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bacchuschucklefuck · 2 months

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Riz has counted four casseroles this week alone. Five, if one goes by the method of cooking, but Yelen's scary when she's crossed, and calling her burek by its proper name is important to her, so Riz does her the courtesy and doesn't include it in his mental tally.

He holds the tupperware over his head to keep it out if the way as he takes careful steps over the piles of notes in his path. The dockman case just closed, relevant documentations handed over to relevant personnels, evidences dealt with as needed; all he has lying around now is just record of the process and traces of himself thinking through it. Unsurprisingly they still haven't invented a surface more convenient for people under five feet who like to pace to put pieces of paper on than the ground.

Actual records go into the case folder with the other documents. Anything else with at least one side still blank is going to the school kids in the block - they chew through an astounding amount of paper just learning arithmetic. The rest is for the recycling basket.

Later. It's his mandated lunch break right now.

Riz sits down in front of the corner file cabinet. In an office often overrun with papers and strings and sometimes even thumbtacks, he's never really managed to clutter up this exact square of surface like every other ones. Ever since the bottom drawer rattled for no discernible reason a day long past, his eyes have always just kinda decided to slide across the space without acknowledging it.

It's years out, now. Riz doesn't know why he thought it such a big deal anymore, back then. He wasn't scared, he doesn't think. Not anymore. Maybe just uncomfortable with the idea that certain things persist despite all efforts to change.

He opens the tupperware. Dame Carabelle's experiment greets him with enough spice in the aroma alone to knock out a small mammal. When he chopped the vegetables for this casserole he couldn't really imagine the eventual heft of it, evident even through just these few ladles' worth, maybe weighing heavier for being still warm. His folk eat more through the smell and the textures and the aftertastes than the taste itself. His folk's meal is really the cooking rather than the eating. The eating is the meal's end.

"Hey," he tells the file cabinet's bottom drawer. "Um."

It's the anniversary. Riz doesn't know the exact date of his dad's death; nobody currently alive does. He and Mom both use the date of the funeral, though as he moved out to Bastion and then got more directly involved with Interplanar he hasn't really been going to Dad's grave as much. Doesn't seem like very efficient use of his time, catching a train or borrowing a car or spending a whole spell slot on going somewhere he knows Dad isn't at. They're sorta coworkers now. They talk on and off every other week between missions. When he goes now, it's just to clean up the place, keeping the landmark tidy and respectable.

Without that work to mark the date he doesn't really know what it serves anymore. But he still remembers it. Still takes note, absently or not, when it comes around.

There's not really a good way to tell the drawer that. Riz looks for another way to start the... conversation, hopefully. The question at play, he'd guess, is why he's doing this. He's been pretty content ignoring all the rattlings and the knocks from inside and the times it sits slightly ajar without him ever opening it himself; hell, he still uses the three drawers on top of it. Space is fucking precious in Bastion.

Precious enough to finally fix this damn drawer so he gets his turn to use it? Riz asks himself. Is that what we're getting to? Then he dismisses the thought - he didn't manage to fix it the times he actually tried, let alone-- now. When he doesn't really care that much to.

That's probably a good place to start. "'s fine if you keep being in there, turns out," Riz says.

The lunch hours are quiet in the block, sleepy and bright with the brief window of sunlight that manages to break through roof overhangs and extended balconies and laundry lines and climbing vines. Riz's work isn't loud here (the loud parts happen away from his office, if everything goes right), but the fragment of early summer heat reflected in the steady warmth his meal still carries compels him to lower his voice even more. It makes the words feel intimate, in a way he's never been familiar with - if he says something he just says it. He doesn't whisper. If he gives his friends something, he gives it open-palm. He's found out, along the way, that people usually don't think of rituals and courtesies the way he does.

Small voice for a diminished monster. "You know why I think so?" Riz asks. "Because almost two decades ago you kidnapped me and almost killed me, and now you rattle a drawer in my office."

It doesn't sound as much like a taunt as Riz wanted it to; the drawer has made a lot of noises again this morning when he checked the calendar, and he was definitely annoyed at it. Now, though, facing it like this after cooking the whole morning with more grandparents and peers from the block than he can count on both hands to cater for a tenant union meeting, he thinks the annoyance has morphed. Changed shape.

