer. He was your secret admirer. The one who kept sending letters. The one who went into your room just to place them on your desk. The one who threatened to kill your friends. The one who did kill your friends.

Edgar, finally, turns around. His cheek has splotches of blood on it, his hands no better. It’s startling just how much of it is on him, but worse yet, you know not all of it is on him. There’s a lot of blood in a human body, much more in two, so where was it?

When he smiles, it’s just as sweet as it was yesterday. And the day before. And the day before that. Was this really your friend, or a demon in disguise?

His smile, ever so sweet, only serves to unsettles you, looking more like a nightmare.

“Ah, you’re here! Come, I need to show you my newest masterpiece.” Edgar steps closer to you, dragging you by the hand to a canvas you hadn’t noticed before. He was standing in front of it, so it was only natural.

You numbly follow, heart in your throat. You’re grateful, distantly, that the “masterpiece” is not the corpses of your friends. You think you’re going to throw up, eyes trying to look at anything but them.

So, you gladly look at his so-called masterpiece.

You really wish you didn’t.

There, on the canvas, is a portrait. This time, it’s so painfully obvious it’s you that you can’t even deny it. Surrounded by red camellias, hands curled in front of their chest, with a smile so genuine, dimples showed. Eyes crinkled, back straight, and God, did it have to be so accurate?

The red of the camellias are familiar, as is the red of your blush, the colors of your clothes, your hair.

It’s all been painted using your friend’s blood.

Edgar comes behind you, his arms circling your waist. A content sigh leaves him, his chin resting on your shoulder. His hold is gentle, but firm, possessive in a way you never thought him capable of. His lips brush against your neck, a kiss much like a collar pressed into your skin. You can feel them curl into a smile.

“What do you think, my muse? The red means I love you.”

#idv #identity v #identity 5 #idv edgar #idv painter #edgar valden x reader #idv fanfic #identity v fanfic

40 notes · View notes

cherubgore · 3 months

Text

anatomy practice.

2,764 words, slight reluctance - but adding dub-con, just to be safe. mary just wants to make rent, live fast and have a good time, too bad for her that her uppity, rich boyfriend can't seem to do any of that for her. not that she'll ever admit that to another living soul, she only took otis, the local art freak up on his offer to meet rent this month; no other reason. sporadic smut, pnv, fingering. uncharacteristically soft otis. crossposted on a03

Feeling ridiculous was an understatement. The dark nylon of her too tight outfit digging into her inner thighs, leaving deep, angry red marks behind each time she adjusted herself; Mary couldn’t believe she agreed to this. All in the name of art, she told herself.

A good, quick way to make some cold, hard cash, too. Everyone would’ve freaked if she told them what she was doing, parents included. Mother thought her photography was something sinful, as if she was taking photos for Play Boy, ironic. Still, her ‘friends’ saw her passions as some little quirk, teasing her with their ‘real’ degrees and ‘actual’ classes. Bill never really understood her passions. None of her friends appreciated her art, not like Otis did. Despite their arguments in class over theories and meanings, fighting for the development room, over the right shade of paint. Otis was still the best person to talk art with.

He’d talk to her about the colors and the setting. About how this angle gave off this impression, maybe this lens would be a better shot. It was nice to hold conversations about photography that went beyond just take the damn photo, Mary. It was a shame everyone thought he was such a freak. He really wasn’t that bad, a little off-putting and strange. Otis shared such a fiery passion for art, Mary couldn’t help but be drawn to him. His art was surreal, grotesque; he painted bodies bending like contortionists, dosing them in bright splashes of gore.

It looked so convincing, almost like he used actual blood and guts in his work. The images held so much pain. Mary’s always wanted to ask him why, what made him want to create such chaos on canvas. But she didn’t feel close enough to ask him anything personal like that. After this, though, they should feel super fucking close. His apartment was drafty, it left her with goosebumps littering every inch of her skin, and humiliatingly her nipples to poke out against her nylon prison. Something she was sure Otis would incorporate into his painting, whether she liked it or not. Ass.

“Are you almost done? My arms are getting tired.” If the bunny costume wasn’t bad enough, he posed her before he started, one hand sassily on her hip, the other pointing up toward the ceiling; classic image of a real Play Boy Bunny. Her mother would have a heart attack if she saw her, but that made it all the more fun. It excited her, too. Not that she would ever admit it, but being so exposed like this, being painting, maybe even the fact that Otis was doing it; it sent shivers of vehement through her.

“A painting ain’t as quick as a photo.” Otis said from behind his easel, his long white blond hair pulled up away from his face in a low bun, “This shit takes actual time.” Mary could feel the smirk in his words. He loved trying to get under her skin, and usually he managed exactly that. If they weren't at each other’s throats, then something was really wrong. As passionate as he was, Otis still felt like his art was superior, that it took more work, a better eye; like he was God's fucking gift to this art school. “You’ll get that money, don’t you worry, mama.”

His pet name bloomed heat in from her core. Doing her best to ignore it, she adjusted her ears back to their perfectly perched spot, the spot that Otis told her was ‘perfect’ and not to move them. Mary turned her attention back to him. “You’re damn right I will,” she huffed, pulling at her suit again. “This is the most degrading thing I’ve ever done. You're just lucky I needed to make rent, Driftwood.” Anatomy practice is what he convinced her to help him with. Something about the teachers saying his stuff was too “off-putting,” not that they were wrong, but they shouldn’t stifle someone’s style. Otis worked mainly in surrealism. Plenty of people weren’t ready for that type of art; Mary thought it was interesting, dark, different. Just like Otis himself was, not that it made him less of an asshole.

“You don’t need to make it look like me, you know. I told you I don’t want anyone else to see me like this.”

“Nah. This is for me only, scout's honor.” He finally peered around the canvas at her, showing off his yellow-toothed, ruggedly handsome grin. The innuendo he left her with shouldn’t have been so damn enticing, just for him? Mary tried to picture where he’d hang the fully finished photo at. Above his bed? In the kitchen? Would her image be a staple in his decor for years to come? God, she hated how much she hoped so. Somehow, Mary couldn’t picture him in a boy scout's uniform, performing the three-finger salute; maybe he did and excelled in survival and arts and crafts. The image made her stifle a giggle, much to Otis’s immediate suspension. He got up swiftly from his stool and strolled over to her. He circled her like a hawk looking for the best, maggot filled, the juiciest morsel of meat; from behind his paint coated hands shot out and grabbed her by her hips. “Something funny, Bunny?”

Yelping, Mary whirled her arm around to slap him, but Otis caught her wrist in his free hand. “Don’t call me that. What are you doing?” She almost welcomed the feeling of his warm and wet hand on her chilly skin.

