#this is the problem with writing fics with a plot……

[snickerdoodlles]

had a sudden hankering for marvel crossover fic, decided to give the pjo x marvel tag a try and. I forgot how much of this is just Percy being a dude in there trading quips with authors favorite avenger. you do you but. what a fucking waste. that's a whole overpowered demigod even by his own series' standards. I don't want to read him going thru marvel plot bullshit, I want to read him ripping apart a helicarrier with his bare hands

[stewpidcheescatarinabluu]

Real Convenient

Synopsis: You were supposed to be someone. Now you’re just a name behind a counter, counting loose change and broken dreams—until she walks back in, hoodie up, years too late. Karina, your childhood best friend, battling her own storms. In the quiet of 3 a.m. shifts and stolen coco buns, you begin to remember who you were before the world fell apart—and maybe, just maybe, who you could be again

Word Count: 4,039

Karina X M!Reader

a/n: idk how to end this one shot😣 sorry y’all…also sorry for the pointless plot holes…. and its a lil different from the way i write my fics, let me know if there’s something bothering y’all or things that doesn’t sit right

The hum of the fluorescent lights has a way of crawling into your skull. It’s always been like that in here—bright enough to see the cracks on the tiles, loud enough to drown out your thoughts, but never quite enough to make you feel awake.

You scan the last pack of cigarettes.

Beep.

“₱163, sir.”

The man in front of you pulls out a crisp ₱1,000 bill like he wants you to notice how clean it is.

You already feel the headache creeping in. You open the till, scan the cash drawer, then look back up.

“Don’t you have a smaller bill, sir?”

Your tone’s too tired to be polite.

He looks at you. Not like a person—like a problem.

“Watch your tone,” he says, and throws a ₱200 bill at your face.

The paper flutters down, slapping your cheek on the way.

You don’t flinch. You just pick it up slowly and finish the transaction.

No one’s in the store. No one to see it.

Except the camera in the ceiling—and maybe whatever version of yourself still remembers who you used to be.

A few minutes pass.

Then, the door chimes again.

This time, a trio walks in. College-aged, full of energy, talking too loud. Probably fresh from a party. One of them squints toward the counter.

“Uy, bro… is that Y/N?”

“Teka, oo nga, ’no?”

You pretend not to hear them. Focus on restocking the gum rack.

But they’re not subtle.

“Diba UAAP player ‘to dati? ‘Yung Ateneo shooting guard? Star player, man!”

“Wala na raw ngayon eh. Injured? damn couldn’t imagine what he’s going through .”

“‘What if’ nalang siya ngayon, bro. Ganyan talaga. Life moves on.”

They laugh.

You scan a bag of chips. Don’t look up. One of them slaps a beer on the counter.

“You okay, boss?” he says mockingly, tapping your name tag with a smug grin. “Looks like you landed real far from the court.”

You don’t answer. Just scan the beer. Punch in the total.

“₱73.”

He drops the coins one by one on the counter, eyes still locked on you.

Clink. Clink. Clink.

When they leave, they push the door harder than necessary. It slams open, then shuts.

Silence again.

You check the mirror above the register—same eyes, same face, same body.

But it feels like you’re living in someone else’s skin.

The kind of skin that used to wear a jersey with a future stitched into it.

Now, just a name tag

The silence settles again. You lean your elbows on the counter, watching the wall clock crawl toward 3 a.m. Your knees ache. Not from standing—those ache all the time now. But from the echo of what they used to do.

The door chimes. You don’t look right away.

“Good morning, iho.”

You glance up.

It’s an older man. Mid-fifties. Sharp eyes, but tired shoulders. He’s dressed in a coach’s windbreaker—one that looks like it’s seen decades of courts.

Your breath hitches. You know him.

Coach Manuel.

He doesn’t seem surprised to see you here.

Just… sad.

He picks up a bottle of water. A pack of menthols. Hands them over gently.

You scan them, avoid eye contact.

“₱98.”

He places the cash neatly on the counter.

A pause.

Then—

“Saw you on TV once. Finals. You were magic.”

You don’t answer. Just nod slightly.

He looks around the store. The shelves. The clock. You.