It has the shades of something like pity. Riz is not prone to pity, and especially not at these kinda matters. It's slightly maddening that he coheres perfectly outside of this one spot. That he commands his spaces, except for a drawer.

He puts the tupperware onto the floor between himself and the cabinet. "I know we're aware it's the anniversary," he says at the drawer. "You do this every year. You make a ruckus every time I decide to go do my job instead of mooching off my friends' aircon, and every time I get an invitation to some stupid social thing I want to turn down, and every time one of the old people tries to introduce me to a child or a nibling, because being a bachelor over thirty is weird," he pinches the bridge of his nose. "I have three fucking jobs. I love doing my fucking jobs. I'm forcing funds into infrastructures. You're never leaving, are you."

The drawer vibrates lightly. It's a very, very mild acknowledgement, considering the history of reactions Riz has gotten from this thing. Riz thinks it's emanating joyous agreement, or satisfaction.

It only sharpens the pity. Riz doesn't like that, but it's how it is. That's, ultimately, the lesson he's been taught over and over and over again, just by existing as himself, turned every which way by space after space that don't see him eye-to-eye: it's not like he'd quit living over any of it. It's not like any of it can sand off these fundamental pieces of him.

He's outgrown a lot of things, he's found out. Again, and again, and again. A childhood home, a yearly trip, a monster.

"'s probably scary for you, huh?" He asks. "Because I left."

He thinks he hears joints creak that sound like you did. Probably the way a scorned lover would say it, in a movie or a yellowback. He has no more connection to the idea than he did as a kid. Less, because it doesn't even scare him.

"That's what it is, right? That it's the anniversary, and I'll never be like Dad." He raises a knee from the floor, pulls it back closer to him. Slings an arm over it. "You love to remind me. The thing is, Dad also left. He loved Mom and he loved me, and none of us wanted it to happen, but it still did. Because love does fuckall to make anyone stay on its own."

He's long past being bitter about it. It's just the facts. Once upon a time he looked into the future and the specter of his friends' happily-ever-after casted lightless, fathomless shadow over him. Love, marriage, that kind of devotion, to a fifteen-year-old with more solved cases than friends seemed so eternal. Final.

But you can only watch your friends build up apps' worth of jilted lovers for so long before getting over it.

"You know what I learned?" Riz tells the drawer. "Love doesn't make anyone stay. Project management does."

He stands up, and picks up the tupperware of Dame Carabelle's casserole, that he helped make, that he helped share with a block's worth of neighbors and members of a community he's at home with, and goes sit at his desk to eat. "Last chance to get any," he drops an offer over his shoulder as he walks away.

He doesn't eat all of his share in one go. What he's spared he leaves on the desk when going outside for a smoke break. Baron looks the exact same as when he saw them last, when he catches a glimpse; they haven't grown at all. They aren't there when he comes back inside, but the leftover has gone days-old cold, like someone's sucked the future out of it.

#dimension 20 #fantasy high #riz gukgak #baron from the baronies #this is set a Long time into the future. riz is like 32 in this one #''I will go to sleep'' so turns out that was a fucking lie #lmao I just needed to finally externalize this idea into Some kind of more final form #initially I aimed for a comic with this but ooughgoughhh I am. indisposed. unable to do that rn #and also I feel like there would just be too fucking much Riz Saying Words in that format for it to work. and I always go if theres so much #words in ur comic might as well make it a fic. and well. heeding my own advice perhaps #just been sitting on this sentiment of like. perceiving romantic relationships as uniquely permanent or conclusive #when the vast majority of people I know would hugely benefit from a divorce lmao #since watching fhjy at least. I think in a sense this is kind of my personal answer for that sticky note style comic I did way back thens #how much of that fear of being deprioritized comes from not being taken care of by the community you're in #I think that's the prettiest answer I can give for riz's deal. not one singular Special Person no matter the kind of flavour #but spaces that he's integrated in. that he has a hand in building even #okay NOW I sleep. everyone be quiet ok small voice for good sleep. it wont be a lie this time I prommy

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starry-bi-sky · 1 year

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Childhood Friends Au: Jason

there's something burning in the empty room inside my head fill it up with doubt let it in, let it spread

When Jason gets Tim's text in the groupchat, he ignores it. And then a short series of buzzes distract him from a drug bust. It hasn't even been that long since he reconciled with the family, with Bruce. He thinks that perhaps he should have left it sooner.

