#thepunchlineislesbian

[biteghost]

commission for @thepunchlineislesbian! <3

[screwtheprinceimtakingthehorse]

“What’s cookin’ good lookin’?”

read on AO3

Corvo woke with his limbs feeling heavy and his mind at ease for what felt like the first time in a while. He stretched under the covers, the sheets soft against his skin, and—oh. His skin. He felt warm and good and… very, very naked.

The bed beside him, however, was empty. Feeling his face fall, Corvo twisted to get a look at the alarm: 7.30am. Already, he thought. He sighed and let himself drop back into the pillows. Of course, they’d barely even talked about staying the night, much less the morning; but Corvo had hoped they might at least wake up together.

Well. If he had to suffer being awake at half seven on a Sunday morning, he might as well get up, he decided. Emily wasn’t returning from her sleepover at her friend’s before the afternoon, so at least he had some time to himself to mope. Just one more of the thrilling challenges of being a single father — and of having an ill-advised crush on his daughter’s karate instructor, Corvo thought miserably. A crush that had led to flirtation and coffee and last night… to dinner. Corvo had felt ridiculously like making a booty call when he’d asked Daud out, invited him to dinner at home rather than at a restaurant simply because Emily would be at the Curnows’ for the weekend. Since her mother’s death, Corvo had used such an opportunity exactly once — and it had been to get horrifically drunk the week before the anniversary. Best to get it out of his system, he’d decided, and hadn’t touched a bottle since.

Now, it seemed, Daud too had gotten it out of his system. Or, rather, Corvo.

Dinner had been fun, good, and for all that Corvo had been nervous about his first date in six years, conversation with Daud had put him at ease in a way he hadn’t expected. They’d shared stories of home, among others — neither of them were Gristol natives and the shared experience of never quite belonging had been what had gotten them talking in the first place; after Daud had made an offhand comment when Corvo had come to pick Emily up from training.

Corvo sat up, rubbing his eyes and dragging a hand through his hair; instantly reminded of the way Daud had played with the strands as they’d fallen asleep… and of the way he’d tugged on it when sleep had been the furthest thing from their minds, too. Corvo sighed again. Moping it was, then, he thought, but something made him stop short when he got out of bed. There were clothes draped over the end of the bed, loosely folded but still neatly divided. His… and Daud’s, Corvo realised as he stared at the burgundy shirt. He remembered getting Daud out of it too well not to recognise it now. What was missing, however, was Corvo’s own shirt, it seemed.

Just then, Corvo heard something from down the hall. His heartbeat picking up, he reached for the first pair of pyjama bottoms he could find, blindly reaching into the drawer of his dresser. Finding the bedroom door ajar, he smirked. Daud had bullied him through it and then instantly pushed him up against it, their difference in height meaning nothing to his strength — not that Corvo had minded. Quite the opposite.

Calling himself back to the present, Corvo decided to bite the bullet and see his suspicions — his hopes — confirmed.

Following the quiet clattering of pans and cutlery, he found Daud in the kitchen. He stopped in the doorway, torn between clearing his throat and licking his lips: Daud was wearing Corvo’s dark blue shirt, his broad frame easily filling out the shoulders even as it was a bit long on him.

“Took me a minute to find my boxers,“ Daud rumbled without even looking up, as if he’d expected Corvo to come wandering in at precisely that moment. “One might think you wanted to hide them to keep them.”

Now, Corvo did clear his throat, feeling himself blush. “The best efforts of rats and men,” he murmured, not resisting a smile when Daud’s eyes found his. Suddenly self-conscious of his own bare chest, he looked down at himself. “Should I have worn yours?”

Daud grunted. “How about you spare me that heart attack until another time, hmm?”

Corvo’s gut kicked at the promise of ‘another time,’ but he managed not to grin like a loon as he walked up towards Daud. Coming to stand next to him at the stove, Corvo leaned forward to press a kiss against his cheek, receiving another jolt from his overexcited innards when Daud tilted his face into the touch.

