#I have been working on this thing for 2 days straight

[morcez]

content: Toji x reader, angst, comfort, fluff, age gap, emotional!reader x oldschool!Toji

Toji is NOT the apologetic type. Toji was raised in a different, older generation in a… nonwelcoming… household. Speaking about feelings was not something Toji was used to. Toji’s the type of guy to say “I wasn’t allowed to have feelings back in my day.” Whatever the hell that means. You on the other hand are a shaken soda bottle full of emotions, ready to burst at any moment. This difference between you two causes a handful of messy disputes involving name-calling, yelling, and you crying 99.9% of the time. Toji had tried traditional approaches to apologizing, but he always ruined it by saying something smart ass, prolonging the fight. “I’m sorry yer' too sensitive to take my jokes.” “I’m sorry that yer' a big ol’ crybaby.”

Just because he’s terrible at apologizing, doesn’t mean he doesn’t feel guilty. He hates the thought of you sobbing alone in your shared bedroom, he hates that he’s the one who made you feel that way. He’s the one who should protect you, comfort you, not hurt you. Instead of apologizing, he found that acts of service work better for you both. He lets you cry your little heart out in the bedroom while he cleans the house, runs errands, buys your favorite snacks, and cooks your favorite meals. You stumble out of the bedroom a couple hours later. Your face reddened, puffy, and wet. Your eyelashes are soaked and harsh tear marks stain your cheeks. You head into the kitchen, seeing Toji scrubbing the counter, wearing the apron you got him on his last birthday. He spots you, a look of guilt painted all over his face even though he tries to hide it. He takes a hot plate of food out of the oven and places it on the table, signaling you to sit and eat. You sit down mumbling a “thank you.” Wiping salty tears from your face. “Yer’ still crying?!” He says shocked, feeling guilt drag his heart down to his ass when looking at your tear-stained face. “Mhm, this old man hurt my feelings.” You mumble under your breath with a small smirk on your lips. He rolls his eyes at you referring to him as an old man. “Old man?” He chuckles as he repeats you. “Well, that old man is an idiot and anything mean says to you is bullshit. Understand?” You nod at his words. He walks over to you and plants a kiss on the top of your head. “Now eat up, kay?” He can’t help but admire your beauty even though you’ve been crying for hours straight. He walks off to go run you a bath <3

there were no funny Toji headers so here's San, the closest thing.

It's almost 2 am and i have class tmrw, ill proof read tmrw... prolly not.

[undercoveravenger]

Premeditated

Pairing: Criminal!Soap & Ghost x Detective!Male!Reader (Eventual poly 141 & reader)

This is Part 2 of this AU - to check out part one Click Here

Warnings: Suggestive (Soap’s a horny mf), allusions to crime (arson)

-----

Johnny’s “second date” with you happens exactly as he’d planned. Price and Ghost had been able to clear any evidence linking him to the explosion on Makarov’s side of town while Gaz had “miraculously found” footage of him at one of the relatively legitimate businesses the 141 operated timestamped precisely at the day and time of the incident. With nothing to link him back to the crime, Soap was released from police custody and he’d even had the chance to blow a kiss to his favorite detective on the way out.

He’d accepted his admittedly-deserved tongue lashing from Price about consorting with cops, but eventually Price agreed that you could prove quite useful once you were brought around to the idea of working with them. 

So then it was with Price’s blessing that he’d traced down your number and coerced convinced you to meet him for dinner.

The restaurant is empty, aside from the two of you and the staff, so he’s free to tease you more openly than if this whole thing hadn’t been arranged.

“Nice suit,” he says as you shift uncomfortably across from him. He can tell it’s probably just some cheap suit you wear to court when you’re required to testify and makes a mental note to buy a new one and have it delivered to you. “Bet it’d look even better on my bedroom floor while we-”

“You said,” you interrupt and God, what he’d give to have a sense of you. To see your expression and know whether this was you blowing him off or if he’d managed to actually fluster you. “You have intel worth my time.”

Straight to business, Johnny muses, Price’d appreciate that in a future son in law, wouldn’t he?

“You’ll get your information,” Johnny says, waving a hand dismissively. He thinks of the flash drive tucked away in his pocket and wonders what exactly you might be willing to do to get your hands on it. “After our date.”

“It’s not a-” your protests are interrupted by the arrival of your waiter, a towering blond with a black surgical mask over his mouth and nose. Johnny can see the way your eyes trail the length of the scar that runs down the side of Ghost’s face and something bitter twists in his stomach as you smile at him.

“Whotcha want?” Ghost grunts, as few-worded as always, but there’s something in the way that Ghost looks at you that Johnny recognizes. It’s the way he looks at you too.

Ghost takes your order and then disappears into the back without waiting for Johnny’s order. Typical Ghost.

“So,” he says, if only to get your eyes off of Ghost’s retreating figure and back onto him. “Tell me about yourself?”

It’s the wrong question. The invitation to make this more than a transaction, to make it real, and it has your shoulders tensing and your hand dropping to your hip like you were itching for the familiar weight of your gun. 

Johnny hums, sweet and low and soft, holds up his hands like a surrender even though he knows he’d never give up on something as special as you.

“Doesn’t need tae be somethin’ big,” he tries, needling for any little thing you’re willing to offer up to him. His lips twitch into a grin with an idea, “Matter of fact, I’ll tell you somethin’ for everythin’ you tell me.”

There’s a spark in your eyes at that, at the promise of something to work with and Johnny has a lot of things he’d like you to work with actually. Matter of fact, if you wanted to bend him over the table and- 

“I’ve been a detective for three years,” you say, voice pulling Johnny out of his daydreams. He’d known that - had seen it on the background check they’d pulled on you. He’d been hoping for something more personal, something just for him, but it was a start. 

Johnny forces himself to grin like that was new information, “Betcha couldnae tell by the accent, but I was born an’ raised in Scotland. A little town near Glasgow.”

You nod, eyes focused like you’re filing away the information for later and Johnny can’t help the delighted little kick in his chest that you’re eager to learn about him too, even if you might currently be planning on using it against him. He’s just gotta persuade you that you’re better off at his side.

“Before I decided to join the force,” you start, and Soap leans in, enraptured by the idea of learning something new about you. “I was nearly killed by a drive-by shooter.”

Johnny sits back at that, flummoxed by the idea that he might never have known you. That he’d have never even known what he would’ve been missing.

“My friends call me Soap,” he says, trying to brighten the mood a bit. He can see the confusion as you process what he’d said. 

“Soap?” Shivers creep down his spine at the way you say his callsign. He wonders what it’d be like to have you talking him through a job on comms. How hard it’d be to focus on anything but the sound of your voice. “Why?”

“Cause ‘e’s got a dirty fuckin’ mind,” Ghost rumbles as he reappears, a plate balanced in each hand. He deposits your plate in front of you carefully before dropping Johnny’s in front of him unceremoniously. He looks between Johnny and you for a long moment before dragging over a chair from a neighboring table and sits on it backwards, crossing his massive arms over the back of it, pitch dark eyes fixed firmly on you. “What’s a nice lad like you doin’ with a punk like ‘im?” Ghost asks and Johnny would’ve been offended if he didn’t know that this was just Ghost’s way of playing.

