//

Calling all my mooties who rp as ocs or just post abt ocs!!!

I wanna draw y’all’s ocs!! If you’re interested, you can comment, ask or dm me with references so I know how to draw them!!

@kayundae, @creature-lala, @mythical-victim, @dividedbybinaries, @soulllest-main, @theoneandonlyscaregoon+ anyone else I forgot or is interested

We don’t even have to be mooties, (though we can become mooties if ya want hehe) just lmk if you’re interested :)

//some drawings and a doodle page of Mari for ref <3

HAIII HAI HAI HAI. I just came up with something cool.

What if your muse had those Arkham style game over screens? What’d they say?

(Yes this is a tag game I just don’t know how to communicate that.)

@askd0ctorjcrane @twosidesof-thesamecoin @gothamsmusicmaster @j0kers-gamb1t

[If protagonist is Batman]

"Well, I'd expected better. Real shame."

"You had me all excited for this fight, just to die? Definition of anticlimactic."

[Other player]

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

"I had hoped you were stronger, too. I'm sorry."

i hate my oc evidently but i liked this idea

@crowsinthecornfield @detective-adler-on-the-case @questionquery @prettydollsparlor @mr-uranium @theonionkingreigns @arkhams-knighted

// Ty for the tag!!! 💕

[if it’s Batman] Option 1: Looks like you’re getting rusty, B. What a shame.

Option 2: You’re not allowed to die, Agent A said so. Get up.

Option 3: Didn’t expect you to be crowfood so soon. Getting sloppy, B.

Option 4: Reckless as always, finally caught up to you, hm?

[if it’s anyone else. Option 1: I never miss a mark

Option 2: The crows see all, your sins are no different. Say hello to the devil for me

Option 3: Mission complete

@red-robins719, @alfr3d-dabuttler-offical, @theoneandonlyscaregoon, @kayundae (I feel like Remy would have some banger lines)

Batman:

“The boss was right, you really are just as pathetic as the rest of them.”

“Dying on me before we’ve even gotten started? *sigh* What a waste of a wonderful test subject.”

“And people call you ‘Fear itself?’ Oh please, you’re nothing compared to real fear.”

“Aw what’s this? Big bad Batman lying dead at my feet? *giggly laughter*”

Any characters:

“I can’t wait to autopsy you!”

“Dump in the harbor… feed to the rats… acid… so many good choices on how to get rid of you.”

“Boss is going to be happy with this catch.”

“I thought you vigilante types were supposed to be tough. Shame.”

“Aw, you got blood all over my jacket! Rude.”

RP STARTER FOR @yasmina-todd-retireddeadgirl

Merrymaker was a skilled hunter. They learned from the best, after all. They knew how to pick out the perfect subject from a crowd: recognize patterns of speaking, tics and fidgets, and little habits that later gave way to unique results. They knew how to stalk the unwilling participant: hide in shadow, follow far behind, keep out of their line of sight, and convince your more tech-savvy friend to find their information online. And they knew how to capture a guinea pig, the simplest step of all: sedative or knock to the head, bag, and van— not necessarily in that order— before finally getting them strapped to an exam table.

Merrymaker stared out their tinted window of their beaten white van. The subject had been in the smoke shop for a good twenty minutes, and they were getting bored. He was a middle-aged man, perfectly unassuming to the untrained eye, but he had all the makings of a perfect little lab rat. He had a habit of glancing around and tugging on his collar. Sweat condensed on his forehead, even in the chilly Gotham air. He stammered over his words and tripped over his feet. Anxious. Fearful. Perfect.

Darkness had fallen hours earlier, but Gotham was as alive as ever. Even Crime Alley was bustling. Maybe it was remaining holiday cheer. Maybe it was Friday-night festivities. Whatever it was, it made Merrymaker’s job harder. They sighed as a flock of crows took off from the rooftops. Their eyes followed the movement, only to spot a flash of red.

A helmet. A bright, shiny red helmet. They should’ve never come to Crime Alley. Screw the subject, they could find a new one somewhere where the vigilantes wouldn’t shoot out their kneecaps. They shifted the van into reverse, about to pull away from the curb.

