#i want to stab myself

[emeritus-fuckers]

A (relatively long) headcanon post about Ghouls as species

Since we've already theorized birth dates, dick sizes and the way the Ministry works, it's time to focus on the Ghouls. So let's try to come up with some stuff, shall we?

PS: I was gonna include human-ghoul hybrids, but that's a whole another post bc this one is already long af.

Ghouls and Ghoulettes

Ghouls view gender very differently than humans do. Their biology does not correlate to their gender. Most ghouls are intersex, but it's no uncommon for them to be male or female (purely in the amab/afab way) and their sex is not really important when it comes to their roles in the packs. It is, however, worth noting that more biologically feminine ghouls are physically stronger and more dominant. It's worth noting that there's no such thing as a "Ghoulette" in their understanding. They all refer to each other as "Ghoul". The term "Ghoulette" was introduced to them by the Clergy.

Kits

As mentioned above, most ghouls are intersex. Unlike humans, they can have both functional male and female genitalia, which means in majority of cases, a ghoul of any presentation can get pregnant. They get pregnant for about a year and usually give birth to 2-3 kits. Kits are notably smaller than human baby. They're much closer to a chihuahua or a big rat, but they grow very quickly for the first few weeks and within 6 months they're already at the level of a human two-year-old.

Aging

Ghouls do not have a distinct age when they reach adulthood. They reach adulthood "officially" when they go in their first heat, which is when they're around 500 years. However, they function as an adult within a pack after reaching a different milestone - losing their first horns.

Baby ghouls are born without horns. They gain their first horns when they're around 50 years old (a Ghoul equivalent of a pre-teen). They are much more fragile and are a bit like baby teeth for humans. They do, however, show that a young ghoul can now start to learn how to function in a pack. They learn how to hunt, how to fight, all things like this.

Speaking of teeth, ghouls regularly lose some of their teeth and grow new ones. It's not exactly age-related, exactly, but it is worth mentioning.

Heats

Heat period is different for all the kinds of Ghouls. It is the only time period when they are fully capable of impregnating/getting another ghoul (and/or human) pregnant. It's also the only time when ghouls with cocks knot. What's also interesting is that it is possible for multiple ghouls to impregnate the same ghoul/human at the same time, since their reproductive system works differently. They don't exactly ovulate, and instead during heat their womb fills up with a thick, sticky liquid (which gradually spills out as they cum) and the sperm of another ghoul can then swim in it until it finds the ghoul equivalent of egg cells, which they have multiple of just sorta built into little "holes" inside the walls of their wombs (this is a terrible example, but it's a bit like the seeds on a strawberry). And so, if multiple ghouls cum inside a ghoul with a womb, there's a chance for more than one of them to impregnate said ghoul at the same time. This can also happen if (although it's rare) ghoul semen mixes together well enough to become a mix of genetics. Very often, due to how ghoul genetics work, a kit can have multiple biological parents. An example of that is Swiss, who has two biological fathers and a mother.

For Water Ghouls, it's around Spring.

For Fire Ghouls, it's around Summer.

For Air Ghouls, it's around Fall.

For Earth Ghouls, it's around Winter.

For Quintessence Ghouls, there is no specific period, as it all depends on energy flows in Hell.

For Multighouls, heat also varies and it can circulate between the elements they "consist of". For example, a Fire-Water multighoul can have their heat either around summer or around spring. Curiously, Quintessence-multighoul seem to only "inherit" the heat periods from the other elements.

Mates

Ghouls are almost exclusively polyamorous. They usually have a main partner (mate), but it's not uncommon for a pack (not to be confused with tribe) to be a large polycule. They do, however, mate for life, once they have chosen someone to be their mate. A mating bond is the closest to a marriage, but it is a much more spiritual bond than an "official" one. A ghoul can have multiple mates, but there's always one primary mate that they cherish above anyone else. It should, however, be noted, that if a ghoul's mate gets pregnant, they get almost obsessively protective and possessive.

Elements

Speaking of elements, I am a big hater on the ideas of ghouls having "superpowers" such as pyrokinesis or hydrokinesis because it's just stupid, boring and overdone. This is Ghost, not ATLA.

Instead, I believe the elements of ghouls correlate mostly with where they live and their biology. While there is a special, spiritual bond with their element, they have no control over it.

Water ghouls separate into hot and cold water. They have gills and fins on their forearms, calves and on their backs, running down their spines. Their ears are also fin-shaped. Hot water ghouls live closer to the Fire ghouls, near the surface. Cold water ghouls live closer to the bottom of the "ocean" in Hell, closer to the caves Earth Ghouls live in. Cold water ghouls also have slightly bigger eyes that faintly glow in the dark, helping them see in the darkness.

As mentioned already, Earth ghouls live mostly in caves, either underground or in the mountains. They live mostly in the dark, which leads to them being sensitive to light to having relatively poor eyesight in general, especially compared to other ghouls. They have incredibly well developed sense of smell, though. They tend to be rather big. There is also a rather rare subspecies of Earth ghouls, casually referred to as "Surface Earth ghouls" because, as you can probably guess, they live on the surface. They still sleep in caves, but they spend most of their days in the mountains. To prepare for this sort of life, they have evolved goat-like hooves.