“Thought you’d be in the pros by now.”

You shrug.

“Thought so too.”

Coach doesn’t smile. He doesn’t laugh.

He just stares for a second too long, like he’s seeing two versions of you at once—the boy with fire in his eyes, and the man behind the counter.

Then, quietly:

“Take care of those knees. They’ve carried more than most.”

He leaves with a respectful nod.

No jokes. No insults. Just that soft weight of someone who knows what you’ve lost—and chooses not to say more.

The door chimes shut.

You finally sit down behind the register, the silence curling around your ribs.

After hours of stocking slurpees, burnt hotdogs, and mopping floor stains that never really disappear, the store finally falls into a rhythm. Cold hum of the fridge. Tick of the clock. Buzzing lights overhead that make your head throb in sync with your heartbeat.

You’ve cleaned everything from top to bottom twice already. The register’s sticky buttons. The freezer handles. Even the coffee corner nobody really uses. There’s only an hour left before you can go home.

Just survive.

Ding.

The door chimes open again. Third time this hour.

You don’t even lift your head.

“Welcome, ma’am,” you mumble—automatic, like breathing. The words barely reach past your lips

Footsteps shuffle in. Not rushed. Not steady either. Like someone not used to being upright this long. You glance up, briefly.

Hood up. Shoulders hunched. Face down.

She moves through the aisles, hands in her hoodie pockets, as if trying not to take up too much space. She’s scanning the shelves like they might suddenly offer her a miracle.

Eventually, she walks up to the counter with her items—two boxes of paracetamol, a roll of tissue, and two energy drinks.

You scan them, barely blinking.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

“Will this be all, ma’am?”

Her voice is tired, but curt.

“Cigarette. Red.”

You glance up for the first time.

Her hood’s fallen slightly. Just enough for you to see her eyes.

Sharp. Familiar.

You hesitate. Then

“ID, ma’am.”

She sighs. Annoyed. Pulls out her wallet and rifles through it, muttering.

“Wala. Forgot it.”

She looks up—and for a heartbeat, your eyes lock.

Time doesn’t stop. It just… shifts.

There’s something there.

The kind of familiarity that doesn’t feel safe.

You break the eye contact first.

“Never mind,” she mutters. “Just the rest.”

You scan the last item, press the total button.

“₱137.”

She pauses. Pulls out bills, coins, crumpled receipts. You watch her count, quiet.

Her fingers shake a little.

₱107.

She places the coins on the counter, slowly.

You don’t say anything at first.

She does.

Softly, almost to herself:

“Kul—kulang?”

You nod once.

“Thirty short.”

She bites the inside of her cheek. Frustrated. She searches her pockets again—lint, an old receipt, some dust.

Nothing else.

“Tangina,” she whispers under her breath. “Can’t I just… y’know… slide for now?”

You exhale slowly through your nose.

“Store policy, ma’am.”

Her voice edges into desperation.

“Please? I’ll come back. I promise, babalikan ko ‘yan. I’m not some thief.”

You shift your weight. Something stings in your knee. You wince. You’re so tired.

Of everything.

“Look… don’t make this harder than it already is.”

She leans forward a bit, almost pleading now.

“Please. Just this once. I swear, sir.”

Something about the way she says “sir”—the bitterness in it, the strain—makes your hand twitch over the register.

You hesitate. Then grab the small ledger from the drawer, jot something down, and tear out a slip.

“Fine,” you mutter. “I’ll cover the thirty. Just this once.”

You don’t meet her eyes when you say it. You don’t want to see the mix of guilt and pride swallowing each other whole.

She nods, voice smaller now.

“Thank you… sorry. Paper bag please?”

You pack her items in silence.

When you hand her the bag, your fingers brush—just barely.

She doesn’t pull away.

But she doesn’t stay, either.

She walks toward the exit, grip tight on the paper bag.

Ding.

The door closes.

Not so long after, you stood in front of the punch-out terminal, still in uniform, damp from sweat and slurpee mist, holding a thin envelope in your hand.

It felt lighter than usual.

You didn’t expect much.

But you didn’t expect ₱-430.00 either.

