#like mitosis... or something

[alan-without-the-an]

hihi- I'm Athena from @twst-aceofhearts

i'm mainly a writer blog, but i've started this series under #athena natural habitat series :P

here's some reference-

oya - [https://www.tumblr.com/twst-aceofhearts/778813664997392384/shuzul-in-their-natural-habitats-oya-oya-okay?source=share] clove - [https://www.tumblr.com/twst-aceofhearts/783173269028208640/hagijade-in-their-natural-habitat-clovenoko?source=share] syder - [https://www.tumblr.com/twst-aceofhearts/783221729734656000/jamimayu-in-their-natural-habitats-anbaisai?source=share] quartz - [https://www.tumblr.com/twst-aceofhearts/785802888540733440/quartzul-in-their-natural-habitat-quartztwst?source=share]

i wanted to do one of Al (you? dunno how to refer-) and Floyd

i'm here to ask, what animal would Alan/you be?

( ˶°ㅁ°) !!!??!?!?!

HI ATHENA!!! THANK YOU FOR ASKING, THIS IS SUCH A CUTE IDEA DAWWW 💖

This question is really interesting because I haven't really ever thought about any imagery that relates to Alan (the yuusona), so in my head they're just a shrimp like how Yuu typically is.

But!! If they had to be their own unique animal, then I'd say they be a black cat! but like... the opposite of round chubby grim. the kind to look elegant and pretty but act like an absolute menace.

So... either some kind of shrimp or a black cat! I'm fine with either!

[akanemnon]

So THAT'S how they did it! I'm sure that will have no major implications at AAAAALLLLLL...

FIRST - PREVIOUS - NEXT

MASTERPOST (for the full series / FAQ / reference sheets)

[starry-sophrosyne]

This is a rewrite of a specific moment in my original post about the sugar au that spiraled out of control in length into a whole drabble as always lmao- ( ˊ ᵕ ˋ)

For reference:

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( Btw I was inspired to write this bc Pen's drabble of this au, as it introduced to the idea of Brent having an alternate persona for his visits; What originally started out as some Sophist pov/analysis of his situation and King/Brent's effect on his life quickly snowballed into me writing out this whole thing, so everybody say thank you to Pen for unintentionally inspiring me to write this ꉂ(≧▽≦) /hj /nsrs /silly)

(also long ass text warning bc its length spiraled out of control as per usual lmao XD)

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"Call me Eevee." He says, and King, a little shocked at first, gives him a smile and a nod. "Of course."

Silence fills the air afterwards, and while Eevee is still ever-increasingly filled with anxiety, some part of him is satisfied. It feels like his heart has finally, or at least somewhat, settled in his chest. Shuffling back into his seat a little more, he let out a gentle exhale, the relief that followed making him practically melt back into his seat.

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All this time, his whole damn life, he felt like he'd been floundering about, trying to make ends meet. When met met Leo all those years ago, he thought he'd found "a way out". Now, that thought was almost pitiful enough to make him choke out a bitter laugh. What a fucking joke that was. He should've known from the beginning, but his honeyed voice and his hazy eyes had given him promise of a new life, and it did, with all the money, drugs, and drinks you could ever want or need. And sure, it had brought him company too, but it had swept away his identity, his self love, and his ability to see himself beyond the blinding lights and the lens of a film camera. It had warped his reality so much that even when he looked in the mirror, he saw nothing but a pitiful, thrown-around worker, tied up in strings and silk and bruises. The title he held in this community, in Leo's business, it meant nothing, but the price for wearing such a heavy and luxurious crown was the shackles that it came attached to. It was maddening, in the way Leo taunted him, because surely, he knew; he knew that he could never find a way out of this inescapable maze that had become his life. He was stuck in this damned rabbit hole, and in the end, the lust in his work became a way to fill the ever widening gap of self loathing and hatred. He found himself seeking it, and what sweet, sweet lechery it brought him, but even that wasn't enough to quell his self abhorrence.

And then, there was King. A man who had come to him with, ridiculously pure intentions. He was inconceivably handsome and comically dense, and even more so rich. But he was, lost. Lost in the same way he was. The first time they met, King asked him to hang out with him. It made him laugh every time he thought about it; It was the most ridiculous request he'd ever gotten from a client. But King was just as patient as he was blunt, trying to get to know him, and just as much, struggling to understand himself. He could see that much, and on one hand, it was maddening. How could you be given the life that so many people desired, and still be troubled? How could you not know what you wanted in life, if everything was at your fingertips? It made him angry, but on the other hand, it was pitiful, and even more, painfully familiar. Maybe that's why he felt bad, his heart twinging in stinging relatability. It was almost disrespectful, to say that he saw himself in King, but if he hadn't, he would've never taken up his offer in the first place.

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"... Call me Brent."

Eevee practically shoots up in his seat, staring at King, no, Brent with wide eyes. Brent can't help but chuckle softly at his reaction, his face splitting open into a grin again. Eevee swears he can feel his heart rise in his throat, cutting off the airway and blocking off any words that he could possibly form to respond with. Brent reaches forward and rests his hands softly atop of Eevee's, rubbing their knuckles softly. He finds he can't stop himself from smiling, his head dipping down in humility, and when he looks back up into his eyes, Eevee feels his throat close up even more. Brent's eyes are practically shining, looking at him so softly and passionately, like he's some sort of valuable gem. He looks back down as he speaks once more, staring at Eevee's hand with some sort of intent:

"If we're sharing names, then it's only right that I tell you my own."

And with this sort of gentle and oh so delicate reverence, he slips his own fingers under Eevee’s hand, softly wrapping them around the curve of his finger. Raising it up in tender devotion, and for a moment, Brent meets his gaze. Looking back up at him wistfully, the light melting into softness drowning in his brown eyes. A small smile curves upwards at the edges of his lips, just barely. Like a negotiation, like a “You can accept this, if you want.” Brent’s eyes close, before he presses a chaste kiss to his hand, soft and yet firm. He lets it linger, the heat of his lips almost blazing.

It’s soft, and tender, and oh so fragile. Like the universe has stopped for a moment, and a single breath will shatter this delicate equilibrium. He can’t even bring himself to breathe. When Brent looks back up again, his eyes are shining. It is that look, that admirating look, as if he is the only brilliant, shining star in a void of darkness, that finally makes him let out a breath.

