#the facial fuzz is doing me in

[elmaestrostan]

Three of the most important cogs in this team

[undead-potatoes]

The most devastating part of not having a beard is knowing that if I did have one there's like a 98% chance it would be ginger

[sapsolais]

!

[gorgynei]

me and my shitty testosterone mustache against the world

[skunkes]

have any of ur ocs ever grown their facial hair out? if they did, what would it look like?

i dont think talon is capable of growing out full facial hair, he plucks whatever grows in but i think he could have one of those wispy mustaches + a tiny bit of chin fuzz maybe? Al's dad has a full mustache and beard, which is why I never draw him bc i suck at beards. I do want to play with al sometimes growing out his mustache though for character reasons, because I am a mustache appreciator, and because lars and the real girl is a recent new favorite movie of mine

alongside this i now often draw both of them with light 5 o clock shadow (?) most of the time, talon on upper lip and al all around where he can grow hair, its like a precursor for me finally diving into learning how to draw it...maybe soon

[vampiretendencies]

shy!fem!reader helping jj shave came to mind today, so here’s this brain rot. it’s all i can manage rn, so i gave this like zero effort. requests are open.

cw; fluff, lower case intended

he’s gazing down at you like you invented the stars and the night sky. delicately gliding a sharp razor to his shaving cream-clad jawline, tongue poking outwardly past your bottom lip in concentration. he’d stayed firm in the idea that he couldn’t reach a certain spot, but really it was an excuse to be in the position he is now.

sat atop the bathroom counter, his pretty girl encapsulated between his legs, whilst both his hands strum at the small of your back. smoothing over the skin in rhythmic and medolic patterns, all to assure you that what you were doing was fine and that you weren’t going to hurt him.

he trusted you.

“don’t concentrate so hard baby, s’just peach fuzz.”

your cheeks tainted cherry red, knowing full well he was toying and picking fun at you. but still you couldn’t help it, you were timid tenfold in the fact that you’d fuck this up at any given moment, anxious from jj’s fiery touch against your skin. but even still you didn’t respond, overthinking what he just said and letting it consume you.

“only fucking with you, you’re doing prefect, pretty girl.”

you clear your throat, the sentence that left from his lips erupted inside of you rapidly causing many heartfelt butterflies to erupt like clockwork. you lower your hands, dipping the razor under the faucet, on the verge of shaving the remaining bits of facial hair. until he grabs your wrist, stopping you from shaving the spot thus far.

“you don’t have to take me so seriously …” his raspy voice reminded you, chuckling all at once. you awkwardly peered at the floor that peeked through past jj’s thighs. praying a miracle would whisk you away from this seemingly horrid and cumbersome encounter. and still you choose not to answer, the silence was enough to speak for itself. his large hands travel from the small of your back to cup your cheeks. thumbing over your cheek bones, encouraging you to look at him.

and you do, because how could you resist such a lingering, igniting touch.

there was something so sensational and satisfying about eye contact to jj, especially coming from you, someone that was so distantly shy to begin with but he’d made it his own personal agenda to have you fawning after him.

having a reserved appetite for solely him.

eyes meeting eyes, it seems as though he’s going to slump backward into the bathroom mirror at how doll like your features are painted. God, he wanted to squish your cheeks with the palms of his hands. lips pursing outward, forming a pout that is making jj unable to contain himself.

“oh … uh-okay … i won’t j.” his stomach churns longingly at the harmony of your effortlessly orchestrated voice.

“don’t get all shy on me baby.”

you were melting past his fingertips, eyelashes kissing the tops of your cheeks. and he feels like he’s holding his future in his hands, you that is. gentle and fragile with the one who has his heart. a quirk of his mouth, giving you a mischievous grin. his plump lips on your jaw, your neck, smearing the shaving cream all over you, blonde locks tickling as they followed.

[dfortrafalgar]

Watching You In The Morning

Inspired by “Watching You In The Morning” by Waltzin

Law x Fem Reader

Warnings: fluff, kinda poetic? more narrative study than plot, more fluff

Also posted on AO3

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

The rise and fall of your chest was a perfect metronome, as if you were dancing along to the patter of raindrops as they fell against the submersible’s porthole.  In your deep, whimsical slumber, you would never even know of the romantic waltz your very presence exuded upon the man in the bed next to you.

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

Slow, methodical.  His tattooed fingers dusted fleetingly across the skin of your neck, reaching out to you with reserve, with apprehension, with want.  He felt himself smile, chapped lips tugging ever so slightly at his cheeks at the sight of your serenity, lost in the haze of your dreams.  You were truly beautiful.

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

He could watch your breathing forever.  He could die at the crevice of your chest, just to know that you were still inhaling and exhaling, inhaling and exhaling.  To know that you were alive, that your flesh was warm with your blood, that your nerves could feel his hands against your skin, was plenty for him.  He forever worshiped the ground you walked on, relishing in your every moment.  Every word you spoke, every blink of your eyes, curve of your smile, every time your perfect hand fit snugly into his like a statue carved from the finest marble.

His calloused fingers traced invisible lines up your neck, towards your jaw, barely touching you enough to feel the slight fuzz of your natural facial hair.  He ghosted across your dimpled skin, absorbing the heat you radiated, memorizing every cell he could touch.  His eyes darted toward your lips, parted ever so slightly to breathe.

In.

Out.

When his slate-gray eyes looked back up toward yours, you were also looking back at him.  You blinked in slow motion, eyes heavy with the waning of your slumber.  You grinned at him, a sight that made the cold man’s heart do pierrouets, fluttering below his ribcage.  Any more unbridled affection towards him would make his chest rip open in a flood of snow-white doves.

With exhaustion on your tongue, voice crackling without being used, you spoke.  “Were you watching me?”

His fingers retraced their steps along your skin, landing at your collarbones where he mimicked the line of your bone.  “How could I not?”

You laughed.  A sound so bright, so warm, almost too warm.  A sound that made his body lighter, his hair stand on end.  A sound that filled his senses with yellow and violet hues, that smelled like peaches and lavender, that engulfed him in a sweet embrace of a hearth’s heat.  Your laugh made the walls he had spent a decade building up crumble with vigor, chips of glass falling to the ground and shattering into irreparable pieces.

Pieces that he was starting to think did not need to be repaired.

He adjusted his body with the motion of you shuffling closer to him, nestling yourself perfectly in the crevice of his shoulder, his arms around your body, secure and safe.  He smelled of cedar and ethanol, a faint tinge of gasoline and the essence of sugar.  You melted like butter in his hold, paralyzed in his arms, a willing prisoner of his presence.  You felt his chest rise and fall with his shallow breaths.

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

Your own air tickled the skin of his breast, tiny, gentle feathers in a spring breeze.  Your fingers crawled along his side before looping your arm under his and pulling your body ever closer.  Oh how you wished you could break the universe for just one moment, to part his atoms and truly become one with him.  Even just a zeptosecond would be enough.

“If you keep thinking this hard, you might blow a fuse.”  His low voice rumbled against your head.

“How did you know?” you responded, voice light and airy, lovestruck and dumb.

He released a chuckle from his throat.  “I just had a feeling.”

Silence once again fell over the two of you.  Save for the continuous rain that fell, a faded noise in the backdrop of the aura he surrounded you with.  Washing away all worries, all fears.

“Can we stay like this forever?”