In the mountains, you can also find the Air ghouls. They tend to live in whatever high places they can find so they can feel the wind properly. Similarly to Earth ghouls, they have pretty good sense of smell. They also have the best hearing among all the ghouls and are incredibly good at sensing the weather. What's incredibly interesting, however, is that some of them have very serious issues adapting to not being in the mountains of Hell and end up requiring crutches or wheelchairs within a few months after being summoned.

Quintessence ghouls are the most interesting in this regard, since they don't live in one specific area. They are nomads, travelling Hell in search of connection to the Essence/Elements. They're the most spiritual, able to sense energy and very slightly manipulate it to help someone heal faster, which, added to their knowledge of botany and ability to create medicine and them being rather mysterious and mostly keeping to themselves, has lead the other ghouls to assume they have magical abilities while in reality, they're simply in touch with their spirituality. Since they travel almost constantly, they only make nests while in heat.

Can a Ghoul switch elements?

Absolutely! It is a common and fully accepted concept. It's also the closest a ghoul can get to being trans from the human perspective, since they don't really understand gender the way humans do, as mentioned above.

Similarly to how some people don't feel comfortable with the gender they were assigned at birth, some ghouls don't feel in touch with the Element they're born into and that's completely fine! Other Elements very eagerly welcome new ghouls, there's absolutely nothing stopping them.

It does take a few centuries to actually go through the metamorphosis (and it does require a ritual), but the ghouls welcome them as their own the very moment they are told about this. They obviously have certain accommodations until their bodies are prepared to live fully like other ghouls of their chosen element. They will still have bodily characteristics of their original element (like Sodo still has his Water traits), but they'll be useless unless they're a multi-ghoul. For example, a Water-to-Fire ghoul like Sodo can still look like a Water Ghoul, but they will have all the abilities of a Fire Ghoul.

Tribes and packs

Aside from elements (and in case of Water and Earth ghouls, subspecies), ghouls separate into tribes and then smaller packs (families) within the tribes.

Packs are usually lead by one of the oldest ghouls in it (usually grandparents or great grandparents). Said pack leaders form a tribe council, which discusses any issues that might arise. It is important to note that unless there is a need for the council to meet, all packs within a tribe are left to do as they please. A pack can consist of ghouls of different elements and even if they live incredibly far apart, unlike tribes, who live in one specific area. Ghouls from different tribes can very much be a part of the same pack. A ghoul can be a part of multiple packs, but only one tribe.

Similarly to a human family, a pack is primarily a ghoul's biological relatives. It's not uncommon, however, for younger ghouls to find other ghouls to form their own pack with. A pack can be family or just really close friends. At the end of the day, each pack is unique and goes by its own rules.

Laws

Ghouls have only three universal laws. Each tribe and pack can add their own, of course, but there are only three that have to be followed by absolutely every ghoul.

1. Respect consent

While ghouls are creatures who cannibalize each other for fun (it's one of the most common games for kits to nibble on each other and bites little pieces of each other for fun), no ghoul is allowed to touch another without permission, unless it's to defend themselves or those close to them. Ghouls take "no means no" very seriously and are prepared to tear apart anyone who doesn't. This also includes not touching anyone who's not in the right mindset to consent (for example, someone who's drunk/high).

2. No harming kits

While fights between packs, tribes or individual ghouls are to be expected, none of them are allowed to harm a kit. It's as simple as that. And while ghouls believe in eye for an eye, they wouldn't harm children even as revenge.

3. No incest

Goes back to rule one. Incest can never be fully consensual and it's bad for genetics, therefore logically, it has been banned.

Punishment

Of course, with breaking the law comes a punishment. While breaking an individual law is a matter of pack or tribe, breaking the three main laws results in being eaten alive. If a ghoul survives this punishment, they are left in their mangled state for lesser demons to finish them or to simply bleed out.

Religion/Spirituality

While ghouls acknowledge Lucifer as king of Hell, he is not a religious figure for them. Ghouls don't have religious figures in general. They do, however, have a system of beliefs.

Ghouls believe in Essence. Simply put, it's a spiritual elemental energy and their equivalent of a soul. While Water, Fire, Earth and Air ghouls connect to their elements rather easily and don't really seek a deeper connection, Quintessence ghouls are the most spiritual ones and some spend their entire lives connecting to their element to actually transform their Essence into Quintessence, the perfect element. Thanks to this, they are more in touch with their Essence and can help others resonate with theirs more easily.

Pets

Just like humans, ghouls keep pets. It's usually a hell hound (for Quintessence and Fire ghouls), a demonic mole-like creature (Earth ghouls), a hippogryph (Air and Surface Earth ghouls) or any sort of fucked up sea monster (Water ghouls). Usually one ghoul has one pet that they form a very strong bond with until the pet dies.

If, somehow, a pet outlives a ghoul, they are never seen with a new ghoulish companion. Other ghouls respect it and let the animal grieve. They are welcome among the pack and/or tribe, but none of the ghouls try to claim the pet as theirs.

