#Anyway - one of these days I will learn how to make a proper comic but for now this is what you get.

[chiscribbs]

The process of giving up...

Donnie held fast to the hope that his brothers were still alive for as long as he could, painstakingly sifting through every possible solution that his genius mind could come up with even as the rest of his family was slowly starting to accept Leo & Mikey's absence as a permanent thing. He spent countless hours reviewing the footage, scouring every remote corner of the internet for answers, chasing down every lead only to be met by dead-end after frustrating dead-end. He kept searching until his brain had run dry of ideas and his body was too sleep deprived to properly function anymore, leaving him staring at a blank search bar as the hours passed him by. In truth, Donnie never once lost confidence in his reasoning; what he saw when the portal collapsed was, in his mind, irrefutable proof that his brothers were still out there - somewhere. And if he could just find them, then he knew there was a chance they could yet be saved. ...But it was that elusive "if" that dangled precariously over his head like Damocles' sword; wire wearing thinner every day,...every hour,...every second...

More info about Disconnected AU here.

[jujutsukgojo]

My gifts to you

feitan portor x reader

Summary: You knew him for years for only moments at a time. Yet, you take it upon yourself to love and mourn him anyway, even when the world won't. tw: light smut, slight yandere feitan, spoilers, mentions of murder, light angst, fluff(?), injuries, cheating, time skips an: didn't mean for it to be this long. Feitan is a bit tricky for me but oh well :) kind of inspired by criminal minds 'no way out'. 10.8k

“If you tie it like this, it should stay, okay?” You tap the boy’s foot. Although he is smaller than you in height, his feet are bigger. It’s quite comical but you don’t dare laugh. In this blasted city, you’d be bound to die for such a thing. Especially if you laugh at someone with crazy hair and carries a baseball bat wrapped in barbed wire.  

  He says something in a foreign language that you can’t understand. If you are correct, it may be inverted Japanese. In the books that one kid collects, there is a country, Japan, where the common language originates. Since the common language isn’t his mother tongue, it makes you wonder where he’s from and why he’s here. 

  The boy stands up to his full, but short, height. You sit on random rubble and look up at him, waiting for what he’ll do next. Will he call over Phinks or even bring Uvogin? He hangs out with Phinks mainly but who knows these days. 

   Instead of swinging the bat at you or calling over his friends, he pats your head awkwardly. You don’t make any sudden movements or noises. The boy leaves right after. A sigh escapes your lips after he leaves you behind.  

   What's his name again? Feitain? 

__________

  In your hut, you slightly stir the food that sizzles in the pan you found. It’s rare to come across tomatoes and eggs but you managed this time. The smell is mouth watering. You hope no one else can smell it. 

As much as you want to live elsewhere, this is what you settle for at the moment. In another world, you’d be out of this city and somewhere clean and safe. Like the church or something. No, even better than the church. You’ve heard of the outside where there are bright flashing lights and diamonds and pearls on people’s necks. There are flowers of all colors out there. Different shapes, smells, and meanings, they’re all beautiful. You hear that food isn’t scavenged but bought or given to people without a price.  

   People said they’ve seen the safety of children your age that play without a care. There are parents for the lost kids and doctors for the injured. Clean clothes and showers on the regular. You can even see the sun clearly and the big, round moon that doesn't bring out the wolves in men. 

There are pastors and priests that don’t turn people away, either. Hell, you have even wondered if there were schools there that allow everyone to get in. You're sure that you are reading and doing math wrong. How embarrassing.  

Finally done, you place the food on a plastic plate you found. You made sure to wipe the grime off the plate and rinsed it with clean water before using it. Even though you can just eat out of the pan, you want to seem sophisticated like the outside. They don't eat out of pans or use dirty plates. 

  The food steams and is welcoming. Without a lot of utensils, you pick at it with your hands. It burns at first but you’re too hungry. The flavor bursts in your mouth. Even without the proper seasonings, it’s still heaven. You haven’t eaten in a while so you’ll take what you can get.  

   Suddenly, the boy, Feitan, enters your hut. You gasp and protectively cover your food. He brings his foot out. His shoe, which he stole, is untied again. You swallow the substance and point out, “I taught you how to tie them.” 

“Tie.” 

“I taught you.” You set your plate down.  

“Tie.” You roll your eyes and pat your thighs. He walks over to you and places his dirt caked shoe on your lap. Slowly, you tie them.  

“There, see? Come on now, you need to learn. A little boy can’t grow without tying his shoes.” 

“I’m not little boy.” You give a breathy chuckle. “Of course you are, honey.” 

  He leans in close to your face. “I’m older than you.”  

...He does hang out with Phinks, who is a couple years older than you. In fact, it is rare to see them apart. Is it possible that it’s true? Is Phinks the type to be friends with someone who is younger?

 Curious, you ask, “Then why are you so short?” His eyes widened in shock. Then, strangely, he laughs while patting your head harshly. Studying his face revealed what looks like the beginning of a sinister smile.

  He looks at your plate and sits down in front of you. You’re both on the dirt floor. 

 “Give me.” You scoff and snap at him. “No! Find your own!” 

The little beast decided that the two of you should ‘share’. He smacks on his food, making you want to punch him repeatedly. He’s gaunt and bony, but not really bad like last time. His face has a tiny bit of roundness to it. 

  “Stop staring.” He inhales a tomato. “You look better than last time.”

“Better?” He cocks his head to the side. The remnants of the tomato smeared a little on his cheek.

“Yeah, healthier.” He stares at you for a second. “Thanks.” His accent is thick, and you still can’t place it. Nevertheless, you understand. Afterwards, much to your surprise, he sleeps in your hut now that his belly is full. Satisfied and strangely not afraid, you follow suit. It’s nice to have a friend, however strange.

You are barely awake, sleep still heavy in your eyes, when you see him pop up. Drool is crusted on his cheek, and he rubs his eyes. He yawns and then spots you next to him. Feitan eyes the entry of the hut then back at you. He puts the only cover you have on you then pets your head. 

  Before he leaves, he places his bat in your hand. Feitan secures the entry as he exits the hut. 

_____________

  It’s been years since you and Feitan have talked. You've gotten familiar with him but when Sarasa had died in such a disrespectful and gruesome way, he withdrew. In the meantime, you waited for him and studied a power you discovered. No matter the eyes that were always on you, you didn’t care about the mysterious and hidden audience. 

  You don’t know what it’s called but it started when you witnessed some kid about to get her ass handed to her by some thugs. The man had moved a pair of scissors without using his hands. They aimed right towards her and in a moment of instinct, you rushed to push her out of the way. Unfortunately, the scissors stabbed you in the shoulder.  

  It was then did you feel the rush of a force so strong, that it knocked everyone away from you. A faint white light that glowed from your skin that only your eyes could see. As you looked around in shock, you saw that same glow coming from that man and his friends. 

  You were gasping when you fell to your knees. “I-I’m sorry. I can’t be here!” The girl your age ran for her life and left you behind. In a moment of fear, you call out to her to help you. You were so afraid; you couldn't tell if the screams were hers or yours. Given the situation, you were too rattled, terrified and hurt, to focus.

The men shook for a second then got up to face you. The blood from your shoulder wasn’t stopping its flow. Crimson red stained your clothes and the ground. It was all so strange, such an unusual feeling of adrenaline that you couldn’t help but memorize. Almost as if the world had finally made sense. Every single thing became so much clearer to your dismay.  

  The men came towards you with malicious intent. While putting pressure on your injury, you managed to kick one of their legs, causing them to buckle and hurt his knee. He screamed in agony. 

  “G-get away!” You try to stand. The press of your hand on the wound isn’t helping. Is it supposed to bleed this much? It hit your shoulder, but did it nick something?  

  You need to stop it, to heal and get away from them. In this city, people like you are in danger from men like them. If you don’t get away, you’ll end up like Sarasa. She was never really close to you. She was a nice girl who always looked for video tapes, so you'd help her from time to time. Yet, her death scarred everyone since it was so close to home. And now, you no doubt are facing the exact same situation. Wrong place, wrong time.  

   Same fate.  

You fell back on the ground and looked at the sky. It has always been so dirty, just like the city due to pollution. Still so young, you know you won’t see what it really looks like. In the corner of your eye, you spot something green. A small clover with four leaves. 

  One time, an old man told a story of how four-leaf clovers are a sign of good luck. By the intense feeling and pressure of your eyes, you know it’s not true. Pain in all ways makes tears fall from your eyes. Lips wobbling at how unfair everything is and that you will never see the sun. The outside must really be heaven, and for someone so young who hasn’t committed a sin, you are wondering if you can go.

  Suddenly, flowers that you never knew blossomed around you. The soft petals touched your filthy skin and got rid of the aches. The blood on your shoulder faded from view as well as the pain. A soft and beautiful hum whispered in your ear. You truly believed it to be in your head, an imagination of paradise as you leave. Heaven, they call it. You must be close to the outside world then. 

  This must be it, you thought. There was no pain from a strike or fear. Just closed eyes and peace. Something you know you couldn’t get in the atrocious city.  

It ends. You were shocked as the beautiful flowers disappeared. Heaven, would you reject someone? 

  The men didn’t hurt you. The one whose knee was broken was able to move his leg. His red hair kind of glowed in the sun, and brown eyes were wide. He muttered a soft ‘thank you’ and walked away without a limp. His friends followed.  

   After that, you had realized that your ability wasn’t anything like scissors or something scary. It was to heal and be healed.

Although after immediately learning this, you didn't go out of your way to find the source of the screams in the direction the people went. First was the girl, then the group of men. After what you went through, it didn't seem like a good idea. 

 Feitan, somehow, got wind of it. Now in his later teen years you both estimate, he sits still and points to his arm. There’s a gnarly gash oozing blood. You wonder how he’s not feeling this and if he is, how he isn’t even fazed.  

  You gently pick up his arm and inspect it. He's thin but has clear definition in his arms. You haven’t seen him in so long that you are surprised by his growth. Hell, he’s taller now. Still short, but at least he grew.  

  In a jar, you take a premade petal. This is a way for you to save energy and reach people when you physically can’t tend to. Acting as a pill, you make sure that people can get infections out. For some reason, illnesses and infections are particularly tricky and tiring for you.  

  “Eat this, Feitan.” He frowns. “No.” You sigh. “It’s infected. You need to eat this so I can heal it right.” 

  “It’s not.”   

Rolling your eyes you bring his wound to his face. “This, this is infected. It's literally oozing pus.” How long did this go on? Was he really that hesitant to just come and see you?

  He growls and takes the delicate petal and places it in his mouth. “Stop pouting.”  

“Not pouting. It’s nasty.” He’s not wrong. It has a bitter taste and when chewed, a slimy texture. The color of the disintegrating petal leaves a stain in the mouth as well. If not for the benefits, no one would even bother. They'd be just as offended as Feitan.  

  The pus stops and clears up. “Alright, this’ll leave a scar.”  

You blow on your hand so that flowing blossoms surround him. Beautiful shades of pink and white go through his hair. With a gentle caress, you see the flurries touch his wound. It starts to encourage his own healing.  

  As much as you want to do the full thing, you’re tired. All day you’ve been working and collecting payments. Not to mention facing the disappointment of them being useless. You want to kick yourself for not getting paid first. But the sight of those grateful people and healed kids softens your heart.  

  Soon, it stops once the injury becomes manageable. You’re about to wrap it when a hand stops you. “What’s this?”  

  “Feitan, I'm tired. You caught me at a bad time.” You try to move your hand but he stops you. He's a lot stronger than you remember. “Heal.” 

His fluency isn’t the greatest still.  

“I’m tired! Just let it heal the rest of the way.” No matter how much you try to yank your hand away, his grip is too strong. “Please, Feitan...”  

  Surprisingly, he lets go and from what you can see, the subtle white glow appears and heals him the rest of the way, leaving small flames. “Feitan...what was that?” 

  He rolls his eyes and plops down on a chair. He says nothing and just relaxes, or at least that’s what he’s trying to make it seem like. It has been a while since you’ve seen him, but that doesn’t make you blind to his behaviors…sometimes. 

   “As a transmuter, I can heal a little by using enhancer,” He looks at you suspiciously. “You know nothing about nen?”

“Nen?” You put the gauze and other items in a black bag. It was found in the safe zone by the church. Apparently, it belonged to a doctor from the outside. The bag had all kinds of necessities. Gauze, medicine, some syringes, disinfectant, a thermometer, all kinds of stuff that you’ve had to use sparingly. What you save in the bag, you make up for with your ability. 

  He smacks his lips and calls you a ‘dumb brat’. “You use nen but don’t know it?”

Sighing, you ask, “What is nen, Feitan?” 

“What you do. Use your aura and stuff.” His arms are crossed, and he looks at you expectantly. You gather that he likes knowing things you don’t. It’s like a weak power trip. 

  But it is nice to finally have a name and explanation for it. And that’s what he did this time. Visiting you for a moment just to pick with you while teaching you something you should have known. 

“Wait, if you could do that, why’d you come here?” He just shrugs.

------

When you see him again, he brings his friends along. You immediately recognize some of them. Phinks, who ran with Feitan, the boy who always collected books, and Uvogin, the giant who was always claiming territory and beating people up. 

  Feitan should be twenty now. It’s hard to tell since he looks youthful. He points to his friend, the boy with the books, and orders, “Heal.”

“You can do it, Feitan, remember?” You were in the middle of cleaning when he and the rest of his posse pop up. They look flustered and a little worse for wear. 

