He Was As Tall As He Was Tall, And His Eyes Were The Color They Were. To Describe His Hair One Would

He was as tall as he was tall, and his eyes were the color they were. To describe his hair one would say that he had some. His face had all the features you'd expect, and none of the ones you wouldn't. "There he is," people would often say of him, but only when he was there. And they were right.

snowbirds

domini album

#7 Shisui Uchiha

summary: one room, one bed, one mission partner.

a/n: this fic was impossible to name, and i came so close to just titling it "the one where they share a bed" or "the one in which shisui uchiha almost gets demoted"

word count: 4,457

You’d decided that the Godaime Hokage was testing you.

She was testing you, because otherwise there was no way in hell you would have been assigned to the same mission as Shisui Uchiha three days before the height of the winter storm season in the northern countries, where traveling would be incredibly slowed, indefinitely extending the amount of time you’d have to spend together with him.

A mission a carrier pigeon could have completed in less time it would take for you and the curly haired Uchiha to cross the continent to Kumogakure, no less one of Shisui’s own crows. But here you were, standing in the last room available in a hotel at the edge of Kumo’s border with Shisui standing only a few feet away, his travel pack still slung over his shoulder and snowflakes melting in his hair.

“No,” you said, breaking the tense silence.

Shisui turned, looking back at you. “No?”

“No,” you repeated, shaking your head. “We are not sharing the same bed.” He started to smile, his lips pulling up to one side in a smile you’d realized meant he was going to try his damndest to be a menace, and you cut him off. “I’m going back to the lobby and asking for another bed, so don’t get comfortable.”

He replied, voice lilting, “They already told us this room was all they had.”

You shot him a glare over your shoulder. “I’m not sharing a bed with you.”

You didn’t care for how many years that you’d known him, or how many times you’d saved each other’s asses on missions before, or how you felt about him, this was Shisui Uchiha, and he was your mission partner – that’s it – and you weren’t going to let the line blur, no matter how much he teased and antagonized you.

“Then we can flip a coin to see who’ll sleep on the floor,” he shrugged lightheartedly, setting his pack down. “Or in the shower,” he added, leaning slightly to look into the bathroom through the opened door. He sent you a cheeky wink, “Showering together means we both get hot water.”

You clenched your jaw, willing the heat away from your face. “I’m sure you can heat the water just fine with your katons.”

He just smiled and started opening his pack. “If you want to shower now, I’ll go down to the lobby and get some hot food. I think I saw a kitchen down there.”

You watched as he pulled out a small pouch of coin from his bag before zipping it up again and letting it lean against the wall. He moved around you, minding your space as he went for the door, but he paused before he opened it, one hand on the knob.

“Any food in particular you want me grab?” he asked, head tilting to the side.

You hesitated, gauging his temporary seriousness, then replied, “Bread – if they have any.”

He gave you a nod, and then flashed smile before slipping out the door. It clicked shut behind him, and you felt the flare of his chakra as he covered the door with a protective seal. The moment he was gone, you loosed a breath, and started to take off your boots.

Shisui was so complicated and after over a week of trekking through Hot Water Country and then Frost Country, you were no closer to understanding him than you had been before you were forced into isolation with him. He was a constantly twisting dichotomy of humor and seriousness, a prankster and yet also a jōnin-ranked shinobi with a flee on sight order in all the other Great Nations aside from Fire Country. You’d already experienced a number of times in the last seven days when his personality just flipped, an airy joke made in one breath and his ninjatō buried in the gut of an enemy nin by the next.

If you didn’t already trust him with your life, you’d be worried that he wasn’t entirely mentally competent.

And it wasn’t that you didn’t like him – truthfully, it was more that you didn’t dislike him that was your problem. You’d grown up with Shisui, graduating from the Academy and then through the promotions at nearly the same rate, but while your friends had come in the names of Kurenai, Asuma, Genma, Rin, Obito, Gai, and Kakashi, Shisui gravitated toward his younger cousin, and had melted into the ranks of ANBU with him until a scandal that had ended with the death of Danzō Shimura and the sudden introduction of fifty undocumented Leaf nin into the shinobi system had dragged him back into jōnin mission duties.

Until a year ago, he’d been a distant fantasy, someone you could think about with the freedom of knowing your friends would never be able to guess who it was your thoughts drifted toward through the years. But then Tsunade-sama had started assigning him onto missions with you, or with your friends, and Kakashi had involuntarily begun to run interference whenever Gai started to look too closely at the way you’d react whenever Shisui was mentioned, keeping your secret before you were ready to tell it.

The more time you spent with him or around him, the more often you could feel yourself falling further down a rabbit hole you’d inevitably get stuck in, and now, sharing a room with him? You might as well just look for a shovel to turn the rabbit hole into a grave.

You shivered as you stripped your clothes, pulling three layers off that were all damp and cold from the melted snow. You didn’t bother hanging the clothes, not when you stood naked in the freezing bathroom while steam from the shower promised warmth. As you slipped behind the curtain, you had to suppress a moan when you stepped under the heated water.

You and Shisui had been staying in hotels every night that you’d been on the mission, but all of them had been low-scale so to not draw attention to yourselves and had no running water since the pipes were frozen. You’d both been heating the tubs in the hotel bathrooms with katons, the water provided from one of your suiton jutsus, but nothing compared to running water heated by a furnace rather than an Uchiha who wasn’t sure what the boiling point of water was.

Distantly, you heard the click of the door and recognized Shisui’s chakra signature as you washed the soap from your chest and legs. Knowing that he’d want a hot shower too, you forced yourself to turn the water off and wrapped yourself up in a towel. You made quick work of getting dressed, pulling on a pair of long pants, thick socks, and a thick green sweater you’d stolen from Kurenai before you’d left.

Out in the room, Shisui was standing above the only table in the room holding a cup of something warm between his hands.

“Well, you look comfortable,” he chuckled, but you ignored him, going straight for the food as your stomach growled. “They didn’t have bread, but the chef was nice and gave me larger bowls. I think she thought I was cute.”

You scoffed into your bowl, glad to hide your face with a spoonful of butajiru than acknowledge him flirting with someone.

“She also gave me some hot chocolate,” he added, and you could practically feel his smirk as you kept ignoring him. “She didn’t look as charitable when I asked if I could have another cup for my wife.”

You choked, broth catching in your throat as your head snapped up and you stared wide-eyed at Shisui.

“W-Wife?” you managed to get out, spluttering.

