wowww an essay thak you !

im assuming you picked the last option, which is like You need to do more than fanfarm

i agree with that one too, and i do think reading stories and having an understanding of the character you produce matter more than what you have of the character in the game. overall.

when i think of producing wataru, and what i want of him, i want lots of itabags and a truck full of nuis and every keychain thats ever been made

i also want a deep understanding of his character, i want to know him more so so so bad. ive read maybe 1/3 of the wataru stories so far

in the game i have 70k fans and am only missing a couple of his cards

ive been crazy about wataru everu day for over a year too

i was seeking peoples opinions and views, thank you for delivering so well 🙂

Hello! i’m glad that i didn’t annoy you with that essay in the notes haha

I actually picked the 3rd to last option, that the only requirement to produce is to like and pay attention. it most closely aligned with my view point that all you have to do it engage with the character on a regular basis, even if it’s not as grand as having a full ita bag or having 10k+ fans. since even if it seems small to me, like i said in my reblog, there’s so many different ways to enjoy a media like enstars that i feel like i don’t really have a place to draw a line on what’s “enough” to be a producer! i mainly used hyperboles in my “essay” to explain my point. honestly, as long as someone isn’t claiming to be a producer of a character then consuming literally 0 content of said character, not participating in any events, not pulling in gacha, and not even talking about the character regularly (basically not engaging at all) then i’m not going to say they aren’t a true producer of a character ^^ though i do understand your perspective.

my perspective probably comes from my relationship to enstars throughout the years. i started playing in late 2016 at age 12 and now in 2023 i’m 19 lol. i’ve always been a fineP, with tori being my first fave then wataru turning into my number 1 fave shortly afterwards. over the years my level of interest has fluctuated, with there being times of obsession and times of hiatus, but i’ve always come back to the same characters, to wataru and fine as a whole, you know? even during the times of hiatus, there’s never been a time where i didn’t consider myself a wataruP/fineP. same thing with the friends i’ve met through enstars, i’ve watched them leave and come back to the game (perhaps come back more casually), but i don’t see their love for their faves leave them. in my eyes, i still see them as producers for those characters.

sorry for giving my whole enstars back story lol, your post/ask just got me thinking about my relationship to enstars! ^^ very introspective topic.

to me, wataru is a character that has always brought me happiness. when i think about what i want out of wataru, what i think of first the is comfort and happiness he provides to me. i want to see him and i want to understand him as a character. he’s someone i relate to very much. i want his cards and i want to get merch of him.

right now i have all but one of his cards on enstars!! music (i missed his 7th anniversary card during a hiatus waahhh). i only have about 43k+ fans though (going for rank B rn) because like i said in my “essay”, collecting fans wasn’t really an aspect i really considered much or cared about, at least not until recently haha. (he’s on all my main teams, but they all got maxed out so i didn’t progress far after that). i was planning on making an ita bag for him/fine a few years back (even bought the bag for it) but uhh yeah that adhd slump hit and ive ran out of spoons for it ^^; it’s fine though i’m happy with my nuis and scattered merch

anyway thanks for the ask 👍 i think your perspective is very interesting and i liked hearing about how you view your relationship with wataru! sorry that this turned into another, even longer, essay i love talking about things. have a nice night/day :)

K-Pop Spotlight: DAY6

Come one, come all to a K-Pop Spotlight that is sure to dazzle and delight ’til the final curtain. This week, all eyes are on DAY6 following the release of their eighth mini-album, Fourever, and brand new title track, "Welcome to the Show." We caught up with the band to discuss their goals as they approach their 10th anniversary and their ever-growing connection to their fans through their music. Check out our full interview below!

Tracks like “Welcome to the Show,” “The Power of Love,” and “Get The Hell Out” seem to have very different themes. Can you tell us a little about how these songs relate to each other and what aspects make this album cohesive?

SUNGJIN: As we pursue the idea of being a 'band that sings every moment,' it seems like our albums, including the recent one, prioritize diversity in songs and situations rather than unity. Consequently, our albums contain various genres and narratives. However, there seems to be a commonality in most songs, depicting situations that everyone has either gone through or might experience.

Young K: First and foremost, I would say this album is a compilation of the best songs we could create. There's definitely a theme of love running through it. "Welcome to the Show," "The Power of Love," and "Get The Hell Out" all talk about the concept of love.

What goes into creating titles for DAY6 songs and albums, especially those that don’t come directly from your lyrics? Do you find it hard to condense the intentions and themes of a song into a title?

Young K: While there have been cases like that, all the songs on this album came from the lyrics. Sometimes, when choosing a title, we select the one that best describes the song—other times, we choose to give it a twist or make it more intriguing.

WONPIL: Naming songs involves a lot of deliberation. We often contemplate which title will catch the eye and capture the song's essence. Usually, we try to take it from a verse in the chorus. This can be a challenging part of the songwriting process.

Is there a creative project you’ve always wanted to work on but haven’t gotten the chance/found the time?

SUNGJIN: I'm very curious, and have a principle of "trying to experience as much as possible." There are so many things I want to try musically and personally, especially among the things I know but haven't tried yet.

DOWOON: I hope we can have a song that we can collaborate on with My Day, like a choir.

What does your work/studio setup look like? Where do you feel the most creatively inspired?

DOWOON: We try to keep the studio as tidy as possible and make it comfortable for practice sessions.

WONPIL: When working on songs, we talk a lot. We get inspiration from little conversations, joking around, sharing stories, and listening to music from various eras regardless of genre while giving opinions. We also try to build emotional connections with the songs. There’s a lot of communication going on. The songwriting process takes place in the studio of our long-time collaborator, composer Hong Jisang, with whom we've been working together since our debut.

How do you want to evolve as a musician/producer?

Young K: I want to be eagerly anticipated and awaited as an artist. Without those who wait for us, we wouldn't release or even step onto the stage. So I’m always thankful for My Day.

WONPIL: My biggest goal is to make good music for My Day and the public, so I think I'll continue to ponder. When working on songs, I pour my sincerity into them. I constantly strive to express this sincerity musically, fully capturing the emotions I want to convey. I hope to create songs that can still be listened to even after 10 or 20 years.

Design your own Tumblr blog: choose an aesthetic, a blog name, and would you be a frequent poster or lurker?

SUNGJIN: I think I’ll use it to catch up on friends' updates. For the blog name, THUMB BLUR sounds good to me. I might end up being a lurker who never posts.

DOWOON: Maybe a blog for plants? I think I'll post it like a diary.

Want more DAY6? Check out their new mini album Fourever and the music video for the title track “Welcome to the Show,” both out now!