Tonight was a busy night. Friday night parties, friends about to leave and having deinks before it, people not wanting to admit the holidays are over. Busy nights for civilians mean less crime, slightly, but more drunk idiots that Hood would have to make sure don't get mugged—or worse.

Speaking of "or worse"....Beat-up white van, windowless backside, front windows tinted to shit and back? RH had been tracking the van since it came into the Alley. This was her kingdom, after all. Hood timed her movement across the rooftops with a flock of crows, trying to get a better view of the driver, but clearly didn't time it well enough. She saw the van shift as the driver changed gears, stopping to watch and wait, seeing where the van would be going.

Hood moved quickly, blink-stepping down to the street and falling into a roll immediately, ending her movement underneath the van, grabbing onto the bottomside of the vehicle, all in the span of a few seconds.

The van thumped and tilted slightly with the landing.

“Shit,” Mariyah hissed as they turned a corner. They’d been boarded. That was bad, real bad. What would Jonathan do? Well, he wouldn’t be such an idiot to get caught in the first place. However, Jonathan was the type to take everyone down with him.

A bomb? They had enough to make something that could level the block. No, there was no way they’d survive that. Drive into the harbor, then? They contemplated it. It wasn’t guaranteed to take out their passenger, but it would destroy most of the evidence in the van. The notebook, though, it was full of Jonathan’s notes. What a waste it would be to throw it in the ocean.

They were running out of time, the intruder would be in any moment.

They glanced at the shotgun in the passenger seat. Taking hostages never worked when dealing with vigilantes. Fuck. Mariyah looked in the rear view mirror, the tanks they were transporting catching their eye. They didn’t like wasting fresh toxin, but if it meant getting away with the notes intact…

Hotboxing fear toxin it would have to be.

RP STARTER FOR @zeke-in-gotham

Mariyah had gotten into the habit of stopping by Ant’s on their way home from the clinic. They’d started taking the detour to get rid of any leftovers from the day’s experiments, but the donation drop-offs had morphed into checkups with Maeve’s arrival. The extended visits in the evening meant Mariyah was always quite hungry by the time they made it home, so they began to raid Ant’s kitchen regularly.

Currently, Mariyah was eating a cold sandwich they found in the fridge. The meat tasted like something the Martja might’ve made and the bread was a bit stale, but stealers can’t be chosers. The door’s hinges let out a painful screech. Mariyah didn’t glance up from their notebook, it was probably just Ant gearing up to chastise them for stealing his food.

When no sound came from the intruder, Mariyah finally glanced up, only to be met by a strange man. They dropped the sandwich and reached for their cane, which was leaning against the countertop.

They swallowed down a chunk of meat before speaking, “Who are you?”

Zeke wasn't surprised when he stepped into the apartment and found Mari eating a leftover sandwich in his home. The shadows hidden throughout the abode had informed him the moment she had touched the front door. He simply stood with his hands folded neatly behind his back observing for a few quiet moments until she finally looked up and realized that he was not Ant. His eyes flickered to the cane she reached for and he tilted his head slightly as his eyes narrowed.

"Shouldn't I be the one asking that? Considering you're in my home." One of the shadows moved, breaking away and taking the form of a black cat with glowing violet eyes. The creature retained wisps of shadow clinging to its fur as it brushed against Zeke's leg much the same way any cat would if greeting their owner. "Yes, well done Grim. She's one of Ant's friends."

It would have been a shame if the shadows he'd stationed to guard their dwelling had attacked this particular intruder. Ant would probably have been very upset with him. Possibly Maeve too, considering he was fairly sure this was the doctor that had treated her.

"Allow me to introduce myself. I'm Ezekiel Jada Pendergast." He put his hand over his heart and offered a measured smile. "I live here. Ant is my roommate and Maeve is my student."

“Your home?” Mariyah raised an eyebrow. They leaned against their cane, glove rubbing the crow-skull hook. They racked their brain, trying to remember if Ant ever mentioned a roommate. Nada. Nothing.

Mariyah barely blinked at the shadow creature. They’d long accepted that “magic” was a fact of life in the city.

