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justcruisingaroundrevived · 4 months ago

Note

Wouldn’t it be interesting if the yandere TEC boys met up with the reader as grown ups in the epilogue of the comic after the reader moved away from them to you know, get away from their stalking and in the worst turn of events, met them at the con again?

But I Know Will Meet Again Some Sunny Day

Summary: Yandere! Epilogue! TEC x reader

TW/CW: Yandere tendencies, obsessive tendencies, kidnapping, stalking, online harassment, trolling, implied exploitation, nasty all around

A/N: You’re insane if you decide to go to any nerdy space ever again/POS

Anyways, this was so awesome to do! Need more epilogue TEC as yanderes!

Reblogs are appreciated!

* Bill had the hardest time letting you go

* Even after moving to Wisconsin with his family, he still thought about you every second of the day

* Closing his eyes, he’s be reminded of your face, and he hated it. Spent long nights staring at the ceiling, wondering about what went wrong and how he can fix it

* Was he too clingy? Too pushy? Too distant? Did he not show his emotions enough?!

* Eventually, he concludes to the simple answer: It was not his fault, it was yours. You simply didn’t reciprocate anything he gave you, and he was the perfect partner for you

* However, he pushed them away in order to start his comic book shop business, and was grinding the hours for you. He never stop thinking about you once the day was over

* He spots you first at comic con. You were looking over the limited edition comic books put up for auction and god! He could tell it was you based on the way you laugh with the person running the booth

* Pushing people aside, Bill then just stood silently behind you, watching your every move, not caring people were giving him weird stares for basically standing in the middle of the con

* When you saw him, you could feel your entire body froze. It was like you were a teenager again, but this time, you were now dealing with an older version of your stalker

* Definitely ran in the opposite direction, and Bill was right on your tail. He won’t loose you like last time

* By some miracle (tragedy in your case) he got you into a corner

* He’s so pathetic. Sweating, close to crying, stumbling over his words…he’s just a mess seeing you

* Moving slightly away from his eye sight results in him gripping his shoulders and keeping you in place while he gives the creepiest monologue in your entire life (he’s been practicing it for a decade)

* If you let him, he’ll followed you for the rest of the con, like a pathetic puppy. Doesn’t matter if you have the money or not, he’ll get you whatever you want

* It’s creepy honestly, but at least you get some free stuff out of it

* (What you don’t hear is his grumbling. He’s complaining about “Fantards ruin everything” and “You only need me. I’m the man of this relationship, I can take care of you.” Can hear a couple of words, but it’s almost vague)

* Please distract him. Point him to an auction panel and pay for the next plane ticket and get the FUCK out of there

* Sure, he’ll destroy his hotel room. You bled him dry, and now he has to call his bitch of a mom to buy him a ticket!

* No worry. He able to find your name in Facebook! Least he can online stalk you before his next big move

* Josh was honestly writing smutty fanfics about you while in college. Let’s be honest

* He was so devastated that you moved away, and what’s worse is that these fanfics were sometimes handed in, so now the professor and the whole class knew about is infatuation with you!

* Worst of all? His parents forbade him from talking to you! That meant he couldn’t even contact you online! Ain’t that disappointing

* That doesn’t mean he was completely hopeless. At college, he’d use the WiFi to see if you were in Facebook and would stare at your photos for hours and hours at a time. If he’s on break, he may or may not have…relived himself looking at pictures of you.

* Even as a comic book editor, he gets caught up writing about you. You invade even in his dreams, dammit!

* His therapist tells him he’s too obsessed, but DAMMIT! He knew what you two was special

* So when he sees you having lunch during Comic-Con, he knows this is perfect timing!

* You noticed him tapping your shoulder and are immediately spooked

* He looks exactly the same, except his hair line’s receding. He’s breathing so heavily, you have to snap your fingers to get him back into reality.

* Once you do, it’s a vomit of words. He’s so excited to see you, how have you been, you look amazing!

* You nod quietly while searching for the nearest exit

* He’s pouring his heart out to you (talking about every single detail about you. It’s very graphic and some of these things you thought only belonged to you)

* You sneakily told Josh that you were going to go get him some lunch before booking to the exit

* Josh doesn’t seem to notice. He’s so entranced in his sonnet that he’s going to get a few stares because he’s now talking to himself

* He’s so disappointed when he realizes you left. However, thanks to his “”connections”” (barely any), he can see if your name will be blacklisted from the whole comic book industry (it won’t. People barely know his name)

* In the meantime, he’s creating fake accounts and using them to send long messages about “us”. It ranges from kind of sweet to horrifying.

* You had to get a new phone number from how bad the stalking has become…at least until he finds THAT one as well

* He’s persistent, I give him that.

* You would not step into Comic con whatsoever

* Pete’s rage of you moving away is all he can think about some nights. Couldn’t you see how perfect you two were made for each other?!

* Uses a punching bag, with a picture of you on it, and absolutely goes HAM on it. He’s not stopping until he’s exhausted (or the punching bag is knocked down)

* (Definitely takes the picture and uses it for…other things)

* Even working at Sick Mofo, he actively will look for women that look like you. In some weird revenge way.

* Looks at the scar he gave himself in your initials. It’s his only motivation some days honestly

* You probably were dragged by your friends to go to this event. It was pretty okay, actually! Especially taking pictures of cosplayers

* Then…you locked eyes with Pete.

* You don’t know what happened next. All you know was that you and Pete are in the parking lot, nowhere else to go

* He’s berating you. Talking about how “All you normies as the same” and “You don’t know how good you had it!”

* …Definitely kidnaps you. Drags you to the Sick Mofo van and drives you to his hotel room

* Once there, he knows what he must do. What? You thought he came empty handed? Nope.

* Somehow, this decade long dry spell has had resulted in Pete coming up with a basic “tool kit”

* Just imagining DIY brainwashing, and that’s Pete. He wants you to “remember all of the good times” you two had. Plays his favorite horror movies, yells at you, keeps you sleep deprived. The whole shebang honestly

* Wants to break you to the very last bone.

* If it works, then awesome! If not….well, he has room in his house for his (literal) cemetery girl. You’ll never leave his sight ever again <3

* Jerry got therapy. He realized how bad his obsession for you got, and needed help.

* And he did! Does yoga, focuses on himself, and even got a girlfriend who he loves! He never thought a life without you was possible, but this is living proof of that!

* Like I said, all of the stalking was online, so you probably aren’t aware on Jerry’s true nature

* You met him at con, and it was super nice to meet him and Mandi!

* With the promise of buying con food, you three sat down and actually had a nice chat. You and Mandi got along so well, especially with your interest in the car they drove in.

* Jerry was so happy two of his favorite people were getting along…except, that aching feeling….

* Why did he feel an ache in his chest when Mandi brushed her hand on your shoulder? Why did it feel so wrong calling you an “old friend” and not his partner? He knows you’re not his property, but still…

* Said your goodbyes and exchanged numbers. Least you two can be is Facebook Friends, right?

* Looking you up, you seem to be doing good in life. Good for you! (Though he wishes he was in your college graduation photo)

* He can’t focus on anything else for the rest of the week. Staying up all night, thinking about how you moved on so fast from him. Is that fair, when he was the one who let you lay your head on his shoulder while you cry about the trolls? What about when he introduced you to Magic: The Gathering?! Did you forget about those times??? Has it been that long since you remembered him?!

* May have opened up a new trolling account and may be using it to stalk you….

* Sending you nasty messages that he’s been holding for so long; they’re so venom filled and it would make Patrick Bateman tell Jerry to tone it down

* He’s loosing sleep over this. He’s not showing up to the tournaments, has been ignoring Mandi (she left him without him realizing) and has become a shut in

* At this point, he’s surrounded by Monster Energy drinks, stale fast food, and the computer light on his face

* Made 5 new accounts to constantly harass you with, while using his public Facebook to compliment you and your accomplishments

* …it’s all your fault. You caused him to spiral like this, and he’ll make sure you pay for turning him like this

* Unless you want him, of course! Then all is forgiving, darling

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pseudonymjones · 3 months ago

Note

how do you be a mom and still have energy to finish comics? I'm asking sincerely as someone who wants to be a mom but is currently too scared that I'll lose my identity if I go through with it. If you've answered this before feel free to just link me to your response. And of course there's no actual obligation to reply.

Who is the mom who still has the energy to finish comics? Is the mom with the energy to finish comics in the room with us right now?

Ok ok, you’re asking sincerely so I’ll be really fucking for real right now. Here is how I manage to maintain my relatively meager comic output:

1. I have a day job that pays me well enough that I don’t need a second job, and I’m able to work remotely so I’m able to spend a little time with my family and do housework in my downtime.

2. I have a partner who supports the fucking hell out of me, recognizes how important Making Stuff is to my mental wellbeing, and does extra work to help me carve out a few hours a week to draw.

3. I cut way, WAY back on the scope of what I was trying to make. It may not look it at first but worm-in-a-rock god is a significant departure from my typical comic work — there’s no dialogue so no lettering or fussing about text layouts. It’s black and white, and each page is usually about 4 panels. Worm-in-a-rock god is about as simple of a character design as you can get. The first chapter barely had backgrounds. All that, and I’m still only clocking in at about a page a week. The whole thing came from a place of: I keep not being able to finish the things I want to make so I’m going to design a thing I can make with the time and energy I have.

So, uh: luck, love, and compromise. And a lot of hard work??? Same stuff that goes into making a kid. Same stuff that goes into making anything I guess. Sorry, I don’t have a secret.

And idk how to say this in a way that doesn’t seem cynical but you’re going to lose part of yourself. You’re 100% of a person now and the part of you that is going to be a mom has to come from somewhere. But it’s not a loss. It’s just a change, and you were going to change anyway. And I really like the part of me that changed into a mom.

Good luck, with whatever you end up making.

#ask pseu everything

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kinkyniragi · 20 days ago

Text

Tender is the Wound

Pairing: Broken Tommy Shelby x Nurse!Reader

Genre: Dark, angsty psychological themes with fluffy vibes

Word count: 4,8k

Summary: You're a nurse caring for the injured Michael when the well-known leader of the Shelbys walks in: Tommy. His cold, commanding presence makes the whole ward uncomfortable. But when he's around you, something shifts...the memories you stir in him soon become a danger – one that draws you in more than it should.

CN: Post-war trauma & intimacy, power play, traumatized Tommy overdoing his “threat or flirt”-games, self-confident female protagonist puts Tommy in his place, yet d-c vibes with choking, p in v and a and stuff, rough and kinky like always. This is a fictional story depicting consensual BDSM scenarios for mature readers. All characters are adults. Please practice kink responsibly and safely.

Author’s note: Feel free to leave comments and share my story if you enjoy it – I truly appreciate every bit of motivation to keep writing.

***

You’ve heard the story already.

The man guarding Michael Gray’s hospital room – dead, throat cut. Michael was obviously supposed to be shot in his hospital bed, but for some reason he was spared. A message from Luca Changretta, written not in words, but in actions that could undoubtedly be described as psychological terror. The Peaky Blinders are at war, and someone crossed a line that was supposed to be sacred.

An eerie silence reigns in the hospital. The staff has made efforts to quickly remove the traces of the gruesome act, but the smell of blood and disinfectants still lingers in the air.