Your name was typed cleanly at the top. Below it, deductions like bruises

Coffee Machine: -₱400.00

Customer Shortage (Logged): -₱30.00

A slow breath left your lips. You pressed your tongue to the inside of your cheek. There wasn’t even a number left to take home. Just debt.

You didn’t even remember knocking over the damn machine. Some kid was running wild around the candy aisle and you turned too fast. That was three days ago.

And the ₱30? That girl. You didn’t regret helping. But right now, that didn’t matter.

You crumpled the payslip slowly and stuffed it in your pocket. Outside, the wind howled like an angry neighbor.

Fuck it. You thought. Another week. Another disaster.

You grabbed your things from the locker and stepped outside. The world greeted you with wind and drizzle. Your umbrella stuttered in the gusts like it was ready to give up too.

You counted what you had left. Just loose bills folded into your side pouch—₱750 flat. You’d stashed it away earlier, some cash tips and carry-over from last week’s half-shift.

That’s all you had for the next few days.

Maybe two days’ worth of food, if you skipped the good stuff. Canned tuna. Rice. Boiled eggs if you’re lucky. Electricity bill was due tomorrow—₱420. Water? ₱360. Your busted knee? Just another line on your mental list of things you’ll never afford.

The pain’s been more consistent lately. You’ve learned to walk differently. To hide the limp behind long strides. But it burns like hell at night.

You trudged through the streets, head down, hoodie up. Every puddle you stepped in made your socks cling cold to your toes.

When you passed a group of students laughing over fishballs, you felt something in your chest tighten. They looked full of tomorrow. You felt like you were still paying for yesterday.

Your building came into view—gray, peeling walls, a rusted gate you never bother to lock. You made your way up the creaking stairs, floorboards groaning like they resented your weight.

Unlocked your door.

Dark.

You forgot to load the meter.

No lights. No hum from the fridge. Just silence.

You closed the door behind you, dropped your bag, and sat on the edge of the bed.

No ulam on the table.

No leftovers to reheat.

No coffee.

You opened the fridge on impulse.

Empty. A single egg sat in the corner like it was embarrassed to be there.

The faucet still dripped. Tok. Tok. Tok.

A rhythm you’ve grown used to.

You sat back, resting against the wall. Your room smelled faintly of soap and metal—like all the life had already been washed out.

You didn’t cry.

You didn’t scream.

You just let the silence crawl over your skin

Laid down, shoes still on, damp hoodie sticking to your back. Your fingers dug into the sheets out of instinct—seeking comfort where there was none.

You stared at the ceiling and traced cracks with your eyes.

The roof leaked a bit in the corner. You should fix it.

But not tonight.

Tonight, you close your eyes and whisper to no one:

“Sana bukas, kahit papano… mas madali.”

(I just hope…maybe tomorrow… will be a little easier.)

But you don’t believe it.

Not really.

You let the night take you anyway.

Because there’s nothing else left to do.

You clock in like usual.

Same flickering lights, same old radio playing a half-static OPM track no one really listens to. The smell of reheated siopao hangs in the air like defeat. You tug your apron on, punch in your code, and lean on the counter like it’s the only thing holding you up.

10:04 p.m.

Ding.

She walks in again.

Same hoodie. Same dragging steps. No umbrella this time — she’s a little damp from the rain.

You barely lift your head.

“Welcome.”

Your voice is flat. Not cold, not warm. Just… tired.

She walks down the aisle without a word. Grabs two cup noodles. Two energy drinks. Sets them on the counter.

You start scanning without looking at her.

Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.

Then, almost out of instinct:

“Got my thirty pesos?”

She pauses.

Then she pulls out two crumpled 100s and a 50.

“Yeah,” she says softly.

“Thanks again. Last night… you helped me and my dad more than you know.”

You nod, counting the bills.

“Two-ten.”

She pushes the money over.

“Keep the change.”

A beat.

“That’s not for the food. That’s for the trouble.”

You place the items in a paper bag, quietly.

But something itches under your skin.

You glance up.

“Didn’t think I’d see you like this, Karina.”

That’s when her hands stop.

She grips the edge of the counter.

“So you do remember.”

You nod, slow and quiet.

“How could I forget?”

