#Sorry for any inaccuracies

[lovlidollie]

these pics are just the epitome of frat!rafe. he’s constantly manspreading whenever he’s seated, douchey cap either pulled low on his head or flipped backwards. you can always find him wearing a white wifebeater or a tom ford polo, rollie proudly displayed on his wrist. he knows he’s hot and he knows how to use it to his advantage ! he’s such a slut !!! literally ran through lmao there’s not one girl he hasn’t messed with.

he’s got one of three hairstyles; a buzz, an undercut with greasy bangs, or a mullet. and you best believe he pulls all three of them off. frat!rafe is one of those jerks that shows up at sorority bikini carwash fundraisers so he can wolf-whistle at them and wink as he signals them to call him.

vocab consists of diff variations of “bro,” “dude,” “my guy,” “word,” “yo,” and he most definitely overuses the word “like.” he’s the type of guy to call professors by their first name, disrupt the class, and then beg for better grades in the middle of said disrupted class.

prolific snapchat user. snapscore is atrocious and he has streaks going with at least 7 girls at any given time. sends out a ‘u up?’ text at least twice a week. sometimes he’ll leave a girl on delivered for hours - sometimes days - just because he can. when he finally replies it’s usually a blurry snap of his face or a shameless thirst trap with a “mb was busy”.

when a girl finally realises that he’s playing her, he just laughs it off. if they’re upset he says, “i was just messing around,” or “you knew what you were getting into.” he doesn’t take responsibility for any emotional damage because in his head, he never promised anyone anything.

his ig captions .. are something. obviously there’s the infamous ‘grind never stops,’ and a ‘#blessed’. posts gym mirror selfies where he’s flexing his abs, pecs or biceps in a way that seems casual, but in reality he’s spent 20 minutes trying to find the perfect angle and lighting. captions them with things like ‘gains,’ or ‘rest days are for pussies’.

rides around in his obnoxiously loud truck, revving constantly and disturbing everyone in the area. he’s always blasting rap music at full volume, and of course he’s modified the vehicle. the truck’s lifted, with big off-road wheels, a custom exhaust, and a tint that borders on illegal. frat!rafe takes pride in parking it across 2 spots, and he’s always talking about its specs; “blah blah this much horsepower blah blah v8 engine blah blah”. it’s a sore sight at all the parties with the bed of the truck more often than not being used to perform keg stands.

[officialidiots]

explaining the hail true body au in the worst way possible: pt 2 electric boogaloo

this post will contain spoilers for hail true body, which is a tmc au by @mustangsart

all images are sourced from pinterest btw

htb azrael

htb cesar

htb mimic!cesar

htb mark

bonus

[29625]

Forensic artist! Slider x FBI investigator! Mav AU WIP I’ve been hatching for a while.

Inspired by the UID community and its talented volunteers and professionals who contribute to the beautiful, humanizing facial reconstruction of some of the decedents! The case isn’t particularly based on the real event but rather a creation of a mish-mash of many different cases as well as fictional details.

Paring: Slider x Maverick, with forensic sculptor! Ice and FBI investigator! Goose.

Rating: Teen and up for now. Might throw some sexy stuff later.

Warning: graphic description of violence, dead body & suicide (no major character death). Very inaccurate description of how law enforcement works in the US (I’ll fix it later! Sry! Please let me know if there are something you’re familiar with because that’d help a lot!)

In 1991, a case reopens in San Diego, California. The case where a White woman aged between 30-45 was found deceased in a wooded area with a gunshot wound in her head in 1978.

She was not facially recognizable with decomposition and animal activities, as well as the wound inflicted by the impact of close proximity gunshot. A medical examination concluded she had large amount of alcohol and some sleep medicine in her system at the time of her death, possibly making her disoriented, and the purse containing her personal belongings left at the scene had a empty bottle of pills whose label had been scratched off.

She cut all tags off from her clothes which consist of a polka dot summer dress, a pair of white heeled sandals (size 5), blue bra and a white underpants with laces, all found on the decedent’s body except for one of her sandals, possibly due to animal activities as observed in her post-mortem scars on her right leg. She was approximately 5’ to 5’3 inches tall and weighed about 140 lbs. She had fair complexion with chin-length red hair, naturally straight and styled curly, but the advanced state of her decomposition hindered the examiners to determine her eye color.

The location she was found is close to the region where prostitutes and hitchhikers frequent and she is theorized to be particularly familiar with the area, suggesting she had been working in sex trade in San Diego area.

