#and I loved that for me

[swaps55]

Mezzo - 05 - Glass of Gasoline

Pairing: mshenko | Rating: M Tags: Canon-typical violence, trauma, dealing with your problems poorly, body autonomy struggles   Summary: The twists and turns of ME2, through the eyes of everyone but Commander Shepard. Chapter Summary: Omega lets Sam Shepard off the chain.   Thank you to @sinvraal for betaing!

Chapter 5: Glass of Gasoline | Read on Ao3

02 November 2185, Omega Nebula, Sahrabarik System, Omega

Shepard shouldn’t be struggling with biotics. The implant insertion had been flawless. Every scan showed it was communicating with his nervous system exactly as designed. If anything, the biosynthetic fibers used to repair his nervous system should improve his ability to tap the gravity well, and the advancements in implant technology should increase the strength of his fields considerably.

He shouldn’t be struggling.

Perhaps this should not be troubling Miranda more than Shepard nonchalantly agreeing to stroll across a bridge dressed as a mercenary, in plain view of a vigilante shooting anyone who comes into scope, but thankfully Archangel isn’t stupid. The moment Shepard puts a shotgun into the back of a Blue Sun and opens fire, not one sniper bullet strikes his shields.

Archangel is indeed in trouble, just as Aria told them, and those who are drowning tend not to question lifelines.

Except Shepard, who has questioned everything Miranda has offered. Her attempts to ask about the implant’s performance have been swiftly rebuffed, but she can feel every futile twist and churn he makes in the gravity well. At best his corona is no more than a pale glimmer, a weakening flame desperately seeking oxygen.

It was perfect. You were perfect.

Well, not quite. The scarring still remains. Easily repairable if she still had access to the Lazarus lab, less so on the Normandy, but still possible. A few more weeks, and that, too, would have been rectified. There would have been no visible sign of her work. 

Damn Wilson and his short sightedness.

Shepard has been right at her fingertips for two years. Height, weight, body temperature, blood pressure, heart rate, metabolic rate, all of it. She is more intimately familiar with the body of Sam Shepard than she ever will be with a lover.

But she has no baseline for him.

Even without the biotics, he still fights like the Alliance’s hero. Alliance Ns are a sight to behold, and all of Shepard’s muscle memory remains intact. He is swift, brutal, with no fanfare or showmanship. Just a hint of a smirk at the corner of his lips that chills her right to the bone whenever she glimpses it behind his faceplate.

Miranda is well-equipped to handle herself but she is no soldier, and this is a battlefield. For all her skills and all her training, it is Jacob and Massani, the former Blue Sun with a grudge they had recruited upon arrival at Omega, who carry the weight of the fight.

She checks the right corner as they enter the ground floor of the shipping warehouse where Archangel chose to make his stand, gagging at the sickening rot of death inside. Blood stains the floor, some blue, some red. A row of bodies lie hastily covered under tarps. Scouring mars the walls, with overturned furniture forming a hasty barricade. 

She is so caught on the sight of it all she doesn’t spot the mercenary on her left until Shepard yanks her out of the way and unloads with his pistol. A body hits the ground with a thud and a squelch. She didn’t see him switch to the pistol from his shotgun. Surely there hadn’t been time. But the man who would have killed her now lies in a pool of his own blood, and Shepard is already moving up a set of stairs towards Archangel’s perch on the second floor, her brush with death already forgotten.

“Massani, watch the entrance,” he barks over his shoulder.

��Goddamn right,” Massani replies, checking his heat sink. Combat is comfortable on him, like being in his armor is more natural than being out of it. But he still wears it, unlike Shepard.

Shepard becomes it.

Read from the beginning | Read the rest on Ao3 | The Mezzo Playlist

[riddle-me-ri]

What if one of the versions of Oswald who had a hard time because of their looks say tas maybe woke up one morning with the body of telltale Oz?

