#anatomy my abhorred

[prussianmemes]

it is abysmal to be on the start of week 2 and already knowing this semester is going to be even worse than the last

[rennybu]

ok..... the kindly necromancer got to me... Knell would be just as indulgent and whimsical about the necropolis gardens as Emmrich is. soothed by the ritual of maintenance. incredibly endeared by his compassion for the dead. anyway its cute when he's leaning on the desk!!!!

she/her for this Rook <3 and pls no spoilers in tags, i'm very slow at games.

and closeups of their faces.. hi

and a secret ramble about Knell's character... 100% there's some kind of crypt baby spirit tether to the Necropolis going on, but I mean. U have to give a child an earnest chance at a life outside of The Dead Place. So. EARLY childhood like baby to 6yrs old, raised by mourn watchers. Then raised by some adjacent Nevarran foster care system in the city proper. Unfortunately she's agoraphobic (spirit tether anxiety) and transgender (makes the agoraphobia worse) and does terribly in school and struggles to get along with kids in her peer group. puberty is a lightning strike of dread and revulsion and fear so she BEGS to start novice training after giving life outside her absolute best shot from 6-14yrs. Estrogen and warrior training saved her. Has a huge meltdown rock bottom moment after the war of the banners and being told to travel for a while, but then finds that the world is not as hostile a place as she remembered as a child. Knowing herself and her role in the necropolis keeps her anchored, and she's able to adapt her thinking and her skills to a broader philosophy. Still very off putting and awkward to some, but she's incredibly compassionate and always looks for the most direct route through. abhors pettiness. KEEN knowledge of anatomy, fantastic field medic in a pinch, can relocate joints without hesitating, notices when a loved one is concealing an injury. Mr volkarin "I believe there's nothing so attractive as someone who's found themselves" OKAYY OKAY FINE. she wants to gnaw on him. GO MY SCARAB

[helluvagyal]

Synopsis: just some general headcanons about my favorite demon. Part 1/3, relationship headcanons coming next.

Content: general headcanons, mentions of cannibalism.

A/N: My first piece of writing for the fandom and I had to start with my murder baby. Enjoy, let me know what you think please. Don't forget to reblog! Banner and dividers by me.

— shoutout to @hellvcifer for getting me into it. Please read and reblog their work it's amazing!

Alastor is like that weird elusive sinner that you rarely see and when he does show up, it’s during drama or when he needs something.

Count on him to show out and throw hands (hooves?) for his people though.

Alastor always has a story to tell and the hotel residents’ favorites are definitely about his life before he ended up in hell.

He’s usually very tight lipped about those but if you catch him while he's making dinner, he'll turn into a chatterbox—especially if he's already got sherry or rye in him.

When he's cooking alone, that's his favorite time for contemplation and/or Hell domination.

His ever present smile has gone soft at the corners, his voice has lost its warped and static edge as he hums along to his radio, moving around the kitchen as if floating.

On the nights when it's his turn to cook, he definitely helps Niffty with the clean up after.

He doesn't have much of a sweet tooth but when those cravings kick in, it's with a vengeance.

Gingerbread cookies are his go to snack to pair with blood infused lemon tea as well as blood orange tea.

Demon ladyfingers sprinkled with powdered sugar and paired with blood infused black tea is an afternoon time favorite.

There was one week where he ate nothing but beignets, bananas foster and sweet potato pie for breakfast.

Alastor has a thirst for knowledge, prides himself on finding out everything he can, even if it's only to satisfy a mere curiosity.

He's a fashion snob. He never did care much for it when he was topside, only making sure he looked his best.

But since being in Hell, he's found himself with quite the eye and knack for Hellish threads. I mean, come on. I know ya'll saw his red bottoms!

He goes shopping with Angel occasionally, resolutely ignoring (or snickering at) how the shopkeeper cowers in fear when he asks if a powder blue fleece scarf he saw came in blood red.

With being a fashion snob, it paved the way for his stitcher's thumb.

Now, he's no expert like Rosie but she taught him a thing or two when he'd have the patience for it.

He's patched up knife holes in Niffty's dresses, sewn up tears in Angel’s sweaters and even hemmed one of Vaggie's skirts.

He'll dedicate two nights a week–if he's not busy with hotel duties–to sitting in front of his bayou and stitching or sewing.

He can play instruments; learned the sax and trumpet topside and mastered the piano down below.

Alastor actually likes the peace that comes with doing menial tasks. Instead of snapping his fingers to have the dishes washed and put away or to have his books dusted, he will do it if he has the extra time.

Getting dressed for the day is something he always does on his own, from ironing his pristine suits to shining his dress shoes.

Alastor does in fact sleep, however, he's trained himself to go long periods without needing to. He sleeps best after a feeding.

When using his abilities on particular prey, it acts as a health bar of sorts. So the stronger the prey, along with the extent of damage, determines his healing time and energy output.

Alastor is one of the many sinners who have had issues in the past coming to terms with their newly acquired anatomy.

The antlers have grown on him and so have the ears as it helps when he's flicking through frequencies.

Alastor absolutely abhors his tail, tried cutting it off but it just grew right back, bushier too.

He could never control the wretched thing, hates that it would give away his moods with a twitch or a tuck.

When he first discovered that it rapidly swishes from side to side when he's upset, he immediately went out to hunt, feeling like he had to go out and prove something.

He's started going to bed last, or at least retiring to his room when all the residents are asleep. Secretly likes to ensure the others are safe and sound.

Alastor is a huge fan of games, board, tile and card games to be specific. Yes, he's competitive but he enjoys the relaxing and occasionally heated atmosphere it provides.

For board games, he loves Scrabble (topside), Game of the World (topside), Clue (down below), and Pictionary (down below). If you value your life, please do not poke fun at his drawings in Pictionary, he gets testy.

For tile games, he loves Dominoes. His mother was the one who taught him how to play–as with most of the other games–one night when the power was out and he couldn’t listen to his radio programs or get some work done.

For card games, he likes Oh Hell, The Donkey card game and Make-A-Million.

If you couldn't tell, he prefers games where he can show off his smarts and be stimulated.

He despises Chess, Beggar-my-neighbor and Bingo.

Bonding/group sessions have grown on him, he won't admit it though. He's come to look forward to them, especially the night-time rituals, but please do not ask him to join movie night, he already put up with camping in the garden.

He's stellar at giving advice but is absolute shit at taking them sometimes, especially if he doesn't agree with it but knows it's rational

He will never tell you what you want to hear unless it's beneficial to him. Count on him to tell you what you need to hear, especially if you personally sought him out to get something off your mind.

If you aren't Rosie (and occasionally the residents), he would prefer not to prolong conversations unless he knows he's going to gain valuable information, be entertained or stimulated.

It's no secret that he has a soft spot for Niffty, his shadow does too; you can find them playing together sometimes with Alastor occasionally keeping a watchful eye.

He takes his title of 'King Roach' very seriously.

If you want some quiet time in the hotel, just seek out Alastor. If your social battery is running low but you don't necessarily want to be alone, either him or Husk would be your best bet.

If you've been invited to his room or his study to have a nightcap and a gab session, you're one of his most tolerable companions.

For the love of all that is bad and sinful, PLEASE do not ask about going up to his radio tower, especially during a broadcast; it's best if you just let him invite you.

However, he does allow Niffty up there to assist his shadow with cleaning the space.

If Alastor had a middle name, it would be Petty. It's also no secret that he's into mischief making. He and Angel got a kick out of the Prank Wars as a bonding exercise. They make a scary good team

He can dish out but he cannot take it. Don't even bother trying to get even with him because then everyone will have to hear about “the terrible slight on my honor”.

He's very chivalrous, even if his ways of showing it can be a bit twisted.

© helluvagyal ‧ all rights reserved. do not plagiarize, translate, share, or copy my work.

[thetownwecallhome]

I absolutely, mentally, severely n Physically adore your style (especially your style of sally) LIKE TEACH ME HOW PLZ?

