#and i wanted to draw this purple gal

[letswonderspirit]

An oc art dump! Her name is galentine (gale for short?) she’s based off of 50s ad posters

#helluva boss #Helluva boss oc #character design #oc #my art #maybe gal as a nickname?? #pinup girl #what should I be tagging this as #important info about her: she likes SPARKLE and FUN performances #more important info: she likes to read romance novels #more important info: her favorite colors are pink and purple #more important info: she doesn’t like coffee #alright that’s it #actually one more: she likes doing puzzles #she’s also asexual and aromantic #and accidentally landed an acting job that led to a really successful acting career #even though she personally wants to be something less in the public eye #she’s retired now and is now peacefully doing puzzles in her old age #I have a few drawings of her current age but they’re not done 😤😤😤 #this is just her younger designs

[limecornchip]

meowdy

#saber #tiger #nightsaber #cat #not canon to her obviously because she's a punch gal but i wanted to draw a bright ass purple cat

[crimsonred-hi]

Everything, Everywhere

Pairing: Andrew Hozier-Byrne x Reader

Warnings:

Summary: his lover is laying there, laying under 6 feet under the grass. Gone to the world. The love of his life: gone. Yet, he stills comes every week, to smile at her, and tell her that one day he’ll join her, but he promised her to live to the fullest… so he will.

He sits there, in front of the stone. It’s a pretty stone, with flowers painted on it, because his mother tried to make the stone pretty by painting on it.

He smiles at her, cutting the ends off the flowers he bought for her, making sure to cut them at a 45 degree angle so they last longer. It’s a bouquet of spring flowers, because the season is changing and he is going to the U.S. for a couple months, he wants the flowers to look right of the time.

He places the flowers out, making them look nice. He’s always known that the fact he never got over her was considered weird, but how could he: she was perfect and now she’s gone.

“How are ya doing, love?… I hope your well, I’m well. My life is going well… it’s weird, not having you around to fight of the groupies.”

He laughs warmly, smiling with that twinkle in his eyes, taking a memory of her arguing with a groupie because the girl was getting too close to him.

___

“Honey, why were you being like that?”

His lover grumbles from the side of him as they walk home form the pub, her arms crossed and his jacket over her shoulders.

“She was too fuckin close! She was too close. I didn’t like it.”

He sighs, moving closer, arm draped over her shoulders, pressing his lips too her forehead.

“Y/n, I’m not going to leave ya for some lass in the pub…”

She grumbles again, but she becomes a little less tense with his words.

___

“You were a funny gal… you really made me happy…”

The light in his eyes is lots at the need to use past tense when talking about her… she’s gone.

He can’t admit it, he doesn’t want to: why would he want to. He loves her, he can’t stop his love for her, but she’s not coming back. SHE IS NOT COMING BACK. He can’t say it out loud…

“I’m going on tour soon, I’m going to (your home city)… I’m gonna see your parents, celebrate your birthday with them… I’m so thankful that they let you stay in Ireland with me… I’m so thankful…”

He smiles back at the stone, her name cared into it with a curvy font. ‘Loving Daughter, Sister, Friend and Wife’. They weren’t even married, they never got the chance to get married, but her parents surprised him by putting wife on it: he cried when he read it. He wept and wept.

He still weeps.

He fiddles with the flower on her grave, trying to distract himself from the pain.

“Ermmm… I’ve got another album coming out… and I read that book you got me for my birthday, why didn’t you tell me you annotated it? I cried when I read your handwritten…”

He laughs warmly, running his hand through his hair.

“Your handwriting is so messy… and what possessed you to write in that awful purple pen?”

___

“Christ! Why are ya writin’ like that?”

She giggles, poking the pen into his arm, drawing on his arm and hurting him at the same time.

“Oi, I like this pen, it’s a nice colour.”

“It’s also blinding.”

He grumbles standing behind her, wrapping his arms around her shoulders, kissing the back of her head and nuzzling into her hair.

“Come on, ya couldn’t have just written in black or blue?”

That sets her off, now she’s talking his ear off about how much she hates blue pen, his heart just melts as she talks with her hands.

___

He laughs that full belly laugh, the laugh that makes his eyes crinkle at the corners and makes his smile wide, gorgeous.

“God! You were so fuckin funny! Good God… you were extraordinary…”

His thoughts break through, usually he would think about his own music when he was at her grave, Work Song is a constant in his mind… but he did that song with Noah Kahan recently, all he can think about is Everything, Everywhere… the title alone makes his breath shoulder, she was everything, she is everywhere.

“We cried, ‘oh-oh-oh, oh-oh-oh, oh’

Everything, everywhere

I wanna love you ‘till we’re food for the worms to eat

‘Till our fingers decompose

Keep my hand in yours…”

The lyrics are soft on his lips.

He’s sang to her before, dead or alive. He felt like she was listening, he knew she wasn’t. He never believed in ghosts or the afterlife, it’s a warming concept, but is it true? He doubts it is. But he finds warmth in knowing that the plot next to his lover is bought and waiting for him.

It’s sad… he bought it the same day he bought hers.

He knows he’s still young, he knows he could find another, he could find many more… but the sheer idea of having another woman the way he had her makes him sick. It feels like cheating.

“Ya know, I made a song…. I make loads of songs, you know that… I made one about us… well, I’m telling the people it’s about characters in Dante’s Inferno…… it’s about how I would do it again… I would love you again even with the knowledge of what’s to come…”

“It’s a nice thought… well not nice, but ya know what I mean… I love the idea of meeting you again… even if it’s in hell.”

He sighs, rubbing his hands over his face.

“Christ… what I would do to have you here or be there with you?”

He sighs, looking at the time on his phone… he’s gotta go. He doesn’t want too.

“I’m sorry, honey… I’ve gotta go… I’m sorry… I’ll visit when I can… I’ll be back I promise.”

His words are too soothe a nonexistent being, the being is gone, yet he still acts like he’s talking to his living lover.

He blows her a kiss, and leaving her grave behind. His heartbreaking yet again at having to leave. Wishing he could lie in the ground with her forever…

Im sorry. Im so, so sorry.

#andrew hozier byrne #hozier #hozier x reader #hozier imagine #hozier oneshot #the hoziest #hozier my beloved #unreal unearth #angst #hozier angst #im so so so sorry #i’m sorry #Spotify

[sanguineterrain]

no more lonely nights - s.h.

Summary: Steve comes home from Starcourt, bruised and battered. And you're there. You always are.

Pairing: best friend!Steve Harrington x fem!reader

Word count: 3.1k

Warnings/tags: s3 beaten up Steve, my poor little meow meow. Vomit, hurt Steve, friends to lovers, sharing a bed. Reader's a swell gal, and, to no one's surprise, Steve is a sweetheart.

Notes: heads up that Steve IS thinking clearly; the drugs have worn off by the end. This takes place in s3, reader and steve are 18+, etc.

****

The flash of headlights rouses you from sleep. Checking your watch tells you that it's a little past midnight. You push yourself onto your knees, squinting at the red taillights. Beneath the streetlamp, you can just make out the maroon BMW humming in the Harringtons’ driveway. A moment later, the driver's door flies open and a figure hunches over the side. Steve.

He grasps the inside handle and stays like that for less than a second. Then he throws up. 

You're out of bed in an instant. 

Steve dry heaves a couple times, his coughs and gasps echoing on the asphalt. You slip on your thin, silk robe—a present from Steve—and haphazardly tie the belt. Your own parents are gone for the weekend to visit a friend, so slipping on your shoes and running across the street in your pajamas draws no questions. 

The block is dead. The silence is thick in the dark; the only sound is Steve's car. You run across the road and carefully step around the sick, sliding a gentle hand over Steve’s bicep. He flinches so hard he hits his head on the top of the door.

“Whoa, hey! Hey, Steve, it’s me, it’s Y/N.” 

“Y/N?” he croaks, blindly searching for your hand.

You hold his hand and rest your other on his shoulder in case he loses balance. Steve squeezes weakly.

“Hey,” you say, softer. “Did you drive home drunk?” 

“No,” he manages, then sits up. 

You gasp.

Steve's face is covered in blood and badly swollen, his right eye sporting the largest shiner you’ve ever seen on him. Yellow and purple bruises bloom along his face and neck. His Scoops uniform has spots of blood and is torn in about a hundred places. You feel as sick as he does.

“Steve, oh my—” Your fingers ghost over his bruises. “What happened?”

“Russians. At Starcourt. They opened a portal or something. Billy, he's…" 

Steve scrunches his brow hard. You hush him, not wanting him to delve into what is no doubt a frightening memory. Then you lean in and turn off the car. 

“Okay, alright. We’ll talk about it later. Can you walk?” 

“Um… yeah, yeah," he says, not sounding too certain. "Just gimme a sec. Feel kinda dizzy.”

“You shouldn’t have driven yourself home, Steve," you say, heart in your throat. "Couldn’t someone else have given you a ride? Mrs. Byers? Hopper?"

“Didn’t wanna bother anyone. ‘M fine.”

You crouch as best you can so you're level with him. He looks at you with droopy eyes, mouth parted. Shamefully, you wonder what it would be like to kiss him right now, despite the cut on his bottom lip. With careful fingers, you touch his less injured side, grazing over a smaller cut. He winces. 

“Sorry,” you whisper.

He smiles, pained and sweet. 

“‘S okay. Did I wake you? You didn’t have to come down.”

Your brows furrow.

“You’re hurt, Steve. Of course I came down.”

He shakes his head, breathing raspy.

“You didn’t have to.”

“But I wanted to.”

He looks at you, sleepy and swollen. You tuck a bit of hair behind his ear before you can think about it. 

“Ready to go inside?” you ask.

“Mm, think so."

You roll up the sleeves of your robe and sling your arm under Steve’s armpit. He follows you up, not leaning as much weight on you as you want. You lock the car and hobble over to the front steps, Steve in tow. He braces himself against the brick while you open the door. Then you heft him inside. Steve's head lolls onto your shoulder. 

"Stay awake, Stevie," you urge, jostling his arm. "Just for a little longer, promise."

"'M good," he mumbles. "Jus’ need a shower. Spent a good chunk of the night on the bathroom floor." 

He hisses when you both turn the corner. You stop, turning so you can see his face. Your hand hovers unsurely over his ribs. 

"What hurts?"

"No, 's just a little bruised. Finally won a fight though." Steve's grin makes butterflies flit in your belly, despite him looking like he's been shoved into a meat grinder. "Proud of me?"

"No, Steve. I'm glad you're home safe but I don't want you in any fights. You need to take care of yourself," you say, slowly helping him into the bathroom. "I know you wanna look out for the kids but you're killing yourself doing it."

"Better I get hurt than them," he declares. "Better me than Robin or Dustin or anybody."

You help him sit on the edge of the tub and take the alcohol and gauze from the medicine cabinet. Steve looks up at you with wet, trusting eyes. 

"This is gonna sting," you warn. 

"Yeah," Steve nods, bracing himself with one hand on the lip of the tub. 

You cup his face and gently swab the cuts. He's quiet as you do so, gazing at you with those big brown eyes. 

"What were you doing up?" he asks when you finish. 

"Just couldn't sleep with the house so empty."