The question surprised you.  It wasn’t like him to ask such silly, menial queries.  Ever the pessimist, ever the analytical scientist.  He lived for the truth of the world and the facts of life.  He had you for the optimism and the joy for life that he lacked, a perfect balance.  The Yang to his Yin.

You simply hummed.  Tilting your head up to meet his eyes, you felt your blood rush to your face like a flame.  “Forever.”

His arms squeezed you once, then twice.  He sighed, melancholy.  The rain continued to fall, the vessel continued to sway monotonously on the surface of the vast, open ocean, but you stayed anchored to his bed, to his sheets, in his unmoving arms.

He smiled again.  “Thank you.”

No response was followed, and no response was needed.  Your breaths fanning against his skin were more than enough.

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

[dilatorywriting]

Heroes vs. Villains : Pomefiore [Part 2]

Gender Neutral Reader x Pomefiore vs. Neige Leblanche Word Count: 2.3k

Summary: Woe to the Ramshackle Prefect, being caught up in the drama between the Disney Villains and their respective heroes. Pomefiore Version (Part 2)

ie. The scarf is an issue, because of course it's an issue. And Vil's sudden addiction to his phone is not going well for any of you.

[PART 1] [PART 2] [PART 3]

“What did you do?” Epel hissed from behind an entire department store’s worth of facial products.

“What?! I didn’t do anything!” you argued. Trying to sound stern when you were also putting a concerted effort into not moving your mouth was apparently very hard. A lip mask, Vil had called it. ‘Pretentious goop’ was a far better description. But the Pomefiore House Warden had been particularly dour lately, so you’d been letting him slather you will all kinds of atrocities in the name of keeping the peace. You’d smelled like a walking Bath & Body Works for the past week at least. And worst of all, if you ever made that comparison out loud he’d probably hemorrhage. Or something. Because each of these products was ‘special ordered’ or ‘hand crafted’ and blablabla.

“Well pardon me for not takin’ your word for it,” the purple-haired boy snapped, spiteful. “He only gets like this when someone’s hurt his stupid ego. Or worse—his feelings.”

“And why does that ‘someone’ have to be me?” you complained.

Epel shot you a look and you sighed into the misty air. The aroma diffuser gave another lackluster puff, as if in agreement.

.

.

Ever since your shopping trip, Vil had been acting… not quite right.  

Oh, he was still icy and composed. He still tutted at your untucked uniform shirts and irritably plucked stray bits of fuzz from your jacket. But it was almost like he was too much of himself. You’d liked to think that your laid back ‘you’re lovely no matter what and I live in a literal condemned building so who am I to judge anyone’ approach had softened the House Warden at one point—even if only a smidgen. A singular hair out of place was artful, not lazy. The barely-there wrinkle in his vest was not the end of civilized times, but functional fashion. But now? It was back to the strictest of regiments, the most unforgiving of rules.

Jack had told you that Vil was even waking before him now—that by the time the wolf-beastman arrived for their early morning jogs, the blonde had clearly already been up and training for hours.

And you were worried.

Sometimes Vil would look at his phone and get this twisted up, venomous, expression on his face that sent little pangs of concern eating through your gut. Sometimes Rook was there to reach forward and gently ease the device out of Vil’s death grip. Sometimes he was not, and you were far too afraid of losing your fingers to even try.

It was a vicious cycle. The phone would make Vil angry and subsequently be abandoned in the opposite corner of the room. So then Vil would bury himself in new makeups, and outfits, and skin care. He would fret over new projects, or old projects—ranting about the incompetence of whoever he would ‘never work with again, believe me.’ Sometimes he dragged you along to his Film Club (you’d watched so many classic movies with him at this point that you were actually starting to become culturally literate). And then—slowly but inevitably—his brilliant, purple, gaze would drift to the expensive rectangle sitting all alone off to the side, wherever he’d carefully and strategically placed it to be just out of reach. Gradually his fingers would start to twitch, and then his jaw. He’d drum his nails against his knee, or irritably tap the pointed heel of his shoe against the floor. And then the phone would be back in his hands and he’d be looking at something that sent him spiraling all the way back to the beginning again.

“I don’t know what to do,” you confided in Rook one afternoon. You hadn’t seen him yet, but a bush off to your left had jiggled suspiciously at one point, so you assumed that he was probably somewhere in the vicinity.

After a moment, the hunter came and perched himself at your side.

“Do you know what’s bothering him?” you asked. Rook seemed to know everything about everyone, and Vil was his muse, his Roi de Poison. He had to have noticed something by now.

The blonde nodded, the feather in his hat bobbing as he did.

“...You’re not going to tell me what it is, are you?” you huffed, not even attempting to bite back your irritation.  

Rook patted your shoulder sympathetically. “It is not my tale to tell, Mon Coeur. There are some things that I am told in confidence, and I cannot break that trust. Though I am sure he would greatly appreciate your concern.”

“Or you could just tell me,” you tried. “And then I wouldn’t have to be concerned at all.”

He tilted his hat at you, and then danced back easily when you tried to snatch it off his head.

.

.

“So, what’s the dealio,” Ace drawled, and he’d better thank his lucky stars that you didn’t startle quite as easily as you used to, because there was entire, opened, jar of Werecat urine in your hands that was just dying to wind up upended all down his white lab coat.

“What deal?” you snipped, carefully recapping the stinky ingredient and setting it off to the side. Tempting as the idea of dousing the redhead in supernatural piss was, Crewel would skin you for wasting components.  

“You spend a lot of time at Pomefiore,” Deuce added, much politer in his approach than Ace had been. “And lately their House Warden has been a bit…”

“Why has Captain Pissy-And-Perfect been so pissy?” Ace interrupted, leaning far too close over your cauldron to be any kind of safe. “Normally the only thing that twists him up that bad is Neige.”

Your mind whirled back to the incident at the mall. And as controlled as you liked to think you were about these sorts of things, your face must have done something because Ace pounced on you like Ruggie after a donut.

“What do you know?” he demanded, nearly spilling a whole bottle of Newt Eyes across the floor as he crowded into your personal space. “Tell me, tell me, tell me—"

“All I did was give Neige a scarf!” you snapped. “It’s not like it’s a big deal!”

“What scarf?” Deuce blinked back, confused.

“It was just some scarf that Vil put on me!”

The two of them made long, pointed, eye contact, and you immediately felt horribly out of the loop.

“Whelp. That tracks,” Ace sighed, just as Crewel popped up behind him to whip him across the back of his head with his pointer.

.

.

Your group of mangy idiots had gathered in the cafeteria for lunch—as was the ancient tradition of all starving students. The four of you had clustered around your usual table. Ace was busy squirting ketchup packets all over what would inevitably become Deuce’s seat when he finally got of the line. Jack was busy swishing said ketchup away with an irritated scowl. Epel sat across from you, as miserable and lemon scented as ever.

A lunch tray smacked the tabletop with an echoing bang and Deuce appeared behind it, frantically waved his cellphone in your faces.

“You guys have to watch this,” he said, deathly serious, before propping his phone up against your glass of water. It flopped forward with a resounding crack three times before he managed to get it to stay upright.

The five of you crouched around the teeny screen as the poppy chords of some Talk Show intro or other filtered through the tinny speakers.

“You know,” the interviewer beamed, all manicured sugar and over-bleached smiles. “With some of the things you’ve been posting lately, some people are saying that you’ve just got to be in love!”

The audience ooohed and aaaahed.

