#( i had to write something funny )

[a-dope-fiend]

It irritates me alot when people say that making medic more compassionate is ''missing the point of his character'' when he is literally shown to be in the comics.... did you miss the part where he showed concern for both sniper and miss pauling's well being in comic 5 and 6.

His actions are a combination of genuine attachment + clinical interest and these things do not cancel out one another. He is always pushing boundaries and going against the grain and i think this is what led to him losing his license in the first place. He felt stifled by the rules imposed on him.

He is shown to be extremely passionate so it makes sense that he would use his endless fascination with medicine as a way to show his affection. He loves his friends so he will find a way to make them borderline indestructible. Malpractice is his love language.

[coffeebanana]

Sorry if some of these overlap a little/if I left out something obvious kajbdsjkd I tried my best haha. And that's why there's an "other" option!

[duu-kiwi]

I bet aziraphale wrote about the day the universe was made, about the angel whose voice recited the words that created the stars, about how bright they shone, and still shine, in those angel eyes✨🪐

Here you have some detailss and a cropped version with just!! them!!!

edit: prints link !

[lurkinginnernarrator]

“Shen Qingqiu! What is this nonsense about Qing Jing requisitioning a disguise for one of its members?! You would dare send one of your little disciples trussed up like a pretty young mistress! Even I thought you better than”–

Qi Qingqi’s voice cut off on an extremely strangled note. She and the other Peak Lords all seemed unable to capture an ounce of oxygen.

Cang Qiong’s finest were gathered in a elegant war room, massive tables shoved to the side, covered with maps and intelligence reports: A mind-numbing amount of information scattered across sheaves of paper and neatly written on large boards; they spanned the walls not open to the serene nature of Qing Jing’s outdoors.

The murmuring of focused and purposeful Qing Jing disciples hushed at Qi Qingqi’s outraged exclamation and the sudden appearance of a majority of their shibo.

In the midst of the room, Shen Qingqiu stood, hands frozen in the action of sheathing a dagger to his inner thigh. While normally, such a sight would be arresting enough, it paled in comparison to the vision Qing Jing’s Lord made currently.

His eyes caught wide and surprised were rimmed with coal and rouge, claret lips parted infinitesimally. Gentle strands of hair framed his face and cascaded down his curved back. Hair ornaments tinkled and glittered in the silken black waves.

Delicate, airy robes flirted with graceful wrists, red lacquered nails making a pleasing contrast. Carmine and the tones of blushing rose danced about Shen Qingqiu, gentle fabric draping from his shapely frame; soft skin of his collarbones an–and the rounded mound of his, hi-his bust? Exposed. As was the refined line of sinewy thigh.

S-sshink!

Shen Qingqiu’s hand leaves the handle of the blade, nebulous skirts falling back into place, his pale thighs veiled from sight once more.

“Qi-shimei, Liu-shidi, Zhangmen-shixiong?”– Shen Qingqiu's eyes quickly take in the numerous uninvited visitors, yet his lilting voice doesn’t quicken from its whiplike cadence –”To what do I owe the pleasure of a visit from Yue-shixiong and my shidimen?”

For some unknowable reason, Sect Master Yue and the Bai Zhan War God forsook courtesy for silence.

“Rather, to what does this Master owe my beloved sect siblings appearance,” the polished voice drawled, “ whose purpose is no doubt to meddle in the affairs of a Qing Jing operation? Without, may I add, any proper knowledge of the purpose of this operation to begin with?”

Mu Qingfang, who to this point was standing unobtrusively to the side, stepped forward, courteously greeting the Maste– Lady? Of Qing Jing.

His fellow peak lords prayed blessings, to be gifted such a level headed martial brother!

“These shidi apologize for the discourtesy, Shen-shixiong.” Mu Qingfang’s voice may have hesitated, or stuttered, and almost uttered ‘shijie’ but no one noticed because they were too caught up in their own lawless thoughts.

A Qing Jing disciple helpfully handed Shen Qinqqiu a fan. With a crack! It met his open palm, a gavel descrying doom.

Haloed in light, the Qing Jing Master stood like a wrathful goddess, a holy judge tired of the sullying presence of mortals.

Qing Jing’s Master, when garbed in his usual attire, was a sharp, intimidating figure. Graceful in his execution of masculinity, not unlike a dagger. Moreso, then, donning the mantle of femininity. Some intangible attributes changed, that when masculine, repelled, yet when feminine compelled. Those certain peak lords were unprepared to handle such a thing.

Shen Qingqiu tsked, turning his back he subsequently ignored them after hand-waving a disciple into acting as the hospitality.

The wrong-footed peak lords were bundled off to the side and laden with tea and light victuals, being appeased into silence and unobtrusiveness by snacks. If some of the scholarly disciples secretly thought of it as the kiddie table, that's for them to know, isn’t it?

[luck-of-the-drawings]

my TWO FAVORITE THINGS IN THE WORLD, VAMPIRES N COWBOYS... deacon keller is SUCH a fun character, hes charming and funny but ALSO formidable and STRONG when he feels he needsta be. i hope him and arthur can get a chance to talk more and be better friends. l ike really good friend s. . like. like really good f. hangon i gotta go i think i hauve rabies.