You’re quiet for a few seconds, intense gaze fixed on Johnny. He does his best not to squirm.

“He promised he’d be worth my time,” you say finally and Soap wants to applaud you for it. It’s a perfect answer, really - ambiguous enough of a promise that you could just be two men out on a date if Ghost didn’t already know otherwise.

But Ghost did know. He had to. The only reason he’d be here doing something as menial as serving tables is if Price asked him to. And if Price asked… his eyes cut over to the blinking red light of the surveillance camera in the far corner of the room. His suspicions are confirmed by the barely perceptible nod Ghost gives him when he turns back to the table.

Great, he thinks, Not only are you interested in Ghost, but Price and Gaz are both watching. He feels like the three of you are on some stupid reality show.

Ghost lingers while you and Johnny eat, interjecting every now and then with some terrible joke or to tease Johnny, and Johnny is baffled by how easy this feels. He trusts Ghost with his life, has to in their line of work, but he’s never seen him this open before. Never as at peace as he is right now, sitting next to you and listening intently. Even that ever present tension has started to bleed out of his shoulders the longer he’s near you.

Johnny grins as a wicked thought pops into his mind. He feigns a sigh as he looks down at the emptied plates and pulls out the flash drive with the information he’d promised you. “Well, a deal’s a deal. Your time for my intel,” he says, dangling the flash drive temptingly. He waits until you move to grab it before closing his fingers back around it, “On second thought,” he says, grin spreading at the look on his face, “One last thing and then it’s all yours.”

You don’t seem surprised that he’s changing the deal on you, though you look resolute and he takes that as a good sign.

“I’ll give this to you,” he starts, grinning fiercely, “After you give us a kiss.”

You huff and Johnny’s glad he made sure you weren’t wearing a wire when you arrived. There was something so much more satisfying about knowing that this was all your decision and you weren’t just following orders as you lean in.

“Nuh-uh,” he says when you’re just inches away, amusement covering that twinge of disappointment at not being able to kiss you just yet. “Him first.”

Johnny’s not sure who’s more shocked, you or Ghost. You’re stunned, eyes darting between the two of them like you’re trying to puzzle out the pieces of him saying to kiss ‘us’ not just being one of those odd little colloquialisms. 

Ghost is paler than Soap’s ever seen him, dark eyes wide and wild at being thrust so suddenly into the spotlight and Johnny almost calls it off until he sees the way Ghost’s hands twitch, fingers flexing like it’s all he can do to not grab hold of you and not let go.

“C’mon love,” Johnny croons, trailing his fingertips along your jaw until he can hook them under your chin and turn your head to face Ghost, “Look ‘ow much ‘e wants it.”

You’re still for a split second longer before you take his encouragement and shift toward Ghost, trailing your hands over kilometers-wide shoulders and up until your fingertips brush the edge of his mask.

Johnny can barely hear the quiet “this okay?” that you ask Ghost before Ghost is telling you to close your eyes and ripping off his mask.

He’s on you in seconds, lips on yours like you’re fresh air and he’s asphyxiating and Johnny doesn’t even feel jealous because what a show. He can hear the slick of Ghost’s mouth against yours, can see just how tight he’s clutching at you, and he can see that you’re giving it right back - hands tight around Ghost’s jaw and up into his hair to keep him close to you, to keep him kissing you, and there’s this wounded gasp that leaves you when Ghost eventually pulls away, but he’s already got his mask back in place by the time your eyes open. 

Johnny’s quick to take his place, taking your face in his hands and tugging you in like he’s been aching to do for weeks. He can’t help the needy little sound that escapes him when your mouth is finally on his and he can feel you lean into - feels the sharp sting of your teeth against his lower lip and then the heat of your tongue against it right after. He can’t stop his hands from roaming, clutching at your hair, your shoulders, your ass - it’s like he’s starving for you, like he’ll never get another chance to touch you so he has to memorize every inch of you now but he wants to do so much more than memorize and there’s not enough time. 

Eventually he forces himself to break the kiss, though he knows he’d be perfectly content to spend the rest of time in your arms. 

“As promised,” he says, still catching his breath as he pushes the thumb drive into your hands. 

His heart warms at the second of hesitation before you turn and go and he’s quiet for a moment before he turns back to Ghost, who ditched the surgical mask in favor of his usual skull hood as soon as the door closed behind you.

“Super fuckable, right?” Johnny asks as he stands and starts to clear the table, if only to give himself something to do.

“Oh, absolutely,” Ghost agrees, joining him.

Johnny would be sad that the night had ended where it did, he thinks, if he didn’t know that the information on that drive would have you back in his arms within the next twenty four hours. No, once you learned that your dear chief of police, Shepherd, was compromised, you’d come running right to the 141 for help exposing him, and the bigger the ask, the higher the cost. You’d never be rid of them at this rate.

[ravencincaide]

Flowers

Summary: In Dazai's mind, there is no such thing as too late. There is always a solution to every problem. You just need to find the right approach. OR Dazai’s bizarre reaction to your claim that its ‘too late’. 

Pairing: Mafia! Osamu Dazai x Fem! Reader  Author Note. This is Part 2 to: If only you'd hold my hand. I'd strongly advise you to read that one first befor reading Flowers. Work count: 2.2  Warning: Dark content including angst, mention of abortion, cursing and toxic relationship. In addition, this part includes light alcohol consumption, light mention of intimacy. You've been warned, And with those words: Enjoy!

"it's too late" your ominous whisper hung heavily in the dark room. Like a shroud, it buried the once happy news, and turned everything you knew- or thought you knew - into a

hollow, dark disappointing mess. And you didn't know where to start picking up the pieces.

Should you start with your shattered heart after having to make the hardest decision of your life? Deal with your disappointment in Dazai from breaking yet another promise to you? Or maybe address the shambles that was your relationship- or about to be. Should you break it off while the wound was still raw and be done with it all? Repeat those cursed words again and then watch how the tender affection you've craved for months was ripped away from you. 

Again.

Dazais lips move from your fingertips to your wrist. Paused at your pulse point where he pressed a kiss, then trailed up your arm until he came across a faint scar. He lingered there as if remembering where it came from, or thinking of ways to make it disappear. As if fixing that little blemish on your skin would somehow erase all the hurt.

You pulled your hand back, cleared your throat and tried to speak again "It's too - "

"-I think we should go on a vacation" Dazai caught your wrist and brought your hand back to his face, completely ignoring that he caught you off guard, your mind struggling to process his words. You were too stunned to speak, too stunned to react as you processed the odd words that left his mouth. He used that moment to pull you to his chest.  "It's been so long since we've had some 'You and me’ time, Pretty” 

You swallowed thickly past the cotton-ball feeling in your throat "I don't think I have the energy to-"

"-Nonsense. I'll get you packed" He had you sit on your bed as he pulled out  our old travel bag from the closet. The one you hadn't used since your last field mission all those years ago. You didn’t even know you still had it, but Dazai knew where to find it straight away. 

Odd? 

A moment passed of him  fighting with the zip and lock combo before the fearsome Mafia executive began packing seemingly random articles of clothing: dresses, shirts, blouses, jeans and t-shirts. His disposition was almost happy as he filled your suitcase to the brim and then opened another compartment, ready to stuff even more things into the overfilled bag. 