Neige Leblanche was sitting on the little leather sofa beside her, and he smiled in a way lit his entire face in a brilliant shade of pink. He was still wearing that goddamn purple scarf and immediately you could feel your temples pulsing with a migraine. This was going to be bad.

“Well,” he mumbled, bashful. “I can’t say you’re entirely wrong about that.”

Cue hordes of nearly rabid screaming. Ace winced and reached forward to tick down the volume.

“Why are we watching this?” Jack scowled, but he didn’t move his sharp glare from the illuminated screen.

“The Prefect gave Neige a scarf, and—”

“Shh,” Deuce hushed. “This is the bad part.”

“It’s a little bit silly,” Neige continued, glancing up at the host from beneath his dark lashes. “I don’t actually know their name. But we met a few weeks ago now and they were just—well they were amazing. They actually helped pull me out of a pretty sticky situation, and they were so composed through all of it! And then they didn’t even care about me being famous at all!” he rambled, getting brighter and brighter the longer he monologued. “They just helped me because I was a person, and, well, I think that’s very sweet.”

There was another wave of darling ‘awwws’ that could only have been scripted. Or, at least you hoped so. This level of saccharine infatuation should have been enough to turn anyone’s stomach. It had certainly twisted yours into all sorts of unpleasant knots. The secondhand embarrassment alone was on the verge of taking you out entirely.

“A little birdy’s been telling us that the scarf you’ve been modelling in all your latest Magicam posts was actually a gift from this secret lover of yours,” the interviewer whispered conspiratorially, and you wanted nothing more than to snatch that stupid purple cashmere back through the screen solely so that you could strangle her with it.

“Well, yes, actually,” Neige chirped, fingers reaching up to toy with the soft fabric.

“No it wasn’t!” you howled, indignant. “I just put it on him to distract him because I accidentally rambled to his face about how much more fuckable Vil was than him, and—”

“WHAT?!” Epel screeched. Screeched. At the top of his lungs. It felt like you could feel the glares of every single set of eyes in the cafeteria drilling into your spine. Out of the corner of your eye, you swore you saw a feather bob as it disappeared through the door, and you didn’t even want to think of the implications of that.

“No fucking way,” Ace gaped, looking for all the world like you’d just handed him a million Thaumarks, or an entire notebook’s worth of nuclear codes. Deuce and Jack both just looked like they were trying not to choke to death.

“Oh my God,” you wailed. “I did it again.”

.

.

When you next ran into the King of Poisons, you were so distracted by the impossible task of wrangling Ace into silence that you couldn’t have noticed the subtle changes in him even if you’d wanted to. The increased length in his stride, the gentler tuck of his hair, the less severe line of his shoulders—if you weren’t so caught up in trying to commit homicide, you would have been ecstatic.

Rook was chattering along at his side, his lips quirked into a merry grin. The tack-tack-tack of Vil’s crimson heels against the stone floors was familiar, confident, and loud enough to swim through your head despite Ace’s manic cackling.

“Potato.” Vil’s red lips quirked upwards into the smallest smile before twitching back down into a sneer. “And other potato. What exactly do you think you’re doing?”

Thankfully, at the end of the day, Ace was still nothing if not a no-good coward. He turned on the Pomefiore House Warden, ready to spill your deepest, darkest, secrets, and immediately withered under the third year’s spiteful glower.

“H-House Warden!” he squeaked. “I was just—Ahem. The Prefect was just—just saying that—”

“Go on,” Vil prompted, tongue dripping with all kinds of venom. “It must be riveting if it’s managed to stun you so thoroughly. Or maybe that’s just the extent of your comprehensive abilities as it is.”

Ace gulped. Audibly.

“Perhaps I should report your dallying to Riddle,” Vil continued, and that was when Ace really started to look panicked. “Remind me—your House Warden is known for his lenient stance on punishing rule breakers, is he not?”

The redhead darted off with one final squeak, practically wheeling around a corner in his haste to escape.

“Well?” Vil barked, and it took you a second to realize that he was addressing you now, and not that he was just going to continually roast Ace into an early grave. “Are you coming?”

“Where?” you asked, confused.

Vil rolled his eyes and reached out to grab your hand. “To Film Club. You promised to help pick out the new backdrop color schemes. Or is the forgetfulness of that horrible, spudling, friend of yours wearing off on you now too?”

You had promised Vil so many things in the last few weeks that you honestly probably wouldn’t even have remembered if you’d offered to sell him your soul, so looking through page after page of tone combinations that all looked absolutely identical to you but whatever was probably the best you could hope for.

More importantly, he seemed… better. Less stiff, certainly. You wondered idly what could have happened in the span of a few hours to mend his mood so thoroughly. If it had been Neige related all along, then probably some slight against the dude, right? Maybe something had popped up online? Industry drama, or whatever. Or maybe—

‘Because I accidentally rambled to his face about how much more fuckable Vil was than him, and—'

You froze, like a deer about to mowed down by a semi. Vil’s grip on your hand was the only thing that kept you from immediately faceplanting into the ground.

But, no. No one aside from your immediate entourage could have heard you say that! It wasn’t possible! It—It wasn’t—

Amidst your sudden wave of mortification, you caught Rook’s mischievous green, gaze, with your own. The feather on his hat bobbed playfully, mockingly, and he winked.

.

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21.3.76

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[severedfromthesource]

Heart of the Forge

Part 1 | Part 2| Part 3

Original concept by @emptycalories-splitlip Something is slipped into Adam’s medication, Tav races to stabilize him. This part features M resus, M rescuer, EKG, seizures, conscious mouth to mouth, conscious defibrillation.

It was evening when Gustav returned for the daily round of meds. A Fetcher he didn’t recognize followed closely on his heels. He didn’t recognize them most of the time, they aged out into more useful jobs or simply no longer found the work of caring for the Forge all that appealing. This boy was a bit older than the usual lot. Most found more permanent positions on the Pennydurren by the time they were fourteen, and this kid was sixteen at least, with the acne and peach fuzz to prove it. Still, Gustav was hardly one to judge a late bloomer. He hadn’t grown his last few inches or facial hair until he was almost nineteen. He pushed aside his questions as they walked past engineering side by side.

“Enjoy being a Fetch,” he sighed, plumes of soft grey smoke spilling from his nose. “You’ll miss it when they place you somewhere permanent.” “Imagine I will, sir,” said the boy, staring down at the tray of colorless paste, the cup of little pills, and the small vial sat beside it. He hadn’t looked up yet. Tav watched his throat work for the tenth time and arched a brow. “You alright?” “Heat’s just getting to me, sir." "Ah. You're from the lower cars, then. This place is a sauna compared to the cold back there.” He rolled his shoulders, dislodging a bit of sweat on his collar to let it roll down between his shoulder blades.

The kid tried very hard not to shake perceptibly.

As they entered the engine room, Gustav once more snubbed out his cigarette on the wall. “Where do sheep spend their vacations?" he called out, voice echoing on the metal walls of the chamber. Adam grinned, setting down his book and rising to greet him. "I don't know, where?" He slid his hands in his pockets and replied, rolling from his heels to the tips of his toes and back as he inflected, "The Baaaahamas." That won a genuine laugh from the Forge and he crossed to the two of them, taking his place at the angular throne in the center of the room. The cables protruding from his back looped into the divots carved into the back of the chair and Tav rolled a tray table in front of him. The Fetcher placed the tray of food and medication down and took a step back like it was poised to bite him.