  “Heal.” He always does crap like this. You roll your eyes at first. The body they carry tugs on your strings a bit. 

“Fine. Put him on the table.” Thankfully, it’s cleaned, and a new wrapping has been placed on it. Gently, the man is put on it. You spot the cross tattoo on his forehead. Ah, that’s where Feitan has been. Lately, there’s been whispers of the Phantom Troupe. Merciless killers and thieves from Meteor City that have been gaining respect over the years. Your opinion of them isn’t the greatest but it also isn’t the worst. You appreciate them for standing up for Meteor City, but their methods are questionable.

   You sigh and begin to undress the boy with the cross. “Is that necessary?” 

You continue to pull off his clothes, not bothering to answer the question the girl asked. If she can’t understand why you need to remove his clothes, then that’s on her. She scoffs after another female voice answers her question. 

  You finally see his wound. Feitan can heal himself to a degree, but you don’t think this guy can. The gash is deep and sewed with makeshift stitches. There’s no nen involved, surprisingly. Given that Feitan is an avid user, you thought his friends would be keen on it too. 

“He’s a specialist. Enhancer techniques are harder for him.” Phinks spoke. He must've understood your confusion. 

“And the stitches?” You gently investigate the area. It’s an angry red around it and, like you suspected, infected. It wasn’t properly taken care of. You begin to remove the stitches. You wonder what the thread is made of and how long this has been going on. 

“He,” Phinks points to Uvogin. “And him,” He then points to another large man with long ears. “Thought they could do it. Normally, Machi heals us but they were away from her. Her stitches would have helped him but not any infections.”

  “Ah, well this requires more than I thought.” You touch the ground and out comes a beautiful swirl of flowers. Underneath the moving petals is a blooming sunflower. It picks the guy up so he rests on it. The bed of the flower glows softly and becomes warm. His once wincing face is now peaceful. His injury is slowly closing and the red is beginning to turn pink. 

“The downside of this is that it takes a while. It’ll be all healed up in about an hour or so.”

“ An hour?” Uvogin, who has abandoned his afro and traded it for long standing hair. “Feitan, I thought you said she was good? We could’ve gone to that one guy and got it done right then and there.”

“She’s the best. Wait.” His hands are in his pockets and he moves. Feitan looks around and touches whatever he pleases. You try not to focus on his compliment. You wonder if the reason he moved from your line of sight is because he got embarrassed. If so, you won’t tease him. The Troupe are killers, afterall. 

   You start to feel the weight of your nen. This technique requires more effort than the others. Feitan explained it to you but you never did get the hang of it. You just know what to do instinctively. You were proud that you could do any of this without a teacher.

 What you’re sure of is that this man, whatever his name is, is giving you a crap ton of money after this or there’ll be hell to pay. 

   You feel something tickling the side of your face. The wrapper is red and unopened. You take the energy bard gratefully. “Thank you, Feitan.”

A couple of the Troupe members complain about the time. Machi or Mochi or whatever, the pink haired one, especially complains and criticizes for some reason. You have never seen this person before in your life yet here she is pouting. 

  “You okay?” You see the blond boy with big blue eyes study you closely. He moves closer to your face. A smile never leaves his face. Before you can answer, Feitan, who hasn’t left your side since you ate the bar, answers for you. 

“She’s fine. I’m watching her.”

You hear a couple of snickers. Feitan glares daggers at the offenders. You take a deep breath and ignore the friends who decided to crowd inside your hut. The boy with the forehead tattoo lies peacefully. Although you are running out of steam, his wound is healing nicely. One of the women, you believe it’s Pakunoda, comes to you and bends down. 

“Can I get you anything?” You discover that your throat is absolutely parched. “Some water, please.”

  If you remember correctly, the last you saw of her was when her head was shaved and some outsider kid did it. She had always kept it short. And now, it’s on her shoulders and very sleek. Over the years she’s drastically changed.

  You drink the water, which to your surprise, is clean. “Hey, how did this happen anyway?”

  “Don’t ask questions.” Feitan quickly shuts you down. Before you can ask anything more, you notice the entire group of friends are quiet. 

  “It’s nothing for you to worry about, okay?” You nod at the blonde boy with blue eyes and a permanent smile. Completing the hour, the tattoo guy is up. He’s immediately impressed. “My name’s Chrollo Lucilfer. Yours?” He puts out his hand for you to shake. 

  “Yeah, the book collector-theater nerd-kid, right? My name’s-” Before you can even answer, Feitan does it for you. 

  He gives your name and how your Nen works. He’s quick with it, too. You side eye Feitan for a second. “Thanks, Feitan. I, uh, really needed a spokesperson.”

“Ah, I guess it can’t be helped then, Feitan?” There’s tension in the air. It’s thick and heavy. By the looks of it, neither one is backing down. “Um, it’s not a big deal that he answered for me, you do know that, right?”

  Seconds pass through this. You look around for anyone to intervene with this. Whatever the hell is going on, it’s deep. “Since Fei explained it, why not have her join?”

“Positions are filled.” Chrollo still stares directly into Feitan’s eyes. Phinks nervously chuckles, once again trying to defuse the situation. “Fei, come on. No fighting. Right boss?”

  Suddenly, it’s lifted. Chrollo has what looks like a practiced smile on his face. “That’s true. That’s a rule.”

  Chrollo takes a glance at you. “She obviously means a lot to you. Clearly, she’s an asset, too.”

  “I’m right here, jackass.” Feitan smacks you on the head. “I’ll handle her.” 

  The others sigh in relief. Momentarily, you’re a little offended. “It was nice meeting you.”

They exit your hut right after, leaving Feitan behind. “So. those were your friends, huh?”

“Watch tongue.” You smack your lips and roll your eyes. There is blood on the floor and on the table. The furniture is in disarray due to all of his friends having no home training.  “I haven’t seen you in forever and this is how you greet me?”

 He frowns. “I say hello all the time.” You turn to him. “When? I didn’t see you.”

Feitan huffs and kicks the ground lightly. You get up to move the furniture back to place. Your movements are slow and everything seems so much heavier. Everything is swirling right before your eyes. Your head hurts and yet feels so light. Before you meet the ground, Feitan takes you to the couch and lays you down. 

  “I haven’t seen you in so long, little boy���” Those were the last words you say before you drift to sleep. 

Hours later, you wake up at the sound of birds. There is a beautiful blue blanket on you with golden yellow designs. It’s thick and so warm you could stay forever. You’ve never owned anything like this. 

  Slowly you get up and search for Feitan. He’s nowhere to be found much to your dismay. Last night’s conversation still stays with you. He insisted that he says hello all the time. That he sees you regularly, yet, you haven’t seen him at all. 

  The blanket, the wind chime, the medical supplies, the various decorations with stones, paint and if you weren’t smart, you’d say gold. Could Feitan have been the one to give you gifts? Silently watching over you and in his own way, saying hello? You have felt like you were being watched for years. 

____________

  “Do you understand why I didn’t welcome you?”

“No, and I never will. Now please, leave me alone.” You feel convicted by turning a man of God away, but can he truly be one when he left a child to suffer? You were in the cold, wind, and rain, alone in one of the worst parts of the city. All you had was Feitan, and he was there once in a blue moon. After the rejection from the church, you took it upon yourself to care for others as no one had ever cared for you. Although hurt and afraid, you chose not to spread that toxicity. You decided that no matter the size of change, it still works. 

 However, you will not fall prey to the same people. For instance, that girl you saved and this priest. How can he expect your services with no repentance or atonement? You forgive, but like hell will you forget. 

Damn…you were so sure you were over the pain of your past. That the change you made within yourself and how you treat people so no one else suffers like you, would stick. Alas, all it takes is one person to bring it down. You want to kick yourself because of the regression. Then again, the hostility isn’t your fault.

You walk into the hallway with small statues, stone walls, and large windows. The sun shines brightly through them, making the church seem prettier than it is.

“Please-”

“She said no.” Feitan stands with his hands in his pockets, the sun shining on his pale skin. It has been a few months since the incident with Chrollo. You haven’t seen any of them but have felt eyes on you, which you have deduced was Feitan. However, you learned the truth of the blanket. The name stitched on it belonged to an old clan, the Kurta, that was mutilated, tortured, and murdered by the Phantom Troupe. It disgusts you. The blanket is comfortable but still. 

Feitan, the boy who you taught to tie his shoes, gave you a trophy of his crime. You wanted to burn it, or bury it in the memory of the Kurta, yet you couldn’t. It’s a gift from the one consistent person in your life. Your protector and giver. So, you folded it and put it in a box. 

   Now, here he is like he’s done nothing wrong. Defending you and putting the man that’s been with the city for ages in his place. You’re shocked at his behavior. 

  “Feitan, surely you must understand!” 

“Shut up.” Father Rizole took a step back in surprise. Feitan was one of his regulars, if you remember correctly. This must be a surprise for the aging priest. 

You hum at the scene. Even though the rumors of what the Troupe has done bothers you, it doesn’t mean you aren’t opposed to the benefits. The priest backs up and sighs. 

“If you ever reconsider, please, let me know. We could use your help.”

“I could’ve used it too.” You end the conversation there and leave. Feitan soon follows you. He’s silent on his feet and very fast. Feitan was behind you but his quick feet caught up in less than a second. Now, he walks right at your side. 

“So, you just decide when you want to see me?” 

Feitan shrugs. “I don’t know.” 

Sighing, you turn to him and ask, “What do you need this time?” The lower half of his face is hiding under a plain cowl now. His eyes show all of the emotion needed. “I just hang out.”

  The sun is too hot for this nonsense. Sweat trickles down your face and back, becoming sticky. “So that’s why you’re here, right? I’m shocked.”

Before he can say your name, you continue. “Oh! And let's not forget the little massacre that took place, huh? Yeah, being used to heal your friend from that was really fun.”

“I didn’t.”

 You roll your eyes. “No, just that one guy. That’s who to you, again?”

“Boss.” You scoff at his short answer. Then, you think about the possibility. “Your boss? Then…doing that to the Kurta, wasn’t your idea, was it?”

“No, not mine.” His hands remain in his pockets. His hair blows in the wind slightly. You realize he hasn’t gotten a haircut in a while. 

“If you could, you know, go back in time…would you still do it?”

“Yes.” No hesitation, no thought put into the answer. Just a plain as day answer and a tone that leaves no room for an explanation. 

“So whatever he wants he just gets? As long as it aligns with your twisted mind, right?”

  His eyes grow darker. “I save you.”

You point to the church. “No, no you didn’t. That guy wasn’t going to do anything to me. I had it handled.”

Shaking your head, you go to leave until a hand wraps around your wrist. “Boss takes nen. I didn’t let him.”

  Was that what that was? That tension that day that was suffocating? Remembering that day, you start to form pieces. “Would he hurt you if you didn’t go along with his schemes?”

“No.” 

Well there goes that idea. “Nevermind.”

You try to yank your wrist from his grip, but it’s iron tight. “Let me go!”

“I protect you, always. Bad people here, everywhere. I get dirty for you.” His face is indifferent but his words give it away. The plea for you to understand and realize, dare you say, his devotion to his friends. Does this include you?

Is that what it is? What friendship, this connection is? You are aware of the deeds the Troupe do. You understand why they thought it would be a good idea (somewhat anyway). 

“Thank you, then.” He lets go of your wrist which was grabbed painfully tight. He trades that in for holding your hand instead. You are shocked at first, but if you make it a big deal, he’ll stop. You don’t want him to right now. 

  Not when you feel safe. You still want to kick yourself… and maybe throw in a punch.

_____

Apparently, the Troupe have gone their separate ways for now. They don’t cling onto each other for a long period of time after a job. It’s better that way since it has a lesser chance of them getting caught. They still hang out from time to time, though. 

For you, you managed to get out of Meteor City after the argument with the priest. Feitan had gone to do another heist with Phinks, if you remember right. You took that moment to skip town. You never wanted to stay in the trash, anyway. 

  And you were right to! Everything you thought of as a child about the world outside was true! Sure, people can be rude and things can be corrupt, but you’re fed and resting. There are bright lights and kind people. It can be clean and the soap smells so good. Just the other day you got to experience a nail salon. Rather than stealing from you, the lady next to you, Jade, talked about her family. Her daughter is Ruby and her wife is Scarlet. Jade and Scarlet want another child. You offered the name Emerald. 

  In Meteor City, you would’ve had to fight. Now, you are making friends and offering beautiful names. It’s a stark contrast that is fully welcomed. 

  The sun is bright and the moon is sometimes round. It doesn’t always attract evil and can sometimes sing such a beautiful melody. There are pearls and diamonds. There are seasonings that make the food taste unbelievably good. It’s all expensive, but infinitely better than Meteor. 

And Nen is a secret here. In the city, many knew about it and used it without discretion. Here it’s different. Like a secret identity for a hero. Your nen in particular isn’t used as much as it was before. Your ability was so tiring. Pretty and incredibly useful, but exhausting nonetheless. 

  It has been a few years since you saw him, but he’s seen you. He found you quickly, too. When you came home from your office job (which you are still ecstatic about, by the way) you noticed a new painting in your house. It was dull and in black and white. The painting is of a few plants that take the center stage. Actually, they’re your nen plants. In the background is what looks like your old city. Piles of rubbish and polluted air in black swirls. There are clouds above and a dark sun barely poking out. 

  It’s sad. Beautiful, but sad. You have wondered what he meant by it. You open the door to your apartment. It’s not much and one day you want to get a house. 

