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hom3landr · 2 months

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Madeleines

18+

After a hard day, Homelander enjoys his favorite baker's voice in his ear a little too much.

CW: Brief descriptions of gore

Homelander is seething as he leans against the alley wall. The heady scent of iron hangs thick in the air and gore from some unlucky pickpocket drips from his glove onto the dirty ground. The gruesome red mass of blood and bone that was once a human is still steaming in the cold night air. He pinches the bridge of his nose and lets out a growl of irritation. His fingers leave a sticky crimson smear across his skin. Usually taking out his frustration on some random criminal helps ease some of the tension in his shoulders but he feels no better than he did before he put his fist through the man’s spine.

How dare Edgar? How dare he?

He stomps on the mutilated remains next to him for good measure, imagining it to simultaneously be every person who is dedicated to keeping him down. Starting with that uppity bitch Edgar appointed to the Seven without his permission. Who did she think she was? The way she stuck that camera in his face like he was some kind of zoo animal and smugly hid behind the protection of the faceless nobodies commenting on the screen like a bunch of shit flinging monkeys had his teeth grinding.

He thought he’d straightened things out with Ashley after his little demonstration with Blindspot but apparently the universe seems intent on mocking him. He curses himself for draining the last bottle of milk earlier. He should have saved it. He couldn’t help himself and on top of everything else shitty about the day, he now has one less piece of her around. It took them a year to begin the renovations on her office and seeing it bare was an all too painful reminder of her absence. He wishes he didn’t miss her. She doesn’t deserve his love after what she did, the way she lied. But he loves her all the same.

He sniffs, blinking away the sudden shameful tears prickling at the corners of his eyes. He needs a win.

He reaches down to touch his hip where the newly sewn pocket holds his phone. Ever since he gave you his number, he can’t seem to go anywhere without it. He had wardrobe redesign his fucking suit just so he’d have a place to keep it safe. The ribbon he still wears tucked into his waistband. A phone can be replaced if it falls out during a flight, the ribbon can’t.

The thought of you is finally what seems to snap him out of his bad mood. The kiss was two months ago but it seems so much longer. He remembers the warmth of your kiss and the softness of you against him on the couch as the two of you ate gingerbread and watched Christmas movies. He’d wanted to take you so bad, fuck you raw against the counter until you dripped with him, hoping that maybe it would take and give you your own little Christmas miracle. He’d had to take a break and jerk himself off in the bathroom just so he could think straight. Even now, his stomach flips at the memory.

He’d been a good boy. He’d behaved himself. He acted a perfect gentleman and there was no way you could have known his depraved thoughts when he swept you up to slow dance to a Frank Sinatra record. The singer wasn’t half bad actually, maybe he’d originally judged him too harshly. You’d blushed and swooned and when he had to leave he gave you one last gingerbread scented kiss, the stars reflecting in your eyes as you leaned over the fire escape to wave him goodbye.

After that night things mostly returned to normal. With Transluscent’s funeral fast approaching and the new Saving America campaign about to take off, Homelander had been too busy to even think about seeing you. He’d catch you staring at him in the halls sometimes and his heart beat faster every time. Now that he knows you feel the same, he’s almost at a loss as to how to proceed and it’s easier to bury himself in his work where he can rely on dependable fantasy to get his fix of you.

But after the fucking day he’s had, he’s tempted to fly straight to your apartment and kiss you stupid.

Fuck

There’s an idea… no one said it had to be your mouth

His pants grow tight instantly at the thought and the rush of arousal is a nice balm to his wounded ego. It barely takes a second for him to unclick his belt and pull himself free. He groans lowly in relief as he strokes himself nice and slow. The blood still staining his glove provides an easy glide until his cock is standing at full attention and dripping onto his boots. He keeps his touches nice and light, a little tentative, the way he imagines you would. His free hand reaches for the ribbon, holding it to his nose so he can catch your scent. His cock twitches in his grip and he thumbs his slit as he arches into his fist.

He groans your name before releasing his cock to cup his balls, tugging gently to tease himself, imagining your face looking up at him as he plays with himself. The wall behind him cracks as he throws his head back in pleasure.

A tinny jingle breaks through the haze of his arousal and he immediately fumbles to get his phone out of his pocket, recognizing the tune he’d picked for you so he’d always know who was calling him. The ribbon is promptly tucked back away as he slides to answer the call. His cock feels even heavier in his grip as he anticipates the sound of your voice. It’s like you knew what he was doing. This was the first time you’ve ever called him and your timing couldn’t be more perfect.

The first thing he hears is the clang of utensils and he knows instantly that you must be baking. He bites his lip to keep from grinning at how predictable you are. He can almost smell the sugar through the phone.

“Hi! I hope this isn’t a bad time. I’m trying a new recipe from this french cookbook I picked up and I always get nervous the first time I bake something. I figured you could help me take my mind off things while the cookies are in the oven.” Your voice is so sweet and he has to pinch the base of his cock to keep from shooting his load like some pathetic schoolboy. It feels so illicit to touch himself while you are so innocently seeking his company on the other end of the phone. You probably have flour on your cheeks and your strawberry apron on and the thought causes him to throb painfully. He gives himself an experimental tug and his fucking knees almost buckle.

“It’s never a bad time for you to call.” He replies warmly, trying to keep the rasp of pleasure out of his voice so you don’t suspect. You go quiet for a moment and he knows you’re blushing. He bets that if he were there that the smell of you soaking your panties would be filling the room. You get wet so easily. He remembers your phrase from the second time he spoke to you. You have a “nervous disposition” apparently but he knows what really has you trembling and it’s something a lot filthier than a little anxiety.

“Thanks, that’s very sweet of you to say. I meant to call sooner but Ashley has been running me ragged for weeks with all the prep work for the funeral. I’ve barely had any time to myself.” You reply with a huff and the clear annoyance in your voice has him both amused and indignant on your behalf. He’ll have to have a firm discussion with Ashley about being respectful towards your time. The thought that you could have been calling him for weeks has his teeth on the verge of grinding again so he teases the throbbing vein on the underside of his cock until he relaxes into the pleasure again.

“I can’t have you exhausted at work. I’ll talk to Ashley about giving you a break. You deserve to rest.” He coos at you as his hand quickly finds a rhythm that feels right.

“I’ve been thinking about you a lot. I miss you.” Your voice softens longingly and he can picture the wistful look in your eyes perfectly.

You want him so fucking bad.

He thrusts into his fist, briefly removing his phone from his ear and biting into the soft leather of his glove so you won’t hear him moan like a whore. He wants to be good for you. He wants to be your gentleman lover. He wants a romance like the old movies and he wants you to picture him that way.

But fuck

You want him and it seems pointless to stand here and jerk off to your voice in a blood-soaked alleyway when he could be buried in your sweet little pussy. You’d get over your shyness once he was bouncing you on his cock until you were soaking and shaking so hard that he’d have to hold you steady. He’d take you on every surface until he was sure that he’d fucked all traces of your “nervous disposition” right out of you.

He has to pinch himself again to hold himself back. He doesn’t want this to end so soon. He tucks his phone between his ear and his shoulder as he gropes at his chest. He really wishes his suit wasn’t so fucking hard to get off so he could tease at his nipples and imagine you mouthing at him. He’d make sure you knew every inch of his body.

“I miss you too.” He answers truthfully, leaning back against the wall and bracing his feet wide so he can really fuck into his fist the way he imagines fucking you.

Have you ever even had your pussy licked? He hopes not, he wants to see your face the first time you feel a tongue on your pretty little clit. He wants you to gush all over his face till it soaks into his suit and he can smell you for weeks after.

“Maybe once things calm down, we can hang out again.” You sound so hopeful and the soft noise of rustling fabric makes him realize that you must be fiddling with the hem of your shirt. You kissed him first and yet you still seem unsure of his returned affection. You still worry that his voice will turn to a harsh rebuke again.

“I’d like that. Y’know, maybe I could fly us to Paris so you can do some first hand research. A cookbook will only get you so far. I’m sure Vought could arrange a meeting with a pastry chef.” His cheeks flush as he imagines you beaming at him under the glow of the Eiffel tower, soft and pleased with him as he leans down to kiss you tenderly. You’d appreciate what he could do for you. He wants to do so much for you.

His balls tighten up at the fantasy and he finds it a little strange how the innocent scene has him closer to coming then all the filthy scenarios he could muster.

“Oh”

You sigh, and he can hear the flustered wonder in your voice at the thought.

With a strangled groan he comes, hot thick ropes of come covering his fist, his suit, dripping to the ground in milky white puddles that fuse with the crimson aftermath of his earlier rage.

“I’ve never been to Paris.” You reply breathlessly in a way that almost mirrors his own ragged panting.

He takes a moment to catch his breath as he strokes the last remaining remnants of his pleasure out of his tender cock, whimpering at the almost too much ache of sensation.

“I guess it’s a date then.”

_______

Later, once he’s back home and clean and snug in his bed, he sleeps well for the first time in weeks. He dreams of the Paris sky and the stars in your eyes as you look at him like someone you could love.

#homelander #x reader #homelander x reader #surprise bitch #bet you thought you'd seen the last of me #b warned #this one is filthy

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midnightechoes · 6 months

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Five years ago today, She-Ra and the Princesses of Power premiered on Netflix. I had seen a few preview articles about it, and liked what I saw. Those articles mostly focused on She-Ra’s, Adora’s, Glimmer’s, Bow’s, and Catra’s redesigns, and I thought they were fabulous. I loved Adora’s new red jacket and bouffant hair style. Glimmer’s entire redesign was inspired, and I loved that they made Bow black so we could have more diversity in the main cast.

It was She-Ra’s and Catra’s redesigns that caught my eyes the most, though. They made Catra an actual catgirl, and not just in the anime sense where she's just a cute girl with cat ears and maybe a cat tail. She was a full-on furry. It was a brilliant design choice. Honestly it’s no wonder that so many were instantly drawn to her.

