#tree protection during construction

[girlkisser13]

percy jackson nsfw headcanons

• percy can lose himself very easily in sex. he gets caught up in the sensations around him and the wonderful feeling of your touch.

• french-kiss lover, and fuck, he’s good at it. swiping his tongue against yours, licking the roof of your mouth, and sucking at your tongue as he pulls away from you, he does it all. he just loves to see you breathless with kiss-bruised lips.

• this man LOVES taking you from behind, his hands using your hips as handlebars. going rough and then slowing it down by pressing you deep into the mattress, his chest against your back, and his arms linked with yours.

• his stamina is off the charts. his demigod genes give him enough strength and stamina to go all night if he felt so inclined. he is very perceptive of your energy and will happily pull you onto his cock until you start to get riled up again.

• the two of you have makeout sessions to the kitchen to grab water or snacks in between rounds, he’ll even carry you to the bathroom.

• nothing, nothing, gets him riled up more than seeing his cum on you. he is addicted to the sight of his cum on your body. your stomach, on your tongue, face, chest— you name it, he loves it.

• he’s pretty well groomed. he keeps things clean and healthy to keep up a hygienic routine. shaving, waxing, or even trimming takes time he just doesn’t have when he’s busy fighting monsters.

• if he knows ahead of time he’s meeting up with you he will take the extra time to clean himself and trim to the best of his ability. sometimes he gets bored and will trim a triangle for your amusement.

• percy enjoys experimenting with things. he’ll try just about anything once, just for the shits and giggles.

• this man is such a tease. he’s constantly trying to rile you up in a situation where you know that you can’t have him yet. the frustration building up in your eyes while you shoot him the most venomous of glares greatly amuses him.

• he’ll give you an innocent grin, pretending he wasn’t just brushing his thumb— "accidentally"— against your clit when resting his hand against your inner thigh.

• percy loves receiving. he loves seeing you struggle to take all of him and make a mess of yourself. he’ll gather all your hair, so that it’s out of your face and grip it to encourage you through the experience. he’s not shy, he’ll happily kiss you with the taste of him still on your lips, praising you every time for taking him so well.

• he enjoys giving just as much as receiving. it’s his way of worshiping you and giving you immense pleasure by his mouth alone. he can get really into it so either ride the overstimulation, squirm and fight against his grip on you, or tug on his hair just to see him pull away with a disappointed grunt.

• percy is a SUCKER for quickies. he enjoys romantic, traditional sex as much as the next guy, but he will never turn you down when he’s in the mood.

• he just wants the quickies to be in a safe area because he doesn’t want to have to worry about protecting you while having an intimate moment— that will not stop him, however, from taking you behind a tree in full battle armor during capture the flag.

• percy isn’t the loudest person in the bedroom. he’ll grunt here and there with a rough breath, maybe a few groans if you really hit a sweet spot. otherwise his breathing is the main indicator of his pleasure.

• his breathes shorten and hitch with each new wave of pleasure. the longer he’s in the mood or the longer you two go on, the more he’ll lose himself in the pleasure and make the beautiful noises that only you get to hear.

• don’t underestimate the power of a quick handjob with this guy. something about it— quick, dirty, maybe with an undertone of constructed panic or need to hurry— makes his eyes roll back so easily.

[teaandspite]

The Great Goodreads Diss List (Part 1)

Context: For many years now, I have been collecting funny lines from Goodreads reviews to share with my coworkers. (I do collection development, reader's advisory, and weeding at a public library, so I read a LOT of reviews)

Are some of these, perhaps, rather mean? Yes, but they are also very funny, and come from a place of honest frustration. In the tradition of Bargepole threads and lists everywhere, names and titles have been censored.

"First, I want to say that I understand how hard it is to write a book and how amazing it is when it is actually published. Congrats to the author for that accomplishment. That said--"

"Warning: This review will be lengthy due to pure hatred."

"I found myself feeling really, really annoyed with the world that this book is allowed to exist. We live in a universe where the passenger pigeon is extinct but this book goes along merrily being read by unsuspecting lovers of words and ideas and stories? It just seems like too much, you know?"

"Don't do it. Don't spring the cash for the hardcover. Instead, eat an entire bag of Twizzlers, spend some money you don't have at a high-end department store, look up on Facebook the shady college boyfriend that made you cry, research the current value of your home or 401K and then read all about how the big hedge fund managers are faring during the economic crisis. You'll feel about the same stomach pain if you waste your time reading this book."

"This wretched novel begins with the mugging of an old lady and it appears I may be in the process of repeating that loathsome crime as [author] was 78 when she wrote it. It is not nice to put the boot into such a poor defenseless old creature lying there with only a damehood, a Booker Prize and a few million quid. It’s a nasty job but somebody has to do it."

"I think this is the way dead people would write, if they could."

"I am considering setting up SPABB: Society for the Protection of Accurate Book Blurb. This blurb appears to have been written by someone from the publishers who met [the author] the night before, got very drunk, lost his notes and then constructed something in a fug of hangover the next morning."

"I congratulate [the author] on the early half of his book, which was thoroughly fun and made me laugh and think. I congratulate [the author] on the second half of his book, for finishing it. It reads like that was difficult."

"…a woman whose taste in contemporary literature has roughly the same batting average as a pitcher in the National League."

"The author is a pompous windbag."

"Recommends it for: No one. Recommended to me by: A friend who apparently wished to cause me great suffering."

"Makes me wonder: is it possible to obtain similes at a volume discount?"

"The repeated phrases made me want to mail a thesaurus to the author."

"I'm disappointed in myself for finishing this book."

"if the author described [character's] eyes as "obsidian" one more time I was tempted to write her and ask if her thesaurus broke."

"They say that an infinite number of monkeys with an infinite number of typewriters would, if given infinite time, eventually produce the complete works of William Shakespeare. [This book], on the other hand, would probably take the average monkey just under two hours."

"I can't imagine what the author had to do to get this nadir of Western literature printed on innocent trees, but he does seem to know a LOT about being well-connected in New York."

"This book is so bad it is almost worth reading just to make you appreciate the other books you are reading."

"Reads like it was written by a brilliant author, the night before it was due."

"raises interesting questions, like: can a book be so bad as to constitute an act of terrorism"

"has this author ever spoken to a human woman"

"This acorn has fallen so far from the tree that it can’t even see the forest."

"I’m guessing they are touted as ‘beach reads’ because no one will care if they get dropped into the ocean."

"This book begins with all the energy of a hand vacuum near the end of its battery life, and the pace doesn't quicken much from there."

"At least everybody’s eyes stayed the same color this time around.”

Part 2

Part 3

[beanjang-draws]

Plague Ponies - Duty-Bound

CONTENT WARNING: Blood (minor), violence, body horror

Previous | Next

Summary:

Shortly after recovering from the Plundervine attack, Celestia is readjusting her methods of protecting Equestria...

Having grown increasingly distrustful of herself and those around her, Celestia has taken to running things on her own again. She needs to remove any risk, even when it might take a familiar shape. In the midst of this process, things are breaking down at Canterlot Hospital and the guards stationed there have requested intervention--immediately.

Transcript below:

Title Page:

Plague Ponies Episode 6: "DutyBound"

Shortly after recovering from the plundervine attack, Celestia is readjusting her methods of protecting Equestria...

Content Warnings: blood and violence, body horror, disease mention

Comic Start

Celestia, thinking: What a quiet morning..

As she is lowering the moon and raising the sun for the day, Celestia is startled by the fiery arrival of a letter.

Celestia, thinking: Another letter...

Seeing Twilight's mark on the wax seal, Celestia's expression softens.

Celestia, thinking: Oh, it's from Twilight! Certainly a welcome change of pace...

Twilight's letter reads:

"Dear Princess Celestia,

I have begun preparing Ponyville for mass contagion as you have instructed. Construction of the experimental facilities are nearly complete, and I am gathering information on pre-existing infrastructure historically used in Ponyville in times of health crisis.

Granny Smith has shared with me an account of past protocols used during times of sickness. I intend to continue to work with the insight of everypony here.

We now have confirmation that a majority of Ponyville harbored an early version of the sickness. Although we assume that the wave of magic from The Tree of Harmony cleansed most of the residents...the small amount of remaining infections remain yet unaccounted for.

Participants to undergo observation have been selected, and testing is expected to run smoothly. Will an official statement be made soon? I believe patients may cooperate more readily when presented with more information.

Your faithful student,

Twilight Sparkle"

Celestia lets out a sigh as she finishes reading Twilight's letter. She sends out a pre-written response letter and heads to the throne room. Upon entering, she uses alicorn magic on the throne to reveal a spiral staircase descending far below the castle.

Celestia's reply to Twilight reads: "Dear Twilight Sparkle,

For now, continue as you have done and keep the peace. In the wake of the recent Changeling invasion and the return of The Crystal Empire, keeping the peace is our priority.

I leave the continued care of The Elements of Harmony and The Tree of Harmony to you. I wish your princesshood had started during more peaceful times, but I know you and your friends are well-equipped to handle them.

Yours,

Celestia"

Celestia, thinking: Twilight, at least, can be trusted. What dark times these are, that nopony can be trusted--not even those dearest to us...

Celestia hesitates before entering a lit room at the end of the underground passageway.

Celestia Hello "Luna".

Luna stares up at Celestia from low on the ground. Her front legs and wings are restrained by chains. Black anti-magic crystals grow from her primary horn.

Luna: Sister, you must release me! Think of our subjects!

Celestia: Luna would understand that is precisely why I do this.

Luna: Sister, you are unwell...you cannot continue this way on your own--

Celestia: Silence.

