#or like ... obsessing over other stuff

[hysieme]

[theshadowrealmitself]

Character 1: After analyzing the gas we breathed in, I can conclude that it’s essentially truth serum

Character 2: So we can’t lie?

Character 1: That is correct

Character 2: Perfect

Character 2, turning to character 3: I DIDN’T SPREAD THAT RUMOR ABOUT YOU, DIPSHIT

Character 3: I DON’T BELIEVE YOU

Character 2: HOW?? I’M LITERALLY UNDER THE EFFECTS OF A TRUTH SERUM

Character 3: YOU’RE SMART, I’M SURE YOU FOUND A WAY AROUND IT

Character 2: I- Thank you?

Character 3: DON’T YOU DARE TAKE THAT AS A COMPLIMENT

Character 2: IT’S TOO LATE, I TOOK IT, I FEEL SOOO COMPLIMENTED RIGHT NOW

Character 3: *incomprehensible screaming*

[violent138]

HC that Crime Lord Red Hood routinely donates medical equipment, money, and well-trained black market medics (formerly employed by gang leaders he took down) to Leslie's clinic. He's also obsessive about updating or improving the generators at the clinic and wears her down in a way that Batman couldn't.

[everestgale]

Why?

[This is a direct continuation of my half-Opportunist angst half-Skeptunist comic from February "It was in your nature," it takes place right as the comic is ending. This is your spoiler warning! Also it's a lot shorter than my last writing attempt, just under 1000 words (rather than 4000 it was last time-)]

[If I can't finish making drawings for my favorite ship, I will write them instead. Beaming these birds, they won't leave me alone (T v T)]

[Content warnings: blood, dead body]

[Hope you enjoy!]

_________________________________________

So why did you–

Opportunist slid off onto his knees, the blade uselessly clattering beside him. He dragged his right hand and smeared a dark stain across the ground beneath; copper scent lingered in the back of his throat. His eyes froze in a dazed, petrified expression, locked onto the viscous pool of crimson. 

Why?

The question lingered, ringing endlessly in Opportunist’s head. His own inner voice sounded foreign, as though someone else from deep beneath kept asking why. That question would never have a clear answer now. How ironic, Opportunist thought, he would’ve hated that.

He will never hate anything again.

He will never ask anything again, either.

Opportunist winced, tasting the bile in his mouth. He tried to lift his body and stand up, but he staggered and tripped forward, his elbows now deep in blood. The deep indigo cloak loomed before his eyes, drenched and stained red. Opportunist tried to push himself away but lacked the strength–

Like always.

The stray thought got caught in Opportunist’s mind. He wasn’t always like this, no, he couldn’t be, he wasn’t weak, he was a sensible person looking out for himself, he had to–

Why?

A vision flashed before Opportunist; he suddenly sat at the kitchen table, waving a deck of cards in his hands at Skeptic. He was back at the card game night, the same night that Skeptic had ambushed him, tried to weasel his way into “cracking” Opportunist open like one of his many unsolved cases. He knew that Skeptic had tried to get close to him for a while, extensively studying his habits and mannerisms, but he couldn’t get a solid reason why. There had to be a reason Skeptic tried to get close to him… so naturally, what else would it be other than Skeptic’s vain attempts to find his weakness, to gain an advantage over him, to use it and abuse it against him–

Why?

Why would it be anything else?

Why?

Because–

Why?

…

Opportunist wasn’t sure anymore.

The very fiber of his being screamed at this creeping doubt; you fool, it thrashed in Opportunist's mind, he was a smart one, he knew too much, he planned to betray you. Better him than you.

As that thought crossed his mind, Opportunist's gaze focused on the body in front of him. For the briefest of moments, he saw blood-soaked brown feathers, rather than indigo, his body growing colder. He could hear a whistle; the sound of metal hitting flesh rang through the air, just as the sharp pain pierced down his back. That's what would happen, his very instinct whispered in his ears, better him than you–

Why?

The wretched question repeated itself, and another sharp pain arose, but this time, it was in Opportunist's heart.