“So,” he said quietly, drawing out the vowel as he fought another terrible impulse… and lost. “What’s cookin’, good-lookin’?”

Daud took half a step back, turned to look up at him, one hand on the handle of the pan and the other still holding the spatula. His face was carefully blank, but Corvo had learnt not to trust this man’s deadpan silences. So, he waited.

“You’re terrible,” Daud told him seriously. “Kiss me again.”

.

Hi there! If you enjoyed this and would like to see more, pls support me on ko-fi if you can 🌈✨! ko-fi.com/grumble Thank you! 💖

[veltyr]

“You’ve always felt like home.”

Oops.

The marble was cold under her fingertips, almost freezing where, not too long ago, it would have felt warm, alive. It would have been her father.

And now here he was, trapped in stone, maybe dead, definitely helpless.

She couldn’t stay here, she had to run. But still... she couldn’t just leave home without telling him.

“Father, I-”

Her voice broke as a choked sob escaped her. How could this have happened? And on this day! Hadn’t she lost enough?

She tried once more. “Father, I have to go. They... they’ll notice I’ve escaped soon. But father... I’ll find a way to get you back. I’ll come back home, I swear.”

A soft chuckle escaped her. “You know, after everything that happened, Dunwall didn’t really make me feel safe anymore. But you... you’ve always felt like home.”

She allowed himself another long look at his face, calling up all the good memories they’d shared, trying to burn them into her memory instead of what she saw in front of her eyes. It wasn’t the last time she would see him, she promised herself. She would live, and he would live, and she would get to see him grow old and grey and finally retire the way he deserved. They would stay a family. He was all she had.

Then her fingers slid from the cold marble, the feeling lingering for a second before it faded.

Squaring her shoulders, Emily made her way past the bodies littered across the floor, towards her hidden chamber and escape route. She had a ship captain to meet and an immortal witch to kill.

[mannimarcos]

@thepunchlineislesbian‘s pirate character, Abbie. thank you for commissioning me, i love their design!

[cannibalharpy]

ANYWAY, quick lil' indulgent pic of my boy Christoph with @thepunchlineislesbian fancy Illithid pirate, Abbie!!!! I love the them, and Christoph does too, so 10/10.

[lookinlikeaking]

“Now, you’re gonna tell me where you hid the real gem before this gets more messy than it needs to be.”

@thepunchlineislesbian‘s OC Abbie who I still love if you can’t tell by me scrolling the tag and trying EXTREMELY HARD NOT TO REBLOG EVERYTHING

[tactax-art]

There also was an attempt at @thepunchlineislesbian 's Abbie. I tried too hard and it turned out kinda stiff...but i tried?

[flatw00ds]

Some of my recent sketch commissions! For fuhai8000, Joysweeper, thepunchlineislesbian, and junkerjamison, respectively. All are characters belonging to the commissioner with the exception of the last, who’s from the show Trollhunters (AND MY FAVORITE, like heck yes I love it when people ask me to draw faves).

Got another big batch of these to knock out, so thank you all so much for spreading the news and supporting me! I’m really having fun with them.

[k1spiegel]

sry for whaler oc doodles but     Thats Just How It Is

eventually + with A Lot of training and help artemiy probably finally goes from pup to master assassin n gets known for being a one man wrecking crew. he’s still v good at beating ass and bad with transversals but he’s fond of using windblast to Make An Entrance. and he still loves his whalefamily (ft a very small ed, who’s @thepunchlineislesbian‘s)

[aimlessfool]

I love the bloodborne au!!! Makes me really wanna see one of them blood-drunk :0

Here you go- have some sadness!And thank you so much for the ask! :D

[tacticaltaxonomist]

Robin in F1!!!

yeah F1 jumped right out at me, and i now definitely realise that Robin wears corsets.....possibly casually (but for shaping not for decoration. 

[galpalaven]

aliemah-0 replied to your post “are you allowed to get your friends valentine’s day presents? is that...”

I do it all the time regardless of whether or not its a holiday.

ma-sulevin replied to your post “are you allowed to get your friends valentine’s day presents? is that...”