Celestia uses her magic to raise Luna up. It seems to cost her a lot of effort as beads of sweat roll off of her body. She does not the dark curls of magic slinking by Luna's legs.

Celestia: I have been the sole guardian of Equestria for a thousand moons. I will not compromise the safety of my ponies. Not even for this. Changeling.

Luna hangs limply in the air, held up by the restraints on her wings.

Luna: It is you who are compromised. Your judgement grows hasty.

Celestia: Enough--

Luna: The gazes of your subjects you so thrived beneath...have become a burden to your addled mind.

Celestia: How dare you...

Before either of the sisters can say more, a letter arrives in a burst of flame.

Celestia: A letter from The Royal Guard...

Sunburst and Moondancer are in a storage closet. There is banging coming from the other side of the door.

Sunburst: I'm sure help is coming soon...we've just got to sit tight and stay calm!

Moondancer: You've said that for the past hour and a half now at least.

A particularly loud "CRACK" startles both ponies.

Moondancer: Can't I get one second to think?

Moondancer leaps to her feet and braces her hooves against the door, lighting her horn. Sunburst watches in both fascination and alarm. There's a flash of light, and a pink bubble now covers the door, blocking out all the noise.

Sunburst, thinking: To think, she'd cast a sustained spell just for some peace and quiet...

Moondancer: I know it's a little excessive...but I really needed a break from the noise. I'm normally on the analytics team so I'm used to...quieter environments.

Sunburst: I don't think any of us are used to hiding in a storage closet during a biohazard breach...but your barrier is definitely helping.

Sunburst: It's funny, we've been in the same project this whole time and I had no idea you were such a skilled spell caster! Silencing spells are so complicated, and this one is so stable--

Moondancer: It's not that hard once you've done it a few times. But um, thanks.

Moondancer awkwardly adjusts her glasses to brush off the praise. Sunburst doesn't really know what to say.

Sunburst: Ah, anyways, Moon Dancer, right? How are you at layering spells?

Moondancer: I've been doing it since I was a filly, why?

Sunburst: How familiar are you with magnetism spells?

Celestia and two Royal Guards are flying to the hospital. One of the guards is Flash Sentry.

Celestia: Report!

Flash Sentry: The quarantine zone was overrun at around sunrise. We were forced to lock down the laboratory.

Celestia: "Overrun"?

Flash Sentry: The patients have become...aggressive. All but two of the researchers have been evacuated.

Celestia: Contact with patients must be a last resort. Retrieving the researchers is priority.

They arrive at the hospital and find flashes of light coming from the windows.

Guard 1: That light...! It must be the researchers. None of the patients are able to use magic in their current state.

Celestia: I will lead. Avoid coming to blows if you can. I would like there to be little harm inflicted here today.

Both guards: Yes, your Majesty!

Celestia looks grim. She is still sweating quite a bit, clearly not at her best.

Celestia, thinking: I should never have entrusted this project to external facilities...I'm sorry for endangering you, my little ponies.

Celestia: Prepare to--what...

Celestia looks up in bewilderment to see the two missing researchers floating in pink bubbles. Sunburst is putting a haggard looking Fancy Pants to sleep.

Moondancer, whispering: Princess!

Sunburst, whispering: Please, ah, watch your step!

Moondancer: We've been putting patients into a magical sleep as we find them.

Celestia: And the two of you are alright?

Moondancer: It's been a strange day in the lab for sure...luckily Sunburst here had the idea to combine bubbles of silence and a gravity reversal spell so we didn't have to stay trapped in a storage closet. Who knows how long it would have taken for us to be discovered!

Sunburst: It wouldn't have been much of a plan if there weren't a spell caster capable of pulling it off!

Moondance: Oh please, this isn't much--Woah!

Moondancer and Sunburst are surprised as something zooms by.

Flash Sentry: Princess, watch out!

Lyra Heartstrings slams into a wall close to everyone. Flash Sentry moves instinctively to shield Celestia. Before anyone else can react, he has a spear pointed at Lyra.

Flash Sentry: Halt! You are charged with unruly flying in the presence of the princess. Put away your wings and come with us quietly...

Lyra Heartstrings: Run!

Flash Sentry looks over his shoulder to see an unrecognizable Fleur De Lis contorting herself through the halls Lyra had just flown from.

Lyra Heartstrings, quietly: Stay silent...she can't see us.

End transcript.

[dandelionsresilience]

Dandelion News - January 22-28

Like these weekly compilations? Tip me at $kaybarr1735 or check out my Dandelion Doodles!

1. Sunfish that got sick after aquarium closed has recovered — thanks to human cutouts

“A solitary sunfish […] appeared unwell days after the facility closed last month for renovations. As a last-ditch measure to save the popular fish, its keepers hung their uniforms and set up human cutouts outside the tank. The next morning, the sunfish ate for the first time in about a week and has been steadily recovering[….]”

2. Costco stands by DEI policies, accuses conservative lobbyists of 'broader agenda'

“[Each of the board of directors and 98% of shareholders voted to reject a measure against DEI.] Costco's board wrote that “our commitment to an enterprise rooted in respect and inclusion is appropriate and necessary[….]””

3. Nearly $37 Million Will Support Habitat Restoration in Coastal Louisiana

“The project will restore nearly 380 acres of marsh and construct more than 7,000 feet of terraces in St. Bernard Parish. […] Coastal wetlands help protect communities [… from] wind, waves, and flooding[… and] support a statewide seafood industry valued at nearly $1 billion per year.”

4. Cooling green roofs seemed like an impossible dream for Brazil's favelas. Not true!

“[… A Brazilian nonprofit] teaches favela residents how to build their own green roofs as a way to beat the heat without overloading electrical grids[…,] dampen noise pollution, improve building energy efficiency, prevent flooding by reducing storm water runoff and ease anxiety.”

5. Bacteria found to eat forever chemicals -- and even some of their toxic byproducts

“"Many previous studies have only reported the degradation of PFAS, but not the formation of metabolites. We not only accounted for PFAS byproducts but found some of them continued to be further degraded by the bacteria," says the study's first author[….]”

6. A father and daughter’s to turn oil data into life-saving water

“The aquifer [discovered through oil-owned seismic data], it turned out, was vast enough to provide water for 2 million people for more than a century.”

7. Trump’s funding pause won’t impact federal student loans, Pell Grants

“[… T]he temporary pause will not impact “assistance received directly by individuals,” including federal direct student loans and Pell Grants, which are government subsidies that help low-income students pay for college.”

8. In Uganda, a women-led reforestation initiative fights flooding, erosion

“[… T]he Kasese municipality has established nurseries to provide free tree seedlings, particularly to women, to support reforestation efforts. [… They] plant Ficus trees near their homesteads to provide shade and help control erosion, and Dracaena trees on their fields to retain soil moisture.”

9. [A Texas school board] votes yes to provide low-cost housing to staff at no cost to the district

“The program will include 300 homes[…] only a short commute to campuses. […] Rent will be determined on a sliding scale based on their salaries, with those making less receiving a larger discount. The proposed community would include amenities, like childcare facilities[….]”

10. Heat pumps keep widening their lead on gas furnaces

“Americans bought 37% more air-source heat pumps than the next-most-popular heating appliance, gas furnaces, during the first 11 months of the year. That smashes 2023’s record-setting lead of 21%.”

January 15-21 news here | (all credit for images and written material can be found at the source linked; I don’t claim credit for anything but curating.)

[3liza]

sociopathic capitalist urban developers as a class have managed to fool an entire generation of self-identified leftist "YIMBYs" into bulldozing currently-occupied low income housing and functioning green space including the mature, carbon-sequestering, heat-protectant trees everyone is always crying about to build cardboard "luxury" slums for the Seattle ruling class to use as barbie houses and everyone gets mad at me when i suggest disrupting steady occupancy, neighborhood social support networks, and more intangible established occupancy benefits like not having to deal with packing and unpacking etc which takes at least a year for anyone with any level of dysfunction to recover from, might be bad, and that developers are lying to us about specifically the "need" for destructive new building construction, and that planting their shitty non native decorative trees will replace the mature native growth they had to rip up to build it. like what is it specifically about housing barons that makes leftists so happy to abandon the principles of "believe the capitalists when they tell you their goal is to make a profit above all else". you can literally go on reddit, type in 5-over-1, and find developers and people who work with developers going "yeah we use the cheapest possible materials and cut as many corners as we can make appear 'legal' to build these things, because it makes money". look up "low income housing closing", no one ever shows me numbers on how much low income housing is being lost because those aren't the cool numbers of grim, forward-thinking internet leftist stoicism but actual project housing is constantly being shut down and everyone kicked out because it turns out people who have a lot of problems sometimes have those problems visibly in public and this offends the Bainbridge Island parasites.

sorry folks we had to evict 20 poors who had been living in the Sundew Arms garbage apartment block from 1960 with below-market rent in order to build the new and improved condo, which will actually house fewer people per square foot regardless of the number of units because the rent will be higher and high income people don't have roommates or live with family and well all these shiny new amenities and the Peloton in the communal gym and the mini dog piss park and so on....we have to charge at least $2500. you understand. it's the market stupid. we're Building Housing you can't criticize us for Building Housing. there's a Housing Shortage.

well the government says we have to earmark 10% of the new building to Low Income Housing which means we will probably just pay the nominal fine instead or possibly a single unit will maybe at some point be gingerly allotted to someone who has been on the Section 8 waiting list for hang on let me look it up..."randomly via lottery or several years during which you will be continually means tested and/or kicked off the waiting list without notification or explanation". great. i love urban density. this is so walkable. this cheap carpet offgassing is so identity. are we really that stupid

[inkspiredwriting]

Playground Pandemonium

Five Hargreeves x reader

A/N: I imagine that five would be a great dad. But I also think that he is insecure and is sometimes afraid of becoming just like Reginald. What do you think?