And of course, She-Ra herself. I loved her new look, and her huge ass new Sword of Protection. In fact, I loved it so much that I drew this picture of her before the show even came out:

Then the show came out, and needless to say, I fell in love. And honestly, it changed my life.

I know, I know. That sounds very hyperbolic, and to an extent it is, but in a lot of ways, I’m absolutely serious.

Alright, I have to back up a little. Back when I was in college, and for a few years after, a couple of friends and I tried to make a webcomic called The Devil’s Gate. It was minorly successful but eventually floundered. Then I met some people and we tried to make a video game, which also failed. After those few years, I found myself on my own and trying to rework the concept of my webcomic. Making comics, creating stories, those have always been my dream, and I was desperately trying to figure out a story I could make work, something that I believed in. But it never truly got off the ground. By the end of 2015 I had given up on the comic, realizing that after working on it for years in different forms that I needed to step away from it.

I didn’t really know what to do after that. I was still doing my quick daily doodles, but I wasn’t writing, I wasn’t drawing anything of note. I felt emotionally and physically drained of my creativity. I was honestly getting to the point where I thought it might be time for me to give up on trying to be creative or making things all together.

She-Ra and the Princesses of Power came out on November 13, 2018, but despite looking forward to it, I didn’t actually watch it when it came out. It wasn’t until that weekend that I decided to check it out.

I was instantly hooked. I binged through the entire season in two days, and did plenty of crying and cheering. And then rewatched it immediately. I was in love. I was obsessed. It had been a long time since anything grabbed me like SPOP did. I loved the characters. I loved the colorful, sci-fi-fairy tale world of Etheria. I loved how unapologetically feminine it was. And most of all, I loved how queer it was.

I hadn’t done a ton of shipping before SPOP. I’ve been down bad for harlivy for what feels like my whole life, and I was angry when Mika and HG didn’t get together in Warehouse 13, but more often than not I had just been conditioned not to look for queer things in mainstream culture, and even barely in subculture.

That is to say, when I was smashed in the face with Catradora I was surprised how much I glommed onto it immediately. I was absolutely taken with Adora and Catra and their relationship. Both characters were so relatable, and despite not quite being text (although the subtext was so loud and obvious it might as well have been text), it was impossible to not read their feelings for each other as romantic.

It wasn’t just Catradora, even if that was a lot of it. Spinnerella and Netossa being canon from the start was wonderful. How much Glimmer and Bow screamed “BISEXUAL DISASTERS” from the start was adorable. Scorpia’s crush on Catra was as cute as it was sad in its one-sidedness.

I had never really been in a fandom. That is, yeah I’ve liked things, loved things even, but I never found other people to talk about it at length, never found discords just for that thing, never read or wrote fanfic, barely ever drew fanart.

But, I watched SPOP, and then I watched it again. And then I drew Catra. And then I drew Adora. And then I drew them again. And suddenly I was on AO3, a site I never frequented, reading Catradora fics. And then I had an AO3 account. That December I participated in Catradora Week 2018 (I’d never heard of this kind of thing) and drew two pictures for it and wrote my first fanfic.

By the end of February I had drawn more in the three months since the show had premiered than I had in the previous year. I was working furiously on a long, multi-chapter fanfic, and writing more words than I had in the previous couple of years combined.

I was inspired again.

In the 18 months that SPOP ran for, I drew more than I had in years, I wrote hundreds of thousands of words. I felt so rejuvenated and happy about my creativity and free for the first time in years.

It’s hard to put into words exactly how it felt. I was so close to giving up my art and writing, which honestly, would have been giving up a part of myself. An important part of myself. It’s not overstating that SPOP saved me, or at least my creative spirit.

I also learned about the wonders of being in a fandom and fandom things like fan weeks, big bangs, zines. And I made some wonderful friends that I cherish to this day.

Even as I inevitably moved onto other hyperfixations, my love for She-Ra hasn’t diminished. Plushie Catra and Adora sit next to me on my desk every day. Catradora art still hangs on my wall.

The inspiration that SPOP ignited in me hasn’t died either. It’s carried me through a tremendous level of creativity that I’ve been riding since the premiere. It let me create a ton of fan art for SPOP, and then RWBY and then the Witch From Mercury, and I’ve written a ton of fanfics for RWBY and Supergirl. And perhaps the best, that inspiration has helped me create more OC stuff in the last couple years than I had in a long time.

I owe She-Ra and The Princesses of Power so much. I am so happy that it exists and that it happened when it did. I’ll always cherish it.

And for real, Netflix, SPOP spin-off movies WHEN?!

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sapphicseasapphire · 4 months

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IT’S ME, I’M THE FOOL.

This whole time I’ve been saying that people with God Powers TM are Marked. They all have something on their face! (Except Legend, what’s on his face is just scales, don’t be confused).

But this WHOLE TIME I’ve been drawing Sun without her Marks. Like. She’s literally Hylia. She has God Powers, she should have them. Anyway so this is my Sun redesign for real this time. Just pretend that she looks like this in my “I am Sky” comic.

Anyway so here’s some information about her under the cut.

I don’t have a big story for her like I do for Flora because Cryptid Sky’s story barely changes Skyward Sword like at all. He’s formed that the very very end, after the Goddess’s Silent Realm, so most things involving Sun remain the same.

I will say that she didn’t always have her Marks. When she was born as Zelda, her face was clear, like every other Skyloftian. But when she fell to the Surface and began a quest of her own, when she discovered her divine origins, she started to remember. She’d pray at the springs to recover her memories and her powers, and one by one, her face would be Marked.

By the time that Link had secured all of the Sacred Flames and forged the Master Sword with them, Sun was already lost. And in her place stood a Goddess.

I don’t think that people give her enough credit for all she’s been through. Sun deserved so much better, she lost her life to Hylia’s plans just as much as Link did. And when Link merged into Sky, he was merely mimicking the transformation that his dearest friend had already gone through. Sun’s soul is still split in half, still shared between herself and her Loftwing, but in that empty part of her core lies the domineering presence of Hylia herself. Her life as she knew it is over. Is she Zelda anymore? Or is she Hylia?

She loves Link SO MUCH. When she first comes out of their thousands-of-years long slumber, she’s in shock to see that he’s gone. She falls from the amber shards and lands squarely in Sky’s arms, and Sky envelopes her in his soft wings, holding her as if she’s the most precious thing in the world. In the haze, she doesn’t realize the change in her dearest friend. But when she opens her eyes, she’s devastated.

As far as she’s concerned, it’s her fault. She used Link. Forced him to go on this quest, forced him into the Silent Realms, forced him to wield the Master Sword and the Triforce. She’s the reason that he fused with Aepon; she’s the reason that Link is gone.

But Sky laughs the same as Link would, relief in his eyes when she gathers the strength to stand. She holds her hand in his own, and it feels just like the hand she knows. His face is the same, for the most part: his hair is different and he’s got red spots on his cheeks, but the more she looks at him, the more she sees Link. And as they make it through the Temple together, as she watches Groose fawn over him, she realizes that he’s not gone at all.

He’s changed, just like she is. But just like she’s still his Zelda, Sky is still her Link. The guilt still worms its way into her chest, but as long as Sky is smiling, she’s able to see past it.

Sky does not smile for very long, as a certain Demon Lord shows up mere moments later to ruin their happy ending. To be honest, Sun doesn’t remember much of that night. She remembers the anger in Sky’s face as his body trembled on the ground. She remembers the cold cruelty of Ghirahim’s voice against her chest as she was carried away from her Link- her Sky. She remembers feeling so weak and helpless, cursing the Goddess- cursing herself- for being so useless.

And then all she knew was pain. Blinding, burning agony that enveloped her entire being. She thought she was dying, weightless and alone and scared.

The next time she opened her eyes, she was inside the Sealed Temple. Groose held her. Sky was nowhere to be seen.

She cried into Groose’s chest, something she never would have dreamed of doing a year ago, her head still reeling from that feeling of hopelessness, that pain. All at once, she was scared and relieved and safe and in danger. And Groose held her through it.

Sky would stumble into the Temple much later, limping and bleeding and spasming. His right arm would be totally friend and his wings would drag on the ground, feathers in disarray. He’d lean away from Groose and fall into Sun’s open arms. And when it was time to return the Master Sword to her final resting place, he’d do so with a heaviness in his eyes that’s uncharacteristic and a weakness in his body that’s frightening.

Both Sun and Sky take a long time to recover from that. And really, neither of them ever do. But as Sky starts to physically heal, Sun starts to see more traces of her dear Link. Being around her closest friend and newfound lover is healing, and after the adventure they’d had, they don’t leave each other’s side for a long while.

Sun is very protective over Sky, just like she always was with Link. They exchange Loftwing feathers (Sky gives her his own). And just five days after they’re reunited, they’re separated again.

Okay okay okay. This was less about Sun and more about Sun AND Sky, but they’re pretty much inseparable I think. From Sky’s perspective, there’s a lot of confusing feelings that I’ll get into when I actually write a fic (I’m starting a fic!), but Sun just loves him so much. I have a little comic series which is actually a collection of little short stories in a much bigger plot called “I am Sky.” The short comics aren’t all finished (and they can be read as stand alones) but the order they go in is:

“I am Sky” Stories: Pipit

“I am Sky” Stories: Groose (I’m not done with it I’m sorryyyyyy)

“I am Sky” Stories: Zelda

This all takes place after the Demise battle, when Sky is healing and has the chance to sit down and reflect. When he gets the opportunity to learn about himself, the person that his two halves made him. He struggles a lot, but these specific stories have a lot of comfort. He’ll be fine. Probably.

