#some other pink variant

[savage-rhi]

🍞

[killuaisaprincess]

PRINCESS MY ONLY PRINCESS

[awoart114253]

was rematching some s8 episodes and taking a closer look at the dialogue... did Ex really turn Xisuma into a pink axoltl? lol the implications of that are quite funny

[reddpenn]

Here is a potentially silly question: how do you feel about birthstones? Do you think they fit the months (by season or astrological sign)? Do you have other stones you'd rather see as birthstones?

Okay, so, birthstones make absolutely no sense.

I mean, look at this mess. We’re doing beryl and corundum twice! I get that they get Special Different Names for their Special Different Colors, but it's just lazy. And why are we giving some months cheap, common gemstones like garnet and amethyst while the poor June birthdays have to shell out tens of thousands of dollars for FREAKING ALEXANDRITE? That’s incredibly unfair! We should be picking birthstones that are all roughly the same price. And why do some months get multiple gemstones? I’ll tell you why: because nobody can agree on an official list and every attempt to standardize this thing has just added MORE birthstones to every month.

So obviously the answer is to standardize it again, by throwing out everything and starting over. Here are our goals:

Fair pricing. You should be paying roughly the same amount regardless of what month you were born in. We’re getting rid of those ridiculous outliers like diamond and alexandrite.

More customization potential! Nobody should be stuck with a stone they hate. We’re picking gemstones that come in multiple colors or varieties, so that everyone can choose a variant they like.

Wearability. Some birthstones are too fragile to be worn as jewelry. We need to replace them with stronger stuff.

No more duplicate gemstones. Every month gets a stone or family of stones with a unique chemical composition.

Now without further ado, I present to you:

The New And Improved List Of Birthstones With No Problems Or Flaws That Everyone Will Definitely Agree On And We Can Start Using Right Now Immediately

JANUARY: GARNET

I've got no problem with garnet. It's a fine, classic birthstone, so January can keep it. But I would like to see a little more garnet diversity. January birthdays shouldn’t be confined to just red. The garnet family of minerals contains a rainbow of different colors, like orange hessonite, green uvarovite, pink rhodolite, yellow grandite, and many more. They’re all garnet, so we should be wearing them all!

FEBRUARY: QUARTZ

The original birthstone of February was amethyst, which is… kinda boring. Super cheap and common and you only get one color? No, we can do better. February gets ALL the quartzes now. Keep wearing amethyst if you want, but also feel free to branch out into clear quartz, citrine, rose quartz, smoky quartz, rutilated quartz, tiger eye… actually, take all the agates too. If it’s quartz, it’s yours!

MARCH: SPODUMENE

March was originally aquamarine, but I’ll be giving all the beryls to May, so we need a different stone here. Let’s stick with that theme of pale pastels and go with spodumene. For an April birthday, bedeck yourself in green hiddenite, pink kunzite, or yellow triphane. Despite its subtle colors, your birthstone has some amazing fluorescence, with really cool pinks and oranges under a UV light.

APRIL: FELDSPAR

Diamond is too pricy for this list, so we’re replacing it with something less expensive and way more interesting. April will now be represented by the feldspar family. We’re talking labradorite, moonstone, amazonite, aventurine, and sunstone. While you don’t have much variety in color, your stones are full of shimmery schiller which glitters and shifts as it catches the light.

MAY: BERYL

May’s original birthstone was emerald, which is great and can stay, but we’re also adding its siblings! May is now represented by all beryls: Emerald, Aquamarine, Morganite, Bixbite, Heliodor, Goshenite, and whatever other varieties I’m forgetting to list. A bright and saturated rainbow of colors is represented here, so everyone born in May is sure to find something they like.

JUNE: ORGANIC GEMSTONES AND FOSSILS

It’s time to address the alexandrite in the room, and obviously we’re getting rid of alexandrite. A stone worth $15,000 to $70,000 a carat does not belong on the same list as friggin amethyst. Instead we’ll look at the other traditional June birthstone, pearl. The problem with pearl is that it’s a clear outlier in this list. An organic gemstone, by some definitions not even a mineral. Should we replace it? NO. We are OWNING it. All organic gemstones now belong to June. Pearl is joined here by jet, amber, coral, ivory, ammolite, petrified wood… in fact, June can have every fossil ever.

JULY: SPINEL

July was originally represented by ruby, which is a fine stone and won’t be kicked off the birthstone list - we’re just shuffling it down to September. Replacing ruby for July is spinel. (See, it’s funny because historically spinel has often been mistakenly identified as ruby! That's a little gemology humor for you.) Available in any hue you could possibly desire, spinel offers some nice color options to a month that previously only featured red. Of course if you want to keep wearing red, red spinel mimics ruby so well that you’ll barely notice the difference.

AUGUST: PERIDOT

Nope, we’re not changing this one. Peridot is the ideal gemstone and you ungrateful August whiners can die mad about it. HOW ABOUT YOU LEARN TO APPRECIATE PERFECTION

SEPTEMBER: CORUNDUM

Sapphire is a wonderful, classic stone and it deserves its spot on this list. But the corundum family has been separated for far too long, and we’re finally going to reunite them. Joining sapphire in September is its sister ruby. Between the pinks and reds of ruby and the many, many colors of sapphire, these two stones give September a nice variety of colors.

OCTOBER: TOURMALINE

Look, as gorgeous as opal is and as much as I love it, it is both way too pricy for our list and also TERRIBLE in jewelry. This stone is just too brittle to wear around from day to day and can be ruined just by getting it wet, which makes wearing your birthstone a huge hassle. We’ll kick opal out and hang on to October’s other traditional birthstone, tourmaline. Pink tourmaline may be classic, but this stone comes in plenty of other colors. Whether it’s brown dravite, watermelon elbaite, or the rare and beautiful blue indicolite, you can wear them all!

NOVEMBER: TOPAZ

November can keep topaz, but we’re not confining it to the color yellow. This stone comes in a huge variety of colors, and now they can ALL represent November. No further notes; it’s a nice, classic stone.

DECEMBER: ZIRCON

I dunno, I’ve had to come up with 12 of these, I’m burnt out. Sure, zircon, whatever.

“BUT WAIT,” you say. “Now instead of having a single color assigned to each month, almost every month is represented by almost every color, making it impossible to tell anyone’s birthstones apart and removing what made them special and recognizable as symbols!”

Well CLEARLY you didn’t read the title of this list.

[arolesbianism]

Soooo tempted to immediately isolate all my new followers by dropping some stalien biology infodumping. Did y'all know that technically Dancer's blood is the dark variant of blue blood

[softfem-dom]

the four times they asked about his sidekick, and the one time he realized why. (pt.1)

worst!logan + d&w!deadpool x suicidal!reader

a/n : okay this is sad and emotion-driven asf, so if you're sensitive to suicide mentions or emotional trumoil and problems of self-worth please do not continue reading this. Also warning for suicide description for the other universes' sidekicks. first part out of five!

wc : 2k

TW FOR SUICIDE , TW FOR DEPRESSION , SOFT!WADE , SOFT!WORST!LOGAN , WADE BEING UNABLE TO LOOK AFTER A KID , HEAVY/MULTIPLE BATMAN AND JASON TODD REFERENCES , DEADPOOL VARIANTS FUSSING OVER READER. soft!worst logan . overprotective!deadpool . only-deadpool-still-with-sidekick!wade wilson

Think of Batman and Robin.

Yup. Now turn and twist it around some more and make it.. more chaotic, more unhinged. More morally questionable.

And then think of Deadpool. The merc with a mouth. The dude that chose a red suit just so he didn't have to bother about the red stains.

And then add up a teenager to the recipe. As chaotic as the man, maybe a bit naïver. And you've got Deadpool and his sidekick.

Because if all cool superheros had sidekicks, then Deadpool —albeit while not actively being a superhero. Had to have one too, didn't he?

And that's how you had ended up roped into all of his unethical adventures, killing off the bad guys that had the highest price above their head and helping Deadpool run the official Spideypool fanwebsite.

But, despite how many masks you put on, despite how many bad guys you killed, despite how many times you had saved someone. You were still just you.

A teenager. A teenager paired up with an older, unhinged, mercenary that ran his mouth way too much and that got you into way too much trouble.

A teenager paired up with an irresponsible adult without emotional responsability was the fucking equivalent of throwing a trained lab mouse inside the first maze that didn't have an exist.

Wade cared about you. Yeah, you knew that. But the problem was that you were a teenager and teenagers needed a certain amount of care to grow healthyly.