You don't mention the fact that you'd been waiting for Steve's car to pull in. That you've done so everyday this summer. No one, including Steve, will tell you details about the strange happenings in Hawkins. Still, it's all you can do to not follow him into whatever maw of danger he finds himself in. And it's only because of Steve that you stay put. 

I can't lose you, he'd pleaded one late night when you'd asked. I care about you too much to get you mixed up in this shit. Don't come, please.

So you hadn't. You regret listening. 

"You can't sleep a lot?" Steve asks. 

You hum, not wanting him to worry. "Sometimes."

"You should call me. I'm usually awake too."

This close you feel Steve's warmth. His hands are dutifully planted on the tub. Every time you touch him, his hands twitch, like he wants to move. To hold. 

"Usually?" you ask. 

"I have trouble sleeping these days," he admits. "I thought—my folks are gone all the time. If anything got me, no one would know. No one would even…"

"I would," you interrupt. "I would care. And I'd do everything to get you back."

Steve's silent as you put everything away. You help him stand once more. He's wobbly, leaning on the tiles to pull off his shirt with one hand. The glimpses of freckled skin make you swallow hard. You focus on the plaid shower curtain. 

"Are you, um, hungry?" you manage. 

Steve's biceps swell as he tugs his shirt off. You turn around when you see the smattering of dark hair on his chest, refusing all temptation.

"You don't have to cook for me, Y/N. I can manage a—"

"So that's a yes."

"You should–should sleep," he mumbles, hissing at a cut or bruise. Maybe both. "I know you worked today."

"Steve." You turn around, so exasperated you have to face him. Steve's only in his briefs. Oh God. "I, uh…"

"Pervin' on me?" he smirks, hands on his hips. 

After being friends with Steve for so long, you should be used to his easy confidence. Steve's always been open with his body. You panic anyway. 

"No!" you yelp. "No. Sorry. I'm–I'm going downstairs. You're not gonna fall in, are you?"

Steve chuckles, smirk softening into a smile. 

"I think I can manage not falling in."

"Okay. Right." You leave the bathroom, closing the door almost all the way. Fuck. "Yell if you need something. Eggs okay?" 

You wait outside the door for a response. When there's none, you lean in. 

"Steve? Are you okay? Ste—"

He opens the door, tall frame blocking most of your view. You swallow hard, not knowing where to look. It's rude to stare at a guy's bare chest, right? Doubly so when he's your best friend, who's bloody and exhausted and just fought Soviets. You really are a perv.  

"Y/N, c'mon. It's nearly…" Steve squints at the clock. "Jesus, three AM?" 

"It's summer," you reason, eyes finally landing on his face. "I don't mind. I want to." Pathetic, pathetic. 

"I just—I know we haven't spoken as much lately, which is my fault," Steve starts. "And I don't wanna drag you into this shit because you're going to college soon and you don't need this on your plate on top of everything and—"

"Steve. Hey. You're my best friend. I know you're out having fun with the lunch gang and Nancy Wheeler."

Steve makes a face. 

"It's not like that with her anymore. You know that."

You hum. "Well, who's that girl at Scoops? Robin?"

"Robin, yeah." Steve smiles. "She's cool. You'd like her."

"I bet I would," you say softly, even though it hurts, hearing Steve say another girl's name.

But so what? Nothing you haven't suffered before. Last year was absolute hell, watching Steve remain stuck on Nancy. 

The worst part is you. You're the one who can't pull away, who can't let him go. Steve was your friend long before he'd been anything of Nancy's or this Robin girl's. Still, you have no right to lay claim. You know this. And yet, you're here at three in the morning, ready to make him scrambled eggs. 

Like you said. Pathetic. 

"Y/N?" 

"Huh?" 

Steve has a strange look on his face. He can't hear your heart thumping in your chest, right?  

"Sure you're not concussed?" he asks. 

He touches your forehead. You squeak, darting backwards. 

"I'm fine! Go shower. You have a lot of hair to get through."

You hurry out before Steve can respond. Your shoulders only relax when you hear the shower turn on and water rushes through the pipes. Now you can focus on making food. You're good at that. Making food holds no danger of your heartbeat ratcheting when Steve gets too close. 

The eggs turn out just how Steve likes them: softly scrambled. You also fix toast and wash some strawberries because you know for a fact Steve hasn't been eating as well as he should. 

He comes down a few minutes after you finish, still toweling his hair dry. You set the plate down at the kitchen island. He looks better, fresher. His face is still a mess but at least there's no visible blood. He wears the Talking Heads shirt you'd gotten him last year after forcing him to listen to their new album with you. On the bottom are plain blue boxers. Nothing special. Your heart palpitates. 

"Smells good," Steve says, further exhausted after the shower. "Thanks, sweet."

You swallow at the name. "N-no problem."

He bites into a strawberry first. The juice stains his lips red. You find a spot on the ceiling that's particularly riveting. 

"You cold?" he asks through a bite of egg. He dusts his hands of the toast crumbs, getting up to adjust the thermostat. 

"No, I'm fine."

"You sure? You still have your robe on, Y/N."

"Oh. Well, I wanted to… stay modest."

Steve snorts. "Modest? Are we in the eighteen hundreds? I think I can handle your bare shoulders."

"Surprised you'd know that considering how many times you skipped history last year," you shoot back. 

"Still passed, didn't I?" Steve grins triumphantly. "Solid B, baby."

"With my help."

Steve's expression melts into a fond smile. 

"Yeah. I couldn't have done any of it without you. I'm a lucky guy."

He finishes his last square of toast and starts to get up to put his plate in the sink. You quickly beat him to it, resting a hand on his shoulder so he'll stay seated. 

"Why're you so good to me?" Steve asks when you return. 

You tilt your head, leaning on his chair. "Because you're my friend and you deserve it."

"You really think that?"

Your brows knit. "Of course I do."

He shakes his head. "We haven't even hung out this month. I just got totally wrapped up in the new job and the kids and I—"

"Steve," you say. "Where's all this coming from? I know you've been busy since your dad cut you off. I'm not mad about that."

"Well, I am," he huffs. "I wanted to hang out with you more, I swear. I just didn't want to lose you. You're my best friend and I could never lose you—I don't know what I'd do if–if—"

"Hey," you soothe. "Hey, hey. Steve, it's okay. I don't know what happened… something about Russians? Whatever, if you want to talk about it, I'm here. But right now, you're exhausted. Can you try sleeping?" 

He looks at you with wet eyes. His fingers absently play with your robe belt. 

"Promise it's okay?" he asks. 

"Oh, Steve. I missed you. But you still have me. You always will, y'know?" 

He pulls you into a hug. His face nudges the pudge of your belly. You fold and cradle his head. 

"Missed you too," he mumbles. 

Steve is like a furnace, soft with residual heat from the shower. He's always felt larger than life and tonight is no different. Even battered, Steve is Steve. Hugging him feels like an out-of-body experience.

"C'mon," you coax. "You've been up for nearly twenty four hours."

He stands. You step back, trying to smile. Steve's attempt to mirror you isn't much better. He looks at your hand, then his own. 

"I'll see you in the morning? Or, well, afternoon.”

"Oh." Steve avoids your gaze, picking at a loose thread on the tablecloth. "Yeah, guess so."

"When are your folks coming back?" 

Steve deflates further. "Dunno. They haven't returned my calls. Been gone for the whole summer."

You bite the inside of your cheek. Steve is a shiny, red apple in your Garden of Eden with his still damp hair and lovingly worn shirt. You need to go home. 

"I just… I don't want to overstep," you say. You look up to the ceiling, take a deep breath. "It's really your girlfriend that should be here." 

Steve's head snaps up.  

"What? I don't have a girlfriend."

"You don't?" 

He shakes his head. 

"Nancy was my last."

Your chest lightens. Steve takes a step forward. 

"You don't have to stay," he begins. "I just—it's so empty."

Damn it. Damn it.

"I'll… I'll stay for a few minutes," you say. "Just until you fall asleep."

He brightens. There's not much to bring Steve peace. You can do this thing for him. 

And who are you kidding? You’re not exactly pulling teeth here. 

You go to his room. You haven’t been here in months, since school let out. It’s the same, more or less. There are a few more photos; of you and Steve, of Steve and who is probably Robin. He still has the same plaid theme and the framed sports car photo you’ve teased him about for as long as you’ve known him. 

Steve’s hand lands on your back. You jolt.  

“Sorry,” he murmurs. “Temperature okay?”

“I’m alright,” you say. “Does your face hurt? I could get some ice. Or Advil?”

Steve’s eyes go wide. He swallows.

“No. No drugs.”

His eyes seem to cloud over. You take his hand.

“Steve? Hey, you okay?”

He exhales, lids fluttering.

“Yeah. Sorry. I’m—the Russians…”

“Oh, Steve.”

You wrap your arms around him. Steve falls into your embrace, like the night has finally taken him down. His chin rests on your shoulder. You rub his back. His hair is fluffy and smells like lemon shampoo. You curl your fingers into a few strands.

“I’ve got you,” you murmur. “C’mon, Stevie.”

Slowly, Steve rises. You take him by the hand and lead him to the bed. You pull back the covers on his side. Steve slides into bed. His hair fans across the pillow. 

Steve looks like an angel. You feel temptation creep again.

“You’ll stay, right?” he asks. “For a little while?”

You smile and undo your robe belt. 

“Yes, Steve. I’ll stay.”

Steve’s seen you in pajamas and even in panties before. It’s no big deal, really. 

That’s what you tell yourself when you’re down to a big t-shirt and your underwear. 

Steve is a gentleman, of course. He doesn’t stare at you or comment. You clumsily climb into bed. 

“Hey,” he says, pointing at your shirt. “We match.”

You look down at your “Remain in Light” shirt. 

“Guess we’re meant to be,” you whisper, and immediately regret it.

But Steve smiles, eyes drooping.

“Yeah,” he hums. “Guess we are.”

You scoot up against the headboard and pat his shoulder.

“G’night, Steve.”

Steve frowns. 

“Lie down. ‘S uncomfortable sitting up.”

You chew your lip. Steve looks so earnest, eyes like starlight. You swallow and shimmy down, under the covers. 

He scoots closer. Your heart pounds.

“You want the light on?” you ask. 

He hesitates, and you know he’s debating between being brave or being comfortable. You choose for him.

“I like the light on,” you say, and he relaxes.

There’s only a couple inches of space between you. Steve is soft and yours, bathed in orange light. You want to kiss him. You want a lot of things you can’t have.

“I’m really glad you’re okay, Steve.” 

He pats the pillow for your hand. You link your fingers together.

“I’m happy I know you, Y/N,” he replies.

And there, in the dim light, safe under the covers that smell so much like Steve, you want to tell him. You want to tell him so badly how much you love him. How sick you feel seeing him bruised and bloodied. How you never want to see him like that again.

“Steve,” you whisper.

“Hmm?”

“I–” 

The words crush your throat. God, he’s beautiful. You can’t lose him.

“Y/N?”

“Nothing,” you say in a rush of breath. “Never mind. Sorry. Go to sleep.”

Steve stares at you for a long moment. You gnaw the inside of your cheek. 