Warnings: None

It was a rare sunny Saturday afternoon, and Five Hargreeves had finally found a day to spend entirely with his wife Y/n and their four-year-old daughter Maddie. They decided to make the most of it by visiting the local playground. Y/n, ever the planner, packed a picnic basket full of Maddie’s favorite snacks, while Five’s contribution was ensuring they arrived early enough to grab the best spot.

As they walked hand in hand through the park, Five scanned the area. “I haven’t been to a playground since, well, ever,” he admitted.

Y/n laughed, squeezing his hand. “You missed out on a quintessential part of childhood, Five. But don’t worry, Maddie will show you the ropes.”

Maddie, bouncing ahead of them with an infectious energy, turned around and called, “Come on, Daddy! You’re gonna love the swings!”

Maddie made a beeline for the swings, and Five found himself being roped into pushing her. “Higher, Daddy! Higher!” she shrieked with delight.

Five, slightly uncertain but determined not to disappoint, gave her a solid push. Maddie soared into the air, laughing gleefully.

“Careful, Five,” Y/n warned, settling on a nearby bench with a watchful eye. “We don’t want her launching into space.”

Five smirked, “I’ve seen worse launches.” He gave Maddie another push, but this time, his mind wandered to a particularly explosive time-travel incident.

Distracted, he pushed a bit too hard. Maddie shrieked—not in delight, but in mild terror—as she swung higher than intended. “Whoa! Okay, not that high!”

Y/n stifled a laugh as Five, looking mortified, rushed to catch the swing on its way back. “Sorry, kiddo,” he said, steadying her. “Daddy’s still learning the basics.”

Maddie giggled, her fear quickly forgotten. “It’s okay, Daddy. Just don’t push me into the future!”

After the swing incident, Maddie led them to the sandbox, where she promptly began constructing an elaborate sandcastle. Five and Y/n joined in, Five more reluctantly.

“Why does this remind me of building fortifications during the apocalypse?” Five muttered as he helped shape a sand wall.

Y/n chuckled. “Probably because you’re overthinking it. Just have fun!”

Maddie, her tongue poking out in concentration, sculpted a turret. “Look, Daddy! A tower!”

Five nodded, actually impressed. “Nice work, Maddie. It’s almost as secure as some of the bunkers I’ve seen.”

Y/n rolled her eyes playfully. “Maybe we can skip the part where it gets blown up by time-traveling assassins.”

As they worked, a group of kids approached, drawn by the impressive sandcastle. One boy, clearly the sandbox bully, sneered at their work. “That’s a silly castle,” he said, kicking sand at the base.

Five bristled, ready to give the kid a stern talking-to, but Y/n put a calming hand on his shoulder. “It’s okay, Five. Let Maddie handle it.”

Maddie stood up, glaring at the boy. “My Daddy can travel through time and fight bad guys. What can your daddy do?”

The boy, taken aback, mumbled something about his dad being a lawyer and scampered off. Five chuckled, giving Maddie a high five. “That’s my girl.”

Y/n called them over to the picnic blanket for snacks. As they sat down, Maddie’s excitement was palpable. “Can I have a juice box, Mommy?”

Y/n handed Maddie a juice box and gave Five a sandwich. “Try not to eat it too quickly,” she teased. “We don’t have a lot of supplies here.”

Five took a bite, nodding appreciatively. “Better than cockroaches.”

Just as they were settling in, a squirrel darted towards the picnic blanket, clearly eyeing their food. Maddie squealed, and Five immediately went into protective mode.

“Back off, rodent!” Five growled, standing up to chase the squirrel away.

The squirrel, unperturbed, grabbed a stray cookie and scampered up a tree. Five glared after it, shaking his fist. “This isn’t over!”

Y/n laughed, pulling him back down to the blanket. “I think we’ll survive without one cookie.”

Maddie, giggling, took a sip of her juice box. “Daddy, you’re so funny when you’re mad.”

Five sat down with a huff, brushing off the dirt. “I’m glad someone thinks so.”

The playground centerpiece was a tall slide, and Maddie insisted that her parents try it with her. Five eyed the slide warily. “Are you sure about this? I mean, what if—”

“No ‘what ifs,’ Five,” Y/n interrupted, grabbing his hand. “It’ll be fun!”

They climbed the ladder, Maddie leading the way. At the top, Five hesitated. “This is higher than it looks.”

Y/n, already halfway down the slide with Maddie, called back, “Don’t chicken out now!”

With a resigned sigh, Five sat at the top of the slide. “Here goes nothing.” He pushed off, the slide’s angle steeper than expected. As he hurtled down, his typically composed expression twisted into one of surprise.

He shot off the end of the slide, landing in an undignified heap on the ground. Maddie burst into laughter, running over to help him up. “That was awesome, Daddy!”

Y/n, laughing so hard she had tears in her eyes, helped him stand. “See? Fun!”

Five dusted himself off, trying to maintain some dignity. “Maybe for you.”

As the sun began to set, the Hargreeves family packed up their picnic and headed home. Maddie, tired from her day of adventure, held each of her parents’ hands, swinging between them.

“That was the best day ever!” she declared, beaming up at them.

Five, despite his usual stoicism, smiled down at her. “I’m glad you had fun, Maddie.”

Y/n leaned her head on Five’s shoulder as they walked. “You know, for someone who’s never been to a playground, you did pretty well.”

Five chuckled. “Well, I had a good teacher.”

As they reached their car, Maddie climbed into her seat, already half-asleep. Five and Y/n shared a look, both of them tired but happy.

“Same time next week?” Five asked, a twinkle in his eye.

Y/n laughed, kissing his cheek. “Absolutely. As long as you promise not to get into a fight with any more squirrels.”

Five grinned. “No promises.”

As the Hargreeves family drove home, the playground behind them, they couldn't help but smile. It was the perfect blend of laughter, love, and just a bit of Hargreeves-style mayhem.

[uncharismatic-fauna]

Ode to the Oilbird

The oilbird (Steatornis caripensis), also known as the guácharo, is a species of bird found throughout northeast South America, from Guyana to Bolivia. They are found primarily in montane and semi-montane habitats, which contain both caves and fruiting trees for them to roost in and feed on. The oilbird is named for its young, which are quite fat and traditionally collected by indigenous people for cooking.

The oilbird is quite bat-like in its behaviour. During the day, they roost in nests constructed of faecal matter and regurgitated seeds along the walls of deep caves. At night they emerge to feed on fruits, primarily avocados, laurels, and palms. Like bats, they use echolocation, emitting a series of high-pitched screeches as well as a highly developed sense of smell to find food. However, these calls are below 20 hertz, and therefore audible to humans Because of their nocturnal activity, their primary predators are owls. Snakes are also known to predate upon eggs and hatchlings.

S. caripensis is a monogamous species. Between April and May, males and females seek each other out by circling each other during flight and emitting a series of mating calls. Afterwards, the pair spends most of its time together constructing a nest and foraging. Females lay 2-4 eggs, which both parents spend 30 to 35 days incubating. Afterwards, the hatchlings are intensively taken care of for up to 125 days, at which point they fledge and leave the nest.

Oilbirds are fairly large, with a body length of 40–49 cm (16–19 in), and weighing 350–475 g (12.3–16.8 oz), with a wing span of aboutn95 cm (37 in). They have rich brown plumage, speckled with white, and a flat head with a hooked beak. Compared to other birds, the feet and eyes are fairly small, but the pupils are relatively large to allow for greater night vision.

Conservation status: The IUCN has classified the oilbird as Least Concern. Guácharo Cave, which is home to at least 15,000 birds, is protected by the Venezuelan government, and the several more caves are protected in other countries' national parks.

Want to request some art or uncharismatic facts? Just send me proof of donation to any of the fundraisers on this list, or a Palestinian organization of your choice! Proof does not have to include any personal info– only the date, the amount, and the recipient.

Photos

Greg Homel

Will Sweet

Roger Alham

[gloomwitchwrites]

Tattoo Artist Simon "Ghost" Riley x Female Reader

Chapter Specific Warnings: canon-typical swearing, suggestive themes, hand job, oral sex (male receiving), cum swallowing, vaginal fingering, dirty talk

Word Count: 5.3k

A/N: Part Fifteen of Ink & Needle

You and Simon start the trip he's been wanting to take you on. Simon thinks he sees a familiar face.

Chapter Fourteen // Chapter Sixteen

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // ink & needle masterlist

It takes Simon a week to move his schedule around.

He wanted things to be smoothed out sooner, but sometimes rescheduling takes patience and careful planning. This is why he needs a second person just to keep the scheduling fucking handled. Simon is an organized person, especially when it comes to his work, but even he is beginning to slip.

Simon makes a mental note.

Create a fucking job listing for a goddamn personal assistant.

He runs his tongue over his teeth and then sighs. Simon is only lying to himself. He likes to handle things on his own which is why he was so effective during his military career. Not that he can’t work with a team, just that his skill set lends itself to independence.

Turning off the main lights and securing the deadbolts, Simon activates the alarm system and does a once over to make sure everything is in its place. For the next five days, 141 Ink will be closed to the public.

He’ll be with you. In Scotland.

Simon takes the stairs to his flat two at a time with Bravo on his heels. From his pocket, Simon withdraws his lighter and a cigarette, stepping out onto the sorry excuse of a balcony. The wood is starting to rot in places. Really, he should just tear it down and start fresh, but London has fucking rules about construction.