#the legend of zelda #my art #fanart #chain as cryptids au #cryptid lore #loz skyward sword #skyward sword #sapphire rambles way too long #cac art #links meet au #cryptid sky #cryptid sun

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digitulart · 5 months

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helluva boss redesigns. i made these a year ago so i cant completely remember my thought process on them, what i Do remember is my ideas for them

blitzo: (currently not renamed) grew up in the circus and still looks back on it fondly, hence his clothing. hes been not only declawed, but the light markings on his fur and horns indicate severe injury. hes not aggressive but he is very fidgety and overexcited, and does not think ahead, which always worries his coworkers. hes also very quick to try finding the "positives" in every scenario, and refuses to accept the downsides. the stress of being a tiny little imp trying to make a living through his assassin job is getting to him. he loves his big wolf daughter also. he loves her a lot. shes pretty much all he has

loona: The Wolf Daughter. renamed Ariel, shes a hellhound with albinism and was adopted by an imp, who arent so respected in hell due to their status and size. asides from her insecurities with not fitting in anywhere, and her teen angst behavior, she is successful in finding few friends and forming an indie rock band titled "Discord". yes she plays the bass. ariel cant say shes not grateful for everything her dad gives her and respects his commitment to his job, but she is a little embarrassed by him. she feels bad that shes ashamed of him, honestly

millie: renamed mimi for now. your average country girl imp. she plays a mean banjo. shes the heart of the I.M.P team and tries to keep everyone in good spirits. shes not above doing dirty work to get by, so being an assassin is more or less her true calling. it was better than her job in the mafia anyways. after meeting her husband, she began to realize she has extreme difficulty showing love in ways other than through service acts, as shes usually closed off emotionally. growing up in a big family, she wasnt given enough attention to really understand love. shes very grounded and a quick thinker, especially in tense situations

moxxie: (also not renamed yet) the actual realist of the team, aka nerd, and the strategist/planner/financial advisor/etc. his dad is a mafia boss, so although he left him many years ago, he also learned a lot from him. and also became extremely anxious and a huge perfectionist over executing any plans. but i mean, who wouldnt still be scared shitless over just about everything due to growing up like that, especially over their dad whos still actively looking for them anyways, even though their mom has tried keeping them from him multiple times until she disappeared, and he eloped with another previous member of the mafia, so now Shes in danger too, etc etc

(moxxie best character so he didnt get any severe changes btw)

(do NOT ask me about my opinions on this show or assume i hate it or love it or whatever i dont give a shit. that means you too viv)

#helluva boss #tw helluva boss #tw vivziepop #redesign #helluva boss redesign #helluva boss rewrite #my art

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maddascanbe-blog · 2 months

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So if anyone is wondering why the next redesigns are taking so long. This is why...

I got distracted when I started planning a Miraculous Au where the characters lives were swapped but not their miraculous. I'm sure I'm not the first to think of this but it's the first time I've ever written it.

In this Au the Dupain-Cheng company either owns a large chain of bakeries or sells baked goods in stores across the world (like Hostess or Little Debbie) Tom and Sabine are still very happy, and good parents. Marinette chose to be homeschooled after repeated bullying from classmates (Not Chloe) when she was in primary school.

Adrien's mom passed away a few years earlier since they didn't have the funds for her to live longer with her illness. Afterwards Gabriel threw himself into running his tailoring business. Adrien tends to avoid being at home as much as possible, since he and his father can only seem to talk while fighting.

Since they didn't have the money to pay for a tutor and Gabriel didn't have time, Adrien has been attending public school for most of his life. He's been bullied for years, by one person in particular, and has very few friends since people fear having that attention turned on them.

For her last year of Middle School/Collège Marinette has decided to face her fears and go to public school again. Only to chicken out before even making it to the door on day one, much to the chagrin of Luka, her childhood best friend.

The next day, Adrien is in the process of trying to get gum off of his seat when Marinette comes in. She is told by Luka (Adrien's Bully) that Adrien put it there since Luka was saving the seat for her. Unwilling to face another bully at on the first day she buckles down to just try and make it through the day.

That's when she meets Ayla, who is calm and collected. Her unwavering chill helps balance out Marinette's frantic nature. Marinette's first new friend!

Later Adrien explains that he was only trying to get the gum off the seat, and that Luka had put it there to spite Adrien before they knew Marinette was coming.

Marinette decides to give him chance, and gives him her umbrella.

#miraculous ladybug #miraculous fanart #Lifeswap Au #miraculous fanfic #ladybug miraculous #black cat miraculous #marinette dupain cheng #adrien agreste

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laurancezvahlslefteyebrow · 6 months

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ITS HIM!! MY BOY

LAURANCE ZVAHL’S REDESIGN IS HERE

i’ve been so excited to post this you have no idea

important notes and headcanons:

first and foremost, when Cadenza went missing so did his style. she would usually help him pick out his outfits and when she wasn’t around to help him, he just grabbed whatever he had lying around regardless of if it matched or not.

when cadenza dyed his hair back to its “natural” color it was a shade or 2 too light so as time goes on you can see it grow out.

he likes having somewhat long hair because he can put it in a pony tail and braid it an stuff.

-this next one is pretty intense so fair warning-

so when he was transformed into a shadow knight, he never technically died. he was grabbed and the shadow lord instructed gene to have him brought to the ritual table and turned. because most shadow knights are transformed before being resurrected, they don’t feel anything. laurance, however, was very aware. he could feel his soul being split in half, his bones breaking and mending themselves, his teeth sharpening, his eyes enhancing. he felt every inch of it and could do nothing to stop it. sasha is still haunted by his screams.

the only thing that got him through his time in the nether and prevented him from being corrupted by gene was that he needed to make sure aphmau was ok and that she made it home safely.

when garroth first saw laurance after he’d been rescued by ungrth, he was sure he was looking at a ghost for a split second.

laurance writes poetry in his free time, sometimes reciting it to cadenza to ask her opinion. it’s usually not great….

when laurance was about 9, both his parents died to to illness. he was forced to the streets and had to resort to stealing. he had been doing this for a couple years when one fateful day he tried stealing some bread from a little girl he’d never seen in town before. she caught him and cheerfully brought him to her fathers asking “can we keep him??” that girl was cadenza.

he hates wearing armor. it’s heavy and clunky and loud. he much prefers to wear normal street clothes much to garroth’s disapproval.

he loves cooking and does all the cooking in the guard station. he’s pretty good at it too.

he has nightmares due to his time in the nether. sometimes he’ll yelp or scream out. whenever this happened while he was living in the guard station, garroth would come into his room to pull him out of it and comfort him after he came to. garroth got hit a lot as a result. gar never minded but laurance still feels guilty.

the darkness on his fingers is due to being only half a shadow knight. the longer a shadow knight lives, the further up the darkness creeps, only stopping once the calling is answered (if you know what i mean) or until it reaches the shoulders/hips.

the tattoo on his palms are the source of all his shadow knight abilities and the scars on his face enhance them.

so… in this universe aaron is not alina’s father… it’s laurance….! he found out about aphmau’s pregnancy the same way he did in canon only this time he didn’t leave out of anger or betrayal. it was because the calling was becoming too much to handle. he loves aphmau so much but as long as the shadow lord lived he would only be able to see her with an ancient hatred in his bones. he feared he’d hurt her or their child so he left for their safety.

aphmau never knew that he knew about their child, but when she went to the nether to find him, he asked her name.

his shadow knight armor isn’t… armor…. it’s more like a shell, designed to look as intimidating as possible and be as sharp as possible. it materializes whenever his shadow knight form pops out or whenever his body thinks he’s in need of protection.

once when aphmau was trying to pull him out of his shadow form she cut her hand on it. she has a scar from it and he can’t look at it without feeling guilty.

every so often his vision goes. usually when he’s extremely angry or stressed his vision will just. go. it normally only lasts a few seconds or minutes but each time it happens he can’t help but think “this is it. this is when my vision is taken from me once and for all.”

alrighty! that’s all i have for now! i’m sorry i know that was a lot but i just love this guy so much you don’t understand 😭 i hope you enjoyed and feel free to add any more larry headcanons you have

next up is very talented seamstress

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midnightbabylon · 1 year

Text

Fine

summary: Bucky Barnes is the only person in the world who ignores you. Yet you are constantly sent on mission with him. In this one you get hurt by accident and he is disturbingly nice and caring to you and that confuses you.

pairing: Bucky Barnes x fem!reader

word count: 2.2k

warnings: fluffy and soft Barnes

✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪

Starting a new life is not always easy. After the Battle in New York City, you were faced with nothing. Your family was buried under your Manhattan apartment. An explosion had taken everything from you. Your ear rang violently and blood ran from it. You struggled through the wreckage of the streets, shaking, when it was all over. You fled the state and built a new life with the rest of your family's savings. Never again did you want to go through life without a fight. If such an attack ever happened again, you wanted to be ready for it.

"Good morning." you said as you entered the kitchen and adjoining dining room. Everyone murmured a quiet reply except Bucky. Sighing softly, you placed your cup under the coffee maker and pressed the button. Then you made yourself a sandwich and took the last seat at the other end of the table. Your ears listened to some conversations, but you did not participate in any of them. Silently you watched the morning hustle and bustle. If someone told you 6 years ago that you would be at Avengers headquarters, you wouldn't have believed them.

"Oh nice everyone is here, then I can start the meeting." Tony ate a handful of blueberries and stopped across from you. "Romanov and Clint you guys hit the jackpot. Fury will join." he handed Natasha the first file then they left. "Steve, Wilson and Wanda. Quinjet and the longest mission. Good luck." Steve took the next file. An uncomfortable feeling spread through you and inwardly you hoped he wouldn't mention you're and Bucky's names. But luck was not on your side today. "Bucky and Y/N. Warehouse in New Jersey." Frustrated, you exhaled and picked up the file. Shortly thereafter, the ghastly squeak of a chair broke the silence and Bucky stormed out of the room. You really weren't hungry anymore, so you pushed the sandwich over to Peter and stood up. "It gets better eventually." Uncertainly, you looked at Tony. "What?" you asked. "The nightmares. Friday evaluated last week's night logs for me. You can always talk to someone here Y/N." Nodding silently, you walked out of the common room to your room. As you did so, you flipped through the file.