  The keys make a jingle when you set them on the countertop. The apartment is still dark, so you scramble to flip the switch. “Why you leave?”

You scream at the top of your lungs. Standing there nonchalantly is Feitan, who you haven’t had contact with in a hot minute. His hair is even longer than before. He wears a new cowl that has a skull on it over his face. His trench coat looks a little too big for him but he wears it well anyway. 

  “Uh, because I live here? What are you doing here?” You set your bag down and take off your short heels. Although he’s a murderer, you still feel safe with him. 

 He takes slow strides towards you. “ Why? I looked for you and you weren’t there.”

“You knew where I was. I got your presents,” You point to the painting. He hides his face a little in the fabric. “I like it by the way. Did you do it?”

“Shut up.” You sigh and walk into your kitchen. “I’ll make you something to eat.”

 You begin to wash the rice. Your eyes switch from looking down to taking obvious glances at him. Right about now, he should be in his mid twenties. It’s amazing how long you’ve known each other. You remember him as that kid who didn’t know how to tie his shoes and him teaching you about Nen. Time flies so fast when you least expect it. 

  You crack the eggs and whisk them. The sound of the utensil against the bowl and the sizzle of the tomatoes in the pan is all that is heard. Feitan doesn’t make one sound. He opts to stare at you working and even has a glint in his eye which you think could be satisfaction. 

  “Do you still like this, by the way? I remember you snatching it.” You try not to smile at the memory. 

 “I do.” He hovers in your kitchen, just waiting, watching you do all of the work. Stingy bastard. After adding the seasonings, you could have never gotten in Meteor City, you fix him a plate. He happily accepts it and sits down on the floor. 

“I have a tab-” Oh, the memory. Allowing yourself to smile, you sit with him and eat off of his plate. “We’re sharing. ”

 He gives a slight growl but doesn’t do anything. “So, what brings you by?”

“I say hello.” You hum with a mouth full of food. “Well, hello to you too, little boy.”

He gives you a light kick. The two of you finish the plate. Both full, you just lay back and talk. 

“How long are you staying?” 

“Not long.” You’ll miss him. “Running from the cops again?”

“Need to hide out for a bit.” You nod, accepting his answer and that your connection will probably always be sweet moments. “It’s nice to have you here, even only for a moment.”

  Feitan taps you again with his foot. “I’m always here. I say hello all the time.” You know and are fully aware of what he means. His odd little gifts decorate your house. To bones, to rugs, even a china set he stole. It’s routine for him to give you something, even when you don’t see him. 

“Even though you run.” He kicks you again. The more you watch him, the more your chest tightens. He’s the only consistent thing in your life. Everything is fleeting. Your job is new as well as your relationship with your coworkers. But there is a line with them. Feitan is different.

  “How long are we going to do this dance?”

“I don’t dance.” You roll your eyes and laugh. “I mean you coming by once in a blue moon.” 

  He shrugs. “I don’t know.” You nod. “Figures.”

He frowns. “What do you mean by that?”

“I mean, that this whole thing is tiring. You come and go like some kind of feral cat.”

  “So?”

You sputter, “ So I don’t appreciate it.” He takes off his long coat and reveals his chest, next goes his shoes. “I sleep here.”

“You can’t use me!” He gets up and goes in the direction of your room. “Feitan!” You pick up his clothes and set them aside. “Do you hear me? I wasn’t done talking!”

  On your bed is a sprawled out Feitan. He looks at you with squinted eyes. “Shut up, I’m trying to sleep.”

  Like always, he makes himself at home. You sigh, giving up on trying to talk to him. “Move over.” 

  He scoffs and reluctantly moves out of your way. You feel him tense up as you lay down. “This is my bed. I can sleep here.”

  You face each other as you lay down. Neither of you say anything about how close you are. This is probably the closest you’ve ever been since you helped him tie his shoes the second time. You feel his eyes on you, making you nervous. “Stop staring at me.”

  “Never sleep with someone in a while.” You know. The last time was with you, no doubt. At the time, you didn't think about it, if you remember correctly. It's hard to tell since it's been so long. 

“The couch is that way.” He smacks his lips. “No, you go.” You open your eyes. 

“Like I said, this is my bed.” Feitan doesn’t say anything about your ownership. Instead, he’s honest with you. “I’m tired.”

  Instantly, you start to feel a little bad. In the city, no child was ever able to fully sleep. It was too dangerous, especially in the more dangerous districts. Him being honest about his state, you take it as a step. 

  “If you want to, I’ll be on the lookout.” His hands are next to yours. You grab them, just like he did those few years ago. “You can sleep now, Feitan.” 

  You don’t know when, don’t know how either, but you two do end up sleeping. His eyes are closed and his breath even. Your eyes flutter open and see that he’s got slight dark under eyes and his mouth leaking drool. Feitan looks peaceful, sleepy, like he hasn’t done this in a while. 

  The next morning, he’s gone with no evidence he was even there.

_________________

  You watch on the tv screen above the bank about the attack on York New, a city not too far from you. The attack happened a few days ago but it’s still in the headlines. You don’t blame them, to be honest. It was an insane event that over two thousand people died! 

  You cling onto your boyfriend’s arm. He touches your hand reassuringly. His watch gleams in the moonlight and his suit is perfectly pressed. He's the entire package, he’s perfect. A good job, good manners, an honest man, and treats you well, too. He always holds the chair out for you and gets up when you leave the room. Just like a true gentleman. 

  When you first met, it was a classic coffee shop romance. Then it blossomed into a romantic and expensive dinner, the movies, a nighttime walk in the park, all of the classic dates. In every single one of them he was the perfect gentleman, the perfect man. You like him and how he treats you. How consistent he is. He's the type of man you can rely on. 

  Nevertheless, there is a bothersome voice in the back of your head that reminds you of someone he just isn’t. He’s not Feitan Portor. You don’t feel the contentment Feitan gives when the two of you sleep. You don’t study your boyfriend’s features like you did Feitan.

Dammit, why are you thinking of him? He’s not around and you haven’t seen him in what? Two or three years? So why think of him now. Plus, you haven’t received a gift or a ‘hello’ from him. For all you know, he could be dead.

  “Are you alright?” You wake from your thoughts and look at your boyfriend. His hair is dark, blending in with the night. Eyes kind and green, a Grecian nose, and average sized lips revealing a dazzling smile. Not only is the very essence of him suave, but his looks are also perfect. Tall and handsome, well dressed and a smooth voice. 

It's just that one five foot one pest that won’t get out of your head. 

  “Y-yeah just…it’s all so shocking. York New is literally over there.” You point past the river where more tall buildings reside in the distance.

“I know, I know.” He brings you in close to him. He places a kiss on your head. “Don’t worry, nothing will happen to you.” 

Suddenly, the newscaster stops mid sentence and gasps. Before you know it, the Phantom Troupe have been named the offenders that caused all of this. Two thousand people. Feitan, did you really kill that many people?

“I would like to go home. I don’t feel the greatest.” He rubs your arm, you still being tucked into his side. Your excuse was a lie to cover the gnawing feeling towards Feitan and his deeds. Although the Phantom Troupe’s original intentions were from a decent stand point, it seems they’ve lost their way. Feitan has lost his way. 

  The gifts have stopped coming, him no longer saying hello. After the last time, when you made him familiar food and sat in a comfortable silence, he disappeared. This time, there was something about it that hurt. Like he didn’t want to come around. He didn’t want to say hello anymore. Or perhaps, he died which if confirmed, you would ache beyond help. 

  “The Phantom Troupe is dead.” The newscaster said. The crowd gasped, shocked that the most feared criminals in the world are gone. Did you jinx it? Curse the little boy who needed you to tie his shoes. The boy who liked your cooking and made sure you rested. Had strong faith in you, never doubting. Protected you from the shadows and held your hand. 

  Is he really gone? 

You hide your face in your boyfriend’s jacket. Tears stream from your eyes at the thought of his grave. With the Troupe, his friends dead, you’d be the only one to truly mourn him. To remember his name beyond his violence. 

You clutch your chest. “Are you okay? Does your chest hurt?” He grabs you by your shoulders, making you face him. He’s such a kind, decent man. But he’s not Feitan Portor. 

  “I just need to rest. I’ll call you tomorrow.” You give him a chaste kiss goodbye. Once he leaves, your chest hurts even more. You slide down as you look around at all the menace’s little gifts. The painting, the skull, the windchimes, everything he’s given you. Why, oh why, couldn’t you stay here long enough for your gift, Feitan?

Wait, what could you have given him anyway? He’s a thief that takes what he pleases and has nothing to wish for. 

You lay on your couch and put your arm over your face. The tears refuse to stop for even just a second. You don’t know what you’re crying harder for. Feitan or the confusing feelings for him. Now that he’s gone, you can’t properly tell him. How can you explain it? 

  It’s heavy on your chest and tightens it. You want to feel his body heat no matter how hot the day is. There are no small flutters in your stomach at the thought of him. No, it's something in your heart. You want to stare at him, to memorize every feature he has. To hear his soft voice that is just a centimeter away from a whisper. Just melt in his touch, his presence. Wait, why is this happening? You barely knew him! Does that fact even matter though?

 You slip your hand in your underwear, still staring at the ceiling, sniffling at the news of his death. You imagine the future. Seeing him walk into your house and setting his belongings on the table. Wrapping his arms around you and kissing your back. No matter how long you’ve known him, his stature never fails to amuse you. He’d paw at your body, tearing off your clothes. Feitan wouldn’t hesitate to use his hands for your pleasure. 

  You trace your fingers in the direction you think he’d go. Curling your fingers inside, thrusting them in harshly, knowing that he can only be gentle in his own way. Your back arches from the couch. You swear you can smell him and the faint metallic scent that he holds. The feeling of his ragged breath on your cheek you could swear is real. 

  You moan as you take that jump you’ve searched for. Thinking of how good Feitan would make you feel. You're relentless on yourself, still going as strong as he’d be. Adding another finger, going faster and faster on your clit. Your moaning gets louder as the indiscernible amount of time goes on. 

‘ The Phantom Troupe is dead.’

You crash on the couch with one last gasp. The dream of the two of you ends in flames. The house, the passion, the years that go by in that home. Maybe even a child or two. Seeing him in the morning with a groggy voice is gone. Rubbing his eyes and saying he wants more eggs and tomatoes is no longer there.

  What would your gift be to Feitan? Memories? Sex? Food? Nothing fits. He can have those with anyone. 

  You slip yourself out from your underwear. It didn’t distract you. Perhaps if you thought of your boyfriend, it would have. But the feelings you have towards Feitan went beyond physical. What is this? What do you call this?

  Love? Time stops at the realization. It has to be that. That would have been your gift to him. Love. You cover your mouth as you admit it to yourself. 

'I love you Feitan Portor. I won’t forget you. I love your messed up hair and soft voice. For how you didn’t reject me when the world did. I will do the same for you. I’ll look past your torturous ways and miss you anyway. Maybe the world will curse you, but I’ll mourn you. Bury you so no one can spit on you anymore. I love you Feitan. 

   I’m in love with you Feitan Portor. This is my gift to you. For you to know that you will not be forgotten even though I never got to tell you, to thank you for everything. For leaving the baseball bat with me to protect myself. For painting that picture for me. All of the little gifts you thought I’d like, too. Thank you for protecting me from the priest and the wolves that hunted me every day when we were young.'

You stare at the ceiling till the earliest of mornings. It’s still dark, still heavy with the night sky. There’s some rumbling in the distance, a flash of light in the sky. You don’t bother to confirm anything. 

Just as you close your eyes, the window opens with a creak. You move your eyes to see the figure before you. The darkness covers it, only leaving the silhouette. “Why cry?”

You squint, trying to make out the features.  “Are you real?”

“Very.” It must be a lie. A cruel humor the world has. “Stop crying.” 

“I can’t. Not when you sound like him.” The figure cocks his head, that much you can see with the flash of lightning behind him. “Him?”

“Someone who can’t tie his shoes.” Your lip wobbles again. “I can tie them now.” The moon glows enough to show his face now as he steps up to you. Feitan’s delicate features peek out from his cowl. 

 You shake your head in denial. “It’s not real. It can’t be. You’re dead, Fei.” Your voice is hoarse from your sobs. 

  He looks shocked at your words. The man who looks like Feitan smacks your feet off the end of the couch so he can sit. 

“I’ll miss you Feitan Portor.” The longer you stare at the imaginary man, the more you hurt. “Well, stop.”

  He roughly wipes away the tears. “Ugly when you cry.” His face is close to yours. Since he’ll be gone by the time you come to your senses, you grab his face and kiss him. He sharply inhales, not expecting your sudden decision. 

  He growls against your lips, “Stupid brat.” 

  He feels real. He smells real, familiar too. You tell him such and with furrowed brows and a strong grip of his hand, he grabs your jaw and makes you look at him. “I’m real, you idiot.”

“They said you died…” You comb his hair through your fingers. It’s real, he's real . So, what’s going on? Before you can ask him, he cradles you. “Stop crying or I’ll go.”

  Your lips wobble at his threat. Rather than listening to it, you hug him. He nestles on top of you, hips placed between yours. He’s light, lighter than you thought so it isn’t a bother.

  “You’re so ugly when you cry. Don’t cry.” He holds you closer and kisses your head. Against your ear, you feel his lips move. You can’t tell what he’s mouthing. When the two of you comfortably slept those years ago, that was the closest you’ve been. Now, this beats that record. Face to face, body to body, and sharing breaths. 

