#no I did not rearrange the order of the panels

[cherchersketch]

They are literally killing me

Karina’s Last Days

#manhwa #manhwa live reactions #Karina’s Last Days #no I did not rearrange the order of the panels #she literally thought that after he kissed her #and postponed a wholeass banquet because she was feeling unwell #girl please

[insomniumstella]

bitter end 

bucky x reader

summary: y/n could've never imagined attending Bucky's wedding if she wasn't the woman in white, but the Universe has a funny way of putting things in order. this is part two to traitor  

warnings: probably none, except for possible foul language??

word count: 1,875

author’s note: thank you to the scumbag that is my ex-boyfriend for the inspiration, again. you’re truly full of surprises. also, i received a bunch of messages with ideas for a “sequel” which i was against until this sh*t happened. i’m sorry for making Bucky suffer, and for ignoring all ideas of “happy endings”, but i do promise to make it up with a fluffy fic sometime soon. anyway, much love to all the beautiful babes who ever had their hearts broken!

She could remember running her eyes over the words again and again as if the letters would somehow rearrange themselves once she memorized every curve of the ink set deep within the layers of the glittering white paper that was Bucky's and Mila’s wedding invitation.

HAPPILY EVER AFTER

James & Mila — 2022.06.11. The ceremony starts at 4PM.

Lake Shore Drive, Lake George NY 12845

There was no reason, other than pettiness, and perhaps jealously too, for Mila to send y/n an invitation to their wedding. The girl couldn’t think of a single, sane reason she had decided to attend it either, but there she was, standing in the backless, silk dress Bucky had bought as a gift for their first anniversary, solely because emerald green was his favorite color, and he thought it suited y/n’s skin like no other color could.

She didn’t spot Bucky in the crowd of people that filled the dimly lit venue. A flash of white though, a color she dreaded all night to notice as y/n couldn’t envision attending the ceremony, caught her eye — Mila ran a perfectly manicured hand over her swollen belly, smiling at some people y/n didn’t care too much about recognizing.

The universe had a funny way of putting things in order. Less than a year ago, y/n called Bucky Barnes her boyfriend, and now he was a married man with a child on the way. What is meant for you will find you, Wanda’s words replayed in her mind, what is meant for you will stay. The girl had a hard time wrapping her head around the fact that James Buchanan Barnes was not the person meant for y/n to love and cherish ‘till the end of the line. The person that is truly destined to be a permanent part of your life will fight for you because they can’t imagine a day without you. A fish can’t live without water, can it? She had been struggling to keep her head above the water for a while now; gasping for air as she waited for Bucky to save her, yet he never did. It’s time to let go of the past. Wanda was right. You won’t get to experience the future otherwise. 

She didn’t realize how much she needed fresh air until her high heels made contact with the hardwood panels of the venue’s upstairs balcony. She ran a hand over the smooth railing, relishing in the crisp scent of pine trees when a sudden realization dawned upon the girl. Her favorite color was no longer green — it was pink now. She’d play The Chain by Fleetwood Mac on repeat instead of Vienna by Billy Joel because Vienna used to be their song, and they no longer existed. Sam had noticed the absence of creamer in y/n’s morning coffees, and Wanda had been surprised by her sudden interest in baking. To James, the wedding was a celebration, to y/n, it was a goodbye; he was a memory, she was a stranger. 

“I must say,” Bucky's voice cut through the suffocatingly heavy and silent night’s air as he emerged into the balcony, “I’m surprised you showed up.” A soft chuckle followed the statement.

Propping her forearms on the railing, y/n leaned against the metal. She thought about throwing a sarcastic remark his way, but there was only one thing on her mind - a question so heavy, y/n couldn’t bear to carry it on her shoulders for a minute longer. “Did you know?”

Did you know? was a question Bucky shouldn’t have hesitated to answer. “Yes.” He sighed, turning his head in her direction. They were the only people occupying the balcony. The full moon cast a cool glow on Bucky’s face, illuminating the same features y/n was once in love with. “I knew Mila was pregnant when we had sex.” 

She nodded but stayed silent because there were no words she could’ve used to express the hurt and betrayal that burned in her heart. I knew Mila was pregnant when we had sex, and yet he lied through his teeth that he loved her.

“Are you mad?” He suddenly asked after a few moments of excruciating silence, keeping his eyes firmly set on y/n. She didn’t dare to meet his gaze.

Considering both a yes and a no, “no,” she hissed.

“No?” Bucky repeated, not caring to disguise the surprise in his tone. 

“No.” This time her voice was much louder as she turned her head in his direction. “Is that a surprise too?”

“Slightly.” He shrugged his shoulders. 

It was her turn to chuckle. Either James Buchanan Barnes had always thought very little of y/n, or he truly didn’t know her anymore — didn’t know her favorite breakfast spot, the car she’d pick for a late-night drive, the fact that she was capable of leaving behind the anger his actions evoked months ago.

“I would’ve done anything for you.” She gripped the railing, staring at the peacefully still lake ahead of them. “I wasn’t too hard to love, James, you’re just a pathetic excuse of a man.” Her voice remained calm, but her tone dripped with poison.

“Doll, let-“ He spoke up, but y/n quickly interjected. 

“Do not call me doll ever again. God, Barnes, have some respect, your pregnant wife might be looking for you this very moment.” She waved a hand in his face when the soldier opened his mouth to speak. “You, I’ll forgive. It’s me, the girl who fell in love with James Barnes in the first place, whom I can’t. Do you know what that’s like? To look in the mirror every morning and see a person you can’t recognize because you don’t remember them being so weak they managed to fall for obvious lies and false promises?” 

“For what it’s worth, you’re not weak if you’ll eventually be able to forgive me.”

“Mmhm.” Her voice was barely a mumble as she rolled her eyes at his mournful tone.

He continued to stare at y/n while she continued staring at the scenery. Shifting in place for a second, as if deciding whether leaving was an option better than lingering around, James came to stand behind y/n. Their hands slightly brushed as he gripped the metal, trapping her between the railing and his chest. He was so close she could feel the intoxicating warmth of his body and smell the remains of that particular cologne she had gifted him two Christmases ago. She thought she was mostly over it, but it was too much, too quickly, and y/n shut her eyes closed to keep herself from crying.

“You didn’t fall for lies, y/n.” James caressed her knuckles with his flesh hand. Her left wrist was no longer adorned with the cheap but sentimental bracelet he got y/n on their first date. The discovery came as an unpleasant surprise. “I couldn’t have dated someone I wasn’t in love with.”

Lies, lies, lies, she thought, but turned around nonetheless, running her fingers along the silhouette of his jawline. “Is that so?” The soft touches of her skin against James’s left a burning trail in their path. “You love Mila? In every sense of the word?” She put heavy emphasis on the word every because they both knew he couldn’t love Mila the way he used to love y/n — at least the way he once pretended to love her. 

“Yes.” James took a bit longer to answer than he wanted to.

“Once a liar, always a liar, huh?” She smiled, finding the reply amusing. “Perhaps both of our memories have been tainted, and,” the girl paused for effect, placing her hands on his shoulder, “there was never an us in the first place.” She ran her fingers over the man’s taunt arm muscles before smiling again. “If our relationship was an illusion, how could I know The Winter Soldier’s definition of genuine love?” 

James had to forcibly swallow as if he was fighting back tears. “What are you talking about?” Her hand wrapped around the soldier’s neck; a warning. “It wasn’t an illusion.” The tremble in his voice was a dead giveaway of the sorrows that burdened his conscience.

“The woman who’s carrying your child,” she addressed Mila without mentioning her name out of spite, “does she know? Does she know that the one and only apology I’ve ever gotten from her husband, he spelled out on my clit?” James averted his gaze, but y/n gripped his chin, forcing the man to look at her. “Has she seen the scar?”

“No.” Bewilderment and shame painted his expression. “I couldn’t tell her.” 

“Oh.” She raised her eyebrows. “Why didn’t you show Mila the scar, Bucky?” False confusion etched its way into her tone. Bucky, he winced at the nickname. Though he was towering over the girl, it was undoubtedly clear who had the upper hand. A tense silence fell between the pair. “A liar and a coward.” She finally chuckled. “That was all you ever were. That is all you ever will be.”

Ducking to escape the confine of his arms, y/n glided to stand in front of James. He didn’t realize how tightly he had been gripping the railing until he was turning around to look at her. Much to his surprise, y/n’s face held no signs of emotions. Instead, it was so eerily blank, her icy stare sent goosebumps down his back. 

"Babe?" A figure emerged from the hallway and into the balcony. "You’ve been gone for a while, and I started getting worried.”

She took a step forward, letting their chest slightly brush against each other, and placed her hands on his shoulders. Just for a split second, y/n was a spitting image of the same girl he had fallen in love with over three years ago — warm, and loving, and as mournful as it was to admit it, almost his. Yet James blinked, and the illusion shattered. For better or for worse, the woman who stood in front of him, James couldn’t recognize. 

"Don't keep Mila waiting," she smiled, gently fixing the collar of his dress shirt, "she's your wife, after all."

Scrunching his eyebrows, James silently pleaded for y/n to stay, whether it'd be for a minute or a lifetime longer. One more chance, y/n, he thought, one more chance is all I need.

"Babe?" 

Sliding her arms down his chest, y/n let them fall to her sides before quickly smoothing her silk dress. "Enjoy the rest of your night, Sergeant." A final goodbye, said without any malice or hurt in y/n's tone as emotion returned to her features. "Captain," she turned around, acknowledging Steve, "care for a drink?"

It was a nightmare for James. The blonde's childish grin, his innocent eyes. The woman wrapping her hand around Steve's bicep while he nodded at Bucky as if to say have fun, pal. James snickered. See you Monday, he thought, silently imitating Steve's stern voice, don't forget to consummate the wedding. 

“Shall we?” Steve’s voice cut through the heavily awkward tension as he addressed y/n. 

She smiled, glancing at James for the last time before her eyes fell back on her boyfriend. "After you, Captain."

#bucky x you #bucky imagine #bucky x reader #bucky x reader angst #bucky barnes x reader #bucky angst #bucky barnes x reader angst #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes imagine #insomniumstella #insomniumstella masterlist #insomniumstella traitor #bucky barnes angst

[nuggsmum]

Nuggs! Always happy to slide into your asks! Coincidentally I'm missing your leading men something fierce today 🥺

How would a coffee shop meet up between Sy from Applewine Valley, Auggie from Unexpected and Walter from The Light look like?

🥺👉👈 (no pressure to answer it feel free to ignore)

Love ya!

Ohhhhh. Ok ok ok. I did a thing. Thanks for the prompt baby… I was kinda missing my guys too 🖤 thanks for distracting me - I needed it today 😘

It’s short, it’s stupid, it’s not edited. 🥰

Swirls of powdery snow skirted across Main Street, the frigid temperature outside clashing with the heat from the ovens out back causing the tall windows of The Burnt Biscuit to fog over.

Cassie was filling the glass case with pastries and donuts for the early morning crowd that was due to start arriving in the next hour or so, snow or no snow, these guys never missed their morning coffee and breakfast on their way to work.

Smiling to herself, she reflected on how the years had changed her life. Four kids, a successful bakery and a new identity. It was never where she thought she’d be. It was never what she’d have dreamed she needed.

The love of her life could be heard in the kitchen, muttering about almost being out of chocolate chips.

“I put some on the order last week, they should be in tomorrow.” Cassie called absentmindedly rearranging the donuts.

“You’re the best, Princess.” He called.

A smile froze on her lips as the front door opened. It was too early for customers. Everyone in town knew they didn’t open the doors until five, even if they were left unlocked.

Two men stood just inside the door. Two very large men. Two men who looked oddly familiar but she couldn’t place it. One shook the snow from his curly hair as he looked around the shop, while the other dusted off his close shaven head, staring right at her.

“Sorry to intrude on you so early, ma’am.” The short haired man said, the drawl of his Texas accent floating over her like honey. “We’re looking for August.”

Don’t panic. Don’t panic.

“Just a second.” Cassie said quietly as she turned and walked as normal as she could manage through the double swinging doors into the kitchen.

“Just like I imagined she’d look like from the way he talked about her.” Murmured the other, his British accent as smooth as the Texans.

Fear crept through her as her imagination ran wild.

Are they the bad guys? The ones that August had mentioned so many years ago… the ones he said could use me against him? I thought all this was over.

August stood completely still, his hand hovering over the oven handle, watching his wife as she stopped just inside the door and sank against the wall, staring at him like a deer in headlights.

“They’re here.” She breathed, tears brimming the corners of her eyes.

His heart quickened as he stalked to the cabinet he kept the muffin tins in. Flipping the side panel open, his hand wrapped around the gun he’d kept there for the last eight years. It wasn’t lost on him how it felt like the touch of an old, forgotten and unwanted lover. A shudder ran down his spine at how at home it felt in his hand despite his repulsion to the weapon. He’d put this life behind him, even though he’d never stopped being vigilant. His wife and children were everything he’d never let himself want, and now that he had them, he would burn the world he’d saved to keep them safe.

“Stay here.” He whispered to Cassie, pulling her to his chest and kissing her one last time, just in case.

Stepping through the door, gun raised and finger on the hair trigger, his breath left his body in one relieved sigh and couldn’t help but crack a sideways smile at the sight that greeted him.

“You could have called, you bastards.” He growled, the gun falling to his side as he lowered his hand.

The man with the closely shaven head turned to the curly haired man with a smirk.

“Gun drawn, ready to shoot us between the eyes. You owe me twenty bucks, Walter.” He laughed when August rolled his eyes.

“No, you said twenty bucks he shoots us. No shots fired, you owe me twenty dollars, Sy.” Walter murmured. “Will you please tell your wife that she can put down her gun?”

“You really did stumble on the perfect woman for you, didn’t you?” Sy laughed glancing over his shoulder.

August looked at him quizzically then followed Syverson’s gaze to the front window, where Cassie stood, a small pistol trained on his cousins.

“That’s my girl.” He chuckled, his sideways grin stretching the scars on his face taut.

“I guess we were all lucky in that way.” Walter mused as August gestured for Cassie to come inside.

Sheepishly, she poked her head in the door.

“Sorry.” She muttered.

“Come here, Sweetheart.” August pulled her to his side.

“Cassie, my cousins Walter Marshall and John Syverson.”

“Jack.” Corrected Syverson. “Or just Sy.”

“We used to call him junior when we were kids and it always made him cry and and punch us in the face. Or try.” Walter laughed.

“Only because my mom hated it and I didn’t want her to hear it.” He growled, looking like he was about to rip the curly hair off Walter’s head.

“Nothing wrong with being protective of your mother.” Cassie said quietly, looking up at August, thinking of what he had done for his own mother. She could help but note a different kind of smile on his face than she’d ever seen there before. This was a happy part of his past. He loved his cousins, it was clear.

Syverson nodded at her and winked.

“Why don’t I get you all something to eat and some coffee?” She offered, wanting to let her husband spend time with his cousins.

Once the three large men were settled into the small office in the back, coffees and an assortment of pastries and breads on the desk, August swung the door shut as more of the staff began arrived for the morning rush.

“Do I want to know why you didn’t mention this?” Walter gestured at the side of his face.

August sighed.

“Don’t pry, you big ninny.” Sy bumped his shoulder into Walters.

“We don’t keep secrets.” Walter said quietly.

“Oh, we don’t?” August snapped, his steel blue eyes meeting his cousins matching ones. “Care to explain why you didn’t call when you went off after your fathers killers? Just stole a fucking boat and sailed off to your death?”

Walter looked away, guilt eating at him. “There wasn’t time.”

“Hey. It’s over now.” Sy said sternly, effectively cutting through the tension.

“I could have helped.” August continued.

Walter shook his head.

“No, your wife was eight months pregnant with your, what? Third kid?”

Sy nodded, “And Izzy was laid up on bed rest with the twins. Same excuse he gave me.”

“You both had finally found your lives. Settled down. I wasn’t going to risk that for a fools mission. I didn’t have anything so it wasn’t really and issue.”

“And look how that turned out.” August’s sideways smile made Walter blush a little.

“Yeah.” He muttered sheepishly. “Though the honeymoon is certainly over. Irene threw a book at my head when I told her I was going to see my cousins.”

“Why?” August looked surprised. To hear his cousin talk about his new wife, she was sweetness personified. A veritable angel.

“She was mad I didn’t tell her I had cousins.” He shrugged.

“Understandable.” Sy chuckled. “Izzy was pissed too. She only knows about my dads side.”

“There’s enough of them to test anyone’s memory.” Walter laughed.

“Yeah. Like rabbits, runs on both sides apparently. How many are you at now? Five?” August glanced at Sy.

“Well… might be six. Izzy was throwing up yesterday morning. But that might have just been the dead mouse the cat dragged in.” He grinned.

“So are we going to skirt around the reason you two decided to darken my doorstep instead of just messaging me as normal?” August asked, sipping his coffee and watching as his cousins exchanged a dark look.

Walter sighed and gestured for Syverson to spill the beans.

“It’s about Gramps.”

August narrowed his eyes.

“He’s dead. Has been for thirty years. What kind of death trap suicide treasure hunt did he leave for us?”

“That’s the thing. He’s not dead.” Water tossed a folder onto the desk, a photo of their maternal grandfather, absent father of their mothers, in his prime sliding out of the dossier and settling in front of them. “And from what I understand the old bastard is in deep trouble.”

#Henry cavill #august Walker #Walter marshall #syverson #a short piece of shit ditzel #like a Drabble but #not #it distracted me #thanks baby 🖤🖤

[suiseisyojo]

to belong in a magician's hat.

「sakasaki natsume x akiyama reine // natsurei + platonic wataru」 ↳ commission for @kunehori ! wc: 1,592 a/n: thank you sooo much for commissioning me! kohaku and i thank you dearly♡

They say a single rabbit is a lonely rabbit—that they’re social creatures who thrive in having company. But for Reine, who has always been on her own, she found herself occluding the radiance she didn’t know she had by hiding in the shadows and small, makeshift burrows away from others.

How long has she been doing this?

“Are the lights not fixed yet?” Natsume’s mellifluous words caressed Reine’s ears as he leaned over her petite frame, golden eyes probing the way her fingers moved punctiliously across the control panel.

Shaking her head in disappointment, Reine’s vexation towards herself bypassed the way the tips of her ears brightened up from the propinquity between her and Natsume. “I can’t seem to figure out the timing between the third set and the chorus⋯ No matter how many times I adjust it, it’s always off somehow⋯”

The noise of the booth’s door creaking open resonated within the compact space, galvanizing the pair into leering over at Anzu who had just timorously stepped inside, her voice meek yet filled with benignity as she asked, “Do you two need some help?”

“Ah, Kitten♪” Natsume’s eyes appeared to twinkle as soon as Anzu padded in, those elusive and charming sparkles making Reine’s heart ache. “Little bunny and I are trying to rearrange the lights for Switch’s upcoming Live.”

“I don’t mind taking a look at it,” Anzu proffered her expertise, glancing between Reine and Natsume as they made way for her to examine the panel, “Switch always has elaborate light shows during their performances. It can be pretty tricky.”