She finally meets your eyes.

And there it is — the years in between. All the growing pains, the silence, the sudden absence that no one ever explained.

You say it before you can stop yourself.

“Barangay fiesta. You always beat me at patintero. Even cheated sometimes.”

She lets out a short breath. Almost a laugh.

“You let me win.”

“’Tangina, no. I cried once ’cause you pushed me into a canal.”

She blinks.

Then looks down at the bag in her hands.

“It’s been years.”

You nod again.

“Too many.”

“And now we’re here,” she says quietly.

“You behind a counter. Me counting coins for cup noodles.”

You bite the inside of your cheek.

“Life’s funny like that.”

She sighs.

“It’s not funny.”

A pause.

She shifts her weight, trying to steady her voice.

“My dad’s sick. Stage 3. Kuya’s abroad but money’s still tight. I’ve been taking every damn tutoring job I can find. Even this isn’t enough.”

You look down at your hands.

They’re dry, cracked from long shifts and mop handles.

“And you still gave me the thirty.”

“Didn’t want to.”

She smiles a little.

“But you did.”

The air between you grows heavier, but not suffocating. Just full of things you don’t know how to name.

“You okay?” she asks suddenly.

It catches you off guard.

You open your mouth.

Close it.

Then:

“No.”

She nods.

“Yeah. Me neither.”

You hand her the bag.

She takes it, slower this time. Like she knows she’s taking a part of something that shouldn’t be hers anymore.

Then she steps back.

“Ingat ka.”

You nod.

“You too.”

She reaches the door.

Stops.

“You still burn your rice?”

You almost smile.

“Only when I remember you liked it that way.”

She doesn’t look back. Just pulls her hoodie tighter.

Ding.

And the door shuts behind her.

But something stayed.

A quiet kind of ache. The kind that feels like home

Weeks pasts by-

The fluorescent lights above never flicker, but they hum like they’re just as tired as you. You punch in, tie your apron, and step behind the counter with your second cup of cheap coffee—lukewarm, slightly bitter, like everything else in your life lately.

A man in a threadbare tank top walks in, dragging slippers across the tile. He throws a crumpled bill on the counter.

“Three Marlboro Lights. One by one.”

You count them out silently.

“No coins again?” you ask.

He grunts, pockets the change, and leaves without another word.

Teenage boys barge in right after, giggling as they swipe instant pancit and soda.

“Kuya, can we take two slurpees if we’re cute?”

You deadpan without looking up, “Sure—if you clean the floor after.”

They laugh, then run out, leaving empty wrappers in their wake.

You mop their footprints. For the third time tonight.

You refill the ice cream chest. Rearrange the cup noodles again, just for something to do. Glance at your reflection in the sliding glass doors—your hair’s messy, your eyes are dull, and your name tag is barely hanging on.

A man in office slacks and expensive cologne enters, clearly annoyed from the start. He slams a Red Bull, three instant coffees, and a pack of crackers on the counter.

You scan them, mumble the total.

He throws a ₱1000 bill on the counter.

“Don’t you have smaller bill sir??” you ask, already knowing the answer.

He scoffs, arms crossed.

“You work here and you’re gonna give me attitude?”

You exhale slowly. “Just doing my job, sir.”

He snatches the change from your hand with a disgusted look and mutters under his breath as he walks out, loud enough for you to hear:

“No wonder you’re stuck here.”

You don’t even flinch.

A couple comes in next, arguing over which soft drink to get. The guy rolls his eyes, grabs a beer instead.

“Babe, I told you I’m done with this diet crap,” he says, pulling his wallet out.

You scan the beer.

“No ID, no alcohol,” you tell him.

He blinks, then smirks.

“Bro, I’m twenty-eight.”

“I still need to see it.”

He leans forward on the counter.

“Tangina mo ah?, You serious right now? You gonna act like you’ve got power just ‘cause you stand behind that register?”

His girlfriend tugs on his arm, muttering something under her breath.

You stare at him evenly. “Just store policy.”

He curses under his breath, grabs the soda instead, and leaves with a shake of his head.

“Enjoy your little kingdom, man.”