  After a few moments of thunder and lightning, he kisses you gently. Not at all like the desperate one like before. Realistically, you know these feelings you have for him seem fake. You’ve only had a few moments with him. So, why are they so significant? Are they with him too? Is it possible that love can blossom quickly?

  Gentle kisses turn passionate, never wanting to separate. Little nibbles on the right places and sucks on all of the best ones. Clothes leave, not wanting to get between the two friends, those who dance around each other. For the first time, they meet. 

His hands reach your throat as he kisses you, making sure to give it a light squeeze. His weight is still on you, not hurting in the slightest. Feitan makes sure his hand reaches below and swirls his thumb on your bud. You gasp, surprised you were right about how he’d do it. Every ministration he does is exactly how it was pictured. Your hands don’t compare to it. Not by a long shot. 

  Despite his size, his hands are still bigger than yours. They reach deeper than you and are thicker too. In no time, you come, the bliss lasting a good minute before he sheathes himself inside. His thickness is more than you thought. It’s a bit of a stretch, but in a good way. 

  His gasps quicken with every thrust. You can tell that you're being loud, way louder than when you touched yourself. Feeling the rush and strength of his movements has you claw his back in ecstasy. He groans at the sensation. Finally, after this time of passion and intimacy, you both hold each other as you fall off of that cliff.

  Feitan looks into your eyes. With a softness that no one in the world could’ve predicted the torturer of the Phantom Troupe to have, kisses you. “Don’t cry anymore. Don’t cry.”

 “It’s hard not to when I know you’ll leave.” Silently, Feitan removes himself from inside you. It’s become routine, so you expect him to walk out. He lays back down, his head on your stomach. You run your fingers through his hair. He needs a haircut. 

--

 You wake up, not realizing that you went asleep in the first place. Before you can get up, you feel pressure on your stomach. Feitan rests on you still, eyes completely closed and his face peaceful. The two of you are naked and the only source of heat is each other. As much as you want to wrap your arms around him, you know he’ll react negatively or at least flinch. 

  Soon after, he stretches and rubs his face against your stomach. Like before, he drooled in his sleep. “Good morning.” 

He grunts in response and sits up on his heels. It takes him a moment to remember the night before. His eyes widen as he looks you up and down, making you highly aware of your current state. You cover yourself with a blanket draped over the couch. 

  “I have to go.” Ah, right. He’s a cat. 

He gets dressed. Once he has his boots on, you see him tie them the way you taught him. “Proud of you. You finally learned huh?”

 “Brat.” You laugh a little at him. Once he’s done you ask, “Will I ever see you again?"

He cradles your face. “I come back.” You nod, holding back tears. He studies your face and settles on your eyes. He must have realized that you were trying not to cry. His hands still remain on your face as he kisses you. He lingers there for a minute. A parting kiss, a meaningful one. 

  Something tells you that this feral cat isn’t going away anytime soon. That he’ll always be constant and you won’t be totally alone. A companion you won’t see everyday and only for a night. 

 This is the gift you’ll give him. You’ll be home for him. 

___________________

Months later, news about the Chimera Ants came out. You had already broken up with your boyfriend and heard he had left town to avoid them. Of course, you followed suit and got the hell out of there. 

  Without any plan, you moved back to Meteor City, where you thought that they wouldn’t be. Alas, that was stupid. You made a home base in the residential area. Not knowing that Meteor City was plagued by the wretched beasts. 

  By God’s grace, you managed to avoid them due to you being in the residential district. News that the Phantom Troupe were home to fight them ran rampant. The thought of Feitan made you nervous and you don’t know why. 

  Suddenly, right as you put away your dishes, the door opened. You grabbed a knife and faced the intruder. Standing there was the Phantom Troupe, who once again, barged into your home like they owned the place. 

  “What the hell?” You shout. The first one is Phinks with a wide smile. “There she is! Fei, I found her!”

  You put your hand on your hip. “Seriously, what are you doing her-you’re dragging in mud, take off your shoes!”

 “It’s only a little.” Phinks pouts. “I don’t care! You don’t live here.” 

Phinks and his friends grumble as they do as they’re told. The last one to enter the house is Feitan, who is notably holding his left arm. Without being told, he removes his shoes. 

  “Feitan…” He hasn’t faced you yet. “What happened to your arm?” 

“I’m injured too, (Y/n)!” The smiling boy with round eyes whines. You have no idea what his name is. Only that he and the rest are in Feitan’s gang. 

  “Alright, let me see.” He lays down on your clean table and says, “It’s all over. I need the full treatment!” 

  “Ugh, fine.” You grumble under your breath about the disrespect and your poor table. Finally, Feitan sits on one of the pushed aside chairs. He says, “I need it too.”

  “Big babies.” 

You heal the biggest cry baby completely. The blond, whose name you now know as Shalnark, stretches. “If it weren’t for you, I would’ve been hurting all day!”

  Rolling your eyes, you turn to Feitan who has been silent. He holds out his arm for you. You take the limb and inspect it. 

 “Completely shattered.” He grunts in agreement. He stares into your eyes and gives you a familiar slight smile. You notice that his friends are quiet, not a sound or word among them. 

“You guys alright?” You ask. The girl shakes her head yes and ‘whispers’ to the rest. “Should we leave them alone?”

  “Probably.” A mummy with boxing gloves answers. You’ve never seen him before in your life. 

“Uh, we’ll check the place out. Y’know, make sure it’s safe.” Shalnark shoos the little kid out and into a separate room, your bedroom. “We’ll clear this out in case you guys need it!”

  You huff and roll your eyes. Feitan’s cheeks are red and he’s glaring daggers at his friends. The girl goes outside with the remaining three to check the area. You and your feral cat are alone. 

“What are they checking for? I’m in a residential area.” 

“Ants.” 

  “They’re here? In the safe zone?” You begin to panic until he grabs your hand. “You’re safe now. They’re not in the city anymore.”

“Wha-how? What’s going on?”

  He pinches you lightly, encouraging you to heal his wounds. “Oh, right, right.” Flowers of all colors circle around. They begin to smooth over Feitan’s wounds. You take a second to wipe the blood off of his lip, letting there be some room for the petals to go. 

“How’s the other guy look?”

“She's toasted.” You smile. “Atta boy.”

  He’s healed, the petals and flowers disappear. You lick your lips at the sight of his bare chest. You didn’t notice before due to the audacity of these heathens barging in. 

  His heart rate quickens. “You leave again.”

You nod. “Yeah, yeah I did. I had to, Fei. the Chimera Ants invaded. I had to run.”

“With your boyfriend?”

You let out a small gasp. “ No. How do you know that?” He crosses his arms and leans back in the chair. “You lie.”

“I didn’t lie to you. I just never said anything.”

  “Words of a liar.” You scoff at him. “I did not lie to you. I lied to him. You don’t have any business with our relationship.”

At first, he was looking at his lap. Those grey eyes of his immediately found a new target to glare at. “You’re not with him anymore. ”

“No. Why does that matter?” He begins to tap his foot lightly. “Why did you break up?” 

  “You hungry?” You start to get up until you’re tugged down. “Why?”

When you don’t answer, he whispers in your ear. “Because I fucked you?” Your face is so warm. 

“If we run, we can still make it out.”

“Why are we running?” A small voice asks.

“Because I think they need the room.” 

“Will you two shut up?!” You are two seconds away from running out of your own damn house. You stand and his hands hold you by your hips. “Tell me why you leave him?”

  “Because of you.” It’s embarrassing to tell him your feelings. Hopefully, he can read your mind or something and shut up. He sighs and stands, walking over to you without a hitch. He kisses you. 

  “That’s what you get for lying.” He’s not remorseful or even boastful. Feitan takes your answer in stride. “No more leaving. Stay so I can find you.”

“You’ll always find me, remember?”

______________

Time after that, you were stuck in charge of Chrollo’s lover or something. She’s not too bad but clearly traumatized. Anytime you’d tell her to go with you, she’d look shocked. Like she was surprised she could leave. You were suspicious of her relationship with Chrollo. Something didn’t sit right with you whenever he or Feitan came up. She’d tense up. She never talked about it either. From what you understand with the little information you have, is that she was a former member that raised an orphan and that Chrollo loved her immensely. Perhaps too much.

  From what you know, there was a big showdown on the Dark Continent and the boat that was taking a voyage to the fake one. The Phantom Troupe were on that one at first, fighting Hisoka Marrow. He was a sore loser that got humbled and decided to attack again. 

  Amazingly, only a few died. You didn’t want to know the details or anything. You can’t go through that again. So, after that news, you and Chrollo’s lover parted ways. She went on to find a kid she raised. You, on the other hand, decided to settle out of Meteor City. This was almost a year ago.

  You have an apartment now in the town where you and your boyfriend lived, right next to York New. It’s basic, not fitting any aesthetic or anything. The good thing about it is that it’s bigger than your first one. It’s two bedroom and has a good price. 

   Feitan hasn’t reappeared. It tore you to shreds. You’ve managed to piece yourself together bit by bit, but you are a hollow version of yourself. Surviving and not enjoying the little things you used to. You even saw Jade, Scarlet, Ruby, and the new child, Emerald. Even that heartwarming moment didn’t fulfill you. However, it was the first time you smiled in a while. 

  You stir the food in the pot. Since it’s a little chilly, you made soup. You put the lid over the pot, letting it cook. There’s a knock on the door. You open it and see the man you’ve waited for. 

  Feitan is in dark clothing and has a large scar on his face. There’s no cowl over him, or a large trench coat. His hands are in his pockets, and he looks at you expectantly. You realize that you’ve just been standing there, you move to let him in. Once again, he makes himself at home. 

  “How’ve you been?” 

“You leave again.” He states bluntly. His eyebrows are furrowed and has a frown on his face. 

“Bold of you, very bold.” You move around him. “Why did you go?”

“Because I’d never stay in that city forever. The Ants were gone, the world settled. So why couldn’t I? That place is gross anyway.”

  He sits on the barstool and cracks his neck. You ask a question right after he sits. “How long you here for?”

You don’t know why you asked that. He’ll only be here for a moment. A while ago, you had made the decision to accept it as your gift to him. To love and mourn him when the world won’t. When news about the Phantom Troupe hit, you couldn’t bear to hear it. Their trip to the fake Dark Continent, then their corrected course to the right one, ended in a battle with them facing Hisoka and Illumi and everything else over there. 

  It was too hard for you to think about. That doesn’t mean you didn’t mourn and that you’ve snapped out of it.

   “For good.” 

You look up into his eyes. For the first time in a long time, he’s smiling with soft eyes. You see that he has a dimple on his left cheek. “W-what about-”

“Done for a while. Maybe forever. I know I’m staying.”

   “But your friends, where are they?” He shrugs even though you see the tension. “Separate. We split for a bit.” 

  He rubs his shoulders nervously. “Can I stay with you?” 

“Wow, you’re asking? Shocked.” You tap on the counter. The weight you’ve been carrying is lightened. “Feitan?”

“Yes?” He gets off of the stool and makes his way around the counter. “You know how you give me all those gifts?”

  He nods his head. “Well, this is my gift to you, Feitan Portor. You can stay as long as you like.” 

  He wraps his arms around you. He’s hugging you. This time, you aren’t afraid to hold him back and squeeze. Maybe, just maybe, this is what home is? 

  If the Phantom Troupe resurrects, at least you know he’ll always come home. That you two will be a constant force for each other. No matter if it does or doesn't, you two aren't dancing but admitting things you couldn't. This is home, a gift for each other.  

[thekillingvote]

Tʜᴇ Kɪʟʟɪɴɢ Vᴏᴛᴇ

Thirty-five years ago, DC Comics opened a phone poll to kill Batman's child sidekick, Robin.

The poll was open to paying callers in the U.S. and Canada for a window of 35 hours, starting on 15 September 1988 at 9AM EST. There were two premium-rate phone numbers—one for Robin's survival, and one for Robin's death. Each paying caller could call multiple times. The results were decided by a margin of 72 votes out of a total 10,614 votes—the difference was just under 0.68%.

Now you decide.

KILL ROBIN

Jerry Smith of Covington, Kentucky claims to have sold his Mercedes-Benz to pay for votes to kill Robin

"Who Killed Cock(y) Robin? I Killed Cock(y) Robin" article by Glen Weldon (2008)

"1-800-DEAD-ROBIN" autobiographical comic by Tony Wolf (2015)

"We killed Jason Todd" feature by Matt Markman (2021)

SAVE ROBIN

Senator Patrick Leahy (D-Vt.), a noted Bat-fan and scholar, denounced the episode as a "Roman gladiator-like readers vote."

"I loved him [...] I personally voted for him to live 100 times, and my mom flipped when she saw the phone bill," says magazine writer Savas Abadsidis.

MJG6 said: I was dead broke, working my way through college, but I voted. My first job was at a comic book store, making me an OG fan girl, I guess, and I encouraged people to vote to save him. [...] Because killing a teen, in a role kids are supposed to identify with, that was just sick.

Further Reading

"A Death in the Family, or: How DC Comics Let a Phone Vote Kill Robin" via r/HobbyDrama

"Living Dead Boy: Jason Todd vs. The Culture That Killed (and Resurrected) Him" on Women Write About Comics

"The Vote to Kill Robin" - trivia, misconceptions, opinions by comic-commentary

Some fan letter columns from Jason's later times as Robin

No Birds Allowed: Batman without Robin

"A lot like Robin if you close your eyes": Displacement of meaning in the Post-Modern Age by Mary Borsellino, an essay on dead Robins, sexism, and classism

🦞 The Tale of Larry the Lobster 🦞

Submitted arguments below:

Kill Robin

Anonymous propaganda IN FAVOR of killing the lobster the Robin!