He glances at it momentarily when the buzzing stops and he doesn't need to knock out more guys. He sees Tim's question dedicated towards him, and his response is instant, his thumbs flying over in response.

He doesn't care, he's trying to patrol.

(He does not have Danny's number in this phone, it's new. A model from this year rather than one from four years ago. He wants that old phone back. He hasn't even looked at their old letters yet.)

(Jason bets that they've been packed away in storage with the rest of his things. He doesn't want to visit the manor, but maybe he should. Just to find those letters again. He's not sure if he's allowed to.)

And then Tim says its Danny, and Jason flies up to the past texts to find the photo before he can think. And then there is Danny staring right at him again, with the same old smile on his face that he always aimed at people. Lopsided, Danny's favorite kind of smile.

Something old, something new. He's got piercings, and his eyes are as blue as they've ever been. He has an undercut, it looks self-done. It looks good. He looks tired.

Danny's good at hiding things from people, it comes with the purchase of being a street kid. But Jason can't have someone else's back without knowing the ins and outs of the person in question. Jason knows when Danny is tired, and Danny knows when he is too.

Before his death, whenever Danny came over he never missed a beat in telling Jason that he looked like shit. Were Bruce's fancy rich-people, cloud-made mattresses too soft for him? He can find him a moth-eaten street mat for him if he needs it. It'd be like the good old days.

(Jason wishes he could have told him he was Robin, but it wouldn't be safe.)

Jason had to see him with his own eyes, had to confirm with his own eyes just how much Danny had changed. It's just his luck -- if he has any left -- that he arrives to Bruce's dumb gala just as Danny steps out onto their once-shared, west-end balcony.

He drops down, something heavy in his throat, before he can properly think it through. Danny looks up before his feet even touch the ground, like he knew he was there. Jason wonders if he did. There is a cigarette in Danny's mouth. Something old. And something flashes in his eyes that Jason cannot place. Danny looks tense.

Jason feels like he's made a mistake.

In the end, watching Danny walk away feels a lot like Jason is losing something -- or is he missing something? Is it both? He wants to reach out, grab Danny's arm, but his feet are glued to the balcony floor. There are so many things he wants to say, but his tongue has glued itself to the roof of his mouth. Something has crawled into his mouth and died.

So much has been said with so little words. He wants to spin Danny around and ask him so many questions.

What do you mean you spoke to my ghost?

What do you mean I told you the Joker killed me?

What else have I told you?

The Fentons were right?

What happened while I was gone?

Why are you scarred? Where did those come from?

(He is not blind. He saw those silver lightning scars etched into his best friend's skin, saw that it disappeared under his sleeves. Danny did not have those the last time Jason saw him, the last time he was alive.)

(The sight of it makes him alight with murderous intent. He wants to take his best friend by the front of his shirt and shake him -- who did this to you? Who did it? Tell him, he will fix it.)

(But he can't. He doesn't. Doing that means revealing who he is. It means telling his best friend that he has been alive for the last five years and he did not tell him. It would mean telling his best friend that he did not want him to know.)

You're going to kill the Joker for me?

What have I missed?

What do I not know?

You look so tired.

But before he can even get his mouth to move, Danny is gone back inside. The door swinging open, music once muffled now blaring out for only a few seconds before Danny is slipped back inside.

And Jason is left on the balcony, alone, with more questions than he thought he would have. He stares at the broken cigarette on the ground, it feels like a metaphor for something. Jason can't figure out for his second life what it is.

Maybe it's not a metaphor at all, maybe the curtains are sometimes just blue. Maybe sometimes your best friend just tells a vigilante that he is going to murder someone; that he is going to avenge his best friend with his bare hands and feel no remorse for it.

It is what Jason wants Bruce to do, wants someone who loves him to do. But he's not sure if its something he wants Danny to do. Not when he has been living a normal life -- or as normal as it could be -- without hide nor tail knowledge of what Jason used to do, or what he does now.

What have I missed?

Danny. He's missed Danny. He didn't look into Amity Park out of fear of what he'll find; of what he might do. But now Jason thinks he might have to.

Danny has talked to his ghost. Danny is going to kill for him. He has that look in his eyes that Jason knows so familiar; the one where he needs Jason to play distractor while he stole something from the corner store. The one where he looks a kid five years his senior in the eyes and kicks him in the dick because he cornered him and Jason, itching for a fight.