The way Natsume and Anzu talked to each other⋯ it was cordial, familiar.

“Thank you; you’re already familiar with how we like them to be. And I want the lights to be perfect, because 「I want my special someone to look at me and fall for me」,” Natsume sent a wink towards Anzu as he beamed.

Reine didn’t like it. She didn’t like it at all; and yet, she still wanted to see that twinkle in Natsume’s eyes forever.

“Um⋯ I-I’ll leave you two to it here,” Reine stammered out before she could even make sense of the entanglement of harrow and pain twisting in the pit of her stomach, “I should go check on Sora-kun⋯!”

And before Natsume or Anzu could even bid her goodbye, Reine rushed from the booth—all while ignoring the pair of eyes that followed her figure.

✧.

In the palm of her hands, Reine gaped at the stars scintillating there—wanting to stop them from slipping through her fingers, yet slowly cleaving her hands apart in order to fulfill their true potential.

Ever since she bound herself to a personal contract, Reine had been making subtle (or at least in her eyes) efforts to garner opportunities for Natsume and Anzu to be alone together; or to have them think of the other.

Unfortunately, each attempt, no matter how little, exacerbated the queasiness coating the seams of Reine’s body.

Why did she have to feel so sick all the time? So tired? So exhausted in a way that only leaves her feeling worse?

Asleep in the sunshine, with her silhouette still standing, Reine was incognizant to the boisterous and spirited presence approaching from behind her.

“Ta-da!☆” Copious doves went flying around Reine as Wataru popped up next to her head, cheek almost pressing against hers. He only ascertained she was startled awake when she relinquished a panicked squeak. “Oya? You were asleep, Usagi-chan?”

“Y-Yeah⋯” Reine heaved an anxious exhale as a yawn soon followed, her glossy lips parting cutely.

“No wonder my birdies were reluctant to pop out! My apologies,” Wataru expressed his contrite with a sigh of his own, his hands promptly gripping her waist as he guided her to the nearby benches, “Still, it’s dangerous to sleep in the middle of the walkways!”

That’s when Reine realized her location outside Yumenosaki, small body being nestled down by the ever-eccentric senpai. Even she knew she never would’ve done that normally—falling asleep in the open? Without hiding?—and she had no choice but to blame it on the pulsating pain searing her core.

Was she allowed to feel jealous when she’s the one trying to pair two people up? When she’s the one stabbing herself over and over again?

“I know, I’m sorry,” Reine apologized to Wataru, albeit she could tell her own tone was disheartened and gloomy when she hadn’t meant to sound so execrable.

“You seem trouble, Usagi-chan,” Wataru observed smoothly as he sat himself down beside her, silvery locks descending over his shoulders as his head tilted towards her, “I’m a pretty good listener; I’ll hear what’s plaguing your heart with sadness♪”

Wataru talked even funnier than Natsume, but Reine supposed that’s because he is the one who taught Natsume a lot of his magical tricks. Could she even trust Wataru with her own feelings like this? They hadn’t really interacted much before⋯

“I-I’m not sad,” Reine corrected, strained voice and half-lidded gaze betraying her want to stay calm-and-collected, “I’m disappointed all my efforts aren’t being seen.”

“Your efforts? You aren’t talking about your work as a producer, are you?” Wataru hummed, his shrewdness once again bursting forth like confetti from a true magic show.

“No⋯ I’m talking about Natsume-kun and Anzu-chan,” Reine elucidated, trembling fingers playing with the hem of her skirt as she gathered her hands in her lap, “I’ve been trying to help them get closer, but it just hasn’t been working.”

Reine wanted them to hurry up and realize their feelings so that she can start to stitch together her broken heart; start to pick up the shattered pieces and heal. Because she was in love with Natsume.

“Oh, Usagi-chan, you’re trying to play cupid?” Wataru suspired with sympathy in his words, reaching his hand forward to tilt her head up with his fingers, “It’s not working because you’re pulling the arrow from your own body.”

Perplexity suffused through the aperture leading to her thoughts, and Reine couldn’t fathom the unorthodox articulation. “What do you mean, Wataru-senpai?”

“You’re trying to make the vestiges reach somewhere they were never supposed to be,” Wataru further said, only magnifying her confusion as his finger pokes over her chest, “the magic you’re looking for is already long gone.”

Wataru was definitely an even weirder wizard than Natsume.

✧.

Reine couldn’t understand what Wataru was talking about, the equivocations behind his remarks feeling more akin to a curse than a spell, and she continued to be left alone with her thoughts as she rested her head upon an abundance of towels whilst curling herself into a ball.

Images of Natsume’s enthralling visage coruscated in her head as her eyes fluttered shut, the way he looked at Anzu—the way they talked and laughed together. It hurt.

Natsume was the one who pulled her from burying herself completely, who’s dazzling smile and spells saved her time and time again. And here she was again, trying to conceal herself after all the protests she’s lived through.

Squeezing her eyes shut with more force, as if her negative thoughts impelled her to do so, Reine bawled as the door to her nesting spot was ripped open.

“Found you~♪ You were in here, little bunny,” it was Natsume’s countenance that enveloped her vision as her blue irises blinked rapidly, lashes flitting, “You sure love this broom closet.”

“H-How⋯?” Reine faltered in her words as his appearance before her obfuscated her mind, nearly causing her to blank out, “No, what are you doing⋯ Were you looking for me?”

Crouching down onto his knees, Natsume bowed himself down to her diminutive height as she remained laying on the closet flooring; cleaning towels and rags cushioning her body. “Why did you run away earlier?” he questioned, squinting his eyes to evince an iota of tetchiness.

“Run away?” Reine swallowed thickly, perceiving that faint annoyance in Natsume and wanting to cringe away from it. She knew what he was alluding to, yet she was too bewildered to properly talk with him.

“As if you have any business with Noeri-senpai. You’re so obvious,” Natsume in spite of the festering defeatism felt his lips curving into a unbridled half-grin, “You always have the same excuse when leaving. Are you trying to be subtle?”

“What.”

This conversation was happening too fast for Reine to unravel and register—and yet, Natsume continued.

“So, tell me⋯ what are you doing here instead of by my side?” Natsume asked softly, the melodic power his voice retains gripping her as another frown overturns his mouth. “I have fun playing with Kitten, but I miss you too much to enjoy myself to the fullest.”

They say rabbits can die of loneliness.

Dewy tears coalesced in Reine’s eyes as she fixated on Natsume, the pain that’s been besetting her spilling over in the form of a choked sob, “I’m trying to help you find happiness.”

The stress of losing a beloved companion or partner can be all too much to bear.

“Haah, I already found my happiness,” Natsume reassured her, bringing his hand forward, “I found it in this closet a long time ago.”

It’s time to stop hiding—the brightness she yearned to belong to her is right in front of her. Sliding her hand into Natsume’s, Reine felt herself being pulled from the darkness once again.

Not able to squander another moment, Natsume pressed Reine’s body up against his and brought his lips to her cheeks; kissing away each and every glistening tear.

It’s been inside her all along.

#yume fics #commissions #natsurei

[stillness-in-green]

Some targeted follow-up on 383, courtesy of a disgruntled Mina Stan

(Or, Why the chapter post for 384 is late.)

Ooo-kay, @randomvongenerico, I’ll dance this time because you’re just barely on the right side of “politely asking questions” for someone who, judging by their own page, is probably pretty new here.  But please know that I came very close to hitting the block button the moment I saw, “Why do you even care about heroes?  Aren’t you a villain stan?” at the very top of a notification chain of twenty-seven comments on my chapter post.  The next time you have as much to say about someone’s post, I strongly urge you to just reblog it and add your thoughts rather than indignantly spamming the comment section and then sending a bunch of the same stuff word-for-word via ask when you don’t get a reply in less than 48 hours.  Some of us do have lives and commitments outside of Tumblr.

That said, as with last time I got a detailed reply that seemed to genuinely want to hear my reasoning but also edged over into belligerent/condescending territory, I’ll have to ask you to forgive me for being somewhat blunt at times.  Digs like, “Or are we going to say Mina is being rude and impolite for having trauma now?” have not earned you the most patient reply I’ve ever put down in writing.

I’ll take your questions and points roughly in order you sent them, though I may omit points I have nothing much to say about, or rearrange them.  Anyone who wants to see rvg’s full set of replies in the original order and context is invited to check the comments here, at least until such time as I deem it less of a headache to hit that block button after all.

For everyone else, for the purposes of gauging your interest, this post contains discussion of the following topics:

Mina as she's affected by BNHA's tendency to shortchange the interiority and development of its women. I hit this one from a few different angles.

How the series treats physical damage and how that impacts what I call out as problematic or don't (e.g. why Shinsou's brainwashing got compared to a war crime but Mina's acid did not).

The Sludge Villain, why he shouldn't have been involved in the second war at all, and how his return fails to address the flaws in Hero Society he was originally used to establish.

The circumstances of Midnight's death and the impact of the narrative's ongoing refusal to allow people panel time to grieve for her.

Saving villains, who that maxim applies to, what it means for the heroes' responsibilities, and what it means when they fail to live up to said responsibilities. Specifically addresses Hose Face and Gigantomachia.

Replying to wild presumptions re: which characters I should or should not care about, as well what situations I ought or ought not overthink.

A fair number of intersections between the above topics and other less substantial diversions, including a retraction on my part for a mistake I made in the chapter post that rvg brought to my attention.

Hit the jump.

I think the “pure psychological scarring” thing is just referencing Mina’s trauma from her first encounter with Machia. It’s just there to remind the readers about Mina’s trauma, since it’s been a while since the last time it was brought up. Shonen does this sort of exposition all the time. I wouldn’t think too deeply on it.  Like, I mean, it’s technically not an incorrect statement. Mina was mentally and emotionally scarred by Gigantomachia. Or are we going to say Mina is being rude and impolite for having trauma now?

It’s true that the specific line about Machia embodying psychological scarring overlays Mina in a way that’s doubtlessly intended to remind the reader of her trauma.  However, if that’s the only function Horikoshi intended the line to serve, he’d have done much better to put it in a text box, delivered to the reader via omniscient narrator.  Instead, Mount Lady is the one delivering it, and she is explicitly thinking about Machia in relation to “ordinary people,” flashing back to the scene of carnage left in Machia’s wake, as countless civilians scream and cry for help.  She’s not even slightly thinking about Mina in that moment, for all that the same sentiment applies.

When I criticize Mount Lady’s mode of thinking, therefore, my point is not that people are wrong to have trauma,[1] but that it is wrong to dehumanize the source of that trauma.  Machia has feelings and thoughts just like any other human—treating him like a symbol of pain rather than a human being, something to be stamped out like a disease or a curse, is the same sentiment as Gran Torino blaming All Might’s pain and the smearing of Nana’s memory on Shigaraki’s very existence.  As with Shigaraki, there are reasons that Machia turned out the way he did, and talking like he’s some kind of free-roaming trauma elemental obfuscates the chain of failures and wrongdoings that produced him to begin with.

Incidentally, I wrote a twenty-thousand-word essay on the mass arrest of the Paranormal Liberation Front, so I promise you are not going to get anywhere with advising me not to overthink this manga.  If Horikoshi didn’t want his readers to take his societal issues seriously, he shouldn’t have presented them as the root cause of so many problems; if you didn’t want to read a detailed meta dive tackling the chapter’s philosophical shortcomings, you probably should have abandoned ship somewhere around the time I started waxing verbose about the ethics authors sign up to engage with when they make the decision to put their protagonists in skintight catsuits and call them Heroes.

On which note:

I have some questions about your logic about the morality of the methods and tactics here, if you don’t mind. So brainwashing and calling Machia mean things is crossing the line, but throwing acid at him is okay?  You criticize Shinso using his Quirk on Gigantomachia, yet you don’t take any issue with Mina melting his claws(…).  Why?  I guess brainwashing is just too much of a villain Quirk, so it just can’t be used heroically?

Judging by one of your later comments, you did some archive-diving to find out if I’d ever talked about Mina before the Chapter 283 post.  Judging by this question, that archive-diving did not include the Chapter 282 post.  Please see it for a lengthy explanation about what specifically I object to in Shinsou’s use of his quirk on Machia, and a much briefer aside about what kinds of uses I’d have been completely fine with.

As to the difference between hurling acid at someone and brainwashing them to attack their own allies, while it’s certainly true that doing the former would be a horrific crime in real life,[2] that’s down as one of the places where I’m spotting the series its premise.  To wit, physical attacks like Mina’s acid are only ever going to be as impactful as the plot needs them to be, and the plot has a history of being wildly erratic about that impact.[3]

You can call accuse me of having a double standard if you like—picking and choosing what I hold to realistic standards—but in essence, I view Mina melting Machia’s claws with acid as Shounen Battle Action Damage.  There’s definitely a point at which it would stop being that—if she’d used it on his face instead of the tips of claws he could potentially just retract and grow in fresh—but if I were inclined to complain about every hero who uses a power that would cause ghastly mutilation if used against criminals in real life (acid, fire, concussive blasts, etc), we’d be here all week.  Shinsou’s brainwashing doesn’t get that handwave because it’s fully and completely effective.

Btw, Kirishima hearing about Midoriya and the sludge Villain was already established. We have known this since we got Kirishima’s backstory in the Yakuza arc. So this didn’t come out of nowhere.

This is a 100% fair point.  I very clearly remembered Kirishima shaking his funk because he saw the clip of the interview with Crimson Riot; I’d completely forgotten that the Sludge Villain attack was one of the things contributing to his funk.  Having looked back over it, it still seems weird that Kirishima doesn’t show any sign of recognition in this chapter, but it’s certainly possible that that’s just a consequence of the breakneck storytelling.  Regardless, consider that complaint retracted, and thanks for the refresher.

What do you mean we don’t get anything of Mina against Machia and overcoming her fears and previous failure? That’s literally what the chapter is all about. She doesn’t freeze under fear this time and instead jumps into action to save her friends and come in clutch to guarantee the win for her team. She’s the actual MVP here. The actual problem here is that the whole thing gets sped up and abbreviated. What should’ve been 3 or 4 chapters of this battlefield, gets presented and resolved in one chapter.

One of my longstanding issues with BNHA is the difference between the levels of interiority that are permitted to the male characters as opposed to the female ones—how much they’re allowed to dictate their own internal narratives via having their thoughts shown on-panel, and how much room the story affords that exploration.  Following are some examples:

Mirko has no thoughts we’re permitted to access about her traumatic double limb loss.  While Endeavor’s story of wrestling with his sins and trying to better himself as a person is a prominent, recurring storyline, carried out in the foreground to such an extent that some people complain it’s actually sublimating Shouto’s arc, Mount Lady grows from a money-hungry fame-chaser to a responsible and determined hero completely off-screen.[4]  Tamaki and Mirio get dedicated multi-chapter solo battles peppered with emotive childhood flashbacks; Nejire gets a beauty pageant that takes up a grand total of four pages, exactly one (1) of which is dedicated to Nejire’s actual participation.

And so on and so forth.  The only two gals we’re really allowed to get into the heads of in a consistent, sustained way are Toga and Uraraka, with perhaps Jirou or Momo as distant runners-up, though Jirou's interiority is mostly concentrated in the Cultural Festival arc and Momo's is virtually all rooted in her bouts with paralytic self-doubt.  That's pretty pitiful compared to the number of dudes who get sustained attention paid to their internal landscape.

That issue is largely what I’m getting at when I kvetch about not being shown Mina overcoming her fears.  When Kirishima first gets overwhelmed by Rappa, the reason he gets back up is given a backstory flashback that takes up almost two full chapters.[5]  Those chapters are the one and only reason we have any context at all for Mina’s PTSD flashback against Machia in MVA.  She’s not allowed to “tell” that trauma to the audience herself; we know about it because we got it filtered through Kirishima.

Likewise, when she comes through against Machia in 383, she just—does it.  There’re no extended scenes of her wrestling with her fear, drawing on her experience to overcome it; we don’t get a flashback to her training with Bakugou or Shouto.[6]  She just tells us about it in a single sentence, then gets a third of a page dedicated to a collage of old scenes.  And then, again, she pulls through in a moment of crisis in such a way that her moment of awesome is in service of giving a dude an opening to solve the problem instead of doing it herself.

The coming-through-so-a-dude-can-pull-off-the-finisher pattern is a significant problem with the general power balance in the class: the girls do support while all the heavy-hitters are boys.  And doing support is fine!  There are a healthy share of boys doing support, too!  Kirishima’s own big moment in the Hassaikai arc is playing support so Fat Gum can get in the finishing blow, for example.  The problem is not girls having support roles at all; the problem is that while there are boy support students, there are no heavy-hitter, A-list offense-oriented girl students (at least not in Class A).  And actually, Mina has always been both interesting and frustrating for me in that regard because she feels like she should be a heavy hitter, but up until this exact chapter, she’s never really treated like one.

It’s never been clear to me why fire and explosions are so much more A-list material than acid, save that Mina doesn’t have Shouto or Bakugou’s intense determination to pull her up to their level from the beginning.  Acid is also the kind of thing that could so, so easily have been called a villain quirk, especially in combination with Mina’s mild heteromorphic appearance.  She doesn’t ever seem to attract that accusation, however, possibly because she’s so chipper—indeed, in a narrative that had more time for her, I wonder if we’d find that her chipperness is, at least in part, a defense mechanism she maintains for exactly that reason.  As it is, though, her personality keeps her as a fun presence in class without ever letting her seize a larger piece of the narrative for herself.  But I’ll always wonder what she would have looked like if she were hiding negativity for the same reasons Shouji hides his scars, or if she’d had Bakugou’s burning desire to be #1.

Instead, her most significant backstory moment gets relegated to a flashback intended to advance a male character, while her big moment in the story is freeing Shinsou and saving Mount Lady more or less on the backswing.  Admirable in its own right, certainly, but part of a larger pattern when it comes to the roles the Class 1-A girls play on the battlefield.

(I know Machia literally has a Quirk that makes him feel no pain, so that attack did nothing to him.  Which in retrospect, makes the poor handling of Mina’s spoltight worse, because it sorta makes it seem like the biggest feat and most powerful move she has ever performed in the series was inconsequential. Yes, I know she literally saves Mt. Lady by using it, but still). + The Sludge Villain being faced by a character that has had an encounter with him before like Midoriya or Bakugo would be too obvious and on the nose. Horikoshi can be pretty basic at times, but he’s not that basic. + Mina saving Shinso from the Sludge Villain isn’t the important part, the important part is her saving Kirishima from the Sludge Villain.

I’m unclear on why that would be more basic than e.g. Muscular showing back up for no reason save to get clowned on by Deku, or the incredibly twee return of the woman All Might saved at Kamino, but to each their own basic bar, I suppose.  On the matter of Mina’s biggest and most powerful move being arguably inconsequential, I agree completely.  As I said before, it’s entirely possible that Machia could just regrow the claws—he clearly doesn’t have them in his “base” form, so it’s entirely down to an arbitrary call on Horikoshi’s part whether the damage to them would stick if he retracted them entirely and then regrew them.  We haven’t gotten a good look at his right hand yet to see one way or the other, so the jury’s still out.