It would be a shame if a pellet of risin ended up subcutaneously injected into him. Within a few hours his stomach lining and intestines would be hemorrhaging. A few days later and the death would be bloody and disgusting. Mariyah’s mind clouded over as they thought of the autopsy. What would they find when the subject was cut open? How severe would each organ have failed? They blinked, snapping themselves out of their trance. Even if this was an intruder, he hadn’t attacked them yet. Besides, Ant would be deeply upset if they got bloody vomit anywhere near his home.

They tilted their head, examining the man as he introduced himself. A teacher? It would be good for Maeve to resume her education. The kid had missed so much of it while fighting for survival.

“Call me Merry.”

Muse Handwriting Meme

tagged by @twomindedsubject

tagging @stainedglass-mentalstate @theoneandonlyscaregoon @jeremiah-e-arkham @soulllest-main + anyone else

Jonathan tends to default to writing in shorthand, however, he does try to make his normal handwriting somewhat legible to other people. One, because Mary wanted to be able to read what had been written, and two, sentences were some of the punishments that he went through when he got into fights at school.

Mariyah has fairly average handwriting, but years around Jonathan has led to them being able to decipher the most scribbly writing and influenced their quick note-taking into almost-illegible lines.

@ants-body-shop @yasmina-todd-retireddeadgirl @drisleythorn @batwoman-or-whatever + open tags

He didn't make it easy for them. Of course he didn't, why would he? He wasn't necessarily running from them, but Jonathan had places to be and no one to stop and wait for.

In the past, he slowed down when he walked with people, matching their pace instead of racing on ahead. But, now, he was always just around the corner, always just too far away to shout.

Through the streets into an alleyway, up and onto a rooftop. It is best to always keep moving, so that the bat can never find you. He only paused when Elizabeth landed on his shoulder and croaked something in his ear.

Jon was a tough man to follow, but Mariyah had learned from the best. Years of stalking through city streets, nabbing test subjects under the cover of darkness, taught them how to keep an eye on their targets from a distance. A white van, a train, a grungy alleyway, a chilly rooftop, it was all the same. Hunting grounds. Except Mariyah wasn’t on the hunt for a subject, they were following Jon like a lost duckling waddling after its mother. They scoffed and pushed the image out of their mind.

Mariyah reached into their bag and slipped their mask on. Their hat was back at the clinic, but they didn’t need to hide their dyed hair for a single nighttime-meetup. A pause. A falter. They stopped a few feet away. Wind whipped around them, billowing out their coat and musing their hair. The surrounding buildings seemed to box the rooftop in, giving them a view of the ivy that crawled up the old brick walls.

“Boss.”

Jonathan, who had been halfway through starting to walk again, stops dead in his tracks. After a long pause, and a silence that didn't seem like it would be letting up any time soon, he turned around to look at them. Elizabeth let out a quiet caw, recognizing Mariyah as soon as her eyes fell on them.

"Ah."

He tilts his head, not taking a step forward, nor a step back. He simply lingered there. Existed. Observed. His first instinct is to call them Igor, but he kills it before the word leaves his mouth.

"Mariyah."

"You look well."

“You’re back,” They stated.

For a moment they just stood there, hands fidgeting at their sides. They took a step forward, jerking, like a puppet being yanked along by its strings. It had been so long.

Finally, they blurted out, “I’ve been waiting. Working. And now you’re back.”

They buzzed with energy, excitement bubbling in their lungs. Jonathan was back. They had so much to show him. Their degree. The clinic. The abandoned ACE Chemicals lab they’d bought and fixed up just for him.

He was back.

"I am."

His posture relaxes, visibly, as something clicks into place. A realization made, clarity given. His voice is calmer, lighter, when he speaks again, no longer expecting to be thrown into another fight.

Jonathan reaches up to pet Elizabeth's feathers, as if assuring himself that she is still real.

"I trust that you have been enjoying yourself? You always were an impressive chemist."

Mariyah preened at the comment. Impressive. They were an impressive chemist. They nodded, “Very much. Your notes and reasources have been invaluable.“

“I’ve set up a few labs. Done some experimentation of my own. I can show you my setup sometime, if you’d like. I think you’ll find the equipment adequate, if you ever want to use it,” They offered.