[nenoname]

stan twins the canon cptsd brothers i will always think about all your unaddressed issues that would make perfect plot fuel for your spinoff

and also the whole 'stan getting that poem by bill via a website which contrasts with bill getting one from the axolotl via a website' foreshadowing thing

like idk i would love something like su future but like more optimistic, aka not an accumulated breakdown that has to be mostly resolved off screen at the end :/// but something thats being kinda addressed throughout? (although would love to see one of them turn into a monster thats always fun lol)

stan having severe issues from his dad and those years of being homeless that we keep on getting more info on but never really getting confronted on (the drifter catalogue and tijuana incident...), him being completely alone for like twenty years when running the shack before soos comes along to the point that 1998 is noted as his low point, and him not really learning about bill+what he did to ford until ages after he killed him if he ever did get the full context

while i think amnesia and everyone seeing him as a hero actually helped with stan's 'i'm a worse version of my brother' thing its still a lingering issue too and we now got him being insecure over his own hands

ford being immediately thrown from 'being tortured by bill' to 'being stuck in the multiverse and being chased by bounty hunters constantly', him fully expecting himself to die when destroying bill, and him only now being safe for the first time in 30 years ....relatively safe, he's still in constant danger because of course he is

idk in the end the series wants them to be happy and they deserve it, its why i wasn't too worried about the book being like 'ooh bill is back!! and the book is haunting ford' thing cos i knew they'll be ok

[hballegro]

the clock is here. all hail.

i forgot to turn antialiasing to the right settings with my pen so it is. the little numbers are chunky. thats life sometimes. just dont zoom in too hard. if i fix it, i wont make a new post abt it ill just edit it on to this one or something [and state that i did so in the post]

prev post with noclock version

and as promised here is also progress pics, harvested from when i sent screenshots to friends as i worked. as a bonus ive also included various layer names and the 5 different names the file went thru. the parts i [very lazily] painted over with dark blue had not been done yet, ergo anything with dark blue over it is just the picture itself so do not regard it

i will now be nice to myself and work on my fanfic and smaller drawings for a while. i will do eye posts sometimes still when i get a slow day and wanna do some peepers for 3 hours, i have collected many eyes [klinger, fr mulcahy, trapper, margaret, charles, hawkeye, bj. ive been busy stealing eyeballs to paint on. theyre all on one document its pretty funny]. i will be doing my best to force the cast into my style so i can do quick stuff.

i also WILL do more paintings of full shots again, but. fellas. ive done 3 back to back full paintings with no other digital art projects in between.

this has been NOT good planning lol

not sure if i should tag everything again so i will just. do so? idk i have not been on tumblr hardcore since like 2018 and have never regularly posted so idk proper etiquette. im gonna leave off characters for this one ig

[thalialunacy]

[for the @calaisreno May Promptadoodledoo; land o Goshen, this was a tough one, so thanks for sticking with me]

(1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (6) (7) (8) (9) (10) (11) 12: family (13) (14) (15) (16) (17) (18) (19) (20) (21) (22) (23) (24) (25) (26) (27) (28) (29) (30) (31)

Breach imminent

MH

Sherlock groans, shoving his phone between couch cushions and drawing a sleeping Rosie closer to him. 

'Bad news?' John asks from his chair. He looks over his reading glasses at where Sherlock is curled around his daughter, and feels affection sting so hard in his chest that he absently rubs at it.

'The worst,' Sherlock answers sullenly

John runs through the likely options in his head, then goes with his gut. 'Your parents are coming to town?'

Sherlock opens his eyes and stares at John, his expression full of surprise, then affection, then shammy casualness. 'I have been a good influence on your deduction skills, clearly.' 

John chuckles. 'That, or your brother advised me to clear my calendar and clean the flat.'

'Meddling queen,' Sherlock mutters into Rosie's hair. Then his phone pings again. 

I haven't told them.

MH

John doubles down. 'He knows, I take it? About our… development?' 

'You are doing very well today.' 

'Feelings, Sherlock. I'm good at people and their feelings.'

'Yes, yes, that's why I keep you around. Of course he knows; I let him keep the surveillance up in the stairwell in exchange for having none in here.' 

'Ah.' John had suspected as much, though admittedly he had not considered it at the time of the first (very unplanned) tryst. 'Has he told your parents?' 

'Apparently not.' 

Silence stretches. They've come a long way, but John feels too keenly the risk/reward scenario here, and is undecided.

This time it's John's phone that pings. 

It's up to you, of course, but rest assured: they would be inordinately pleased. 

MH

John's eyebrow quirks. 'Your parents like me?' he finally says, going for casual but missing, and he knows it. 

'You're very likeable.'

'You know, from anyone else that would be a compliment.' 

Sherlock doesn't answer beyond a grunt. It's somehow safe to have this conversation in this arrangement, with the comforting stretch of the room and the gorgeous sleeping toddler between them. They're connected, but not so much as to overwhelm. 

'How much time have we got, do you reckon?' John asks, almost to the air.

'Far too little,' Sherlock grumbles.

'Right, but from you that could mean three months.'

'Yes, well, seeing as your birthday is in two weeks, but tis the season of primroses so they have to schedule us in between, I'm surmising it to be about three hours, in actuality.'

John snorts. 'That's a bit harsh.'

'No, no, they're beautiful primroses.'

'Hang on,' John says suddenly, running back through what Sherlock has said. 'They know when my birthday is?'

'Of course.'

'They care when my birthday is?'

'Don't be daft.'

'I'm trying, but they hardly know me. And what they know of me is not altogether flattering.'

'I said don't be daft.'

John can't stop a frustrated noise. 'Then explain it better.'

Sherlock opens his eyes, considers him for a moment, then he breaks eye contact and buries his nose in Rosie's hairline. 'They know of my affections for you. And that's enough for them.'

John's breath deserts him for a moment. 'Sherlock…'

'Don't let's make a big thing out of it, please.'