You glanced away  as he opened your lingerie drawer, part of you embarrassed at the state of it and another part angry at how comfortable he seemed handling your personal items. As if he owed them. The lacy fancy stuff you used to wear was replaced by worn granny panities for bad days and brand new tighty whities for good. 

He pushed them to the side with several falling to the fall, then humm’ed in approval as though he found a goldmine. “Oh these ones will do. Do you remember them?” Dazai asked, holding up a pair of sheer ones with an obnoxious bow on the butt.

How did he find those? Exactly the ones you wore when you two were last intimate. You were certain you lost them in the laundry. Or maybe tossed them away in a fit of desperate rage. 

You grimaced as he packed them into the bag and then went back to digging in your drawer.

“Lets just go” you muttered as you got off the bed and snatched the almost packed suitcase out of his hands.  You hurried out of the room and back towards the garage you had just come from. You were certain he’d suggest taking the car and it didn’t take you long to find the oddly parked vehicle near the door, all set and ready to head to this ‘so called’ vacation of his. 

But all you wanted was to get away. Run before he could bring up more of those pleasantly unpleasant memories. Because who in their right fucking mind would want to think about the fun sexy times in your condition? Especially knowing those seemingly loving moments would result in your current predicament 

Then again what fucking sane person would go on a lovey dovey vacahan with their Ex right after an abortion?

Wait? 

Is that what you two were now? Exes? Lost love? Another tragic statistic? Could you even be exes in the twisted world of death, abilities and absolute loyalty? Or was this some kind of sick amusement on his part? A twisted game for him and a pat on the back for you for a job ’well done’; a role ‘well played’.  

You were getting angry. Frustrated at the loneliness you endured. Angry at the fact that

you hadn't seen him for days, asked for a single favour from him, begged for a moment of his time, to meet you for lunch and he failed. He fucking failed to show up for you when it counted and you were not going to forgive him for it. 

No, you’d go on this fucking trip under obligations but you’d also show him that you were done, and he could shove his immature-

Flowers?

The backseat of the car had a bouquet of flowers laying on it, your favourite dinner peeked out of a take-away bag and the seat cushion between front and back seat was up and arranged for you to take a nap. As you processed the oddly caring gesture, Dazai caught up with you and took the packed bag out of your hands before putting it in the trunk. Himself.

"No goons with?" 

"Nope "He said it as if he's gone anywhere without half a dozen mafia on his ass in the last half a year. “Only you and me for a change, donna"

A flicker of concern passed over you. Your one eyed bandit driving? Did he even remember

how to do that after all the time he spent stuck behind a desk?

You were about to protest, to offer yourself up to be behind the wheel but the words caught in your throat, choked by the anger, sadress, betrayal and that gut punching act he put on, as if everything was okay- that it would be okay. No, he wanted this vacation, he failed you, so he could Ideal being behind the uncomfortable wheel for hours on end, navigating the roads while you gave him the Silent Treatment. Then maybe, just maybe, he’d begin to finally understand a fraction of the emotion you felt, that you dealt with. Because of him. 

Flowers. 

Fucking flowers made you made you cave enough to move from the backsea to shotgun a day later. Weary eyes watched the blur of the passing landscape, lingering on famous places Dazai pointed out before you’d stubbornly looked away again. Still silent, safe for your body language which was an open book for him.

That was enough for him. Daizai  kept pointing out a place or two:  an offer to stop for dinner, a gasbreak, a cultural sight or a place where a gruesome murder took place and read your body language for an answer. And through it all, at almost every stop, he got you flowers. Long, Short, tall, cheap, pricey, eternal and real. It wasn’t long before the backseat looked like a miniature garden with yet  another addition to the ever growing collection in your lap- a bunch of local lilies of various shades of white or red.

Beside you, Dazai was focused on the road, the traffic moderate enough that he could tear his attention away every few moments for a kiss. Kiss the places where your hands interlocked, on your knuckles and occasionally your lips or your neck. 

Loving. Almost playful.

This was the Dazai you knew- the man you fell in love with. You could see him so clearly now, without the mafia coat and executive responsibilities. Just a man who grew up too quickly, behind the wheel of the car that was too big and just right at the same time. Just him and you and the endless road that swallowed up the unspoken words; gobbled up bitter emotion until a mournful numbness settled in.

On day 3, you both checked into a hotel for the night- your last night in Japan before your flight, and you finally broke through the last of the unspoken resentment. Tears welled up in your eyes as you saw the dress Dazai prepared for you to wear to dinner. The fabric hidden inside the fancy protective bag, by the closet with only the tags peeking out. A bottle of champagne and strawberries stood by the grand bed, right beside a hand written welcome card. 

It was perfect, full of luxuries you weren’t accustomed to, full of affection and thought and grand gestures you never experienced before. 

Perfectly and overbearingly sweet. 

Anything anyone could have wanted- and more. And it was too much. Tears turned to sobs as you clung to Dazai in the doorway. Apologies spilled past your lips, a constant mantra of ‘I’m sorry’s’ The past three days had been a reminder of simpler times. A reminder of the why and how you and Dazai got together, the sacrifices you made for each other. Promises that were forgotten along the way; moments taken for granted. You were hit with the realization of everything you had, and everything you likely lost. You risked years together, poured it down the drain because of a missed lunch. 

A decision set in pain and anger which ended up causing you more pain. 

Oh if only you’d have known that getting away from the Mafia was what he needed. What you both needed. Then maybe, just maybe things would have turned out differently. “Can we try again?” it was a question you asked without a second thought. It seemed right in that moment, appropriate.  

"We can," Dazai muttered, as he pulled back long enough to cup your cheeks. "Just promise me you'll never rush big decisions without talking to me first. Even if it’s about your body."

“I promise" the promise rolled off your lips like a second breath. 

Dazai’s face split into a smile, a satisfied and pleased expression. "Good, now then, we have a dinner reservation to attend to, why don’t you go and get ready?” 

The offer was both exciting and exhausting. The moment was cut short by the planned dinner. It was a little disappointing to you but you were also used to it, adjusting your wants and needs to the clock. Almost in a trance you showered and got yourself changed and ready for a proper evening dinner like in those stupid rom com movies. 

You were done just as it was time to head down. Admittedly you couldn't say you felt okey, beautiful or back to normal. But you could say you felt thought of and loved with every little gesture from his side: pulled out chair, the pink-purple almost wild-looking flowers on the table, a glass of red wine in your hand. The feeling was only reinforced as Dazai leaned closer to you for a rare vacation picture. 

You both, together, in one shot, without you needing to beg. 

It was surreal. 

Selfishly, you set your mind to focus on the good happenings in your present. The stuff that gave you hope for a brighter future. To change your trail of thought from the bad to the good, and the first step would be to view this time away from the mafia as a blessing rather than an obligation.

 “By the way, you never said where we're going” You mused as the waiter removed the appetisers and refilled both your glasses before the main course. " I guess it’s somewhere in Europe, right? Those are the only planes that leave so early tomorrow, right?"

Dazai looked amused at your observation skills, then pleased. "It is, and it's a good opportunity to take a break from the Mafia," Dazai mused, his head resting on his hand, one eye fixated on you and your every expression. 