dp x dc

I’m usually more of a lurker in this fandom, you know? But this happened and it just needed to be written down. If someone wants to take the idea or continue it, go for it! Prompt - Consort

~~~ ~~~

Danny is told that while he is officially the Ghost King, there are a few last minute things to check off the list to keep the Observants from being able to mess with Danny's business. Clockwork even subtly confirms that this is something Danny should consider carefully. Being able to keep them in check is important.

 While not keen on a to-do list, Danny sighs and trusts that Clockwork is ultimately giving him less work.

He spends a few years doing odds and ends. Whatever task Clockwork mentions and it honestly suits Danny fine. It’s giving him time to grow into his position. It’s going well, that is until he learns that in his last task he has to consummate his newly acquired position in a very traditional way. With someone else...

That's bad enough, but it's thrown out to him that he must do this with one of his own kind. It's never been an issue before since The Ghost King is usually... a ghost and can pick whoever they want in the Zone.

Danny however is a halfa and because he's only one of three halfa's he's forced to pick between Vlad and Dani. A fruit loop and his clone/sister. The first is horrifying on many levels and the second is just plain unappealing. It's not happening, nope. 

It's practically a miracle that before Danny can completely fall into panic, Clockwork mentions the existence of a forth halfa. 

It doesn't matter who they are, it HAS to be better then his current options. That's how Danny ends up in Gotham.

~

"I can't believe you went without us." Sam complained. "We could have gone with you. What if you need help?" 

"I don't think Gotham is ready for ghost powers, Sam." Tucker commented. "Any trouble he runs into won't know what hit them." 

"Could you both stop wishing trouble on me?" Danny asked, he should have known he'd get ganged up on when he had them both on the phone at once. He was looking around and had noticed how he wasn't headed to the...best of neighborhoods. Had he not had ghost powers he might have turned right around. 

He'd gotten a fairly nice hotel room for the long weekend in a somewhat nice area. All of Gotham looked pretty damn bleak to him but at least he could easily survive in a place like this. There was so much ambient ectoplasm in the air that he was, frankly, surprised he hadn't spotted more ghosts. It was all to his benefit though. 

"Wishing?" Tucker chuckled, the sound of his keyboard clicking on the other side of the call. "It'll find you whether we wish it or not." 

"And then you'll be able to say you got to fight in Gotham." Sam lamented. 

"So this isn't about me not bringing you along to help me find this halfa, but because you just wanted to see this city in particular?" 

"Little bit." 

Tucker started laughing. "Damn, Sam. Nothing's stopping you from visiting." 

"There absolutely is." Sam grumbled. "Their names are Jeremy and Pam." "We're graduating soon, Sam." Danny commented. "After both your eighteen birthday and graduation you'll find your freedom." 

"And possibly your way out of their living will." Tucker commented, but Sam only snickered at the thought.

"That doesn't help me today. Danny's out in one of the coolest cities ever on a quest to get laid, and we’re stuck having a boring weekend." "Sam." Danny hissed as if someone else could have possibly over heard their conversation. This entire situation was beyond awkward. He didn't even know how to start. Hi, you're a halfa too? Wild? Wanna sleep with me so i can make sure my position isn't puppeteered?   "What? That's literally why you're there." Sam was back to being amused, conveniently forgetting for a second that she wasn't with him in Gotham. "You're not gonna seduce anyone with that attitude." "I'm not trying-!" "Aren't you supposed to be though?" She hummed. "Gotta put that charm to work, Phantom." "Oh shut up..." Danny grumbled. If this halfa immediately pegged him as king, would they feel obligated to sleep with him? Ugh, this was the worst. If the ghost he was tracking lived in this neighborhood then it was no wonder he was half dead... "I mean, the wording of this could mean anything." Tucker commented right as the clicking stopped. He'd shown his to-do list to Sam and Tucker ages ago, and this hurdle had always seemed so daunting. "Go forth and find what's just. A night of bliss and trust. A match for your soul in desire. A second coming to conspire." Tucker repeated the lines. "Man, someone did not take a poetry class." Danny just made a face, so sick of the instructions that even making fun of it didn't help anymore. "And you think that can mean anything?" Sam hummed quietly. "I guess you were told it was a basic innuendo so that's what you hear. It’s what we all heard." "Yeah, it doesn't say go fuck." Tucker said. "Could just mean you could hang out for a night and vibe. Video games. Take out." Danny made a face. "I can't see me doing that with Vlad either." "I should fucking hope not." He could practically see Sam's disgusted face. "Okay but that still doesn't make sense. I gotta hang out with another halfa? Why? Why would that block the Observants and their never ending input?" Danny wondered. "No idea." Tucker relented, "But it's worth a shot. right? You can always hang out first and see if it works. If it doesn't... well then you know what you gotta do." "Flirt. Bend over and show your butt. It's eye catching." "Sam..." Danny sighed, this was exhausting. She clucked her tongue. "It's good advice. Even Paulina did a double take last week." Danny just made an irritated sound in his throat, nearly tripping over a destroyed section of the side walk. All the businesses nearby had bars across their windows as extra security and more and more people seemed to loiter. "So glad that ship has sailed." Young crushes were painful. "It could also mean cuddling?" Tucker offered. "How'd you make that leap?" Sam asked. "Guys." Danny interrupted suddenly, his ghost sense chilling him. "I'll call you guys back. I might have tracked them down." "Don't forget!" Tucker said, tone only slightly accusatory. Sam just made a noise of agreement. "We'll want the whole play by play." "Well... maybe not the whole play by play." Tucker added, but Danny just hung up on them. His support system was filled with bullies. See if they got their Gotham tee-shirts now! Danny turned down an alleyway, not sure just yet what he was following but it felt fairly powerful. So far he'd seen mostly shades and remnants of what was. He was left to try to find this halfa the same way he had to track down Dani when looking for her, and that usually meant looking for a big source. When he took a turn and nearly walked right into an obvious drug deal, he inhaled sharply and turned invisible. The dealer had looked up at the sound but brushed it off a moment later when he didn't see anyone rounding the corner. Gotham was nuts but at least they weren't clowns. Deciding it really was within his best interest, Danny transformed completely, staying invisible for the time being as he followed his ghost sense through the scary part of town. Minutes felt like hours but he spotted a dude coming closer on a motorcycle and Danny's skin felt like it was vibrating. The halfa was a guy, okay. Danny could work with that, he really could. Even sitting on the bike, the guy looked a head taller than Danny. All the ghost powers in the world couldn't take away him inheriting his mothers build. For fucks sake, did he have to become evil to bulk up?! Danny flew closer, wanting to get a good look, only to have his vision impeded by a red helmet. When the bike swerved and the rider looked around around, likely sensing him, Danny backed off. His jaw was already hanging open in disbelief. Red Hood. That was Red Hood. Red Hood was a halfa?! Okay, he was the freaking Ghost King. When was that memo gonna land on his desk. Holy crap. Was he actually going to ask Red Hood to have sex ...er... platonically hang out with him? Danny's face was going to explode with heat. He flew away, watching him from the sky. Red Hood slowly brushed off whatever he had felt from Danny and rode on, making only a few more turns before stopping at an apartment building that Danny wouldn't have thought was still in use. This had secret lair written all over it. Danny followed, waited, watched. Of course he knew all about the vigilantes of Gotham but he hadn't really expected to run into any of them. Honestly, what were the odds? What did he do? Red Hood was technically a killer but he'd met more then one ghost who'd been avenged. It caused mixed feelings really. After two hours of nothing, a guy walked out of the same apartment. This time in street clothes. Same build, same height, same half energy. Crap. There goes that secret identity. Danny didn't know his name but he knew what he looked like. Dark hair, that curl of white in the front. Light eyes. Permanent looking frown and... Well now, Danny was frowning too. Something about his energy was off putting. Twisted. Wrong. Well... that would need to be looked into. From afar, Danny watched him go about his evening which involved stopping into those little stores and checking on people. Those people seemed to greet him with a friendly smile and know him somewhat well. Danny also got the impression that none of these people knew he was Red Hood, though he wasn't sure it would have mattered if they had. Red Hood was a crime lord but this was his territory... his haunt. Danny wasn't quite sure how this was both incredibly confusing while making all the sense in the world. He'd have an attitude too if his ectoplasm was all jacked up. What was he supposed to do? Suddenly if felt so presumptuous to show up at this guys doorstep to ask for such a favor from a stranger. He could leave and figure something else out, but the guy clearly needed help too. Maybe they could work out a trade or something. Danny felt torn about the whole damn thing and only decided to suck it up and act like an adult when his alternative was to call Jazz and ask for advice and he was not asking his sister about this. He flew ahead of the guy, making it back to his apartment first. He turned human again and sat on the stoop to wait for him. Internally he went over his lines in his head, what he would say, what parts he could leave out but all of that stopped when a shadow towered over him. The guy somehow seemed so much bigger in person. "You alright, kid?" he asked, there was the strange mix of concern and suspicion on his face. "There's housing up the street if you need someplace to go. They take anyone." "Oh uh..." His haunt had a place like that? Cool. So much for all those lines he’d been rehearsing. "I wanted to talk to you, actually. If you have a second?" He raised a brow but gestured to Danny with a nod to continue. Guess they were doing this out here then. "Okay, this is going to sound strange as hell but i've been looking for another halfa to help me with something. It's like.. a stupid huge favor and, fuck i hate even calling it a favor because that sounds weird. I also wanted to say up front that you can totally turn me down too, this isn't like, a demand or anything." Danny started talking, and couldn't seem to stop. His nerves were getting the better of him along side this guys emotions which were confused and itching with something aggravating. "It's not like i wrote this particular law either. I'm not even sure why i agreed to this shit but i've seen bad alternatives before a-" "What the fuck are you talking about, kid?" he interrupted. "Rude. I am actually eighteen." Danny grumbled. His eyes narrowed. Did he think he was lying about his age? "You sure about that?" "Yeah, my birthday is the same day every year." Danny deadpanned, almost getting a smile. "Let me start over, um, my name is Danny." he stood but didn't offer his hand because this guy didn't look like he'd take it. "And i've been looking for you." "Right i sorta got that, but why?" Danny could already feel his ears turning red. "Okay, hear me out because this sound fucking awful. I need to sleep with a halfa." Just rip that baid-aid off right?

Red Hood's frown was back full force. Guess he was still Red Hood since he didn't offer a name. "What the fuck is a halfa?" Danny short circuited. Was it possible this guy didn't know? "Okay." Danny said slowly. "Backing up and starting over again. Did you... You... You know you died once, right?" He scowled. "Yeah, i was there. How the fuck do you know that?" "Oh good, we don't gotta go back that far. Okay. Okay, so a halfa is someone that died. Like me." He gestured to himself. "Who came back. Someone who is half dead and half alive. There's only four of us. I have to sleep with one because of some political bullshit and i know how desperate that has to sound to you but i absolutely can not sleep with my sister or a fruit loop that wants to marry my mom." Red Hood stepped closer, a large hand wrapping around Danny’s bicep and pulling him along with him towards his door. It was opened long enough for the two of them to slip through and then shut and locked again. "Alright, lets unpack everything that just left your mouth and start to pick out the sane verses insane pieces." He said, somewhat exasperated. He was unhappy. Very unhappy. Danny had to hide a wince, guess Hood wasn’t ready to talk about his death. Jazz would be pissed, he needed to learn to be more sensitive about these things. "You're half dead?" "And so are you." Danny said. "Haven't you noticed any ghost abilities?" "Any what...?"  Distress. That was an odd reaction. Danny looked around, there wasn't much furniture but there was a couch and Danny made a show of going intangible and walking right through it. "Anything like that?" Red Hood was frowning. "No. Look. Half dead and half alive sounds more like a zombie to me. Where are you getting this ghost shit? How did you find me at all?" "Ghost sense." He scowled. "Of course." Danny sighed a little, biting his lip and brushing a piece of hair from his face. "Okay, this is my fault. I'm bad at explaining and i'm sorta having too many conversations at once. Lets start with you. You ever seen like.. glowy green sludge?" His scowl deepened, for a second there was true hatred etched into his face but it wasn't directed at Danny. The suspicion and distrust however were. "What do you have to do with the Lazarus Pit?" Danny blinked, it was evidently his turned to be confused. "The what?" "The green shit, kid. The Lazarus Pit. It's what did this shit to me. What drives me insane." Danny frowned. "The green sludge is ectoplasm, which we need. It shouldn't hurt you, but if it did...could explain why you feel so twisted up inside." He scoffed. "Twisted up, that's the kindest way anyone has ever put it. I don’t need someone elses insane ramblings on top of what i already got in my head. So if you're looking for a fuck, go somewhere else." "Okay." Danny muttered, he'd known that could be an option. "But would you let me see if i could straighten out to ectoplasm anyway? I think i can help at least a little and uh, i think your's is trying to eat away at your soul which is...bad?" Hood actually dropped onto the couch, looking beyond done with this day. "Do you think you there's anything i haven't tried?" "I bet you have." Danny said, stepping closer. "But my ectoplasm is healthy and isn't trying to eat me. You don't really have anything to lose, do you?" Trustme. Trustme.  His expression was nearly murderous and Danny could taste the rage. It seemed like he was having a hard time controlling it, and the more Danny looked, the more he was blaming the tainted ectoplasm. It even seemed to block some of the calm Danny was pushing towards him. "Kid, you have no idea what you're -" Danny stepped closer, hands on Red Hood's chest. He could feel the faint humming of a drowning core, trying to breath through the toxicity that had been forced into his body. Danny added his own ectoplasm to the mix, a sort of ghost transfusion. Ghost King privileges came with a wide aura and a lot of energy. There was a shudder, and the difference was almost instantaneous. The tainted ectoplasm had tried to rear up, tried to roll into rage and snowball but Danny just had more to work with. Danny didn't remember kneeling in front of his new acquaintance, or shutting his eyes, or shifting into his ghost form. He was however, aware of his core tuning into Red Hood's, trying to coax it to life...so to speak. He didn't know what it would have been like, a half ghost but confined only to his human side. Maybe if he'd never known any better it wouldn't have mattered to him but the thought of it now was suffocating,

There was a moment when Danny suddenly felt Hood’s confusion. It seems like he was finally picking up on Danny’s silent messages. 