John wants to laugh. It's already literally the biggest thing in his life. 'Alright,' he says instead. 'But... let me be the one to tell them, yeah?'

Sherlock goes very still, not lifting his gaze. 'You'd be amenable to that?'

Sod this, it's been long enough. John shunts his reading glasses aside and stands, listening to his bones crick as he crosses and crouches in front of the two most important people in his orbit. 'Yeah, course.' He presses his lips against Rosie's forehead, then Sherlock's, without hesitation. 'Try and get rid of me.'

Sherlock finally, finally meets his eyes, and John feels so much he wants to tackle both of them and just cocoon for a little while. Tell the world to bugger off.

So, of course, there's a knock at the door. Sherlock groans, and Rosie's face scrunches up in the universal expression of, "How dare you wake me up, you rude creature."

'Three hours?' John says while scooping his daughter out of Sherlock's embrace. She needs a change. Maybe he should use that baby magic and let Sherlock's parents do it, he thinks with a grin.

'I am not in control of all variables, unfortunately,' Sherlock mutters into the sofa, where he's pressed his face.

John's mouth curves into a smirk as he heaves up (bloody hell, getting older is not for the weak) and turns towards the door. He wishes fleetingly that Sherlock was behind him, in solidarity if nothing else.

Then, suddenly, he is, his mouth pressing against Rosie's sleep-rumpled cheek over John's shoulder. He doesn't turn to John, but he doesn't have to. 'Into battle?'

John nods, then reaches for the door.

[❤️]

[a-person-who-is-not-you]

not to talk about YouTubers but I think the way people are discussing hbomberguy's new video about plagiarism feels to me like they are missing the mark. I don't know if we should be taking pleasure in the destruction of careers, even if they are for legitimate reasons. I myself was a James Somerton subscriber and his work "Making it Big" was really impactful to me because I first watched it as a young queer person who had yet to read academic writing on queer history and media, and I have had a family member who died in the AIDS crisis who I never knew, and seeing a work that celebrated that history of queer sex In a documentary format lifted word for word from a book by a queer scholar was upsetting to discover today. But the takeaway, as Harris discusses, is not to revel in the downfall of a creator, but like, go and seek out academic queer writing. I think it is fine to be upset with Somerton's actions, but like I don't know if I like the memes about finally feeling justified a creator you don't like is being destroyed or like that Hbomberguy the channel's project is now to destroy people who have made their careers lying (Like Tommy Tallarico). Idk im never engaging with Somerton's work again but the way people are reacting seems to have missed that the work is about plagiarism and not like gleeful takedowns of shitty creators.

[puppyeared]

its so hard to watch time pass when things like careers and assignments exist. what do you mean im supposed to take that seriously

[sluckythewizard]

Keep calm, and drink soda

[CW for blood and gore and vomit] takes place a day or two after emizel was sired. just two boys adjusting to a shift in their daily norms. would YOU drink your homies blood? still not used to writing fanfic so any and all advice IS appreciated. i hope u enjoy.

There were very few things that Soda enjoyed more than well, drinking soda. It was a hobby, an interest, a comfort. And by extension there were very few errands that Soda would look forward to more than the occasional soda run.

The gas station closest to the Demons hideout had stopped selling Faygo entirely about a month or two ago, and it was near impossible to find it anywhere else. The closest place was now this janky little Shell gas station, lovingly titled the Shady Shell, that thankfully sold more flavors than any of the other ones ever did.

It made the hour and a half walk here entirely worth it. Even if this side of town made his skin crawl. Normally he would ask someone to accompany him on this daring little quest, but everyone at the hide out tonight just seemed too tired, too preoccupied, too uninterested.

He knew not everyone really got the soda thing, but they were accepting of it for the most part. Soda is something that, clearly, Soda really loves, but he knew not everyone else was into it.

Which was fine, of course. They didn't need to get it. But, still, sometimes Soda found himself wondering how much of it was a bit, and how much was him.

Emizel gets it perfectly though. He would've been the first person Soda would ask to go on this soda run with him, but, well. He's been preoccupied too, with the whole vampire thing.

It's been a bit more than a day since Soda had last seen his close comrade. For a friend that he saw just about everyday, going without him this long left him feeling a little emptier.

That was fine, though. Emizel had shit he was working out, he had things he needed to do. It's not like he could go out in the day anymore, so of course Soda wouldn't be seeing him at all the usual times.

It was a lot of weird and heavy magical stuff, it made Soda think about those superhero shows. Where the hero needs to keep his identity hidden from everyone. Family especially. He knows how much of a piece of shit Emizels dad is, so he hoped that Emizels home life wasn't stirred up all stupid-like over this.

He hasn't told anyone else, about what happened that night. For the last 2 days, Soda would spend time with close friends and not let them know a thing about what happened to Emizel so, so recently. Why he's so suddenly absent, so distant, so.. off…

'Maybe his dad's just giving him a hard time', he would say, hoping to smother their questions. The less questions they ask, the better. At least until this vampire stuff gets figured out a bit more. Should Emizel wear a disguise when he goes out at night now? Just like a superhero? What kind of hero outfit would Emizel have anyways? Soda figured it would be something really cool.

If anyone could figure out a way to balance all this vampire stuff, and all the leaderly responsibilities that come with being the biggest dog in the Demons, it was Emizel for sure. That guy is so seriously cool.

He was sure this rough patch would even out, and they would weather the next rough patch together no problem. There was really nothing to worry about! All Soda has to do is stay positive, and well, drink soda.