Ah. And Eevee thinks he could kiss him, right then and there. His eyes fill with tears that, with one wrong blink, would muddle his glasses foggy. He feels his throat quiver before he even lets out a word, and it takes the squeeze of his barely open mouth shut before he finds his breath again, letting out a soft exhale. He practically shudders while doing so. He could barely breathe with the way his heart had tightened, squeezing his chest. It felt so overwhelming, this sincerity, in the most unconceptual way possible; as if he was peeling away the layers of bruised and marked skin and identity, letting himself be bare and vulnerable in a manner that wasn’t so defiling for once. 

[fisheito]

excuse me blade, sir, drioid,maam, why are u so cute. I demand to know. What's happening to me why can't i stop staring at your adorable helmet with the frosted :D signature screen

[noctilu-uca]

im gonna dump sketches here while I work on the other drawing so umm take tlc + ONE singular melone sorry jjba fandom

[ridiasfangirlings]

People start to wonder where Saruhiko's daughter came from, like, did he give birth to her himself or...?, and then Saruhiko reveals that he found her sitting around when he was sixteen. Saruhiko accidentally-intentionally becomes a teen dad because that kid was not gonna last. Maybe that could be great to keep him going? Maybe one of the reasons he joins Scepter 4 is that, besides his underlying issues, he could give her a better life there?

I’m assuming this is in an AU where it’s not an omegaverse and Fushimi is still a cis male, but even so when he shows up at S4 with this little girl in tow everyone just thinks he must have birthed her out of nowhere himself XD I imagine him finding her maybe a little earlier than when he’s sixteen though, otherwise Yata and Homra would probably have ended up taking some control of her care. Maybe this is like just after Niki dies but before Fushimi and Yata move in together and Fushimi is wandering around when he feels this tug on his shoe. Fushimi looks down and there’s this little girl barely one year old holding onto him, wearing just a diaper and a dirty shirt. She’s really thin and ragged looking and all alone, just staring up at him with these big blue eyes. Fushimi looks around but there’s no adults anywhere around, and when he tries to ask the kid where her parents are she just looks at him in confusion and makes babbling noises. Fushimi considers dropping her off at a police station but it’s not like he trusts any adults, even police, and besides it occurs to him that they might ask why he’s out alone so late too. As much as he complains about this kid clinging to him he doesn’t want to simply leave her there either, and in the end he has no choice but to take her back home with him. He figures it’s just for now, he’ll figure out how to get rid of her in the morning, but somehow despite him constantly telling himself that he keeps watching over her instead. 

In this case I feel like Yata at the very least would have to know about the kid, there’s really not much of a way that Fushimi could get around it especially if he was already planning to move out of his house and Kisa’s planning to sell the place anyway. Yata can’t believe that Saruhiko of all people adopted a kid, Fushimi says he’s just watching her until he finds her parents and he doesn’t want Yata to tell anyone. When they find an apartment maybe it’s slightly larger in this case and Fushimi and the kid have a room separate from Yata, Fushimi says it’s so she can have her own room so he doesn’t have to listen to her cry and can get some sleep but then in practice he ends up sleeping in the room a lot because she won’t stop crying unless he’s there (and the idea of just leaving her to cry until she gets exhausted makes Fushimi feel itchy and on edge, like that’s something that Kisa or Niki would do, and even though he’s adamant that this is not his kid and he is not her dad now he can’t bring himself to be like those two either). 

Yata really thinks they should at least tell Kusanagi about the kid because maybe he could help find her parents but Fushimi tells him not bother Homra with stupid things like this, he can find the kid’s family all on his own. Yata I think would be pretty helpful here even so, he knows how to deal with little kids so imagine he does end up ‘teaching’ Fushimi some parenting basics. Yata likes the kid but he can see that Saruhiko is unexpectedly attached and thinks maybe this is a good thing, Fushimi still seems on edge in Homra and like he���s not fitting in but here’s something that Fushimi is showing an interest in. Yata feels like eventually Fushimi will share the kid’s existence with the rest of them and Homra can help him raise the baby, and if it’s good for making Saruhiko happy then Yata will support that and be the best uncle ever.

Obviously having a kid is an extra expense, and even though Yata swears he can handle paying for the apartment on his own and he doesn’t need Fushimi’s half, really, Fushimi insists that he’ll pay his half and pay for everything for the kid too. In this case I wonder if Fushimi would even stoop to touching his inheritance (presumably he has one, Kisa didn’t need Niki’s money and I could absolutely see Niki leaving anything he has to his little monkey as one last joke), like he doesn’t want to get anything from ‘that man’ but his baby needs food and he has nowhere else to go. Maybe he starts taking odd jobs when he can, but since he’s only sixteen it’s either online coding work or shady in-person stuff. Kusanagi would probably become aware of the latter due to his own contacts and he tries to talk to Fushimi about it, worried that he’s going to get into something he can’t get out of, but Fushimi just rebuffs him.

Then when Munakata recruits Fushimi to S4 maybe this is part of his ‘sales pitch,’ like while he and Fushimi are doing the puzzle in the van Munakata just drops a ‘you’ll be paid of course, enough to support yourself and your dependent.’ Fushimi is immediately on guard because he never mentioned a dependent, Munakata just smiles calmly and says he has his sources and has become aware that Fushimi is working for two, so to speak. Munakata probably also knows whose kid Fushimi’s child is but won’t unseal that record unless Fushimi asks, though should he join S4 he would have full access regardless (also imagine Munakata hinting that he himself is a very dependable uncle and good with children and Fushimi is like I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that). 

Maybe one of the other things that gets Fushimi to decide to leave too is Yata finally breaks his promise and tells Homra about the kid — definitely not maliciously, like say Kusanagi decides to talk to Yata about the dangerous stuff Fushimi’s been doing lately to see if Yata can talk some sense into him. Yata’s really worried that Fushimi’s putting himself in danger and ends up blurting out ‘I told him I’d help pay for the kid.’ Kusanagi is like wait what kid and Yata desperately tries to think of a lie but of course he’s no good at that and eventually has to admit the truth (say while he’s stumbling over a bad lie Mikoto comes over and tells him it’s fine if he wants to say it, if he thinks that’s the right thing to do. Then afterward when Yata’s trying to explain himself to Fushimi he starts talking about Mikoto and Fushimi misunderstands, thinking Yata just told because Mikoto asked him to and not that Yata had already accidentally given it away). When Kusanagi, Totsuka and Mikoto try to gently confront Fushimi about it he gets defensive, on top of him seeing all the Niki hallucinations putting him on edge. All of this piles up to him deciding to go to S4, because he’s angry at Yata for breaking his trust and leaving him, angry at Homra for thinking he can’t take care of someone else on his own, and angry at himself for being just as useless as his own parents that he can’t give this kid a decent life and that he can’t bring himself to give her up even though he knows anyone else would be better at being a parent than him.

