#feather-like terminal

[sheltiechicago]

MAD designs feather-like terminal for Changchun airport in China

A floating feather was the visual reference for the airport terminal that Chinese architecture studio MAD is designing in the city of Changchun, Jilin province, China.

Terminal 3 at Changchun Longjia International Airport will have a distinctive fan-shaped form, which is intended to resemble "a feather floating in the breeze".

[kristiliqua]

unrelated but its wings kind of look like fish tails in this screencap ngl

actually they look like fish fins in general (looking back at the video) . more so than wings .. holdup …. (its maybe just a style choice tbf but let me ponder)

Yall... I'm nooticing smth. The projectile Providence fires out is HELL ENERGY. THIS THING MAY NOT BE AN ANGEL, OR THIS ANGEL IS UP TO NO GOOD.

[cherrygirlfriend]

⟡ ₊ . ༄.° postcards under the bed

pairing: dean winchester x reader synopsis: how dean became a part of reader's little family. tags/warnings: fluff, fwb, reader has custody of her 5yo niece wc: 1k a/n; your girl was craving fluff!!!

dean winchester masterlist ♡

when you and dean first started going out, you knew that he was always traveling and never really stayed in one spot for too long, which was more than fine with you; you were too busy working and taking care of your niece for a proper relationship, anyway.

so, whenever the man came back to kansas and you managed to get a babysitter, the two of you would get tangled up in your bedsheets for a night. until things started changing.

what started as dean calling you up when he was back in town slowly turned into him texting you when he was gone, asking you how you were doing and telling you he couldn't wait to see you, coming over as soon as he was back in kansas.

what started as dean coming straight to your place and almost immediately taking you to bed slowly turned into pots and pans clanging in the kitchen as he cooked you dinner while you simply watched him with a glass of wine on your hand, the man telling you all about whatever monster him and his brother had been hunting while he made you his so-called specialty.

what started as dean leaving before you had even woken up slowly turned into waking up to his snores, spending lazy mornings tangled in each other's arms while the two of you talked about everything and nothing in hushed voices, exchanging small, nearly feather-light kisses.

he started bringing you postcards from all the places they'd travel to, the back of them filled with chicken scratches about what they were hunting, and although he always gave them to you in person, he made sure to write your name on the lines meant for your address with what was dean's attempt at cursive, the shoe box under your bed soon filled with postcards from different places.

neither of you called it what it was; when sam queried dean about where he'd disappear off to the moment they got back from their cases he'd mumble something about 'going to see someone', and when your friends wondered who was the guy picking you up from your girls' night in the black impala you'd just shrug and grin before making your way outside, straight into the arms of the man leaning against the car.

"i'm gonna have to cancel tonight." you said into your phone, using your shoulder to hold it up to your ear as you used your hands to decorate a bunch of cupcakes.

"what? aw, come on." dean's voice rang out, "i got popcorn and sour patch kids, and you finally agreed to watch terminator with me. are you bailing on me because of that? because if you really want to, we can watch one of your chick-flicks. again."

you let out a small laugh and rolled your eyes, a small smile now lingering on your lips, "it's not that. my sitter has a fever and had to cancel. so instead of our planned explicit date night i'm gonna be playing board games with aurora."

"ah, damn." dean sighed on the other line, "i really wanted to see you, sammy and i are probably gonna be back on the road tomorrow, we found some vamps up in duluth."

"i'm sorry." you say with your lips turned down in a slight frown, "let's take a raincheck, 'kay? i should go get rory, i finished decorating our cupcakes."

"oh? what cupcakes did you make?"

"red velvet. they're her favorite."

dean let out a small chuckle before humming, "hey, i was thinking... if it's not a girls-only night... maybe i could join you."

"really?" you raised your brows, "you wanna spend the evening playing monopoly with me and my niece rather than, i don't know, go to some bar and spend the evening with some hot chick?"

"i mean, you do have cupcakes. and board games are no fun with just two people."

you hummed, your lips pursed as you thought about his suggestion for a moment, before swallowing, "yeah. you can join."

after that evening, it seemed like things changed all over again.

dean no longer texted to ask you how you were, or to tell you how much he wanted to see you. he no longer cooked for you while you got to relax. you no longer woke up next to him. you didn't receive postcards addressed to you.

instead, he'd call you, checking in on you and aurora, saying how much he couldn't wait to see both of you again. he cooked for you while you were busy coloring with your niece. by the time you woke up, led zeppelin was blasting in the kitchen and the entire house smelled of pancakes, and when you got up, you'd see aurora dancing clumsily while dean was making pancakes. and the postcards were no longer addressed to you, but to you and aurora, and instead of ending up hidden under your bed, they were displayed on the fridge, until you no longer had enough magnets.

you were laid on dean's chest, your fingers drawing slight patterns on his skin, until his own hand came to stop you, bringing your hand to his warm lips, pressing a kiss on it.

"what are you thinking about?" he asked against your skin, and you looked up at him, wondering if you should tell dean what you were really thinking about or just brush him off. but the look in his eyes was reassuring, almost pleading you to tell him what was on your mind.

you took a deep breath before locking eyes with him, chewing on your lower lip, slightly anxious about what he was going to think.

"i don't think i can live without you."

dean's eyes widened slightly in surprise, before he let out a soft chuckle, the feeling of his breath on your hand causing shivers to run down your spine. he let go of your hand and moved his hand to your cheek, and you almost automatically brought your face closer to his.

"that's good, sweetheart, because i don't think i can live without you, either."

[zo2mess]

Bliss In Vegas

Summary: The team landed a mission in Las Vegas, because what could possibly go wrong in the world’s most innocent city, right? Fast forward through a whirlwind of chaos, and somehow no one got hurt… but you woke up in bed with Adrian, nearly naked, and two ring pops on your fingers.

Warnings: 18+ Brief smut, hand stuff, spit stuff, alcohol consumption, crude language, I guess that’s it? (Morning breath! I’m so fucking sorry, it was all I could think about when I was writing this. Just ignore it exists for a while O_o)

Word count: 4.4k

Masterlist of my works

Note: Adrian in tighty whities with beer all over him made me incredibly feral and ready to finish this little thing I started few months ago. Eh, it is something I guess? I just wanted to get over it.

And listen, I have never written about 11th Street Kids before, except for Adrian; apologies if any of them feel weird.

You know the saying? What happens in Vegas…

“Don’t stay in Vegas,” Harcourt sternly noted at the end of her little briefing of the next so-called mission. The fact that they still needed to take care of some stray swarms of butterflies even after terminating the cow was inconvenient, said mildly. “We do our job and go back, no random stops in any of the facilities.”

Those butterfly survivors would eventually die of starvation, but ARGUS was suspicious of large groupings of them in certain areas. They could be spending their last days together as a species, or maybe, just maybe, they’re trying to find a way to stay alive and find a new source of food, which was a dangerous idea.

One of those groups was flying free between casinos and strip clubs in Vegas, Nevada. Really troublesome area to be sending this team. It was practically screaming disaster.

“Why are they sending us? I thought we were done!” Leota protested, exchanging a questioning look with John who was in the same shock as her. Vegas was way out of hand and the last thing she wanted was to spend time away from her wife and furbabies.

“The official reason is that we are now experts on butterflies when it comes to terminating them-“

“The real reason is that we are seriously underpaid and we’re a cheap workforce” Economos interrupted Harcourt in a matter of seconds, saying the real reason for the little trip awaiting you.

Chris with Adrian, on the other hand, were doing their best not to let anyone know how excited they were. You could feel Adrian vibrating out of his skin next to you. No doubt he was already thinking how he and Peacemaker will stop crime, get wasted, and cruise some bitches. The real question was how they would break free from Harcourt's gaze and go astray. “Wait, you guys are getting paid?”

One way or another, this outing in Vegas was bound to be legendary.

°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°

The whole mission felt like a dream, after shooting up butterflies it was already too late to be driving back home, so Harcourt allowed crashing at a hotel until morning. You would think everyone felt like you, exhausted after the long trip and crashing little alien bugs, but no.

Chris and Adrian were pretty much excited to be hitting the town, and a person would think Adrian would at least clean his boots that still had alien goo all over them after he cheerily stomped on butterflies all day.

It wasn’t just the casinos, bars, and strip clubs waiting to strip lost souls of all their money. On the lit-up alleys, lined up were hustlers with classic shell games, women imitating peacocks adorned with faux gold and feathers, shady watch sellers, and more or less inconspicuous pickpockets. And just like tigers in a zoo, it was best to simply watch them pacing impatiently in circles—but anyone who sticks their hand into the enclosure quickly loses it.

All these predators, performing various tricks to catch their prey, prove once and for all that human creativity and the desire for money know no bounds.

In the end, you could not just lie in your hotel bed when Las Vegas was right on the other side of your window, teasing and luring with colorful blinding lights and loud music playing from every corner, the better side of Vegas. Plus the second Adrian put on his puppy eyes and whiny begging tone you were a goner.

How could you say no?

And that was the beginning of the most memorable night you did not remember.

°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°

When you stirred awake you felt too hot and cold at the same time, head pounding and the ringing in your ears didn’t make it easier to open your eyes. The strongest hangover you ever had was making itself known, though hangovers usually don’t make you feel you are being pushed into the mattress and making your hand sweaty?

No, no, that wasn’t sweat, was it?

The morning sun shining into the hotel room immediately blinded you when you tried to open your eyes, but you managed to at least get a look at what was causing at least half of your discomfort.

Adrian.

Nearly naked Adrian lying on top of you.

Adrian that was drooling all over your fingers as he sucked on the ring pop on your finger from his sleep.

What?

His frame completely enveloped your body, transferring his body heat to you and making you feel breathless. Adrian lounged in just his boxers and once you looked around your room you found piles of clothes all over the small cheap hotel room.

His jeans on the ground, glasses on the bedside table, His holey socks hanging from the edge of the bed with… your top and jeans? Then whose shirt were you wearing?

Adrian’s room was right next to you, why was he sleeping in your bed?

Too many questions, too little answers.

You tried to gently ease Adrian from your body and roll him to the side, but goddamn, was he heavy. You could try again and again and he just wouldn’t budge.

He groaned from his sleep because of your constant nagging but he didn’t move an inch, at least he stopped sucking on the lollipop, “Stop wiggling, I’m gonna get a boner”. Gods, how could his voice sound so raspy and whiny at the same time?

“Adrian! What are you doing here?” you slapped his shoulder in an attempt to wake him up, which finally worked, he lifted his head while he just barely opened his eyes, blinking away the blurriness of his vision. Those half-lidded green eyes and tousled hair did something for you, it was hard to admit it though.

“I would be sleeping if you weren’t slapping me and making my cock hard” He mumbled nonchalantly and settled back on your chest, nuzzling to your boobs like it was the most normal thing to do. “Your tits are amazing pillow, you know that?”

Another slap. Another yelp from Adrian.

Under different circumstances, you would have enjoyed cuddling with Adrian, it’s not like you were completely resistant to his charm, or whatever that illuminates him, which makes him so enamoring.

But not right now, not when you had no idea how you got to bed, how he got in your bed, why you were almost naked, when your head was pounding, and also…

Why did you both have ring pops on your fingers?

You didn’t notice it at first, but once you did, it made gears in your head turn really hard to put one and one together. You took his hand in yours, studying his blue raspberry ring pop and comparing it to your strawberry one, but other than the fact yours was way smaller and wet from Adrian’s constant sucking, nothing stood out.

And Adrian didn’t even notice something was on his finger until you lifted his hand. Unbothered king. He was getting on the rest of your nerves that remained after the wild night.

“Oh my god! Twinsies!” How was he so cheery in the morning? He must have drunk a similar amount of alcohol as you did, but it seems his body doesn’t believe in hangovers.

When you started pushing him from your body again, he finally rolled off onto his back with a loud huff. What a way to wake up, hangover in a Vegas hotel. The only thing missing was an Elvis impersonator singing under the balcony. ‘Thank you, thank you’ he would mumble with that deep voice as you would throw a few cents at him.

Adrian laid still extremely close to you, shoulders touching and all, and stared at the ceiling with a dumb smile on his face while you were panicking next to him. How did this happen?

“Do you remember anything?”

“Nope.”

“Aren’t you concerned?”

“Nope.”

“Do you think we fucked?”

“Nah, you would have felt it.”

“You mean with that thimble of yours?”

He just snorted, tilting his head to the side to laugh right in your face. You didn't even have the energy to question what was so amusing about his thimble dick. But for that moment of Adrian laughing at you for no apparent reason, it felt like a normal day. Like you were back at HQ, relaxing on one of the worn-out couches with Adrian in his armor beside you, chatting about something ridiculous while polishing his knives and rolling his head to look at you, trying not to smile.

However, it all vanished away when Adrian lifted and knelt on the bed and a bunch of casino chips started falling from his boxers. Chip after chip pooling around his thick thighs. And it looked like he was surprised in the same way you were.

The right question would probably be why he stored his wins in underwear, second, why he went to sleep with them, and the third one…

“How did you win so much?”

“My brother taught me how to count cards, it’s really easy once you get the hang of it. But that doesn’t matter right now, what matters is that I need to exchange these crotch doubloons for real money,” He collected his chips and started admiring them in the morning light shining directly at him. “I am gonna be so rich, dude.”

Those little coins with fluorescent details flooded the room with colorful reflections. Spots of blue, green, red and pink decorated the furniture as well as your skin. If your skin wasn’t already buzzing from Adrian’s touch, you would be able to imagine the light tickling you.