As to the Sludge Villain and who gets to face him, two things:

1)  He didn’t have to come back at all.  I can’t help but feel like the only real reason he does is that Horikoshi’s enjoying throwing in callbacks to bit characters from early chapters, rather than because there was any real groundwork laid for their return: the Sludge Villain, the baby in the cloud-pattern onesie, the star-head guy Deku talked to in the first chapter, Jin’s boss from his MVA flashback, etc.  At least the returnees from USJ have a modicum of prior association with the League of Villains and thus, indirectly, AFO.  The Sludge Villain doesn’t have that, and, honestly?  Given his characterization in 383, I’m confused about why he joined up with AFO’s group at all.

It was a specific point of note that when AFO freed the prisoners from Tartarus, the only task he gave them was to rampage, to go wild.  When Muscular shows up to bust open the prison Gentle’s in, he tells them they’re free, to do with their lives as they will.  We even know from Kashi Kashiko (the guy in 334 who ShigAFO tries to unload New Order onto) that more than one person was freed and immediately headed to the boonies.  Given that all the Sludge Villain wants is to sneak away from this fight without getting hurt, why wasn’t he one of those?

It’s always possible AFO called in favors for the jailbreaks, of course—the Warp quirk makes him an enormous danger to anyone he wants to have in his presence when he decides to call in a chip—but there’s been no indication of it if that is the case, I assume because the story doesn’t care about its shallower convict characters.

2)  Another reason you might consider critiquing this as a meaningful victory for Mina is that her defeat of the Sludge Villain has literally nothing to do with who she is as a character and the work she’s done.  She defeats the Sludge Villain because she just so happens to have a liquid-based quirk that can effectively be used to harm him.  She only used the souped-up damage quotient to get through Machia; presumably, a much less corrosive version would have been perfectly sufficient against the liquid-based Sludge Villain.

And that’s particularly annoying because one of the key points the Sludge Villain was originally used to establish was the way that heroes just stood around not even trying to fight him because they didn’t have the right quirks, and why that was a failing of the current system.  So when he returns—at the climax of the series! Almost four hundred chapters later!—it would seem the perfect time to explore how the heroes have improved.  We should watch them determine that they have to fight him even though they don’t have the ideal quirks for it.  We should see them use ingenuity and their surroundings to come up with a work-around, assuming we don’t see them apply the Save Villains maxim to convince him to back off.

But we don’t get any of that.  Instead, Team Hero just so happens to have Mina on hand, who just so happens to have the right quirk.  It’s a damn waste, is what it is.  Not only does the Sludge Villain have no personal relevance to Mina whatsoever, only twice-displaced relevance via Kirishima, she doesn’t even get to defeat him via determination or wits, skill or training—she could have sneezed on him and won.  I can’t imagine finding that rewarding for a character you really like.

Finally, I disagree that the important part of this scene is Mina saving Kirishima from the Sludge Villain rather than her defeat of the Sludge Villain in and of itself. She doesn’t save Kirishima from the Sludge Villain; Kirishima is in no danger from the Sludge Villain.  He’s Class A’s premier defensive tank character!  The only way Sludgey could pose the slightest threat to him is by trying to hijack his body, but Sludgey already has a body he seems perfectly satisfied with and is trying to use to escape.  The worst he can do is smack Kirishima around a bit, which, again, is going to be wildly ineffective.  He could possibly also attempt using Shinsou’s quirk, but Kirishima is entirely aware of Brainwashing’s operating conditions—note that he doesn’t say a single word to Shinsou the moment he becomes aware Shinsou’s compromised.

Mina saves Shinsou from the Sludge Villain, not Kirishima.

On regards on her developing her new technique due to training with Bakugo and Todoroki, I don’t see the problem. All of the students learn from other adults and eachother, as well as inspire one another. The only problem I have with the Bakugo and Todoroki thing is that we never got to see those interactions. There’s so much stuff we should’ve gotten to see from class 1-A during the aftermath of the first war and we never got.

You are welcome to not see it as a problem.  I would probably see it as much less of one if the story cared enough about Mina to actually show us any scenes of her fretting about her strength, wanting to improve herself, and psyching herself up to whatever degree she might have needed to in order to approach Bakugou about private training.

Hell, it wouldn’t even need to be a full scene—BNHA gets plenty of mileage out of 1–4 panels of characters interacting in ways that aren’t immediately explained and then dropping the explanation thirty chapters later.  Shinsou’s training with Aizawa was like that, for example.  Why not make the time for Mina?  Other than, as you bring up, the unseemly abbreviation of the aftermath of the first war.  The story at that stage has zero time for any of the students other than Deku—Mina’s hardly the only character whose arc suffers because we don’t get to see her reactions to such a sea change in the society she’s lived in all her life, or the trauma of what she experienced the day of the raid.  I’m not going to refrain from critiquing the writing just because it’s not any given character’s fault that their arc is missing huge chunks that are being papered over with flashbacks and retroactive explanations for the scenes we didn’t get.

To be fair about the Midnight thing, no one really had any actual established connection to her.  With Momo, Midnight just was her hype woman like two times, and then she entrusted her with the plan to sedate Machia.  With Mineta it’s kinda hard to take it seriously because their one meaningful interaction is full of the usual pervy jokes that are synonym to Mineta.  I guess Horikoshi tied Mina to the plotline of Midnight’s murder because Mina is a more emotional character, so there’s more he can do with that (and then he barely did anything, but what little he did, did show some great shots from her).

All of the things you cite are things that give both Momo and Mineta more established connections to Midnight, which is exactly why I brought them up as people who should have been involved in the confrontation with her killer.  I also brought up that those connections are themselves fairly thin and that Midnight doesn’t really have any strong connections with any of the students.  This is in large part why I continue to believe that Midnight being the most emotionally significant hero death during the war[7] is pure cowardice on Horikoshi’s part.  Mina getting the final say on that death is just the latest way the story is writing off dealing with it.

Midnight gets no funeral.  Aizawa, one of her closest friends, immediately shuts down Mic when he tries to bring her up in the hospital, and neither of them ever bring her up again—for heaven’s sake, Mic doesn’t even think about her in Chapter 372 when bringing up what Aizawa has lost!  And when someone finally does want to actually talk openly about Midnight’s death, who is it?  Not Momo, who Midnight trusted and praised, or Mineta, an openly admitted fan of Midnight, one perv to another.  It’s—Mina, who liked her classes, who is emotional about the death because she’s a good person who’d be emotional about the death of anyone in her social circle, not because Midnight was in any way special to her.  For heaven’s sake, she registers her first opinion ever on Midnight the chapter after the deathblow is struck.

And then, to top it all off, there’s that tossed-off, perfunctory line about vengeance, which no one Mina is facing that chapter even brought up, and which she herself immediately shuts down.  So not only do I not feel any impact from Mina rejecting revenge because she’s never been shown struggling with a desire for it, but it just feels like another case of Midnight being brought up only to get immediately dropped again. To wit:

Aizawa, who won’t or can’t think about her, chooses instead to focus on his students.  Mic brings her up the once and then drops the subject at Aizawa’s request, apparently never to think about her again, despite being given an excellent opening to do so in his confrontation with Kurogiri.  And Mina makes three, bringing up how much she liked Midnight Midnight’s classes only in the context of how stewing on the desire for revenge is bad.

And so the narrative just moves on.  And it sucks, and Midnight deserved better, even if only in her memory.

…Also, just for the record, Mineta is an incredibly emotional character.  He cries as much Deku does!  He openly, habitually worries about classmates when he knows they’re in danger somewhere he can’t reach; he worries about Midnight during the war.  Yes, he’s a primarily a joke character (and the jokes are outmoded and sexist), but so what if his scene with Midnight is full of the pervy jokes that define him as a character?  Midnight is also a perv!  She was contributing a perfectly adequate amount of pervy jokes to that scene all on her own!  Indeed, that was part of the humor of it—Mineta the lech running afoul of Midnight’s theatrical sadism and being incredibly in love with it even as he runs around screaming about how he’s ever supposed to beat her.

Mineta has been a much-improved character from the war onward so I, for one, would not have any problems at all with taking him seriously if he were allowed to seriously mourn.

In regards to the Mina and vengeance part. Remember again that Mina is a very emotional character. Also remember that when she heard about Shoji’s backstory, she angrily stated that the kind of people who hurt Shoji “should be removed from existence” (I think you said Mina was 100% right in saying that, if I’m not mistaken).  So while yes, Mina is a very cheerful, kind and friendly girl, we know the war and her inability to help deeply affected her. The problem is that we never got to explore that or see her go through it. Her inner struggle got resolved off screen in the background before her shinning moment.

You know, I thought about bringing up the Shouji bit in the post.  I didn’t end up doing it because that moment doesn’t break the pattern I otherwise described: “Mina doesn’t hold onto anger; she doesn’t brood; she’s extremely well-adjusted in that she cries when she needs to, to get it out of her system, and then she bounces back.”

That all still applies!  Indeed, as I said in the post you reference, her comment in Koda’s flashback is clearly presented as hyperbole.  She says it in the heat of the moment and no one even blinks because they understand that she’s not seriously suggesting that e.g. all bigots should be murdered in their beds.  No one takes her aside afterward to have a gentle talk with her about appropriate levels of bloodthirst or tentatively ask her if there’s anything she needs to get off her chest.  After she says it, Shouji gently acknowledges that she might be right[8] and then moves the conversation along; within the next few exchanges, she’s joined the group encouraging Shouji about making new, happier memories for him going forward.

I’m sure the war and her inability to help did deeply affect her.  Those things affected everyone.  But we didn’t get to see it, so I’m simply not going to accept the story insisting on how noble she is for eschewing the vengeance she was never shown to be contemplating to begin with.[9]  You’re welcome to fill in those blanks yourself; god knows I have characters myself in this series for whom I’m willing to make those reaches.  But then, my blank-filled characters are mostly in prison right now rather than active in the plot and trying to do emotional heavy-lifting for which the author has woefully ill-equipped them.

Regarding Midnight’s killer. I just didn’t like that part in general.  Idk about you, but I don’t like that Horikoshi wrote Mina trying to find common ground with the guy who went out of his way to mercilessly kill a severely injured woman when she was on the ground, too weak to defend herself, and posed no active threat to him.  Like, couldn’t you have just let Mina kick his ass? Like, I know the story is setting up the kids reaching out a hand to “save” the villains. But seriously? If there’s one villain who should get his ass kicked, it’s that guy.

This is another clue that you definitely haven’t poked around my backlog in any depth.  No.  Just no.  Trying to save the villains means trying to save all the villains.  No exceptions.  Anything less means the heroes are just picking and choosing based on personal bias.  That means this guy and the rest of the PLF.  It means the Tartarus escapees.  It even means All For One himself, if anyone can manage it.  The heroes are not arbiters of justice.  It is not their job to play favorites based on who they’ve seen crying and who they haven’t; it is their job—or so Deku and the general direction of the narrative would have us believe—to save people in crisis.

Should it be their jobs to do all the emotional labor and hand-holding that’s required to talk down someone whose crisis has led them to endanger others?  Maybe, maybe not, but the story has been exceptionally clear that they’re the only ones in a position to do it; God knows their justice system isn’t.  But given that the climax of the series is revolving around saving villains, if that isn’t the heroes’ responsibility, then whose responsibility is it, and why aren’t we reading the story about them?

I’m sure some people would point that, in-universe, saving people is only half of a hero's job description, and the other half is defeating villains.  That’s true enough in the world as it now stands.  However, Deku—in what’s clearly meant to be a big inspiring moment—tells the OFA tribunal in Chapter 305 that One For All is a power meant for saving, not killing, and that he learned this from All Might.  In 326, in a scene that I have some issues with but that is also obviously meant to be taken sincerely, Stain alludes to the influence of All Might on the next generation, to the embers he left behind being nurtured by the ones who don’t give up.

Thus, if All Might is meant to be the ideal because of his tireless efforts at saving people, and Class 1-A—key members of whom are moving towards saving villains—are being modelled as the collective successors of All Might, it only makes sense to assume that, yes, the series wants us to accept that villains are people who also need to be saved.  That means all of them, not just the ones who look easy.  What kind of successors will the kids be, if they can’t go even farther than All Might did?  If they just turn their backs on anyone who they don’t have the exact right quirk inspiring monologue to save, aren’t we basically just back where we started?

Incidentally, let’s talk about this characterization of Hose Face, which allegedly makes him a villain who doesn’t need to be saved, but just needs his ass kicked: he “went out of his way to mercilessly kill a severely injured woman when she was on the ground, too weak to defend herself, and posed no active threat(…).”

Twice was too weak to defend himself from Hawks when Hawks tried to put a feather sword through his forehead.  He posed no active threat to Hawks when Hawks stabbed him in the back.  Shigaraki floating in tube stasis posed no active threat to anyone, certainly not Mirko or Mic, both of whom did their level best to kill him by destroying the tube and all its systems that were keeping Shigaraki alive.  The PLF had their guard completely down the day of the raids, which certainly didn’t stop Cementoss from ripping the building in half with no warning—how many people do you think might have been in rooms five or six stories up when the floor ripped out from under them and sent them plummeting 50+ feet towards the shattered concrete and broken wood below?

They’re villains, sure.  They were going to hurt a lot of people, sure.  But aren’t heroes supposed to be better than villains?

Further, I have to contest your assertion that Midnight even was “severely wounded” or “posed no active threat.”  Yes, she’d taken a few hunks of concrete to the face and fallen through the canopy, which would severely injure any normally fragile human, but again, this is BNHA, where physical damage is only as severe as the plot demands.[10]  Midnight went from splayed on the ground to starting to push herself back up in a single panel, had gotten to her hands and knees two panels later, and was just getting a foot on the ground, preparing to push herself back upright, when Hose Face hit her from behind two pages later.

I can remember being unsure how that fight would go back when the chapter dropped, because, just as the scene cut away, Midnight managed to whip her head around and shoot that fierce glare at the oncoming enemy.  Midnight had an AOE attack that was extra effective against dudes, and all of the people coming at her that we could see were men.  It was entirely plausible to me at the time that she would win, that she just stopped answering her comm line because she had to focus on the fight.

All in all, she had recently immobilized dozens of people on Hose Face’s side and was clearly still a threat.  What would you expect him to do, detour the whole group the long way around just so no one would hurt her?  Let Machia get even farther ahead of them by standing back and waiting for her to finish getting up so they could have an honorable fight?  Come on; she was part of an army of heroes who'd just attacked their base.  Of course he didn’t stand back and hand her the opening to knock them all out with sleeping gas.  And no, he didn’t go out of his way to kill her—he and his group were following Machia and just happened to run across Midnight in the path Machia had taken.

Cripes, you make it sound like he spotted her unconscious on the ground eighty feet away in another clearing and decided to run over and cut her throat before rejoining the group.  No.  Remember, he’s a member of the MLA, the only group in the series that explicitly styles themselves as an army.  His attack on Midnight should be read as a soldier fighting an enemy soldier—it’s quick, it’s brutal, it’s merciless.  Because, as far as he’s concerned, he’s at war.  Both letting a hero go because she was injured (but not so injured that she wasn’t trying to get up again) or wasting time going out of his way to murder someone who’s already dealt with (because he gets his jollies from murder) would have been acting counter to the mission.

I’m not going to tell you he was morally correct—he’s a villain, a cultist, an unabashed quirk supremacist, someone who would have been on the front lines of any terrorist attacks the PLF were planning by virtue of the regiment he was associated with—but just in terms of tactics, he didn’t do anything the heroes haven’t done or sought to do repeatedly over the course of both war arcs.  If you feel it’s okay for them to cross those lines but not him because they’re heroes who want to help people while he’s a villain who wants to hurt people, then it’s his allegiance that’s the real problem, not his tactics. 

(And, just to be clear, the reason I’m okay with him killing Midnight but not Hawks killing Twice is because of their respective allegiances.  Hose Face is a villain.  I don’t hold him to a hero’s moral code because he never claimed it to begin with, so he’s not being a massive hypocrite by not adhering to it.)

Any comment on the Mina and Kirishima interaction? What are your thoughts on the “you’ve always been my hero” line?

If I had a comment on it, you can generally assume it would have been in my chapter post.  I don’t have much interest in the lens on Mina that, because it frames her as Kirishima’s hero, means we see her heroism almost entirely through his eyes.  Again: he gets the two chapter flashback lovingly detailing his personal history, doubts, and motivations; she gets to be a figure inside his flashback rather than ever being able to frame her own.  Ochaco may not ever get two chapters dedicated to her backstory, but at least what flashbacks she does get come to us filtered through her.  Though, I will say that I find Ochaco’s romance plot largely tiresome, so I do hugely appreciate about Mina and Kirishima that they legitimately are just friends and I don’t have to watch Mina’s arc get devoured by blushing and fumbling crush behavior.

Since you asked, I can think of a scenario in which Kirishima telling Mina that she’s always been his hero would have worked much better, at least for me.  It’d fit right into all the post-war material we didn’t get because the story was so laser-focused on Deku.

Start by showing the readers Mina approaching Shouto and Bakugou about training with them.  Don’t have them ask why (because Bakugou wouldn’t care why and Shouto would just take the request at face value, especially if she explained that they both have techniques she thinks she could benefit from learning; Shouto would understand that), but have Kirishima notice or otherwise find out about it, and have him bring it up to her later on.

Then, because Kirishima and Mina are friends and should be able to have these conversations with each other, especially in the particularly vulnerable states they’d be in after the war, have Mina actually confide in Kirishima that she’s feeling shitty about freezing up when facing Machia.

Have him remind her of the time he did the same, and expand on what she already knows. I checked back over his Hassaikai arc flashback, and I notice that, while he apologized to the other two girls that were there for freezing up and being unable to help, and while he tells Mina later that he’s saying goodbye to his old pathetic self, he never actually tells her that he admired her courage (unless it’s in some other scene of theirs I’m forgetting about, which is entirely possible; feel free to give me a cite if so).  The closest they get to openly acknowledging the way Mina inspired him is her observing that his new styled hair spikes resemble her horns.  Have him say it out loud to her after the war, then, when she’s in an emotionally raw place and needs to hear it.

Thus, when he calls her his hero again after the Sludge Villain encounter (if we must indeed keep the Sludge Villain encounter), it becomes a reiteration and callback to that bonding moment, and implicitly him congratulating her on overcoming her fear—like he always knew she would, because she’s his hero.

Why do you care about Mina, btw? You’re a villain stan, correct? So why do you care about Mina’s moment to shine being handled poorly and not receiving the proper care and attention it deserved, if you don’t mind me asking?

Good lord, rvg, just because I’m a villain stan doesn’t mean I’m not allowed to care about bad writing affecting the heroes.  If the heroes’ writing were better, it would improve everyone’s treatment, including the villains!  If the students’ writing were better, I might actually care about the kids more than I do!  If the girls’ writing were better, I would have infinitely less to complain about re: the disparity in how fleshed out they are compared to their male counterparts!