Tav gave him a glass of water and gave a cursory look over of the various pills, noting the stamps of authenticity on gel caps and tablets. Satisfied, he handed them off, and Adam chucked back the small cup of pills into the back of his throat. Once he'd washed them down, he tilted his head, opening his mouth for the Keeper to inspect his tongue. He took him by the chin, turning his face from side to side to check his cheeks and said simply, "Up." to get him to lift his tongue. Once he was sure he wasn't cheeking any of it, he patted the Forge on the side of his face.

Adam wasted no time, hunkering over his flavorless meal with a spoon. "You're a new face," he pointed out conversationally, gesturing with his silverware. "Always a new Fetch pattering around the halls," sighed Tav, retrieving his stethoscope for a quick listen, which Adam was kind enough to stop wolfing down his dinner and allow him. His heart pounded, strong as ever, the chambers moving in a shadowplay behind his sternum. The kid watched this all, trying to force his breathing and heart to slow. "He looks a little pale," said Adam. "He's from the lower cars. Probably the first time he's had any kind of heat in his bones, I'd be shivering too," Tav replied.

The Fetcher thought he might be sick. He watched the Forge scoop another shovelful of mush and stuck it in his mouth, smiling at him around the spoon. He knew, staring into that kind face and those warm brown eyes, that he had made a terrible, irrevocable mistake. "I'm sorry," he whispered, shaking. The Keeper perked at that and rounded on him. "What was that?" His knees were shaking wads of gelatin as he turned and fled the chamber.

Tav's stomach turned to lead. "What the-" He took a few hesitant steps towards him, unsure what was happening, only knowing that it filled him with an unknowing dread. His eyes went from the boy's retreating back, shoving at the button to open the glass door and stumbling through, back to Adam. His gaze snagged on the empty cup as terrible realization dawned on him. He seemed to understand at the same moment, staring wide eyed at the cup and back up at Tav. Something had been tampered with.

"Do they not vet these fucking Fetches anymore?" he spat as he turned on his heel and bolted back to Adam's side. He was already barking orders over his comm watch, "Anyone nearby sees a kid booking it for the lower cars, grab him. Gimme an engineer, now. A medic too, if we can spare it." He didn't want to say they might have to switch to auxiliary power, mainly because he didn't want to think of it. An idiot separatist, smuggled into the Forge's quarters. Allowed to touch his food and medication. He was running through the list of dead men in his head when he felt Adam's warm hand on his other wrist.

"Tav," he said shakily, looking up at him with watering eyes. His mind ground to a halt. The urgency was stopped dead by the overwhelming need to comfort, and he knelt in front of the larger man to take his face in his hands. "You're alright," Tav murmured, not believing himself. "We just... we uhm-" His throat dried up. His initial response was to get him to throw up whatever he'd ingested the kid might have tampered with, but he knew the dangers of that. If it did damage going down, it would do damage coming up, and it might not even all come up. Not to mention the risk to his airway depending on the poison. It had to be poison. That was not the reaction of a boy innocently handing off food to the heart of the Pennydurren. "We..." he tried again, and again came up with nothing.

Adam's blood swelled in his ears. The light playing against his ribs and heart flickered with the rabbit quick gait of his pulse. Something acrid, a mild bitterness he hadn't noticed while he was eating, was creeping up from his throat to his tongue. Tav's stricken face wasn't doing anything to bely his fears. Something in the Forge's expression made him move and he shifted to stand, tilting his head up. "Just sit tight, alright? I'm right here, I'm not letting anything happen to you." He immediately went to fetch the EKG machine, leads, and a few other pieces of medical equipment they'd rarely had call to use outside the annual checkups. He deposited his load at Adam's feet as the Forge tried to get air into lungs that felt like wood in his chest.

Tav placed the leads in six spots across his collarbone and sternum, and connected them to the bulky monitor at his feet. It warbled as it flickered to life, mirroring his racing heart. Already it had climbed to 100 beats per minute, his chest rising and falling quicker. His Keeper wrapped a blood pressure cuff around his sinewy upper arm and was halfway through inflating it when one of the engineers stepped through the doorway.

Marsh was a man Tav had only had brief interactions with, and he had hardly got the question out when the Keeper hurriedly informed him, "That Fetcher was some kind of plant. I think he was trying to poison Adam." "Christ," the other man said, already rolling up his sleeves as he made for the engine chassis, "Who'd be so blindingly stupid? We’ll be sitting ducks without a Forge." "I have no idea, I need you to keep the pressure valves from blowing. His heartrate is spiking." Again, a large, soft hand fell over Tav's own. Comforting platitudes rose up until he looked up into the face of his Forge.

Blood leaked steadily down one nostril. "Tav," he ground out, the ancient monitor whirring louder as his heart shot up to 150 bpm and kept ticking up and up. "I can't... can't keep my eyes open." Even as he said it his head drifted back and snapped forward again, his dark lashes fluttering. His hair spilled across his face. It was paling quickly, his normally deep olive skin blanching, first around his cheeks, his hands, his feet, then spreading from the outside in. Blood pulled from his extremities, drawing into his torso to try and keep his vital organs fed as his body rang alarm bells that something wasn’t right. In the other cars, lights brightened and flickered, radios crackled from the sudden interference, and systems began to overheat as his taxed organ pumped too hard for his body and the Pennydurren both.

“It’s okay, you’re okay,” Tav hurriedly reassured him, cradling the back of his neck with a slightly shaky hand. He glanced once more at the monitors, his stomach bottoming out as the crackling display read 170 bpm. He was fully in tachycardia. Tav’s breath shook as he tried to control his breathing. Panicking wouldn’t help anyone. Not Adam, himself, or the hundreds of people who would be forfeit to the fog outside the Pennydurren if the Forge went dark. The fog, and the things inside of it.

He pumped the pressure cuff until it finally gave him a reading, but it had no good news to share. Adam’s blood pressure was skyrocketing the same as his heart rate. It wouldn’t be able to sustain itself like this. Already Tav could see the the ventricles snapping out as the heart filled a little and recoiling as it squeezed out only half the amount of blood his body needed. If even half. He scrambled for the emergency hatch nearby which stored all manner of antiarrhythmic medications. It had something for every contingency. If his heart beat too fast, if it beat too slow, if it wasn’t beating at all. Tav shivered at the last thought, nearly dropping the vial of amiodarone as his hands shook especially hard. Beside him, Adam’s breathing had turned into noisy, sucking inhalations.

“Try to breathe deep for me,” he told him as he drew up a dose into a syringe. “In through the nose, out through the mouth, try to hold it for a few seconds.” “It hurts,” Adam ground out through a clenched jaw, “T-Tav, it… hurts to breathe…” “You gotta do it anyway, alright? Even if it hurts.” He held his forearm still as he slid the needle into a vein, steadily depressing the plunger. The amiodarone flooded into his system, and Tav rubbed a gentle circle over the injection site with his thumb as he drew away.

Marsh cursed from across the room, struggling to secure a panel of the engine which had begun to bulge and strain against its riveting. It shuddered in tandem with the ventricles in Adam’s chest, like the machinery was a crude model demonstrating what was going wrong with his heart. “Damn thing’s about to pop,” he growled, and then it did, a sharp metal sound popping like a cork as one of the bolts shot off and ricocheted off the floor. “We gotta switch to auxiliary power, he’ll overheat half the train’s systems at this rate.” “Just do whatever you need to do!”