“I want to try a different pose.” Otis told her, his breath was hot against the shell of her ear, and Mary squirmed in his grip, desperately fighting the urge to push back into him. Otis flexed his hand, gently squeezing at her hip, asking, almost begging. “I’ll pay extra for it. I know you got that boyfriend of yours waitin’.” He muttered, almost bitterly. No, there was no way he could be remotely jealous. They shared some tension in class, sure, they bickered, but there was nothing between them but classic academic rivalry.

“I don’t have any plans with Bill tonight. I do tomorrow. We’re going out for dinner.” Mary told him, dumbly, still reeling. She shuddered when Otis dropped her arm, but returned his hand to laze against her bare shoulder, fingers tapping lightly on her clavicle. His hands were rough, callused. Clearly he did harder work than Bill did at his accounting job. Mary wondered what it was he did, how long he’s been doing it; she wanted to crack open his fucking skull and see what he was really made up of. “I can do another pose for you, Otis.” She wanted too, even when he had her pinned up like this, it thrilled her. The heat building in her core was becoming almost unbearable, and she prayed to god that this outfit was thick enough to hide the wetness that was blooming between her legs.

“Yeah? He taking you out on the town?” Otis asked, bitterness dripping from his tongue like venomous drool. He slides his hand inward, fingers playing with the thin nylon there, itching to slide them inside. It disturbed her how much Mary wanted him to. She’d be a liar if she said this wasn’t something she’s thought about before. Bill was safe, goofy, sweet — but he wasn’t interesting, or dangerous like Otis was; he didn’t light a fire like this inside her, that’s for sure.

“Taking you out to some overpriced bar, I know where you’d rather be.”

“Yeah?” Mary choked out, fighting against all the points from her primal brain to grind herself back on him, end his teasing, and take full control of the situation. “Where is that?”

“Nice dive bar,” Otis muttered, lips ghosting against the back of her neck, tongue daring to poke out and drag itself down the nap, and Mary purred. “Maybe. Some artsy places, places I can’t afford — but I’d work hard to get you into.” His fingers teased the nylon, snapping it back, making her jump. “Here, with me.”

“Otis, please.” We shouldn’t be doing this. Bill was waiting for her, he was so excited to always talk about his day with her. But Mary hated his friends, she hated his boring line of work, she hated everything about him, except for him. “We shouldn’t…” Yet, her hips jerked back against him, and she moaned when she felt him so hard against her. Mary didn’t want Bill. He never made her feel like this, so seen, understood; so angry with wet, hot, need. She would rather be with Otis then some uppity bar, some place that her parents would approve of, Mary was so bored with playing the dutiful daughter, the good girl; no matter how many times she tried to hint that to Bill, he never listened and never would. Otis knew, though. He knew what she wanted, what she needed.

Otis slid his hand through her costume, cupping her sex with his hand, softly chuckling at the warm wetness he found dripping from her. “Gonna ruin the costume, mama. It’s like a goddamn pond down here. That little boyfriend make you boil over like this?” He teased her, rubbing his thumb against her folds, vexing her with only small, gentle pokes to her entrance; enjoying her soft, begging mews far too much to give her anything more. Mary squirmed in his grip, bunny ears sliding from their place on her head, forgotten on the floor to be mangled by their shifting, sliding feet.

“Fuck,” Mary gasped, rocking her hips in tune with his fingers. “Otis, please, please. I need you.” It felt like her legs would give. They were shaking so badly, her hips trying so hard to rut back against him, begging for a release.

“I ain’t going anywhere, bunny. Don’t you worry,” Otis mumbled, lazily leaving kisses against her neck, fingers still dancing around their goal, inching towards it with the precision of a goddamn snail. Mary knew Otis liked it better this way. He liked seeing her, a wobbling, dripping mess in his hands. Finally, he slid one finger inside her, and her brain short-circuited, photopsia flashed in her eyes, knees buckling. Mary allowed Otis to lower them to the ground, his fingers working their way through her orgasm, scissoring her open, drenching his hand in her oozing liquid; purposely targeting her clit with his thumb; overstimulating her past the point of logically thinking.

“Fuck, I think I just came,” Mary panted, her body sore and spent dangled in his arms, legs shaking, clenching around his fingers — willing them to stay exactly where they were.

“Sure felt like it,” Otis muttered in her ear, “Got yourself all over my fingers. You’ve been getting all hot’n bothered this entire time, huh?” He fingered her through her orgasm, and still demanded a second one. He still worked his way into her, rubbing at her red, swollen clit.

“So what if I was?” Mary gasped, trying her best to move her spent hips. “I felt what you’ve been up to, don’t forget.”

“You always got a smart mouth, you fucking know that?” Otis greedily removed his fingers from her core, unceremoniously wiping them against her costume. “It wasn’t talking the big buck a few minutes ago, doe.”

“I paid for this costume, ass. Unless you want to throw in the extra money to get it cleaned.” Mary’s head was still spinning, her entire body reeling from what had just happened. She was still clenching around nothing, her greedy body needing everything but time to recover. Otis still held her from behind, hands on her sides, moving up to cup her breasts in his hands, sucking on her teeth. Mary arched back into him. “Shit, ever heard of a break?”

“Ever thought about shutting up?” Otis bit back, stretching out his long legs around them, “Gonna ruin the damn moment.” He bucked his hips into the small of her back, rubbing himself against her, taunting her with it. Otis was good at that, teasing, edging. He wanted to make her a mess in his hands; moldable putty for him to play with until he got bored.

“Feels like someone’s eager,” Mary hissed when Otis pinched a nipple through her costume, rolling it between his fingers. “I told you not to ruin my costume, shit stain.” She felt his chest rumble in a laugh, rolling against her back. If she wasn’t so damn needy, she might’ve laughed, too.

“Lean forward, baby.” Otis hissed, urging her forward with his hand between her shoulder blades. “I am eager. Can’t wait to fuck you stupid.”

Mary did as she was bid, gasping when she pressed her cheek to the cold tile on the floor, arching her back, presenting herself to him. This is so wrong. What am I doing? She groaned listening to him fumble with his belt, cursing at his own mistakes. Anticipation broke her out in cold sweats; she needed this so bad, needed him. Heat bubbled up in her stomach again, she felt herself dripping through her costume. “Otis, I need it. Come on.”

“Someone’s eager,” Otis mocked, guiding himself to rest on the swell of her ass. “You look real good like this, you know that? Maybe I want to savior this moment. Might paint it later.” He rubbed himself against her pink, wet folds, moaning at the feeling. “You get this wet just for me? Look at you, slobbering all my cock like a twenty-five cent cherry whore.”

Mary’s hips twitched, desperate, “Fuck, come on, I can't take it anymore!” She’d be a whore, she’d be anything if he’d just slide his dick inside her. “I feel like I’m going to go insane, please, please.” He hasn’t even put it inside her yet, and she’s already gone completely stupid.