I love Jason Todd. I love his post-crisis Robin days, I love his sense of justice and his adorable love of learning and his silly curly bangs! I say this to emphasize that I don't want him killed out of any dislike of the character.

I want him dead out of a love for storytelling that gets to stick to its guns and doesn't pull its punches. In context of the poll we readers have just seen Dick Grayson get kicked out of the role due to Bruce's fear of him getting hurt, then he turns around and gets a new Robin anyways because he misses him! I really like that Bruce is being messy and hypocritical! Let that have some real consequences please!

If there were no real consequences then Dick got shoved out of being Robin for what? Hairbrained overprotective worry? Why even change the way he graduated into being Nightwing so much then or heck why even kick him out in the first place?

One might argue that we haven't even given this Robin proper time to develop, that instead he might be taken in new and interesting directions as his own unique Robin shaping the mantle into a legacy rather than just something that was Dick's. I admit this is a very good point, and we are cutting off some possible interesting avenues. As I mentioned, I do like this character! But are we really going to get that?

If DC is already prepared to toss him out of this mortal coil and through the pearly gates after such a short while, do we really think we're going to get much more love and care applied to him?

I say let's roll the dice for something new! May the comics world and all these characters have to deal with the ramifications for many years to come!

Save Robin

robin’s death (and subsequent resurrection) is, frankly, an insult to robin fans of that era. to want to see this child get killed in a brutal manner for no apparent reason, to see jason essentially removed from the narrative so batman could go back to being gritty and depressed—this is awful to me. he hadn’t even been robin for very long!

but that’s not why he should’ve lived.

the resurrection of jason todd as the red hood was narratively interesting enough that it kept most fans of the original jason hooked, and it still does! he has become a prime example of a trauma survivor: his death changed him, and those who loved him have difficulty accepting that.

but there is no resolution to that story, nor was there a resolution to jason’s tenure as robin. dick chose to leave robin behind and take on a new mantle. tim, steph, both had robin taken away from them (and let’s forget about how tim is still robin, because that doesn’t matter right now). damian’s role as robin conflicts with his misconception of his role in the family. everyone else has had an ending, and jason’s death…well. after his resurrection, he has somehow remained stagnant and wildly inconsistent at the same time. this applies to under the red hood too.

at its core, utrh is a deeply classist retelling of jason’s life pre-death in the family. winick makes him a villain—albeit a sympathetic one—who fucks over or kills people that he would’ve thrown himself in front of to save as robin. in utrh, the implication is that jason had always been violent and angry (and morally compromised), and that he was destined to become worse.

it sometimes feels that jason’s transition into being the red hood (and all the characterization that comes with that) was a decision dc made for shock value. just from jason’s robin run, it’s difficult to imagine jason becoming the red hood. it doesn’t feel inevitable. it’s tragic.

ultimately, i believe that jason never should have died, and that his death was a stunt by dc for its shock value. jim starlin wanted jason dead because to him a child sidekick, in a medium that was originally made for children, was “sheer insanity”. he was fridged, plain and simple.

[wolvertooth]

realized that the reason xmen origins is one of my fav movies is cuz it really seems like someone read the origin comics and went 'well thats stupid, they shoulda done this instead' which always makes for the best stories(<- majority of my fanfics follow this logic)

also, team x is just something that isnt talked about or elaborated on often in the comics. same with silverfox, who they actually turned into a whole character for this movie. so those are interesting things to make a plot about, since its not something the actual source material had attempted to do a proper story on yet. aside from origin, there was some clear influence from the weapon x 2002 series(agent zero, deadpool, victors buzz cut + chin patch), but it also brings stuff in from the earlier comics too. like a hybrid of the early 90s and modern plots that were popular at the time, while also giving the characters more...humanity? personality? motivation? very much a 'he wouldnt fucking say that' to the comics.

its not perfect, and i definitely get a more privileged view on it due to owning the script and seeing all they cut out, but its a side of these characters that even the comics have neglected to show imo. its not a comic book movie, its a fanfiction movie. its a 'what if' movie. its a character study movie. its a movie that wouldve done better as either a tv show or actual comic, bcuz of how much plot potential they werent able to fit in that short amount of time(hell, itd even do well as a video game tbh).

the movies post credits scene of logan being in japan literally ends it on a cliffhanger, a cliffhanger that involves a new timeline where victor still likes him, something thats never been done in any comics to this day. what does victor do after all that? after seeing how his father figure was actually the bad guy again? and now that stykers dead? if he was so scared of his brother forgetting him, how does he react when he learns that stryker succeeded in that anyway? so many changes that could be had in their lives just from that one little difference.

and, to me, this movie said things that the comics keep avoiding to say.

[ezdotjpg]

Supply Run

Hello here's a fic I wrote about Loft taking a trip back to Skyloft, pre the plot of bonus links. 1381 words!

Link’s favorite errand, head and shoulders above the competition, is making the trek up to Skyloft for a supply refresh. It’s why Zelda continues to ask him to do it, despite the fact that he always takes roughly 6 hours longer than he’s strictly meant to, and forgets at least one item on the list more than half the time. He should remind her, for the millionth time, that he loves her very much. 

“Thanks again, Luv!” he calls behind him as he makes to leave her stall, satchel full of all the necessary elixir ingredients they’ve been running low on. He double checked the list this time. Triple checked it, even. 

“Fly safe, now!” Luv shouts back, and even with his back turned he can imagine her shaking her comically large ladle after him. “I see you out there pulling stunts, you’ll give us all a heart attack one day!”

Link thinks he flies perfectly safe, thank you very much, but he promises to be very careful, and makes his escape from the Bazaar. Sunshine warming his face against the chill, he continues down the ramp, over the bridge, and into the residential quarter of the island. Few of the island’s older adults have agreed to make the move down to the surface yet, so while the area’s quiet, there’s still life in the buildings. He makes his rounds, popping in to each home to say hello and listen to the latest news, often several times over. 

“You’re looking thin again,” Henya frets, giving him a once over with a shrewd eye. “Are you sure you kids are growing enough food down there?”

He assures her that this year’s harvest was the best one yet, but she sends him off with several flasks of soup anyway, enough that he has to wedge them haphazardly in the satchel to make it all fit. 

“You look tired,” Batreaux tells him. He’d been overjoyed by the somewhat wonkily carved Keese Link had made to dress up the windowsill of his new home on Skyloft proper. Now, his brow is furrowed as he putters through his kitchen cabinets. “I’ve got a tea that might help, where in the world did it run off to?”

The packet of tea takes the Keese figure’s place in Link’s pocket, and as the door closes behind him, he tries to remember how many minutes Batreaux told him to steep it for. He never gets it quite right.

With all his visits finished, he lingers in the village square, pointedly not looking at the docks. He walks back to the neighborhood and checks on the island’s pumpkin crop, which looks fine. He catches a few sky stag beetles, and then lets most of them go. He sits by the waterfall and munches on a stamina fruit, kicking his legs over the side and getting his boots all wet. 

He’s half finished formulating a plan to break into his old academy room for no reason in particular before he finally, painfully decides that actually, it’s probably better to return home. Before the sun sets, and Crimson won’t fly anymore, and he’s forced to spend the night. Again. What a tragedy that would be. 

Back at the docks, he makes sure the satchel is buckled securely, briefly laments the ache in his knees, and takes off at run. At the last second, he twists his body around, launching off the edge with his arms out and his back to the land below. 

Link closes his eyes against the glare of the sun, and lets himself enjoy the freefall. His stomach swoops, his body weightless. Crisp air fills his lungs, the same air that tugs at his clothes and tickles his face with his hair. Falling on the surface is never quite this peaceful. Over the course of his quest, he learned what it meant to truly hit the ground, to feel flesh bruise and bones crunch. He made enough wrong footed steps, took tumbles off edges so high he thought they’d be the end of him, scrambling for the sailcloth.

Down below, there’s no failsafe, no guarantee that someone will catch you. The ground rushes up to meet you so fast. But here in the sky, he knows no one will ever let him fall too far. 

Speaking of, the couple of knights that still circle the island are probably getting antsy by now. He gives himself two more counts, taking them slow in his head, before bringing his fingers to his mouth. He whistles one sharp, clear note, and flips himself over into the proper position. It’s only a few seconds more before a familiar call answers. 

He grabs onto Crimson’s harness easily, though the rapid change in speed as she pulls up sends a painful zap up his bad arm. Crimson clicks her beak in apology, like she knows. He pets the soft fur of her back to soothe her. It’s his own fault, really.

It’s getting late. Batraeux was right about one thing: he is tired. He really shouldn’t do much besides simply flying home. 

But he sees Crimson so rarely these days, and her joy is a warm flare in the back of his mind. They circle around the islands scattered around Skyloft, making twirls and loops until he’s breathless from a combination of laughter and exertion, and the sun is beginning to hang dangerously low. Crimson begins her reluctant descent. 

As she hovers high above his front yard, Link gives her a hug around her neck, careful not to squeeze too hard. 

“Thank you,” he says. “See you next time.”

The jolt that runs through him as the sailcloth catches his weight certainly doesn’t help his arm, and he grits his teeth against it. Like always, Crimson stays in sight until his feet touch the ground. He stays rooted to the spot as well, waving after her until her form disappears over the treetops. 

It’s like a spell has broken. He lets his left hand drop, and all of a sudden, his limbs feel so heavy. It’s possible he’s overdone it a little. Every muscle in his body has a complaint it would very much like to lodge. The altitude change sticks in his lungs, makes the air feel thick enough he almost wants to cough. But he’d still call it the good kind of exhausted, the satisfied kind. With any luck, he’ll sleep so well tonight he won’t even dream. Dead on his feet, he shuffles his way onto the porch and inside the house. 

He kicks his boots off by the door, dropping the satchel as gently as he can manage it. Zelda looks up from where she’d been writing in a notebook on the couch, eyes crinkling as soon as she spots him. The house is full of warm, spiced smells and sizzling sounds, which implies that Groose is busy making dinner in the kitchen. If Link listens close, he can almost hear Groose humming.

“Welcome home, love,” Zelda says, setting her notebook aside. She doesn’t comment on his lateness, her smile knowing. He thinks, maybe, that it looks a little sad, too. That he misses it so much, that he lingers so long every time he gets the chance. Everyone on the surface misses Skyloft, but it’s different for him, isn’t it? It’s different. He can’t hide anything from her. 

Pushing the thought out of his mind, he makes a beeline over to the couch with the last of his energy, and flops over to join her. His head lands in her lap, and he can feel her body shake as she laughs at him. 

“That good, huh?” she teases. He makes a vaguely affirmative noise, curling up comfortably as her hand comes to rest on his head. He feels every ache and pain acutely now that he’s no longer standing, but it’s easy to ignore with Zelda’s fingers combing through his hair.

“Did you get everything on the list?”

“Mhm.”

“Double checked?”

“Mhm.”

“Hey, was that Link just now?” That one is Groose’s voice. It sounds closer when he speaks next, like he’s poked his head around the corner. “Babe, no sleeping yet! Dinner’s gonna be ready soon!”

“Don’t worry,” Zelda says. He’s already failing at Groose’s request. “I’ll wake you.”

[crazylittlejester]

That update was SO GOOD- I immediately went to your blog the minute I saw it LMAO (sorry for the like spam)

WARS WARS WARS!!!! HE IS SO PRECIOUS HERE- I love how we get to see a bit of his perspective on the dungeons vs battleground, and how respectful he is. He could’ve called it immoral to loot ruins/temples, but instead he highlights how they went “under Ganon’s snout” and were stealthy and resourceful. In comparison he was constantly in the limelight in his Hyrule, no where to hide or lie low someplace fortified like a temple. He doesn’t discredit their methods, just simply points out the battlefield also had its advantages. He’s a good mans!!!!!

I really hope we get to hear more about his experiences though, both for his character but to also see how the others take it as well. How different it must’ve been for him, what it must’ve been like to constantly be fighting day in and day out, and not just exploring like we often see in other games, how intimidating it must’ve felt for Wars to be the first anomaly in the cycle in quite some time (if he knew of any past legends).

Also!! Do u think there might be some doubts towards Wars from the chain because of this? We saw how Twi and Four (and maybe one more?) were questioning to each other how unusual it was for a warrior of Hyrule to not do a dungeon, and how he may not know certain monsters. That worries me on how that could reflect their view of Warriors. Will they start to doubt his strategies? Will they waste time arguing if they think he hasn’t fought a certain monster? While I don’t think they won’t trust him, I can definitely see some concerns sprouting about what he, and by extension the rest of the chain, truly know about other monsters.

I also like how Time didn’t react negatively at Wars’ statement, beyond just an odd look. It goes to show that it isn’t an issue for him because he’s seen Wars’ skills and trusts that even if he has different experiences, he’s still valuable and knowledgeable. Also- with Wars being right behind Time and sorta backing each other up, I think we’re starting to see more of co-leader/second in command Warriors and I LOVE THAT- PLS PLS MORE CO-LEADER WARS PLS!!!!!

Anyway- thems be my crazy thoughts on the update. I hope this means that Wars can finally get some proper recognition and love as we learn about him through the comic!!!!