As Soda walks quietly down the crumbling sidewalks of this dreary hive of strip malls and shops, he goes to pull his backpack around to his chest, fumbling with the zipper in the dark. Which was a little annoying, considering the tab of his zipper had fallen off forever ago. He really needed to get around to fixing this damn thing. Maybe another ziptie and a soda tab will do the trick.

Humid air hangs heavy in the night, the sidewalks still somewhat warm after a hotter day. The diesel-soaked air provided enough warmth on its own that Soda had considered taking his jacket off a few times, only for the occasional, annoyingly sharp and chilly breeze to brush by, reminding him to keep the thing on.

Tripping only once and only slightly on an uneven sidewalk, Soda manages to pull a bottle of Faygo from his backpack, a smile glowing on his face. Another short fight with the zipper seals up the bag, and he slings it over his shoulder again.

His flavor of choice tonight was actually the Red Pop, the tried and true, the absolute classic, one of the best Faygo flavors for sure.

But, this kind wasn't actually his favorite. Normally he would stock up on the cotton candy ones, but something about the last few days had him craving the red stuff.

Securing his backpack all the way, he goes to crack open the bottle. Just the clack and the hisssss of the fizzy drink were enough to lift his mood.

Not that his mood needed lifting or anything. Of course. Sure he missed his friend and sure he found himself wondering what he’s doing and where he is and if he's okay. Maybe sometimes he found himself wishing they talked about funeral plans more.

Emizel talked up all sorts of crazy funeral ideas for himself, usually involving the use of his dead body as an inconvenience for others. Outlandish and hilarious ideas, like filling it with explosives and tossing it into a busy road. But what would he want seriously? What would Soda ever do if he just stopped showing up one day?

He had to swallow down all these unnecessary anxieties, so he took a swig of his soda. Sweet, bubbly, comforting. He felt better already! Just stay positive, and drink soda..

It was a lovely night out, and he didn't come all this way planning on letting it go to waste. There was a place he was heading towards, a particular alleyway in this particular place that led off to a particularly tall concrete ledge.

 It was a run-down little space, littered with trash and shitty trees and those bushes with just too many goddamn ants in them. But the view was fairly nice, overlooking a massive deformed intersection. A particularly stupid one, at that; about 3 times a week you could witness a gnarly crash at this spot. Soda always heard people saying that LA folks can't drive, but he was just starting to figure that maybe no one can drive.

That was the place he really wanted to go to enjoy this soda, and he wasn't too far off from it. Just a few more blocks, and he would be there.

Oh wait, didn't he still have a bag of chips in this backpack somewhere? Hell yeah, he couldn't wait to sit down and relax with a good soda, a good snack, and a good view of the night.

Living as a Demon had its fair share of stresses. He felt lucky to have this life, but he knew well that it could be better. That not everyone has to worry about survival the way they do. That not everyone gets injured on the regular and not everyone has to worry about being sick and never getting better.

Living is hard. But it's finding the small moments of joy that make it all worth it. Dying would be scarier anyway. He didn't want to die, and he felt glad to feel so confident in that nowadays.

The sudden   THUNK  of something slamming into the ground just a block away from him, jolts him out of his thoughts, all his gears screeching to a halt as he freezes in place. What the fuck was that?

It looked like a person, laying flat on the ground with only their head and shoulders peeking out of the alleyway ahead. Fuck. He hated this side of town..

Anxiety churns in his stomach as he debates just turning around, but the way the victim reaches an arm out, attempting to crawl away; it made his heart ache aswell. he's no goddamn fighter, but he couldn't just leave someone like th-

The body is suddenly yanked back into the alley, snatched at a startling speed. It didn't feel exactly real, how could something vanish so fast? It reminded Soda of something from a horror movie, or whatever. What the fuck was that??

His foot takes a step forward, before the rest of his body notices its rebellion and locks down again. Was he seriously going to investigate that? He could just walk away and take another alley. But that was the one he was supposed to turn down! All the other alleys are either walled off or gated off and he wasn't about to go climbing over a damn wire gate. His soda would get too shaken up! Fuck!

Another foot goes in for another step forward. He's gotta get the fuck out of here. He could hear more commotion in the alleyway, a scuffle, a skirmish. He could hear someone cursing through a choked breath. A loud and nauseating crack echoes out from the alley, and yet, Soda takes another step forward.

This was stupid, he shouldn't be getting tangled up in someone else's business. What if something happened to all this soda?

Thankfully, it was that thought that actually got him to pause, and take in a deep breath. It wasn't worth it, maybe he should head straight home.

Atleast, that was the thought his heart and mind were about to agree on, until a particularly familiar grroowwwwlll bleeds out from the alley.

Emizel?

All reason immediately evaporates as Soda makes that connection in his head, stepping right up to the corner of the brick walls, and peering around to investigate.

There was a body on the floor, face down in a puddle of red, head split open in a way that reminded Soda of a smashed watermelon.

But standing over that body, was the familiar, blackened coat, and short blonde hair, of Sodas closest comrade, Emizel.

Despite the carnage on the floor, Soda couldn't help the smile that lights up his face. That was Emizel! That was his boy!

But before he could get over just how happy he felt to see his best friend, something else caught his eye. Movement, behind the dumpster closest to the vampire boy. A person, rising out from the shadows with a glinting baseball bat clutched fiercely in their hands.

"Oh fuck, look out!" Soda speaks up, and Emizels gaze immediately clicks over to him, silencing Soda with just that startlingly red stare.

He had forgotten just how uneasy those red eyes made him..