A young mom asks to pay her Meralco bill in five different coins. A delivery guy forgets three boxes and makes you sign anyway. The lotto booth guy next door drops off a lukewarm taho and mutters, “Thanks for helping me last time, bro,” before walking off without waiting for a response.

You nod and take it. It’s not great. But it’s the warmest thing you’ve had in days.

Hours blur. You wipe the coffee machine. Refill the hotdog roller that no one touches. You hum, just to hear something besides silence. Even the security monitor’s red light blinks slower tonight, like it’s bored watching you.

You glance at the clock—still hours to go.

And all you can think is: this isn’t what your life was supposed to look like.

After some days.

The Stereo above hum like they’ve had a long day too. You’re behind the counter again—third night this week. Your back’s aching, the cold coffee on your desk tastes like regret, and your limbs move on instinct now. You don’t even think about the clock anymore.

Then the door chimes.

You look up, not surprised.

It’s her. Hoodie, baggy joggers, hair tied back messily like she just ran errands she didn’t want to do. She walks up to the counter without a word and places a small brown paper bag in front of you.

“‘Wag ka na magtanong,” she says, pushing the bag closer. (Don’t ask questions.)

You raise a brow and open it.

A coco bun. Still warm. Slightly squished.

You blink. “What—seryo—‘to galing pa sa kabilang kanto?”

(This from that bakery across the street?)

She shrugs, but there’s a flicker of pride in her voice. “Pinag-agawan pa namin ng isang lola. Ako nanalo.”

(I had to fight a grandma for it. I won.)

You snort. “You always did play dirty.”

“Hindi ako madaya, mabilis lang talaga ‘ko.”

(I’m not dirty—I’m just fast.)

You take a bite, and for a second, everything slows down. The coconut’s still warm. The bread’s soft like you remember.

Karina leans on the counter, arms folded. “Sarap pa rin?”

(Still good?)

“Grabe, hindi pa rin nagbabago,” you mumble, mouth full. (Damn, it hasn’t changed at all.)

Then she says it—low, direct. “Pero ikaw nagbago.”

(But you’ve changed.)

You look at her.

“Mas payat ka. Hollow cheeks. Halatang wala kang tulog. At, Y/N…” She nods at your leg. “May pilay ka pa rin.”

(You’ve lost weight. Your cheeks are sunken. No sleep. And you’re limp—it’s still there.)

You shift uncomfortably.

“Manageable.”

She scoffs. “Hindi mo pa rin nagpapatingin?”

(Still haven’t had it checked?)

“May pambili ba ‘ko?”

(You think I have the money for it?)

Her face hardens. She doesn’t argue. But she doesn’t let it go either.

You finish the bun, crumple the wrapper, and toss it into the bin.

“Ba’t ka laging gising ng ganitong oras?” you ask, changing the subject. (Why are you always up this late?)

“Pag gising si Papa, kailangan bantayan. Kahit tulog siya, ayoko siya iwan.”

(When Papa’s awake, I need to watch him. Even when he’s asleep, I can’t leave.)

You nod slowly. “He’s lucky to have you.”

She doesn’t respond right away. Then:

“He used to be the one taking care of me. Parang ang bilis lang nagpalit ng roles, ‘no?”

(Feels like everything switched so fast, huh?)

You nod.

And for a beat, neither of you speaks.

Then: “Labas tayo.” she says suddenly. (Let’s go outside.)

You blink. “Huh?”

“Sandali lang. Gusto ko lang ng hangin.”

(Just a while. I just need some air.)

You both sit on the low concrete step outside the store, plastic bag resting between you. The streets are quiet, only a few stray dogs and a passing tricycle in the distance.

She opens her water bottle, takes a long sip, then passes it to you without asking. You hesitate, then drink.

“Naalala mo ‘yung fishball stand sa tapat ng gym dati?”

(Remember the fishball stand in front of the gym back then?)

You smile faintly. “Paborito mo ‘yung fake na suka na maanghang.”

(You liked the fake spicy vinegar.)

“Pinaka-spicy, hanggang sinusuka mo.”

(The spiciest—until you threw up.)

You chuckle, softly this time.

Karina leans back a bit. “Miss mo ba?”

(You miss it?)