With the tray in your hand, you push open the wooden door with the glass panels and enter the room. You've heard of the Peaky Blinders, but most of it is just rumors, a few newspaper reports here and there, but ultimately enough to give them a wide berth. But your job as a nurse requires professionalism, and Michael's wounds need tending. During the last few weeks, while you were caring for him, he was at least polite and didn't cause too much trouble. His wounds just weren't healing as they should have been because he kept picking at the scabs, probably as a stress reaction.

A man stands by the window, tense posture, one hand resting in his pocket. His black tailored suit looks out of place against the washed-out hospital walls. His hair is razor-sharp in a classic crop, the kind only the Peaky Blinders wear with pride. And he doesn’t just look important – he radiates command. What was their leader’s name again?

It must be him.

You try to remember the latest news about the infamous clan. You've never had much time for gossip about the city's so-called "celebrities."

The man turns his head at the sound of the door, just enough to glance at you. One sharp, appraising look before he faces forward again. You’re just the nurse. It seems like the boss himself has given you the unspoken permission to stay here, even if it feels like a toleration at best. You can roughly imagine what human traits it takes to become the leader of a clan: cold, arrogant, calculating. This man surely has all of those qualities. Though everything about him appears like a red flag, you feel a strange kind of attraction to him, in a way that catches you off guard.

Michael sits propped up in the bed, pale but focused, his face tight with something close to resentment. The other man speaks. His voice is clear, cut from something hard that fits perfectly with the aura that surrounds him.

“You should have seen it coming.”

Michael exhales. “So now it’s my fault.”

“You’re alive. You don’t get to be innocent.”

Michael shifts under the covers, and although he is still visibly in shock, defiance comes through in his response. "It wasn’t my job to–"

"It’s always your job! You're breathing, aren’t you?" the man answers Michael. "Then you’re responsible. Doesn’t matter if the man outside the door had a gun, a badge, or a bloody halo. If someone gets in, it’s on you."

You approach the bed without speaking. You’ve done this many times before, in worse places. The tray rattles faintly as you shift it into place. Michael glances at you, briefly. Then he stares into the emptiness of the room again and listens to his visitor, who reprimands him incessantly.

“You had people watching you. Still, they walked in like they knew the blueprints.”

The conversation continues as you clean the wound. They don’t even bother to lower their voices. It’s not for your ears, but they don’t care if you hear. Or maybe it is, because the visitor's comments also suggest that the hospital staff might have made a mistake.

The man becomes even clearer in his accusations: “Luca doesn’t take chances. If he walked into this building, someone made it possible.”

Michael doesn’t answer. You can truly grasp how life in crime doesn’t just teach paranoia – it feeds on it.

You sincerely hope not to be drawn into this heated discussion. You blot a streak of dried blood from the edge of the stitches. Fold new gauze. Concentrate. It helps.

Just as you're about to secure the fresh bandage, you glance up.

The visitor watching you. Not openly. But your eyes meet.

And something shifts.

Is this –?

You’re not sure. Not entirely. But your body remembers a different room. A different kind of blood. Years ago. A man on a stretcher, barely conscious, your hands slick from trying to stop what couldn’t be stopped.

You hold his gaze for half a second too long.

But you see nothing but stillness in his face. No recognition. Rather, it seems that something pulled taut behind his eyes, as if your presence has hit some old, invisible wire.

He turns back without speaking. Doesn’t react.

You’re probably wrong that you know each other.

But when he turns back to Michael, his voice has changed. Softer, maybe. You can't say what it is that must have happened inside him, but obviously something is going on.

You secure the bandage without a word and leave the room.

But long after your shift is over, as you cross the threshold of the hospital, something follows you – a feeling you can’t quite name.

***

The next day, your shift is barely underway when you hear footsteps in the corridor outside the nurses' station. Certainly not your colleagues, who are rushing through the corridors. The muffled steps in hospital-typical slippers – they are familiar to you for too long. These footsteps are different. They sound heavy, almost threatening. With eerie determination they unmistakably approach the nurses' station.

You don’t look up right away. You're sorting the morning medication trays, organizing them into neat rows. The cabinet door is open, the air faintly metallic from crushed pills and antiseptic wipes.

“Excuse me.”

You turn.

It’s him.

The man from Michael's room.

He's leaning in the doorway of the nurses' station, his left hand in the pocket of his long, gray coat. It's obviously a typical posture for him, as if he has something to hide or as if he's always ready to shoot. It creeps you out to imagine him always walking around with a gun in his hand like a real gangster. Although like a real gangster isn't quite right here.

You nod. “May I help you?”

“I'm looking for hot water. Thought I could make Michael some tea.”

You blink once. A pot of hot water is always in the hallway. Every visitor passes by the small coffee and tea corner. And every family member who's visited more than twice knows it. You’re certain he knows it too.

Still, you don't let your irritation at his question show and remain polite. "Down the hall on the right. You'll find everything you need there. A herbal tea will surely do Michael good."

“Thank you,” he says.

You nod again. “Of course.”

You resume your work, slowly, humming quietly to yourself, like you often do when you focus on tasks like this.

There’s a pause. You expected him to turn around and leave. Instead, he continues to lean in the door frame. You look up, a little confused. His gaze drifts to the tray on the counter. The pills you’re arranging.

Something seems to be off. His eyes move, just slightly, as if adjusting to a brightness that isn't there. Then they settle on you.

He hesitates. Almost imperceptibly. “What song was that? Just now.”

You don’t answer right away. The question is... strange.

“An old tune,” you say. “I don’t know the name.”

He nods, like he understands. But something flickers across his expression. You see it again. This strange mixture of softness and…freezing?

He clears his throat, looking almost embarrassed. “I just thought I’ve heard it before,” he says. “Anyway. I won’t keep you.”

He steps back.

“Oh,” he adds, almost as an afterthought. “Thomas Shelby.”

You look at him.

Tommy.

That was the name of this one wounded soldier in the military hospital in France, back then.

"Y/N," you answer, your head not yet able to process the information.

He gives you the ghost of a smile. Then turns and walks away down the hall.

You watch his back until he disappears through Michael's door.

***

You were right. Something is going on inside him. But he really doesn't seem to remember you. Sure, it was several years ago. Terrible things happened. Often, you couldn't do much for the soldiers; so much was lacking. Only your painkillers were plentiful, and they were strong. They granted many brave soldiers a blissful transition to the afterlife, a consolation for you, who would have liked to do more, albeit a weak one.

The soldier named Tommy was seriously injured back then, and you weren't sure if he wouldn't also walk the blessed path to the afterlife. There were so many injured that summer, the stuffy tent full of pain-filled groans. Your rounds consisted of the same routine: treating wounds, administering painkillers, moving on to the next person whose groans needed to be muffled. But it was never quiet.

It's quite possible that Tommy was so lost in his stupor that he barely noticed you. Just another face, another set of hands. But you lingered by his cot. Dabbing sweat, whispering calmly.

And humming a lulling tune.

That’s it. He doesn’t remember. But his body does. It just needs a small hint that triggers a memory…

A memory that awakens…something in him. Something you can feel stirring between you like static – curious, charged, and far from finished.

Yesterday's bandage change. That was another situation where something suddenly changed inside him. You recap the situation in your mind. The specific smell of the fresh bandages – a standard product in most medical facilities for years, one you would recognize among hundreds of other smells. Not just you – apparently Tommy's subconscious too, if your assumption is correct. At least this characteristic smell has the greatest recognition value. Sterile, clean, a smell that represents care and healing. A smell that can calm an agitated nervous system when unconsciously recalled. Maybe that's why he felt the urge to come back to the hospital – and to you in the nurses' station.

***

Michael's injuries are numerous and severe; he would certainly have to stay for a while longer, especially since his behavior wasn't exactly helping him heal. But every plea to keep his hands off the wounds fell on deaf ears.

His mother is at his side almost daily, and Thomas Shelby – Tommy –, who had been so full of accusations and who continues to seem extremely nervous about the Changretta feud, is also frequently present, often for hours. It is probably less a close connection to Michael than his urge to maintain control of the situation. Because even though there is a new bodyguard outside Michael's room door (and presumably other men around the hospital), he obviously prefers to trust only himself.

He never lets go of his hypervigilance, and whenever he comes into contact with the staff, he is bad-tempered and bossy. Your memories of your time as a nurse during the war – you would have preferred to lock them away in a dark place forever, at least the vast majority. How must the soldiers have felt?

The gang war with Luca Changretta and his men must have put Tommy in a state of constant fear. A deep-rooted fear that only allows him to function – fight or flight. A fear that Tommy Shelby would never let show. The little bit of softness he showed you seems to have vanished. You, too, repeatedly experience his condescending manner, with which he tries to belittle others.

That one time, when you move toward the window in Michael’s room to air out the place. He makes no effort to step aside, not until you politely ask him to.

“Of course. I’d never stand in your way,” he replies with a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. But still, he stays just a moment too long before moving away. As if silently marking his territory, with no need to say a word.

Encounters with him feel like he’s testing boundaries…and pushing them, inch by inch.

But it’s more than that. Something in him does seem to remember you – not consciously, that’s for sure, but deeply enough to draw him in. As though he’s circling – chasing? – something familiar without knowing why.

A glance that lingers too long, taking in every inch of you.

Remarks that could be innocent, but certainly aren’t.

His request for you to stay a little longer, “to make sure Michael’s well looked after.”

There’s something almost clingy in it, though never openly affectionate. Always wrapped in a quiet arrogance that makes your skin prickle.

How badly you wish you could reveal yourself, if only to coax his softer side into the light more often. He never says it, but his presence makes one thing very clear: you must never dare speak of the first time you met.

A part of you wants to respond to the vague pull he exerts – but your mind knows better. In your role as the nurse, you're supposed to stay neutral. Anything else would be playing with fire. In general and with regard to the Shelbys in particular.

***

Your colleagues have had enough. Tommy overstays, commands the room like it’s his. So, you volunteer to end it – politely, but firmly.

You knock on Michael’s door and open it just a crack. The two men are sitting next to each other on his bed – silent, like they’ve been keeping each other company without saying a word.

“Visitor’s hour ended twenty minutes ago, Mr. Shelby,” you say, your tone calm but resolute.

“Must’ve lost track of time,” he says, voice cold, gaze still fixed ahead. “Terrible shame, eh?”

It’s clear he has no intention of leaving.

You steady yourself, trying not to let him rattle you. “Time works the same for everyone. Even you.”

He lets himself sink back into Michael’s bed like a man settling onto his couch after a long day’s work, almost casual. That deliberate calm of his, it drives you almost insane. Then, with a slow, exaggerated turn of his head, he looks at you: “I’ve learned this much, Nurse Y/N: If you stay long enough, you get what you want. It’s the same with doors – they open, if you knock long enough. Or kick.”

Is that meant to be a threat or a flirtation?

For a second, the sheer audacity of it almost robs you of speech. But you're not about to let him win this round. If he's threatening, you'll threaten back – just with a smile sharp enough to pass as flirtation.

You match his gaze, refusing to look away. “I've learned something, too. Something you might benefit from.” You pause, just long enough to make sure you have his full attention. “Some doors stay shut for a reason.”