[zephyrsobsessions]

Shit I forgot about wip wednesday. Was gonna post but got my ass handed to me by my biomed illustration class lol. I'll post something tomorrow when I get a sec, thanks for everyone who tagged me 💚

[nyarados]

surprised both me and my sister bc how do I know who bokuto is ? 🤔

[jamestitskirk]

star trek tas showing spock as a kid was so good, i want to hug him

[iamthepulta]

Dog sledding in Lustrum is definitely Not a canon thing but I don't fucking care. They do now and when Lizzie's parka hood is down, she has a little musher cap :333

The hotel Morgan booked has a kennel out back to rotate dogs for the teams who take supply runs to the miners. They just had a litter of puppies

[cbeargyu]

the one he waited for

summary: when you’re finally forced to confront the simmering attraction between you and jungwon, your brother’s best friend, the result is unexpected. one late-night encounter, charged with tension, ends up crossing a line neither of you thought you’d dare. what started as a playful game turns into something deeper and more intense, and now there’s no going back.

pairing: jungwon x noona!reader

genre: smut, romance, age-gap, angst, forbidden love, emotional tension.

warnings: age gap (reader 4-5 years older), explicit content, sexual themes, dirty talk, masturbation, first-time sex, light power dynamics, vulnerability, emotional complexity.

wc: 5,3k

notes: heeeeey🩷 these days i’ve been feeling really attacked by jungwon😩 i can’t stop thinking about him, so i thought i’d write a fanfic with this theme because i saw a tiktok where he calls a fan "noona" and plays along with it😶‍🌫️

you met jungwon when he still had milk teeth and scabby knees.

you were in the third year of secondary school, hormonal and vaguely annoyed at the universe, when your little brother sunoo came home one day dragging behind him a skinny, quiet boy with a backpack twice the size of his torso.

“this is jungwon,” sunoo had said, already halfway to his room. “he’s new. his mom knows mom. we’re partners for the science project.”

you barely looked up from your textbook, muttering a polite hello. but he looked at you.

really looked.

his eyes lingered longer than they should’ve for a kid his age, wide and curious and—something else. like he wasn’t just seeing you, but memorizing you.

“hi,” he said softly, his voice still uncertain, his ears already turning pink.

you didn’t think much of it at first. boys were shy around you sometimes — older cousins’ friends, classmates, the occasional awkward neighbor. you thought it was just a phase of growing up. you didn’t realize that for jungwon, it wasn’t a phase. it was the beginning.

he started showing up more often after that. friday afternoons. saturdays. sometimes sundays if their homework was especially hard (or if he just needed an excuse to see your face again).

you'd come out of your room to grab water and find him sitting cross-legged on the living room floor, trying to focus on sunoo's babbling explanation of mitosis while accidentally glancing at you every ten seconds.

he never spoke to you much. when he did, his voice cracked. or he stumbled over his words. once, you asked him if he wanted juice, and he stared at you like you’d just proposed marriage.

“uh—um—y-yeah,” he stammered, hands fumbling with the hem of his hoodie, cheeks flushing deep scarlet. “please. i mean—if—it’s okay—if you’re not—like, busy.”

you almost laughed. but you didn’t.

because something about the way he looked at you made your heart ache a little. it wasn’t gross or inappropriate. it was… earnest. innocent.

like he genuinely thought you were the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

and the thing is — you noticed.

you noticed the way he’d sit up straighter when you entered the room. how his voice would drop an octave and crack embarrassingly. how he’d peek at you from behind sunoo’s head, then quickly look away when you caught him. how his hands would shake a little when you passed him a cup or brushed too close.

you never teased him for it. you never said anything.

because in some quiet, maybe slightly selfish part of your mind… you liked it.

you liked being admired. being seen. being felt that intensely, even if it was from the shy, blushing best friend of your little brother.

he was always respectful. always sweet. he never crossed a line. but his crush on you clung to the air like perfume. soft. warm. obvious.

years passed. you graduated. life got louder. messier. you dated. you worked. you kissed boys who didn’t love you and left

boys who didn’t deserve you.

jungwon grew taller. broader. his face sharpened. his voice deepened. but every time he came over — during holidays, birthdays, random reunions — he still had that same look when he saw you. like his chest couldn’t hold everything he felt at once.

you pretended not to notice.

but god, it was hard.

especially when he started looking at you like he wasn’t thirteen anymore. like he could actually handle everything he felt.

and one night, everything shifted.

you hadn’t heard from sunoo all day.

which wasn’t particularly rare — he was in his second year of university, constantly juggling late-night study sessions and social events, and had recently started going out more with his friends. you figured he was just having one of those wild friday nights. until your phone buzzed at 1:14 a.m.

sunoo [1:14 AM]: noonaaa pls come get us jungwon threw up i’m fine but he’s dead pls don’t tell mom

you sighed, rolled your eyes, grabbed your keys and slipped into the hoodie you always used for midnight emergencies — not that you were ever planning to see anyone during them.

you pulled up in front of a too-bright, too-loud, too-packed house on the edge of campus and texted sunoo to come out.

a few minutes later, the front door opened and there he was — clinging to the arm of someone taller, broader, effortlessly holding him upright. for a second, you didn’t recognize him.

then he looked up.

and there he was.

jungwon.

but not the jungwon you remembered.

this jungwon wasn’t a boy.

he wasn’t wearing baggy jeans and awkward energy and hope in his eyes.

this jungwon was all jawline and collarbone, his black t-shirt clinging to a chest that clearly spent time at the gym. his hair was longer, messier, falling in soft waves over his forehead. his eyes met yours — steady, quiet, focused — and for the first time, he didn’t look away.

he didn’t flinch. didn’t stammer.

he smiled.

“hey,” he said, voice deep and low, still warm but heavier now, mature. “sorry about this.”

you blinked.

that’s your voice? you wanted to ask. that’s how you talk now? that’s how you look at me?

sunoo groaned beside him. “i’m fine, but jungwon had like three shots too many. we tried to leave earlier but he threw up in the bushes.”

jungwon grimaced slightly. “traitor.”

“shut up, you begged me for water and called me ‘hyung.’”

“i was being polite.”