Because physically you were great, with how much running around and being-at-the-verge-of-death you did. But mentally? God, then you were the messiest mess in the planet.

Spending so much time with someone that had so many intrusive thoughts, that spilled his thoughts without filter, had rubbed off on you.

And sometimes you scared yourself when sudden thoughts popped up in your mind. Like the sudden pull in your legs anytime you walked near the edge of a roof, the "jump!" that flashed across your head. Or the way you wondered, asked yourself, what it would feel to be stabbed when you were cleaning Deadpool's katanas. Or the way you started to throw yourself at danger's way just for the thrill of it. And if you died, well, there went nothing.

It was wrong. It was bad. And it was a totally unhealthy and toxic vice. You knew you were self-destructive.

But you didn't know how to do doing anything about it.

You see, if Deadpool wasn't so reckless and careless maybe you would've told him. But since he did it, you grew into your late teens thinking it was okay.

,,

Lately, your thoughts had grew more dangerous. More specific. And you were starting to get scared of yourself. In movies, that was how villians started —with destructive thoughts. And you didn't want to become a villian.

What would Wade think of you? He'd be disappointed in you, hate your guts, despise you.

So your mind jumped to the quickest—and most self-destructive—conclussion. Offing yourself before that happened.

And you had nearly 10 pages of your pink diary written with ways of carrying on with that plan. Glitter gel pen words scribbled about the knifes in the house—their lengths and sharpness—, about the belts stacked away in Wade's closet, about the height of the fall from the balcony to the ground. You had everything planned.

And Wade hadn't caught onto anything of it, except for the fact you seemed more twitchy and on edge than usual. He tied it to the usual teenage anxiousness that came with your age.

He didn't know this was the last mission he was going to have you in.

,,

He had just brought you along on this 'adventure' just like he had did with all of the ones before, except in this one there was another.. —reluctant—companion.

Logan Howlett. The Wolverine.

And not the dead hero that Wade had unburied a few days before. No. This one was the worst variant of Wolverine in the whole multiverse, the one from the timeline where he killed all of the X-Men.

And that Howlett was smelling something coming.

He could smell the irony scent of blood whafting off of you, a bitter scent choking his airways. Your scent was way too bitter for how cheerful you were, except maybe you weren't.

This Logan had only barely known you for two days, but if something were to happen to you he'd kill the responsible, then find a way to kill the mercenary and then find a way to kill himself too.

But, first. Stop, pause, rewind. How this did even start?

,,

You groaned as you helped Wade drag the uncounscious body of the drunk Wolverine you had found in a random timeline —the only one in which the dude hadn't tried to kill you at first sight. Entering through the door-shaped orange portal to the TVA room.

"one anchor being coming right up!" Wade's voice rang through the air before the merc, fully dressed in his suit, had crossed the portal.

You let out a startled squeak when the antihero pretty much threw the uncounscious body of the Logan on the ground, wincing at the metallic sound of his skull against the floor.

"Wade!" you hissed. "c'mon pumpkin', don't sweat it. He's full metal, remember?" he said as he gave the drunk Logan a kick in the side, the metallic sound echoing his words.

"listen here, babygirl" the merc started, looking at the unimpressed man before him. "this Wolverine has the he-can-do-anything-even-musical-stuff look to him and bonus he's actually wearing the accurate comic costume. So, uh yeah, there, timeline saved"

The silence coming from the dude that had called Wade here in the first place didn't sound too good get it?. And as you sat there, poking the drunk man's face with your index finger while whispering for him to "wake up, Wolvie, rise and shine, wakey wakey?"

"I don't understand"

"You said my, our" he pointed at you "universe is dying because this nutsack died, well, problem solved" he now pointed at Logan.

"oh my god" Paradox breathed out. "you actually think you can replace an Anchor Being with this?"

Oh, great. A rant was comming. Like the ones your mother goes on when you mess up too many times.

"I wouldn't have accepted any other Wolverine BT dubs. But you.. have outdone yourself and brought me the worst Wolverine in the whole multiverse!"

It looked as if the dude's temple vein was going to pop, and you weakly interveened. "what do you mean the worst one..?" you breathed out.

"This Wolverine let down his entire world, he's the stuff of Legend but not in a good way and what he did.. well, some things are just beyond forgiveness"

A beat of silence followed, you knew the Wolverine on the floor had been awake and listening for the whole time. But then, you saw Paradox finally looking at you.

"wait"

"what?"

"is that your little sidekick?"

The incredulous, and cruelly amused, tone of the man in uniform made Wade quirk an eyebrow under his mask.

"yeah, why?"

His words were followed by a booming laugh coming from Paradox. His hand going to his face, pinching the bridge of his nose, as chuckle after chuckle it just confused Wade and you even more.

"I can't believe you've still got her"

That was like a titty-flash for Wade, and not the good kind. He stood there, mouth gaping like a fish as he wildly and overexageredly gestured towards you.

"I gave you a chance at greatness, because my superiors deemed you special. But, I did my duty. I gave you the opportunity and you refused, so there's no more bussiness to do here"

And with that, and a strange remote control in his hand, he pressed a button and zapped you three off to somewhere. Leaving Wade with a strange taste lingering in his mouth.

Well, at least it seemed like your last adventure wasn't going to be boring.

(tags : @coocoocachewgotscrewed , @lokisloverisnthere , @krowsfoot , @lizziegraysworld , @r0reep , @beelzel-brat ).

[warhorns]

i need to work on more of my character roster ... i love making toons but actually im pretty slow to become fully enthralled with a new guy

[buryustogether]

lilac - chapter 1

miguel o’hara x f!reader

summary: the father of one of your students is acting rather strangely - but when he smiles at you, you can’t help but forget your own name.

wc: 6k

warnings/tags: mentions of blood and violence, swearing, pining, stripping, strip club, sex workers, sexual fantasy, smut, thigh riding, fingering, oral (f! receiving), pet names, dom!miguel, single father!miguel, teacher!stripper!reader

author’s note: set in the universe where miguel replaces his father!variant with himself. ps - planning on turning this into a series/full fic.

New York

Earth - 9193

Since you could remember, the sky above the city, flecked with struggling stars and choking on itself over clouds of smog like cigarette smoke, had been deep purple. Some called it violet. Others named it plum. They were trying to make a prettier picture of an ugly reality, desperately ignoring the real world that held them captive. The purple held every soul in this city on a taut leash; each time someone was given a little slack, they wandered too far and discovered that, really, they hadn’t ever wanted to stray in the first place. Car bombings every week. Shootings. Back alley guttings. Innocence all but a foreign language to the citizens of New York.

You wished with every bit of you that one day you’d be able to escape and see the real color of the sky. Because deep down you knew, wanted to believe, wished and prayed… that it was not this shade of dark.

Your classroom was one of the only lit rooms here in Washington Elementary School, a beacon through dimly-lit hallways and the even dimmer streets outside your windows. A long, silent exhale managed to escape your lips as you continued to grade your third graders’ spelling tests, using a pink pen to correct their mistakes instead of a red one. You figured it was less harsh, more inviting to be open to learning from where they first failed. Your back was beginning to cramp from sitting in these damn little-kid chairs, your knees practically hugged to your chest due to how low to the floor you were. You would have been at your desk - hell, you would have been home getting ready for your second job right about now - had it not been for the young girl sitting across the table from you.

Gabriella O’Hara was, in your opinion, one of the most intelligent children you’d had the pleasure of teaching. She was quick and clever and friendly, not to mention, captain of her little soccer team funded by the taxes of PTA parents and the grumbling millionaires of the city. She was a frequent flier on your good-behavior list, and her name had made a home for itself on the principal’s honor roll long before she’d landed in your class.

She was a sweetheart, to say the least. She had been raised well by her father - who, uncharacteristically, had been a no show when it came time for pick up two hours ago.

Glancing up from your papers, you smiled gently at Gabriella as she scribbled along her homework page. “Briella, honey,” you said and leaned your chin in your hand. “Why don’t you check to see if your dad texted at all.”

Obediently, Gabriella dug her phone - a little flip-type, despite there being hundreds of smartphones out these days - and clicked the button to scroll through her recent texts. You watched as her face fell, thick brows and full lips pulling downward. “Nothing,” she said and placed her phone back. She looked to you, and it was obvious from the way she squirmed in her seat that her nervous stomach was starting to get the better of her. “I’m kind of scared, Miss Y/N. My daddy’s never late.”