“Since you asked so nicely,” Otis purred, thrusting himself inside in one swift motion, “Shit, you feel so fucking good.” He pulled back out, watching Mary’s pretty little cunt drool all over his dick, squelching at every move he made. “That feel good? Huh, bunny? Is this what you wanted? What you needed?”

Mary couldn’t fight back the guttural moan that ripped from her. She bucked her hips back into him, staying in rhythm with Otis’s hips, slamming herself back against him, “Yes, yes, yes.” She moaned, “Fuck, this is what I wanted, Otis.” Bill was too slow, too soft, nothing like this, he could never itch the scratch in the same way, make her eyes roll back in her head, have her back arch so painfully; Mary’s body never fought to accommodate him. “I’m gonna cum,” she hissed. “Otis, I’m gonna cum again.”

“Go ahead then, cum for me again.” Otis snickered in her ear, pounding sloppily against her, his own body jittering and twitching with the promise of his own hot, ravenous release.

Skin against skin echoed around the room with only the soft moans, the sounds of their conjoined breathing. Gasping, curling her toes, fingers, pressing herself as far back as she could be against him, Mary came hard with his name on her lips. Exhaustion expelled over her body, she crumbled onto the floor in a messy, sweaty heap. Otis, following her example, pulling himself free and shooting hot streams along her costume, successfully ruining it.

“You ruined my costume,” Mary muttered, rolling over onto her side, facing him. “That’s gotta be an extra twenty bucks.”

“I ruined more than that, bunny. You still got those plans tomorrow?” Otis smirked, rolling onto his back, offering his out-stretched arm to her, knowing that if she took it, she’d be making a deal with the devil.

Mary scooted across the floor to him, wrapping herself up in his warm embrace. Laying her head on his chest, she sighed. Did she still have those plans tomorrow? Did she still want to go back to Bill after this? Could she go back to Bill? It would be a lot harder to fake how much she enjoyed having sex with him now. “I don’t know.” She told him, “I don’t want to, but I think I have to.”

Otis snorted. “You don’t have to do shit, but pay taxes and die, and even then the taxes are an option.” He tightened his grip around her waist, silently telling her she wouldn’t be leaving, at least not for tonight. Tonight she belonged to him, and Otis planned to make the most of it before she went back to that deadweight boyfriend of hers.

#otis b driftwood #otis driftwood smut #slashers #house of 1000 corpses #mary/otis #au settings #horror #slasher fucker #slasher community #minxie writes*#This was wish fulfillment #dont judge me #i was also going to start posting on my old blog; good thing i didnt and everything was lost :')

23 notes · View notes

rainroses45 · 1 year

Text

A Lover & Fighter

☾description: Neteyam realizes something important about your relationship (Neteyam x fem. reader)

☾a/n: i wrote this at night because i need a sad word dump…anywho i tried (not edited :))

☾song inspiration: try-pink (sped up) & teen suicide - haunt me (x3)

⋆｡°✩ ⋆⁺｡˚⋆˙‧₊✩₊‧˙⋆˚｡⁺⋆ ✩°｡⋆

Her hair was laced in beaded braids. Her necklaces hung from her neck like medals. The twinkle of hope and despair infused with one another in scent of glistening power. With each moment of silence the clan knew she was conspiring a better idea. Every war call, meant there was a forest filled with blood shed. The simple glance of her marmalade eyes, could defuse any fear inside a companion’s heart, but could cause any enemy a loss of color.

No one knew of her parents, nor how she came to be conceived. She was a wild horse in the pasture filled with snow ball sheep. Not a threat at first, but never mistake the power of a liberated spirt.

Neteyam was the fool in this game of hearts. He tried to soothe her into his arms with sweet praises of temptation. He tried to connivance her that they were meant to be. How he had known her his entire life. He read her in poems, pictured her in many songs, watched the flowers blossom and thought she might like them too. He was a fool, such a fool to fall for a girl without a future.

A sudden smack stung Neteyam’s cheek. His thoughts suddenly faded away with the wind, leaving his mind blank. A hand print darken his face as bubbling rage spread through him like a wildfire.

His cocky laugh irritated Neteyam with passion. Only an idiot would hit the son of Toruk Makto on the face, an idiot indeed. Auayew stood there proud and tall as he saw the masterpiece form on his opponent’s cheek. In no way was Neteyam considered a fighter, but at this very moment a new sense of thinking sported with in him. Maybe it was time to change that?

Before Neteyam could defend another blow, she came. Her soft hands pulled Auayew away from his body and soon they did ruins. Each punch caused another flood of tears to pursue down his bruised face. Drops of liquid metal began to pour out of his mouth. She didn’t care though - she never did.

He stood there and watched in awe. Even as her face stayed still like the sand, her eyes showed waves of fury crashing upon one another. Her hair flowed in the wind as the beads rattled in a warning.

Emerald stones embodied her skin with grace. Sparkling stars twinkled across her skin in series of aggravated kisses. Harsh strokes of red scattered across her body, blemishing and staining her like a tarnished painting. She was the definition art, she wasn’t the most beautiful women in the world, but she made you feel something real. And that - that is what truly mattered when loving her.

“I suggest you get out of here before I stop pulling my punches.” Her words caused him to shiver in awe. Her stance was so powerful, so surreal and inspiring. He watched as Auayew scurried away, holding his nose in pain. It brought a smile on Neteyam’s face to see him suffer a little.

“Are you okay?” His heart felt like it was about to erupt from his chest. The pain from his cheek was long forgotten, unlike thoughts of her.

“Oh yeah, it didn’t hurt me that much,” he tried shrugging off her intimidating gaze. It was enchanting to stare into her eyes from a far, but up close it made him feel nervous and insecure. Was he good enough for her?

“Are you sure?” She asked again with a softer gaze. A smile bloomed on her face as she heard him let out a nervous laugh.

“Yeah..I- I’m not much of a fighter.” He stumbled upon his words trying to find the right phase in describing his pervious actions. “I just don’t want to cause a scene.”

“I like that.” Her words had caused him to finally look up. She was even prettier in person. Her golden leaf diadem floated around her head like a halo of life. Strands of her hair wired around the air as they tried to escape with the leaves worryingly in the breeze.

“You do?” His wide eyes, maybe he didn’t need to change. Why would he need to change when she already liked him like that.

“Yeah, not everyone needs to be a fighter. We need more lovers to converse with.” True words fled her mouth, but he thought differently.

“I think fighters are lovers. They are just more passionate about their love.” His words clearly sparked something inside her because you could clearly see it radiate on her face.

Neteyam truly believed his heart couldn’t suppress the yearning to break free any longer, that was until she fell to the ground in laughter. Like an angel falling down from her throne of faith, she laid there open and free, allowing herself to enjoy the humor of it all. Her laugh was contagious causing him to go down laughing as well.