“you’re not polite, you’re pathetic.”

they bickered all the way to the car, sunoo practically collapsing in the back seat while jungwon climbed into the passenger side. you could still smell the alcohol on both of them, but jungwon didn’t reek. he smelled like a faint trace of expensive cologne and something else—soap? mint? you couldn’t place it, but it was… grown-up.

he glanced at you while you drove. quiet at first. but his eyes didn’t stray.

“thanks for coming,” he said after a moment, voice softer. “i told him not to call you.”

you shook your head. “it’s fine. better me than some drunk stranger.”

he chuckled under his breath. “you’ve always saved him. guess you’re still saving me, too.”

your hands tightened a little on the steering wheel. you tried not to look at him. you failed.

“you’re different,” you murmured. “you look…”

“older?” he offered.

you smirked. “yeah. and bigger. like—buffer. you work out?”

“a bit,” he said, smiling like he knew exactly what you were thinking. “i’m doing physical education. planning to specialize in rehabilitation and injury recovery. so, yeah. kind of have to stay in shape.”

you blinked. “you’re studying physio?”

he nodded. “yeah. i like the idea of helping people heal.”

and fuck, that sounded more attractive than it should’ve. something about his voice, his posture — he wasn’t trying to impress you. he was just��being.

“you?” he asked after a pause.

“i’m freelancing right now,” you said, eyes back on the road. “graphic design. branding mostly. and some small business stuff. it’s boring.”

“no it’s not. it’s so you.”

you glanced at him.

he smiled again, but this time it was smaller. less polished. more personal. like it belonged to a memory — of juice in plastic cups and teenage crushes and the way your laugh used to make him drop his pencil.

“you remember a lot for someone who barely talked to me,” you teased.

“i didn’t talk because i knew i’d say something dumb,” he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. “but i watched. a lot. i—used to like you. a lot.”

the air between you cracked. just a little. a thin fissure running through the quiet, letting in something hot and unspoken.

“used to?” you asked softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

jungwon looked at you.

his eyes weren’t shy anymore. they were steady. unwavering. burning.

“no,” he said.

“not used to.”

the living room was still, dimly lit by the glow of the microwave clock from the kitchen. you had tossed extra blankets on the couch for both of them, with sunoo passed out flat and snoring softly on the floor, limbs sprawled like he'd been dropped from the ceiling.

jungwon had taken the couch without protest, pulling a hoodie over his t-shirt and curling into it like he thought it would keep him safe from the memories clinging to your home.

but he couldn’t sleep.

it wasn’t the couch. it wasn’t the faint buzz of the refrigerator or the thin light seeping in from the streetlamps outside.

it was you.

he could still smell your perfume on the blanket you'd handed him. he could still hear your voice from the car — the way you said he’d changed, how you looked at him like maybe you saw it, maybe you noticed it.

he stared at the ceiling for an hour. two.

and then quietly stood, careful not to step on sunoo as he padded toward the hallway.

he didn’t expect to run into you.

not like that.

you were just stepping out of the bathroom, your hand tugging lightly at the knot on your robe. it was short — too short. soft grey cotton, the hem brushing high on your thighs and clinging to your hips like it had something to prove. your hair was down, still slightly damp from a shower, curling a little at the ends. your legs were bare.

he froze.

you blinked, mildly startled, but your eyes flicked down his body before returning to his face, amused.

"couldn't sleep?" you asked, your voice low from sleep but edged with curiosity.

jungwon swallowed, gaze darting once to your thighs before he caught himself.

"yeah. uh—couch's kinda stiff."

"mm," you nodded, stepping past him. he stayed still, hyper-aware of the way your shoulder brushed his chest, the smell of your skin so close he could taste it. “or maybe something else is keeping you up.”

he didn’t answer.

you turned, leaning against the hallway wall, arms crossed — and the movement made the robe ride up even higher. his eyes flicked to the exposed skin, then back up to yours. caught again.

you tilted your head. “jungwon…”

“yeah?” his voice cracked. once.

you smiled slowly, wickedly, like you were enjoying how nervous he looked.

“why do you always look at me like that?”

he tensed. “like what?”

“like i’m the only thing in the room.”

he stared at you, wide-eyed, lips parted, like you’d just spoken the deepest truth of his life. and maybe you had.

“i—i don’t—” he started, then stopped. sighed. “i didn’t mean to.”

“but you do.”

he dropped his gaze.

“you’ve been looking at me like that since you were fourteen,” you said softly, stepping closer. “don’t think i never noticed. the stares. the blushes. the way you used to stop talking mid-sentence if i walked into the room.”

he exhaled shakily. “you… knew?”

“of course i did.” you leaned in a little. “and now, you still do it. except you don’t blush anymore.”

he met your eyes. something flickered there — fear, maybe. frustration.

desire.

“you’re playing with me,” he said quietly.

you smiled, not denying it.

“you’re my brother’s friend, jungwon,” you said, tone playful, like that meant something. “you’re younger. i’m just—curious.”

his jaw tensed.

“is that what i am to you?” he said, voice sharper now, wounded. “just a curiosity? some dumb kid with a crush you can tease?”

you didn’t answer. not immediately.

but he stepped forward — two full strides — until he was right in front of you. taller now. broader. not afraid to get close.

“i’m not a kid anymore.”

his voice had dropped, rough at the edges. his gaze was steady. no hesitation now.

“i’m twenty,” he said. “i’ve lived on my own. i’ve seen things. i’ve felt things. i’m not that shy little boy who got nervous when you bent over to get something from the fridge.”

your breath caught.

“then who are you?” you asked, whispering.

he leaned in, lips brushing your ear as he replied.

“i’m a man who’s wanted you for years.”

goosebumps.

your knees nearly gave out.

he pulled back, watching your face, waiting to see if you’d laugh again — if you’d keep playing.

but you didn’t.

you just stared at him, lips parted, chest rising and falling a little too fast.

“show me,” you murmured.

he didn’t say anything.

he didn’t need to.

you turned without a word and walked to your room, knowing he would follow. his footsteps were quiet but quick behind you, like he was afraid you’d change your mind if he hesitated too long.

the moment you closed the door behind him, he stood still—eyes flickering over the space like it was holy, forbidden. like he was stepping into something he’d only ever imagined.

and you could feel it. the weight of his stare. the breath he held in his lungs.

your robe was still loose. still too short. your skin was warm and dewy from the shower, soft and smelling like lavender soap, and you knew the scent would drive him mad. it already was—he was staring at the curve of your collarbone, the hollow between your breasts, the smoothness of your thighs peeking out from under the edge of the fabric.