Speech

Ghouls do not have a "humanoid" language. They communicate in what can be described as noises, both animalistic and some rather unique (for example, water ghouls can imitate a "drowning gurgle", fire ghouls can imitate the sound of cracking burning wood and other things like this).

Summoning a ghoul

Despite what some people seem to think, ghouls don't just get pulled out of Hell randomly, shocked and unprepared. In reality, being summoned is also a ghoul's choice, as they go through their own rituals to prepare for that.

Summoning a ghoul is, in reality, merely creating a one-way opening to Hell. It is up to a ghoul to answer it. However, due to the language barrier and how painful the "travel" is, they can act somewhat rabid when first summoned.

After being summoned, a ghoul usually spends a few weeks learning the language of the humans that summoned them (ghouls are incredibly good at copying noises and noticing sound patterns, which is why they're good musicians) as well as human habits. They usually take from one to three months to adapt fully.

During their time adapting, they might speak in weird ways, putting words in the wrong order or speaking with odd, experimental tones (such as Phantom's "where am I going?").

Ghouls Den in the Ministry

Just like living in different regions in Hell, Ghoul's have different places to live depending on their Element, they also have a slightly similar arrangement in the Ministry. The Ghoul's Den is always a separate section of the building (in the LA Ministry, they have a whole wing to themselves). Usually it's the area where boiler room is, seeing as both Fire and Water ghouls seem to find it comforting. And since it's almost always in the basement, Earth ghouls also feel rather happy there. Quintessence ghouls usually take the surface level, sharing it with Surface Earth ghouls, and then Air ghouls take the top floor.

Ghouls and their roles in the Ministry

Aside from playing in the band, ghouls have plenty of potential jobs they can do. Most of the time it's something physical, like carrying stuff around, being a body guard or just assisting the most important people in the Clergy with whatever they need, but they also do other jobs!

Ghouls are natural tinkerers and are very good at repetitive tasks, so they often take over maintenance of different things. And as natural gatherers, they enjoy organizing and counting things, which is why librarians and finance-related jobs are often dominated by ghouls, only a few humans working there to make sure everything's okay (to just oversee them work, mostly).

Some ghouls (mostly Quintessence) also work in Ministry healthcare, using their knowledge of different plants and other forms of medicine they know to help Siblings with their pains and issues.

Many ghouls, especially those more fem alligned (aka ghoulettes), like to work with little ones in the nursery, as well.

~

Written by Jez.

Taglist: @charlie-is-a-menace @copias-fluffy-asscheeks @lunarsromantichomicide @tuttifuckinfruttifriday @calliedion-dungeon @randominstake @nuntia @dio-niisio @mybotanicaldemise @igodownjustlikeholymary @natoncesaid

[tao-lay]

my good fucking gosh, sir

[alectoperdita]

Want to post this fic but stymied by the fact I haven't really edited it yet. 😡🤬

ETA and now I've gone too far in my head and, edited or not, it'll always be trash so why bother?

[dirtylittleroom]

🙃

[david-watts]

feel absolutely miserable and it's not because of my frankly awful sleep schedule

[engoldment]

I want to go wherever I want, whenever I want, meet whoever I want, wear whatever I want.

[brainrotcharacters]

I'm just so happy for Logan honestly he finally found a bitch insane enough to match his freak

[bruciemilf]

HEY GUYS. HEY GUYS I HAVE A SUPER COOL SMART SEXY IDEA. GUYS ARE YOU LISTENING

I don’t know who this man is, I don’t even know if he’s an actor, I don’t know if he’s aware Jason Todd exists, but from here on out, sir, you carry the red hood mantle until further notice. Council dismissed

[ghost-proofbaby]

It's summer for you, winter for me. Warm me up with strawberry fluff! As always, my muse, your muse, the one and only, Eddie.

Midsummer's night, because I don't have a lot to inspire you with. I'm thinking something cute but weird? Maybe some human body softness where Eddie is a bit of a freak and we love him for it. And we're told our bodies are lovely, even when they're doing weird shit.

I lalalove youuuuu. xo Rhi

RHI!!!! <3 i adore you. thank you for this prompt - i had far too many ideas for it, but ended up on settling for this one, which coincidentally feels like the most subtle of them all? either way, it definitely turned out being the softest. give me an eddie munson who just wants to sniff me like a dog. this definitely got a bit long but i hope you enjoy, my dear <3

the smell of you

warnings: weirdos in love? idk. i have a skewed sense of what is actually weird i think. mentions of death and coffins jokingly. eddie 'manhandles' reader sort of. not edited.

wc: 2.2k+

come enjoy a sweet summer treat with me <3

“Eddie?”

The entire apartment is quiet – too quiet – as you drop your keys into the old crystal bowl on the counter. The clink resonates through the air, louder than the soft murmur of the stereo static you can hear from down the hall. 

“You dead?” you call out again, slipping off your running shoes and tossing down your headphones onto the counter as well now, “Do I need to call the coroner?” 

Your tone is lilted, teasing with airiness as you continue to wander deeper into the apartment and head straight for the room you know Eddie has to be in. Like the waves pulled by the moon, there’s an incessant string tied around one end of your soul that connects you to his, and you follow it all the way down the hallway. The bedroom door is wide open, and you can hear his mumbled yell of a response without clarity before you even cross the threshold. 