Setting down your pink pen, you reached across the table and placed a hand on her small forearm. You’d stayed late before when parents were late for pick up, or they forgot, or they were too stoned out of their minds to bother, but you had to admit, you were rather worried, as well. Her father had never been late once, not even by five minutes. So two hours was, really, something to bat an eye at. “I’m sure everything’s fine,” you assured her and offered a gentle smile. “He probably just got held up at work. Maybe his phone died.” Your gaze flickered briefly to the windows behind her, strung across with colorful drawings and decorations, as a number of wailing police cars zipped past. When she started to follow your eyes, you added quickly, “I bet he’s on his way right now. Why don’t you finish up your homework so you can have the rest of the evening free when you get home.”

As she went back to her work, you found yourself tapping your fingernail against the table, your gaze stuck to an empty corner across the room. Miguel O’Hara was nothing but punctual, not just to everyday events like after-school pick up, but to every single thing he did. Soccer practice and games. Parent-teacher conferences. Hell, you wouldn’t put it past him to be an hour early to that fancy job of his at Alchemax every Monday through Friday. He was a perfectionist, signing every grade card check and permission slip with the neatest signature you’d ever seen. And it was a feat to marvel at, considering he was a single father.

Once, at a soccer practice, you’d heard from a few of the mothers who had nothing better to do than gossip that he’d moved himself and Gabriella over from Queens years ago when he was hired as a geneticist. Her mother had apparently left them when she was born, and he’d done everything from that moment on for the good of his little girl.

You weren’t afraid to admit to yourself he was, by far, the best-looking man you’d ever laid eyes on. Cheekbones placed high on his face, wide, broad shoulders, a sinewy frame that nearly challenged the doorframes he walked through. He was friendly, sure. But that was all you knew. You’d never been able to get close enough to know much else. An enigma to your curious mind, Miguel was nothing short of a puzzle that you desperately wanted to put together and see the bigger picture for yourself.

Shaking your head slightly, you forced yourself to wind back into the present. God, you needed to get a fucking grip. Crushing on the father of one of your students? Fucking pathetic. You had a boyfriend, for God’s sake.

You had just begun to grade your papers again, nearing the end of your stack, when there came the sounds of footsteps pounding against the tile floor of the hallway outside. They were jogging, approaching your room at an alarming rate. You stood, thinking it was the janitor having locked himself out of his closet again, and prepared to fetch your keys when a much different - yet no less welcome - figure filled the doorway.

“Hi, daddy,” said Gabriella as Miguel O’Hara entered your classroom.

You looked up, lips parted as you took him in. God, he was stunning. Somewhere around six feet with dark, somewhat-tamed hair that matched his tan skin and the thick brows sitting above his sloped eyes, he stood with a chest that rose and caved rapidly, like he’d run through the entire school searching for your room. Which he shouldn’t have - he knew the classroom his own daughter was in. Didn’t he?

“Oh, baby,” Miguel said and rounded the table so quickly you could have blinked and missed it. He hauled her up into his arms like she was nothing but a sack of flour and hugged her tight to his chest, almost like he was trying to mold the feeling of her to himself. “I’m so sorry I’m late. I lost track of time. I’m so sorry.” As if just realizing you were in the room, watching the pair with a small smile, he set his daughter back down and pulled her backpack from the back of her chair. “Pack up your things, okay? We’ll go home in just a minute.”

He approached you where you stood beside your desk loading your purse, and you swore your heart skipped a beat as he towered over you. Thick, corded muscles and a frame that made your stomach churn excitedly, he was the perfect picture of a fucking masterpiece. “Hi,” he said in a low tone, meant for you to hear and not Gabriella. “I’m so sorry for keeping you here. Time got away from me, and when I got here, the front doors were locked.” He took a breath. “Thank you. For watching her, I mean.”

Forcing your heart to calm its thundering in the confines of your chest, you grinned up at him brightly. “It’s not a problem, Mister O’Hara. I was happy to.” You decided to say nothing about the fact that it was unlike him to lose track of time. He wore a watch that you recognized as one of the latest, expensive versions that were magnetic, not electric, so it was incapable of stopping. How exactly did time get away from a man who revolved around it? “I’m sure she’s going to crash when you get home, anyway. She had a big day.”

Miguel blinked a few times and placed a hand on his hip, jutting it out slightly. Fuck, you wished he wouldn’t do that. “Yeah?”

“Mm-hmm. We had a soccer scrimmage against one of the other classes today and she pulled the winning goal. Then there was the assembly over fire safety, but I’m sure you saw that in the handout last week.”

His lips remained parted for a long moment as his dark, umber gaze traveled across the stack of next week’s announcement handouts. “Right,” he said after a moment or two. “Right. Do, uh… do you think I could have another one of those? For this week. And maybe next week’s, too. Has that been sent home already?”

Giving him a rather crooked smile, you opened a drawer in your desk and produced the light green paper with last week’s announcements. Then you stacked it beneath next week’s and extended it toward his hulking frame. “Sorry if this seems a little… personal, Mister O’Hara,” you said as he took the papers, “but are you feeling alright? I really don’t mean any offense, but you seem a little… off.”

Tilting his head slightly, Miguel seemed to hesitate, fumbling with his answer in his head. He was frozen for a brief moment before your attentions were drawn across the classroom, where Gabriella zipped up her backpack and began to trudge toward the door. “I’m alright,” he said as he turned back to you. “I just, uh… I hit my head this morning. Been a little out of sorts, but I’ll be alright.”

“Daddy,” whined Gabriella under her breath. “I’m tired.”

“Okay, princesa,” he said and met her at your door. After slinging her backpack over his own shoulder and taking her hand, he glanced back at you. “Thank you again…” You watched as his eyes flickered to your name written across the whiteboard. “...Miss Y/N.”

“You’re welcome, Mister O’Hara.” A few more words sat on your tongue, desperately trying to fight against your lips and jump out before the moment escaped. You tried to fight them down, but eventually they won the battle and spilled forth. “And - and you can just call me Y/N.”

Miguel stared at you for a moment, and you thought briefly that you had crossed a line you had been unable to see. Then he smiled gently, his full lips spreading into a gentle grin. He opened his mouth to say something in return before Gabriella pulled him out the door and into the hallway. You listened as their voices and the sounds of their footsteps grew quieter before silencing, then turned away and finished gathering your things.

On your way out of the building, while slipping through the front doors, you noticed the steel bolt lock keeping them shut after dark had been snapped entirely in two - as if someone had pulled on the door hard enough to break the lock on their own.

You figured it to have been a couple students who got their hands on their parents’ bolt cutters and made a mental note to ask the janitor for a replacement.

Once you got to your car and flipped the engine, you took a breath and glanced at yourself in the mirror. In that breath, you willed yourself to switch into the alternate persona you took on after the school days, after the sun had set and the night really came alive from its demented, hungover state during the lightest hours. You pushed your students into the back of your mind, your plans for tomorrow and upcoming projects and due dates into the recesses of your brain. You shoved back thoughts of Miguel O’Hara and everything about how much you wanted to fucking reverse time so that he could smile at you like he had tonight all over again.

It was time to really work, now.

The Menagerie was a club on the northeast side of the Financial District, where the warehouse fires and muggings weren’t quite as common. Police forces cruised through here more often than, say, Harlem or Queens; the people who ran the city had to keep their most well-paid workers protected and thriving, right? Who else would steal from the hands of the poor and throw it all away the first chance they got?

Thrumming, thundering music like a pulse, like the club itself was alive with the blood of money and alcohol pumping through it, pounded from speakers and shook the walls in their very foundations. Neon lights like jilted, water-colored sunlight shone from corners along the ceilings, creating shadows like both nightmares and dreams along the walls and the faces of the patrons. The bar was overflowing. Security was chasing their own tails. The place was packed. Everyone who was anyone wanted to get into The Menagerie, because between its four walls and roof, you could be anyone you wanted to be.

It was law in this gilded cage that everyone was to wear a mask, its paint and diamonds and ribbons designed to depict animals. Security wore the full-bodied faces of lions. Bartenders and servers played dress-up with rimmed eye gaps as raccoons. Guests were allowed to pick a mask ranging from creatures that roamed the sky to those that crawled the earth. And the girls - the girls were exotic, majestic things that no one would mistake for anything else. They were tigresses and peacocks, they were arctic foxes and lynxes, any animal that had long since gone missing or extinct in this world of yours. Why go searching for the real thing, when they could come here and find the women?

The Menagerie was not a club. It was a cage, for animals so desperate to get out they had bent the bars in an attempt to escape.