“Come on, we’re going to get even more drunk to celebrate me being a fucking millionaire,” Adrian’s face lit up, what a fucking sunshine, you wanted to punch him in the face when he grabbed the blanket shielding your lower body from his greedy eyes. The cold air in the room was relentless, enveloping your body and leaving goosebumps in its wake. You could not get a break with the dumbass.

“Goddamn, do you wear this pathetic excuse for panties under your suit?” Adrian let out a wolf whistle and stared right between your legs without any shame. “You should have told me that sooner!”

Your panties? What was wrong with them?

One blurry look down and you know exactly what was wrong. “Those are not my panties.”

“What do you mean?”

“I didn’t have white lace panties.”

“Wait, wait,” Adrian leaned extremely close to your crotch, examining the red embroidery that decorated the hem of mystery underwear. “Here it says… Congratulations to the happy couple from Bliss wedding chapel.”

“Say what?” Your eyes nearly bulged out of their eye sockets. The embroidery was a sign of something horribly dooming. White panties from the wedding chapel really weren’t a good thing for someone who did not intend to get married. And oh, the horror of wearing something gifted from a drive-through wedding chapel.

“What,” Adrian replied to your shocked words with a confused look. It seemed like he did not realize what it meant. Either that or he didn’t care at all about being married to his colleague.

“Ade, are you even registering what that means?” It was like your heart dropped down to your stomach. Did it mean what you thought it did? Were you fucking married? In Vegas? And without remembering anything?

“Oh my god, are you my wife?” He lifted from between your legs, which was fucking painful thing to do when the thing he wanted the most was to be buried between them. His face weirdly lit up, unclear if with shock or happiness, “Am I your husband?”

“No, that must be some misunderstanding, right?” You jolted up, scrambling out of bed with a bunch of uncoordinated jerks of limbs. It was a miracle you hadn’t fallen right on your face. Damn those sweet juicy drinks that weaken your brain!

“We need to talk with others, they must know something, right?” You were more or less talking to yourself, babbling how it is impossible you got married with freaking Adrian Chase without remembering anything.

Adrian was still too absorbed in those chips on the bed and the ring pop on your fingers. One of his focuses meant he won money, the other that he was married, and the third, pretty, pretty thing in front of him was his wife. He completely ignored your panic, it was whatever.

He never was the kind to believe in fate, but goddamn, he must have done something really good to get all of this in one night.

“Ade, are you listening to me?” You almost touched those chips, fingers mere inches away, before you realized that Adrian had these shiny knick-knacks stashed away in his boxers the whole night. Your hand hovered above them, eyebrows furrowed.

“Oh, I see how it is,” Adrian watched you with a dumb smile, “Are you afraid of my crotch doubloons?”

“I don’t want to touch something that was near your dick” As simple as that, did he think it was normal?

“So you’re afraid of my dick” His smile widened with every word, he had that stupid expression on his face you still couldn’t look through. You had wondered several times what was going through his mind at those moments when his face twisted maliciously.

“I’m not afraid of your dick, Adrian.”

“Then touch it.”

“Why would I be touching your dick?”

“To prove you’re not a coward.” That stupid face was literally asking to be punched, but would that help your case? He looked abnormally good when he was hurt. “Plus, if we are married, we should consummate the marriage, right?”

“We’re not in the Middle Ages, Ade, we’re not married and I’m too hungover anyways”

Adrian noted in his mind that you didn’t say no because you didn’t like him outright, you said you had a hangover. This could mean two things; That you didn’t like him and hid it behind a lame excuse of drinking too much yesterday, or that you were actually hangover but did like him.

That must be the case. At least he hoped.

All this time, he was hoping you might get the hint that he liked you. He tried to be discreet, sending small signs like he saw in movies and read on Wikihow.

Make eye contact, look down, hold, slowly look back, look away, soft smile, scratch your neck, lick your lips, make eye contact again, wink…

And all this time you thought he was cursing you across the room when he tried this in team debriefings.

Being discreet was so unlike him, but he hoped it might seem normal, not like his usual attempts at flirting. And that was the problem. Adrian Chase, a guy desperate to share his every thought, sending subtle signs? Who could have caught that? Not you, that’s for certain.

“I mean… What is a hangover anyway? It’s when alcohol levels in your body drop to zero after heavy drinking. And one way to remedy that is drinking more,” He knew way too much for his own good, though after multiple horrible hangovers, he needed to know what was happening to him.

“Maybe if you finally got laid you wouldn’t be so cranky all the time, it's like a hangover” He finished his speech with a look that screamed anything but innocent.

Your blood suddenly grew hot, how dare he say you don’t have any game? Your hand shot up between his legs, touching him just like he dared you.

You fell right into a trap.

Say what you want about Adrian, he was stupid but not dumb. He hunts down criminals, he must know a thing or two how to trap his victim, how to get what he wants. Right now, he got you right he wanted. On a hotel bed, dressed just in his shirt and wedding panties and your hand on his dick.

Lucky bastard.

And you… You were a lucky bastard in a way too.

You could fondle his cock any way you wanted. This image haunted your dreams more than once. And what fool would you be if you didn’t take that chance.

Though the surprised look on your face was not something you imagined, when you got a good feel of Adrian ‘Thimble’ Chase. He was already semi-hard, and it made you wonder what caused it. Was it when you were nudging him in his sleep? Or when his nose caught a whiff of you while reading your underwear testament?

Maybe you would have to spread the word that your now husband was Mr. Definitely not Thimble.

You began running your hand up and down over him, slowly but surely making him even harder than he was. Adrian managed to keep his wide and confident smile just for few seconds. One gentle squeeze on his base, one swipe of your thumb over his covered tip, and he was a goner. His sparkling eyes fluttered closed, and this time, when he licked his lips, it didn’t look like he was licking away sauce from pasta at Fennel Fields.

While his hips gently rutted further into your touch, his hands shot to your hips. Strangely, he was slick with his touches, before you even knew it, his fingers were running under the sides of your white lace panties, just oh so desperate to feel your soft skin without anything else in the way.

“Is my tongue still red?” Adrian asked before sticking his tongue out, baring the surface of his tongue colored in deep red. What a weird question to be asking when you’re getting your dick fondled, though at this point you shouldn’t be surprised.

“Still very much red, why are you asking now?”

Adrian just grinned and eyed you up like a predator. Something was stirring in his mind.

Before you could ask him for the meaning of his question again, he lifted his hand with the big ring pop on his finger and pushed it into your mouth.

The second flavor of blue raspberry burst on your tongue you couldn’t blame him for sucking on your ring pop all night and drooling on your fingers.

While you enjoyed the artificial taste coating your taste buds, Adrian stared at you with a slack jaw and soft whimpers falling from his mouth. “Fuck, I wish you were sucking me like that”

Suddenly, he pulled away his hand, making you whine at the loss of your lolly. It didn’t take long before you had something else to focus on with your mouth though.

He practically lunged at you with his lips, pressing them against yours and setting a pace too fast for your sluggish mind. Adrian’s tongue demanded entrance in your mouth and before you could even register what he wanted, he was pulling at your chin, opening up your mouth for his wandering tongue.

You desperately wanted to match his frenzied pace, it was all too much and yet so good.

Adrian didn’t lick around your mouth like you would have expected, no, quite the opposite. He flattened his tongue over yours, making sure surfaces painted in red and blue brushed against each other.

Oh, so that’s what he was doing…

He wanted to combine them. Red and blue create purple. It would be a beautiful symbol for your new, and very very strange, marriage. Purple can, among other things, symbolize mystery, exactly that clouded over last night. It was still a mystery how you two ended up together. Did it matter anyway?

In the end, he was licking into your mouth like a dog. Panting like one, too.

When he pulled away from the kiss, a string of spit connected your swollen lips. Stretching, stretching, and stretching until it broke and landed on both of your chins. As you were reaching to wipe it off Adrian latched his lips onto your chin with unseen eagerness. The main idea was to help you with the excessive saliva, though he only made it worse.

He trailed open-mouthed kisses from your chin, across jaw, over cheeks, and ended by your ear, “Should I prove I’m not afraid of your pussy?” He whispered before licking the shell of your ear. One of his hands trailed the ring pop over your arm, leaving a sticky trail, while the other began prying between your legs.

“Wow, look at that,” He dared to chuckle after he slipped his fingers under the crotch of your panties, feeling your heat for the first time. You believed Adrian would comment on how wet you were for him, for Vigilante. But no, of course not.

“Your pussy doesn’t have teeth like I thought it would!”

And at that moment you promised yourself you will kill him right after he makes you cum. Not sooner nor later. As a simple warning, you tightened your grip you had on him over the boxers that were, much to your surprise, already stained with precum.

Let’s see how happy Adrian will be when he realizes his wife is a praying mantis in disguise.

°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°

You didn’t bite Adrian’s head off after all, he looked too cute after you made him finish in his underwear. That boyish grin, puffy lips wet with your cum after he licked his fingers off with proud bravado, lively eyes that shined almost the same way as his casino chips…

No, you might just keep him a bit longer.

At least he stopped with his nagging while you took a shower together and dressed in clean clothes. All this time, Adrian watched you like a lost puppy, begging for affection. Each time you gave him a chaste kiss, he stopped whining for a mere second.

While Adrian was hungry for more kisses, and undoubtedly something more, you were actually hungry for some food and coffee or green tea to get you going for the day. So you made your way to the hotel’s small dining room.

Adrian threw all his casino chips on the table between breakfast plates and mugs, they clinked against the ceramics almost too loudly for your poor pounding head.

Everyone’s eyes fell on shiny colorful chips, Leota put down her butter bread so she could reach for them, thankfully you grabbed her wrist right before she could get her fingers on the chip lying next to her plate “Don’t touch that.”

She shot you a questioning look but trusted your judgment. No need to tell her where these chips were, especially if they were in the middle of the table and too close to food.

“Did I get married to Adrian yesterday?” You asked without any humor in your voice, eyes flickering between every single one of those guilty faces of your colleagues. Adrian, though, did not care at all about this little investigation. He was too blissful with married life to even question it.

“It was one of the weirdest ceremonies I have ever seen,” Leota cracked first, “You didn’t even want me as your bridesmaid! You chose John!”

Your eyes landed on Economos, sipping his coffee to hide from you, “I did my duty well” was all he added.

Then you took a good look at others, Harcourt kept staring forward, digging her fork in some scrambled eggs. Chris, on the other hand, was already showing Adrian photos on his phone and Adrian was smiling widely, pointing out small details from your wedding and muttering how beautiful you looked, wearing cheap-looking veil you rented and holding a bottle of vodka instead of a wedding bouquet.

You joined him, and all that anger and confusion blurred for a brief moment. You looked happy in those photos. Laughing, chatting, eyes sparkling like they haven’t for a while. Every single photo was suddenly so precious.

Those were your lost memories.

And the way you were holding onto Adrian, so tightly and lovingly… All those small details didn’t escape either of you. Adrian nudged you with his elbow “We look good together”.

And you did. You really did.

Flushed, drunk, happy.

With the promise of the team explaining on the way home, you dropped your investigation of last night and settled to finally have some breakfast. Both you and Adrian get the leftovers in the form of yogurt. “Snoozers losers,” Chris added.

It was like you and Adrian had already synchronized, peeling the lid off, and licking some leftover yogurt at the same time. And in the meantime, everyone around the table could get a pretty good look at your purple tongues.

“See?! See that?” Chris called out way too loudly while pointing at you, “Did you stick your dick in her?”

You nearly choked on your own saliva at that question. Who even asks that? Especially during hotel breakfast? Some people from other tables turned around when they heard it, eager to know what the hell was going on.

But Adrian smiled, lifted his hand and wiggled his digits “Just my fingers.”

A symphony of disgusted noises came from your team, suddenly your yoghurt didn’t look as appealing as it should. But hey, maybe there will be a time when you won’t be able to eat yoghurt without thinking of Adrian and his-

“I made sure the guy marrying you didn’t have a license for it to be legitimate,” Harcourt finally spoke up, much to the dismay of the rest of the team.

“Which was a fucking mistake! You know how hilarious it would be if these two goons were married for real?” Chris chimed in with a booming laugh just from the idea of the night of the outing ending in one happy couple, drunk out of their minds.

Weight dropped from your shoulders upon hearing you weren’t married for real to Vigilante over there. It was like the air finally cleared, and you could take a deep breath of that crisp morning air. You caught Adrian doing the same, sighing in relief.

But if you were for real, it also stung a little. Somehow, while you made your way to breakfast earlier, you already started planning what to do next. Who will move to whom, when you should go and change your name on your ID to Chase, if you should get rid of your coffee machine so Adrian wouldn’t have too much disposal of caffeine…

While you were lost in your head, thinking whenever you were actually happy or sad the dumbass next to you wasn't your partner for real, Adrian simply leaned closer to you and whispered with that dopey smile, “It’s fine. Next time I’ll be marrying you, I want to remember it.”

[trav3l3r]

Wip as of right now, but I am posting because I probably won’t finish it

My lore for him badly explained under the cut

1x and Shedletsky where the same person, as Telamon

During a episode where Telamons powers went out of control their being split in half, into the two components of themself

Telamon was a god of chaos, often leading robloxians into traps to get their accounts terminated. They were a snake(biblical) but still retaining their godhood/admin so having bird features (all admins besides builderman have wings of some kind). So splitting 1x took the majority of the snake and Shedletsky took the bird (though both sides still have a bit of each)

1x and Shed where still connected in a way, having the same code and ID number. 1x taking the snake felt both of their fear and anger, Shed taking the bird having what fueled him as a god (chaos, anger, fear) siphoned off by 1x was essentially now mortal even though he had godhood still.