There is hesitation there, for the briefest of moments. He really should be on his way, there were experiments to run, and he was on a tight schedule to get to all that had to be done in the next week. In the next month. In the next year, and all the resulting years after it. But, his feet did not move when he told them too.

"I have free time if you do. There's nothing in the itinerary that cannot be rearranged."

They broke out into a grin under the mask.

The ACE location was closest. It was also where they stored most of the toxins they made. Mariyah hoped he’d be impressed with the sheer quantity kept there in massive vats. The leftover infrastructure of the factory made it easy to produce large amounts of chemicals in a very short time, though the efficiency sacrificed the precision smaller operations had.

“It’s a short walk from here,” They supplied, stepping towards the edge of the roof. They gazed across the city skyline, quickly catching sight of the brick smokestacks that lined the harbor.

the number 87 kinda looks like a plague doctor

You’ve just changed the fucking game

@theoneandonlyscaregoon

Oh my

CLOSED RP

Ants eyes itched with a ferocity, the moon stretching further into the night sky as he patiently waited for any knock he might hear at his door.

He was far too anxious to nod off, the paranoia within him perishing any thought of even doing so. His purple tinted hands still worked at the knots in Maeves hair, head still in his lap and curled up in the blue blanket.

Restless, he continuously fought the urge to move, from checking too often on Maeves forehead— only reestablishing to himself that her fever was not going away— to stopping his bouncing knee as his worry increased. Checking the time on his phone didnt do much to calm him either, with each second seeming to move painfully slow.

He itched for something to do. Something to help or keep his mind busy. Anything, he begged. Frustration worked up inside him, rooting from pure worry.

He didnt want to wait any longer! The fear practically clutching at his heart and constricting his lungs so that each breath seemed to be less deeper. He needed to calm down.

He needed this hour to pass with haste.

Mariyah didn’t bother with knocking. They barged through the door, medical bag in hand. They were wearing their uniform, sans the dramatic mask and black rubber gloves.

“I think I broke a few traffic laws, but I got the stuff you mentioned,” They stated, not bothering with pleasantries.

They drive as quickly as they could in the beat-up white van they owned. They were finishing up some business on the other side of town when Ant called, and the trip back to the clinic to grab extra supplies had caused the wait to be longer than they’d have liked for a patient. Either way, they’d made it within the timeframe they gave Ant, fully stocked with more tools in the van.

Sutures wouldn’t be hard to do, however the mention of the child’s feeding tube had immediately set Mariyah’s mind racing with possible conditions. If the kid had some sort of underlying condition, the entire process could be far more complicated than they’d originally thought. Malabsorption perhaps? They’d have to run some tests. Regardless, they’d brought along a new feeding tube and nutritional supplements that they left in the van for the time being.

Mariyah glanced around, “Where is she?”

Maeve was laid gently across Ant's lap, carefully drifting between being asleep and being somewhat awake. She could feel how anxious Ant was, which only made her anxiety worsen and worsen. She was awake by now, with a strong sleepy haze over her mind. The only sign she was awake was the way she was pressing her fingernails into the pad of her thumb, an anxious habit.

Her eyes flickered open when she heard someone else around, her breathing catching. Hyperventilating wouldn't be ideal, but she couldn't really help it if she did go into a panic. It didn't take much to send her into a panic after all. Ant had treated everything, so why did this lady need to be here?

She tensed, glancing at Ant and then at Mariyah. The sleepy haze didn't seem to stop the anxiety.

Ant hand paused at the sound of footsteps approaching, anticipating the slam of the door as the noise gained closer to where the two lay. A swift panic, instinctual and unthinking, let itself into his mind. Frozen for seconds before his rational thinking kicked into gear.

Mariyah. The stress left from his shoulders in a very visible fashion. He recognized their voice, despite mostly hearing it muffled from behind their mask. He breathed in, though the constricting worry still had his lungs in a tight hold. His free hand went to scratch at his cheek, red lines appearing rapidly with its hardness.