Anyway, I like plenty of heroes.  I have observably positive feelings for about a third of Class 1-A[11] and only particularly negative feelings about Deku and Kaminari.  I love Monoma and Tamaki.  On the pro side, I adore Nighteye, am a thoroughly unapologetic Best Jeanist appreciator, and want to watch way more of Rock Lock mouthing off at more people higher ranked than him.  I think Haimawari Koichi is everything Horikoshi desperately wants Deku to be and is failing to write him as being.  There are plenty of others I at least think are good company when they’re around (Fat Gum and the Wild Wild Pussycats, for example), and some I would be happy to embrace if the series could stop being so incredibly indecisive about how it wants us to read them (Hawks and All Might are big offenders here).

I realize this is a hyper-divided fandom—we might as well start asking all those manufacturers who made the team affiliation T-shirts for the Twilight or MCU fandoms to make us some Team Hero and Team Villain shirts—but I promise you it’s possible to like characters from both sides of the divide.  You don’t have to lock yourself into one position or another.

Frankly, I think most of these characters deserve a final arc better than the one they’re in.  I’m just louder about it for the villains because they’re the ones who are going to be left to suffer or be forgotten if the actual ending isn’t up to snuff, whereas I fully expect the heroes to get a lavish epilogue chapter that crams cameos and last second answers into every nook and cranny of the panel layout.

-

All that said, rvg, I'm not sure you'll see this at all, as I don't seem able to tag you, which I'm unsure if means you blocked me at some point after spamming my comments and also my ask box or just that tumblr is being tumblr. If you do, feel free to respond if you like, though I'd prefer a reblog and less vibrating indignation if you do. I hope I've made it clear that I really and truly have nothing against your pink blorbo. Indeed, so far as I can tell, we both think her scene was pretty poorly handled; you're just more willing to do the mental legwork on fleshing out her characterization than I am.

Which is fine, but maybe ratchet back on lashing out at people who don't make it a priority to read depth the author is not providing onto characters that aren't their blorbos. Cheers!

------------------ FOOTNOTES ------------------

[1] And way to be, like, super unnecessarily confrontational with those words you put in my mouth, by the way. 

[2] And, yes, also a war crime—even more of one, actually.  Forcing captured enemy soldiers to fight their own is only officially a war crime in international conflicts, but Japan is a signatory to an amendment to the Rome Statute that classifies the use of chemical agents in armed conflicts as a war crime in internal disputes as well as international ones.  Give or take whether the clashes between heroes and villains meet the criteria of “protracted armed conflict between governmental authorities and organized armed groups or between such groups” anyway.

          I’m inclined to say the use of licensed and regulated abilities like quirks makes the combatants “armed,” but as much research as I’m willing to give this footnote doesn’t immediately clarify how long hostilities need to drag out to count as “protracted.”  Certainly the presence of the PLF makes the villain side an “organized armed group,” though.

[3] Dabi’s blue fire is my go-to example: it reduces back-alley thugs to twisted blackened husks but barely even singes Hawks’s forearms; it melts carbon fiber cables but leaves his outfit completely unscathed.  Given that Horikoshi can’t even keep Dabi’s damage output consistent with itself across all of his appearances, I damn sure don’t expect consistent damage output between characters.

[4] Sure, Endeavor’s connected to one of the lead students while Mount Lady is not, but that’s all on the writing.  There’s no reason that Mount Lady couldn’t have been connected to a student via a meaningful internship or a past acquaintanceship save that Horikoshi chose not to write her such a connection.

[5] That come, I might note, after he already has gotten back up.  Perhaps Horikoshi had been doing this “spoiling the outcome before we see the process” thing for longer than I thought…

[6] Recall that the story managed to make time for a flashback of Deku getting training from Ochaco, Tsuyu and Sero as a lead-in to the conversation between Bakugou and All Might about the latter hiding something.

[7] Or, more cynically, the only one, given how tertiary the characters start becoming immediately after her.

[8] And for what it’s worth, when I said that she was right, I was saying that the world would, in fact, be a better place without bigotry.  Obviously the answer is not, “Kill all bigots in their beds,” but I wish the group had talked more about what Mina said because it would have been a more frank, more honest discussion about how to fight bigotry than the provided answer of, “Put a bag over your head and hope it goes away on its own if you and everyone like you just act with inhuman levels of patience and calm at all times for the next hundred years.”

[9] Give or take her dramatically shaded angry face in Chapter 338—a face she is making along with the entire rest of her class sans Aoyama, so, again, really not impressing upon me that Mina particularly is a character struggling to avoid losing herself to revenge.

[10] So, you know, all those people who fell from upper floors of the Villa were probably also fine.  But it’s one or the other, isn’t it?  Either that kind of fall is enough to severely injure people so Cementoss knowingly enacted  an opening gambit that stood a high chance of maiming or killing an unknown number of people, or people in BNHA would walk it off with nothing worse than a few abrasions, in which case Midnight was in no significant danger.

[11] In seating order, I like: Aoyama, Tsuyu, Iida, Uraraka, Ojiro, Tokoyami, and, from the war arc on, Mineta.

#bnha #bnha 383 #class talk #pink alien on parade #sludge villain #bnha midnight #(deserved better) #bnha critical #bnha damage physics #stillness talks more #randomvongenerico #spent four days working on this so I need a tiny break #but I'll get the next chapter post up ASAP

[chidoroki]

182 Days of TPN - Day 40

Chapter 40: “The Snakes of Alvapinera”

Ah Ray, always knowing everything.. he’s such a bookworm. Anyways, Ugo is obviously close to Yuugo in terms of spelling (yes I’m too used to using two u’s by now to correct myself), but I just noticed that you can also spell out “Minvera” if you rearrange Marvine’s name.

RAY ACTUALLY BEING OPTIMISTIC! This is one of the reasons why this whole scene is so important for him! It shows how quickly he’s starting to pick up on Emma’s way of thinking. It’s her ideas that got them this far after all, so naturally he’s gonna try and adapt to that mindset rather than rely on approaching things rationally as he always did.

He doesn’t give up his typical analytic thought process completely though, as he recalls what he told Emma back in ch1 about how to use strategy. I love that he stays true to himself yet finds new ways to improve so he can survive this world with his family.

I know they got the whole situation under control, but they still look a bit too calm for me. If I was down there, I’d still be shaking whether I knew not to touch the plants or not. These kids have nerves of steel and an abundance of confidence.

Look at them, appealing to both the kid’s heart and mind in order to overcome any challenge.. aahh they’re such a good leadership duo.

I’m sorry, I know I should be very proud of them for escaping this death trap, but how did no one get hurt falling from that high up??

Favorite panel/moment:

Their happiness. That glance. Just them. Everything about them.

#the promised neverland #tpn manga #182daysoftpn #chidoroki used chatter

[cowsaves]

WLB - Chapter 1

May moves through Shaw Farms' intake procedures, foreshadowing what's to come.

A labyrinth of pearl white halls and gray tile jut from each other. May is led down the center, into a quick left, right, left, then a mixture of angled turns by two medical orderlies. They wear pale pink scrubs with their names embroidered above the pockets, if only May could read them as they move. One, gangly and bored, flips through his clipboard with only an occasional glance up. The other, blonde and professional, moves with a purposeful pace that May struggles to keep. She’s still waiting for Shaw Farms to become, well, a farm. Where were the animals she’d work with? Where was anything from the storybooks she’d read as a child?

The more serious of the pair finally halts at a door, and May staggers behind him. He waves through the glass panel. A brunette woman in a labcoat and a high ponytail leans into the hall as she grants them access.

“Good morning, Dr. McCarthy,” he says.

“Morning, Webber.” Her eyes crease with a smile above her medical mask. She nods at the taller assistant. “Finley.”

Finley gives her a grunt and half a wave.

Webber scoffs under his breath, and turns back to the doctor with a shake of his head. “We’re escorting the newbie. She’s already signed the NDA and Shaw Jr. wants her screened as soon as possible.”

Dr. McCarthy stifles a laugh. “I’m sure Mr. Shaw has good reason for rearranging my schedule?”

Finley launches his long arm and clipboard into Dr. McCarthy’s face. As she takes it, his hand is hurriedly stuffed into the pocket of his labcoat. “Her scores.”

“Gee, thanks,” McCarthy says flatly. She turns her attention to the sheaf of papers, turning past each page with a deeper furrow of her brow. “These are…”

“He knows,” Webber interrupts. “She’s his new pet project. Maybe something to do with that meeting in a couple months, huh?”

McCarthy tilts her head from side to side. “Well, alright. I’ll see what I can do. Did he order any tests beyond the usual?”

Webber shrugs. “Nope. But you might need a stronger dose, y’know.”

“Yeah, mhm,” McCarthy affirms, still buried in May’s results. Were they that bad? “Okay, you’re good to leave her with me. Thanks, boys.”

Webber waves goodbye, Finley trailing after him. For the first time, Dr. McCarthy looks at May. She takes her in with a quick bob up and down, and gestures her inside with two fingers. 

The exam room, May has to assume, is done up in the same pink of the assistants’ scrubs. It coats the walls, the floors, everything but the white cabinets and the crisp sheet over the exam table. Dr. McCarthy points to it and orders, “Sit.”

May does as she’s told. The doctor turns her back and digs through her supplies, preparing something May can’t make out.

“So, Esther?”

“Just May, my middle name, please,” she says. May tries to put on a pleasant face, one the doctor can’t be bothered by. She’s practiced it enough in her old life.

The doctor’s ponytail swings as she shakes her head. “Not anymore. Mr. Shaw’s noted that he prefers you go by Esther, or Essie. Has anyone ever called you Essie?”

May quells a shiver. “Just some old family.”

“I think we’ll be able to make more positive associations here,” Dr. McCarthy says. Her voice is deep, warm, and comforting against May’s better instincts. The doctor wheels a tray around beside her, though her tools are hidden by a white paper towel. McCarthy turns May’s face to the side.

“Can you read that vision chart for me?”

May focuses on the opposite wall. The font size is little to begin with and becomes impossible the farther down it goes. How could anyone pass that? The whole operation must be wearing glasses.

“Um, sure,” May answers. “A, Z, D, F, R, I think an O, U– Ow!”

There’s a sharp prick in her upper left arm. May tries to turn, but the doctor’s hand is at her chin, holding her stiff and steady. Her breathing quickens. “What was that?”

“Hm? What was what?” asks Dr. McCarthy, who doesn’t loosen her grip. 

“The- something pinched me,” May says.

“I’m not sure,” the doctor replies. “Let me take a closer look.”

A tense moment passes before May feels the same sharp stab.

“Ow! That! What was that?”

Dr. McCarthy releases her, and May whips to her side. The tool tray remains covered, but two red welts are swelling on her arm. “What’d you do to me?” May pleads.

Dr. McCarthy shrugs. Her warm, kindhearted energy is unaffected. “I didn’t see anything. Here, why don’t you lie down for a minute?” She applies pressure to May’s shoulders until May complies and is laid on her back. From here, May counts the flecks in the ceiling tiles. She’s breathing too fast and her heart won’t stop pounding. But there are four, five, six gray spots in this square, and seven, eight, nine purple. She keeps counting while the doctor hums a melody that nags in the back of May’s mind. Something familiar, something calming. She can’t tell how much time passes before she starts losing count. How many gray did she say? How many purple? She’ll just have to start over.

May counts and counts and counts, and she can’t get past ten - no, twelve - before she has to start over again, and again. Surely, hours have gone by when the doctor helps her sit back up. May grips the edge of the table as the room spins into focus. She doesn’t remember the doctor asking her to exchange her clothes for a baby pink medical gown, or where her clothes went, but the doctor is shining a bright light in her eyes now and it stings.

“How old are you, Essie?” Dr. McCarthy asks with a chart in her hand.

Twenty-one but sometimes I lie and say twenty-three so people treat me a little better.

“Very good. And where are you from?”

What? You can hear me? Are you reading my mind?

The doctor laughs. “No, baby. You’re speaking out loud. That’s a very typical response to what you’ve been given, don’t worry. Now, c’mon, where are you from?”

Oh. Okay. I’m from Garden Springs, Idaho. That’s where my parents are from and where my whole family lives. I’m never going back.

“Mhm. And your family’s why you came to Shaw Farms? All the way to Montana?”

Yeah. They won’t leave me alone. And they’ll take me with them if they can find me. I’m staying here and I’m not leaving.

“Good girl.”

That feels…that feels really, really good, I like that.

“You like to be called a good girl?”

Yes. Don’t tell anybody, though. That’s embarrassing. Especially not Mr. Shaw.

“Our little secret, I promise. Why not Mr. Shaw?”

He was so, uh…uh…”

“Can’t think of the word?”

No, I can do it. He was really big and important and smart. I don’t want him to think I’m, like, stupid.

“Mr. Shaw would never think you’re stupid. You’re safe here, Essie.”

May flinches.

That’s…that doesn’t sound right. I’m May.

“Oh, my mistake. Essie, do you like working really hard?”

No. I know you’re supposed to say yes or else you’re bad, but I don’t like working hard. I’m always so tired. I want to take a nap.

“You can sleep soon, Essie. Essie, do you like solving complicated problems?”

No. I get bored and frustrated and feel like an idiot. I don’t like them.

“Very good, Essie. What about memorizing facts and figures, lots of information?”

No. No, no, no. I have a bad memory. I can never remember anything. That’s why I had to take extra math classes in high school. Don’t tell anybody that, either. It’s a secret too.

“I promise, Essie. Essie, you’re doing a really good job. Now, can I ask you some private, personal questions? Is that okay?”

Yeah. I like you, doctor, you’re so nice to me. It’s hard to find people who are so nice.

“Oh, thank you Essie. You can call me Dr. Amy, or just Amy, if you want. Essie, are you a virgin?”

No. I had sex with my first boyfriend in high school. His name was Zach. I was fifteen and he was nineteen. My parents didn’t even know I had a boyfriend because I kept him a secret, and I’m really good at secrets. Zach went to a different school, too, so nobody ever found out. He went to college.

“Thank you, Essie. And when was the last time you had sex?”

Like, a month ago?

“Who with?”

May strains against this recurring, bubbling urge to word-vomit; not this one, this one she can’t share. Her grip on the edge of the table goes white.

“Who did you have sex with last, Essie? Pretty please?” The doctor strokes her hand through May’s hair, near the soft, tender skin of her scalp. May melts in McCarthy’s hand with a quiver, her cheeks burning as she bores her eyes into the pink floor.

With a girl named Robin. She’s a friend of a friend, I don’t really know her. But she was pretty and she liked me and I was all alone. She looked like my last girlfriend in high school. I miss her, too. Hannah had the same freckles on her nose, and her hair was long and tangled just like that. I loved Hannah and Hannah left me to move to some city by the ocean. I don’t know where she is and she doesn’t know where I am, either, not since I ran away. And no one ever knew about Hannah, so you can’t tell them. They only knew me. They blamed me.

Dr. McCarthy doesn’t stop petting May’s hair, stroking tenderly from the top of her head to below her ear. She clears her throat. “No one blames you, Essie. Not at Shaw Farms. All our girls love each other just the way you do, I promise.”

They do? And it’s okay?

“Yes, it’s very good. You’re a very good girl for telling me that, Essie.”

May practically purrs into Dr. McCarthy’s hand. 

“When you have sex, Essie, do you like how it makes you feel?”

Yeah, at first. Like, while it’s happening, I feel so good. Like when you call me a good girl. I like it so much. And then after I feel guilty, like I’m a bad person.

Dr. McCarthy nods. “A lot of girls here feel just the same, Essie. Did you know that it’s okay to like sex?”

I mean, yes, it’s okay, but it’s not okay for me.

“If it’s okay for everyone else, it’s okay for you too, Essie.”

But - I guess that makes sense, but -

“It’s okay for everyone to like sex. You’re everyone, Essie. We all like sex here. Is that okay?”

Yes, that’s fine -

“And you’re here, too. Isn’t that right, Essie?”

Yes, I’m here - 

“Then it’s okay for you to like sex while you’re here. Doesn’t that make sense?”

I - I guess that’s right.

“Good. Good girl, Essie. You figured that out all by yourself.”

I - mm. I guess I did.

“Essie, can I ask you something else?”

Yes, please.

“When I call you a good girl, does that make you wet?”

May’s face flushes. She fiddles with her hair until it acts as a curtain between herself and Dr. McCarthy. Yes. I don’t know why, though. But I like it.

Dr. McCarthy makes little notes on May’s chart, all while humming the painfully familiar tune. May knows she’s just heard this song, and she needs to place it. She listens so intently, thinking so deeply, she doesn’t notice her eyes have closed until she feels Dr. McCarthy’s hands on her.

“I’m going to do a little examination, okay, Essie?”

Okay. Are you going to touch me? Please touch me. I want you to touch me.

Dr. McCarthy smiles.

She spreads May’s knees and takes a gloved finger under May’s medical gown. May whines as she feels the light brush of the doctor, keens into Dr. McCarthy as she moves inside her, and whimpers when the doctor comes away with her index finger coated in May.

You stopped but I want you to keep touching me please, it felt so nice and it was only for a second. Please, please touch me again. Please.

“I’m glad you’re so eager, Essie,” Dr. McCarthy chuckles. “Maybe you’ll be simpler than Mr. Shaw’s initial tests showed.”

What tests? Did I pass? Did I do a good job?

Dr. McCarthy doesn’t answer, or doesn’t seem to hear her, for that matter. She’s busy taking down data, filling out intake questions, trying to see what all the fuss was about. Well, all things considered, Essie was incredibly lucid for two full doses of candor serum. Usually, just one had girls in McCarthy’s exam room for over an hour as she tried to make coherent answers out of their babbling and giggles. For Esther May to be this coherent on two shots? She was going to take some serious effort to break. And Webber had a point - the staff were well aware of Mr. Shaw’s upcoming board meeting in the next few months; he would need something to show an improvement on his father’s business model, some nook or cranny where he could make his mark. No wonder he was looking for a challenge. Dr. McCarthy looks back at Esther May - a twenty-one year old brunette with barely a B-cup to show for herself and a figure like a stalk of corn. And with these neurological results? Just a 3.4 on her OSS, her Overall Susceptibility Score? She probably could’ve taken a third shot. The lowest Shaw Farms had accepted for the last twenty years was a 5.5, and this board meeting was the only explanation for such a low dip.

But, as McCarthy jots in her notes, the induction video shown during Esther May’sinitial interview obviously had some lasting effects. She responded to stimuli (“good girl”) appropriately, and was in a more suggestible state than she was upon arriving at the facility. The standard Shaw Farms induction tune also fogged her mind each time she heard its melody, as intended. Yet, she still had enough of herself left to correct Dr. McCarthy on her preferred name and to resist answering specific questions, requiring a physical stimulus to respond. With the combination of the induction video’s specific anti-resistance message and the dosage of candor serum, those errors shouldn’t have occurred. The onboarding staff would have to continue making the necessary adjustments for someone of Esther May’s cognitive level, and she would require increased vigilance compared to their standard fresh meat.

Jason Shaw reads Dr. McCarthy’s findings for the second time in his office. He has the video of Essie’s first check-up paused on his monitor, the screen filled with Essie’s half-lidded smile. The doctor concurred, there was little explanation for her resistance to treatment. For her size, she should’ve been an empty-headed, pretty face on half of the standard shot. Yet, as Jason witnessed, she was articulating ideas and memories on double the regular amount. 