This new existence overstimulated 1x since she was experiencing everything two fold and he lashed out a lot, Shed being more composed since he had the absence of fear. The admins did not see the split but did see the aftermath, and seeing as Shed looked the most like Telamon (his wings) the admins assumed he was Telamon and that 1x was a form of virus and attempted to apprehend 1x but they got away.

1x over time, being flooded with these emotions and fuel but having no output for them, her code started to deteriorate and change. Forming as darkening feathers, horns/spikes, and tail taking on a red tint with tumor-like insect legs growing out of it. This furthered the ostracizing from the other admins, who did not know that she was also Telamon (Shedletsky did not inform them otherwise anyways).

It came to a point where 1x and Shed could not merge anyways if they wanted too, growing to be two different people and coupled with 1x code deterioration.

During one last final fight Shedletsky stabbed 1x though the eye and heart with the venomshank before sealing her in the banlands, where they sat till freed by the Specter

Any questions or anything just ask I would love to explain more :D

[shouyuus]

─── 啓悟 THE ART OF FALLING

keigo; 4,599 words; hurt/angst, not that much comfort, heavy allusions to suicide, terminal illness!reader, mentions of abuse (keigo's dad), pro-hero!keigo, no "y/n", lapslock

summary: all of life is a falling, all of life is a losing, all of life a catching, a remembering. endless, endless, until it isn’t.

a/n: apologies in advance for this one -- pls do heed the trigger warnings!!! big thank you to @aimfor-theheart for beta-ing and suffering through my keigo-flavored meltdown u__u i promise i will be writing fluff with the birdman soon he deserves it but first... the horrors...

─── 啓悟 HE CATCHES YOU FALLING out of the sky; it will not be the last time.

“oop — careful there,” he says, cradling you to his chest, an easy grin slung across his lips, his eyes twinkling as if there’s an inside joke caught in liminal space between your body and his, “trust me, i get the urge to go flying too but,” he shrugs, zipping through the air till he’s found a nice low rooftop to set you on, “not havin’ a pair of these makes the landing a bit tricky,” he jerks his chin back towards his wings, feathers red as freshly spilled blood.

you swallow, the prickle of hot, angry tears tickling at your eyes as you blink slowly at him as he sets you down. your bare feet curl against the bits of gravel on the rooftop. he glances down at your feet.

“ah… sorry about that. here —”

two red feathers zoom out of nowhere and deposit your sandals at your feet. you stare, almost unseeing. it’s hot, the air miraged in heat, overhead the sun screams its light over the tokyo skyline.

he bends down, holding up a shoe, “alright, on you get —” he reaches out a gloved hand, gently picking up your ankle and slipping your feet into the shoe. your foot drops with a clatter and he glances up to make sure you’re stable before helping you put on the other. when he’s done, he pushes to his feet, stretching his hands above his head in a great, over-wrought sort of yawn.

“man, it really is a good day for flyin’ though,” he shields his eyes with his hands, squinting out over the endless rooftops.

you lick your chapped lips.

“why’d you save me?” you ask, voice soft. there’s a piece of gravel stuck underneath the pad of your right foot.

keigo turns, hitching an eyebrow as he looks you over. his lazy smile stretches, but there’s a hardness to his gaze that almost makes you flinch back.

“cause, pretty girl like you deserves saving, no? and, well, a big ol’ hero like me? comes with the job description.” he chuckles, the noise curt and self-deprecating.

you frown and open your mouth, but the heat is making you woozy, the world going liquid around you as you wobble on your feet.

“oi — are you alri — oi!”

his voice tunnels, warping, echoing and strange, an underwater thing. the sky pinwheels above you, and then — blissful, cool, darkness.

you wake up in a hospital bed; it is not your first time.

the systematic beeps of the machines around you is almost a welcome sound. you count your breaths, feel your heart sync up to the rhythmic whir of machines, you open your eyes to the white-tiled ceiling, the spinning fan, the lifeless fluorescent panel-lights.

“you awake?” a groggy voice asks.

you turn your head; your heart skips a beat. the traitorous machine to your left maps the skid in a perfect spike of bright green light.

keigo yawns, his wings flexing out behind him as he shifts in the hospital seat, strangely dwarfed by the size of his wings. he cracks his neck and sits up straighter.

“i’d say ‘nice place’ but…” he looks around the hospital room, his lips tug into a grimace, “they say it’s not good manners to lie to a lady.”

you can’t help it, a coughing laugh burbles out of you, the motion so unexpected it jolts your whole body. you swallow around the dryness in your throat, but keigo is already leaning forward, helping you up and pressing a glass of water to your lips.

“there, easy does it…” he watches you drink, soothing a hand up and down your back. his palm is warm against the thin linen of your hospital gown. he frowns slightly as you pull away, licking at your lips.

“thanks,” you say, your voice a croaking thing. you flush at the sound, heat creeping up your neck and into your cheeks. keigo laughs.

“no need, just promise me you’ll keep on doing that.”

you frown at him, “doing what?”

he points to the water, and then at you, “drinking water. keeping yourself alive.”

you let out a long breath at the way he leans into the last word, casting your eyes towards the window. outside, the summer sun is just skimming the far horizon, the light gilding the room in liquid gold.

you turn to find him watching you, even as his eyes flicker from your face out towards the setting sun. like this, every feather on his massive wings looks like a lick of fire, and you can almost reach out to feel their heat.

“c’mon,” he says suddenly, jumping to his feet and offering you a hand. you stare at it before slowly letting your eyes wander up to his face. he grins as he meets your eyes, there’s that self-same mischief dancing behind their golden glow, a secret he wants to tell you, just you, and no one else in the world.

you eye his hand once more.

“let’s get outta here, hm?”

you reach out to take his hand.

it is not every day that you get to watch the sunset from the top of the tokyo skytree, and not every night you get watch the moonrise there either. keigo sits with you slotted between his legs, his wings domed around you to block out the wind.

“why’re you doing this?” you ask, after a very long while. overhead, the stars have just started their twinkling ascent. keigo shrugs, letting leaning back, his hands propped behind him.

“like i said, it was a good day for flying and…” his voice trails off. he drops his chin, a mirthless little laugh tumbling out of him. after a moment, he shakes his head, almost mumbling to himself.

“figured… you’d probably never done anything like this before, so.”

you let out a giggle, the sound jolting him up. his eyes go wide as he watches you fall into a semi-silent fit of laughter, a palm pressed to your chest to keep from laughing too hard, lest you start coughing again. he gives you back a few ginger pats before you wave him off.

“n-no —” you manage between gulps of air, “can’t say i have, though… i don’t imagine most people have done this —” you motion towards the space around you, the night sky seemingly encasing you both, sat atop the outlook deck of the highest point in tokyo.

again, he shrugs, but there’s a smile spreading across his lips.

“yeah, well… i didn’t bump into any of them on patrol today, so guess they’re not that lucky.”

you scoff at the word, the smile slipping from your face.

“yeah… lucky.”

“hey,” he leans forward, tipping your chin up, “c’mon, dovie, none of that now.”

you frown, “dovie?”

keigo nods down at your white hospital gown, “yeah, white — like a dove.”

you crinkle your nose and try to shake off his hand. he laughs.

sometime before midnight, he brings you back to your hospital room. strangely, no one’s come to check in on you (though you find out later that keigo must’ve spoken to the nurses and told them to leave you be for the night). he sets you down beside your bed and hops back onto the window ledge.

you watch him with your arms linked behind your back.

“alright, you keep on drinkin’ water and —”

“staying alive, yeah, yeah,” you say with a tiny tremor like a laugh to your voice that makes keigo smile.

ten minutes after he leaves, you hear a faint tink-tink, only to find a single bright red feather poking at your water glass. your jaw drops.

“you left a feather to babysit me?” you ask, before you can even wonder if the feather can hear you. the feather taps it’s sharp spine against the glass once more, nudging it closer, even as you let out a long sigh and reach for it.

you take a long gulp, letting a thin droplet of water trickle down your chin.

smacking your lips loudly, you set the glass down and stare at the feather, now lying motionless on your bedside table.

“there, happy?”

the feather remains unmoved, but you can’t fight the tiny little smile that threatens your lips as you flip onto your side and tug the sheets up over your shoulders. outside, the moon is bright and round as a rime of rice; the city below her glitters in a sheet of undulating stars, and you close your eyes to sleep, for the first time, without fearing for what you’ll find in your dreams.

keigo does not know what brings him back to you; it will not be the last time.

but when he finds himself hovering awkwardly outside your hospital window, he allows himself a single eye-roll of what-the-fuckery before pushing forward to let himself in. you’re reading in bed, a fresh bouquet of flowers on your bedside table.

he feels a strange, almost startling jab of something inside his chest before he shoves the feeling aside and alights down easily onto the floor in front of the window.

you look up from your book, painfully unfazed by the appearance of the winged hero at your bedside.

“i made it into a necklace, look,” is all you say, tugging down the neckline of your hospital gown to show him the bright red feather now tethered to a thin red thread, looped around your neck. he clears his throat, feeling a blush prickle at his cheeks as he glances around the room.

“yeah — i — i know.”

you cock your head, staring at him, the movement so birdlike he almost laughs.

“oh, well, i thought about putting it on a gold chain or something like that, but metal’s not good for mri machines,” you say, casual as you reach for a small mandarin orange from a basket on your table and start the methodical process of peeling it.

keigo watches in muted fascination as you slowly work the peel off with your fingers, one long strip of it, till it falls away to reveal the soft veined flesh beneath. gently, you break off half the mandarin and hold it out to him.

“they’re really sweet today.”

keigo nods, dropping into the seat by your bed and popping three slices into his mouth at once. there’s such an explosion of flavor he almost chokes. coughing, he reaches for the glass of water and chugs half of it in one go, thumping himself in the chest.

“wow — you really weren’t kidding — these are sweet!”

you nod, humming as you break off a section and press it slowly into your mouth.

“some of the girls from uni came to visit today,” you say, your eyes scanning across the words on the page before you flip to the next one, “one of them is thinking about asking an underclassman boy out.”

keigo watches you press another slice of mandarin into your mouth, his throat suddenly very dry.

“uh — yeah? wait — uni?”

you turn towards him, blinking owlishly, “yeah. i was studying to be a nurse. guess i got my wish in the end though —” you let out a flippant little sigh as you slump back into your pillows and look around the hospital room, “no better masterclass than to see the experts at work, right?”

keigo blinks. you were decidedly less talkative the last time he’d been here, though, it was also under decidedly very different circumstances. he wonders about the kind of girl you were before all this, before the endless tests and tubes, hospital visits and check-marked charts. if you were effervescent, if you laughed a lot, made jokes, more than the dry, gallows-humor kind that eventually infects everyone living with a terminal illness.

“oh, you’re super popular with them —” you say, and for a second, keigo is confused, but then he sees the stack of magazines half-hidden beneath the fruit basket. the corner of one depicting his signature bright red wings. he sighs, running a hand through his hair.

“yeah well, that also comes with the job description.”

you flash him a smile, bright and cheeky, and keigo silently thanks the heavens that he’s not the one linked up to the heartbeat monitor because he’s certain his reading would’ve just gone haywire.

“you never told me you were such a heartthrob hero,” you say, lilting the last two words. he scoffs, holding up his hands.

“whoa, whoa there, dovie — that’s not a light accusation to make — and plus,” he says, propping one leg over the other and leaning his elbow on the hitched up knee, “that kinda title is given, something bestowed upon you. ‘s not something you bring up yourself, alright?”

you hike a perfectly arched eyebrow and lace your fingers delicately across your lap.

“bestowed, huh? by whom?”

keigo leans back in his chair, balancing on the hind two legs, spreading wide his arms. behind him, his great crimson wings flare out, sending a woosh of air through the room.

“by the adoring public, of course.”

you stare at him for a beat of three seconds before falling into a fit of laughter that sets every nerve-ending in his entire body ablaze. he fights the urge to flap his wings, if only to get some air in here — damn — he glances towards the window to make sure it’s still open.

it is.

it’s a strange thing, spring. the shortest of all seasons, but eternal in it’s endless impermanence. flowers bloom, green buds darken into the lush green of summer leaves. the whole world blushes, and the wind spins her skirt tails, light over a humming horizon.

keigo’s always wondered about the likeliness of people falling in love in spring, thought it cliched and strange, a seasonal sickness maybe — the change in weather making everyone light-headed. but, he gets it now.

it’s hard now to fall in love, when the world is doing the same with living.

he finds himself hovering outside your window, more nights than not, hesitating about whether or not to go in. usually, it’s after he’s dropped you off after whisking you away to watch another sunset, somewhere, another moonrise, somewhere.

he basks in the musical lilt of your laughter, the rhythmic sway of your breaths (like wingbeats); he takes you flying and flying and flying, till you stop looking down when you plummet towards the ground. you know he’ll catch you, and he does.

every time.

except —

“i won’t need you to catch me when i’ve got a pair of my own,” you say one day, tucked into his side, sitting atop a skyscraper made of metal and glass, the summer sun burning itself out over the jagged tokyo skyline.

keigo glances over.

“a pair of…?” he pulls his attention away from the way you feel curled against him, body to body, his wing feathered over your shoulder like a cape.

you run a thin finger along one of his long flight feathers.

“wings, duh.”

keigo frowns.

your eyebrow kicks up in a devious little dance.