“I thought about you,” he finally says. “When I was down there. I thought about you.”

“Steve?” 

He closes the last few inches between you.

“I thought about what I’d say if I saw you again. What I’d do.”

“Steve,” you warn. 

Steve reaches for your cheek. Your breath stutters.

“You’re exhausted,” you remind him. “Y-you’re not thinking clearly.”

“I am,” he promises. “Been thinking clearly for a while now.”

And then Steve kisses you. It’s chaste, barely a press of lips. You’re careful of his cut. His lips are chapped and smell like mint and antiseptic. Steve shifts closer and grunts. You pull back, instinctively cradling his ribs.

“Careful,” you say. “Careful, Steve.”

He smiles.

“You’re so good to me,” he says. 

You lean in and rest your forehead on his. 

“Always.” 

He kisses your cheek again, unsure and fumbling like you’re his first. It’s sweet. God, he’s sweet. 

“Please stay,” Steve whispers.

You nod. 

“I will.”

You always do.

#steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington x yn #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things imagine #hurt comfort #season three steve harrington #scoops steve #hurt steve harrington

[rapha3liii]

Abigail, Emily & Haley! (part 1 of my bachelorette art!)

these are just my personal headcanons, mostly in line with my fic! the surnames are just ones I chose myself because I think these gals deserve a little more character :) Image descriptions and in-image text/captions are provided below!

Leah, Penny and Maru are next! (will get to the dudes eventually)

Abigail Mercer:

20 years old attending online university for Anthropology

tall compared to most villagers, even taller than her parents!

nose and bridge piercing done in Zuzu city

hearts drawn on with eyeliner

tattoo of thorned rose

Sam's old denim jacket, she cut the sleeves off with craft scissors

Amethyst gem-set sword commissioned from Marlon, her parents still haven't found it...

Silver bangle gifted from her mother

belly button piercing done by Emily in Sebastians basement, she definitely didn't get an infection from it-

sword tattoo inspired by the first sword she held

usually accompanied by her fathers retired leather satchel, holding her flute case and cool rocks she finds

her fishnets are the only thing shes ever bought from Joja Online and her dad is still mad about it

second hand doc-martins because her parents refused to spend that much on shoes (I don't blame em...)

Emily Larson

26 years old and the towns resident tailor

always wearing contacts!

average height

has helix, ear lobe and vertical eyebrow piercings

Always changing her hairstyle and colour, but blue seems to stick for longer than most!

She regularly attends ren-faires all over the republic

made this miniature cape for Zuzu ren-faire and hasn't stopped wearing it since...

hoop earrings and favourite lipstick given to her by her girlfriend, Sandy!

Wears lots of rings

obsessed with lantern sleeves!

always has her Nazar pendant on!

Acrylic nails are done by her younger sister, Haley!

exclusively wears gold jewellery

hand tailored dress and shirt

shoes are bought from a vintage clothes boutique in Grampleton

always wears her favourite ruffled petticoat under skirts

Haley Larson

18 years old and newly graduated from highschool, now a freelance photographer

shorter (and cuter!) than most

always wearing baby blue eyeshadow

shell necklace gifted to her by Alex, her best friend

cute face mole!

always wearing her grandma's bracelet

always using extra blush and face shimmer!

flowery blouse made by her sister, Emily

loves wearing mini-skirts, shorts and low-waist jeans!

regularly posts her landscape photography to her blog, and even won a local competition once!

her fav pleated skirt

loves swimming and paddleboarding in the sea by the beach!

despite graduating top of her class, she has little interest in academia - but loves art

really wants an ankle tattoo of a sea-shell!

cute strap heels she stole from her sisters wardrobe (Emily still hasn't realised yet)

[Image 1 ID: A digital drawing of Abigail from Stardew Valley holding a sword. She's smiling, with dark lipstick and purple eyeshadow, and has small hearts drawn on her cheeks in eyeliner. She has a bridge, nose and belly button piercing and blue eyes. She's wearing a sleeveless denim vest, with a black tank top underneath and black denim shorts with purple fishnets underneath. She has a tattoo of a rose on her upper right arm and another of a sword on her inner left calf. She has pointed black nails and two bangles on her right wrist. She has black platform boots and has a freckles all over her body. Her hair is a vibrant purple in waves reaching her lower back. In the upper left corner is her in-game sprite by 'ConcernedApe' and the artist's signature 'Rapha3liii' is in the lower right corner. /.End ID]

[Image 2 ID: A digital drawing of Emily from Stardew Valley pinching her dress in both hands in a bowing like gesture. The left side of her head is shaved while the right has straight, blue shoulder length hair. She has purple eyeshadow, pink lipstick and brown eyes. She also has gold helix piercings, a gold vertical eyebrow piercing and golden hoops in her lobes. She is smirking and looking to the right. She is wearing a layered red dress with a long pleated skirt. It has a white ruffled petticoat underneath. Under her red dress is a pink shirt with lantern style sleeves. She has a corset on over the dress with golden buttons and a miniature cape in dark red clasped to her shoulders. Two necklaces are hanging from under her shirt collar, one golden chain and the other a pendent of a 'Nazar'. She has long sharp purple acrylic nails and multiple rings on both of her hands. She is wearing dark red heels with button clasped straps. In the upper left corner is her in-game sprite by 'ConcernedApe' and the artist's signature 'Rapha3liii' is in the lower right corner. /.End ID]

[Image 3 ID: A digital drawing of Haley from Stardew Valley standing casually, smiling, with a tuft of her hair inbetween her fingers in one hand and blue eyes. She has golden blonde hair in waves just reaching her upper back. She has locks of hair over both of her shoulders. She has light blue eyeshadow and bright pink blush and lipstick, she also has a mole on her face just above her lips to the right. She is wearing a low crop blue blouse with short sleeves and a white lined flower pattern on it. She has pink nails and is wearing a necklace of a blue sea-shell with a golden chain and a bracelet with a golden chain and heart pendent. Her left arm is holding her hair while her right arm is crossed over her chest and resting on her other arm. She is wearing a pink pleated mini-skirt and blue heels with small straps around her ankles. In the upper left corner is her in-game sprite by 'ConcernedApe' and the artist's signature 'Rapha3liii' is in the lower right corner. /.End ID]

[Image 4 ID: A digital drawing with the three previously described characters all standing in a line. The order is Abigail to the left, Emily in the middle and Haley to the right. Each character has their in-game character sprite by 'ConcernedApe' on the upper left to them. The artist's signature 'Rapha3liii' is overlayed in three different places on the drawing. /. End ID]

This my first time ever writing image descriptions so please tell me how I did! I read some other blogs and advice prior to writing my own but I understand its likely I got some things wrong! Please let me know if I've formatted or written something in a way that makes the descriptions innacessible! Thankyou

#stardew valley #sdv #stardew velley art #fanart #stardew valley bachelorettes #stardew valley bachelors #my art #my fic #a mutually assured attachment #a mutually-assured attachment #haley sdv #sdv fanart #emily sdv #abigail sdv #haley #emily #abigail #stardew valley abigail #stardew valley emily #stardew valley haley #sdv headcanons #my headcanons #image described #image id

[kirbyoc-secretsanta]

For @konoa-t !! I was your secret santa ✨

I hope you like them !! Your OCs were all so sweet and I really enjoyed drawing them 💞 if youd like transparent/bgless versions of these at all feel free to DM me and I can give you them :D

( also as a little bonus I wanted to draw our OCs together - theyre both purple gals after all 💜 I hope you dont mind ! )

from: @dragonitepaw

to: @konoa-t

#submission #kirby #kirby oc #dragonitepaw #konoa-t #kirby oc secret santa

[denis-local]

god i havent asked questions in a WHILE but its mainly cuz ive been somewhat busy dealing with my horrible grades and having to fix them up. But now that they're foxed, i can finally have the time to ask questions, and they're for the new comic!!

1. who the hell was the guy Glevil choked?

2. Also confused on who's the big teeth lousy gal. Kinda lost track of my NPCS.

3. Will we get ref's/designs for the names/characters that Glevil mentioned, like for example; Arther?

4. Is there an exact reason on why Glevil is in so much denial?

5. What are the names of the two other mannequins?

6. Christ, is it me or did Boots' boots, well, now they're heels, get taller!?

7. I gotta say though, Boots looks so girlie pop. (/pos)

8. "You all made the choice to leave home!" and a few panels later, "You should be at home!" and I can't really tell if it's just an error, because my brain goes 'Wait a sec is it talking about like, they moved from their old home, Boots' is somewhere else?? Or huh??' so I kinda just want some confirmation on that!! (/lh)

9. What happened to Boots' hands-- (/genq)

10. To add onto #9, Jesus, what happened to Boots' face in some of the panels?? (again, /genq)

11. Can't tell what they're trying to do in the last frame, pull Glevil away? To be honest to me it kinda looks like Glevil's torso is bein' ripped off a bit, since it looks tilted.

thas all i have for now!!

Ah yeah Q&A tiem

1. Just a random player, Glevil just has a kill count y'know

2. It was Bive, she's just being herself y'know

3. Those are just example names and references to the other names that were in a naming competition for the green hat mannequin (Larch) we had in the Discord server. So if they were to get any ref sheets it'd be by the people who put in those names. If they want of course.

4. Not sure what this one means, but I'm assuming you mean by Boots being infected? Glevil isn't exactly in denial, at the time they had never seen such a virus especially one thay physically and mentally changed someone.

5. The green hat mannequin with the necklace is Larch (OC) and the purple hat one is Jim (NPC)

6. Boots has always been taller even in Regretevator, they tower over everyone. So naturally they still do haha.

7. They absolutely serve I know haha

8. I like to think in Regretevator, the mannequins all originate from one place (probably the backroom of the lobby) and that a lot of mannequins left that 'home' to go anywhere they want to like Mark and the gang who now do wood work! Naturally I'm gonna add all my HCs to my AU haha

9. After being infected they turned into stubs. Glevil and the others were very terrified of this at first.

10. Added some dramatic shadowing dw haha

11. Yeah it was difficult to draw that one I must admit, but they were trying to pull Glevil away or Boots off of them.

#yass infection au #regretevator au #ask post #asks in my inbox blease #especially if they're about the AU and stuff hehe

[chaseadrian]

don’t sabotage the lightshow

Six years out of high school, you've carved your own little home and built your own little family at a dive in Chicago, a family of runaways and survivors, like you. But when the new band shows up, a familiar face brings back all memories of Hawkins you wanted to forget. Threatening the sanctity of what you've built, you find yourself wondering if it might be worth tearing down anyway. [SERIES MASTERLIST]

pairing. eddie munson x f!reader tags. 18+ ONLY, minors DNI, original side characters, best friends to enemies, hate sex, reader smokes weed, mentions of drinking, semi-public sex, m receiving oral, vague references to traumatic past word count. 5.7k+ an. uh yeah i'm obsessed with this dude. this does take place in 1990, it's never explicitly said but just for clarity sake that's where we're at.

“Bandits surround you in the treasure room, prepared for a fight, but before anyone can draw their weapon, the corner of a stone pillar crumbles over Baron Hayes. Pebbles knock against your head, sending you stumbling into a shrine in the wall. The ground rumbles underneath you, and the bandits start falling one by one, a vibrant purple mist rushing in and out of their ears. 