“Oh oh that’s absolutely brilliant, but unfortunately I’m not a lover..” She looked over at him in curiosity, his name was never given to her as a keepsake. He caught on this rather quickly and awkwardly.

“Neteyam, my name is Neteyam,” her eyes lit up in realization, and soon they filled with sadness. Quickly, she turned away to look back up at the trees. A soothing shade crept over their bodies and left them to enjoy the cool moss.

“My name’s Y/n.” He already new her sweet name backwards and forwards, but for that moment he pretended he didn’t.

“That’s a lovely name.” She didn’t respond back to his complement, instead she chose to bathe her self in the natural music of Pandora.

It wasn’t until the sun ripened that the she got up from her spot. She didn’t look back at him, but stayed staring at the new painted sky.

“Tomorrow, I am joining the warriors on a mission.” Neteyam’s heart sank with those words. Truly, she was not serious.

“What?” He felt like crying in despair. How? How could it be? Just when he got to enjoy the moonlight sinatra with her, she was going to leave to battle. Of course, this was not her first time battling in a war against the sky people, but this upcoming one was different. He had eavesdropped last night on the plans for tomorrow. It was going to be a gruesome fight, and the clan knew some would not make it.

“When I come back, maybe we could go enjoy the sunset and sunrise together.” There were no tears pricking from her eyes. She chose this title, and now she must live up to it. Unlike Neteyam, she had no parents to carefully guide her through right choices. Y/n was pushed into the world with no responsibility, so when the opportunity of fighting for her clan showed up. She took it.

He didn’t have time to respond, for she gathered her weapons and left. Neteyam didn’t sleep well that night, he was too busy wondering if she was dreaming about today.

The next day when the fellow participants gathered to leave, Neteyam stayed behind the crowd and watched. He saw her standing there. Her head held high and her posture tall. Not an ounce of fear reeked from her soul, yet a dreary cloud floated over her. He wanted to ask her why so blue? Hoping maybe it would make her laugh, but they already began to depart. He prayed Eywa would talk care of her.

When news of their return spread amongst the na’vi, he dropped his bow and arrow, quickly running towards the base to greet her. Frantic voices surrounded Neteyam’s ears as he watched swarms of medics wrap our them. It wasn’t until a set of marmalade eyes hit him that he figured out what happened.

And as the blood fell from her hands in exhausting amounts, Neteyam realized something. He realized there would never be a chance to capture her heart, for her heart would turn to stone from the amount of life lost. She would be buried the same year she shall prosper, not because of her ego, but it was in her nature. People like her weren’t meant to last long. They were too great to be tarnishing the lands with prosperity. Y/n would die young, and Neteyam would grow old carrying on the memory of his first romantic love. It was written it stars, it was being written right now.

#avatar #angst tag #neteyam #neteyam x you #pandora #major character death #na'vi avatar #neteyam sully #neteyam x y/n #neteyam x reader #jake sully #sully family

112 notes · View notes

apollos-boyfriend · 2 months

Note

psst you got any more creepypasta fic recs? 👀

i have quite a few!!

putting them all below the cut to save space, and i cannot stress enough that if you want to read most of these you Need to read all the tags. some of these are very light and sweet, others do not play about with the genre. i’ll be giving overall synopses + warnings (somewhat) but do read the tags for further details!!

in loco parentis by nymm_at_night is. well. you’ve all heard me praise it before. you say “more” so i assume you’ve already read it, but i legally can’t make a fic rec list without it. it centers around jeff, jack, and ben + tim/brian, and is where i’ve taken So much inspiration from. if any of you who like creepypasta have not read it yet please do. tim/brian (in a divorced way), all the chapters have their own disclaimers but the overall biggest overarching ones i can think of are semi-heavy descriptions of death and gore.

visual arts by killer_cat is a very good, short one shot! it centers around helen and jack and i absolutely love the author’s characterizations/interpretations of everyone. gen and mentions of blood/typically creepypasta-typical killings, but overall nothing too major

KISS ME WHEN YOU KILL ME by notaccessible is unfinished with only two chapters, but i really like where they’re going with things! they’ve retold both jeff and jack’s origins in pretty compelling ways. jeff/jack, but there’s no actual ship content as of yet. there are a few heavy scenes, largely dealing with abuse, murder, and suicide, largely in jeff’s chapter.

undone drawings by sleeplywritings (pancakebluess) is a very sweet, cute one-shot about sally and jeff. some of the formatting is wonky at times when it comes to the dialogue, but it’s not too bad, and overall understandable. plus the overall mansion dynamics are fun and silly (AND they’re normal about tim 🔥🔥). gen + no real warnings

water bearer (paint me red) by xfreesomebodyx is a one-shot centered around jeff and jack. it goes into extreme detail about jeff the killing people, so do tread carefully, but i REALLY enjoy their jeff characterization. i like it when authors latch onto his whole being beautiful bit. i’m ambivalent towards their jack at best, but GOD is jeff well-done in this. heads up so you don’t get confused like i did there IS a formatting error in it where a section seems to have been pasted twice (as of writing this). tagged as jeff/jack but there’s nothing explicitly romantic, largely just subtext/undertones.

a house full of serial killers VS the barbie movie starring margot robbie and ryan gosling by salty_sam is a one-shot chatfic but you guys know they’re my guilty pleasure so i can’t not add it. it’s largely just the author messing around with character dynamics and mansion relationships which is what i am here for always. tim and brian are off (brian especially) but everyone else is super fun and consistently entertaining. gen, no real warnings outside of mentioned drug use

handling rejection by sunsh1ne_sweethe4rt has wonky formatting BUT if you can get past it it’s just a cute one-shot, if not a little simplistic in terms of writing. it’s just about tim trying to help nina get over her crush on jeff. i’m a bit biased bc anything with tim written normally makes me instantly herald it like a miracle but i really just think it’s cute and funny :] gen (with the exception of nina’s crush on jeff) and no real warnings i can think of

déjà vu by nightstar1888 is a bit hit or miss for me due to their tim/masky characterization, but i REALLY enjoy the stuff they did with ben. it’s a one-shot about toby helping jeff dye his hair, nothing too special, but i like the parallels they drew between then two. it’s tagged as jeff/toby but nothing romantic really happens outside of a few lines of semi-flirting, no real warnings outside of mentions of toby + jeff’s backstories and all they entail

the collar incident by honeycirrus is. well i’m hesitant to fully recommend it. there are certain parts of it i really enjoy, especially with the dynamics between the mansion cast, but that’s pretty much it, and those are kind of few and far between. i’d recommend the first four chapters ish? they do some fun stuff with BEN that i might honestly steal for myself, but i spent way too long wondering if they actually meant BEN or didn’t get the 2020 lore update. ben/toby, one semi-intense self-mutilation scene.