A/N: Oof–aww poor BTAS Ozzie, he’s in for the shock of his life. It’s funny cause I’d imagine versions like Arkhamverse or Reevesverse would absolutely despise the arrogant shithead that is Telltale Oz. However, for those like BTAS, he’d definitely be a threat and envious of Telltale Oz. Gotham and Telltale would just butt heads, TNBA and One Bad Day would be indifferent to Telltale.

Trigger Warnings: none I don't think, slight angst for sure cause BTAS Ozzie is going through a rough time

Word Count: 1.0 k

BTAS Penguin (with Telltale Penguin) - Freaky Friday

Have you ever tossed and turned in bed…your eyes aren’t open yet but something’s not right. Your eyes are moving, but still blocked by your eyelids, you can hear noises, and feel the blankets on your body…and something felt wrong. 

Oswald just knew something was different. Something…was off. He almost didn’t want to wake up, but he couldn’t get rid of the nagging sensation that something was different and he had to figure it out. 

Oswald slowly opened his eyes…things were blurry at first, but once he adjusted he sat up in bed and looked around. 

This was not his studio apartment. 

More like a rundown hole in the wall of an apartment. That was the first shock of the morning. Until he realized something else…when did he get so tall?

He looked down and gasped at the absence of his belly, he reached out to touch his now toned abs only to be met with another surprise. His hand…fingers…they weren’t webbed together by skin. He had all five fingers, he looked down at his new hands, flipping them and gripping them feeling the joints move individually.

This is not his body…this isn’t him, but if not him then who is it?

He hopped out of bed–the height difference even more alarming. He had to be an easy six feet tall or so instead of his four foot nine self. He scurried around until he found a small bathroom with barely room for a shower, toilet, and sink. 

Oz felt his heart stop as he noticed…this face…this wasn’t his face. 

His nose was normal, if not slightly crooked, whoever this man was must have gotten into a lot of scraps. It wasn’t long and pointy like his. His long black hair was replaced by soft short auburn hair with a slight curled bang slightly dangling on his forehead. 

This face…while rugged, is handsome…

Wait…where was his monocle? Well, he can see without it but..where…

It was gone, just like everything else. His looks, his birds, his home… 

Home…oh God, was he still even in Gotham?

He ran over to the nearest window and shucked open the blinds. After adjusting to the light…he could see Wayne Tower up ahead, and the bustling city surrounding it. 

Okay, I’m still in Gotham…or some form of it anyway… 

As much as he despised the Wayne's…it was comforting to see something even remotely familiar to him. 

Now to deduce who this man’s body actually belongs to. Oswald went rummaging through bedside drawers, wardrobes, and even cupboards. He was able to find a measly wallet, barely held together by the worn out leather. 

His newly developed fingers ran cold as he was given another shock to his system. He recognized the man’s photo on his driver’s license, it was the man’s body…but his name. 

Cobblepot

Oswald Chesterfield

No, no, no, no, no! T-This can’t be happening! This isn’t me?! 

Oswald walked backwards until his body hit the tiled bathroom walls. He slid down to the floor. Heart pumping, nerves raving, and chest heaving. 

He kept forcing his eyes shut, hoping that every time he opened them back up everything would resort back to normal. Unfortunately, he wasn't that lucky. 

Oswald has to do something, there has to be another fellow rogue around. If the city was the same and his name was the same…surely. He got up and tried to get dressed, he sneered at the man whose body he's possessing lack of proper clothing. 

A shirt, jeans, and black jacket will just have to do. He took a deep breath and walked towards the door. Oz looked down, seeing how all five digits wrapped around the doorknob. 

Oz doesn't think he'd ever get used to having all five fingers. 

Maybe some fresh air will set me straight. It was down right stuffy in that box of a home.

Oswald felt like an infant learning to walk again. He…he didn't have to make mind for his weight shifting him from side to side causing his dreadful waddle. He can walk normally. 