He hadn't thought of putting on his own mask, especially with all the currently ongoing fiasco. He had other matters to think about-- more important matters, shooting a glance down at Maeve to see her eyes fluttering, dazed and still processing.

Understandable, Ants hand grazed back over to her forehead, ever so ferociously hot.

At a moments notice, he responded back to the doctor, with something akin to a yelp of "In here!" They wasted no time in appearing at the doorway, as a small wave made from pure formalities came from Ant. "Shes right here," A pointing finger towards the lump of blankets by his side.

Mariyah unclasped their mask, setting it and her bag lightly on the floor. They approached and knelt before the pair, eye level with Maeve.

Their eyes flicked over the child’s pallid face, flushed with fever. The cut on her scalp. The dried blood that clung to the bottom of her nostrils. The thin sheen of sweat forming over the girl’s forehead. Pronounced eyes and a goiter that was swollen in comparison to Maeve’s malnourished frame, indicative of a potential thyroid issue. Mariyah hummed approvingly at the bandages Ant had applied, all of them fairly clean and an acceptable tightness.

Mariyah was not a soft person. They spoke in blunt responses and pointed remarks. Their laugh bordered on maniacal. Even when speaking fondly, their words carried a dry edge to them. And yet, when Mariyah spoke next, it was with a gentle tone.

“Hello. Maeve, right? I’m a friend of Ant’s, I’m here to help,” her small smile seemed to soften their features into and expression far more welcoming than their usual sly sneers and analytical gazes.

Maeve's hazy panic continued to surge through her. Her fingers curled around the blankets, nails catching on the fabric. She stayed tensed up in Ant's arms, clearly afraid of Mariyah- or perhaps more afraid of what she might do. If she wasn't so unwell, perhaps she might've been able to reason with herself regarding what may or may not happen.

But alas, she was exhausted and feverish, so there was no reasoning to be had.

"Don't hurt me," she mumbled feebly, raising her hands towards her face as if to cover it or protect herself. It wasn't hard to tell that she wasn't in her right mind.

@ants-body-shop

Ant was almost thoroughly shocked to his bones of just how soft Mari had sounded. A pacifying tone that left him worried for their own sake, before he grounded himself.

He, seeing Maeves adverse reaction to his familiar acquaintance, gathered her in his arms, in a way that would suggest a protective hold, as he took it upon himself to explain what little he knew of her situation-- at least what he could remember in his panic of seeing her appear at his doorstep.

"Shes got a nasty fever! Terrible burning in her stomach from what shes told me, as well. I did what I could, but-" An doubtful glance towards the bandages on her skull, despite Maris acceptance of it, "I dont believe it was enough." A hand went to hold her head, making sure she wasn't thrashing around in a way that would cause further injury.

"She'll need stitches from what I know." Ants eyes shot around the room disjointedly, trying to remember any more information to communicate. "Tylenol was last taken 3 hours ago."

He looked up at the doctor to gauge their emotions, thoughts, anything, of how awful the situation was.

Mariyah nodded, quiet through his explanation. They understood where Ant’s worry was coming from. Though the girl’s injuries wouldn’t be considered very serious on an adult, Maeve was young and small. Very small. Mariyah didn’t know exactly what age Maeve was, but they knew for certain that she was frailer than most children.

The fever concerned Mariyah. What was even more worrying was the Maeve’s potential conditions. A part of them wondered if it was lucky they’d had been called when they were. The injuries had made Ant worried enough to reach out, and now they could figure out and help treat Maeve’s other problems. Mariyah doubted Ant would’ve asked them for help otherwise. They turned back to Maeve.

“I’m here to help,” They reiterated, “I won’t hurt you. May I touch your head? I want to check your injuries.” They gestured towards Maeve’s bandages.

Maeve definitely looked frail- her cheeks hollow, shivering, thin. There were dark circles and deep bags under her eyes, swollen lymph nodes, pale skin. Her eyes had a yellow tinge to them, darting around anxiously through her eyelids. Her hair hung limp around her face.

"Don't hurt me," she whispered, carefully turning the injured part of her head towards Mariyah. "Don't hurt me."