#muse talk #anon #creepyposting #i have. only recently gotten back into things #which is why all of these are very recent works #usually in fandoms im very picky with formatting but here i am So So desperate and it shows orz

12 notes · View notes

hana-akari · 8 months

Text

@thetoaddaddy continued xXx

The Haruno kingdom was built on peace.

They were small but were on good terms with all the neighboring kingdoms. The kingdom was known for its beautifully grown, natural cherry blossom trees. The flowers often painted the roads and town in pink. People came from all over to view the trees. Some came to have their weddings or honeymoons there. The people there were always welcoming. Even the royal family was welcoming to visitors, and even allowed some weddings to take place upon the castle grounds.

But the real treasure of the kingdom was not the cherry blossom trees, but the kingdom’s princess. It was long believed that the queen could not have children but due to a miracle, she became pregnant one day. A baby girl, born with hair as pink as the cherry blossom trees, and eyes greener than any emeralds. She was given the name Sakura and quickly became beloved by the people of the kingdom. Not only was Sakura blessed with beauty, but she grew up to be an intelligent and strong woman. One with a caring heart. Through years of study and practice, she learned healing magic to help the sick and injured. She also had a natural talent for strength enhancing magic that she could use in a fight if needed. Really, Sakura never expected to need it. A diamond shaped mark rested on her forehead as a symbol of her talent with the arts.

Many princes from different kingdoms tried to gain Sakura’s hand in marriage but she rejected every one. She wanted to get married when she decided to, and the kingdom was in no rush to make ties with another kingdom, so her parents respected her wishes.

But now… She wasn’t left with a choice.

In a single night, Sakura’s kingdom was destroyed. They were unprepared and taken off guard by the sudden attack. The once beautiful streets covered in pink were now painted red from people being needlessly slaughtered. The small army they did have struggled to protect the castle from the attack but it was all in vain. The castle was overtaken, the king and queen captured. Sakura was a lot harder to capture. She knocked out a lot of soldiers but eventually was overwhelmed and dragged into the throne room. Her dress was badly torn in places. Sakura was pretty roughed up, hair a mess. Her long hair became her downfall as one of the soldiers grabbed it and yanked her back towards him. She loved her long hair but at that moment, she wished she didn’t have it.

Sakura gave the tyrant a dirty look. She didn’t know who he was. He was from some unknown kingdom they didn’t know about. They were in good standing with most kingdoms. He must have known they were small, and weak and that's why he targeted them. It made her blood boil. She wanted to spat at him and tell him to go to hell but there was too much on the line to let her temper get the best of her. Her struggling stopped, and she looked at her mother, then her father, then to all the injured and dead that scattered the once proud throne room.

“Alright, I will marry you.”

“Sakura-!” Her mother gasp, but Sakura cut her off,

“I care not about myself, I just want this senseless violence to end. I will marry you, give you everything you want, just leave my kingdom alone. They have suffered enough, now could you please let me go and allow me to heal my father?”

The princess kept a brave face, but really she was a bit scared of what was in store for her being this tyrant’s wife. She knew what was expected of wives; support their husbands, have heirs, just be happy. But Sakura was strong willed, and will not stand aside and be some submissive woman. She will make sure this tyrant quickly learns that.

#blooming lights: ic #The cherry blossom princess: (v. Royalty)#you dont have to use icons #ive just made so many heckin icons for this verse i want to use them ndfnkjskj

35 notes · View notes

arengnera · 1 year

Text

The Flesh Dress

All of the fabric for this was reclaimed from curtains, scraps, tights, discarded tule from a local highschool prom that I snatched up like a horrible little vulture. The boning in the bodice was done with huge zip-ties but I’m not convinced getting real sewable boning wouldn’t have been worth it. The channels on the reinforcement were a bit of a bitch. The swords I also forged myself, but this ain’t about them. A lot of (mostly fake) blood, sweat and tears went into this one and I’m super pleased with the results. Huge shout out to @spoonbendersanonymous who was kind enough to lend me the fake blood, their anatomical text book, and had me sit down to watch Bride of Reanimator for inspiration.

Process photos and bonus photoshoot pictures below the cut!

Original sketches! A lot of me trying to figure out how to make boning look like bones while maintaining a classic shape. I said edwardian on the sketch but it honestly might be Victorian I'm really not sure. This was a combined art project for one of my classes, the idea was using old fashioned mourning traditions and clothes in a modern and campy way, to complain about how much capitalism erodes our time to mourn. At least that’s what I told the professor, It’s really about making a weird and off putting dress first and foremost.

Tape pattern and paper pattern! This was my first time doing this so don't take thus as any sort of guide.

It worked though, as shown by the world’s worst corset fitting - the pink thing on my arm was where I was planning on putting the upper sleeve, I was trying to see if my poof was good since my sleeves were a lot thinner and a lot longer than what would have been optimal for the amount of poof I wanted, I had to do some work around with the fabric I had

Now I’m just bragging about getting eyelets to look clean and good for once in my life. If I was going to do anything different about this though, I would ad more eases in the back, because I need to contort horribly to get out of the bodice, I fit it too well

This bad boy was really the crux of the whole project. The entire thing was a pun so I could applique an anatomically accurate heart on a sheer sleeve.

This was was it’s intermediary stage, where I was suddenly very much out of time for the first deadline and had to put off adding all of the gore I wanted to, so the simple applique heart had to do. The skirt itself was way less poofy than I would have liked, and didn’t quite give the silhouette I wanted. I ended up going with the train because the under skirt isn’t actually connected in the back. Thus is the nature of working with weird panels of curtains you’ve already cut into for a few other projects. God bless the thrift store curtain section.

The guts were made by sewing together sheer tights, and filling them with polyfill. Here they are, before they were stippled with liquid flesh colored latex and soaked in fabric paint - and after where you can see all that extra TEXTURE

I was able to use it for another project though, and I was very happy with the beading work here, although I did end up losing my biggest strand at some point.

Here’s my makeup test! I played around with doing some blood red lips but decided the blueish corpse look was better. Fun fact! I drove home wearing a sweatshirt that says “I heart corpse desecration” on it through the snow storm, and pulled over to offer some guy a hand with his car, forgetting I still looked like this. He turned me down.

The face of someone who can definitely be trusted for road side assistance. - Also I was posing as the two of swords tarot illustration for the final gallery exhibit.