Staring at yourself in the mirror of the dressing room, you gingerly affixed the golden mask to your face so that it would stay spread across your features while you danced and entertained. The hard, fake porcelain covered your forehead and nose, leaving your mouth free for the lips and tongues that would attempt to claim yours as their own. Orange and gold butterfly wings blossomed from the center of the mask, disguising you as the endangered insect everyone else seemed to have forgotten about; the Monarch. Fluttering and beautiful upon the wind, never easy to catch.

That was, unless they flew right into a spider’s web.

To your left, a few of the other girls were perfecting their makeup and adjusting their outfits - what little outfits you all had. Zara, known throughout the club as the Panther, caught your eye in the mirror and flashed you a sharp smile.

“You seem quiet tonight,” she said and ran a stick of gloss over her lips. She examined herself close in her handheld. “Something on your mind?”

A few of the other girls tried to inconspicuously listen in, able to sniff out gossip from miles away. Perhaps in here, you all were a little bit more animal than human, after all.

Forcing yourself to smile gently, you waved a ring-garnished hand in Zara’s direction and turned back to your reflection. You hardly recognized yourself like this, despite seeing this version of you all week long. You hoped you never did recognize it. “Oh, it’s nothing,” you brushed off.

Across the dressing room, Shawna, the Owl, tisked her tongue and hummed from deep in her throat. “You know you’re an awful liar, girl,” she said from where she sat scrolling through her phone. “We all noticed when you came in an hour later than you do. Something happen tonight?”

Well, fuck. Now everyone was waiting for your answer, waiting to see if it was worth listening into or not.

Pursing your lips in an attempt to show that it was no big deal, despite how much your stomach and your heart and your brain screamed that it wasn’t, you shrugged a shoulder and tried to avoid their gazes. “Nothing too big,” you replied and began to absentmindedly twist the ribbon keeping your mask in place. “Just… had a student stay a little later. Her dad lost track of time.”

“It couldn’t be that Alchemax hunk you’ve been telling us about.”

Fuck - you really learned to keep your cards closer to your chest.

Your silence must have been enough for them to connect the pieces, because a few of them tittered and giggled. A newer girl, who was still earning her way up to being on stage, piped up. “Have you ever talked to him?” she asked. “I mean, besides school-related stuff. Find out if he’s attached?”

“Absolutely not,” you forced out and stood to straighten out your costume. Your breasts were barely covered by the flimsy top and your ass hung out of the bottoms, both orange and black and white, like a monarch butterfly’s designs. Gold fishnet stockings lined your legs, leading down to a set of heels that had taken weeks to not tip over in. You were supposed to wear a cape, a gown-like train, but it was stepped on too much for you to bother with it. “He’s not there to cruise teachers, he’s just trying to help his kid through the third grade.”

“More than you could’ve asked from my dad,” Zara puffed.

God, you thought, yours, too. And your mother, while you were at it. They’d never come to meetings and games and plays like Miguel did. Hell, they hardly ever even remembered to pick you up from school on their good days.

Gabriella really had hit the father lottery.

Shawna shrugged her shoulders as she rose from her seat and picked up her own mask. “Even if that’s all he’s there for,” she said, then pulled the owl-designed porcelain over her face and fixed you with a stare through the eye holes, “doesn’t have to hold you back from at least trying.”

Her words rang in your ears as you carried on with your work that evening. They stuck with you as you danced for drooling men and women who oggled at you from behind their masks, as you ran your fingers down arms to chase bigger tips, as you followed a man who paid top dollar for a private dance.

Her words rattled like bells in your head as you mindlessly ground yourself against your customer, allowing yourself to get lost in your own imagination while you willed yourself to work. You shut your eyes behind your mask and let yourself fall into a dangerous little scenario you cooked up just for yourself.

You imagined not your boyfriend, who was out there in the city somewhere playing with his stupid fucking band to a crowd of three, not of any celebrity crush or model, but of Miguel O’Hara. You imagined him beneath you instead of some man whose breath smelled like expensive alcohol. You thought of him, and his hulking frame, and his powerful thighs you had found yourself staring at anytime he entered your line of sight.

Mind running away with this little fantasy of yours, you ground yourself a little harder against the lap beneath you, pushed your chest further against the chest parallel to yours. In your head, Miguel let out a huffy breath and rested those large hands of his on your hips, slowly but surely guiding your movements until you were riding his thigh. You tried to imagine, so intensely and desperately, how such an event would go.

He would gently, but firmly, help move your hips so that your exposed clit rubbed perfectly against the rough fabric of his jeans. You would keen and arch your back into him, hands running over his sinewy shoulders, as he hitched his leg and sent a powerful jolt of pleasure running through you and right to your core.

“You like that, pretty girl?” he would murmur in your ear, lips brushing along the shell before his tongue, warm and soft and pink and wet, licked against your lobe. “Ride, querida. ‘Til I say you’re done, and then I’ll show you how a real man fucks.”

You would grind your hips against his leg, moaning aloud and unabashedly when he tensed his corded muscle so that you’d have something to hump into. His hands, wide and spread, would wander along your bare back, memorizing the skin there like it was his and his alone, and he would dip his head to attach his lips to your nipple. He’d suck the nub into a hardened bud, then kiss and lick and nibble the skin around it until it was marred with love marks that would darken the following morning, and then he’d switch and give the other one the same kind of attention.

“Miguel,” you’d whimper in a certain kind of tone, and suddenly you’d be on the bed, pulled to the edge so that the globes of your ass hung off and when he kneeled he had access to your cunt bared for him.

“Such a pretty pussy,” he would say as he pressed open-mouthed kisses up and up your inner thighs, getting closer to where you needed him most. “All for me and me alone. Isn’t that right, bebe?”

You wouldn’t be able to give him a clear answer at first, not when he would lick a long, wet stripe up the center of your folds and up to your clit. He would expertly find that little bundle of nerves, wrapping his lips around it and fondling with his tongue until you couldn’t do anything but sigh and moan and card your fingers through his dark hair to pull him closer. He would suck on your sweet spot for a while, alternating between licking stripes and adorning it with kisses, before he would slowly drag his long, thick fingers toward your sopping folds.

But he would stop just short.

“Say it,” he would tell you, dark, impenetrable gaze fixated on you from where he kneeled between your legs like a devout believer praying to his one and only love - his goddess. When you would whine and cry from the pausing of his ministrations, he would take his mouth, his wonderful, hot breath, away from your aching cunt. He would cock his head, allowing a bit of hair to fall across his face. “Tell me who this pussy belongs to, chica.”

“Miguel,” you would say again, because, really, that was all you could think of to say. “Miguel, please… need you, please…”

He would pull his fingers from your heat, gaze stony and immovable as a mountain standing tall in the midst of a storm. God, not even that could sway him. “Tell me,” he would demand again, this time in a low baritone that made your cunt clench around nothing because goddammit, even his fucking voice could send you into heat like a damn dog. “Tell me who this pussy belongs to. Now.”

“You,” would come the small, high-pitched answer, tumbling from your lips without another thought that did not involve him. “You, Miguel. Belongs to you. All for you, no one else.” You would babble, desperate to reach your climax before he let you fall back down that incline so, so cruelly, yet so, so deliciously. “Please, Miguel, need you. Need your fingers, anything. Just fuck me, please, handsome, fuck me ‘til I can’t remember my own name.”

He would tilt his head even further, like a predator toying with the prey he’d been chasing after for miles upon miles, before placing a gentle, feather-light kiss upon the inside of your thigh. “That’s my girl,” he would say, then attack your clit with his full, thick lips, plunge two of his fingers into your heat, and begin to fuck you into oblivion.

The sound of his fingers constantly edging in and out of your dripping pussy, so wet you could feel your arousal dripping down your thighs and your ass, would pull the most wonderful and pornographic-sounding moans and whimpers and whines of his name from your throat. Your own slick would coat his digits like honey, so sweet that for a moment he would stop his assault on your divine bundle of nerves and crane his neck to lick up a bit of it from where it dripped down your ass. The flat of his muscle would raise goosebumps along your skin as you cried out for him, one hand gripping his hair and the other buried into the sheets of the bed.

“Miguel,” you would cry and begin to rock your hips to meet the thrusts of his fingers, practically humping his face. He would take it like it was his last meal, returning to his sucking and licking and circling of your clit to send bolt after bolt of pleasure and heaven and everything else in between. “Miguel, Miguel, Miguel…!”