If Skeptic truly schemed against him, wanted to gain the upper hand over him, tried to gain his trust to betray and backstab him later–

Why didn't you fight back?

Tears pooled in the corners of Opportunist's eyes; he squeezed them shut before his hands instinctively reached forward and grabbed Skeptic's lifeless body by the cloak. He brought it closer, acting on nothing but pure impulse and regret, and buried his face in one of Skeptic's wings, desperately clinging onto his dead flockmate.

Why did you let me kill you?

He let out a couple of quiet sobs, muffled by the soft flight feathers, still warm and comforting like they always were, almost like they belonged to someone living.

Opportunist could never let himself completely relax when he was with other people, he was so sure of it. And yet one gentle, fuzzy memory returned and lulled him out of this false confidence.

A nightmare. One brightly lit, stifling torch, surrounded by eternal, biting cold. He, no, everyone was supposed to celebrate its kind, blazing warmth… when it was the very thing that smothered life out of the air. Just as he was about to suffocate, Opportunist woke up with a shriek, shaking and desperately gasping. Everything afterwards was a blur to him, Opportunist could not recall what really happened that night… except, he distinctly remembered soft indigo wings, gently wrapping him in a warm embrace. He remembered relaxing into them, clinging to them, before drifting back to sleep. He remembered a gruff, but caring voice whispering something; he could not make out the words, but he knew they were tender… and honest.

He felt comfortable. 

The most comfortable he had ever felt in his entire life.

And yet Opportunist could not find the strength to trust him.

So why did you believe in me?

Was it for the same reason that Opportunist's heart broke as the blade hit Skeptic's back?

…

No.

No.

No, no, no, Skeptic, you fool, you– Opportunist could not let that thought linger for too long, for if it did, then that means…

Then that means Skeptic–

No.

loved–

No.

Opportunist jolted away from the lifeless body. 

No. 

He wiped the blood off his hands before brushing off the leftover tears. He took a shallow, ragged breath before he lifted his own body off the ground, the smallest movements requiring sustained effort. His heart ached as his wobbly legs moved him away from the pool of blood beneath his talons. But he couldn't let himself–

No.

Opportunist knew he wasn't safe right now. With Skeptic gone, the flock surely would erupt into chaos. And several of them would surely suspect Opportunist–

Luckily, he had a plan.

Whatever other thoughts or feelings or regrets wanted to surface, Opportunist buried them deep beneath. He had to keep going; he had to come out on top; he had to ensure his safety.

Better them than you.

It was in his nature.

[spagheddiesquash]

my take on human jawbone…. (featuring human ricket in one of the doodles)

EDIT: reblogs >>> likes!!! if u like this feel free to reblog it so more people see it!!!!!

[nenoname]

it is funny to me that a mission statement of s2 was "make pacifica less of an one-dimensional walking trope" but that just resulted in making her parents into one-dimensional walking tropes lol

[catamations]

A silly Kieran drawing because I’ve been obsessed with him lately :3

[hypogryffin]

Your art is so flipping pretty, and I just adore how you style all of the persona characters! But my question is, are there any other fandoms/works of art that you want to post or start rambling about? I hope you have a lovely day! (o゜▽゜)o☆

you can have those?

[ittybittybumblebee]

the plunge

[originalcontent]

I can't find art of my ship anywhere so I GUESS that means I have to make it myself, here are some doodles.

[premamelody]

2nd oc set like this bc ims till not dropping the first one

me and this random human i found who t ried to phase through an electric fence i tried to turn off but it didnt work ahah ahaha ha. ha.

i couldnt think of a funny code joke off the top of my head for therry's shirt so i literally just thought of programming languages being names of like sort of sports like esports teams like major ones and i exploded my mind

1st is jaime. 2nd is therry because terry wasn't good enough. pronounced the same way as terry, h is silent bc i ate it.