You wouldn’t have even needed him to verbally respond to find him in this tiny apartment. You two could get separated on the streets of a bustling city, of a buzzing New York sidewalk, and you still wouldn’t properly lose him. It’s more than just soul ties and his gravity that keeps you pulled to him. 

Something unspoken. Something homely. 

“Sorry, what was that?” you hum as you spy him face-down in the bed, pillow muting him by the mouthful, “Say it one more time, and this time not into the pillow.” 

When he finally properly turns over, he’s a vision. Sleep lines folded into his skin and a bit of drool in the corner of his mouth, eyes squinting in irritation not at you but the sunlight flooding in through the bedroom window. Messy hair, messy shirt, messy everything. A kind of mess you just want to collapse into currently, curling up in all that he is from the day’s exhaustion. 

He’d mentioned wanting to take a nap before you’d left for the gym. Something about the summer heat draining him, trailing off as he’d rambled about how he’d probably thrive as a vampire. 

“I said,” he huffs, sitting up, the frizz of his hair becoming a makeshift halo, “If you call the coroner, request the comfiest coffin possible.”

“Why do you need a comfy coffin if you’re already dead?” 

“You dare deny me of being buried in tempurpedic memory foam? In my hour of need?” 

You roll your eyes as you huff out a little laugh, forcing yourself to turn away from him long enough to strip out of your socks. But just as you reach down for the pieces of clothing, you catch sight of the source of that stereo static flooding the room. 

Your shared record player, spinning a blood red pressing of one of your more recent vinyl purchases. The album has been played through, but the player no longer had an automatic stop mechanism, probably from years of use. 

The center of the record is probably scratched, and Eddie knows it, from how sheepish he looks when you glance over your shoulder at him. 

“Speaking of death,” you walk over quickly, purposefully, before carefully lifting the needle and cutting the static finally, “Care to explain why you’re burning scratches into my Momento Mori vinyl?” 

“I’m sorry,” he quickly apologizes, nearly flinging himself off the bed as he scooches quickly to the end, clearly fully awake now, “I put it on and thought I’d just lay down for a quick second, but then the bed was so comfy, and I thought it wouldn’t hurt to take a quick nap, and then…” he trails off, looking up at you through his lashes with big eyes already pleading for forgiveness, “I’ll buy you a new one. Swear it.” 

It’s impossible to be mad at him when he’s looking like this, inhumanely soft and easily forgiven, “You’re lucky you’re cute, or you really would be dead.” 

He doesn’t respond with words, but instead the outstretch of his hands, fingers flexing as he beckons to you. The needle rests on its perch, the vinyl left behind to gather dust for a few extra moments, as you go straight to him. 

When his palms slip beneath your old t-shirt and meet your skin, they’re pleasantly warm. 

“You were right,” you admit as his knees spread, delegating even more room for you to stand in front of him as your hand wanders to cradle the side of his face, fingers tangling in sweaty curls from his rest. Your thumb mimics his on your own skin instinctively, tracing a large arch right up over his cheekbone, “It’s hot as balls outside.” 

“Told you so,” he murmurs, smiling softly in satisfaction as he leans lazily into your touch. 

“You did,” you agree quietly, half-entranced by his relaxed face, no sight of pride in the room currently. 

He resembles a cat as he continues to preen under your gentle hand, and you almost expect him to start purring right before you find the strength to pull away, removing his hands from where they'd wandered to your lower back. 

One swipe of his finger along your sweaty spine, and you’d remembered what your original intentions had been immediately upon getting home. 

“Wai- Where are you going?” he’s seemingly brought back down to Earth the moment he loses the pattern your thumb had been tracing, the press of your fingertips into his scalp. When he reaches back out to latch onto you again, you take a step back, “Get back here-”

“I need to shower,” you laugh, shaking your head and smacking his hands away as he continues to barter, “I’m all sweaty and smelly, let me go clean up and then we can nap togeth-” 

“You can shower after we nap,” he nearly whines, finally catching your shirt between his fingers and tugging, uncaring for if he stretches the fabric. A small price to pay to have you close to him, “C’mon, sweetheart. I know you’re just as exhausted as I am.” 

You swear you meant to take another step backwards, but somehow, you end up back between his knees, “Did you not hear me, Munson? I stink.”

“Good.” 

He doesn’t give you any time to react – in an instant, he’s throwing his face forward, burying it against your stomach as you let out a gasp and immediately try to pry him away with far too gentle of hands in his hair. 

“Eddie!”

If it were anyone else, you’d probably be mortified. But Eddie just takes a dramatic deep breath in, nose buried just shy of your belly button, and when his shoulders start to shake with muted laughter, you can’t stop the smile from breaking. Your fingers are still twisted in his hair, still pulling back in an attempt to get him away from you, but he’s resilient. 

And all your faux resistance is weak in comparison. Soon enough, you’re back to melting into him. 

Only once you’re relaxed once more, no sign of trying to pull away again any time soon as his hands once more evade the space beneath your shirt to wander up and down your sticky skin without a care in the world, does he lift his face away from you long enough to breathe and speak, “I’ll have you know – I love your stink.”