There's a look so familiar in his eyes; the one of a boy that's set his mind to something and he is going to do it. He can't call it the eyes of a cornered animal, because Danny has never been cornered, not when he's been with Jason. He calls it the eyes of a boy about to do something he will never regret.

He watches him leave with the Vlad Masters guy. He hides atop the roof and eavesdrops. The paparazzi have since left now that it was much later in the night; they are not the bigger fish, even if they sometimes parade it to be.

"I thought I told you to make nice." Vlad Masters scowls as he walks to the other side of the sleek black limousine. "To not embarrass me."

Jason frowns at the way he talks. His fingers itch, and something old lurches in his chest: the same old protectiveness that he used to feel whenever he and Danny were about to get into a fight. And then, later, when they would stand inside Bruce's galas with people who couldn't care less if they breathed or died.

Danny scowls right back at him, all venom and bite, and leans against the side of the car. "I did make nice -- as nice as I could when you dragged me here."

Vlad Master rolls his eyes, huffing. Jason's frown only deepens. It's not easy to make Danny do anything he doesn't want to. His sister has tried, so have his parents, as well as his teachers. But Danny is wild and so is Jason. Rebellion and disobedience -- no, independence -- cut into them from the streets like its broken glass.

Jason doesn't remember Danny ever mentioning knowing a Vlad Masters. They must have met after Jason died, then. He doesn't like him. He's the same as all the other socialites in that party. There is a greed in his eyes that Jason knows rots down to the core of him.

"I thought you would enjoy being here, little badger." Masters tries, and his tone makes Jason ruffle. As does the nickname. Danny's scowl only ever deepens, his fingers curling to dig nails into his palms. He looks at Masters like he wants him to burst into flames. "You are friends of the Waynes, I thought you would like the little reunion."

"Whether I did or didn't is none of your business." Danny says. The door clicks open on Masters' side, as if they remembered that they were on the street rather than in the car. Masters climbs into the back, and Danny opens the door. He only reaches in though, and pulls out a old hoodie.

Danny pulls it over his head, and his vest and button-down are hidden underneath it. "Don't wait up you old fruitloop, there's someone here I need to see." And he slams the door shut with more force than necessary.

(Jason makes a mental note to look into Vlad Masters. Who is he to Danny. How did they meet? There is an old animosity between each other that Jason has never seen before. Not even when they were on the streets. Not to this extent.)

Jason's heart seizes up. Danny's reminder early surges to the front of his mind. Right. That's right. He's going to go see him. Jason. He is going to lay flowers on his grave. He remembers that Jason likes zinnias. There are no florists open this late at night, Jason thinks.

He follows Danny from the rooftops. Danny sticks close to the buildings, slipping in and out of shadows. Jason wants to know where he learned how to do that. Where did he learn how to move without a sound?

Five years is a long time to be away from someone, Jason thinks. Something that fills him with dread. Five years is a long, long time. He's afraid that it's been too long. Will he still know Danny like he used to, if he asks? And if he doesn't?

More, more, more. More questions than answers. More things that Jason doesn't know about someone he used know to like the back of his hand. It scares him, and he hates it.

(There is scarring on Danny's hand that Jason has never seen before. Maybe that's the metaphor he was missing before. Maybe there are still more.)

Danny moves like a ghost down Gotham's streets, his hands shoved into his pockets without a care in the world. It is confusing. It is concerning. It is proof that more things have changed than Jason likes.

Danny somehow finds a florist open at this time of night, and buys a bouquet. And like he told the Red Hood, he buys zinnias. Reds and yellows. For a moment, Jason thinks that Danny knows. He wonders if he does.

What would he have told him, if he was a ghost? He told him that the Joker killed him. Maybe that means he told Danny he was Robin too, like he always wanted to. But couldn't, because it wasn't safe, and it wasn't just his secret to tell?

Why has nothing changed, now that he was alive again?

"Did you know," Danny starts, when he sits down at Jason's grave with flowers slipping gently from his fingers, before the tombstone below. Jason is as close as he can without being seen, hiding like a ghost. "That red zinnias mean stead beating of a heart?" He smiles sardonically, "You picked quite the flower, Jay."

(There is an echoing in his ears, Danny's voice faint in the back of his mind. Ghosts can hear you when you speak to their grave, did you know? Jason can hear him better than he should.)