He laughed as he set the mug of hot chocolate down to a second mug you hadn’t noticed before. “My one and only, I told her,” he replied. “The woman who made me chase after her before she finally agreed to marry me.” You could feel your face heating, cheeks practically burning as he continued on. “I might’ve mentioned how you were waiting for me and keeping our bed warm though,” he said, “so the hot chocolate might just be a one-off thing.”

“Shi-” You gaped around his name. “Shisui!” you shouted. “You’re – you’re –”

“Hilarious? Clever? Amazing?”

“Insane!” you shrieked, slapping a hand over your face, if only so you would stop looking at him. Wife – kami, he’d called you his wife.

“Ah, but my insanity got us a warm treat,” he laughed, and then stooped over so that he could pull your hand away from your face. You glared at him with no real heat, really only focused on stopping yourself from rushing outside and sticking your head into a snow drift to stop the blush from making your face actually catch fire. “I’ll go shower now, wife. Make sure you finish your dinner.”

He let go of your wrist, laughing as you gaped at him, only finding your voice after he grabbed his pack and started to close the door to the bathroom.

“He’s insane,” you said to yourself. “He’s actually insane.”

You cut a look toward the twin mugs of hot chocolate and had to bite your lip to keep yourself from involuntarily smiling as you shook your head. “Wife,” you repeated, rolling your eyes. “As if I’d marry him.”

You decided to drown the taste of the lie with the butajiru, and by the time you’d finished the mug of chocolate and climbed into the bed, Shisui was stepping out of the shower, steam billowing from behind him as he rubbed the towel against his hair.

“Flipped the coin and chose the winning side, did we?” he asked, raising an eyebrow as you tried to not look at the muscles of his arm as he finished scrubbing his hair.

You gave him a look, to which he just chuckled at and tossed the towel over the hook on the back of the bathroom door before closing it.

“My wife is so cruel,” Shisui said as he pulled his bed roll from his traveling pack. “She makes me fetch the food and take a shower second, and then forces me to sleep on the floor.”

“Your wife sounds delightful,” you replied dryly, rolling your eyes as you turned over, intent to not let him see your face.

Your heard him hum in response, and listened as he walked around the room, flipping the light off. The room was instantly pitch dark, and it took your eyes a moment to adjust as you listened to Shisui get into his bed roll.

In the bed, you curled your legs up, trying to find the warmth that seemed to have left you the moment the lights went out. Even through your thick socks, you could feel the cold biting at your toes, and your nose felt icy as you pressed it against your inner wrist.

You weren’t sure how long passed before you were biting your lip to keep from shivering, and you were forced to think of Rin’s teasing before you left on your mission.

The closer you get to Kumo, the colder you’ll get, she’d said, and while you hadn’t been warm since hitting the northern border Fire Country shared with Hot Water Country – a region which did not live up to its name in the winter months – the cold had been mostly tolerable. Until today. When you and Shisui had unanimously agreed to find a hotel with running water, even if it potentially drew more unwanted eyes to yourselves.

You swallowed, and then, before you could think better of it, whispered, “Shisui?”

His response came hardly a second later. “Yeah?”

You hesitated, knowing that you could tell him ‘Goodnight’ just as easily as you could pretend you hadn’t said anything at all, but…

But –

“Would you – will you,” you swallowed again, turning onto your back. “You can sleep in the bed.”

There was a moment of silence, and then you heard him shift in his bed roll before he asked, all humor absent from his voice, “Are you sure you’re comfortable with that?”

You nodded before you realized he probably couldn’t see you. “Yeah, I am.”

There was a sound of linen moving as he stood up, and then you felt the bed dip to one side as your heart began to race harder.

“Are you cold?” Shisui asked, his voice much closer now as he lifted the edge of the blanket.

“Y-Yeah,” you answered, stiffening when you felt his foot accidentally brush against your ankle.

There was a light tease in his voice as he said, “And now my wife wants to use me for my body heat?”

You kicked him in the shin before you thought better of it and heard his him chuckle as he settled next to you, his shoulder just brushing against yours.

“That’s going to leave a bruise,” he said, and you froze when you felt his breath coast over the plane of your cheek, which meant he was looking at you.

You didn’t dare turn your head toward his, no matter that you could see the outline of his profile in your periphery. “Good,” you replied.

“I could just go back to the floor,” he drawled, starting to raise the cover.

“No,” you blurted out, grabbing for his arm but your hand awkwardly collided with his hand, your fingers wrapping around his in the attempt to keep him from moving. The bed had already warmed since he’d gotten in only moments ago, and…and it was nice, him being this close, even if it made every part of you hyper focused on him.

Stiffly, you let go of his hand, the pads of your fingers brushing over the back of his knuckles as you pulled your arm back under the covers.

“It’s warmer now,” you said into the silence, glancing toward him.

For a moment, you thought Shisui wouldn’t answer, and then you’d have to force yourself to sleep knowing you’d thoroughly embarrassed yourself, but then he shifted in the bed, adjusting his pillow under his head. He’d turned over, facing you fully. Briefly, you thought you saw a glimmer of his kekkei genkai in the place where you thought his eyes were, but there were only shades of shadows in the room.

“It’d be warmer if you let me hold you,” he finally replied.

You felt the heat of embarrassment light your face up faster than dry grass in a fire, and an alarmed noise escaped you before you could swallow it. Shisui laughed again, but the sound was soft, like he didn’t want to break the conversation off with it.

“It’s just body heat,” he said, sounding like he was smiling again.

You seriously wondered if he really could see your face, because he chuckled and reached out, chucking the underside of your chin with his index finger and making you close your parted lips.

“I’m just kidding,” he said. “You can put your back against mine.”

You swallowed, considering him in the dark. Even though the warmth of him was helping, you really were still cold and didn’t want to spend the whole night shivering – or waking up to a toe that’d fallen off from the chill. And you trusted him. This was Shisui, and if he wasn’t your friend, he was at least an acquaintance, and someone that you’d known for well over a decade at this point.

“Just,” you started, and squeezed the blanket. “You can. But be serious.”

He reached for your hand, his hand sliding down your arm, and you felt his pinky finger lock through yours. Your eyes widened at the gesture, something you’d never seen him do before, but you listened as he told you, “Turn over.”