#art #fashion #sewing #I'm finally getting around to putting this out there so I can find it again #I have so many pictures but I'm afraid tumbler won't let me show them all #Maybe I'll make another post about the swords #but those are decidedly less well made #turns out forging is very hard and I never tempered them or sharpened them properly #I lost one of my pomels in the forge and gave up which is why the hilts are resin cast #but I made a couple of shitty ass swords though! Which I think is more swords than most people have ever made so I'll take it #This dress also specificly got me told that I couldn't come to a wedding as a reanimated corpse #which is very funny and only slightly homophobic

69 notes · View notes

yang2sfishkeeper · 2 years

Text

ateez as vampires (hyung line)

side note: this is not a sexy-blood dripping down chin interpretation (as much as I wish it was) might do the maknae line if i dont forget this acc exists

HONGJOONG:

The kind that has tried every lasting occupation known to man. He was probably an oil paint portrait artist whenever those were a thing, a philosopher and then a nursery daycare teacher all in the span of fifty years. Any form of vampirism takes a backseat to his colourful portfolio, and I firmly believe he is currently a haute couture designer for vintage pieces; and only drinks the blood of people who refuse to ethically source their leather and furs. The image of him living in some apartment in Paris smoking a cigarette (that has a hole in it because of his fangs) is perfect to me.

SEONGHWA:

The brooding, edward cullen type. I’m talking; hand perpetually covering ¾ of his face, avoiding sunlight at all costs, falls in love with some pale girl kind of edward cullen. He has to move every ten years because all the women feel like cougars when they go after him despite him being at least double their age. He lives in some dusty cob-webbed mansion in the forest during the weekends but his real house is a small flat and he’s best friends with his elder neighbour who he has dinner with sometimes. Wears contacts to cover his eye colour but it's not strong enough so people think he’s always wearing red Halloween contacts.

YUNHO :

Newly turned vampire who just wants to go back to his normal life. Has trouble controlling his cravings and tries to drink a gallon of tomato juice because that's what google told him to do. He got violently sick and now just sticks to blood bags. Doesn’t understand why he’s always surrounded by crows and black cats (he is a dog person) but is very thankful to have so many furry friends. Definitely the type to accidentally show his strength by breaking the football goal net, or accidentally shaking someone’s hand very tightly because he was excited. People thought he was a werewolf, honestly.

YEOSANG:

Sitting on a chaise lounge, monotonously sipping on a glass of blood while wearing eyeliner. That’s sort of the image I get when thinking of him. Something very high class and untouchable that demands respect from his peers. But at the same time he’s only pretending to read The Art of War, and is using it to cover his copy of some trashy romance novel he’s actually reading. Secretly really wants the modern human experience, but is too attached to the concept of velvet couches to really let go. I can see him pointing towards any form of fast food and saying “What... desperate concoction is that?” While grimacing (he really wants to try it)

#ateez #ateez vampire au #vampire ateez #hongjoong #seonghwa #yeosang #yunho #ateez imagines #kpopfic #ateez non idol au #i havent posted here in almsot a year hahaha

98 notes · View notes

icology · 11 months

Note

I think it’s pretty well established in many Team ICO fan circles, and there’s even a great post about it here on Tumblr by @frabjousvonniche, but for those unaware, the NTSC-U copy of ICO for the PS2 is a little undercooked. It was released in September of 2001 as the result of a shipping deadline that Ueda’s team couldn’t afford to miss. But frankly, ICO was not finished by that time and would not be sold to the Japanese market until December of that year.

For this reason, one can consider the NTSC-U copy to be a beta version of the title. But what it lacks in polish, it makes up for by providing insights. Rare is the opportunity for fans to have easy access to a completed game at different phases of development. And seeing the differences between these versions can show a lot about both the design process and what order the game may have been coded in.

But the strangest and smallest detail of differences, which really freaks me out on some level, becomes apparent when Yorda is taken into the void by Shadows. In the final game, Shadow Creatures are eliminated all at once by the same magic wave that turns you to stone and initiates the Game Over. This is already a little unsettling as a form of their dismissal, but they disappear like smoke, like you would expect of them.

This is not quite the case in the US version. When Shadows are eliminated by this magic wave, their disappearance is marked by a sudden, blurry red particle effect.

And this only occurs in this one specific scenario. No other means of defeating the Shadows can reproduce this.

I have a clip from ICO Speedrunner, Sanchopanda, to help demonstrate. It probably won’t work in the Tumblr ask format, but having the link should be enough. It occurs around 22 seconds in:

I’m all for interpreting this red particle effect in whatever way you want, but I can’t really shake from my mind the potential that it’s blood. And even further, I can’t shake questions of why that would only appear in this instance, and for what reason.

Maybe the confusion of the matter is the very reason this didn’t make it to the final release but it was clearly intentional and meant to signify something that at least one dev had in mind.

It’s intriguing, to say the least.

Tumblr ate your link but I went for a dive and I think this might be the clip you're talking about! The little red particles are visible and they do look like blood! Funny that when you defeat the armored soldiers in The Last Guardian, you can also observe a similar thing if you knock them down and rip off their helmets (which we can observe in this clip, for example). For both types of enemies, the sight of it is a bit bizarre, because they're supposed to be almost intangible little creatures, but that makes it feel like you actually hurt them.

It feels strange, almost like when you defeat the shadow kids that were sacrificed before Ico. I wonder if every shadow in the games is sentient or if there's some sort of robot/zombie like quality for the enemies where they just follow orders and don't feel any real pain.

Speaking of things that ended up being undercooked on the NTSC-U version due to the deadline... we also have the infamous Ico North American cover art. The one we all know and love was hand painted by Ueda himself, based on a Giorgio de Chirico piece titled "The Nostalgia of the Infinite". Much like the game, it wasn't ready when it came out in the US, so they were stuck with this eye sore that's odd enough to make you question whether you just picked up a bootleg copy. Who the heck is that kid?

The team actually talked about this in the bonus interview for the Ico/SOTC PS3 remaster and it made for a pretty funny moment which you can watch here.

(also... the Megaman cover they talk about is WAY worse. At least Ico's doesn't look like nightmare fuel and wow, how did I end up rambling this much? I'm gonna shut up now hahaha)

#ico #trivia #answered

15 notes · View notes

cookinary · 11 months

Text

It’s about time!

I finally did Muta’s redesign!