"What did you do?" Red Hood asked, sounding tired, but far less hostile. "You made it quiet. You're also..glowing." Danny looked up at him with a nervous laugh. "Well, i did say i could fix it. This fix is kinda temporary but I know Frostbite can fix it for you permanently. I'll talk to him." He reached up and rubbed at his eyes, "...Thanks...." "No problem Hood." His eyes jerked up and Danny just smiled. "I won't tell anyone..." He hissed in soft irritation but it didn’t match his emotions. He was still riding the high of being in control of that rage. "So i did feel you following me earlier? I swear there was something around." Danny nodded once. "Had to be sure you were who i thought you were... and all..." Excuse. Excuse... Red Hood shook his head. "My name's Jason. I have a hundred questions minimum about this half ghost thing." "I could probably answer most of them?" Danny offered, realizing he was still on his knees in front of Jason and quickly getting up, a cold blush coloring his face as he shifted back into his human form.  Jason watched him, brow quirking again but he seemed so much more relaxed now that the tension was drained out of him and the taint to his ectoplasm was quiet. It almost made him seem a little younger too, not that Danny would have pegged him any older than early twenties, if that. Maybe he was still a teenager too. "Halfa's... You said there were four of us?" Jason asked cautiously. "Yeah." Danny sat on the other end of the couch. "My sister who is also my clone, and Vlad. Billionaire asshole who's a major creep." "Clone. You have an interesting life."   "That's a lot coming from Red Hood." Jason snorted. "Fair." he paused, proving he'd been listening to all the jumbled up words Danny had been spurting. "Why do you have to sleep with a halfa?" "Aah..." Danny's face went hot again. "So...i..." he paused. "Okay this all sounds bad. I defeated the Ghost King in combat, making me the new Ghost King." Jason brow arched again, "Kudos." "Thank you? Anyway... there's a lot of stupid... add on rules. I didn't make them. Hell i don't even know them all. Some ancient jerk just tells me one at a time. Usually with bad timing which is stupid because he basically is time." "And one of them is fucking?" "Ugh." Danny actually groaned, head falling into his hands. "Someone of my own kind and there's only us four..." he spoke into his hands. "Sucks." "Little bit, yeah." Danny looked up at him, hoping Jason wasn’t actually feeling any of Danny’s nerves or embarrassment. "My friend has a theory that it might not mean sex exactly and might be more of a proximity thing." Jason didn't look overly convinced. "And you decided to try that with some guy you don't know over your clone?" Danny blinked, brain crashing. If he could have just had a sleep over with Dani and avoided all of this... certain ghosts were going to get banished from the Infinite Realm. "Didn't think of that did you?" Jason snickered suddenly and Danny just groaned again. "No.... She's like my sister, i just completely wrote it off." He was going to die... again. This time of embarrassment. Jason laughed softly, the sound not used very often these days. "I mean, i guess i get that. Some times things are easier when you're family isn't involved." "You can say that again..." Danny muttered. Jason leaned back on his spot on the couch, watching Danny with something like amusement in his eyes. He was...so different without the tainted ectoplasm gnawing on his soul. He was finally relaxing. "Well, your Majesty. Would this get me a favor with the king?" Danny's blush stretched down his neck. "Don't call me that. It's too weird." "Nope." Jason was grinning now. "Too much fun. You are way too easy to fluster for a guy that just popped up to ask for sex." "That's not-...!..." Danny winced. "I mean you said no, so that's that." "Changing my mind." Jason said instead, attuned to Danny's look of surprise. Ah, fuck he was definitely able to read Danny now. "Besides. "I have a hundred questions, remember? I'm sure we can mange between rounds." "Rounds?" Danny mouthed the word but no sound came out. Okay, it wasn't a big deal if his heart stopped beating but he was pretty sure it just did. Yeah, it stopped. "O..okay." He attempted, but it just seemed to endear him more as Jason moved again, his time leaning closer. Okay, hot guy in his personal space, he could handle this. It was why he was here.   Jason tugged on Danny’s hair. “It changes. Black to white. That’s cool. Kinda wanna see it more.”

Okay, hot guy in his personal space, he could not handle this. “It uh..yeah. Does that. Alive verses dead i guess. I’ll show you once your ectoplasm is worked out. I don’t see why you wouldn’t gain abilities too once your core is sorted out.”  “You really love to say words without context, don’t you?” Jason said and his amusement was loud.  “I guess... i get ahead of myself.” Danny muttered, unable to make eye contact as Jason slid closer. This was not his first kiss. What was going on with him?  "It’s alright, i’m a quick learner. Besides, i really want to say thank you for you clearing my mind, even if it is temporary." Jason muttered. He’d been screaming for help but no one had ever heard him before.  "We will get that fixed." Danny promised, voice just as quiet. "First thing tomorrow, if you want." "Second thing." Jason said, reaching out to cup Danny's cheek this time before drawing him closer to kiss. Danny didn't think you could see stars in Gotham but he was sure seeing them now. ~~~~  ~~~~

I kinda wonder who’s going to tell Danny he just found a consort. My money’s on Frostbite....  ...As for who tell’s Jason?....That’s Dani barging in to meet her new brother in law  Hope you enjoyed this, feel free to add whatever you want.

Master List 

Sous chef | opla!Sanji x fem!Reader

word count: 2.1k

genre/tags: Sanji x reader; first-person pov; fluff; pining (but is it mutual??); angst; hurt/comfort; friends to lovers

warnings: mild ptsd; mild trauma

summary: A restless night at sea turns into one of revelations, as the reader finds that the depths of the ocean are much like a certain chef’s heart…

a/n: Hello opla girlies! First time fanfic writer here!!

I am ever the lurker on this website, but something inside me changed when I started watching One Piece, and now I’m down bad for this crew (specifically for the hot cook)

So I thought I’d give it a shot, write a bit of fanfic and see where it goes! I’ve finished the live action and currently watching the anime, so my interpretation of Sanji is quite mixed, however I tried to stay closer to opla!Sanji. I’ve also left this open ended cos I might write more (who knows hehehe)

Shoutout to @honnelander for inspiring me to write again ☺️ (please read her go fish! series if you haven’t!! It’s great!!)

𝘏𝘰𝘱𝘦 𝘺𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘦𝘯𝘫𝘰𝘺, 𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘨 𝘪𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘥𝘰!

(。･ω･｡)ﾉ♡

Sanji often stayed up late during those long nights at sea, prepping for the next day's meals, making notes of what had been used and taking stock of the ingredients that were left.

It was almost obsessive at times, desperate even.

He ignored everyone’s concern for him to just take it easy and go to sleep, even Nami’s, and refused to give us an explanation.

He would count every last bean, every last grain of rice or drop of water that he could, and he had tried many times but failed to make an accurate record (mostly because Luffy would lessen the supplies significantly).

I hadn’t really understood his habit, until one night, when the waves were particularly rough and I was disturbed from my sleep.

Usually, rough waters didn’t bother me too much, but I was already quite restless that night and had only truly been half asleep.

My mind was a blazing mess from all the thoughts that had been looping endlessly through it.

Thoughts of him.

I sat up on the futon. My hair draped in a tangled mess around my face and over my shoulders.

I looked across at Nami, her back facing towards me, breathing deeply as she slept.

I envied her ease.

I hauled myself out of the bed and straightened the silk nightgown I was wearing. I slipped on the woven shawl I had laid out over my blanket and made my way down the corridor, towards the kitchen.

The waves had picked up their brutality and began to batter the ship quite hard, so that it swayed violently from side to side.

Gripping the sides of the walls and trying to match the sway, I wondered how everyone could sleep so peacefully.

The ship moaned and croaked as it continued to sway.

I stumbled into the kitchen just as it crashed against the starboard side hard, pushing the ship port.

The force took me by surprise, causing me to lose my grip of the wall and my footing.

I tumbled through the doorway, and slammed hard against the stack of barrels in the corner.

The momentum of the ship turned once more. Lurching towards the right again, I slid off the barrel and slammed face first onto the ground.

“Ah shit!” I yelped. All traces of sleep had officially left me.

“Luffy, that better not be you,” came a brash voice from the darkness, “and if it is, you best be walking out that door right now.”

“Ack, Sanji?”

In the dull light, I saw the concerned face of the cook instantly pop around the counter.

“Y/n! Gods, are you alright?”

He moved swiftly to where I was laying and gently lifted me up.

“You're alright now, love. C’mon up. That’s it, easy”

He swung my arm around his neck and held my waist tightly as he led me to the bench seating on the other side of the kitchen counter.

Despite the daze I was in, I still felt my heart quicken, at his firm grip on my waist and at the ease with which he picked me up.

“Sanji, what are you doing up?” I whispered, not because I was trying to be quiet, but because the knock had left me completely winded.

He sat me down and wrapped my shawl around me tightly, rubbing my shoulders as he did, and kneeled down in front of me.

“Are you okay? Look at my fingers, how many do you see? Are you cut anywhere, y/n? Do you have a concussion? Do you want some water, tea? What do you need, I’ll get it for you, anything you nee-”

“Sanji,” I said, holding my hand firmly on his mouth to keep him quiet, “I’m alright.”

I squeezed his shoulder, as I saw a sigh of relief wash over his face. “You really got to stop treating me like some princess you know.”

“Madam, you are the loveliest person to ever grace this ship. I would hate it if I couldn’t bask in your beauty everyday.”

“You’re laying it on a bit thick, aren’t you?” But I could feel my stomach fluttering at his words.

He grinned, “madam, someone as lovely as you deserves to hear it said often.”

I shoved his shoulder. “Shut up!”

He laughed. He looked so soft in the light of the lantern.

“You didn’t answer my question by the way.”

“What question?” he asked, as he got up to sit next to me.

“Why are you awake?”

He turned his face away from me and shifted uneasily on the bench. “Why does it matter?”

“Sanji, why are you awake, really? What is it that you’re not telling us? You know I’ve lost track of how many times Luffy’s found you asleep in here because you’ve been up doing… well, whatever you do. What’s going on?”

He let out a deep sigh as he turned back around to face me, looking at me through the flop of blonde hair that covered half his face. He bit his lip hard and dropped his head, defeated it would seem.

The ship continued to sway and croak and groan, as the silence between us grew.

He looked small, afraid. I reached out to hold his hands and he took them eagerly, squeezing them tightly as he did.

“You all know about what happened to me and Zeff,” he said finally, “and I appreciate the kind words and empathy you’ve all given me, but you could never really understand what that was like, being out there. Waiting to die. The scorching, unrelenting sun in the day that made my skin flake off. The icy air of night that felt like daggers, prodding at my burnt flesh. Being hollowed out from the inside, from the hunger, until the numbness set in and I thought I’d melt into that shitty rock. Even being as careful as I was, as precise, I still didn’t have nearly enough food to survive, and it really was only by fate or luck, a real miracle actually, that we were rescued.

I guess I haven’t shook that feeling yet, that fear. It was easier to distract myself in the restaurant, you know, being surrounded by food and all, but here it’s different here. I-I just want be sure, I want to know that we’re good, at all times, because I don’t want any of you to go through what I did. It��s shit, yeah I know, but I’d rather not sleep then let any of you go through that.”

Again, the silence between us was palpable.

I felt like I’d been punched.

He breathed heavily, as if trying to catch his breath and I knew then that this was something he had kept buried deep within himself because the true nature of his fear was so horrific, so raw, who could ever understand it?

None of us had been out there with him, even though we would all do the same for each other.

But our sentiments were just words.

He had lived it.

The silence grew stifling.

I knew he would do anything to protect us from that fate.

“Sanji”

“You-you can’t tell the others. They don’t need to know, yeah? I’m happy as long as they’re fed with no complaints.”

“But Sanji-”

“Y/n, please don’t tell them.”

“Then why are you telling me?”

The mess of thoughts in my mind was growing.

He held my hands tighter and used them to pull himself towards me. His thumbs made circular motions on my palms.

I heard my heart pounding in my ears and I stupidly hoped he couldn’t hear it.

“Darling, I am a ball of dough in your hands. You can knead me and form me any way you’d like, and I’ll give you no resistance.”

“Pfft” I giggled and so did he.

At this, I felt like we were both at ease again.

I always admired his way of keeping things light.

“No, but, if you’d allow me, madam, to be serious,” he straightened up a bit then, “I suppose I was hoping that you’d find me in here. I was hoping that I could tell just you. You’ve got a way about you that everyone just finds trustworthy. I don’t know but there’s, there’s something about you...” He trailed off and laughed before he could finish, and I could see a faint blush of pink on his cheeks. “Sorry I-I ugh, I’m a bit sleep deprived. I’m just glad you’re here.”

I had never seen this side of him (or any side of him for that matter) though I knew it existed. Somewhere under the flirtatious, playboy persona he put out, I knew there was a genuine sweetness. I just wished I was more awake to really enjoy it.

Once the pain I was in wore off, my whole body felt heavy, like it was being pulled down with the full force of gravity, and the sway of the ship was less violent and more like the gentle rock of a cradle.

“You know, you don’t have to pretend with me.” I swept his bangs out of his eyes and kept my hand cupped around the side of his face. I hadn’t realised how blue his eyes were until now.

Even in the dull light, I could see every shade of blue there was swirling in them, like the ocean’s raging swell on a moonlit night. I saw the sleep in his eyes weighing him down too.

“You know this is the most words I’ve heard out of your mouth since I got here.”

He grinned sleepily, “well I’ve just been trying to find the right time to talk to you, my swan.”

I could feel my cheeks burn and I hoped he didn’t see the blush come over them.

“I didn’t think the right time would be 3am, me face planted and bruised in the kitchen, but here we are.”

“You are alright now, yeah?”

“Of course,” I scoffed, “I’m just sleepy. You look sleepy too.”

As if on cue, he yawned and leaned back on the bench.

“Yeah,” he said, “it’s super late. And Luffy wanted everyone to have a big breakfast tomorrow, you know with eggs, bacon, croissants, etc. Breakfast service is always the most important. But I just…” his voice trailed off again, but there was a hint of frustration this time.

“You just can’t sleep, like you cannot.”

“Yeah.”

“I get it,” I said, and I did, “the memories, they come back; more vividly, more real at night. It’s like it’s better to be awake than asleep. Like sleep causes you to relive the pain. Every moment, everything.”

“Y/n,” he said with concern in his voice, “what caused you pain, my love?”

My love.

Those words rang in my ears for some time, even now. Did he mean it?, I thought, maybe he feels the same?

Was all that flirting genuine or was he just being nice?

Was he just being Sanji?

It had been such a long, revealing night, but that stuck out to me and I couldn’t shake it.

He had been so open about his fears, not even the captain knew what he was telling me, I was sure of it.

So then, I kept thinking, why me?

If I didn’t mean something more, then why me?

While I was mulling all this over, I hadn’t noticed that I was leaning on his shoulder until he pulled me into a hug, wrapping his arms around me and holding me tightly, so that my face rested on his chest.

The slit in his poet shirt revealed his tanned skin underneath.

I boldly moved my hand up his chest and traced his freckles with my fingers.