You pouted at his none-answer.

"Aww c’mon can you at least tell me where it is?” You batted your eyelashes at him as if such simple flirting techniques would ever work on a man like him. Though it was more a running joke between you from your earlier days than an actual attempt at seduction.

To your surprise, he answered. “ It's an obscure little place in Europe " Dazai took a sip of wine, let the taste linger on his tongue, with the tiniest of smiles on his lips. It was like he enjoyed making you wait, torturing your excited self with patience. " It’s called Meursault” 

" Meursault?  It sounds french" You observed. Instantly your mind filled with thoughts of  wine gardens, salt, water and the sea and calm countryside, and your face split into the biggest grin possible. "Must be pretty calm and serene; I look forward to seeing it"

“I’m sure it will feel just like home” … 

Author Note: I'm well aware this chapter left more questions than answers, so I'd like to hear what you guys think. What caught your attention? What did you react to? Did something seem odd and uncharacteristic for Dazai- and if so, why do you think he behaves this way? And most importantly, why Mersault?

And on a final note: I hope you enjoyed!

𝕄𝕒𝕚𝕟 |ℝ𝕒𝕧𝕖𝕟 |ℝ𝕦𝕝𝕖𝕤 |ℝ𝕖𝕢𝕦𝕖𝕤𝕥𝕤 |𝕄𝕒𝕤𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕝𝕚𝕤𝕥 |ℂ𝕣𝕖𝕕 & 𝕆𝕥𝕙𝕖𝕣

All fics are unique works by ©raven-cincaide 2024. Do not copy/repost/translate or spread my work(s) without my explicit permission. If you see any of my work(s) reworked/reposted/copied anywhere, please inform me!

[transmcytshowdown]

Mumbo Jumbo:

Submitted for: Hermitcraft, Last Life, Secret Life, Wild Life

Headcanons: Nonbinary, he/him

Propaganda: “[The submitter] think[s] trans Mumbo would be funny. Vote for him.”

“Guys. Guys. Mumbo Jumbo being a pathetic trans nonbinary he/they masc presenting guy. Being so proud of his moustache that he spends so long styling it every day. Wearing a suit everyday because it gives them the gender euphoria when wearing something so stereotypically 'masc'.”

Graaavel:

Submitted for: Exposure Craft

Headcanons: Transmasc, he/him

Propaganda: Is transmasc irl

Joel Smallishbeans:

Submitted for: Hermitcraft, Third Life, Last Life, Double Life, Limited Life, Secret Life, Wild Life, Empires SMP Season 1, Empires SMP Season 2

Headcanons: Transmasc, he/they; Trans man, he/him; Genderfluid, any pronouns; Trans masc, it/he/she; Transmasc Genderfluid, he/any; Identity not specified, they/he

Propaganda: “He’s just a silly little terracotta man with only a vague understanding of human gender he tries to impersonate but fails at.”

“Lizzie and Joel are a t4t bi4bi couple in [the submitter’s] heart. Lizzie transfem (she/her) Joel transmasc+gender fluid (he/any).”

“Basically anywhere you see him. Just like, the constant ‘Ooh i'm so manly, the manliest, I’m so tall and strong and handsome,’ and always insisting that he’s really tall despite being super short and the way his voice will sometimes get all high and squeaky these are all very transmasc coded things. He’s one of us, okay, he’s got the vibes, trust, he’s got our humor. Every time he goes mining on Hermitcraft there is always a caption that’s like ‘straight white male mining content’ which is more of his constant need to assert how macho and manly he is and in double life he says he’s not going to get in the pool cause he’s ‘ashamed of his Minecraft body’ which is very trans behavior. He’s got that confidence he can wear a dress for mcc and still know he’s a man which is very transmasc cause other men just got handed it, but we afab men have to look at masculinity and go ‘yeah that’s me’ and then make sure everyone knows it like that’s how you know being trans isn’t a choice because men kinda suck and I still went out and actively was like um guys I’m actually a man sorry. Some days he’s cool with just throwing gender norms out the window and some days he feels the need to yell for the whole world and the next couple galaxies as well to hear that he’s DeFiNiTeLy NoT WeArInG a CoRsEt GeM. Can you tell [the submitter’s] projecting? Cause [they’re] projecting. You can pry this headcanon out of [their] cold dead hands lol.”

“He has fluctuating chest dysphoria so sometimes he doesn't bind and sometimes he does. His bad dysphoria days are rare enough that he's not gonna bother with top surgery.”

“Transmasc Joel Smallishbeans is everything to [the submitter] and [the submitter] like[s] to think that forming the bad boys is what made him plug the tv back on and turn the brightness to the max, like he went ‘Oh we’re bad boys?? Guess I’m finally a boy now!”

“Nonbinary bad boy Joel except he is not a boy.”

"First, [the submitter] think[s] she was raised as a gender that just. doesn't exist here. She was raised in Mezalea where how gender works is just. different and, because she has a beard, everyone assumed she was a man but she's NOT and in recent years has been figuring out her own identity and pronouns in a way she hasn't ever thought about before and also she and Lizzie are butch4femme, amen. Or bi4bi. Both? She’s a masculine person and she likes stuff like the bad boys because it's more of a title separate from her gender. She’s just a masculine woman, amen.”

“He's a sopping wet tanooki (cat /j) and [jizzie] are t4t bi4bi coded.”

“Joel hasn't been called girlfriend/wife/girl by his friends for NOTHING. Bro’s the definition of gender and he slays in a dress no matter what (in Minecraft and in irl)."

[eternaltempest]

Light without Darkness

{Part 2 / TBD}

Demetrian Titus x Fem reader

! 🔞 ! ✠ Pregnancy ✠ Violence (chase scene?) ✠

A/N : God this park took forever. Also writing the latter half took the writussy outta me. Not sure what else to put for tw so uh- good luck!

Tempe out! ✌️

S : After a chance encounter with a guardsmen, you find yourself pregnant and terrified of the future in store. You plan to escape, only to be stopped in your tracks by Demetrian Titus himself, who gives you an unexpected vow

Part 1

Following the celebration, your days return to relative normalcy. You and the other serfs are put straight to work cleaning up after the feast. This one was particularly... unseemly and the messes made throughout the fortress take nearly a week to properly cleanse. 

You and your fellow serfs are no stranger to disarray though, and it is cleaned with efficacy. 

While working, however, you notice a set of unwanted changes within your body. At first you're just sore, that which is to be expected and only lasts for so long. And even the bruises and love bites eventually fade with time, albeit you found it tedious to cover them up each morning. But such was the livery codes of serfdom, as no self respecting serf would present themselves in such a manner before their lord. 

This was all manageable and you are able to pull through after a couple weeks. However, the soreness and pains were replaced with a sudden sickening dizziness and nausea. 

Each morning, you wake queasy and unsteady, a green tint to your bronzed skin damn near every morning. Your senses become hypersensitive, particularly to smells and you end up forgoing breakfasts, running to the nearest chamber pot or window each time you get a scent of anything unsavory. Which was more often than not.  Still, you press on. You dismiss the minor aches and inconveniences; the unusually strong, lingering odors of over seasoned food or the caked on sweat and blood of the infantry's laundry.     