Jason knows the irony. Perhaps it's got double the meaning now, now that he's alive again. Danny doesn't know that though, sitting before his grave with flowers that symbolize a beating heart. Between the two of them, Jason thinks that the only heart here is Danny.

(Between the two of them, the only heart here is one that's made between the two of them.)

"Yellow zinnias," Danny continues, resting his chin in his hand, "mean daily remembrance." His smile tilts on the axis of his mouth, a wrinkle between his brows. He looks pained. Hurt. There is no comment made. Like it doesn't need to be said.

Jason thinks he can hear it anyways, and his heart twists like someone took it and twisted it like a rag, trying to drain the dirty water out of the cloth. He hurts.

I miss you. Is what he hears. Is what Danny doesn't say. Is what Jason knows he's thinking anyways.

I am right here. Is what Jason wants to say, but doesn't. He is right here. But his feet are grave-bound to the floor, and a part of him feels like he's clawing out his own grave again. But the dirt falling is endless and merciless. He can't get free.

He bites his tongue, a lump in his throat. Shame wells in his heart and Jason wants to shrink away from this. His feet are grave-bound to the floor.

"I'm sorry for not visiting sooner." Danny says, hand dropping out of his chin to pick at the ends of his sleeves. His smile fades into a frown. His voice wobbles. "I'm sorry, I don't have an excuse. I should have."

Please don't be. Jason thinks. He doesn't think he can be upset about it, not when Danny is laying yellow flowers on his grave that mean remembrance. i think of you daily. Not when Danny was going to kill the Joker for him.

Jason still doesn't know what to think of that. He still isn't sure if it's real or not.

"I went to one of Bruce's galas today." Danny says, and Jason knows. He saw him there. Danny smiles weakly. "I know, right? First time in five years. Vlad dragged me along, you remember him right?"

No, I don't. Jason thinks, and he feels a flutter of anxiety. A sense of impending doom. A choking dread. What else have I missed? He thinks again. Why doesn't he remember? Danny told him about Vlad, but it can only be from when he was a ghost. How long was he a ghost before he was revived? How often did he and Danny speak?

Jason doesn't like not knowing things, he doesn't like not knowing things about himself.

It would be so easy, a little voice whispers, to reveal himself now. To step forward and take his helmet off. To tell Danny that he was alive. To demand answers that only Danny could know.

But then what? When Danny inevitably asks his own questions? About how long Jason's been alive? Why he was dressed the way he was? Why he didn't say anything earlier, on the balcony?

(But he did say it earlier, when he offered Danny the cigarette and silently asked him for his thoughts.)

Jason is afraid of what Danny might think of him, if he tells him what he's done. About the blood on his hands and the bridges he's burned. What if telling him is just more gasoline on another bridge, with Danny holding the match? He stays silent. Fear is a powerful motivator. It's a powerful deterrent, too.

"The asshole blackmailed me into coming." Danny says, drawing his knees up to his chest. He looks disinterested. Annoyed, actually. Like what he is saying isn't sending alarm bells through Jason's mind. Like what he's saying doesn't concern him. "It's really dumb, actually."

He sighs, long and tired. There is grief etched into every line and pore in his face. "I could have handled it without even needing to come to the gala, I've done it before." He mutters when his eyes open. His fingers brush against the petals of the bouquet.

(And that only sends more alarm bells ringing in Jason's mind. Red lights blaring. Distress fills the cavity of his lungs. What has he missed?)

"I only agreed because I missed you," Danny says, "and Bruce. He invited me to come over sometime soon, to catch up. I agreed and I'm not sure why I did."

Jason didn't know that.

Danny continues talking. Jason listens in dutifully. He feels like a stranger imposing on his own grave. It's ridiculous. It makes sense. He feels like he should slink away and let Danny talk to his grave in peace. He cannot bring himself to move.

If he closes his eyes, he can pretend that he's sitting in front of him, like it's the good old days and they're back in Jason's room in the manor. Staying up late and trading stories back and forth. Sneaking out to the balcony and climbing onto rooftops they’re not supposed to go on.

Jazz is getting her psychology degree. Him and Sam had a big fight a few years ago, but they’re better now. Tucker wants to start his own tech business.

And on and on Danny goes, rambling about every little thing he can think of in the last five years since they last talked. He jumps back and forth between topics, when he remembers something he cuts to it. And then jumps back off to the next thought passing through his mind.