Even though she carried no ID or tax stamps, receipts, or credit cards with her at the time of her death, a possible clue to her identity was found in her purse, which is a piece of paper (approx. 4 inches wide and 1.6 inches long) with the message following:

I love you so much Jannie/Jennie/Jamie (the exact words differ depending on the sources) .

I can’t be there anymore but I’ll always love you & wish you the best.

To people this may concern Im [sic] sorry for every-thing [sic]. xxxx

The message was scribbled with a blue-ink pen, but it lacked her signature and nobody with the name in the letter has come forward after the initial information was released in California region.

It is theorized that the person in the letter is either her friend, family (possibly a sibling or a husband) or her child, who she might have been estranged with at the time of her death.

No foul play is suspected in her case and her death has been concluded as a suicide by gunshot.

“….And we’re renewing her facial approximation, which hasn’t been updated since the initial discovery.” Pete scans the case file containing the composite—a basic photomontage. Her silent face is devoid of any emotions he can tell right away, frozen in time, something he’s so used to seeing. “Right. Well, we gotta contact Tom about this.”

Tom Kazansky from Los Angeles Police Department. He’s a forensic anthropologist who specializes in sculpture. A great contributor of his and Nick’s cases with an ice-cold precision, he’s also been a close friend of them—with his great dedication for his job and his deadbeat sense of humor.

“About that.” Nick interjects. “I don’t think we can, Pete. Or we should, for that matter.”

“Why not?” Pete asks, slightly frustrated but mostly surprised at the statement. “We’re lacking a good reconstruction and he’s the best candidate we’ve ever got.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know.” Nick says with a small shrug. “But he’s on a family leave, remember?”

Oh.

Oh, right. Now he remembers.

“Good for him, yeah?” Nick smiles. “A kid is such a bundle of joy. I still think of the day Brad came home with my sweetest wife whenever I’m feeling low.”

“Shit, Nicky.” Pete groans as he rubs his face with his hand. Maybe two months without a break really does something to his memory. “I can’t believe I forgot that, man. I even sent some gifts for him back in October.”

“Workaholic.”

“Yo, shut up.”

He playfully smacks Nick’s head as they leave. The perk of having a witty partner is he never gets bored at work—with a side effect of never getting a break.

Finding another forensic artist was, to his surprise, a smooth process. Tom has assigned a substitute while he was away, taking care of his wife and his newborn baby girl.

Ron Kerner.

A forensic artist at LAPD, working in Tom’s lab. His portfolio shows a series of drawings of people. He seems to have worked on both the composites of criminals and victims, with him predominantly working on the identification of latter.

Flipping through the thick file, he reaches to the section titled ‘John & Jane Does’. And—damn, how lively and colorful those portraits are.

They are all smiling, some of their grins are wider than others with a more sly-looking expression. There are four comparisons between a then-unidentified person and their living photos, and Ron seems to have captured their unique facial features on point while…humanizing them, however tragic their last moments may have been.

Talented, indeed. Pretty empathetic, he might add. No wonder Tom has assigned his role to him.

“Bradshaw!”

A voice echoes in the hall as they finish talking to the receptionist. Nick turns around and waves back with a big grin on his face.

The man stands in front of them. He’s muscular, slightly shorter than Nick yet still way taller than Pete himself. Towering, but his relaxed stance makes him seem friendly, combined with the toothy grin on his angular face. His curly brown hair complements his tanned skin. Judging from the way he presents himself, Pete assumes he’s not a visitor here.

“Hey bud!” Nick says and shakes hands with the man. “Still dwelling in the lab, huh?”

“Oh you shut your pretty mouth, dickhead.” He chuckles almost affectionately.

“Pete, this is Ron. Ron Kerner from LAPD. Ron, this is Pete. Pete Mitchell.”

Ron Kerner.

The man looks at Pete and reaches out his hand, which he’s quick to shake.

“I really liked your portfolio.”

Pete mutters almost instinctively as he shakes his hand, realizing how awkward he sounds a moment later. Ron looks at him with slightly widened eyes, curiosity flickering in his beautiful hazel irises.

“Uh, I mean…I’m Pete Mitchell. Call me Pete.”

“Thanks.” Ron says with a smile with a tinge of shyness on the corners of his droopy eyes, although well-concealed by his bold voice. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Pete. Tommy always talks about you guys.”

“Yeah.” Pete answers as their hands part, leaving a pleasant warmth on his cold skin. “Pleasure to meet you, too, Mr. Kerner.”