“Shut up.”

“I’m serious.” 

“You’re an idiot.” 

“I’m your idiot.” 

The game of banter is cut short when he goes back to pressing his nose into your clothes that surely can’t smell good. No amount of deodorant or perfume could erase that underlying stench of sweat. Hell, the shirt is still a bit moist from it all: from the walk to the gym, from your workout itself, from the walk home. It’d been through the ringer, and you’re back to tugging him away from you. 

“I refuse to believe you like how gross I smell right now,” you reinforce, eyes darting towards the bathroom connected to your master bedroom, “I promise I’ll be quick with the shower.” 

“Baby,” he fights back, wrapping his arms around you securely, no intention of losing this battle, “You remember that time we went to the fair, and you were complaining about how you were sweating, so I tried to lick your face?” 

Your nose scrunches quickly at the memory, “I do, unfortunately.”

“You really think I’d be willing to lick the sweat off your body but be afraid of you smelling a little bad while we cuddle?” his shoulders drop as he looks up at you, head tilted, almost as if amused with the conversation, “What kind of man do you take me for?” 

“The kind that gets off on annoying me.” 

His jaw drops, putting on a fake look of offense before he dramatically throws himself back onto the bed, laying flat as he makes a fist to mimic stabbing his chest, “You wound me.”

You’ve heard those words a thousand times in a hundred different ridiculous voices. You’ve seen this scene enough to have it mesmerized at this point, down to the over-exaggerated pout of his lips and the lingering of the fist against his sternum. 

You never grow tired of it. You never will. 

“Need me to kiss it better?” you joke as you prop a knee up on the bed, following the same script as always. 

And he hits his queue perfectly when he lifts his head eagerly at the expected response, wiggling his brows a bit. “Absolutely. Doctor’s orders, in fact.” 

“Great,” you see an opportunity, and take it, “I’ll get right to it, after my showe-” 

You don’t even get the final syllable of the word off your tongue before he’s clenching his thighs around your own, knees pressing hard before he wraps his legs the rest of the way around your waist to pull you in. A squeak of surprise leaves your lips as you begin to fall forward, but Eddie is quick to break the fall with ease. Catching you with his eager hands, maneuvering for you to half drop to the mattress while some of you still lands atop of him. 

He has you right where he wants you, turning his head to be face to face with you, noses nearly brushing, “Unfortunately, the doc said you have to kiss it better now, or else you’ll be comfy coffin shopping.” 

“A fatal wound?” you gasp, nearly mocking him. It doesn’t offend him – if anything, his boyish grin only grows wider, “First, I’m smelly-”

“Again, I like when you’re smelly.”

“-And then I inflict a fatal wound upon my lover? Oh, how dare I.”

Slowly, all your insecurity of how you currently smell is simply fading. The entire ordeal has become an art of childlike, whimsical jokes – and Eddie is an artist. A professional at the dance, locked and loaded with his incomparable skill set equipped for disarming you this way. The ability to make someone feel loved, imperfections and weirdness aside. 

He likes you, even when you claim you don’t smell your best. And you like him, even when his hair is tangled beyond recognition and one of his socks is half-hanging off his foot from a nap.

You like him when he’s embarrassing you in public, tongue chasing after you with the threat of licking your sweat away, and he likes you when all you can do in response is a weak palm to his chest (that isn’t even making an effort to push him away) as you giggle relentlessly. 

You like each other on the good days, the bad days, the weird days. 

Disarmed entirely, you don’t even notice when his face conveniently slots itself far too close to your armpit as you two scooch further up into the bed. You’re more occupied with the way your legs tangle up, toeing each other’s socks off properly as he slings a heavy arm across your torso. 

“We’re gonna have to wash the sheets,” you mumble, exhaustion catching up as the two of you finally settle. 

He hums absentmindedly, nuzzling into your skin a bit further as he makes himself comfortable. “And wash away your sweet, sweet stink? I don’t think so, sweetheart.” 

“Oh, fuck off,” you laugh, unbothered as your fingers start to trail up and down his back over the t-shirt, smoothing out wrinkles along the way, “I’m serious. We need to change them soon anyways, I think I got crumbs in the bed the other night with those crackers.” 

“Bury me in the crumbs of all your midnight snacks,” he almost slurs, clearly drifting back off. 

You snort in response, relaxing and letting your own eyes shut. Matching all your deep breaths with his own, a million different last words crossing your mind to whisper to the boy you’re sure is once again asleep. 

I love you.

I adore you. 

I would like to spend the rest of my life with you, if you’ll have me. 

And maybe some of those unspoken thoughts slip out without you realizing, because he squeezes you just a little bit tighter, presses his face just a little bit deeper into your skin as his scruff tickles you. 

The only actual thought you can know for certain that you say, though, is, “Do you think they actually make coffins with memory foam inside?” 

To your surprise, even despite the almost-snores that had been escaping him, he answers in a heartbeat. 

“Oh, definitely. We’ll order two.”