He looks to his second monitor, a livestream of Essie’s chamber. The doctors managed to hook her IV in and secure the pod, an enclosed bed that locked from the outside. If Essie needed the bathroom, a glass of water, anything, they would know and an assistant would be at her beck and call. Thankfully, their new entries only stayed in pods until they were ready to join the rest of the herd. That was typically a week, maybe ten days. But with Essie? Jason ran a hand through his thick, dark hair. It was a whole new ballgame.

#wlb #hucow kink #ch 1

[incarnateirony]

No people thought jensen was cheating when he was filming the boys and didn’t go back to Texas. Something about his hairdresser talking, or a co-star, or he was just out seen with a woman a lot who was probably an agent because his other one passed away. No body was saying he had girlfriend he was living with, in fact according to you your friends are the only people that even knew he wasn’t living alone because his landlord’s daughter was obsessed with cockles.

Oh no, hi 2po. I see you're very quick to run in on anon while refusing to address the actual receipts you're pretending you can't see. That was a very swift response.

Nono. I do remember this. Or more... 3 different individual people, 2 of which aren't even in my server, remembered it and messaged me, and are actively digging through your blog. Unfortunately between the waves of gif spam you use to hide your failures and washouts or when you're caught lying, and the giant well of "i know something, vague but special" and "that's it!! that's what I knew! Dang I wish I posted that!" like. It's taking them a bit. Don't worry, we lookin. Because unlike you we don't just make up shit about people.

So how about this buddy. You stop your psychotic compulsive lying and check with your Source. The one that couldn't figure out why even when he told me the script was fake, I was like, lol, ur an idiot, it's real, the stamps and everything we have in back says ur wrong. Oh wait Snotty didn't communicate that to you did he. Rub your eyeballs like the toddler you're acting like throwing noodles at the wall.

You're seeing it. You're seeing you've wrung out your audience so bad it takes you weeks to do half of what we used to do in a day or two even while you wave script candy now. You're seeing more and more people question you. Not just like. Attack or insult. Just reasonably question you. You consider that trolling, because the answers are just averse to you. You've been completely discredited on M&Gs, and you blew your own foot off there. That was really the only thing you had beyond grifting six digit figures out of the fandom to send you and your buds gold panel cruising and swear it's for charity that gets a fraction of it 2 years after the fact when your ass in on fire.

Knock it off dude. It's sad. What's even your end goal? I know you're not truly this stupid. You're smart enough to con people the way you have, unnoticed, this long, for your free luxury joyride and collectables via scripthunt. You can see the writing on the wall. I know you can.

So what's the point? Just seeing if you can wring a few more gold panels out of people before episode 13? Just hoping you tear everyone else down to your level? Trying to successfully prove anyone's as fake as you? Literally dude what even is your agenda anymore.

Because it's definitely not reporting reality. Your blog has become a weird wave of unsourced flashfiction spun wholecloth from only the silkworms between your ears about me, to imagine a form of me as a mythological beast you can vanquish, because you can't actually beat me as what I am, or say, or do, so you need a fictional version.

You obviously never check on if any of the statements you make are even REMOTELY true, they're all EASILY countered any time you do more than Vague. Your M&Gs are the same, I'd say you got tricked there but no, that was conscious on your part, because you tried to retaliate and report, but it was your own drunk, violent friend threatening hellers at con you hope everybody forgets about.

It's your whole thing. Wholecloth lies pinned together with a few snipped out pieces of truth and rearranged in the most bizarre orders without any intent to actually search out reality or tangible sources.

Like dude you can't even bother to try to find receipts on my blog of what you claim I say, or check that you won't be a lying assclown on saying it. How the fuck you think you can source wtf production is doing.

Why. Stop manipulating people dude. There's only a few months left. You don't need to exploit them literally until the moment your platform combusts. Just let them be. You can let go dude.

[slasherholic]

Contains: gender neutral reader, torture, forced scarification, bondage, spanking, fear play, body horror, threats of violence, mentions of drugging.

Asa Emory x Favorite!Victim Reader | One More Chance | Chapter 2

part one here

He stops in front of the elevator. Green-grey mold climbs the peeling beige wallpaper on either side of it like creeping fingers. The tarnished doors sit locked away behind a rusting barred gate. You had tried to use this exact same elevator when you almost got away from—

When you disobeyed him, interjects the part of your brain that just spared you your limbs. You had tried to use this elevator when you disobeyed him.

But he had locked it up tight from the top floors, too.

Upon realizing that, you nearly went slinking back to your room. You remember thinking that if you went back, if you crawled back inside your trunk and shut the lid, if you curled up very tight and very small, if you were good for him, when he found you, he might forgive you. There would still be a punishment for jimmying the lock; but if you showed him that you were sorry, ready to obey, ready to let him keep you without a fuss, the punishment might be bearable.

Then you had discovered a vent with a screw loose. Loose enough for you to peel back the grate.

The moment your slow descent to the lobby through the vents began, you knew forgiveness was out of the question. If he caught you before you made it out of this hotel, you would be tortured for it.

There is not a single doubt in your groggy, muddled, drugged-up mind that you are still about to be tortured for it.

He lowers your body to the grimy floor and unhooks his keychain from his belt. The keys jangle as he flips the ring once around his finger and catches it again. 

A shrill cry leaves your throat when his boot comes down on your temple.

He presses the rubber firmly into your cheek, smushing your face against the cold floor, covering your eyes. He’s not going to let you see this part. 

You hear him flipping back and forth between the keys, in no particular hurry to find the correct one.

One,

two,

three locks click open.

The pressure on your temple lifts mercifully away. You watch his boots as he slides the grated rusty door barring the elevator open. When he picks you up again, he slings you over his shoulder, his hand coming down to hold your naked thigh.

There are fifteen amber buttons on the chrome panel inside the elevator. You know your room is on the eighth floor.

Dread knots your stomach when you see the counter above the doors pass floor number eight.

He’s not taking you back to your room. 

The elevator stops on floor fourteen. He steps out, and into a part of the hotel you have never seen before. He starts down the decayed hall.

You pass one of his dolls. You don’t shut your eyes in time before you see her.

The first thing you see is the woman’s guts.

Shimmering in a slippery wet blue-purple pile on her abdomen like a tangle of worms, leaking blood down her ribs from stress-worn ruptures in the meat. The stench of her insides hits you like a kick to the face. You realize you must be smelling the chemicals of her stress and fear, cortisol, adrenaline, the pungent amalgamation of everything her panicking brain released when he did this to her.

It must have been recent; nobody could survive this for long.

She whimpers weakly at the sound of his approach. Where her eyes are meant to be, there are only bloody, glistening hollows. 

Reaching out, he grazes her IV line with his fingers, letting his hand brush her face tenderly as he walks past.

The woman’s whimpers rise into a steep pained cry that twists her features and dribbles quickly back to whimpering when she seems to realize that he has continued on walking, and isn’t going to linger to touch her more.

He takes you to the end of the hall. You hear the jingling of his key ring, the squeal of a turning handle.

The room inside is utterly unlike the rest of the hotel. Clean, tidy, well-furnished, well-lit. The cream colored wallpaper is spotless and adorned with charts boasting detailed portraits of various species of beetle and moth. All the furniture looks new.

He carries you to a long leather ottoman and starts to push it with his leg away from its resting place next to a bookshelf. In the middle of the room, he deposits you belly-down across it. Your arms fall limply to both sides. He steps out of view.

A radio crackles and sputters to life. Some melody plays faintly over it.

This is some sort of study.

You stare blankly at a locked glass case on the opposite end of the room as he moves somewhere behind you where you can’t see him. Sat upon the shelves are rows upon rows of insects preserved in jars of orange fluid.

Except some of them are very clearly not insects.

You shut your eyes, not caring to see what’s in those jars. Behind you, he opens a cabinet door, and starts to push a trolley cart with a squeaky wheel. You open your eyes when he gets too close.

There are two trays atop the cart. One white, one silver. You watch him lift a thin tool out of the silver tray, turning it over in the light, and your heart falls into your stomach.

It’s a scalpel. He’s holding a scalpel.

You launch right back into your desperate pleading frenzy.

Wait, wait, no no no, I’ll be good, I’ll be good—

The words come out as pitiful, slurred garbling. The drug has paralyzed your tongue.

His gloved hand shoots out. He seizes the underside of your jaw, cruelly. The pleading catches in your throat.

“No more of that.”

The order is stern, yet his voice remains unnervingly steady. It is the first you’ve ever heard him raise it above a whisper.

Fresh tears prick the corners of your eyes. You obey him without thought and fall silent.

From a desk in the corner, he pulls up a three-legged stool, and sits down next to you, knees level with your face. The simple proximity to him has your heart beating out of your chest. He wipes your back down with something cold and then his fingers alight to trace your shoulders gingerly. He rap-tap-taps the scalpel he’s about to use on you against the leg of the stool. 

Steadying you with a hand pressed flat on your back, he starts to work.

The bite of the scalpel is unforgiving. Your tears come fast. Before long you’re shrieking, sobbing, struggling to breathe. He doesn’t tell you to stop, doesn’t tell you to be quiet. His incisions are swift and skillful. You can feel the little flicks of his wrist as the blade sinks in and out of your back.

You see him wiping thin bloody slivers into the white tray on the rolling table, pieces of you. The sensation of the warm blood streaming down your back and shoulders turns you clammy and cold. He wipes the runny red up with a cloth from the trolley before it gets on his ottoman.

When it is over, your mind is soup.

You gape like a fish as you suck in shuddery breaths and stare blankly at his gloved hands as he sets the dripping scalpel down in its tray again, passing it through the light once more, watching it shimmer with your blood.

Your body flinches reflexively as he stands suddenly from the stool. Straddling you over the ottoman, he rearranges your legs to make room for him. His shins graze the back of your thighs as he sits. Pressing his palm flat against the small of your back, he traces your skin gingerly, examining his work. You whimper and cry. He pats your cheek.

Getting up, he goes to his desk. When he comes back you hear the click of a camera, the whirr of a picture printing. With two fingers, he slides a polaroid photo onto the ottoman, and tells you to look.

You tremble and cry. You don’t want to.

“Do I need to repeat myself?”

You obey him and look.

You start choking on your own sobs.

Butterfly wings. He’s given you butterfly wings. Wings with intricate, skillful patterns. Their graceful swooping tails reach all the way to your lower back. Bright red pools in the raw pink divots where he removed layers upon layers of your skin.

His hand closes firmly around your wrist. He cleans your fingers with a wipe. Rotating your hand behind you, he makes you feel the slippery cuts.

You whine at the sting, trembling in his strong grip. The wounds are just as deep as they look.

“It’s going to scar,” he states, matter-of-factly.

He leaves the polaroid sitting on the table next to your face as he begins to dress the wound. The cleaning hurts almost as much as the cutting, and though he’s being gentle now you think it would be more bearable if he was being cruel. His light brushes leave you trembling like a leaf.

On goes the adhesive bandaging. You watch him through shimmery tears as he gets up, goes to stand at the glass case, undoes the lock, and squats to reach the bottom shelf. He removes an empty jar and a bottle of preserving fluid.

Going back to the trolley, setting the jar down, he screws off the lid. The preserving fluid sloshes as he pours it inside. Reaching into the white tray, he carefully sets the thin pieces of what he sliced off of you into the preserving jar, one by one. You watch them flutter down and settle at the bottom. He screws the lid back on and writes something in cursive in black marker on the label. Going back to the case, he carefully moves aside a beetle specimen, and places his new collection piece on the top shelf.

He checks his watch. Peeling off his gloves, which are wet with your blood, he deposits them in a small trash can in the corner and removes a new pair from his back pocket.

He doesn’t put them on. When he walks past the ottoman he trails the gloves lightly across the nape of your neck. Your body winces and shudders. You don’t hear him shut the door as he leaves the room.

His confidence in his drug is accurate; by the time he comes back, the only movement you’re able to accomplish is a useless twitching of your fingers and toes.

You aren’t facing the right way so you can’t see the chains he’s holding in his hand but you can hear them and the sound makes a pang of dread explode inside of you. They clank and rattle as he drops them beside the ottoman. He greets you with another soft caress of your nape. His gloves are wet again, with someone else’s blood.

He peels off the dirtied second pair and doesn't bother putting on another.

He crosses your arms behind your bandaged back as you sob into the leather. Snap. The pair of thick shackles close around your wrists. The cuffs are tight and uncompromising. He measures the circumference of your neck with a measuring tape, wrapping it taut around your throat, holding it to the base of your skull with two fingers.

You make fragile broken whines as he fits a stiff steel collar around your neck. You hear the click of a padlock. His warm knuckles come down to stroke your cheek. 

His hands go under your body and he lifts you, sinking down on the ottoman in your place, splaying you across his lap. He grips the chain shackling your wrists behind your back, securing your arms tightly. In his shadow, you see him pull back his hand.

Whack.

A shattered sound rips out of you at the impact. You think for an instant that he has taken his knife out of his pocket and stabbed your backside.

With the next smack, you realize that it's his palm, and that he’s spanking you.

One more and you know he’s about to ruin your ass.

Ten seconds on and your sharp yelps are rising into screams. Thirty seconds and your cries are animal. Your cheeks are burning, blood rushing to the spanked area. His palm comes down again and again. 

You feel him switch hands. His fingers curl around the front of your throat, gripping you above your collar, hot from the friction of his slaps and your own swelling skin. He rests his palm on your bruised bottom, groping the stinging flesh.

“Count,” he orders. “Out loud.”

Whack.

You obey his order through tears, blurting out the numbers between strangled sobs.

Whack. Wham. Whack.

The slaps are brutal. He’s putting all his strength behind it. Your lips are trembling as you count your punishment. You realize you can feel his clothed erection pressing against your side and that makes you sob harder. 

At five, he stops. His hands leave your body, and you hear him fidgeting with his mask. The unlaced black fabric concaves in on itself as it falls to the floor, resting next to his boot.

You can’t look him in the face. You wouldn’t even if you could. You don’t want to see him. 

Gripping your jaw, lifting your chin, he presses his nose and mouth to your ear.

“Shh… Shh shh shh...” He shushes your whimpering quiet.

Brushing your cheek with his knuckles, he informs you that five is the number of days he’s going to feed you with nothing but the tube he’s about to shove down your throat.

#third part may take longer heh #asa emory #asa emory x reader #the collector #the collector x reader #the collection #slashers #horror #fanfiction #writing #reader insert #tw: torture #dark fic

[inhonoredglory]

Run Away from Me: A Levi Meta

The core of this meta is to show that, IMHO, Levi’s violence against Historia in Chapter 56 is his emotional fallout from the torture of Sannes, as well as his own guilt at the person he had become. Coming from having only watched the anime, I personally found this placement in the manga of the Historia scene right after both the torture sequence and the Reeves Company alliance as incredibly meaningful, especially for Levi’s character and his emotional journey.

Levi is an immensely compassionate person, someone who wants to aspire to the “unimaginably altruistic” life of Erwin Smith (Isayama, SNK Encyclopedia). So how would this torture he had to inflict affect him? Because imagine for a second: This is the man who was the only one to truly react with horror and sadness at the knowledge that they’d been killing human beings all this time when they fought Titans. This is the man who went out of his way to ally with the Reeves Company in order to answer the Trost townspeople’s woes:

In Chapter 53, Levi is confronted with blatantly disrespectful Trost merchants who think the Survey Corps haven’t done enough to save their town. It’s the everyday things that burden these people—taxes, thieves, putting food on the table. Levi doesn’t once shoot back at them for their criticism. Instead, he listens. And then he spots a woman at the side of a merchant’s stall. She’s holding a baby and her eyes burn into Levi’s. She holds his attention while above him, the merchants continue their tirade. I think Levi’s thinking of his mother here: like this woman, she was a single parent raising a child in a city that is not unlike Trost now, a town abandoned and forgotten by society, poor and struggling. That child reminds Levi of himself, and this time, Levi can do something about it.

This is why Levi goes out of his way to ally with the Reeves Company. Levi and Dimo share a long, deep conversation, demonstrating that Levi’s alliance with them is more personal than merely the company’s strategic value. Dimo Reeves called Levi an “awkward yet kind man.” He goes on the say that Levi will “protect us and the barely-alive District of Trost, even though he doesn’t really have to.” This is Levi answering that townsperson’s accusation that “you in the Survey Corps aren’t working hard enough.” Levi entrusts to the Reeves Company the responsibility to bring the town out of poverty in the new world the SC will create. That’s his compassion, that’s his care, that’s his humility. That’s how he values the lives of people, not just by defeating Titans, but valuing their livelihoods. “A man like that must have come from absolutely nothing,” concludes Dimo.

This is the same Levi we find torturing Sannes.

In Chapter 55, the torture of Sannes happens because of the horrors Hange saw inflicted on Minister Nick. It is Hange’s passion for avenging Nick that drives the torture sequence, their anger at the tortures that had happened under the MP’s First Squad that motivates the payback inflicted by Hange and Levi. Levi’s violence is done, not out of his own desire, but primarily Hange’s. This is not to say that Levi was guiltless or without responsibility for Sannes’s torture; on the contrary, his actions weigh heavily on him, as will be discussed. But it’s interesting to note that out of all the tortures they did, breaking Sannes’ nose was the only retribution all Levi’s own (in reaction to Sannes’ justification of a series of horrific things the MPs had committed).

I also find it relevant that after everything they had done to Sannes, Levi was still visibly shocked at Hange’s overreaction to Sannes’ hesitation to answer their first real question. Because in Levi’s mind, everything they had done up to that point wasn’t torture—in one sense. It was instead a like-for-like payback for the horrors Sannes had inflicted on Nick. Note that it was Levi who had to pull Hange out of the emotional distraction of Nick’s death in Chapter 52, the same emotional distraction that drives Hange to overzealous violence here.

There’s an interesting parallel in what happens next with what Levi had gone through with Annie earlier. Levi threatened Annie with torture of her real body and said he enjoyed intimidating her as she was bound and trapped. Sannes confessed that for him, he enjoyed violence and tormenting the helpless—so why should he complain if these torturers, Hange and Levi, are the same as him? It’s a subtle parallel, but it’s a relevant theme in SNK that everyone, on all sides, are devils and monsters. Or as Sannes says later, “The world will always have people like us.” People who are violent, people who are lunatics, people who condemn themselves and get their hands dirty for the sake of some higher “good.” Sannes’ accusation isn’t lost on Levi, because this is the same Levi who looked at a struggling mother in a forsaken city and did something about it.

Justified violence is still violence. So what if Annie deserved to have her limbs cut off, time and time again, without relief of death? So what if Sannes deserves to have his fingernails torn off, one by one, without even a question put to him? They had, after all, inflicted death and untold horrors on innocent people. But does justice look like this? Does the name of justice absolve your hands from actions this ugly?

Morality is complicated. And Levi is the first to tell you that he doesn’t know how to slice it. “I’m not telling you what’s right or wrong. I certainly don’t know what is” (Chapter 59).