“More than I care to admit.”

She’s quiet for a while, then:

“Y/N… seryoso, kamusta ka talaga?”

(How are you really doing?)

You glance at her, jaw clenched. “I’m fine.”

“No, ‘wag ‘yan. ‘Di mo ako maloloko. Hindi ka okay.”

(Don’t. You can’t fool me. You’re not okay.)

You breathe out slowly. The city hums around you.

“I’m tired,” you finally say. “Wala akong ibang plano kundi bumangon lang bukas. Para magtrabaho. Para mabuhay. That’s it.”

(I don’t have any plans except waking up tomorrow. To work. To survive. That’s it.)

Karina looks at you long. “You used to dream big.”

“Dreams don’t pay Meralco.”

(Dreams don’t pay the power bill.)

She lets out a sad laugh. “Totoo rin.”

There’s silence again, longer this time. You think maybe she’ll leave. But instead—

She pulls something out of her pocket. An old Polaroid, edges soft from wear.

You stare at it.

It’s the two of you—back in high school. You’re holding a basketball, she’s holding a book. Both smiling wide like nothing in the world could touch you.

She holds it up.

“Alam mo, hindi ko ‘to tinanggal sa wallet ko. Kahit kailan.”

(You know, I never took this out of my wallet. Not once.)

You look at her. Something heavy settles in your chest.

“Bakit?”

(Why?)

“Reminder. Na minsan… may maganda ring nangyari sa buhay ko.”

(A reminder. That something good actually happened in my life.)

She hands it to you.

You hold it like it might break.

Then she says, softly, “Next time… if you’re not okay, you tell me. Hindi mo na kailangan mag-isa.”

(Next time… if you’re not okay, tell me. You don’t have to do this alone.)

You nod once.

That’s it. No dramatic hug. No music swelling in the background.

Just two tired people sitting under the hum of streetlights, learning to exist beside each other again.

And maybe, for tonight, that’s enough.

Days pasts, months, life started getting a lil lighter but the difficulty is still very noticeable.

It’s past midnight again. The city below flickers like it’s trying to stay awake with you. Neon signs blink tiredly. Dogs bark in the distance. The air’s heavy with that Manila kind of silence—never fully quiet, but somehow still peaceful.

You sit on the rooftop, legs dangling over the edge, a half-empty bag of cheap chips between you.

Karina pulls her jacket tighter around her.

“This feels like high school,” she murmurs.

You nod. “Walang pera, walang plano, puro lang kwentuhan sa bubong.”

(No money, no plans, just rooftop talks.)

She laughs softly. “You ever think about what you’d be doing now if things turned out right?”

“All the time,” you admit. “You?”

She shrugs. “Yeah. But lately, I just think about surviving. ’Di ko na ma-imagine ‘yung perfect life. I just want a peaceful one.”

You look at her—tired eyes, wind-blown hair, soft expression she only wears when she thinks no one’s watching.

“Hey,” you say, nudging her shoulder. “If we hit 30 and we’re still… y’know, single, no big life plans… wanna just marry each other?”

She turns to you slowly. “What?”

“Wala lang. Practical lang.” You grin. “We already know each other’s worst days. No surprises.”

She laughs again, but it fades into something quieter. She doesn’t say yes. She doesn’t say no either.

[tobiasdrake]

I have a lot of qualms with the anime's handling of things. It's a lot of people's first exposure to Dragon Ball and forms the basis of how many in the fandom think of the characters and concepts. But there's... issues.

As everyone knows, the anime is not a 100% faithful adaptation like, say, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood is for the FMA manga. They were adapting the manga as it was being written, usually having to fit 1-2 chapters of manga into twenty minutes of television. So they had to improvise a lot.

This is where the padding and filler comes from. Filler episodes give the manga time to get ahead so they don't have to try and squeeze 1 chapter into a full episode. And fights are padded as hell with long sequences of characters charging up or spectators gawking at them because when you only have 1-2 chapters to adapt and most of it's fighting, those panels burn up a lot faster than 1-2 chapters of plot and dialogue.

This is the commonly discussed issue with the Dragon Ball anime, especially with Dragon Ball Z. For which Dragon Ball Kai was created to try and correct for.