And Simon is too damn stubborn to deal with bureaucratic nonsense just to replace some wood.

In the dark, he ignites the end of the cigarette, the orange-red glow flaring before receding. He inhales deeply and savors the comforting burn in his lungs.

While Simon dislikes changing around his work schedules, this isn’t really about him. This is about you and what you need. Simon only managed to keep you with him for a few days. You’re too headstrong sometimes, especially when you care about something. While Simon admires that about you, it’s only going to drive you toward burnout.

Those few days were not enough. You were soft and present with him, but you need a proper break away from London and the life you’re building here. Simon escorted you home afterward and all he wanted was to draw you back to him, to keep you even for a few more seconds.

That is, you need a break from the temporary life you’re building here in London.

Simon has to keep telling himself that. You’re not a citizen. Eventually you’ll have to leave or attempt to extend your visa but that isn’t guaranteed. What then? Is Simon willing to let you go?

The answer comes immediately.

No.

He’d rather relive every second of physical therapy, all the fucking medical appointments, and his forced retirement then let you slip away again.

You’re his now. You’re his woman. There is nothing that will keep him from you from this point on.

Simon takes a long drag of his cigarette as the November air slips in to cool his skin beneath his leather jacket.

Johnny keeps badgering Simon about Christmas and if he plans on joining. He always does, but he wants to know if he can bring you along. This time when Simon called Johnny about his family’s cottage up in the Highlands, Johnny lent it to him without question.

But when Johnny asked about him coming to see the family for holiday, Simon shrugged it off. Johnny didn’t seem too worried but Simon also didn’t bring you up at all. Yet it doesn’t mean shit, and Simon just needs to get through these next few days before he even brings it up with Johnny.

Bringing you to the MacTavish farm to meet everyone makes this real.

Solid.

Like Redwood trees.

You will make a home in Simon’s branches. Relax beneath his canopy. Be protected under his shade.

Bravo whines, and Simon glances down at the dog, the domestic longing evaporating like the smoke from the end of his cigarette.

“Ready for a sleepover?” asks Simon, putting out his cigarette and heading back inside.

Bravo’s ears perk up and his tail starts to rotate like a helo’s blades. Simon snorts and reaches down to scratch between Bravo’s ears.

Simon loves Bravo but he is not taking the dog with him. He’s going to pick you up tonight and Simon is dropping Bravo off when he does. Originally, Simon planned on having Gaz watch him, but Amelia suggested that he leave Bravo with her.

Saves Simon a fucking trip.

Everything is coming together, and maybe—just maybe—the two of you can move this relationship into something stable. Because regardless of his obsession, Simon wants peace. He loves the tattoo parlor and his flat and Bravo. But it’s not enough.

Simon is not fulfilled. Not really.

He needs you.

As it stands, you’re not entirely his. Simon needs to claim everything. He might have your heart and your smile and your lips, but he is a possessive creature. Simon wants to ruin everyone else for you. That you will only ever beg for him, to desire him as much as he constantly craves you.

As Simon checks over the large duffle bag he packed for the tip, his mind drifts into the memories of the last few days.

That morning in the shower, Simon nearly lost his head. He knew what you wanted by the way you had arched your back and how your hand palmed him. He was ready to push you up against the shower wall and fuck the life out of you. But Simon fought off the urge even though it clawed at his ribcage.

He can still recall your lips against his skin, and the playful way you covered your eyes to not see his face. You’re always thinking of him. Not pushing. Allowing Simon to give pieces of himself to you when he’s ready.

Hiding all this from me? You’ve been holding out on me, Simon.

Simon stands in the middle of his bedroom grinning like a bloody idiot.

When it comes to you, he’s absolutely fucked.

Simon zips up the duffle bag before changing out of his work clothes. With it being November, it’ll be too fucking cold to take the bike. He’ll need to wait for a nicer day, but he also has no gear for you to wear. Just a helmet, and that isn’t enough to protect you.

He switches into joggers, trainers, a long-sleeved shirt, and a black sip-up hoodie with a fleece interior. If Simon is driving, he wants to be bloody comfortable.

Simon grabs the duffle and lifts it, hauling it over his shoulder.

“Let’s go, Bravo.”

The German Shepard rolls up and onto his feet, trotting happily beside Simon. Descending the rear staircase, Simon exits into the alleyway behind the building. Attached to the back of the building is a small garage but it’s not automatic. It’s manual.

Simon unlocks it and twists the handle lifting the door up enough that it ascends on its own. Popping the trunk, Simon tosses the duffle in and Bravo jumps inside.

Simon is in the driver’s seat of his SUV and to Amelia’s in less than a minute.

It’s after dinner but that was the plan. He wants to avoid traffic, and driving late at night has always calmed him.

You answer the door, and when your gaze falls on Simon his heart drops into his stomach. From there it explodes outward, every limb in his body tingling with pleasure. You’re grinning, nearly glowing.

Your gaze runs up and down his body before settling on his face. “You’re not wearing the balaclava.”

Simon blinks, his hand starting to rise to feel the balaclava’s absence.

“You’re right. I’m not,” he agrees, forcing his hand back to his side. He forgot to put it on, which is odd since he’s always remembered in the past. “You packed?”

“I am,” you reply, lifting the bag in your hand. Before you can drop it, Simon reaches out and snags it.

Your features change, morphing into indignation as if you’re going to protest. Simon smirks and shakes his head.

“Go on, Bravo,” instructs Simon, nodding his head in the direction of the house.

Bravo greets you with a tail wag before disappearing inside. Moments later, Simon hears Amelia’s delighted yell.

“I’ll take good care of him, Simon!” she calls from somewhere in the house.

You start to turn to call back but Simon shoves his way in. “We’ll be back on Wednesday!” he replies, before filling the entire space with his bulky frame.

You’re not able to move around him, and instead step out onto the front stoop. Simon did that on purpose. You’re acting tough like his actions annoyed you, but he notices the soft way you submit to him. If you were truly upset, you’d say something, but you’re walking toward the SUV with a little skip in your step.

At the car, Simon adds your bag to the trunk but he’s not fast enough to open the passenger door for you. You’re already sitting inside by the time he comes around to the driver’s side.

When Simon opens the door and hops in, starting the car, the reality of the situation sets in.

This is it. This is fucking happening.

Simon glances at you and you greet him with a lovely smile. He could bottle the way you look at him up and drink it down like his favorite whiskey.

“We’re driving?” you ask, briefly glancing around the interior.

“We are,” answers Simon as he checks for oncoming cars, before pulling out from his parking spot.

“Why aren’t we flying?” You’re not asking because you’re confused, you’re asking because you’re probing. Simon never said where he planned on taking you for this trip.

Simon makes a turn. “I hate planes.”

“You hate planes?” you reply, amusement in your tone.

Briefly, Simon’s brain draws forth a memory of when he was handed the controls of a helo and they nearly lost Kyle from Simon’s erratic steering. Gaz has never allowed Simon to forget it.

“Why are you smiling?” you laugh, your eyebrows slightly raised in question.

“Better to stay on the ground,” says Simon, remembering how Price also lost is cigar during that and how bloody pissed off he was about it.

“And what about a train?”

Again, you’re inquiring instead of outright asking.

Simon shrugs. “Not in control.”

Your lips purse but you settle back into your seat, gaze turning toward the passenger door window.

Getting out of London is the hardest part. Everything is packed together, and sometimes traffic doesn’t cease even in the evening which is why Simon wanted to leave after dinner. Once the two of you are out of London, it’ll be much easier to drive up to Edinburgh without having to constantly stop.

Simon spends most of his time muttering obscenities under his breath as he navigates traffic. You don’t interrupt his concentration. Instead, you watch on, clearly amused by Simon’s attitude to everyone around him.

It isn’t until the car exits the bounds of the London metropolitan area that Simon finally takes a fucking breath. Reaching into the center console, Simon snags his lighter and a cigarette.

“Care if I smoke?”

You shake your head. “Not at all.”

With the filter end between his teeth, Simon clicks open the lighter. The little flame pops up but Simon doesn’t light the cigarette. “No fight?”

You glance at him, the corner of your mouth twitching upward. “Would you like an argument?”

Simon brings the flame to the end of the cigarette. Inhales. Clicks off the lighter and tosses it back into the console. The smoke disappears out the cracked car window.

“Maybe,” he replies, voice slightly husky.

You shift in the passenger seat, twisting to face him. “Simon.”

“Yes, love,” he purrs, enjoying the chastising sweetness in your tone.

“Smoking is harmful.”

“Is it?” He takes another drag of his cigarette.

You nod, leaning one forearm against the middle armrest. “Yes. What if you get lung cancer?”

“Who says that will happen?”

“Literally every doctor.”

Simon laughs and shakes his head. “Don’t worry your pretty little head about that.”

Your mouth opens in feigned shocked. “Are you telling me how I should feel, Simon?”

He shifts slightly in his seat. This is fun. He likes this. “Not at all, love. But I think I know how to put that mouth to other uses.”

This time your mouth remains open, the shock genuine.

Simon keeps going. “Seems like you already know what to do.”

You promptly shut your mouth. Simon watches as the heat rushes to your face.

Sweet fucking victory.

He takes a final drag on the cigarette and rids himself of the extinguished stub. Returning that hand to the steering wheel, Simon removes the other one, resting it against his thigh. He slides that hand up and down before lightly tapping.

“Come here, sweetheart,” purrs Simon. “Show me what you do with that mouth.”

You immediately smack his arm and Simon bursts out laughing. You’re laughing too but he knows his words stirred something within you. You keep touching your cheek as if you’re feverish.