“sit,” you whispered.

he sat on the edge of your bed like he was being summoned to a throne.

you stood in front of him. close. close enough that your knees brushed his.

he looked up at you—eyes dark, lips parted, fingers gripping the mattress like he needed to hold on to something real.

“do you still want this?” you asked.

he nodded. fast.

“use your words, jungwon.”

“yes,” he said, voice hoarse. “yes. i want you.”

you climbed into his lap slowly, deliberately, straddling his thighs, your hands on his shoulders. he gasped softly at the contact, at the weight of you, at the way your robe parted slightly, revealing more of your thighs and a glimpse of black lace underneath.

“you’re not a kid anymore,” you whispered, brushing your nose against his. “you’re not just sunoo’s friend.”

he nodded again. “i want to be yours.”

your heart clenched.

you kissed him.

soft at first—just the press of lips, the taste of him, the trembling hesitation of years of longing finally touching skin. but he moaned, low and needy, and his hands flew to your waist, pulling you closer. you felt him hard against you already, pressed between your bodies.

“fuck,” you breathed against his mouth. “you’ve been holding this in a long time, haven’t you?”

“so long,” he whispered. “you have no idea.”

your fingers slid into his hair, tugging, and he gasped again. you kissed down his jaw, to his throat, sucking softly just below his ear, feeling his breath catch against your shoulder.

his hands slipped under your robe, palms hot and desperate against your thighs.

“can i…?” he asked, voice shaking.

“anything,” you said.

he pushed the robe off your shoulders slowly, reverently, like he was unwrapping something sacred. his eyes widened when it slipped down your arms and pooled at your waist, baring your chest to him. his breath caught—completely still for a second—just staring.

“you’re so fucking beautiful,” he whispered.

you smiled, tugging his shirt up and over his head, revealing his lean, toned torso. his skin was golden, smooth, his shoulders broader than you remembered, his body hard from years of growing and becoming.

he wasn’t a boy anymore.

he kissed you again—deeper, hungrier. and when he pulled you down to the bed with him, the last thread of restraint snapped.

your robe came off completely.

he looked at you like you were everything.

and then he worshipped you like it.

“have you…?” you asked, voice barely above a whisper as your fingers trailed down the line of his abs.

he looked at you, cheeks already flushed, lips kiss-bitten and raw. he nodded slowly.

“yeah,” he said, swallowing thickly. “i’ve been with someone. once.”

you raised an eyebrow.

“but it wasn’t like this,” he added quickly, reaching up to touch your face. “it was nothing like this.”

you leaned into his palm. “what was it like?”

he hesitated, then let out a soft laugh. embarrassed. “fast. awkward. i couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

you blinked.

he looked away, like he wasn’t sure he should have said that out loud. “i mean… i used to—fuck, i used to jerk off to the thought of you. all the time. your voice. your thighs. the way you looked at me like you knew i was nervous. it was fucked up, i know. but i couldn’t help it.”

your lips parted.

your stomach clenched.

your thighs pressed together automatically at the confession, at the heat in his voice, the hunger. the honesty.

“how many times?” you whispered, voice low against his jaw.

he groaned. “so many. i’d get home from hanging out with sunoo and lock myself in my room. sometimes i couldn’t even make it through dinner.”

you let out a soft, breathy laugh. “god, jungwon…”

“i want to make it good for you,” he said then, serious again. “i want to make you feel everything. like you deserve.”

you kissed him before he could say anything else. kissed him hard. slow. deep. your tongue dragging over his, sucking softly on his bottom lip.

“show me,” you murmured against his mouth. “you’ve waited so long. show me how much.”

his hands shook slightly as he slid down between your legs, kissing down your throat, your collarbones, between your breasts, taking his time. his breath was warm against your skin. reverent. worshipful.

“you smell like heaven,” he murmured, nosing against your stomach. “like soap and heat and you.”

you arched up for him, and he pulled your panties down slowly, dragging them down your legs, eyes fixed on your pussy like it was something sacred.

“fuck,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “you’re soaked.”

his fingers ghosted over your folds, trembling.

you caught his wrist gently, eyes on his. “you can touch me, jungwon. it’s okay. you’re allowed now.”

that seemed to snap something inside him. his mouth was on you seconds later, licking into you like he needed it to live. he groaned when you gasped, when you tangled your fingers in his hair and cried out his name.

he was eager. hungry. desperate to please.

and when you finally pulled him up, breathless, your thighs shaking, he looked at you like he was about to break.

“please,” he whispered. “please let me fuck you.”

you nodded. pulled him down. reached between you both and helped guide him to your entrance, feeling the weight of him—thick, hard, pulsing.

he slid in slow.

inch by inch.

his breath was ragged. yours was gone entirely.

you both gasped at the stretch, the warmth, the way your bodies fit like they’d been waiting all this time to do this.

he buried his face in your neck, panting, whispering your name over and over like a prayer.

“so tight,” he groaned. “so fucking wet. fuck—i’m not gonna last if you keep clenching like that.”

you moaned at his honesty, at the way his voice cracked, at the rawness in his tone. he started to move, slow at first, dragging his hips back and then forward again, pushing deep, grinding into you.

it was good. better than you expected. it wasn’t just sex—it was years of longing, of wanting, of watching each other from opposite sides of a line neither of you had dared to cross.

until now.

“you feel like everything,” he whispered, fucking into you harder now, deeper. “i dreamed about this. every night. every fucking night.”

“then don’t stop,” you gasped, wrapping your legs around his waist, pulling him in deeper. “fuck me like you’ve waited for it.”

and he did.

he fucked you with devotion, with hunger, with shaking hands and eyes wide open so he wouldn’t miss a single expression on your face. something dark, something feral flickered in his gaze.

and just like that, the fear in his shoulders melted, replaced by heat.

he kissed you again, harder now, and without pulling out, he rolled you on top of him, hands gripping your thighs.

“ride me,” he whispered, voice low and broken. “please. i need to see you.”

you slid up slowly, his cock dragging along your walls, then sank back down, making both of you moan.

“fuck,” he gasped, fingers digging into your hips. “you feel—so fucking good. fuck—fuck—please don’t stop.”

you moved above him in reverse cowgirl, hands on his thighs for support as you rode him slow at first, then faster when you felt his cock twitch again inside. he sat up, chest against your back, mouth on your neck, groaning your name like it was a spell.