The attacker, silent and professional, rushes up behind Emizel and CRACKS the metal bat downwards onto his blonde head, the sound ringing out like a  gun shot  in that dark little alleyway.

Soda cringes from just the sound of the impact, but was amazed to find that the bat had warped under the force of it!

The attacker hardly had a chance to process his mangled weapon before Emizel whips around to retaliate.

It looked like he had just swung his hand at his opponent, so the way a shower of red spills outward from the slash, catches Soda completely off guard. The monster boy had cleaved an excruciatingly massive gash up from the attackers right hip, to his left shoulder, the slice spewing with scarlet.

 It wasn't until Emizel had pulled back his arm, that Soda could process the way it had darkened with more than just blood, distorted into an odd, spear-like shape.

The victim hardly had a chance to yelp before that blade swoops up into his chest at the speed of a snapping bear trap, plunging through meat and bone with disturbing ease, and forcing blood and viscera to erupt outwards. The red patters down onto the concrete behind, the sound similar to rain...

With another low, inhuman snarl, Emizel brings the twitching, dying body closer, until that signature squish of teeth sinking into fresh meat bleeds outward into the space.

What a disgusting sound, Sodas first instinct was to simply avert his eyes, but as the sound persists, he resolves that he has to do something.

He finally steps out into the alley, and speaks.

"Hey ma-"

He could hardly get two words out before Emizel suddenly rips its teeth away from its victims throat, tearing out a hefty chunk of jellied meat, and slamming the remaining fodder onto the concrete floor.

It immediately whips around to stare down Soda, red eyes glowing with reflected light, and with hardly a chance to process the moment-

-It's immediately right infront of Soda.

A gasp lurches from Soda's lungs as he almost stumbles back in shock. How was Emizel so fucking fast?

Other than that single step back, Soda was frozen in shock, his tongue buzzing with the physical pain of such a startling jolt. 'White boy jumpscare' is something that came to mind, but while usually such a thought would evoke some sort of laugh from Soda, this time it offered no such comfort. Okay maybe it did a little.

Emizels snarling face was only inches away from Sodas. Its eyes were wild and unnatural, teeth menacingly sharp and reddened with so much fucking blood. It was everywhere, coating most of his face, smothering his shirt and his coat, and absolutely choking the air with its thick, metallic stench.

Soda would gag if he felt he was safe to even move. He felt like he was locking eyes with that of a creature, something he would only ever see in his nightmares or in scary movies. But it was real. Those monsters are real. And his best friend is one of those monsters. His bestest friend in the world...

His mind was skewered on that unnatural glare, completely frozen with anxiety. Stalling too hard to come to a proper conclusion, Soda instead falls back onto what Soda does best.

"H-hey man... You want some soda?"

He very gently presses the opened bottle of Faygo into Emizels chest.

The two boys stand there for a moment, locked in a tense, silent pause, before the monster boy finally peels its gaze down to the bottle.

It's quiet, for a few seconds, the gears turning in its head. Until the monster blinks, and its eyes clear, and Emizel processes the sight of the bottle.

"Oh, fuck yeah dude, is that the Candy Apple Faygo? Man, that stuffs my favorite!" Emizel smiles as he goes to accept the bottle, and immediately takes a massive swig.

Soda tries to disregard the way his hands were still shaking. "Uh, n-nah man, its just Red Po-"

The words are bit off as Emizel suddenly retches, a heavy flood of red blood and red Faygo spewing out onto Soda, as the vampire boys body entirely rejects the fizzy drink.

The shock of getting fucking projectile vomited on had snapped Soda out of whatever daze he was just in, and it seemed to snap Emizel out of it too. Soda backs up with a groan, looking down at all the blood and bile and pop on his shirt and coat.

"Ohhh fuck dude, what the hell??" He cringes, not even wanting to try smearing any of it off with his hand.

Emizel was coughing, still holding out the Faygo bottle, but hunched over as his body dared to convulse again.

"Ohhhhhh fuck, ohhooohhh fuuuuucckkk" he grumbles towards the floor "Fuuuck I’m sorry dude, I don't know what fuckin- oohhhgg shit,” He coughs and groans,  offering the bottle back to Soda.

Soda was still staring at his messied coat with a displeased grimace, but looking up to meet Emizels eyes...

There was a guilt on Emizels face that Soda didn't see too often, and it helped wash away that irritation he felt. This sucked, but Emizel was probably going through a lot more. 

“It’s, uhm.. don't, don't worry about it, man..” Soda decides to reassure him, offering a sympathetic smile, and a hand on Emizels shoulder, as his comrade spits out the remaining blood and bile.

"Fuckin hell… I’m uh, I'm sorry about your shirt, man."

"What? Nahh it's okay man, don’t worry about it." Soda shrugs, taking the Faygo bottle back. "I mean, are you okay man? That uh.. looked like a pretty crazy fight."

Emizel was rubbing his eyes, smearing more blood across his face as he seems to be collecting himself. he spares a glance back at the carnage behind him.  

"Ah.. yeah.. I thought I uh.. I thought I saw that one fucker from uh. That one night. Yknow, the one that uh.." He snaps his fingers, as if trying to summon back the memory. "Vampire bitch... Anyway after that I just kind of, uh.."

He seems to space out again as he looks around. It was as if he was just woken up from a deep sleep, like he was certain he had just known what he was doing, but found the dream escaping him. "I guess I just.. went crazy on these guys. I dunno, they're Fangs anyways." he finally shrugs it all off, but Soda still felt unsatisfied by the answer.