He played with my hair.

Friends definitely didn’t do this.

“Let’s not talk about that now,” I whispered, “just close your eyes, okay? And Sanji?”

“Yes?”

“If you need a sous chef tomorrow morning, I’ll be there.”

I felt his soft laugh hum in his chest.

“Thank you, y/n. I’ll take you up on that.”

He buried his face in my hair as he continued to hug me and I felt his whole body relax.

In one night, the chef had shown me that there were more layers to this cake of a personality he had than I had fully anticipated, and all of them were deliciously sweet.

Delectable even.

And confusing.

As we slipped further into sleep, we had also unknowingly laid ourselves out on the bench, still tangled in each other's embrace, and sharing my shawl for warmth.

An embrace that was a little too close for friends.

— — — — —

“We’re just friends, Nami,” I hissed, trying to restrain myself from yelling in her ear, “there’s nothing there! He-we- we’re just friends! There are no feelings, we are JUST friends.”

She found us in the morning and woke me up, leaving Sanji still asleep.

I flapped around our room, growling out my protests as I did, but it was no use.

She just sat there.

Just sat there.

Arms folded and tapping her toes.

With a huge smirk plastered across her face.

“Yeah, I bet you are.”

Hello,

I hope this ask finds you well.

I'm a bit of a lurker on here, and, well, that Alastor fic had me weak in the knee. (I'm sure that was the intended effect, but I had to tell you)

As I haven't got a blog on here yet, I thought I'd pop into the askbox anonymously to show my appreciation with a gift of my own - a snippet from something I happen to be working on featuring everyone's favourite Radio Demon. If/When I get brave enough to do so, I shall make my presence known and let you know I wrote it.

Yours,

~ Writer Anon 

Radio Silence

“Gooood morning, Alastor!” came the chirping voice of Charlie Morningstar as she twirled into the Radio Demon’s quarters, her eyes bright and her mood, as usual, higher than everyone else in Hell put together.

Alastor was still asleep, which was weird - he was up by nine, every morning, without fail.

Charlie glanced at the clock on the wall, which had just ticked by 9:04.

On the one hand, Alastor would probably kill her for what she was about to do. But she supposed her greatest weakness was caring too much about her friends...

She approached Alastor's bed, its red satin sheets glimmering in the soft light.

Charlie realised she'd never actually seen Alastor look so... peaceful. His face was more relaxed than she'd ever known it, not bearing the strained grin it did while he was awake.

She also realised she'd never seen him quite this pale, save for a slight flush on his cheeks, and a reddish tinge to his small, pointed nose.

Charlie gave Alastor a gentle shake in an attempt to rouse him - she knew he wasn't dead, she could hear him breathing.

He didn't budge.

“Oh,” she muttered, “Um... Husk! We need a wake-up call for the Radio Demon!” she called; surely as the princess of Hell (and hotel manager to boot) she should do something boss-like, and this included delegating tasks to someone who she thought would be best at it.

She’d forgotten, though, that Husk was a cranky little bastard in the mornings, and he made it everyone’s problem.

“Al, you’d better be fuckin’ dead in there,” Husk snarled as he kicked the door in, “or I swear to God-”

“Alright, alright, I’m up,” Alastor stirred, slowly sitting up in bed. 

Charlie was surprised, for a few reasons.

Firstly, she’d expected Alastor to be one of those people that snaps bolt upright when they wake.

And was it just her imagination, or was his voice awfully quiet today?

“Okay, Husk, maybe next time be a little more gentle,” Charlie smiled, but Husk was only half-listening. His face was one of utter confusion at Alastor's appearance.

Charlie looked Alastor over - he looked like he hadn’t slept a wink for the past fortnight. His bleary eyes moved slowly around the room, as though trying to make sense of his surroundings.

He rubbed them, and yawned, but it turned into a jagged cough.

Oh, Charlie thought, that would explain a lot.

“You look like shit,” Husk said.

“Hey,” Charlie turned to him, the faintest hint of a frown crossing her face for mere moments, “What Husk means is, you look really tired, Al, and we’re just a little concerned for you, is all.”

“Oh, please, I’m perfectly fine,” Alastor waved a hand lazily, “I simply... lost track of time reading last night...” Charlie winced at the strain in Alastor’s usually-flawless voice, and the dulled consonants that signified congestion. The brief sniffle Alastor gave only confirmed this.

“You’re sick,” Husk told him.

“Now, now, that was uncalled for,” Alastor’s eyes narrowed, “I know I’m hardly the most stable, but-”

“No, dumbass, you caught something, and you’re sick. Ill. Under the weather. Whatever the fuck they used to say in the 1930s,” Husk clarified.

“Excuse me, I am an Overlord,” Alastor looked affronted, but still that smile never left his face, “I do not succumb to such - to- to such- hhh-!” his words trailed off and his expression slackened, his narrow chest jumping with erratic hitches. He wrenched himself to the side as his eyes closed.

“Hehh’EITshhoo! Hh'EDT-shoo!” Alastor sneezed, doubling over at the waist, “H-hold on... Heh-HEITSHhhoo! Oh, gracious, excuse me...” he sighed, and Charlie and Husk could’ve sworn they heard the feedback of a microphone. 

Probably something to do with his radio powers, they reasoned.

“To such maladies,” Alastor finished.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever, Mister Overlord, I’m out,” Husk made to walk away, “Playin’ nurse to a radio host ain’t in my job description - or our contract.” He slammed the door behind him. Alastor closed his eyes again, massaging the bridge of his nose.

“Ohh, my head...” he murmured, “Can you please tell that... pathetic excuse for a bartender not to do that again?”

“I’ll tell him,” Charlie said, “Now, you stay here, I’ll let the others know you won’t be up today.”

“Not happening,” Alastor managed through a few coughs that scraped at his throat, “I have my radio show, and I can’t let my listeners down.”

Charlie considered this for a moment.

No-one, not even Lucifer himself, could get Alastor to skip his beloved radio show.

“Rest up till then, that way you’ll have more energy for the show,” she eventually settled on, “I’ll get Niffty to make you tea. Your show’s at seven, right?”

Alastor nodded.

“I’ll check on you in a while, go back to sleep if you need to, okay?” Charlie asked on her way out.

“Okay,” Alastor replied quietly. He figured he should probably save his voice; in life, he’d had a tendency to lose the ability to speak entirely when stricken with a head cold, and he hoped this hadn’t lingered now. 

But as he felt a scratchy, sandpaper-y sensation in his throat, he realised this was wishful thinking.

He flopped back down onto his pillows with a world-weary sigh.

Downstairs, Angel Dust, Sir Pentious, Niffty and Vaggie were waiting. 

Pentious looked at his pocket watch - Jesus, the guy was nearly as dated as Alastor - which now read ten minutes past nine.

“Guys, I’m worried about Charlie,” Vaggie finally said.

“You’re always worried about Charlie,” Angel told her, “If I know her, she should be down any minute...”

The door burst open.

But it wasn’t Charlie on the other side of it; it was Husk.

“Radio Demon’s sick, we’re fucked,” Husk said bluntly before heading behind the bar, for two reasons: to try and forget the absolute horror that had been Alastor of all people looking quite that dishevelled, and also because, well, alcohol was in hand sanitiser, right? So it stood to reason that a stiff drink would help prevent any sickness from arising. Yeah. That was why.

For good measure, he put a squeeze of orange juce in there too - he remembered having read somewhere that oranges helped keep the immune system in good shape.

Niffty’s eye twitched. She bolted from her spot to grab her cleaning materials and disinfect the living shit out of the hotel.

“Weirdos,” Angel tutted, “Oh, come on, not you too!” He snapped as he saw Pentious creep towards the door.

“Well, exssscuse me,” Pentious hissed, a look of disdain on his face, “but I have a reputation to uphold, and it wouldn’t do to fall ill and render myself vulnerable. So, goodbye.”

Charlie walked in right as Pentious left, looking highly confused. This bewilderment was amplified by Niffty immediately running up to her and giving her a generous helping of anti-bacterial spray, before scurrying off again.

Charlie's gaze wandered to the bar, where Husk was drumming his hand against the counter, his eyebrows knitted together in worry.

“How the fuck did I get landed with this bunch a’ freaks?” Angel wondered aloud, “I mean, what’s the problem? He’s probably just got a cold or somethin’, not the Black Death.”

“Because if whatever he’s got is strong enough to put an Overlord outta commission, who knows what it’d do to the rest of us?” Husk phrased it perfectly, pouring out a glass of fresh orange juice and sliding it across the bar to Charlie. She drank it, and thanked him.

“Husk, I appreciate your concern - and your juice - but I’m sure Alastor’s gonna be fine. Angel’s right-”

“Not a sentence I ever thought I’d hear,” Vaggie muttered.

“- he’s just a little under the weather, he’ll be over it in a few days,” Charlie finished.

Soooooo yeah wait and seeeeee

A N O N

Okay, I hope it's okay for me to post this. I know you might have wanted to keep this private and I 100% will take it down if you want but I COULD NOT LIVE WITH MYSELF IF I DIDN'T SCREAM ABOUT IT SO

Anon. I literally NEED more of your writing. IT HAS SUSTAINED ME THIS NIGHT. I have to start by saying that. You don't have a BLOG?? MAKE ONE IMMEDIATLY PLS. I JUST. *grabby hands* Your portrayal of the characters made words fall out of my FUCKING FACE

Charlie's voice being higher than everyone else in Hell put together. -I FUCKING CACKLED

AND ALASTOR WHUMP?? IT'S LIKE YOU WERE LISTENING AND ANSWERED MY PRAYERS IS2G

“Radio Demon’s sick, we’re fucked,” oh MY GODS HE WOULD LITERALLY SAY THAT jesszzus I loved your Alastor/Husk interactions. 🤌

THE QUIP ABOUT PENTIOUS BEIGN AS DATED AS ALASTOR SENT ME AKJFDSHG

Seriously, I'm SO FUCKING HONORED you sent this to me and I fucking PRAY to our lord and savior vivziepop that you continue this story 🙏

Keep slaying anon <3 ILYSM

hi pinnie! longtime lurker here coming out of the woodworks to admit that I am a whore for Sybastian ☹️☹️ that post you wrote abt running from him on his floor… I was foaming at the mouth. I literally have such horrible Syb brain rot, so I’m so sorry if this doesn’t make any sense or wouldn’t work 🫶

but GOD thinking abt Sybastian stalking us by literally pretending to be different items in our home. Imagine climbing into the bathtub and all of a sudden you just get fuckin slobbered on 😟

[Honestly mimics are soooo fun, they don't get nearly enough love in monsterfucker spaces. Shut the fuck up about your werewolves, you basic bitches. /j]

It was probably horrendous for you during the beginning, wasn't it? Never knowing when something in your home might spring into a gangly pussy-hungry monster ready to grope and hump and lick at you like a horny pest.

Sybastian was a plague that made you unable to trust anything except the smallest objects you remember having. Even those would sometimes reveal themselves to be mini mimics he hoarded. Your home didn't really feel yours.

Time passed. The mimic never ate you, never killed you, harmed you only in the throes of its lust for your supple little body.

It became a friend. Maybe something more... Because when loneliness clawed at you and you reminded yourself that you couldn't bring anyone else home to abate it (lest they get murdered by your intruder), it didn't seem like a big loss. Because, realistically, could they be as enthusiastic towards you as he is? Sybastian's like a golden retriever of a monster, sometimes unable to keep his disguise up for too long before jolting to greet you with that toothy grin that's become so familiar.

You figure there's no point trying to run from something that has actually started making you happy... Right?

That's why, when you undress in your bathroom, hearing an interested rumble from somewhere, you don't even pretend to be mad anymore.

Not even when the bathtub faucet doesn't offer any water, or when a sloppy wet muscle coils around your leg, to steal kitten licks at your pretty pussy. The mimic almost hesitates, as if unsure as to why you haven't booted him outside yet, demanded to know where he put your real bathtub...

Fortunately, Sybastian can sometimes read between the lines pretty well, and he realizes you've accepted him. He drops his disguise immediately.

Where once he'd usually nip and hump and groan to at least get to rub his cock between your thighs, he now tries to plant kisses anywhere he can on your body, purring hard enough to rock you, and holding your poor body up in the air so he can eat your cunt as rough as possible, volumes of gratitude and relief poured into his every motion.

That encounter changed everything.

These days, if your morning doesn't start with your bed petting your hair and rumbling, then it's not right.

our love is god [ethan landry]

read part 2 here || all parts

pairing: ethan landry x fem!reader

warnings: nothing yet but this fic is heathers-inspired, so be warned for the future.

author's note: hi guys, long time lurker first time poster. this is my first time WRITING fic so feel free to leave any critique. also i don't know if i did the cut right lol i have a lot planned and hope you like!

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Dear Diary,

I should’ve never let Mindy convince me to start this operation. 

Sure, it’s nice to have a steady cash flow, but nothing is more aggravating than everyone and their mother asking for doctor’s notes, report cards, prescriptions, and absence notes when I’m just trying to make it to fourth-period math. When I was ten, I expected to use my Nancy-Drew-inspired skills to unearth hidden staircases or find whistling statues, not help someone’s checked-out mom get a Xanax. 

Yet I forged three (3) permission slips today. Why? Because, next to mysteries, I love the sweet smell of cash in the morning. Yesterday, I added $150 to the rainy day fund. Hopefully, when the weather’s right, I'll be inspired to buy a car and ditch Woodsboro. This town is fucked, alright. Just ask Chad, Mindy, Sam, or–

“Tara! Jesus Christ!” I rub my leg where her sneaker connected. “What’s your damage?”

“Are you done, Shakespeare? You said you’d get lunch with me like, fifteen minutes ago.”

Tara isn’t so great with patience. But, again, I am not so great at keeping track of time. “Yeah, whatever,” I say. “Let’s go see what they’ve cooked up for us today.”

I follow her through the winding path of tables, chairs, and teenage bodies. As we go, I collect bills from outstretched hands and replace them with papers of varying sizes. Tara turns to smirk at me. “What was the event this time?”

“Oh, you know. It’s report card season, and this school is not known for its stellar GPAs.”

“We just have you to thank for keeping it floating below a 3.0,” she teases. “Tell me, Y/N. Does all that extra brainpower of yours get used up matching the way people dot their i’s and cross their t’s?”

I roll my eyes at her. “Sure, Tara. Let’s just get some lunch. I’m seriously starving.”

We grab trays and join the line, aimlessly chattering about the day. Tara’s been my friend since the beginning of the year when I was the only new kid in a town struck by tragedy. We were the only new buyers in Woodsboro over the summer. The rest are still empty, the memory of last year’s Ghostface attacks having driven out long-time residents.

What’s surprising, though, is that the so-called “Woodsboro Four” are still here. Sure, Sam, Tara, Mindy, and Chad mostly stick together, but despite the terrible tragedy that they witnessed, they let me and Annika, Mindy’s current girlfriend, into their lives. I could never measure up to that. I’m just glad they want to be my friend.

I’m taken out of my musings on friendship when I feel someone’s eyes on my back. Without turning around, I recite my usual speech. “$5 for report cards, $10 for prescriptions and absence notes, and an extra $5 for rush fees.”

“Woah, um, tempting, but I’m not looking for any forgery.”

Confused, I turn around to put a face to an unfamiliar voice. The guy’s tall, almost as tall as Chad, with curly brown hair and brown eyes that widen when I meet them. “Sorry, I was just going to get my lunch, but you dropped some cash back here.”

For some reason, my voice is not working. All I can do is look up at him, suddenly captivated by how shy he seems to be. When I pause for a few moments too long, Tara reaches around and takes the money from his hand. “Uh, thanks. I’m sure my friend here appreciates it. Usually she’s more talkative.”