((lol. Ironically imabout to post about that. Unfortunately I can't 'teach' anyone anything only give pointers, and the reality is my sister and I have been drawing Jack and Sally for years and are just really familiar with them. They were the first humanoid characters I ever drew...which should explain a lot about my abhorant anatomy understanding actually. Lotsandlots of studying Dean Taylor and the concept artists for TNBC's drawings for the film as opposed to looking at Tim Burton's art directly for inspo))

[hare-beneath-pine]

What's wrong with different art styles? (actually curious)

i'm in some online art learning groups and the extent that some beginners worry about "oh how do i find my art style, is my art style too similar to whoever on ig/tiktok, no one likes my art style" when there's clearly a lot of work they could do on fundamentals is imo annoying and counterproductive.

worse still is shutting down well-meaning constructive criticism with "it's just my arrrrrt styyyyyle". the absolute worst (and i see and abhor similar tendencies in other online communities) is when somebody seeks out constructive criticism, knows there's something off about their piece and wants to fix it, and is met with "nooo i like that you fucked up your anatomy/perspective/whatever, it's like, ur arrrrrrrt styyyyyyyyyyle". cruelty performed as compassion, truly.

obviously different styles are - cool? inevitable when humans create art? sometimes to my taste and sometimes not? i'm just sensitive to repetition.

[comatosebunny09]

cater 2 u | sylus

summary: you can't sleep. he tires you out in the best way. warnings: female anatomy described, soft!dom sylus, fingering, explicit language, praise kink, pet names, heavy petting, bodily fluids now playing:  go to war - tanerélle alright - victoria monét notes: for @muvaginger. the sylus brainrot is too real. thank you so much for reading! ❤️❤️❤️

It comes through the serene, amber glow of your bedroom. Through the slurry of your thoughts and your restless leg syndrome.

It’s a gentle pressure in the form of idle fingers smoothing along the skin of your belly. Meant to soothe, to anchor you down as the maelstrom behind your skull threatens to spill out and sweep you away.

His reminder that he is here and very much real.  

“Can’t sleep?” he rasps from behind, voice heavy with exhaustion. Sends tingles down your spine, and his breath stirs the hairs at the nape of your neck.

Your stomach pulls, heart sinks. You must’ve woken him up with your jostling about.

He doesn’t sleep well himself. The constant traveling between the N109 Zone and Linkon has its drawbacks. Transitioning from darkness to light so abruptly has surely mucked up his circadian cycle.

Doesn’t help that he abhors the sun. On cue, it defiantly creeps through the slit of your curtains, casting both your faces in an amber stripe. He bears it all if only to see you. To feel your pulse beat beneath his lips, to hold you like this.

You stroke his wrist with an apologetic thumb. “No, sorry. Didn’t mean to wake you.”

He groans low like distant thunder. Tugs you closer until your ass sits all perfectly in the notch of his pelvis, and his chin finds the pocket of your shoulder. He tangles your legs together, arms possessive around your middle while he caresses your feet with his surprisingly soft ones.

He clings to you like a lifeline. You revel in the notion that you’re the only one who gets to see him like this. Stripped down, bare-boned, all lovey-dovey, with cartoonish hearts swirling overhead.

He’d thump you for thinking like that. He hasn’t gone soft; he swears it.

“S’alright. Can’t expect you to completely change your routine for little old me.”

You scoff at that. Study the flutter of the curtains across from your bed as a breeze eases in. You’ve already changed your lifestyle so much to accommodate him.

“You talk like I wouldn’t give you the world.”

A chuckle roils in his chest, vibrating your back. Your bed sheets rustle as he shifts to press his lips to your carotid. Mouth lingers there like he intends to soak all the warmth of your body into his. You shiver.

His voice crackles with emotion peeking through the grogginess. Something quiet and raspy, barely audible beneath the hum of the AC. “You are my world. And right now, my world is having trouble sleeping.”

Sylus can be the epitome of sweet when he wants to be. Has a hand, hot and coaxing, on your sternum, scorching you from the outside in. His thumb coasts over the grooves of your ribcage, and he roots his nose behind your ear, inhaling deep.

“So, what can I do to help?”

The pressure in the room shifts. Heavy, buzzing like white noise in your ears. When you swallow thick, your throat clicks, and you feel his lips curve upwards against your skin.

His tone is deceptively innocent. Had he been anyone else but Sylus, you would deem his intentions pure. However, the coarse pads of his fingers outlining the underside of your breast warn you against it. You inwardly snort at his cheekiness. So much for being ‘sweet.’

You go for coy. Make yourself cozier halfway on your back, a smile rounding your lips. You reach back to curl your hand around his nape. Thread fingers in a thatch of messy white, and he groans something bitten-off at the attention. You quietly grant him more access to your body, knowing the path he intends to err down.

“Dunno,” you say on a wistful exhale. “Maybe a big, fat sleeping pill would help.”

That laugh again. Coarse like P80-grit sandpaper, and you feel it shoot straight to the space between your thighs. You clench them together to ward off the pulsing.

He ponders all low and throaty, dragging his mouth up your neck until his teeth tease your earlobe. He steadily grows hard against the cleft of your ass. Rolls his hips sluggishly against you as if to convey, yes, this is very much your doing.

“I can think of more effective ways to help you relax, sweetie.” There’s danger there. A wicked curve to his tone, reminiscent of the bold under-notes of whiskey. You take the bait regardless.

“Like how?”

“Hmm. Well, I was thinking we could start with a nice massage.”

To punctuate his words, cupped palms mold around your tits. Weigh and knead them all slowly and thoroughly in the way you like. In the way that makes your tummy flutter and your panties sticky, and you’re pinching your thighs together to take the edge off.

“Starting right here.”

His breath is hot and sodden as he traps your puckered nipples between his fingers. Tugs, and it borders between pain and pleasure. Occasionally, he scrapes his nails over them, the sensation amplified by your nightshirt stretched thin over your breasts. You bite your lip against a whimper. He sees that as a challenge to make you cry his name.

“Then maybe here,” he pursues, groping your tits with one hand whilst the other embarks on a languid journey southward.

You’re halfway between a pant and a giggle as the flat of his nails graze your belly, all honey slow in pursuit of your waistline. Sylus then drags his fingers over your thigh, avoiding the space where you crave his touch most.

You wind your hips to chase his hand, and he chuckles something abrasive at how cute you are. How adorable his little darling is, desperate for his fingers, his touch.

Instead, he takes to kneading your thigh, and he peers down to watch your skin crater between his fingers as he slowly encourages your legs to open.

“Here,” husked into your ear, his voice prickling your skin. He runs meticulous lines up and down your inner thigh. Gentle, gentle, and you spread open so pretty for him like a flower.

Each time, he ventures closer to the sticky mess between your legs. He braces you against him with an arm snaked around your neck. Not enough pressure to choke you, but enough to remind you of his power and how the tide could easily shift if he deems it necessary.

“And here.”

There’s a sharp intake of breath from him, all shaky and ragged. His dick jumps against your backside when he finally, finally teases the seam of your pussy. It’s quick and maddening, and you ruck your hips up to chase the sensation once more. He laughs because you’re so eager, and your mind fills only with Sylus, Sylus, Sylus.

“Sy,” you pant. You sound pitiful. Needy, but you could give two shits about keeping up facades right now. You crave him in a way that edges animalistic, and he knows it by the earthy scent of your pussy permeating through your panties.

“Yes, sweetie?” he coos. It’s doting, nurturing, and dulcet because he knows you love it when he talks to you like this. Like you’re something delicate, something to be exalted, and he’d give you the moon and stars if he could.

He teases you through your panties with the flat of nails, reveling in how your hips jerk and your breath catches each time he does it. Teetering along the edge himself, his breaths jerky and his hips winding in tandem with yours.

“Please,” you whimper, pelvis undulating against his like waves licking the shoreline. “Please, please.” You don’t know what you’re begging for anymore. You don’t know what you need anymore.

“Hmm? Please, what?”

“Please just…fuck.” He gets off on this, making you beg so nicely for him. You’re too tired to argue. Too drunk off the feel of his body behind you and his weighted dick pressing to your spine, and if he keeps talking like that, you’ll cum from the pitch of his voice alone.

“Tell me what you want, sweetheart.”