“you’re so fucking hot like this,” he muttered, his hands gripping your ass, spreading you open so he could watch his cock slide in and out. “i dreamed about this. every fucking day.”

when you started to clench again, he lay you on your stomach gently, pulling your hips up, and slid into you from behind—deeper, harder.

doggie style hit different with jungwon.

he was more confident now, more vocal, panting above you, whispering how tight you were, how wet, how you were making him lose his mind.

you pushed your ass back on him greedily, and he groaned, one hand gripping your waist, the other on your shoulder to keep you steady as he fucked you harder.

“you like this?” he rasped, pounding into you. “you like being fucked like this? like you’re mine?”

you moaned something between yes and his name, your voice breaking with every thrust.

he leaned down, his chest against your back again, fucking you hard and deep.

“you’re mine now,” he whispered against your ear. “you’re not gonna fuck anyone else after this, right?”

“no,” you gasped. “just you. only you, jungwon.”

and then, after you both came again, shaking and breathless, he didn’t stop.

he took you in missionary one last time—slow, deep, eyes on yours the entire time, his forehead resting against yours as he kissed you between moans, whispering how beautiful you looked, how long he’d waited to love you like this.

“you’re everything,” he whispered, voice cracking as he pushed in deep one last time. “you’re everything i’ve ever wanted.”

he stilled with a broken gasp, arms trembling around your body as his hips jerked forward one final time, deeper than before, his breath hot against your neck. the way he moaned your name—desperate, shaky, reverent—sent a shiver through you that tangled with the warmth blooming low in your stomach.

you felt it when he came.

thick, pulsing inside you, filling you up so suddenly that his whole body tensed, and for a second he looked stricken—terrified even—his lips brushing against your ear as he whispered, "shit, i—i came inside. i didn’t mean to. fuck—"

your fingers combed through his hair gently, trying to calm the frantic rhythm of his breathing. you tilted your head to look at him, his flushed cheeks, his wide, guilty eyes.

"it’s okay. i’m on the pill. i’ve been on it for years." you murmured, your voice soft but sure.

he blinked at you, his brows furrowing. “really?”

you nodded, your thumb tracing his cheekbone, then the corner of his parted lips. “yeah. you’re fine, baby. you don’t have to panic.”

his shoulders slowly relaxed, and something shifted behind his eyes—like he was letting himself believe it was real. that this wasn’t a mistake. that you wanted him just as much.

then he kissed you again—slow, deep, grateful—still buried inside you, still catching his breath.

you didn’t move. neither of you did.

just stayed tangled like that, in your sheets, in your skin, in something that felt too big to name yet too fragile to let go of.

“i’m sorry,” he whispered after a pause. “i wanted to last longer. i thought i would.”

you smiled, brushing his damp hair back from his forehead.

“you did better than i expected,” you teased, lips grazing his jaw. “besides… we’re not done unless you are.”

he looked at you, eyes dark and hungry again.

“i’m not done.”

you didn’t know how long you stayed like that, bodies pressed together, chests rising and falling in sync. his heartbeat was still racing beneath your palm, but it had softened now—steady, grounded. there was something so beautifully boyish in the way he clung to you even after, like he couldn’t believe he got to touch you like this. like you might disappear if he let go.

“you’re warm,” he mumbled sleepily against your collarbone.

you smiled, your hand sliding slowly down his back. “you wore yourself out.”

“i didn’t think…” he trailed off, his lips grazing your skin again. “i didn’t think it would feel like that.”

“like what?”

he pulled back just enough to meet your eyes. “like i belonged to you.”

your breath caught.

you didn’t answer right away. you just cupped his jaw, kissed him soft and deep, like a thank you and a promise rolled into one.

his hand brushed your side, then your thigh. tentative. reverent.

you felt him growing hard again, slow and unhurried, pressing against your hip with the same nervous need that had always burned quietly behind his eyes.

but there was no rush this time.

just heat, and quiet hunger, and the kind of tension that settles deep in your bones.

you shifted slightly, tilting your hips as you reached between you and wrapped your fingers around him, making him gasp softly against your mouth. his hips jerked into your palm, and he whined—high, breathy, desperate.

"you’re still so sensitive," you whispered, teasing your thumb over the head, slick and flushed.

he nodded, eyes fluttering shut. “but i want you again… i want to make you feel good.”

“you already did.”

“not enough.”

his voice cracked on the last word, and that was all it took.

you rolled him onto his back slowly, straddling his hips, your movements smooth and sure as you lined him up again. his hands gripped your thighs like he didn’t know where to touch first, overwhelmed, eyes wide and starry as you sank down onto him with a quiet moan.

he was deeper like this.

closer.

“fuck,” he choked, watching you like he was in awe, like he couldn’t believe this was real.

you rode him slowly at first, your hands on his chest, grounding yourself in the rise and fall of his breath. his mouth dropped open, fingers digging into your waist as he tried to hold back.

but you could tell he was unraveling.

every time you circled your hips, every roll forward, every clench around him made him twitch inside you, made him moan through gritted teeth.

"you’re doing so well," you murmured, leaning down to kiss his lips, his jaw, the hollow of his throat. “look at you. fucking me so good…”

he whimpered, bucking up into you.

“tell me you’re mine,” you whispered, lips brushing his ear.

“i’m yours,” he groaned, like it hurt. “i’ve always been yours.”

you shifted your angle, riding him harder now, chasing your own release as his hands scrambled to grab your ass, pulling you down with every thrust.

“i can’t—fuck—i’m gonna cum again—”

and when he came again—louder this time, broken and raw, with your name falling from his lips like a confession—you let go with him, your walls tightening around him, pulling him deeper until neither of you could breathe.

you collapsed against his chest, trembling, kissed his sweat-slick skin as his arms curled around you.

he held you like you were his.

because in some quiet, undeniable way—you were.

sunoo wakes up with a throbbing headache and the taste of cheap vodka in his mouth.

he groans dramatically, rolls over, and nearly falls off the couch. “i’m never drinking again,” he mumbles, as he always does, before drinking again next weekend.

after peeing for what feels like an eternity, he shuffles out into the hallway—barefoot, hoodie halfway on, hair looking like he fought a raccoon and lost.

and then he hears it.

a door creaking shut.

your door.

his eyes narrow.

he walks to the kitchen. there’s a coffee mug on the counter. another one in the sink. two mugs. okay. maybe you just wanted a second cup.

he turns around.

jungwon walks in, freshly showered, wearing one of your oversized t-shirts that says “girlboss energy” on the front.

sunoo blinks.

jungwon blinks back.