So now in Chapter 56, we come to the scene with Historia, right on the heels of that torture. The first red flag for me went up when Levi realizes he has “forgotten” to tell his squad about Historia’s true bloodline. It’s not that he didn’t intend to tell them, it’s not that he was not supposed to tell them. (Unlike, say, the entire Female Titan arc.) He forgot, and he’s clearly embarrassed when they confront him. Why? Because he’s not supposed to lose focus like that. But he did, because that information came from Sannes, and after that horrendous experience, Levi, like Hange before him, was emotionally distracted. That’s the only reason I can figure for Isayama focusing on Levi’s oversight like this, and showing Levi in such an obviously emotionally awkward place.

Hange isn’t here to translate for Levi, like she did when Levi berated Eren for being unable to harden during the experiments in Chapter 53. Levi takes the scenic, colorful route when explaining his feelings. To Eren, he admitted that his criticism wasn’t about blaming Eren for being unable to harden, stating that “going over our shortcomings and bitching about our situation is an important ritual.”

In this light, we can read Levi’s words and actions with Historia as a complicated picture of his psychological landscape. Notice how just prior to this scene, we saw Hange act out the aftermath of the torture by kicking the table. Levi too reacts, taking it out on Historia.

Imagine where Levi is right now. He’s taken on the role of Sannes in this new world—the executioner, the ultimate killer, Humanity’s Strongest. “Your hands are already dirty. You can’t go back to the way you were,” Levi tells Armin later, but it’s also what he believes about himself. All that idealism that brought him into the Survey Corps—a life bigger than being a thug in the underworld. Did all that idealism bring him here, to do this? He has to make it worth it, he has to make it count for something. It’s what he does every day when his soldiers die under him—he’s been there to make their deaths worthwhile. But who’s there to make the deaths and terrors he’s dealt out worthwhile for him?

Levi’s expression in the last panel is angry, yes, but also wracked with pain.

So when Historia says she’s unfit for the role of Queen, when she says she can’t be Queen because she’s not good enough, Levi snaps. “Then run,” he said, grabbing her. “Run away from us as fast as you can. Because we’re going to do anything and everything to make you do what we want.” Levi’s eyes are downcast, not looking at her, because what he’s saying is more about him than it is about her.

Because he knows he’s dark enough to follow those orders to do the worst things to a human being to make the entire world a better place. He knows it’s in his bones to commit these atrocities. He is afraid of what he found he’s capable of. He’s already come to terms with killing humans as Titans. He’s come to terms with torturing humans as humans. He knows he can and will do horrible, unforgivable things. That’s his strength, that’s what makes him valuable, useful, important. He’s not like other people—“I’m abnormal… probably because I’ve seen far too many abnormal things.” But he’s ready to condemn himself, to make his hands dirty for the sake of others. He’s decided he has to go full through with the darkness he’s committed, because how else can he justify what he’s done? “I’m fine playing the role of the lunatic who kills people like that. I have to be ready to rearrange some faces. Because I choose the hell of humans killing each other over the hell of being eaten. At least that way… all of humanity doesn’t have to be damned.” His are the hands that will be stained with blood, his is the conscience that will be stained, his is the soul that will sink to hell—all so that others’ innocence can be spared.

The 104th look at him like he’s gone mad, abusing a young, helpless girl like that. But they haven’t seen what he had to do. They haven’t seen how bloody his hands have gotten. His violence here is a desperate reaction to get someone to save him. He’s always been able to avenge the deaths of his soldiers. But this time, he is the one in need of redemption. He could not justify his violence completely, he could only plea for her to make them unnecessary in the future. By becoming Queen, it means he won’t have to keep torturing, keep killing, keep shedding human blood. Her becoming Queen means a peaceful transition of power. Her becoming Queen means he won’t have to pave the path to a new government with more blood and more guilt, at least, not more than he has to. He’s enslaved to doing what his strength allows him to do. He’s begging her to not let people ask that of him.

#進撃の巨人 #attack on titan #snk #aot #levi ackerman #snk meta #aot meta #levi ackerman meta #attack on titan meta #shingeki no kyojin #shingeki no kyojin levi #shingeki manga #shingeki no kyojin meta #rivaille #captain levi #snk analysis #aot analysis #levi ackerman analysis #*mine #*mymeta #*glory watches snk

[superhero--imagines]

Etsy Store Here l Ko-Fi l Commission Info I Instagram I Zine

A/N: Looking for a beta reader for a personal writing piece, let me know if you feel like you're a pretty good editor! Also this has been sitting in my drafts for like 2 months, and IDK maybe I'll do more of them since it's kinda fun.

* Omg this freak is so stupid into the fact that you literally create universes with those godly hands

* I’m not kidding, I think a good 80% of his initial attraction to you was because you’re writing will literally make you immortal

* “You’re going to live forever,” Satoru says slightly breathless as he holds one of your print publications in his hand

* You’re just like ‘wtf’ so he explains-

* “You die twice, once when your body can no longer sustain itself, and the second the last time someone says your name.”

* Ah, so he thinks you’ll live forever in the sense that someone will always reference your work

* “That’s not exactly true though, one day the sun will swallow the earth whole, turning everything we love to dust”

* Satoru thinks you sound just like a writer when you say stuff like that

* “Well, unless we find another planet and have a database there or something”

* Satoru googles ‘how to buy a planet’ and ‘how much would it cost to set up a database in space’

* He’s got no respect for your craft- and by that I mean if you’ve got a deadline you’re trying to meet for a submission period or for your editor whatever, he’s just got no respect for it

* Queue Gojo shenanigans where he’ll hide all the pens in the house, or hide your laptop or something just so he can see you all flustered and panicked

* “I DONT HAVE TIME FOR THIS I ONLY HAVE 12 HOURS TO GET THIS IN!!” You shriek running from one end of your home to the other looking desperately for your laptop charger

* It’s too late in the game to order another one, and you don’t trust leaving Gojo alone in this house

* More than once you’ve left the house to replace whatever Satoru stole only to return to see even more of your things were gone now

* One time he rearranged all the furniture

* “It’s up there,” Gojo says grinning, and you look up to the ceiling fan to see your laptop charger idly hanging off one of the panels

* “I’ll get it down for you if you give me a kiss,” he says cheekily

* There’s sort of a method to the madness

* Part of it is yeah, Gojo loves to laugh, and nothings funnier than you when you’re flustered

* But part of it is you’ve been hunched over your laptop for days now, and you’re starting to be mean to yourself because you’re frustrated

* You need a break

* One he’s more than happy to offer

* And a teeny tiny portion is because he’s lonely

* Whenever you get sucked into a project it’s like you forget about him completely

* So he just wants to remind you he’s here

* And that he loves you

* You sigh, giving him a quick peck, and with a wave of his hand he brings the charger down

* “I expect a better reward when you’re done with your story”

* I think Gojo is probably a pretty big fan of your work

* In fact he’s probably your #1 fan

* But he’s super low-key about it.

* Buys all your publications on pre-order (never in large amounts so you don’t notice)

* If you’ve got into a bigger journal/magazine, or have a book at a bookstore will buy a copy every time he passes by one and see’s it

* He keeps one copy of each work on his bookshelf in the living room

* And then stores the rest/extra copies in a velvet storage box in a temperature-controlled area

* He also has another set that he notoriously marks up with notes/annotations

* “This part sounds like the time I brought them food and took them on a spontaneous date” he’ll say, scribbling furiously into the margin

* Gojo see’s your writing as an extension of you- of your soul

* So he does his best to try and figure out where you get inspiration from

* He’s especially delighted if he notices something he did, inspired something you wrote -

* “Ah the villain hid the hero’s laptop charger so they couldn’t turn in their assignment on top,” he says with a sigh

* - Even if it’s not always positive

* Honestly he plays it so cool you think he doesn’t really think anything of your profession until you come over to his place for the first time and see all your works in a neat line on his shelf

* And even then you think he’s just supporting you because he loves you, after all, they’re all in great condition, he probably hasn’t even opened them.

* And then a little further into the relationship, probably when you move in together or something

* You find all those marked-up copies

* Gojo Satoru has never been redder

* You’re genuinely concerned he might combust

* He’s acting like you just found his porn stash or something

* You wait for a few minutes for him to stammer out an excuse or something

* But when he can’t seem to form any words after several minutes you sigh and close the box

* “I didn’t see anything”

* He just nods

* You start giving him copies of your work yourself now that you know he’s so interested

* “O-oh no it’s fine-“

* It’s actually one of the rare times you see Satoru flustered

* “It’s fine, I insist, I’ve got too many contributor copies anyway”

* He takes them in his hand blushing

* He would show up to all of your readings or signing events -

* Disguised Ofc

* “Hey you should be careful, that guy looks super sketchy-“

* You look to where your manager is pointing, to a tall lanky guy wearing a black hair wig, and these tacky thick-rimmed pink glasses and you sigh

* “No need to worry, that’s just my moronic boyfriend”

* “You don’t have to show up in disguise you know”

* “Well what was I supposed to do? You didn’t invite me” he’s doing that thing where he gets all shy, a blush on his face and his fingers tugging a strand of hair

* You sigh

* The dork is oddly lovable

* “Well, from now on you’ve got an open invitation to all my events”

* He smiles so bright you would think you just offered to blow him in the middle of the bookstore

* He’s got his shortcomings

* “SATORU DID YOU HIDE ALL MY REFERENCE BOOKS?!?!”

* But you couldn’t have asked for a more supportive boyfriend

* “Kiss me and maybe I’ll tell you where they’re at”

* Or a better muse

#jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen imagine #jujutsu kaisen fanfiction #Gojo satoru x reader #Gojo satoru imagine #gojou satoru x reader #gojou satoru #Gojo x reader #gojou x y/n #saturo gojou #Satoru Gojo imagine #gojo satoru x y/n #gojo satoru jjk #gojo satoru headcanon #superhero—imagines

[allegedlyanandroid]

Hello! For the fic prompts! Can I got a 900Gavin A/B/O fic about alpha!RK900 who try to bite Omega!Gavin scent glands when they first meet because RK900 didn't have a social program but have only a primal instinct program? Could pls keep it fluff and light,plssss? 🥺 I read too many dark fics but if it couldn't then it ok too.

I took some artistic liberties with this one and made Gavin a bounty hunter for the sole purpose that I couldn’t figure out a good reason as to why Fowler would assign them as partners if Nines tried to take a bite out of him on first meeting.  I mean... who can blame him though? Gavin is a snacc. Did I think to much into it? Yes, definitely. Either way, I hope you like it @therainnight, fingers crossed that it has an okay ratio of fluff in it <3

There’s nothing to suggest he’s being followed, no out-of-the-ordinary sounds, no footsteps, no nothing. Doesn’t matter. Gavin has always had good instincts and right now they’re telling him that something, or someone, is stalking him. Glancing as far behind himself as he can through his peripheral vision means he catches the glimpse of movement before it’s too late. Gavin whirls around just as he’s pushed backwards against a tree and the impact is enough to knock the breath from his lungs.  

A forearm keeps him pressed against it while he stares uncomprehending at razor-sharp teeth set in a half-finished face.

‘Oh, hell no,’ is what comes to mind and it’s through pure instinctive reaction that he manages to get a hand up between them and shove it as far into the android’s mouth as he can ‒ quick enough to keep it from sinking its teeth into the glands in his neck. He’d rather lose a few fingers than be bond-mated on first meeting like some omega bride in the twentieth century. His other hand is still free so he ignores the glowing eyes peering into his soul, and the curious gnawing over the digits he unceremoniously shoved in the android’s mouth, in order to find the glowing circle in the middle of its chest. Digging his fingers into the minute crack the thirium pump regulator slides into his hand with a muted hiss, strangely warm and disgustingly slick with thirium.  

The android yelps, scrambling backwards, and releases Gavin’s saliva-slick hand as it falls down in a crouch. It stares desperately at the cylinder held aloft in the air. It jolts forward when Gavin squeezes it between claw-tipped fingers until it threatens to bend under the strain and render it useless, eyes are wide and sorrowful, the glow in them sapping away with every passing second. Gavin nearly feels bad for it.

“Why are you following me?!” he demands to know, pushing the thought aside.

It doesn’t answer, shifting in place as it continues to stare at him.

“You can have this back if you tell me.” Half-truths. The android merely curls in on itself, pressing the palm of its hand against its own throat. It mouths something but the dark plating making up the lower part of his face makes it impossible to see what. Then it clicks. “You can’t talk?”  

It nods.

Maybe it shouldn’t have come as a surprise when the droid looks anything but finished. Gavin can see parts of its biocomponents pulsing a subdued red behind clear panelling mixed in with sleek metal in a colour so dark it’s nearly void. The upper part of its face has synthskin, including his upper lip, but everything below is made of the same black material. Its ears nearly blend into the raven hair on its head and Gavin can’t find it in himself to be angry at it. Clearly, it’s a lost ‒ and potentially broken ‒ thing. Not unlike himself.

Gavin tosses the regulator in the android’s direction and marches on. He has a job to do after all and tracking only gets harder the longer he dawdles. Almost immediately the feeling returns and he groans out loud. The time-limit forces him to keep moving regardless of his silent companion. His target already has a two-day head start and the moment Weiss crosses the border into Canada Gavin can’t do jack-shit to him. He jerks the rifle higher on his back and continues to follow the scent of old blood laid into the earth. Evidently the bastard isn’t worried about being followed so much as setting a fast pace despite his injuries. 

When night begins to fall, the shadows lengthening around him, Gavin reluctantly sets up camp. There’s maybe another two days before he catches up and seeing as they’re about a three day’s march from the border he’ll be cutting it close.  

The area he finds is partly protected from the elements and close to a stream of trickling water. “I know you’re there,” he calls while rummaging around his supplies to find kindling. There’s a rustle of the underbrush to his left and the hulking mess of an android appears at the edge of camp. It looks hesitant, almost skittish, where it stands. It makes little sense given how bulky the ‘droid is and how aggressive it behaved earlier. Clearly it should be able to hold its own going off design alone. Gavin returns to ignoring it after a last wary glance and swears beneath his breath when the wood won’t catch flame.

The android shifts into his line of sight and approaches slowly, like one would a vicious or scared animal. It stops again and gestures to the attempted fire, tilting its head in question. Gavin sighs. “Sure, why not,” he shrugs. “‘s not like you can do a worse job.” 

Despite the less-than-friendly tone, the android visibly perks up. Gavin watches as it rearranges the collected wood with meticulous focus before stripping one of its fingers of plating and snapping off a few wires. The resulting electric sparks is what it uses to light the kindling. The fire slowly spreads over bark and wood until they’re engulfed by flames, cracking and popping in the still evening. Satisfied, it prods at the still-sparking wires with a finger, completely transfixed by the reds, oranges and yellows found in the flickering fire. 

Gavin offers a crooked grin in thanks. “Wonders of technology. You need any help with that?”

The android shakes its head no, poking the wires back in place, before clicking the plating back where it belongs. It looks to be smiling slightly as it reluctantly gathers itself up to leave.

Gavin stops it with a hand on its wrist.  

“You can stay.”

It’s basic human decency Gavin tells himself when he watches the android shuffle closer to the flames, hands outstretched as if to absorb its warmth. With the light’s help he can just about make out the serial-number etched into its chassis right over its thirium pump. “RK900, “ Gavin reads, “-that’s not one I’ve heard of before.” The droid turns to him and holds up one finger, turning it afterwards to point at himself. Gavin hums. “One of a kind then. I can relate to that.”

The android slides closer, looking up with a soft “go-on” like gesture that Gavin is helpless to resist.

-

He wakes up the next morning feeling as if everything has tilted slightly to the left and groggily gets himself ready for the day, rolling up his sleeping bag and kicking dirt over the fire’s embers, while RK stares at him with intrigue. They begin the trek not long after with Gavin wolfing down a protein bar in lieu of breakfast. RK frowns at him then, his brows furrowed severely, but it quickly turns to confusion when Gavin sticks his tongue out at him and picks up the pace. While they walk, he contemplates when in the previous evening he began referring to RK as “he” instead of “it”. There’s no doubt that the android is alive, for lack of a better term, animated and interested and latching onto every word of Gavin’s tales the way he used to do himself when he was younger and less jaded.

Gavin, lost in thought, doesn’t notice RK disappearing for a moment. His return is difficult to miss though since he presents him with a perfectly symmetrical trientalis europaea, its yellow core surrounded by seven white petals. A stark contrast to the black hands cupping it; delicate fragility resting in palms simply not made for such sweet blossoms. There’s excitement radiating off him, nestled in his glowing eyes, which doubles when Gavin asks: “Is that for me?”

The nod is quick as RK moves his hands an inch closer. Gavin takes it with a soft “thank you.” He looks at it for a moment longer and then takes his notebook from his inner pocket to place the flower there, snapping it shut and tying it with twine to really press flat. RK preens, turning his gaze bashfully to the forest floor, while Gavin pretends his cheeks aren’t flushed red.

-

When at last it comes time to make camp Gavin is pleased with their progress. “The scent of blood is more prominent. Even if he’s on scent blockers I can pick up smoke from the campfire. We’re getting close.”

His statement prompts an explanation about the reason he’s in the woods to begin with. The concern he shows upon hearing of Gavin’s chosen field of work is quickly dismissed with a: “I managed to bring you down, didn’t I?” which RK’s lips twitch at. He settles even closer to Gavin today, surreptitiously scenting the air between them, until Gavin asks him about it point-blank.

‘You smell nice,’ RK writes out on a torn-out page in Gavin’s book. ‘It’s what drew me in.’

“I smell like fuck-all while on blockers.”  

‘Leather, coffee, something sweet like honey.’ It takes a moment before RK writes the next part: ‘You’re an omega.’

Gavin is still reeling when the last part of the sentence hits him like a punch to the gut. He takes his blockers near religiously, there’s no way RK should be able to‒  

...but then the air around him floods with hints of metal and ozone. He’d smelled it before, when RK first came at him, but it had been absent since.  

An alpha.

As soon as the scent envelops him it lessens again. ‘It’s hard to concentrate, to control myself, unless I turn that part of my programming off. Although, it means I have to get in close to smell anything.’

Gavin doesn’t know what to say to that, to any of it, so he remains quiet even if he doesn’t move away to allow RK to take in his scent as he pleases.

-

The weather dips dangerously in the late night and Gavin wakes up shivering. “Fuck, dammit,” he curses. Maybe he should keep moving. Catch the fucker earlier and finally get away from here. ‘Terrible plan,’ Gavin reminds himself as another shiver wracks through his body. Weiss is an alpha and as much as Gavin loathes to admit it, they are stronger than him. His strength is his speed and precision, dancing out of people’s range until they tire, or using his omega status as a lure. The last one wouldn’t help him here and the former only works if he’s well-rested and alert.

RK is just now stoking the fire. It helps, a bit, but Gavin is still feeling numb; fingers and toes hurting when he attempts to stretch them out.  

“Hey, RK. C’mere a second.”

The android obeys without question, crouching down next to where Gavin has struggled into a sitting position. He places his hands against RK’s bare chassis to test his theory. There’s a low thrumming vibration beneath his fingertips and the metal is surprisingly warm to the touch. RK moves to clasp Gavin’s hands between his own and slowly rubs over them, keeping them covered while his chassis suddenly generates more heat.  