“Hey, Ron’s just fine.” He says. “We’re about the same age, right? Don’t make me feel old.”

“You can call him Ronnie if you want, Pete.” Nick says. “Bet you’ll get along just fine. He’s just as immature as you.”

“What did you say, jackass?”

Their eyes shot at each other as their voices almost synchronize, much to Nick’s amusement.

“Damn it, Nick!”

“Shit, Bradshaw.” Ron mutters at Nick’s smirking face that Pete’s so familiar with at this point of his career. “Let me be cool and act like an adult in front of this guy, alright?”

“Ha! Jokes on you, Kerner. You’ve already said dickhead like you always do.” Nick teases. “C’mon, Pete. You think he’s mature? With his taste in jokes like that? Betcha get along well, darling. Already in synch.”

Ron pouts at Nick with a small pfft sound, a gesture he didn’t think a guy this big could pull off.

“Get along well, huh?” Pete chuckles, lightly patting Ron on the shoulder.

“Great start, I guess.” He grins. “Though I can’t wrap my head around how you tolerate this bastard.”

“Me neither, man.”

Ron barks out a laugh as Nick pokes Pete on the arm, grumbling at how the table has turned.

Ron Kerner.

Today was the first time they’ve met. He’d been faceless to Pete for almost a month, ever since they first called in the most basic business-like manner, talking about grown-up stuff, in contrast to the almost overwhelming amount of portraits he sent him.

“Hey, Nick?”

“What?”

“Can you see an artist in his own work?”

Nick blinks a little, his eyes briefly shot up from the road. They are on their way to go back to their office in his car, idly listening to the local radio as the town passes.

“Don’t look at me like that.” Pete stretches his arms and loops them around the headrest. “It’s weird, I know.”

“I thought you lost your mind and decided to be a philosopher instead.” Nick says. “But I guess you can.”

“How?”

A few seconds of silence filled the car before Nick speaks, absentmindedly stroking his mustache.

“A part of your soul leaves your body to live in the world of your art, forever.” Nick mutters. “I don’t know, Pete. That’s just how I feel. A part of me becomes something not mine, and he dances with the music as I play it.”

Pete can only nod in response. Nick has always been enthusiastic about music. Tom has been artistic, too. He’s a professional artist as well as being a full-time officer, for God’s sake.

“I guess that’s true for Ron, y’know.” Nick says. “Considering the subjects he deals with daily.”

His fingers skim through the pictures. A Black teenager with shoulder-length braids, grinning widely in her denim overalls. A middle-aged Hispanic man with a box of tobaccos in his hand, smiling softly. One of the portraits depicts a woman and a child, possibly her son, chin-up and looking serene together in the wind.

“Ron’s a good guy, Pete.” Nick smiles and shoots a knowing gaze at his partner in the passenger seat. “I wasn’t joking when I said you’d get along.”

“Yeah.” He answers, lowering his eyes in approval. “I suppose so.”

He closes the file and traces the black lettering on the back of it.

Ron Kerner, it says.

Lined in ink, detailed with colored pencils and some markers. Pete can still feel the strokes of his pencils under his fingertips.

[faraway-sunshine]

Tell us about the holidays you couldn’t fit in the other post!

We also used to have a special dinner on the autumn and spring equinoxes, but the other big holiday was typically Children's Day every May 3rd.

As we wouldn't get the day off school, we'd keep things minimal, but we always had a few big carp-shaped wind socks to hang out. Dad's carp was black and Mom's red as it usually was for parents, while Mari and I both had blue (Mari's more indigo, mine a lighter blue). Sometimes Mari and Mom would look over the windsocks prior to the day to make minor repairs or freshen up the embroidery. I liked sitting by the window or outside in the grass seeing the socks fly in the wind.

We'd also always eat sticky rice at dinner, and all our friends would come over to play after school because the day is meant for children's joy. It's the one day Mari wouldn't do homework on if she still had any until cram school started.

As years went by, Dad worked more and Mom sometimes forgot or couldn't manage to make the right food without burning it, so on the equinoxes and Children's Day she might forget or we'd get takeout. But until Mari died, every year without fail, we let the socks fly. Even one year when it rained, because they'd dry out. Sometimes we'd forget to take them down for days after, but I never minded.