"Oh.. huh…” is the only response he manages to scrounge together. Sure they were Fangs, but did they really deserve.. all that? It just seemed a bit brutal, even by Emizels standards.

He found his eyes wandering over to the split-open head. It was mostly red and bloody, but even in the dark, he could still make out some of the finer details of the gray jelly seeping from the gash. A human brain. He wondered if his own brain looked the same on the inside..

“So what are you doing out here, man?” Emizels question helps Soda pull his eyes away from the gore, instead looking over to his bloodied comrade.

Emizel looked messy and even exhausted, but his drowsy gaze was focused on Soda with a worried expression. 

“Oh, uh, yknow, just a soda run. Decided I would stock up on some Faygo from the Shady Shell.” Soda shrugs, his eyes flickering down to the opened Faygo in his hand. The top was covered in regurgitated blood. unnaturally blackened blood…

“Are you.. okay, by the way? Other than the whole..” Soda gestures vaguely at the gruesome crime scene. “Are you hurt?”

The question has Emizel pausing to consider. He straightens his back and stretches his arms, as if trying to detect any pain from any possible injury. Nothing seemed to be bothering him though, and after a second, he decides to shrug.

“Nah, I'm all good.”

“Oh.. That's good, I uh…” Soda found himself looking over Emizel aswell, searching for any wounds the monster boy might be simply disregarding, as he often does.

There was a fairly gnarly gash on his shin..

“Hey uh, I was actually gonna go hang out by the ledge down that way. Yknow, the one with the funny intersection.” Soda says, gesturing off towards where he intended to go. “Wanna come with?”

Emizel looks back that way, before turning back to Soda with a big smile on his face. 

“Oh hell yeah I do! I love the funny intersection!” he starts to walk down the alley, about to step over the body of the broken skull, when Soda speaks up.

“Uh, hey, shouldn't we uh.. Do something about the.. uh..” He waves a hand over towards the bodies, trying not to look directly at them. 

Emizel spares the corpses an inconvenienced glance, and a sigh, but ultimately shrugs them off. “Ehhh I'll just dump 'em in a dumpster again.. That's what I've been doing anyway.”

“And you're not worried about, like, anyone finding them?”

Soda anxiously watches on as Emizel paces around the body with the torn-out throat, licking the blood from his own mouth. Was his tongue always that long and pointed? That's neat, and normally Soda would point it out, but he was a bit.. preoccupied right now 

“Nahh not really. I haven't had anyone bother me at least.. Anyone been bothering you?” Emizels eyes finally flick back over to Soda. 

“Nah, I'd say things are actually more lax than usual. Anything that would end up being trouble’s been pretty much crushe- er, killed- destr- stamped out, by uh, by you.” Sods was cringing with every attempt to find a word that didn’t make his stomach turn, but Emizel didn’t seem to notice or mind.

Emizels eyes were currently a bit more focused on the body laying before him. He had that weird look on his face again… 

“Uhh, yeah, yeah that's good that uh, no troubles coming back to you guys…”

There’s a moment of quiet between the two as Emizel stares at this corpse, and Soda was about to open his mouth to fill the silence, but Emizel speaks up instead.

“Hey uh, why don’t you go ahead of me? I’ll uh, I'll meet you at the place.” He suggests, pointing vaguely off down the alley, but not removing his eyes from the kill. 

Soda certainly hesitates, his eyes narrowing before he even forms a thought. He opens his mouth to object, but then his eyes flicker back towards the body.

“Are you gonna eat this one too?”

The question leaves Sodas mouth as soon as it comes to mind.

Emizel pauses, and considers, before giving a shrug. “I don't see why not. Perfectly good blood.” He reaches down to grab his kill by the shirt, the one with the split open head. As the corpse rises from the concrete, gray matter drips and sloughs from the crack in its skull. Once again, Soda felt the need to look away, and yet his stupid eyes remained fixated on the horrendous sight. Emizel looks over the spilling brain of his meal, licking his lips curiously. “Dude, what do you think would happen if I ate his brain?” Emizel asks, looking back over to Soda with a wild, bloodied smile. Something about that look made Soda shiver, but.. Not really in a bad way… “Uh, I.. Dunno…. Eating a persons brain is how you get like, mad cow disease right? But you might also be immune to disease.. Are you immune to disease?” “Uhhh, I don't know yet actually. I'm still figuring out how much of this is like video games,” Emizel says, rubbing the back of his head as he idly sways the body of his kill around, watching the blood and gore drip and drop from its broken head. “Eh, I'll chance it later.” Without another word or thought, Emizel goes to sink his teeth into the shoulder of his kill, a pleased growl radiating from him as the blood gushes around the bite. More fresh blood upon less fresh blood upon old blood upon older blood. Just so much fucking blood. Soda thought he was used to seeing blood, but this… this was just egregious. Was he really starting to get used to this? It’s just blood after all, and it’s not from his comrades, so it's… fine… He finally manages to pull his eyes away from the gruesome sight of Emizel feeding, but his eyes instead wander down to the blood on his own shirt. Emizels blood was strange, darker than usual, and carrying a different scent. Something about the smell of his blood was more savory, more appealing than the standard metallic miasm. His shirt was smothered in it, his jacket was coated in it, and his opened bottle of Faygo was also splattered with the deep red ichor. Ink swirls within the bottle of red fizzy, spreading out into all sorts of odd patterns. It was a lot of blood. He was certain a lot of it came from however many people Emizels been feeding on. With how much hes been terrorizing the Fangs in just the last few days, and with how nonchalantly he feasts on his kills, who knows how much blood hes actually ingested… Soda swirls the bottle, watching the blood inside thin out into strands, dancing within the bubbly soda as they gradually dissipate, fully assimilating into the drink. A bad idea chews at the back of his head… The sound of ripping flesh once again knocks at Sodas head. He doesn’t look up this time, but he knew Emizel was just playing with his food again..  Did blood taste good to a vampire? Did some blood taste better than others? What did Sodas blood taste like? What did Emizels blood taste like? There's a visceral snap of something among the chewing and ripping, very clearly a bone or a joint snapping out of place. It made Soda shiver a little. When did his heart start pounding? There's an animal standing only 8 feet away from him, feeding on its kill. That animal is a person, and so is its kill. He wanted to know what vampire blood tasted like, but he already knew what human blood tasted like. It hung so densely in the air, he could feel it forming a vile film over his tongue. The blood of a person just like him. Eaten by an animal that eats people.  All this stress was no good. This bile rising to his throat was no good. This creeping anxiety was no good. He's friends with an animal that eats people. Would it eat him? This weird feeling was no good. Maybe it will never eat him. But it needs to eat people. This worry was no good. He needed to wash this awful taste from his mouth, replace it with something sweeter. He needed to keep his head clear enough to be there for Emizel when he needed to be. He needed to hold a light to these shadows. And he needed to stay positive, and drink soda. He takes a swig of the open Faygo bottle.