They die before they can scream, blood trickling out onto the floor. You look around at each other, nerves seizing as the mist bends around you. This couldn’t be your last moment, could it?” 

You look around at the wide eyes in front of you, the grimaces and crossed fingers. 

The room swells with silence, and Baron Hayes breaks it, his eyes leaving yours to stare across the table. He reaches out, “Lilian, my lady, if this is our last mome—”

“Silence!” You shout, deepening your voice, “A booming voice shouts, and the mist swirls between you, blossoming into a thick mushroom cloud before it takes corporeal form, ‘This will not be your last moment. You need not fear me.’ The figure before you has pallid skin, he is adorned with jewels and dark hair, and the mist that felled your enemies swirls from his waist down.” 

“A djinn!” Lilian says, slapping the party member next to her. 

You smile behind your binder, “I am indeed the djinn Wymark,’ he says, floating closer to the Baron, ‘You have freed me, Baron Hayes.’ He gestures to the shrine, where a fading porcelain vase lies broken over a pile of jewels. Wymark holds a closed fist over his chest, ‘I am indebted to fulfill any wishes you so seek until you have completed your journey.’ 

Wymark waves a hand over his body, appearing before you as a full human and brushing the riches away from the shrine, revealing it to be a throne. He takes a seat, ‘I cannot, however, leave the grounds of my palace. You may bind me once more to the vase, but if it shatters again—”

A loud knock outside the room interrupts the final moments of your session, and you glare down the table at Lilian. 

“Iona.” Baron Hayes whines, letting his head fall back against his chair. 

She holds a finger up, “Sorry, Griff! Must be the band for tonight. One second!” 

You stare at the rest of your script, fingers tapping on the table as Iona rushes out the door. You can faintly hear her voice outside, “Hi fellas, and uh, gal! Come in, come in.”

She guides them into the office, “We’re just finishing up our little session. It’s nerdy, don’t mind us.”

You make a mental note to have Lady Lilian caught in a bear trap next session. 

“We’re just missing your lead singer, yeah?” 

“Yeah, yeah, he’s just running behind.” You look up at the musician that spoke, and flick your gaze to the shaggy-haired one that flops down on the couch with a grumble, “Running behind with all our equipment.” 

Iona waves a hand, “Oh people always shuffle in here late anyway.” She turns to your party, “Everyone, these are our new regulars—what’re you called again?” 

“Corroded Coffin.” 

A sting of familiarity plants itself in your brain, but you brush it off.

“Corroded Coffin, yes! This is Jeff, the guitarist, Gareth’s on the drums, Robin’s backup vocals, and of course, their incredible bassist—”

“Iona, can we wrap this up? They’re not going anywhere, right?” The party member next to her empty seat sits back, throwing a hand around the chair on his other side, his voice heavy with a Spanish accent, “Rin and Griff need to get the bar squared away because they forgot to do so last night.” He purses his lips, and pinches Rin’s shoulder. 

Rin rolls their eyes and sets their head in their hand. 

“Yes, Javi, fine.” She turns to the band, “Guys, these are the miscreants who keep The Kindling alive. Rin and Griffin, they’ll make you the strongest drinks at any club in Chicago. Our manager Javi here makes sure the place doesn’t get busted, and Selma will be the reason it goes down anyway.”

“That’s an ominous way of saying I photograph shit, Iona.” Selma says, “It’s true though, if you’re gonna do coke, do it in the bathroom.”

Gareth frowns at her, squinting his eyes. Robin looks between him and Selma, slack jawed, “I—is she for real?”

“Shush, Selma! No, she’s not. Nobody does coke in our bathrooms…they do it in the alley.” She laughs, “Anyway, last but not least is our amazing, super creative light tech slash DM—”

You interrupt her to offer your name, nodding at the band, “Nice to meet you.” 

Jeff nods back, “Yeah, good to meet you all.” He sits down next to Gareth, pulling the bassist down with him. Robin looks behind her to see the couch full, and she sits on the edge of the wooden coffee table next to it.

Iona claps her hands together once more, “Oh, good, now that that’s over! Sorry, Lady Lilian present and accounted for. Where were we?” She sits back down, flattening her palms on the table. 

You take a deep breath, “Wymark throws a leg over the other, ‘If my vase breaks once more I will be unable to accompany you, bound again to the palace until the enchantment that sent my castle to ruins is broken.’ It seems you have a choice before you now. Rid the Djinn of his enchantment, or risk taking him with you in a weak vessel?” You start shuffling your papers into a stack.

“But that is a question for next time.” The group groans together, and you smile as you shut your binder. 

“Alright, alright, quit the whining. You guys are gonna want to really think on this one.” 

The table starts picking up their figurines, dumping them into a small metal lunchbox and breaking the game board into four squares to fit alongside the pieces. You reach down into your bag and pull a half drunk water bottle out, downing it in one go, throat tired from affecting Wymark’s booming voice.

“You running a homebrew?” Gareth asks, leaning forward to put his elbows on his knees. 

He directs the question to you, but Griff answers, “Oh, yeah. She puts us through the ringer with the stories she comes up with. You guys play?” 

Robin shakes her head while the boys nod. 

“Not so much now,” Jeff says, “With college and the band and working to even afford to live in this city. But yeah, even had a club in high school.” 

“Sick.” Rin says, “We’d only heard the basic shit about you know, cults and sacrifices and all that before she got us into it.” They gesture towards you. 

Gareth scoffs, “Bullshit.” 

“Total bullshit.” Iona nods, “But I kind of can’t believe they let you run a club like that in Indiana. Aren’t they all like, mormon over there?” 

“You’re thinking of Utah.” Robin leans back on one hand, “Indiana’s evangelical.” She makes a cross in the air with her finger. Iona mouths an ‘ohh.’ 

“And anyway, screw that.” Gareth shifts to show the group a patch on his other arm, smiling. “We’re Hellfire through and through.”

Your friends laud its design, chattering about their own lack of branding—“Why don’t we have a cool name?” “Yeah, we should get patches.” “Yeah!”

You laugh and lean forward to get a better look.

You know that patch. 

You drew that patch. Or at least, the first draft of it. 

Without making a show of recognition, you nod in approval and sit back, “So, you guys are from Indiana?” 

They nod, and Jeff rolls his eyes, “Unfortunately, yeah. Wouldn’t recommend it.”

“Oh, I-I know. I grew up in Hawkins.” 

“No way, that’s where we’re from!” Robin says, laughing to herself, “Small world.” 

You flash a wan smile and scan their faces, rifling through memory to try and place them at all. 

No such luck, which is great. If you don’t recognize them, they don't recognize you—and if they do, they aren’t confident enough about it to say anything. You hold onto the hope that this is just a strange coincidence. They’re a band looking for their break, this is a city full of opportunity for such a thing. 

That’s all.

But even the reminder of Hawkins has you mentally checking out from this conversation, and you stuff your binder into your bag, reaching a hand out to Iona, “I’ll be upstairs if you need me. Good to meet you guys.”

You raise a hand to the band and throw the bag around your back, clapping Javi on the shoulder and bumping Rin’s fist as you pass behind them. 

Climbing the stairs, you shake your hands at your sides and press your nails into your palms, trying to push off memories of Hawkins. The group chatters downstairs, excited voices lamenting stories of past campaigns, fading the further up you go.

It’s silent on the balcony, and you flop down in the wheelie stool at your setup, sliders and buttons wired to the threadbare array of lights around the stage. You spin around, kicking off with the ball of your foot and circling until the wheels scoot you close enough to the controller table and you crash into it. 

When your vision stills, you look down at the stage to see the band sitting on the edge of it, kicking their feet as Iona chatters excitedly. You can’t hear what she says, not until another figure walks into view and she claps her hands. 

“Eddie!” She shouts, wrapping her arms around him. He pats her on the back with one hand, and you slide the chair over to the balcony’s ledge, holding out the last threads of hope that this isn’t the Eddie your mind immediately jumps to. 

Iona points up at you and waves, and what was only a vague possibility to you twenty minutes ago is now a fully realized scene playing out in slow motion. 

He looks up at you, the smile on his face fading as dread and disbelief fly through you.

You push on the ledge and roll back to the controller. You try to keep your leg from bouncing, try to regain some composure and still yourself, but it’s no use when you can hear the distinct tone of his voice downstairs. Inaudible as it is, you know the cadence well. 

“Hey!” A voice from behind startles you in the seat, hands grabbing the edge of the control table to keep it from sliding out under you. 

Selma strolls over, “You got the scrollers? They weren’t downstairs.” 

You point to a bag on the floor next to the table, “Yeah, yeah.” You clear your throat, “Javi caught someone snooping around backstage last show, he brought ‘em up here. Hey, um, did you see the lead singer?” 

Selma crouches over to rifle through the color lenses. She pops a finger up for every one, and smiles, looking up at you once she’s satisfied with the count, “I know. He’s legit, huh? He’s in my Visual Language class. I got Iona’s uncle his demo, they’re really—” 

You hunch over close to her, lowering your voice, “Wait, wait. He goes to UChicago?”

“Oh come on, it’s not just prep school jockies going to these nice schools now, y’know?” She taps her knuckles against your knee, “Why, you into him?”

You push back in the chair, straightening your posture, “No! No…no I just. I went to high school with him.” 

Selma stands up with the bag, “He’s from Hawkins, too? Color me surprised, I kinda thought the band picked him up on the side of the road somewhere.” She hums, “Him and Jeff kinda keep things close to the vest.” 

“Trust me, Sel. He is just another drop in the ocean of that town. He looks different from the normies, but he’s…” You trail off, shaking your head to yourself. 

“Hey,” Her voice softens, “Being reminded of home would shake any of us, and you know we got you no matter what, okay? Say the word and Javi kicks ‘em to the curb.” 

She holds the bag in front of her, feet together, features empathetic. 

You roll around in the chair, resting your back against the edge of the table and crossing your arms, “Yeah, no, I know, but…they’ll be good for the club. I’m alright, promise.” 

Selma squints her eyes at you, “Swear?” She holds up a pinkie, and you laugh, wrapping your own pinkie around hers. 

“Swear.” 

“Good, now I gotta get these downstairs. Iona said purple, yeah?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Great.” She mock salutes you at the top of the stairs, “Standby.” 

You return the salute, and roll back over to the ledge, resting your forearms on the cold wood. You plop your chin down in your hands before letting it loll onto your arm, cheek squished as you watch Selma slide the scrollers onto each light. 

The band is too busy setting up their equipment to notice you watching them, Eddie’s jacket tossed on an amp, wearing a plain black shirt with the sleeves rolled up as he unwraps cords and throws Gareth’s drumsticks at him with a smile. He’s broader now, more adult. The acne that you could see from space when he hit puberty was barely visible, if there at all. 

He’s kept his long locks, though it looks like he learned how to take care of them. All waves and shine converse to the matte frizz you once knew. 

You put your hands out in front of you, now trying to picture them as they were when you last saw him. Were there less wrinkles? Had they changed tone in the Chicago weather? Looking in the mirror each morning, you gave little thought to how you’d changed since high school. Maybe your smile lines were deeper now, maybe there was a little more hair in the sink each time you brushed it. 