“That’s it,” he would murmur between licks through your soaked folds, feeling as your slick dripped down his wrist. “Say my name, bebe, tell them who’s making you feel this fucking good.”

He would angle his fingers then at just the right angle, his fingertips hitting that perfect, fucking perfect spot deep inside you. Stars would dance in your vision as your mouth would open in a silent scream, unable to get anything out but a tiny wail of heavenly pleasure. You would swear you’d never felt this goddamn good in your life, like you would gladly trade everything in the whole world just to stay here forever. His pace would pick up, aiming for that spot inside of you, and he’d lap at your cunt in a feverish craze, like it was the only thing that would save him from losing his mind.

All too soon, your thighs would begin to tremble and you would feel that beautiful, familiar coil tightening and winding deep within your soul. “Miguel,” you would cry out for the whole world to hear. “Miguel, m’close, I’m so close!”

“Come on, pretty bebe,” he would say between your thighs that would try to wrap around his head in a feeble attempt to pull him closer. “Cum f’me. I want it. All of it.”

His words would send a shockwave of pleasure through you, one that would white out your vision so intensely you would have thought he’d killed you and sent you on your way to the pearly white gates, and you’d have been okay with that. He continued to work you through your orgasm, his pace slowing but never stopping, his mouth pressing hot, wet kisses along your thighs, your hips, your naval.

“Good girl. Good fucking girl. Taking it so well, all for me. Look so pretty all laid out like this, like I could just eat you up. Would you like that, hmm? You want me to just devour you ‘til you’re left shaking and crying my name?”

“Miguel. Miguel, Miguel, Miguel…!”

“...My name’s not Miguel.”

Your eyes flashed open, suddenly brought back to the real world, pulled away from your fantasy. Through the holes in your monarch mask, you looked down to find your customer staring up at you with wide eyes and popping a boner put there by your mindless rocking against his hips. Feeling your cheeks flush, you slipped off of him and consciously tugged your outfit lower over your ass.

You pursed your lips, attempting to hide how mortified you were. “...That’s going to be another twenty bucks.”

It wasn’t until around one in the morning when you got home to your little apartment squished in a dilapidated little building wedged between two office towers because the landlord had refused to sell the place when they steamrolled the others ten years ago. The lights were off when you slipped inside, and a little piece of yourself inside wilted.

At once, you threw up a wall and dismissed that sinking feeling. Of course he wasn’t going to wait up for you. He’d had a show tonight, and he had another one tomorrow. He was tired.

Not nearly as fucking tired as you, though.

After wiping off your makeup and pulling off the fake little diamonds stuck on your temples, after changing into your pajamas and brushing your teeth, and after pinning a new drawing from one of your students on the fridge despite the fact you knew they’d never see it, you tiptoed back to the cramped little bedroom. You poked your head inside. Ferris, your boyfriend of six months, was spread out across the entire mattress, snoring gently into the fabric of the crumpled sheets.

You swallowed thick. You didn’t want to disturb him. He needed his rest.

You grabbed your phone charger from the wall and your pillow from beneath his arm, then slid on your socks back into the tiny living room. Plopping yourself down on the couch and plugging in your phone, you rolled yourself onto your side and stared at the dark screen. Willing something to happen. Something to come up, someone to reach out.

Because in reality, though you would rather throw yourself off the Brooklyn Bridge than admit it… you had never felt so alone.

[suppermariobroth]

Top: in 2014, a commercial for a special collection of New Nintendo 3DS cover plates featuring Japanese singer Kyary Pamyu Pamyu was released in Japan. This commercial is mostly known for featuring various Nintendo characters wearing original clothing designs (based on the cover plates being advertised), including a Mario outfit that later appeared in Super Mario Odyssey as the “Fashionable Outfit”.

Bottom: at one point in the commercial, a pink Bullet Bill with eyelashes appears briefly. It never received its own official artwork, unlike some of the other variant designs from the commercial. The Art of Super Mario Odyssey book provides a unique standalone image of this design, in a section about the inspiration behind the Fashionable Outfit.

Main Blog | Twitter | Patreon | Small Findings | Source: see bottom of image

[toychest321]

Sorry for being late to post about Ramadan (school's been hell recently), but I thought I could take the opportunity to highlight some Muslim dolls! While there aren't many, one of my favorites is Fulla! For those unaware, Fulla was made by the company NewBoy FZCO and has been running since 2003! (MASSIVE thanks to Dollect for most of the information on her, at least throughout her early run in the 2000s) According to Dollect, some of the first dolls released of her with a hijab was in 2005 from the "Fulla with Abaya" sets, which apparently had embroidery on the sleeves! I love the long skirts, they give me Flower Power Barbie vibes!

There were also apparently "Outdoor Fashion" dolls with a surprise element where beneath their Abaya they'd be wearing an outfit of a specific color out of purple, pink, and green. They were MILES ahead of the surprise toy gimmick of the 2010s.

However, I can't find exactly what their outdoor outfits looked like? There aren't any images of them on Dollect, though I suppose these might be them? No confirmation of such, of course, but I found the pink one labelled for 2004 on another website.

It seems to check out with the description of having purple and pink variants in the outfit, but the beige and black leads me to believe these might be another release entirely... regardless I adore the detail in these coats! Anyway, I'll be posting about these more soon, but for now I better get back to that homework I just got distracted from lol. If you guys know of any other Muslim dolls you'd like me to post about feel free to send an ask!

Ramadan Kareem!

(Edit: Y'all thank you so much for the traction but please check out my reblogged edits to this post, I lowkey fumbled the info on the mystery outfits the first time around 😭)

[obbystars]

Hi- it's my first time ever requesting so sorry if it's hard to understand-

Could you please write a fic where the reader is somehow allowed to bring an ipod because it helps them calm down. When they reach Sebastian he just hears the music through the earphones which is something that he used to listen to before going under water-.

And it could be fluff or some ?

I'm sorry if this comes off weird but I always struggle when it comes to explaining my ideas 😭 (also English is not my first language ಥ⁠‿⁠ಥ)

Hope you have a nice day/evening/night when you read this!

(Hey! No worries! Don’t worry, I think I’ve got the idea and I totally get not knowing how to explain stuff. Huh, perhaps it’s luck that they managed to sneak or even snag an ipod off of a guardsman’s body. That seems like the most probable as I doubt Urbanshade would let a prisoner bring that in. But then again, it’s not a weapon. It doesn’t exactly fit in the criteria of detonating the PDG.)

(Also lol peek the new layout color as I went through Pressure’s badges. Found a neat badge with Sebastian ans its title referencing MatPat!)

NOTES: Sebastian Solace x GN!Reader / You loot a dead body / Near-death experience and actual death later (not detailed) / Reader has Sebastian’s document, but nothing too specific is mentioned / Angst if you squint at the end / At one point I was looking at Pandemonium’s document and the app closed me out without saving

Credits: Dividers by @cafekitsune

Dying and coming back to life had its ups and downs. One thing you’re not too sure of is how much time exactly passes as every experience back to where you started always has surprises. Maybe you go back in time, but that wouldn’t make sense as a certain someone remembers you every time. Hell, he’s even there to discuss your death with you in whatever world you’re brought to after dying. Maybe your body is just brought back to before you entered the submarine to Hadal Blacksite. That could make sense if it weren’t for the increased security. Urbanshade had to have noticed by now that one of their prisoners seems to be able to cheat death itself.

That doesn’t matter right now, you keep reminding yourself. As long as they’re still unaware.

Strangely enough, in one of your lives, you encountered a dead guardsman. It startled you at first, but tried to continue on and resist the urge to see if he had anything on him. That was until you heard music coming from him. You can’t fight the urge anymore as you approached him and searched where it was coming from. An ipod that was still functional, and earphones. Strange.

You looked around and checked each corner of the room, trying to see if there were any cameras. Surely they won’t mind if you picked this up, right? It’s not a weapon, so they have no reason to trigger the detonation. Right? It’s not like they saw you pick it up.

This guardsman definitely had a good taste in music, although a bit random. You’ll shuffle it for now and see where it’ll go from there. You pop one earphone on and try your best to hide it from sight when you do eventually run into cameras.

Once you opened the next door, you suddenly hear distant screaming. You quickly ran and hid in a locker, putting on the other earphone and turning the volume all the way up. You hoped it was enough to drown out the sound of the angler passing by. The screams the variants emit often left your ears ringing, the pink one especially since there was no warning prior to it approaching. That one’s scream was louder than the others and it never failed to instill so much fear in you that you briefly forget to hide in a locker.