“Here,” you gasp out, and your vision’s blurry around the edges as your stomach gnarls and twists. You wrap shaky fingers around his wrist, guiding him to where heat builds. Where you throb for him so eagerly. “Need you here.”

“Right here?” he parrots, his voice strained. His mouth seals around your jugular as he strokes up the slit of your pussy. Hard in that way you like, sending pleasant jolts to your synapses.

You burn hot as your hips surge off the bed, and he groans something appreciative at how your body responds to him. You’re always so good. Too good to him.

He taps your pussy once, twice. Sucks in a breath, and spots of milky white circle the edges of your vision at his ministrations.

He groans alongside you as he builds a steady rhythm thereafter, stroking you with the finesse of an artist molding pottery. And he rubs and pats and teases until you’re a mess of incoherencies in his arms. He licks up your throat, breathing all hot and uneven in your ear, promising the best of things.

“Oh, you feel so good here. Need you to stay with me, kitten,” he rasps, closing a large hand around your neck. “Want to take care of you.”

You’re trying to hang on. You honestly are, but if he keeps on like this, you’ll be painting the seat of your panties with your cum in no time.

Cold air suddenly kisses your swollen labia. You’ve barely time to react to him rucking your panties to one side before his fingers are there again. Spindly and rough, parting your pussy lips and pulling back the hood of your clitoris in search of the pearl nestled within.

He finds it in no time. Presses against that unfathomable bud of pleasure, and he rubs in meticulous circles. You shackle his wrist down as he alternates between outlining the rim of your sticky, slutty pussy hole and playing with your clit. Teases a finger inside when you’re sobbing ‘til he’s knuckle deep, and fuck.

You both groan as he eases home, your walls greedily sucking his finger in. How sweet you sound, chanting his name like a broken hymnal. Thrashing this way and that, clamping your thighs shut and tugging on his hand to stave off the rush of endorphins. Too much. Too soon. You don’t wanna cum. Not yet. Not—

Sylus kicks your legs further apart, snaking his calf around yours to keep you nice and open for him. And it’s cute how you think you can fight back when he manacles your hands over your head using one of his. He could easily use his Evol to restrain you, but where’s the fun in that? Likes it when you fight. When you act all sweet like you’re not slowly succumbing to the pleasure.

Your head thrashing on the pillow, Sylus eventually works another finger into the fray, and he presses and curls and pistons until your voice is broken and you’re leaking pretty, sticky pearls of white onto his hand.

Pleasure mushrooms in your stomach. Coils in your throat. Threatens to spill you over the edge. “Sy! Sy, please! I can-I can’t—”

“You can,” he counters, voice heavy with lust. Weighed by undertones of desperation, and his brows furrow as he pants through parted, wet lips. He needs this, needs to have his pretty princess spasming around his fingers. You always take such good care of him. Such good care of everyone. It’s about time someone places you on a plinth of your own. “I know you can take it, sweetie.”

His eyes are like liquid sin when they find yours, and you can’t look away. Can’t look away because he’s aching for you to cum. And somewhere between him begging you to…

Cum. Cum. Cum. Give it to me, sweetheart. Let it go. Want it so bad.

Somewhere between the third finger he’d worked inside, and somewhere between his thumb smearing your sticky nectar onto your clit, and his grip tightening upon your wrists to keep you in place...

You cum.

God, you cum, and it’s like stars shooting across an inky nebula. You don’t think you’ve ever cum harder, painting his hand with your essence with a scream corked in your throat.

He works you through it. Coddles and strokes you until you’re pulsing and shaking from the aftermath, and he releases a weighted sigh, panting alongside you as you come down, down from the stratosphere, floating back into your skin.

You’re boneless and loose-limbed. A sheen of dewy sweat paints your body, but it doesn’t deter him. A doting chuckle in his throat, he leans down to kiss your forehead before rolling off the mattress, leaving you cold and bereft of the warmth of his body.

Still, you curl up with the sheets balled into your fists, and the goofiest grin is plastered on your face. Somewhere far off, you hear the pipes of your bathroom hissing to life.

You’re halfway dozing when Sylus pads back into your bedroom. And then, there is the sensation of you being tenderly lifted, his arms sturdy at your back and the crooks of your knees. You nuzzle into the heat his muscles exude, too exhausted to open your eyes or ask where he’s taking you. Just register the feeling of wet steam wading over you and his laugh, warm milk and honey, vibrating your body.

“You can’t fall asleep before I bathe you, kitten.”

“Watch me,” you challenge on a whisper, a catlike smile spreading cross your lips as you fade into inky bliss.

hair down | masterlist | international

[rurusayshi]

it starts with his heart

minsung | lee know / han jisung | 9,6k | rated: e | completed tags: alternate universe - cyberpunk, cyborg lee minho | lee know, pirate han jisung | han, angst, porn with feelings, but it's actually a farewell because one of them is dying, a lot of kissing, body worship, to say goodbye, breathplay, dead dove: do not eat, blood and violence, hurt no comfort, sex worker lee minho | lee know, established relationship, guilt, alternate ending, bittersweet, anal sex, unhealthy coping mechanisms playlist

main idea & inspiration

this was a labor of love, born from my current obsession for baldur’s gate 3 and anything with sci fi / dystopia <3 and some heart wrenching angst <3 the hurt was intentional and i don’t feel any guilt heh

baldur’s gate’s is a dnd game iteration, which sets in a medieval fantasy world. in other words, quite different than what i have with ‘it starts with his heart’. however, the concept behind the absolute cult was such a good food that given the opportunity, i didn’t want to let it go. so you get tadpoled? you will be turned into a mindflayer? your previous identity? there is none of that, you are someone completely new with different goals, different anatomy controlled by a netherbrain. it’s better not to delve further into it as i might spoil bg3, but that was the concept behind the chip implanted in minho's brain and our couple’s dilemma with actual death and identity death.

which then brings us the topic of lovers from different statuses. it usually implies power imbalances, for example royalty/commonfolk, employer/employee, etc. freedom is the keyword here: your power is determined by the extent of your freedom. and in this case it is explored in how minho is bound to the land due to his heart implant whereas as a space pirate, jisung is as free as a bird. hence their relation is fated to encounter difficulties right from the start, with numerous unfavourable circumstances working against them.

to my enjoyment, the 'star-crossed lovers' stirs up such intense, raw emotions in the characters. sprinkle your characters with right amount of that and angst, they will suffer yet they will adapt, in a way, in their way. any more than that? well it often leads to a series of unfortunate choices, which in turn finds them even more trapped than they were in the first place. this is what happened with ‘it starts with his heart’.

inevitable death minho knows he will face a form of demise, perhaps not in the physical sense, but his memories, personality, emotions—everything except his appearance—will vanish, leaving behind something he abhors. nevertheless, he retains the power to choose: death by complete erasure or the death of the identity known as "minho.".

guilt & helplessness jisung is consumed by guilt and helplessness, two emotions he is unaccustomed to dealing with. consequently, he finds himself quick to anger, lashing out repeatedly throughout the story because he believes he's at fault. the chaos and confusion surrounding everything stem from jisung's uncertainty, as he grapples with the overwhelming question: what would anyone do upon learning that their beloved will be taken away and replaced by something they've vehemently opposed? 

freedom city gives, city takes. jisung is free to leave, minho’s not. he would die otherwise. his choices are always limited, he can only say goodbye to jisung.

lore & worldbuilding

so, what about the world? why does minho have implants? wtf is a sentinel? what does pirates do? rough notes:

the timeline would be around roughly 200 years later than now, where instead of countries there are different alliances in different scales.

people are not bound to land. there are floating cities with their own ecologies and artificially adapted climate systems. these are newer, and have the advantages and disadvantages of mobility compared to those who have lands in their hands.

usually alliances try to have both land and floating cities because each give different opportunities.

within the alliance system, each country or city has its own set of regulations, which are governed by a broader rulebook.

some alliances are born from power dynamics, some from shared history and some from similar cultures.