Tav was busy hauling the defib unit up from the emergency hatch. It had sat unused for decades, and he wasn’t even sure if it had any juice left, but the thing came to life when he hit the power button, ready to shock his heart into working order. He could see the shadow of Adam’s heart starting to skip and quiver every few beats, stumbling to keep up with itself. His head was slumped forward against his chest, his eyelids weighed down. He couldn’t even sit upright. Tav thought absently how he could work better with him on the floor or a bed, but knew the ports and cables hung from his back would prevent that. “Adam,” he began, cracking on his name, “C’mon, stay with me. Stay with me, kid.”

He grabbed a tube of conduction gel from the kit and applied a good amount on the metal plane of the defibrillator paddles, rubbing them against one another to spread it evenly. He clicked the 100j mark and watched the bar climb as it charged. Adam’s body shone with sweat, his breathing deteriorated into swallow sips at air. Tav needed only a glance at his chest to confirm he had gone from a dangerously high heart rate to ventricular fibrillation. The shadow of his heart was quivering uselessly. “I’m sorry about this,” he murmured more to himself than to the Forge, who was likely past understanding him by now. He settled the paddles between the EKG leads on his sternum and to the side of his ribs, the gel making them slick against his sweat soaked chest. He jabbed the discharge buttons.

Adam felt the mule kick him in the chest. His muscles spasmed painfully, head jerking back on his neck, the muscles of his chest jumping and his arms flinching inward. He loosed a pathetic sounding groan as the charge dissipated from his muscles, unable to do much more than sit there and whimper. There was another electric whine and he felt the cold metal squish against the spots the gel had made the first time. No, he thought but couldn’t find his voice, Tav, please, you have no idea how bad that hurt. There came another click and another violent current, rippling across his muscles. He managed to find his voice enough to yelp that time, his chest heaving as he struggled to draw in air and he began to moan on every exhalation.

“I know, I’m sorry,” Tav was saying but Adam couldn’t hear him. This was a deeply necessary pain he was inflicting, but it was still pain, and it hurt his own heart to do this to his friend. A spiteful voice called him a coward for even thinking that. Adam was more than a friend, they both knew it, but Adam had been too shy for confessions and Tav too stubborn. Now he was staring into those heavy lidded eyes as they glistened with tears, and he had the horrible sinking sensation of being too late. His chest ached to hear the crackling wheeze of his breaths, and he set the defibrillator down for the moment. His heart was beating too fast still, but it was beating instead of shaking uselessly, which was something at least. Tachycardia was only a little preferable to v-fib.

He rummaged in the emergency kit and cursed when he could find no oxygen mask. Wiping his sweaty palm off on his pant leg, he stood above the Forge and leaned his head back against his shoulders, mindful not to overextend his airway. “I’m gonna give you some air,” he told him, but words had long stopped making sense to Adam. He swiped at the blood under his nose with a thumb. He pinched the Forge’s nostrils closed with one hand, the other resting on the arch of his throat. He blew hot air into his mouth. Adam’s cheeks bulged, his throat flexing with the intrusion of another person’s breath forcing its way down into his lungs.

Delirious with pain, the mouth to mouth felt like one more agony to add to the list. It forcibly expanded his chest, warring with his own breathing patterns, and he moaned out the intrusive air against Tav’s lips. Just kiss me normally. Let me kiss you without all this awfulness. Another breath breached the sanctum of his airway. He felt the warmth of tears sliding down from the corners of his eyes. When the seal made of their mouths broke, he sobbed, and became aware of the hands holding his face. They were the last thing he was aware of before the lights abruptly switched off.

“I promise I’m helping,” Tav was telling him, running a thumb over his sweaty brow. “I know this… this must all hurt like hell, but I’m helping.” “How’s he doing?” Marsh called out, fighting one of the huge switches to activate the backup generators. Tav glanced at the heart monitor and growled, “God damn it- he’s fibrillating again!” He released his hold on his face and went to scoop up the paddled again, until he caught the movement out of the corner of his eye.

Adam’s chest bucked unexpectedly. Tav paused, taken slightly aback. His shoulder jerked forward off the back of the chair and he went still. Then it jerked again, and Tav had only a moment to react before Adam locked up in a seizure. The Keeper crashed into a seated position in his Forge’s lap, standing his shaking body up so he could press him against his chest. “Christ,” he sobbed, unable to contain himself a moment more. He was cracking in two. He held tightly to his charge as his body shuddered, shaking violently against him. Adam was bigger than he was, better cared for, and a few times Tav was nearly knocked out of his lap by the surging waves of his seizing. He held tight, hooking his feet under a panel of the chair to keep him there as he cradled his thrashing body. He pressed his cheek against the other man’s and heard his teeth click and grind.

“Please,” Tav whispered in a broken husk of a voice, “God, please…” Adam’s head knocked against his Keeper’s temple until a pair of large hands slid between them and kept his head still. He looked only briefly to see Marsh on the other side of the chair, helping to still his tormented body. Tav squeezed him a little harder and nodded his thanks.

He could feel Adam’s muscles tensing at random intervals under his hands. His throat gurgled as the muscles there were caught in the tide of spasms. His heart, dangerously overtaxed, had fallen out of fibrillation and back into tachycardia. It was pounding hard against Tav’s thin ribcage, where his own heart hammered in fear. It felt like Adam’s would punch out from his sternum and crack Tav’s ribs with the intensity at which it was beating. “It’s okay,” he whispered, lips brushing the shell of his ear. “It’s okay, I’ve got you… I’ve got-“

Then the pounding stopped.

[obstinatecondolement]

Actually, while we're on the subject, friends who shave their faces (or part of their body with similarly sensitive skin): is it chill to just lather up a face cloth with a Dove cleansing bar, put the foam on where you want to shave and shave it off? I am a very cavalier shaver of my face, but I've never actually gotten razor burn/ingrown hairs or what have you from shaving in much more careless ways than this. I sometimes get the very occasional nick, but I think that's mostly just from being careless with the blade itself (or if the blade is sharper than I realised).

The face cloth plus improvised shaving foam method I described above is like... what I do at my most conscientious. I often just wet my face with water of The Temperature It Was When I Turned The Tap On and scrape, scrape, scrape and then moisturise post-shave. I change my blades out semi-regularly too (but probably not as often as I should, because I keep losing my sharps jar). But, like, the first 10-20 times I shaved my face I was just dry shaving with an increasingly dull blade and doing fuck all post-shave stuff and, tbh, again, the worst that ever happened was that I accidentally cut myself now and then.

Guess who nicked themself in an extremely silly way while shaving?

[ID: A selfie of me, looking straight at the camera with eyes wide and a hand fisted in my hair. There is a white bandage covering one nostril placed diagonally across my face. End ID]

[raaindropps]

Day meeting his prototype. Not a fan

[ID: A three-page comic of an OC, Day, and his previous design, Protoday. Day is smaller in stature, has short, black and white striped hair, and is chinese. Protoday is taller, has pushed back purple and yellow hair (Starting and purple and turning yellow through the comic), and is white.

The first page has warm and red tones. Day says "Hmm..." while staring at Protoday. The former is swearing profusely. Dat says "So... Yer sayin' that yer me, just... with color changing hair... white as the damn snow... an ass of the personality...". At this point Protoday thinks to himself, "How am I the asshole...?". His hair, previously entirely purple, now has hints of yellow.