Yet as days turn into weeks, you continue to push your luck and brush it off. You convince yourself that it’s just a passing sickness. Everyone falls ill at some point, you tell yourself. And many of the serfs became ill after the feast, you were just taking a bit longer to recover, that's all. Nothing more.

But by the time you know it, it has nearly been two months since the night of the feast. The morning sickness shows no sign of stopping and other symptoms arise as well, like near constant exhaustion even when you've had a full night's rest. you start to become anxious as you cannot deny the looming truth any longer. 

You find yourself one day brooding and sitting on your bed in your shared room, half-asleep and clutching your aching stomach. You stress about your realization and the truth of your... condition. You wearily get up and head to the serf maids common area, everyone else is there and as you enter the chamber there is a noticeable hush in the previously boisterous conversations. 

The other serfs have long noticed your behavior as well, but in your exhausted state, you fail to register their concerned whispers. 

Your friend Zoahra and two recently conscripted serf maids; the twins Sydia and Dynia, approach you out of concern. 

Zoahra puts a hand on your arm and tenderly pats you “Morning lovey, we're all a bit concerned for you, are you… feeling well?” You blink through the mind fog that seems to perpetually follow you, bleary-eyed and exhausted. "I am well, just a little tired.” you lie, forcing the corners of your mouth into a smile. "Why do you ask?"

"Because you are most clearly NOT, fine child!" A voice sharp but smooth pierces the hushed mutterings of the room. You turn around and realize it’s one of the older head serfs, Icara, a woman everyone sees as a mother in her matronly role. She’s seen many things in her long years as both a midwife to the high Lords of Macragge and a veteran serf. Throughout her years her eyes and mind remained sharp as steel and she was known for picking up on falsehoods or sniffing out a rat.

“You are not fine,” she scoffs. “And your deceptions are as poor as your health, child." She booms as she squints her knowing eyes at you. The room erupts with more whispers and you realize what everyone has been talking about. You hang your head with a mixture of embarrassment and shame.

"WHO TOLD YOU LOT TO PRATTLE ON ABOUT MENIAL TOPICS, ALL OF YOU, BACK TO WORK. IMMEDIATELY!" Icara booms, causing the hive of serfmaidens to frantically scatter to their posts. Zoahra, who stayed by your side, gives you an apologetic look and stays right where she is. The twins in their curiosity stay as well.

You four are left alone with the matron as she refocuses her attention on you. "Now, child, I am no stranger to the throes of life as a serf maiden. Nor am I ignorant to the annals of youth. And I promise you, no harm will come to you if you speak with honesty and humility. So that being said, if you'd please, tell me. Who is the father?” she sternly but gently coaxes you.

You hesitate, taking a pensive breath before answering in a rattled voice, “One of the guardsmen, an officer, I think. He had a beard but I… I-” 

You swallow your nerves before continuing. “Forgive me, Icara, I cannot remember. My memory of that night is all a distorted blur.”

“Emperor guide us, let’s hope it’s not one of the insufferable ones, like Major Cytharion,” Zoahra says with a sigh of exasperation. Cytharion is known to be a strict officer to both his serfs and the guardsmen under him. He has a presence as intimidating as an Ultramarine.

Your stomach churns at the very thought.

“He’d never. If anything, he would be easier to deal with if he got a little action. Even his personal serfs say he’s a headache.” one of the twins says with a wag of her eyebrows. "Besides I heard he's made friends with a company of Ultramarines and they often let him train with them!" Another adds enthusiastically.

"Just think if he ends up being an Ultramarine." At this point the twins are going back and forth, forgetting that the matron is right there beside them. 

"No way, that's unheard of. Regular people like Major Cytharion cannot become Space Marines so late in life. It's a whole process that starts at boyhood, you know." 

"Well maybe that's why he's so wound up, he missed his shot right? And that's why he's just a Major in the Imperial Infantry?" 

"Tch Major Cytharion, more like Major pain in the-"

The matron tsks and snaps her fingers at the two of them. “If you have the ability to stand idle and chitter then, you most certainly can start thinking to help.”

The twins are stunned into silence but turn to you and offer an apologetic bow, to which you return with a pat on their heads. They remind you of the younger serfs that grew up with you.

“Now, we must make plans,” the matron says firmly. “You may not recall the face of the father, but he will certainly remember you. In order to avoid confrontation, you'd best get to the outer city. I have connections there, people: good people, who can help hide you. Keep you and the child safe until enough time has passed to avoid suspicion. If we time everything correctly you may leave within-”

"Wha- pardon me, Matron, but leave?? I cannot leave. All my life I've only ever known the inner city and this fortress.” Your face twisting in horror as you imagine the situation 

“And a serf can't simply leave, we're hunted down and forced to return to our lords. Nevermind about the subjection to any manner of punishment. It's dangerous!" You plead with a tinge of fear in your voice. Such notions of fleeing your livelihood are unthinkable to you and many others in servitude.

She pauses, her tone deepening when she speaks. “Ordinarily, yes, this would be unheard of. However, given the circumstances you cannot stay. If you do, you'll be punished either way, and even worse, your child could be taken and you would have little say in it. You must have strength.”

You reel slightly and your face contorts with the realization. They're both dangerous options, but at least with the former you'll be able to be with your child and it wouldn’t be subject to a life as a serf like your own parents subjected you at birth. You swallow a knot in your throat and meet the eyes of the Matron. 

"What must I do?"

She begins to explain her plan with precision worthy of her years. Like she has done this a million times before, and it comforts you in your hour of need. The preparations will take time, lots of time. Over the next fortnight, you all coordinate in between downtime and shared chores. Practicing over and over until everyone has their parts memorized by heart. 

A few days after you are with Zomahra and Icara, hanging up sheets to dry in the inner courtyards. It dawns on you to ask something that has been at the back of your mind since the day in the common room. 

"Why are you all helping me?" You ask with a curious and cautious tone. 

They both pause their work and steal a glance at each other before once more busying their hands. But nonetheless they answer in haste. Icara is the first to speak.

"Many years ago when I still worked as a midwife to many of the Lords and their ladies I was also midwife to the locals. Young maidens such as yourself, but oh how they struggled. You know not of the desperation countless women suffer through. Many of them endured violent acts at the hands of their lords and subsequent retaliation of their envious ladies. And many more succumb to unspeakable invasions of their bodies so they would be rid of a lifetime of living reminders of their abuse." Her voice drops to a reverent whisper as she reaches the end of her sentence.

"Others were in a situation similar to yours but with much less at stake, they chose to flee regardless. No matter the situation, I helped them all. And although it has been decades since those times, your struggle reminded me I still have a moral obligation to uphold." She finishes with a pained smile. 

There are countless people under the Imperium of the God Emperor, as abundant as the grains of sand or stars in the sky. One less life in the world would make little or no difference at all. But to say or think one thing and to actually do it are completely different concepts. And you cannot bring yourself to do what the Matron spoke of. 

Zoahra speaks up while you ponder Icara's words. "Well, I am not sure if you remember but you helped me so much when I first came to be conscripted. And over the years I've come to see you as a dear friend. Perhaps... My dearest one." She states bashfully 

“And there's no chance I'll let you suffer through this alone, at least not if I can help it…” her words trail off as her face flushes red and she quite literally hides behind the fresh linen. 