(Monday 11th September, 2000, 8:18 PM)

[driftwoodskeleton]

finito

or rather, i gave up lol

an attempt was made :’)

[shawolsos]

So here's my backstory for Noel's mum in my Korean!Noel headcanon

@thursdaybluez

This boy is long... Sorry

Kwon Yoona was born during the early 80s in Mokpo, in the Jeolla Province of South Korea.

In the early 2000s, Yoona left Korea to start College at the University of Toronto where she majored in PR Managment.

It was here that she met Economics major, Joseph Gruber.

The two of them became friends and eventually they began a relationship.

Shortly after Yoona graduated and shortly before Joseph was due to graduate, she fell pregnant.

Joseph's parents, being heavily religious, insisted that they get married and there was a shotgun wedding.

Yoona didn't take her husband's surname as that's not the tradition in Korea.

Joseph dropped out and moved his new wife and unborn child to his hometown of Uranium, Saskatchewan.

Joseph had enough qualifications to get an office job, so he picked up a 9 to 5.

He would always be resentful of his wife and child, blaming them for his apparent failure in life.

Later the next year, Yoona gave birth to a healthy baby boy.

Yoona wanted her son to fit in as much as possible in their new town so she asked Joseph to pick out an English name.

Joseph decided to name the baby after his father and he was christened Noel Kwon-Gruber

But Yoona didn't want her son to grow up entirely disconnected from his Korean heritage, so, she did everything she could to make sure he embraced and was proud of his roots.

She normally only cooked for the two of them, since her husband worked late most nights, so they ate traditional Korean food almost every night.

She made sure that he could at the very least hold a conversation in Korean.

She always celebrated Korean holidays like Chuseok with him. Even if they just did something small. She still did something to mark the occasion.

She made sure that he was familiar with Korean music, modern and traditional.

She even gave him a Korean name that she called him at home.

She picked a name that had been picked out for her future son since she was in Middle School.

She chose the name Seungmin. Which means clever and quick-witted. She had no idea how well that name would come to fit him.

Joseph was distant as a father so Yoona always tried to be exactly the opposite as a mother.

Given that he was naturally closer with his mother, Noel actually learned to answer to his Korean name way before he did his English name.

Because his mother taught him Korean, he speaks it with a strong Mokpo accent and dialect.

Yoona figured out pretty quickly that her child wasn't going to be cishet and accepting that was a no-brainer.

She pretty much raised Noel on 1st Gen K-Pop, not Sechskies though, NEVER Sechskies. H.O.T 4 Life

There's a video of toddler Noel vibing to Dreams Come True by S.E.S in his mum's kitchen which she may or may not use as blackmail.

When Noel was little, Yoona's nickname for him was "Tokki" (Korean for Rabbit) because he had chubby cheeks and buck teeth that stuck out slightly.

When his son was around 10, Joseph began an affair with a coworker and by the time he was 11, had run off with her.

After the divorce, Joseph neglected to pay his child support and Yoona took up a job as a sales rep.

They struggle for a bit but eventually get back on their feet to an extent.

In his adolescence, Noel discovers the absolute wonder that is 2nd and 3rd Gen K-Pop

(More on that later)

When he's a little older, and more confident and comfortable in his genderfluidity, Yoona, encourages Noel to try out some feminine names.

He takes a liking to Eunbi because Eun can mean either "silver" or "graceful" and Bi means "rain" which he thought was poetic and deep.

Yoona loves her boy and would do anything to protect him.

And she loves the simple little life they've built for themselves.

[evergreensounds]

palóc miku (from hungary:)) i hope im not too late to the party

[formosusiniquis]

for @thefreakandthehair and inspired by this. Everyone enjoy some bee keeper!Eddie saving the day so Steve can play some baseball

Eddie picked up beekeeping the way he picked up most things in his life: accidentally and by virtue of following a crumb of serotonin straight down the rabbit hole of obsession. It isn't what he expected to do for a living, and at this point he does have to admit that when it accounted for 91% of his taxable income last year it is what he does for a living, but he likes that he gets to work outside and set his own hours. He likes that the regular customers he has who buy his honey are nice, and likes getting to advise people about things like flavor profiles and what they taste best with, it was the thing he liked best about his position at the dispensary that was now more of a side gig. And then there's his contract with city animal control that gets him called out to parts of the city he didn't even know existed to relocate hives a lot more often than he thought would happen.

It's a good life, and he likes that he's made it himself.

But it's the kind of life that gets him calls from people late at night when trying to finish binging Fallout before the internet can spoil it for him. He has a rule to always answer when Chrissy calls though, he isn't going to miss helping her if it's an emergency.