[snzydarling]

and ofc gotta throw some of your middle aged lovelies at you how about f/ukuzawa with a stuck snz~ how would he handle that? where is it happening? guess that's up to you 👀

ok once again thank u so much for all of these asks im gnawing at my enclosure... i had to start with my middle aged guy because hes just my guy..... i tried to keep very little fuku/fuku in this so that way its palatable to litr anybody besides me but i dont think i did a good job ok thank u for the ask again........ i hope u enjoy (^-^)

“Ah, Yuki, you okay?” 

This isn't exactly unusual. Allergies hit Fukuzawa like clockwork in February, leaving him disheveled and sensitive. Genichirou's borne witness to almost 30 years' worth of hayfever seasons - but even he's a little surprised when he barges into the office. 

Yukichi looks hazy - sort of like he is when drunk, but he'd never drink at work. His eyes are unfocused and watery, and his shoulders are trembling. For a heart-dropping second, Genichirou thinks he's crying. 

But after a beat, he sighs. Starts scrubbing at his face with a fury, and bleary, redrimmed eyes meet his clear ones. He looks grumpy - actually grumpy, not just the infamous resting-angry face look he carries. The crease in his brow gives him away. 

“Genichirou.” He acknowledges, finally, voice husky and breathy in a weird way. He blinks a few times, probably to clear itchy-looking tears away, and one hand moves back to his already abused nose. Genichirou can't help but whistle. 

“Did you take your meds? You look pretty awful.” Fukuzawa huffs at him. Genichirou considers himself pretty lucky he didn't get a pen thrown at him. Better not test it. 

He plops down onto the couch. It's late enough that Yukichi’s got the lights on, dull enough to not aggravate a sinus headache. They're pretty useless, given that his laptop is closed. He's just staring at the wall, scrubbing and scrubbing at his nose with his face scrunched. It's Genichirou's turn to throw something his way. 

A spare paperclip from the stand next to him. It platters to the floor, batted away, but Fukuzawa doesn't even acknowledge it beyond that. He just keeps fussing at his face. Maybe he didn't take anything, even though Genichirou knows he keeps an extra stash of meds hidden away everywhere. He mentioned needing a Benydral once, and Yuki pulled a blister pack from his sleeve in the dead of winter

“Yuki, what's your problem?” he asks,  eyes searching for another paperclip, or maybe something heavier so he'll have to at least look at it. Yuki snuffles, then sighs, then stands up, shaking his head a few times like an old, burly dog. His ears are red. They peek out from his hair like cherries. 

“I can't,” He trails off, gesturing kind of vaguely at his face. Fukuchi prods, in the literal sense, jumping from his seat to bump their shoulders together and poke at the tensed muscles on his back. “Keep goin’.” 

Fukuzawa shuffles his way to the couches. “I can't sneeze.” He admits after way too long. Thank god, because all the awkward suspense was making Genichirou feel weird. They told each other everything - some unsaid thing that made Yukichi look like he was crying and his ears burning would've eaten him alive. He tries hard not to laugh for a second, sputtering out half giggles, but the offended look Yuki gives him from under his bangs, half mad and half embarrassed, sends him over the edge. 

He's fully expecting the kick to the leg, but it still hurts like hell.  He'll tell anybody - Yukichi's stronger than he looks, and he's got years of bruises to prove it. Those wooden sandals are damn pointy, too. 

When he finally settles down enough to sit back down, Fukuzawa's too busy to keep abusing him. He's got that bleary look again. Fukuchi wouldn't know anything about trying to sneeze. It doesn't take him any effort at all. But he does know a lot about Fukuzawa's allergies, and how he turns every sneeze into a little implosion, and how sometimes that turns into this. And Fukuchi knows all about which buttons to press, too - what to mention to rile him up enough to spar, and the one spot on his face that's sensitive. 

His entire face is twitching when Genichirou leans in close. He's waiting in desperate anticipation for something to send him over the edge, chest stuttering with uneven, desperate breaths, eyes weighed down by heavy and irritated tears. Call Fukuchi a savior. He nudges Fukuzawa’s hand away from where it's resting under his nose and presses his ring finger right where soft cartilage meets bone, just above the tip of his nose. 