Overwhelmed with gratitude you give her the warmest hug you can muster “For one such as I, so fallen from grace, it is an assurance to have so faithful a friend. Thank you so much, Zo.” You say as you bury your face in her side swept hair. You squeeze her close, grateful to have someone like her in your corner. “I'm grateful for your steadfast loyalty, even though I have not mirrored the same to you.” You place a hand on the side of her head and leave a kiss on her forehead. Her entire face turns crimson as she jerks back and touches her hand to where you planted it. “Wha- you! I-!!!” She stutters as she tries to find her composure “I-it's not like you wouldn't do the same for me!” 

Her bashful demeanor makes you smile and the Matron lets out a hearty laugh behind you. In days of relative anxiety, the jovial mood is a welcome one and it gives you hope for the long journey ahead of you. 

The coming weeks are filled with further preparation for your departure. Icara has asked a few other serfs whom she trusts to aid with the plan. She begins to  detail her plan for you. Schedules and movements are practiced with everyone over and over, all under the guise of emergency drills or supply runs so that the ever watchful eyes of the servo-skulls and the chaplains are avoided. Until finally, everyone is comfortable in their roles and timing and the day of your escape is at hand.

That night, you make your escape, donning an unassuming merchant garb and a cloak to attract less attention. Clutching a satchel of emergency supplies you begin your path, your heart stirs in your chest while you navigate the fortress’ dimly lit corridors. Thanks to Icara’s foresight, all who would be patrolling are well distracted or removed from the usual patrol routes.

You slip through the dimly lit corridors, staying close to the stone walls with quiet steps, and appearing as normal when you encounter someone so as to not raise suspicion. You swiftly twist and turn in the halls that are more abandoned as you pray that no one spots you. You grow more excited the closer you get to the main exit, but then notice— a shadow of movement, the steps quiet as a barge mouse but sñthe figure large enough to be...

You pause at the realization. An Astartes. The world goes deafeningly silent and your stomach lurches with a combination of your sensitivity and anxiety. Then the shadow moves again, and your senses sharpen with the sudden adrenaline. You can hear the ceramite dragging on the stone floor as he inches closer. Your eyes dart around as a multitude of questions arise. Here? Now?  Why? He shouldn’t be here. You and the others checked and double-checked, consistently and obsessively, so no one should be here. So why,  why? 

You don’t have time to ponder long as the weight of the steps continue their pursuit of you. But as you try to shake him it dawns on you; he’s been following you. He knew you were there from the beginning, before you could even think to run or hide.

The corridor suddenly shrinks around you and you feel a chill as you break out into a cold sweat, but you regain your composure and instead retreat back around the way you came. Darting down a different hallway, keeping note of your location respective to the fortress' exit. Maybe you can get around him and avoid being caught completely. “Don’t panic, don't panic, if you act as if  you’re doing nothing wrong you’ll be fine, just keep going, keep going.” You think to yourself like a mantra to keep yourself grounded and focused.

Your stomach twists, threatening to fold you over and slow you down. But you can’t let yourself get caught — not now, not after coming so close. You clutch your abdomen as you calmly navigate the corridors until you find something familiar, a symbol on the walls signaling a path to the exit. You let out a quick sigh of relief. You approach the corner and beyond it finally see the massive metal doors that are marked as an egress. 

You’re so close now, but so is the marine you catch a glimpse of — your eyes meeting for a split second as you round the corner. Something in you snaps and you break out into a run, hopeless compared to the speed of an Ultramarine but you’ll be damned if you don’t try. 

Thunk- Thunk- Thunk- Thunk.

The heavy footsteps fall in line, one rapid step after another. The chase is pathetically short lived, you don’t even make it half way down the hall before he’s already upon you. His imposing shadow looms over you and the world slows to a crawl, the once long corridor stretches out into an abysmal length. Like a rabbit in the clutches of a wolf, you freeze. Your hands are chilled as your sweat robs you of warmth. 

There’s silence except for shaky breaths and the loud rushing of blood to your head.

Until a heavy gauntlet hand lands on your shoulder and you jump from the sudden contact.

You hear movement and a sudden whisper in your ear 

“Breathe,” 

You do, but it refuses to come out as anything less than trembling breaths. In an instant all those plans you made, the efforts of everyone involved, have been in vain. Tears of fear and frustration well up in your eyes. But that voice, it almost sounded like

He squeezes your shoulder. It’s not a command, but a gentle urging for you to turn around and face him. And what else can you do? You obey and half heartedly turn to look up at him. You recognize him right away. It’s Lord Lieutenant Demetrian Titus, an officer of the Ultramarine 2nd Company. As a ranked officer his orders were absolute, second only to those above him in rank. From the whispers and gossip you had heard of him, he is a long decorated war hero. Though if you recall correctly he had a recent demotion, why and of what severity was unknown to you. Despite his vague fall from grace, he’s always been a favorite among the serfs for his exemplary kindness and temperance among his fellow Ultramarines. Why someone of such renown was bothering with a lowly serf like you was beyond you though.

The usual stern expression softens with concern when he takes in the clearly troubled look on your face and your still shaky breathing. Yet, his hand remains firm on your shoulder, steadying you.

“Breathe,” he says again, kinder this time. “Explain yourself.”

“P-please my Lord,” you whisper as you turn your gaze to the ground between the both of you. There’s no sense lying or trying to make excuses now. “I cannot remain… I-” Your own words betray you as they get caught in the  lump in your throat.

You feel another gentle squeeze, a soft but urgent reminder to speak. You lift your head back up to him but avoid meeting his eyes by squeezing your eyes shut. A warm, desperate tear streaks down your cheek. 

“I’m with child, Lord Titus.”

Titus slowly moves his head back, as if to show his sudden clarity, his grip on your shoulder lifting but never leaving. “Hrm, but why flee?” His question coming off rhetorical.

You blink, not expecting the question, and the shock suspends your tears momentarily. Titus’ mind races, no doubt, mulling the situation over in his head, trying to find answers in the codes and regulations, and a way through. But he comes up short. After all, it is not often an Ultramarine, especially an officer, is made to deal with such civilian frivolities. Not knowing what to follow up with, he begins asking more questions. “Why not just raise the child here? It would not be the first time.” 

You shake your head, your head still hanging low. “The Ordinator of the House and the Master of the Refectorium I serve under, are both exemplary but quite strict. They say there is no room to bring up unwanted babes. Besides I—.” 

The shame in your next thought stops you as you further explain. 

“As much as the position is honorable, I do not wish to burden my child with the life of a serf. My own parents brought me into this world a serf but that does little to motivate the same fate for mine. My thought was to flee the fortress and raise my baby in the outer city, where it is relatively safe. But… now…”

His gaze hardens as he brings the other hand up and squeezes your shoulders.

“That is… unfortunate” he begins. “However, suppose there was a way to avoid this.”

Your brows furrow in confusion, lifting your head to look up at him, a fragile blend of fear and hope twisting inside of you. “...how?”

“You wouldn’t just run without a good reason especially given the ideology of your serf officers and the mention of your child being unwanted.” 

While he continues you wince at his words, although you yourself never considered your baby undesirable, it hurts to think others would. Or worse, take them from you.