She kept whispering this. It seemed she was disoriented, unsure as to where she was or what was happening.

Ant, with how close he was holding onto Maeve, heard her whispers clearly and crisp. This… had never been a situation he ever would have prepared for. There was no telling what would be the correct course of action when interaction with her. “I dont think she quite understands whats going on, Mariyah. Oh dear!”

The only step forward that was pulsating through Ants thoughts was to push forward, despite it all— the fears, the doubts, all of it. Anything was better than being sat frozen still, processing the present. And so, with the child still in his arms, possessively wrapped, he sat her up properly in his lap.

With purpose, he readjusted her slightly as he filled in the still silence the persisted in the room, desperate for information on what to do next. “Are antibiotics needed for her? Which ones would be best? I was hoping to avoid the use of a hospital, but if its what is needed, then…” The rest of the thought hung in the air, vague, but the idea cemented itself. He will do it.

He had half a mind to share what other little information, both from educated guesses and tidbits of previous encounters, he had as to who might of been the reason for Maeves terrible condition currently. He bit his tongue with a struggle. He wouldnt bring something so frustrating up if it meant the doctor might be distracted from their due diligence in treating said child.

“I’m not sure this calls for antibiotics. In fact—” Mariyah reached forward and gently placed the back of their hand to Maeve’s forehead, “— they could do more harm than good right now.”

Jaundice, aka hyperbilirubinemia. A sign of liver failure. They’d have to treat what they could and hope to gain more information on the child’s conditions. They peeled back the bandage to examine the gash. About two inches long and fairly thick, staples might be necessary.

Mariyah turned to Ant, “What do you know of her conditions? I’ll probably use staples for her, but I’m more worried about her organ function than the surface injuries.” Their hand rested on Maeve’s head still, carefully parting her hair away from the wound.

@littlereqiuem

She was burning up, her pale and slightly yellow tinted face flushed red in places. Ant was right- it seemed she didn't really understand what was going on, disoriented and delirious. The dark circles under her eyes seemed more and more prominent.

She whimpered a little when the bandage was pulled back. Her hair stayed limp, a little greasy, and it was clear in some areas it had been yanked out or pulled viciously.

She mumbled incoherently- something about 'her' hurting 'me.' It wasn't clear.

Ant immediately faced all his attention to Maeve, ears picking up at the small words he could make out from her voice. Any bit of information, something to do, would be fantastic. He just needs to egg her on a little bit, just enough identifiable traits to track down who caused this in the first place.

Given some hindsight, it probably was not the best time or place, but a desperate man grasping for straws on a helpless situation only left a minimal amount of paths to take.

“She? Whos this she? Maeve? What did she look like?”

Mariyah restrained a sigh from escaping them as they moved to open up their bag. Maeve would need a lot more than staples. There was a new feeding tube and some liquid formula waiting in the van, but until they could run tests they wouldn’t know what Maeve was specifically deficient in. The kid wasn’t lucid enough to give them any decent information and Ant was probably just as uninformed about her conditions and Mariyah was. Staples, then samples, then the feeding tube. After that, they could figure out what was really wrong. First things first, Mariyah thought as they sorted through their bag.

She raises her hand to protect her head- to protect the rather nasty cut Mariyah wanted to staple. Maeve had staples and stitches before- she remembered it being painful, though unknown to her, most people were given some sort of anaesthetic or something to make them woozy and not really care about what was going on. Her experience was unique and traumatic.

She's trembling violently as she tries to cover the cut with her hand, to stop them from touching it. She wants to go home. Where's home? What should she do? She's scared- nope, terrified. This is a terrified child, and now she's resisting them, trying to get away.

Ant did his best to shush her, gentle words pouring out of his mouth one right after another, hoping desperately that it would do any good to her in her panic-- though he severely doubted it, he couldnt find it in him to stop.

All while he attempted to not shift her while he was in his arms, in fear of accidentally messing up Mariyahs flow in stitching. He felt that any wrong move by him could make for an even worse experience for Maeve.

He would sooner chop his fingers off than have that happen on his own accord.