“You’re terrible, Simon Riley,” you say right before you reach for the water bottle in the cup holder.

He waits until you’re taking a drink. “You won’t think that when I have you on my cock.”

You splutter around the bottle and smack his arm again. Closing the lid, you return the bottle and clear your throat. “When are we supposed to arrive to this mystery place?”

You’re changing the subject again, likely probing for more information. It’s not like it’s some big secret. Simon just wanted it to be a surprise, but there really isn’t any reason to be allusive about it anymore.

Simon shrugs. “It’s about a seven-hour drive to where we’re headed.”

“Seven hours? Where the fuck are you taking me?” You appear genuinely concerned.

He knows why, and Simon quickly attempts to extinguish the rising anxiety. “Evie and Amelia will be fine without you for a few days.”

You sigh. “I know. I’m just—”

The worry lines are back and Simon hates that. You’re always so concerned for others. Always thinking of everyone but yourself.

Reaching out, Simon clasps your hand and squeezes. “We’re going to Scotland.”

“Really?” This time, he hears the pleasure in your voice, and Simon’s chest swells with pride.

“Edinburgh first for a day. Then we’re heading out into the Highlands. Johnny’s family has a small farm up there with a little cottage.”

“Johnny?”

Fuck. You don’t really know the guys. You briefly met them once when Simon nearly punched Adam in the face.

Simon swallows before he speaks. “He was at the pub with me when you were with…Adam.”

“I see,” you reply softly.

“They’ll be gone. Johnny’s family. And the cottage is on the edge of the property.”

Your thumb brushes over the back of Simon’s hand. “So, we’ll be alone?”

“We will,” answers Simon, every muscle in his body tensing.

You nod, still clutching his hand, as you lean further against your seat. “What kind of farm is it?”

Simon glances at you briefly before returning his attention to the road. “It’s not like what you’re used to in America. Johnny’s mother has a little greenhouse but they mostly raise animals.”

“Like what?”

“They have some pigs. Sheep.” Simon shrugs. “Fluffy coos.” He says “cow” the same way Johnny does.

A few Christmases ago when Gaz came, Simon and Kyle watched the fluffy beasts from a distance as Johnny tried to wrangle a few back toward one of the enclosures. They offered their assistance but Johnny was adamant he didn’t need their help. He was face down in the mud with bare ass up in the air after only a few minutes.

Your eyes go wide and you sit up a bit straighter. “Can I pet them?”

“With supervision,” says Simon knowing that while the animals are docile and gentle creatures, their horns can easily harm.

This appears acceptable because you snuggle into your seat.

Two hours in, and you’re asleep.

Simon smokes. Drives. Smokes again.

Occasionally, Simon glances in your direction just to make sure you’re still there. For some reason his brain keeps insisting that you’ll disappear if he looks away for too long. You’ll transform into smoke and drift out of the car just like the smoke he exhales from his lungs.

There are roughly three more hours left before arriving in Edinburgh. While most places don’t allow late check-ins, the little hotel Simon plans on taking you to for the night made an exception for him.

By the third hour, Simon is entirely focused on the road. You have not drifted into the air. You are solid and real and asleep in the passenger seat. A calmness settles over him. Everything is as it should be.

So, when Simon feels the weight of your hand against his thigh, he doesn’t think much of it. He drops one hand from the steering wheel intending to reach out to grasp your hand with his own. Yet you do no linger there. Your hand slides upward and Simon’s temporary calmness morphs into understanding.

Fuck.

Fucking hell.

“What are you up to, love?” says Simon softly, returning his hand to the steering wheel.

There is a schedule, and while your hand resting on the outside of his joggers over his dick is a temptation he doesn’t want to resist, the two of you can’t stray far.

“Do you want me to stop?” There is a raspy quality to your voice like you’ve just woken from sleep. Perhaps you have, and in that state of wakefulness, your brain decided that this is a good idea.

But there is also lust in your tone. It drips like thick honey.

Now, that? Simon cannot resist that.

“No,” he says, matching your tone as your hand slips beneath the elastic band of his joggers.

Flexing his hips, Simon adjusts in his seat to give you a better angle. When your fingers find him, it’s difficult for Simon to keep his eyes on the road. The tips of your nails gently scratch against his skin before your fingers wrap around him completely.

Your hand is warm, and that first stroke is maddening.

His control is right on a knife’s edge. If Simon glances away from the road, he’ll fucking crash this car. In his peripheral, Simon sees you moving, and even that is hard to withstand. Simon knows that you’re leaning on the center armrest and that you’re looking at him.

Simon knows you are.

Your stare is a brand on his skin.

“This,” you murmur, gently squeezing him. “Is perfect.”

Fuck. He is fucking done for.

The middle of his chest burns as if he is a tree and his core is on fire. The need to be close to you is a lightning strike.

But Simon is fucking driving, and it’s not like he can just pull you into his lap.

“Careful, love,” growls Simon as you start a steady pace. “Might pull over and make you regret this.”

Because that is what Simon wants to do. Find an exit and a quiet parking lot or silent clump of trees.

“Is that a promise?” you breathe as the pad of your thumb brushes over the slit.

Oh, fuck you’re sweet.

So, this is where you’ve been hiding all along. You’ve always had a bit of fire, but this is what he remembers. In Riot Room, you weren’t shy at all. Your words and actions were bold. You opened like a flower in his hands. Bloomed and melted and reformed.

This is the woman who captured all his attention three years ago.

You haven’t changed at all.

“A fucking guarantee,” growls Simon in answer.

You make a little sound in your throat that goes straight to his dick. He is throbbing in your palm, and that only makes Simon’s control thin further. His grip on the steering wheel tightens. The knuckles of his turn white. Even the tattoos on his fingers pale.

You don’t let up. You just bring Simon closer to the edge. He’s not going to last. Not like this, but he sure as hell isn’t going to finish inside his joggers or on the fucking seat like some teenage boy getting his first handy.

No.

Fucking no.

If you’re going to be bold then you’ll take everything that comes with it.

With one hand on the steering wheel, Simon reaches out and grabs the back of your neck. The whimper you make, and the slight squeeze of your hand around his cock nearly causes him to bust right then and there.

“Use that gorgeous mouth and suck me off,” he growls, you tugging your head closer.

Simon isn’t fucking asking. It’s a demand.

Your answer is a playful smile and teasing tone. “You don’t tell me what to do, Simon.”

Simon shakes his head. “Oh, sweetheart, you love it when I tell you what do it.” He briefly glances in your direction before returning his gaze to the road. “Especially when my head is between your legs.”

By your sharp inhale, Simon knows you’re recalling the night when he made you count every orgasm.

“Now,” he says, his exhale stuttering slightly as it releases from him. “Be good. And swallow.”

You reach for him, and Simon lifts his hips a bit. It’s just enough for you to shove the band of his joggers down.

Even then, with his cock out, Simon does not glance away from the road.

Not when you lean forward completely.

Not when his hand fists your hair to keep you in place.

Not even when your mouth suctions around him and you throat him to the fucking root.

But his nostrils flare, and the muscles in his neck and jaw are fucking tight with tension. Every instinct is telling him to pull over, to fuck your luscious mouth, and then drag you into his lap so he can watch you ride his fingers.

That would be bloody perfect. That would be ideal.

Instead, he breathes in and out of his nose, attempting to stifle every groan as your head bobs. One of your hands cups him gently and Simon’s grip in your hair tightens.

“I’m—fuck,” groans Simon.

He feels the resistance of your throat from his instruction and hears the wet sound it makes when his length is entirely too much. You pull back a bit before trying again, and that is fucking it.

Your tongue lightly grazes against the underside of the head, and Simon’s lower half tenses, hips thrusting up slightly to meet you.

And you, like the good girl you are, take every drop.

Thank fuck he turned on the cruise control.

Simon’s fingers slowly unlace from your strands of hair. He’s careful not to tug, and then it’s just a gentle caress as you lift your head.

For a moment—a brief few seconds—Simon is fixated on your puffy, swollen lips. He wants to kiss those lips. To taste himself along with you.

“Eyes on the road, Simon.”

He quickly averts his gaze but still reaches out with his thumb to wipe away the bit of his cum that still slings to the corner of your mouth. Your grab his wrist and bring that thumb to your mouth.

Lips suctioning around it, you suck off that last little drop. When you release his thumb, Simon briefly presses it against your bottom lip.

Simon makes it only a kilometer before he pulls over, pushes his seat back, drags you into his lap, shoves your pants down to your ankles, and has you fucking yourself on his fingers. The hand not between your legs presses against your upper right thigh. His tattooed fingers are slightly curled inward to cling there.

He doesn’t want you moving.

“Come on, love. Grind down on me.”

There is sweat on your brow and it’s beautiful. Your mouth is open, head tilted backward in bliss to expose your throat. Your eyes are heavy-lidded, clearly lost in a lust-laced haze.

With one hand on Simon’s chest and the other on his thigh, you’re a goddess above him. Simon watches his index and middle finger appear and disappear as you use them for your pleasure, rolling your hips in fluid rhythm.

Sure, this is about you, but this is doing plenty for him. He’s fucking hard again just watching your pussy squeeze and stretch in time with your movements. Simon sits up a bit and gently bites your left breast through your shirt.

You whimper and grind down on him like he asks. It’s so sweet the way you come undone. The way your pussy tightens around his fingers. The way you say his name. It’s like you’re asking for more and yet chastising him.

And this is just his fingers inside you.

Soon, you’ll take his cock, and Simon cannot fucking wait to hear the sounds you’ll make then.