Nothing much made you care. Naught except the sudden presence of someone who knew that version of you. Knew you when you were shiny and brand new, a witness to the way life broke you in. The way it broke you both until you turned on each other. 

The sharp feedback from the stage cuts you from your thoughts, and you watch everyone cringe as Jeff plugs his guitar into the large amp. Eddie sticks a finger in his ear and does the same. You exhale a laugh, watching Iona press her palms to either side of her head and walk away. 

Selma shoots you a thumbs up from downstairs, and you roll back to the control table, hitting buttons and sliding tabs until you can see the stage lit up in purple. Neon violet lights against the black wall contrast with the overhead rig, constant in its white-yellow hue. Eddie hovers his hand above his face, blocking the blinding light and looking up at you. 

You don’t know if he can see your head poking over the control table, but you shrink down anyway, shoulders jerking back in a quick spasm of nerves. You stand up to turn the stage lights off, shaking your hands at your side before flopping down on the couch. The ceiling light burns into your retina, and you throw a wrist over your eyes as the band starts warming up. 

It’s a half-assed practice, and you can hear laughter after every missed note. Right now it’s not Eddie’s voice in the mic, but what you can only assume to be Robin’s. Raspy, understated, still sweet. She makes up choruses for every melody they come up with. They aren’t great, by any means, but there’s a smile in her voice. You’d much prefer hearing her over Eddie. 

They cycle halfway through a couple songs, volume on the amps lowered, music echoing through the empty club. Closing your eyes, you try once more to push away all you can of Hawkins, of Eddie. The music helps, Robin’s voice not quite fit for metal, but she makes a passable attempt. You can understand how it might fit with Eddie’s in the overall ensemble, a soothing constant to grab onto behind the bashing of drums and intricate, electric riffs. 

Your friends downstairs cheer for the band once the music stops, more excited chatter and the ‘clink’ of beer bottles. 

You raise your head to the familiar pattern of footsteps, a prick of relief in your chest knowing it’s not Eddie. 

“Here.” Javi throws you a water bottle before walking into the control booth at the back of the room. Radio metal starts playing out the speakers of the club, and you sit up to take a drink.

He rolls around the doorway, leaning against it and fiddling with the chain around his neck.

He has to yell over the music, “You good?” 

“Mm, Javi, fine.” You lay back down, throwing a leg over the back of the couch and shooting him a thumbs up. 

“Doors open in ten, so I’m locking the office. Keys—”

“Keys in the skull jar, thank you, I know.” 

“Are you sure everything’s okay?” 

“All good!” You pop the cap off the water and tilt a few droplets into your open mouth, sitting up when it dribbles onto your shirt.

You brush the water off and smile at him, “Really, just go do your job.” 

“Tch, you do yours!” He rolls his eyes at you, shaking his head and feigning offense. 

A wave of giddiness passes through your stomach, and you laugh at him as he points from his eyes to yours, “I’m watching you!” He goes down backward on the stairs, keeping his eyes on you until the stairwell blocks the view.

He slams the office door as he always does when you’re up there alone, his calling card to tell you the door is locked. That you’re safe. The Kindling isn’t the seediest of clubs in Chicago, but that wasn’t saying much. 

Patrons shuffle in as expected, and you sit once more at the ledge of the balcony, staring at the empty stage. Strangers bump into strangers, drinks in hand, spilling over the rim and onto the forever sticky floor. You turn your wrist over, and trudge to the sound mixer, silencing the speaker music just as Iona takes the stage. 

You plop back down in your stool, chin on your forearm, reaching lazily over to turn on a couple overhead lights flanking her.

“Helloooo!” She speaks into the microphone, curtsying a little when several patrons whistle at her. 

“I won’t waste any time up here, you’re all really gonna like these guys. Let me be the first to introduce your new favorite local band: Corroded Coffin!” She claps, and as the band enters you raise the rest of the overhead rig, illuminating them as they take their places. 

Eddie throws his guitar strap over his shoulders, and grabs the mic stand, the crowd buzzing in front of them, “Alright! Alright, I, uh,” He looks over at Robin with a smile, then to Jeff and the bassist at his other side, “I won’t waste your time either.” 

“We’re Corroded Coffin, let’s go!” He kicks his foot against the floor as Jeff plays the first sting, and you slide up the power on the violet lights, the crowd matching Eddie’s immediate energy. 

They’re good, better than you expected. You always knew Eddie to be talented, to have a future if he actually tried. As you predicted, Robin’s voice is a subtle mix-in with Eddie’s gruff tenor, but she has the same energy as the rest of them onstage. Where Eddie’s shredding at a mic stand, she’s dragging her wired microphone around, jumping in time to the music, her short bobbed hair flicking back and forth. She’s great, they’re great, and it shoots a sharp spiral of frustration through your side. 

You sit there at the controller, flicking this light and that, the violet lights off during Jeff’s guitar solo, his figure just illuminated by the white overhead rig. Purple on Eddie when he has a solo, feet planted firm and intimidating as he sings into the mic, his gaze wiping over the crowd. 

People in the audience reach out for him, a woman even drops out her tits when his eyes rake over her. Oh they like them, for sure, and by the smile on Eddie’s face, by Jeff’s wide eyes and Robin’s awkward, interrupting laugh into the microphone, they also like the attention. Even the quieter patrons on the sides are singing along to the covers they know, bobbing their heads to the originals they’ll come to learn.

He tilts his head up at you several times throughout the set, brief glances behind blinding stage lights. You hate that he knows you’re up there, hate having to watch his every move. You conduct these shows from an invisible seat, and that’s the way you like it, but you don’t feel invisible now. Every time he stares up towards you, it feels like he’s peeling off a new layer, skin and muscle and nerve until you’re down to the bone. He grins at the mic as though he knows this.

After a short half hour of adrenaline and bright lights and an audience shoving their way to the front, the band is dripping in sweat, hair clinging to their faces, jackets and flannels tossed to the side every other song until they’re in tank tops and t-shirts. Eddie raises a hand above the crowd, waiting for them to settle into a normal chatter. 

“We are oh-so grateful for you tonight,” He grins, “How about one last song, huh?”

They roar in front of him, and he laughs into the mic, “Now this just came out last month, so we will forgive you if you don’t know it yet,” Eddie slides his hand up the neck of his guitar and back down, “But you’re gonna learn.” 

With that, the crowd returns to its previous state, and Eddie stares up at you behind the lights as he sings. You slide over to the ledge and look back; if he can’t see you he’s doing a convincing job pretending otherwise.

—reduction is addictive too

Personality overview

I can see what the cost will be

He wraps a hand around the microphone, bringing his lips right up to it.

You know I don't need you

I just can't Put You Down

I can see what it all means to me

Honey I don't need you

I just can't Put You Down

Frustration boils in your stomach once more, and you storm down the steps to the club’s breaker box and flick off the main switch. The lights shut off, the crowd shouting their disappointment as you grab the keys from the jar and rush outside. 

“Sorry, everyone! Must’ve tripp—” Is all you can hear from Iona onstage before the metal door slams shut. 

You pull a blunt and lighter from the pocket of your flannel, shaky hand bringing it to your lips. It does little to cool the all over fury you feel rattling your body. Frigid air nips at your wrists, at your neck. The cold seems to come earlier every year in Illinois, wind chill reaching you now at the tail end of summer. 

You stand there in the dark alcove, a little space with trash cans and a pile of cigarette butts mostly blocked off from the rest of the world. You burn down the blunt until you feel it calming your mind. A calm that’s short lived before the metal door across from you opens, and Eddie strolls out, kicking a nearby brick up against the door to prop it open. You can hear the music inside, the loud chatter. 

He nods at you, pulling a pack of cigarettes from his back pocket.

You scoff and start moving further into the alcove, but he follows you.

“Weird thing, the circuit breaker.” He slides a cigarette from the pack, and walks over to you, holding the end of it up to the blunt in your hand until it catches. “You’d think…place like this? Wouldn’t get overloaded so easily.” 

“You’d think.” 

“Alright, cut the shit.” He raises his eyebrows and smiles, but there’s no friendliness there. He shrugs, “Why’d you do it.” 

You scoff, “Really gotta ask that?” Bringing the blunt to your lips, you take another long drag and blow it into his face. 

“Yeah,” He nods, “Yeah, I do. Because if you wanted to fuck up the show, you would’ve done it way earlier.” 

You kick at your heel with the toe of your boots, “Didn’t like you looking at me like that.” 

“I’m looking at you now.”

“Yeah, and I don’t like it. So if you could fuck off, that’d be great.”

You flick the cigarette out of his mouth. 

Eddie smashes it with the toe of his sneakers, “Come on, you really mad at me because we fell out?” He licks his thumb and forefinger, snuffing out the end of your blunt and pulling it from your mouth to toss in the trash. “It’s been what, six years? People move on.” 

You swallow hard, brows knitting together, “Yeah, and I have my own shit now. My own shit that I’m not gonna let you take from me.” 

He laughs at you, “You’re still on that Hellfire bullshit? It was my club!” 

“It was ours, Eddie, ours!” You knock your hand against the side of the trash can. 

The year flashes through your brain in a matter of seconds. The rescheduled sessions, half-assed apologies, A’s on your report card and F’s on Eddie’s. The deeper into senior year you got, the more he pulled away. The acceptance letter in your mailbox filled your stomach with more dread than excitement, but when Eddie found out, you suddenly couldn’t wait to leave.

“It was ours, and you cut me out.” 

“Fuck, whatever, what’s done is done, right?” He throws his hands up, and pulls at the hem of his shirt, wiping the sweat off his face. 

Your gaze drops to his waist, to the faintly toned muscle of his abdomen, taut, pale scars covering his skin. Your stomach lurches, hot and angry and tightening as he wipes the sweat from his brow. The tendons in his hands flex, and your eyes pause on each ringed finger, on the callouses at his fingertips. 

He smashes his bangs up against his hairline, revealing a little spattering of acne on the skin. You smile to yourself. 

Resetting your composure, you press a finger into his shoulder, catching the edge of his collarbone, “You guys wanna play your shitty little covers, feel free, but stay away from me, okay? And Corroded Coffin, really? You stuck with that stupid name from middle school?”

“And? What’s wrong with it?” 

“Come on, Ed, Corrosion of Conformity isn’t that underground. And even that name is shit.” 

“We had that name first.”

You look down and shrug, “Yeah, well. What do I know, anyway. Leaving Hawkins is the only good idea I’ve ever had, right?” 

Eddie’s first acknowledgement of everything you created together lights you up once more with anger, your stomach knotting further. 

He just stands there, and it deepens your fury. 

“Huh?” You push him backwards. He takes a step back and slaps your hand away, jaw clenching. 

You want to push him until he breaks. 

“Right, Eddie?” Another shove, his heels just about connecting with the wall, and he wraps a hand around your bicep to keep you from shoving him again.. You smile and exhale a laugh, “Leaving Hawkins, leaving you, was the best idea I’ve ever had.” 

He grabs the back of your hair and forces your head away from him. 