Once the angler passes and knocks out the lights, you slowly crawl out of the locker. The ipod and earphones were, surprisingly, still functional. You remember reading their document during one of your deaths. All of the anglers emit some sort of EMP equivalent that results in short circuiting all electronics, sometimes malfunctioning too. So why were these still operational?

You shake your head, trying to not question it. It’s better not to anyway.

While the anglers screams were too loud, the silence they create once they pass is also nerve wracking. You took one earphone off and pulled out your flashlight to ease yourself a bit, but quickly shine it away once you hear growling and a glowing white face appears.

It was standing right next to the door. Worst of all, you need a keycard. You don’t have a code breacher on you. You kept the light lowered so you know where you’re stepping as you walk around trying to find where the keycard is. Not in this drawer, not in here either, no… It’s on a table next to a computer.

You came back to the door and can faintly see the creature still standing there. Despite the music playing, you couldn’t calm down. Still, you pushed yourself to approach the door and get out. The face the creature created stares down at you as you got a little too close, but then it suddenly eyes the keycard in your hand and sees where exactly you’re reaching. The face disappears, and so do they as the door opens.

You let out a sigh of relief and carry on to the next room. There were some batteries in a drawer. Your flashlight was likely to run out of juice soon. That was a relatively normal room, so you moved onto the next one. The vent door off to the side tips over and you can faintly hear his voice.

“Psst! In here,”

You smile and crawl through the vent to meet up with a familiar friendly face.

“Welcome back, friend,” he greets with a smile.

You waved at him as you stood up. Your eyes instantly lock onto the medical kit as that’s something you are in need of, and you’ll still have some data to spare. What else do you need… He has a lantern, code breacher, hand-cranked flashlight… You don’t hear the thumping noise of something else crawling through the vent and you don’t realize it until-

“HEY!!” Sebastian yelled.

You turned around just as the wall dweller opened its jaw, but it didn’t get a chance to do anything as Sebastian punched it into the wall. You yelped and fell back, pushing yourself closer to the table beside him. Sebastian had only beat it enough until it crawled away through the vent. It probably won’t get very far.

He turns to you, a little surprised to see you so frightened, “You really gotta start watching your own back. I’m not punching every one of those things for you,”

“S-Sorry, I was a bit distracted…” You stand up.

“I’m surprised you managed to get this far if you couldn’t hear that thing coming,”

You looked down, knowing exactly why you didn’t hear it. The music is still playing, and the one earphone you had on was blocking the sound of the wall dweller approaching. You were a bit shaken up, but the music does calm you down a bit. Sebastian watches you as you walk over to his tail to try and make a final decision, but he swears he hears something.

“What is that sound…?” He looks around for a moment before his eyes land on you, still trying to choose what to buy. He spots something in your ear and leans down, “Hey, what’s that you got there?”

You turn to him as he suddenly leans closer to you, his head right next to where the earphone is.

“I know that song. Is that Metallica?”

You stare up at him in shock, “You know Metallica?”

“Well obviously, you know I was just a regular human, right? You have my document for god’s sake,” he retorts, “How’d you even get an ipod of all things in here?”

“Oh, it’s not mine. I got it from a dead guardsman,”

Sebastian gives you a suspicious look, “I thought Urbanshade doesn’t allow their prisoners to loot dead bodies, armed ones at that. You could end up dead, but seeing as they haven’t detonated your diving gear yet, I’m guessing you weren’t spotted,”

“I guess not. There wasn’t a camera where I got this from, and I made sure to hide it from the cameras in the other rooms,”

“I’m curious to see just how far you’ll get with this thing. You couldn’t even hear the wall dweller approaching,” he crosses his arms, “I’m not sure if you’re bold or just stupid. Are you sure this risk is worth it?”

You can’t deny that he’s got a point. It gets in the way of hearing things you NEED to hear. Still, music brings you comfort so that’s what you tell him. You’ll only have both on when an angler is coming to block out their scream as they pass.

“Mhmm, and what will you do about Z-367? You know, the one they named Pandemonium? What then?”

Shit, he’s actually got you cornered there. You just sighed knowing full well you can’t just sit that one out and wait for it to pass, “Then I’ll just have to deal with it the usual way. I can still hear them through the music,”

Sebastian glares at you for a minute before he sighs, “Jeez, you really want to keep that thing on you, huh? Alright, I’m not stopping you. Just don’t say I didn’t warn you though,”

You smiled, “I’ll just say I knew what I was getting myself into and I’ll face the consequences,”

“Oh look at that, someone is finally taking responsibility for their own actions. It’s shocking how that’s so rare nowadays,”

You manage to pick up on his sarcastic tone and laughed. It was always fun talking with him. By the end of it, you picked up the code breacher with the medical kit he had, as well as a few batteries since you still had more data.

Upon your next unfortunate death, you realized your still have the ipod and earphones. Both were still fully functional, somehow, but you weren’t complaining. You quickly went into the submarine and waited for a few minutes before taking it out to actually scroll through the list of songs. You didn’t exactly pay attention to what was being played while you were there. Soon enough, you did find songs from Metallica which reminded you of the conversation you had with Sebastian.

You never thought he’d be into that kind of music. Maybe you’ll lend the ipod to him when you meet up with him in his shop again. Surely the repeated morse code on that radio has gotten old by now. You doubt you’ll last long without it though, but Sebastian wasn’t wrong when he said it hinders your ability to even hear the wall dwellers. Well, it wouldn’t hurt to give it up for a bit.

Once you managed to find Sebastian’s hideout again, you took off both earphones as you approached him, “Hey, you wanna hold onto this for me?”

You hold up the ipod and Sebastian gives you an odd look, “And you want to give this to me because?”

“I thought about what you said last time. I mean, I’ve made it pretty far without this before, so I don’t think I need it that much,”

He continues to stare at you before taking it from your hands. He inspects it, scrolling through the list of songs on it.

“Wow some of these suck,”

“I think some are pretty good,” you shrugged. You walked over to his tail to see what he has now, “Oh finally, a flashlight,”

Sebastian lowers the ipod and turns to you with a smirk, holding out his third limb, “Better pay up,”

“Yeah yeah, I know,”

Before you left, you left the earphones with him as well. It won’t do much good for you if it’s not gonna block out sound anyway, and it’s not like Sebastian will have much use of it either.

Some time has passed since you left the ipod with him. Sebastian had set it down on the desk next to him as music is being played. He remembers doing college work while listening to music all those years ago. Part of him now understands why you said it comforts you. Maybe it even allowed you to focus as it did with him.

Until you come back to eventually bring it along with you again, he’ll listen to the songs on the list for hours.

[savage-rhi]

Some other pink variant

[missmimii]

☕︎︎ －𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐓 𝐓𝐀𝐋𝐊 | 𝐂 - 𝐒𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐎𝐋𝐎

୨ৎ － 𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 | In which Chris stumbles upon a bakery that holds much more than just a sweet treat, the one behind the counter being the sweetest of all that varies.

୨ৎ — 𝐂𝐖. none! Just tooth rotting fluff and a whole lot of a Chris’s terrible pick-up lines

✩－𝒩ℴ𝓉ℯ𝓈 • I thought of this yesterday when I was in a bakery near my house, saw the cutest interaction between the girl behind the counter and a customer ♥︎

୨ৎ － The sickening smell of cinnamon and icing sugar engulfs the triplet’s nose, as well as flour tickling his nostrils as the ceiling fan above swooshes the powder around the room. Squeak, his shoes emit as the rubber bottoms make contact with the freshly mopped floors of the bakery, a faint smell of almond floor cleaner entering his nose.

☕︎︎－ Chris felt some variant of comfort from the small bakery, a soft melody playing in the background of bustling that came from behind the counter. The glass that held an array of sweet treats was void of any fingerprints or skids, along with the sleek marble counter that held a sparkle from the sunlight coming in the window.

୨ৎ － Though his finger did itch to tap the bell aside the cash register, he didn’t want to come off as a nuisance. Was anyone even here? He pondered, gaze of curiosity tipping off into the back of the shop to catch a glimpse of anyone. Hm － he thought to himself, seeing nothing but a cloud of smoke that smelt of vanilla stream from one of the ovens.

☕︎︎ － Atop the oven sat a stained pair of pink oven mitts, before a hand reached out to lift them. Chris’s lips parted a little as the girl emerged from the other end of the kitchen, manicured hands slipping the mitts on her hand one at a time. “Talking about my girl －my girl,” She hummed softly to the music, pulling the oven open, revealing a medium sized baking tray.