I'd say yes

kirkwallschamp replied to your post “are you allowed to get your friends valentine’s day presents? is that...”

Yes it’s sweet!

thepunchlineislesbian replied to your post “are you allowed to get your friends valentine’s day presents? is that...”

Yes!!!! Shower friends in gifts

EXCELLENT

[screwtheprinceimtakingthehorse]

“You’ve always felt like home.”

also posted on AO3, soundtrack: Stand Under My Love, by Diane Birch.

Daud had made his name with steel in his hand, and in its shadow had hollowed out a city until it crumbled. But after twenty years, he was hollow, too; until none was left of the young boy who’d listen to his mother’s stories, listen as she’d teach him. He’d received his education on the edge of a blade — his mother’s dagger hidden in her dress, first, and later the knife with which he’d cut out his own past as he became the Knife of Dunwall. The Knife was no man, he was a scourge; his Whalers were an army of hollow, reflecting eyes.

Home, to Daud, was an illusion. He’d lived in a dozen cities before he was ten summers old; his life as transient as the circumstances of his birth. ‘Home’ ceased to exist when his mother was taken by the Overseers, when the other children at school began to spit after the witch’s orphan in their midst — when he was taken away. Once Daud was done struggling and biting, the man who took him promised him something better. A traveller, the man had called himself, a tradesman. His trade: death. Travelling with him, young men and women from across the Isles. Most of them had come willingly.

The traveller was not the first Daud killed, but he was not the last to hit the ground the day Daud left. Some might name it an escape, but had it been flight — or mutiny?

Daud had not set out to build an army of sharp metal and shadows, of blood and blades raised. They’d set out to find him. He would never seek them out, he swore; he would not search for death’s recruits.

When they returned to base after a job, sometimes he heard one of them say, ‘Let’s go home.’ Sometimes, he said it himself.

For all that his childhood had been that of a nomad, Karnaca had been his favourite: the capital of Serkonos, burrowing ever deeper into the foothills of the Peak as the city grew. He dared not wonder what had attracted him to Dunwall, then — perhaps simply that he’d fancied himself important. Where else could he make his mark, where else could he render his will upon the world than Dunwall, the seat of the Empire and its rulers?

He’d just returned to Gristol from his travels when someone else entered the city and its palace: a new Royal Protector. Corvo Attano — Lord Attano, now — from Karnaca, young and handsome, so they said, and chosen by the Princess for no reason but to rebel against her father.

Daud could feel no kinship.

Years passed, then decades, until Daud felt grey and worn and not an iota “better” than the one who’d set him on his path such a long time ago. The Void had had enough time to wind itself around his soul and shroud it in shadow as much as his conscience; and so it was that it felt his heart would rend itself in two when Daud made a mistake to dwarf all his others. There were many: he broke a contract. He warned his mark, corrupted the soul of the last honest man in the Empire, and still he failed. He fell in love.

He knew himself for the fool he was, and yet he made promises he would not keep — but they were none to Corvo and all to his own face staring back from the mirror when he shaved. He would not lie to Corvo. If Corvo were to ask, he’d answer; only Corvo did not. Did not ask, did not demand the truth. Still Daud would perjure himself every time they kissed, every time silence was as good as a lie.

He helped Emily take the throne when she was eleven; he protected her from a witch that had designs on the throne when she was twelve. And when she was thirteen, he left. Leaving Dunwall behind was hard not because it was home but because it held his secrets, his time; and some that remained there, his trust. ‘Home’ was nothing so simple as a city. But he could not stay, as much was plain.

He felt the Arcane Bond weaken until it strained and broke.

He felt his heart grow heavy with each sea mile he put between him and Corvo.

He travelled. He followed his feet and learnt how to see more in the faces of others than their weaknesses and faults, their secrets and ambitions. He cared little for politics. The years passed more slowly, now.

He should have known that the past would find him, eventually.

When news reached him of a man with his powers and a strange knife, he returned to Dunwall as quickly as he could. Stealing into the Tower felt too much as it had all those years ago. It felt too much like coming home.

