#WHERE WILL HE BATHE

[mr-payjay]

More drawinfs <3 the usual art dump

[dkettchen]

she would've told them unlike her canon! version who decided not to be an ally smh

[springheatedwine]

please draw ratio being kissed on the forehead

//wait there's was another person also requested this but like anyway hopefully nobody saw that mistake ................

[seancefemme]

would you tell me if you want me, cause I can’t move until you show me

[babylonqaf]

listen i know people love the “ghost wears a mask because he has so many scars” headcanon or the “ghost wears a mask because of trauma” headcanon and so do i but i’m also a “ghost wears a mask because he’s so pretty, his face belongs on the body of a cherub, and people don’t take him seriously without the mask” believer and nothing can change my mind

[oreo-cookies-fan]

Silco: I'm going to reclaim my trauma.

Sevika: Good for you!

Silco: Therefore, I'm going to reclaim Vander's dick.

Sevika: ... what?

[playingitup]

I recently read a fic that unlocked a previously undiscovered interest of mine, and i cant seem to find any other fics like it, so you guys get to watch me spiral (again)

This came from the Talia al-Ghul is Jason Todd's adopted mom pipeline, and the fic was a very short blurb where someone offered Jason the Joker's death as a courting gift, as according to the League of Assassin's tradition had to ask for Ra's blessing as the head of his family, and Damian tranqued Batman to let this happen, because 'this has nothing to do with you, Father, this is al-Ghul family business' and aaaaaa

Just, the League having its own culture, traditions.

I know its Ra's assassins club, but he is old as fuck. There have probably been families that are part of the League for generations. This amounts to not inly courting traditions, but customs, manners, holidays, all with a different twist that came with time in this isolated society, and i just want to see more fics that explore this.

Damian being cut out of his culture completely, no idea why no one responds the way he expects, not because of trauma and 'why is no one punishing or praising me', but genuine 'i told Drake i could demonstrate my skills with a blade for him, and why didnt he offer to show me how he fights with his staff??? He didnt even say he already knew how to use blades, is he implying that i am not sufficiently trained to be capable of teaching him? Does he think i am not worthy of being in this family, and thats why he refuses to train with me??'

(Meanwhile Tim firmly believes he just got threatened to be shish-kebabed by a 10 yo and is shook. Of course, Damian just wanted to spend quality time with his new family member the way he knows how to, but tim doesnt know that, and Damian doesn't know thats how tim understood it either)

And Jason being a part of the al-Ghul household, too, is very interesting. I love the concept of Talia sending him on his way to Gotham as Red Hood partialy to make the city safer for when Damian went over, Hood putting the fear of god into criminals so that the Demon Prince could walk through the city of his father with less fear and apprehension. Jason and Damian celebrating League holidays and traditions together (of course, jason only does it so the little guy can have this confor of home and family, he did promise T that he would take care of him, its not like he enjoys quality time with a family member he never tried to kill, or that he misses the conforts of the league and dinners with the al-Ghuls, of couse not).

Anyways, thank you for listening to my ted talk

[ryllen]

i always think jade in his formal pajama is so cute ♡

he insists to exchange

[worstloki]

I was thinking New Mexico like with Thor but now that you’ve brought it up let’s drop him somewhere random like out of cities Malaysia and have the aunties in the rest of the community and random grocery store workers keep telling him ‘eyes so big lah’ and ‘fair skin very good ah’ ‘wah! so TALL!’ ‘walao-eh, what is mat salleh doing with his rice?’ while he tries to convince local authorities he’s not an illegal immigrant (they would have tried to deport him already if everyone wasn’t humouring the ‘people saw this man clearly fall from the sky during a storm’ story) that just happens to be fluent in multiple languages. He’s stuck with small community jobs because he can’t get official work but there are comfortable places to sleep on village-y streets so don’t even worry about how the first few months go. He slowly but surely gains friends and a community that accepts him as a strange but sweet part of them.

AU where Loki gets banished for Thor/Warriors 4 going to Jotunheim and he just settles down on Earth. Copes with the blue arm by ignoring it completely since he's been disowned and dumped on Earth anyway. There's probably a way to 'prove himself worthy' and 'get back to Asgard' but he never bothers with it.