୨ৎ －Assuming she’d felt the heat of Christopher’s gaze on her seemingly unflattering state, she slowly averted her own eyes to the cash. The girls eyes widened as she took in the sight of a brunette male, wondering just how long she left a customer waiting. God, her boss would’ve ripped her a new one if he’d saw. “Uhm－one second mister!” She hollered in the direction of the man, feeling rather rattled while rushing to arrange her messy kitchen.

☕︎︎ －The mouth watering aroma of vanilla and cinnamon infused the whole bakery as she gently plopped the metal sheet atop the oven, tossing the pink mitts onto the counter beside. If he had been else Chris would thought the delightful smell was a candle, just from how surreally perfect it’d smelled.

୨ৎ －The boy that was once drawn to the little shop out of feigning something pure sugar, now found himself craving something rather beautiful. Chipped red nailed hands dip into the running water as she gathered suds of soap across her hands. Tap, tap, tap. Chris watched with admiration as droplets fell from her skin as she flicked the faucet off, swiftly pulling the hand towel off the hook to dry her wet hands.

☕︎︎－ Dozens of baking ingredients were aligned upon the surfaces on counters, flour and drizzles of frosting covering almost every inch of the area. The triplet’s lips fell up into a small smile of muse as he watched the girl struggle to push the stray hairs framing her face away, refusing to use her clean hands. Goodness, how he wanted to gently tuck the feathering strands behind her ears.

୨ৎ － Chris opened his mouth to let the stressed girl know he was in no rush, but was cut off at the sound of a wince. “Ouch,” the sound of a feminine hiss echoed from behind the store, making his eyebrows fly up with both concern and confusion. Was she .. a head popped from behind a corner, a sheepish look on the timid girl’s face as she looked at Chris. “so sorry.” She winced, before she disappeared once again.

☕︎︎ － “Ouch, ouch, ouch － ow,” The pained girl fumbled with the tap until it turned cold, sticking her left hand under the running rush of water. Ah － Her shoulders fell at the contact, the cold sensation soothing the burning pain on the end of her index finger. Never once has she burnt herself in the three years she’s worked in a bakery. She just shook her head incredulously, flicking the water off.

୨ৎ －Chris’s face was still coated in perplexity when she’d finally rushed from kitchen, his hand that he’d been running across his jaw halting in place as she threw him a warm smile. “I’m so sorry about that. It’s usually so slow on Sundays － and I must’ve not heard the bell ring when you walked in because of the hand mixer.” She rambled, hands waving around has she expressed her sorrow.

☕︎︎ － “Your hand,” He interrupted, making the girl’s eyes meet his. Her hand .. what?－ “I don’t think I- oh.” She let out a small sound as the males hand hesitantly prompted to grab hers, the warmth of his palm pressing against her wrist as he turned her hand over. “Yeah.. it happens often.” Chris’s hooded gaze lifted from her pink finger, meeting her eyes. Liar, he thought to himself. “hm,” Obviously not being willing to express the fact he knew the falsified confession, he withdrew his touch.

୨ৎ － She cleared her throat, lowering her injured hand to her side. “Did my bad work ethic allow you enough time to choose something?” She half joked, cheeks warming as he chuckled. “Nothing here,” Chris admitted, nipping at his lip as he flicked his gaze down to the various baked goods. “though I did spot something quite delicious behind the counter.”

☕︎︎ －She blinked at him while processing the information, feeling her lips twitch with a small smile as she saw the flirtatious grin placed upon his lips. “Oh.” Chris hummed, lifting an eyebrow. “The rolls.” Huh? Chris watched as she nodded in understanding. Rolls? “I just put a batch in before you walked in － whenever that was.” She murmured to herself, shaking her head softly.

୨ৎ － “uh-” Just as she turned her back to go fetch the goods, the boy spoke again. “What ‘rolls’?” Her eyebrows knitted together with confusion before she answered. “Cinnamon rolls.” She said in a matter of fact tone, turning back around. She smiled to herself as she walked back through the arched doorway, finding the way Chris’s eyes light up almost cute. Cinnamon rolls did sound good..

☕︎︎ －He stood there patiently as she shuffled around in the kitchen, bending his neck a bit to catch sight of something she was getting into. Chris made a sound of amusement as she vigorously whisked together something in a metal mixing bowl, splatters of a cream white icing hitting the cylinder sides as she stirred. Did she really not get my pick up? Chris felt slightly defeated, having thought that the flirty sentence had been quite smart of him.

୨ৎ －Chris quickly stood upright, attempting to hide the clear fact he was peering into the girls kitchen, as she gleefully stalked back into the main room. “It’s a little warm still, so the frosting might seep into the cake a teensey bit.” She fiddled with a striped pink box, sheet of clear plastic cut out in the middle showing a glimpse of the fluffy golden brown roll. Steam glazed the clear part over, the treat having been freshly baked. Chris’s mouth practically watered as he watched the icing slowly slide down the sides of the roll, creating a delicious puddle of sugar below the bun.

☕︎︎ －Her pink tipped fingernails gently tied a pink ribbon around the the box before softly nudging it across the counter to the boy. His eyes slipped up to hers, finding her leaning on the edge of the island while staring at his reaction, her bottom lip tucked lusciously between her teeth. Holy － was my heart pounding so damn hard because of the nauseating scent of sugar, or the sight of this unworldly woman? “Well now I feel bad undoing something so pretty, baby.” Her heart exploded, butterflies pressing against her gut at the pet name.

୨ৎ －Chris gently tugged at the silk ribbon, the thin piece of fabric falling from the box, his fingers unfolding the opening at the top. “Hm~” She watched with curiosity as he hummed in delight, the cloud of steam that flooded from the box engulfing his nose. Vanilla, cinnamon, brown sugar, butter － as well as the slight hint of the cream perfume coming from the girl across. Shakily lifting the treat from the box, being cautious not to drop it, he brought it to his lips.

☕︎︎ －Oh god － Christopher’s eyes had slowly slipped shut as soon as his teeth sunk into the soft baked good, moaning oh so softly as the sweetness set off every tastebud on his tongue into a frenzy. “Holy fuck.” He muttered, savouring the taste of a whipped like vanilla frosting swirling around his mouth as he chewed. Chris finally allowed his eyes to peek open, his gaze automatically focused on her.

୨ৎ －He watched with intent as her lips parted, tongue sliding across her bottom one as she looked between his lips and blue eyes. The muscles in his jaw clenched with every chew, eyelashes batting admirably against his flushed cheeks as he brought the tip of his middle finger to his lips. Chris looked into her eyes with desire while dipping the end of his finger into his lips, swirling his tongue around the skin to gather the sugary liquid.

☕︎︎－With a small plop, he placed the treat back into box, all while keeping his eyes on her. “You’ make that?” He asked, tilting his head while peeking his tongue to lick the corner of his mouth. God he could still taste that fucking frosting. At her timid nod, he felt his lips curve up at the corners. “It almost curbed all of my cravings.” Chris shamelessly admitted.

୨ৎ －She felt her breath get caught in her throat as she heard the husk in his tone, the two hands she hand placed on the marble counter squeezing around the surface tightly. Chris effortlessly twisted the cap from his water bottle before tipping back the refreshing liquid with content. “Sweet, huh?” She laughed softly, hair getting caught on her eyelashes as she looked down for a moment.

☕︎︎－Chris felt his lips tip up around the cap as he pulled the bottle away, breathing out a soft laugh at her words. “Very,” her cheeks flushed, giggling softly. She’s so .. effortlessly perfect, Chris thought to himself, tilting his head as he look across to the girl. “not nearly as sweet as you though.” Oh－her eyes widened.

୨ৎ －Maybe it’s because she’d never got hit on during work －or at all for that matter, but she found herself dumbfounded by his bold flirting. Because he was flirting .. right? She suddenly felt unsure of his motives, clearing her throat as she sent a quick smile his way. “Thank you- really.” She impulsively added the last part as a whisper, her fingers raising the brush away the hairs in her face, before stopping. Ah －I need to wash my hands.

☕︎︎ －She jumped, startled as two calloused fingers brushed the irritating flyaways from her face. “here,” Chris murmured gently, looking into her eyes with a unknown emotion as he tucked the tendrils behind her pierced ears. “Oh.” She breathed out, the smile that gleamed across her lips unable to be fought. “thank you.” She uttered.