minho resides in the largest earth bound city within its respective alliance. it’s a very power hungry one, often resorting to aggressive means to achieve its goals. it heavily invests in scientific advancements and maintains a strong military presence. the city's teachings are rooted in a form of indoctrination aimed at preserving harmony and order among its inhabitants. however, these ideals are inherently flawed, as not all citizens are born into the same social standing. the city is encircled by three walls, each with distinct security requirements for entry. the capital, reserved for the elite, remains out of reach for the common populace, while the outermost ring, known as paletown, conceals a multitude of dark secrets.

so in a way, within a society that places great emphasis on harmony, organization, and power, there exists a pervasive undercurrent of paranoia. this is exemplified by the introduction of heart implants as the initial step, followed by the deployment of brain implants.

nightdancers: i imagined the nightdancers to share similarities with strippers, but they are frequently anticipated to provide pleasure to their clientele, often involving sexual services. these nightdancers are prevalent in the city and are highly sought after for a pleasurable experience. even tourists prefer spending their time with them.

heart implants: not every citizen is equipped with a heart implant. it is typically allocated based on one's lineage or social standing. the recipients are predominantly drawn from the population of paletown residents, criminals, military personnel, orphans, the homeless, and the infirm. this implant effectively binds its host to the city, rendering departure impossible without authorization. the implant's operation relies on the transmission of signals; in the absence of successful signal reception and transmission, it can cease the host's heart within a matter of minutes.

brain implants: brain implants, a more recent innovation, are employed to establish a segment of the population that directly heeds the government, or rather, the city. these individuals are referred to as 'hosts' or 'sentinel of janus' and are devoid of free will. hosts readily conform to the government's directives, adapting to their assigned roles. at times, they maintain their pre-existing personas to covertly spy on the unsuspecting populace, while on other occasions, they serve as sentinels guarding specific locations. the transformation into a sentinel typically occurs within a span of 6 hours to a day, as the implant necessitates this time to acquaint itself with the host's usual bodily functions and gather sufficient data about their identity, occupation, personality, and more, to convincingly assume their role.

sentinel of janus: janus is the roman god of beginnings, gates, transitions, time, duality, doorways, passages, frames, and endings; often depicted with two faces. i thought the name would be fitting because janus is embodiment of duality. when an individual undergoes the brain implant procedure, their former identity ceases to exist, marking an ending. within hours, they are reborn as an entirely new person, akin to a newborn, signifying a new beginning. these people are part of the society, yet they are not entirely themselves.

station fortuna: another name derived from roman mythology. but i love it! anyways, station fortuna holds more political significance than a religious one. it's akin to a museum, much like the british museum, housing relics and trophies from the city's conquests. it serves as one of the gateways to access the capital. why fortuna? well, fortuna is the roman goddess of fortune and luck. although this society isn't primarily religious, they still hold on to the belief that preserving their good fortune will help them grow in power.

interestingly, jisung originally hails from an earth-bound city, but his early years were a nomadic existence, divided between land and sky, thanks to his parents' deep-rooted religious convictions. their lives were dedicated to appeasing the gods, which led them on a journey through various places in communion with nature. tragedy struck when a devastating flood ravaged a town, claiming his parents' lives. however, jisung's uncle, who happened to be a pirate at the time, stepped in and adopted him, setting the stage for the person he would become.

pirates: defining pirates is a bit of a slippery slope, as it largely depends on the specific alliance's regulations and definitions. generally, they earn the title 'pirates' due to their involvement in activities such as trafficking people between cities, dealing in illegal information, or pilfering valuable items. motives behind their actions can vary – some are driven by a cause, some chase wealth, and others seek revenge or their alliance's interests.

deleted scenes

With one swift move, Jisung manhandles him like his muscles weight nothing, and they turn around, trade their positions, the pirate’s back against the moss covered wall, Minho half up half kneeling but right above the younger’s face. Minho hisses as Jisung's hands pull apart his ass cheeks and then moans, no, *wails* aloud as the pirate’s tongue breaches him. Beyond the unfiltered moans fall from the older's mouth, filling up the alleyway with obscene sounds are the scrabbling of fingernails on the wall, tearing up the posters as he goes.  He drops his forehead against the wall. He is panting, breathing harshly, and his legs tremble underneath his weight. Jisung tastes him like he is a treat, like he is something worthy of being worshipped. His tongue slides up and down, in and around his hole, licking every inch of it with feverish strokes.

some of my favourite lines

“Why does it matter?” In his eyes, this is the merciful way. “There may be a place where you will welcome me for everything I am, yet there will always be me who is this, *this monster*, that our very lives battle against. I can’t let you see that, I can’t let you look at me and grow with bitterness, Jisung. I don’t want that.”

for minho, the idea of living devoid of his own will, essentially perpetuating a massive deception, is unacceptable. in his view, death is preferable if it means rendering himself useless to the government and to their manipulations. he refuses to become an obstacle for jisung; his greatest fear is transforming into someone jisung detests, and inflict pain upon him. we saw how that plated out in ending 1.

“There was never an ending,” It is a confession, him scraping it out of his heart and laying it bare at the nightdancer’s feet. *Forever*, he doesn’t say but Minho hears it very well. His breath catches on the next inhale. *But this is the ending*, Minho thinks and says, “Jisung, can you…*Can you kiss me more?*”

jisung stubbornly clings to denial of the truth, and there's minho, whose resolve to stay away from jisung crumbles entirely. after all he is human too, he desires to be with jisung as much as he can.

“Slap me,” is what leaves his parted mouth, lifting Minho up, pressing their bodies together, gazing upon his eyes, not daring to look away even for a second. “Bite my skin, dig your nails till I bleed, *claw my eyes out*,” It is his prayer to the hollow ache in his core roaring with anger, with sorrow. “If I can’t be buried in you, then leave something of you within me.”

this is his guilt talking, and some unhealthy coping mechanism. yet isn’t there something oddly romantic about it? he wants minho to leave scars behind because then he can still have a piece of minho within him.

“*Fuck if I know!*” Jisung is a jar, he can’t contain it all and it breaks. “I have no idea what the fucking hell I’m doing!”

this is the idea lol he longs to put an eternity into mere minutes, and this is the result.

‘’You think you are worthy of my time, pirate boy? Better leave and run back to your little ship.’’ The nightdancer nibbles a bright red apple, its juice covering his fingers. A kaleidoscope of confetti under their shoes digs deeper into pavement cavities, each step giving out the same noises over and over. ‘’Oh I know I am, that’s why I will wait.’’ Comes a cocky reply from the younger. Dark strands falling on his forehead have grown longer, almost touching the brown of his eyes. They are a mess but Jisung is content when Minho’s fingers caress them. Minho, though, laughs. ‘’You will wither and die.’’ He reaches for the tin flask of expensive mead the pirate got for him but never offers a sip because he is just like that. ‘’You are a good cause to die for.’’ When he is done eating the apple, they stop at the entrance of the pier, Jisung a step behind. “I will play with your heart.” The nightdancer says. “I’ll give it to you on a silver tray.” The pirate answers. “I will cut it into little pieces.” The nightdancer warns. “Make sure they have nice shapes.” The pirate suggests. “And feed them to the fish.” The nightdancer decides. “Then I’ll be the ocean that’s in love with you.” The pirate claims. “Jisung,” Minho turns his face to him, lips pressed into a taut, thin line. “nothing good comes from loving a whore.” “They say the same for pirates. But you love me anyway.” Jisung smiles and takes Minho’s hand between his own to run a thumb across his palm. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” “So you want me to spell it for you? I guess it starts with—“

this entire part of jisung being stubborn and in love af and not letting minho give him excuses. i think this is my favourite part in the fic.

What the hell am I going to do without you, he wants to ask. Why are you not upset with me, he wonders. How are you so forgiving, he questions.

because he loves you idiot, and because he knows you did everything for him. but i understand. not everyday you learn your actions might cause your lover’s inevitable death and ofc you would expect some resentment, some anger. anything but not this. yet minho is very selfless when it comes to jisung soooo

*And I want to live*, Minho wants to say. *With you*,

minho never wanted to die. maybe before he met jisung, he was less hopeful about his life but he always wanted to live.