“morning,” jungwon says, casual. too casual. the shirt hangs halfway down his thighs like a nightgown and he has the audacity to stretch — arms over his head, shirt lifting just enough to show hip bone.

sunoo stares.

“...is that my sister’s shirt?”

jungwon pauses. “uh. laundry emergency?”

“we were only here for eight hours, what did you—never mind.” sunoo rubs his temples. “why do you smell like her shampoo?”

jungwon opens his mouth. closes it. shrugs.

“you two didn’t—” sunoo cuts himself off. “wait.”

his eyes go wide.

jungwon picks up a banana and starts peeling it like it’s the most natural thing in the world. “you want some eggs?”

“don’t change the subject!” sunoo screeches, pointing an accusatory finger. “did you fuck my sister?!”

jungwon freezes. the banana droops sadly in his hand.

then, very quietly, he says: “define ‘fuck’.”

sunoo screams.

sunoo sits at the kitchen table, staring at the two of you like you’re both guilty of murder. well, not just murder—incestuous murder.

you and jungwon are trying to act as normal as possible, but neither of you are fooling him for a second.

you’re stirring your coffee like it’s the most casual thing in the world, and jungwon’s sitting there, still wearing your t-shirt and acting like this is just any ordinary morning.

“so,” sunoo starts slowly, trying to piece everything together like it’s a bad detective show. “you two didn’t—you know...”

you raise an eyebrow at him, innocently. “didn’t what?”

“You didn’t,” he waves his hand dramatically, “kiss or… touch… or—anything?”

you pause for a second, and then you smile. a sweet, innocent smile that screams “i know what you’re thinking but i’m not going to confirm it.”

“sunoo,” you say calmly, “that’s not what happened.”

jungwon chimes in, voice a little too smooth. “yeah, we were just—uh, talking. you know. bonding over childhood memories and stuff.”

“memories, huh?” sunoo squints suspiciously. “so that’s what you’re calling it now?”

“uh, yeah?” jungwon looks way too casual about this. “like how you and i used to play video games when we were little?”

sunoo shakes his head. “but you—you're wearing her shirt.”

“well, the other option was wearing your dirty laundry,” jungwon smirks. “you really want that?”

sunoo looks horrified. “okay, no. no. i’m done with you two. this is too much.”

but then, you—ever the calm, collected one—lean forward and say in that smooth voice of yours, “sunoo, it was an accident.”

jungwon nods. “accident. i slipped… into your sister’s bed.”

sunoo, completely done with everything, slowly places his face into his hands. “god, i’m going to need therapy after this.”

you grin, leaning back in your chair with a teasing glint in your eye. “don’t worry. we won’t make it a habit.”

jungwon’s eyes widen in panic. “wait—no, i—”

“too late, jungwon,” you tease, crossing your arms. “your secret’s safe with me... for now.”

sunoo’s head jerks up, horrified. “you two are going to keep doing this?!”

you and jungwon exchange a glance, smirking.

“maybe,” you reply, a sly smile playing at your lips. “depends on how you feel about getting a new roommate.”

sunoo glares. “this is not happening.”

and just like that, you both vanish into the living room, leaving sunoo alone to spiral into a panic attack while jungwon pretends he’s completely unaware of the emotional damage he’s causing.

the sound of sunoo yelling from the kitchen echoes for a while.

but you and jungwon? you just laugh and relax. it’s been a long night, but the chaos has only just begun.

[france-unofficial]

theres more brazils now

friend has an end

best friend has an end

gender has an end

end has an end

but you know what doesnt have an end

egg

[neon-nick]

Mitosis AU – Doey the Doughman’s Fragmented Remains

"They were once one, but now… they are apart."

Doey the Doughman, the once beloved protector of Safe Haven, was never truly whole. He was made of three—Jack, Kevin, and Matthew—each a child with their own unique personality, ripped from their lives and fused into something greater… and more tragic.

But after his demise, something unexpected happened: they split apart. No longer bound together, each fragment of Doey was left to wander, confused, broken, and incomplete.

The Fragments

💛 Jack (Yellow) – The innocent child, lost and afraid. A remnant of a boy who never should have been taken. 🧡 Matthew (Orange) – The leader who always tried to hold everything together. But now, without the others, he's unsure of himself. ❤️ Kevin (Red) – The mind, the one who fought, thought, resisted, aggression in him like a storm.

Aftermath of Mitosis

When the main body was destroyed, the essence of the children separated, forming new beings:

Joey – Silent, distant, clinging to what little remains of his past.

Moey – The closest thing to stability, but even he feels something missing.

Koey – The angriest of them all, fists clenched.

They remember something. But they are no longer one.

[jellyfishsthings]

The Equation of Distraction

navigation , dc navigation

WARNINGS: none really

requests are open

dividers by @cafekitsune

Dick Grayson wasn’t used to competing for attention. Not in the way that actually mattered.

Sure, in the field, he competed with Bruce for control. With Jason, for who could kick in a door with more dramatic flair. With Damian, for sheer stubbornness. But when it came to relationships—real ones, ones with something soft and sacred curled at the center—he had always been attentive. Loving. Present.

So how the hell did he find himself third-wheeling to his own girlfriend, Tim, and a whiteboard full of integrals?

"Okay, stop. Stop right there," you said, stepping between Tim and the tangle of numbers he’d just scrawled. You were wearing one of Dick’s old hoodies, hair twisted into a bun, marker ink on your fingertips.

Tim leaned forward, eyebrows furrowed behind his glasses. "What? That’s the limit of the function as x approaches negative infinity."

"It should be," you said, tapping the board, "but this entire partial fraction decomposition is botched. You factored wrong."

Tim blinked. “I did?”

Dick, sprawled on the living room couch and pretending to read a book, smirked to himself. “Rookie mistake.”

You didn’t look away from the whiteboard. “Grayson, don’t snipe from the peanut gallery unless you want to solve this integral by hand.”

Dick shut his mouth.

Tim looked victorious. Dick glared.

The first time you met the family, you accidentally corrected Bruce on a quantum theory reference.

He had blinked at you.

You had flushed.

Alfred had smiled very faintly into his tea.

Dick, meanwhile, had fallen in love a little harder.

You were brilliant. Not just brilliant, but terrifyingly multidisciplinary brilliant. You knew literature and physics and evolutionary biology, and spoke with the unshakeable confidence of someone who had once gotten into an argument with a professor and emerged victorious.

