humanity stinks


i was already drawing these when i got this message so here u go anon :3

chara is still very distrustful of any humans who fall into the underground, but lil frisk manages to worm their way into their heart <3

meanwhile asriel is like omg a human chara actually likes?? gotta keep this one

You know what I found odd in ch10? After the ball was interrupted by the Charlatan attack, when Veronica caught up to Vanitas and Noé, she said: “It stinks like men. Stinks like humans.” Now, why the plural? Think back to our groups of ‘Charlatan’ for a second. While I think that Naenia could possibly be a vampire, what about the other two? They seem to be male and they look like they could could very well be two of Moreau’s experiments - especially the one with the cross (I swear, it’s the same cross the Chasseurs wear). But if they are, then that just raises more questions….

Sith Purebloods

Bio Headcanons~

idk if this has been done by someone else before… if so OH WELL. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Sith. Obviously mammals. Endothermic. Omnivores. etc…

  • The original ~true~ Sith had black blood. After hybridization with the human exiles, the blood became more of a dark reddish color. Darker the blood color, the “purer” the bloodline.
  • Canines, premolars, and molars are sharper than humans, but not as sharp as say… Cathar.
  • Technically omnivores, but cannot digest large amounts of starch very well. x(
  • Improved senses include: sight, smell, and hearing:
    • Eyes may have (depending on “pedigree”) the tapetum lucidum, improving night vision.
      • Their color vision is the same as humans.
    • The olfactory bulb is twice as large in comparison to humans. This better sense of smell of often used to determine other Sith’s “condition”.
      • ^On that note, the smells are emitted from  their body is usually unnoticeable by humans. But Sith can smell the stink on humans, and find the stench of Hutts to be most displeasing. :Y
    • The hearing range for Sith is from 5Hz-15kHz compared to humans at 20 Hz-20 kHz.
      • Sith emit low frequency “purrs”, inaudible to humans, when very relaxed and content. :3
      • (omfg, could you imagine if they could hear the higher ranges tho? Most devices, including lightsabers I’d imagine, would give off high frequency ringing noises. It’d give them constant headaches lol)
  • I already wrote a whole thing regarding their repro and sexy times, and I don’t wanna copy pasta the whole damn thing. Just read the bold bits lol. (also, link to a pic at the end ;D )
  • Nails can be “clear”, like humans, or black in color. (You know how a dog has white/black toenails? Basically that.)
  • The ridges and spurs were more boney in the past, but most of that is cartilaginous with current Sith. Obviously Sith babies are not born with these, and it come in with the onset of puberty along with face tendrils for males.
  • Despite being relatively the same size as humans, Sith are heavier due to their bones and muscles being denser, making them stronger. Korriban’s a tough world man…
    • (On a side note, Wookipedia lists Korriban have gravitational forces that is 1.4 standard… which would mean that the original Sith would’ve been shorter due to the heavier gravity on their planet. The denser muscles and bones, IMO, would make sense since you need more power and stability to live on a planet with greater gravity. IDK.)
  • Due to Korriban’s native climate, Sith can tolerate the cold better than humans but are more susceptible to overheating and they hate humidity.
  • Since a full rotation around the star for Korriban is about 2.1 standard years, Sith tend to live longer than humans. (Assuming they don’t get themselves killed.)

Aaannnd… that’s basically all I got. For now… I won’t waste my effort saying how their renal system is basically the same, or which enzymes work in their bowels or stuff like that. lol

Hey Angel

Word Count: 2521

Pairing: Gabriel x Reader

Summary: You go on a road trip with Gabriel, and it’s all good times with a dash of lessons in humanity thrown in.

Warnings: fluff, implied sexy times

A/N: This is a request from my Spidey @babygabe to do a story based on Hey Angel by One Direction. I also sneaked in an extra song in addition to the request. The more I write Gabe, the more I fall for him. Like, there’s a special place now in my heart just for him (right next to you ayyyy).

Originally posted by king-richard-ii

“Hey, angel.”

Two little words, and it never failed to bring a smile to your face. Something about the way Gabriel said it: a little bit of teasing with a whole lot of love. He knew you were slightly envious of the fact that he was an angel. He’s got all those neat tricks, and being human kind of stinks, sometimes literally.

But mostly he called you angel because that’s what you were to him–his own personal being of light and goodness and love. You kept him on the straight and narrow, as much as you could anyway. When he prayed to you, he didn’t use words. Rather, his mouth would sear yours with kisses. His fingers would whisper his reverence on your skin. And his breath would chant your name over and over as he brought the two of you closer to that feeling of heaven on earth. He worshipped you.

Keep reading

Are You Strong Enough To Be My Friend?

