#colorsplosion

Here’s an eye-explosion for you, for the DTIYS with the Miraculous Fanworks discord.

>>original pic

>>background

the obscure crossover ot3 that no one knows or cares about

yes good.

who’s the werewolf and who’s the hunter

werewolves arago and sara, but wirt isn’t so much a hunter as just Tired of the howling outside his house at all hours and the bite marks in anything he leaves outside, so he just keeps trying all these different ways of getting these… dogs? half-wolves? big coyotes??? to keep away from his property, but nothing works ofc and eventually they show up at his house in human form and just start hangin’ out on the porch like they own the place, and wirt’s like who the frick–

who’s the mermaid and who’s the fisherman

fisherman– fisherwoman??– sara, wirt who handles the business side of their fish business and is thoroughly unprepared the day his wife bursts into the house with mer-arago in her arms bridal-style, yelling “BABE LOOK WHO I JUST MET. ALSO I FIGURED OUT WHY THERE ARE LESS FISH IN MY USUAL SPOT; HE WAS EATING THEM.”

who’s the witch and who’s the familiar

they’re a coven. no familiars needed. 

who’s the barista and who’s the coffee addict

barista wirt. “i don’t know if i slept at all last night but i have Things to Do give me a large triple-shot mocha” coffee addict sara. arago who only buys desserts and sugar drinks (more than one at a time), even at meal times when other people are buying little lunchbox things or sandwiches or whatever. wirt is Concerned about both of them and i love giving him shit like this can you tell.

who’s the professor and who’s the TA

this one’s always hard for me bc it’s not as fun/obvious at the other things, so… they can all be professors of different things at a liberal arts college. problem solved.

who’s the knight and who’s the prince(ss)

king and queen wirt and sara, arago their loyal knight except oh wait he’s also royalty now, what a nice wedding.

who’s the teacher and who’s the single parent

art teacher sara, single dads wirt and arago who meet bc sara accidentally scheduled them for the same time slot on parent-teacher conferences day.

who’s the writer and who’s the editor

They’re all a bit alike, and all a bit like him, Wirt thinks: not quite human enough anymore to settle for simply loving someone. There’s a worrying sort of possessiveness behind every gesture, every word, a wordless feeling of claim-belonging-love-family-protect-heart-mine. Wirt’s always fought against his, knowing its source, considering it too inhuman to be anything good for them. The kids aren’t naive by any stretch, but they seem to have no such qualms.

Jamie is the first. And, ok, it’s not as if each kid is strictly one at a time, but Jamie is definitely the first, because he adopts them, introducing them to his mother as “my second mom and dad”. As Wirt and Sara sputter, flattered and unsure, Mrs. Bennett laughs, unfazed, and shakes their hands.

Jamie grins, and calls them Mom and Dad consistently from that point on.

“Hey, Dad?” Norman calls, and Wirt replies on instinct.

“Yes?” He looks up, and Norman is blinking, stuttering.

“I meant Arago,” Norman admits, the tips of his ears going a little pink. “But, okay, um, cool. More dads.”

Wirt has to take a few moments to process his own slip, and by the time he does, Norman is gone.

“Sara Pines,” Sara introduces herself to the gallery owner asking to display her work. “And these are my kids; Dipper, Elena, and Coraline.”

The gallery owner shakes her hand, nods politely to each of the kids, then turns, talking about the layout and history of the gallery as he leads them through it.

“Dude,” Coraline says, so soft that she might only be speaking to herself. Sara hears the now-distinctive sound of two kids high-fiving behind her back.

“Excuse me, is Mx. Hunt at home?” Asks the polite-professional voice on the phone, and Wirt knows it as a school employee’s voice immediately. Oh, man.

“No, sorry. This is his husband speaking, may I ask who’s calling?” He replies, the Jeopardy theme playing quietly in the back of his head as he waits to hear which of their kids got into trouble this time.

“This is Mr. Bernardi, your son Bill’s history teacher,” says Mr. Bernardi, their son Bill’s history teacher.

“Oh, no,” Wirt thinks, not realizing immediately that he’s said it aloud. Mr. Bernardi clears his throat awkwardly. “Sorry, uh, what happened?”