You felt him move closer, and your breath caught in your throat as you felt him settle his chest against your back, his arms wrapping around you as you kept the blanket pulled over both you. The scent of him was almost overwhelming at first, and as he pulled you into him, setting his right arm just in front of you, you exhaled a long breath, gradually letting yourself sink into him. His legs tangled with yours, one of his thighs slotted between yours, and one of his shins laying over your ankle. Heat practically radiated off of him, and you found yourself pressing closer to him as he brushed his nose against the back of your neck.

“This okay?” you felt him murmur against your skin and couldn’t help the goosebumps that rose across your neck and arms.

“Yeah,” you forced out, shutting your eyes as your heart jack hammered against your chest. You could practically feel his mouth brushing against your neck, and it took every bit of your self-control to not lean farther back to push his lips against your skin.

You counted the seconds as they passed, willing your body to relax and let your breaths match Shisui’s as his chest rose and fell against your back.

Hardly two minutes had passed before he whispered, “Your heart is racing like we’ve never slept like this before, wife.”

“I can’t say we have, husband,” you replied, glad that he couldn’t see you screwing your eyes shut.

He chuckled, his breath stirring some of the sensitive hair at your nape. “I’ll hold you every night, if you want me to, wife,” he said, and you knew he felt you stiffen again.

“You’re insane, Shisui,” you muttered, pushing your face into the cool pillowcase.

He chuckled, and this time his lips did brush against the back of your neck, making your body go rigid as he replied, “Then you can banish me to the floor again, wife.”

You grumbled, “How long are you going to call me that?”

“Call you what?”

You bit your cheek. “Your wife.”

You felt him smile against your skin as he answered, “Maybe ‘til the day I die, but I just might find a way to haunt you so you never stop hearing me say it.”

“But we’re not –” you gaped, starting to turn over, but only managing to twist so far that your face was directly in line with Shisui’s. “We’re not…”

Words left you as you met his eyes, the red glow of his Sharingan eyes casting soft shadows over his face.

Handsome, you thought instantaneously. He was so, so breathtakingly handsome.

His hand was settled over your stomach now from when you’d turned, and you felt his fingers close around the fabric of the sweater as you stared at each other.

You could see his mouth pull into a smile before he said, “We’re not…what?”

You shut your mouth, not realizing you hadn’t done so before, and then replied, “Married. We’re not…married.”

“I told that chef something else,” Shisui said, his eyes flicking over your face.

Quietly, you asked, “What?”

“I told her about how I’ve been in love with my wife since we were kids,” he said softly. “About how I couldn’t tell her for years, because my family was in danger, and I had to help them and how I wasn’t sure I’d survive it, and how when I did live and I started seeing her more often, it made me love her more, now that I was free to tell her.”

You weren’t sure that you were breathing anymore. Your heart felt like it’d stopped beating in your chest, and all you could feel was every point of contact you shared with Shisui.

“I told her about how everyone was figuring it out before my wife was, that I was in love with her, and even our boss kept assigning us on jobs together, trying to get my wife to realize I was chasing after her when she didn’t even realize I was running,” he continued, and his hand left your stomach, reaching toward your face. You felt him brush the side of his finger over your cheek, a gentle smile just barely illuminated by his kekkei genkai. “I told her that when my wife finally figured it out, she didn’t believe me and thought I was joking.”

It was all you could do to stare at Shisui, realizing that he’d read your reaction perfectly.

He shifted, pulling on your hip with his hand as he turned your body over so that you were facing each other. When you were laying face to face, hardly more than a hairsbreadth between your noses, he took one of your hands in his, giving you the opportunity to pull away before he slotted his fingers through yours.

“I’ve been in love with you for years,” he said, squeezing your hand. “I wanted to tell you, but what I had to go through with the clan…with Danzō…” he shook his head, grimacing. “I couldn’t tell you, because if it turned out that you even cared about me at all, I wasn’t sure that I could promise you I would be around at the end of it all.”

“ANBU,” you whispered. “Those years in ANBU…you hardly came around. You didn’t talk to me at all.”

He frowned at the memory. “I didn’t want Danzō to have any advantage over me. If he’d known how I felt about you – that I loved you…” The patterns in Shisui’s Sharingan swirled, and you Sensed his ire roil in his chakra signature, a thin film above a much deeper rage, but then he exhaled, and the anger faded – quelled. “I can’t tell you everything, not right now, but there’s reasons why I didn’t tell you in the past. Sooner.”

“I –” You closed your mouth and then swallowed. “You – I mean, me? You…you love me?”

“Yes you,” he answered, brow furrowing as his hand left yours and brushed over the side of your face, fingers catching in your hair. “Always you. Since before I even realized what I felt for you was love.”

Your throat felt tight as the sight of him became blurry and you bent away slightly. He let you pull away, but he stayed close, his hand returning to the space it’d been with yours as you furtively swiped the sudden tears away from your eyes.

“Shisui,” you said, reaching for his hand and holding it tightly in yours. “You love me?”

The worried lines in his face softened, and he turned his hand in yours, holding it as he brushed a thumb over your knuckles. “I do,” he answered.

“Shisui,” you shook your head, reaching out for his face and cupping his cheek in your palm. His eyes widened at the gesture, but he made no move to escape as your fingers curled in the damp curls at his hairline. You knew from Rin what it meant for an Uchiha to let someone touch their face, where their most precious possession was. “Why did you choose now, while we’re in the middle of nowhere, sharing a bed because it’s freezing cold while we’re on a mission to tell me this?”

His smile pressed against your palm. “We’re on two separate missions,” he replied. When your brow furrowed he explained, “You’re on a B rank mission to deliver a missive to the Raikage. I’m on a S rank mission to be completed upon pain of demotion to genin and unpaid leave for ten years if I don’t stop irritating Tsunade-sama with my ‘longing puppy-dog eyes’ and tell you how I feel.”

The laugh that burst out of you nearly made you knock heads with Shisui as you sat up, holding your stomach as you shook your head.

“You’re kidding me,” you snorted, letting Shisui pull you into his arms as he sat up beside you, the blanket twisting around both of you.

“Absolutely not,” he answered, pressing his face into your neck. “My mission payment is her blessing and paid time off if I can convince you to marry me in a year.”

You tried to stop yourself from laughing, but couldn’t help the smile that pulled at your lips.

“You only told me tonight that you love me – you think we’ll be married in a year?” you replied, tressing your fingers through his hair. “What if we really can’t stand each other?”

Shisui smiled, and you felt your stomach flip as he shifted, pressing you back into the bed as he leaned over you. “Do you love me?” he asked.

You stared up at him and nodded slowly. “I do.”