[143htg]

o also im makign a doujin, kinda, rlly slowly.. first two pages, i have the others sketched out, it isn't plot heavy at all i just like cute things (don't believe me it's gonna have so many content warnings, despite being quite short)

[aburningconstellation]

i’m gonna go absolutely feral when i find the first “they didn’t think to build a brig on the eye of sion so sabine has to stay in shin’s quarters & there’s only one bed” fic on ao3

[skitskatdacat63]

"From triumph to failure is but one step."

+ the usual

I love when I can include paper sketches in the process gif. It's very satisfying to see it progress from a very vague imagining of what was in my head to the finished project.

+ version without text

My favorite sketch was definitely the one where I actually put in words what it's supposed to convey. I wouldn't usually write that down, cause it's all in my head, but it was useful to do so when sending it to other people. I'll go into it more but here it is just as a teaser:

Lmao first of all, I like how I was teasing "Spanish GP" art, but as per usual, it's just thinly veiled au art. IM SORRY, I'M NOT INTERESTED IN MAKING GENERAL POSTERS, THAT'S NO FUN! So instead you will get weirdly relevant matador au art. I like it a lot though, I was really shocked I was able to draw 3 different Fernandos, I mean even drawing one figure takes a lot out of me, but this was weirdly easy?? I think it's just the effect of not being burnt out anymore, and actually being able to draw with more ease makes me feel like a god.

Okay, so the text: "Fight or Flight?" I'll be honest, I don't even remember why I chose it, literally came to me in a vision 😭 But I think it's fitting with the narrative of this piece. Is it better to keep going on, keep fighting, or better to finally give up, and flee? Not that I even remotely think he should give up, but I feel like sometimes I can sense him pondering this very question. That was the big fear before he announced that he re-signed. Keep fighting and maybe, just maybe, you'll get the chance to finally go up against the bull again. Or accept it's an uphill battle and the fighting is going to keep getting more and more strenous, and maybe it's time to put down the sword. SORRY THIS IS SO ANGSTY FOR WHAT'S SUPPOSED TO BE "yayyyy home race!!!" Please forgive me <3

I. Renault

At some point, someone pointed out to me that I had drawn all other iterations of matador Fernando with a sword, except for Renault Fernando, and that ended up feeling very poignant to me. In a bull fighting match, they really only pull out the sword at the last minute to deliver the killing blow. So I think it's important to never draw this Fernando with a sword, because it shows the unfailing confidence and stability he has at that point. He only needs to pull out the sword at the end, as a formality almost, there's no reason for him to keep his guard up at all times.

II. Ferrari

Meanwhile this Fernando, he's considering his sword like he hasn't had to in the past. He's checking the sharpness, making sure in advance he can do what needs to be done. He's on guard, he feels like he needs to keep up his defenses at all times because he doesn't have that same amount of trust and stability anymore. He knows though he will be up against the (red) bull, at least that's never in question. At least there's the assurance he'll get the chance to fight.

III. Aston

Oh, Aston Fernando....He doesn't know whether to take up his sword or finally put it down for the last time. While at least Ferrari Fernando knows he's on constant guard against the bull, this Fernando doesn't even have that assurance anymore. He feels like he can never put down the sword, just in case he gets the chance to strike the killing blow on the bull, which feels like it's growing more and more unlikely.

Spanish flag: ? Lmao this was meant to be something to celebrate Fernando's home race and it turned very introspective whoops. Also got the Napoleon quote in there hahaha, can't escape it!! Shame though there is no French gp anymore, if so I'd probably draw an unhinged thing for it :,(

[barb-being-mentally-ill]

Megop week started and we’re kicking off with angst :)

I’ll be brief with explanations, the prompt for today is: Loyalty/ Betrayal, I ran with betrayal. The idea was inspired by the concept that after receiving the matrix Orion isn’t quite in control anymore(does it make sense canonically? Not rly but it makes for a cool shot)

I wanted to portray sudden betrayal and at first thought of the council scene but I wanted to spice it up a bit and ended up with Orion stabbing Megatron, with ghostly hands representing the matrix and the past primes “forcing” his hand

Here’s the lineart, a ver without text and a shitty doodle my friend made while I was sketching it out

[hailsatanacab]

"give me a fandom and a prompt and i'll give you at least five sentences"

Ok then.

Jazz, Danny and Bruce are in the same age range, and Bruce has been harboring a massive crush on 7'foot tall Jazz since just after he began his training journey.

His kids know about and are mercyless. Danny thinks he's a bit of a fruit loop and 100% knows Bruce has a crush on his sister.

Into the future his coworkers find out that batman has been quietly pining after the Ghost Kings sister for years.

Chaos.

love that this reads as a challenge. Ok then. Write it. i will, let's goooo!

(sorry i kinda took it so that Jazz, Danny, and Bruce were all old friends but in that horrible adult way where you can only hang out with each other once in a blue moon when your work schedules miraculously align)

——

"Respectfully, Batman, you can take your "it's not necessary" and you can shove it up your arse. There's a demon the size of a skyscraper heading towards Metropolis and we need reinforcements."

"Superman can—"

"Superman can't. You do remember the part of the report I made telling you this, right? Or did your stubborn little bat brain just shut down when I mentioned magic?"

"Actually," Nightwing interrupts from the side, a shit-eating grin on his face, "I think his brain shut down when you mentioned the Ghost King."