“y’know, for when i’m up in heaven.”

he freezes, every muscle in his body slowly calcifying. he turns his head slowly. you’re watching the sun sink inch by shimmering inch behind a row of faraway buildings, the light refracting off of a hundred thousand windows, spilling into a hundred thousand homes. a hundred thousand people going about their hundred thousand lives, unaware of the looming threat of death, tucked into every darkened corner, lingering behind every closed door.

keigo wants to scream.

he feels it building inside him, fluttering, as if the scream could grow wings and beat it’s way out of his chest.

“call me cynical but… i never used to believe in shit like that.”

you quirk your head, a curious little bird. keigo’s heart aches.

“used to?” you ask.

he lets out a puff of laughter, his wings drooping, closing in and in and in till they’ve almost blocked out the sun entirely.

“yeah,” he turns, his voice catching on his barbed-wire regrets, “and then i met you.”

you watch him for a second longer before leaning in. your mouth barely grazes his, but by the time he realizes, you’re already pulling back, a small, satisfied smile pressed between your lips like a flower, or a secret.

“c’mon, i’ve gotta be back by 8… or else the nurses will have your head.”

“eh, a couple of autographs and they’ll be happy.”

keigo grumbles, allowing you to tug him up by the hand. he loops his arms around you and tips off the edge of the building, letting the pair of you tumble into freefall for a long moment before swooping out of it with a great woosh of sun-licked feathers.

later, perched on the railings of the hospital rooftop, he peers over the edge of the building and wonders what it might be like to jump, to surrender yourself to air and gravity with no wings to catch you. he sighs and stretches out one wing, then the other, groaning as he feels each muscle and tendon pulling taut.

he’d never know. instinct would kick in first, and he’s always had his wings.

“the scan didn’t go well,” you say, toying with the worn red thread around your neck.

keigo’s long since gotten used to the tiny niggling feeling of your skin brushing against his feather. at first, he’d been acutely aware of it, the inside of your hospital gown, the soft warmth of your skin, the way he could almost, almost feel your heartbeat if he concentrated hard enough.

how the presence is a constant companion, a grounding piece of knowledge, something his mind gravitates towards during moments of pause and rest.

“hm, i’ve heard that before and you’re still here, aren’t you?” he asks, flipping through one of your magazines, rocking on the two hind legs of the hospital chair.

you shoot him a tired, annoyed kind of look.

“the doctor said i should stop treatment.”

the steady creek of the chair stops. you cast your eyes up at the white-washed ceiling, a bone-deep tiredness settling in as if death had been waiting for precisely that moment to come creeping in, to remind you of it’s closeness.

the chair clatters to the ground, but by the time you look over, keigo’s already halfway to the door.

“keigo — where’re you —”

“to go have a chat with those goddamn doctors —”

“it won’t do any good.”

he whirls around, wings flaring out. you push yourself up into a sitting position, wincing slightly as pain twines up the length of your spine.

“how do they know? they should at least try —”

“we have been trying. what do you think all this has been?” you motion at the room, the beeping machines, the endless tubes and iv drips.

“well you don’t stop trying just because it gets worse before it gets better —”

“there is no better, keigo. not for me.”

“you don’t know that!”

feathers, a flurry of feathers. his fingers pressing into your skin, his hands on your shoulders, holding you, shaking you. feathers everywhere.

you let him shake you, let him press his face in so close your noses are almost touching.

you wrap your fingers around his wrists and hold him till his grip goes slack.

“i — you can’t know that,” keigo says, and it sounds so much more like a plea. to what, or whom, you can only guess.

“the treatment’s not working,” you say, your words soft, gentle.

keigo slips to the floor, buries his face in your lap, crumples the rough hospital sheets between his fingers. his wings encase you both, a great dome of red, mottling out the light till you’re both just shadows.

he leans up to kiss you, a harsh breath puffing out against your lips the only warning. you nod ever so slightly before he tips forward and crushes you to him.

he’s never handled you as delicately as most other people do, as if you might shatter at the slightest touch. but now, he doesn’t hold back, clutches you to him, kisses you rough and hungry, there’s a desperate, furious slant to the way he licks at the seam of your lips, groaning deep in his chest when you finally let him in.

when he pulls back, you’re both lightheaded and breathless.

keigo runs a thumb along your bruised bottom lip with a tiny, self-deprecating laugh.

“how long?” he asks.

you sigh, looking down at the negative space between you.

“few weeks, a month,” you offer.

keigo swallows, the distant ticking of your heartbeat now no longer a sanctuary but a haunting specter, creeping ever closer.

“alright…” he says, unable to think of anything else to say, “alright then.”

later that night, whistling through the clear metropolitan night, he remembers the one and only time his mother had ever brought him to the beach as a child. he remembers watching a family of three building a sandcastle — mother, father, and son — how the child had been so delighted when the castle was finished, clapping his pudgy little hands, his fingers caked with sand, but less than half an hour later, the rising tide had all but washed the sandcastle away.

he remembers being enchanted by it, the transitory nature of the thing. how something that looked so solid against the dying light could be whisked away so quickly, so completely, by just a rush of foamy water.

he thinks of his father, and enjoys the sun.

that same year, they’d passed by a winter festival on their way home from picking up groceries. he was sporting a freshly bruised arm, and his mother a black eye she was attempting to cover with her muss of mousy hair. they’d caught a glimpse of the tail end of an ice-sculpture competition, the massive glittering structures standing on mounts, already dripping.

keigo had heard the announcer lament about how terribly sad it is that things so beautiful can’t last forever.

he’d thought it a strange sentiment then — wasn’t their ephemera an integral part of their beauty? the fact that it doesn’t last forever? because he knows, better than most, that temporary is good, temporary means that there’s always an ending worth looking forward to.

except he’s not a kid anymore, and this is a kind of ending that he never thought he’d have to deal with, at least not so soon.

with a looping barrel roll, keigo lets himself tip into a dive, cutting through the humid night air like an ill-shaped comet. he wonders briefly when he’ll stop falling in love with ice sculptures and sand castles, things that are destiny-bound to leave him. he thinks it’s such dramatic irony that the first time he properly falls in love is with a girl with one foot already out the metaphorical door — but of course it is.

your funeral is a muted affair, small, intimate. keigo debates whether or not he should go — after all, he hasn’t really told anyone about you (one night, he’d wondered wryly who he would even tell — endeavor, perhaps; he strikes the thought almost as soon as he has it), and you about him. so he watches from afar, watches on crimson wings and nectar-drenched air and wishes he were something else, someone else — someone with a quirk that didn’t literally pin his identity to his back.

“it’s a bit lonely at the top, isn’t it?” he remembers you asking one day, the magazine in your lap opened to a glossy centerfold of the most recent pro-hero rankings. he glances over, eyes catching on a candid shot of himself, his wings taking up a decent quarter of the page, eclipsed only by endeavors’ hulking form, the flames melding seamlessly into his own mess of feathers.

“lonely? nah — i’ve got —” he cuts off as he tries to think of something to say that won’t sound like a deflection — his legions of adoring fans? his fellow pro-heroes? the people at his agency? the students he’s mentored? sure, they’ve all staked out their own claims to his heart but closeness, the kind that he’s seen so casually bandied about on the mid-summer streets (in the way teen girls topple into each other, giggling, careless of the way their limbs get tangled, in the way men who have known each other for decades greet each other with just a knowing smile, in the swift way lovers might graze a kiss by the other’s cheek to say hello or goodbye), he suddenly finds that he can’t think of a single name.

you, perhaps.

he bites his lips.

you let out a tiny laugh, “it’s okay, it gets lonely here too,” you’d said, before going back to flipping through your magazine.

he thinks he could kiss you, then. so, he tugs the magazine from your lap and does.

he feels your body burn, his feather burning with it, the distant knowledge of heat and smoke stinging his subconscious. he feels it standing at the edge of the hospital roof, staring down. he’s been doing that a lot lately, coming up here, perching on the railing, staring down.

he tries to think of what you might’ve felt, standing here like this, the hopelessness, the endless, innumerable hurts of life, how a person might be tempted to step off and simply cease to be.

but he’d caught you, that day, falling. and he still can’t figure out if he’s glad he did.

he feels you burning, until suddenly, it’s over. the feather rendered to ash along with the rest of your body. he hopes you’ll be buried somewhere the spring can reach, somewhere with flowers, somewhere high up, perhaps, but not high enough to warrant a jumping off.

keigo takes a deep breath, can almost taste the smoke in his lungs.

faintly, he thinks he can feel summer breeze pick up, brushing by his cheeks, his lips, grazing his skin like your lips once had.

“i won’t need you to catch me once i’ve got a pair of my own,” you’d said of his wings.

he hopes that heaven is a beautiful place; he hopes that your wings are bigger and more beautiful than his, stronger too.

he closes his eyes.

the air is mandarin-sweet.

he teeters over the edge. his wings ache. distantly, he thinks he can hear the voices of curious people below — he must cut such a silhouette.

then, he breathes out, tips himself forward, and lets himself fall.

taglist: @simplyshelbyrae @raven-nevra @honeyoru @dira333 @unriding @fennecnco @encrytpta @simpingdailyforthem @dreamcastgirl99 @frosted-flakes @ryzheling @metalprincessxoxo @katiekawls @ally-all-around -- join the taglist

[sh4nksslvt]

Hi, darling, can you write about Marco X Reader? Raeder is a magnificent doctor on an island. Capable of curing many illnesses. The Navy has tried to recruit her many times, but she refuses. She loves reading. She can lose track of time in a book if she's interested. She has a little student who helps her.

One day, a pineapple head arrives at the office. Hello, welcome, little brother pineapple, the girl greets him. While sorting her teacher's letters, an invitation from the Navy falls out. My teacher has the order ready for the next 6 months. Jumping down to pick up the order. She's in the library downstairs.

The young woman was lost in thought, reading while occasionally taking notes. The tray of food next to her was already cold.

Later The girl ran downstairs with tears in her eyes and her cheek red from the blow she had received. Teacher, the bad man from the navy came again. I told him you weren't there, but he hit me. Running to the young woman's glasses, the woman gave her affection and stroked her cheek. A bubble healed her wound. She gave her to Marco to hold in his arms. Watch your brother, Pineapple. Until he returns, he's not allowed to go up. Hey, the girl looked at them, "Yes," she said, smiling as she hugged him.

The marine tried to take the woman, even forcing her. Marco was worried about his beloved. He even tried to leave, but the little girl wouldn't let go. After a while, the marine left, covered in rashes. The girl started to laugh. The young woman sat down and looked at Marco. Thank you for being patient and not leaving. The woman began to bandage the wound on her neck, since her healing skills were of no use.

not much, but hope u like it!

Feathers Beneath the Willow Tree

A renowned doctor on a peaceful island catches Marco’s attention—but so do the Marines, who are getting desperate.

Marco the phoenix x fem! reader | ONE SHOT tags: fluff, sfw, oc, hurt/comfort a/n: this js me trying to write ffs, this is experimental and for fun only, so expect this ff a bit cringe and akward word count: 1.5k

masterlist | ko-fi

If you asked anyone on Ceres Island where hope lived, they'd point you to the ivy-draped cottage at the edge of town—the one with the lantern always glowing softly by the door and the scent of herbs curling through the air. That was your home, your clinic, and your sanctuary.

And lately, it had also become a small, unofficial fortress.

You were known as one of the most brilliant healers on the Grand Line. Rumors said you’d cured diseases that even top Marine doctors had declared terminal. The Navy had tried to recruit you multiple times—sweet offers, stern demands, even veiled threats. Each time, you’d refused. You didn’t want war, titles, or medals. You wanted peace, books, and to make sick people better.

And then there was Kiri.

Your tiny assistant and student, Kiri, was ten and as ferocious as she was adorable. She’d been left on your doorstep at three, feverish and half-starved. You saved her life. Now, she followed you like a shadow, copying your handwriting and dressing her teddy bear’s imaginary wounds.

It was Kiri who opened the door the morning he arrived.

The bell above the clinic door jingled. A tall man with golden-blond hair stepped in, ducking his head slightly as if not to disturb the space. His blue eyes swept the cozy room, warm with dried herbs and soft lantern light.

Kiri turned with a wide grin.

“Oh! hello, welcome, Marco-san!” Kiri said cheerfully, her small hands busy sorting through the latest stack of letters. She was sitting on the front counter, feet swinging, a pencil behind her ear. “Sensei has the orders ready for the next six months.”

Marco chuckled, his bright blue eyes twinkling with amusement. “You remembered my name-yoi”

“Of course. You’re the phoenix,” Kiri said proudly. “You helped with the burns in the east village last month. I like your hair.”

Marco rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “Thanks-yoi, little one.”

As she jumped down to fetch the herb bundles prepared for the Whitebeard Pirates, a folded letter slipped out of the stack and floated to the ground. Marco’s sharp eyes caught the official red seal before Kiri picked it up and stuffed it back in the pile. “Just another Marine invitation,” she said, almost rolling her eyes. “Sensei always ignores them.”

“She’s in the library downstairs,” she added, already heading toward the back of the building. “You can wait here, or—"

“I’ll find her,” Marco said gently.

The underground library was carved into the hill the cottage sat on, lined with carved wooden shelves, low lighting, and a quiet that only places full of knowledge seem to possess.

You sat cross-legged on the floor, a thick tome open in your lap. Notes in your neat script littered the floor around you. The tray of food Kiri had left an hour ago sat beside you, untouched and long gone cold.

You didn’t even look up when Marco leaned against the doorframe.

“You really don’t hear the world when you read, huh?”

Your head jerked up. “Marco.”

He chuckled. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to interrupt-yoi”

You stretched your stiff neck, pushing your glasses up. “No interruption. I just... got carried away again.”