“I need a favor,” she says before he's even finished answering.

“Anything for you,” he agrees.

“You might regret saying that.”

Chrissy Cunningham turned a full ride scholarship for cheerleading into a business and marketing degree and she turned that into a fancy job with the White Sox that he didn’t fully understand but totally supported. He wore the free cap she gave him, and was endlessly glad that as a white guy he didn’t get gatekept the way girls like Chrissy did, since he couldn’t name a single player on the team.

And it was that endless support that had him in his full gear at the White Sox stadium with his smoker and bee vac.

Chrissy meets him at the front with a harried expression and a warm hug, “I’d say I owe you one but if everything goes right we’ll be totally square before the first inning.”

“What does that mean?” he asks, repeating it louder when all she gives him is an enigmatic smile. 

The only answer he truly gets is being shoved into a little green cart that she drives with a frightening speed. She drives them through the stadium through a route he has no hope of remembering on his own until they reach an opening that leads straight out to the field. Eddie always had a dream, as a kid, of being a rockstar, driving out onto the diamond to a sudden and uproarious cheer is the closest he thinks he’s ever come to truly experiencing what it would be like to be famous on stage.

He hams it up of course. Waves his arms to try to get them to cheer louder as Chrissy stears them toward the lifter that he’s going to have to go up to get to the swarm. And they do, the cheers becoming an enthusiastic roar, a sound so loud he thinks he could climb them up to the bees without the lifter. 

“Focus will you, you’re on national television right now.” Chrissy says, with a subtle elbow to his side.

“Yeah but how many people are watching a delayed baseball game?”

Never one to just take his smartass comments, he’s sure that Chrissy says something super witty and sarcastic back. Only Eddie made the mistake of turning his head and catching sight of the most glorious ass in the snuggest pair of pinstriped white baseball pants and lost the ability to hear. A second elbow in his side reminds his brain full of metaphorical bees that he’s on television and he doesn’t have his veil on, he isn’t about to get caught drooling on television.

The fattest ass in the stadium turns around and Eddie thinks he’s been stung. He has to be going into anaphylaxis with the way he suddenly can’t catch his breath. The guy in front of him, with a hand on his hip and his eyes trained unwaveringly on Eddie is tongue-swellingly hot. And he just keeps getting closer as Chrissy doesn’t stop driving forward.

“Steve, you’re not supposed to get this close, you're our starting pitcher you can’t get stung.” Chrissy chides.

“I just wanted to make sure that he wasn’t going to kill the bees.” The guy, Steve, says.

“He’s not.”

“I’m not,” Eddie says, shaking his head as fast as he can, like that will make things more convincing for the hot baseball guy. But he’s got an eyebrow raised giving Eddie an up and down like he still doesn’t believe him.

“Look,” he pulls out his equipment so Steve can see. “I’ll smoke them with this, that’ll make them calm so they don’t freak out when I vacuum them up with this.”

“And running them through a vacuum isn’t going to kill them?”

“It’s a gentle suck,” he says, immediately filled with a burning mortification. “It’s just enough to move them into the tank where I can relocate them.”

Hot baseball Steve has his big brown eyes open even wider, there’s a twitch at his mouth like he’s about to say something else and Eddie actually can’t have that. “Chris can we get me strapped into this thing, we want to get this big ballgame going right?”

Steve takes a couple steps back, hands raised up in a placating gesture. Whether it’s for him or for Chrissy because he didn’t listen, Eddie’s too busy putting a neon yellow safety buckle on to think about it.

He takes his time, this is basically free marketing so he’s not about to rush through or do a half-assed job. But in just a few minutes he has a vac full of bees and the game is ready to be played. The lifter gently lowers Eddie back to the ground with another round of cheers. He unclips from the safety harness and takes a shallow bow for the crowd.

Then Steve is jogging over, Eddie stands up straighter than he ever has in his life. Nervous for what is about to happen.

“You saved the game, man!” Steve has the nicest smile that Eddie has ever seen, wide and toothy. He is but a man and thus falls a little bit in love immediately.

“It was nothing, really, just part of the job, y’know.”

“Well, here’s something you probably haven’t done on the job. You have to throw the first pitch.”

“No, no, I absolutely will not be doing that.”