For all of the reasons I could have for disliking that I have diabetes, the thing that bothers me the most is how it effects my relationships with other people. 

In the 15 years since my diagnosis I have seen the people who called themselves my friends, my family, my lover, all run away because of my diabetes.

“Too complicated”, “I don’t know what will you be like in 20 years”, “You’re going to die and then what?..” are a few of the actual reasons I have been given when these people walk out of my life. 


Without going into all of the reasons why those statements above are entirely ridiculous (not to mention ignorant), I have come to the conclusion that these people are just weak. Weak minded. Weak spirited.

Having a person who has diabetes in your life does not mean your life is going to be complicated. It does not mean it will be scary. And it certainly does not mean it will be less of a life. All of these things will happen only if you let it

I feel like I am stating the obvious here but, frighteningly so, every day I am finding this is not obvious at all. 

That little bit of hope I had left for humanity..yeah, gone now. 


Now we have to worry about thieves!

A couple of nights ago I was awakened at 5am to what sounded like someone yelling “Woo!” or “Whoa!” followed ny a voice speaking, too distant to make out. The dogs went nuts then. And needless to say, I was out of bed looking out the windows. I couldn’t see anything, but then you can’t see the driveway. I couldn’t hear anything, but then it was extremely windy. Still, it was cold and I was in my nightgown. It seemed a lot of bother for what was probably nothing. Afterall, the convience store across the highway opens around then and you can hear people shouting there when the traffic is quiet. I went back to bed, listening for a long time before falling asleep, but shrugged it off.

Now along the drive way we have a lot of storage containers. The driveway, I should explain, is much longer than most people and then forms a loop between the house and shop. In the old days tractor trailer trucks would drive right in for deliveries. When I say things are next to the driveway I don’t mean right beside the highway. And these bins were Pop’s way of temporarily storing things. The two of us argued about it lots. I said putting things in those comtainers outside was like throwing it away. He said it was just until he had time to sort through them and move them to shelves in the storage building. He was always obsessed with sorting things into detailed catagories but never getting time to do it. And he never did, and we have been too busy with other things to worry about it. We would hunt things in the bins but mostly just walked by them.

Anyway, the next morning I noticed that the bin furthest down the drive, next to where we park the cars, had a lid off. I decided all the wind had just blown it off. I didn’t think about it. 

Today I realized I’d gotten distracted before getting the lid back on that bin the other day, so I mentioned it. Mom says then she had meant to mention to me that one of the bins is empty. Hadn’t they all been full? And we start to look and find another one half full. Then we see where one is gone! Just gone!

 So I guess I didn’t imagine voices, that lid was not blown off by the wind, and maybe the dogs scared whoever off. Luckily the bins of tools we had been hauling back and forth to my brother’s and I had left near the house rather taking back to the shop were still there. Still, stuff was clearly gone.

I know that as robberies go, even as robberies we have experienced, this is ridiculously minor. We don’t even know what was taken. If we haven’t looked at them in a couple years, why get so upset? Because it is such a violation. That someone would walk up the driveway that far and take things doesn’t just offend and it isn’t about the loss of some objects. What gets to you is that someone would even do that. And a reminder that they CAN do that. And what else can they do? They got away with it so maybe they will just come back and take something else? Your property lines and personal space are no magical protection. They exist in our heads, but they don’t necessarily exist in anyone else’s. 

Thieves…just in case you forget that there is no such thing as security. 

I hope this is not the beginning. I don’t want to have to go back to like the old days of thieves. I don’t want to have to rush out armed every time the dogs bark in the night. I especially don’t want to have to do that alone. I guess I’d gotten too used to not having to grab a gun in the night. History suggests this isn’t the end.

Damn it.

Mockingjay Part 2 Drabble #3

Inspired by the Mockingjay Part 2 Official Trailer.  What can I say? I’m Everlark Trash and Proud Of It.

Unbeta’d - all mistakes and madness are mine :). 

Trigger Warning: Some Gore


Effluvium.  A river of stinking human waste and chemical sludge, burning in places, releasing bubbles of hideous vapors.  Dank, smelly, full of things she doesn’t want to think too hard about.  And roses. The smell of roses so thick, she gags and trembles, overwhelmed by their sickly sweetness.  

Before she can recover, mindless mutts crash over the sewage pipes, some taking bites out of each other, some hurtling mindlessly into the poisonous brew, an endless wall of physical and psychological depravities with only one objective.

Katniss, their voices hiss.

Finnick is blocking the path between the muttations and the remaining Star Squad.  Something compresses – time, space, the very fabric of reality itself – but as he wields his mighty trident,  flotsam suddenly surrounds her. A creature’s maw hangs from the sinews of Finnick’s neck muscles, tearing his head clear off his shoulders.  Gale’s body bobs by, his torso only partially detached from the rest of his body, before it sinks into the river of fetid fire.