You couldn't explain why he hated you so much. After all, you had some things in common. When you weren't on missions, you could be found in front of a good book or lost in thought in a quiet place. You especially avoided parties of any kind, simply because your social battery drained very quickly. Sam regularly tried to lure you and Bucky out of the room. It usually worked for the cold soldier, but not for you. You liked your privacy and have always been more of a loner. After freshening up and slipping into your new black suit, you came into the garage. You ran your fingers over the new fabric. Tony had completely redesigned your suit and improved it. "Took you long enough," Bucky muttered grumpily. Annoyed, you clench your jaw and stare at him for a few seconds. "Why are you always like this with me?" you blurted out. "I haven't done anything to you!" Shaking your head, you got into the car without saying another word. You slammed the door on purpose to make your point. You stared at the monitor and typed in the destination. "Are you coming already?!" you shouted out, as Bucky was still standing in the open driver's door. He mumbled something unintelligible and got behind the wheel. The drive to Jersey didn't take long, yet your mind wandered. Not that Bucky would talk to you.

"What is that?" your mother asked as she stood at the kitchen window. Darkness fell over Manhattan for a moment and you joined her. A huge crash echoed through the streets of Midtown. "Get away from the window and find your father." she said in a trembling voice. Something was wrong but you couldn't see. You almost tripped over your own feet looking for your father. As you took the stairs to the top floor, the building began to shake. "Dad!" you yell up the stairs. Staggering, you arrived at the top. Where your father's office would have been, there was a gigantic hole between the ruins and you could see the sky. It looked like an alien invasion. Your body froze into stone as you watched the giant animal-like ships glide through the air. Your father was most likely dead and you could do nothing better than watch in panic at a potential war. You always thought aliens weren't real, but like the rest of humanity, you were probably wrong. "Y/N" your mother's voice sounded from downstairs. She was standing at the foot of the stairs, eyeing you. "Come down, right now!" You had no control over your body but somehow you reached her at the bottom. "Here." she thrust a backpack into your hand and stuffed various things into it before fleeing to the flap under the carpet. She took out all the wads of bills and stuffed them into the backpack as well. "We need to get out of here, fast." She pulled on your dazed body to get to the stairwell. The building shook again and chunks of stone fell on the concrete stairs. "Dad's dead." you finally found your voice again, and it sounded raspy. "I know my darling." she said softly and you felt her hands on your cheek. "But we have to get out of here or we'll die too." Tears smeared in her eyes and you followed her downstairs. The neighbors who were still alive were also heading down to the streets, although this probably wasn't the best idea. There were burning and broken cars on the road. Parts of houses lay scattered on the asphalt. This was the greatest nightmare in the history of the world. You had never experienced anything like it before. Most people were running in one direction, but your mother was looking in the other. "We have to go that way!" You looked at her as if she was also from another planet. "Mom, are you crazy? Isn't that where everything happens?!" You pointed at the explosions and the alien ships. "And that's exactly why no one would suspect us there. We need to find a working car and get out of there. Get the hell out of New York." You nodded and followed your mother through the wreckage. She rattled some car doors, but none of them opened. "Shit," she muttered and looked across the street. "Let's try this." she pointed to the silver SUV. She looked left and right before she ran off. The only mistake your mother made was not looking up. Before she could reach the vehicle, it exploded. The wave hit and you were thrown backwards. There was a ringing in your ears and everything was spinning. Like in slow motion, you raised your head and saw your mother's lifeless body. "Mom." It was still ringing in your ear and you felt something wet flowing down your cheek. "Mom." Breathing flatly, she looked at you and raised her hand trembling.

"Y/N." Blinking, you stared at your fingers. "Y/N" That didn't come from your thoughts. Fingers appeared in front of your eye and snapped. You shook yourself back to reality and Bucky looked at you. "We're here. I parked a few blocks down the street." He pulled the key out of the ignition. "Sorry." you muttered softly and got out in front of him. In your head you went through the file again. "Now I'd like Sam's drone to take a look at this warehouse first," you muttered as you stood in front of the complex. "We'll do it the old-fashioned way," Bucky said without emotion, and proceeded to climb the surrounding rooftops. "I don't have super serum in me to just crawl up walls. It's more of a super soldier or spiderman thing." He looked down at you, his Vibranium arm shining in the sun. "Then take the back door bore." You imagined seeing his mouth wrap twitch before he climbed through a window into the building. Terrified, you stared at the window. He just walked in without you. You crept along the wall to find an open door or window. When you finally found something you could already hear gasping and grunting. Bucky seemed to knock out the opponents without a problem. That's why you set out to find the capsule that Tony wanted. Actually, you didn't like stealing things, but this capsule had already been stolen from Avengers headquarters, so technically it was just a matter of getting it back. Like a cat, you tried to sneak quietly through the storage shelves. Behind a shelf filled with barrels, you looked around the corner. Jackpot. There was this stupid capsule alone in the room. Anticipated, you went to get her out of the warehouse as quickly as possible. Before you got to the capsule, two strong arms wrapped around your shoulders. For a moment, you thought Bucky was playing a prank on you, but those arms were about to suffocate you. It took you a second to remember your self-defense. You rammed the guy's elbow in the side and he let you go. You immediately turned around and punched him in the face. He moaned and held his nose. "What fear of losing to a girl?" you joke. "Never" said the dark-haired guy before he pulled out a knife. "That's not fair." You could hardly finish the sentence before he came out. The first few times, you were able to dodge until he caught your rib and you hissed to the floor. "Fuck." you muttered and raised your arm at the last second to fire an electric shock at him. He turned to the ground. You were panting and crawling with the capsule behind the shelf. Thus, potential new attackers would not find you immediately. When you took your hand from the wound, your hand was dyed red. Breathing deeply, you pulled yourself up and clung to the shelf. A move to your right made you twitch and almost hit before you realized it was Bucky.

"Hey. You okay?" Nodding you turned your head to him. "I´m fine." He furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. “Really? That looks painful." „I said I‘m fine.“ The words came out of your mouth harder and louder than you intended. Typical defense strategy. However, Bucky could probably see the tears in your eyes as you pressed your palms to the fabric. "Hey, I'm sorry okay? I really just want to know if everything is okay." "Just a scratch, all right." you swallowed the rest of the emotions down. "Let me see how deep it is." he came a few steps towards you. "We'd better get back."you just answered. "Y/N, please." he looked you right in the eyes the first time and you were amazed at the light blue. He pulled the stretchy fabric apart to see the wound. "It's really not deep, but it should be stitched anyway." his cold metal fingers stroke over your skin, making you twitch. "Come." he took your arm over his shoulder and reached for the pod. "Back to headquarters. We don't want you to die." he grinned and you looked at him in disbelief. "You don't have to be nice to me now just because I'm hurt." He stopped in front of the car and furrowed his eyebrows. "I'm not just being nice to you…. no." he said seriously after a moment's hesitation. "Why do you usually hate me?" Tears shimmered in your eyes. "I don't hate you, not at all Y/N." he gently lifted you into the car, trying to hurt you as little as possible. "Funny you always treat me like shit though." you tried to laugh but it hurt like hell. "Who do you think leaves books at your door at night after your nightmares." He got in and drove gracefully into traffic heading for New York City. "I always thought Sam did that." you admitted quietly. "No." he muttered. "I do. I have nightmares, too. I know what it's like and I wanted to help you." He looked at the road intently. "Thanks." you whispered, "I like you Y/N I just never knew how to tell you." Your eyes got heavy. "Funny way to express it." Your voice softened and your hand slipped from the wound. "Y/N stay awake. Please stay awake." Bucky voice got louder.

"I think she is waking up," somebody murmured. "Hey they're we've been worried sick." Natasha hovered over you and Sam who was holding your hand smiled big. "Man you scared the shit out of vibranium arm boy." Now you smiled. "Sorry." "Well leave you two alone for a minute." Natasha stood up and took Sam with her. "How you feeling?" Bucky sat down on the chair next to your bed. "I feel pretty good, thanks for the rescue." He sighed. "If I was a bit faster he wouldn't even hurt you." "It is okay Bucky. I am fine. Don't worry. Let´s talk about what you said in the car earlier." you smiled. He chuckled. "Okay darling let's have that talk. But if you tell Sam I have to kill you." He took your hand in his. "First of all I am going to tell you how you flirt in this century now. No cold hearted stares anymore and treating a girl like she's air." He nodded licking his lips. "Got it. Can in kiss you anyways?" "Cheeky bastard,"you laughed out loudly with a slight pinch of pain before his warm and soft lips came crashing onto yours.

Permanent Bucky/Sebastian Taglist:

@aya-fay @glitterydeputyshepherdwagon @queenofkings1212 @lilya-petrichor @dexter99 @dystopian-dez382 @xoxoloverb @yougottalovefandoms @justalostgirl

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes x reader #bucky fanfic #bucky x y/n #james bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky x female reader

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ohnoitstbskyen · 1 year

Text

Building a Better Ashe

About a year ago I took a pass at redesigning Ashe the Frost Archer from League of Legends with the help of Ainsworth "Apple_Cork" Lin (https://www.instagram.com/apple_cork/ || https://linktr.ee/apple_cork) who I commissioned for the artwork.

We took Ashe through a number of ideations and various approaches to her character design, which you'll find below the Read More cutoff.

If you want to watch the video version of our design process (it's pretty good!) you can find it here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0fi5fuv1nLs

Goals:

The goal was to create a version of Ashe that puts less priority of simply making her "appealing" or look pretty, and more on doing storytelling for the kind of role she plays in the story of the Freljord.