ALKSJLKSJ don’t worry about the like spam i dont care at all. Also sorry it took me to long to answer this! I really wanted to make sure i could sit down and read the whole thing, i’ve been a little busy running around today

I LOVE HIM SO MUCH, he’s gonna hate the dungeons so much i think… Like I think he’ll like the puzzles and such, but I don’t think he’ll appreciate how cramped everything is or how monsters can drop from the ceilings like that. But yes I also love how he doesn’t like, call their dungeons stupid or anything he’s just kinda like “Am i the weird one for not willingly walking into a death trap- apparently”

I ALSO REALLY WANT TO HEAR MORE ABOUT HIS EXPERIENCES, and I want to see him compare more things about the war to what the others have been through! It’d be so interesting to see Jojo’s take on all that

Personally, I don’t think they’ll necessarily DOUBT him because of his lack of dungeon experience. They’ve seen how fully capable is, how strong and reliable he is, he knows what he’s doing and he’s a strategist and THEY know all that too. However, I can absolutely see him suggesting they do something in the dungeon and everyone else going “you NEVER do that first in a dungeon oh my god??” because he just doesn’t know how dungeons work. I think they might look out for him (?) more, in the sense that he’s out of his element. He has a leader personality, and he’s going to have to let the more experienced people in the group choose what to do in the dungeon and help figure out puzzles or look for hidden hallways and treasure and such, cos he’s not really used to doing that kinda stuff. I don’t think the others will doubt his abilities, I guess I just think they’re more in shock that he’s just never done that?? And it’s something they’ll just be consciously aware of (sorry if that didn’t make sense my brain is mush and my head hurts 🥺)

TIME WAS SO FUCKING OVER IT, I LOVED WARS LOOKIN AT HIM LIKE “Am i weird 🥺” AND TIME STARING BACK AT HIM LIKE “🤨”. I’m genuinely obsessed with that shot of them looking like the disappointed parents. Every time those two interact I do a little spin because i am gods most normal man ever (and i headcanon they’ve met before this. i know it ain’t canon but i still like the idea of them being close in actual lu canon)

the best part of this update was all the people who were like “Wars fans… I get it now.” like we won. we won guys, we won

[alldaysarenights]

On Discworld…

…and the things I’ve learned so far.

I know, I’m late, but sometimes it’s fun to discover something on your own and in your time.

Recently, I’ve started reading the Discworld series, beginning with Rincewind. And there are so many tiny things I’ve discovered, I don’t even know where to start.

I’ll give D&D a go first. As a passionate player and also a I-once-ran-a-short-campaign DM, I couldn’t but notice all the references there to find, especially with Rincewind. Right now I’m 4 books into his story, barely at the beginning, yet I’ve laughed my a** off a few times. Always wondering what he took from a former campaign. Well, at first I wondered if Sir Pratchett actually played. The internet was quick to answer the question, yes, yes of course he did. Would have been more surprised, if he didn’t.

I discovered stuff about the gods playing dice and there are sorcerer, barbarians and the luggage, which slightly reminds me of a mimic. But I guess this beast came afterwards. I told the other players of my group, and they agreed on the resemblance. Now we definitely have the plan, to tame a mimic, lol.

I could quote you so much stuff, but I’d fancy you going on an adventure and see it for yourself. Read the books, assemble some good friends, and have some fun on a silly campaign. Not necessarily in this order.

Next thing that keeps popping up in my mind, while reading, is Good Omens. I came from the Neil Gaiman side, getting lured in by Morpheus, whom I met doing some research. My comic book dealer was happy to help. Naturally, there was a point where I did read Good Omens. And it was weird, this was Gaiman, but also not, and it was so funny. I knew one day I would have to read Discworld. Unfortunately, I was a bit discouraged by the massive amount of books. The problem sorted out itself, after a friend, I’ve talked to about it, enabled me to read them.

With it came a list in which order I should proceed, so I happily jumped in, secretly nurturing the idea of reading all the books within a year. If it works out, no idea, we’ll see. If so, I might write another article on the experience.

Anyway, the point is, knowing Good Omens well as for watching the series multiple times and doing the same to the book (reading actually), I couldn’t but notice some stuff that definitely came from Terry’s side. Like phrases, he kept using. I did read: “Not as such” as an answer more than once. No matter who said it, in my imagination it was Crowley for a split second.

The first book got me so confused, I completely forgot that this was Terry Pratchett. I caught myself thinking, I was reading Neil Gaiman. This set my brain on halt and the world stood for a second. Amazing what books can do to you.

I’ve realised Death and the horsemen and how they seem unable to start a proper apocalypse. Also, sometimes there were phrases sounding a lot like Agnes Nutter. As well as the tone it is written in, the tiny wordings you sometimes aren’t aware of as an author. And it led me to the conclusion, (of course there is no other evidence and I could be totally wrong), that Neil must have invested a lot of time in re-reading the Discworld or maybe already know them by heart. For some of the things I’ve realised definitely played a part in GO2.

It is amazing how much two people can morph into one, and yet there must be a lot of work behind the scenes. I for my part can only hope that my writing buddy and I can get to this point some day. At least I’ll have to convince him to write a full-grown novel together first.

So you might ask yourself, and I know because so did I, what’s the whole point of this article? Fair enough. I came to the conclusion, that fun expands with knowledge. And I know, my sense of fun probably differs from that of others a lot. But if you are able to grasp those tiny hints and hidden pleasures, it can make a story twice as joyful.

So go out there and consume all those stories. Not just by reading. Listen to people telling their stories, watch movies, series, anime. Maybe go to the opera or watch a play. Memorise a poem or play a game. Find the medium which suits you well but keep on searching, you’ll never know what you might learn from it and what pleasures and magic are hidden in those stories. Because our world is built, or maybe better, powered by storytelling.

[genericpuff]

hey! I’m not sure if you’ve seen this yet, but in regards to RS’s awful layer management, I bring you this from the waybacksmythe insta account!

I’m 99% sure that she’s taught herself to work in this manner for a VERY long time. I mean, there’s barely anything in the main layers that have even MORE layers clipped to them

insanity

yooo thank you for this!

Honestly, I don't think it's that bad when it comes to illustration work, it comes down to just being "use whatever amount of layers you need", and it's clear it worked for her older art. It would be fine for comics as well, but most people naturally opt to reduce the layers they use because it just makes things, well, faster, and less complicated. Not to mention if her layer management is part of the reason her file sizes are ending up absurdly huge, then ??? It seems like a no brainer to reduce them. Esp considering so many of the layers in LO from what I've seen in screenshots just seem so pointless, like hyper-micromanaging levels of pointless.

That said, I think there are a lot of things she's taught herself to do that she just hasn't bothered to unlearn, like she thinks she works "better" doing things this way. Her "time management techniques" that result in her and her team always crunching through the weight of the next deadline, her layering structure, how she manages her assistants, the list goes on. It's like when you're so used to doing something one way, you're convinced it has to be working because otherwise, why would you be doing it that way? It's always "worked" for you up until now, so why change? It's why it's hounded into art students especially to step outside of their comfort zone and try new things because it's only through trying new things that you may learn you've been making things way harder for yourself than you need to.

This might be a bit too psychoanalytical, but we were talking about this very subject in the Discord the other day, and it came up that it's like when someone who's struggling with untreated depression or ADHD says, "I don't want to be medicated, it'll take away my spark!" but their spark is literally not showering for a week and eating nothing but toast and mold growing on the dishes in the sink.

In this case, it feels like Rachel's going "I don't want to change, it'll ruin my work!" but her work is literally already falling apart because she's been sticking to these same work methods that are clearly not working for her.

It makes me think of that one old reel where she talks about how she tried something new that didn't work out and became frustrated over the "lost time".

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Rachel Smythe (@usedbandaid)

And I do agree with the advice that she's giving in this video, artists should give themselves the space and time to figure things out, to make mistakes, because it's not lost time, it's time you're spending to try. That time will pass anyways, so use it how you like.

But unfortunately I don't think Rachel is actually good at applying this advice because she hasn't set herself up for success. She's always constantly on an immediate deadline because she never sets herself up with proper buffers. She never made herself a plan in the narrative to get this far so she's constantly jumping between plot points to give herself time to figure out how to resolve them. She can't give herself that free time to figure her shit out because she's constantly wringing out the time she has available to her. Look no further than how much time she traditionally spends on social media, AFAIK it's just her running it meaning she's spending all this time browsing and retweeting that she could be spending getting her ducks in a row.

None of this is to say she isn't allowed to have free time, I think it would be great if she could be an Originals creator who could also manage having a healthy work life balance, god knows so many creators don't get to do that. But it's not free time if you're spending it under the weight of deadlines that are literally a week away. It's just distracting yourself.

Of course, that's all speculative, so I'm not gonna continue on much longer with this train of thought, it's just the impression I get because it's clear she values her time but doesn't know how to manage it properly. I feel that all too well as someone who also struggles with ADHD.

[innytoes]

33 for callexie (caleb/alex/willie)? ;D

Willie had the perfect plan, okay? It didn't matter that maybe he'd taken one too many Benadryl. He was sure Tomorrow Willie would absolutely agree with his flawless decision making skills.

Like that time he painted his entire kitchen red. Like sure, the next day he'd been kind of confused, but then a week later he tripped while holding a bowl of tomato soup and you couldn't even see the stains! Benadryl Willie was brilliant.

So of course he wouldn't regret crawling across the fire escape, jimmying open the window of his very cute neighbours' place, and all but throwing himself and his laptop (very important!) through.

"Oh hey, you're having dinner, perfect!" Willie beamed at the surprised faces. The lights were all off, except for some candles on the table, which was perfect. That would mean they could see his presentation all the better.

Alex looked positively angelic in the candlelight, his eyes wide and his hair like liquid gold. The shadows made Caleb's jaw look even more perfect, and his eyes seemed to be sparkling with amusement. Probably amusement, right? Willie was a funny guy. Which was point seven!

Focus.

"Anyway, you can keep eating while you listen," he said, dragging over one of the bar stools from the kitchen to their table. He propped the laptop on top, flipping it open so they could see the first slide.

"Anyway here is my Powerpoint on why you should date me," he started, jabbing the button. The first slide wooshed away with a fun sound effect. "Number one, I am very pretty. Case in point." He clicked again, and some shirtless selfies appeared.

"What the hell is happening," Alex whispered.

"Point one b, I also have very pretty and pettable hair. And abs. Unless I just ate pizza or something." The next slide showed off both. "And a cute butt." He hadn't been able to take a proper picture of that, but he turned a little so they could see his butt anyway. "See?"

"Let him finish, darling, he obviously put work into this," Caleb whispered back.

"Thank you," Willie said, before clearing his throat. "Point Two. You both keep inviting me over to dinner and smiling at me and when we bump into each other in the hall we can talk like forever and we just seem to click and vibe.'

The last slide with his abs disappeared, replaced by one that said VIBES in comic sans. Because that was supposed to be the most easy to read font out there. Or something.

"Number three, I am an excellent boyfriend. I will remember your birthday and get you flowers except I won't because I know Alex is allergic but I'm learning how to make origami flowers except don't tell Alex that it's a surprise for his birthday which by the way is July 19th," he rambled. He clicked the button again, because he was pretty sure there were more reasons he was a good boyfriend.

"Oh, right! I make a mean breakfast in bed and also I totally believe in fair division of labour meaning I will do the dishes because I know Caleb secretly hates them because they make his hands wrinkly but also you can't just put wine glasses in the dishwasher."

"You're absolutely right," Caleb agreed.

"Don't encourage him!" Alex hissed.

"Point... um..." He clicked the power point again. "Five. Right. I am amazing in bed. Ten out of ten ex boyfriends agree. Or they would if I had ten. I have four. They're all great, except for Joey Keaton, but I never slept with him anyway because we were both twelve and he dumped me because I wouldn't give him my shiny Charizard Pokemon card."

A picture of his shiny Pokemon Card, which he still owned (suck it Joey!) popped up on the screen.

"You skipped point four," Alex pointed out, and Willie blinked. He went back a slide. Then forward again. Then back.

"Okay point four is your eyes are very pretty and I want to kiss you," he said resolutely. "Anyway point six! If you date me you will always have a tie breaker. If you can't pick a restaurant? TIE BREAKER! Not sure what movie to watch? Tie breaker! Also you need like three people to play Twister which is also very important. Point seven is I'm very funny and eight is... oh that's a picture of the raccoon who comes by the dumpster sometimes to see if there's pizza. We're friends. He can vouch for me. Point nine is I'm great in bed and also very cute."

Was it just him or was the room getting all spinny? He swayed a little, and Caleb caught his arm.

"You're strong," he said, smiling. "That's not a point, though. I mean it's a point on why I wanna date you, but I didn't get to that PowerPoint yet."

"Why don't you sit down," Caleb said, gently settling him down in his chair. Alex looked even prettier from across the table.

"You're even prettier from this angle," he told Alex.

"I- thank you?" Alex said. "Are you okay?"

"Peachy!" Willie said. Oh man, this food smelled so good. He took a bite. "I'm not done though. I still have to get to point twenty four, which is super important. I give really good hugs. You like hugs don't you?"

"Willie, did you take something?" Caleb asked gently. His hand was on Willie's back and it was warm and he leaned into it. That was nice. He was kind of cold. And shivering a little. Haha.

"No, I don't do that anymore, I have a real job now," he said. "And an apartment. And I can buy my own food and clothes and treats for Throckmorton - that's the raccoon by the way, I'll introduce you if you want."