[marclef]

From what I’ve learnt from the fact about how much Fake Peppino hates water to the point where he’ll drink it to avoid having it on him��� it got me thinking.

Let’s put this into a scenario here. Let’s say, hypothetically, someone where to take Fake Peppino and throw him into something like a pool, would it be possible that he’d attempt to consume all the water before it makes him go all goopy and loose his form? And that’s assuming he can actually swim…

AGAIN, a hypothetical scenario.

what a fun scenario... and wonderfully worded too! 😅

so, let's have a look-see at this hypothetical here, the way i see it there are two ways this could go!

the hypothetical though: SOMEBODY decides to be a jerk VERY rude and push this goopy fella into a big pool of water! obviously not ideal for Fakey.

now, the first direction it could go from here: usually, Fakey reserves trying to suck up any outside water if it's a smaller body, say falling into a puddle or being shoved into a bathtub. but, it's always possible he'd try it here, anything to stop the water from touching his sensitive outside skin! his insides are like a sponge though when it comes to liquids; they absorb very quickly, but it'll stay saturated in his skin for a while afterwards, until he dries or manages to fully convert it into goop.

but... an entire pool of water though... that's a lot of liquid.

and another fun fact, Fake Peppino hates being soggy. so now he's been shoved into a pool, panicked and drank a ton of water to save himself, and now he's wet and spongy...

he is not gonna be in the best of moods.

of course, that's only one of two ways this could go though! the other is much more simple....

that being, that it's way too much water to try that with. so the much more likely scenario that'll happen is simply this:

the well-known Fake Peppino Goop Pile. too much liquid and he can't even hold his form down! he won't dissolve in the water at least, just reduced to an extra-slimy, writhing blob of Goop. at which point he'd do everything he can to flee from the water, and start trying to find any way to dry off quicker.

how rude of somebody to push him into the water like that though; don't they know how uncomfortable being like this feels? at least there's one benefit to being a living pile of goo, and that's being able to smother the jerk who did this to you!

(haha, get GOOPED idiot 👆)

[thedevillionaire]

come to me

His relief at seeing her is tangible, primal, as he quietly insists he’s just tired – the relentless intensity over the last week, or two, or even dear gods has it really been three finally easing up. Although maybe, in its own way, that easing was part of the problem.

He says it’ll pass soon; he knows there’s no hiding it but he’s hoping that’s the truth, and the last thing he wants is to worry her.

He doesn’t quite succeed.

With a frown of concern, she watches him take his coat off, an unspoken exhaustion laced through his movement as he increases the hearthfire’s intensity, and she passes him the steaming cup of jasmine tea she’d made for herself only moments ago. He gratefully accepts its welcome small warmth with a soft thanks, love, and she doesn’t miss the edge of congestion in his consonants, nor the dullness in his usually intensely vibrant eyes, the encroaching hints of pinkness to his nose.

They take a seat together on the couch and he puts the teacup on the table, apologises to her for all his absences lately, sniffles at first softly then harder, sharper. At his catch of breath she passes him a tissue, and quickly another, as his expression crumbles in surrender to the recurrent insistent need he’s been unable to shake: urgent, unforgiving and imperative, the vestiges of his energy rip-torn ravaged as he hurriedly turns from his beloved, unable to fight it, sneezing in urgent, violent triplicate – heavy, throat-tearing, disorienting.

Her heartwarm blessing is a cherished sanctuary as she trails gentle fingers through his hair, drawing him closer, and oh she always loves his touch but he’s far too warm, the thickness in his breathing impossible to miss. She murmurs soothing softnesses, presses a lingering kiss to his forehead, and holds him a little closer as

“Ahh-HEHHTSShhuu!”

she’s not sure about this passing soon at all.

---

[respectthepetty]

Dee better be a Leo!

I'm so happy the first day of Pride landed on a SaturGay because we were all greeted by a birthday-filled Wandee Goodday!

Even though the birthdays were celebrated so the kids would have one day they didn't have to remember the sadness (this is going to come back to bite us in the ass when Yak and Dee aren't together, I'm sure)

But the reason I love it is because we learned Yak was was born December 6

Making him a Sagittarius. *horse sound effect*

Who tend to be friendly, flirty, funny, optimistic, and down to clown.

And you know what colors align with a Sagittarius? Purple (like Dee!)!