୨ৎ －Chris nodded softly, leaving a prolonged beat before he stepped back from her. He cleared his throat, cheeks warming as he felt the aftermath of his action’s overcome him. Was that too bold? I could’ve made her uncomfortable. “Well ..” The girl’s eyes flicked up to his at the sound. “Can I get your name or somethin’? To remember you of course.” Chris quickly added on, seeing her eyebrows fly up.

☕︎︎ －She silently nipped at her lips for a second as she resisted the temptation to allow a grin to spread across her lips. “Hm..” He lifts a brow as she drawled out the sound, her hand toying with the ribbon from his box. Within seconds his eyes widened, her hand reaching out and entrapping his own.

୨ৎ －She leaned forward, belly resting on the island as she took his wrist into her palm. Chris opted to stay quiet, feeling a little too happy with the feeling of her touch. Her fingers skillfully threaded the pink ribbon around his wrist, gently pulling the two ends to finish off her signature bow. “There,” he looked down at her, seeing her big smile as she finished the work. “try forgetting me now.”

[bloomshroomz]

Trans man/Transmasculine/FTM + Trans woman/Transfeminine/MTF flags

(+ variants for intersex AFAB trans women/transfems and intersex AMAB trans men/transmascs)

I wanted to make flags for trans* men, transmascs, and FTMs, as well as trans* women, transfems, and MTFs, because I wasn't a huge fan of the existing transmasc and transfem flags. I talked a bit with my girlfriend about my ideas (I'm transmasc and she's transfem) and made some flags.

Each flag is composed of three things: a chevron, a field of one flat color, and a transgender symbol.

The chevron is split into two parts. The first part of the chevron represents the person's AGAB (pink for AFAB, and blue for AMAB). The second part represents the transition away from one's AGAB, and/or the transition towards something other than one's AGAB. The chevron points away from the person's AGAB, and towards their actual gender identity.

The field of color represents the person's actual gender identity (pink for woman and/or feminine, blue for man and/or masculine).

The symbol is the transgender symbol on both flags, with certain parts highlighted. In the trans man/transmasc/FTM flag, the Mars/male and genderqueer parts of the symbol are highlighted, with the Venus/female part of the symbol faded. The reverse is true for the trans woman/transfem/MTF flag: the Venus/female and genderqueer parts of the symbol are highlighted, with the Mars/male symbol faded. This indicates the focus of each identity.

The colors were directly taken from the trans flag. These flags are not just for binary trans people; nonbinary people can also use them.

*Trans as in transgender, transsexual, or both.

Variants for intersex AFAB/CAFAB trans women/transfems and intersex AMAB/CAFAB trans men/transmascs

I'm perisex, so I wasn't sure about making these flags, since these identities don't apply to me or anyone I know personally. But, since the initial designs are AGAB specific, I felt that it may be appropriate to make some versions that are inclusive to intersex AFAB/CAFAB trans women/transfems and intersex AMAB/CAMAB trans men/transmascs.

In these versions of the flag, the chevron is split into three parts: the intersex flag (representing that the person is intersex), the color for the person's AGAB/CAGAB (pink for AFAB/CAFAB, blue for AMAB/CAMAB), and white, representing transition. The chevron still points in the same direction as it does in the other flags, but is no longer focused on pointing "away" from the left side. The rest of the symbolism remains the same.

Some AFAB/CAFAB intersex people are trans women/transfems, even though they were assigned/expected to be women/feminine. From my understanding, this is usually because they experienced endogenous masculinizing puberty, but may also be the case for other reasons. For example, they might not define their gender modality by their AGAB, especially if it was coercively assigned to them through non-consensual surgeries. Whatever the case may be, they don't fit into cisnormative ideas of their gender, specifically due to being intersex.

The same applies to AMAB/CAFAB intersex people who are trans men/transmascs. Though they were assigned/expected to be men/masculine, they may have experienced endogenous feminizing puberty, been coercively assigned male, or otherwise don't fit into cisnormative ideas of their gender, specifically due to being intersex.

Again, I am perisex, so I encourage intersex people to edit these flags as you wish, especially if you feel the symbolism is lacking.

None of these flags are intended to be used by "perisex AFAB trans women" or "perisex AMAB trans men." No exceptions.

[jaxi-the-dragonborn]

IceWing Variants!!!

SnowWings, WolfWings, FrostWings, SpearWings, and CliffWings :D

details about them under the cut :)

WolfWings:

used as ground forces in the IW army

weak flyers, fast runners

on average the largest of all variants

very spiky

from 0-2 years of age they are all a black-brown color, then they start developing their adult coat

some wolfwings never lose their baby coat

most commonly live in forests of IW kingdom

groups of wolfwings are called a "fang" both in and outside of the army

browns and tans are very common

mask type markings very common

hold heads closer to the ground than other variants

excellent sense of smell

SpearWings:

longest reaching frostbreath

utilized by IW army for high-altitude recon and command and control during battles against NightWings, SandWings, SeaWings (less common), and MudWings. (SkyWings can fly at same altitude and higher so they are not utilized against them)

those that are not doing recon and C2 during battles will provide ground support by divebombing flyers and forcing them to the ground.

They also do ground support using their long reaching frostbreath in strafing runs

outside of divebombs they are weak air v air and ground v ground fighters

but if this guy decides to divebomb you you will die

typically dwell in ice caves

colors range from white-dark blue

faint markings common

fastest dive and overall flight speed of all IW variants

groups in army are called a talon

FrostWings:

OG IceWings

SUPER shiny scales, gleam like ice in the sun

super strong air v air fighters (good turn rate, average speed, average frostbreath)

most common markings are colorpoint stripes and freckles

not too much else to say abt them

live in heart of Ice Kingdom

SnowWings:

versatile fighters, can be strong on ground or in air (depends on individual dragon and training)

quiet flyers

live in snow dens :D

most common pattern is spots, which can range from white to black

extra spikes on throat give them an edge in close range combat (harder to grab/slice/bite)

super thorny horns- presents possible (closer) relationship to WolfWings

CliffWings

typically dark tops (head, back, topside of wings) can range from silvery grey to iridescent navy blue (like this guy) to black with super light undersides

smallest of all IW variants

live on cliifs at edges of kindgom

sometimes born with very small webs

stripes, bands, and speckles are very common markings (think banded penguins)

yellow-orange-pink scales sometimes pop up (but are more common on hybrids between CliffWings and other variants)

diet mostly fish

weak flyers

super fast in water

excellent swimmers and divers

weakest frostbreath

mostly used for maritime patrol and recon against SeaWings

sometimes used for infiltration (see Darkstalker: Legends when Clearsight was on the beach)

can hold breath for an impressive amount of time (time increases with age and practice)

Wolf + Frost hybrid

hybrids btw variants pretty common

strange scale colors often pop up

with Spear hybrids they often have more purples/greens/pinks for example

thanks for reading!

every dragon here is up for adoption :) just message me if u want to grab them :D

if anyone wants to know how exactly the different types work with each other in battle let me know :D

[shynetyme06]

Epic and cool Papered Jam reference be upon ye (og PJ by @7goodangel)

YA so this is that PJ variant I’ve posted a couple times and made that dtiys for, and yes the mc just stands for main character. I’ve called them mc pj as a placeholder for the longest time cuz I’m slow with names, and so it just ended up sticking for me even after the story was later dubbed PJ’s resolve ;3

Under the cut is an alt ref sheet with updated versions of my other PJ outfits from this post, plus some rambling about the designs lol

Like og PJ, the only non-ink garment she wears is the scarf gifted to her by Ink. But for mc pj, that wasn’t always the case. The outfit you see on the little PJ was also created by him, and they’re hydrophobic clothes meant to help maintain PJ’s form and keep the strings from being exposed. And for the rain boots, I really liked a headcanon I came across that little kid PJ could wear them to keep ink from tracking everywhere (they just gotta be emptied from time to time lol)

Years later, PJ would start to create clothes for herself that look and feel pretty close to what Ink could do, but that’s only as long as she’s in contact with them, because like with pretty much all of her creations, they’ll melt back into ink if left alone for too long. (And for the shedding, rather than tracking ink everywhere she goes she usually just throws away the shoes she wears after a while and then remakes them with newer ink)

The blotch change on the right side of his face is because of error’s tear tracks, I kinda wanted this PJ to take a little bit more after him forrr reasons (would’ve been more obvious if it stayed fully cyan but I colored it before remembering there’s already so much cyan in top half of the design… so now there’s a yellow outline like the pink splotch)

And lastly PJ is about ink’s height at 3’9 :D