“Yet you did before, many many times before Jisungie…” There is no accusation, no bite in Minho’s tone. “You chased kisses after kisses, and when it was time, you left for where you belong. It doesn’t have to be any different.” “*Where I belong?!*” Anger fires in Jisung like a lighter, like a paper cut, quick and growing, roots tangled in despair. “I wanted to be with *you*! Where I belong is with you!” The edge of hurt in Jisung’s voice leaves sparks on his skin. But he absorbs, letting everything sink in. “But would you have stayed if I had asked?” Something flickers in Jisung’s eyes, for a brief moment. The nightdancer sees his hesitation, his doubt. Before he can find his words, Minho’s voice follows. "You shouldn't have, Jisungie. If I ever asked, you should have never said yes." It feels like a threshold, what he says that is. “You wished to give me freedom, how could I possibly have asked the opposite? A cage remains a cage, even if it is as vast as a city.”

another long one but this one is important to me. in minho's shoes, they had bid each other farewell countless times before. however, it was always minho who grappled with nagging worries, haunted by 'what ifs.' he fretted over jisung's safety, pondering the possibility of injuries, or even worse, jisung's untimely demise. this is precisely why jisung gifted him the earpiece, a small but meaningful gesture to provide minho with the comfort of knowing he was safe. all the while, minho never wished the same fate upon jisung, acutely aware of the burden of being trapped in an unlikely prison, one that appeared to be a vast void of opportunities, but was anything but.

Jisung bites down on his tongue until there's blood in his mouth, bitter and coppery. “Would you forgive me if I tried?" He asks, voice thick and hoarse, the sound is wound into his words. Minho’s gaze lingers on Jisung's gun, forgotten on the ground. “Would that make any difference?” Then eyes his right hand, right arm. Remembers what he is to become once again. “You’ve already decided.”

jisung is a stubborn one, even from the beginning this never changed. he plans to come back and take minho with him, this time without the heart and the brain implant.

Jisung expects the worst, his eyes are running all over his lover’s body. “What’s wrong?” He retreats to Minho’s side. ”Are you hurt hyung?”

what’s wrong indeed.

final thoughts

oh boy, i spend most of my days writing this piece and it took sooooooooo much of my time so now we have love/hate relationship. kidding, i love this baby so much. not really sure about the amount of angst i put together but yeah. this was supposed to hurt, and i believed it hurt? especially after the second aka alternate ending. even that is not a happy ending ik ik. it was actually tiff’s idea WHO prefers to read fluff > angst but here we are lol

but yeah, there were so many gun references in the fic and following chekhov it should have been fired at one point. my main dilemma was whether it should be jisung and his stubbornness or minho and his determination. now we have both versions.

i guess this is all? if you made it till here, tysm! have a cookie <3

[benefits1986]

Unsafe Space Unplugged

The 90s never ends and so does high school.

One of Grey's Anatomy's iconic lines said it best. High school never ends. It's not in verbatim because too tamad to scour the actual line. I'm on limited time today and for the rest of Q4 and I am not complaining.

I felt weird on my way to the office as I had a long break with no work laptop and phone. My dad was on full basher-troll-trashtalker mode when he sees me smuggling my work devices. 'Wag daw muna akong magpabinat kasi 'di naman mauubos ang work. In fact, madadagdagan pa. Being in operations and leading around a hundred people while servicing over 300 clients daily during his last decade at work, dad knew that our generation is off to a crazy and stressful career path. Sabi pa niya, grabe na talaga ang pressure and that he is actually happy that he retired before COVID happened.

Dad had so many chances to be promoted for regional operations. Ayaw lang niya talaga. He wants a simple path. Ganun lang talaga. And he felt like he was just a basic boss who abhors meetings. Mas gusto niya sa grounds. His managers admire his ways that even when he had to take a 1-month leave to be with mom in the hospital, he got a promotion during that year. Dad wondered why he got promoted. When mom was able to recuperate after her 2-week coma, she told dad that she prayed in her dreams. HUY. Why am I on the cusp of crying so early in the morning again? HUY. Hahahahaha. Not today, Satan. Not today. Maraming labada. Excited and extra challenged po tayo.

Monday mayhem... back at it in the office that greeted me with parols, mock gift boxes, Christmas tree with dancing lights. Shemay. Cheers to my most unfavorited time of the year as a scrooge. LOL. Pasko na nga pala. At tuloy ang laban to the finish. CHZ. Naka-zero percent na 'yan. :D

I'm dressing girly because 'yung chixx na gusto ko, gusto niya girly. I can adjust. I am adjusting. This is negotiable. LOL. Ligawan ko na ba siya? I don't ligaw. UGH. Gusto ko, ako 'yung nililigawan. Hahahahaha. So, sa mga nagtanong bakit girly ako this season, 'yan lang 'yung sagot. Periodt. Sana maging chixx ko na siya exclusively. Abangan! Nag-share na siya ng calendar niya until December, so scope na natin ang billable man hours. CHZ. EMZ. Project manage mode with phases po tayo. Landi. Hahahaha. Minsan lang ako talaga magka-crush at magkapake sa mga tao in landi light e as a sungit-walang pake being.

Para maiba naman ang ihip ng hangin... I guess... not. :p Side Note: Had an online kamustahan turned deep dive with someone who's a former ka-thing of mine. Unique ang connection namin kasi even when things didn't go as planned, we kept the friendship. See? Mature relationships work. And, I'm so glad that we still have that safe space wherein, 'pag may nararamdaman ako na hindi siya okay, magkwento na siya and seek advice so kahit 'di kami mag-usap ng 6 months+, we're okay. And talking to her, I felt that what I decided on a few years back was the best decision I made as a mature person. Hahahahahahaha. Nahataw ko pa kasi napaka immature pa rin niya pero I feel like it's her time to make things better na talaga for real. I pray for her and all her shit shows to end. Need lang talaga niya to make the choice and act on each of them ASAP. Ngayon din. Now na. Kung 'di bibigwasan ko na naman siya ng malala with kindness She taught me how to open up and in fairness, maganda siya mag-take ng photos kasi she follows my instructions down to the letter, nanginginig pa. Plus points sa sipag mag-drive at kahit bobo ako mag-Waze, wala siya reklamo sa 98-KM detour. Hahahahahahahaha. Also, sa kanya ako natuto mag-sorry. Not bad for my 30s as a milestone, right? Hahahahahahaha. Bobo ko talaga. :p

We welcomed a new team mate. My first hire in my four years in the org. Alam mo 'yung feeling na super start up pero in a corporate set up with so many moving parts? I feel giddy. Giddy up. Ems. But, seriously, I guess this is where I am supposed to be for now. I hope that our team will able to hit the KPIs and more importantly, find meaning in why we've come together.

I've said these so many times... I am a believer of healing together. :) And during one of the sessions, a few team members opened up. Puro kasi kami introverts na may certain weirdness. Fan din ako ng weird and dark horse vibe, so this is up my alley. I really love seeing dark horses outshine the white horses. Alam mo 'yung internal KPI ko? Simple lang. Seeing introverts speak their minds, spirits and hearts out and proudly kahit kabado. As in. Sheer joy siya sa akin. Parang mga anak ko sila na natutong maglakad and tumakbo. :D Sabi na, donut who seeks peace of mind talaga career path ko e. And nung kinamusta ako, sabi ko sa team, oks lang. Kamusta raw sakit ko. Me to myself: Paguusapan talaga natin ang shithole na 'yun? Andito na ako 'di ba? I'm fucking back at it. But syempre, okayyyyy, be compassionate. Hahahahaha. I answered, because I got sick and knocked out, naging Swiftie - TV x Reputation edition na po ako. Nagulat and may pa-welcome pa in the form of a Gen Z's pa-friendship bracelet. I love working with Gen Z's talaga. Hahahahha. As in. Ewan ko. Kasi I love learning and looking at my naive self. Parang that's how I pay it forward.

That days and nights will definitely be longer and darker. However, maganda sagot nung head of the heads namin sa team. Matulog. Magpahinga. Holler for help. And keep the faith. Opak. Iba rin talaga naggagawa ng authentic servant leadership e. I don't get it back then since I don't check org charts. Hahahahahhahahaha. Sorry na ulit 1000000 times.