“Oh, god, yeah, sorry,” I finally get out, stumbling over my words. “Thanks.”

“No problem.” Suddenly, I think he remembers to be bashful and walks away without another word.

When he’s gone, Tara laughs. “God, Y/N, drool much? I’ve never seen you like that before.”

I flush red. “Whatever, Tara, you’re the worst.” I give her a playful shove and walk off to buy my lunch. I hand the money to the cashier, but all I can think about are those big, brown eyes, and I know I’m fucked.

what's milo's degree of Online (that is to say, to what extent is the internet part of his life)? i figure that with his complete lack of support system throughout his life, it would've been very easy for him to fall into the terminally online trap somewhere along the line, but it's hard for me to tell for certain.

in particular, how familiar is he with 2010s tumblr discourse and tumblr culture overall, and what's his preferred social media? is he a part of any online communities dedicated to his interests, or is he more of a lurker?

what's his texting style like? how's his capitalization, punctuation, and emoji/emoticon usage?

Good question. My guess is that PreMilo does spend a good amount of time online, but he mostly lurks. I think perhaps he did try to join some of the communities for things like knitting, crocheting and sewing, he generally is kind of shy. I imagine one bad interaction with him attempting to connect with people probably made him go back to lurking again.

I think he might be more on the video side of things? YouTube, blogs that sort of thing. I’m not really sure what kind of social media stuff he would be on, honestly.

I think texting wise it would be something like:

M: hey, do you wanna go out and eat…?

M: sorry for disturbing you…

M: if you don’t want to, that’s okay!!! we can do it another time…

M: whenever you’re free

M: (=^x^=)

I think he’d probably have the emoji of a rabbit but usually delete it so it never sends. Sometimes it sends by accident and he freaks out a bit.

Violence Milo probably isn’t online that much, but Manipulation sure is. He probably is on a bunch of social media and knows a lot about it as well. He’s in tons of chats and loves causing discourse amongst people. He’s that one guy with like 100 different accounts to start problems. I like to think he talks with a bunch more emotes, though much more cat emotes instead.

I just wanted to let you know that I have enjoyed your tmnt fanart (especially Apriltello) over the years. Do you have any new tmnt art projects, or has that fandom ship sailed? If it has, then thank you for sharing your creativity over the years. I’ll always come back to your page for Apriltello eye-candy!

Aw that’s awesome, thank you^^ Alas, I have been reduced to a lowly lurker for the past few years. Can’t say I’ll never post anything TMNT related again, but I definitely have moved on to other things. I’m animating fulltime now, so that leaves me with less energy to draw MORE after work. And what little I do in my freetime is usually related to my own original story.

I do have a couple of TMNT drabbles lying around unfinished, and might post them soon... So I guess keep an eye out still! 

And as a tip, here’s a couple of badly photographed tiny sketchies that I drew recently just to check I still remembered how to draw them XD.

fix this | steve harrington x fem!reader

part one | part two | part three

summary: steve does a little soul searching OR a night of many doors [3.3k]

warnings: angst, established relationship, break up, stancy residue, fem!reader, steve's pov, cliff hanger/ambiguous ending, language, not proofed, lmk if i missed anything

that's all folks! anything else i write for this will either be something that comes to me randomly or that someone requests pre or post breakup bc i kinda want you guys to decide whether she/you take(s) him back or not and how he gains her trust

⤜♡→

Routine has a bitter enemy called the unknown. It's the darkness at a distance, inching and inching before it huddles you into a corner, forced to face the purposely avoided. It pokes and prods at the crevices of your brain, basking in the glow of attention unhindered by the attempts to shove it back into its box. It’s a subtlety, sneaking like a many legged creature awaiting the crush of a foot or a heavy hand. 

Heavy handed is the deliverance of the final blow it bestows before slinking off to the shadows once more, biding time for its next significance. 

The unknown is the bitter enemy of routine. A lurker at heart. It waits for the buildup, allowing itself to be the straw, the last word before the inevitable snap. It’s a concept that watches in fascination and lends its expertise at a moment's notice. 

Notice the end result isn’t always crystal, but dependent. It relies on the body of the thing. Housed on stilts with the decision to break or mend. You are the stilts, two legs heavy of burden and free of direction. The unknown is at your door, not knocking but slipping through the back and resting out of sight. 

The direction is yours and the direction is now, nestled atop shoulders careening with the doubt of what’s to come. 

It’s a confusion, really. One that seeps in without warning, digging claws through the thin material of skin draped over the cage containing an organ beating to its contentment. Such a horrible confusion. 

Love, that is. 

It’s these moments of clarity, body moving without the tandem of the perfect partner, that you wonder about the ache that crawls from your center and inches in vain to the veins wrapping pale arms with the thrum of blood run blue and red when it spills over, oxygen threatening to overwhelm with the need for more.

It’s this feeling and more eating at Steve Harrington. 

At present, his failure to cope with the gaping significance in the hollow of his chest has mutated into a poor work ethic. 

"Next time, if you’re not gonna help me with customers you could at least rewind all the tapes! Halfsies doesn’t apply when I’m stuck playing guess that film for forty minutes." Robin’s grip tightens around Steve’s shoulders, emphasis for words wrought with exasperation. He doesn’t mind much that she’s complaining, thankful that she doesn’t actually force him to pick up the slack these days. "I don't care how long we've been doing this, I lose my mind every fucking time."

"Yeah, pretty sure I'm still waiting for the feeling to come back to my fingers from that tape getting stuck." There’s a sudden deflation in his broad shoulders, already wondering what train of thought will do to distract his brain from the muddled ache nesting there currently. 

He would usually plan to stop off at the house with the white front door, a cozy rug left just beyond the threshold to indulge his feet when he slides his shoes to the corner. He would trail upstairs to find the trace of perfume leading right to your bedroom and push forward on his toes to gauge your mood for the evening. He could always tell by the low leakage of music filtering beneath the door, heightened only when his ear pressed into the wood.

He would knock twice, wait, then rap his knuckle a third time. A secret code and a letter of love reserved for the moments before he could shower you with affection up close.

Now he can hardly remember the last time he felt the cool harshness of the door and heard the melodic tune of “come in” only to find you most times splayed on the thickness of your lilac rug. You would reach for him and he would find you with immediacy.

“So, what’ll it be?” Robin pierces the connection of his brain to the warmth of the memory, forcing him back to the frigid emptiness of the parking lot.

“What?” 

“Takeout and a movie? Stopping at the diner? I’m so hungry I don’t even care what we have, your choice...but you’re also buying.” 

Steve’s step is a stutter just before the handle of the car door, concrete propelling him to catch himself on the exterior, glistening in the golden glow of street lamps. Robin’s lips part to comment on his clumsy disposition, but his eyes are steadied on the placement of his feet and his mind resides anywhere but the stick of his sneakers to the night soaked blacktop. 

She waits for him to proceed, but he seems unaware that there was a question meant to be answered, or is rather opposed to partaking in their usual verbal give and take. 

“What?” Steve senses the build in his chest, an impending thing that answers Robin’s confusion before the jumble of Steve’s first failed attempt. It’s rapid and daunting the way it beats against his skin. He wonders if his chilled hand slid past the barrier of his coat and through his polo would he feel the rough outline of the organ turned grotesque in its confusion. 

“Yeah! I just…well the thing is…” He takes his time sliding into the car, twirling his keys between his fingers.

“Oh yeah, I totally get that.” Robin attempts to lighten the mood, but the bright lights of a passing pickup zero in on their pupils focused forward to avoid the oddity occurring in the front seat. Steve’s lips have come to a repetitious open close, his mouth the net that can’t seem to catch the right words. “Listen, if you aren’t gonna spit it out could you at least start the car I’m–” 

Screeching. She was in fact screeching following the dramatic shift of the vehicle when rough hands pushed against the passenger window and the douse of darkness was too much for either of their eyes to adjust to after the previous bright dilation. Steve is quick to catch on, his hands shoving the key into the ignition, rolling Robin’s window down so a head with fiery hair spilling over the shoulder peers in. 

“Can I catch a ride?” Max pokes at the skin of Robin’s cheek. Steve’s sure her scowl managed to trick the muscles when Max’s hands lift to feign defense and she sends Steve a confused glance. “What’s with her?” 

“What are you doing here?” Steve ignores the question, waving Max into the backseat where she happily pokes her head between the front two. 

“I skated here. Was bored.” 

“I’m not an entertainment service, ya know.” 

“Big words from a guy wearing that vest.” She points to the deep green Family Video uniform dressing Steve down in the glaring uncertainty of his minimum wage future. “Anyway, I was actually hoping you would drop me off at Mike’s.”

“And you couldn’t just board the rest of the way there because…?” Robin drones, pawing at the dial on the radio, flipping through stations riddled with static unsure of which tune they’re actually meant to be playing. 

The whole situation is surprisingly irritable, a mean streak that could never be cured entirely, making itself ever present in Steve with the increasing progression of The Breakup. A title bestowed by everyone not involved, certainly one that sets Steve even further to a reason where he remains stood on the cliffside of eternal nothingness.

“Because it’s getting dark and I don’t know about you guys, but I’m not an idiot.” 

“Dude, I don’t wanna take you to Mike’s house.” A stupid thing, but a guilt that clutches at his collar, wondering if its the moment you sidle by, spotting his car in the clutches of your end all. Something he still doesn't entirely understand, if only because he’s convinced himself it’s better not to. A stupid thing, but he’s nothing if not purusuasive to a fault. 

“Because Nancy will be there? You know that avoiding her isn’t gonna make Y/n come back, right? I don’t even know if she’s actually left her house for anything other than school and even then none of us actually see her around.”

“Yeah, didn’t you have to crawl through her window the other night just to talk to her.” Robin adds, settling on Air Supply for a reason Steve thinks is altogether removed from her own tastes. “If you want her to take you back you’re gonna have to do some serious soul searching, Harrington. Do you want her back?”

“What the hell kinda question is that?” 

“It’s a fair one because it’s been weeks, Steve. You think she hasn’t noticed that you’ve seemingly moved on?” Max tilts her head, obscuring Robin and imploring Steve to focus on the candor of her ocean blue. 

“She thinks I’ve moved on?” He mumbles, adjusting himself in his seat, the sash of his seatbelt suddenly suffocating. “Well I haven’t.”

“Funny way of showing it—”

“Look, Mayfield, you don’t get it! You don’t understand how frustrating this whole thing is. I thought we were fine, perfect really. Somehow I’m always the last to know when things aren’t.” The words are sharp, an edge cutting against the buds of his tongue where his teeth dig into the fleshy muscle. “...and this time I don’t even really know why. I’m tired of apologizing when I don’t have anything to apologize for.”

“Just. Take me to Mike’s, please?”  

“Whatever, but you can get someone else to take you home.”

“Whatever.”  

The ride to the Wheeler’s is mostly silent. Mostly, because the deafening pause is too much for Robin who cuts in every so often with commentary about the passing scenery or a tangent that no one is really listening to. 

Steve pulls to the edge of the Wheeler’s drive, not daring to pass the line of the mailbox, and glances back when Max doesn’t move. She has the audacity to look at him riddled with guilt when she nods toward the house. 

“You should talk to her.” 

“What? Max I swear, if you don’t get out of this car right now I will—”

“You’ll what? Not much a man of action these days, Harrington.” She’s taunting, Robin looking between the two of them like she’s stuck deciding whether she should intervene. Max doesn’t make any move to get out of the car, rather she burrows herself further into her hoodie and watches Steve expectantly. She wins either way, a step toward retribution if he gets out of the car and a point proven if he doesn’t. 

It’s the reason he now finds himself stationed outside of the Wheeler’s front door, hoping that anyone but Nancy answers, a last ditch to turn around and pretend he tried his best. He can feel the burning in his chest, the desire to know what good could possibly come from this, if there is a hope for something with Nancy beyond the horrible darkness. 

It’s a sick feeling, one he can’t remember having prior to this moment. A realization burning through the adolescent wandering of a heart unmended.

“Steve.” Nancy falters immediately, sweater bunching up where she wraps her arms around her frame. She glances over his shoulder, noting the glaring headlights of his BMW. “What are you doing here?” 

“I uh…I’m not really positive. But I think we need to talk.” She nods, stepping aside to allow him into the house. He doesn’t proceed, hand swiping at the back of his neck, an accumulation of something always seeming to nag at the exposed piece of skin. “Maybe we could do it out here?” 

“Sure.” She closes the front door, shouldering the frame while Steve stares straight ahead, at the seasonal wreath hanging from it. 

“I don’t think I ever got over you and everything that happened.” He finally manages, the words feeling like tar the way they worked their way up slowly and coated his mouth until he spit them out. A harsh truth buried beneath the guise of friendship, something he never saw the same way as you. “I don’t really know why, well I probably do but I’m never really able to admit it.” 

“What do you want me to say, Steve? I apologized and I’ve moved on…I don’t know what to say.” It irks him, her dismissal of his admission. It’s not an expectation for her to reciprocate, but a hint of empathy would do in a situation altogether unfamiliar. It reminds him of being with her in the beginning and the way it slowly cooled off near the end. Never any intention of hateful brushoffs but it’s certainly how it felt at the time. 

“I want you to say that you know, because I think you do. Maybe you don’t do it on purpose but you do use it to your advantage.” It’s like a glimmer in the underbrush, an opening for him to take and he’s pushing past the thickness with as much grace as possible but he’s bound to get stuck eventually. “We never hung out when Jonathan was here. It’s a fact, and it’s fine but why is it that I’m always the first person you come to when it gets to be too much?”

“Because I know you’ll be there—”

“Because you know I’d do anything for you. Because I’m the idiot who’s still stuck in senior year, with a girl who left me behind when—” He catches himself, that streak pushing against the back of his teeth. He doesn’t mean it all to sound so bitter, but the festering anger at his own desperation is hard to ignore. “The thing is, Nance, I can’t be that person for you anymore. There is a girl who loves me, who loves me more than anyone, probably more than I deserve and she thinks I don’t feel the same because I’ve been too caught up in something that doesn’t exist anymore.”

“I’m sorry…” She mutters, Steve catching a glimpse of wetness against her cheek before she swipes it away as quickly as it appeared. “You’re right and it’s not fair to you…or Y/n. I guess…I guess I’m just mad that he’s gone and I wanted to go back to junior year when my biggest problem was what I should wear the next time I see you.”