So if we get Wandee's birthday, I'm hoping he is a Leo (the best!) or a Gemini because their guiding color is yellow so it could link with Yak's yellow.

Wandee could also be an Aquarius because his (fake) blue would make sense, pero . . . I don't want it because, once again, I don't think the blue really captures his *essence*.

So even though Yak keeps wearing blue

I think that's just him absorbing Dee's environment without realizing how much he already feels for Dee, who is dramatic and stubborn, like a Leo.

Therefore, I'm still hoping that Yak will realize his feelings when he finally wears Dee's purple, so I'll be patiently waiting here for this Sagittarius to wear his power color.

However, if he does wear purple, it means that Dee has won since Dee is hellbent on making everything a competition; therefore, he must win everything, even trivial things that shouldn't be a competition.

As @doublel27 pointed out, Dee already crossed the line into pink = 💕love💕 territory (aka how a show becomes a Colors Award nominee)

Yet Dee won't even let Yak call himself Dee's boyfriend even though Yak has done it plenty of times for his advantage.

The thing is, Yak is the perfect balance for Dee with their white x black color dynamic, and not just sexually (which would make sense if Dee was a Leo, so please do not let him a Aquarius, dear God!)

Yak remembers important things like the EXACT amount of time they have been fake dating

When Ter couldn't even remember how long they had been friends.

Yak is honest and open with Dee and works as a team with him

While Ter can't even be honest with himself and sees Dee as competition (y'all really hate this man, but he is my poor little meow meow and I am captain of his apology squad)

But this is also Dee's problem - he isn't honest with himself and views everything as a competition, even when Yak has proven that Teamwork Makes the Dream Work.

For Yak, a man who excels at a sport that is based solely on individual talent where a person must knock out the competition to take claim his spot, he clearly knows the importance of working as a team and the value of including others.

This is something he has learned from his brother because even though Yak is the only one in the ring, without Cher and Yei's dedication to each other, the gym, and their child/brother, Yak would not be where he is.

And that's something Dee, who was raised by his free-spirited grandmother, needs to learn, especially as a doctor who works in a hospital with other doctors and nurses. (Those tiny boxing gloves need to be hanging on my rear-view mirror immediately, GMMTV. YOU HEAR ME?! Where is my merch?!)

A true balance (they switched colors) means you have to compromise. You can't always win. Sometimes you have to lose, intentionally.

Because as cute as this argument was over the ridiculousness of names/positions and toothbrushes with Yak's yellow big bunny brush having little yellow boxing gloves (thanks @babyangelsky) and Dee's purple brush with an adorable teeny tiger on it, the argument still gets to the point that Wandee refuses to lose.

He is sleeping with a big dick every night (I just really wanted to include the plushie)

He is cuddling on the couch with his grandmother in the next room.

He is dressing up and cuddling on the floor with the purple and yellow food items on the table.

He is trying to bake and cook when his grandmother never did, emphasis on trying.

And it's all because of Yak. Dee not only wants Yak, but he *needs* Yak because Yak makes him better and allows him to embrace his true self, but I truly believe Dee's need to win will overshadow everything else, which is maybe why he and Ter were such good friends for eight years since they don't remember dates they don't think are important, they need to win regardless of who gets hurts, and they won't realize what they have until it's gone.

But . . . that's just me thinking as a competitive and ambitious tiger Leo, so who knows?

Dee could just be an unpredictable Aquarius.

[invye]

So my friend has me watching One Piece again which means I am back on my Mihawk brainrot--

Therefore let me introduce you to the list of hobbies I headcannon Mihawk to practice when he's sailing from A to B or taking a bit of time off in his goth castle:

cooking

reading

gardening

embroidery

wood carving

soap making

Extensive and rambly collection of thoughts on all of these under the cut:

Cooking

Reading

My man lives alone, of course he can cook. And he enjoys it. He is the type who technically can eat anything and everything no matter the taste as long as it gives him the nutrition he needs, but ever since he started cooking more regularly he's caught himself getting more picky about the quality and taste of his food. This becomes a problem when his unbidden guests (read: Perona dragging Zoro along) decide to help with the cooking duties... Mihawk has to go through a unexpectedly difficult phase of adapting to liking food that he hasn't made himself exactly fitting to his own taste again.