Inwardly, you cheer at your sharp comeback, aimed to throw him off balance.

He huffs something close to a laugh. “Makes it all the more fun, eh?”

In war times, you used to wonder what he might be like when he flirts. What kind of lover hides behind that wounded soldier. He was different then, softer, maybe? You can't quite remember. But France left you broken too, dulled.

His hard, distant demeanor shows flashes of something else, a kind of playful dominance, yes. Maybe this is the only way he is able to handle that kind of risk – a risk greater than everything he risked in France – the risk of being rejected. This way, he could always claim it was never meant that way.

So, you play along – but not without returning fire in his little “threat or flirt” game. Your responses are carefully weighed, as precise as his provocations. If he wants a game, you'll play to win. “Perhaps the real question is why you never try the handle from your side.”

Only after the words have left your mouth do you realize the full weight of their double meaning. Sure, the round goes to you – there’s hardly a more elegant way to call out his overblown dominance.

But isn’t that the point?

Would he need to act this way if he were truly open to others – if he could let someone in, face his fears, process them, learn to trust again?

But you’re not naive.

You know better than to believe in hopeful illusions. His tactics have been honed over years – perfected until they cut deep without drawing blood. Like a dog that bites out of fear, long before it knows whether the hand reaching out is there to harm or to feed.

He doesn’t seem to need long to recover, slipping out of checkmate with infuriating ease. “That tone, Nurse Y/N.” He emphasizes your name in a way that makes you feel as if he's already deep beneath your skin. Or as if he could get there with ease. “Makes me want to misbehave on purpose.”

Michael, who’s been staring out the window the entire time, barely suppresses an eye-roll.

You smooth down the hem of your uniform and fix Mr. Shelby with a look as sharp as the edge of a scalpel. “Mr. Shelby, I must insist that you leave now.”

“What if I don’t?” he asks, without even pretending to play nice. “Will you report me, then?”

You offer no reply. Instead, you press the clipboard silently to your chest and walk out – leaving him to wonder just how to interpret your silence.

***

You close the door, heart hammering. You held your ground, but didn’t win. He’s still there. Still in control. Fortunately, most of your colleagues have already left for the day. One of them is probably still finishing her evening rounds. At least your failure has no audience.

You decide to focus on the weekly inventory restock, hoping the routine task will offer some distraction. When you step into the small supply room at the end of the hallway, a bead of sweat trickles down your forehead. You tell yourself it must be the heat radiating from the boiler room next door, but the excuse feels paper-thin, even as you think it.

The room is crammed with medical supplies of every kind, stacked all the way up to the ceiling. A small stepladder stands in the corner, used to reach the upper shelves. A few cobwebs drift lazily around the exposed lightbulb, which flickers uncertainly overhead.

You're sorting through a box, back turned to the door, when the light suddenly dims. You sigh in frustration, already making a mental note to request a new bulb. It's been flickering all day, and you had hoped it would last just a little longer.

Then you hear the soft click of the door falling shut.

You spin around, startled. Thomas Shelby is standing there. Not in the doorway this time, not leaning in with one foot still outside like earlier. The door is fully closed behind him.

"Mr. Shelby…" you breathe, caught between alarm and – you’re ashamed to admit it to yourself – arousal.

He studies you for a beat, then tilts his head slightly.

"Tell me? What did your supervisor say about my…little breach of protocol?" he asks, voice smooth with mock concern. "Am I about to be dragged off in chains?"

You try to hold his gaze, but your pulse is racing.

He lets a pause stretch, then adds, lower now, "Would you like to see me that way? Bound and…powerless?"

You fight to keep your face neutral, but he doesn't let up.

"Or are you the one who prefers the losing hand?" He steps forward, and the space around you shrinks.

You instinctively lean back, only to feel the edge of a shelf pressing into your spine.

"Mr. Shelby, I didn’t…" you begin, trying to sound firm, trying not to let your voice betray the flutter in your chest.

"Report me?" he finishes for you. "I know. I suppose I wasn’t quite bad enough yet."

There’s something predatory in his tone now, something playful and sharp at once. His presence is overwhelming in the cramped room, and you’re suddenly aware of how far away help would be. If anyone is even left to hear you.

You glance around, eyes searching for something, anything, you could use to create space between you.

He catches it and gives a dry, amused laugh.

"What’s this? You want to stop a Shelby from being a bad boy? After poking the beast?"

The bulb above you sputters again, this time violently, and with a low, electric hum, it dies.

Darkness falls.

Only a few narrow slivers of light slip through the ventilation grates into the small room.

Tommy gasps, the sound sharp and raw, like panic breaking the surface. He nearly stumbles into you, and in a flash, his strong hands close around your throat.

"Don’t move, got it? One sound, and it's over," he hisses in a clipped, military tone.

Darkness. Heat. Claustrophobia.

He’s not here anymore. Not in this room.

The ghosts of the past have taken hold of him.

He’s back at the Somme. Back underground.

And now? You’re not Nurse Y/N. You’re the threat.

A threat that needs to be neutralized.

Just as instinctively as he attacked, you claw at his hands, trying to pry them away from your neck. But they hardly budge. He presses down harder.

"I said keep still. Keep quiet. Makes it easier for both of us," he growls, voice sharp and hostile.

You close your eyes. Try to conserve your last energy.

Instinct.

And then, just as instinctively, you turn your head to the side. Expose the vulnerable skin of your throat to him. Like a beaten she-wolf offering her neck to the alpha, hoping he will spare her. Hoping he won’t go in for the final bite, even though he could.

His face brushes your skin. The scrape of stubble is harsh against the softness there.

He breathes in. Deep. Sudden.

"Fuck," he mutters. The grip on your throat slackens.

You gasp for air. Your lungs burn as air rushes back in, and you feel the raw imprint of his hands on your neck. Your pulse is thundering in your ears, but it is no longer only fear that drives it.

For a moment, neither of you moves.

You keep your eyes closed, just to process what happened. You stopped his fight-or-flight mode again. His nose on your neck, a deep breath...

A floral, familiar scent, laced with innocence.

Your perfume. The one you've worn for years. Even back then. At the Somme.

It hits a place in him no war ever reached. And that's what makes it even more dangerous, although it is calming on the surface. It cuts straight to the bone, bypassing logic, reaching his nervous system to unfold its effect. His instincts are still on fire, but something has shifted. They are no longer turning against you. Not now. Not entirely.

It is as if Tommy collapses into you.

You stumble back but catch yourself on the small stepladder behind you, just enough to keep from falling. Your fingers seize the fabric of his shirt, gripping hard near his chest.

"Shhh," you whisper, trying to soothe him, to calm his wolfish nervous system.

Then, almost desperately, you pull him toward you.

Your lips meet his. Searching. Finding.

The line you’ve so carefully drawn, day after day, has blurred. You have kept your distance, kept your control, held your ground behind professional words and folded hands. But now, here in the dark, with his breath on your skin and your body still trembling beneath the memory of his grip, something breaks.

You feel his chest rise and fall against you, too fast, too shallow. He is still somewhere else, not fully here, caught between past and present, you assume.

You could push him away.

Call for help.

Fight.

But instead, you tilt your face just slightly toward him, not away. Your fingers, still curled against his chest, do not fall away. You stay.

Because you recognize the ache in his touch. The same absence that hollowed out the men who came back. Hunger not just for flesh, but for grounding. For something human. Something soft.

You tell yourself this is for him. To anchor him. To calm him.

But your body, heat-slick and alert, says otherwise.

You’re not just soothing him. You’ve already cracked the door the second you played along instead of shutting him down.

His hand still rests on your neck while his thumb brushes your pulse, slow now, but firm, like he’s reminding you that his gentleness is a choice, not a guarantee. He could tighten again if you push the wrong buttons. You both know it. The game is far away from over.

You gasp at his other hand that slides lower, over fabric, under it, with an aim that leaves no question. He sets the rules, whether you like them or not.

"You remember what I said?" he murmurs.

You let out a questioning sound.

"The losing hand."

His fingers find the slick heat between your thighs.

"Seems to me," he mutters, smug, "you like playing it."

Your breath stutters. "Is that what you think? That giving myself to you makes me weak?"

Tommy growls softly. "No. It makes you mine."

You barely have time to exhale before his lips crash into yours again. The next kiss is deeper, hungrier, as if something in him has finally snapped free.

You can’t deny that you want this. Want him – this broken soldier who became an unpredictable, dangerous criminal. The craving coils low in your belly, tightening with every inch he claims. But something churns inside you at his very last word.

Mine.

Clearly not an invitation. A verdict.

He has responded to gentleness before. The scent of the bandages reminded him of care and healing, which softened his voice when he spoke to Michael. When you hummed a soothing tune, he didn’t lash out; he listened.

And now, in this small supply room, when his trauma surged, it wasn’t logic or commands that brought him back, or rather: stopped him from killing you. It was your perfume.

You had tools, not weapons, but levers. You had ways to steer him, to anchor him.

Now, caught in the tide of his possessive need, you ask yourself: Is there still something you can offer that turns this from coercion into something mutual?

Not overt control; you know better than to reach for that. You want consent, or at least the shape of it. If you can reach him – not the soldier, not the animal, but the man – maybe, just maybe, he’ll meet you in that space between need and choice.

Your conflict is barely hidden, etched into every shift of your body. Your fingers press against his chest, not to push him away, not really, but just to carve out the illusion of choice. Your head tilts, as if defying the inevitability. But your body, traitorous and aching, leans into his.

He reads you, of course, senses your hesitation, and it keeps his guard up. You know that this still makes him dangerous to you. His grip around your neck is firm, not cruel, but certain. You freeze, not out of fear, but awareness. In his world, he didn’t steal control. He reached for it because fear had narrowed his world to instinct. In his heightened state, physically overpowering you is the only language he trusts. Because he never learned how to ask.

If he’s to ease his grip, he must sense that you're not offering yourself out of fear, but because, this time, you want to be touched.

You shift a little and lean into his touch. Then you lift your hand to cover his. Not to push, just to claim a part of it. To say: I see you. You don’t have to hold on so tightly.

He goes still.

His fingers no longer hold; they wait. You close your hand around his for a moment and give it a gentle stroke. Slowly, he loosens his grip.

You reach out to stroke his temples. His hair clings damply to his skin.

“I don’t want to be taken,” you whisper in your trained soothing tone, as you have done so often for your patients – and as you assume it’ll work to calm him as well. “I want to give myself. That’s not weakness, Tommy. That’s trust.”

He stills. You feel the shift in his breathing, the way his body eases just slightly beneath your touch.

“I know sweetheart, I know…,” he pants, biting and sucking the tender flesh of your neck in lustful anticipation. “you’re not weak. You’re just smart enough to know when to surrender.”

You don't answer aloud. But you don't pull away.

He senses it, your unspoken agreement: he may lead, but only for as long as you let him.

“Now be smart again,” he whispers, fingers fumbling with his belt. “Open for me.”

The words hit like an electric current and you feel the heat painfully pooling between your legs, unbearable in its immediacy. You didn’t miss the chance in his voice; it’s edged with heat now. You realize with relief that it’s more temptation than threat, like he’s playfully testing whether your earlier words were bravado or a real invitation.