“Nance—” 

“No, you’re right. Whatever we had, it’s not here anymore and it hasn’t been for a long time. You’re such a good friend to me Steve, but that’s it and I have to stop letting you believe it’s anything more than that.” She nods, stepping just a little closer, her hand resting against his cheek with a soft smile. “She loves you more than I ever could, and you deserve it, but she deserves it too. To be loved that way.” 

“Maybe I’m not the guy for her because all I can seem to do is hurt her.” 

“That’s not true. I think you just needed to see things for what they really are, to know everything else was just some stupid desire to chase the past. You should go to her, before it really is some other guy.” She half shoves him, his feet skittering against the concrete.

“Thanks, Nance.”

“Thanks Steve.” 

He jogs back to the car, not a word uttered to either of his passengers before he’s setting off in the direction of your house. The two girls exchange looks, half hopeful with a hint of confusion. 

“What happened?” Max taps at his shoulder, jerking when he makes an especially sharp turn. “Can you maybe drive like a normal person!?”

“Yeah, we’re still in the car, dingus! Both of us live the other way, just in case you were wondering.” 

“I wasn’t, but thanks for the tip.” He counters, coming to a stop in front of your house. He tugs his arms out of his work vest, sliding his hands through his hair giving the strands an unkempt look. Then he just sits.

“Are you gonna go in?” Steve is too far gone to know who said it, every possible scenario of the moment he sees you again swirling in his brain, all of the worst ones popping out like a jack-in-the-box. 

“I think he’s just gonna sit there.” 

“Both of you shut up! I’m going.” This time he does, a foreign feeling walking the length of your driveway. Again, he can’t remember the last time he’d done it, muscle memory saving him from the uneven plate of concrete along the path to your front door. 

He’d stored it in the back of his brain after your third date, he carried you to your room when you twisted your ankle, far too proud to admit how badly it hurt until he peeled your sock from your ankle to see it already angry and swelling. There’s a ghost tugging at the corner of his lips, dusting a smile in place of the lined skin when he lifts his fist to the door. 

“Steve! It’s been a while, I was wondering when I’d see you again.” It’s your mom, the skin around her eyes coming off more tired than usual, but her smile is as radiant as ever when she ushers him into the house. She mentions something about dinner sometime soon and he nods absently before she leaves him to brave the trek upstairs in solitude. 

It’s routine from there, the way he shuffles out of his shoes and wiggles his toes against the fluffy rug as he sets them aside. He’s slower than usual, afraid of what will or won’t happen when he ascends the stares.

He’s suddenly all too aware that he’s empty handed, not that he thinks you’d expect something but it still feels wrong to show up after so much time has passed. He’s aware it’s the longest you’ve been apart since you started seeing each other. He feels even worse.

When he steps onto the landing he can see light filtering beneath your door, but not much. He imagines you must be relying on light by wick again, can picture the array of candles systematically dancing along your dresser. He would periodically advise you against them, the time he found you asleep with them scaring him half to death, but the whole of it was a fondness he couldn’t do without. The warmth of the candles and the soft lighting creating the perfect space to exist as just the two of you. 

He’s outside of your door now, his thoughts distracting him from the gait to the end of the hall. He leans forward on his toes, ear pressing against the door. The vibration is hopeful and he’s sure he catches a lyric or two from some Stevie Nicks song he doesn’t know the name of. His nerves have the better of him, unable to decipher the mood the lyrics or the instrumental are giving off. 

He could turn back now and you would never know. 

He almost laughs at the thought, doesn’t because you’ll hear and the last thing he needs is for you to think he’s mocking you from the other side of your bedroom door. It’s funny because it wasn’t even a thought to come here, it was just something that he knew. Something he knows, the love for you pounding in his chest. Now he’s standing out here, unsure if you wanna see him or if you’ll ignore the gentle singing of his fists.

He knocks twice, waits, then rap his knuckle a third time.

He waits a beat, wondering if you hadn’t heard or if you had and he’s making a fool of himself. His fist is half raised, his right foot turned back toward the stairs, unsure whether to stay or go when he hears it. It’s faint, low beneath the rumbling of your cassette player, but it’s there.

“Come in.” 

I absolutely, 100% want you babbling to me about this AU, yes, PLEASE

So I accidentally wrote an entire ass scene kvjnrekjbe

I got way into it, and this is only one of the scenes I have in mind!! Now that I've written one I kinda wanna do more, fuuuuu--

ANYWAY, ask and ye shall receive! :D. First, the overarching context:

So my main Vision starts with Ling being tossed into YJ, around... three years post-canon of Solaris when edling are engaged and Ed's still traveling around. Some idiot was tryna off the emperor and Ling fucked around with a transmutation circle or sth blah blah crossover logic he's yeeted into YJ.

He lands himself in some kinda facility (I'm thinking cadmus), at the same time that the YJ are conducting a recon operation. He aids in their mission and winds up going back to the cave with them until he can get home. He serves as a good confidant for leadership advice when Kaldur needs it, and Wally calls bullshit on him being an emperor; M'gann is delighted at the new friend, Conner doesn't care, and Robin thrives on Ling's sheer chaos.

Despite that, the team somehow knows even more about this guy's fiance back home than Ling himself. Ed's all he talks about.

This scene happens about a month into Ling's unfortunate stay.

Ling insisted on joining the team—his new friends in this world, if he dared call them such—on their most recent recon mission to cadmus again. Batman reported that there’d been hearsay of strange emissions around cadmus. Mystical emissions, though not any kind the JL had encountered before sans once: when Ling had crash-landed into this world a month ago.

If it’d get him closer to finding a way home, this was completely his business, and nobody could stop him. The YJ, born of such rebellion, backed Ling on his stance.

They split up to cover different corners of the lab, and Robin and Ling, the resident lurkers, got the catwalk in the main lab where Ling originally landed. The giant transmutation circle was still there, littered with random knick-knacks that very likely could’ve been pulled from Amestris, and the reason for those emissions the JL were concerned about. Perhaps the sheer number of the “summonings” had made it seem worse than it was, or—

Robin halted in his intense scrutiny of the circle at the heavy sound of the double doors opening. Ling halted for another reason entirely, as a familiar energy flared in the back of his mind.

He whirled without thinking, stumbling to his knees in his haste to get a closer look down below. 

Robin barely reacted, crouching beside him to peer at the head scientist striding in, the two guards following behind, and—

“—get your fucking hands off me!”

And gold.

Ed, spitting and snarling at the guards.

He was still dressed in a similar manner to when they’d last seen each other a year ago, when Ed had dropped by Xing for a brief, surprise visit after two years apart already. The state of his clothes, however... His maroon cargo pants were torn at the bottom, like they’d been caught on something, and he was only in a black high-neck short-sleeve—not a jacket in sight like usual, showing off the flamel tattoo on his right bicep. His face was scratched and bruised and stray hairs fell from his bangs and clung to his sweat-laden brow.

Ed had been here a while. It was obvious to anyone who could see.

Ling couldn’t breathe.

“You’ll have to forgive my men for their… rougher precautions with you,” the head scientist spoke over the fire. “Our last guest wasn’t nearly so testy as you, you understand. And I rather prefer these parts of my lab intact as solid.”

We’ve got a prisoner in the vicinity, Robin’s voice startled Ling when it echoed through the team’s mind link. Motion?

Strictly observe, for now, came Aqualad’s prompt answer. Who is it?

Looks like a teenager—

“I understand what I’m going to melt next, if that’s what you’re saying,” Ed’s snarl interrupted Robin, and, oh—Ling hadn’t noticed at all, but his heart squeezed at the tone. He’d missed Ed like a limb, and that ferocious baring of teeth, that no-doubt flare of his eyes like—

“Yang’er,” Ling breathed.

Robin spun on him that time. “What?”

He’d forgotten Xingese translated cleanly as “Mandarin” in this world. Robin understood the nickname instantly, and epiphany didn’t lag after.

“Hold on. You mean—?”

“That’s Ed,” Ling choked out, eyes frozen on the scene below with his heart. “That’s—”

“Your fiance?” Robin asked sharply. When Ling didn’t, couldn’t, answer, he cursed and said into their link, Guys, that’s Ling’s Ed down there.

The fiance?! M’gann yelped. Wait, so that means—

So that’s why, Kaldur intoned somberly. Those emissions Batman warned us about, they must’ve been caused by summoning of another person.

Wait, then, shouldn’t we intervene now? Superboy said.

Not yet, Superboy. We must observe—

They were talking about Ed. Like he was just anyone, a mere prisoner. Ling knew none of it was personal, but with the scientist looming so close to Ed, his mind was blurring into tunnel vision on the scientist’s smug voice continuing, “You can certainly try. Though I doubt you’ll be able to with that necklace on now. It might be amusing to watch you test its limits.”

“I’ll show you fucking amusing, you son of a—!”

It didn’t occur to Ling immediately. But his eyes dropped to take in Ed’s snarling expression again, reassure himself of his safety for now, and he froze on Ed’s neck.

His neck, that was collared.

They’d collared Ed—

White noise erupted in Ling’s ears, barely catching Robin’s hissed noise at him to—do something. He wasn’t sure. It bled into darkness when Ed was held back by the guards from lunging at the scientist.

“And what does that say about you, huh?” Ed continued growling. “So scared of one me, you need shackles and a collar on me? You can’t even face me on my level.”

“You spit a lot of poison,” the scientist remarked, dismissing the words, to Ed’s visible incensation. “The other one was much keener on keeping his fangs to himself. Smarter, too, for that. It’s a shame about not having been able to figure him out before he fled.”

Ed’s head snapped up, then. Daggers locking on the scientist’s words.

The scientist caught the look, and smirked. “Oh, yes. You aren’t my first honored guest from your world. My only mistake with that one was underestimating him under all his blathering. But—” 

“Dude!” It was Robin’s hiss that snapped through Ling’s nerves, and his hand that abruptly shot to keep him from leaping with a searing rage when the scientist grabbed Ed’s chin to make eye contact.

“That is all redundant,” the scientist drawled, amused at Ed’s resistance, “considering you already seem familiar with each other.”

“That’s world-cist.” Ed breathed heavily to hold steady in the scientist’s grip and avoid giving him further satisfaction. “You assuming everyone in my world knows each other now?”

The scientist’s gaze wandered, and without warning, he released Ed’s chin, leaving him to stumble—just in time to take advantage and yank Ed’s restrained arms up by the wrist.

“Hey!” Ed barked at the painful angle, refusing to give but clearly wincing, and Ling’s breathing was requiring its own heavy steadying now to keep from shrugging off Robin’s hand and lunging anyway. The man was touching Ed’s battered arm, squeezing especially the bruises and turning them white from the force—

Ling inhaled shakily. And again. 

“Not everyone,” the scientist hummed, observing Ed’s ring, “but most certainly you two. The other one was wearing a ring too. Now, I don’t gamble much with coincidence, but… it’s a rather funny timing, two in a row, don’t you think?”

“I think,” Ed growled, “you should let go of me, right. Now—”

“This is gold too, isn’t it? I was pondering testing the precious metals of your world against ours. If I melt this dow—”

He cut off on a yelling grunt when Ed slammed his shackled wrists upward into his jaw. The scientist spat blood with the motion, and Ed recoiled as far as he could before a guard was on him again. 

Ling could just taste the fire in Ed’s glare when he snarled, “Try that, and I’m melting your face next. I know… exactly where to break down your structure.”

Holy shit, Wally’s thought echoed in the deafening silence that followed.

You could say that again, Artemis agreed.

Ling ignored them both, his heart reaching in favor of Ed’s direction. That was right. Ed wasn’t just any prisoner. He wouldn’t let himself be. He’d sooner bite every hand that tried to feed him here than give them satisfaction.

Ling’s next breath carried through his lungs, that time, and Robin let out his own exhale next to him.

The scientist knows Ed and Ling are connected, Robin reported, at ease now. It’s not insane to guess that—

He’ll try and use one as bait for the other, Kaldur finished. 

Ling clenched his jaw. That’s not happening.

Obviously! Wally said. So, what’s our plan now—?

I’m getting Ed before that passes.

Wait, what—?

The others voiced their concerns, but Ling had already blocked them out, his sole focus in sight. And he wasn’t planning on digressing from it.

“You don’t have to help me,” he said as he stood, aware of Robin’s silent gaze on him. The two of them were… similar, in their practiced masks, however much younger Robin was. They had a mutual understanding, and so he continued, “I will carry this out on my own if I must. You can—”

“Dude, are you kidding?” Robin’s laugh thawed Ling’s solemnity, and he glanced, surprised, at him. “I am so in for a rescue mission. I’ve gotta meet your fiance now!”

Ling’s grin snuck up on him, perhaps a little too wide with the heat in his blood.

“Ed’ll be delighted,” he said, and even as the guards escorted Ed out of room again, his knees didn’t crumple that time. He took a deep breath, and gripped his sword. 

“Let’s move, then.”

Lol I love your blog but I wanna ask soemthjng as a lurker so I can show my friend later lmfao. How about a trainer who DESPISES Leon with all her might and beats him out of spite but the hater to lover trope comes to mind?

Ooh well this is interesting! I’ll do my best as always, I hope you enjoy, anon!

“Fuck that guy in particular… Not literally.”

There he goes again. That arrogant, stupid, stuck-up champion. Winning another match like always! Someone needs to knock this guy off his throne.

He’s just so obnoxious! He’s always getting “lost”, which is probably more for publicity than anything.

Well, at least that’s what you thought.

You weren’t quite sure where your hatred for Champion Leon sprung up, but it was intense. You hated him with every fiber of your being, and would give anything to hit him with a chair.

Surprisingly… He had always been extremely friendly to you. He’s probably just like that with everyone. It’s probably all an act.

And what a bad actor he was, you could see right through it!

To clear off some steam after seeing that purple haired dumbass around again, you headed out to the Wild Area. Maybe you’ll do a Max Raid, or some fishing, or catch a wild Pokemon, or you’ll make a new batch of curry for your team.

You were just about to head into the forest, when a voice caught your attention.

“Uh… Excuse me?”

You turn around, only to find him, with a stupid smile on his face, and he gives a little wave.

“Hi there! I uh… I’m kinda lost-“

Of course you are.

“I was hoping you could maybe point me in the right direction to Motostoke?”

I’ll point you in the right direction to your death, how’s that sound?

But of course you didn’t say those things. You didn’t get a chance, not when he spoke up again.

“Oh wait! I know you! You’re one of the gym trainers at Raihan’s gym, aren’t you?”

How’s he know that?

He grinned from ear to ear, “I’ve seen you battle a few times. You’re a great trainer! Really! Would you… Be willing to battle me before I head off?”

Battling Leon? Well… If you beat him, the victory will sure feel good. Maybe you can even rub it in a little and watch his face drop.

So you agreed.

The battle was fierce, both teams fought violently but also passionately. In the end… You came out victorious!

Leon chuckled as he sent his final Pokemon away, “That was really great! Thanks!”