It's not gonna be easy. Wala naman talagang madaling work. But sabi nga ng boss ko, it's how a team powers through. HUY. :p Bakit nai-in love na naman yata ako sa work? POTACCA. Umayos ka. Do not be a workaholic bitch na naman in this lifetime. Paki usap. Channel your energy wisely.

Unsafe spaces are triggers that can turn into glimmers through choosing your battles and finding your tribe. It's a bloody encounter but it's super duper worth your while; so make your tribe vibe and deliver with compassion, kamalditahan with kindness, hefty Gen MZ vibes and of course, empathy in action + inclusion.

After over a decade, mental health advocacy is no longer taboo. So, sige, let's share our vulnerabilities as we down more small and big wins alongside accepting our limitations and learning from our mistakers and mishaps. Ito ang salita ni Lorde. At sumainyo rin. Let's go Tuesday! :)

[vaulthuntersmybeloved]

Headcanon that Iskall’s death during the Vault Hunters season 1 Final Vault resulted in the Vault Gods resurrecting him and turning him into a Vault God named Iskall The Hunter

The galactic says Iskall The Hunter and the sword has VH written on it

[screechingkroh]

Fangrui can be a menace when she wishes ✨

(Aurelio is owned by @hunny-bxscuit and I adore him)

—

Please give her height

(Jin Qiu Feng is owned by @xynnoix and he has no right being so tall in ALL form >:( give us short people a rest)

[sunstar121]

what a fucked up family huh

[I.D: Three digital drawings on transparent backgrounds. The first is of Wilbur, leaning over one of his knees and smoking a cigarette. The second is of Fundy, who has a golden circle behind his head and water droplets around him. The last is of Ghostbur, who is leaning back and gesturing emphatically. more detailed I.D under the cut. end I.D]

[I.D: Wilbur is a robin hybrid with pale skin, fluffy brown hair that has a white streak in it, honey brown eyes, circular glasses, feathered ears, robin wings and tail feathers. he wears a black beanie, patched yellow sweater, brown trench coat, ripped black pants, combat boots, and black fingerless gloves. a bloodied bandage wraps around his left bicep. he has markings across his skin that look like bones, excluding his face.

Fundy is a fox hybrid that looks like an anthropomorphic fox. he has two tails, fluffy cheeks, and brown eyes. he wears a black and gold hat, fancy black jacket with gold accents and a multicoloured stripe on either side, baggy brown pants, brown suspenders striped with the trans flag colours, and toe-less socks. he looks upset, and hugs his chest.

Ghostbur looks almost exactly like Wilbur, but entirely gray-scale, though missing the trench coat and gloves. his mouth and eyes are static, and his hands are entirely black. two belts hang from his waist, holding bottles of blue dye, a bunch of hay, and shears. his glasses have a chain decorated with emeralds. end I.D]

[whumping-out-of-timee]

Animated this gif yesterday too, but it’s not as good as the other one. Was trying to sketch someone dancing, but idk how to dance, as you can see by the random movements so they got whumped instead. Put more effort into some of the later frames for sure.

[howl-fantasies]

Good day! I dont know if your request are open but if they are,

Can I request a story where Ed and Victor constantly butt heads with each other for y/n's attention/affection while y/n in the background is just filming the whole thing with Oswald in her lap? I adore Riddler x y/n and Victor x y/n in your stories, but I wanna give Oswald some love too[:

Hello dear, thank you for your request! Of course you can!

Here it is. It takes place just after the Skyfall drabble and @flaysthings alternative end. Here are both if you want to read it:

SKYFALL

SKYFALL ALTERNATIVE END 1 by @flaysthings

Warning: profanities, Gotham universe: so twisted relationships, slight NSFW themes, English isn't my first language, sorry about it I'm working on it.

Word Count: 2.029

UNDIVIDED ATTENTION

"RED!" Screamed both voices at the same time, just before a deafening silence took its place in Cobblepot's living room.

"Correct." A feminine bored voice sighed from one on the couch. A camera hanging nonchalantly in her right hand. "But it wasn't too difficult to figure it out, I mean, I always wear something red... You just have to look at me or sleep with me to know it..."

"Now dear, don't sound so defeated, and please, don't bring your sexual life in this mess. I just wanted to make sure both idiots knew the most basic things about you before hardening our little game," Oswald's own bored voice said.

Currently perched on the woman's lap like he would on his throne, the king of Gotham threw the little card abhorring purple and black questions marks he was holding nonchalantly on the floor.

"Care to explain, again, why we are doing this stupid game while I could be outside beheading some dude who wronged you? And why do I have to film it all? " She asked, nodding politely when Cobblepot presented a cup of tea in front of her mouth.

A sign of his head encouraged her to let him help her drink the warm liquid. "Don't worry, it's not too hot, I made sure of it." He added, earning dirty glares from the two other men in the room. "To answer your question," continued Oswald when he was satisfied about the amount of tea she drunk.

"First, you're not ready to go on a french killing spree my dear. You were shot badly two days ago and still need to recover. A beheading would open your stitches again.

"Second, because we have to stop this stupid competition between your dear husband and... your...uh... other informal one? The camera is for other purposes, mainly for my own entertainment, later." His statement made her raise a brow. "Excuse me?"

"Don't try to complicate things, Oswald!" Spat Riddler between gritted teeth from his own couch. "I was the one who found Y/N bleeding in a shady alley. I was the one who started to stop the bleeding and make sure she wasn't freezing to death.

"So, logically speaking I had to be the one who transport her to Leslie's clinic." The man in green ranted while making frantic movements with both hands and arms.

"Logically speaking, it would have to be ME, her fucking HUSBAND, who should have held her, transported her and monitored her state during the operation. Not you, fucking nerd." Victor hissed as his hands were clenching the armchairs of his seat so hard the wood whined.

"Ah!" Ed scoffed. "Because you're a freaking surgeon now? So well versed into human anatomy you would have helped Lee when she asked someone to literally plunged both hands inside of Y/N ribs cage?!"

That was it. Victor's right hand rushed under his arm to grab his gun in his holster as he jumped out of his couch, Ed imitating him but seizing his brand new cane, ready to smash the electric part of it on the other man's face.

"Want me to show you the whole extent of my human anatomy knowledge, Nygma?" Threatened Zsasz with a numb voice. The kind of voice - with him - meaning you were now walking on thin ice. As thin as rice paper.

A kind of voice, which made Y/N zoom as much as she could to be able to capture the wrinkles just between the hitman's eyebrows. Now she started to have some twisted kind of fun.

Ed felt a cold drop of sweat licking his neck and back. He never liked Zsasz. Never. His mere presence was enough to make him cringe. But he wouldn't change what happened two days ago.

Y/N was barely alive and he was, with Leslie, her best chance to stay alive. He wouldn't lose her to contempt Victor's bruised ego. Out of the question. And he would never let go of a chance to be close to Gotham's no.2 assassin. Sorry not sorry.

"Gentlemen!" Screeched Oswald who hadn't moved from his cozy spot. "Let's not repeat the shooting contest, which took place in Lee's clinic. I'm not going to threaten you with a scalpel, but I swear to impale both of you on a freaking umbrella should you not stop THIS INSTANT!"

"You still owe me an explanation concerning this shooting by the way, " added Y/N's tired voice from under Cobblepot, who immediately turn around to scrutinize her.

"Nothing much to tell dear, just continue to film. Victor shot Ed's privates parts. Ed dodged and also tried to shoot his jewels and missed. End of the story. You're tired. Don't concern yourself with their stupid shenanigans." He cooed, just before turning on his spot again to glare at the two other men still facing each other with their gun and cane out.

"Stop it! Both of you! Y/N isn't feeling well enough to kick some sense into your thick heads." Yelled Cobblepot. Nygma and Zsasz didn't move for a good minute. Still killing each other visually. Slowly, both rose their weapon and finally put it back into their respective place.

"Good." Spat Oswald. "Now sit back. Let's resume our game." The little man clapped his hands once and leaned a bit in order to reach the deck of cards he had to put on the coffee table in front of him when Ed and Victor lost their calm.