Day continues, beginning to yell "And worst of all, yer like 15 manos?! Fuck is wrong wi'cha?! Sure, it ain't as tall as Yoki an' Ish, but really?! I mean, shit, I barely hit 13! And yer sayin' I coulda been 15 manos? The fuck kinda 'redesign' does that? The artist is just bein' lazy! An' the others are freakishly tall so it just makes me look shorter! What the hell?!"

In the corner of the page is text reading "1 mano = 12cm, 15 manos = 180cm, 13 manos = 156cm"

Page two begins with a simplified drawing of Protoday, now with even more yellow in his hair. Day is in the foreground still yelling, and Protoday thinks "This guy's a total cunt". Next, he looks to the side and says to Day, "But you have a brother, don't you? That's something good that you got. I'm an only child so..."

Day pauses. The colors suddenly become cool and slightly desaturated. Day looks horrified, staring at the camera and saying "What... Are you talking about?". It cuts to a fractured glass-style panel. Within the broken pieces are various images of Day's brother. It shows his hand cooking something, him looking forward, a stuffed animal plushie, him laying weakly on the ground, a zoom-in on his eye, looking scared, and finally his partiallt-decomposed body.

The third and final page has a more zoomed-out view of Day, with only his eyes drawn for facial features, staring directly at the viewer. The only colors are his skin, a bright red, and the darkness of the background. Day says "I don't have a brother". It cuts next to his eyes only, still staring.

Suddenly, Day looks normal again, saying "...ohhh, yer talkin' about Billy, ain't'cha? That lil bugger is like a little brother! He's just the sweetest, ain't he? I s'pose you really did lose out by being a lonely vagabond with no friends, didn't cha?".

The speed bubble suddenly turns black as he says "I don't even know what I'd do without him. Maybe kill myself." The last sentence is colored red.

The bubble goes back to normal as Day continues, "did I tell you about when we first met an' he asked what happened to my leg? I told him I lost it, an' he asked if I had checked under the floorboards, 'cause he always drops stuff down there. He's sweeter than the fuzz on a bee's back, I'll say. wait right there, I've got a photo of him somewhere... let's see...".

Protoday grimaces, his hair now entirely yellow, and thinks to himself "...This is who I turn into...?" /End ID]

[sorbeau]

what are your like essentials/you have to put in accessories or traits for drawing the bad kids?

BOY OH BOY DO I HAVE A LIST FOR YOU PAL

i have so many designs for these guys but there are certain cornerstones that MUST be upheld.

for Adaine, i love giving her huge round glasses, more often than not with some cute glasses chains or dangly accessories with them. im my heart she's also very tall and lanky, perfect awkward teen girl build. i like to keep her facian features very oval shaped, a sharp chin with a rounded jawline and a straight and thin nose.

for Kristen, I like to make her hair curly and cover her in freckles. she was the chosen of helio!!! she's kissed by the sun!!!! she's always looking sunburnt and tan in my heart. I also love making her rather stocky, just a stout girl with a big smile. i like to give her very rounded and robust facial features, chubby cheeks, a big button nose, and very expressive eyes.

for Fabian, his design is the one that changes the most imo. i could put him in one million different hairstyles and one million different outfits. i think his cornerstone design aspect that cements him as Fabian is his eternal smirk and general prettyboy aura. also the eyepatch is a pretty big tell. i like to give him sharp rectangular features, a strong jawline, defined cheekbones, and a straight nose, occasionally dropping in some cheeky dimples.

for Gorgug, i really like to give him a longer haircut, as well as part his bangs to sort of cover one eye. he's very rectangular to me and has a very long but toned build. i like to keep his face very rectanguler but rounded and soft, a square jaw and defined cheekbones, but soft brows and eyes with a large downturned nose.

for Fig, her design is also one that changes a lot, but that in and of itself is a huge part of her character!!! she's spontaneous and rebellious, and I always make sure her design reflects that. her hairstyle hats lots of subtle changes, but i like to stick to alternative microbangs a lot and making her horns curve inwards slightly. a little demon tail is optional for her, but always fun. i like to give her very heart shaped features, with a pointed chin and round defines cheeks, as well as a pointed button nose and expressive but sharp eyes.

for Riz, i really like to lean into the feral/animalistic side of goblins that we see in fh. sharp teeth, big sharp catlike eyes, and large expressive ears. im also a huge fab of giving him digitigrade legs and paws and a fuzzy tail. in my heart he's sharp and scratchy and covered in fuzz. i like to keep his face sharp but round and cute, he's got round cheeks but a sharp jawline, a small downturned nose, and wild expressive eyebrows.

[pinkpigtailsprincess]

How to Dermaplain Properly *࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ🎀

Hi! Hi! 🎀, Welcome 2 My informational guide on how 2 dermaplain properly bc ik some people either want to try it but don’t know how or have tried it and didn’t do it correctly bc believe me i tried it and i did it completely wrong so im here 2 make sure you don’t make the same mistakes i have!! anyways

❤︎ ໋𓈒 What is Dermaplaining??

Dermaplaning is a cosmetic treatment in which dead skin cells and peach fuzz are scraped off with a scalpel by a plastic surgeon, dermatologist, or cosmetologist. - A random definition i got off the interweb!!

❤︎ ໋𓈒 Cool!! Now how do i Dermaplain??

…So What ur gonna do is first get ur materials you’ll need

- a REAL Dermaplaing Razor

i see a-lot of people accidentally using eyebrow razors but please make sure you look for an actual dermaplaining razor bc eyebrow razor tend to have uneven blades and that can irritate the skin!!

- Facial Oil,Aquaphor,Vaseline,Coco Butter or anything that falls under this category!

- Cleanser

- something to put the discarded hair on!

- And Ofc ur Face!!

Step 1; Clean Ur Face!!

Step 2; Take ur facial oil,vaseline etc. and put it all over ur face or just on the areas you wanna focus on to give ur blade something to slide on and easier put up hair and dirt don’t be shy but also don’t put too much!! and let it sir for about 1 minute DONT RUB IT IN

Step 3; Now that its set take ur blade in one hand and ur other hand and pull ur face up just near where ur hair starts and GENTLY!!! shave downwards at a 45 degree angle and do it in gentle short strokes ur cannot shave ur face like how you shave ur body!! and one ur finished a stroke wipe the hair and grime on a paper towel and repeat be careful and be gentle so you don’t cut ur face

Step 4; When ur finished clean ur blade and put back into the safety case! and gently moisturze ur face

and UR DONE!! 🎀 i hope this helped some of yall bye 4 noww luv you!! 🎀☀️

[fuckyeahdindjarin]

Pedro boys facial hair matrix

Happy 2023 ❤️ Starting the year as I intend it to continue - filled with Pedro boys! This one has been in the works for ages - I’m a bit of a compulsive organizer, so this was naturally always going to be a project I would take on.

Paging sideburns anon 🪒 who’s been sending in great asks which I’ve tagged fuckyeahmensgrooming if you’re interested in more posts on this topic!

* click on image for higher resolution

Commentary below the cut (for once):

Barely There

Dave York, Max Lord, Max Phillips, Marcus Pike

This used to be my least favourite Pedro boys look, but Dave York changed my mind. Because it's almost always moustached, there's something almost sensual about being able to see the bare skin above his lips and below the nose. Also, I'm not a Marcus P girl, but dang, he looks good with this look.

Stache Only

Jack Daniels, Javier Pena seasons one to three

This is my favourite Pedro boys look - the clean shaven jaw does things to me, especially with the fluffy sideburns. I know I cheated using Javi’s from all seasons, but this look is so iconically Javier, I guess that's why we don't see often. It's so intrinsically linked to this character.