You watched as he lowered himself, putting his weight on his left elbow as he tugged you toward him so that you were facing each other again, noses just brushing.

“Then you can tell me to sleep on the floor every night, or have me take a shower only after you for the rest of our lives, or make me get all of the food we’ll fill our house with, but I know I’ll always love you,” he said, curling his fingers through your hair. “You’ll never have to doubt me.”

You pressed your hand to his chest and then reached around his neck, running your fingers through his short hair. “You’re awfully confident thinking that I want to marry you.”

Shisui’s smile was something you wished you could remember in perfect clarity for the rest of your life, because something in your heart shifted, and you felt all at once just how much you loved him – had been loving him for years.

“You called me ‘husband’ before, didn’t you?” he replied, and you felt his thumb trace the edge of your lip, delicate as he followed the curve of your mouth even as you smiled.

“And you think I’ll do it again before a year is over?” you asked quietly.

Everything about Shisui was gentle as he moved, just a tilt of his jaw and then his lips replaced his thumb, pressing against yours as he pulled you closer into him. Immediately, you responded, kissing him back as he raised your chin and tucked his hand under your jaw, fingers curling just around the side of your throat as his thumb held your cheek.

Again and again he kissed you, his tongue swiping along the seam of your lips and when your lips were swollen and your breaths came in short pants, he moved again, kissing the side of your face – your cheek, your temple, your jaw – until he was against your ear.

“Marry me whenever you want,” he said, caressing your jaw again, “just as long as you call me your husband again.”

The smile that broke across your face nearly made it impossible for him to kiss you again.

Space (I see you)

Danny has a space core, in the beginning he thought he has an ice core, but it turns out that because he had been highly stressed since his death his core had been underdeveloped and only showed certain aspects to keep him healthy.

Years have passed his 14 birthday (death-day)

He was now 17 and had grown into his core which had revealed a lot about him.

For example, being the Ancient of space distorted his entire view of everything. After all space was everywhere and ever growing, expanding more and more.

Danny could feel himself in his physical halfa body,

But at the same time he was watching people on the other side of the planet: laughing, dancing, celebrating, crying, being born, dying,mourning, and going about their day.

That was only on this Earth he could see every Earth that exists.

Earth was such a small part of space.

He could feel & see entire solar systems, galaxies, nebulae.

More & more

Just continuing to expand

Never ending

As he got older he could understand more his connection to everything.

Being able to help life be born on other planets

Moving moons towards planets

Creating star nurseries

Everything at his grasp

This would cause him to let his mind wander away from his physical form, which just looked like he was spaced out.

His human form slipping slightly when he does: freckles gaining a glow and moving to form different constellations, his hair moving like if it were weightless, and his eyes

Don't stare too long at his eyes

After all the eyes are the window to the soul

And his hold too much

(Look away)

Danny casually watches a meteor shower hundreds of light years away, spaced out: Ooh pretty!

The poor goon who taught he could mug a careless teen and stared at his eyes for too long: *Twitching on the ground foaming at the mouth*

Danny who hasn't blinked in a few minutes: "The pretty space station with heroes in it just made a full orbit on top of us again!"

Tim next to him who's just waiting in line for a cup of coffee or 3: *panicked side eyes him* Wh-What?

Batman: "We have to find who's taking out all these criminal."

Danny who looks like a Wayne kid therefore getting regularly kidnapped (or at least attempted), focusing on making a good star nursery: " Shhh! I'm concentrating"

Villain & his goons dropping like flies: "Mercy!"

Just an Idea

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justanotherartist29

2 years ago

diabolik lovers lgbtq+ headcanons - yui + sakamaki edition

repost, will delete @melongaey tomorrow 💞

part 1 part 2

Yui;

yui is a bisexual woman, and i don’t even need to explain it.

- she just gives me the vibes of bi girl who doesn’t know that she’s bi

- “omg, girls are so pretty… u-uh, platonically, of course”

- struggles with internalized homophobia, because she lived in a very conservative church with her strict father

Ayato;

ftm, bisexual man, i don’t to say anything else

Diabolik Lovers Lgbtq+ Headcanons - Yui + Sakamaki Edition

- i love when this stupid jock is happy

- he’s probably in a poly relationship with yui and ruki

- ayato is calling yui flat only because it’s compliment for him and not because he’s bodyshaming her

ayato; hey titless!

yui; hello ayato-kun

ayato; you’re so flat, you don’t need top surgery!

yui; huh? is that a compli-

ayato; ore-sama is jealous

- another one with internalized homophobia

Laito;

i think he’s pansexual, i think he doesn’t mind who he sleeps with as long as they’re his type

- probably demiromantic or aromantic, i can’t really decide

- type that during sex repeats million times how much they love their partner but never actually means it

- because after all this time, he doesn’t know what love actually is

Kanato;

straight demiboy, but bisexual kanato is great option too

- questions his gender a lot, still uses he/him pronouns though

- doesn’t mind other pronouns

- likes to wear feminine clothing, like cutesy dresses, highthighs, bows

- toxic masculinity is bullshit

someone; you’re wearing a dress? who are you? a girl? ha!

kanato; oh, so you think my genitalia don’t define my gender, thanks

someone; wait no, wearing a dress doesn’t make you a girl!

kanato; surprisingly, i agree with you. it’s how i express myself, even mortal like you can be a great ally

Shuu;

bisexual man, i think everyone expected that

- shuuma is canon and every opinion thst says otherwise is wrong /j

- cis, but doesn’t care about pronouns, just call him whatever, he couldn’t care less

shuu; my pronouns are non. please do not refer to me

shuu; even better, do not perceive me

shuu; for practical purposes i do not exist

- shuu slightly prefers women, he just loves the elegancy about them

- think most of men have better butts than women

- definitely prefers musucular and chubby men, bc chest is a great pillow

Reiji;

demisexual man, but has lots of preferences regarding partner’s gender and how they express it

- he’s either mlm or straight, he doesn’t give me vibes of other sexualities

- but like, i dont think he’s really intrested in women in general?

- i totally can see reiji as a gay man in closet

- straight reiji is also really valid for me tho

Subaru;

demisexual heteroromantic individual, biromantic subaru is also valid

- he just needs a hug and a loving gf, come on

- also; a really supporting in his own ways, he’s just very awkward at supporting his lgbt brothers.

279 notes View Post

justanotherartist29

2 years ago

As Ur Captain,,, I SENTENCE THEE TO 5000 FOREHEAD KISSES!!!!!