"I don't know what I want to do." Danny says, finally, after he exhausts every other topic to talk about. "I wanted to be an astronaut, but now I'm not so sure." His knees draw up to his chin, and he looks so sad. He looks nineteen. Small despite his size.

Were they really just nineteen, verging on twenty? Jason feels older among his years. Fourteen feels so far away.

Danny breathes in slowly, it's a sound that trembles. From where he stands, Jason sees Danny's eyes film over with tears. He makes a choked out sound that sounds like a terrible mix of a laugh and a sob.

"Where did you go?" He whispers. He tries to smile, and it is this pained, awful thing that drops within a second. Fingers clutch at his legs, diggings wrinkles into the fabric. "I know you're still here. Where did you go?"

There is no answer. Guilt is an animal with claws, and it burrows into Jason's heart to make itself home between the tendons. Tears slide from Danny's eyes down his cheeks. He still cries for him, five years later. Five years after. Jason feels worse.

"I haven't stopped looking for you." Danny continues, his voice cracks, and the words run over Jason's ears like water sliding off a duck's back. He doesn't hear it at first -- no, he doesn't understand it at first. And then when he does, he plunges his hands into the waters of his mind to drudge it back up.

You're looking for me? Do you know I'm alive?

It's another question to Jason's never-ending list.

"You might as well tell me where you are now." He smiles again; tries to. It wobbles, lips pulling back to show teeth as more tears spill over and carve red marks down Danny's face. "Or I'll find Cujo and sick him on you. He's gettin' real good at tracking things you know."

Jason doesn't know who Cujo is. But it sounds like a dog. He knows Danny's always wanted one, but their apartments would never allow it. It's not like his parents could afford one either.

There is a silence that hangs over them, with only the sound of the city around them. Danny seems to tremble more and more as each second passes, until finally a bubble pops. His smile drops, and so do his knees that were pressed into his chest.

He doesn't say a thing, not with words anyways. He hunches over and hugs himself with nails that dig into his elbows, failing to stifle a years' old grief. Jason wants to flee, lest he breaks his word to himself and steps out to console and dry Danny's falling tears. It feels like a betrayal unto himself to only stand there and watch him drown in his grief.

Guilt is a thing with claws, and Jason leaves the cemetery with hatred eating his tongue. Danny deserves the privacy that a ghost cannot give him. Jason may no longer be a ghost, but he is still the next best thing. either way I'm left holding onto the shovel and rope digging in the dirt finding bones, finding ghosts

#dp x dc #dp x dc crossover #dpxdc #danny fenton is not the ghost king #dpxdc crossover #childhood friends au #dead on main #really thought long and hard about whether or not danny should kill the joker in this update #but that feels too soon #i feel like a few more things would need to be established before the Joker's inevitable end #so this is not half as long as the first part but this also only addresses the immediate aftermath of Red Hood's meeting with Danny #rather than spanning over multiple years building up Jason and Danny's relationship and jason's death and danny's return to gotham #word count: 3k #i'm a little disappointed i wanted to get to 9k like before but i think Jason's pov deserves a little more attention on its own #im still unsure of whether or not i should have added more or not

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deoidesign · 12 days

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Thinks about my next series again... I drew the icon for it!

I'm planning to have it launched within a year! I'm hoping for summer 2025. I want to make a prelaunch page before Time and Time Again ends so people can subscribe if they're interested, but I'm worried the series return would be too early...

#SORRY HAHAHA REPOSTING IMMEDIATELY #i. it. IM SORRY okay the.#i had 'im not interested in the comic' as an option but it immediately made me feel bad #DONT FEEL BAD IF YOU PICKED IT i put it there #i just realized its not really a helpful metric to me at all!#im making the comic either way!#so i just want to gague interest. disinterest doesnt do much for me. you can come and go as you please!#just wanting to retain readers as much as possible but without losing them due to taking too long #ahhhh the balance of marketing. a beautiful beast she is.#anyways yeah hoping to launch like about as tta is ending #or like at LEAST a prelaunch page by then #im also not intending for the prelaunch page to be like. announced...#moreso just a link i append on art for the series!#just so when a drawing of zagan gets 500 notes #people who are interested in what hes from can. see that...#anyways. sorry i haven't been posting work is wild im going 70+ hours a week again i am so tired #not much time to draw non work stuff #im hanging on by a thread of having multiple projects i can bounce between again #and sometimes thats this one! so heres the results of some mental health work variety #we were legion #polls #sorry for the instant repost. in my defense. i am exhausted.#i can not wait until im making a different comic that i can do a fucking. normal ass schedule with #where im not every week gasping for breath in some kind of bad at swimming metaphor.#anyways if youre not interested dont tell me. it doesnt matter to me. no offense but i just dont wanna hear it.#i want to make the comic and my audience as much as i love you all is not going to have any control over what i do with my art #im gonna make this comic if i only get it done on weekends after getting home from the fuckin movie theater #i am not working for webtoon again wnd im not forcing myself into the dirt for comics again #but im also never gonna stop making them. just need to build a healthier relationship!#FUCK I MADE IT A ONE DAY POLL.