[yellowocaballero]

Reading 'Solo Leveling' (a webtoon/webnovel about a guy who uses a game-like interface to level up and fight monsters and become ridiculously OP and the coolest and hottest guy in the whole wide world) really proves something to me that I've thought about.

The goal of a story is to achieve what it wants to achieve. Different genres have different certain marks the story should achieve. If it doesn't hit those marks, it's not a good example of the genre. In a lot of was it's not even a good story - it doesn't entertain the audience in the way that they want to be entertained. A romance novel isn't a bad story because it doesn't feature great action scenes, but neither is it a bad story because it doesn't delve deep into the sociopolitical implications of neocolonialism. Does it make the reader feel happy? Is it cathartic? Is there a happy ending? Then it's a good romance story - even if you think stories shouldn't need happy endings.

The 'satisfaction' of stories like Solo Leveling is the fact that is very entertaining to watch a guy be super powerful and mow down bad guys and have everybody around him go "WHOAH that's a cool guy". Maybe it's cool because you're projecting, or maybe you like great action scenes, or because you like 'underdog gets powerful' stories. It's a power fantasy. That is the goal of Solo Leveling, and so long as I'm going "WHOAH COOL", then it's a good story. And Solo Leveling is the example of the power fantasy video game dungeon OP protag. It does those elements, it executes them competently, it's a good story.

This is the third of these types of stories I've read more than 5 chapters of. The first was Omniscent Reader's Viewpoint. And baby. This is no ORV.

ORV a big reaction to Solo Levelling in a lot of ways, since Solo Levelling was very genre defining and influential, and it's hard to write these OP stories without having a relationship to Solo Leveling. It's like the most popular webtoon out there. The OP hero, the gaming interface and rules, the gods fucking you up, power fantasy - they're all checked off by ORV. It doesn't subvert them much. You watch kdj pull one over on a shmuck and you're like HEY YA BABY and you watch him utterly decimate some schmuck and you're like WHOAH COOL. You like ORV, basically, for the same reasons you like Solo Leveling. They're the same genre and in a lot of ways the same story.

But ORV has driven me nuts and after a while Solo Leveling has gotten boring. Because ORV has a fantastic supporting cast that puts the MC's OPness in relative perspective. Because there's cool action scenes with different teams, of different dynamics, giving freshness to each chapter. Because you get to see kdj slowly implement some nuts gambit of the course of the entire arc and when we finally hit the end point where it all comes together it's FUCK YEAH. I'm leaving out the actual depth here. But ORV and Solo Leveling do the same thing, except ORV has a great deal of other story elements that build into the main 'point' and escalate the satisfaction, joy, and intensity of those points. You don't read these OP hero novels for the supporting cast. You read it to watch a dude be cool. But ORV's supporting cast - and, like, the fact that they're actual characters, even the women - gives us a lot of other smaller 'hey yeah!' moments, gives it buildup, makes the OP moments meaningful, and gives a grand climax and huge satisfaction when kdj does what the SL guy did by himself. And the supporting cast is only one example of this. A story is a good story if it accomplishes its point, but a story like SL will never really deliver its promises nearly as well as ORV could. Not because ORV is deep and has """themes""" or fucked up shit like that. The 'WHOAH COOL's are just better. Because ORV knows why stories are good and what makes a good story.

Anyway I'm fucking begging you I have tears in my eyes this is why your fic needs more than the hot ship of the day I promise it won't detract from the ship it will make the ship BETTER but you have to get WHY you like these homosexuals so much and it's NOT just because they're CUTE sometimes there's OTHER REASONS THAT ARE IMPORTANT LIKE THE WOMAN YOU'VE BOOTED AND -

[petite-phthora]

This yours?

[DP x DC fic]

[Love at first... murder? - part 12]

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Part 1

Ao3

---

Somewhere else, in a seemingly abandoned building on the outskirts of the city, a figure shrouded in darkness and wearing a dark cloak plots.

In front of them is a whiteboard. It’s covered in pictures, sticky notes, and illegible texts. Some of the notes thrown about that are legible are ‘fight…’, ‘draw blood.’, and ‘DEATH!!!’.