Tenderly, Simon eases his fingers from your pussy. They’re glossy. Shiny. And Simon brings them to his mouth to clean just as your head dips forward. Your gaze lands on his face the moment his fingers enter his mouth. Your eyes widen slightly, and Simon takes his time.

He wants you to see.

He wants you to know.

The little detour nearly adds an hour but Simon could give a fuck.

Simon sits smugly while you doze off in the passenger seat. He would have had you continue if he weren’t pressed for time. If Simon had another hour, he would have told you to continue until your legs shook. Even then, he’d simply do the work himself until your voice went hoarse.

By the time Edinburgh is in Simon’s sights, it’s late.

You still haven’t stirred. You’re curled up in the passenger seat and Simon has no idea how you’re comfortable.

When he pulls up to the hotel he booked, Simon decides not to wake you. Finding a parking spot in the little lot to the side of the building, Simon leaves you alone in the car. He’ll check in at the front desk, grab the room key, and then come back for you.

You deserve some sleep.

“Evening, mate,” says Simon to the clerk behind the desk.

It’s an older gentleman whose entire appearance reminds Simon of Ben.

“Evening. You’re,” he checks his little computer, “Mr. Riley?”

“That’s me,” nods Simon.

“Need to see some identification and I’ll square you away.”

Simon hands it over, and then it’s back in his wallet along with a set of keycards. The entire interaction takes less than three minutes.

As Simon exits the building and turns right to head into the little lot, he stops at the first row of cars.

At first, he’s not sure what the fuck he’s looking at.

The small lot is full and there was only one parking spot when Simon pulled up. He took it, not thinking much since the lot itself is well-lit.

But that isn’t the case now.

Several of the lights are out and is that—

No. It fucking can’t be.

Anyone else might mistake the odd lump as a trick of the shadows or even the back of another vehicle. But Simon isn’t mistaken. That is not just shadows playing games or a bad parking job.

That is a person. A man. Leaning against Simon’s SUV.

And he knows that stance, that casual lean that seems aloof but isn’t.

He knows who it belongs to.

Simon bolts, striding toward the SUV with purpose in every step. He loses sight of the back end of the SUV for the briefest second as he crosses over, another large vehicle in the way before it comes back into view.

But there is no one there.

All that training clicks back in like it never left.

Simon approaches slowly, walking around his car once to make sure. He’s completely on alert, his head on a swivel as he scans the area.

There is only you sleeping in the passenger seat.

There is no one else in the lot but Simon fucking checks anyway. He walks both lengths of the lot. Checks every car and corner. He even goes out to the street and back, canvasing further than he likely needs to but doing it anyway.

But he was so sure there was someone there.

He’s back, Simon.

No. What Simon saw was a fucking illusion. An old memory surfacing. That fucker—that waste of human—is in America. He isn’t here.

Unlocking the trunk, Simon removes both bags, tossing one over either shoulder. Then he’s at your door opening it, reaching out to gently shake you awake.

“We’re here.”

You groan softly and grab his hand. Simon keeps you closely tucked against him all the way to the room because it’s the only thing that keeps his hands from shaking.

Once you’re both inside the hotel room, Simon helps you out of your clothes.

“Want to shower?” he asks and you shake your head, rubbing at your eyes.

Simon offers you one of his shirts and you put it on. It’s all he can do for you before you plop onto the bed. You wiggle a bit and then finally dive under the covers, completely disappearing.

Once you’re settled, Simon checks the door and the two windows. Everything is locked and secure. There is no reason for him to panic like this.

Simon rubs at his face before sighing softly and stripping down to his boxer briefs. Sleep is what he needs. It’s what you both need.

And it is Simon who wakes first, the faintest bit of stress still lingering at his temples. But Simon isn’t one for sleeping in or even staying in bed once he’s awoken. You’re still snoozing, just a tangle of hair above the covers and nothing else.

Simon orders breakfast, and when you do wake up, it arrives.

“This all for us?” you yawn, stretching your arms over your head.

“We’re exploring today,” replies Simon, bring the espresso cup to his lips. While tea is his usual beverage of choice, he needs some fucking caffeine.

You plop down onto your side and then slowly roll over until you bump into him. Simon arches an eyebrow as you sit up. Instead of reaching for the food, you reach for him, fingers tangling in his hair as you tug him down to meet you.

Your lips find his and the heat of that kiss goes straight to his toes.

“You need to fucking brush your teeth.”

“Simon, I fucking swear—”

“Kiss your mother with that mouth?”

You roll your eyes, pulling away, but Simon is moving with you, pressing you into the bed, slotting himself between your legs.

“Let’s stay here,” you murmur after a few more kisses.

“While I’d love to stay right here,” says Simon, emphasizing his words by pressing himself against your sex. “We have things to do today.”

“Do we?”

“Don’t want to explore the city with me?” counters Simon, wrapping you up in his arms only to haul you back up to a seated position.

“You know I do, Simon,” you reply softly, fingers brushing lightly against the line of his jaw. “That’s not even a question.”

Simon rubs your back before disentangling himself. “Then eat,” he says, pointing to the feast he ordered because he panicked and decided on one of everything.

He pushes off the bed, his bad knee aching slightly. Simon stretches into it, covering up the limp before he straightens up. You don’t notice, too busy buttering up some toast with lots of jam.

Five days.

He has five days with you.

Simon is about to savor every second.

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[cloudsanddust]

I’ve been obsessing over shadow knights recently so I prepose a thought.

We know Shadow Knights are glorified zombies who are practically decaying, right?

Well what if Shadow Knights could go into a sort of hibernation like state? Being reclaimed by nature?

Like a shadow knight enters the over world and is tired of the village life but also the knight life. So they opt to lie on the forest floor and enter a deep slumber as nature tries to reclaim them. Unfortunately due to them being a shadow knight nature can only reclaim so much. Everything around the knight decays while a tree covers their body, protecting them. These trees look different due to the dark magic the shadow knight is giving off. So instead of normal overworld tree, a tree from the nether sprouts in place.

Immortal knights do this because they feel it’s the closest thing to death.

Not fully fledged knights do this because they fear they might harm their loved ones.

It’s a death like sleep but the knight can be awakened if the area around them is disturbed a good bit.

Examples are: Floods, Earthquakes, Tornados, construction work/drilling in the ground, constant destruction to the tree, etc.

So imagine the mcd world slowly turning into the my street world and Laurence entered this type of slumber back during mcd. Later he is awoken by reincarnations of his friends in the modern my street world.

Just a silly thought touching on Shadow Knights decaying 🤗✨

[credus99-blog]

Aggression/ Danger to humans: High - Medium

Element/ Ailment: Scent Marking

The Azure Falswine “Tusk Boar” or T’ïkh Balat/ T’ïkhxpïm (Tuhk Balat/ Tuhk-Pym) meaning “Tusk Boar/ Falswine,” sometimes called the Azure Menace, is a small hooved multituberculate that inhabits the forests of the Northern Eastern Continent of Atterra and is a chiefly vegetarian omnivore. Azure Falswine travels in herds (gangs) up to fifty animals strong.  What the Azure Falswine lacks in size and weight, it more than makes up for in attitude and defense. With a robust sense of smell, decent eyesight, and good hearing, the Azure Falswine keeps a vigilant lookout for predators in the Atterran wilds at all hours of the day.

During the night, gangs of Azure Falswine will have rotating lookouts, with pregnant females and kids getting the most sleep each night. Should a threat be spotted, the lookouts will sound an alarm to wake up the entire herd and form a defensive ball around the young and pregnant females. Due to their poor night vision, Tusk boars often use their sense of hearing and smell to sniff out the threat. Falswine will use the scent glands on their snouts to paint the target, and the rest of the gang will move towards the scent and attack.

This method of attack works due to the social nature of the Azure Falswine and the way they form bonds within the gang. The scent glands are also used to mark edible feet and nesting areas. All species of Falswine rub each other with their scent glands (Both males and females have them) to bond and intermix their scents. Giving each herd a ‘distinct scent’ unique to their gang and comprised of all the individuals in the gang. Making it easy for Falswine to detect outsiders or gangs at the edges of their territory to attack. Couple this with the scent gland producing a muskier and sharper scent when under stress means that when a predator hunts a Falswine, it or the surrounding area is marked with the alarm scent from the thrashing Falswine. Being a vindictive genus like Earth’s Peccaries or Cape Buffalo, upon smelling the musk of duress from another gang member or species, the whole gang will move to attack the threat to their herd.

Azure Falswine and other Tuskboars have been known to swarm and kill Red-Maned Quill Tails and Guild Huntsman with their sheer numbers and tenacity. There have been a few recorded cases of Falswine waiting up to six hours at the base of a tree a party of Huntsman climbed into, guarding the carcasses of their fellow gang members before leaving the Huntsman and dead behind. This has made Guild Huntsman and other predators wary of hunting Tuskboars, who have taken a hit-and-run approach when hunting Azure Falswine. Should a predator or Huntsman find themselves marked by a Tuskboar, the best course of action is to take the carcass and run or cause enough damage to the herd by killing several pursuing members of the gang so the herd panics and breaks off pursuit. Besides, some predators, such as Chardanes have begun constructing pitfalls and traps to hunt Tusk Boars. The Guild has elected to use bow hunting for a clean kill or light stones to blind and panic the gang of Falswine.