You nodded and sent your final Pokemon away. You were surprised when he walked closer to you.

Leon sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck, “Hey… Would you wanna… Hang out some time? Maybe not to battle but if you want to…”

That was the last thing you wanted, but you didn’t wanna be rude to him. You may hate him, but he’s being so nice! Even if it is all an act…

So you nodded, “Sure. You know where to find me.”

And he sure did. He found you… Multiple times. He would come see you after matches, hang out with you in the Wild Area, you guys even ran into each other at the library once!

Slowly but surely, your hate for Leon diminished… and was replaced with the biggest crush of your life. He was so sweet and charming! So funny and handsome… He was perfect.

So when he asked you to battle again a few months after your first one, you rapidly agreed. Anything for Leon’s validation!

You won, again, and he came over to you with a chuckle.

“Great job as usual.” He smiled and held out his hand for a handshake.

You looked up at him, your fingers centimeters away from touching.

That was when you blurted out:

“Heydoyouwannagooutsometime?Ijustthinkyou’rereallyhotandsweet.It’sokayifyoudon’t!Iwasjustwondering…”

Leon blinked at you for a few seconds, while you slapped your hand over your mouth.

“I-I didn’t-“

Leon cut you off, “I’m glad you asked first, because I barely had the courage to!”

You could only stare at him as he gently took your hand in his.

“And that’s how I met your father.” You smiled down at the three children from your couch, as your husband sat next to you.

The three children blinked up at you, and the eldest spoke up.

“Tell it again!” He grinned.

“She just told you that one!” Leon chuckled, and kissed your cheek

Head Full of Ghosts

Pairing: Astarion x Dark Urge

Summary: Takes place during the events of Baldur's Gate 3 and explores the romance between Astarion and the Dark Urge, as well as the friendships and relationships she has with her companions. Plus, everyone gives shit to Gale about his cooking. Tags: Slow Burn, Angst, Pining, Humor, Violence, Friends to Lovers, Developing Friendships, Developing Romance, Spoilers for the Dark Urge and BG3 in general, Dark Urge as Original Female Character Rating: Mature (Will eventually be Explicit, just not there yet.) Current Chapter Count: 3/? Read on AO3 (Will post chapters to Tumblr, as well.) Current Word Count: 13,050

Author Notes: Hello, Tumblr! Longtime lurker, first time poster. BG3 has reignited my love for writing fanfic - I think it's legit been over seven years since I've written a fic. The dry spell has now been broken. BG3 has grabbed me by the throat and pulled me back in and damn, if I'm not enjoying the hell out of it. I've got an ongoing fic on AO3, so I figured why not officially join Tumblr and dive headfirst into the fandom? Should anyone read my silly fic, I dearly hope you enjoy it. All these characters currently live in my head rent free.

Chapter 1: Misfits

The toll house burned as Karlach whooped, exacting rage and fury on everything within the abandoned building. Her glee might have been infectious if it hadn’t been so damn dangerous.

Luckily, Eli and her merry band of misfits had gotten clear of the structure before the worst of the fires caught. They now stood in the middle of the dirt cart path that led to the toll house entryway, watching the scene unfold in front of them with the same morbid curiosity with which townsfolk might watch a public hanging.

Wyll rubbed the back of his neck, cringing slightly as the loud and unmistakable crash of something glass-made reverberated from within the inferno.

“Maybe…” he started hesitantly, then cleared his throat. “Maybe someone should stop her?”  

Honestly, Wyll was too pure for their group of maladjusted headcases. Between being forcibly inducted as Emerald Grove’s newest mediator, and trying to figure out just what in the nine hells was going on with the illithid tadpoles in their brains, Eli had not had much time to get to know Wyll. Like her, he was a warlock, though he was being rather cagey about who or what his patron was. She guessed it had something to do with his contract, and it wasn’t as if she had much room to judge.

Eli couldn’t even remember who the hell her patron was. That knowledge was a gaping black hole in her ruptured memory. Sometimes, late at night, in the stifling silence when the chaos of the day had finally died down, she’d try to recall…anything. Anything about her past life beyond the images of blood, death and rot that swirled in her mind. She was never successful, and her attempts usually ended in a roiling headache. The holes in her brain were deep, dark and remained unknown.    

“These days I’m trying to avoid situations that end with me burnt to ash,” Astarion’s snark brought Eli back to the here and now. “But if you’re confident in your ability to be fire retardant, then by all means,” he finished the thought by motioning towards the building with a bit of a flourish.

The building was now practically engulfed in flames so bright that it was difficult to look at. She was pretty sure she could hear the roof caving in. Eli pinched the bridge of her nose and shut her eyes, the light and sound of it all was causing her already throbbing headache to grow and fester behind her eyes.

“Stop trying to suck the joy out of things, Wyll,” Eli said, with a bit more bite than she had intended.

She couldn’t see it, but she heard the eye roll in his response. “Fine. Far be it from me to deny someone their little moments of destructive bliss.”  

Eli huffed in response and felt a presence move up next to her.

“Another headache?” Shadowheart’s voice wasn’t quite concerned, but it did have a hint of guarded interest, and for Shadowheart that was just as good.

“Think I’m going on day three now,” Eli responded with a groan. She let her hand drop from her face and opened her eyes, blinking back against the influx of light.

No one spoke it out loud, but they all knew the significance of that statement. Three days ago, Eli had woke in the middle of the night to discover Alfira, a kind and gentle tiefling bard, brutalized and dead…by Eli’s own hands. The shame, guilt and confusion from that night was still a gaping and painful wound within. Alfira was a constant and haunting presence, a reminder that her mind and body were not her own. She could recall flashes of memory from that night, and she desperately wished that was not the case.

The fear in Alfira’s eyes was emblazoned upon her brain and it followed her into her dreams. She was not sleeping well, if at all. And the terror that she would once again wake up to find she’d torn open another of her companions, one of her friends…it was enough to fill her nights with nauseating dread.      

“Maybe Gale can cook up a sleeping potion for you when we get back to camp,” Shadowheart suggested with more softness in her voice than Eli was used to. “I’m sure your penchant for rummaging through our wares until all hours of the morning isn’t helping things,” she chided a bit more coolly.

Eli gave her a non-committal half smile. She’d taken to perusing their camp’s growing hoard of books during her sleepless nights. Reading kept her mind busy, and off of other darker thoughts that stalked her steps.    

“Given the unholy smells being extruded by Gale’s cookpot the other night, I’m not sure I’d trust him to brew a sleeping potion someone is expected to wake up from,” Astarion said cheerily, stepping up to Eli’s other side opposite Shadowheart. “Besides, there’s nothing wrong with a little extracurricular nighttime activity.”

The suggestive smirk he gave Eli caused the pit of her stomach to tighten.

“Yes, because reading is so titillating,” she deadpanned back at him. Astarion was a shameless flirt, and Eli wasn’t in a mood to deal with him while her head was splitting open from the inside out.

Astarion, however, was not dissuaded.

“Darling, it’s not my fault if you choose a boring activity.” He emphasized the word ‘boring’ and Eli knew exactly where this was going before they even got there.

He leaned in closer and she caught the faint scent of spice and rosemary that always lingered in the space where he’d been. Nine hells, why did she know that?

“You know I’m only a few tents away if you ever want to try a more stimulating activity,” he purred. A small shiver ran up her spine as she felt the breath from his words against her neck.

A derisive snort came from Eli’s other side. “Really, Astarion, were you never taught not to play with your food?” Shadowheart said with the hint of a smirk, which turned into a full grin when Eli shot her a dark glare.

Eli suddenly felt very aware of a certain spot on her neck as she looked back to Astarion, whose red eyes had been lingering there before they flicked back up to her face. She met his gaze and thought she saw something hungry flash across his expression before he looked to Shadowheart.

“Call it an appetizer,” Astarion replied in that smooth and sultry voice that danced so effortlessly from his lips. “Something to get the blood pumping before the main course.”

Eli was starting to feel something akin to what a rabbit may feel when being circled by wolves. Astarion had inched closer to her as he spoke and teased, pushing into her personal space with bravado and squaring up to her like an animal on the prowl. Eli had experienced this behavior from him before, and she hated it. Not because of any issues with personal boundaries - she didn’t even know if she had issues with personal boundaries, considering how full of holes her memory was. No, she hated it because of how her body responded. And she doubted it was the sort of response Astarion was looking for.

All of his bravado, his confidence, how sure of himself he seemed when he pressed near to her, playing his games. It triggered an anger in her she didn’t recognize. A cruel and dominating rage that wanted nothing more than to grab him by the throat and force him to his knees, demanding respect. She was no rabbit fearful of wolves, no plaything for him to tease. She’d flay him sternum to navel for his insolence.

“Stop,” Eli muttered, moreso to herself than to Astarion.

Her head was pounding as she tried to shove those unwanted and vicious thoughts back down into the unknown void of herself. She took a tentative step backwards and nearly collided with Shadowheart, who managed to step quickly out of the way. Eli felt a hand on her shoulder and reflexively flinched away, internally trying to wrest herself from the cloying vile madness that was building in her brain.

“Sorry,” Eli heard Shadowheart say.

Glancing to Shadowheart, Eli saw she had her hands raised in a conciliatory gesture. Likely, Shadowheart had reached out to try and steady Eli. The problem was, Eli didn’t trust herself when her mind went red and hazy.

She didn’t want anyone touching her in those moments. She didn’t want anyone ending up like Alfira…

“That’s enough of that,” Wyll’s strong voice held a very clear note of annoyance in it. “Leave her be and let’s get back to camp. Lest we get lost out here after the sun goes down.”

Eli appreciated the sentiment, but she almost wished Wyll had stayed silent.

“Ah, the dashing Blade of Frontiers here to save the pretty damsel from the dangerous vampire,” Astarion said, with more than a hint of contempt to his words.

Astarion and Wyll did not play nice. They reminded Eli of two dogs posturing and vying for control when they were near one another. And, unfortunately, everyone else got pissed on in the process.  

Astarion continued to bait the hook, voice sickly suggestive. “Hoping she’ll offer you a place to sheath your blade tonight if you play hero?”

Eli wheeled on Astarion with a glare that only succeeded in making the elf smile wider. For all of his pompous confidence, Eli did take note of the fact that Astarion had backed off from her. At least in the physical sense. He seemed more than happy to continue his verbal assault.

“You vulgar bastard!” Wyll barked back, angrily stepping towards Astarion who was grinning like a feral cat. Wyll was taking the bait.

“Lolth’s rotten nickers!” Eli exclaimed, exasperated and over all of this. “If the two of you want to have it out, fine! Just know I’m not asking Withers to bring either of you miserable assholes back if one of you kills the other!”

The blood in her head was pounding again, pulsating painfully behind her eyes. Eli threw up her hands and turned away from the squabbling men, only to see that tiefling barbarian, Karlach, watching all of them with a grin.

“You lot seem fun as hell!” she proclaimed with a laugh as the toll house continued to blaze like an inferno behind her. “Still cool if I tag along?”

“Yeah, sure,” Eli responded. “We all seem to be in the same shithole of a boat, so if you want to grab a paddle I’m not stopping you.”

Eli smirked and Karlach’s face lit up with excitement. “That’s the spirit!”

The next few moments were a blur. Moments in which Eli felt very much like a passenger in her own body. Astarion wasn’t letting up, and from behind her Eli heard his goading voice as he continued to taunt Wyll.

“You know, Wyll, if you’re ever curious about what our dear, sweet Eli tastes like, all you have to do is ask,” Astarion’s sly words were dripping with inuendo.

Eli snapped.

She rounded on Astarion like a displacer beast loosed from hell, stepping into his personal space just as he had done to her earlier. Eli, however, was not playing games. Her head felt like it was exploding from the inside and her vision was beginning to swim. She needed to get out of here. She needed to leave before she lost control. She needed to put this flippant, disrespectful maggot in his place.

“Would you FUCK OFF with your self-aggrandizing bullshit!” she roared.

Eli was up in Astarion’s face now, all venom and rage as she tried to maintain enough control to keep herself from driving a dagger through his eye like the monster inside of her was demanding.

“I’ve let you feed on me ONE time, and that has been the extent of any nightly activities between us,” she growled, locking eyes with the vampire spawn.

Astarion was a few inches taller than her, but in this moment it didn’t matter. They had all seen Eli fight. They’d witnessed the absolute carnage and power that she was capable of, and while most of that ability came from whatever deal she’d made with her patron, they had all sensed something else beyond her skill as a warlock. Something foul and brutal and violent that she seemed desperate to keep restrained.

That thing was leaking out now. Pressing at the barricades in her mind wrestling to break free. It wanted blood and gore and anguish. It wanted out.

“So, keep your pathetic attention-whoring charade in check or I’m going to lock you in a coffin and burry you so fucking deep even the worms won’t be able to find you!” Eli snarled, eyes glittering with a mania that indicated she was far from joking.

Eli didn’t know the chord she’d struck in Astarion – she didn’t even know if he had chords to be struck. She didn’t know how her words wrenched unbidden memories to the surface of his mind, like puss oozing from an infected wound. She didn’t know the torments inflicted upon him. Didn’t know that her words caused his chest to tighten with anxiety as unwanted recollections flashed in his mind. Days, months, years trapped in lonely confinement at the whim of his abuser. Locked away and starved because he said something displeasing or because he begged to be spared the agony of having his scars cut open once again because his master was bored and wanted to play.

Astarion had gone very still in the face of Eli’s wrath. And as the haze of anger in her mind dissipated and the realization of what she’d just said crashed down upon her, her eyes went wide and she took a quick step back. Her head was a mess and she felt like she was coming up out of a dream and seizing control of herself once more.

Shadowheart, Wyll and Karlach stood by, staring with a mix of shock and morbid curiosity. They were not going to get involved, but they damn sure were going to watch this disaster play out.

“I…uh…” Eli stuttered as she pulled herself back from the brink.

Her movements felt lethargic and wrong, as if she were a step removed from the actions her body was taking. But she kept hold of her mental steering wheel and willed herself to maintain control.

“Fuck. I’m sorry, Astarion,” she lifted her gaze, wanting to meet his eyes so she could explain and apologize again.

But Astarion wasn’t looking at her. At least, not at her face. His eyes were fixated on the collar of the burgundy undershirt she wore below her chest armor. His expression fluctuated somewhere between grim detachment and smoldering hatred, crimson eyes glassy and distant.

Eli felt an unnerving sensation of being looked through.

“Astarion?” she questioned, voice softer and tinged with an edge of worry.

She took a tentative step forward and raised a hand towards him. Had he been struck with an incantation? A curse? Maybe Shadowheart or Wyll had cast something as a means of intervention?