"Did you ingest any substances?" Caleb tried again.

"I took some Benadryl," Willie said. "And some of this pasta. It's really good, have you tried it? Anyway, point... point ten. I'm a good cook. I know how to make eggs like five different ways, and that's not even including French Toast!"

"How about you come lie down on the couch for a moment?" Caleb asked.

"I feel like you’re not taking this PowerPoint presentation about why you should date me very seriously," Willie pouted. He'd worked very, very hard on it.

"How about we go sit on the couch to look at the rest, huh?" Alex said. Alex was so smart. "I'll carry your laptop, okay?"

They sat down on the couch, and Alex put the laptop on the coffee table. Willie nodded, ready to go back to his presentation, but then Caleb wrapped a blanket around his shoulders and kept his arm there, and Alex gently brushed the hair off his forehead - and rested it there for a moment, which was nice. He leaned into the touch.

"You're burning up," Alex said.

"Yeah, I'm hot, that was like point one, do I have to start over?" Willie asked. He tried to reach his laptop with his foot. He hadn't bothered to put on shoes, so his fun socks were showing. "Oh, I didn't even include that on the PowerPoint. I have lots of cool socks. See, these are of cats in space."

"They're very nice," Alex agreed, gently tipping him over into Caleb. "Why don't you tell us all about your socks? How many pairs do you have?"

"Well, I have the cats in space, and dogs in space, and raccoon socks, and skateboards, and little hotdogs, and..." Slowly, his brain started to shut down, but that was okay, because Caleb was warm and comfy, and Alex was holding his hand, and he was pretty sure the sock argument was winning them over more than point twelve (I give great head!) and thirteen (I'm great at keeping plants alive! Look at my spider plant!).

And okay, when he woke up twelve hours later feeling like death, on a couch that was more comfortable than his own bed, with two very handsome and very doting neighbours willing to feed him soup and nurse him back to health, he had to admit that maybe Benadryl Willie had been right about something.

Because he did leave that apartment with two boyfriends.

[eisforeidolon]

Question: My question is, the three of us [her and her besties] have been watching a certain daytime serial since we were thirteen -

Jared: Lucky Charms? [does a little dance, checks to see if Jensen was watching]

Question: Yes, let's call it Lucky Charms. And I just want to know if you had to do it all over again, would you spend your time on that daytime serial? And is that something you'd recommend to other people trying to break into the industry?

Jensen: One hundred percent.

Question: Because we loved it. Since thirteen, our grandmas were watching!

Jensen: [laughs] Uh, yeah, no, that was really kind of my training ground. I didn't go to a proper film school, or acting school, and I didn't get properly trained - which is clear by, if you watch anything I do -

Jared: Anything he's ever done. Like right now.

Jensen: But there I learned things that I don't even think that they would necessarily teach you in certain acting schools. Which is, you know, hitting your mark, finding your light, understanding how to navigate personalities - which that show had, you know, thirty actors, and every one had a different personality. And you gotta have to, you gotta navigate that if you wanna survive. That was such a valuable experience for me, I've talked about it all the time and it's also such a great gig for so many actors out there. I always - when I left that show in 2000, I think, I always thought to myself, like, if I go out and it doesn't happen, I will one hundred percent come running back to this. Because it was so great. So yeah.

Question: I know in a lot of the other question and answer sessions, a lot of your colleagues have been mentioning community theater and things like that, school plays, but nobody mentioned -

Jensen: A soap opera. Uh, yeah, I think - and look, community theater? You know, going to school? In any kind of -

Jared: Making video and putting it on YouTube or something.

Jensen: Right, any kind of expression of making kind of creative content - whether that's on a stage, whether that's in front of a camera, whether that's in your room with your friends, you know, reading a play, or whatever it is? I think all of that fuels something within you, if that's the kind of thing that you strive to do. And so I know that that experience for me was three years and it was - it was essentially my college. It was my training ground for what I went on to do. And I'm forever thankful for it, and I will always praise it.

Jared: Yeah, it's a, it's yeah - bravo. There's something I think he and I both learned in different ways and different times. And I love theater, I love being in theater, I love going to the theater - you know all this and that? It's different doing the version that we ended up kind of doing? Because if you're doing a play, you get three months to rehearse it. You get to go [gestures] left, right, up, down, center, forward, backward [Jensen nods]. Et cetera, et cetera. Doing something like where he started or where I started? You kinda learn really quickly, like, hey, you ain't got all day. You know? You ain't got all hour. Like, you have five minutes, get it right [snaps]. Like, 'cause we're moving on. And so that really helped when it was necessary, when he and I were working together, the sun was coming up in thirty minutes and we would have loved to have had three hours to get something done, but the sun was gonna come up and then it's not gonna make sense so we're gonna have to cut it anyways. So it's like, okay, we've done this before.

Jensen: I recently did a little part in a film, and it was this big end scene where all the [looks up, bats at air], all the -

Jared: Do you smell toast?

Jensen: [looks around comically] All the major players were in the scene and the sun was going down, but more importantly, [turns to Jared] there was a helicopter [Jared reacts] that was supposed to fly overhead. And the shot had to time out with the helicopter coming and we only had, like, two, two shots at it. And, you know, the sun was going down - so it was like a race to the finish. Well, my coverage was left to the very end. [Jared mouths something I can't make out] And of course everybody was - the director and the camera operator, and the dp - was like, 'We're so sorry, we're only gonna get, like, one or two goes at this.' And I was like, 'That's cool.'

Jared: I only need one.

Jensen: And it was like a full speech that I had [laughs], and I, you know, I tattooed it the first take, and I did it again the second take, and I remember the director, he's like, [emphatically] 'I love television actors.' [both laugh]

[killakalx]

OMG I have a beef with Tom Taylor that he doesn’t know about!

1. He blocked me on Twitter in 2021 and in 2023😭😭😭

2. How he wrote Constantine. He literally took all the stereotypes about bisexuals and combined them in Constantine even though John was one of the few good bisexual representations

3. How he wrote Nightwing. Instead of a cynical and intelligent hero, one of the most complex characters in the universe, his Nightwing became himbo.

4. His series is literally all empty moments. Dick talks about big things all the time, but he never faces any real problems with his choices. All his problems are solved for him, and he himself is a completely passive protagonist.

5. My main problem with his Nightwing is that he should be dead by now. If this is truly Dick's character, he has no sense of self-preservation or healthy cynicism (accepting a glass of water from his enemies or exposing himself to the president).

His planning is shortsighted (should have been killed by Gunhawk and Gunbunny's sniper shot) and not particularly intelligent (summoning Bruce to do his detective work for him), so how is he not dead yet?

6. How he constantly makes Clark insufferable just to make Bruce look better.

7. The way he writes Damian. He constantly makes him act like he's a fucking rabid and wild dog.

8. He has to artificially create conflict. Taylor would rather make Dick, the acrobat, afraid of heights than have actual proper conflict in the stories.

9. How he blocks every single person engaging in good faith criticism of him and pretends like it's all some murderous dick/starfire fan conspiracy. I think half of the fandom is blocked by him.

10. He can’t write my wife starfire for shit Personally, I don’t think Tom Taylor is trying to “ruin” Starfire. I think he (and many other DC Comics writers) don’t understand who she is a character. I think Starfire is a very hard character to write in general due to all the different interpretations of her.

11. His injustice run

12. How he writes my pookie Daredevil🙁 His Matt(AND Tony) feels so bland that you think that it’s not even Matt but some dude with the same name.

But if we thinking about his Nightwing as just a silly and unserious version of Dick, I have no problem with that. I myself spent a fair amount of money on his comics back in the day because I couldn't bring myself to read anything else for a long time. His writing is not bad but it’s not great either. It’s okay I think?

But anyway it’s just my opinion and I might be wrong😅

this is nice bc i basically listened to tidbits and summaries of his nightwing run. i didn’t get a real peek into his character outside of just what happened to him and what he did i guess

1. damn double whammy 😭

2. i know nothing of constantine but i know too much about bi stereotypes

3. i agree that he isn’t all that complex but i like himbo nightwing 🙁 i’m a simple girl i fear.

4. i do see this part though!! i’m not highly critical of plots most of the time but i do notice when it seems vague.

5. “he should be dead by now” alr damn 😔. but i see the issue. he’s been dumbed down and everyone else has to help him do things he should be capable of doing himself

6. this is out of my realm bc i don’t know much about clark’s character anyway. i do want to see more of him though, i’ve been meaning to watch a few of his movies. and NO it is definitely not bc i’m starting to think too much about fucking him !

7. this is also out of my realm bc i don’t know damian’s character. as you interact with me you’ll quickly learn that i only really care about my pookies

8. ok… what.

9. mmm he’s giving barb…

10. atp let me write starfire goddamn !

ok i get this!! gonna start saying bruno redondo’s my favorite nightwing since he’s the artist. ty for filling me in love :))

[purlturtle]

34+12 for Bering and Wells? :D

Oh those look fun! (Here's the rest of the prompts)

12. ‘you could say I’m fond of you.’

34. odd socks

---

"I can't believe it."

Myka frowned, surprised by Helena's words. "Believe what?"

Helena nodded towards Myka's feet, which were propped up on the hotel bed they both sat on, crossed at the ankles, all perfectly proper, all dressed in- "Ohhh," Myka laughed, "you mean the socks?"

"Yes!" Helena exclaimed. "They don't match - I did not have you down as someone to wear odd socks!"

"Oh that's on purpose," Myka said, and it felt as though she was confiding a big secret in the newly reinstated agent.

"On purpose!" Helena's eyebrows flew up; her eyes were afire with curiosity - and Myka realized that she wasn't just enchanted by the fact that her new coworker was H.G. Wells.

She was enamored with her. She wanted to see that look on Helena's face all the time. Wanted to bring it about. Wanted to kiss that half-open mouth, wanted to make those delighted eyes slid close, those clever hands to wander-

Socks.

Mismatched socks, on purpose.

That's what they were talking about.

Myka needed to focus.

"Yeah, um, I..." She tried to rally her thoughts. "So it started with a twelve pack of socks in different colors, a few years ago," she explained. "I folded them once late at night, and when I took a pair out the next morning, I had mixed blue and charcoal together. I stared at the pair, and I stared at the drawer with all the other pairs and the black ones and everything, and I thought, the hell with it, who's gonna notice anyway, right?" She shrugged and smiled. "Exactly nobody, of course, except me. I kinda felt it all day, that my socks were mismatched, but..." She bit her lips; she was blushing. Why was she blushing? It wasn't as if this was scandalous - not even to a Victorian, right?

"It felt good?" Helena ventured. When Myka nodded, Helena laughed out loud, bright and silver and happy. "Oh how wonderful! Such a tiny transgression - such an act of defiance!"

"Exactly!" Myka nodded emphatically. "That's exactly it. I mean the dress code isn't all that strict, but still you gotta look professional, right? But nobody notices your socks, except you yourself, and it just... I just like it." She gestured towards her feet. "It's not like they're, like, comic print or anything," she added - Pete wore those, and she wouldn't be seen dead in that kind of thing. No, her socks were really pretty tame, all one color, no patterns - but, today, a combo of burgundy and dark purple.

"Oh, no, no," Helena agreed. "Very classy. A beautiful combination."

"Are you making fun of me?"

"Not at all." Helena stretched out on her bed. "I like it. I like to see the person behind the agent."

Myka's blush came back with a vengeance. "Well," she said, for want of anything else to say.

"Retrievals that run to several days are good for that, are they not?" Helena went on. "Not just working together up close, but spending time together outside of that, also. I already knew you were a terrific agent; I appreciate learning that you are a person who wears odd socks for a very good reason, too."

Myka almost preened. 'A very good reason.' That's what Helena thought of this little piece of nonsense. "Thanks," she brought out. "I, uh, I'm glad you think that."

"And what have you learned about me?" Helena asked, rolling over and propping her head on her elbow.

Myka blinked. "That you're nothing like I thought you were," she blurted out, then bit her tongue. Where had that come from? And would Helena take it badly?

Helena laughed again, though. "Had enough time yet to process that I'm a woman? Or is it going to take a while longer?"

"I'm sorry," Myka said, instantly mortified. "I was just so surprised; I don't usually run my mouth like that."

Helena tilted her head, eyes still sparkling with amusement. "You don't?"

By now even the tips of Myka's ears were aflame. She wanted to pull her pillow over her head, or just disappear, but the spark in Helena's eyes was... teasing, yes, but in a friendly way. "I like you," what was came out of Myka's mouth, in yet another example of how she totally never burst out anything inane at all ever.

Helena's eyebrows arched high. "Hm?"

"Something I learned about you," Myka elaborated, pushing through her embarrassment. "Is that I like you."

"Do you now."

Oh hell. The way Helena was leaning forward on her bed - the way that her voice had just dropped an octave... Myla swallowed. Well yes, so that, too, but she wouldn't have thought- "You could even say I'm... fond of you," she went on, and then ran her tongue over suddenly dry lips.

Helena's eyes dropped to watch, immediately, intently, and her own mouth sagged open a little. She cleared her throat and said, "Are you now."

Her voice, her expression, were doing things to Myka. "Yes," she whispered.

She didn't know who moved first, nor which bed they ended up on - she'd need time to process that kiss, she knew even as lips met lips. But for the time being, as legs wound around legs and feet rubbed against odd-socked feet, she decided to just enjoy the sensations.