As ur captain,,, I SENTENCE THEE TO 5000 FOREHEAD KISSES!!!!!

I like the headcanon that luffy is generally very warm, but I like the headcanon even MORE that all his kisses and touches spread warmth to those around him, a lil side effect of his devil fruit!

5K notes View Post

justanotherartist29

1 year ago

My Favorite

(Image Source: Artist: Inpolariis)

Masterlist Here

Word Count: 5,114

Summary: Sir Crocodile has founded a league of highly trained assassins named "The Choirs" - all coded after the nine choirs of angelic influences. You are his favorite: his prized "Seraphim" who's ferocious brutality is only outmatched by your incredible beauty. Not truly knowing if your affection is all an act to continue being paid a wage in berry, he has not made a move of his own aside from calling upon you to sit on his knee of an evening, and have you utter praises into his ear. It is only when the two other members of the Cross-Guild begin flirting does he find his limit being tested. Will he bend, or will he break?

Themes: Boss!Crocodile x Assassin!Reader, lap princess, Croc is in love with you, begrudgingly in love, mutual pining, “I don’t want to fix him, I want to make him worse”, wealth, Cross-Guild dynamics, partial Buggy x Reader, partial Mihawk x Reader, sign language, afab!reader.

Notes: This fic is dedicated to the wonderful @discordantwritings who wrote a beautiful Benn Beckman fic recently. I had to return the favor with some Cross-Guild content, although it became quickly a Sir Crocodile fic. Based on this prompt, because it has a hold over my very soul.

Tag List: @sordidmusings @feral-artistry @carrotsunshine @cinnbar-bun @writingmysanity @gingernut1314

The broad right hand of the brutish Sir Crocodile massaged his temples beneath his thumb and index finger. He began rotating them in an attempt to rid the swelling migraine caused by the crackled whines pouring from the lips of his clown companion. Barely paying attention to the whinging words strung into messy sentences, his ears pricked and spine tingled at the knowledge there was another presence within the hollow chambers of the Cross-Guild meeting space.

Bringing his hand away from his temple, his smirk broke the displeased position of his lips, as his eyes rose to meet with the yellow hue of the gaze of the swordsman. Mihawk narrowed his eyes, no longer processing Buggy’s words as he attempted to locate the source responsible for the expression change of the larger gentleman in front of him.

“-And I wasn’t the one responsible for that screw up, so I shouldn’t be the one paying for it. Really it should go to the one with the most berry. Who was it again? Between the reptile and the hawk, who has the most-.” Buggy’s voice halted as the shadows split to reveal your presence, stalking closer to the largest man in the room with an aura of silent danger.

Mihawk reached for the hilt of Yoru, ready to strike your approaching silhouette: armored and cloaked in the darkest black to blend within smoke and shadow. Your hood concealed your face, your facial mask shieling all but the intensity of your eyes smeared in darkened war paint. You made no sound; no tap, no whisper as you wordlessly approached Sir Crocodile.

“Returned so soon, my Seraphim,” his voice purred, leaning back in his chair while placing a thick cigar between his teeth, “Did all go according to plan?” You wordlessly bent your knee, bowing your head to the large gentleman to whom you entrusted your implicit loyalty. His smile drew further up his scarred face, the purple hue of his eyes dancing with a dangerous twinkle at your wordless confirmation.

“Good,” his voice praised you, reaching for his lighter lying atop the table. You rose to your feet, quickly reaching for the golden object, flicking open the lid and igniting the flint to spark its flame. Sir Crocodile leant forward, holding his eyes firmly on yours as your concentration was fixed on the task of lighting the tip of his cigar.

He narrowed his eyes, noticing a small smear of red atop the darkened warpaint and streaking down your face mask and onto your leather breastplate. He sighed, reaching into his left hand breast pocket and fishing out a silver handkerchief and passed it to you within his index and middle fingers.

“Is it yours?” he asked, gesturing to the blood congealed and spattered against your uniform.

“No, sir,” you whispered with no vocal tone depicted within your silence. He hummed in response, narrowing his eyes as he scanned your body further.

“Are you unharmed and unmarked?” he asked, his left brow raising in question. You stiffened your shoulders, arching your chin within the air and confirmed with a simple utterance of: “Yes, sir.”

“Very good, my Seraphim,” he complimented further, inhaling a deep lungful of the nicotine laden cigar smoke, exhaling through his nose. Buggy did not know what to make of this interaction, feeling completely and utterly ignored as Mihawk and Sir Crocodile’s eyes and attention remained fixed on your statuesque figure clad in cloak, leather and dark plated armor.

Leaning forward, Sir Crocodile ushered you to stoop forward to receive the next whisper of a command parting from his lips for your ears alone.

“I have laid out a new uniform for you to wear,” he uttered intimately, reaching up his left hand with his golden hook threatening to touch your shoulder. “See to it you are bathed, perfumed and clad in the ensemble within the hour,” the tip of his hook brushed with the rivets of your shoulder plate, dragging down your bicep to the inner crevice of your elbow, “And I will have you sat as my trophy upon my knee for the evening, my Seraphim.”

At that final utterance, he withdrew his hook from your arm and focussed once more on your eyes now depicting a darkness within usually withheld for victims beneath your concealed daggers.

Bowing to your boss, eyes now closed, you rose from your deep and respectful stoop and paid no mind to glance at the other two members of the meeting space. If Sir Crocodile found no reason to introduce you to these men, you did not deem them important enough to care who they were. Silence followed you as you trailed outside of the room, resubmerging yourself within the shadows and hastily making your way to the suite gifted to you by your boss.

“Baroque Works employee, Crocodile?” Mihawk uttered, his eyes fixed on the exit you withdrew from.

“A thing of the past, Hawk,” His smirk not leaving his face for each deep inhale of his cigar, “I no longer put my faith in an amassment of bounty hunters to get their hands dirty for my berry.” He took the butt of his cigar from his teeth and pushed the ignited end against the glass tray with his thumb. “No, my faith is no longer spread to the many, but to the few.”

“How many o’ them you got?” Buggy’s nasally voice chimed in, his brow furrowing and lips curling back in an uneasy smile, “Like twenty or thirty?”

“I have nine,” he confessed, eyes now bored with the conversation and lip curling down into an arrogant snarl, “And that one,” he gestured to the door with his chin, “Is my favorite.”