Ashe as she exists now is basically a riff on the Drow Ranger from Dota, complete with WarCraft 3 style Hot Elven Ranger getup. She's a queen of the frozen north, but she runs around in a miniskirt, thigh-highs and a paper-thin cloak because

this design was originally put together to be running around sunny Elven forests on Azeroth, and got interpolated through Dota into League of Legends without ever really reconsidering the concept

it was designed for League of Legends at a time when worldbuilding and character storytelling simply were not priorities in their character design - characters were broad recognizable fantasy archetypes being thrown together Smash Bros style for a fighting tournament

Late 2000s high fantasy character design in gaming had a default preference for Sexy Cleavage Babes for female character design that permeated the entire design space, especially at Blizzard, whose influence formed the basis for League of Legends

Over a decade later, Ashe has been fleshed out as much more of a real character, with a place and role in the world and cosmology of the Freljord far beyond her original archetype. Now she is specifically constructed as a counterpart to Lissandra's imperious, manipulative, sovereign mysticism and to Sejuani's martial brutality. The Avarosa are the only faction in the Freljord (and one of the very few in Runeterra) who argue explicitly for a softer life with less violence and struggle as the ideal. Ashe wants to reform and abolish the blood-soaked warrior culture of the Freljord and replace it with communal mutual aid and sharing, with tribes pooling their collective resources rather than relying on constant raiding and warfare. She's also a notable champion of the Hearthbound, the "normal" people of the Freljord who are not blessed with Iceborn blood or noble lineages.

The Avarosa have successfully recruited a huge swath of tribes to their cause, and through collaboration and a focus on agriculture and mutual protection have become the breadbasket of the Freljord, able to extend their political reach simply by offering new tribes access to reliable sources of food.

The power and rhetoric of the Avarosa thus rests on

A rejection of martial warrior culture in favor of a culture of nurturing and mutual care

Embrace of vulnerability and "weakness"

The promise of plenty, of full food stores and protection from failed harvests and the bitter winter cold

So, the design goals are:

Contrast Ashe visually with both Lissandra and especially with Sejuani, who is her most direct opposite.

Tell the story not only of Ashe herself, but of the faction she represents, and represent its values in her design.

Make her unique and recognizable against the lineup of other League of Legends characters in a way that currently she simply isn't.

Early ideation:

Here we start by identifying silhouettes and the basic ideas of costuming that we want to run with. Since League of Legends women also generally have a bad case of Chronic Sameface Syndrome, we also explore a bunch of different face shapes and ideas for distinguishing Ashe physically outside of costuming and body shape.

Refinement:

We pick out a smaller number of variations to play with, and Apple_Cork explores various options for the costuming.

At this point we've settled on two main ideas: a "Warrior" Ashe, who is characterized by the hard life she's had to lead. Her struggles and suffering, especially the loss of her mother and the betrayal of Sejuani, are the emotional impetus that leads to her reaching the ideals of the Avarosans as an antidote to and rebellion against the Freljord's bloody history. We decide to use the A2 and A3 variation as a base for this, with addition of details like scarring and a somewhat bulkier musculature. This runs the risk of making her physically quite similar to Sejuani, which is a trade-off that might be worth it since the two of them are repeatedly positioned as sisters (even if not by blood) in their stories, and are very alike in their experiences and traumas, even if they've reached opposite conclusions from it.

The other idea is "Warmother Ashe." The Freljord is organized around matrilineal tribal leadership, with a significant emphasis on the social role of motherhood, with the leader of the tribe conceptualized as its primary mother figure. Most Warmothers we've known are hard-bitten, violent and domineering matriarchs, emphasizing the war bit of the name, and since Ashe represents a decisive break with that tradition, we want to create a design that puts emphasis on the mother part of the idea.

So an Ashe who is visually soft, associated with typical traits of nurturing motherhood and who visibly rejects struggle, deprivation and violence as part of her identity. The C1 and C2 variations form the basis for this character.

Both designs are intended to provide a strong visual contrast to the stark black-and-blue statuesque angularity of Lissandra, as well as the armored, hard-shelled, segmented look of Sejuani

A note on body politics and character design

It is generally Problematic™ to equate any one body type with any one set of personality traits, whether positively or negatively. A lot of common character design associations and shorthand is based on body stereotypes, and on a systemic scale, they can reinforce existing social bigotries.

The most common example: character design often employ the idea that good people tend to be beautiful and evil people tend to be ugly, and that a person's inner moral character can be read in their physical traits.

This is a trope with an extremely bad history, especially when it intersects with the politics of beauty, with eugenics and with racial caricature. Whiteness and the constructed features of whiteness are often used as the basis of beauty ideals, while traits and features associated with non-whiteness are considered ugly or undesirable, and thus in visual storytelling these traits can become markers of moral degeneracy or evil. Disney villains do this all the time, to various degrees of Problematicness.

I bring this up here because we decided to use a fat body-type on one of our Ashe designs specifically to code the design to be associated with softness, kindness, motherly nurturing and so on. These are positive traits, and it is meant to establish her as a contrast with Sejuani who is hard-edged, muscled and brutal. But also, yeah, fat bodies being associated with those traits is a reductive stereotype, just the same as associating highly trained, skinny and fit bodies with emotional coldness, lack of kindness and violence is reductive.

Character design is a tightrope walk between using available associations and stereotypes to create coding and shorthand so the audience can easily read the design on the one hand, and trying to redefine and re-associate traits in creative ways to create better storytelling on the other hand. League of Legends is a game that relies very, very heavily on existing and known archetypes, and we redesigned Ashe on those terms as well. It is fair to criticize our redesign for those trade-offs, within reason, and within the context of the problems of the design it is intended to improve upon. League of Legends as a franchise is generally unwilling to allow fat bodies to exist in ANY positive context, and especially not in women, whose visual priority 9 times out of 10 is to be conventionally beautiful and skinny above all else.

Final designs:

Warrior Ashe This design hews closer to her original design, employing the skirt, waist-wrap and thigh-high boots, albeit updated to look more appropriate for the fashion culture and environment of the Freljord.

The emphasis here is on Ashe as a war-leader and fighter, and we've added facial scars and her design generally features more hard and sharp lines and metallic accents to give her a more hard-bitten and warlike look. This is an Ashe who has led a heard and difficult life, marked by fighting and struggle.

Warmother Ashe This design pulls away hard from the original design, with only really the hood and cloak and white hair as identifying feature of the old version. She wears a lot of fabrics and furs, and is generally designed around stoutness and visual softness, and does not share the hardness or angular facial features of Warrior Ashe. Her clothes are finely embroidered with her tribe's iconography and she has pendants and trinkets associated with the various tribes that have been integrated into the Avarosa, or perhaps gifted to her by allies or friends.

She still has leather chest armor, albeit covered up by her cloak, and a shoulder pauldron, but it's ringed by fine feathers making it more of a showpiece. Same with the archery bracer, which is ostentatious and the bright brass makes it contrast with the rest of the design, which is meant to give the vibe of "this is a thing she puts on when necessary" but not a natural, integrated part of her fashion. Compare and contrast with the bracers on Warrior Ashe above.

---

Please follow Apple_Cork on Instagram: http://instagram.com/apple_cork

#tb essay #league of legends #riot games #freljord #ashe league of legends #warmother #sejuani #lissandra #ashe lol #character design #tbskyen

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fortunelowtier · 10 months

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One of the things that's always fascinated me abt Vivzie as an artist is how her artstyle has almost “regressed” over the past like 10 years.

Like lets take Helluva Boss for example. Every character, be they imp, demon, hellhound or otherwise, all follows the same basic template for their specific race.

this is made painfully obvious with the introduction of this design in the most recent episode, which is supposed to be Beelzebub, a deity usually associated with flies/insects (I bold “usually” because while yes people usually associate Beelzebub with flies, this is because their title/description is being the “Lord of the Flyers”, which people usually see as “Lord of the Flies” So technically Bee doesn't even need to be a fly, she just needs to fly)

Now normally that wouldn't really matter, creative freedom in stories with inspiration from mythology/religion is what makes them interesting. But what FASCINATES me about HBs depiction of Beelzebub specifically is that Viv already went through the trouble of designing the Gluttony layer to have a hive/bee aesthetic, which makes the whiplash of seeing Bees design so much more severe, because you see the hive designs and honeycombs and go “Oh! they’re gonna make her a bee, yknow like BEElzebub, that's interesting” but then nope, just a 4 armed hellhound

And the fact that the layer seems to have been specially designed with insects in mind begs the question of why the fuck even bother making her just a 4 armed hellhound, you already were halfway there because you had enough foresight to give her 4 arms why not just, yk, make her a fucking bee, or a wasp, anything that ISNT just a 4 armed hellhound is my point

And like...have yall seen Vivs old artstyle?? That shit lowkey oozed character. Like just look at this comparison here, the ones on the left are from before Hazbin (to give a specific date, you're looking at around the range of 2013-2017, Proto-Charlie and Proto-Vaggie I know are from at LEAST 2013), the ones on the right are from the recent redesigns for the A24 pilot

Now am I saying that ALL of the old designs are better than the new ones? No, I still prefer the new Cherri and Pentious over their old designs. the point I’m trying to illustrate here is how interesting it is to me how much Vivs style as gotten noticeably less “unique” over the past few years

Thank you for coming to my Ted Talk, I will now sit back and await the Vivziepop Designated Firing Squad to come and execute me

#vivziepop critical #helluva boss critical #hazbin hotel critical #character design #RCDart ass design regression #/lh /hj #and no im not even gonna touch the argument of BEE NEEDS TO BE HEAVIER AND NOT SO SKINNY #because that is an argument i dare not even consider touching

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busines-as-unusual · 12 days

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˖ ࣪ ⭑⟡Chapter 6 - Haunt You, Taunt You ⟡⭑ ࣪ ˖

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

If your theater was your business, then your club, The Temple, was your pleasure.