"Nightwing." Batman growls in warning, his jaw clenching so hard Constantine can swear he hears the bones creaking.

Nightwing just snickers, and turns away to press a finger to his ear, no doubt letting the rest of the bat brood in on what's happening here... Whatever that is. All Constantine knows is that Batman is standing between him and fixing this mess for no God-forsaken reason.

Luckily, some of the more reasonable members of the League step in to try and talk some sense into Batman. It gives him some time to calm down.

"Batman. We need him. I know you dislike working with unknowns, but he's our best shot."

It actually looks like Wonder Woman might be getting through to him, Batman even opens his mouth to actually explain some things—a huge step forward for this incredibly emotionally constipated man.

Instead, Nightwing snorts and beats him to it. "Unknowns? More like—"

"Nightwing, please."

"Oh, for Pete's sake, get your head out of your arse and let me do this. The Ghost King is our only hope. I'm summoning him, no matter what you say."

For a long second, Constantine thinks that he'll refuse and he might have to resort to more violent methods of persuasion—which, honestly, Constantine has fantasised about many times during the more boring JL meetings—but eventually, Batman relents and steps out of the way.

"Fine. Nightwing, go check in with Red Robin."

Nightwing has the kind of devious smile that makes John glad he doesn't have kids.

"Oh, don't worry about it, B. Red Robin's coming here. So's Red Hood, I don't need to go anywhere."

"Nightwing—"

"Sh, it's starting." So saying, Nightwing then very obviously ignores Batman's protests with a poker face that even Constantine envies. What he wouldn't give to be able to shut the bat out like that.

The summoning goes quickly, thankfully. The lights flicker, the temperature drops, and the chalk circle erupts in green flames. Standard summoning practices, sure. Even the impromptu appearance of Red Hood and Red Robin—"Did we miss him?", "No, not yet! I got 2:37, what about you guys?"—doesn't throw him off.

It does pique his interest, though. Just what the hell is going on with them? Constantine's weighing up the pros and cons of asking them once all of this is over when the ground splits open and the clawed hand of the Ghost King begins to pull himself out of the ground.

John's a seasoned summoner. It's practically his job, he's done it countless times.

The icey fear that grips his heart, that freezes his breath in his chest, is new.

Pure, unadulterated power floods the area and he feels small, so, so small, like a child playing with things he doesn't understand. When he finally tears his eyes away from the portal, he catches a glimpse of the other magic users in the room, the same horror he feels clear in their faces. Even Captain Marvel stares slackjawed.

The pressure rises, death magic screaming in his ears, almost forcing him to his knees, and suddenly he's not so sure this is a good idea.

Too late to back out now, though.

Sickly green light pours from the crack in the ground, growing brighter and brighter as the giant figure rises, until Constantine has to close his eyes and look away. The last thing he sees are eyes, teeth, horns, a crown so bright that it burns an afterimage into his retinas.

When the light dies down and he opens his eyes again, a humanoid man floats in the centre of the circle. The ground is whole, nothing is burning, the man doesn't even have a crown. Instead, other than the wispy white hair, slightly green skin, and the—you know—floating, the Ghost King appears pretty normal. Huh.

Constantine blinks, rubbing his bleary eyes, and checks around to make sure everyone's okay. Most of the League are doing the same as him, taking fortifying breaths and trying to appear as if they've not just been completely blinded.

Most of them, that is, aside from the Gotham vigilantes.

Batman himself stands upright, arms crossed, looking completely unbothered by the whole thing and John's got to admit, he wishes he could do that, too. That was... a hell of a show.

The others, however, are waving frantically with huge smiles on their faces.

What?

There's a brief, taut silence, as everyone else tries to catch their breath.

As much as he would rather take a bit of a breather, John should probably start making introductions. Unfortunately, he only gets as far as opening his mouth before the Ghost King beats him to it.

"Oh, Ancients, hey guys! It's been forever, how are you? Look at you all, so grown up, wow—Nightwing, buddy, do a flip!"

It doesn't take much to get Nightwing going, and he certainly doesn't leave it at one flip. The whole of the Justice League and Justice League Dark watch with open mouths as Nightwing performs for the Ghost King.

What, and John can't stress this enough, the fuck?

As soon as Nightwing rights himself, Red Hood swats him across the back of the head and calls him a show off.

The Ghost King just laughs as he claps. "There's my little monkey, look at you go! And I'm loving that leather jacket, Hood, is that new? Looks good on you, really your colour. Brings out the red in your helmet."

"Thanks, Uncle D. At least someone around here appreciates fashion."

"Are you kidding me, you know I breathe fashion, need I remind—"

"Need I remind you of the Discowing incident?"

"That was era-appropriate and you know it! Uncle D, tell him it was era-appropriate!"

"It was era-appropriate, but so are crocs and it doesn't make them fashionable." The Ghost King—and holy shit, is this actually the Ghost King? Or did Constantine just accidentally summon a deceased family member, what the fuck is happening here?—turns to look at Red Robin with a smile, resolutely ignorning the argument he created. "How you doing, Double R? You get that tablet Tucker made for you?"

"Yes, thank you! It's so cool, how did he—"

"How's Tucker doing?" Batman interrupts, his hands now hidden underneath his cape.