The darkness sharpens everything, every noise, his intent, your desire to feel what he hasn’t even given yet. You’d never admit aloud how much you like the command laced with bittersweet praise. And how easy it is to obey.

He steps back a little and you hear the soft metallic click as his belt comes undone. He hesitates to move closer. You glimpse him in the faint slats of light slipping through the vent in the door, his fingers are paused at his waistband, his silhouette appears tense with restraint.

Your palm finds his jaw again. Damp, tense, warm. You guide him forward until his hips brush your thighs. You notice that his breath falters differently now, deeper, heavier. Lust, not vigilance. It settles you more than words could.

“Use me, Tommy. Be rough. I’ll tell you if it’s too much.”

His head drops for a second, forehead resting against yours. There’s heat in the contact. And something else – gratitude, maybe. You both know, you will stay if he respects your boundaries. Then his hands settle on your waist, sliding under the hem of your uniform again, rough fingertips skimming over skin still chilled from fear, pulling down your slip with practiced ease.

“Don’t worry, Y/N. I’ll break you just right.” He lifts you by the hips and pulls you forward on the ladder’s narrow rung until your legs fall open around him. “You’ll thank me for it.”

If this is how his “threat or flirt” game goes on, you’ll love to play it till the end.

His zipper goes next, silent but decisive, and then there’s nothing but his hardness against you – demanding, impossible to ignore.

You gasp as he pushes into you. Not from pain, but from the way it overwhelms: the stretch, the pressure, the sheer size of him forcing you to take more than you thought you could. He stays still, forehead resting on your shoulder, breath warm against your neck. It’s not hesitation. It’s a silent check-in.

You tighten your legs around his hips, and that’s all he needs. His mouth finds yours again, this time with no restraint. It’s not a question anymore. It’s a claim you’ve offered, one he accepts with hunger and something close to reverence. He lets gravity do the rest – his hands guiding your thighs as he tilts his hips and lets your weight slide down onto him. The sudden fullness draws a choked moan from you. It’s deep. Deeper than you imagined.

“Fuck,” he rasps, voice strained and reverent all at once. “What a tight little thing you are.”

His thrusts are agonizing slow at first, grinding your spine against the ladder’s frame, like he’s savoring the permission. There’s no escape from the sensation. His body fills your vision, your core, your mind. His size borders on too much, and for a flicker of a second, you’re glad for the shadows. You don’t want to see how much of him is still left outside you.

He knows. Of course he knows. That deliberate pace, his strained breath – he’s done this many times before, and he acts as if he’s addicted to the rhythm and the depth with which he uses your body for his very own pleasure. He knows exactly how to give you too much, then back off just enough to make you beg for it again.

You hadn’t expected tenderness, though. Not from him. Not like this. But it’s there – buried in the precision, the restraint, the way he listens to your body even when you don’t speak.

You can’t suppress a muffled moan into his mouth. Somewhere in the back of your mind, a warning flickers – someone might hear. Your colleague, doing her final rounds before night shift really settles in. The one with the maddeningly squeaky shoes. Right now, you’re grateful for that noise; if she’s still walking, she’s not close.

You try not to make another sound but each thrust punches the air from your lungs, sharp and high. You kiss him deeper, try to smother the sounds in his mouth.

But he doesn’t let you hide.

His hand fists in your hair, yanking your head back just enough to bare your throat, to make you loud.

“Let me hear you,” he growls. “Don’t hide those filthy little noises – they’re for me.”

When you finally moan his name, it wrecks him. He groans like he’s been holding back too long – and the rhythm turns sharper. Your thighs begin to tremble from the sheer overstimulation. But there’s no pulling back now. He’s too far gone, chasing a finish he won’t be denied. His grip tightens on your hips and spine, holding you in place like he owns the rhythm – and you with it. Your attempts to wriggle out of his grasp – more of a test than a real intention – he doesn’t register them. Or he deliberately ignores them.

This might be breaking the rules. But God, you want him to.

The metal creaks dangerously under you. You half-laugh, half-moan. “Tommy, careful. We’re going to break this thing.”

“You first,” he growls into your neck, pushing even harder as if it were a challenge for him. “I promised you.”

This fucking stepladder. It gives him the perfect angle – lets gravity do the work as he drives deeper, hips locking yours in place, no room to shift, no escape from the drag and stretch of him. Every thrust is calculated, relentless, each one sharper than the last. He uses your own weight to trap you where he wants you, pinning you there with force and precision – clearly chasing both your undoings.

You’re close. He must feel it.

Then he murmurs against your ear, voice hoarse and thick with something that breaks the last thread of restraint:

“So good for me, love. Letting me in like this. So fucking perfect.”

It shatters you.

Because suddenly, it isn’t just about dominance or hunger. It’s about being wanted. Trusted. Needed.

You break around him, trembling, gasping. He’s not far behind, chasing the high like it’s salvation, a curse dragged from his throat as he buries himself to the hilt, body locking against yours. His mouth finds your shoulder, your neck, like he can’t get close enough. The rhythm breaks, falters, and still, he doesn't let go – of your hips, your breath, the space between you.

After a moment, he shifts, careful now. His hands are gentle as he helps you off the stepladder, steadying your knees. You’re both quiet…the kind of quiet that lingers when something important just passed between two people.

You smooth down your uniform. He does it better, fingers brushing at your collar, tucking a lock of hair behind your ear, lips ghosting your temple like a secret. When you carefully open the door, the hallway is still empty.

He gives you one last look, mischief flickering in those impossible blue eyes.

“You were right, Nurse Y/N. Visitor’s hour is long over.” He straightens his jacket, lips twitching with mischief. “Still, can’t say I regret overstaying.”

You keep your face neutral, your steps steady. But inside, you're a coil of nerves and want.

And as you walk in opposite directions, heart still thudding from more than just exertion, you already know you’ll be counting the hours until the next time he shows up – to break the rules again.

@jbrownta @mythicalcowboyatheart @shelbybabysblog @simpfortoomanymen @moonbeamott @gothic-chinadoll @weaponizedvirtue @ashibairo @darkdaydreamer @kristinecharmm @thehanes22

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narfin-frood · 7 months ago

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Hi! I'm a big fan of your art, and I just wanted to know, did you study the WOY art style? I'm asking because the way you draw each character, Hater especially, is so expressive! Do you have any tips with expressions? Thank you!

thank you so much!! and to kinda answer your question: while what i do is, technically, studying, that's not what it feels like. i genuinely just enjoy looking at character sheets. a lot of the time they'll include little notes about things you wouldn't think about unless you're told to, like wander's eyes typically angling towards each other at the bottom or sylvia's eyes obscuring the full width of her neck.

(i have any one of these open in my reference panel almost always! not only are these full of tips & tricks for your everyday sketching, they're full of rules for each character, which are meant to be broken in interesting and fun ways.)

[im gonna pack a bunch of other, tangentially related tips and tricks and thoughts into the readmore, including my personal breakdown of hater's expressions specifically, so feel free to give it a click. long post ahead]

a lot of stuff can be picked up by just watching the cartoon as many times as you want. i have watched every episode (minus big fucking baby episode, which i hate) like 6 times over, sometimes more (looking at you the rager), and that has definitely solidified my wander over yonder visual library.

also, wander over yonder's art style already fits in with the way i draw, because i LOVEE long curvy lines and super crisp & clear silhouettes!!

as for why/how i get hater so expressive.... that mainly has to do with the fact that i think he's So Cute. He's So Cute and i wanna Squash Him. and his character design reflects that!!!

his hood is his eyebrow and his eyes may or may not be rolling around in their sockets, and his nose is a little upside down heart. but all of the lord hater emotion is stored in the chin. lord hater has a bunch of specific and VERY malleable options for mouth shapes, depending on what makes the expression and lipsync look clearest.

you can keep it super simple, with a clear divide between his top and bottom jaw, and do several round bumps for teeth, which they do a lot when tweening, like this:

this kind of seems to be his default state, depending heavily on the episode and when it was made and who was drawing him the most, of course.

you can also keep his jaw and skull distinct, but keep his teeth straight and flush with each other, which helps for sharper expressions, esp. anger or frustration, but can also work for a good "squee". he also sometimes pouts so hard his chin eats his mouth, which is, again, cute.

if you're having trouble keeping an expression clear while also maintaining the distinction between his jaw and the rest of his skull, it's pretty common also to forego most of the overt skeleton bits, save for a few hatch marks to indicate teeth (sometimes squiggles or bumps, when he's yelling about it). in my head i affectionately refer to this style of hater expression as the "peanut sans"

none of these convey the intensity of emotion you're looking for? fear not, you can also always just go Full Skeleting. and give his teeth a full outline. this is great for Pain and Strain and Nefariousness.

and then there are a million expressions in between and possibilities within these parameters beyond your wildest belief. nothing should hold you back from a really fucked-up lord hater expression. not proportion. not structure. ESPECIALLY not symmetry. please. make his chin bigger. make his head bigger. make one eye bigger. make him look in two different directions. scrunch his nose up. whatever it takes. by all means. i implore you to have fun

(honorable mention. his W face. the face when he says the consonant W. sometimes OO. i'm. obsessed. with it . he looks. kity)

anyway. lord hater tangent aside. i could also share my own process for expressions, but it really just hinges on what looks appealing/what i like the most/what communicates the emotion i want to communicate the clearest, and it varies between characters and people.

it helps to, again, build your visual library, and look at lots and lots of funny faces, both in real life and in cartoons you like. make funny faces in the mirror and try to focus on what parts of your face change shape or interact with other parts of your face when you do something like smile really wide or drop your jaw. your skin is taut, and there's a bunch of muscle and fat attached to your bones, so when one big bone moves, a bunch of muscles and fat under the surface will shift around too, and understanding that relationship is really helpful in the long run, both for drawing real people and for drawing cartoons.

and the easiest way to retain information like that is to have fun while you study. stop thinking of it as studying and start thinking of it as gathering information on this thing you like a lot and want to do more of, like when you scroll through someone's account to look at all their art, and just. do more of that. do more exploring and observing. since animation is my special interest, this part is pretty easy for me, but it does still take practice to get into that mindset, especially when you convince yourself you have to be super strict and rigid to make it in the art world. focus on drawing and observing what makes YOU happy first, and everything else will follow.

and don't worry about taking notes. don't worry about remembering everything you look at. just look at things you like, and think about them for longer than you usually would. think about the shapes and colors. what makes that drawing so darn appealing to you, besides subject matter and the vague concept of an "artstyle"? you'll be surprised just how abstract what appeals to you can be. for me, with expressions especially, it comes down to random shit like "i like when the edge of a character's mouth creates a tangent with the outline of their head" instead of "pretty eyes" or other, vaguer elements. and that shit i like becomes a part of my artstyle, but only when it fits in and looks appealing, because you can't do stuff like this in every single drawing & retain a full range of expression

ANYway. i hope this made some sense/helped at least a little. i like lord hater a lot. and i also like to draw

#ask #rambling #wander over yonder #lord hater #myart

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akanemnon · 8 months ago

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hi!! i just wanted to say, i LOVE your art!! i started drawing my kris design with braces after seeing dubs of your comic on yt, and when i found you on tumblr i was beyond excited to see all of it in context. i’m a comic artist as well, and i was wondering— how do you choose your color palettes ?? besides obviously picking colors from the characters themselves, that’s a given— but your comics are bright and colorful and just a real pleasure to read because they’re so visually appealing. hope this question hasn’t been asked before!!