You won the building in a gamble with the previous owner and had been lovingly pouring time, money, and elbow grease into it for decades. Unlike the speakeasy you ran while alive, you didn’t have to split your time between laundering money and smuggling liquor (Hell had no taxes or laws prohibiting… well anything). It allowed you to redesign the club a couple of years or so, reshaping the three-story building into a blend of the old and new. It was uniquely yours.

The many, many guests you had the honor of hosting were a mixture of demons young and old, sinners and hell-born, rich and broke. You prided yourself for having a club tamer than most establishments in Hell. Sure there was plenty of sex and drugs going on within the walls, you weren’t a wet blanket after all, but it was important your club felt like a safe place for all demons. Jet, your head of security, had his team spread throughout the club to keep an eye out for troublemakers.

The atmosphere was enhanced by the wide variety of music the club played; a blend of big band, ragtime, bebop, and the new trend they called electro-swing. Live or canned, so long as you could dance to it, it was welcomed.

You loved to dance. Once you stepped foot on American soil your feet never stopped moving. You loved the freedom in every wild, improvised move. You loved the adrenaline of a natural high. You loved the control. Control over one’s body to make it all look effortless was a skill you often practiced.

Most of all, you loved the fun it brought to every participant regardless of skill. Much like in the bedroom, the dance floor was a place where everyone was equal.

You showed the club off to your guests, pride swelling in your chest as they appreciated your baby. You took in Alastor’s face, careful not to let him catch you staring at him. His opinion mattered the most.

You set them up in a large, rounded corner booth and a responsible amount (as per Charlie’s request) of free drink vouchers.

Dragging Angel to the dance floor, you led the taller demon in a dance. He spun you around with a laugh before passing you off to an eager Charlie.

After a round of drinks they all went off in different directions: Angel and Husk to the bar. Charlie found some stray sinner to infodump about the hotel to. She chatted them up at a million words a minute with only Vaggie to keep her coherent. Niffty inquired where the cleaning supplies were and you told her to go nuts without a second thought.

Then you were all alone with dear old Alastor. The reds of his being hardly overshadowed by the club lights. He sat dead center of the curved booth with you not too close to him or the edge. You didn’t want to look like you’d flee at any moment.

You downed your second whiskey sour with a shudder. Elbow on the table and warm cheek in your hand, you beamed up at him. “Soooo Alastor, what do you think? And please be honest, I know you don’t care if you hurt my little feelings.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it dear,” he said through his pointed teeth. You struggled not to roll your eyes. “I’ll happily admit the atmosphere and music is not terrible.”

You snorted, very ladylike and refined. “I’ll have to put your glowing review on my door. ‘Not terrible’ says the Radio Demon! That’ll bring in the customers.”

“Please go right ahead and use my endorsement free of charge.”

“Gladly.” You traced the rim of your empty glass with a finger. “You ever hear how I got this place?”

“Ah yes, I remember you won it in a gamble, correct?”

“But you want to know what game we played?”

Alastor raised an eyebrow in interest and nodded. You simulated shooting yourself in the temple with your fingers. “Angelic steel bullets.”

His look of genuine surprise was not missed by you. You laughed the way you always did when you told the story.

“I’m always amazed by the desperate lengths others will go for any scrap of power,” Alastor said. “Though, not surprised.”

“Easy for you to say, Magic Man.” You sipped your drink, hiding your smile as his soured in slight annoyance. “The rest of us don’t have it so easy and have to take desperate risks.”

Alastor made a sound akin to rolling one’s eyes, sparks of radio static accompanying the noise. “Well, doll, I’m certainly glad you’re under the illusion my rise of power was effortless.”

Another laugh. “Gee, I wonder why.”

The tale of how Alastor the Radio Demon grew to power was well known even these days, but the finer details of his rise were shrouded in secrecy. He no doubt relished in how the uncertainty stoked fear in the hearts of sinners. However he did it, he accomplished it all single-handedly, smile never faltering. You’d be lying to yourself if you said you weren’t in awe of him.

You’d never come right out and tell him. You stroked his ego enough for tonight.

Alastor sipped his whiskey, preferring to swish it around than to drink it, as he only ordered it upon your assistance. “Tell me, Temerity. Why have you settled in the role of a mere manager?”

Frown forming, you looked at Alastor with displeasure. “I beg your pardon?”

“I mean no disrespect, my dear. I’m simply expressing that with your capabilities— and I don’t say this lightly— you could easily make your way to become quite an Overlord. I can’t help but look at you and see… wasted potential.”

Should you feel insulted or flattered? The unnatural tilt of his head in confusion told you he meant it as a compliment. While beyond flattered in his casual belief in you, his dismissal of your job offended you.

“I didn’t settle for this. I chose this. I don’t want the responsibilities of a sovereign overlord with all the meetings and targets on my back.”

”Very well, but I must say it’s rather foolish to be in the position you are and not work to gain more power.”

“I find people who pursue power for power’s sake are never satisfied. The position I’m in lets me do whatever I want. I’m truly free. How many people down here can truly say the same thing?”

Alastor’s smile thin-lipped and his eyes shifted eyes from yours for a split second. You thought maybe you said something wrong or offensive to him somehow. He sipped his drink. “I suppose that line of thinking is where you and I differ.”

You shrugged and polished off your poison. You had no issue with his beliefs, but living by them didn’t align with your afterlife goals.

The two of you lapsed into silence, music filling in the space where your words once hung. You appreciated how Alastor never felt the need to fill every moment with noise. So many people stuffed every second with noise as if a moment of quiet would result in some kind of social disaster.

The song faded into the next, and this was one you loved; an upbeat, fast-paced number kicking off with a blast of saxophones. Either emboldened by the conversation or the alcohol clouding your judgment, you stood with a flourish and held your hand out to Alastor. An invitation.

“Dance with me.”

He met your question with an eyebrow raised in amusement. Crimson eyes flicked from your hand to your eyes, and you resisted the urge to look away or shrink under the heat of his eyes.

Finally, “And what of the cutlery strapped to your thigh?”

“I’ve been at this a looong time. Believe me, they’ll stay put.”

He decided to believe you. Relief swept over you like a steamroller. With a chuckle, he placed his hand in yours and it felt like victory.

Your grin spread as wide as one of Alastor’s as he dragged you to the dance floor. Alastor led you into a basic back-and-forth two-step. Eager to follow, you pranced along. He spun you in circles; dark dress fluttered around your legs.

Greed spiked in your gut. You wanted more. You pulled Alastor into a twist, effortlessly resetting the dance to your pace. Alastor adapted. Light on your feet, you two flicked your legs back and forth in tandem.

Your heart pounded in your chest. This was a dream. It had to be because there was no way in Hell Alastor was here dancing with you so well.

Alastor twirled you away before snapping you back to him, slammed flushed against his body. He locked eyes with you; smirk utterly patronizing, as if charmed by a child.

Your cheeks heated, jaw clenched in irritation. Before you could open your mouth, Alastor tugged at your waste. A warning. He swept you off your feet like you were weightless and flipped you in the air. A gasp retched from your lips. Feet back on the ground, you didn’t miss a step. The dance floor was ice under your feet.

No surprise, Alastor liked to play dirty. You hoped he didn’t mind a taste of his own medicine.

You distanced yourself from him, then tumbled forward into a practiced backflip. Your legs wrapped around his shoulders. He grabbed you by the thighs and tossed you over his head.

Instead of your feet finding solid ground, you slid. Alastor dipped you low, your back practically parallel to the floor. Instinctually, you grabbed onto his shoulders. Alastor grinned wickedly down at you, but this wasn’t like his previous look of condescension. Pupils blown wide, mouth splitting his face, he looked hungry.

There was a twist in your chest, your head, your core. Warmth washed your skin. Tension bubbled in your throat. You laughed, childish giggling wracked your body as Alastor righted you.

If people were looking at you, you didn’t notice. Alastor clouded all five of your senses. Your chest heaved as your laughter subsided and you wiped at your sweaty forehead with the back of your hand. Somehow Alastor looked like he never broke a sweat. Unfair.

“What a marvelous performance, my dear,” Alastor said.

“Surprised?”

“Not at all.”

You swallowed thickly, the intensity of his gaze too heavy to bear any longer. A glance at the bar. “I’ll grab us some water.”

You skipped away before he could accept or decline. Wading through the sea of people, you made it to the bar, squeezing into a semi-vacant spot at the counter.

Catching sight of Husk and Angel Dust chatting at the end of the bar, you waved. Angel returned the gesture with a ruder one, Husk rolled his eyes.

You chuckled as the bartender, Collie, set two cocktails down in front of the well-dressed sinner on your left. He grabbed his drinks and turned to leave, and you saw it. One drink was an unmistakable shade of pink, almost unrecognizable under the club lights.

Your teeth ground against each other as you glared at the demon’s retreating form wading past patrons to the second story.

At least he made this a little easier for you.

“Collie, dear,” you said, pushing yourself off the counter. “Have Jet ready to handle some trouble. I'm going upstairs.”

Alaster watched as you zeroed in on a sinner. You cut the tacky dresser off in the middle of the staircase, a saccharine smile foreign on you. Sweetness no doubt dripped from your voice as the demon leered at you, enticed by your words. He nodded and followed you upstairs, eyes glued to your swishing tail.

How peculiar.

He wouldn't put it past someone with your specific proclivities to get distracted by their libido, but something told him this wasn't your usual M.O. with a man.

Not with the way you eyed him with murderous intent.

Curiosity took over. Alastor dissipated his form, using the shadows to follow the two of you to the second floor past intoxicated patrons. You led the man to an empty room with a plush leather wrap-around couch with glass tables doused in blood-red lighting.

You welcomed him to inspect the room as you shut the door. “With this package you’d get drinks and food delivered to you and your guest, a TV with Voxflix, privacy. This room is perfect for more intimate gatherings.”