“I suspect the father is not another serf, and it is this that drives you to take such drastic action.”

Meeting his eyes, your face twists in the looming fear of having to relinquish your child  “I am afraid,” you confess quietly, as the stream of tears track down your face once more. “I don’t know what to do. What if he takes the baby from me… what if he makes it so I never see it again— what if he dooms it to a life worse than serfdom!” You place your hands on his forearms in a desperate attempt to explain yourself “I do not want them to take away my baby!” You shake your head vehemently among your cries.

Titus’ hands tighten on your shoulders, effectively focusing you and drawing your attention back to him. “I understand. I do. It is the duty of an Astartes under the God Emperor Himself to protect humanity. That is why, on my honor, I will offer you my protection,” he vows. “Become my personal seneschal and I can shield you. And if need be, I will claim your child as my own.”

You jerk your head back and your face contorts in apprehension at his sudden vow “But— my lord… What of your status? What of your reputation!? Why would you—?” you bring a hand to your chest as you react.

“I have weathered worse blows to my reputation,” Titus replies, a look of fortitude upon his face. He looks down at you. “And this is the right course of action. There is little I could do in this situation, this is what I believe is appropriate.”

The astounded expression remains on your face as you cannot shake the reality of what is happening. 

“Come,” he says, letting go of your shoulders. He gently takes the satchel of supplies from your hands.

But you are frozen still. More so stunned than afraid now. Titus could have easily overtaken your meager strength when you refused to budge but he just looks back when he notices your hesitance. 

You stare at him. A scowl on your face and mouth agape.  “My lord, forgive my impertinence but why are you doing this? Do you not think this to be far beneath your station? It’s not even—”

You look away as you stop yourself from sounding too insolent by telling him it has nothing to do with him. 

“It’s nothing to do with one such as yourself. My lord.” 

He is silent for a moment too long until finally “Do not concern yourself with such things.” he says with a low timbre in his voice. 

He extends a firm hand to you.

You glance at his hand and back at him. Your expression falls seriously.

He sighs, perhaps out of slight exasperation.

“Come. There is a room near my quarters you may utilize, and once you’ve gathered your thoughts we can discuss this further.”

You hold his gaze but take his hand and begrudgingly accept his help

It is either this or losing your child to its unknown father. The former, although bizarre, seems a lot more… manageable at the very least.

“Thank you. Lord Titus.” you murmur, following him as he leads you deeper back into the fortress. With each step, you feel the heavy weight of fear and uncertain lift and for the first time in weeks, you breathe.

[alexa-fika]

First off i love all of you one piece fics. I just recently got into the fandom again and i found you fics and they are just amazing

I wanted to request whitebeard crew x teen reader

This js kinda based of my cat, so here's the backstory, we originally had 2 cats until recently when my mom brought back a "stray", really cuddly cat and we all loved it, unfortunately later it turned out that this stray was already someone's cat so we gave it back, but while it was here one of the original cats was really jealous. Usually she hates being picked up except when it's me, but while the "stray" stayed with us she became really mean and not even I was allowed to pick her up

And I wanted to ask if you could write something similar to this, were the whitebeards maybe pick up another teen or just a new crewmate and the reader is kinda jealous/mean and scared the they might be replaced (abandonment issues) and maybe add one person they usually have a great relationship with but suddenly they completely avoid/ignore them and won't let anyone be near them.

I hope you can work with this, sorry for writing so much

Have a great day/night and know that you are amazing!! <3

First Envy (teen!Marco x winged!teen!reader)

A/N . Throwing a tantrum because I left the app to get a pic of young marco to share and tumblr deleted my progress. Anyhow something about young marco just tickles my fancy, he’s just such a goofy guy and even more lovable

Reader here is replaced by Dokucha which stands for reader in japanese for the enjoyment of both reader and oc characters both!

Dividers by @/firefly-graphics

“Come on, Dokucha! Join the party!” Vista called excitedly

“You can’t drink yet, but there are a lot of other things you can do; we have set up a lot of games since we have more kids around,” he prattled on, only to pause and wince at the glare the teen sent their way.

“Okay… I’ll leave you be then,” he muttered as he backed away from them and turned around, making a quick exit.

Dokucha sighed, watching from their place on the nest as the rest of the crew below them partied; what brought a scowl to the face, however, was the center of the celebration: their newest addition to the crew, Momonosoke.

They enviously observed as everyone fretted over him, ensuring he didn’t run anywhere dangerous or, God forbid, fall and start crying. Oh, the cries. Every time they cried, it was as if everything had to stop in order to check on him.

“If you stare any harder, Momo won’t survive-yoi!”

“Huh?” They snapped their head around at the sound only to see an empty space beside them rather than a person.

“Up Here-yoi!” Marco laughed as he called to the teen, his devil fruit activated as he used his wings to hold himself upside down in the air.

“Agh! Marco! I told you to stop doing that!” they called, scurrying back to make space between them.

“Haha! But your reactions are just the best-yoi!” he cackled, righting himself up and perching on the railings of the nest.

“What are you doing here?”

“I was lonely down there-yoi! I was missing my best mate!” he called jovially.

“Din’t seem that way, you seem to be just fine with the new people,” they sneered, taking hold of a rope and swinging themselves to an adjacent crow’s nest, their wings flapping on instinct behind them.

“You mean Momo? Well, it is refreshing to have new faces, not to mention that they are quite adorable!” he gushed, a small blush on his face as he did.

“Then, by all means, please go and spend your precious time with them.” They scoff, turning away from them, earning Marco a frown as he glided his way down, straight onto Whitebeard’s shoulder.

“Hey Pops! Something’s going on with Dokucha.”

“Hah, What do you mean?” he grumbled, looking up at his youngest

“Well, they are kind of snappy-yoi”

“They are always snappy, Marco,” he called with a roll of his eyes.

“Huh? No, they’re not. I mean, they aren’t a ray of sunshine, but they aren’t snappy, either. But now they seem to have been avoiding me. They seem to have been like this since Momo arrived,” he mused as a thought hit him.

“Are they jealous of the baby-yoi?!”

“Marco, you idiot!” he growled, bringing his fist down on the armrest of his chair, scaring Marco enough to make him jump off the older man’s shoulders.

“P-Pops?” he called as he took to hovering in front of the man.

“They’re scared!” he snapped.

“Of a baby?!” he cried.

“Listen Here, Marco, the kid has been here for a month. Do you remember where we rescued them from? How they were?! They were close to dying with their wings completely mangled! They are still trying to get used to the fact that not everyone out there is an abusive bastard that will sell them for some spare change!” Whitebeard barked

“T-They think we’re going to leave them?! But we aren’t! Can’t you talk to them, Pops?”

“That’s no good; they won’t listen to me,” he muttered as he tilted his tokkuri all the way, u,p, taking in every drop of the sake inside.

“What is that supposed to mean-yoi? Who would they listen if not you, Pops?” he asked as he flew closer to the man, his worry increasing as time went on.

“You! You Moron!” He boomed

“Me?!”