“Daud!” Corvo jumped up from his chair, then stopped. “It’s… it’s really you.”

“Corvo.” Daud held himself equally still. When Corvo didn’t say anything else, Daud cleared his throat. “Tell me about Zhukov.”

So Corvo did, and an hour later, they stood poring over maps and reports from Brigmore and other cemeteries across the city. For a while, neither of them spoke.

“I know Dunwall’s not your home, nor the one you’d choose,” Corvo broke the quiet at length. “All the more, I’m grateful for your return.”

“You asked,” Daud said simply. Corvo’s letter had been short, to the point — he’d sent out half a dozen, messengers scattered across the Isles to try and track him down. No doubt Corvo had told them how. He was the only one Daud would let find him. Surely, Corvo knew.

He’d not tried before.

“Kieron said he found you in Karnaca,” Corvo continued. “If forced to wager where you would be, I don’t think I would’ve chosen there.”

“It’s a good place to be,” Daud returned, and before Corvo could answer, added, “but it’s not home. Not mine, anyway.”

“Then why settle there?”

“Because I had no other place left.“

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” Daud sighed. “It’s a lie. Or, enough of one.” At Corvo’s confused silence, he shrugged. “I went to Karnaca because it came closest to the place I wanted but couldn’t be.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Don’t you?” Daud turned to face Corvo, thoughts at war. What use was it to tell him now? But then, what use was it to keep the secret? It would be too little, too late. “It’s you, Corvo. You’ve… always felt like home.”

Corvo could not but stare at him, and Daud smiled somewhat bitterly.

“I know I was a coward when it counted. When I left you. But you were it, Corvo. And now, Karnaca’s my home and my penance, for all that it reminds me of you.” Daud averted his gaze, went back to the documents strewn across Corvo’s desk.

“Daud—“

“I’ll hunt Zhukov with you, and then I’ll go back and you never have to see my face again.”

“Daud.” A hand covered his where it rested on the table top. “What if I told you it wasn’t too late?” Corvo waited until Daud looked back up at him, disbelief in every line of his face. “What if I told you it would have never been too late?”

“I’d take you for a fool,” Daud rasped.

Unbelievably, Corvo smiled. “Call me a fool, then.” Slowly, he raised his arms, and as Daud stepped into the circle of his embrace and buried his face in Corvo’s shoulder, he feared he’d not find the strength to leave this time.

.

Hi there! If you enjoyed this and would like to see more, pls support me on ko-fi if you can 🌈✨! ko-fi.com/grumble Thank you! 💖

[cass-artblog]

Flat color commission for @thepunchlineislesbian of Abbie and Reithe.

Thanks again for commissioning me!

[losebetter]

y’all i got FOUR rookcready requests for this meme. FOUR. i am honestly beside myself, you guys are the best. ;__; i was gonna do something fun since these two were the same, like switching their positions? then i ended up being so low-energy i couldn’t even finish one, so.. i hope this suffices /o\<3

[flannelshirtandjeans]

For the OC swap thing; Ed writes fiction in his spare time and would have loved to be a published author. He writes urban fantasy and I would describe his style as being similar to Neil Gaiman. He likes incorporating friends into his stories, so don’t be surprised if a knight who shares your name appears in one of his shorts

I LOVE ED SO MUCH I’ve missed him. ^u^ Maybe with enough patience and determination (and possibly Piper’s printing press) he could still be a published author! Like a self-published one. :D OR he could have his stories recorded on holotapes! Since those can contain both written media and audio if printing books was too arduous or unlikely.

None of my characters really are writers, or has particular aspirations, but in a similar-ish note Jay DOES like spinning and dying wool into yarn, and did that in his spare time in the past. It was technically for the benefit of the farm he worked on; the owner encouraged him and agreed to let him sell his yarns in the farmer’s market and get an extra cut of the money for their sales. It was never anything lucrative, just a fun little thing he did and earned some pocket money for it, but he’d like to do that again when he has sheep. To bring in a little extra money, or just to be able to clothe his own family and friends for the cold months. :)