The sinner turned to you, appraising you like one of the decorations in the room. You slinked toward him, hand snaking up your thigh under your dress. For a moment Alastor wondered if he was wrong about his previous assessment.

Then, you were on him, knife drawn, slicing the sinner's hand clean through the wrist.

The demon howled in pain. Drinks dropped, glasses shattered on the floor, liquids mixing with the spilt blood.

The demon grabbed at his dismembered wrist. “You crazy fucking bitch!”

He lunged at you. Quick as a flash, you leapt out of the way. You sunk the blade into his shoulder and <i>twisted</i>. He dropped to his knees, grabbing at the knife with a hand no longer attached to his body.

You dug your heel into his back and wrenched the knife from his body. You wiped the bloodied blade off on his jacket before sliding back into the garter on your thigh.

“Hand it over,” you said, voice colder than Alastor ever heard it before. Chills ran up his spine, a sensation he rarely felt anymore.

“Fuck you fucking raccoon cunt!”

“Charming.” You rummaged through the inner pockets of his jacket while he sputtered profanities until you found what you were looking for. Alastor didn't recognize the heart-shaped vial of pink liquid, but it clearly filled you with disgust. “Fucking filth.”

With a sneer, you dropped the vial. Liquid spread like blood across the floor, pink miasma wafting harmlessly into the air.

A hand came to your nose and mouth as you turned away from the wounded man. From the shadows, Alastor had a front row seat to your full display of emotion.

You were distressed.

He took in your lovely expression of panic. Eyes wide and darting, as your thumb dug too hard into the fat of your cheek. You heaved a heavy, shaky sigh to calm yourself.

Much like your look of wrath, panic suited you quite nicely. Your shocked expression as he dipped you on the dance floor was swell, but nowhere near as impassioned and raw as this.

Unfortunately, there was no time to savor it. One of your brutish security guards entered the room and you slipped your mask back on. He regarded the bleeding man on the floor with disinterest. He lifted the wounded demon over one shoulder like a sack of garbage.

“Out back? Like usual?”

You nodded. “Yeah, yeah. Thanks, Jet.”

He carted the trash away, and Alastor decided to make his presence known. He stepped out of the shadows with applause, savoring how you jumped. “Splendid show, Temerity dear! I didn't expect such a brutal display after your performance on the dance floor.”

“Alastor!” You brushed herself off, smearing blood across your dress; bright red streaks across the dark fabric. “I’m sorry you had to see that.”

You weren't apologizing for the violence, of course. With his rap sheet of carnage that would be silly.

“Don't apologize on my behalf, doll.” He stepped closer, and when you didn't step away, he wiped a speck of blood off your cheek with a finger and licked it clean. He didn't expect the simple act to have panic blossom across your pretty little face again. He had to admit he liked it better this time, having been the one to cause it.

Before he could delve more into your responses, Niffty scrambled into the room, a tiny tornado. Trash bag in tow she grabbed the broken glass and the severed hand and tossed them into the bag.

“Tem, your club is filthy, filthy! I'll be back with bleach, hahah~”

As soon as the little bug entered, she left, trash dragging behind her like a body bag.

You used the interruption to slither out of Alastor's grasp to the door. “Soooo! I believe I still owe you a water.” And you all but ran from him, tail between your legs.

Fine. You could run. He'd catch you eventually.

What did you do?

No, seriously, the FUCK did you do?

Why did you literally throw yourself at Alastor like some kind of horny, sexy tomato? Okay, so you were a horny sexy tomato, but you were a horny, sexy tomato who knew better than to throw itself at Alastor the goddamn Radio Demon!

You’d have been better off inviting a vampire into your home and offering up your neck for the taking. The simile did you no favors equating it to Alastor.

“I’m not drinking again.”

“Ha! If I had a dollar for every time you’ve said that. I’d have, what, eight bucks now?”

You and Rosie strolled through Cannibal Town after your morning tea. Since working with the hotel, your morning meet-ups weren’t as common, so you took the chance to vent to your friend about the night at the club. As suspected, she reacted to your ravings with one part gaiety and one part vexation.

“Rosie, I’m serious.”

“You’re too serious, hun. You just told me about this fabulous dance you shared with Alastor and somehow in your mind, it’s a bad thing.”

“Yes! Nearly a century I kept my distance and now all of a sudden he’s under my skin like some kind of…” you rolled your hand, trying to think of the right word. “Skin bug.”

“Poetic.”

You rolled your eyes. You haven’t even mentioned the stunt he pulled with the blood on your face... Were there even words to describe the sensuality of it? Maybe, but every time you revisited the moment, you were too preoccupied with the softness of his touch against your skin, how his tongue darted from his perfect lips to lap at the crimson liquid, how his eyes, still glazed with hunger, never left yours.

Rosie was talking, you realized. You stored the memory for later and zoned back in.

“I’ve always thought you two should get to know each other,” she said. “Alastor’s a great fella.”

Silence possessed you. You unlinked arms with Rosie and sat on an ivory bench made of bone. “You know the story of Tantalus? How he’s neck deep in a river with fruit above his head but no matter what, he can’t eat or drink? That’s my current situation, only in my case the fruit and water know they’re unattainable sustenance and derive joy from it.”

Rosie made a noise of dismissal, waving away your metaphor. “Oh, so melodramatic! I can see why you run a theater.”

“Ha ha.”

“Temerity.” She sat with you, taking your hands in hers. “This is a good development. Alastor has a tendency to be… standoffish, but it’s obvious he genuinely enjoys your company. You think he’d dance with anyone?”

She was right, and you knew she was right. Why couldn’t you be satisfied with that? “I know. I’m not saying I wish he’d give me a chance because I’ve met those men, killed those men, then sent those men your way—”

“—Thanks again for the late-night delivery the other day.”

“Of course, hun. I’m not in the business of pushing boundaries, but I can’t help but feel that way from time to time. I hate myself for it.”

“Sweetheart.” Your friend’s voice was gentle, full of sympathy. “You can’t help how you feel. And what you’re feeling isn’t wrong.”

You laughed, meaning for it to be light, but it caught in your throat and quickly died. “This isn’t going to end well for me, is it Rosie?”

She opened her mouth to say something comforting but paused and closed her mouth again. Rosie wouldn’t lie to you. You both knew this road would lead to heartbreak, the only variable was how humiliated you’d be in the end.

“Tem, if this is bothering you so badly, then you should go ahead and tell Alastor how you feel. Get it all out of the open so you can move on.”

”No!” You cleared your throat. “I mean… I can’t, I…”

You were fucking terrified.

Rosie would never shame you, you knew this, but you couldn’t bring yourself to say it out loud. It felt foolish to admit it out loud. On earth and in Hell, you’ve been beaten, bloodied, and bruised. You’ve had a knife to your throat or the barrel of a gun to your head more times than you like to admit, yet the idea of confession and rejection terrified you more.

You liked to think, it made perfect sense. In your experience, pain was fleeting, much of it mercifully unremarkable or a distant memory. But the pain of rejection, well…

You’ve dealt with that since the day you were born.

Your one scar that never fully healed.

Despite never vocalizing your fears, Rosie understood you. “I know it seems daunting, but I think Alastor may surprise you.”

“Right, because Alastor extended such grace to Vox.”

No one knew the truth about Alastor and Vox. Most took their rivalry at face value, but older demons remember the rumors; the Radio Demon forming an alliance with the up-and-coming Overlord, the alleged relationship in stark contrast to their current mutual antagonism.

Conversely, you always suspected Rosie knew more than she ever let on. Your friend, usually so fond of gossiping, kept her lips buttoned on the subject over the years. She claimed it was improper to talk about such manners behind a friend's back, and while you weren’t convinced you never pressed.

Rosie sucked pointed teeth in exasperation. “Come now! Your relationship with Alastor is not comparable— don’t give me that look, you know what I mean. Hold out for a little while longer. I’m sure this’ll all blow over soon.”

You hoped she was right

You once again found yourself at the hotel bar, laughing at something Angel said as Husk poured you two a drink. Angel held his Fat Nuggets, the cutest little pig in his second set of arms.

“And you seriously don’t know what kind of pig he is?” you asked, flabbergasted.

Angel shrugged. “I dunno. He’s… a pig.”

“He’s a Hell Hog!”

“A little redundant, ain't it?”

“No, well yes, but… never mind.” You pet the porker on his pink little head. “How’d you get your hands on this lil cutie, anyway?”

“Nuggs was… a gift. From my boss.” Angel set the piglet on the bar counter. “Speaking of which, I need to tell you something.”

Husk grimaced, like “oh shit, here we go,” and scooted a shot over to the spider.

Angel tossed it back before fixing his eyes on a stain on the counter. “I… I’m not going to audition for the show. I wanted to tell you now so you ain’t surprised when I don’t show up later..”

Tem frowned, concerned, resting a hand on his. “Oh Angel, hun, why? You’d be dynamite!”

“Oh, honey. I know I'm dynamite,” he said with peak confidence. “I just don't think I'm the one you're looking for for all this inspirational razzmatazz.”

“Bullshit,” Husk spat. “It’s fucking Valentino.”

Angel deflated. “Shit! Yeah, Val, he… he thinks it’ll take up too much of my time away from the studio and it would ‘ruin my branding’ or somethin’.”

Husk muttered something about Valentino being full of shit, to which Angel happily concurred. You clenched your hands under the bar, nails biting into the flesh of your palm.

“Oh, what horseshit!” You scoffed. “People like Valentino will make up any excuse to have a <i>crumb</i> of control. It’s pathetic. Tell me Angel, truthfully, do you want to do the show? Forget what Valentino says.”

“I mean yeah, I do, but—”

“But nothing. If you want to then you will. Leave it to me, hun.”

Husk raised a half-interested brow while Angel looked ill. “Look, I appreciate the offer but you don’t have to do whatever it is you’re planning to do. My boss, Val, he's–”

“A shitstain sandwich?”