“Why?” Buggy asked, his voice cracking in a small apprehensive whine at the end of his question, “What does that one do that the others don’t?” Sir Crocodile’s lips curled into a darkened grin, his teeth revealed in the light.

“You will see.”

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After bathing and cleaning yourself of the debris and carnage of the last assignment, you glanced at yourself in your large, ornate mirror. Looking over the new uniform set aside by your boss as it clung to your body, you couldn’t help the pull of a shy smile at the corner of your lips.

Of all of “The Choirs” founded and financed by Sir Crocodile, it was no illusion that you were absolutely and without a doubt his favorite. Your titles held your specialist skills as covert assassins within your roles; each skilled with a unique ability to complete your tasks to the utmost quality.

Principalitie, Archangel, and Angel were charged with gathering information and relaying it from a great distance. They were to look like civilians; innocent and coy with the ability to blend into a crowd seamlessly.

The Devil-Fruit users; Dominion, Virtue, and Power, were charged with carrying out tyrannical punishment and wrath without care for the casualties they caused under the utterance of a single command from your hook-handed leader.

Cherubim and Ophanim, the two of the higher in the chain of command, followed your explicit instruction in covert operations taken either together or separately. They were your trusted confidants, you could even call them your friends if it were not too bold to say so.

You, his ‘Seraphim’, were silent and embraced by shadows with such flawless success that it was rumored you were born in them. You were lethal with your daggers, your skill with a blade a sight to behold before life was drained from your intended target. The last thing they saw as their breath was claimed by your hand, was the ferocity in your blown pupils and lengthy eyelashes beneath the dark warpaint smeared atop your eyelids.

Glancing over your features once more, the pale white of the dress held stark contrast to the dark armor you adorned almost an hour prior. While your armor kept all of your features hidden to the world around you, the anonymity shielding you from emphasis on your features; this dress left little to the imagination.

The deep hook of the backless dress clung low to your hips in an ovular shape, bodice dipping down to above your navel with a thin band of fabric dancing above your cleavage to suture the bust shut with barely any support. The length of the dress halted little below your hip bone on the left-hand side, the right hand side down to the ball of your ankle to allow for the straps of your gold heels to be revealed with each step you took against the floor.

Your mind begins to wander the longer you stare at yourself in the mirror. This was the most provocative and scandalous item your boss had ever asked you to don. You almost allowed yourself to rush to the conclusion that your boss harbored more than simple favoritism for you, you assumed you were wearing this ensemble to impress a guest with your presence on his lap.

Silence was nearly impossible with the gold-dipped base of your heeled shoes. Each step you took after exiting your suite echoed in a foreign clack that you were unaccustomed to creating with your foot-falls.

Immediately upon entering the large celebratory area of Sir Crocodiles casino, you scanned the perimeter of the room for your boss to begin your new role for the night: the princess sitting upon his knee and doting on him with small caresses and whispers of praise within his ear. This was not a role you were exposed to often, but one you did well enough for him to continue asking for you after the first night you played it.

You would be lying to yourself if you said you did not harbor affection for your boss. Nothing ever transpired between you after you had finished this role for the nights he asked you to fulfill. No brush of lips meeting yours, no writhing while sprawled out beneath him against the green fuzz of the gamblers table. He would bow his head in gratitude to you, his eyes blinking shut out of respect, and dismissing you without a further word.

Adoration, respect, loyalty, and your wage is what bound you to that man. At each moment he spent with you on his lap, or performing a deadly task for him, your desire grew. You knew, without a semblance of a doubt, that you would cast aside your wage with an instant for the luxury of remaining by his side. You loved him, and it was the only thing that truly frightened you.

After concluding your brief scan of the room, you noticed Sir Crocodile was yet to make an appearance to darken the tables with his brutish figure. However, you smiled upon meeting the eyes of ‘Ophanim’ dressed in a simple waiter's uniform, with her sleeves rolled to her elbows and shaking a steel container filled with ice, syrups and hard liquor. She shot you a wink, gesturing with her chin to wait with her at the bar.

An honest smile sprung to your lips as you grasped the barstool within your hands, taking a seat atop it and hooking your left knee over your right; the slit of your dress revealing the entirety of your left leg to your thigh.

Immediately as you began to open your mouth to converse with your fellow “Choir” about her latest mission, your eyes were thrust into an amassment of lengthy cerulean hair. The person seemed to ignore you as their voice informed your friend of his order of a fruit-forward and harsh liquor cocktail with an insane amount of complex ingredients. The products he asked for sounded as if it would split and separate, with the immediate souring of creamy liquid with the acidic elements.

Grimacing with your lips curled in disgust, the individual turned to meet your disapproving gaze: his eyes widening and breath hitching in his throat. A large, rotund red nose lay central to his features, his dark vest cinching his waist beneath a white shirt and dark trousers. He looked as if he was not comfortable wearing the assortment, as if it was a mask he was given to wear akin to your arrangement set aside by your boss.

“You are fucking gorgeous,” he stumbled over his words, the syllables falling from his lips quicker than he could silence them within. Immediately your grimace upturned into a smile, forcing a laugh to flee from you at his unbridled compliment. You arched your left brow up, leaning in close to the individual in front of you and tightening his dark tie with your right hand.

“You are very easy to look at, yourself,” you purred in return, assuming your flirtatious role with ease. You darted your gaze between his two teal eyes, a coy smile now pursing your lips together innocently, “And who might you be, bright eyes?” Your question had his heart swelling, his cheeks filling with a boyish fluster.

“B-Buggy,” he wheezed, gulping back his words and grunting out a small cough to mask his uneasiness. “Captain Buggy D Clown,” he attempted to meet his elbow atop the bar, missing the polished wood entirely and instead stumbling under the uneven distribution of his weight. As air met his elbow with the heel of his palm capturing his chin, he flew his head down and met it against the wood with a harsh thump.

Wincing in empathy, you immediately reached forward and claimed his cheeks within your palms and raised him back up to his former stature. You brushed his shoulders, readjusted his collar and checked over the rising swell atop his left temple.

“Honey, can we get some ice please?” you asked your colleague who attempted to halt her laugh behind her palm, nodding as she retrieved the frosty cubes and placed them within a checkered tea towel. She passed it to you and shook her head, you nodding your thanks at her for the object and immediately reaching for the blunt-force trauma the blue-haired clown brought upon himself.

“Are you alright Captain Buggy?” You asked him, holding your hand against the towel and pressing it firmly against the rising bruise. He clasped his left hand around your right, leaning into the touch you were providing him and closing his eyes.