And I realized I’ve never shared his full backstory so here it is, under the cut, it’s pretty long XD:

In this universe, Ophelia not only is the Internet Dictator but she also is a mad scientist who developed a mutagen formula that works on humans

And she needed a test subject

Guess who

So whenever Ophelia wants to experiment on him, she sedates him in any way that works, it can be darts, drugs in his coffee, you name it

And when he wakes up, Pedro (Imma call him Muta okay, bear with me) has to live with whatever she did to him while he was out cold

She gave him an electric collar that acts as a tracker: if he tries to remove it, it zaps him; if he leaves a certain perimeter, it zaps him strongly enough to knock him out

Only Ophelia can remove the collar and she only removes it during her experiments

Muta is not allowed to leave the house except when the family sends him on a hit

The window of his room has electrified bars

He wags his tail when he's excited

And starts hissing when he gets too upset

Because he can't go outside, he picked up painting as a mean to calm down/let his feelings out

He also has a diary

Escape

Because Ophelia always uses the same anaesthetic, Muta's body had built up a resistance to it

So he woke up in the middle of an experiment before Ophelia could do anything

He broke his restraints and attacked her

She defended herself by stabbing him with a scalpel right over his ear

That made Muta go completely feral and he caused mayhem in the lab before escaping and passing out somewhere far away

After the escape

He woke up freaking out because of the memory loss, the mutations and the talking banana that just popped out of nowhere (he knew Pedro before all this, he just forgot about it)

Because he forgot everything, he rediscovers his mutations little by little

Blurry memories slowly came back to him over the course of the years, through flashbacks and nightmares

After remembering almost everything that happened, he decided to go on a revenge rampage —hence the game

Post game stuff

After killing Ophelia and the banana, Muta decides to leak all of her experiments logs online to show the world her real side

He doesn't leak her works though, as he is afraid that some people will use the mutagen formula for evil

In fact, he destroys the lab and the formula

But he secretly keeps one physical copy of the formula that he never talks about

Soon, pretty much the whole world knows about Ophelia's awful experiments on her own brother

Rumors start circulating about how said brother may have been the one who killed her and the rest of the family and leaked the logs

His favorite drink to relax is red fruits tea

After his escape, he still likes to paint, it helps him calm down (especially Bob Ross tutorials), but he also picked up cooking as a hobby

He posts pictures of his art and his dishes online without ever showing his body, and people keep begging him for a face reveal

He has a black sphynx cat!

He named her Josephine

He sometimes posts pictures of her too and people love her

Has an amazing singing voice???

He lives off assassination jobs

His therapist knows about him

Also the vets from the time where Josephine got hurt and he rushed to the vet clinic without thinking of covering himself up

And finally, the list of his powers/abilities:

Reptile-like eye (Night vision)

Retractable claws (his hands are much bigger than normal)

Prehensile tail (reptilian in appearance)

Focus

Gills (can breathe underwater) (located on his neck, but only appear when submerged)

Can regrow limbs/body parts like lizards/axolotls do, in minutes

Retractable bug wings (similar to a dragonfly's)

Thick bulletproof scales on his back

Hearing as good as a barn owl, if not better (tilts head when locating a sound)

Strong sense of smell (can smell blood like sharks)

Venomous fangs (Inland Taipan venom)

Forked tongue (like a snake's)

Extremely fast

Panther-like feet (he can walk around silently)

Extremely strong (can lift about 2 tons)

Thick bulletproof scales on forearms (similar to the one on his back)

Can stick to/crawl on any surfaces (walls, ceilings, etc.) like geckos

Immune to any type of toxic substance

Can stay upside down for an undefined period of time (like bats)

Second pair of eyelids to see underwater

Can regulate his body temperature

Woo, this boi has a very detailled backstory, huh

#My Friend Pedro #My Friend Pedro AU #Mutant AU #Muta #I spent an entire day on these i don't know how i stayed focused for so long holy--#I love me boy he's precious #literally a gentle giant #and yes his size is the result of the mutations-- his body had to adapt to his muscles #anyway #toodles #reblogs are deeply appreciated!

10 notes · View notes

pattysplaceofplaces · 2 years

Text

Paper Hearts

Paper Star x Gender Neutral Reader

Finally, another caper. Paper Star was good at her job yet her unhinged nature caused her to be tied onto a tight leash. But now her little “timeout” was over and she was back on the scene once more.

The National Museum of color. The most vibrant place in the world filled with all forms of art. She hadn’t been paying much attention to Countess Cleo’s ramble but she wanted some sort of butterfly themed dress. She jumped down from the ceiling beams and onto the paint splattered floor. Paper Star loved chaos as much as the next villain but these colors were too much. At least she made it look flattering with pastels instead of throwing some colors together and calling it a day.

This mission was too boring for her. No sign of Carmen Sandiego or Shadow San? Of course they’d make her go on these types of missions. She had managed to snatch the dress and was about to make it to the helicopter yet something stopped the thief in her tracks. She had never seen anything like it.

A room that housed a large frame. Inside that frame was a landscape made purely out of folded paper. Hills with vibrant flowers and butterflies, trees that housed origami monkeys, and fish swimming in light blue water. She cautiously took a few steps closer, reading the name on the frame.

“Serenity Party by F/n L/n”

Who? Paper Star had never heard that name before. What an underrated gem. Surely their other works were just as good. She glided her fingers against the glass, wishing she could be in that picture. She had time to spare, she could take it with her, perhaps store it in her room. Although she knew VILE would most likely want it, or that she would be in trouble for jeopardizing the mission or whatever. “They always wanna ruin my fun..” She muttered to herself, cringing at the thought of your masterpiece being forced to attend Cleo’s villain dinner parties. “I’ll see you soon.” But not soon enough for her. She sticked a tracker on the back of the frame and made her get away. Once she was secure on the helicopter she took her phone out of her pocket. Time to do some research on a specific artist.

—-The Next Morning—-

“You’re quite lucky L/n. Only one thing was stolen and it wasn’t your work.” You let out a sigh of relief, adjusting your guest badge. “Now your meet will start soon. Be on the lookout for any suspicious characters.” You stood next to your piece, nodding. “Thank you.” You knew the manager wouldn’t hear your silent gratitude but oh well.

“The artist behind the art” meet wasn’t going very well for you. So many talented artists had crowds as they stood next to their work. Yet for the past two hours your area had been completely deserted. Some people would past by but not long enough for you to start talking about your piece. Maybe you shouldn’t have submitted your work at all. You knew the art director was hesitant to put it in. Maybe they were right. Origami wasn’t a real art. Painters, sculptures, fashion designers worked so hard. All you did was sit down and fold paper all day. Your parents were right, it wasn’t too late to change your major, to find a more successful career. You picked up the sides of the frame and went to take it off the wall but a chill and the blur of colors that rushed past you made you freeze.

“Hello?” You looked around, trying to find someone. You went to pick up your painting until you noticed something that had been pinned to your jacket. You held the origami rose in your hand, reading the ink that had been written on the stem.

“I look forward to seeing more of your work.

-Your biggest fan

P.S. Let’s hang out sometime.”

Paper Star knew she could get in huge trouble for getting close to someone who wasn’t apart of VILE but she could deal with it. This felt like something she absolutely had to do. There was something about you. Perhaps she did have a heart, one that she folded with blood red paper only for you.