It’s the wrong thing to say, a mischief lights up in Steve’s eyes. He jerks his chin up at Chrissy who says something Eddie is too far away to hear into a walkie talkie. He thinks he has a guess though when the loudspeaker begins to drawl, “Laaadies and Gentlemen, our game is about to begin. Tonight’s first pitch will be thrown by our bee rescuer, Eddie Munson!”

The crowd begins to scream again, but the sound is almost like the hive's steady drone when Steve leans close enough to whisper, “It’s just ceremonial, all you’ve got to do is throw it. I’ll even play catcher for you.” And Eddie’s helpless to do anything but nod.

There’s actually a lot that has to happen before they’re ready for him to throw his sad attempt at a pitch. But that gives him the time to settle his equipment out of the way and scream at Chrissy. Still it’s sooner than he’d like before she’s shuffling him over to a big mound of dirt in the center of everything. She pushes his hat and veil back and it feels a little proud father of the bride right until she pats him on the top of his head and whispers, “Don’t fuck it up, nerd.”

His palms are sweaty, they feel too slick to get a good grip on the small, white ball. He thinks he might throw up, only across from him Steve is there. A glove on one hand he sends Eddie an encouraging little finger wave with the other. 

He can do this. 

He takes a deep breath and throws.

It’s awful. Too high and a little off center, but Steve snags it in that large, ungloved palm and the crowd cheers again like he’s done something fantastic. He’s starting to think they’re just happy to be here.

He starts to walk off the field, toward Chrissy where he knows he’s safe. But he can’t help noticing that Steve is jogging his way too; the ball that Eddie just threw in one hand, a sharpie in the other, his glove tucked tight under his arm. “Eddie, hey, you gotta take this with you, dude.”

Steve lobs it at him in a soft underhand, and Eddie still fumbles the catch, “Thanks, man, but really, I don’t-” the rest of his response dies in his mouth when he realizes just what Steve has scribbled across the ball.

“Give me a call if you’re interested,” Steve says, walking backward toward the mound Eddie just left, “I can show you my gentle suck.” He laughs at his own shitty pickup line, which is somehow more attractive than his whole hot jock thing.

Eddie thinks he must be blushing up to his hairline by the time he makes it back to Chrissy and his things. She looks too smug for it to be any other way. “Told you we’d be even before the end of the night.”

“Chris, if this goes well I might owe you a favor. Now we gotta go, I’ve got bees to relocate.”

[kittysawat]

if you cant get an organic s2 wedding, then store bought is just fine!!!!!!!!

[emily-e-draws]

thinking fond thoughts about Tenzing Tharkay

[philzasjuicyass]

Ok, so. Heaven.

In the court in ep6, we see 5 different types of angels (on top of the Seraphim).

In the middle there are moth/bug-looking ones (mix of antenna/no antenna). Then we've got the birdies (the ones at the top have extra Long Feathers) and the very demonic looking horned ones at the bottom. (And this one guy at the top with the eyed appendages)

On top of those are what I think are Ophanim; wheels with eyes on them at the top. We see them in the beginning narration of ep1,

And it looks like two of the angels we saw creating Earth might also be Ophanim (the 2 lower ones)

One of these angels was clearly Sera, a Seraph we later see accompanied by Emily. Sera is the "Head Seraph" and expresses that it's her job to take care of things since she's older.

People have theorized that Seniority is an important thing among angels because of that and how, in the ep1 narration, it's said the Elders of Heaven disapproved of Lucifer's ideas for creation.

We are shown 6 angels here (7 including Lucifer), all of them with unique halos (and heads!) making them distinct from each other.

And in ep5, we see the same group of 6 with the exact same halos again

Except this time they're even more distinct, with distinguishing silhouettes&markings added.

Seven angels, including Lucifer? Almost like... the Archangels?

[what-am-i-doing-in-this-fandom]

SAME COIN THEORY IS ROTTING MY BRAIN WHY ISN'T THERE MORE FANFICTION ABOUT IT????

[themachine]

an art request for you! could I have a Ferryman sitting on a pier please? or Mirage fixing a radio. whichever floats your boat!

It's been so humid lately

[gradelstuff]

Team-Up Mission vol.6 had a mini comic that featured the League of Villains, so here is that.

I did a rough machine translation of the comic under the cut, but feel free to do whatever with the raws.

[tailsgetstrolledmp3]

♪~But you'll look sweet upon the seat

of a bicycle built for two!~♪ ❁.｡.:*:.｡.✽.｡.:*:.｡.❁.｡.:*:.｡.✽.｡.:*:.｡.❁.｡.

[yukikocloud]