Once again, Oswald shuffled the cards before clearing his throat. "Where were we? Ahem. Ah! Yes. I like this one. You're trap with Y/N in a burning building. All issues are condemned. You're doomed. But! She isn't panicking. Why?" He asked.

Zsasz and Ed sighed heavily.

"Cause she has a rocket launcher."

"Cause she was the one responsible for the arson and knows another way out."

Silence again. And the sound of squeaking armchairs from both seats occupied by Edward and Victor. "Well?" Asked Oswald, turning a bit to be able to catch Y/N's eyes.

The woman groaned loudly and let her back fall brutally against the seat back. "Oof! Fucking hell!" She cursed when white hot pain fused into her whole body. "Language!" Chastised Oswald automatically as he took the camera from her hands and put it delicately on the furniture in front of them.

He leaned back, and let her took a shaking breath to ease her pain. "So? Who's correct?" He pressed again.

Another Groan from her. "Fucking both." She said. "Victor is right, I would have a rocket launcher. And because of it, Ed is right too, I would know another way to get out.

" As he's also correct in his reasoning: if a building is burning to the ground and Firefly isn't in the middle of the flames, then the culprit would be me."

Now she was facepalming hard. "Look, it's not going anywhere. Plus it's embarrassing. We aren't organizing a huge lottery, and I'm not its fucking first price!"

"Absolutely. You're my wife. End of the story." Added Victor as he was throwing the cushion of his seat to Ed's face. Nygma yelled in outrage and smashed his left palm on the armrest.

"A wife you coaxed into the wedding! Screw you Zsasz! I am still working on finding a lawyer who would agree to send you divorce papers and I won't stop until finding them!" He shouted, also throwing his own cushion at the other man face, earning a petty middle finger from his opponent.

"Good luck with that one, nerd." The bald man said sadistically with one of his shit-eating grins.

As Oswald was opening his mouth to screech again a shot resonated in the living room, making Ed scream and jump on his seat and another made Victor pulls his legs up and cross them under him.

"What the hell Y/N?!" Yelled Edward as he was looking at the bullet hole a few millimeters from his left foot. "I saved your life!" He continued.

The woman nodded in an aggravated way. "Yeah, that's why I missed. Same for you, dearest." She added in a dangerous neutral tone. "Yeah, I figured it out myself. Since I know my wife well."

Another shot answered him, piercing the cushion just next to his ear. "Love you too", he mockingly purred earning the middle finger from her.

"I said no guns for you until you fully recovered Y/N!" Hissed Oswald as he grabbed the barrel of her weapon and pulled it out of her grasp. It joined the camera on the coffee table. "Where did you even hide it?! I asked Olga to search you before our meeting!"

The woman looked at him like a second head just popped next to his current one. "Did you think I was just happy to see you dear?" She taunted with a wolfish grin which made a blush explodes on Oswald's cheeks and neck. "It's not funny Y/N! Stop being lewd!" He yelled in a too high-pitched voice.

Her face lost her mischievous glee soon, though. Becoming all bored again. "Look. Everybody in this room knows about my favorite color, that my aka when I need one to work for someone is Persephone, and that I have a fucking tattoo on the back of my upper thigh, just under my fucking buttock.

"You all saw it two days ago. Gods, even Olga saw it and called me a whore in her natal babbling for it. So stop the questions Oswald. We're just wasting time and energy." She sighed while playing with a wild string on her own armchair.

Cobblepot gritted his teeth loudly. She was right, he knew. But it didn't solve their current issue. And he had enough of Ed and Victor constant head butting to gain her undivided attention like two little kids. "So, what do you suggest then? Because it has to STOP!"

The only woman in the room shrugged. "Not my problem. I'm not their mom", She spat before leaning a bit to be able to see them, despite Oswald still perched on her thighs .

"You're fucking grown men, act like it guys. I don't know, kill each other or something. Again. Your rivalry isn't my fucking problem." She said.

"Victor is my husband. I have made my peace with it a long time ago, Ed. And it's convenient. And he's terrific it in bed." The hitwoman added making Ed cringed in disgust and Victor beam like the sun. But his smile was quickly ripped off his face when his dear wife continued.

"And Ed is one of my most precious frenemy in town. Always was and always will, Victor. I love his stupid wit. His riddles amuse me beyond measure, his awkwardness too. It's just too cute", She added.

Oswald felt two hands grab him under his arms and lift him up from his sitting position on her lap. His feet gently found the ground, and he turned to be able to see Y/N also on her feet, dusting her leather suit. Her little scolding had the merit to let Edward and Victor froze on the spot.

Their three gazes were now on her, scrutinizing her moves like birds of prey. They followed her when she walked across the immense room and when she brutally stopped in front of the open double doors. "I'll not divorce my husband. Ed. Good old bitch me is way too loyal for that." She muttered.

"But I'll gladly sleep with Ed or start any romance he might want, Victor, should you ever betray me again like you did with Sofia." She added with a devious smirk.

Chaos. That's what she created when the three men's voices started to shout in perfect sync. Absolute chaos, in where she only was able to hear her own name being called, as well as a "Don't touch my camera you brutes!"

She also had enough, though. And did what she was best known for: living the total crazy mess she actively created without a glance back but a way too large smile on her sadistic face. Like she just told Ed, she was a bitch. And didn't have any problem with acting like one.

A/N - I hope you liked it dear! Have a beautiful day/night and take care!

[mediicusvitae]

@picavecalyx​​ said: " I prumise I'm very healthy, this is nurmal " :) idk which verse this is u decide

“Your body temperature is far above normal... How fascinating,” she muttered beneath her breath, adjusting the reading glasses atop her nose as she took some mental notes. Lamy wouldn't share this information with anyone, but her medical curiosity had well and truly been piqued.

Lunarian anatomy was peculiar to say the least, and highly sought after. The experiments had been long before her time, but she had read the surviving files on the subject of Alber; captured and brought to the Punk Hazard laboratories, where they had tried to clip his wings. Released by Kaido. Project shut down, most records erased for the public.

She abhorred the World Government's methods, falling back on truly heinous ways to get their hands on knowledge to further their reign. Lamy sat back on her hunches and smiled up at Silva, making a silent promise to her and to herself that she wouldn't allow her to fall into the hands of people that meant her harm. “May I check on your blood pressure while we wait for my friend to arrive, Silva-chan?”

[kythed]

i used to absolutely abhor the thought of letting a man validate/affect how i feel about my body, but last night me n the boy were cuddling and i kept tracing his collarbone and shoulders under his shirt and joked, “sorry, i’m just really intrigued by your anatomy ig” and he had his arms flung ‘round my waist and face buried in my chest and he said “me too! but yours is much softer than mine. i like it.” and it made me feel so good!! like, wow! you appreciate my softness and roundness in places i wish weren’t soft and round! which makes me want to appreciate that, also… maybe love is about letting someone find beauty in the bits you don’t like about yourself! or maybe love is about showing someone they are more than the sum of their parts! idk, but either way i do know that i am feeling highly loved rn!

[everyhowlmarksthedead]

Not bad at all.

FRANCISCO ‘CATFISH’ MORALES. ┃ TRIPLE FRONTIER.

❝ request by @chibsytelford: Heyo. What about reader being very shy around Frankie on the first date, who's also shy, and one of them just cracks a joke and they just laugh and laugh and the ice is broken, and they have the best date. ❤ Thank you.

❝ words: about 1.9k.

❝ a / n: first time writing for Frankie! I'm really excited and I hope you all enjoy it.

Gif credits to the author.

“Santiago García, I swear that if you stand me up, I'm gonn—”.

“(Y/N)?”

Your blood freezes at the call as your eyes go wide, keeping the phone in your ear as you spin around with a forced and ashamed smile on your lips, you feel your knees weak watching Frankie some steps away from you with both hands inside the red and black flannel jacket. Son of a bitch. Hanging up the call —or better said, the voicemail— the two of you come closer to each other.

“What 'you doing here?”

