the vest though

sartorial headcanons
  • Taako cannot walk in heels. It’s an embarrassment. 
  • He’s not going to let that ruin an outfit, though, so he just. Levitates everywhere when he wears them.
  • You know who can walk in heels? Who is actually preternaturally good at it?
  • Angus. Taako is in turns blindly jealous and proud and baffled.
  • Killian cannot wear sleeves. 99% of the time she walks around in shirts with the sleeves cut off.
  • She has a lot of nice vests for date nights, though.
  • The regulators have team jackets. Like, bomber jackets with elaborate embroidery on the back.
  • They hoisted Boyland’s into the rafters of the training room like a hockey jersey.
  • When No3113 joins the team they make her like… a cape, essentially? That ties to her back.
  • She loves it an only takes it off for missions.

I have a lot of these, go figure. Please reblog and add your hcs!

3

A lone Pacifica, and then a few Reverse Falls AU Pacificas.

I am unsure what clothes she’d wear in the AU so I just kind of went with gaudy 90′s clothes. ( and one outfit that is pretty much just like canon Dipper’s, and tbh I like that one the most )

10

Every time Dipper reaches into his tiny vest to pull out a book that’s as large as his torso I have to wonder what else he manages to keep in those magical pockets of his

4

the ‘hats are really hard to draw’ team

im too lazy to work on Green n Blue oops

what is the triangle hair anyways

so Yels just has a few changes

the eyes again

since Yels eyes are dark brown from what official art says

Red’s eyes are pinkish compared to Ruby’s ORAS look ive noticed

So, Glee Club is as awkward and weird as I expected it to be. I’m not sure how y’all haven’t melted under Schue’s gaze, or just looking at his sweater vests. I will say, though, that my audition killed it and I dare any fuck who tries to come at me with a Slushie to fuckin’ do it.

lighten up the atmosphere

Prompted by clarkeslight​: "I’m zoning out working on this painting and you just stopped me from drinking out of my dirty water cup" + bellarke + 700 words max, go!

:P COURTNEY YOU ARE TERRIBLE, and I love you! *smooches*

Word Count (for the record): 690


Right now, Clarke’s the kind of tired that sticks eyelids open and locks muscles into position. For the past few hours, she’s been staring at the same section of canvas, and she’s still not satisfied with the color. It needs something, but that something has been eluding her since midnight and at this point she’s ready to tear her hair out. This commission is due next week, and she still has so much left to touch up before she can call it done.

There’s a little digital clock sitting on the shelves by the door, but Clarke hasn’t turned around to check the time since she heard Bellamy puttering around upstairs sometime around eleven, letting Apollo out one last time and starting the dishwasher before bed. That was hours ago, and the thought of sleep makes Clarke want to cry a little. But she has to finish these details, dammit, or she’ll be up half the night agonizing over it anyway.

So Clarke sighs, reaching over to the cart where she stores all the brushes and paints she keeps at home, and closes her hands around her coffee mug. If she’s going to be up until dawn, she might as well be semi-lucid.

A warm hand closes around her wrist, and before she can question him, Bellamy’s chuckling into her hair, “I wouldn’t drink that if I were you.”

Bell.” She’s too tired to care how much it borders on a whine, but she clears her throat and adds dryly, “If you want to keep your hand, you will let go of my coffee cup.”

“That’s not coffee, princess.” He’s sounding much too fond, planting a kiss on the crown of her head. But Clarke focuses on the mug in her hands, on the “paint water” scrawled across the side. Inside, her paints have blended into a muddy, murky brown. It’s nowhere near the color of her cold black coffee in the “not paint water” mug still sitting on the cart.

“Oh.”

The smile in Bellamy’s voice is too obvious when he says, “It’s time for bed.” His arms snake around her shoulders and he rests his cheek against the top of her head.

“But I have to finish this,” she protests, but it’s more reflex than anything. When his lips find the shell of her ear, she lets out a little sigh and sinks deeper into the embrace.

“If you do that,” he says, his voice low and warm in a way that drags at her eyelids, “you’ll come back in the morning and hate it, and then you’ll want to scrap the whole thing. But this isn’t a personal project you can set aside. You’ve been working too hard on this to start over now, so close to the deadline.” Then he tilts her chin just so, pressing a kiss to the apple of her cheek. “You’ll feel better with a fresh start in the morning.”

He’s right and she knows it, especially since it’s practically the same speech she gives him whenever he’s up late in bed working on his novel. They’ve always been too similar, that way.

“Okay,” she acquiesces. He helps her to her feet, whisking her coffee mug upstairs while she gathers up her brushes to rinse out. He returns to lean against the door of the basement bathroom while she washes up, scrubbing paint off her hands and out from under her nails. When she declares herself and her brushes clean enough, he takes her hand and leads her upstairs.

From his cushion at the foot of the bed, Apollo opens one lazy eye to watch Clarke shuffle around the room as she gets ready for bed, before she pats him on the head and he relaxes. Then, finally, Clarke climbs into bed and into her husband’s arms, and when they’re both comfortable, he presses a kiss against her forehead and asks, “Where were we?”

“That damn golden apple made a comeback,” she mumbles into his chest.

“Ahh, yes, that damn apple.”

Clarke falls asleep to Bellamy’s voice in her ear, his hands in her hair, and their hearts beating in steady synchronization.