There isn't very much gratitude at first. In fact, his hand is shoved away. But Yukichi takes in a ragged breath of air and is thrown forward so fast that his face disappears in a blur of motion. 

“ ‘rRSZCHH -  eH'RSCHh!” He appears for a moment, hands lingering in the air, before he crumbles back down. 

“iA'ESZHHUh-! hH’rRSZHHh-oo! ehH'RZSHHi-!” They're so big that Fukuchi has to grab his shoulder to keep him on the couch. He shudders into each sneeze, probably tearing his throat. They're nothing like what Fukuchi's used to hearing. 

“ eI'SZCHHi-iew-! ‘rSZHHhiew-!” Fukuchi fumbles for tissues once he sounds like he's cleared out enough to breathe. “God, Yuki. Bless you.” He pressed tissues into his hand because if the way he's sniffling now is anything to go by, his face is a mess. 

When he lifts his face back a few moments later, nothing besides the angry red splotches gives anything away on his face. Looking down, however, his lap is splattered with spots of mess. Yuki sniffles again, then again, and a third time, then throws a half-hearted hand up and finally blows his nose. 

It takes a few throat-clearings for his voice to be anything audible after that. Yukichi slumped against the couch after blowing his nose, like sneezing like that tired him out. 

“Thank you.” Now his voice is thick with dredged-up congestion, and even Fukuzawa seems to acknowledge that he just can't win. Genichirou'd make him some tea, but he isn't any good at it. He just gives a sympathetic thump on the shoulder instead. “You feelin’ better now?” 

Fukuzawa nods. Genichirou pats his shoulder a few more times, just for good measure. “You owe me a drink now, Yuki!” 

Yukichi must be alright now, because that kick to the shins was in record time. Genichirou probably won't ever recover from all this abuse. There's something about deceiving looks and lifetime friends. 

[seventh-district]

“Why’s he call you Darlin’?”

on my knees begging my brain to stop trying to associate this song with Sam

[sweetestflow3rs]

regaining back aura to whip out a couple of more doodles / finally do the ship chart stuff, but in the meantime, i feel like like yapping about linoel’s ( linden / remy & noel ) dynamic because it itches my brainworms right

but essentially, to sum it up: it’s unrequited, almost oedipus-like complex linden has towards noel who does NAWT care about them at all and only sees them as a bag of income. cause when noel became “noel” and needed a fresh start, linden has been someone that’s been pretty “supportive” ( sees noel as an investment ) of her!! seeing this almost cagey animal in the body of a girl, linden offering her employment at their slaughterhouse while also giving her the benefit of bringing the meat back to her “roommate”, helping her get a new home: it’s all because they saw potential in her to be a great asset!! and like!!! she is!!!

when noel finally opens her own weapons shop, one of her biggest clients is linden buying gear for their thugs! but in the meanwhile, linden doing all this hoping that noel will show her appreciation, do a “wow boss! thank you so much!”, a fraction of a smile even, meanwhile she gives them nothing. just says a dismissive “thanks” for every gesture linden does, going to the next thing on her to-do list like as she if doesn’t want to be in their presence much longer. and yes… she quite literally doesn’t. she hates linden’s ass and linden knows it LMAO

which brings me to my next part of the “oedipus” thing - cause linden’s constant giving to noel and looking signs for positive validation, is because noel reminds them of their mom who neglected them as a child. the same disregard and lack of care, that makes linden feel so small under noel’s scrutiny. the only difference between the two is that unlike the other, linden has a slight power imbalance over noel who is still technically their employee. which, for linden who has mother issues, and is desperate for any sort of attention from noel, THEY TAKE FULL ADVANTAGE OF IT. noel going from having two menaces who like to bother her ( cody & leo ) to three menaces ( linden added onto the mix )

[wildsaltair]

day 82171862568: do I still love Maximus? yes. yes, I do

[e-the-village-cryptid]

has anyone else noticed the little cords braided into bix's hair i literally just noticed them for the first time

i love them

and a blurrier shot but you can see there are multiple cords per braid!!

possibly some metal rings or something on this side????