You didn’t brag. You were just curious. A sponge for information. You asked questions and listened to the answers. And somehow, in a household full of detective minds and vigilante instincts, you were still the smartest person in the room.

So when Tim, swamped with his joint MIT-Gotham U coursework, mentioned offhandedly that he was struggling with differential equations, you offered to help.

Dick hadn’t realized what a tactical error that would be.

Then came Damian.

The kid walked in on one tutoring session, glanced at the diagrams you were sketching, and said, “That’s wrong.”

You turned, brow arched. “Excuse me?”

"The mitosis illustration. You’re using a generalized mammalian model. That isn’t accurate for marsupial chromosomes."

You blinked once. Slowly. “Are you studying marsupial mitosis in school right now?”

Damian scowled. "No. I already completed the human unit. I'm reading ahead."

Tim didn’t even look up. “He’s trying to skip grades again.”

You tapped your pen against the diagram, thinking. Then you shifted a few lines, adjusted a chromatid angle, and said, “There. Better?”

Damian squinted. “Acceptable.”

And that was that.

He joined the study sessions.

Suddenly, Dick’s evenings with you turned into academic triage.

Tim asked about imaginary numbers. Damian demanded enzyme pathways. You, looking entirely unbothered, juggled both while sipping lukewarm tea and wearing your glasses slightly crooked.

It was like watching a goddess of learning hold court.

And Dick? Dick got to sit there, watching you solve everyone else’s problems, while his half-written texts and longing stares went unanswered.

He tried not to pout.

It didn’t work.

The next Friday, Dick walked into the manor living room with takeout and three movies tucked under his arm. He had plans. Cozy night. Cuddles. Maybe make-out session #437.

Instead?

He found you, Tim, and Damian on the floor, surrounded by papers. You had a biology model of a nephron drawn across two pieces of poster board.

Dick stared.

You looked up. "Hey, love. You want to quiz Damian on the loop of Henle while I explain countercurrent multiplication?"

He dropped the takeout. "Absolutely not."

You blinked.

Tim smirked. Damian looked smug.

Dick folded his arms. “Babe, I love you. But I am not quizzing a fourteen-year-old on renal function on a Friday night.”

"Fifteen," Damian muttered.

You smiled sweetly. "We’ll be done soon. I promise."

Dick sulked off into the kitchen.

Alfred found him twenty minutes later, brooding into a cup of tea.

"Something the matter, Master Richard?"

Dick sighed. "She's supposed to be my girlfriend, not the tutor of every prodigy in this house."

Alfred didn’t flinch. "You are, perhaps, experiencing what Master Timothy and Master Damian have often felt about you."

Dick blinked. "What?"

"You have a history of... commanding attention."

Dick opened his mouth. Closed it. "Damn it."

Alfred handed him a second cup. "Jealousy, in moderation, is a sign of attachment. I suggest you redirect it.”

Dick took a breath. Sipped. Nodded.

Then promptly marched back into the living room.

"Alright, nerds. Move over."

You glanced up, amused. "Joining us after all?"

He plopped down beside you, tugging you into his lap. “No, I’m kidnapping my girlfriend."

Tim: “Rude.”

Damian: “Good riddance.”

Dick ignored them. Nuzzled into your neck. "Tell the mitochondria to wait."

You laughed. Warm and real. "That was biology. We're doing organ systems now."

"Whatever it is, it can survive without you for one hour."

You looked at him, eyes soft. "Are you jealous, Nightwing?"

"Me? Jealous? Never. Just asserting my dibs."

Tim made a gagging noise. Damian threw a pen.

You kissed him.

The study session ended shortly after.

And if Dick helped grade practice tests with glitter pens the next day just to feel useful? Well. No one had the heart to mention it.

Not even Tim.

(Okay, Tim did take a picture. But he sent it only to Kon, and Dick pretended not to notice.)

Eventually, things settled.

Tutoring became once a week. You started leaving time just for Dick. You told him how much you loved his patience, how good he was with his family, how your favorite part of the week was still movie night with him.

You even let him teach you something, once—acrobatics, on the mats in the cave. You fell on your ass laughing, legs tangled with his, and kissed him like you didn’t need textbooks to understand what you had.

And for once, Dick Grayson didn’t mind not being the smartest person in the room.

Not when he got to be yours.

[akanemnon]

Hey Akanemnon! I can't quite say for sure but I'm fairly certain one of your comics DID get referenced in chapter 4

If you've gotten to the candy bowl, you can get susie, ralsei AND kris to basically do this. Is it a coincidence? Probably. Is it still kinda cool? I think so.

Nah, I HIGHLY doubt that this scene in the game was a reference to a very random drawing.

For one, it's simply both in Susie and Kris' character to eat stuff off the floor. And for the other, it makes more sense to reference something that's way more easily recognized AS a reference. Like the Among Us reference in Chapter 4.

I'd say IF they ever reference something (which they won't), it would certainly be a running gag in the main comic itself. Like mitosis. Because that's WAY more specific and recognizable.

[cerastes]

There must have been some sort of situation where some Rhodes Island personnel don't know about Doctor and Amiya's parent-daughter relationship and thought something funny was going on seeing them interact.

Imagine your pretty serious and professional 14 year old CEO giving a serious and rousing speech followed by, in the corner of your eye, her jumping into Doc's arms all happy and giddy because they nailed it. You don't know them. That's weird. That Doc person is just a walking hood. That's weird. You start paying more attention, and realize a lot of the people that hang around this hooded mystery are straight up assassins, you got Phantom, you got Schwarz, you got Manticore, you got Platinum, you got Gravel, these are all people a bit too well versed in the art of manslaughter. You finally catch a glimpse of the hooded freak without any given distinct master assassin and instead their bodyguard is this top wanted woman you've one hundred percent heard about, that mercenary they call the Walking Apocalypse, long white hair, red eyes, massive sword, it all checks out, and apparently she has the wondrous ability of mitosis because there's two of them and one wield a gigantic buzzsaw. You've never seen someone with so much living firepower by their side. Are they extorting the CEO? Are they the true mastermind? Even the staunch Kal'tsit seems to be helpless besides her barbs towards this hooded enigma!

Then she's like "Doctor I got ice cream let's go for a walk I want to tell you about the latest Sesame Street :)!" and you're like ohhhhhh ohhhhhh that's their parent ok ok ok doesn't explain the excess of hired killers and/or maniacs and/or biological superweapons but they are cool with each other ok yay <3