“I like the way your tongue makes my name sound,” he confessed in a breathy gasp. You again found yourself laughing at his words, the melodic ring of your voice stirring something dangerous within the purple hues of Sir Crocodile’s eyes. He continued watching your interaction with Buggy from his place darkening the threshold of the entrance to his casino.

“What happened, Clown?” A voice called behind him, the curve of a pale shirt clinging to the back of a dark-haired individual you could barely see. Buggy apprehensively turned away from you and lulled his head towards the man with a snarling expression.

“It’s her fault,” he gestured to you with his thumb, “She was sittin’ on that chair all innocent-like, as if she doesn’t look like walking sex.”

“Hardly walking if she’s sitting,” the man called over in a bored and disinterested tone, without sparing so much as a glance in your direction. You found him intriguing, but you decided to match his energy and remain aloof to his comments yourself.

Turning away from the two men beside you, you began moving your hands in a flurry of wordless gestures to your coworker as discreetly as you could.

‘Where is he?” you asked her, watching her hands flicker in response as she continued to attempt to uphold her own persona as bartender.

“Approaching slowly,” she managed to signal to you, before she placed a glass of wine in front of the broody aloof gentleman beside the clown. The corner of his lips ticked at the corner, a whisper of gratitude depicted on his face as he turned to face you with the crystal glass rising upwards.

The small widening of his honey-coloured eyes told you all you needed to know within his gaze. Your head cocked to the side, your eyes wide and feigning innocence to the best of your abilities.

“My, my,” he commented, shamelessly raking his eyes over your body from your decorated toes to the follicles of your styled hair, “I do see why you would be the cause for such a stumble.” He expertly brushed the blue-haired man away from you, extending his right hand forward to seek out your own and collecting your four fingers within his grip.

He raised your hand to his lips, his mustache tickling the knobbed joints of your knuckles before his lips brushed against your flesh. Your eyes turned sultry, not once either of you breaking your eye contact against one another.

Unable to control the rapidity of the thump within his chest and the dry lump forming in his throat, Sir Crocodile began a stalking approach towards you. How dare they fawn over you. You: his favorite of his Choirs. His angelic muse and harbinger of brutality.

He knew you would make heads turn with the uniform he laid out for you, but he did not anticipate the primal urge swelling beneath him to pull you into himself and shield you away from their eyes. He wanted you all for himself, in any capacity you were willing to give it to him. He didn’t care that you were paid berry to serve him, it felt real enough for him.

“Dracule Mihawk,” he uttered against your flesh, withdrawing from his stoop and arching his back to puff his barely shielded chest to you, “And you are, my darling?” Before you could answer with your name, you felt a warm graze dancing up your spine. His breath tickled against your skin, tingling your spine beneath his lips as they pressed intent and longing to your flesh.

On any other occasion, you may have been alarmed by such attention from an individual without seeing their face. The cologne dancing with the whisper of his last cigar floated with each kiss against your skin, informing you exactly who was giving you such a touch.

He had never offered you this unbridled affection in the past, not allowing himself to give into his craving for you, and you not willing to test your place serving under him. This touch felt natural, his lips continuing to press into you, as you continued to hold your gaze on the eyes of the dark-haired man in front of you.

Sir Crocodile’s lips found your left shoulder, his purple eyes pulling the swordsman’s attention away from you to meet with your boss as he continued to map his lips up your neck to your jaw. His left forearm circled around your front, the golden hook firmly secured against his wrist collecting your chin beneath the smooth surface. He turned your attention away from Mihawk to look into his eyes through lowered eyelashes.

He leant forward, drawing your lips against his by the gentle tilt of his hook against your chin. Darting his tongue out to stroke yours, his nose brushed against your own as he circled his jaw to deepen the embrace. Your hands clutched the base of the stool you were sat atop to anchor yourself down for fear of floating to the roof. The hum of his lips in joy had a small moan pull from your lips the longer he was joined against you.

You felt his right hand brush against your bicep, curling his firm grip around it as he pushed his chest flush with your own with a gentle turn of your body. He pulled away from the kiss, his eyes immediately falling to your rapidly swelling and kiss-bruised lips, slightly smudged paint falling below the perimeter of your bottom lip. Tapping your chin with his hook, your eyes darted from your own gaze against his lips to meet with his purple eyes.

“My Seraphim,” the rumble of his voice and the small smirk of his lips had your attention hyper fixed and hanging on his every word. You held your gaze firmly affixed to his, watching as he turned away from you and greeted the men in front of you with the nod of his head and the small utterance of their names.

“Mihawk,” the rumble of his voice rubbing within his throat had your spine tingle with anticipation, “Buggy.” He turned back to meet your orbs that had not yet broken from his face, but raked your gaze over his face with half-lidded lashes. Your eyes continued to float in a daze against his lips and flittering back up to meet his gaze.

He extended his right hand in a gesture for you to take it, you reacting immediately by placing your hand within his larger palm to encircle his digits around it. You allowed him to pull you away from your former position atop the barstool, your heels clicking against the floor as he escorted you to the desired table for the night. Now in the shroud of seclusion, he leaned down and uttered a small apology in your ear.

“Forgive me,” he began, taking his seat within the plush armchair and patting his left knee with his right. Without hesitation, you gracefully placed yourself atop his thigh with the small flick of your hair, crossing your left knee over your right and arching your back.

“What sins am I forgiving, sir?” you asked him, feeling the dangerous caress of his hook brushing against your spine and collecting a small portion of your hair within its curvature. Your boss took in a deep breath through his nose, expanding his broad chest beneath his suit jacket. His exhale had a small quake to it, his eyes closing as he basked under your attention.

You reached your hands and began to dance your fingertips against the hem of his collar. Although this was a routine you had practiced with him over man a night on his lap, this touch felt almost forbidden as his brows furrowed.

“I should not have kissed you like that,” he uttered in a voice below a hushed whisper, “You deserve better than something so public. I desire you-... -for you to be treated as a seraphim I know you to be.” His vocal catch had your attention completely focussed on every word, your body leaning itself further as your hands halted their movement.

“I am not a seraphim, sir,” your lips were now almost brushing with the shell of his ear, your hypnotic perfume, intoxicating and mesmerizing the larger gentleman the longer your presence remained atop his lap. He angled his head away from you, exposing the side of his neck to reveal the rapidity of his heartbeat displayed against his pulse.