Thank you so very much!

So I really went into your question under the cut. So feel free to proceed if that is something that interests you.

The answer is honestly not that exciting. For the characters I really only do pick colors off the original sprites. Which is why they look so bright and colorful. If you try to do that yourself, you will quickly notice how SATURATED the sprites are. And not only the sprites, but also the backgrounds.

A little trick I use is that for pre-existing backgrounds I take all the colors and brighten + desaturate them just a teeeensy tiny bit. That way the characters in the foreground pop way more.

Another way to make the colors pop even more is to use colored shading AND colored lineart! That really IS what ties everything together. Let me show you..

This is a panel without the colored shading and lineart.

And this is it again WITH all that good stuff. Quite the difference, no?

But you're asking about color palettes, so I guess you also mean for the characters/outfits I designed? A lot of it boils down to color theory. I am by NO means an expert on that subject, but when looking at the Dark World designs specifically, you will notice how I did it.

For example: Frisk's Dark World color scheme is mainly analogous. That means the colors are right next to each other on the color wheel. But there is a little bit of complimentary in there.

Here, lemme visualize it...

Frisk's color scheme is a light green, darkish blue green, light yellow and a splash of pink. The red is there mostly just for lore reasons.

One thing I noticed when looking at the sprites of all the Dark World versions is that they are EXTREMELY bright and saturated.

That is something I tried to capture as well, but I think it didn't neccessarily nail it a lot of the time. Especially for Frisk's color scheme. If I stuck closer to what the game is doing, then in theory they would look more like this (using Kris' colors as a reference)

Looking back, I WOULD tweak their colors slightly more nowadays. Just so that the contrast between the colors is a little stronger and they don't blend together as much. This improves the readability of your design. Not all people are able to perceive every color of the rainbow, so readability is EXTREMELY important. Best way to see that is by desaturating them and checking the grayscale. Like so (left is the one closer to the game's colors)

Man, this REALLY makes me wanna fix their color scheme. This has been bugging me for a while now. (Though I'm kinda afraid that people point out that they look different.)

#ask #twin runes #art talk #queued post

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vegalovescake · 3 months ago

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Whats going on with Vasily's injuries?

I've seen multiple people talk about this here, and since I'm a biomedical student I thought I'd add my two cents as well! (Not that I'm any kind of expert; I just like bringing two of my interests together. I might get some stuff wrong, so make sure to do your own research as well)

My aim here is to find a realistic explaination for how his injury is depicted in the manga, explore which consequences it would have short- and long term and maybe even draw some conclusions about Vasily as a person based on how he handles it (spoiler: he scares me)

Disclaimer: While I didn't include any images, this might get a little graphic description-wise, so be aware if you're sensitive about that kind of stuff.

Also, this is in no way meant to dictate how artists/writers should depict his wounds. Noda does not care much about realism when his characters get injured, so you shouldn't have to, either. Plus, there is a lot of room for subjective interpretation, as you will see. Feel free to grab any of this as inspo for your work, though! (I'm sure I've been put on several government lists while researching for this post, you're welcome)

Yes this is basically an entire essay. When I say I am unwell about this character I mean it.

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To start off, let's take a look on the information the canon provides us about Vasily's injuries.

Vasily was shot by Ogata with a Berdan M1870 rifle. The bullet entered his right cheek and exited the left.

The shot destroyed all of his molars (or damaged them enough to require their removal afterwards).

As a consequence, he has trouble eating and does not talk. Wether that is by choice or because he is unable to we do not know.

In the two panels we see them he's shown to have scars on his cheeks; with the one on his left bigger than the right. The panels are too small to make out any details, but Shiraishi seems disturbed when he sees them for the first time.

As you can see, it's not much, and they raise more questions than they answers (just like anything about Vasya, really). I am willing to speculate, though, based on what we know about bullet wounds in real life, and what would make the most sense in context of the story.

First, I want to look at the immediate effects of Ogata's shot. What is the extend of the damage, which structures would be affected, and is the depiction of his injury in canon plausible?

I always thought Ogata used his Arisaka Type 38 to shoot Vasily since he had urged Shiraishi to retrieve it for him just before, but upon reread I realised that he was still using the Berdan II he borrowed from the Ainu. Why does this matter? Well, I don't know if Noda considered this, but the Berdan is a higher caliber and apparently much more destructive than the Type 38 (the latter's lack of fire power coming into play when Ogata fails to kill Suigimoto, for example. Ironically, the Berdan is also the rifle Vas' namesake, Vasily Zaitsev, allegedly learned to shoot with) Unfortunately for Vasily, this means more extensive damage than if Ogata had used his go-to rifle.

Knowing the type of rifle and ammunition is a good starting point to figure out what Vasily's injuries would look like. Well, kind of.

I'm sure this is the main question Vasily artists are curious about, but it's also one of the hardest to answer because injuries caused by the same rifle can vary heavily based on speed, angle, body part, and the underlying tissue affecting the bullet's impact.

Generally speaking, if the bullet enters at a 90 degree angle, the entry wound is about the same size and shape as the projectile itself. The Berdan M1870 uses 10.75×58mm ammunition, so in this specific case it would be about 1.1 cm or 0.43 inches in diameter. The hole could very well be larger if the bullet enters at an angle, or a little smaller if the skin is elastic and gets pushed into the hole. Anything between 1-2 cm sounds reasonable, honestly.

The exit wound is way harder to speculate on as it entirely depends on the tissue the bullet travels through. Muscles and fat are quite elastic and can transfer the impact of the bullet relatively well, while bone absorbs the force, distributing it through a larger area.

Because Vasily's teeth were hit. there was at least some sort of shattering effect (of both teeth fragments and the bullet itself), and while my knowledge of physics is too limited to determine any details it's pretty safe to say that the exit wound would in fact end up much larger, just like depicted in the manga. To what extend is difficult to say, but considering Vas is up and running a few months after getting shot, I would guess he got rather lucky and the bullets went through relatively smoothly instead of taking apart the entire left side of his face. Still, we'd be looking at a 4-5 cm (1.2-1.5 inch) exit wound at the very least. Additionally, it would likely be much more irregular and jagged, so it might extend to his lip or his jaw depending on the angle.

(Note: You might be wondering by now why I'm not just using the (likely) inspiration for Vasily's injury, Simo Häyhä, as reference for his wounds' appearance. While I like the idea, Hähyä was hit by an explosive bullet that caused a blast effect unlike normal ammunition would have, and so it would not be quite accurate for the sake of this post. We will come back to him later, though.)

No matter the size of entry/exit wound though, Vasily losing teeth in a larger area is plausible because of the force distribution as mentioned above. I'd even argue that the shot in the manga would also take apart his pre molars and canines at the very least (that's why I tend to place it further back). His jaw bone would probably crack or fracture as well, but that might have been a result of the impact rather than the bullet itself (again, I'm assuming he got lucky here because if his jaw was shattered in any major way we would not see him again in the story)

As for the structure in his cheeks, the primary muscles affected would be the buccinator, the masseter, the zygomaticus and the risorius, as well as potentially some of the musculature of the lip and TMJ. I won't bore you with any details, but the areas impacted by those getting injured are the jaw, the corners of the mouth, and potentially the upper lip. The nerve innervating their movements is located in the cheeks as well, so depending on the extend of the damage the restrictions might be temporary or permanent, the latter being more likely on the left where the larger exit wound is. Vasily would definitely have a hard time opening and closing his mouth, and with expressions such as as smiling, snarling or frowning.

Another muscle that would most likely get injured is his tongue. This is a problem because unlike the cheeks' relatively minor blood supply, the tongue bleeds a lot when damaged. Again, if we assume that Vasily got lucky, surviving the initial shot is plausible, but the oral bleeding would definitely be an issue both because of blood loss and the extremly high risk of choking if he passes out. This has the horrifying implication of him staying lucid after getting hit- which despite everything might actually be possible, at least for long enough to get the bleeding to stop. Adrenaline has made people stay conscious through stuff like losing their limbs, after all. Or he simply got lucky once again. That is for fanfic writers to decide, I suppose.

The potential tongue injury will also be important for my next point: Discussing Vasily's lack of speech.

For the reasons above, it is fair to assume that he does not talk because it is simply way too painful. (This seems to be the explanation Sugimoto goes with as well, though it's most likely just a guess and not necessairly the objective truth). The injuries to his jaw muscles and missing teeth might make his speech sound awkward for a while as well, though not permanently (he might keep a lisp in case part of his musculature did get paralysed, though).

In that case, talking would not be impossible, just more difficult. In tense/important situations, one might expect him to try saying something, or at least produce a sound other than his "hmph!". But even Ogata cannot get a word out of him, nor does having to alert people to a potential danger. Personally, I don't think the pain would stop him to that degree. Is he just incredibly stubborn and not much of a talker to begin with? Or could there be a reason why he genuinely cannot speak at all?

With the injuries provided, the only explanation as far as I know is that his tongue got so damaged that he lost most of it, or it had to be removed afterwards due to infection or extensive trauma to the nerves. A missing tip of the tongue is enough to make your speech slurred, and losing most of the oral (movable) part makes talking nearly impossible as it is essential to form most of the sounds of our language. If you want, you can test this by trying to read out a sentence without moving your tongue from the bottom of your mouth. It turns everything into an incoherent mess.

Now, I'm just gonna assume that if that is the case, Vasily would still keep enough of the basal part of his tongue to close the back of his throat, otherwise his quality of life would be reduced drastically and he'd require extensive rehabilitation to not choke on his own spit. But even with some parts remaining, he would be struggeling a lot with chewing and swallowing, especially with a lack of molars on top of that. One can learn to eat most foods without teeth (as demonstrated by my cat Gucci, who eats everything despite having only his canines left), but until his gums and jaw have healed, Vas would be limited to very soft and liquid foods. As a soldier, he'd probably lose a lot of weight and especially muscle mass in the weeks and months after the injury as a result, so it is no suprise he could barely defend himself against Sugimoto (I like to think that's also why he looks so much smaller in his coat after his initial appearance lol).

Alright, now that we've looked at all the immediate stuff, let's talk about healing. Despite how extensive his injuries are, I think that with surgery and proper medical treatment, they could close up pretty well. The tissue loss around the exit wound is likely extensive enough that there would remain a noticable depression in his cheek, as well as the possible paralysis/limited movement of the jaw mentioned above. There is also a possibility of infection and keloid/hypertrophic scarring that might complicate the healing process and make the wound look worse, but those all can be fixed with additional surgeries. Facial reconstruction wasn't unusual for those types of injuries.

That would be the end of it, but one thing bothers me, still: Shiraishi's horrified reaction upon seeing Vasily's face. While the initial wound would be quite bloody, post surgery it should look pretty clean. Shiraishi has seen much worse than a healing bullet wound, right?

Well, there's one last aspect to Vasily's injury story that disturbs me more to think about than the initial wound itself: Instead of recovering, he is chasing Ogata.