#Carmen Sandiego #Paper Star #Paper Star Carmen Sandiego #Paper Star x reader #X reader #Carmen Sandiego x reader #Carmen Sandiego imagine #Reader insert #Villain x reader #Kinda Yandere? I don’t really know

68 notes · View notes

haywire-cebus · 1 year

Text

Anyways here are my rottmnt pokemon team headcanons bc i love making these so much

Leo: Torterra, Riolu, Ninjask, Zangoose, Gibble, Kedabra

Donnie: Blastoise, Rotom, Porygon, Beldum, Golek, Cacturne

Raph: Drednaw, Clefairy, Machoke, Snorlax, Makuhita, Ludicolo

Mikey: Torkal, Smeargle, Bellossom, Baltoy, Cranidos

April: Crustle, Zorua, Solosis, Fletchinder, Skitty, Noivern

Casey: Tirtouga, Mimikyu, Porygon-Z, Trubbish, Amaura, Applin

My reasonings on why for each are below the cut :):

Leo:

Torterr:- big and strong but so cute and full of love and life. He kinda just. Holds the fam together. his first pokemon (all the turtle pokemon are the brothers starters)

Riolu: Blue pokemon and physical fighting with some Magic, and i just love riolu and i feel like it compliments Leader Leo very well (he evolved when leo steps up and accepts his role as leader. leader of what? idk i havent thought that far into this au)

Ninjask: greatest ninja ever needs a ninja pokemon :)

Zangoose: his eye. His eye marking. Is like leo’s. Im a simple man i see red eye mark i go ‘oh thats leo’

Gible: blue and chompy. I like the idea of leo being Tormented by this lil chompy guy and then he evolves into this real powerful pokemon. And then he still torments him for him

Kedabra: teleports. leo teleports.

Donnie:

Blasoise: gun turtle. Idk what else to say (i was gonna give him torterra bc ‘but my real passion is biology’ but. Gun turtle.) I think he helps leo take care of his torterra tho

Rotom: this feels a lil self-explanatory lol. but with his rotom, he builds more than the “standard’ rotom body options for him, including one of those toy punching robots (fighting), a jetpack form (flying, but cooler than the fan form), a robot dragon (dragon), a fertilizer spreader thing (poison), and of course his favorite: Gun (steel)

Porygon: again, self explanatory i think. It evolves in a really Climatic Moment too and like Saves The Day (but more of a one-off episode Climatic Moment)

Beldum: another lil robot guy. donnie thought it was cool, and then he learned its evolution is super strong and went “heh knew it all along” but he is clearly lying to look cool

Golek: a lil robot (kinda) guy

Cacturne: he likes botany. And also hes smart enough to kno he needs some type differences in his team (the cacturne was a gift from his bros when they saw how much he liked their grass types)

Raph:

Drednaw: i mean LOOK at that guy. He’d have a shiny version bc the shiny version is a greener shade AND has red on it. Big spiky.

Clefairy: cuddly boy for a cuddly boy

Machoke: he saw one pokemon fight as a kid and fell in love. And then he saw the contests and started entering those, and people think he aims for the “cool” ones but he keeps winning the “cute” ones with his machoke

Snorlax: raph uses him all the time to make his brothers (mostly donnie and leo) sleep, bc he has snorlax (SAFELY) lay on them and fall asleep

Makuhita: cute lil punchy boy :) also reminds me of the paper friend

Ludicolo: i mean come on look at the lil guy of course hes raphs pokemon

Mikey:

Torkoal: fiery turtle. Hot and fun. I think he likes to leap into the air using his back steam (i imagine him yelling “FULL STEAM AHEAD” and then torkoal moves so slow)

Smeargle: self explanatory. Little bouncy art guy. this is his main pokemon, always hanging around him outside the pokeball.

Bellossom: this one just looks like mikey to me. i think him getting it was like a “he saw it abandoned and wanted to return it to its trainer, but it lost a contest so the trainer abandoned it. it now doesnt wanna do contests, but wants BLOOD” type thing. (ok it doesnt want blood but it likes fighting more)

Baltoy: mikey saw this lil clay guy and they bonded immediately. Also some psychic bc mystic magic feels psychic to me. his smeargly likes to paint on it like ceramics

Cranidos: looks like the robot dino from the cut episode, so of course i picked it

Chingling: im not 100% sold on this as one of his pokemon, but its bright and cute and psychic, so i picked it. im open to other ideas tho

April:

Crustle: when they were little and first met april, they wanted her to be apart of their Turtle Squad, so donnie played distraction while they went to catch her one. They saw crustle and went “legs and shell? Fuck yeah turtle pokemon.” when they brought it donnie immediately was like “thats a crab.” but april was so touched she refused to let them try again and she cherishes it so much

Zoura: its mayhem. little chaos fox/animal. always on her shoulders/in her arms/pranking the bros

Solosis: she thinks its cute (raph agrees) but she has to keep it in its ball when shes around donnie bc the texture makes him very upset

Fletchinder: she gives me bird vibes idk and shes passionate (firey).

Skitty: april deserves a cute lil kitty i think. it pretends to be nice but is also means to the boys behind aprils back (aprils pretends not to notice and plays innoncent when the bros confront her but when they leave she gives the skitty a poffin)

Noivern: one donnie actually caught for her (as a noibat) bc it was purple (and he obvs likes purple) and it flies so she could travel far easily and safely. april and donnie are besties and they are the only two the noivern let ride on its back, everyone else it will only carry them in its claws

Casey:

Tirtouga: future donnie made/revived him, and gave him to casey. Casey is a Part of their Turtle Family. Also hes from 100 million years ago, casey is from future. Theyre both lost in time. Idk its cute

Mimiku: it gives me future vibes. It now uses the pikachu disguise to be more intimidating than its form beneath the disguise (due to the electricity). I think also the future has a poison variation that makes it dangerous to touch if it doesnt trust you

Porygon-Z: i really dont wanna say why he has the evolved form of donnies pokemon. But i think yall kno. yes its sad. and yes its weird when they go back in time and see each other. but i think the circumstances that made it evolve to porygon-z are Apocolypse-Only so donnies wont go past porygon2 and make it Extra Weird

Trubbish: a trash pokemon from his apocalyptic future. theyre everywhere. casey loves him and is very defensive of him when he first gets to the past/present, bc new york looks so clean in comparison to the future (when he finally sees all the trubbish there bc its a city hes happy bc his trubbish isnt an outlier)

Amaura: future leo gave him the egg, and he was carrying it around for a while. It only hatched in the past (bc it felt safe enough to do it). yes casey cried. yes he named it after leo (subtly) (it isnt that subtle. probably nicknamed it like Ardo or something).

Applin: the first pokemon he caught in the past/present. He was so surprised to see such a vibrant grass type and he got so excited (grass type are very very rare in the future)

Mikey did the classic Pokemon Magic (thats esp common in the movies) and summoned dialga to send casey back in time. Leo helped by summoning palkia to send him to the right Space. Giratina is there for idk the kraang prison dimension. I havent formulated a lot of it this is just for funsies.

#rottmnt #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #leonardo #donatello #raphael #mikelangelo #april o'neil #casey #my post

10 notes · View notes