Half Fuzz

Din Djarin, Pero Tovar, Frankie Morales, Ezra

Trimmed close to the skin and quite low on the jawline, this is the most understated look out of the categories in my opinion.

Fully Bearded

Dieter Bravo, The Thief, Javi Gutierrez, Joel Miller

We are definitely in Pedro's bearded era, with the upper line of the beard sitting higher on the cheek, and he wears it so well. Joel's beard with the grays in particular drives me wild.

Wrap Around

Commandante Veracruz, Oberyn Martell, Marcus Moreno, Pietro Alvarez

Definitely the most transformative look on Pedro since it’s not how he normally grows his facial hair, and personally it's not my favourite look. Having said that, I do think it's a dramatic variation to add to his portfolio of looks.

That was a fun round-up! Thoughts and discourse welcome as always. I also have a hair matrix in the pipeline, stay tuned!

Compilations Masterlist

[jupiterswasphouse]

WASP REVIEW - WASPS (GROUNDED)

[Image IDs: A screenshot and a render of the wasps from Grounded /End IDs.]

Now this is a game I've been interested in for a while, one that has a rather large and lively cast of bugs throughout it, all viewed from an up close perspective (although one that is often detrimental to the player character)! This, of course, includes plenty of wasps, specifically for the purposes of this review, those directly referred to as Wasps, including the Drones and Queen. Now, some of you who have read these reviews before may be wondering "Ms. Jupiter, doesn't this game also have bees? You usually cover those too, if they're present!", and that is true! I will be covering the bees as well, however, I will be doing so at a later date, alongside the ants! Unfortunately I've neglected ants for some time now (despite also being, taxonomically speaking, wasps, as Formicidae evolved directly from Vespoidea), due to not knowing as much about this subset of species. I'm still learning, but excited to look into them more, so be sure to tune in later for the Grounded revisit!

For the time being, lets start this review the same way we always do, taking a look at their appearance. It's clear to me that the face of this wasp is based directly on the yellowjacket species Vespula germanica, with the distinctive trio of black spots on its clypeus (the broad front sclerite plate above the mandible). The mesosoma markings seem to support this theory, although the metasoma makes things a bit less clear. One could argue those markings do bear some resemblance to the spots on V. germanica as well, although they're far from the same.

[Image Sources: Wikimedia Commons, Entomart, and Wikimedia Commons, no further source information provided | Image IDs: A photo of the face of a Vespula germanica yellowjacket, followed by a screenshot of a dead Wasp in Grounded, followed after that by another image of Vespula germanica, this one in front of a pure white background /End IDs.]

The legs should also have a black marking around the coxa, trochanter, and femur if this is the case. Speaking of the legs, they're mostly accurate, but there should be one more short tarsal segment than there is. The antennae are close as well, but should have more segmentation on the flagellum than they do here. Furthermore, the eyes aren't quite the right shape, and they should be black, rather than the oddly glowing red they are in this game. The presence of ocelli, ie simple eyes, is unclear. Lastly, it's missing some distinct yellowjacket fuzz! Overall, though, I feel like this is close enough to correct! Certainly much closer than last week's example, that's for sure.

Although, these are just the standard Wasps! There's also, for one, the Wasp Queen!

[Image IDs: Two screenshots of the Wasp Queen from Grounded /End IDs.]

It's mostly the same exact story here, except for a few points. Notably, I can see the ocelli on top of the head more clearly on this model, and the initial leg segments have all the black markings they should now! The facial markings, though, while admittedly closer to a real Vespula germanica queen's markings than to a worker's, aren't quite right, with its asymmetrical and oddly placed spots. On top of that, the Queen, for whatever reason, has antennae with a yellow scape and pedicel but black flagellum, when the entire antenna should be black.

[Image Source: NatureSpot, David Nichols | Image ID: A photo of a Vespula germanica yellowjacket, more than likely a queen, on the end of a green-leafed plant /End ID.]

Lastly, we have the Wasp Drones, and, realistically, these guys should look very similar to their sisters, just a bit smaller than the queen and bigger than the workers, and with longer antennae. But, strangely, these guys don't seem to have longer antennae at all, but do have different coloration, with red in place of black, as well as yellow tips on their flagella, on top of having this sort of odd bend in them as well. It honestly brings to mind the mental image of a yellowjacket mixed with an executioner wasp (Polistes carnifex).

[Image Sources: iNaturalist, Eric van drn Berghe, and DeviantArt, Eldar Zakirov | Image IDs: A screenshot of a Wasp Drone from Grounded, followed by two photos, one of a Vespula germanica yellowjacket drone on a small branch, and the other of a Polistes carnifex paper wasp on a wooden board /End IDs.]

I think that's all that can really be said in regards to that, however, so let's now discuss their nesting behaviors, and honestly, it's a little bit strange. There appears to be one main nest, within which the Wasp Queen resides and can be summoned to fight, looking about like a standard yellowjacket nest (enclosed structure, vaguely teardrop shaped), oddly found inside of an old bin. But, there are also much smaller nests found throughout the yard, in a more paper wasp type configuration (open structure, umbrella shaped). This would be entirely normal, if they belonged to different species, of different subfamilies or at different stages of construction, but they don't, and, in fact, every small nest comes with only two Workers and one Drone, with no additional Queens to be found, seemingly all under one collective hive.

[Image Sources: Ohio State University, Joe Boggs, and Flickr, Bob Peterson | Image IDs: A screenshot of the main nest in Grounded, followed by a render of a small nest. These are then further followed by photos of a nest of Baldfaced Hornets, which are actually a type of yellowjacket, and a nest of paper wasps, species Polistes major, subspecies major /End IDs.]

The interior of the main nest is also a little strange, but it's not too far off, appearing to have proper layers of cells on the inside. The nests themselves seem ok, though notably different from each other, but this nesting behavior is odd no matter how you slice it. I've heard of multiple queens/foundresses working together under one hive in some Vespidae/Polistinae species (Polistes fuscatus, Polistes dominula, Parachartergus colobopterus, and potentially others), but not one queen ruling over multiple nests simultaneously.

With regards to their behavior outside of nesting, they seem to be notably more aggressive than the real thing would be towards something as small as the player character (which they're not trying to hunt), at least comparatively to how I've observed wild Vespids to be. I've witnessed various different creatures pass by Vespid nests at relatively close distance with no issue. Speaking of their aggression, each variant of these wasps has its own offensive and defensive behaviors as well!

The standard worker Wasps have the sting and bite you would expect, yellowjackets being known for both while defending and hunting, but they also have... A venom shot projectile. It's odd just how common this is to see in video game wasps! It's an interesting attack, yes, but it's also a notably inaccurate thing, only being an ability found in a select few ants, as mentioned in certain reviews. I do have to mention that there is one alleged incident of an Asian giant hornet spraying venom into someone's eye, but given this appears to be an isolated incident with not a lot of research done regarding it, I'm more inclined to believe this was an instance of incidental venom discharge from an "angry" (defensive) wasp.

When it comes to the Wasp Drones, they have two abilities themselves. One of these is the aforementioned projectile, which is even more odd for them, as male wasps (the drones) do not have venom due to not possessing stingers. The other ability, however, is a scream that applies beneficial status effects to them and their wasps. The ability that they and their sisters have to create somewhat complex vocalizations is odd, as most noise-making wasps have simple stridulating chirps, and these species do not include yellowjackets! Side note, their loot table also includes Wasp Paper, which is something that drones would not typically be out collecting.