Once they’re an appropriate temperature again RK moves to sit behind him. Gavin watches him, a question etched clearly into his eyes, but RK merely lays down, waiting and watching. Glacially slowly Gavin joins him on the ground and the android smiles shyly before turning his back on him. Gavin mirrors him once more, shuffling until they lie back to back, and both the warmth from the fire and RK enveloping him is a comfort he didn’t know he needed.

-

The morning after is filled with glances out of the corner of his eye, with the urge to hold RK’s stupid hand, and he wonders when he became so starved of touch, of someone showing the slightest bit of kindness to him, that two days are enough to want to pull RK down by his hair and kiss him senseless.  

-

They catch up to Weiss a short few hours later and Gavin presses the rifle into RK’s hands as a safety precaution before throwing himself into the fight. It’s quick and dirty with Gavin using every trick in the book to gain the upper hand while dancing around the wildly thrown punches. Grinning through the rush of adrenaline Gavin eventually stops toying with the man and brings him down with a few precise kicks and punches. He locks handcuffs around Weiss’ wrists, arms behind his back, while Weiss shouts abuse and obscenities at him. Gavin pays it no mind, explaining with a sick sense of satisfaction that the cuffs aren’t coming off without a DNA signature from his friend and that running would mean a slow death for him left out in the elements. “Truth be told, I don’t care whether or not you’re still breathing when I bring in proof of your capture. I can afford to lose the difference in compensation.”

Weiss falls limp at that while Gavin slowly rises to his feet. When he looks up, remembering they’re not alone, RK is standing still as a statue. He stalks over, bearing a striking resemblance to a predator approaching prey, and presses right up into Gavin’s personal space to shove his nose into his neck and inhale. A rumbling noise is caught in his throat, a growl that has Gavin’s knees weakening slightly, as sharp teeth graze over his throat. Ozone and metal. Wicked claws not present before gripping his jaw tightly.

He reaches up to stick his thumb in RK’s mouth, pressing it down on his tongue with narrowed eyes. RK pricks it with his fangs and laps at the drop of blood with his tongue, all the while keeping eye contact. It makes Gavin squirm, just a little bit, and he’s thankful the heat suppressors keep him from getting wet or the walk back would be uncomfortable to say the least. With a graze of his teeth, RK loosens his hold and puts distance between them again, eyes dark and wanting.

-

Weiss tries to run about two thirds of the way back and Gavin sighs as he readies his reclaimed rifle. Turns out he never has to use it. RK’s head snaps up and he tracks the man’s erratic patterns for a second before giving chase. He’s practically a blur of movement and Gavin watches, transfixed, as he takes Weiss down in one graceful leap. The lack of being able to catch himself smacks Weiss’ head hard against the ground. RK doesn’t seem to care about the man’s dazed state as he drags him back to Gavin, his claws buried deep into the sides of his neck, hand cupping the back of it. He tosses him at Gavin’s feet and offers a razor-sharp grin, nudging the guy with the tip of his foot.  

Gavin gives him a light kiss on the cheek for his help and can almost imagine the tail wagging behind him with excitement at the gesture of affection.

-

What doesn’t fit the crumbling infrastructure in the slums or the dingy office he rents for cheap is the well-kept lady in smart business attire standing next to him behind the desk.  

Maurice Gacy, the guy they usually make business with, is a weasel of a man. His thin greasy hair and slimy smile fits his role of lowlife criminal perfectly. His side hustle of collecting bounties for the Guild is the only reason Gavin interacts with him, puts up with his leering and comments. Trust only extends so far between them but... all in all he gives the money owed and he keeps his mouth shut when talking to the cops which is all that really matters in the end.

RK tenses behind him, something Gavin senses in the clicking of his machinery, and Gavin frowns at the broad smile beginning to stretch over her face. “You found it,” she says lightly, walking in a measured pace while Gacy warily trails behind, heels clicking across the linoleum.

Gavin takes a step forward to meet her and bares his teeth in a snarl. “Back off.”

She nods sagely, uncaring for his hostility and lengthening canines. “Yes, of course. Money first. Always the same with you lot, isn’t it?” The node she produces from her fitted jacket flares to life and he stares, heart stuttering in his chest, at the very familiar face displayed.

WANTED  

RK900, MODEL NUMBER #313 248 317 - 87

REWARD: 1.000.000 $

HIGHLY VOLATILE AND EXTREMELY DANGEROUS

PREFERABLE IF IT REMAINS OPERABLE UPON COLLECTION

Metal and ozone laced with a bitter tinge resembling fear.  

A flower stuck between yellowing pages.  

Viscous saliva and thirium dripping from his hands.

Whatever RK’s crime can Gavin truly bear to have more of his blood on them when it’s sure to stain them always? The thought is on the forefront of his mind when RK walks up to stand by his side, resignation already home in eyes and slowly sapping them of light, and in that moment, Gavin has his answer.

His arm shoots out to block RK from moving further and slowly raises his chin in defiance. “No.”

“Excuse me?”

They’re all staring at him, RK with a mix of wonder and trepidation, so Gavin sets his jaw and forces calm into his voice. “You can fuck right off with that shit, he’s not the reason we’re here.” With a nod to Tina, she steps forward and shoves Weiss at Gacy. Thankfully he’s too much of a coward to pick a fight and transfers the agreed upon money to her before whisking Weiss away towards the back. Tina raises an eyebrow at him, bumping their shoulder together lightly as she walks out the door, and Gavin has never been as thankful to have her as he is right now when the unmistakable sound of an engine rumbling to life filters in from outside. “Come on, we’re done here.”

It’ll start a shitstorm, that’s for damn sure, but with RK leaning forward to peer out the front window as they tear through the streets, Gavin can’t find it in himself to care.  

#allegedly answering asks #dbh gavin #gavin reed #dbh rk900 #rk900 #reed900 #dbh #detroit: become human #detroit become human #mini fic #my writing #is nines courting gavin in this to the best of his abilities? #yes absolutely #does gavin know? #debatable #he's both thick and thicc if you know what i mean

[learnfromwebtoons]

Lesson 9 - Keep It Moving

Today’s Lesson: Keep It Moving

Today’s Teacher: Tower of God by S. I. U

How do you keep a story from grinding to a halt or retreading the same information over and over while you figure out the ending?

Pacing is difficult to teach by example because it’s something that develops over long stretches of story, not in single-panel or short sequential screenshots. But bad pacing is the most common reason people drop a longrunning story - “I just got bored of reading it. It felt like I was reading the same thing over and over again.” 

Fortunately for me, who’s never read the comic until prompted to do so while trying to find a good case study for this post, Tower of God has this problem right off the bat!

Tower of God is a pretty old Webtoon about some guy who needs to clear all the levels in a tower to get to a girl he likes. It was recently made into an anime on Crunchyroll. It’s also over 500 episodes long and still going. Each episode is twice the length of most Webtoons, clocking in at the equivalent of nearly 15 print comic pages. And because of this length, it feels as though the story is unfolding glacially slowly. It takes the protagonist four of these extra-long episodes to clear the first level of the tower. The amount of build-up and frequent cutting away to other characters commenting on the protagonist’s trials, instead of heightening the tension of his fight, serve to diminish it by making the fight feel stretched out as well. Long stretches of dialogue and white (or black) space prime the reader to scroll faster to get to the action and might lead to people missing the good bits amidst the fluff.

The formulaic nature of Tower of God’s Level-Up plot means that on a larger scale the story feels even more repetitive, as the protagonist fights a bad guy, moves up to the next level, faces a bad guy it looks like he won’t be able to defeat, unlocks a secret power he didn’t know he had and kicks the bad guy’s ass, and then moves up to the next level again, over and over. We’ve discussed the unsustainability of escalating battle sequences in Lesson 7, and that applies to Tower of God as well. But on a smaller scale, I feel like the fights in Tower of God would land more effectively if they were faster paced, told with bigger splash panels and less unnecessary buildup surrounding them. 

Pacing is also a matter of personal preference, however: Stephen King has said he prefers slower-paced stories. I like stories that move quickly (or at least feel like they do), with things developing and changing in every chapter or episode.

Regardless of if you prefer your comics fast or slow, every panel in a comic must either develop the story and characters, or establish the environment and mood, and if it doesn’t do either of those things, there is no reason for that panel to be in there. 

Exercise: This is based on an exercise I half-remember from Scott McCloud’s Making Comics. Pick a movie you like and grab some index cards! (If you don’t have any index cards draw some rectangles on a page.) Break down the movie into 16 key scenes or events. Now remove half the index cards so that the story still makes sense. Then, get some new index cards and expand each of the remaining scenes into two cards, or even three. How does the story change depending on what you cut or expand? How does the feeling of the story change? Experiment by cutting some things and adding others. The one thing you can’t do is add in things that weren’t in the movie you were thinking of, or rearrange the order of events.

Webtoon Rec of the Day: The Webtoon I always think of as an example of unsuccessful pacing, Cheese in The Trap, is currently a Daily Pass Webtoon, which means I can’t easily reread it or use it as an example. But I did notice something interesting in Soonkki’s new ongoing Webtoon, After School Lessons for Unripe Apples. Instead of long arcs spanning multiple episodes, each episode of ASLfUA consists of several shorter strips stacked on top of each other. It still feels very slow and occasionally repetitive, but when read closely you can see each short strip develops the slice-of-life scenario further, just very slowly. This slow pace is probably not to everyone’s taste, but it works in a way Cheese in The Trap didn’t for me. At any rate, I think it’s an interesting comic to look at if you want to see how a slowly paced comic can work well. 

The Webtoons that have the best pacing I’ve noticed tend to be Webtoons that were completed in under 200 episodes, and unfortunately a lot of completed Webtoons are now in Daily Pass jail. I really enjoyed Lilac 200% recently, though, so if you have the patience for Daily Pass and enjoy bodyswap stories and scathing critiques of the idol industry, I recommend it.

#pacing #webtoons #learn from webtoons #webtoon recommendations #webcomics

[yurimother]

Interview: Shilin Huang, Creator of Amongst Us and Carciphona

Shilin Huang ( @okolnir​​ )is a Canadian freelance artist and comic creator, known for her long-running series Carciphona. She has a Bachelor of Music in Performance from the University of Western Ontario. Carciphona is a long-form fantasy story set in a world where demon-magic is forbidden. The series follows a young sorceress named Veloce, and the mythical assassin assigned to kill her, Blackbird.

Shilin’s newest book, Amongst Us, based on the webcomic of the same name, is an alternate universe comic that reimagines Veloce and Blackbird as musicians and girlfriends in the modern world. You can support the physical release for Amongst Us book 1 on Kickstarter today.

The first book of Amongst Us is coming soon. How do you feel about the release?

Eager and relieved!! I had worked for so long to make the web format viable for print format, as well doing all the extra drawings that were necessary--like covers--that I had to keep under wraps, it felt great to know that that part is finally done and I can release my child into the wild. I was very worried too before the launch of the Kickstarter, because though I am the one who made this story, I am not quite a slice-of-life type of person myself, and it was hard for me to see value in this mundane, not-plot-driven kind of story as a printed book. But I was very lucky to have that worry dispelled!

What drew you towards creating comics and artwork? Was it a dream of yours?

I’ve been drawing since before elementary school because I enjoyed it, and somewhere along the way, I wanted to create my own characters, and then I wanted stories for them. It was always just me doing what I felt like doing, more so than something that I aspired towards achieving consciously. If I had to analyze the allure myself, maybe it was because people and the world are so interesting, I’ve always loved thinking about their nature and circumstances, and art/storytelling was the best way for me to explore and share those thoughts.

Could you briefly walk us through your creative process for making a page of Carciphona or an episode of Amongst Us?

Carciphona is a long, plot-driven story, and so the scale of preparation required before the page eclipses the actual drawing of the page itself. [A] small moment has some larger impact in the plot, character development, and accuracy of world-building. So I usually spend about half a year or more writing out an entire volume, read it over many times over the course of the years, before I do the same thing with sketching the entire volume on the computer, rearranging pages and panels and entire scenes for best delivery, before I finally commit to drawing out each page in detail on the computer. 

Where Carciphona is like an elaborate set course where I chop up and measure ingredients and time their cooking with a careful game plan so everything can be served as they should, Amongst Us is more like an omelette that I’m making to taste. There is still planning and writing ahead of time, but each episode is much more self-contained, and I do more of the planning of the episode within the episode itself, adding and taking away details as I see fit before I feel like it reads naturally enough for me to fine line, colour, and paint.

You talk about being a self-taught artist, how did you learn to create artwork? What are some of your favorite educational resources?

While I did come across many tutorials, they were mostly short ones here and there made by my peers, so I don’t have any favourites in my mind that I can share ): . I learned by just looking at the art of my peers at the time and drawing a lot myself, thinking about what I could learn from each time I see something great, and what I could try next time to make the next drawing look better to me. When I had just started drawing digitally, the internet was quite new, drawing tablets expensive and uncommon, with no social media to share art or find resources. Over time, I did try to learn more properly by doing studies and seeking out professional tutorials, but I found that I hated it and decided that I’d rather learn and make mistakes at my own pace and be happy than to commit to effective and efficient learning and make myself dislike drawing.

Amongst Us is, of course, an Alternate Universe comic featuring characters from Carciphona. What inspired you to put your characters into a GL slice of life work?

Back in 2006, when I started drawing Carciphona, I had no plans of this frenemies dynamic for the two main characters, Blackbird and Veloce, and when the thought had occurred to me as I continue to tweak the story, canon GL relationships were still rare and rarely accepted. I was even told on many occasions by readers that they hope the two do not end up with some couples dynamic, or they will no longer be interested in the story. Ultimately, Carciphona was a fantasy story about an entire world, and I wasn’t going to risk the story’s reception over a small detail like whether or not Blackbird and Veloce sleep together, so I just played with the ideas of their relationship on the side, in paintings of many different AUs. Eventually, all that did was make me become so attached to the idea that I decided to say, screw it, I need someplace where they could be together, and I’m drawing an AU for real.

Where do you draw inspiration from for your work? Both Amongst Us and Carciphona.

I love a lot of things, feelings, aesthetics, and I eat up all of that and take it back out in the form of my stories. The inspiration is everywhere, from beautiful imagery I witness in pictures and in real life, to [the] lives of people that I hear about or experience firsthand, to the ethics and structures of professions from mechanics to medicine… In feelings, knowledge, and perspective, there’s an infinite amount of things that makes me think, and that thinking is what creates AU and Carciphona, whether or not that line of inspiration can be clearly drawn back to the root of the thought.

What are some of your biggest challenges or fears creating Amongst Us? Was there any realization or advice that helped you overcome those difficulties?

My biggest fear is always in relatability because it’s a difference between me and the reader that I do not and cannot have a solution for because it involves another person. In such a relatable genre as slice of life/comedy/romance, where the readers have more experience and therefore more varied but stronger expectations of a version of life that is relatable to them, I know that even if somehow I become a master writer, I still would not be able [to] say whether I could story that others would get or would be interested in, especially because I am aware I am an oddball when it comes to how I think, how I live, and what I value. What helped me the most was simply seeing that there were readers who did enjoy the stories for what it was, and reminding myself that I’m telling the stories to find those who might enjoy it, not to avoid those who might not. It’s a different perspective, rather than a solution, so the worry constantly resurfaces, but I hope it becomes easier over time as I am proven wrong more often!

Amongst Us readers have gotten to see Veloce and Blackbird as an established couple, and now we are witnessing flashbacks to how they first met. Where do you hope to take the series in the future?

I intend to tell both of these timelines concurrently, so as the couple timeline ended at episode 20, I intend to end the flashback at around episode 40, and then switch again at episode 60, and so on. While this kills the momentum for each arc, I made AU so that I can have the cake and eat it too--I want both their back story and a happy ending at the same time without having to wait 10-20 years for it, like I do with Carciphona’s plot haha!

What is one dream or aspiration you would like to accomplish? Even if it is unrealistic.

My only dream right now is just to finish both Carciphona and AU before my time’s up! Funny how unrealistic is specified, it made me realize that I rarely consider unrealistic dreams/aspirations as worth thinking about as they are unlikely to happen when there are so many other things I want to do that are actually possible. Most of my unrealistic dreams actually revolve around music, a profession I had left behind with an aching heart. I dream to play a concerto with an orchestra someday, or even learn to conduct, but for now, drawing my dreams out feels enjoyable and fulfilling enough a compromise!

What advice do you have for people wanting to create artwork and comics?

The true challenge these days I feel like is rarely in the work itself; there are so many readily available free resources that anyone who is capable of working hard and thinking critically will sooner or later be able to master skills they acquire to some degree. What is truly challenging is finding, and then accepting, what paths work for you. Someone might find great joy in working in a studio with a group on something big, while someone else might only enjoy drawing what they feel. Both, in this current climate, will be compelled to adhere to the standards of drawing what others want to see in order to gain recognition and financial stability, one will thrive, one will not. 

I think the most important thing to keep in mind is understanding what you want out of drawing/creating, and why. Understanding yourself is often not as straight-forward as it may seem, everyone has different circumstances that subtly motivates them to sometimes misdirect energy and misinterpret what it is they truly want. Some people need to be understood, some people want an excuse to execute, and some people want fame, money, recognition, validation. Whatever it is, and all valid, understanding and accepting your own motivations to create can tremendously help you find the path forward that is suitable for you, not anyone else, even if it might mean following an impractical path that no one else recommends.

Finally, after the release of the first Amongst Us book, what is next for you? Anything special your fans can look forward to?

My game plan through the decades has always been to just keep going. I did choose long-form projects such as the comics that I draw, and the best thing I can do is to just keep it up and reach those exciting points of the story that I’ve always worked towards, no matter how uneventful that may make my work routine sound. However, I do have a little side thing with a(nother) recurring theme that I’ve been doing here and there for fun whenever I had time, people who keep up with my social media art posts may have noticed. If I ever accumulate enough material, maybe there will be some bonus snacks for my readers on the horizon!

Read Carciphona and Amongst Us online now and be sure to support the physical release on Amongst Us book 1 on Kickstarter today. Also, be sure to follow Shilin on Twitter @Okolnir.

#yuri #news #essay #lgbt #lgbtq #lgbtq+ #queer #gay #shilin #girls love #gl #wlw #essays #interview #art #artist #comics #indie #carciphona #amongst us

[tngrace]

Me again (sorry). They are such good prompts and I couldn’t pick but going with “Late night talks” 🧡🧡

I wanted my own version of TK finding out Carlos's parents knew about them so here you go. *were also ignoring the last 2 mins of the finale and pretending it didn't happen* I hope you enjoy and never apologize for sending prompts! I'm slow but will always do my best to get to them @immortalstrand 💙

Thank you @moviegeek03 for all your help as always ❤

GTHB masterlist; Read on A03

Carlos ran a hand over his face, the exhaustion from the past twenty four hours starting to creep in. Owen and Gwyn had just left, and TK looked to finally be resting. Carlos watched him, just thankful he could watch him after everything. His phone rang disturbing the peace, and Carlos tried to quickly answer it, without looking to keep, from disturbing TK. He'd forgotten to silence it when he'd entered the hospital, not expecting anyone to call him this late at night.