“Marco, I took them in, but they only trust you at this moment; they relate the most to you physically,” he started, gesturing to his avian features

“And you are the closest in age to them, too,” he finished. It was a small detail, seeing as the next youngest, Vista, was only 2 years older than Marco, standing at seventeen, but it seems that to the thirteen-year-old, this was a significant gap that his older sons were still unable to cross. However, he thought this to not be the defining factor, unlike the features that they both seem to share, Especially now when the teen found themselves in a stage where they had to re-learn everything that had to do with their wings as the appendages slowly grew back, as such they did the most reasonable thing and looked for the person who could guide them, Marco.

“I thought I told you to leave,” they snarled, hearing the flapping of wings behind them and the breeze of wind that came from them.

“You did-yoi.”

“You talked to the old man? He put you up to this?”

“Not really-yoi, he did made me realized you might be feeling lonely though!” he called flying In front of them, giving them no other option but to pay attention to the teen.

“You know we’re just excited for Momo to be here, right? We’re happy you’re here too,” he asked, getting excited as they hummed in response, knowing that they had caught their attention.

“You’re one of us, too,” he grinned, putting himself upside down once again.

“Besides! can’t imagine being without a flying buddy! t was starting to get on my nerves to be the only one able to do air scouting-yoi!” letting out a snicker as he noticed their bashful response at his honest words.

“I can’t really do much of that right now, though,” they muttered, glancing at their tiny stubby wings.

“You will, but you still won’t be able to beat me, so don’t get your hopes up,” he teased.

“As if! give it a few months, you will be eating those words!”

“You’re on-yoi.”

“Ha! I don’t need them to beat you now!” They smirked, taking hold of the ropes once again as they swung away, grabbing a hold of another rope as soon as their current one ran out, effectively gliding around the ship with little to no effort.

“You better not regret taking me on-yoi.” He called as he righted himself and propelled himself forward right after Dokucha.

“Ha! You show that prick, Dokucha! Someone has to put him in his place!” Fossa grinned as his crewmates joined in, cheers and whistles sounded across the Deck as the two avians traversed the ship, their own glee evident.

Look at this goofy guy

Was trying to find the one of him upside down but this will do. Also this fic just made me realized that Marco isin’t the oldest one in the crew :p I had thought he was older than the other commanders but theres like five older than him.

Taglist:

@Imaginarydreams

@amethystviolin

@h0n3y-l3m0n05

@hannahbarberra162

@epochal-oracle

[muffinthedestroyerofgods]

This is my new son Tax Evasion. I love him so much and i will make more.

[territorial-utopia]

Huzzah! It's birthday time! I'm slowly accumulating more and more things I like (latest additions this vest I made and a travel typewriter! Still need to fix the latter one though)

Sure has been a year.

[brionysea]

for the record I'm keeping my #arcane and #arcane critical tags separate because 1) it's rude to go into a show's main tag to complain about it and 2) this way I can still go into the arcane tag on my own blog to enjoy season 1 stuff without being perpetually disappointed by season 2

[lemongogo]

college … wasted on the youth (me)

[the-leyline-directory]

Due to my medication (Testosterone Injection) no longer being covered by insurance, I'm making a proper commission sheet to link as I'll need to cover it out of pocket now \o/

Notes!

Payment will be handled through Invoices via Paypal.

All Prices are in USD.

Payment is half before sketch, half after sketch acceptance.

'Due Dates' are encouraged! (Turn Around time varies, common 1-2 weeks for lines, 2-3 for final color, Full Ref tentative 4. This is taking my IRL responsibilities into account o/)

Limited Slots (2), you can see on Blog Description Hover Info.

Speedpaints/recordings/streaming available on Request only (Adds to turn around time)

Send inquiries through DMs, or Asks!

\o/ I welcome Canon Character (Fanart), Romantic Ships, OCs, 'Furry', and Mechanical/Tech!

(If NSFW desired, that is technically an option but I would present it more in appealing pin-ups or suggestive poses)

[shirogane-oushirou]

no promises anymoooooreeeee i'll appear online when i appear online 😭 every time i say "ooh i think life is almost done being overwhelming!" it. becomes even more overwhelming in the dumbest ways. all i can manage rn when i'm not stressing myself into a shut-down state is staring at the wall while listening to youtube essays + mindlessly crocheting.

i might queue up ppls art and fics w/o commentary in the tags... i want other ppl to see what all of my cool friends have made, but i genuinely can't think right now with this monstrous brain fog. i'm really sorry, just. yeah. maybe i'll think of some way to make it up later!!! once the dust has settled!!!! but until then i wuv u and miss u. smiles.

[venting in tags including familial manipulation and ableism. i. didn't mean to write all of that, thiss was originally going to be a main blog post but. aaaaaAAAAAA!!!!!

also no need for replies or anything, i'd turn them off for just the one post if i could kjsndkn, i just needed to get things out and go eep jsjndsfdn ok bye bye bye bye!!!!]

[hecatesbroom]

Last day at work before the summer holidays (& my final day at work in this place specifically) and ohh. the mixed feelings :')

[britneyshakespeare]

you know someday i'm gonna feel so good when i have my student loans paid off

that ain't gonna be soon, trust me, but i think about it

[asterdeer]

Y'ALL.

after just over 2 years of work, i finished the Ace Jon Quilt.

inspired by @/speakerunfolding's fanart of jon jarchivist sims with an ace-colors quilt, which was so sweet and cozy and which is still one of my favorite pieces of jon artwork. anything unsightly in this quilt is original to my work; the fanart is adorable and lovely, 10/10, no notes.

as previously mentioned, i've been working on this quilt since late 2022, which means i started it when i was still pretty new to quilting. i batch-cut a bunch of pieces for the the gray squares, and they were a quarter inch too small, which doesn't sound like it should be a big deal! but it sure was! there is....... not as much lining up of the squares as there should be, and it does not lie particularly flat.

it's also the biggest quilt i've made - approx 7 x 9 feet. actually quilting it was a pain in the ass, which is why i didn't do as much of it as i probably should, but i love quilting with decorative stitches. i backed it with bubble/double gauze which i didn't want to put through the machine, so i did most of the quilting on the top and batting and tacked it to the backing by hand. the green thread is because, you know, tma, and also because why not throw some aro + agender garnish on the ace quilt?

ANYWAY. all the yapping to say. i love this quilt. it's messy and imperfect and i worked on it through a nearly month-long cold/headache to finish it, it's essentially all i've done since christmas besides sleep and watch arcane. don't look too close at anything about it except for the parts that i was not necessarily responsible for, but also......... look at it !!! this is currently my masterpiece and i can't wait to cuddle up underneath it properly.

[kuromi-hoemie]

hhhh talking about my writing was fun but 30 tags is not enough.. yes i have 3 major influences but i have minor ones too.. it is a lovechild of my favorite things.. writing is so fun and i have no self control or a concept of pacing myself i will sit there for 16 hours and get hit with every status effect but by god does it all just flow out of me. I've always been a music person yes but i also used to write a lot into early adulthood until The Incident™

but i am ready 2 jump back into it. i think comics are a great middle ground between the two mediums so i don't get As into writing bc i kind of started going crazy last time 🫡 i can take a more structured approach to it that forces me to pace myself and think about it differently. i love art.... i love making things i love knowing how to do things i love knowing how to play things i love having so many creative outlets, even if i don't do a lot of them regularly lol. it is enriching 😳 and nice to know that it's always there to come back to when u want.