Finally, the Wasp Queen mostly has similar attacks, those being stings and projectiles, with a scream that summons worker Wasps and Wasp Drones (usually, in the real world, they'd be summoned to attack with pheromones or just with the fact an invader is in their nest at all). Although she does have a couple more things that can deal damage to the player, the first being landing on the player, and the second being POISON BOMBS, FOR SOME REASON. I don't think I need to tell you guys this, but yellowjackets and other wasps are not capable of producing noxious projectile explosives in the real world.

Now, for the first time in this series of reviews, we get to talk about attack weaknesses! and, strangely enough, these wasps are resistant against Chopping, Stabbing, Slashing, Explosive, and Spicy attacks, but are weak against Salt of all things? I can't speak for real world yellowjackets' ability to take proportionally small explosions and sharp weapons, but insects in general are known for having an extreme distaste for capsaicin. As for salt... I mean come on, they're not snails, it may be harmful if it got into an open wound but they still need salt to live, and are in fact often attracted to sources of salt.

In conclusion, they have quite a few features that are fairly accurate! But they made quite a few decisions that baffle me as someone who takes a loving interest in these creatures. Visually, their markings can be notably off but their body structure is almost entirely accurate, meanwhile their behaviors often quite odd. So, my rating for these wasps would have to be...

-

Overall: 6/10

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[losersimonriley]

MWIII SPOILERS!! Ghostsoap fic below the cut

Lifetimes to go

1080 words, fix-it, fluff, do not read if you don’t want mwiii spoilers

It was a dream. A nightmare. The ones that feel so real he can still smell the blood upon waking. It’s usually his family’s blood. Sometimes his own. Not this time.

This is the first time Johnny has featured in such a heavily realistic horror his sleeping brain thought funny to conjure up. Las Almas nightmares had nothing on this one—the legitimacy of it. Pools of Johnny’s blood on the pavement, steadily oozing from the head wound, soaking through his gloves where he’s pressing all for naught. He’s already gone. Johnny dying. Right out of reach. Not getting to say goodbye. Not giving Johnny the courtesy of hearing I love you from his lips even one time before his life was so crudely cut short. Leaving Ghost alone.

After everything. Just like that. Alone. Again.

The way his chest heaves, the way his stomach clenches—his body thinks it’s real. Something about it. Something about it.

It could’ve happened. Easily. If Soap hadn’t snapped Makarov’s neck with all the force of a madman right then, it could’ve—

“Ghost? Wha’s it?” comes a deep, sleep roughed voice to his right, breaking through all the fuzz in his head.

Johnny MacTavish is alive. Johnny is taking up half the bed in their safehouse and has yanked all but a quarter of their sheet to the floor during his sleep. Johnny’s cheek is squished against the pillow and blue eyes, even lit with nothing but moonlight splashing through the window, blue eyes are trained upward at him. Johnny MacTavish is beautiful and beside him and so very much alive.

“Nothin’,” he whispers, lowering himself back down to his own pillow. Facing Johnny this time. He’d gone to sleep with his back to him like a wanker and maybe that was the fatal mistake. One he won’t make again.

“Right,” Johnny snorts, “Shot up like a rocket, ye did.”

Maybe it’s his heart still hammering in his chest, maybe it’s because of the dream, maybe from how fucking tired he is, maybe because it’s just so easy. That’s why he does it—raises a bare hand to Johnny’s face. Fingertips trace through the stubble on his jaw. Rough. Real. Alive.

“You can’t leave me.”

“Simon?” Johnny’s turn to whisper. It’s too heavy a moment for normal volumes. This world in the darkness where they’re half asleep after narrowly avoiding death, and Ghost thinks he might’ve just felt Johnny actually bite it in some other life…softness is the only way.

“Don’t die,” he orders. Johnny scoffs and lays a hand right over top of his own, effectively holding him to his face. And don’t let go.

“Bad dream, aye?”

He bites down on his lip hard enough that there’ll be a sore there come morning. No, not a bad dream. So much worse than that.

“That multiverse shit might be real. Swear I think you just died in another world. Felt it.”

Johnny’s not expecting that one, if the sudden raise of brows is anything to go by. Ghost can feel his facial muscles shift under his palm. Alive.

He’s silent. Just searching Ghost’s eyes and Ghost looking right back in that way they do sometimes. Words without words. Johnny’s reassuring him that he’s still alive, still here. Minutes must go by of just staring and it does work some of the tension out of his tensed muscles. Funny, that. That there can be a human connection so deep that only shared looks can melt the pain right out of a heart.

“Multiverse Soap shoulda’ been more careful then.”

Maybe multiverse Ghost should’ve done a better job at protecting multiverse Soap.

“I love you,” it comes out much more choked out than he’d have liked.

He surprises his own fucking self by just releasing the sentiment out into the wild like that. Fucking hell. His stomach is instantly in knots again. So much for all the silent work Johnny just did to calm him down. He’s shaking, although he’s not sure if it’s from the false grief his body is experiencing, the adrenaline from being thrown awake so rudely, or the nervous anticipation of what he’s just admitted. All of them at once, he reckons.

Johnny picks up on his demeanor immediately. Typical. The utmost care is written plainly across his face as he strokes his thumb over his knuckles, one pass after another in what must be the world’s most soothing touch. Doesn’t pull away. Doesn’t hightail it out of their shared little bed like his life depends on getting far away from Ghost. It should. No, Johnny only smiles with that lovely crooked mouth of his. Alive.

“Love ye too,” he says, like it's as easy as breathing.

Maybe because it is. They’re Soap and Ghost, Lieutenant and Sergeant, Johnny and Simon. When has it ever not been easy like breathing between the two of them?

Right, then. That’s settled. Squared away.

Johnny shuffles closer, head coming to rest on his pillow. He does let go of Ghost’s hand then, only to slowly move it to his unmasked face, their positions perfectly mirrored. Calloused fingers brush curls back from his sweaty forehead and he’s never felt so seen. Never felt so loved.

“I’m not goin’ anywhere, Simon. Hounds of Hell would have to drag me away kickin’ and screamin’. Ye know that.”

“I do.”

“So ye know, then,” Johnny shifts impossibly closer, their air mingling together. Ghost’s still heavy and uneven breaths against the sureness of a low Scottish purr. “Ye know if—when I do die one of these days—”

Ghost gives a firm shake of his head. No. They literally just determined that it wasn’t happening. Ever. And he knows he’s being a right cunt, demanding something so absurd. But he also knows Johnny understands what he means when he says don’t die.

Don’t die until I have you to myself for years and years to come. Don’t die until you’re old and grey, a retired captain. Don’t die until we have a life comfortable enough to say goodbye to. Don’t die before I do.

“I’ll just find ye again,” Johnny finishes with a little shrug. Plain and simple.

“That easy, huh?”

“That easy.”

Maybe in some far off dimension, Simon Riley is mourning Johnny MacTavish and the love they never got a chance to set the world on fire with. He feels for the poor bastard.

In this life, they’re solid. They’re here, all but merged into one being. Alive. Blessedly, perfectly, alive. With lifetimes to go.

Anyway that was ghost experiencing the what the fuck????? moment we all did! I wrote this last night in a spite driven flurry and slapped edits over it today. Might wait a bit to post on ao3-we’ll see what everyone else does lol

Taglist: @cumikering @soapsdish