The timeline of Golden Kamuy is vague and I do not feel like doing the math to figure out the exact timeline between Vasily getting shot and him joining Sugimoto's group, but we do know that they both happen during the same season (winter). I'd give it 2, maybe 3 months at the longest, maybe even less considering he gets shot just before Ogata loses his eye and shows up right after Ogata's hospital stunt. I'd assume Ogata did that as soon as he was physically able to, but not yet recovered enough to continue being a nuisance for another few weeks/months.

Even if it took Vasya no time to find Sugimoto and he was in the hospital until then (which I doubt), that is not enough time for him to properly recover. If he pulled an Ogata and left the hospital as soon as he was able, there was very little time for his wounds to even begin closing, let alone healing. For comparison, Simo Hähyä was in the hospital for months, and out of commission for several years after his facial injury. Vasily would need at least half a year, or at least more than like, 8 weeks.

I know, I know, the reason for this is that Noda most likely did not consider the extend of his injuries, but lets just assume Vasily was a real guy who decided this was the way to proceed. I have several concerns. First, the pain management. Unless he smuggled some pain meds out of the hospital and is high as a kite the entire part of the plot hes in he would be in constant agony, yet he still decides that his revenge plot against this random guy is somehow more important. He could simply have an incredibly high pain tolerance, sure, but that wouldn't help dealing with the other major problem of wandering around the wilderness with a partially open facial wound: Sooner or later it is bound to get infected, and once that happens there's a good chance he might kick the bucket after all. Of course, Asirpa could try and prevent this, but what about before he happens to join the Sugi squad? Did he simply flush his mouth with Vodka and call it a day, hoping he would last long enough to take Ogata with him? Did he get some sort of medical training and knows basic wound care? Or was he so fixated that he didn't even consider how bad of an idea this was? Who knows.

What this would explain, however, is why his scars might look much worse than they should. Injuries that keep reopening or get irritated constantly heal slower and more crudely, and they can be really gross to look at, to the point where you can't tell wether or not the wound is fresh. Even if the initial bullet wounds were fairly small, the scarring could easily end up covering a large part of Vasily's face if he didn't take proper care of them. This is what I meant with his scars reflecting his personality, too; depending how he would handle his injuries, his scarring might end up more or less extensive!

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

So, a lot of words to say that there are many possibilities on how to depict Vasya's scars, even if you care about realism. Sorry this ended up as long as it is, but I've thought about this a lot and wanted to share in case someone finds it helpful! Though, I always encourage to do your own research if this interests you, the conclusions I came to here are very much biased by my own interpretations and I did not cover everything there is to say.

TL;DR Vasily is a medical liability and I want a spin off featuring his nurse beating his ass after he returns to Russia.

#golden kamuy #vasily pavlichenko #golden kamuy vasily

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dunmeshistash · 1 year ago

Text

Hello!

I'm Cyan (or anything you wanna call me) this blog started as just a stash for Dungeon Meshi extras and worldbuilding details but expanded as people asked questions and I did my best to answer! Hope you find it as useful as I do. I try my best to categorize my posts so they're easy to find but sometimes I forget.

If you'd like to share something you compiled yourself feel free to send it to me and I'll reblog it! You can also send a submission if you'd prefer. The main goal is to share Dungeon Meshi information :3

Consider checking the FAQ before sending an ask!

Spoilers are tagged as "Dungeon Meshi Spoilers"

Please support the author by purchasing the manga if available in your region.

TERFs and other bigots aren't welcome

Icon and Banner

Ryoko Kui's Blog

Tag list under the cut

Types of post

For referencing - Canon things and other information you might want to go back to.

Compilation - Posts where I compile lots of canon art/sketches about a specific subject.

Dunmeshi thoughts - My own non canon thoughts. I also use the tag speculation when relevant

Dunmeshi complaint - Tag for more negative subjects/discourse in case you wanna block that. I usually go back and delete the ones that don't seem productive

Asks - Since I post quite a lot of asks I decided to divide them into some tags so they're easier to filter: Lore ask | Character ask | Meta ask | About Cyan

Parties

Kabru's Party: Kabru of Utaya, Diamond of Sadena, Mickbell Tomas, Kuro, Rinsha Fana, Holm Kranom

Tansu's Party: Tansu Floke, Yarn Floke, Kiki Floke, Kaka Floke, Namari of Kahka Brud

Shuro's Party: Shuro (Toshiro Nakamoto), Hien, Benichidori, Maizuro, Inutade

Canaries: Mithrun, Pattadol, Lycion, Fleki, Otta, Cithis

Races:

Tallman

Dwarf

Elf

Gnome

Half-Foot

Ogre

Demi humans

Orc

Kobold

Sources (<- check this if you're confused where the extras come from):

Adventurers Bible

Daydream Hour

Monster Tidbits

Bluray

Resources:

Oc reference

Art reference

Cosplay reference

Other tags:

Worldbuilding

Maps

Magic System

Post Canon (Extras about the story after the story)

Clothing (Details about character's clothes and in world fashion)

Dunmeshi Extra (extra comics that aren't in the main story)

Rooms

Modern Clothing

Dunmeshi anime vs manga (comparisons or panels missing from the anime)

Monsters:

Red Dragon

Chimera Falin

Mermaid

Fairies

I'll be updating as I add posts/figure out how to tag stuff

About me: Cyan - Adult - She/He - Brazilian

#Pinned post #For referencing

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elkattacks · 17 days ago

Text

I watched a couple of interviews taped at PowerCon with Gareth David-Lloyd (Solas's voice actor) and I took a few notes because that's fun for me!

These notes are in no way exhaustive or the whole interview, I just wrote what I was interested in and edited to remove filler words like "ums" or backtracking to get to a point.

First video was an interview with Gareth David-Lloyd (Solas) and Joseph Capp (Elgar'Nan)

youtube

Joseph Capp to GDL: "What's your favorite of the Dragon Age games?"

GDL: "Oh Inquisiton... if you romance Solas" (grins)

GDLs favorite Veilguard character is Solas because of his arc, he's an asshole but he's like an anti-villain. Its so much fun playing him. And not knowing what he's going to do next or what he's going to say or what his real plan is.

Talking about making player characters, the actors and interviewer are saying they make their first character often as like themselves as possible.

GDL: "When I first did Inquisiton I was a human warrior, male. By the end I was a female elf mage. So I could romance myself more than anything"

JC, answering a question about how he did with doing the elven lines

"I think for the most part they gave me free reign on how to pronounce it. In terms of getting into the world and the lore I kind of binged on DA when I got the role. I played Origin and Inquisition simultaneously, which I don't recommend doing. I got very confused and I was also listening to a lot of Ghil Dirthalen's videos and like Jackdaw and Dragon Age lore videos and like there a podcast called "lorecast" I think"

GDL: "a lot if Solas's lines were in verse and absolutly beautifully written.. Trick Weekes was, they created Solas, and its such a beautiful, so beautifully written, its a pleasure to read the lines. So I remember most of it"

"I started Veilguard three years ago [video is July 2025] and I think Inquisiton, including the DLCs that took three, nearly four, three and half, years to do all of it. But it's not in one go, you go and record a bit and then they go make a bit and then a month later you go back and record another bit. So it's not intensive but it's a long process"

JC: "I think quite a lot of Elgar'nan was rewritten closer to the release of the game because I went in for a few sessions where I did quite a lot of the stuff that ended up in the game there"

July 2025 PowerCon Panel- Gareth David-Lloyd https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DvGvyLWUcyE

GDL: "I didn't have any pictures of Solas from Dragon Age until about three months into recording. And I was surprised. I thought 'oh he's bald and he's uh you know, he's quite buff. He's wiry, wiry wasn't he?'"

Q:Have fans come up and said a character has resonated with them?

GDL: "as far as Solas goes, I haven't had anyone come up and go 'you've made me want to sort of destroy the world' so, not yet" ... "but as far his sort of relationship, his tortured relationship with the playable character if you decide to go down the romance option, yeah people have come and said, you know, it's given them the feels it's reminding them of a relationship that they've had that's been difficult. And that's always nice to hear when you strike a nerve personally with somebody"

"I have had a few people come up and say 'Solas destroyed me' and they look like they want to hit me. Because they felt really betrayed. I suppose that's one of the things when you've got romanceable characters and you can actually get into a relationship with them, if the betray you, then you feel betrayed."

Q: (the interview mentioned earlier they take something from the character they're playing to relate to/latch on to play the character) What did you take from Solas?

GDL: "the first ever sort of thing I took from Solas was definitly his sarcasm, his dry sense of humor."

Audience Q: "thinking of Solas's character arc over the two games and how much was revealed in the latest game, knowing that there's a few endings of how it could go, what one would you choose from?"

GDL: "In Inquisition I always ended either friends or romancing Solas.. so there's always been part of me that wants to redeem and make him see the error of his ways and reach that humanity that's still inside him, deep down inside somehow. And I think, I don't want to spoil it, but there's an ending that sort of does that"

Audience Q: "if somehow what you voiced was live action, would there be anything you'd take from your character's wardrobe?"

GDL: "Anything that Solas wears is awesome. Especially the last thing he wears in Trespasser" .. "I'd be owning that all night"

Audience Q: "when you had to do the elvish dialog, did you find that harder?"

GDL: "The Elvish language, well I mean altogether between Inquisition and Veilguard I've probably been working on the game going back and forth to the studio for about four or five years. So about three years into that I sort of got a grasp on the pronunciation of the Elvish. But yeah at first it was scary seeing this language which doesn't exist come up on the screen. They're like "go". There are phonetics to help you, they sort of guide you through it. But yeah, especially when you've got a big long speech or paragraph or it's even worse when and it's cut into English, where you're speaking English and then there's a line of Elvish thrown in and you've got to switch between the two. Yeah it's daunting but it takes a while to make these games. After a while I got more comfortable with it"

#dragon age #dragon age inquisition #solas #dragon age the veilguard #gareth david lloyd #joseph capp

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noirscript · 4 months ago

Text

03; the cleansing

Pairing: Yandere!Attorney x Reader Description: You didn’t realize you were being sanctified until love felt like confession and every loss smelled faintly of lilies. To Desmond, you’re not a person—you’re a temple he’s cleansing, one sin at a time. Warning/s: Yandere | Psychological Manipulation | Emotional Abuse | Gaslighting | Obsession | Implied Stalking | Religious Delusions | Isolation | Non-graphic Violence Note/s: Regular yandere stuffs will return after holy week. Also, updating Sanctum later. I'll just cook something in a bit ^^ Anyway, enjoy!

Masterlist | Series Masterlist | Commission | Tip Jar | Dark Roast 50% Off

The first time you meet Desmond Vale, the city feels like it’s trying to wash itself clean.

Rain slams against the sidewalks in sheets, relentless and metallic. Your breath fogs in front of your face, fingers gone numb from clutching the remains of your broken umbrella—its ribs twisted like bones, nylon clinging to the frame like a soaked shroud. A gust of wind steals it from your grasp, flipping it inside-out and sending it tumbling down the curb like trash. You let it go. You’re already drenched.

Desperation guides your steps more than logic. You duck into the nearest building without reading the plaque out front. Warm air brushes against your face the moment the heavy doors shut behind you, cocooning you in silence. The chill clinging to your clothes doesn’t leave, but the calm wraps around your spine like a soft-spoken command: Be still.