(Also Zoro on vegetable cutting duty leaves a Mess™. Mihawk makes him scrub the entire kitchen back to his standards after the first time, and while Zoro at first only marginally improves on the not making a mess part, he significantly improves on the cleaning the mess part. [Mihawk's standards for a clean kitchen are exactly as high as Sanji's, a fact which serves Zoro well after his return.])

Gardening

Mihawk enjoys his books. Nothing like a nice evening of quiet reading with a good glass of wine. He reads while travelling too, because lets be honest, there is only so much wistful staring at the horizon he can do and only so many naps he can take while he sails Hitsugibune from one end of the world to the other. At this point he has worked his way halfway through the library of his castle. Which does not stop him from buying new books. He's surprised that it still isn't a commonly known fact about him, with how often he has caused near heart attacks in poor bookshop owners when they are faced with the World's Greatest Swordsman having appeared in their shop to buy a book?? But he supposes it's one of these "no one will ever believe you" kind of situations.

Mihawk also has a lady two islands over from Kuraigana who supplies him with romance novels. She wisely knows not to comment, but he will never forget her wild grin the first time she saw him reaching for a queer novel. The woman seems to pride herself in always having a new queer story available whenever he stops by, and Mihawk has stubbornly decided to pokerface his way through their interactions forever and ever.

The library has significantly grown since Mihawk moved in. It's sorted by genre now. He'll never let Shanks in there so he doesn't have to admit just how much and what kind of romance he's reading.

Embroidery

Roses. Mihawk has an aesthetic and he commits to it 100%. He keeps the most immaculate rose garden Shanks has ever seen, and Shanks has seen plenty of pretty places. At least half the different species of rose bushes are actually gifts from Shanks after he's seen the beginnings of the garden the first time he visited (read: dropped by unannounced) Kuraigana after it became known Mihawk had claimed the island. So now, years later, Mihawk has probably the most extensive collection of rose species in all colours, shapes and sizes in all the seas.

To Zoro's chagrin, the garden is set up like a maze. It's not a big maze. Even the rose bushes Mihawk has allowed to grow tall during his absences barely even reach higher than Mihawk's shoulders. No reasonable person could ever get lost in it. It quickly becomes apparent that Zoro is not a reasonable person.

'Hidden' within the rose 'maze' there are some dedicated patches of ground making up a kitchen garden. Mihawk got tired of doing supply runs every couple weeks, so he grows his own vegetables and herbs (healing purposes included) and even started to grow the spices he prefers.

(To his own annoyance that garden is not able to support feeding three mouths instead of just one, so the supply runs are back to their old frequency until he makes Zoro and Perona spend a week helping him extend the garden. By year two Kuraigana is mostly self-sufficient again. [By year three Mihawk doesn't know what to do with his extra produce anymore so he decides to actually host Shanks' crew for once instead of just Shanks on his lonesome. They are surprisingly respectful of his space, he might even get the utterly insane idea to do this again.])

Wood carving

You have seen his clothes. Everyone has seen his clothes. You know the chances of finding a good, waterproof coat that not just fits perfectly but also exactly reflects your style? They're abysmal. And even if you found the perfect piece of clothing for you, it needs to be properly washed and maintained if you want it to last longer than a storm or two. Also, professional hand embroidery costs a ton of money. So yes, Mihawk made all the little embroidered details himself. At this point he doubts anyone even remembers how his coat looked back when he bought it and before he had time to put a needle to it. Well, anyone who isn't Shanks. Because Mihawk distinctly remembers Shanks staring when he first showed up to a duel with his brand new coat and then staring again after Mihawk was done with it.

Embroidery is more of a winter hobby, when the garden doesn't need him, and he feels the urge to keep his hands moving. For a while he considered teaching Zoro to give him more of a feeling for fine control, but he quickly discarded the idea in favour of helping Perona with her clothes making adventures.