“Looks like it,” he said, moving to sit nearby. “Kiri said you had my order ready?”

“I do,” you said, gesturing toward a carefully packed crate in the corner. “Antitoxins, burn salves, and enough anti-fever tinctures to last you till your next brawl.”

“Perfect,” he said, then added gently, “She also said the Marines keep sending you letters.”

You blinked, tensing slightly. “She shouldn’t have mentioned that.”

“She’s worried-yoi. So am I.”

You sighed, brushing a hand through your hair. “It’s not your concern.”

“Maybe not. But I’m making it mine anyway-yoi.”

The peaceful air shattered several hours later.

Kiri came running into the library, her small frame trembling, tears streaming down her face. Her cheek was bright red from a slap.

“Sensei!” she sobbed. “The bad man from the Marines came again! I told him you weren’t here—but he hit me!”

You shot up, furious and afraid all at once, grabbing her face with both hands. “Let me see, sweetie.”

A small healing bubble formed between your palms and hovered over her wound, pulsing once before fading, taking the pain with it. Kiri hiccupped, her tears slowing.

You pulled her into your arms, lips pressed to her forehead. “I’m so sorry.”

She clung to you tightly. Marco stepped forward, fists clenched.

“Watch her,” you said, placing Kiri gently in his arms. “Don’t let her go upstairs. Don’t let him get near her.”

Kiri looked up at Marco, sniffling. “You’ll stay with me?”

“Yeah,” Marco said, voice low but steady. “I’ve got you-yoi.”

Kiri wrapped her arms around his neck and nodded, resting her head on his shoulder. “Okay…”

Marco looked down at the child now in his arms, her head buried in his shoulder. She didn’t cry again, but he felt the small tremors in her body. Carefully, his arms wrapped around her, warm and protective.

“I’ve got her,” he finally said, watching you with concern. “Just come back safe-yoi.”

You turned and stormed up the stairs, your sandals striking the stone like thunder.

Marco sat on a worn couch in the quiet underground library, Kiri curled up against him like a kitten. Her hand was tightly clutching his shirt. She didn’t speak for a long time.

He looked around the room filled with ancient books and dusty scrolls—places where your mind clearly lived more than your body. But there were signs of warmth too: sketches from Kiri on the wall, half-finished notes on potion experiments, a teacup still warm on the table.

Kiri broke the silence.

“Sensei reads too much,” she mumbled. “She skips meals and forgets to sleep.”

Marco smiled faintly. “Sounds familiar-yoi. Pops is the same with sake.”

“She’s always helping people,” Kiri mumbled. “But she won’t let anyone help her.”

Marco hummed. “Guess it’s good she has you, huh?”

Kiri smiled, but her voice was still small. “I think she needs someone strong... who’ll stay.”

“She has that-yoi” Marco said quietly, tightening his hold just a little.

Kiri blinked. Then, with all the authority of a child who decided something was law, she declared, “You’re not allowed to leave. Not until she’s okay. And not even then, if I say so.”

He stared at her, startled, then burst into a soft laugh. “Is that so-yoi?”

She nodded with a tiny smile, satisfied. “You’re warm,” she added, curling closer.

Marco let his phoenix energy gently wrap around her like a second blanket, golden flames harmless and comforting. Kiri let out a content sigh and finally closed her eyes.

The Marine was tall, square-jawed, with a crisp white coat and the kind of entitlement that made your skin crawl.

“You’re coming with me,” he barked. “The Navy is done asking nicely.”

You crossed your arms. “I’m not leaving this island. I’ve told you that every time.”

He stepped forward, grabbing your arm tightly. “That’s not your decision anymore.”

Before you could react, his grip tightened—just in time for his hand to erupt in red, itchy hives.

He let out a howl and reeled back, swiping at his burning skin. “What the hell?!”

You narrowed your eyes, voice cold. “You don’t touch me. You don’t touch my child. Ever.”

“Your child?” he spat, eyes narrowing.

“She’s mine,” you said. “In all the ways that matter.”

The Marine hesitated, then sneered, “What you're doing is treason!”

“Treason?” you hissed. “You don’t want my help. You want to own me!”

A sudden pulse of energy shot from your hand, wrapping the man in an invisible net of irritation—his skin broke out in deep, nasty rashes. He screamed, stumbling back toward the door.

“I’ve prepared stronger formulas,” you said coolly. “Leave now, or I’ll test them on you.”

The Marine fled, cursing as he went.

You came back down an hour later, victorious. The man had left, skin covered in painful rashes from your specialty concoction, humiliated and warning others not to cross you.

Marco looked up as you descended slowly, your posture tired but proud. Kiri was fast asleep against him.

“She didn’t want to let go-yoi” he said softly, nodding at the child.

You smiled wearily. “I wouldn’t either.”

You lowered yourself beside them with a hiss of discomfort. Marco noticed the bruise forming in your arm.

“Bruise again?” he asked, his eyebrows furrowed.

You nodded. “My powers don’t work on me. Never have.”

He reached for the first-aid kit without being asked.

As he carefully began to bandage your bruise, you glanced at him.

“Thank you,” you said. “...for not leaving, and for being patient.”

He met your gaze, steady and sincere.

“I wasn’t going to-yoi. Not then, not now.”

You closed your eyes as the bandage settled against your skin, Kiri’s soft breathing the only sound in the room for a while.

And in the quiet, surrounded by books, healing, and warmth, something unspoken passed between you and Marco—a beginning neither of you had planned, but both silently agreed to continue.

[witchpassing]

“I’m beginning to think, darling-” She taps the crop against her thigh in thought, folded leather tip level with your eyeline. “-that this may be just a little counterproductive.”

“Miss?” You shift on your knees, suddenly unsure where she’s going with this. There is a routine, an understood sequence of events, anticipation-ordeal-catharsis. Deviations are - unusual.

“I mean, look at you.” The crop strokes your cheek; a flinch, a caught breath, a lingering, flutter-eyed shudder that terminates at the base of your spine. “Can’t even pretend you don’t want it. Takes the edge off somewhat, considering that this is meant to be a punishment. Does it not?”

You do not comment - rhetorical question, response optional - but the rapt attention with which your eyes follow the crop as it settles back into its tap, tap, tap is tell enough.

A laugh. She steps away, tosses her tool upon the low table at the centre of the room; the widening gap tugs a string in your chest, but you have not been told to move. “How many was it this time, doll?” she asks, drawing the pin from her hair. It cascades along her spine, agate-black, heavy as silk. She doesn’t really need to ask, but this time there comes a delicate little hook woven into the skein of the words, and to answer is compulsion.

You swallow. The mechanisms of your throat tick like the tumbling of a lock. “Fifty, Miss.”

She makes a contemplative little hn as she steps behind the folding screen. (An exquisite image of a blood orchid roils upon the silk.) “You know, what I would do is have one of your sisters take it. Cinnabar, perhaps, or Silky.” A small pause for your hitched breath to drop into - time to picture Silky’s tears, Cinnabar’s silent, shuddering resilience - before she continues. “Unfortunate, isn’t it, that they’re in town this afternoon.”

“Perhaps we could–

“No, no,” she says, plucking the sentence from your tongue like a heron with a fish. “No deferrals. I know how important schedule is to keeping you in tune.” You nod your gratitude and wait, violin-string tense, for what comes next.

The witch emerges naked, and everything else in the room becomes immediately and totally irrelevant. She moves without haste, feet silent amid the cloudlike thickness of the rug, sparing not a moment’s regard for the wordless adoration that courses along the lines of her flesh - almost. Not quite. Despite her efforts, you catch the mote of a smile in her gaze as it passes across you. She is no great actress, your Lady, and she loves to be seen.

Then: “I suppose it can’t be helped,” she says, a little sigh of mock resignation. She stretches herself belly-down upon the chaise lounge, catlike, radiant in her shamelessness, and flicks her eyes at you.

“What are you waiting for, sweetheart?” she says. “Begin.”

The crop lies on the table between you; you’d quite forgotten, addle-brained thing that you are, that it was still there. You balk, of course, stutter and freeze, dread blooming in your chest like icewater. Direct order, you have to, but- but–

“I don’t want any fooling around, you understand?” she says. Oh, she’s really beginning to enjoy herself now. She wriggles, settling into the give of the upholstery as if she plans on taking a nap. You can hardly hear her over the tchk tchk tchk of your internals shifting up several gears at once - and yet her voice asserts itself, the very forefront of your mind, sparing you not a syllable. “Do it properly; if I don’t feel it then there’s really no point, is there? As for location, the back of the thighs or-”

“Miss please I can’t-”

“You will.”

You are on your feet, your fingers curling around the hilt of the crop, every string drawn taut. It’s true; you will.

“Don’t worry, love.” She smiles over the crook of her folded arm, and oh, she says it so kindly, as if she isn’t extracting from you a blasphemy. A sliver of honey-gold eye beneath the feather of her lashes, warm and merciless. “I’ll keep count for you.”

[forsaken-headcanons]

Not me coming up with ANOTHER Forsaken AU-

I’ll try not to make this too long (because the last ask I sent was wayyy too long lmao. Sorry again!) but I had ideas for a superhero-style AU called Heroes and Hackers. It’s kinda hard to call it a Forsaken AU since it doesn’t take place in the Spectre’s realm, but the characters are all from Forsaken, so I think we’re good.

TLDR: Some Robloxians spawn with the ability to use commands. You can learn them to an extent, but not to the extent of those born with them. Admins are essentially superheroes; using their powers to stop hackers whenever they arise to cause chaos. To keep themselves and their families safe, admins have costumes they wear when they’re doing hero stuff, and the same goes for the hackers.

And now, onto some important characters!

John Shedletsky; Builderman’s right hand man, and leader of the admins. When disguised, he goes by Telamon. He’s just a chill guy, only really taking his admin job seriously. Alongside his powers coming naturally, he also spawned with angelic features like feathers and multiple sets of wings. These only really come out when he’s Telamon, but hey. It improves the disguise.

David Builderman. CEO of Roblox, and a secret assistant to the admins. You know that one guy in a dark room watching a bunch of screens? That’s him. Codename: HQ. He might not assist the admins directly, but he helps them when he can.

Owen Biwone; a shy intern currently shadowing under Shedletsky at Roblox HQ. He quickly grew tired of the admins only focusing on hackers and not improving the city. Owen reasoned that if the admins only payed attention to hackers, then he’d pretend to be one. He stole an ‘unlisted’ domino crown, wearing it to become 1x1. At first, his ‘evil schemes’ were just ploys to get the admins to focus on shoddy infrastructure and whatnot, but the more he wore the crown, the more it corrupted his thoughts and actions. Like a weird mix of Adventure Time’s Ice King and the Green Goblin. No one really questioned Owen’s slow descent into bitterness and hatred. I’m sure that won’t come back to bite them…

Wilson Kidde; just your average overworked single father. ??? was born with the ability to use commands, but kept these talents concealed for most of his life. Sadly, the jig was up when his (biological in this AU) son, Colin, would be born with these powers too. Colin caused chaos, and thus ??? struggled to find employment. He was driven to take up a hacker persona as 007n7 just to put food on the table. Poor guy…

John and Jane Doe; both ex-employees of Roblox HQ. The higher ups (not Builderman) were harsh on John because he preferred to use outdated methods to update and write code, eventually ending in his termination. Jane quit as an act of defiance, and the two of them promised to move on from this and to look for greener pastures elsewhere. Jane was fine…but John wasn’t. He wanted revenge. But there wasn’t much he could do without powers. So, he tried to give himself powers. He broke into Roblox HQ to steal their old, unused code. It worked, but it turned him into a mindless monster…

Jane now assists the admins as a vigilante, hoping to find a cure for her husband’s condition in the progress.

….aaand this was still long. Oops….

THIS IS SO GOOD WHAT?? hey. d. drako.hey. puts our hand on your shoulder. hey. sighs. enough with the peak already. okay /j /j /j

the concept for 1x1x1x1 and 007n7.,,/., shjaking them around. oh how dare you. oh. ohw how. dar e yuo /silly. the idea of powers being admin commands is so sick tho... yoinking that huehue

[thearcanetooth]

[prefacing by stating that i have no knowledge of league/the arcane characters' preceding, league-relevant lore, so please excuse any lapse in information that is canon in the league-verse] now take a shot every time i said league]

i would just like to say that i absolutely love the implication that if things were different — if viktor wasn't terminally ill and didn’t have a life-long disability — THIS is what his combat style would be.

a perfected fusion of gymnastics, parkour, acrobatics, various martial arts and figthing techniques for close-quarter combat.

of course, viktor in his mortal human form couldn't have fought in the war or partaken in any of the piltovian-zaunite altercations. his ‘glorious evolution’ however allowed him to transcend form, escape the fatal clutches of mortality and human disposition. become.

the sheer cuntiness of the mannequin-viktor aside, i LOVE the implication that this is viktor's conceptualisation of what the intersection between human and perfection would look like.

and tell me why the first thing that comes to mind when i think of this is red room trained assassin/espionage operative. which is perfect because i can totally see him as a ballet dancer too.

and in this alternate reality wherein viktor is essentially a widow, i can totally imagine him using one of the runestones to enhance his dexterity, agility, mobility, speed, power — you name it.

more so, i can imagine jayce engineering some kind of bodysuit for him [green and gold for obvious reasons], fitted with/powered by the stone(s). something similar to the upgraded panther habit shuri engineers for t’challa — absorbing energy for later redistribution, near-indestructible in the face of explosions and gunfire, materialising on command, regenerative, feather-light and silent, perfectly tailored for movement and agility.