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angelsdean · 2 years

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im just saying things this morning but i really do love an insane queerbait over canon-right-out-the-gate “representation” characters with labels slapped on them and playing into the most outrageous stereotypes on purpose with the blandest storylines and boring perfect non-problematique lukewarm love interests. like WHERE is the tension WHERE is the 12 yr slow burn WHERE is the complex layering of Issues and Disorders resulting in the most nuanced bisexual man on television precisely because they never intended him to be queer in the first place but accidentally turned the dial up on their sexist funnyguy ladies man too far that it looped over into overcompensation and their 2005 lol gay jokes kept going on beyond funny and the actorman playing him made Choices like looking flustered, uncomfortable at being called out for being too butch and looking aroused and interested in every man place in front of him but especially thee gay angel to the point where said actor somehow made his EYES DILATE and then they told us WE were insane for seeing all of that and oh they started writing it as a romance anyway but were thwarted by the network and others over and over and well anyways, it’s just so delicious and fun but maybe that’s just bc i love theories and puzzles and figuring stuff out and putting things together and connecting dots and also my headcanons and opinions are more important than anything canon could say so idc if i get queerbaited for 50 yrs i’m on another level of existence, living gloriously in the subtext and knowing the Truth. anyways there will never be another ship like destiel

#like if you give me two characters right off the bat as say they're Gay and Bi and push them together right away #without building their chemistry without building their relationship and you tell me THESE TWO are TOGETHER #well. im just gonna start shipping two other characters that are more interesting complex and have looked at each other longingly #the beauty of characters starting off unlabeled and seemingly 'straight' is they get richer inner worlds they get richer characterization #and THEN. they fall in love with someone of the same gender and THEN. they get labels if they want them #im not saying there shouldn't be canon queer characters off the bat either but. we need some nuance and also variety #like you can have those characters (and make them interesting and give them complex relationships w actual chemistry !!)#and we can also have the deans of the world. characters that the general audience don't see as anything but straight #but is queercoded so other queer ppl SEE there's more going on under the surface #and then some many seasons later it's like oh. oh this man likes men !!!!!#and ideally a canon coming out / reciprocated love confession *cough cough*#like they tried !!!! they considered it !!!! thee market research !!!!#anyways. insane morning i'm having idk thinking abt too much #vic.txt

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altschmerzes · 9 months

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it's just that sometimes you're so... impossibly happy and full of so much incredible joy that you gotta post about it on the internet otherwise you may get on the roof with a bullhorn yknow.

#gav gab #FEELING VERY GOOD ABOUT MANY THINGS RN.......#I LOVE MY WIFE. MY WIFE LOVES ME. WE KNOW EXACTLY WHAT THAT MEANS AND IT BELONGS TO US.#other option is like... dropping the lonely island 'i just had sex' song into my friends' dms lsdkjfs #and they don't need me to be doing that LMAOOOO #it's not just the sex itself that's not even really the point #(though it's. very very good. and i have now learned some ALARMING stats about straight women in relationships)#(ladies if your husband/bf/partner won't take direction that is a failure on his part frankly)#it's like... idk #intimacy. trust. fun. security. safety. etc. all these things i already had with this wonderful person in my life #and being able to decide together what we want to do and what we want it to mean #building something that's just ours. a life a home a relationship etc.#for all that there's no like. blueprint for marrying someone In A Friend Way #and that can be anxiety inducing #(i felt like my heart was gonna pound out of my chest the first time i brought up maybe kissing my fiancee lskdjfs)#it also means we get to make all the rules #we get to make all of our decisions together in whatever way we want to make them and it means what we want it to #and i think that's one of the really wonderful things about like. qprs and committed platonic relationships etc #and it's something romantic relationships could benefit from too tbh #sex ment in tags