[binart]

Hey, absolutely LOVE your art and I enjoy seeing your comics! Small question, how long does it take for you to make one page? And what is your process?

thank you!!!

THANK U!!!!!!!

it's a decidedly long-ish process and i'M KIND OF WONDERING HOW I MANAGED TO CHURN OUT TWO PER WEEK FOR A WHILE... (it was bad for my mental health i think is how). some artists can do like THREE OR EVEN FOUR PER WEEK!! but i am slow and so it takes me like 4-5 days to make one dfkjhgfdkjg

anyway first step is thumbnailing! that's when you make a tiny comic page and map out where you will have the panels, and what you want in them. also very good to figure out where your text bubbles will be at this stage.

NEXT!! transferring the thumbnail to a regular comic canvas! i like to thumbnail on paper with pencil because i eRASE STUFF A LOT (paneling is hard and i'm still learning), so i take a picture of it and then paste it onto the canvas >w>

NEXT!!! rough sketch phase. the picture quality tends to be jank as hell b/c i'm lazy & refuse to take more than one picture EVEN IF IT'S BLURRY, so i go over everything with a VERY QUICK SKETCH to lay out the same ideas. then I go in with a vector tool to make the panels!!

NEXT!!! Sometimes skipped depending on the page, is any 3D background work if I feel like i need it! which is usually always, because my perspective skills are uh. LACKING. (aND YES IT'LL TAKE LONGER TO LEARN PROPERLY IF I RELY ON 3D TOOLS BUT I DON'T CARE!! I JUST WANT TO TELL STORIES RIGHT NOW!)

this also involves MAKING the 3-d structure which i try to do if i know the scene i want to make is in a moderately complex looking area. it takes.......... so long............................ 3D modelling is hard....

NEXT!! Actual Sketch. This is me figuring out what the characters will look like Proper instead of throwing vague blobs on the page. i have to turn my brain on a higher setting for this part so it's usually a harder step for me. i also like to finish the background lineart by this stage.

NEXT!!! THE DREADED PEOPLE LINEART........ hardest stage. VERY BORING. lack the attention span for this to not be a horrific slog. HAVE TO HAVE SOME FORM OF ENTERTAINING NOISE ON OR ELSE CAN'T COMPLETE.

NEXT!! FLAT COLORS AND SHADOWS! self explanatory! i usually do the background first since it's cooler to watch characters come to life on an already completed BG.

NEXT!!!! Text stuff. Drawing out proper text bubbles, adding in text, changing the colors of the bubbles to match the characters.. this is also where i attempt to add SFX if there are any, and this is extremely difficult for me for whatever reason. STILL LEARNING LMAO.. i also blur stuff if i'm trying to show like... depth at this stage. like making one character blurry so you know they're closer to the "camera" so to speak

NEXT!!!!!!! AND FINALLY!!!! THE BEST PART!!!! Gradients. MAKES EVERYTHING BETTER. FUN TO APPLY. PULLS THE ENTIRE PAGE TOGETHER.

....................hm that's actually quite an involved & difficult process. i am only now realizing that

HM.

[dumbangrypuppet]

I was just hit with a sudden idea. Because I wanna see if I could be Simon for Halloween or something (I probably can't because I don't have the right stuff but AWE MAN THE IDEA I JUST HAD)

okay so to explain to the best of my ability, I remembered my sister has got a Jughead Beanie. (From Riverdale, which, I've never seen the show or read the comics, but I at least remember that his beanie looks like a crown.)

Fellas can you see where I'm going with this

I need to learn how to crochet so I can make a beanie that looks like Ice Kings crown. If I can't do it myself, I'll see if I can buy the yarn and get my aunt to do it she's great at crocheting. (All I would need is yellow and red, which I'm sure she has already, but I have sensory issues I need a specific yarn so my skin doesn't feel itchy cause I touched yarn that I don't like)

Other idea, which falls more in line with one of my special interests, is making a Reborn Doll of the baby Ice King from Fionna and Cake. God is my witness I will do it myself if I have to.

To explain, reborn dolls are a form of art dolls that are sculpted and painted to look like real babies, and are weighted as well. Most dolls are sculpted by an artist and made into a vinyl kit to be sold online that can be bought as blank, and then can be painted by someone. Each doll when completed is hand painted with every detail, depending on the artist, if it has hair, it's hand sewn into the vinyl. Every. Single. Little. Strand.

Not every doll is sculpted by an artist, just the majority. Sometimes there are Reborn dolls that are sculpts of REAL babies, and these are called Realborns.

These dolls are of course very expensive, as you're buying a piece of art, not a toy. Someone sat there for hours, maybe days or months painting this doll. The person who sculpted it sat there for longer, and then had to WAIT to get their doll into a mass produced sculpt. (Some sculptors don't get that, and their doll has limited amounts of sculpts made)

There's so much about this thing I like that I feel bad for rambling about it but I have to say EVERYTHING.

Not only are there vinyl kits, there are also silicone. Both types of kits require their own types of paint.

With vinyl, the most known paint to be used on a doll is Genesis Heat Set, which has been discontinued recently. Genesis was the most durable type of paint (at least in my opinion, because I handle my dolls a lot). You would use this paint on your vinyl kit, and paint in layers. You'd wait for the paint to dry, then place the painted piece in the oven for a bit, let it cool down, paint the next layer.

Again, since this paint has been discontinued, most artists have moved to painting with air dry on their vinyl dolls, which I'm not fond of. I have a couple dolls painted with air dry, and the paint comes off too easily, no matter how much sealant you use on the paint.

You can also use acrylic paint, but that's a given for any project. But if you're working on a vinyl doll, you'll have to seal the paint well, because if you don't it's just gonna peel off or flake with time.

I don't have any clue what sort of paint is used on silicone dolls, but I do know that you have to use paints specifically for silicone, or else it will peel right off and not stick at all.

Also, a tip for anyone that wants one of these dolls, never buy from Amazon, these will always be counterfeits of the real doll kit. There are so many other sites that sell fakes, but it would take forever to list them all. Just make sure to do the proper research beforehand.

ANYWAY.

point of me going on this rant is to infect you all with my ideas. Reborn dolls that look like all the baby characters from Baby World in Fionna and Cake,,

Baby Finn,,, Baby Jake,,,Baby Marcy,,,,

Beanies that look like Simon's magic crown,,,,,I will go mad if I DON'T make one soon actually.

[cozymochi]

🌻🌻🌻 give us your Words

THREE CRAZY FLOWERS!??? Lets goooo

🌻- A FEW DAYS AGO me and my roommate rewatched all of avatar the last airbender. I mean, we tried to years ago but we stopped because… Ok this might sound ridiculous but we stopped 5 episodes in cuz it was too good, and we needed hardcore stupid for a while. BUT WE WENT BACK IN and wrapped it up in a few days and it’s still ballin’ as ever. I don’t have much to say beyond that.

🌻- YESTERDAY, I got a Shadow the Hedgehog plushie at a comic store because. Anyway, threw on Sonic X (subbed for a change wooo) a few hours later smack in the middle of season 3 to get some Shadow vibes in cuz he is the original scrunkly. …OKAY im actually done talking about him, If I get started on my sonic bs I never stop BUT

It’s absolutely bonkers to me how Sonic X just like…has virtually no music score????? It’s been a minute since I’ve seen Season 1-2 subbed, but Season 3 has barely any compositions at all. And everything is so….slow? You know how anime used to just…stick to one shot or draw something out for a reaaally long time? That’s pretty much every episode. I chalk that up to the mid animation (it’s crazy that this will be the same studio that would eventually handle 2019 Fruits Basket). As much as I do dislike how loud and tonally deaf the 4Kids score is, I did miss the character leitmotifs a bit. I can only imagine what a combo would’ve been like with proper atmosphere. Every now and then I’d HOPE the music would pop off but there’d be whole ass action sequences and score is just a constant low, droning wubwubwubwubwub noise. Once in a blue moon an Adventure 1 event song might play BUT OTHER THAN THAT ITS DEAD SILENCE or wubwubwubwubwub. ITs Just so baffling to me considering how peak the music in the games are, you’d think that’d be utilized in it’s anime. Tho Live and Learn playing at the end of the Project Shadow arc??? Bruh. Cinema.

…Anyway all that said, the Metarex arc is still pretty peak. And I really think Sonic X would’ve benefitted hard from today’s animation standard, cuz it srsly NEEDS that sense of speed to convey the insane stuff more 😩. Though Sonic X as it was would never be made today in the “let’s be safe and squeaky bclean for the brand” landscape. Not enough hurr hurr chili dog 👹 SEE LOOK IM GOING OFF FOREVER THIS IS WHY I CANT GET ON MY BS—-

🌻- If the “talking about watching every disney film” thing ever comes out, I’m dodging copyright by re-drawing the shots we talk about or make new jokes. “But you could just use screenshots” ermmmmmmmm maybe. But what’s MORE extra than trying to go by memory AND try and show off on a thing 80% of people would only strictly listen to? ;) ….Besides, it’d be different I think. Sorta. I’d hope. It’s still in the early stages.

What if I’m not funny whaT if

[phanfictioncatalogue]

Train Station Masterlist

A Pang in Your Chest (ao3) - dansleftboob

Summary: The first time Dan ever got a pang in his chest when looking at Phil was, in Dan’s mind, a strange point to get it. The two had been stood on the train station platform, having just finished a radio show, maybe Dan would have found it more normal if Phil had actually been looking at him but no, Dan’s heart apparently decided to clench when he was looking at his best friend staring off into the distance, probably lost in a some daydream about dogs or something. That made Dan’s breath hitch. A completely normal thing. And it took Dan’s breath away.

And I know the yearning will always remain (ao3) - Kavat

Summary: Kathryn drops off Phil and Dan at the train station.

Blink Back to Let Me Know (ao3) - wallflowerchronicles

Summary: In the aftermath of a tragic accident, Dan finds himself in a coma. Unable to communicate with those around him, he struggles to piece together what has happened - the extent of his injuries, their potential impact on the rest of his life, and most importantly, what has happened to Phil. Dan becomes so obsessed with learning Phil’s fate that he neglects the choice that he must make about his own: whether to live or to die.

Come Back, Be Here (ao3) - jestbee

Summary: Phil hates saying goodbye, he can't wait for the day he doesn't have to anymore.

Or

The five times Dan and Phil said goodbye in a train station, and the one time they didn’t.

Every Minute With You Still Feels Like the First (ao3) - wepreachelectric

Summary: It's their first time together and Phil can't help but remember every little thing. From the way they hugged, to the way it feels to hold Dan's hand and how he sleeps. Its happening right now, Dan is here right now but it doesn't feel real, not really.

Exchange (ao3) - breatherepeat

Summary: At a train station in his hometown, Dan finds himself face to face with his past.

Instead of running from it, he confronts it.

Continuation of Learning To Love Yourself and Life After Love series.

[from blue to hazel brown] (ao3) - bisexual_dean_winchester

Summary: Dan likes old things. He likes antique shops and used bookstores. He likes mystery novels, and has everything except his life figured out.

Phil likes comic books, and fluffy armchairs. He likes his job, and his life in general. Well, he tries to convince himself that he does anyways.

Soulmate AU where the eyes of your soulmate are tattooed onto your arm from birth, they open when your soulmate is born, and grow as the person they belong to does.

Ghost Train (ao3) - MaeTaurus

Summary: It's October 19, 3012 and two ghosts are spotted at a train station in Manchester.

it feels like i can see the past in your eyes (ao3) - levitate

Summary: A rush of memories flood back into Dan’s head, about train stations and Starbucks and ferris wheels and snow and the smell of Sharpie and poorly made pancakes and a time that was easier and exciting but also very nerve-wracking and very new. And then he’s back in the present, realising that these two may have the same adventures of their own, and he bites his lip to keep himself from grinning.

or dan witnesses a first meeting at a train station, and he’s back in 2009 all over again.

Love that I give (ao3) - det395

Summary: Proper goodbyes don't happen at the train station

Meeting You (ao3) - orphan_account

Summary: A drabble on Dan and Phil's first moment together.

Memories (ao3) - orphan_account

Summary: Cute story where Dan sees people at the train station and gets all the 2009 phan pheels. I apologize in advance.

Opia (ao3) - SwAgAmAnDeR

Summary: the one where time stops in a train station and dan has a girlfriend but he and phil fall in love anyways

Piccadilly Station (ao3) - phanimist

Summary: concept: phil proposing to dan at the train station where they first met

Shared Sounds (ao3) - INeverHadMyInternetPhase (BirbWatcher)

Summary: Soulmate AU. Dan Howell is excited for his eighteenth birthday, excited to hear the sounds of his soulmate, though his journey is not destined to be an easy one. He hears the sounds as soon as he turns eighteen, but they don’t become clear until you hear your soulmate’s voice. And, well, Dan wasn’t exactly expecting his sounds to become clear when he heard an interview given by a member of his favourite band: Phil Lester.

That’s It (ao3) - Phandiction

Summary: Phil comes to terms with hidden emotions he's felt for Dan since the day they met at the train station and confronts him.

We Built This House On Memories - darling-phil

Summary: A look into Dan and Phil’s relationship over the years from the moment Dan bought his train tickets in 2009 to Phil stealing his cereal in 2016.

We Made These Memories For Ourselves (ao3) - sleeplessnightwithphan (sarah_cadabra)

Summary: Phil had only just gotten to meet Dan, had just has the best days of his life with him. Now, he has to watch helplessly as Dan has to get on the train to go back home, go away from Phil once more.