[bee-the-loser-recs]

✩✮✩ My Joshua One-shot Fic Recs ✩✮✩

★ Amortentia; Honeydukes lover By @http-mianhae 16.7k, Hogwarts au, Slytherin reader, Hufflepuff Joshua, reader has trauma, cold reader, lovesick Joshua, themes of sexual assault

★ Boyfriends By @milfgyuu 2.7k, reader is in a toxic relationship, domestic abuse, Joshua is their safe space, fluff, angst, pining, friends to lovers, comfort

★ New By @luvidzy 2.1k, slice of life au, fluff, slight angst, long term mutual pining, stargazing, Joshua is moving away

★ Winning team By @viastro 1.4k, slice of life au, capture the flag game with nerf guns, hidden relationship, fluff, kisses, competitive nature, cute

★ In a span of three months By @viastro 20.3k, terminally ill reader, mentions of depression, suicidal thoughts, Joshua finds joy in life again, falling in love, only 3 months left to live, sobbing, major character death, it's so sad

★ Wildest dreams By @viastro 6.7k, getting married for 24hours, best friends to lovers, fluff, getting free benefits, cute relationship, fake dating kind of

★ Birds of a feather By @onlymingyus 14.3k, college au, smut, fluff, reader going around with a petition, strangers to lovers, crack, hot tub scene, talks of further dates, alcohol and drug use, simp!Joshua, cuties, very fun

★ To you By @onlymingyus 15k, Joshua x reader x DK, college au, art students DK & reader, med-student Joshua, monogamy to polyamory, fluff, smut, angst, cute relationship, going on holiday together, relationship discussions, mild jealousy

★ Love they neighbour By @onlyhuis 5.1k, college au, friends with benefits situation, fwb to lovers, mutual pining, fluff, smut, idiots in love, happy ending

★ Cranberry concoctions By @onlyhuis 4.6k, 1920s au, bartender Joshua, smut, fluff, slight angst, mentions of bartender Vernon, jealousy, speakeasy au

★ Mr Nice guy By @toruro 5.3k, neighbours au, moving into a new apartment, fluff, smut, strangers to lovers

★ Isohel By @toruro 26.2k, modern royalty au, prince Joshua, florist/botanist reader, slow burn, developing feelings, slut shaming, fluff, angst, references to Greek mythology, literally so stunning to read [alternate ending if you want to read it as well 00:00]

★ Fighting for your love By @rubyreduji 5.5k, Jeonghan x reader x Joshua, boxer au, competing for reader's attention, physical fight for love, threesome, smut, fluff, poly situation

★ Thinking Joshua is just nice but he has a crush on you By @kimbappykidding Idol au kind of, friends to lovers, pining, noticing secret looks, best friends Vernon & Seungkwan, entire group ships them, fluff, love confessions

★ Shipped By @suhnshinehaos SMAU, university au, teacher Joshua & reader, students shipping them, revelation of feelings, fluffy and cute

★ Oceans & Engines By @renjunphile 15.2k, ex lovers to lovers au, idol Joshua, music producer reader, based on songs from Niki, fluff, slight angst, literally so good omg

★ Splashed By @smileysuh 5.5k, Joshua x reader x Jeonghan, idol au, references to the 13 shadows going seventeen episode, smut, poly relationship, fluff, established relationship

★ Beautiful day, Sunday morning By @sluttywoozi 7k, non-specified au, mutual pining, friends to lovers, being in love, smut, fluff, pasta and puzzle dates, hopelessly in love

★ Under the rose By @just-come-baek 6k, historical au like 1950s?, childhood frenemies to lovers, reader calls him Jisoo to piss him off, smut, fluff

★ Hoax By @lovelyhan 18.6k, gangster/mafia Joshua, strangers to lovers, falling in love, hostess reader, loan sharks mentioned, reader is in trouble & debt, angst, smut, slight fluff, reader is left behind

★ Eyes meeting, hearts apart By @lovelyhan 30.2k, fantasy au, prince Joshua with plant magic, bartender reader with ice magic, fluff, angst, royalty, requited unrequited love, part of a series of one-shots

★ An interview with an angel By @hannyoontify 2.5k, reporter Joshua, nationalist fencer reader, being late to important events, meet cutes, fluff, slight panic attack, flirting

★ So beautiful By @blue-jisungs 3.8k, Atla au, water bender Joshua, Prince Joshua, army general reader, assassination attempt, fluff, angst, mentions of war and killings

★ Envy By @berriesandjunnie 1.9k, idol au, idol Joshua & reader, jealousy surrounding his members, comebacks, fluff, slight angst, some insecurity

★ Prove it you won't By @leejungchans 19k, tattoo artist Joshua, nurse reader with tattoos, fluff, angst, miscommunication, past breakups, humour, slowburn, flirty behaviour, adorableness

★ Cast me in a better light By @seungkwansphd 5.9k, musical au, band member reader x cast member Joshua, fluff, karaoke, coffee dates, becoming closer

★ Fade into you By @writingmingyu 4.8k, childhood friends to online friends to lovers, fluff, meeting again after years, autumn fair dates

★ Curse the stars By @shuadotcom 8.4k, 70s au, Hollywood, actor reader, washing machine salesman Joshua, strangers to lovers, fwb to lovers, mentions of dynamics, fluff, smut

★ Stay till sunrise By @shuadotcom 9.1k, Joshua x reader x Mingyu, unspecified au, non-idol au, confessions, pining, poly situation, fluff, smut, bets on when they would date

[sirrabbithat]

Been thinking about a COD!bird hybrid Au. But their all like really fancy birds- I'll definitely be turning this into a fanfic

I'll split this into two posts!

Soap is a new guinea cock of the rock. Mostly for the natural Mohawk. He's trans in this au so he has the bright blue eyes and naturally brown mowhawk and wings. He dyes everything he can orange.

Ghost is a snowy owl because ofc he is, but he doesn't have any of those black stripes on him they usually have. And if he dose have them their barely noticable. Both of them are large and strong hunters and usually work alone unless with a mate (soap) and both seem to have a terminal case of RBF.

Price is a European bee eater. Their very Social little guys and are extremely fast. The colors aren't exactly tactical but I image he uses temp feather dye to darken his wings and feathers before going on an Op. European bee eaters are also extremely focused hunters, similar to Price.

Gaz is a Costas hummingbird because I think their adorable. But similar to the bee eater price is based off of their extremely fast and nimble, the pop of purple feathers mixed into military green and white wings is also something I'm obsessed with. Plus with his wings moving as fast as hummingbird wings do he shouldn't fall out of any (more) helicopters anytime soon

Roach would be a puffin. Their both weird little guys who like to get into strange shaped places. Ie: a hole in the wall. He'd probably pick away at some drywall and make a nest next to a gas line.

(I was so upset to learn his antenna aren't cannon) 😔

[nevadancitizen]

-> TO LIVE ANOTHER DAY (I KNOW I NEVER WILL)

synopsis: you've always known that you're a throwaway -- another friendly kill. but when you're brought to ghost's world, you discover that there's so much more to life than defending democracy.

word count: 5.1k

characters: player! simon "ghost" riley, self-aware helldiver! reader

trigger warnings: mentions of canon-typical violence, reader is obsessed with and idolizes ghost, nudity (but not in a sexual/suggestive context)

notes: wanted to try my hand at a reverse version of the self-aware cod au. also if you're not aquantinced with helldivers 2, it's okay! it has easy-to-understand lore but i recommend watching this lore video (it's just under twelve minutes and gives a pretty good run-down on what's going on). also inspired by "to liberty and beyond" by jt music, which is inspired by helldivers 2 in turn (✿˵•́ ૩•̀˵)৴♡*

You always knew something was… off. 

Numerous ads and training modules state that every Helldiver is valuable to the continued reign of Managed Democracy and Super Earth. And yes, you’ve seen more than enough shock soldiers die for the cause – mostly freshly eighteen-year-olds that didn’t read the fine print that states that the minimum enlistment for a Helldiver is ten years. 

But that’s the thing. They died. You watched their bodies be ripped apart by bullets or torn to shreds by terminids. 

You never… died. Not really, anyway. 

It was always a split second of hot-white, searing pain, then a moment of darkness, then you were strapped into a hellpod, being sent down for another wave. Mentions of gods or other types of divine beings weren’t really heard of or taught about, so you didn’t know who to thank – or to blame – for this phenomenon. 

(You tried to mention this to your assigned Democracy Officer, but she just dismissed it with a threat of being sent to a Reeducation Camp.)

So you kept it to yourself. You have a habit of taking your helmet off and bowing your head (In prayer? You’re not so sure) and just breathing, taking in the cool thrum of your heart. You never thought you’d relate to the fascism-fueled automatons, but you only feel the warmth of… your God? your savior? when in the heat of battle.

You always think like this in between being sent down – wandering thoughts while wandering the halls of the ship. There’s not a lot of this type of time, so you make sure to savor it.

You’re in this position right now, looking down at your helmet and thumbing over the imperfections picked up from battle. The void-black visor shows a reflection of you, warped and stretched-out. Above the visor is a skull etched into the titanium – the lines are all jagged edges and uneven depths. You don’t remember doing this, but it’s there anyway. You don’t remember a lot, actually, but you’re, once again, told by your Democracy Officer not to worry about that.

You pick yourself up from that train of thought before you go too far. Instead, you put your helmet back on and start to walk the halls of the ship. 

Once you’re past the armory and terminal, you start down the steps to the sleeping quarters. (Because yes, despite being supersoldiers, Helldivers need their rest, too.) 

But then, you snipe something out of the corner of your eye. There’s… a door. A door you don’t remember being there. Light seeps through the small gap where the bottom of the door and the floor don’t meet. The sight causes the ashes in your belly that have gone cold to stir once more.

Your boots clunk on the ground as you walk over to it. It creaks open, as if inviting you. Again, you never remember having wooden doors that creak on the ship – they’re all automatic sliding metal doors, and open with faint hisses.

You push it open the rest of the way and die.

It’s that all-consuming pain that feels worse than any other time you’ve died – like your skin is being torn off the same time you’re being tarred and feathered. The black isn’t just a flash this time, but a few seconds you can actually count – twelve seconds. Twelve whole seconds. 

Twelve seconds doesn’t sound like a lot, but for you, it was fucking terrifying. 

You thought you actually died. It was almost laughable – you’ve survived automatons and terminids and being in cryo, but you couldn’t survive some mystery door? And all that effort without meeting your… you don’t even know what to call it. Guardian angel? Tormentor?

You wake up and, for the first time, aren’t in a hellpod – instead, you’re in a bed. You can move your arms and legs freely, but they feel… numb. Disconnected. 

When you start to look around, you notice everything is white and sterile. There’s a distinct sharp scent of disinfectant in the air, contrasting the musky gun oil and sweat that you know well. 

(You haven’t ever been in a real hospital – the closest is a small supply closet on-ship that was converted into a first aid station – but you’re pretty sure this is an actual hospital, like the ones back home on Super Earth.)

Your uniform is set on a chair nearby, your black-and-yellow cape draped over the back of it. Your helmet is on the cushion of the seat, facing you. Every piece is… oddly clean. There’s no dark brown dried bloodstains or sickly green bug oil.

With shaky hands (which have never trembled before – at least, not to this degree) you rip out the IV and brace yourself on the railing of the bed before standing. Your legs wobble a bit, but straighten themselves out after a moment. 

You take off the paper hospital gown and dress yourself in proper clothing. All the metal parts of your uniform click into place, and your under-armor fits like it always does – perfectly flush to your skin. 

Just as you’re about to push open the door, a man opens it. You’re stunned for a second before taking him in. He’s tall with a beard that looks like walrus tusks, and is wearing military fatigues you’ve seen in history modules. 

Looking at him causes a dull thrum in your chest, like your heart is picking up again. But it’s not him – he’s not your savior.

“Civilian,” you greet before pushing past him. You wave over your shoulder politely. “Praise be Democracy.”

The man makes a stunned noise before grabbing your shoulder and spinning you to face him. He opens his mouth to talk, but you interrupt him by holding a hand up. 

“Please, no touching the armor, civilian,” you say. “This is the property of the Ministry of Defense, as am I. If you wish to enlist, don’t talk to me, but the nearest Democracy Officer available.”

The man pauses for a moment before barking, “What in the bloody fuck are you on about, muppet?”

You huff out a laugh and lean closer to him. He’s tall, but with your armor, you’re taller. 

“Okay, civilian.” You smile underneath your helmet and speak in a lower tone. “I understand that you don’t see a lot of us, so if you want a signature, just ask, okay? I can make it out to your kid who wants to be a Helldiver, or whatever. Tell them to put that M2016 Constitution bolt-action rifle to good use.”

The man stares at you as if you’ve just admitted to secretly being an automaton and are planning to undermine Democracy to institute socialism. He slowly brings his hand away from your shoulder and walks past you. 

“Come with me,” he says simply. 

You follow him after a moment of contemplation. He causes a faint mimic of the warmth, so that’s good, right? And he can’t be dangerous. Maybe a danger to others, but not to you – not with all the armor you’ve got. You keep your hands clasped behind your back to keep from fidgeting as you walk.

“Firstly.” The man holds up a hand, his index finger raised. He doesn’t glance over his shoulder to look at you. “I am not a civilian. I’m a captain – Captain John Price of the SAS.”

“Nonsense,” you scoff. “A captain should always be wearing their armor. A Helldiver is always ready to fight for Democracy.”