And Peeta’s face, once whispering her name, is replaced by the jarring and incongruous features of the lizards themselves, a pale spine emerging from his back, mouth stretched wide as it descends on her, a burst of rose-smelling gas preceding his death blow…

“Noooooo!!!!” her screams reverberate through the darkened house. The pitch black of night gives the illusion that the nightmare has crept its way into the waking world and for a mad moment, Katniss is sure she is still submerged in the horror-scape of her nightmare.  She thrashes wildly, fighting mutts that have long dissolved into the gallery of memory, until her blows land on something harder, infinitely more real.

“Katniss…shhh…it’s okay,” comes his sleep-thickened voice. It has lost its timbre of madness and now calls to her, with a sorrow as deep as the span of their lives, so dense and full of horrors.

His arms encircle her and instantly, the tension that held her captive relents, his embrace quelling her terrors, though the remnants of the nightmare remain like the aftertaste of vomit in her mouth.  He rocks her, murmuring sweetly, caressing the rigidness from her body until she finally gives herself over to the reality of Peeta’s arms.  Their bedroom.  Their home in Victor’s Village.  District 12.

“It’s not real, Katniss. Not real…” he repeats over and over, and she believes him. Because it is his voice she hears and she will always believe the words that he tells her.

At length, when she has returned to normal, she whispers, “I’m sorry.”

“Shhhhh…don’t apologize,” he says, his hands smoothing her hair away from her tear-drenched face.   “Do you want to talk about it?”

She doesn’t. She normally wants to talk about everything. But she can’t tell him that he’s become a mutt in her nightmares. It would batter him, for it is the thing he still struggles the most to forgive of himself – that he’d once become a mutt himself and had hurt her as a result.  So she shakes her head and says instead, “I almost lost you.”

He squeezes her closer, and she feels his lips on the top of her head, leaving a small kiss on her messy hair. “Is that what you dreamed about? Losing me?”

“Yes,” she whispered into his chest, squeezing her eyes shut, the burning threatening to turn to more tears if she gives in. “No matter how many times I dream about it, it always feels like the moment Haymitch told me you were left behind in the arena.  It will always feel that way.”

Peeta places a finger beneath her chin and tilts her head back to look at her. Even in the dim moonlight of the half-open window, his eyes shine a clear blue, without a cloud or shadow to marr their deep color. “You’re not going to lose me anymore. I know that doesn’t keep you from having nightmares. I still get them too. But I’m here and I’m not going anywhere.  Do you understand?”

Katniss nods and tilts her head further, silently entreating him for a kiss, which he gives freely, like he gives everything else, both what she asks for and what she doesn’t. More than a person would ever need to be happy.  She wants to linger a bit longer, the feel of his warm lips enticing hers with their own special comfort, the one that calls to mind balmy summer nights when they’d first learned to lose their grief and hopelessness in each other.

But a cry splits the night air, at first low and mewling, then insistent and impatient, completely heedless of whatever hovers between Katniss and Peeta, whether it is the hangover of their night terrors or the promise of something softer, gentler and more pleasurable.  The child won’t be ignored and Peeta smiles at the sound of his daughter calling out to them.

“I’ll bring her to you,” he says as he adjusts his prosthetic, rising from the bed.  Katniss stays him with the soft touch of her hand.

“No, let’s go get her together,” she says.  He nods as he gives her his hand and helps her from the bed. But before she is able to take another step, he pulls her into his arms and holds her flush against him.

She knows what it means. It means he loves her. That she can finally keep him somewhere where no one will touch him. That no one can take him from her again. 

It means he will stay with her, together with their little family. 

For always.

We still read the stories of the horrors of the extermination of minorities as the world tries to salve its conscience by description and discussions of those bestial acts. Today, despite the existence of the United Nations, despite the solemn commitment of the Charter, despite the convention against genocide, despite all the talk, with its intervals of ten minutes, about the sacredness of human life, India is perpetrating similar acts in Jammu and Kashmir. Will the world remain unmoved? Will it refuse to stir because the people involved are so distant from the air-conditioned headquarters of the United Nations? Are we all to be so shackled by our inhibitions, so bogged down in expediencies, and so crippled by our calculations of power interests that the blood that is being shed in Jammu and Kashmir, the families that are being torn apart and wiped out, the voices that are being throttled, will bring forth no response from us? The ghettos of Poland live as a painful and fearful memory, but the ghettos of Jammu and Kashmir are stinking with human flesh ripped asunder by a monstrous and habitual aggressor determined to destroy, like a blood thirsty barbarian, all that stands in his way—the beauty and the life of Kashmir, the living and the dead, the truth and the reality