Smelling like smoke and sweat, the wet hem of his shirt clings to the exposed strip of your stomach. He tugs your head back more, baring your throat, his eyes flicking to your lips and back. He swallows hard, “Yeah. It was.” 

Letting out a choked laugh, you squint your eyes at him, “Well, I had to. My life was going somewhere.”

“Fuck you.” He whispers.

“You did, Ed. Remember?” Smile still on your lips, voice low and hard, “Or is that why you’ve been staring at me all night?” 

You stand on your tiptoes, your nose grazing his, “Forgot I was the first notch on your belt? Wanted to check it off before you tear through Chicago, for old times sake?”

Eddie stands there staring, tightened grip in your hair, fingers pressing harder into your bicep. His breath hits your lips, hot and languid and shaking. You grab a fistful of his shirt, his chest rising and falling underneath your knuckles while he tries to steady his breathing.

“C’mon then, Ed,” You say, “Fucking take what you want.” You spit, bringing your lips to his. You leave them hovering too close for comfort, his cupid’s bow brushing against your bottom lip. He tilts his head up, just shy of a real kiss, a stone’s throw from giving in. 

He pauses, and you whisper against his mouth, “Take what you want, or let me go.” 

Several thick, silent seconds pass before his grip falters, big brown eyes shiny with reflected moonlight, and you step back from him. 

Turning to go back inside, you mutter to yourself, “I knew you wouldn’t. Fucking coward.” 

Eddie’s sneakers slide over the littered pavement, and he yanks you back just as you’re reaching for the door, “Don’t ever call me that.” His voice is rough, like there’s gravel in his throat, and his eyes burn into you when he speaks. 

You hide the smile on your face and force away the excitement in your chest as he pushes you up against the brick wall. You got him; whatever bullshit tough guy act he puts on now is a front for the boy who’s always been wrapped around your finger. He fumbles with his belt while his teeth sink into your neck, and you swat his hands away when they try to undo your jeans. They come back hard on your hips, shoving you into the wall, and he yanks down the jeans.

The cold air has little opportunity to make its way between your bodies before he’s grinding himself into you, a hand coming up tight over your mouth. There’s scarce warm-up for either of you, all crude language and his teeth on your neck.

The sweaty shelf of his pelvis ruts against you, sparking the nerves of your clit, a wash of arousal building in your belly. You’d never give him the verbal satisfaction of knowing you like any of this. Love when the head of his cock pushes you open, stretching your walls with hard, fast pumps. 

Before the pressure on your clit and in your stomach climbs to the point of overwhelming, Eddie spins you around, fucking you from behind, his hand squeezing your jaw until it hurts. 

He fills you so entirely, but you bat away the urge to reach behind you and grab the backs of his thighs. Resist the incessant, nagging thought of your hands on his ass, pushing him into you.  

Instead, you focus on digging your knuckles into the wall, the sharp sting of old brick against your skin. The top layer will be flaked and scabbing tomorrow, but it’s worth it to keep your composure. Keep him from knowing how close you are, how the harsh thrust of his cock hits you right where you need it, vitriol and hate and history just added fuel to the fire in your chest. 

You open your palms on the wall, pushing into him on the edge of your orgasm. It crests as he pulls out and you’re overwhelmed by the sudden anger you feel with his eyes on you, watching you lose yourself like this. He shifts his hand on your mouth, and you bite down onto his forefinger, expecting him to yank it away. It’s a surprise that he doesn’t, that he instead grabs you by your jaw and spins you around, fingers squeezing your cheeks. 

He presses one hard kiss to your open mouth, lips tasting of smoke and beer. He spits onto your tongue and pushes you down to your knees, sliding between your lips. 

You drag your teeth over his shaft, staring up at him, watching pain and frustration flash over his features before he pulls hard on your hair. You concede this once, concede because he’s put himself at your mercy, given you the power. Because the man you hate has a body you love, and fuck if you won’t use it to fill your needs.

Despite this, you refuse to work for him the way you would for anyone else. You’re lazy with your lips, careless with your teeth; you keep your tongue flat and motionless under his length. 

With mounting frustration and an orgasm just out of reach, Eddie starts pushing into your mouth, hitting the back of your throat, pioneering a concentrated effort to make you gag. 

This is another satisfaction you won’t give him, all focus dedicated to opening your throat. 

It’s a success short lived when you feel his orgasm pumping over your tongue. You’d intended to spit it back at him—swallowing would be a courtesy he didn’t deserve—but you’re slow on the uptake, and before you can register how his hips jerk and his breath grows heavy, he’s pulled out.

You spit at his feet anyway, wiping your mouth and staring at him as he tugs his jeans up. 

He grabs another cigarette from the pack.

Yanking the handkerchief from his back pocket, you stand up and swipe it between your legs before throwing it in the trash. 

Eddie tries to catch it mid-air and fails, the glare he sends your way could burn a hole in you if you cared. 

“Guess we’ll be seeing more of each other,” He says.

Fixing your jeans, you pull the keys from your jacket pocket and grab the edge of the door, kicking the brick he’d set out of the way, “Unfortunately.” 

You slap a hand against the red ‘EMPLOYEES ONLY’ sign on the outside of the door and slam it shut.

#eddie munson/you #eddie munson x you #eddie munson/reader #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson smut #my writing #mine #live wire

[exhaustedwriterartist]

Time for a vague OOH infodump

Ahem... It is time for some cryptic lore points about Our Other Halves (because I don't have time to draw right now). Enjoy random thoughts I have, while trying to be as vague as I can (in an attempt to not spoil too much).

The FlexSeal™ guy looking at Leo, "Now that's a lot of damage!"

How much guilt can I fit into one character? Or in this case, several?

I wonder how many references and inspiration for Jupiter Jim I can hunt down...

Raph seems to be fine. Just fine. Nothing's bothering ol' Raph here.

Heh, Big Mama has part time custody of Raph and Mikey. Who has the other half?

Master manipulators anyone? Mother Gothel level gaslighters?

Woah, it appears the Rise! footclan shares braincells with another iteration's footclan now. They seem to be out and about more... are they looking for someone? Could they be responsible for something?

Hmm... I wonder why mikey has hair and... weird scars?

Hmm... which would be better: a surgeon, nurse, or another kind of specialist?

April is the best sister.

I've done a lot of research on nerve damage... and how to fix that. (Thank heavens for text to speech, some of the documents are insanely long and have tiny text.)

The Purple Dragons episodes are a lot more important now.

Separation anxiety and abandonment issues seem to be a problem for certain characters...

She seems like a cool gal. Wonder what I'll end up doing with her...

And that's it for now.

Have fun figuring these out!

@bowandbrush, I hope you don't mind me tagging you, but I believe you wanted more OOH lore? :)

#our other halves #exhausted's half awake jumbles #rottmnt #separated au #tmnt fandom #what are tags really...? #I have beaten the anxious thoughts. I have won. #Oh boy did I have fun writing this. #FlexTape ads were the best. For some reason they would advertise on the kid's channels. #Now I must return to my studies and work.

[lumiidragon]

Do you have any tips for designing HTTYD OCs (dragons specifically)? I know it sounds like a vague question, but really any advice will work! Tysm!

Welp, when I'm designing, your dragon species of choice is obvious, haha~

Ok, so I can use an example!

My favorite gal, Roughwave (a lot of the other Fury Family cast I have are offspring, so I'm using a pre-determined base for those usually. Roughwave was one of the first ones I designed, so she was from scratch.). So for this example, I chose a night light!

When I design my dragons, I like to have a rough idea of what I wanna go for, even if it's not what I actually end up going for in the end.

I knew my theme for Roughwave was a "Skull Head" theme. Since she was going to be a night light, I wanted to keep a "canon" look to her. Pretty much, this translates to "I wanna design her in a way where she looks like she could actually be from the series and not an 'out there' OC". So I didn't want unrealistic features that night lights wouldn't have (horns, fur, other odd traits), but I still wanted her to stand out from being a Dart, Ruffrunner, and Pouncer copy.

Since the canon night lights are basically re-colors of night furies (no hate to them, of course!), I had the idea of giving Roughwave and her siblings, not only different styled markings, but different traits that light/night fury hybrids could have! With her, I chose to keep the same number of ear nubs, but remove the top set. I also had her have light fury-shaped dorsal fin and wings and add the night fury tail fins for both the tip and the base of the tail. Pretty much, I took light and night fury trails and pieced them together how I liked to give her more variety of her canon counterparts, but still have her stand out.

With the 'Skull Theme' I mentioned earlier, I decided to utilize this in her facial markings. I thought that making the entire dragon have skeleton-like markings would come off as a bit 'unnatural'-looking, so I simplified the design while still giving her the aesthetic. To do this, I chose to have black spots around her eyes and eight spots lining her lips to represent "skull teeth". Roughwave was also to be a 4th generation descendent of Toothless and the Light Fury (Luna), so I wanted to keep in mind that 3 generations of light fury genetics were added to her bloodline (Luna, Opal, and Shoal.) So I had her come off as more light fury-like with her traits and I wanted her markings to show that too. I opted for her to be mostly white to show that the black coloration was being bred out. I gave her a black throat trait to break up the white of her head with the white of her body to separate the two parts more and give her head the final piece it needed for that 'skull look'. I took the black down her dorsal fin to make her design a bit more streamline and to draw the eye down the entire dragon. Lastly, I added her shoulder spots and wing tip markings to give her a bit more individuality without going overboard.

With her, Flower, and Scamper, I wanted to keep their designs fairly simple, but still fun and something that would hopefully stand out from other OCs (not every oc has to be overly complicated and simple is better sometimes!).

So in the end, I really hope explaining Roughwave's designing process helped in some way??? But basically:

Think of what kind of dragon you're wanting to make.

Do you want your OC to look like it actually came from the media or do you want more artistic creativity (no answer is wrong, but there are no purple or rainbow night furies, so if you're wanting a more authentic-look, try keeping in mind what would be realistic for that species! Otherwise, go crazy~)

Think of a 'theme' for your oc before you start. Do you want a certain color theme? An aesthetic theme? Another type of theme? What are you going for with your dragon?

Play with the design. Feel free to use a free-use base for the species you're drawing for or make your own dragon base and try making a few variations of your OC if you think that might help. With every time you design the oc, take the traits you really like for it and use those in the next design variant until you eventually have something you like. I'll do this sometimes if I can't settle on a final.

Lastly, have fun with the process. OC designing is one of the most fun parts of having dragon OCs. I love designing OCs, which is why I have so many, haha~

#how to train your dragon #httyd #oc #roughwave #night light

[star2fishmeg]

Hellooooo~i was wondering if you are doing any request if you are I really loved your high&low x reader story so much I was kinda hoping you would do something with rocky I simp for that fucker so much lol have a good one ☺️

Treasure

Pairing: Rocky x f!reader

Warnings: fluff, kinda short, mention of a bruise

Summary: a domestic morning with Rocky before the chaos begins

Authors note: thank you so much! I'm personally a heavy Murayama gal but I hope I did Rocky some justice here! Thank you for requesting! I AM SO SORRY THIS TOOK AGES I WAS SO BUSY I REALLY APPRECIATE THE PATIENCE😭

Request: above

Rocky was a quiet guy, only speaking when he deemed necessary, voice deep and never raised. It was surprising how he looked so youthful despite spending his days scowling and listening to S.W.O.R.D matters, which by the way, were slightly boring now and then. He had his bad days however, where he just lacked the energy to get up from the sofas of Club Heaven, and the lights deeming too blistering for his head to handle. These were the days he broke any remaining highway laws to get home to his beloved.