You walk a little faster so that you’re not walking behind him, but next to him instead. “And besides, what is the SAS? I’ve never heard of that division, or that ship – whatever it is. I reside on the Dawn of Destruction.”

Price looks at you out of the corner of his eye, his thick brows furrowing. “It’s the Special Air Service. And I’ve never heard of these… Helldivers you’ve been going on about.”

“Good Liberty, that’s nonsense again!” You look over at Price, your eyes trained on him instead of in front of you. “Helldivers are all over the news, the radio sets, the televisions… surely you’re not that shut off? Every colony has some way to communicate with Super Earth.”

“Super Earth?” Price repeats back to you. He then holds up his hand and stops walking. “Nevermind. I don’t want to hear it.”

He gestures to the door he’s stopped in front of. “Go on.”

You glance at Price before opening the door. It’s an interrogation room, like the ones you’ve seen in old-timey movies. 

“Oh, I get it.” You look over your shoulder at Price. “This is like one of those war reenactments, right? You’ve recreated a military base from the original Earth… very impressive!”

Price shoves you into the room (with a surprising amount of strength), leaving you stumbling. You quickly correct yourself and spin around to confront him, but by the time you’re able to do that, he’s closed and locked the door. 

“Ah…” you sigh as you look around the room. It’s all concrete grey with a steel table and two steel chairs in the middle. There’s a mirror taking up the majority of one wall, one which you know is double-sided.

You walk up to it and try to talk to the people on the other side – you know there’s got to be someone there. “This is fun! Which training module is this? I thought I completed every one… is it new? Because I’ve never heard of something like this.”

After half a minute, there’s no response. You wander over to one of the chairs at the table and sit in it. You laugh a little as you rest your hands in the handcuffs chained to the steel.

“I am ready for interrogation!” you announce. “I sure hope no filthy fascist comes in and tries to cleanse me of the beauty of freedom! Because I surely won’t give them a cup of Liber-tea, and I of course won’t deliver it with my fist…!”

You tap your fingers on the table for a minute before slumping back in the chair. This is boring. Most training modules are the type where you’re run-and-gun-ing throughout the whole thing, but interrogation is boring. 

You’re sat like that for a good half hour before you hear the lock click. Your eyes dart to the door as it opens, revealing a man. 

He’s dressed in all black, with a balaclava covering his face. His russet-brown eyes meet yours through your helmet and it’s like you’ve died all over again. 

Heat explodes your chest like you’ve just got a shotgun slug blasted through your belly. The ashes have been blown away, and in its place, a raging bonfire! It roars like a dragon, and it reeks of reverence and prayer.

The man closes the door behind him and someone locks it from the outside. He barely makes it two steps before you stand from the chair, the legs shrieking against the floor.

“My God,” you say softly. 

“Helldiver,” the man greets.

“No, I…” You make your way around the table and stand as close as you can be without feeling like you’re about to catch fire. “Are you…?”

The man nods. “Ghost.”

“That’s it, that’s what you are!” you exclaim. You take a step forward and feel sweat drip down your back. “You’re the… the Ghost. The…”

The one who kept you from experiencing a permanent death? The one who kept you alive just to torment you? The guardian angel who watches your every move? The devil who prods at your ass with a pitchfork? You’re not sure what to say.

You settle on reaching out to him and saying, “You’re my savior.”

Ghost takes a step back. “Savior? I’m not so sure about that.”

“No, but – you are!” You breathe out a laugh and step forward, mirroring his actions. You bend at the knee and the back to make yourself shorter, as if trying to be smaller than him. “I am… I’m a throwaway. Another friendly kill. But you kept me alive! You brought me back after death, I remember dying so many times – y-you don’t get it, you’re my God!”

You strike, quick as a viper, and take his hand. Even though both your gloves and his act as barriers, it feels like your entire arm is engulfed in flame. Still, you keep holding on. 

“You chose me, right? You chose me to fight!” You clutch his hand tighter. “You chose me to spread Democracy, to smite the fascists and… I – I was taught that we are Democracy, not individuals, but you proved me wrong, because you chose me. 

“God chose me.”

A silence engulfs the interrogation room. You’re both frozen in time, living, breathing statues. It’s too hot. Every bone in your hand, wrist, and arm are turning to charcoal. It’s burning. It’s euphoric. 

Ghost starts to pull his hand away, but you bring your free hand to hold it in place, holding yours. “No, please.”

Ghost forcefully yanks his hand away. He drags you forward with the force, and you fall to your knees. The metal kneepads on your legs clang loudly against the concrete floor. 

You can do nothing but look up at Ghost from where you’re kneeling. There’s nothing sexual about it – it’s more like a believer kneeling at the feet of a statue of Christ. Ghost is your God, after all. 

There’s another minute of silence before you bow your head and reach up with shaky hands to remove your helmet. It clanks loudly against the floor as you drop it. 

You can feel Ghost staring at you. The fire burns hotter – the bonfire caught wind and is reaching up into the trees. The branches above are catching, aching to burn.

Tears rim your eyes as you bring your head up to look at him. His stare hardens.

It’s a sight you’ve seen in the mirror many times before. Your face is a mess of unloaded textures, a checkerboard of black and bright purple, with the exception of your eyes and the surrounding skin. But seeing yourself through Ghost’s eyes… 

It’s Rapture. It’s only you and him. A God and his only believer.

“Ghost, please.” A tear slips down your cheek. You don’t think you’ve ever cried before. It’s cool against your too-hot, burning skin. “Let me stay. I want to stay in Heaven, stay with you.”

“This isn’t Heaven,” Ghost says coldly. “And I’m not God.”

“But you are!” you snap. “This is peace and this is comfort and this is you. Don’t send me back to Malevelon Creek, don’t send me back to those godforsaken ion storms and automatons.”

Your voice grows quieter as tears run down your face and drip off your chin. “Don’t send me back to Hell.”

Ghost sighs and casts his gaze to the side. He’s thinking, and it’s plain on the parts of his face you can see. 

You bow your head and wipe your tears away to give him some semblance of privacy. 

“Fine,” he finally decides. “But stop calling me God. You’re starting to seriously piss me off.”

Your head snaps up and you fight back a fresh wave of tears as you nod. “Yes! I’ll – I’ll call you Ghost. No more God-talk, I promise.”

You huff out a wet laugh as you pick up your helmet and fasten it back on your head. “I mean, I’ll try. I promise I’ll try.”

And so it’s like that for a month. Ghost explains the concept of video games (and how you’re from one – but you figured out that much already), introduces you to his team (and forces you to apologize to Price for calling him a civvy), and gives you his blessing to be his guard (even though he doesn’t need one). 

He allows you to tail him around when he’s in a good mood. When he’s not up for it, you sit outside his door like the good soldier you are.

You’re not allowed to have weapons, on account of being… well. Your entire being. The flying spark that could cause a wildfire. The free radical that could split an atom. It’s just better to give you the bare minimum and keep you there.

And you’re more than happy with the bare minimum. You survive on scraps from the mess hall and the moments when Ghost can tolerate you being a little too close. 

But the week-long missions are nothing but pain for you. And yet, every time you meet him on the tarmac, he greets you with a pat on the side of your bicep and asks how you were while he was gone. Maybe he’s doing it to be polite, maybe he actually cares – you don’t know, and you’re willing to keep it that way. 

(In this instance, you’re blissful with your ignorance. Revel in it, actually.)

There’s a faint part of you that thinks that he views you as an abandoned puppy he found on the side of the road that just followed him home. You’re okay with that if it means you can keep being close to him and keep getting away with everything you’ve done so far. 

So you wait, ever so patient, outside his door. You don’t lean against the wall next to it – you’re always standing at attention, even when your back starts to ache from standing so rigid. You don’t know what to do with your hands (on account of having no rifle to hold) so you let them idly hang at your sides, fighting the reflex to fidget. 

There’s a knock from the other side of the door. A sign from Ghost, telling you that you’re welcome to come in.

You knock back with a soft, “Ghost?”

After a few seconds, there’s no response, but you can hear the lock click and unlock. 

You wait for a minute before you open the door and make sure to duck as you enter. (These doors are shorter than the ones back on your ship – they’re not built to accommodate someone wearing Helldiver armor.)

You shut the door behind you and take in Ghost’s room. It’s bare, like yours. Just a desk with a chair, a bed with military-issued bedding, and a closet with a dresser and clothes rod.

As if on instinct, you take your helmet off, leaving yourself vulnerable yet safe. As your time passed here, your skin has become less black-and-purple and more like a normal skin tone – like the color around your eyes has started to seep into the surrounding area. So far, it’s taken over your face and the column of your throat, just barely brushing past your collarbone.

Ghost moves away from where he’s facing his desk in his swivel chair. He takes you in. Takes your new skin in.

You’ve kept your armor clean, just how you both like it. But the upkeep of yourself, as a person, your new hair and new skin, your new nose and lips and beauty marks and imperfections…

Ghost points at you. “Your hair is greasy as hell.”

You comb a hand through your hair and your glove comes away with a bit of grease, just like he mentioned.

“It is.” You look up from your glove to meet his gaze. “What should I do about it?”

“Fucking hell.” Ghost rolls his eyes. “You’re asking me what you should do about it? Take a shower, knobhead.”

“Ah.” You look down at your boots. 

“Have you seriously not been bathing?” Ghost asks. 

“It, um…” You glance up at him, then back down at the floor. “It never occurred to me. Usually I don’t have to.”

“You’ve been here for a bloody month and you haven’t showered once?” he scoffs. 

You shrink into yourself, an embarrassed blush creeping across your face. 

“Christ…” Ghost mumbles. He stands from his chair and points you up-and-down. “Get out of your armor.”

“Excuse me?” A hand flies to the middle of your breastplate, as if cradling it to you like it’s the only thing keeping you decent. 

“You heard me.” Ghost moves over to the door to his bathroom and opens it, then glances over his shoulder at you. “I’m drawing a bath. And you’re going in it.”

You look down at your glove, at the thin sheen of grease covering it. “I… okay.”

Ghost goes into the bathroom to give you some semblance of privacy. You take a breath to calm yourself and exhale with a soft “Sweet Liberty…” 

You carefully lay out your metal armor on Ghost’s bed, leaving yourself in just your under-armor. It’s durable but thin, causing you to shiver as the air conditioning kicks on.

With light steps, you make your way over to the bathroom. Ghost is hunched over the side of the tub, his hands ungloved and sleeves bunched up to his elbows. One of his hands is under the running water, checking the temperature. 

You lean into the doorway and call his name softly. You only lean in a bit, trying to be as unobtrusive as possible.

Ghost glances over his shoulder at you, then nods at the tub. “Come on. Haven’t got all day.”

You slowly make your way in the bathroom and close the door behind you. It’s a small space, and it just makes everything all the more awkward.

“Well?” Ghost prompts. “Will you be good by yourself?”

“I mean…” You look down at the tile. “I guess.”

Ghost shuts off the faucet, then stands and wipes his hand off on a towel hanging by the bathtub. “I’m off, then.”

“But – wait,” you say softly. “How am I supposed to bathe? It’s not full yet.”

“It’s not meant to be full up,” Ghost says. “You’re acting like you’ve never taken a bath before.”

You shift on your feet, your almost-bare soles making a soft sound against the tile. Your silence tells Ghost all he needs to know.

“Come on then.” He sighs and leans back against the counter, his hands on the lip of the sink. “Strip.”

You shuffle out of your under-armor, fold it neatly, and put it on the counter. You’re nearly shaking from embarrassment, but at least it isn’t as awkward as it would be if your body wasn’t just unloaded textures. Your body below your collarbone is built well, but it’s more like a jacked doll that a kid scribbled a black and purple checkerboard on than an actual human soldier. 

Your eyes meet Ghost’s before you duck your head away in shame. 

“Come on,” he repeats. “Let’s get you washed up, yeah?”

You keep your gaze low as you tentatively dip a few fingers in the water. It’s warm, but not too hot. You slowly hook a leg over the edge of the tub and step in. It feels good – not that you have any prior bathing experiences to compare it to. 

Your knees practically buckle as you lower yourself into the water. You sit with your knees pressed up against your chest, not wanting to take up too much space even though the tub isn’t all that small. 

“Good?” Ghost asks. 

“Good,” you parrot back. 

Ghost kneels by the side of the tub. “How’s it feel? Too hot?”

“Okay.” You raise your eyes to meet his. “Feels like… when I’m near you.”

He just hums, monotone, in response. He shifts to sit more comfortably, then pats the surface of the water, sending ripples. “Lean forward.”

You do as he asks, bowing your head so that your face is close to the water. “This good?”

“Yes. I’m gonna get some water on you now.” 

You nod. Ghost cups his hand and dips it in the water before running it down your back. You gasp softly at the feeling – it’s unlike anything you’ve experienced before. It’s like Ghost’s molten touch is seeping into your skin, but instead of fire, it’s a pleasant version of sunburn. 

Maybe it feels duller and better because you’ve been so exposed to Ghost over the past month that you’ve gotten used to it, like exposure therapy? And the feeling when you first touched him was just too much, too fast…

You quickly divert your thoughts away from the theoretical and into the now. Because right now, Ghost is doting on you unlike any other. 

Water runs through your hair, and Ghost threads his fingers through the strands to make sure it gets properly wet. Droplets run down your forehead and drip off your nose.

You turn your head just a little and look up at Ghost sideways. “Is this it?”

“No.” He huffs out a laugh. “There’s shampoo, then conditioner. Then you gotta wash your actual body.”

“Oh.”