His mother's voice rings through clearly, and Carlos let's out a breath before quietly talking in Spanish to her. He can see TK stirring a little, so he moves over towards the door hoping it won't bother him anymore. Gabriel had relayed the entire day to her, not surprising Carlos in the least, and she was worrying over them both. Carlos tried to reassure her they would be ok; he still had not wrapped his head around the fact his parents knew and were ok with it. But Andrea insisted on doing something, so Carlos relented and told her once they were home she could cook and bring it over. Once his mother was appeased, and he'd promised to keep them updated, he sank back into the chair by TK's bed.

"Babe?" TK questions softly, voice still heavy with sleep and pain.

"I'm here. It's ok," Carlos says softly smoothing some hair back from the bandage to soothe TK.

"You were talking.... in Spanish," he murmurs, his face scrunching in pain before it tugs too much on his stitches and he relaxes his forehead once more.

"I'm sorry," Carlos whispers kissing TK's cheek. "I was hoping not to disturb you."

TK's eyes finally crack open, and he reaches up rubbing Carlos's cheek. "Is 'k. But isn't it late?"

"Yea kinda. You should be resting before the nurse comes around for the next check."

"You haven't slept," TK points out. "Is everything ok for someone to be calling that late?" He questions as he rearranges to try and get comfy once more. The pain and confusion are really starting to get on his nerves even though he knows it's to be expected.

"Yea. Everything's fine. Mamà was just checking on us." He softly rubs TK's arm and strokes the hair he can reach hoping to relax his boyfriend back to sleep.

"Us?" TK says scrunching his face in confusion even more. "I know I have a concussion, but why would she even know about me, much less check on us?"

TK is adorable all the time, but Carlos finds TK's sleepy confusion the most adorable. Although this time he knows it's pain laced and not just his normal early morning confusion. He gives TK a smile as he kisses the back of his hand. "A lot happened today after I left the station. I was hoping you'd be feeling better before I told you, but they know Ty. They know we're together so Mamà was worried."

"How? I mean, did you tell them?" TK reaches up to rub his head to try and ease the pain, but Carlos catches his hand before it makes contact. TK's happy they know, but he's also really confused.

Carlos chuckles softly as he shakes his head. "Apparently I'm not subtle, and I still can't lie to my parents." He gives a soft shrug.

"Subtle? Carlos we haven't seen them since the farmers market."

"Oh." It clicks that maybe TK doesn't remember Gabriel being at the scene. "Well apparently I wasn't subtle then either. Dad was at the scene. It was his cas---"

"His case?! Shit! Carlos did I do or say something to out us? Oh fuck. Carlos I'm so...." Carlos leans up and cuts TK off with a soft kiss, interrupting his boyfriend like TK interrupted him. He could see panic overtaking his boyfriend, and that's the last thing he wanted with how much pain TK was already in.

"Shhh cariño. Take a breath," he murmurs as he softly rubs TK's chest to help calm him. "You didn't do anything Ty. Nothing. And it's ok. Dad wants a proper introduction, and after talking to Mamà just then, they're ok with it I promise."

He can see with each word that TK relaxes into the bed even more. "So everything's ok?"

"Yea mi amor. Everything's ok."

TK lets out a soft sigh as he tries to get comfy again. Carlos helps him arrange the pillow like he likes. "So tell me what happened?"

"You sure you're up for all of that right now babe? It can wait I promise."

"No. I wanna know. You'd started telling me about your day before your dad called you back to the station. So I wanna know what happened between then and now and how they know."

Carlos nods and squeezes TK's hand. "Ok. But just know you can drift off at any time."

TK nods and squeezes Carlos's hand back.

"So after I left the station, Dad called me in because they'd found the robber; well he turned himself in. His story was legit; I was right. He identified the two guys who kidnapped yall. Dad told me they were working out of a brown panel van, but that was it. He wouldn't admit I was right or that I'd done good." Carlos shakes his head with a sigh trying to shake it off because in the end his dad had told him he was proud of him.

TK squeezes his hand and Carlos looks up giving him a smile. He can see his own pain reflected in TK's eyes, and he hates that he's adding to TK's pain and worry.

"It's ok cariño. It all worked out."

"But he still should've had your back Carlos. You're his son." Carlos could tell TK was angry on his behalf, and while it warmed his insides, he hated making TK feel that way.

"I'm sure Mamà has given him a good lecture if he told her everything," Carlos reassured TK with a chuckle. "Anyways. I left the station and went home. I was stressed and you know cooking helps. I made homemade pasta for spaghetti and a salad."

"Fuck I missed home spaghetti," TK whines making Carlos smile.

"I'll make it again for you," he grins. TK gives him a little nod, before Carlos continues.

"So then when you didn't come home and weren't answering, I was worried. So I went to your dad's. Long story short, he called the captain on duty, and we left. He told me in the truck that yall were missing so as not to worry your mom anymore. He called Grace, we went to the parking garage, and I found this," he says holding up TK's sobriety chip. "Pretty smart of you," he murmurs.

"I do have an awesome cop for a boyfriend that's taught me things," TK grins as he runs his finger over it. "Figured it'd be evidence."

Carlos shrugs with a bashful smile and slips it back in his pocket until they're home so it doesn't go missing here at the hospital. "Pulled some strings and got to keep it. Found the brown panel van and the pieces started clicking together that it would be the same people as dad's case. When yall weren't in the garage, I remembered Charles talking about still using the restaurant and knew it was near by. I called dad at your dad's insistence, and he ordered me to stay put. But I'm so glad we didn't." He softly kisses TK's hand again.

"He showed up at the restaurant not long after we did, but I'm not surprised you didn't see him with how out of it you were. I knew he was there, but you were my first priority, always. So even if he hadn't known before, he would've figured it out then."

"I'm sorry babe," TK murmurs hating that Carlos didn't get to tell in his own time.

"Don't be. I didn't like hiding my love for you. I always want everyone to know how much I love you."

"And I love you," TK grins.

"Anyways he told me he was proud of me, that I did good, and then asked if I was going to ride with you. That's when he told me they'd known since the market, and that he expects a proper introduction next time. He must've went home and told mamà everything, which isn't unusual. They always talk about their days."

"I can't wait to meet them," TK says as his eyes get heavy once more.

"I can't wait either. Rest mi amor. It's late."

"Only if you'll sleep too." TK tries scooting over in bed to make room, but Carlos stops him. "Please," he whispers with the sad puppy eyes and pout.

"Alright but I'm blaming you if we get in trouble." Carlos can never tell TK no, so he carefully crawls in bed. TK settles with his head on Carlos's chest, falling fast asleep once more.

Nurses were in and out through the night and into the morning. TK kept passing all the tests so the doctor decided to discharge him before lunch. She gave them strict instructions on taking it easy and coming back if anything was amiss. Carlos promised to keep an eye on him, and they scheduled an appointment for in a week to come back and have his stitches looked at.

TK signs the discharges papers, and Carlos lets everyone know they're headed home but not sure TK is up for some visitors just yet. He sends his mother a similar text, but he knows she'll ignore the no visitors part in lieu of bringing them food. He gets TK settled in the Camaro his dad dropped off for him and thanks the nurse for helping get TK out. He slips some sunglasses over TK's eyes to try and help before tossing the duffle in the back. "Alright cariño let's get you home," he says as he takes off for the house.

He keeps the music off, and does his best to avoid any pot holes. He speeds slightly wanting to get TK out of the bright lights because he hates adding to TK's pain. "Almost there. I told everyone to hold off on visiting," he says softly. "But I should warn you, mamà will probably ignore that last part. She'll show up with food and want to fuss so I'm giving you warning now. I'll do my best to keep her downstairs, but she's hard to argue with."

He cuts off his rambles when he feels TK squeeze his hand. "It's ok babe. I don't mind if she comes over."

"You say that now," Carlos teases with a grin, but he does relax some. Once home, he hurries around and helps TK out. Alright let's get you upstairs in bed," he says softly leading TK to the front door.

"Shower first," TK pleads and Carlos knows he'll give in.

"Ok bath," he compromises. "You can't get your head wet yet, and I don't think you can stand on your own that long."

"Only if you'll stay in there with me," TK grins relaxing now that they're in the darkened house.

"Of course. I let you out of my sight and you get hurt. Can't have any more injuries," Carlos teases.

"Rude," TK pouts as they slowly start upstairs.

"Accurate," Carlos counters lovingly. He gets TK in a warm bath, staying right beside the tub. He let's him soak for a bit before he gently washes him. Once clean, he can see TK is fading fast so he helps him out, gets him dry, and into some sweats. He doesn't bother with a shirt, planning on putting TK right to bed. TK rests against him before they move back to the bedroom. "Thank you," he whispers into Carlos's chest.

"Don't have to thank me cariño." Carlos gently strokes his back before helping TK to the bed. He makes sure the black out curtains are pulled after he tucks TK in.

"Stay?"

"Ok," Carlos says with a soft smile. He decides he'll take a short nap until his parents show up because he knows his mother will be there before dinner. He sleeps for a couple hours before he hears the knocking. TK is still sound asleep, so Carlos carefully disentangles, closing the door softly before heading downstairs.

"Mamà, dad," he says as he opens the door trying to make it look like he hadn't been asleep.

"Told you we would wake them," Gabriel says getting an eye roll and a slap to the stomach from his wife.

"It's ok dad. I was expecting yall," Carlos says with a wry grin.

His mother heads straight to the kitchen with her bags and his dad moves to the couch. "TK is still sleeping," Carlos tells his parents as his mother makes herself at home in his kitchen.

"How is he?" Gabriel asks, and even though Andrea is bustling about starting on enchiladas and rice, Carlos knows she's listening intently.

"Sore. In pain. Got ten stitches in his head and a moderate concussion, but he'll be ok. Just needs to rest and take it easy."

"And you?" Andrea asks shooting them a look before refocusing on her food.

"I'm fine Mamà. I'm not the one injured," Carlos says with a fond eye roll.

She levels him with a look; "You may not be the one injured, but you still had a rough day. And you're playing caregiver right now, so I know you haven't slept much."

Carlos sighs softly before nodding, knowing he can't lie to her. "I didn't sleep much, no one sleeps much in a hospital, but I'm fine. I'll get over yesterday because TK is safe, and that is all that matters."

"It's not all that matters," Andrea exclaims exasperated.

Carlos shoots his dad a weary look as Andrea pounds the chicken for the enchiladas.

"She's mad at me mijo," Gabriel offers as an explanation.

"Ah," Carlos says softly. He gets up and goes to the kitchen, wrapping his arms around his mom from behind. "Don't worry Mamà. I'm ok," Carlos tells her kissing her cheek. He gets himself and his dad some water bottles before stealing a cookie he sees on the counter. Andrea must have baked them last night when she was stressed. He gets stress cooking from her and he knows it. Andrea swats at him, making him grin like he did as a kid. "Dad was just doing his job," he tells her softly. Yea he took it personally yesterday, but she doesn't need to know that.

She starts to argue before Gabriel pipes up making Carlos turn and give him his attention. "No your mother's right mijo. I do owe you an apology."

"No you d-"

"Yes I do," Gabriel insisted pulling Carlos down on the couch beside him. Carlos sits, his hands twisting together nervously in his lap. Gabriel lays his hands over Carlos's and squeezes gently. "I was wrong yesterday. What you did, was smart, was safe, and you do have good instincts. Had you put Armando in your squad car...." He cuts off and Carlos can see its hard for him to even consider that possibility.

He gives his dad a minute, squeezing his hand back. "I was so proud of you yesterday. You stood your ground, you saved the paramedics. You did good mijo, and I was so proud of you. Captain Strand was impressed too."

Carlos wipes at his eyes feeling bashful. "Thank you sir," he says biting the inside of his lip before Gabriel pulls him into a tight hug. "You're a good cop mijo. Never doubt that," he whispers. Carlos hugs his dad tight, but quickly pulls back when he hears the stairs creak.

"Sorry... didn't mean to interrupt," TK says with a wince.

"No no. It's fine," Carlos says rushing over to help him. "I didn't hear you get up, or I would've come help you."

"I'm fine," TK says, but he let's Carlos help him over to the couch. Gabriel moves to the chair so TK can stretch out despite TK insisting he can sit up for a bit.

Carlos hears Andrea come out of the kitchen and he remembers his dad's comment about wanting a proper introduction. "Mamà, Dad, I would like you to meet me boyfriend,TK Strand. TK this is my Mamà and dad, Andrea and Gabriel."

"It's nice to meet you both," TK says with a smile.

"Likewise," Gabriel says before Andrea goes into full motherhen mode.

"How are you feeling? Can I get you anything? Carlitos says you've got a concussion and stitches."

Carlos chuckles as he sits back watching as TK blushes. "Really I'm fine mam."

"Oh none of that," Andrea said with a wave. "You're family so just relax." Carlos and TK share amused grins as Andrea brings TK some water. Carlos sits down on the couch by TK finally as his parents get to know his boyfriend. He knows they still need to have some conversations, but for right now, TK is safe, his parents are here and he feels happy, happier than he ever thought he could be.

#911 lone star #tarlos #911 lone star fic #tarlos fic #tk x carlos #gthb #good things happen bingo #writers life

[mushroomminded]

After writing out the entire story of that segment of the comic, it is translated into script form:

Roughly planning all dialogue, composition, and action in the scene. This is how you make sure you have enough space to give all the information that you want and don’t end the scene on an awkward crowded or over-paced page because you didn’t plan ahead. You can deviate from this later!

I begin in Clip Studio with the page border. It’s a transparent black rectangle that I copy/paste from the previous page so it stays consistent. Use this page for reference on page and border sizes.

On a new layer, sketch out a thumbnail for your page. This is honestly more refined than most of mine look, usually just stick figures and border outlines. You can see that I cut out one of the panels from the script while drawing the thumbnail. Save this file as a clip file, then duplicate the file and save it as a PSD.

Pop on over to Adobe Illustrator. This is my template setup. The white artboard on the right is 2100x3150px, and the black bar on the right is 800px wide, with a second artboard that is 800x1280px, which is the maximum image size for Webtoon. The speech bubbles and text in the middle are just reference so I keep the bubble stroke width and character size consistent. (My print text size is 37, stroke size 4, and webtoon is text size 26, stroke size 5. Personally I find the print text size much bigger than necessary but for the sake of consistency I’m keeping it that way)

On a new layer, use File > Place to insert the PSD file onto the big artboard. It will snap into place to fill the entire board. Lock that layer by pressing the box next to the visibility toggle:

Use the oval tool to draw in speech bubbles and adjust the line width with the properties window. Using the text tool, click and drag to create a designated text box for each window, and copy/paste dialogue from the script. (Be sure to make a text box instead of just pasting the text, it’s a pain otherwise). Center the text. and if you have the text selected and hold control, it will let you round off the edges of the text box, making it fit better into the oval shape. Use the “align” window by selecting the text AND the bubble it fits in and press both the second and he second to last buttons in the top row to center the text on the bubble. (Fine tune this if necessary with the arrow keys)

You add the text this early on in the process because if you need to rearrange panels and make more room any where, this is the easiest way to do it. Head on back to Clip Studio and make any necessary changes. 

Back in clip, once you’re happy with your layout, use the “create frame” tool to make one big frame around the entire drawing.

set the layer mode on the panel layer to “multiply” so you can see through it.

Then take the “cut frame” tool, right next to the create frame tool.

and adjust the size of however thick you’d like your frame borders to be. I work pretty large for my pages, so you probably won’t need them to be as broad as 155.

Using this tool, you can cut directly across the big panel you made and cut it up into smaller, even panels. If you hold the shift tool while using it, the lines will be perfectly straight vertically or horizontally. I broke up the first and second half of the page with my first stroke, and with the second, I further broke up the second half. It’s works very intuitively!

The end result leaves me with four border layers. Select all of them, right click, and press “merge selected layers”. Fill in the white space between the layer borders with black (if you want!) and press edit > convert brightness to opacity to get rid of the white and just leave the black. The end result should look like this:

Killer moves! Now lower the opacity on your sketch and refine it on a new layer.

Save that baby and then overwrite your PSD document with the new sketch. It will automatically update itself in Illustrator.

Check your work one more time in Illustrator, this is your last chance to move things around if you need to. (Looks good to me!)

Lineart in clip on a new layer!

Fill in a new flats layer with a solid color (this ensures you won’t have any white spaces peeking through if you accidentally miss filling them in. 

Unfortunately I don’t have separate images for flats/shading because I do them all on the same layer like a hooligan but hey! make it pretty. 

Bucket tool is your friend! With “Refer other Layers” selected, and “Area scaling” enabled, you can fill in almost the entire flats section with the bucket tool! Saves a lot of time. 

Using Select > Select Color Gamut, You can select all instances of a color on a canvas, and I use this all the time for shading or for quickly adjusting all instances of one color, and if you add “Show border of selected area” to your command bar, you can hide the border of the selection. (You’d have to google how to do that one i have no memory of how)

I shade with the same brush tool I use for lineart because I like the texture and I pick the colors by hand, but do feel free to use a multiply layer for shading!

Once you’re done, crop and export each one of your panels individually for webtoon. You can just save these as pngs! 

Overwrite your Photoshop document once again with the full image and head back into Illustrator

That’s lookin REAL FINE fellas gj

Using File > Place again, select all of your cropped webtoon size files and place them on the black bar you made earlier.

Like so! Copy the text and bubbles from the print page and resize them to whatever size you’d like for the webtoon format and arrange them on the strip. 

Now to add the tails to the bubbles. Click on one of the speech bubbles you’ve made to set those colors and stroke width as your current settings. 

Pen tool

tap once inside the speech bubble

click where you want the tail to end and drag to create your desired curve. (straight tails are valid too!) Press Enter on your keyboard. 

Tap the dot at the end of the tail you just placed, and click and drag back inside the bubble to curve your new line going back into the bubble.

Voila! It’s hideous. Click the bubble or the tail, then shift click to select the other half. Do not select the text!

In the pathfinder window, press the four lines in the top right corner to open a sub menu. Select “Make compound shape”

Goshdangit now your text is gone, thanks Em.

Not to be alarmed, the compound shape you made has just been moved to the top of the layer set. Just drag it back down under the text layer. 

And you made a text bubble! Nice!

Repeat! And wow! You did it! You illustrated an entire comic page man!

Now to export. Using the artboard tool, you can select the artboards individually.

Select it and hit File > Export as

These are my settings. The image size can be set to whatever you want! I used to work with a much smaller canvas and scale up the webtoon strips as needed, but now I just make them the correct size in the canvas. Save that baby.

Repeat for the webtoon images, but remember, no bigger than 800x1280px. Once you export the first image, grab the top square to transform the artboard and drag it down over the next panel

If you drag from the top and don’t touch the bottom squares, it will make your cuts seamless because both Webtoon and Tapas will stitch your images together seamlessly. (Illustrator will show you how big your artboard is as you scale it so you won’t make it too big!)

And well.. that’s that! You did it! Uploading to Webtoon is super easy

You just need a preview thumbnail, a title, and you can plop all the images onto the site in order!