Mihawk never thought or intended for wood carving to become an actual hobby at all. It started out with him finding himself having sailed into a middle of a rather big reef in an attempt to evade social interaction with Vice Admiral Garp after he spotted his ship on the horizon in the early days of Mihawk's Warlord-ship. The reef had plenty rock and coral formations just closely hiding beneath the water surface, interseeded with sand banks that shifted with the tides, which any ship that lays even slightly deeper in the water than Hitsugibune would not be able to navigate. Mihawk relied on his Haki and superior eye-sight to spot all the obstacles and even with all that it was difficult to sail Hitsugibune safely. Then the winds turned on him rather suddenly when he crossed a climate barrier, bringing along heavy cloud cover and fog, and Mihawk decided he needed to make note of the rock formations somehow to not run into them after all as visibility pretty much approached zero. Being not at all talented in map drawing, Mihawk used Kogatana to carve the map into a random scrap of plank instead. It served him well (he sucessfully avoided Garp and there was not a single new scratch on Hitsugibune) and it kind of just became a thing he did. He now has a small collection of carved maps of mostly reefs and other dangerous waters he uses for hiding and evading purposes. And if he carves the occasional bird or other animal when he's bored out at sea, no one needs to know.

Soap making

It's another hobby Mihawk stumbled upon mostly by coincidence. One day during a supply run he got annoyed by how expensive soap is. The next day he had everything he needed to make it for much less money. A week later he had a year's worth supply of soap sorted out. Shanks asks how Mihawk manages to always smell of roses, even when he has been gone from Kuraigana for weeks. Mihawk says nothing while Shanks' crew mercilessly teases their captain for always getting up and close into Hawkeyes' personal space to even know that. They are smart enough to know not to comment on Mihawk allowing Shanks this close in the first place.

[omegalerc]

I'm sick rn and my nose is leaking like it's the Chussy during heat

georgerusseldefender my dear oomf please go to the hospital immediately bc if it’s leaking like chussy during heat ur literally drowning in snot.

[gothicmatter]

honestly the way they changed him out of his white blouse and into the black jacket has always made me feel sick. like his coat? he willingly parted with it. but his blouse? they took that off his shoulders. they stripped him off his autonomy so he can become their puppet.

and now that his will is fully his own again he really does need to change into a new cunty little outfit as a big fuck you.

[rush-the-stars]

CIELO GOD GOD GOD GOD

happy new year vic <33333

gender neutral reader x war god morax/zhongli

cw: blood. biting? the reader is a captive of war. um maybe out of character morax....but im picturing him younger in his long life. a lil more hot blooded. you know.

***

the sun is a bloody dash in the sky. an open wound from the heavens that turns the world crimson and russet.

it's fitting, for a day like this, with so much fighting, so much bloodshed.

the blood of gods gleams gold. it covers you. you are stained in it and in those last, burning rays of the sun, you shine and shimmer.

some of it is your own. most of it is not.

you sit primly despite it, with your knees tucked beneath you and your back straight. you sit serenely with your head poised in a graceful upward tilt— a refusal to surrender the last thing you have now; your pride. your knowledge.

you know something he doesn’t.

and, at the end, you have the pride and knowledge that you almost bested morax the dragon. morax, the god currently winning the archon war. morax, who has finally captured you.

your hands are bound with stone he'd (painstakingly) created. you feel the heat of their power, humming, burning into your skin. it is an attempt at subduing your own divine abilities.

when he appears before you now, he is dressed in black armor. his hair is bound up in a high ponytail, which reveals the chiseled lines of his face. the dragon scales along his temples gleam like precious stones. dark horns curl atop his head proudly, the dragon of this land, with his eyes like the center of the molten earth.

"tell me where you've hidden it."

his demand is met with silence.

you hold his gaze.

more silence.

it stretches long and thick between you.

you let it grow.

he lets out a heavy sigh eventually. and then he moves closer, only to stand over you.

you fall into his great shadow.

"you've lost. you're lucky i didn't kill you." he says and his voice is surprisingly gentle, low and smoky, a rumbling that settles somewhere deep inside you. "and now you can help me win this war and end it."

you turn your face away from him and he is met with your profile. more silence.

"stubborn little god, aren't you?" he hums and it is just shy of wry.

you tilt your head up, gaze focused away from him still, on the camp ahead. his camp of allied gods and mortals and adepti. you focus on the world beyond, as if you might see the hills of heather further on, or the sea itself.