There’s a moment where the only sound is Ghost gathering a bit of shampoo in his hands and rubbing them together to create a lather. He scrubs it into your hair for about a half minute before washing it out.

You break the silence as he starts to work the conditioner into your hair. “I never got to ask – the engraving on my helmet… what’s that about? I don’t remember doing it.”

“Hm?” Ghost hums. “The skull? Dead daft, ain’t you?”

“I’m… I could only parse parts of that sentence,” you say softly. “But I can tell you’re calling me an idiot.”

“Yes. I am. You’re learning.” Ghost huffs out another laugh. “Go on, guess.”

“If I have to…” You close your eyes and lean into Ghost’s touch. “It’s a representation of your control over me? As a player, I mean. Not in… anything else.” 

You let out a nervous laugh and hope Ghost doesn’t pick up on your double meaning. But of course he does – you can tell in the way his hands pause for a fraction of a second before continuing their work. He’s too observant for his own good.

With an awkward ahem, you continue. “But that’s the same reason my callsign is Deathshead, right? Because you’re Ghost. You – you gave me your insignia.”

(You had to stop yourself from saying ‘Blessed me with your insignia’, because you promised you’d stop with the God-talk.)

“Dead on.” Ghost turns and rubs a bar of soap on a sponge, then hands it to you. “Scrub yourself. I’m not doing it for you.”

“Where?” you ask. “Like, all over?”

Ghost washes the conditioner from his hands in the bathwater and nods. “Mhm.”

You carefully scrub yourself from top to bottom. The sponge is a bit abrasive, but nice. 

(You’d much rather have Ghost wash you up, to cause the fire you’ve contained in a little wooden stove to flare out of the firebox and through the grill… but you keep that to yourself.)

Once you’re done, you wring the sponge out under the bathwater, then above water. You set it on the side of the tub and look up at Ghost, waiting for instructions. 

He meets your gaze and shifts where he’s sitting on the toilet lid. “Just relax, Helldiver.”

“Not used to this.” You pull your knees up to your chest. “Not used to having… downtime. I was always being sent down, or preparing to be sent down. Democracy was always my guide, but…”

You tilt your head towards Ghost, and he understands. 

“You are, now,” you voice the unsaid thought.

“That’s concerning.” Ghost rests his hands on his knees and leans back against the tank. 

“I know.” You look down at the bathwater and the bubbles floating on the surface. “It’s just… I’ve never felt the peace that we preach. I’ve only known fighting, only violence and blood.”

You look up and meet his eyes. “Have you ever had your legs blown apart by an Eagle Cluster Bomb? Ever been burned alive by friendly napalm? Because I have. I’ve felt my spine split because of an Orbital Railcannon Strike. I’ve been mowed down by friendly Gatling Sentries.

“But the worst thing I’ve experienced here is name-calling and weird looks,” you say. “I’ve been sick to my stomach with worry once or twice, but then I remember you’re a soldier, just like me. You’re trained, and you’re okay, and you’ll return fine. 

“I am…” You lean your head back against the tile wall and close your eyes. “I’m at peace here.”

“I get that,” Ghost says. His voice is the softest you’ve ever heard it. “How long were you deployed?”

“As long as I can remember,” you say. 

“Bloody long time, then, yeah?” Ghost says.

“Yes.” You bring your hand up and rub your collarbone, where skin meets undefined polygons. “But you’re making me human. Less Helldiver, less of an expendable piece of resurrected meat. You’re making me softer. More civilian.”

You open your eyes and look up at Ghost. The expression on his face is… conflicted. Like he didn’t know he could bring this out in someone. 

“They always said that when united under the beautiful Liberty flag of Super Earth, nothing will be able to stop or split its glorious peoples,” you say. “But you showed me that it’s better out here. That it’s… fascism, is what it is. But that’s a secret we keep from ourselves.”

You reach your hand out and lay it over where his lays on his knee. You just barely brush your fingertips over the back of his hand before grabbing it. 

(Another log has been added to the fire, and it’s covered in lichen and dried mosses. It crackles and pops, but you make sure to keep it still contained.)

“Would you believe me if I said that I hate Managed Democracy?” You laugh breathlessly. Even saying it causes a sick feeling in your stomach, like you’ll be found out and promptly dismissed. (Read: put up against a wall and executed via firing squad.)

“Yes.” Ghost glances down at where your hand lays on top of his. “A lot of people hate the government, all ‘cross the world. Don’t you know that?”

“And they’re… allowed to?” You bite the inside of your bottom lip to subdue a smile. “Like, openly?”

Ghost laughs. “Yes.”

“This really is Heaven.” You sigh out the words, an unbelieving smile crossing your face. 

“Not Heaven,” Ghost says. “Just Earth.”

He moves his hand slightly, and you take it as a cue to move away. You bring your hand back, dipping it back in the bathwater. 

“Well,” you say softly. “I think I like just Earth.”

“On just Earth, we bathe regularly.” Ghost dips a hand in the water and splashes your knees. “Now, come on. Let’s get you rinsed off.”

[fribblr]

Minecraft OC Lineup !!

Long post - Details under the cut!!!

Pewter - Silverfish

Pewter lives in a stronghold and is a keeper of ancient history. Those are HIS BOOKS you're stealing down there! He is one in a long line of silverfish that guard the end portals across the overworld. He dabbles in potion brewing, pottery, architecture and sword-fighting. He knows what happened to the ancient builders, but he won't tell you.

Design notes: Embroidery on the bottom of his robes can be any of the designs featured on chiseled stone variants or sherds. I just default to the creeper face or wither motif.

Favorite disc: Creator (Music box)

Endermama - Enderman

Endermama is just a Minecraft flavored version of my main fursona. She's a builder who really doesn't like mining or fighting. She likes designing interiors and gardens. You'll find houses, statues and hedge walls all over her world. She has never fought the dragon on her own and tries to avoid the nether as much as possible.

Design notes: I made the tail fluff way too big here lol. Has some feathers at the base of her tail. Her armor is specifically mizuno's 16craft diamond armor, and usually the Elytra are mizunos as well.

Favorite discs: Melohi, Stal

Basil - Vanilla Creeper

Basil is a farmer. He loves to tend to large fields with every crop imaginable. He stores things to sell in the shulker box on his back. He enjoys cool, sunny days and spending time on his back porch. He loves a nice cup of tea and listening to music.

Design notes: his head can have any flowers, but only wither roses when he's upset/aggro. his tail can be any large flower bush (rose, peony or lilac) and his carpet can be any color.

Favorite discs: Chirp, Strad, Pigstep and Otherside

Blast - Rocket Creeper

Blast is a rocket creeper who spends his time flying through the sky. He sells rockets and Elytra. Does he go to the end for them? Who's to say, really. He has a short temper and gets agitated quite easily. If he has it out for you, you best have a roof over your head- He'll dive from hundreds of blocks up to get you.

Design notes: His back legs are short and slope outwards from the back of his body. His tail is a smoldering dead bush. the foliage on his head is largely blue pine tree limbs and he has glow lichen spots across his body.

Favorite disc: Wait

Bimbim - Support Creeper

Bimbim's just a little guy. It's just here to help. Sometimes it'll carry a potion on its back. Ankle Biter.

Design notes: No foliage tail, and honestly i forgot to draw its arms here but it has them. Golden carrot ears.

Favorite disc: Dog

Subaru - Warden

Subaru is a music loving lesbian warden. She has her own place in the ancient city. She loves band memorabilia and graphic tees. She spends her time either listening to records or being terminally online in music forums. If she could see, she'd be insane about movies too. She has misophonia and she will not tolerate extra noises down there. though, to be fair, it might just be the shriekers that piss her off.

Design notes: tentacles and little head appendages based off of glow squid. mossy sculky hair ..? goes all the way down her back. ALSO edit she has stretch marks on her legs !!! hard to see here but they're there

Favorite discs: All of them <3

[drdemonprince]

I am very very attracted to my boss and it's driving me insane. There's this amazing chemistry and tension between us and all day long we're just teasing eachother and flirting. We're always gravitating towards eachother and happy to see eachother, finding excuses to work together, etc. He is, however, a straight man twice my age who has a girlfriend and I'm a trans guy who could be completely misreading our interactions. Straight guys often banter and "flirt" with eachother so maybe I'm reading too much into it. Maybe he's just excited to be some sort of a mentor figure to me and he likes to be admired, and likes to see me grow and learn, and that's all there is to it. He calls me his protege which I find incredibly hot. Anyway I'm seriously contemplating whether I should confess my attraction. I'm not really anticipating him to reciprocate, but would do it more so to get rejected so I would be able to stop fantasizing about him all day long and give myself some closure. On the other hand, I don't want to humiliate myself and create a possible distance or awkwardness between us. There would be no consequences for my job so that's not an issue. I was wondering if you have any words of wisdom for me? You always have such a unique yet sobering outlook on things and I would love to hear your thoughts on this situation.

"Unique yet sobering outlook"! That's the kind of compliment I would have put in the word document alongside all my favorite feedback from English professors back in the day when I still needed that. Sincerely, thank you.

I am of several minds with regard to your question. On the one hand, I think straight people are terminally monogamous most of the time and that it would be hell on earth to get involved with this man and draw the potential ire of his girlfriend even if they weren't.

I think it's usually a self-hating maneuver to date a straight man as a trans masc (I have been there, it is terrible) but as a gay man, I support the frisson of danger that comes with seducing a heterosexual and think it would be a baller little feather in your cap to ruin this man's identity and relationship for a fling with you, even if it would be destined to end in agony.

I hear that this misadventure will not affect your job, but I don't exactly understand how that could be true. It sounds as if you work together quite closely and that his flirty banter is part of what makes the gig pleasant, and even if he doesn't have the capacity to fire you (I'm guessing) this affair could devastate the vibe enough that someone else might step in and fire you for its indirect consequences. happens sometimes.

Part of me however does believe in "fuck it we ball" and in being a bit reckless when you find yourself in a moment of raw, transfixing chemistry. chasing after fascinating moments that are destined to shatter our hearts is one of the core aspects of being alive. It keeps us growing, fills us with vigor! Who doesn't want to one day have an interesting story of a love affair like that?

One of my follow up questions would be how rare this kind of connection is for you. If it were me? Someone I truly connect with on the level you are describing is rare, and I've been willing to risk upending my life as i know it over a fleeting few weeks or months of passion before, and sometimes it's been worth it! Some mistakes are worth making, because we will become stronger and more interesting people after they happen!

But another part of me also thinks "straight men flirt with eachother sometimes" makes no sense and that what you are likely experiencing is him not seeing you as a man, or doing the thing some sensitive straight guys do of leeching attention off of queer men to feed their egos. (Which isn't evil, we all need attention sometimes, but it can be devastating.). If he lets you down because he sees you as a man and is not gay, that might relieve the pressure for you and work out fine. If he is into you because he doesn't see you as a man, you two will fuck and it will be horrible in the long term probably. But maybe hot in the short term.

I also think there are probably hotter ways to play this one (and more strategically effective ones) than a straight-up love confession, which would probably force him to bring up his girlfriend as the reason not to pursue it.

I think if you really want to SEDUCE this man you should spend time with him after work, ask him to mentor you on a labor intensive but potentially rewarding project, disclose little personal details that endear him to you, ask him lots of questions about himself, allow him to open up to you about his life... and then strike.

I think it'll be interesting if you go for it, at least. I certainly want to hear the story. But I don't want you to get fired, lose a mentorship that is important to your career, or get your ass beat by the gf.

So I will also tap my followers for their feedback.

[saffronique]

Saffronique's Marker cat commissions

Been getting back into marker art lately so I thought hey, why not get some practice drawing cats and maybe make a bit of money to help with rent?

5/5 slots open!

Prices (flat color, cats only, no backgrounds)-

Headshot- $6

Full body- $13

More details below the cut!

Additional charges-

Shading + $2

Line weighting + $1

Complex color palette/pattern + $3

Complex accessories + $3 (small stuff like  flowers or feathers do not count)

General info-

-I'll draw any pose, but if it's something other than a basic sitting or standing pose, you must provide the pose reference yourself!

-Must include a reference image of your character or a detailed physical description

-No extreme gore (minor injuries, healed wounds OK), no sexual content, no hate speech

-I reserve the right to decline or terminate a commission for any reason. In the event of a termination, you will be offered a full refund

-Pictures will be roughly the same quality and resolution as seen above!

Payment-

-I accept PayPal or Venmo

-Payment is due upon delivery of the final sketch and before any inking/color work takes place

-You may ask for a price estimate on a character before deciding to go ahead with a commission.

Physical art disclaimers-

- As this is physical art, some small imperfections (minor color bleed, blotches, non-exact color matching etc) are to be expected and DO NOT constitute grounds for a refund.

- While I have a lot of markers, my color options are ultimately still limited. If you give me a character with colors I think it will be difficult for me to replicate with my marker selection, I will communicate this to you and will show you some swatches of the closest approximations I can offer before beginning the sketching process. At this point you may choose whether or not to proceed with the commission. If you choose to proceed after confirming the color palette, you waive all rights to a refund on the grounds of color mismatch.

- I reserve the right go make minor changes to the sketch during the inking process (eg splitting one fur tuft into two or vice versa).

- Revisions will be offered during the sketching phase, but no further revisions may be requested following delivery of payment-- once I start inking and coloring, I can no longer change your design.

Refund policy-

-Partial refund may be offered in case of significant color mismatch or significant departure from the sketch you were shown.

-Full refund or opportunity to redo commission may be offered in case of major error (eg significant errors during inking, significant bleeding of colors, significant smudging of linework, etc)

Please DM me if interested