“Ant,” Mariyah turned back to Ant, eyes boring into his, “To treat this laceration, I’m going to first lightly clean the site. Then, I will inject a local anesthetic. After that, I will clean further and then staple it shut. You’re the closest thing to a guardian she has right now.”

Mariyah glanced back down at Maeve. They didn’t know where the girl’s parents were, if she had any family still around in the first place. They had no idea how Maeve had survived so long in the condition she was in. Back to business, they were a professional.

“Do I have your express permission to do those steps, in that order?”

She keeps her hand carefully covering up the laceration. There's definitely a wild, but hazy look to her eyes. Afraid and searching, but still unbelievably drowsy. Her other hand is anxiously pulling at her hair. Inject? Why? That would hurt. She didn't want this. She wanted to be warm and safe and... she wasn't sure. Maybe to sleep and not remember this.

@ants-body-shop

Ant gently moved his hand to grasp at Maeves own, wanting to reduce the harm she could do to herself-- or any harm that may befall as result of her frantic movements. He prayed it wouldnt be any worse than a small restriction of her arm.

"So long as it will help her from her feverish agony, then yes! You do, Mari, please!" He tried to refrain from having an increasing need for urgency in his tone.

Ant was no person who enjoyed pushing others into action but the situation in his eyes required immediate actions, especially when given the lack of awareness Maeve was exhibiting at the current moment.

It reminded him of the same effects he would see on the zombies he would raise, the dead eyed look, the groaning, the lack of motion control--

He quickly banished the thought from his mind with a violent shake or two of his head.

Mariyah didn’t bother to correct him that the fever was most likely not related to the cut. Instead, they laid out their tools on a nearby table. They swapped out their thick rubber gloves for a pair of sterile blue ones. Tearing open an alcohol swab and scooting closer, they gently parted Maeve’s hair out of the way.

“I’m just gonna clean the area around your cut, alright Maeve? It’s gonna sting a bit,” Mariyah warned.

//panels from the tiny comic I made for my recent lore drop, for those who don't want to read through the stuff

Cheesy Garlic Butter Corn on the Cob

@dividedbybinaries when they post amazing artwork

this is how i see them

i don't even like sweetcorn but this looks yummy

help.

OOC: Tried my hand at something. Inspired by the collages @crowsinthecornfield does (just seemed fair to credit, considering I got the idea to do this from them).

I do a lot of video editing on my YouTube channel, but this is the first time using CapCut for a collage. Pretty fun!

Open RP : Deep End (AU)

Oblivion. That was the best bet for anything. To solve anyone's– everyones– problems, there need to only kill it at the root.

Destroy the root of all suffering, all his suffering; Humanity. It all came so clear to Ant now. It had not been the easiest option, nay, not by a large margin, but it was the most obvious. End it all, and there would be no need to solve anything else, because it would all then be gone. 

Things would be easier, happier. 

Things could be beautiful again.

CONTENT WARNING: delusions, manic states, horror elements, body mutilation, mental illness, medication.

No rhyme, no reason, a man stands at the top of a mausoleum crypt, surrounded by various headstones— all covered in moss and grime, in dire need to bring life back to the scenery.

A storm was forming above them, weather that was perfect for a day such as this.

With shifts in the dirt, cracks crumbling away as bodies, reanimated, pushed up from the soil that weighed them down. 10, 20, 30– more followed suit, funeral attired being ruined by the mud that sloshed around in search of a stable grip. Pulling themselves out, one by one; rotting hands appearing first, digging out a hole to lift themselves up and out.

Rotten flesh, maggot friends, and visible bones were a welcome sight to Ant.

With the vice of a new life ahead of them, vengeance fresh on their rotted minds, all the reanimated bodies launched themselves forward, towards the cities and the streets full of people.

“Who knew that this could feel so vindicating! Invigorating! Such a feeling of intensity!” What turned from a murmur to himself, soon turned to a shout, a declaration of a truth in its entirety— as if it was the one thing that mattered to him, how this grandeur was making him feel more on top of the world than he had in years!