There’s a crude stick figure drawn in the corner of the board, it’s impaled. Other small doodles can also be found all around the board.

Most of the information and pictures are connected by red strings, like you see in movies.

In the middle is a picture of 2 people sitting on a motorcycle, the arms of the person sitting in the back are around the waist of the person sitting in the front. The picture has some arrows pointing towards it and the people in the picture are very obviously circled.

Though the face of the person driving the motorcycle is obscured by their helmet, the other person seems to be heavily blushing and grinning broadly.

“Yes… yes! That’s it! I know what to do…” They seem to be speaking to themselves.

Quickly, the person scribbles down a barely legible ‘sacrifice!!‘.

They start cackling.

“Mwuahaha!”

It’s an evil laugh they’ve been working on for quite a while now, and they’re pretty proud of it.

However, the effect is slightly ruined when a fly enters their mouth, cutting off their cackling with choking as they gasp for air, grasping at their throat.

A few good thumps against their chest, with some coughing out their lungs, helps them dislodge the fly from their throat and they spit it out on the ground. They take a few deep breaths before straightening up again.

“Curse you” the person exclaims, angrily waving their fist at the fly as it flies away.

---

Bruce’s face gives off nothing as he stares at the streets down below. He’s dressed as Batman, crouched at the edge of a building with Damian by his side as Robin. Spoiler, Black Bat, Nightwing, and Red Robin are further back on the rooftop.

They watch in silence as another group of the Joker’s goons passes by. They’ve been all over the city, wandering around, not doing anything obviously illegal.

They don’t stay in one place and they don’t seem to have much of a purpose. No attacks… No stealing… No smuggling or transport of goods… No, instead they’re inspecting every single inch of the city.

They don’t seem to have any weapons on them. All they’re carrying on them are some flashlights. While most don’t give anything away with their body language or expressions, some seem to give off a bit of anxious energy.

Spoiler claimed she even saw some of them climb down into the sewers earlier and then climbing out again sometime later somewhere else, but this time ‘dejected and stinky’.

One thing seems clear to the Bats.

They’re searching for something… or someone.

“This basically confirms that not even the Joker’s henchmen know where he is. He’s missing.”

“I’m not sure if this is a good thing or a bad thing”

“Good… thing?”

“It’s… something. That’s for sure.”

“We don’t know if he’s really missing. For all we know it could be a trap. What if the Joker is hiding, pretending to be missing to have us bring our guard down? Besides, how could he be missing? He’s the Joker. No one’s just gonna kidnap him”

“For all we know he could be lying dead in a ditch somewhere”

“I highly doubt that”

“Everyone, focus” Bruce speaks up, having them draw their attention to him.

“It’s unclear whether the Joker is simply hiding away or missing. Instead of focusing on the why, we need to focus on the where. Missing or not, we need to find him and get him back to Arkham. Oracle, have you managed to find out anything from the footage yet?”

“Nope, still nothing. All the files from the moment he enters Crime Alley are wiped and any attempt at recovering them only brings back corrupted files.”

 “We need Red Hood. Where is he?” Bruce asks.

“He still has his phone on silent and he has removed the trackers and cams. We haven’t placed any new ones on him yet”

“Let’s visit him on his turf then. And keep an eye out for anything suspicious in the meantime. Oracle, try recovering the missing files. If that doesn’t work, go back to the breakout footage. Perhaps he left some kind of clues about his plans or whereabouts behind there.” Bruce states.

“Roger that.”

---

Red Hood has his arms by his sides as he gazes down upon the street below from the rooftop of a random apartment building in Crime Alley.

He’s lucky to have avoided the Bats so far. But he doubts his luck will last for long.

Red Hood stiffens as he suddenly feels something clamp down on his arm. As a reflex, his other hand has already drawn his gun.

He slowly raises the arm he felt something clamp down on and looks at it, only to make eye contact with a girl with black hair and blue eyes who has sunk her teeth into his arm and is now hanging off of it.

The teeth are sharp, as the girl seems to have some small fangs. They’ve gone through his jacket and sunken into his skin.

It doesn’t really hurt all that badly though, probably hasn’t even drawn much blood, and that’s one of the only reasons Jason hasn’t flung the kid off of him yet. Another reason is the fact that it’s a kid.

They both stare at each other for several seconds.

As Jason takes her appearance in, he notices that she seems rather familiar. In fact, she looks like a more feminine version of Danny, or if Danny had a twin.

The person hanging off of his arm looks younger than Danny though, probably a teenager around 13 or 14, if he had to make a guess.

Slowly, he puts his gun away and takes out his phone with his other hand, watching the random girl’s eyes follow his movements. He raises it level with her face and snaps a picture, quickly sending it to Danny and ignoring the girl’s curious gaze while she’s still hanging onto his arm by her fucking teeth.

---

Meanwhile, Danny checks his phone to see Red Hood sent him a message. He opens it and is greeted by a picture of Ellie in human form biting down on Red Hood’s arm with the caption ‘this yours???’

---

Taglist:

@i-always-say-yea   @uraniumwizard    @why-must-i-be-like-this   @griffinthing

[totheidiot]

"i am gay" "i am straight" okay??? i'll bring the rain??? i'll bring the wind??? i'm the mighty hurricane???

[privilegedjester]

Oh my god so I'm working on an isat fic and I was about to describe something using color because that's what I do!! I love describing colors!! and then I Remembered with like the worst clarity and had to just stop writing for a minute

[mossy-paws]

Lightblox (PHIGHTING!)

“And I’m floating in a most peculiar way, And the stars look very different today.”

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