"you'll save lives if you tell me where it is."

you want to look at him and ask why he thinks you'd help him—why his mortals should mean anything to you? why should you want him to win and end the war? but you force yourself to continue to gaze away, to bite back any words threatening to break free from the cage of your mouth.

and then there is a touch at your jaw, careful, almost delicate, as his fingers curl themselves around your face.

he forces you to look towards him, eye level for a moment with muscled thighs beneath onyx armor. and then he pulls your gaze up to find his own, smoldering gold in the evening sun. like the blood you're covered in. like the blood he has washed from himself.

"since you don't feel like talking, then listen to me well."

his thumb caresses your jaw the way a lover might. a careful pass over your skin.

"we can do this peacefully or with great difficulty. i am prepared to offer you freedom if you agree to join me and help me end this war; which is far kinder than i've been to many other gods that have been in your position now. or i will banish you to the dark sea and find what i need on my own.”

“how magnanimous of you.” you finally sneer.

calmly, he says;

“i thought so, too.”

you lurch forward like you might try to strike him, but the binds around your wrists constrict sharply, burning into your skin.

you cry out.

he steadies you.

“easy,” he murmurs, crouching finally to be on your level, face to face. “it hurts, doesn’t it?”

you feel heat in your face; humiliation or frustration. deep, horrible anger. and pain. searing pain that slips up the sinews of muscle in your arms. it tangles in your shoulders, sends pulses of anguish over your back, all over.

you don’t answer.

“i made them especially for you.” he admits. “i made them months ago—long before i caught you.”

“what makes you think i’d help you?” you bite out.

“your desire to be free?” he asks, “the promise of my protection and aid?”

"i don't need your protection—"

"no?" he asks lightly, "you were bested. you are captured."

you jerk your head away from his touch. his hand falls away and he stands again. he gazes down at you.

you snarl, "you are the only one who has done that. before you, i had not been—"

"then consider it protection from me. if you work with me, i will not harm you."

you inhale sharply. your anger constricts around your rib cage like a massive snake. your body aches with it. how dare he—

you force back another rash attempt at striking him.

instead, you gaze beyond him again, as if you could see the future now alongside those heather hills or swirling sea. you wrestle your anger until it will allow you to speak clearly.

you lift your voice and the breeze carries it, laced with venom;

"when i am archon, you'll beg to serve me loyally.

but i will curse you to live beneath the earth and you'll wander in an endless, dark maze. every time you believe you near what you search for, it will change before your eyes, and again you will wander. you'll search for eternity, never to find it.

once in a millennia, i will visit you, and i'll tell you this maze is your protection from me."

you turn to find his eyes. a fissure of heat—the air is charged and sharp with the tang of divinity. a bristling. you think his eyes darken, pupils narrowing to the slits of a reptile.

when he calls out, voice rising to that of a general, you catch the flash of sharpened teeth, "prepare the prisoner for transportation."

immediately, soldiers surge upon you.

"are we preparing them for the dark sea?" one asks.

morax stares hard at you.

"no," he says and when they pull you to your feet, you think about running. you think about shoving them off of you. you wonder how far you'd get or if stone binds would seize and paralyze you.

you wonder how well he had to know you to create them.

"where to then?" another soldier asks.

"to my quarters at the other camp. i will join you." he says.

momentarily, you are stunned.

"sir, are you sure—"

"make haste." he says simply, and then he steps to you, towers over you, even at your full height while standing now. and when he speaks again, it is softly and could be his own curse to you;

"the god isn't to leave my sights. i'll see to all of their needs from now on."

"i'll make your life hell." you promise.

his smile is almost amused, but his eyes are smoldering embers.

he lifts his hand to brush a stray piece of hair from your face. his voice is even;

"just as you'll be archon?"

this time, when you lash out, you turn and sink your teeth into his hand. you bite to break skin. his blood floods your mouth.

(you have already gotten a taste, now you want it all—)

he wrenches his hand away, examining it, lifting it to his face to gain a closer look. it burns gold with his blood which slides down his wrist, over the slope of his forearm. he flexes his hand, the muscles jumping, strong and proud. your ring of teeth marks is like a halo along the meat of his hand.

"when i make you a muzzle, should i call it protection for me or for you?"

"i hope my bite scars you." you hiss.

he lifts his hand higher to the scarlet sun, bathes it in light. you catch a flash of fang from the corner of his wry smile.

"i hope it does, too."