It was no secret that he did love women, not in an objectified manner, but as a whole, for their strength and what they stood for. He didn't believe that they should endure any more horror than they already had to, which is why he kept y/n away from the White Rascals completely. However this idea of being on the ball always backfired as he always found himself never wanting to leave the comfort of the bed.

July daybreak seeped through his blinds, warming the skin of his lover. Rocky had insisted she slept near the window, so that when the summer came around she could wake up pleasantly. Either way, she always would. Tired eyes fluttered open, his soft features clearing up into her vision. Seeing his muscles in such a relaxed state was a blessing: duvet ruffled down to his stomach, arm slung over her waist while his bleached locks fell over his eyes. He never looked so angelic, only in the mornings. That's possibly why, despite feeling groggy, she loved mornings. Think about it, what was more serene than waking up to somebody you have undying love for? There isn't anything else, and if there is, it's wrong. Slowly reaching her hand to his face, her fingers lightly brushed against his cheekbone. It was such a shame it had a healing bruise, the purple ruining his angelic glow. Continuing to caress his features, she cupped his cheek, gently so he wouldn't wake. She couldn't help but smile and how perfectly it moulded into his bone structure, no-one else could ever have hands soft enough to calm all his nerves, because he in fact, buried a lot of nerves within him. He was a leader, he had to remain strong, but her touch would relax every muscle in his body and he'd melt like putty in her hands.

Rocky stirred, rolling onto his back at the tickling sensation on his skin. Giggling, y/n shifted to prop herself up on her elbow, gazing lovingly at the man below her. Her fingertips grazed over his chest, drawing no particular patterns as his chest rose and sank under the rays of the sun. Such an endearing sight is one that could be taken as an art piece, conveying such a peaceful emotion that brings true tranquility to the eye. It was these little moments in life she treasured the most; Rocky, at his utmost peace of mind. Y/n layed her palm flat against his built chest, leaning down to place a feathery kiss on his cheek before trailing these down his neck and body, pulling her lips away just as she reached his naval.

"Morning, baby." His gruff voice spoke up. Y/n turned her head towards him, looking again him through her eyelashes before sliding her hand tenderly back to his cheek.

"Good morning, handsome. Sleep well?" She smiled, pressing her soft lips to his for a slow and lazy kiss, those types where they moves so in-sync it's intoxicating.

He smiled, pushing a loose strand of her hair behind her ear, "Always with you." He mumbled, pulling her back into a languid kiss, tasting the previous night's toothpaste on her tongue. Not that he minded, any kiss was gold to him. His coarse hands placed themselves on her hips, pulling her body on top of his and caressing the exposed skin as gently as he could. Y/n dipped her face into the crook of his neck, pecking butterfly kisses anywhere she could reach. Rocky, despite how scarred and chapped his palms were, always tried his best to leave delicate touches on her, airy enough to light little fires over her skin to return the sensations he always recieved. His hands slid up and down her back before securing themselves firmly on her arse.

"M'sorry, I have to get up for work." His voice vibrated through his chest, huskier than usual, in her ears.

"Do you have to go? Can't we stay like this a little longer?" Y/n arms tightly around his shoulders, pressing their chests and bodies together dangerously.

"Darling, you know I'd love to stay." His lips drew into a warm smile. Inhaling her natural flowery scent, he pecked her shoulder slowly, wasting no moment where his plump lips met the warmth of her skin. Rocky truly loved mornings, waking up to his most treasured love. If he weren't a leader of a feared gang, he'd want the best for his love: a comfortable home, secure careers, perhaps even a family of their own (if she wanted that). But in their current timeline, the White Rascals were the closest to a family he could acquire. As long as he had y/n, he had all the treasure in the world that he could ask for. If anyone were to breathe around her, well, then they'd have to deal with Rocky.

[Masterlist]

[Request]

#high&low #high and low #rocky x reader #high&low x reader #rocky x y/n #white rascals #high&low rocky x reader

[abednadirsgf]

TROBEDISON ROOMATE HCS PLS I WOULD LIKE 2 HEAR!!

YES LETS GO TROBEDISON !!!

midnight icecream together!!! they're all in their pjs (troy and abed got annie a set of pjs for their first christmas/notchristmas/notpresent/hanukkah/holidayday/gift not gift that matched theirs but in purple :)) they eat icecream with sprinkles, with chocolate syrup, with marshmallows, with chopped nuts on top, with multiple flakes, with m&ms - the whole shebang. they might have some inspector spacetime in the background whilst they talk and giggle and make funny faces at each other. they leave the dishes in the sink for later that morning and probably end up sleeping and cuddling together on cushions or on the sofa for the rest of the night.

annie has lots of pillows and bears and plushies etc, a whole collection. so, troy and abed decide to get her a new plush every birthday/not Christmas Christmas holiday day or just when they see one that looks cool and so her whole bed is just filled with different animals or weirdly shaped cushions they found in charity shops or drugstores or furniture stores or ebay or something lol (they make sure they clean them beforehand obviously so they smell of nice lavender fabric conditioner) and annie allows them to name some of them too ;)

Annie listens to Mitski, she a mitski gal like me, and she tends to listen to 'bury me at make out creek' or 'lush' albums when she's sad or feels overwhelmed with emotions or feeling insecure :// so when Troy hears the familiar sound of Francis Forever through her door when he goes to ask if she wants takeout tonight, he knocks on the door before entering and seeing her on her bed with a tear stricken face :( he gives her a big big hug, turns the music off and just holds her and tells her the things that happened in his day, like how he saw a cat with one eye outside the apartment building and tried to feed it the leftover chips he had at lunch but it might have scratched him and the cut on his hand don't look so good and then annie bursts into laughter and slaps troy's chest calling him an idiot and fixes up his hand so it doesn't get infected

abed and annie watch the xfiles together, they go through s1-s9 and even dress up as fox mulder and dana scully respectively for one Halloween!!! they watch the movies together and think up of their own conspiracies about the show or real life government. and it's partially what pushed Annie to pursue forensics and the fbi further and Abed 100% backed her and encouraged her (also got her to promise to give him a special fbi hq tour and may or may not write his own spin off special episode take on Annie working at the fbi hehe and also makes sure she reports back all the tales she has for script inspo) when the latter seasons of 10&11 come out whilst they're apart, they Skype each other and do watch parties and britta might pitch in too.

Abed loves his buttered noodles and Troy loves eating pizza all the time and as much as Annie loves takeout and easy eating, she knows its not healthy to have it all the time (and its expensive!!!) so they have a day of the week (I'm feeling Thursday) when they cook a proper homecooked meal together like lasagna or chili con carne and save leftovers for lunch the next day too. Annie also makes sure they eat some fruit so sometimes when they study she makes them all fruit cups and adds a little bit of sprinkled sugar ontop of strawberries ;)

Troy loves to bake. he loves it. he loves making a mess of flour and sugar and having his friends and family tasting his creations. he learnt a lot from Shirley and makes a realllll good pumpkin pie for thanksgiving every year. he loves making apple crumble bc of the texture and he loves decorating cakes and cupcakes (though he does like drawing dicks with icing and makes jokes whenever someone eats one lol) and although he doesn't celebrate birthdays, he still makes abed and annie a cake and he gets them to decorate it with him so it has a some of the flair of the not birthday person. I feel like baking is one of his love languages and he just loves to feed his family the delicious treats and gets super happy when they like them or bake with him :)))

obviously movie nights!! binging tv show nights!! movie marathons!! popcorn galore!! they all know each others comfort movie/show and just watch and cuddle on the sofa when they need it

pillow and blanket forts <33 they might have little studies sessions in them or troy and abed just go to Annie's room and sit in her bed on the many pillows she has hehe

they just love each other and are always there for each other <3 I love them and they're my fave trio <3

#trobedison #community #abed nadir #troy barnes #annie edison #trobed #asks!! #for: quillsink !! #community headcanons

[latentillusion]

happy oc-tober!

i'm not an artist, so please accept this neka of my oc and ginoza. 🥹 i'm starting off with ⭐️ backstory week ⭐️ (just keep in mind i'm still developing this gal. 😭)

5: RELATIONSHIPS (who is important to your OC? do they have a partner? do they have a best friend? are they close to their family?)

her partner is our lovely, occasionally prickly but always caring, ginoza! for now, i think she and gino already liked each other for a long time, but (probably) didn't get together until after his demotion. they've always cared a lot about each other, even when dating wasn't an option.

she's really close to her brother. she looked up to kogami a lot when they were younger and she misses hanging out with him now. (she sees him much less frequently!) for a long time, her brother was the most important person to her and because she knew how seriously he took his work, she was willing to abandon her career to help him after his demotion.

she still keeps in touch with her celebrity colleagues! they like to check in on her. rather than a best friend, she has a core group of friends with them.

6: SYMBOL (what imagery do you associate with your oc? are there any colours, flowers, animals or concepts that symbolize them?)

ooooo, i'm not sure! she loves glamorous things, so maybe a beautiful pair of heels. her favorite color is purple! 💜

7: PERSONALITY (how does your OC behave? what are their positive traits? what are their negative traits? are they extroverted or introverted?)

she looks like a cool beauty to strangers, but she's actually quite exuberant. she loves laughing! she loves teasing people. she's also pretty level-headed.

buuuut sometimes she acts spoiled and impatient. and more than once, she's had to grit her teeth and flash a fake smile when she's obviously annoyed. idk, i think a lot of traits are both negative and positive. she's sometimes naive, sometimes stubborn.

she cares a lot about people. she hates it when people abuse their power, she hates bullies, and she's not afraid to show those people their place. i'd say she's naturally charming (which she partially owes to her pretty face, for sure), so she's the type to gracefully diss a person and leave them dazed. 🤣 when she's with gino, though, she sticks to him like a koala. she LOVES being extra affectionate with him. she's also a master at using puppy dog eyes (🥺) to get what she wants (e.g. cuddles)

8: PAST (what was your OC like as a child? where did they grow up? are there any significant moments from their past that shaped who they are?)

she loved attention and using her imagination, so imagine one-girl plays that she subjected her family to sit through. she also preferred playing calmly indoors (like drawing), but would be dragged out to play by her brother.

9: FUTURE (does your OC have a goal they're working towards? what will your OC look like when they get older? do you have a planned ending for their story?)

this, i haven't fully hashed out yet! i think by the time she steps down as an inspector, she's built enough clout to be invited as an occasional consultant on cases. even though it's been years, she also still has a good public image so she wants to leverage that somehow. i think as long as she's still helping people, she'll be happy.

every now and then, she thinks about acting though, but mostly as a fond memory. those days are long gone.

#psycho pass #oc x canon #ginoza nobuchika #kogami shinya #my oc! #who still does not have a name! #oc-tober #bweirdOCtober #nobusaya

[ofstormsandsaints]

Hi babes idk if you want to make headcanons but could you do headcanons for how Beatrix dresses?