The lobby is grand—cathedral ceilings, dark wood paneling, gold inlays on marble floors so polished they gleam like oil-slick water. A single chandelier hangs above, its light diffused and low, almost reverent. No one’s rushing around. It’s not that kind of place.

And then you see him.

He stands by the reception desk, speaking quietly with a woman in a crisp blazer. He’s turned halfway toward her, posture regal and untouched by the mundanity of things like weather or chaos. His gloves—yes, gloves, even indoors—are black leather, unwrinkled and fitted like a second skin. Silver cufflinks wink at his wrists. His hair slicked back with the kind of discipline that demands hours, and not a strand is out of place. Everything about him is meticulous.

But it’s his eyes that still you.

Deep-set. Intense. Quietly devout.

They settle on you the way a confessional draws out sin.

You feel… seen.

Not noticed. Not admired. Seen, in the biblical sense—naked and bare and judged, all at once.

He takes a single step forward.

“Are you lost,” he asks, voice low and measured, “or just in need of sanctuary?”

The question is absurd. You’re dripping all over the imported marble. You look like a stray dog dragged in by the storm. But he speaks with a kind of weight that makes you want to answer. It’s not kindness. It’s invitation—solemn, unspoken, already half-written in your name.

Your lips part before your mind catches up. “Just… waiting for the rain to pass.”

He inclines his head, just slightly. “It always does. But in the meantime…” He gestures to a leather bench near the window. “No one deserves to weather a storm alone.”

• ─────⋅☾ ☽⋅───── •

You return the next week.

This time, on purpose.

You tell yourself it’s because of the law library upstairs. Free to the public. That’s what the sign outside says. But you find yourself glancing down corridors you have no reason to explore, eyes searching for a flash of silver cufflink or a slow-turning silhouette.

And he’s there.

Desmond Vale. Defense attorney, philanthropist, local saint.

He greets you like you’re expected. Offers coffee in porcelain cups with saucers. Talks in low, thoughtful tones about justice, about morality, about the sacredness of truth.

“I defend the fallen,” he says one evening, as you sit with him in a small reading room that smells of old pages and cedarwood polish. “Even the guilty deserve someone who sees them.”

You nod. You don’t know what you’re agreeing with. But his voice threads through your chest like incense smoke, warm and dizzying.

You talk, and talk, and talk.

You don’t realize how much it’s too late.

You tell him about a professor who used to humiliate you in front of your peers. How he’d sneer at your work, call your insights “juvenile.” You laugh it off, say it’s in the past.

Desmond doesn’t laugh. He watches you, silent and still.

“Did he ever lay hands on you?” he asks.

You blink. “No. Nothing like that.”

He nods, slowly. “Pain doesn’t always bruise the skin.”

He doesn’t say anything else that night.

But two weeks later, your phone lights up with news alerts. The professor has resigned. Accusations of misconduct. Unverifiable claims. Whispers of scandal. Nothing that sticks.

No one can prove anything.

But he’s gone.

You sit there in your apartment, phone heavy in your hand, heartbeat drumming an unfamiliar rhythm.

When you bring it up to Desmond—half-laughing, half-nervous—he simply smiles.

“God works in mysterious ways,” he says.

• ─────⋅☾ ☽⋅───── •

A pattern emerges, and you try not to see it.

A coworker teases you about your wardrobe. “Trying to dress up for someone? Someone important?” You roll your eyes and joke about it to Desmond that night over dinner—he started inviting you more regularly now, preparing candlelit meals in his unnervingly pristine townhouse.

“She mocks what she envies,” he says, carefully slicing into his food. “You wear your spirit plainly. It unsettles the weak.”

You smile, uncertain.

A week later, she’s gone. Fired. Some internal HR complaint. You never learn the details.

Then your friend Tara—sweet, messy, always late Tara—starts acting strange. She doesn’t return your calls. She avoids your eyes when you run into her on the street.

You remember the last time you saw her, how you’d told Desmond about her flaking on your birthday. You said it didn’t matter, but something in his eyes flared then—like a lit match held to wet paper.

Now Tara’s gone cold. You try to reach her again, but it’s like she disappeared.

“You’re too trusting,” Desmond says one evening as you sip wine by his fireplace. The flames reflect in his eyes, casting long shadows on his face. “You let the unworthy nest in your soul. I’ve simply… cleared the rot.”

You freeze, glass trembling in your hand.

He leans in.

“I’m just removing what doesn’t belong in your temple.”

• ─────⋅☾ ☽⋅───── •

You try to distance yourself.

You make excuses. Say you’re busy. Say you’re reconnecting with other friends. You stop answering his texts right away. You shut your phone off one night and stay out late—something you haven’t done in weeks.

The next day, your friend tells you her apartment was broken into. Nothing taken. Just drawers ransacked. Underwear disturbed. Cabinets opened and left ajar like someone was cataloging her life.

You feel nausea twist through your gut.

Desmond shows up at your door that evening with white lilies and a look of quiet concern.

“Rebirth,” he says, handing you the bouquet. “It’s what comes after decay.”

You don’t speak. He kisses your forehead gently, and for a second, you think you might collapse in his arms from the sheer weight of everything you can’t prove.

• ─────⋅☾ ☽⋅───── •

One night, you gather the courage.

You stand in his impossibly clean kitchen, heart in your throat, words buzzing like flies under your tongue.

“I need space.”

He doesn’t react at first. He’s polishing a wine glass, the sound of the cloth against crystal a soft, slow rhythm.

When he sets it down, he turns to you.

His face is unreadable. But not blank. Never blank. There’s always something simmering beneath—like embers under stone.

“Do you know what happens when you remove a candle from the sanctuary before it’s ready?” he asks.

You don’t answer.

“The flame weakens. Sputters.” His voice drops to a near-whisper. “Dies.”

Your mouth is dry. “I’m not a candle.”

“No,” he agrees. “You’re the altar. And I’ve scraped every blasphemy from your surface.”

You feel cornered. There are no locks on the door. No cages. And yet, when he takes a step closer, you feel the walls press in.

“You would desecrate your temple for them?” he breathes, hurt laced in his disappointment like barbed wire dipped in honey. “After all I’ve done to purify it?”

“I didn’t ask you to!” you snap, the words trembling out of you.

He cups your cheek, gloved thumb brushing your skin. “You didn’t need to. Deliverance is never begged for. It’s granted.”

• ─────⋅☾ ☽⋅───── •

You try to leave.

But your family misses your calls. Messages you swore you sent are never received. Friends forget plans. Doors close. Desmond’s world remains open—welcoming, warm, untouched by the static of outside life.

You sit in his garden one afternoon, surrounded by trimmed hedges and white roses that smell like cleanliness. He kneels nearby, trimming thorns with delicate precision.

You speak without looking at him.

“What if I’m still… tainted?”

He doesn’t pause.

He sets the sheards down, removes his gloves. His bare hands are scarred, as though he’s bled for you a hundred times over.

He kneels in front of you, lifting your hand to his lips. His kiss is featherlight.

“Then I will cleanse you too.”

You close your eyes.

And somewhere in the distance, in a place you’ve forgotten how to reach, a part of wails.

But here?

In his sanctified silence?

You let him pray.

TBC.

Taglist: @hopingtoclearmedschool @violetvase @zanzie @neuvilletteswife4ever @yamekocatt @mel-vaz @vind1cta @greatwitchsongsinger @delusionalricebowl @nomi-candies @jsprien213 @kaii-nana33 @saturnalya

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kiyomitakada · 13 days ago

Note

Do you have any thoughts on Near and L as a hypothetical dynamic? Can he romantic or platonic.

hi anon so i wrote a response to this and then started Thinking about it and then Kept Thinking about it and long story short i am insane about them now. this is your fault (positive). i'm going to copy and paste from my notes app give me a second

dear god DO i have thoughts on near and L??? do i???? hang on a second i am going to shake my skull like a magic eight ball

okay back. hmm. i usually take near’s statement that they only met once as the truth (i am so sorry, this is the boring answer, i just really like the idea that L’s successors don’t know him at all) so the rest of this is predicated on that. also so much of the successor arc is missing from my brain successor scholars please feel free to correct all of this

thus commences the meta bit feel free to skip to the next all-bold statement for the actual answer to your ask im just thinking aloud here

canon tells us that near admires L very straightforwardly

(chapter 82:)

(chapter 90:)

(he did Not entrust those who came after him with this case, to be honest with you,)

near also says that if L suspected light then light has to be the culprit (at which point aizawa has to be like uh, don’t you think that’s a little much?) which is a huge amount of respect for his intellect at least

anyway the task force definitely assumes near admires L. in fact matsuda refers to near indirectly as L’s worshipper in a panel i Cannot Fucking Find Right Now But I Swear Is Real: while talking about kiyomi’s viewer ratings (i believe), he says “whether it’s kira or L, worshippers sure are troublesome.”

i honestly think this is underused like jesus christ what a baller line. and anyway all of this has been stuff spoken out loud with the possibility of lying so here is a bit of near's internal monologue

like it just reads as… i think a lot of people take near's initial statement of "if you can't win the game if you can't solve the puzzle you're nothing but a loser" as near's entire attitude on L. but from this statement i think that was more of a coping mechanism than anything. like near genuinely looked up to the guy but 1) is a realist who thinks being too emotional = doom [see: mello] and 2) has to Forcibly remember that kira surpassed L and "admit that reality"

on the flip side of this though is that ultimately near’s solution to the warehouse is the opposite of what L would have chosen. L says multiple times that he will see to kira’s execution (which visibly gets to light); near wants to lock kira up in a place where no one will find him until he dies (which also visibly gets to light). this plan is honestly not all that much better than L’s in terms of light’s welfare (light yagami solitary confinement era TWO!!!!) except that near is unwilling to play final executioner.

also c-kira shows that near thinks of L as someone who isn’t interested in justice so much as entertainment; someone who’s willing to throw japan into a frenzy to find kira, someone who wouldn’t bother to track down a mass murderer because the work is too boring. this is objectively a very negative view of L and yet near’s tone is never derogatory. like. L gives this whole speech on how "it's not a sense of justice, it's like how you all think of your video games" and near says that a lot of people were disillusioned after that but it made near like him more. and god i don't have a copy of c-kira on hand right now but that's the literal only time i can remember seeing light in those eyes.

and then we end on near not being able to be exactly like L and being kind of self loathing about it even though days later it’s what stops c-kira!!!!!!

so: what about the near hating L thing. this is not canon-canon it's from that bit in an o&o interview where obata says, "i drew the L mask as ugly because i figured near didn't like L but he liked mello," and ohba says "(laugh) so the near in your head doesn't like L…?"

first of all i think i've said this already but it is extremely funny that they disagree on their own character. like @ ohba how do you entrust someone who doesn't know where you're going with a character to draw their microexpressions.