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mymarifae · 1 year

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aHA! i have finally figured out why i never jived with the kanade tenma hc. like you know me. THE found family guy. even if i don’t hc it myself i can still have fun watching other people have fun. but this one was always just 1. confusing and 2. not fun for me to see and i could never articulate why but i’ve got it now

the entire problem with Kanade Tenma is as a whole the fandom has a tendency to treat kanade like an orphan. like she has no family, no support system, like she’s all alone and needs to be taken in by the... tenmas... for some reason... (still not sure why the fandom decided she needs to be a tenma like she’s never even met tsukasa or saki. how is she getting over there. if she’s getting taken in by anybody it should be like... the mochizukis) and it’s like... guys. you do realize she’s not an orphan, right? she has family. she has good family. idr all the reasons why her grandma doesn’t live with her, but i’m assuming it’s along the lines of her being too old and frail to properly take care of a child at this point in her life - which is why she set kanade up with that caretaker/housekeeper system. it’s not perfect, but at least she isn’t being left to fend for herself

her dad is alive. just because he had a stroke and is now experiencing vascular dementia doesn’t mean he’s basically dead or that kanade is basically fatherless or something awful like that. (i’m genuinely still not sure what the fuck the game thinks it wrote irt what put kanade’s dad in the hospital but like. it wrote a stroke followed by vascular dementia. that’s what it did. “burnout” my fucking ass) i know at the end of the day kanade tenma is ultimately just a harmless headcanon, but like... please take a moment to think about the message even your most harmless headcanons might send. “if your parent is suffering from dementia and no longer recognizes you... well you don’t have a parent anymore. you need a new one. sorry.” obviously no one intends to say such a horrible thing, but remember that intent <<<<<<< final impression left on your outside audience.

having a family member that you love so much forget about you is a story that needs to be told. the prsk fandom needs to take a step back and just let this be told As It Is. kanade’s family is so, so fucking important to her. she’s only the person she is today because of her parents and all the gratitude and love she feels for them both. like, literally her most recent focus was her realizing how loved she was in light of mafuyu’s mother’s coldness. she knows that she experienced true unconditional love - something that mafuyu’s mom seems incapable of giving her daughter - and she still carries that love and warmth in her heart now. it’s what defines her as a person. it’s what gives her the courage to continue living. it’s why she believes she can save mafuyu and so many other people. she has that memory of what real genuine honest to god unconditional love is, and she’s so fucking determined to share it with the world.

kanade doesn’t... need a “new” family. her family may have suffered multiple tragedies, and it may be fragmented and a little broken, but... it’s hers. i don’t think it’s in good taste to take that away from her and try to “fix” her by placing her in a “better” family. it’s completely unnecessary.

#also someone on twitter said this i think but on the note of how i feel like making kanade a Tenma of all things is kind of out of the blue #like. the tenmas have nothing to do with kanade. i'm sure she'll meet saki and tsukasa at some point but ??#they aren't significant to her development in any way. and they /won't be/#their stories will just never intersect to that extent. trust me.#and because toya tenma (which is canon and true shut up shut up shut up learn how to READ) is often looped in with this hc too like #he doesn't have anything to do with kanade either!!!!!! she doesn't know who he is!! the tenmas are strangers to her.#so like. when you hc Kanade Tenma it feels like you're doing it for the sake of the OTHER characters and not her.#kanade HAS support systems !! she has people she's close with that she could potentially form a familial bond with!#she has niigo! she has honami! she has her literal grandma!#she has her dad even if he doesn't remember who she is. she's still able to talk to him some days and is able to connect with him by-#reliving the past with him. i can't like... express how powerful that scene where he's talking to her about how his wife is pregnant and-#how excited he is to meet their new child and that they're thinking about naming her kanade is. like it's heartbreaking but like #this kind of family dynamic is frequently glossed over in media. like i said it's a story that needs to be told as it is #learn. to explore kanade's relationship with her father and the relationships the game has spent like 200 episodes building up #stop throwing her into a random stranger's house stop thinking of her as an orphan in need of adoption.

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