Besides their scent gland, the Azure Falswine and other Tuskboars are equipped with horns on their snout, four tusks, fangs derived from their bicuspids, bone plates on their shoulders, bony spines on their flanks, and hard cartilage plates on their rear. Like the horns, the bony plates and spines are covered in a thin layer of keratin and are used to protect the Tuskboars spine from attack by larger predators.  The plates and spines are not connected with the Azure Falswine’s skeleton and instead are anchored into the upper layer of the muscle so as not to impede the movement or flexibility of the animal. The hard cartilage plating on the rump of the Azure Falswine protects the animal’s rear from the jaws of predators. Allowing the Tuskboar to turn around and gore the predator.

When the Tuskboar is not out for the blood of the enemies of its gang, the Azure Falswine uses its hard cartilage-reinforced snout to dig up roots, tubers, mushrooms, and underground worms and grubs to feed on. Besides those, the Falswine likes eating fallen fruit on the forest floor and low-growing ferns, shrubs, nuts, and Wax Fruit. Tuskboars mark the edges of the gang’s territory by rubbing their scent glands on the rocks and trees at the far ends of their range, which, on average, are around a thousand acres in size. The herd periodically moves from feeding ground to feeding ground on well-worn trails throughout the year, with the gang only deviating from the path should one of the two to three small scouting parties (usually between three to 5 individuals in size and usually made up of senior members of the gang) find a new source of food or nesting grounds for the gang.

Tuskboars can mate and give birth in any season to twins or triplets per litter, with two births happening yearly and primarily in the spring and summer months. Female Tuskboars will gestate their kids for five months before giving birth to a litter of kids, usually around a pound in weight at first breath. Kids are very vocal and playful, lacking the bone plating of mature Falswine, and will nurse for eight weeks before weaning and moving onto solid food. Baby Azure Falswine are usually reddish and black in color with white bellies like adults but lack the characteristic blue fur (The blue coloring being due to hair follicle structure and not blue pigmentation in the fur) of mature individuals.

Tuskboars mature at two years and can live up to an average of ten years in the wild, with captive or lucky individuals living over twenty years of age. Male and female Falswine are identical in appearance, with the only way to tell the difference between the genders is their size. Male Tuskboars are fifteen percent larger than females in height and body mass, with females almost always accompanied by their kids in the spring and summer months. When a female of the gang goes into heat, the dominant male (Often the oldest and strongest surviving male) will breed with the fertile female. Shoving matches will ensue if any other male Falswine wants to dethrone the gang’s Patriarch for breeding rights. So far, attempts to domesticate Tuskboars have been less than stellar, and their aggressive and high-strung nature makes them a poor candidate for domestication. Making it so that certain Hakdor tribes that are almost as stubborn as the Tuskboars themselves try breeding out aggression towards humanoids as a means of domestication. After almost a century of breeding, this method yields some positive results, creating a more agreeable breed of Falswine for food or pets. Something human breeders are having trouble accomplishing, and more than one has lost their lives attempting to recreate.

[espionn]

HiveWing tribe sheet!

i know i dont talk about silkwings a whole lot in this one, but they're next so you'll hear plenty about them. have fun with my hivewing ideas!

Physical Appearance + Traits:

-HiveWings are the smallest and lightest tribe across the continents, with a distinct appearance resembling insects - specifically bees and wasps, but with some characteristics reminiscent of others. Their colors can range across the whole yellow-to-red spectrum, occasionally even crossing into green. They also can have a wide variety of black markings across their faces and bodies.

-HiveWings are said to be descended directly from Clearsight, crossbred between her and the ancient BeetleWings. It is possible that her foreign genes made some effect - some NightWing traits are visible in their faces, for example - but likely the majority of their adaptations, like the black scales, were caused by natural evolution and not by Clearsight. 

-Some HiveWings are born with an extra ability; this can be any out of a list of options. Some have a stinger, which can be located on their wrist or tail, or beside their claws. Their venom can sometimes just be painful, sometimes induce paralysis, and sometimes cause nausea and lightheadedness. Generally, black stripes across the body indicate the presence of stingers. Some also have fangs that can deliver any of the above forms of venom. A few also have other miscellaneous abilities, like an unpleasant and repelling scent.

-HiveWings have long, straight wings that resemble those of dragonflies or bees, with transparent and delicate membranes between them. Their wings are stiff and cannot be folded like other dragons; instead, they rest them horizontally on their backs. To fly, they vibrate them rapidly, creating a buzzing sound and lifting off the ground. They can fly quickly and with great maneuverability, but it takes a lot of energy.

-They have a generally slim and sharp appearance, with many spines across their bodies and a sharply narrowed underside. 

-The amount of black that HiveWings have across their bodies varies greatly, but the more there is the more desirable they’re considered. Nearly all-black HiveWings are seen as being the closest to Clearsight.

-Most HiveWings have black markings around their eyes, which, like SandWings and SkyWings, are used to mitigate the glaring sun across the flat, dry savanas they inhabit.

Life Cycle:

-HiveWings lay by far the largest clutches of eggs of any dragons, sometimes having more than twenty. However, the responsibility of raising dragonets is not on the parents; they are raised communally by each hive’s nursery. There are records of each family tree and what dragonets were hatched from what parents, but they don’t have any innate connection to their offspring, instead preferring loyalties for the entire hive. During Queen Wasp’s rule, close interpersonal bonds that might distract from the duties of the hives were actually discouraged.

-They develop very quickly, with incubation times of barely over 2 months; once hatched, their venom has not yet come in and they are unable to fly, but they can clumsily walk and understand basic gestures from other HiveWings. 

-Right away, they are extremely socially dependent dragons. HiveWings are hatched without the venom or repellents they might eventually obtain, and as generally small and defenseless dragonets that rely on their hive to protect them. This social dependence doesn’t go away, though. They live their entire lives as a unit with the rest of their tribe. They rarely hold grudges against each other, unless they feel that one of their own is in some way a danger to the rest.

-The education system is very structured and well-regulated; all dragonets are taught the basics of literacy and tribe life, and there are multiple branches of career education they can pursue, from arts to sciences to food preparation to construction and manufacturing. 

-HiveWings grow quickly after hatching, and then so slowly as to be unnoticeable once they’re adults. Their lifespans can vary wildly; depending on genetics, sometimes they can live 100 years or even more, and sometimes they die naturally at 50 or less (shorter than any other dragons). 

Society and Culture:

-HiveWings live in hives, massive structures made from wood-pulp like the nests of paper wasps. These are complex and beautifully designed, with each vertical level designating a different part of the hive. They are built and maintained by construction crews made up largely of SilkWings.

-The hives have a strict sense of authority; the queen has the ultimate power over the tribe, and the heads of each hive make the decisions about their hives. There are other dragons with positions of authority: guards, enforcers, teachers, etc. It is in the nature of HiveWings to act according to their position and not cause disruptions.

-There are varying levels of punishments for different misdemeanors, but because of HiveWings’ extremely social nature, the most severe is solitary confinement. It is considered by some an extremely cruel punishment, and it quickly alters and deteriorates the minds and behaviors of the dragons submitted to it. Usually it is utilized in small amounts; a few days, a few weeks, as a warning. (Sometimes teachers will use a mild version, where a misbehaving student will have to spend some time in an empty room.) It has only been a lifelong sentence in a few rare cases.

-The hive operates in a way completely unique to any other tribe: necessities, like food, shelter and education are provided simply by virtue of being a HiveWing. They are not paid for. The only thing that they need to spend money on is luxuries like sweets, decorations and accessories. (This does not usually apply to SilkWings, who need to pay to build their webs and for any level of higher education. Food is provided in theory, but it is usually not sufficient as it is not prepared with a SilkWing diet in mind. They often have to buy food of their own.)

-HiveWing technology, all-around, is the most advanced of any tribe, from their intricate glass and metalwork to their beautiful and efficient construction work. (Much of it would be impossible without flamesilks, and it is likely that they stole some of their technology, and credit for it, from the SilkWings during the tree wars.)

-Beauty standards for HiveWings tend to vary from hive to hive, and they’re often based on the head of the hive. Jewel hive residents, for instance, love jewelry and bright colors and over-the-top accessories, because that’s how Jewel chooses to look. Other hives like certain colors or body shapes. The only constant is that black scales are desirable.

-HiveWings worship Clearsight, their NightWing ancestor, much like a god; they pray to her, they leave letters and offerings for her, and they look to her as their guiding light. They see the times after she arrived as the only part of history worth telling. Though Pantalan dragons speak their own language, separate from Pyrrhian, they see and use Pyrrhian as a holy language, the language of Clearsight.

-They pride themselves on being non-superstitious, but rumors and hyperbole spread so quickly through the hives that they might as well be.

Diet: Omnivorous. HiveWings eat meat and insects, but also a number of plants. A good amount of their diet, alongside SilkWings, consists of sugar, which they can make into a wide variety of things (including honey). It helps give them enough energy to fly long distances.

[pea-green]

I did a post a while back about St Piran, and 4th December is one of my other fave patron saint days so today let's hear it for Saint Barbara!

During her life, Barbara was kept locked in a tower by her rich pagan father, but secretly converted to Christianity. Upon discovering this, her father had her brutally tortured but she refused to renounce her faith, and every night her wounds miraculously healed. Eventually her father beheaded her, but as punishment he was struck by lightning on his way home (@god why didn't this intervention happen before the beheading).

Because of the association of the lightning that killed her father, St Barbara is invoked against thunder and lightning and all accidents arising from explosions of gunpowder. She became the patron saint of artillerymen, armourers, military engineers, gunsmiths, anyone else who worked with cannon and explosives, and anyone who faced the danger of sudden and violent death at work. Following the widespread adoption of gunpowder in mining in the 1600s, she was adopted as the patron of miners, tunnellers, and other underground workers.

