REQUESTS OPEN? IF YES: BLU SPY TF2 IN A FANCY AND EXTRAVAGANT PEACOCK INSPIRED OUTFIT. HE IS DOLLED UP. SPREADING MY AGENDA
DEPENDING on whether this design is good or nott You have come to the right person because I AM OBSESSED with designing suits and this was FUCKING FUN. thank you so much for this request LMAO :p
Here are some VERY SUPER rough concepts i made before the final design ofc lol . I have mixed elements from all of them lols
onto the next requests :3
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Kinda weird how some heroes have dark/shadow links and others don't what if i fix that
Here are some dumb little names I came up with while bored lol
Dark Hero = Villain
Dark Mighty = ?
Dark Mini = Dini (it sounds cute!)
Dark Four = Door
Dark Chosen = Dozen
Dark Neptune = Timothee Chalamet
Dark Tracks = Drax the Destroyer
Dark Captain = Dappy
Dark Legend = ?
Dark Star and Sun = Eclipse
Dark Clover = (ben) Dover
Dark Clover, Ember, and Aqua = Doppel (D:)
Dark Fay = Night
Dark Mask = actual hell
Dark Twilight = Dwight D. Eisenhower
Dark Aspect = ?
Dark Tears = Dear Diary
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the serie
"How come you never married?"
Maedhros looks over the book he has been trying to read for the past minutes to throw a wry look at the Maia sitting crossed legs on the other side of the bonfire.
"Where does this come from?" He comments back, eyes drifting back to the tiny printed letters.
"You can't hear him but Ossë has been waxing poetry to Uinen for the last ten minutes."
Maedhros snorts loudly and still not looking at Mairon he lifts a corner of his lips.
"Is this how you people say it?"
"Say what?"
At this he looks up once more, expression blank, his eyebrows raised.
"Oh."
Sauron the dreaded Foe of so many ages Maedhros thinks with dry sarcasm. Maedhros has heard the rumours in Aman. The Seduction of Mairon they called it. Acting clueless when he highly doubts the Maia was a virgin, not since many, many long eons at least.
Mairon seems to shuffle and adds more dried wood to the fire.
"It's not like that with them."
Maedhros has no wish to discuss the sex life of Ainur or lack of so he simply hums and resumes his reading.
"You haven't answered."
Annoying. The once fallen Maia has a stubborn streak that reminds him much of his brothers.
"Maybe it's not of your business."
"Maybe not. I'm still asking."
"Lucky me."
He sets his book aside long enough to bring about the cloak over his long legs. The nights are still fresh upon the last days of winter.
"It was war."
Beside Maedhros thinks, he had swore off his very soul to the folly of his father. He doesn't want to think of Fingon and his gold adorned braids and his warm hands as they cradled Maedhros' feverish pale skin. Once upon a time in Tirion, in Fingon's cosy room, in Maedhros' formal bedchamber, in Oromë's woods. He doesn't want to bring up Beleriand or Thangorodrim and think of the agony of these days, and then later, the darkness and the darker deeds when some soldier had told him there was no body to find, to bury, to say goodbye to.
Maedhros frowns and shakes himself back to the present. In his left hand, the missing right one throbs.
"What about you?" He deflects. Mairon gives him a strange smile, halfway through pity - for himself or Maedhros? It matters not. Maybe they aren't that different after all. Except in this. Fingon was light and kind and good and Maedhros tainted him.
"Depends what you view as marriage." The Maia answers, and it surprises Maedhros that he will answer at all. He shrugs then and looks away from the golden eyes and the similar hair.
"Perhaps I was then."
Mairon hums. "Perhaps I was too."
"Not sure I enjoy this revelation." He wants to keep the talk free of these thoughts, but they come still. He is trying though, they both are. A penance and maybe in Eru knows how long, maybe then he will be able to go to Fingon and feels worthy again. He hopes Mairon has no wish of reconciliation with his own estranged past relationship, Master? Maedhros isn't so sure he will not claw at Morgoth's face with his own bare hand should the Vala ever break free from his jail.
"Who was it then?" Mairon asks and he blows on a loud sigh. Then blinks because after all why would Sauron know? His own father never did. Maedhros can deflect or lie but the moon shines above them and the scent of pines bring him comfort. In this land for once there is no more war. Only mending.
"Gothmog trampled him during the Nirnaeth Arnoediad."
Nothing moves on Mairon's face until then he leans back on his hands, nine fingers splayed in the cold grass and tilts his face to the night sky glittering above them.
"I've never liked Gothmog. Brute with no refinement."
"Not your pal then?"
"Hardly." There the Maia's face contorts into something frightening, and Maedhros can see then what Findaráto probably saw in the dark cells of defiled Minas Tirith.
"They were wrong. The Balrogs. Smelled awful."
"Wronger than you?"
Mairon smiles that provocative smirk of him, the one that means Maedhros hit too close.
"I am prettier." And because they have been journeying together for months now, Maedhros is not surprised when the Maia stands up and without more words, walks away to go and lie further away, arm tucked underneath his head.
He gathers his book and flicks it open. He misses Fingon and the absence of his warmer self within his soul is as noticeable as his missing right hand. One day he will return. He genuinely hopes Mairon's thoughts aren't of the same nature. He looks at the Maia's profile lost in the darkness of the night and thinks that loneliness tends to turn hearts into mangled shapes.
He wishes Ossë will be back soon.
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