“Bill’s just not doing very well in my class right now, I was wondering if you or Mx. Hunt have any time to meet with me after school this coming week,” Bernardi hesitates, then adds, “he also called another student ‘useless fleshbag’ in class today, but he eventually apologized, so… I decided not to take any disciplinary action.”

“Okay, thank you. Um,” Wirt looks at the calendar on the kitchen wall, full of notes and scribblings and ‘don’t forget’s and ‘can we go?’s in multiple handwritings. “Does Thursday work for a meeting?”

“That should be fine,” Mr. Bernardi affirms, sounding fairly cheerful. 

“Great. Thank you.”

“Not a problem,” Bernardi replies easily. Wirt hangs up with a click, and takes a deep breath.

“Who was that?” Sara asks as she comes into the kitchen.

“Our son’s history teacher.”

“Which one?” Sara, missing or misunderstanding Wirt’s emphasis, grabs a yogurt out of the fridge, boosting herself up to sit on the counter before opening the drawer at her side to grab a spoon.

“Bill.”

Bone of my branches…

The voice is his own, and so frighteningly not, and Wirt looks uselessly around at the trees for its source. Jagged twisting branches look like antlers in the corner of his eye, shadows between trunks move and shift when he looks at them for too long, or not for long enough.

Claim of the night…

“Leave me alone,” Wirt orders. He’s older now, surer and stronger and with even more to fight for, even more to lose. The shadows grow into a familiar figure.

Blood of my blood…

He grits his teeth, brandishing the torch in his hand like a sword. It does nothing against the Beast, and Wirt can hear his children behind him in the woods, crying, calling out, but he can’t reach them.

Light of my light.

Wirt wakes with a violent shudder, opening his eyes against the dark just to assure himself there’s nothing looking back at him from the shadows of the bedroom. At his movement, Sara rolls over with a murmur, taking half the blanket with her. Wirt smiles.

“Nightmare?” Arago asks, with a quiet yawn. Wirt nods. Arago curls closer to Wirt’s side, a warm and comforting presence, and they both drift back to sleep.

Bone of my branches, claim of the night, blood of my blood, light of my light. Bone of my branches, claim of the night–

The twins are both on the ground and there’s a shadow looming over them, so different from the Beast but so similar with its blinding eyes and curling claws, and Wirt steps in between the creature and his children, dangerous calm washing over him.

“You stay away from my kids,” he says. Blood of my blood. The fearling meets his eyes, and hesitates, for barely a second, before the other kids are there and it turns away from him, distracted.

It’s destroyed in short order, an odd lone fearling no match for a family of magic. Wirt hugs the twins tight for a moment, and they let him, before gently pulling away with matching smiles. Wirt forces his hands to let go, letting them walk away, watching them celebrate another victory with the others. They’re fine, he reminds himself, calming the shadow in his own head.

continuation :3c

“Are you sure your friend isn’t going to die in our car?” Steph asks, because it seems like a question that needs asking. Though, maybe they could have worded it better, because Xander is letting go of the wheel to hit Steph’s arm and looking away from the road to give them a shut up, oh my god, kind of look.

“He won’t,” the woman – Sarah? – says vehemently. Steph silently wills Xander to drive a little faster, just in case there’s a silent or else at the end of that sentence.

“Why aren’t we going to the hospital?” Steph asks, for the third time since they started driving.

“He’ll heal on his own, we just need to get somewhere safe,” the woman answers cryptically, for the third time since they started driving.

Steph regrets every decision that led them to this moment.

“So… what even happened to him?” Xander asks, ever too curious for eir own good.

“G’t ambushed,” the albino bleeding to death in the back seat of the car shrugs nonchalantly. “Thought I was tracking something, but it found me instead. Was gone too long; they came ta’ rescue me ‘cause they love me so much.”

“We do,” the woman agrees, pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead. The tall, nervous man stays silent, jaw clenched tightly closed as he holds some kind of small, future-y looking x-ray device over his bleeding friend’s stomach. There’s a sticker on the side that’s been half torn off and so reads ‘property of Stanf’.

“Well, shit,” says the woman, looking at the little x-ray screen. “No wonder he’s not healing right, there’s a whole fang in there.”