Absolutely! please do ask me anything

Fashion headcanon - a Beatrix lookbook

While writing this headcanon, my brain couldn't stop thinking about @nutaella-kookie 's take on a lookbook for Beatrix. So I will list down all the points I agree on, then go into detail.

-Huge Grace Kelly inspo

-Shades of cool blue, light sand/beige, cream, touches of brown and white

-Shuu and his mother do have a similar colour palette because they both know what looks good on their fair warm-toned skin, with their golden locks and their piercing blue eyes.

Richard Jenkins photography

Jenkins is specialised in historical period so if you are looking for any accurate historical fashion depiction: here

And obviously, I had to take a look at his work after I'd found the Beatrix dress on Pinterest. (yes, the red one).

Through the centuries, she would dress like this in the human world: following diligently the fashion trends and requirements of the upper-class.

Mostly wears her hair in an elegant bun, thin strands of curly hair escaped from the hairdo and framing her face as she roams the castle, looking for her eldest.

She doesn't like it when she can't keep her hair under control - because her curls soften her features.

In the human world, she would not care that much about her appearance or about the variety of her wardrobe. She focuses on having lasting pieces that solely evoke her status.

She is rather modest: no eccentric lacy pieces at the end of her sleeves, no too-tight corset, no hats jabbed with peacock feathers, or shawls of the finest Chinese silk, embellished with threads of vermillon and gold and her shoes are simple heeled-boots, often black.

But she does like adding some feminine accents to her outfits with pearls essentially. But also lockets. Victorian golden pendants set with small rubies, sapphires or turquoise, glazed with faceted glass, smooth enamel. She owns a whole collection. All with different sprigs and flowers carved on the precious metal - each unique. Karlheinz gifted her one, a stylised chrysanthemum carved on the concave side of the locket. It was a few days after Shuu's birth.

On her day-to-day life

A boss. (because I find the term 'girlboss' rather infantilising, in my humble opinion)

Beatrix is an efficient woman. The strict, rigid façade left aside, I do imagine she would favour practicality and versatility over anything.

Here, we are talking about how she would dress in modern days, both in the demon and human worlds:

Suits.

Silken shirts, white embroidered blouses, polo-necks made of the finest wool, long sleeves always, coordinated vests and high-waisted trousers made of viscose topped with a fine leather belt to accentuate her waist, golden, fine bracelets, no rings except her wedding ring.

The mature combo of old money and dark academia.

She would make an amazing Ralph Lauren model.

Haute Couture gal

Ok Bea, time to shine.

3 words: Dior.New.Look

And now, 3 names: Christian Dior, Jacques Heim and Pierre Balmain

@samsvenn : being a Dior model is in Beatrix's DNA, that's why Reiji looks so damn good. (your headcanon was amazing)

She was born to wear these 1950s-1960s dresses. Full petticoats, boned bodice, slightly padded busts.

Only top quality fabrics: velvet, damask, taffeta, silk and lace obviously.

Straight or sweetheart necklines mostly, she doesn't like to draw too much attention to her cleavage while her shoulders and neck are already exposed by her hairstyle and dress.

Even if Cordelia is known for her alluring, flamboyant looks, Beatrix manages to shake the audience with her composed yet regal posture.

But there is this one time when she left everyone astounded.

Even Karlheinz.

We are talking about a long silk lavender dress, paired with small diamond earrings, a matching necklace and a oh-so delicate tiara. The light purple accentuated elegantly her eyes yet highlighted her golden locks. While the rich fabric was lightly reflective - making her shine like a distant star.

She'd wore this dress at a reception, soon after her honeymoon with the king. The court was marvelled, Cordelia gave her a dirty look but stayed calmly next to Richter while Karlheinz offered to open the ball.

She accepted, took his gloved hand and held it firmly as they started waltzing magnificently.

It was soon after her honeymoon.

And soon before she'd announced him that she was pregnant.

#diabolik lovers #diabolik lovers headcanons #diabolik lovers fashion #dialovers #requests open #shu sakamaki #reiji sakamaki #ayato sakamaki #kanato sakamaki #laito sakamaki #subaru sakamaki #ruki mukami #kou mukami #yuma mukami #azusa mukami #carla tsukinami #shin tsukinami #kino #beatrix sakamaki #beatrix

[askuemki]

redraws(?) of some old ass pieces and some messy commentary (Please don't repost these.)

tbh I never really talk about original characters (not the fancharacters) I have here, but I have plans to make a blog relating to them and this whole entire world i have !! but hi anyways redraw commentary i was going to do more here? but then i got sick with something and my ive been wanting to gag my throat out like what the fuck first piece (left) has my pretty pfp dragon lady and the character everyone likes, somehow?? Their names are Akemi and Erisa and I LOVE them. Only reason purple-haired gal (Eclipse) didn't make it over is because she and Erisa have more of a mother-daughter bond, and that pose just seems weird for what they have. Plus at least Erisa and Akemi have some kind of (healthy) romance in my story. But.. Erisa ends up single in the end due to different life paths sighs!! (She COULD be mine at least) Erisa's outfit feels like its almost the same as her original (mainly because of her hat, reference down below) but man she feels bald without one It's ironic how similar my Akemi is to Blue Eyed Samurai's Akemi?? (its more story related than design... but im putting her splashart below always because she's pretty and im in love) The whole aloof royalty shebang.. wanting to get away from oppressing parents.. I was kinda bummed abt it at first but I just giggle abt it now like omg they're twins how fun Second piece just pretty much stayed what it was initially, back then I had alot of trouble with Eclipse's design (especially that w/ that hair) but cats were always so much fun for me to draw back then!! But my fur rendering was ass too :( she still remained the traumafilled werewolf lady she was back then, just a big ass change in her story (i dont wanna spoil it rn ugh)

thank you for coming to my ted talk

#cece blabbers #my story is called moonbound!! putting a seperate tag for it #so many projects for them in mind but not enough motivation or time #smh #character art #krita #art #oc art #moonbound #my art #redraw #original charater art #original character #askuemkis art

[sparklecinnamonbunny]

For the Wholesome OC Asks, I want 20 questions of your choice that you have yet to answer for Sunday. Go. Go go go go go go.

(jk. I mean, I *want* that many, but I won't ask that of you. Instead, give me two and two and two for Sunday, Envy, and Ava!)

I am *so* late answering this. I'll do a bunch to make up for it! (EDIT: Turns out CTRL+ENTER posts shit! Which is bad when you're maybe just trying to SHIFT+ENTER.)

Sunday 13. Do they prefer warm or cold temperatures? Moreover, what is their favourite season and why? Sunday vastly prefers warm temperatures, and can tolerate hot and humid weather more than cold. She despises winter weather, even if she likes the aesthetic. That said, her favorite season is autumn! Samhain, Halloween, and her birthday all line up around the same time, she feels magically powerful, and the weather's really nice for a while. 38. Find one quote from a book, a song, or a piece of media that would make them feel at peace. There's a ton of quotes that make me think of the gal, but one that would make her feel understood is from Virginia Woolf's The Waves: "I am made and unmade continually. Different people draw different words from me." 41. If they were a bath bomb, what scents and colors would you use to describe their personality? If Sunday was a bath bomb she would give no shits about staining your tub. You'll have a gloriously goth bath experience, and step out feeling renewed and silky smooth, but it'll cost you some scrubbing later. Color wise, we're looking at either blood red or pitch black, with swirls of golden glitter throughout. It would have a strong scent, with notes of rosemary, sage, amber, and clove. Kind of incense-like, but still botanical. It's not for everyone, but it could be for you.

Ava 41. If they were a bath bomb, what scents and colors would you use to describe their personality? While I'm still thinking about bath bombs, Ava Sunbeam's would be deceptive. The outermost layer would promise pink glitter and cloyingly sweet raspberry sugar, but once you let it fizz, it would turn out to be a purple, black, and silver galaxy with very few traces of the original pink glitter to be found. The true scent, once revealed, would be a far richer combination of patchouli, plum, and black cherry. 5. What is the song you most associate to them? I'll take this opportunity to plug Ava's playlist, which you can find below! It's hard to pick one quintessential Ava song, but my top three in no particular order are You're Gonna Go Far, Kid by The Offspring; Mastermind by Taylor Swift (shocking, I know); and Magic's In The Makeup by No Doubt.

42. Let them vent for a second, without the fear of being judged. What would they like to say? "Admitting this feels like confessing my faith is weak, but... I'm exhausted. Do you know how hard—" Here, Ava assumes her usual valley girl fry, "—Like, how hard this is? I'm surrounded by flippin' idiots, like ALL THE TIME, and everyone thinks I'm stupid! I'm not stupid! They don't even know what's coming for them! They don't know a thing!" "And then, I like, have to pretend that I LIKE them? That I'm some vapid pop star that's there to look pretty and suck dick? I don't even think I like dicks! And then that asshole, Nathan, wants to talk about how 'metal is deeper than pop' and how I 'couldn't understand the depths of his darkness?!' News flash, douchebag, I come from the darkness! I have witnessed brutalities beyond human comprehension! I—" Ava clears her throat, checks to make sure she's still alone, and continues, softly, "I'm just, like, tired of this. I know it's important, but it's a thankless job. The worst part is, sometimes I feel bad for Toki. Gag me. Like, he's just as important as the others, and he gets shat on ALL THE TIME. Ugh, I wish I could just make the Prophecy turn a little faster. Every time I hang out with them, there's a moment where I think about how easy it would be to kill them all. I don't know how much more of it I can take, I guess. And don't get me started on the Seer..."

Envy 1. Give them a warm drink of your choice, what would it be? Would their choice differ from yours? I'm feeling a hot apple cider right about now— the kind of drink with just enough spice to warm you up inside and out. Envy doesn't go for cider that often, though. Given the choice, she'd much rather have a cup of hot tea. She collects unique blends, and is the kind of person to have a favorite strain of oolong (Green Heart oolongs from Taiwan). She's always got a pot of something at the ready when she's home. 17. What positives did they extrapolate from the worst moment(s) of their life? The worst moment of Envy's life (and there's been a king's ransom of highs and lows) was the first time she had to use the nail bat in the back of the bar. She'd been living in LA for about a year and a half at that point, and had just recently started presenting as a woman. She kicked out a group of skinheads fairly early into her shift, and a couple of them skulked around outside until close. The fight was closer than she'd like (and really, she was lucky they didn't have knives or guns), but she prevailed. Between the wonderful knowledge that she could still win a fight and the oddly affirming experience of being insulted as a woman, she walked home with newfound confidence. This developed into the self-assurance she still carries to this day.

37. Give them your credit card for five minutes; what would they buy? Nothing cause I'm broke as hell If she had unlimited play money, she'd spend it on clothes, shoes, and DIY construction projects. She likes to dress boldly for work and cozy at home, and she can never have enough slouchy cardigans and band tees. Let alone her bondage gear and dominatrix outfits... Anywho, she's the type of person who always has a project. She's fixing shit at her bars, building something new, or sprucing up the community garden. If someone needs a new garden bed, she's diving right in.

#mtl oc #sunday mourning #ava sunbeam #envy greenberg