Within the tunneling industry, as a long-standing tradition, one of the first tasks for each new tunnelling project is to establish a small shrine to St Barbara at the tunnel portal or at the underground junction into long tunnel headings. This is often followed with a dedication and an invocation to St Barbara for protection of all who work on the project during the construction period.

In many mining communities, families follow the custom of the "Barbara branch". On December 4 cherry tree sprigs are cut and placed in a vase filled with water close to the light. After about 21 days, these branches blossom.

St Barbara is often shown holding a palm branch, as an emblem of her martyrdom, and often with either a tower exploding in the background (cool), or sometimes just holding a tower (funny).

She gives her name to the California city of Santa Barbara, as well as many other similarly-named towns and cities in the Americas, and the drug family barbiturates is thought to derive from her name, as they were discovered on her feast day (today!).

Disclaimer: 80% of this is copied wholesale from her wikipedia page, and also the catholic church is terrible and I hate it EXCEPT I love the social history of the patron saints... I just think they're neat :)

[bonaesperanza]

This may be a Bad Take but I think a lot less people would have issues with Padmé Amidala's RotS characterization if they realized that her role in that movie is largely symbolic and that Anakin's attitude towards her is meant to represent the inherent tension between liberty and security (which is clearly one of the main themes in a movie that has Anakin quote George W Bush as he falls to the Dark Side).

Padmé represents the best of democratic values: the capability to perceive everyone's inherent worth, the trust in state institutions, the morality, the benefits and drawbacks of resolving issues in a democratic manner and within the system (she often finds herself helpless in the face of corruption, for example). Padmé's ideals are the core of her character, to the point that she basically is her ideals. Basically, Padmé is to the Galactic Republic what Marianne is to the French Republic.

Now, you may have issues with a female character being used as a personification of a state or a political system, but not only is this a millennia-old narrative tradition, I also feel like you're probably barking up the wrong tree, because George Lucas LOVES using characters as symbols for abstract concepts: Luke as the Hero with a Thousand Faces, the Good vs. Bad Father dynamic with Obi-Wan and Vader, etc. This is completely on brand for the way George Lucas in particular constructs characters.

Even Padmé's most famous line, "So this is how Liberty dies," is indicative of this (and I love the concept of a former slave boy falling in love with Liberty herself).

Padmé dies because Liberty dies, not because she's a weak useless woman.

And Anakin's relationship to her potential death is very much... an indictment of reactionary politics and the War on Terror?

Anakin loves Padmé because she is fair-minded and understanding even when he doesn't deserve it, because she is tolerant, because she is kind, because she fights for justice, because she uplifts people. This is what he is in love with and what he is trying to preserve.

But in the face of nebulous threats, some real and some manufactured, he tries to save her by trampling all over what she stands for. And what she stands for is her. Therefore the very act of trying to save her is what ends up killing her, just like trying to keep your democracy safe by increasingly cruel and authoritarian measures inevitably kills it. Anakin claims that he loves her, that he's protecting her, but he is unwilling to listen to anything she has to say about it, just like plenty of people whose mouths are full of freedom but don't want to think about or apply the values that they are supposedly defending. What she believes no longer matters as long as she loves and comforts and uplifts him (and when she doesn't he goes into a rage).

Everything Padmé stands for, her very way of life and her very way of doing things, no longer exist at the end of RotS. She was becoming increasingly static and helpless during the movie because her way of doing things no longer works as the Republic becomes mired in cruelty and corruption, she cannot do anything but set foundations for an eventual rebellion and hope that a spark of hope survives. She can no longer survive in this new system, and it is in her nature to rather die than compromise herself in order to work within it. In a symbolic way, she quite literally cannot survive if she has to exist within it. She IS Liberty, and it would be a paradox if she survived. She dies and their children - another thing Anakin is fighting to protect, like many people who are "defending freedom" "for the children!!1!" - are made orphans, left to their own devices, forced to fight and rebuild things from scratch because she can no longer nurture them or protect them. This is a political metaphor y'all.

And in this reading, even Shmi's death ends up working better if you squint? Because even though Anakin's anger over her death stems from clear injustice and is fundamentally righteous, the fear and rage that this creates in him, and his inability to cope with it, is what directly causes him to both fear for Padmé's safety and to eventually smother her due to that fear. And to eventually become what he fears, killing Liberty, depriving himself of liberty in the process by becoming Sidious's blind slave, and literally destroying the future of an entire generation of (Jedi) children.

Now, I'm not saying that this makes a more psychological analysis of Padmé's character invalid or that this is the only role that she plays (for example, while Obi-Wan is the "good father figure" in ANH, he's clearly many different things across all the movies and clearly has an established characterization beyond that, and so does Padmé), but I think looking at it through this particular lens does make the choices made for her character less baffling and more indicative of the larger themes of the prequels.

[crimson-iden]

So I figured it’s about time I cover the Creaking and my personal theories about it. Its kinda randomly organised and some of it might be a stretch, but this is creativity game so idc here’s what I think,

I believe that the Creaking is a type of Golem mob, perhaps an early concept.

Basically, this hinges on the fact that we can see Illagers and Ravagers run away from the Creaking the moment they’re in close proximity, possibly meaning there’s some kind of history or relation between them.

I think that, in the early days of the world of Minecraft, the civilisation that would become what we know now as Villagers used to live within the Pale Garden biome, perhaps building structures that were lost to time. It makes sense, it’s a quiet part of the world, the lack of passive mobs could possibly imply that it’s a completely lifeless forest, leading threats such as Illagers to avoid it, as they’d have nothing to gain.

Of course, there are still threats in the Pale Garden when the night comes in, so the Villagers designed a golem, something practically invulnerable to all damage that could protect them from the monsters of the night, this of course is what would later become the Creaking. In my own design if the Creaking, I draw it with a hole in its chest, I believe this is because when they were designed, the heart was exposed in case of maintenance or repairs needed, it could be easily removed or swapped if necessary.

Nothing is safe forever though. Eventually, the Illagers would find out about these hidden homes, perhaps because of groups of Pillager scouts. They’d attack over and over, eventually forcing the Villagers to flee from the Pale Gardens, but during the searching of their homes, the Illagers would encounter the defenders that had been constructed. Almost three metre tall golems, invincible to most of their efforts, they stood no chance, eventually having to escape with only the tale to tell.

Over time, the Creaking would learn to camouflage with their surroundings, blending in with the trees and hiding their hearts amongst them for protection, now left to wander in the dead of night through silent forests, still guarding a civilisation long lost. Rather than disappearing in daytime, I believe that they become one with the trees, or at least shape themselves to appear as one of them.

In general, I think it’s a good idea to use the Creaking as a guardian, they’re immune to fall damage, they can’t drown, immune to lava and all direct attacks, just that physically, they might be a bit weak, so they come in numbers in the forests.

Their descendants, Iron Golems. Immune to fall damage, can’t drown, it’s just that the trade off is less lava and attack immunity, instead making them stronger and only needing to come as a singular guard to each village.

Best guess as to why it attacked the villagers in that one Villager news thingy could be that it’s been generations and they may have forgotten, or maybe that the villagers developing over time may not completely resemble what the Creaking remember.

I know it’s a bit of a stretch based of very limited information about them, but that’s my theory on what the Creaking are and why they exist in the world, I’m open to other ideas or corrections of course, but yeah, I hope y’all enjoy !! Do with that what you will !!

[redybearsent]

Paper Mario: the Heirlooms of Doom

Paper Mario: the Heirlooms of Doom It´s a little concept some friends and I came up with some time ago, it was made (like any other fan Paper Mario project) with the propose of writing a story like the ones from the first 3 games with some elements from the newer instalments of the saga.

-Plot Summary:" A thousand years ago, a powerful mage collected 6 cursed artifacts that had the powerful sprites within them, the mage sealed them on a chamber protected by a spell so no one would use the heirlooms for evil... Until one day, Bowser, Kammy, and a strange cloaked figure arrived at the chamber where the heirlooms laid... The mysterious figure broke the seal so Bowser would take the heirlooms. With those relics on Bowser´s claws, a series of unfortune events would start to happen all around the kingdom, and thus, starting a new adventure for our hero."

-Characters:

Mario: "It´s a him! You already now him."

Orbert: "The assistant of the mage of the legend, he was tasked to protect the chamber and now, with the help of Mario and Co. is on the search for the 6 heirlooms."

Niff T.: "An errand toad that knows a little bit of everything. He´s your first partner and the one with the ability of Tattling The Enemies"

Koorrow: "A deceased Koopatrol who fell during a fearsome battle against a legendary beast. He´s your second partner and the one with the Shell Toss ability"

Sherifit: "The bold bringer of peace and order of the Wild East Desert town. He´s your third partner and the one with the ability of Blowing Thing Up with his bullets."

Baketty: "A young baker rookie from the Luncheon Kingdom. She´s searching for the perfect recipe to earn her "Master Baker" tittle. She´s your forth partner and the one with the ability of Flying Mario Across Gaps"

Kenny Boom: "A heartthrob actor with great strength and aim. Don´t let his appearance fool you, he has a heart of gold. He´s your fifth partner and the one with the ability of Throwing Mario To High Places."

Yuki: "A yo kai from a snowy land where cherry trees blossom. She harnesses the power of cold hails. She´s your sixths partner and the one with the ability of Blowing Wind."

Miney: "The foreman of the Monty Mole Wrecking Crew. He was tasked with constructing a tunnel to the Mushroom Kingdom and somehow... He got dragged into the adventure! He´s your seventh and last partner, he has the ability of Hiding Mario Underground."

Check out the DeviantArt post: https://www.deviantart.com/redybearsart/art/1086784084