Husk nodded with a small smile as he poured a glass of water for Fat Nuggets. “Exactly.”

You hopped off the stool, all smiles and bravado. “Angel, dear, just bring your spunky little butt to auditions and do your best. I promise that’s all you have to worry about. And maybe one day, this sweet little guy will bite Valentino’s stupid bald head off for you.” You stroked Fat Nuggets back as he sipped his water. “You will, won’t you? Yes, you will, good boy!”

Angel hugged both sets of arms to him, apprehensive. You smiled and placed a hand on his shoulder (with effort, he’s tall!) reassuring your friend you’d handle it. You held your smile as you walked out the door of the hotel, unaware of the shadow behind you. By the time you made it to your car, your smile disappeared.

“Shit!” you leaned against your car and pulled out a cigarette. Another “shit” escaped your lips when you realized you had no lighter. You placed the unlit cig in your mouth, foot tapping anxiously.

How in Hell were you going to get Angel out of his scenario? You had no pull when it came to the Vees, and no hope in getting their attention, at least not anytime soon.

You weren’t one to get involved in others’ affairs. Sure you’d gladly help out your friends and lend a hand when they needed one, but going against the will of an Overlord was above your wheelhouse. Those situations tended to land one in ripe hot shit. Needless to say, you preferred to avoid ripe hot shit.

But you felt for Angel. You weren’t lying when you said he had talent, and vermin Valentino squandered it. The moth demon reminded you all too much of Roman. They were both bastards who took advantage of the scared, weak, and vulnerable, all but stole their souls, and got off to abuse. You couldn’t break Angel’s contract, but you couldn’t stand by and let Valentino take this from him.

“Something troubling you, my dear?”

You inhaled your cigarette, gagging on the cylinder until you uncouthly hacked it out.

“Alastor!” You wiped your mouth, not noticing the sparkle of amusement in his eyes. “No, no. I'm fine, I’m… thinking.”

“About how you're going to get in touch with the Vees, hmm?”

You fixed him with a look. “Should I be surprised? Eavesdrop more, please.”

He snapped his fingers, and a new cigarette appeared in your mouth. Small green flames danced along his fingertips but he made no move to light your cig for you. You leaned forward, pulling back once your cigarette kindled.

Eyes closing, you took a slow drag of the cancer stick and exhaled, acrid smoke wafting through the air. “Thanks.”

“Of course, dear, but back to your accusation. Overhearing a loud conversation in a public space is hardly eavesdropping.”

“I hear they call it voyeurism nowadays.”

Smiling tight, he hummed in lieu of false laughter. “I’m afraid you’re running a fool's errand, doll. Someone like you who’s not much of an Overlord to begin with has no hope in Hell of waltzing into the Vees tower and getting a meeting. You wouldn’t even show up on their radar.”

He pinched your cheek, condescension dripping from his teeth, as if to say “wasn’t I right?”

You pushed him away. “Oh, piss off, Alastor. You think I’m stupid? Don’t answer.”

“My dear I don’t think you’re stupid, merely woefully unprepared. But I have an idea.~” He wrapped an arm around you, nails digging into the meat of your shoulder. “A surefire way to get you in touch with Vox himself.”

Any other time you’d be overjoyed at his touch, but he had to go and be aggravating. You crossed your arms. “Which is?”

“Come now, dear. You can’t expect me to offer my services with nothing in return. Especially since you were so rude.”

“I doubt I could ever hurt your feelings, or that you’d want anything from me.”

He laughed, and her stomach churned. “That’s where you’re wrong, doll. I want to make a deal with you.”

You flicked the cigarette and stubbed it out. “Forget it. I’m not giving you my soul.”

Alastor’s eyes twitched as if the suggestion annoyed him. “Who said anything about souls? I promise to get you an immediate audience with Vox and in turn, you answer three little questions for me where you have to be fully honest.”

You pulled away from him. “What quest—”

“Ah-ah-ah!” He placed a finger over your lips. “What makes this deal worth it is the uncertainty. I can’t have you prepping lies in a desperate attempt to save face.”

Fuck.

Did he know?

He couldn’t know—

Alastor stared down at you like a predator who’d finally caught its meal. It scared you, and excited you?

No, no, no! You can examine those feelings later!

You took another step back, inwardly groaning as soon as the heat of his touch left your skin. There was a subtle tremor of his shoulders, eyes crinkling. He was holding back laughter.

“What’ll it be, my dear?”

What choice did you have?

This burn is going slower than I originally planned, lol. Hope you aren’t getting bored.

Also, if you want to send Tem or the other HH/HB characters that show up in the story an ask, go ahead and I’ll answer with a sketch.

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snarky-art · 5 months

Note

Perhaps the domino gowns of s5...they....they need a bit of love 😭

Couldn’t not upload my favorite pairs too while they’re in such nice attire, as a treat

Anyway, bestie these were WILD to look at

Redesigning these meant trying my best to keep certain shapes, and then saying fuck it for most of them and just lore dumping through dresswear instead

Musa, Flora, and Tecna are in nice formal wear with some traditional elements and general stuff representative of their respective homes as guardian fairies and members of the winx and Stella, Aisha, and Bloom are wearing formal wear that’s drenched in years of political context and a lot of it with handed down elements select to the leaders of the body of government

Stella’s is a hodgepodge of her own selection and custom tailoring and Aisha’s is a more modern take on traditional elements that she prefers her royal stylist to stick to as a way to stay on trend and match with what she likes

Lore stuff and some explanations for changed that I feel like justifying below the cut if you’re interested!:)

For Musa I went more Ming dynasty and tried a longer skirt but it just didn’t really look right to me, so pants it is. The only thing I ended up keeping from her og dress was a line down the middle on the upper part of the outfit.

Aisha has the green gem featured in her crown (the one for the heir of Androsia) and her parent’s headwear as I’ve featured in other pieces and has been shown in between the two diamond jewels in the same formal wear pieces and as is shown on her bracelets. I realized I never specified what those are symbolic of ahaaa

The two diamonds are for the land and the sea, each equal in size and color for the symbolism of equal emphasis and importance in the standing of the government, with the green circle being where they touch. The Diamond shape is to represent each form reaching for each other and outwards, encompassing all around it, and the dot where they drop into each other, making the surface of the sea. Aisha as heir is currently meant to represent this unity as she is the result of Land and Sea symbolically through her parents with the way Androsian government works, and she is meant to currently do what she can to represent all her subjects’ interests before she takes her final place as the representative for the Land Androsi (if she does take that position at all actually because there’s some political turmoil in my thing with how government works rn that I talk about some in this post but shhhh we’ll figure that out later)

Tecna’s is a purple girlie.

There are lots of natural ways to dye things purple on Zenith (they do a lot of it synthetically or magically now) so lots of traditional stuff is purple and lucky for Tecna, they, like anyone who loves purple, isn’t normal about the color and enjoys a lot of traditional Zenithian garb as a result since a lot of it has that.

Flora was much easier to do and less time consuming because she’s already a floral person and I could translate the shape easily into something close to traditional Lymphean garb from her area. The only shame here is I originally thought it would be nice to keep it more teal and green heavy since she so rarely gets the chance to wear those colors in canon when compared to her more pink heavy color palette, but I ended up caving to purplish petals instead.

Bloom is doing The Most here, and I wanted to intentionally make her kind of awkward in terms of hair size compared to her body and fit in particular. Bloom doesn’t do much with her hair usually outside of a half up half down, but she has her mom’s fiery red locks and she is doing her first Official Royal Outing and not only is she going to dress to the 9s in a way that is over the top by most modern government standings, wearing as many official emblematic bits, shapes, and references to the royal body as possible, she wants to channel some of what Marion has as an expert diplomat and make her proud and she thinks looking like her might help. I feel like Marion has the genuine confidence, zeal, and presence through decades of experience and proper study and general demeanor to pull off the big hair though whereas Bloom is basically doing the equivalent of trying on her parents big shoes when she’s a toddler. It looks more like dress up on her than it does an actual fitting look for her first attempt at politicking (and Diaspro does point this out to Bloom, and while it is meant to be snide, it’s also meant to be her way of trying to tell her she’s trying too hard and she shouldn’t. Her and Bloom have a decent acquaintanceship of sorts at this point. They’re never going to be best buds but they don’t hate each other or hold any ill will. Their personalities clash though and they know their limits with each other at this current point in their relationship. No Diaspro Sky Bloom bullshit here thanks) and she’s anxious and insecure and desperately wants to make her Dominion parents proud, especially because of her insecurities for the obvious (didn’t grow up royal, new to magic, still scene as the legacy child for Domino even though it’s been newly resurrected, also meaning this is it’s first big foray back into the Magical Realm’s political sphere and it HAS to show they’re still a capable powerhouse, which is also part of why the meeting is being held on Domino too, as a courtesy favor from the other governments involved in The Infinite Ocean stuff to help get its foot back in the door), but most importantly, because she’s not Daphne, and that’s a sore subject at this current time.

For Stella, I managed to keep some shapes from the og dress, but it’s very slight. Stella at this point is big on embracing her moon heritage as well and advocating more for causes beyond just Solarian government stuff, as in the government body that lumps Lunarian stuff in with it, and is working hard on raising Lunarian interests as separate things, reenforcing the idea that their culture and people are separate but equal despite the attempted assimilation under the planet of Solaria itself, an assimilation that still hasn’t been fully stopped or systematically eradicated. She has charisma and charm to spare and is taking the actual nitty gritty “not so fun” parts of politics (ie actual info on sociocultural and socioeconomic trends, trade info, statistics and projected trends, etc. basically all the stuff that isn’t “show up to parties and mingle”) much more seriously now and is wanting to make proper and viable change in multiple areas of her future government, and she’s working on properly finding her footing in the world of direct action and political savvy maneuvering through proper head on negotiations.

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