Eli was about to turn and ask them when Astarion flinched back from her outstretched hand as if she’d struck him. His eyes snapped to hers and burned with a hostility she’d never seen from him, not even during the famously vehement rows he and Gale would get into over Gale’s cooking (the arguments usually ended with Gale shouting, “You aren’t even going to eat any of it, anyway!” and storming off in a dither).

“Don’t,” Astarion snarled through clenched teeth and a tight jaw. “Don’t fucking touch me!”

Icy loathing dripped off his every word and Eli suddenly recognized the defensive posture he’d put himself in, leaning back and away from her with hands ready to go for a weapon or even swing at her should she move closer. He reminded her of an animal trapped in a corner, baring its fangs at something…

At something dangerous. At something intent on hurting them.

Shit. Had her outburst really been that bad? Had he really thought she was going to attack him?

A pang stabbed through her stomach as she realized…of course he had. Because of what she’d done to Alfira. She’d already proven she was capable of brutalizing the people around her, no matter how innocent they were. They thought she was dangerous. Astarion, a godsdamn vampire who’d crept up on her in the middle of the night, thought she was dangerous.

She needed to get herself under control. This wasn’t a sustainable lifestyle. At least not for the people around her…

“Astarion, I’m really fucking sorry,” she backed away from him, giving him space and bringing her hands back to her sides. “I’m not even entirely sure what happened. Things got…hazy. I’m really sorry.”

It was a piss poor excuse, and an even worse apology. She knew. And it seemed he agreed.

“You can choke on your apology,” Astarion snapped as he shoved past her. “If the tadpole turns you tonight, it wouldn’t be too soon.”

The sheer venom of his words stung as painfully as if he’d stabbed her right there on the spot. She opened her mouth to reply, but could think of nothing worthwhile to say. So she snapped it closed and watched him walk off down the path that led back to camp.

Well, some fantastic leader she was turning out to be. She already didn’t understand why anyone thought she, with her magnitude of memory loss and murder happy tendencies, was the ideal candidate for a position of authority. She was awful at this shit!

Eli had spent a lot of time combing through her fractured psyche, trying to piece together any semblance of facts about who she was. In all that self-reflection, she’d concluded there were two things she was really good at. Killing people and drinking.

Fuck, what she wouldn’t give to be doing either one of those things right now instead of this.

She turned a miserable expression on her remaining companions. “Is it too late to go back to the mind flayer ship and just surrender?”

Wyll laughed and sided up to her, clapping a hand on her shoulder and trying to be reassuring.

“I’m sure he’ll get over it,” he said. Then, with a somewhat darker smirk, “And if he doesn’t, we’ll just stake him. Luckily for us, our benevolent illithid captors saw fit to crash us in the middle of a forest. Trees everywhere.”

Wyll grinned while Eli just gave him a deadpan stare. He wasn’t helping. Maybe he wasn’t too pure for their little group, after all. Maybe he was just as much of a dumbass as the rest of them.

Eli looked to Shadowheart, who simply rolled her eyes before glancing after Astarion as he continued to walk further and further from the party.

“I bet he just needs some time to cool down,” Shadowheart mused. “Men can be irrationally dramatic when they put their minds to it.”

The grin on Wyll’s face fell as Shadowheart started to follow Astarion down the path. Eli trailed after her, glancing to Karlach in the hopes of making some sort of conversation to distract herself from all the pain and noise in her head.

“I’m just happy to be here,” Karlach laughed.

Inspired by a scene from chapter 16 of @afreakingdork ‘s rottmnt villain!donnie x reader fic “Weak Spot”

She’s got me in a freakin’ chokehold since she first posted “A Crush Too Much”. Seemingly at first that it would be a sweet short story but was instead I slapped with feels and taken for a ride. I have a hard time putting my though into words so I’m usually a lurker until I read this scene. It was so vivid that I had to draw it. This also gave to the courage to post my first fanfic fanart.

Sadly it’s not fanart for Donnie… the only one I can draw at the moment is Mikey 👉👈

Links to the fics mentioned. She has more rottmnt donnie x reader fics that deserve more love.

Yaknow as a longtime itch.io lurker one thing that makes me sad is that there’s a lot of different takes on the same theme that don’t actually try to do anything new. Usually fantasy stuff. There are so so many fantasy packs that are nearly identical…

The art is fine and a lot of effort already, but it makes the assets not… stand out. Which is understandable! The point is to make something generic anyone can use! But it’s also a shame artistically because there’s little that’s unique to them, so they fade into the background easily… Plus if I need something specific I might have five packs to look through that just don’t do what I want, because they have the same take on the same theme, so I have 7 different Generic Unidentifiable Trees and Village House With Hay Roof but say no wooden cart an ox could pull. (I genuinely don’t remember seeing that as an asset before…)

Say, let’s continue on fantasy packs. I can name like one or two of them that I remember specifically because there was a variety of themes to them— going way beyond man with sword in European forest with some village and river tiles. That’s what makes me actually want to buy them! If there’s a variety in the type of characters and body types, or the kind of places you can lead your characters into (and I can repurpose this stuff even when it SOUNDS super specific! Don’t think I can’t! I grabbed underwater atlantis ruins and made it into an aquarium zoo with themed flooring… one time I made a greenhouse out of several recolored tilesets and the only thing I had to draw was glass tiles!)

I’m not here to complain. See if I want to do something unique, I CAN draw it myself… the thing is, my art is passable, but I don’t like drawing as much as coding so it’s not a great incentive. I’d rather grab something an actual artist made! Genuinely! That’s mutual benefit! So I’m not here to complain I’m just… kinda sad tbh!

When I go look at what’s new a lot of it doesn’t do anything to stand out! It’s just more trees and villages and oh this one has a slime enemy. Well. Like 2 out of 5 I saw in the past month. And they’re all blue. Rimuru come back here

Part of it is of course because I’ve been there a while, but you’d be surprised how some stuff is actually hard to find. A 16x16 4 directions dragon, for instance? I’ve only found one. Why’s no one drawing that when there’s so many 16x16 fantasy packs? (I think it’s because they’re hard to draw, which… fair. but there’s a niche there!)

One time years ago I went looking for a giant beehive environment for a part of a game I was making, and I could not for the life of me find anything, paid or not, so I drew it myself and put it out there. Recently, I noticed someone else did it too (much better than my own lol, more detail, cleaner art, they did a great job)

But like. There’s plenty of other themes that probably never see the light of day. Say, a flesh environment like you’re inside a monster, I’ve only seen a couple float by too, and at least one of them was precisely in a fantasy pack that went out its way to cover a dozen of themes. Most folks stop at the base fantasy stuff as a starting kit. There might be some here and there but I don’t think I’ve ever seen a pack intended to be set in a real city, so you can’t really make a historical game without custom assets— wouldn’t there be a lot of games you could make if you could make it look like you’re strolling in Paris in particular? There’s plenty of photo references for this stuff, but people will mostly draw something generic instead (understandably! being too specific risks not selling!). There’s a lot of gaps when everyone does the same stuff over and over, especially if it’s in almost the same way they’ve seen before.

Coz that’s what happens when you try and be generic. You match the generally accepted feel. Look at the current state of anime, you could put half a dozen isekais in the same world and the characters wouldn’t notice anything changed. The tropes barely ever vary from how they’re established. Elves are thin, pale pretty blondes with light eyes and long ears (have you ever seen a fat elf in mainstream media??). Magic is cast with mana and if you go too hard you cough blood (no one remembers tuberculosis is the origin of this trope). Young nobles all go to a magical academy (this is such a funny parody of what europe was like that it’s completely detached from reality at this point).

I find this fascinating. Not bad. Really interesting in its own way. People end up concentrating on details to be creative about and it has its own value. But it does not help anyone be super creative in the broader settings. Even the sceneries are the same, and it ends up reflecting on what you find on itch— because stories that have already been made are what artists draw inspiration from, right? It’s a cycle.

(It’s a cycle in more ways than one, the other day I saw someone compile a bunch of webtoons that re-use the same 3d model of a castle to trace in their story, because they all used the same resources to draw…!)

So, I think going out your way to do something specific makes you stand out lately, if only because there’s so much generic stuff floating around. Specific themes in a huge pack ARE often the appeal. A city isn’t just streets and doors and windows. What about bus stops and railways? Shops with their big letters out front? Parks? And every one in the real world has its own quirks too. If you draw a specific train, it’ll feel homely to someone, and like a faded vacation for someone else. A train you draw as you think about what trains look like from movies and films, or referenced as a midway point between four others, will not evoke a particularly strong feeling, it’s just the idea of a train.

Oh wow this is getting away from me. Apologies. You don’t have to post all that. Let me get back on track.

Lately on itch I noticed one artist who’s been doing a fantasy pack BUT having a fun time doing less realistic colors, and see, that makes them stand out! I actually remember them! But that’s an exception. Most don’t do that. The grass is green, the sky is blue, and winter packs (when they exist) are all white snow over forests with frozen lakes.

From my personal experience the stand out criteria for asset packs are often sheer variety/volume (not super healthy for artists but I think that’s the biggest appeal, which encourages generic takes on stuff… since you want big numbers. Still huge respect for those who actually go through with it, it’s a ton of work, especially if they do take the time to explore themes!) or personal taste (can’t actually control your audience, but say, I’ll pick up characters if I think their faces look particularly cute over more crunched up ones).

TLDR I really respect all the artists on itch but I’m sad “generic” seems to be believed to be the way to go to sell something. I’m not even sure it’s actually true. It feels like christmas whenever I find something I’ve never seen before on itch! (ouch my wallet. yes i have an asset hoarding problem.)

All that to say: I really like your art! It stood out to me from how expressive and diverse it feels! I’ll be looking at your future works~ Sorry about the ramble hahaha I spent like… an hour more on this than I intended o-O No need to post it if you don’t wanna…

Hey, don't worry about the length. I write long ass rambles, rants, and essays all the time. On letterbox'd you can see me write 10k words for movies 5 people saw. I appreciate a person who can speak at length about things and isn't afraid to follow sidebars and tangents and can and does circle back to the point effectively. Underrated skills.

This was really fascinating to read and could EASILY be reshaped into a convincing "state of the union" style essay about where things are at for this aspect of Itch. Itch does not receive much coverage the way other big internet things do, not that I know of. I have to admit though that I'm not in "the community" of itch very much. I have a weird disconnect where it's hard for me to see how and where to "join" stuff and I often find myself on the margins wondering why I can't get closer. I kinda hope the weird meta-discourse on things like Youtube never really happens to itch but if it did, I suspect reflective essays like yours here would be the higher quality material.

Anyways. It's nice to know that you appreciate what I try to do with my assets. You're bang on that "generic" seems to sell better but also comes with major caveats. I noticed there were almost no unofficial cyberpunk/scifi/future assets for RPG Maker and similar all the way back in 2001 when I first started playing with RM2K. It hasn't got much better since then and I suppose part of that may be a lack of standout, big deal indie games (particularly RPG maker games) that use these aesthetics. There is ALWAYS time for fantasy, even the generic Western Europe shit that you always see. There is also an entire subgenre of "Stardew-like" assets and games. I myself am making a take on the lifesim genre, The Hedge Wizard, but the art style is probably closer to Earthbound, Roots of Pacha, etc than to Stardew. You can see some of the material from that on my tumblr if you're keen.

My personal fantasy theme, The Nine Realms, on itch, is Norse inspired and does feature diverse characters for the exact reasons you highlight. I think the fantasy genre and JRPGs have a long history of racism, some of it very mild and some of it not at all. The kind of person who looks at my Nine Realms stuff and goes "black vikings? wtf" is a person I don't want anywhere near me or my work. They're not only factually incorrect assuming Europe was some kind of white fortress, but they're missing the point. I'm glad you get it because it means someone does. You may be interested to know that Nine Realms basically does not sell. I periodically work on it still because I have a big plan for it (including a take on elves I think you'll like) but it's a passion project. I think it would sell better if I was more holistic in my approach to what assets to include (one piece of advice I got was that it should include "farmsim" stuff and I see why but haven't been especially moved to get into that). In the very cynical and depressed part of my brain, I assume racism and "anti-woke" sentiment is part of the reason it doesn't sell too. I deliberately drew a line in the sand, a thing I do often on principle, and I can handle the consequences. Like you, I am often fascinated by these things, especially how tropes work.

At the end of the day, artists are on itch for different reasons. There's a small community of pixel artists who specifically do itch stuff and there's a split between those who buy into the hustle mindset, the personal brand, all that shit, and people who do not. I do not. I know it means I'm "less successful" but the far end of the more hustle-oriented artists are people who analyze Youtube metrics and exploit children for money (people don't like to admit or consider that the internet's demographics have fundamentally changed) creep me the fuck out and I won't be part of that.

Would love a link to the fantasy artist you mention. Always looking for people to follow on itch. I also tend to like unorthodox color choices. I played a game a while back that was basically a top down Soulslike made out of scribbles. Can't remember the title and google is of no help as usual. Haha. Anyway, that one was cool.

Last thing I'll say for now is that I do have something new coming, a new theme, that is all in b&w or grayscale. I've teased it a bit but let me know if you want the full pitch and I can lay it out. It's the thing called Retro Dead City. Might be a big enough hint right there. Haha.

Thank you for showing so much interest in me and my work. I really appreciate it and enjoy conversations like this.

usually i’m more of a lurker when it comes to fandom spaces, but for some reason i find myself having strong opinions about a certain wizard.

at this point i am very hesitant to follow any g@le themed blogs (or write posts about anything else other than his romance) cause imo a lot of people miss the mark when it comes to their interpretation of him. either reducing him to his domestic side/being the “perfect husband” or putting the focus on his hubris and thirst for power alone… and sadly a lot of his nuance is lost in the process.