He jumped off the concrete tower, hands itching and biting as he crouched on the soil. Nails, already blackened, could not be differentiated from the dirt underneath the bed. The purple in his palms reached to his neck and further down his torso— as if it was a living creature snaking its way through his skin. Veins, blue and green, protruded in ways no normal capillaries should have.

It reached so visibly past his cheeks, as if they were transparent. He looked ill.

Miriam had been cold for a long time. That she knew. Something had called her. Someone needed her help. Cold stone encased her. She pushed and slammed and shoved until it fell off of her and crashed to the floor.

Miriam sat up. The wind whistled outside. Rain pounded on the roof. Her eyes itched. She slowly stood. A crypt. She hadn’t fallen asleep in a crypt. Odd. Her thoughts were a haze, molasses-thick and slow moving. Miriam… who was Miriam again? Oh, right, that was her name. Her feet clicked on the tile floors as she stood. The thing that had awoken her was still crying out for help. She could help. She was a doctor.

Her hat and cane were encased in glass. That wasn’t right. She freed them. Oh, how she missed her hat. Her gloves were on a table and her coat was draped over a mannequin, both imprisoned like her hat. She broke the glass and slipped them on. The gloves didn’t fit right, her claws tore right through them. Miriam let out a raspy whine at the sight. Her poor gloves. How she loved them so. And now they were ruined.

The door took a few shoves, but soon it gave way and Miriam stumbled out onto the muddy ground. Her feet sunk in to the soil. She curled her talons, experimenting with the feeling of earth under her, before continuing towards the patient. Rain beat down on her hat.

She saw the patient crouched in the dirt. That was no good, they’d catch a cold in this rain. She called out to them, but her throat only managed a high-pitched squawk. She needed some tea and honey, that would help. She called out again, her airways burning, this time sounding a bit more like a “heelloo?” The patient needed her help, she could handle a bit of discomfort.

A long screech of a concrete door sounded from beyond Ant, one with as much purpose behind it as he gave with summoning her. 

The main event to his destruction of Gotham. A greater being to aid him stop the tragedy that was the human race. 

Though a rumor, he had hope in her existence. With his powers, only he could summon the undead tale that lay in the mausoleum. 

Ant, hearing the broken croon of a greeting from the great beast, grinned wide. A light glittering in his eyes from the reflecting moon in the sky, clouds parting for it. All as planned. He cackle, a raspy imitation of his own laugh. 

His hands, cold and numb dug into the wet ground, gripping handfuls up into the air in front of him. “Ah! Its you! The blessing to Gotham that you are!” His arms gestured wide, as if to give a long awaited hug, and let the dirt release from between his fingers. He looked up to the sky, knowing from hearsay about the legend to not make eye contact unless provoked. 

“Please! Give us a merciful death, for if it werent for our birth, the terrible world that exists today wouldnt have been born either!” A plead out of desperation; to do his bidding, to share his plan, to understand his pain. 

If anyone could have had the capacity to know his agony with life itself— like his good friend had, all those years ago— surely, it would be the undead bird herself? The one who was locked away, hidden, for years all for the ‘benefit’ of the Gothamites.

Liars. The lot of them.

Death would prove them all wrong, their fears superfluous, and his new friend that stood behind him would show them all.

Miriam stepped forward. The patient was so graciously offering himself for inspection. A few feet away, she stopped. She leaned down, glassy eyes glinting like black marbles. The patient was dreadfully pallid, a sickly sheerness to his skin. Purple-hued hands, low oxygen perhaps? Gangrene? Black veins, those were odd. Likely an unknown infection.

Her cane nudged his arm up and out. Where was his coat and gloves? He would surely catch pneumonia in this weather. At least Miriam had an easy view of his lymph nodes. Nothing. No buboes and no swollen lymphs. Odd. Surely the patient’s immune system would be reacting to an infection of that severity. Unless the violet gradient was due to hypothermia? He wasn’t dressed for the weather, but it wasn’t cold enough for limbs to start blackening and falling off.

Blessing. Merciful death. Terrible world. The words finally processed in Miriam’s slowly firing synapses. Her mind was still half asleep.

She straightened up. Was that what the patient needed? For her to kill?

“…kiLl?