No, no, no…this can't be happening…

He tried to push forward, walked his way out the door, down the staircase and out of the complex. Once his feet hit the pavement, he froze for a moment. 

Oswald tried to start walking. He didn't have a real destination in mind…he may need to grab a map just in case. It may be Gotham but for all he knows it could be like him, extremely different yet the same. 

I don't know who this-this poser is but he's not…me! He can't be! I'm a freak! 

A freak…a sideshow freak…a laughing stock. People took pleasure in his misery so he sought to do the same.

Not this…strange lanky rugged street fighter type. As Oswald continued to walk along the sidewalk, he didn't fail to notice how some people gave him a nod of acknowledgment. 

How some girls coyishly stole glances at him. They smirked and winked at him in interest. 

One even had the courage to come up to him. "Hey there, handsome.." she smiled. 

"Um, hello there–"

Oh no…his voice…was also different. He sounded younger, but with an English accent but with zero diction to what he had before.

Has everything changed but my name?!

"Oohh I adore the accent…spent some time overseas? What the hell brought you back to–"

"I-I'm sorry but I really must be going! Have a good day!"

Oswald picked up his pace and walked away from the moment. Taking a huge gulp of air at yet another change. 

For as long as he remembered he wanted to be accepted. To belong somewhere and have people engage with him.

Now here he was with his name but a more conventionally attractive appearance. People actually looked at him and acknowledged him. Women were actively seeking his attention and tried to even have a go at him.

He despised this. He loathed this. 

How could it be…that even with his appearance gone and replaced with one more…widely accepted…and he was clearly being more accepted by various members of society. 

Oswald still felt extremely misplaced. 

[paintedcrows]

Did anyone tell Ford (bonus doodles: Family Movie Night, 70s Classics)

[toss-a-coin-to-your-stan-account]

staff: our april fools joke this year is a silly feature that doesn't really do anything but give you a button to boop other users! they have to opt-in first though :)

me:

[whiteshipnightjar]

Zoozve, my beloved

[so-many-ocs]

[on the verge of having a complete breakdown] i need to make some kind of list or perhaps sort things into categories

[miri-draws]

I've been grunklepilled.

[evidently-endless]

i think we should remind musicians they can absolutely make up little stories for their songs btw. it doesn’t have to be about them at all. you can invent a guy and put him in situations to music. time honoured tradition in fact.

[cloud-ya]

outcast of the village

[kochei0]

I turn to Ares.

Thanks to Tyler Miles Lockett who allowed me to draw inspiration from his ARES piece for page 2! Look at his etsy page it's SICK

⚔️ If you want to read some queer retelling of arturian legends have a look at my webtoon

[almondpiglet]

ppl were drawing mikus from all over so heres habesha miku and her lil twin sibs rin and len!!

[soaptaculart]

The cat and the dad she said she "didn't want"

[iasip-enthusiast-2]

[lesbxdyke]

I could think of no better way to share the news than this!

So when I was 17, my cat went missing and I'd given up hope of ever seeing him again.

Until on Monday, 27th of May, 2024, my friend sent me a FB post asking 'isn't that your mother?' about the person named on the microchip.

Here he is! 16 years old, and found safe, twelve whole years after he went missing!

Yesterday (Tuesday the 28th of May, 2024) I went to the rescue that had him, and I reclaimed my boy, renaming him Artie! (He'd originally been called 'Cat' because my mother and I couldn't decide on a name)

He's home safe with me now, currently inhabiting my bathroom and purring up a storm every time someone goes in there!

I'll be doing slow introductions between him and my current cat to give them the best possible chance of living in harmony!

Here's some pictures of Artie once we let him out of the carrier:

[ithappensoffstage]

I am genuinely so worried for all the young horny dykes going into adulthood thinking there's something "problematic" / "wrong" with them for being horny because fucking tiktok lesbians think any horny dyke content is "male gaze fetishistic"