“And what are you, if not a seraphim,” he whispered darkly, allowing to be disarmed by your presence as he leant into your touch, yet away from the descent of your lips upon his ear.

“I am your seraphim,” you confessed as your lips grazed against the sensitive flesh of his cheek, his dark hair tickling against your eyes.

Sir Crocodile was glad he had withdrawn you to a secluded portion of his casino at this moment. He truly did not desire for the other two members of the Cross-Guild to notice how much of a grip you truly had around his heart, but refused to break away from your display of unrestrained physical affection. He knit his brows together, furthering their descent down his face as he processed your words.

“Because I pay you to be,” he uttered, leaning away from your touch and forcing the mask of his arrogance back onto his features. He dropped the hook from your hair, reaching his right hand into his left breast pocket to locate a thick cigar and his golden lighter. Placing the bitten end between his teeth and clamping down on it, he drew the flame up to his lips and attempted to ignite the end.

“I will return my wage to you,” you uttered quietly after swiping the golden lighter from his hand and reigniting the flame, “I have no need for it when you take care of me so well.” His eyes held an aloof boredom to his expression, refusing to meet with your face as you lit his cigar for him.

“And if my wealth was taken from me?” He questioned before inhaling the smoke from his cigar, exhaling it away from your face, “If I was to go to prison once more, what then?” Your eyes narrowed, your lip curling up to reveal your displeasure at the question.

“I would claw tooth and nail to free you from your confinement, sir,” you confessed, reaching your left hand forward and collecting his chin beneath your thumb and index finger, turning his jaw for his eyes to meet with yours once more, “And although living in luxury is a welcome experience, I would stand by you regardless.” His eyes depicted his craving for your words to be true, although not believing it yourself.

He began to open his mouth to speak, silenced by your words cutting through the air like your daggers meeting with the jugular of your foe.

“You have my loyalty, my blades, and my body at your disposal,” you leant forward further, darting your eyes between focusing on each of his. “Should you order me to jump, I will ask how high. Should you ask me to kneel, I will fall to my knees,” you continued, your grip holding more firmly against his chin, “Should you wordlessly aim your finger at an enemy, I would be a channel of your wrath as I claim their lives for you.”

Allowing a few moments of thick silence to swell between you, you felt the scrape of his hook trailing itself against your spine, hovering over the soft point of your rib and pressing his point firmly into your flesh.

“While your words are as beautiful as you are,” he whispered, looking down at the plunging neck of your dress and back up into your eyes, “They are as decorated by the impact of my wealth as your body is in that dress.” You narrowed your eyes at his comment, taking the expression as a challenge.

Shrugging away from the point of his hook, you rose to your feet between his legs and slowly drew your hands up to the thin straps on your shoulders. You hooked your thumbs beneath the material and began to slowly slip the material over your shoulders and down your biceps. Sir Crocodile’s eyes widened, immediately reaching his right hand and left forearm to halt your hands from revealing more of your flesh to him.

“What are you doing?” His growl should’ve had your actions stuttering in any other setting, but his rasp had your heart beating in desire in place of fear.

“I have already informed you that I will be returning my wage to you,” you cocked your head to the side, arching your back towards him and looking down at him under your lustful expression, “Why not start with the dress you claim to despise so much.” The rise of his fluster depicted in his eyes at your words had a smirk drawing up to decorate your lips.

“What has someone like me done to deserve such devotion from you, my seraphim?” he whispered, his right hand elevating the strap of your left shoulder and securing it firmly in its prior place. You followed suit with your right strap, securing it firmly against your shoulder and leaning further into his welcome embrace.

He leant his torso closer to you, his broad forearms circling over your own with his fingertips brushing against your skin. You began to open your mouth, confessing your adoration for your boss further upon the tip of your tongue before crudely interrupted by the presence of the blue-haired clown followed behind by the broody gentleman from earlier.

“Are we playin’ cards yet, Croco?” Buggy’s voice hitched as he met with an intimate moment shared between you and Sir Crocodile. Your boss’ hands caressed your skin, pulling you against his torso as he aimed his disapproving gaze over your right shoulder.

He growled at the interruption, his voice holding more feral animosity than he felt he should. You drew your hand up to claim his cheek in the palm of your right hand, looking down at him with your eyes holding your unspoken answer of lustful adoration at him. His breath hitched as his gaze met with yours, prompting his right hand to grasp the flesh of your back firmer within his spread fingertips.

“I recall you having barely enough berry to survive the last time we played, Clown,” Mihawk’s aloof tone called from beside him. Neither you nor Sir Crocodile paid either man any mind, too wrapped up in the intimate moment you were sharing holding one another.

You removed the cigar from Crocodile’s teeth in your left hand, stooping forward and claiming his lips beneath your own. Your nose brushed against his, the kiss as hastily departing in severance of the connection as it did in its descent. He arched his chin up, chasing your retreat with his eyes closed.

“Shall I get the table ready, sir?” You asked him in a subtle whisper, relishing in the small hum of pleasure falling from the lips of your boss. His eyes split slowly open, remaining half-lidded as he lulled his head on his neck to glance at you. The silver mark splitting his face danced in the illuminance of the soft bar light, his striking features appearing more chiseled under its glow.

“Please,” he spoke slowly, his tongue darting out and danced as the ‘L’ passed his lips. You raked his hair back over his scalp, replacing the fallen strands in their rightful place, while leaning down once more with a smirk.

“Right away, sir,” you purred at him while returning his cigar to his teeth, watching as he bit the tip with a small snarl. Turning and walking away to collect several items to place atop the green felt for your boss to engage in a game of cards with his two unlikely colleagues, eyes fixed on your back as you exited the secluded area.

“Who is she?” Buggy’s shocked voice cracked out the stuttered question also plaguing Mihawk’s mind. Sir Crocodile relaxed in his chair, inhaling the cigar smoke deeply into his lungs and holding it. Upon it exiting from his lungs, he confessed the place you held within his heart with the utterance of two words.

“My favorite.”

908 notes View Post

justanotherartist29

1 year ago

askel stairs

♡ d o w n l o a d ♡ + optional matching wallpaper

These stairs were a request by the lovely @loasaceae! I made also a matching wallpaper to go along the stairs as none of the game's tiles matched, but they're not 100% seamless because of the specular maps and such and for the love of me I couldn't get the colors to match each other perfectly. -But there was an attempt!

6 swatches + 4 wallpaper swatches

base game compatible

7K notes View Post

justanotherartist29

2 years ago