As the question comes out of his mouth, there's an awkward moment where you don't know if you should greet with a kiss on your cheek or hugging, being a mix of both that makes you giggle.

“Well, uh… It was supposed I'd have dinner with Santi, but… he hasn't shown yet”. You reply puckering your lips, noticing the change in his gesture. “I've been waiting for the last twenty minutes and I'm really hungry”.

You can't help but frown watching him rub the back of his neck, slightly moving the hat covering his softs curls. Squinting at him you don't really need Frankie to speak to know what's happening. You can feel your face and the tip of your ears burning because of the embarrassment. Last week you confessed to your best friend the things you were starting to feel for Fish and he has decided to force you to take a step ahead.

And seems like Santiago has done the same with him. But, does it mean he feels something for you too? You sigh rubbing your face trying to calm down the heat covering your skin, while he babbles random words. You see him waving a trembling hand between the two of you, perceiving he's as nervous as you are. That causes you to curve your lips up with a soft funny smile.

“Listen, we don't have to do this if you don't want to. I— I— I… shit”. He ends up grunting stroking his lips and his chin passing his palm over them, putting his terrified dark chocolate eyes from you. Frankie looks like a pudding and you can swear it's the sweetest thing you have ever contemplated. Too captivated by the way he has to raise his black hat from his head to brush his hair using only three fingers, before putting it on again, he takes your silence like a negative. “Lemme walk you home at least”.

His beg throws you back to reality, finding an insecure gaze looking for a positive this time. It's the first time since you met him two years ago that you watch him doubting, feeling unsure of himself. He has always given you the impression of being a cool-headed and confident man, but now Fish is quite the opposite.

“I'm hungry tho”. You reply as soon as you can react. “I just… think he did it on purpose. Making me wait for dinner, you know… So I wouldn't say no”.

Santi knows pretty well how to play his cards. It is his specialty. But that hasn't sound how you were expecting, as Frankie continues feeling ashamed, probably misunderstanding you.

“I me— mean, I wouldn't say no anyway”. You confess with a soft whisper, bowing your gaze down to his boots for a second. A brief second that seems enough to offer you a hand without noticing it.

Your heart races with the deep belief it could fly off from your chest when your cold fingers get laced with his warm ones. An electrifying shiver roams your body from your tiptoes to the top of your head, as he secures your hands together to come inside the restaurant. Only like a gentleman would do, he keeps open the door for you to walk in first, not loosening your connection at any time. For an instant, you can't help but fantasize about having real dates with Frankie, with him falling for you while continuing to believe he's just being polite and compensating you for Pope's ambush.

You lead your steps through the hallway between tables with old couches just in like the fifties, till the end of the place with the last table free close to the large window from where you can see the street. That's when, much to your regret, your hands are separated to take a seat in front of the other, occupying yours then with the menu to calm the nervousness shaking them briefly. You're going to kill Santi tomorrow. How does he dare to play dirty to you? And poor Frankie who —probably— could have a better plan than having dinner with you, if it wasn't for his friend.

The silence is installed soon around your table after the drinks are served, feeling the tension in the environment while you continue not knowing what to say or how to break the ice. You're about to tell him that he doesn't have to stay, just like he has said a couple of minutes before, but when you open your mouth nothing comes out; totally enraptured on the way he's looking at you waiting for something. You can't help but force another smile pursing your lips shamefacedly. Putting down your eyes over the menu between your hands, you try to pretend you're actually reading it, but your mind is busier on how the simple touch of his hand stole the air from your lungs.

“Pope told me you're learning Spanish”.

You have to hide your face for a second, cursing your damn best friend in silence before sticking your head out of the carte nodding with your cheek.

“Why?” Frankie sounds so curious that makes you think he maybe knows the real and main reason.

“Oh, uh… expand knowledge”.

You're a terrible liar and he doesn't need to be a genius to notice it.

“Tell me something in Spanish”. He asks cockily, placing his arms over his backrest.

You chuckle shaking your head this time while saying no once and once. But when he leans over the table, forearms against the edge of it, you have to gulp before choking on your own saliva like an idiot. The heat invading your whole anatomy again causes you to lick your lips, hoping that gesture calms you somehow.

“There's a… sentence that… I find funny for some re— reason”.

“Okay… Go'head”.

You make a short pause, finding some encouragement to utter it by remembering why you started to learn it. To impress him. To talk with him and call his attention.

“Juan come manzanas”.

(Juan eats apples).

Your accent is horrible, that's a fact, you knew that; but you feel more embarrassed when he remains silent for a second, breaking into a burst of loud laughter after not being able to contain it. You can't avoid a chuckle either, leaving in the background your shame, to focus on the beautiful melody his laugh is. You could spend all your life listening to it without abhorring it.

“Your pronunciation is awful”. He giggles adjusting his hat, raising a little the visor to look you better.

“Woah, thank you”. You reply with a humorous grimace drawn on your lips and a light sarcasm in your tone of voice. “I really appreciate it coming from you”.

“You're welcome”.

Shaking your head you begin to feel somewhat relaxed, finding a topic to talk about and joke about it so this situation is less awkward. You grab your beer to have a sip whilst he continues keeping visual contact with you, noticing he wants to add something but he doesn't dare. You know what it is, tilting your head as your eyes are narrowed.

“I don't trust you to be my teacher, surely you'll teach me the wrong things to make fun of me”.

“Meh…” He replies waving a hand jokingly, causing you to chuckle again.

As the night goes on and you discover more interesting things about him and his stage in the army, the dinner comes to an end and he insists you to walk you home. He doesn't want either to finish your conversation, talking about everything and nothing, in reality, just enjoying your voice and how excited you sound while talking about one of your hobbies or your favorite tv show. Just like you, he couldn't get tired of your company.

You reach your house sooner than expected, having been entertained and feeling this time your way back home has become shorter than ever. The nerves kick you again standing close to your porch not knowing what to say, what to do, or offer him a last drink. You'd sell your soul to the devil for five minutes more, but maybe you need to take it easy.

“Thanks for walking me”. You utter in a thin voice thread, playing with the keys between your fingers.

“It's been a good night”. Frankie opines then keeping a hand in a pocket and using the other to scratch a side of his neck. “I mean… we can repeat it whenever you want”.

Like another date? Has it been a date, actually? Or just two friends hanging out?

“Yeah! Yeah, sure. Sounds good to me”. You nod an instant before letting go a soft sight. “Uh… I should… you know”.

“Yeah, 'course. Good night, (Y/N)”.

“Good night, Fish”.

Offering him one last smile, you turn around to go upstairs your porch straight to the front door. But as soon as you introduce the key in the lock, you're interrupted.

“Hey!” You face him again, curious and intrigued, watching him coming closer towards you with his hat now in a hand. “How bad would be if… I kiss you?”

That's the most unexpected question you have ever heard, causing your brain to collapse momentarily until you realize it hasn't been a figment of your imagination. The smirk on his face curves shyly in the right corner of his lips, stopping his feet not too far from yours.

“Not… bad at all”. You giggle in response. What else could you say?

His mouth meets yours with a soft sweet touch. Just a touch, until they get used to each other. Slowly, Frankie places his hands on your lower back seeming afraid if you suddenly decide it's a terrible idea, and take a step back. This feeling disappears when yours land on both sides of his neck, securing a little more the grip and shortening the small distance between your chests. He tastes like beer and chocolate, after sharing a piece of brownie like dessert. For you, Frankie tastes like heaven. And without planning it, he needs the urge to slide his tongue between your lips to find yours. By inertia, your fingers tour his skin till being gently nailed in the back of his neck, breathing through your nose not wanting to finish the kiss.

As both of you swirl your tongues around the other, you become a little addicted, almost moaning inevitably against his lips when you have to stop not having enough air filling your lungs.

“How bad would it be if I ask you to stay?” You murmur unable to believe what you have just said.

“Not bad at all”. He doesn't hesitate, caressing the tip of your nose with his, wrapping his arms around your waist to hold you tighter and pepper your lips as you try to open the front door.

If you’ve liked it, lemme know in a comment, I’d really appreciate it. Reblogs are welcome too, so more people can enjoy it! ✨

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