As soon as the question leaves his lips, everyone groans. Red Robin makes a show of lifting up his wrist and staring at it intently.

"Incredible," Red Hood mutters with a shake of his head.

Even the Ghost King seems put out, rolling his eyes and answering in a flat tone as if he knows Batman isn't interested in what he has to say.

Not for the first time, Constantine feels like he's missing something.

"Tucker's doing very well, thank you for asking."

What follows is the most awkward silence Constantine has ever had the pleasure to be a part of.

All three of the Gotham vigilantes, including the Ghost King, are staring at Batman, waiting for something. Batman's cloak shifts as if he's moving his hands, fidgeting. If Constantine didn't know any better, he'd say he was nervous.

"Good. That's good, I'm glad to hear it."

Instead of saying anything else, the Ghost King just raises his eyebrows and continues to stare at Batman. Has he offended him in some way? Are they all going to die because of this?

After what seems like an agonising few minutes but could only really be a few seconds, Batman's shoulders dip and he takes a breath. "And Jazz?"

They all erupt into shouts, the Ghost King being the loudest. The only thing John can make out is when the Ghost King throws his hand in the air to point at Red Robin with a shout of "Time!"

"1:30.91, we got 1:30.91 on the clock, who's closest?"

"Did you even try to hold it in at all, old man? I'm so disappointed in you. People think you're cool. People think you're suave, I don't understand how they could be so wrong."

"Thank you for that, Hood."

"No, thank you, I won. Again. Because you're so predictable. Actually, I had one minute seventeen, so you held out longer than I thought you would."

Batman pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs loudly.

Constantine feels like doing the same thing.

Whatever. He's going to have to interrupt... whatever this is. There's still a rampaging demon heading their way that they've got to bargain for. He can untangle Batman's personal connection to the Ghost King later. Or he could leave it alone and forget everything about it.

Yeah, he'll do that one.

But before he can actually open his mouth to say anything, the Ghost King, again, beats him to it.

"So, B-Man, did you summon me here for a particular reason, or was it really just so you could ask about Jazz?"

There's a beat of silence before Batman mutters, "I asked about Tucker, too. We've not seen each other in so long, it's only polite."

"And I'm sure you meant it, you're the paragon of manners." The Ghost King nods slow and wide-eyed as if he doesn't believe him at all.

At this point, even Constantine doesn't believe him.

"It has been forever, though." The Ghost King muses, bringing his hand to his chin and folding his legs underneath him. "We should all get together sometime! If you get Alfie to make some of his cookies again, I'll get Clockwork to lend us a pocket dimension where we can spend as much time as we want, deal?"

"It's a deal."

No hesitation at all, incredible.

Hold on. Wait. John has to fight the urge to pinch himself, because this has to be a dream, right? Is Batman actually smiling? He didn't even know he could do that.

An itch niggles at the back of John's mind. He's starting to get an inkling of what's going on here and it's... weird, to say the least.

"Oooh," Nightwing singsongs, like a child in a playground tickled by the very idea of romance.

But then, who's he to judge? John's no stranger to strange bedfellows, that's for sure. Whoever this Jazz is, she must be something incredible—she'd have to be, if Batman can't even go two minutes without asking about her.

"Batman and Jasmine sitting in a tree," Nightwing continues, with both Red Hood and Red Robin joining in for the rest. "K—I—S—S—I—"

"Stop," Batman growls, completely drowned out by the Ghost King's laughter, but...

But.

It all suddenly clicks for John.

The Ghost King Phantom.

Her Royal Highness, Princess Jasmine Phantom.

Jazz.

"Holy shit, mate," John breathes, unable to stop himself as everyone looks his way. "You have the hots for the Princess of the Infinite Realms?"

The Justice League meeting room has never descended into chaos quicker.

[ruvviks]

The Dobrynin family is a corpo family through and through, rooted in Arasaka and Orbital Air going back by several generations; though their powerful position within the corporate world ends with the children of Nadya and Matvey Dobrynin. With Vitali and Daniil fired from Arasaka and Kang Tao respectively— the former indirectly getting his parents fired, too— and Roksana having refused to set foot within a megacorporation from the start, the family begins crumbling apart at the very seams when clashing interests lead to grudges, betrayal, and pointless acts of revenge. ↳ read the unrevised fic here if you're interested!

taglist (opt in/out)

@shellibisshe, @florbelles, @ncytiri, @roseeway, @stars-of-the-heart;

@lestatlioncunt, @katsigian, @radioactiveshitstorm, @estevnys, @adelaidedrubman;

@celticwoman, @rindemption, @carlosoliveiraa, @noirapocalypto, @dickytwister;

@killerspinal, @euryalex, @ri-a-rose, @velocitic, @thedeadthree;

@kanos, @swordcoasts, @ordinarymaine, @claudiawolf, @strafethesesinners

[picklesinabottle]

I think I would blame odysseus less if his reasoning was more "you are the ones who killed the cow when I specifically told you not to" or even "you all literally stabbed me" but it's just. Not that. And I don't think it's supposed to be? Like sure, they could be considered factors in his decision but when it comes down to it, it's really all about penelope