second of all the watsonian view i like to take is that the L mask is ugly because near also resents L to a festering degree (see above re: c-kira) but does not realize this

okay that’s enough meta rambling can you answer the question

near -> L, To Me: genuine admiration bordering on hero worship; wishes to be as ruthless as L is but can’t quite manage it in general and is okay with this as long as mello is there to balance but becomes not okay with it when mello isn’t; subconsciously kind of hates L for this but is also in love with the untouchable ideal of him. i have said this one morbillion times but they’re like jon and gertrude magarchives yknow. simultaneously repulsed by and jealous of what they perceive as pure amorality, pure ego, pure love for the game. if only i could be like that. if only i could be as cold and vicious and beautiful. but this is something to be ignored and pushed down, for most of canon, because hero worship is not Useful or Relevant except when it comes to the fact that L's conclusions must necessarily be correct Because He's L; because near as a person is wired against hero worship, c.f. that entire warehouse speech about how "even if there was a god (...) i would think it through and decide if that was right or wrong myself."

but once we go into one-shot territory where mello is dead, suddenly all of that admiration/resentment is the only goal near still has. because what the fuck is the point otherwise. and near sort of achieves it, in a-kira, but still turns around to find no one there

L -> near, even more To Me: we get nothing in canon but i like to think L’s primary emotion about the successors is guilt just because of that line in labb where he considers B his sin. the original sin of wammy’s house or whatever. in c-kira he picks near and mello out from the crowd because of “the nasty looks on their faces” because he knows his line of work requires people with a stomach for cruelty. he wants soichiro/light to carry on the case after him. he never mentions his successors once. if he ever actually saw near in the years after i think he would be subconsciously horrified because christ that is A Child (near did start out at 13 years old), and this is L’s fault because L was the one who chose near and mello, and the fact that near not only sees him as an uncaring gleeful detective machine (sure, that’s what i am, that’s what i wanted them to think) but also looks up to him for it (…) makes him kind of sick to his stomach for reasons he doesn’t want to think about so instead he’s complaining bitterly to watari in the afterlife that this was supposed to be L’s fucking case god damn it

(watari: i thought you said you were happy that justice would be done? in your name, no less

L, visibly sulking: i can be both happy and disappointed.)

#near #l lawliet #death note #thank you labb for giving me so many L & successors thoughts from one (1) line #also dhjsjfsjj i hope i actually answered your question #fwiw i cant really see them in a proper Relationship but i fully support near being weird about L forever #also the interpretation of near as someone with repressed violence would add so much to this but this ask is already way too long #Anyway. head in hands. here you go. i reserve the opportunity to change my mind five minutes after posting this.#asks #anon

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spideytorch-hovel · 1 year ago

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So, I’ve been thinking a lot about spideytorch lately (as I am one to do) and a question popped into my head:

What is the most important spideytorch comic panel?

There’s a ton of great options in my opinion, but I think there also is an answer (at least for me) so now I am going to subject all of you to my thought process. Get ready for a way to long post breaking this down.

The most obvious starting point has to be this classic

Johnny Storm is going full house husband for Peter Parker, I mean c’mon! add in the fact that he’s in his undies and the way that he’s leaning over peter… yeah this is a classic. This might be the most famous spideytorch panel out there, but I don’t think it’s the most important one.

Another classic (but more antagonistic?) one takes place, of course, at the usual place.

To me this is peak identity shenanigans and the stuff that fanfics are made of. The betrayal, the heartbreak, the complications that go into the conflicting way these two view identity, oh boy I could talk about that shit for hours, but as an individual moment, it doesn’t really crack most important for me, it needs a bit more affection (they’re very bad at affection sometimes).

Another panel that came to mind very quickly for me is this set.

Johnny literally only had to say his name and Peter knew exactly what he meant and what he needed. This is top tier levels of communication, both between them and from the creators to us. I think this is another one that I could talk about for hours. That being said, it doesn’t feel important enough to me.

A friend in the spideytorch discord server posed this panel as the most important spideytorch moment in the comics.

I’m just gonna put their quote in cause it’s great. “I think this is one of my favorite panels cause Johnny was just speaking generally and Peter was like ‘oh my god! Actual wise words form johnny’ but also, I love that this was a more important moment for Peter than Johnny.” I must say, this entry is extremely important to spideytorch and gave my choice a run for its money. I don’t have a huge reason for not making this one the most important, other than personal taste. For their relationship, this is a key moment and sets them on the path to actually being friends (at least on Peter’s end), but idk it just wasn’t doing it for me.

Another panel I was reminded of thanks to this submission was this moment.

It’s not quite as impactful as the past one by a long shot but I do think it’s important. After being rivals for so long, to see Johnny give a genuine heartfelt compliment to Peter is fantastic (haha). This feels like the other half of the previous set of panels. There we had Johnny encouraging a stranger and here he’s encouraging his friend.

Some other friends in the discord server suggested the moment that Johnny invites Peter over to watch his sex tape (yes this is canon).

(Not pictured, Peter swinging away and saying he needs to take a cold shower). Now I’m not saying that the most important spideytorch moment needs to be serious, but I think this moment might be too unserious to claim that title. This moment was huge for the fanbase because holy shit did, he actually say that, but for their relationship, I just don’t think it was as important as it was to us.

Now I do want to knock out a few honorable mentions that I would hate to miss.

First, this look given to Spidey by Johnny, I mean yeah, he’s in love.

And to balance the lovesick flirty scales I must expose Peter as well.

Next, this heartbreaking moment that basically admits to the audience that Peter’s world becomes chaos when he loses Johnny. That shit hits.

Of course, the moment that gave us the ship name.

A panel that lives in my head rent-free because honestly marvel what were you attempting to convey here other than the fact that Peter really wants to have hate sex with Johnny Storm?

To take us outside of our duo, this quote from Ben Grimm (EDIT: it’s was Peter’s clone Ben Reilly, which honestly only adds more drama), because honestly same.

And of course, I have to include the panel which showed us the first time (on page) that Peter told Johnny he loved him AND gave us canon proof that these two have “date night,” many a fic writer was fed well.

And how could we forget! THE USUAL PLACE! Literally any panel mentioning this is top tier because its so good, like the core of the fandom honestly.

Lastly, before moving on to my own more serious contenders I have to share this parallel that @sciderman shared because I love it.

Now to my serious contenders for the title of most important spideytorch panel (please remember this is all my opinion and I mean no shade). This will be a top 5, but just know some of these rankings are pretty flexible (even flexible with some panels from the beginning), and this question should not be taken as seriously as I am taking it, I am fully aware of that.

Number 5!

So, I know that I discounted the sex tape scene earlier because I didn’t think it was serious enough and it didn’t do enough for their actual relationship, but I had to include this one I’m sorry. A lot of this is personal taste but the implications here are *chefs kiss* The first time I saw this panel was actually on Pinterest with the caption “wait a second, did spider-man and the human torch have sex?” which says it all for me.

Beyond that, this moment also shows how they reach out to each other when they have problems. Strange children show up in Peter’s life and the first person he calls about it is Johnny. Again, this is not the most serious, but I love it. This moment shows the banter of their relationship, how they care about and rely on each other, and also potentially reveals that they’ve had sex. There’s a lot to take in.

Number 4!

I will be honest with you all, this moment is here almost entirely because Ben’s quote lives in my head rent-free. Everyone around them sees how they feel about each other besides them. When they were rivals others could tell they actually liked each other and when they became friends others could tell that it was deeper than that. I think I especially love this panel because it conforms that we’re not crazy for thinking there’s something there but also because Ben specifically cites the way Johnny looks at peter. That is very specific and says a lot. I can’t imagine Ben would say this if the looks Johnny gave Peter were purely platonic, and just ahhhh, there’s so much said here just in one line from Ben. There was of course the Ben moment earlier, which I also love, but something about this one, the more specific phrasing of it I think just shoots it up my rankings a lot.

Number 3!

If you’ve been following me for a while I don’t think this is a surprise at all, I have already done a very in depth post about this panel so I’ll keep my thoughts brief. Red Skull knows that hurting Johnny will hurt Peter, Peter’s Spidey senses go off FOR JOHNNY, and we are given so much angst potential, I love it.

Number 2!

This one is probably a more popular choice than my number one, and I totally get it. The excitement and joy bursting out of Peter when he finally realizes that Johnny is here, he’s real, and he’s alive really gets me. Plus, the added context to the uniform comment being that Johnny literally left Peter his family and his spot on the team in his will. The amount of pure love in this moment and its larger context is abundant, platonic or romantic, it’s there. I feel like everything I could say about this panel has probably been said before, but it is definitely worthy of being the most important spideytorch moment, even if I have one that beats it for me.

Number 1!

For those of you who don’t know, this panel comes from Peter visiting Gwen’s grave and talking to her. That fact alone breaks me in half but then the things he says to her shatter me. Every spider-man fan knows how much Gwen’s death broke Peter, it destroyed him to lose her. Just the fact that Peter admits Johnny brings part of him back is amazing (haha) because that is a hug feat. But then he shatters me even more with his final sentences. After Gwen’s death, we often get a peter who spends too much time as Spidey in order to avoid having to cope with Gwen’s death as Peter, but also as a way to cope with the loss (he’s a complicate man). Spideypool also gets a lot from that arc because of Wade’s reaction to Spider-Man not holding back as much and becoming less of a friendly neighborhood Spider-Man, and that’s true. The fact that Peter feels like he’s becoming who Spidey is supposed to be again when he’s around johnny is huge! But then! He corrects himself. He’s not Spidey again, he’s Peter. The real person, the man behind the mask, comes back. And then you get the final correction. He’s not just peter again, he’s *Gwen’s* peter again. He is the him that existed with Gwen when he’s with Johnny. That speaks volumes and breaks whatever parts of me are left. How am I expected to read this and not think that Johnny and Peter are soulmates?

Now, I will acknowledge that this is much more of a peter moment than a joint spideytorch moment, much like the moment suggested by discord friend earlier. If that disqualifies it for you as the most important spideytorch panel, I get it. However, for me that doesn’t matter mainly for one key reason. So many classic spideytorch moments show a lot of Johnny having feelings for Peter or making a move on Peter. There have been a lot of times when I’m trying to get a friend into spideytorch, and I feel like I have to clarify that its not as one sided as it seems. Johnny is much more out there with who he is and doesn’t hide his feelings very well (except maybe from himself). So, when we get any spideytorch moment that hones in on peter’s feelings and love for Johnny, that feels so huge to me. This moment alone proves that it isn’t one sided, Peter has deep feelings for Johnny, even if he’s not sure what they are yet, he knows that what they have is special, he wouldn’t be telling Gwen about it otherwise. While it may not be as famous of a spideytorch moment, its an important one, and for me it’s probably the most important one.

Anyway, this has been a way too long post about this topic but if you made it to the end thank you so much! I would love to hear other people’s thoughts on this topic so feel free to share those. Also, just a reminder that these are my opinions, and I am not in charge at all so don’t take it too seriously (unless you want to).

If you’re interested in hearing me, go more in depth on any of these panels (or any other spideytorch panels) shoot me an ask because I could honestly talk in depth for a while about most of these panels and I would love to do so. Thank you again for reading this way to long post and good night spideytorch nation.

#spideytorch #alt descriptions coming soon!#peter parker #johnny storm #peter x johnny #peter parker x johnny storm #mine :)#fantastic four #spider-man #marvel #comics #spideytorch meta #marvel meta #enjoy my chaos

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