But the issues with the anime run deeper than "There is filler" and "Fights are padded".

First, to the problem of the filler. We often use "filler" these days to mean episodic character-driven parts of a show. But I need to stress that I mean filler in the original sense of the word. These are scenes and whole episodes that do not exist in the source material and have been created just to extend runtime and delay the speed of material consumption in the adaptation process.

The issue with the anime's filler is fairly intuitive. These are scenes and episodes being inserted into a story that were not created by its author. Like you're reading Lord of the Rings and then suddenly someone's Legolas x Aragorn slash fic abruptly appears between two chapters, and then Lord of the Rings continues afterward like that didn't happen and it's never acknowledged again.

That doesn't have to be a problem if it's a really good slash fic. But the other problem with the filler is that the people they were made by are not the dedicated Dragon Ball fandom. It's not the Dragon Ball nerds who've memorized the lore and prepared an extensive essay on why Yamcha and Piccolo are secretly lovers.

They're made by animators and writers whose job is to produce twenty minutes of entertaining television for children. That's it. That's all they're here for. These animators and writers didn't have a very strong grasp on the characters, the concepts, or the mythology of the world they were writing these extra episodic character-driven moments and stories for.

It's not your local Dragon Ball nerd writing the fic; It's the nerd's brother who was looking at his phone while the nerd infodumped, who suddenly looks up and goes, "Wait, why doesn't Frieza just break out of Hell with his awesome powers? He's super strong, right? Hell couldn't hold him." Not realizing that there is actually an established answer to that question.

Consequently, the filler episodes play fast and loose with continuity and often have an adverse effect on the audience's perception of the characters and ideas therein.

Yamcha and Bulma's relationship is miserable, but the filler gives them lots of moments together to show that they really do love each other and we should be rooting for these crazy kids to work it out.

Yamcha himself is supposed to be a womanizer who eventually cheats on Bulma, but the filler plays him as a put-upon henpecked boyfriend who is chaste, virtuous, and loyal to Bulma despite her constant abuse. This has informed much of the fandom's perception of Bulma and Yamcha's relationship, as well as the backlash against their eventual and well-warranted breakup.

(Which is not to say that Bulma's a saint in the manga either. Far from it. The point is that they were miserable together, and the best thing for both of them was to split. Which you might not realize from the way the anime depicts them.)

Yamcha actually gets a lot of this because the creatives at Toei liked him and greatly embellished his presence and role within the story. Anime Yamcha is the guy who has his shit together. He's the leader of the Dragon Team, practically the deuteragonist of the show, with Krillin falling into a dipshit little brother role and being relegated to comic relief. He's Tenshinhan's rival and bro, and they push each other to greater heights through their iron bond of mutual respect.

All of this is fanfiction, and it plays a heavy role in the ultimate disappointment when Yamcha ultimately fell from a spotlight he was never supposed to be in to begin with. If you add a bunch of extra chapters to Fellowship detailing in extensive detail what a great hero Boromir was and his many adventures and his nobility and heroism... Then you're going to get an upset fandom when he dies at the end of the book and the plot moves on without him. Don't do that.

Gohan also got hit really hard by the "Toei writing checks Toriyama won't cash" brick. In filler, Toei liked to characterize Gohan as, basically, Goku Jr. He had an independent drive and desire for adventure and martial arts. He's constantly sneaking out under Chi-Chi's nose to go thrill-seeking and work on his training.

This, again, is fanfiction that creates the wrong impression of the character. Gohan is a sweet and sensitive boy who enjoys academia and aspires to be a scholar, but who is willing to get involved and fight when there are people he loves whose lives are on the line. He has a massive potential but no drive to pursue it outside of spending time with his loved ones who do it as a hobby. If he could, he would never throw another punch again outside of sparring matches with Dad and friends.

One very notable filler episode has Gohan escape Piccolo's training and return home. But then, just when he has the chance to be free, he steels himself and decides to return to the training. He's going to fight the Saiyans for himself, because he wants this, and he finds his resolve. But then manga canon comes back and Gohan comes apart emotionally during the fight with the Saiyans and can't bring himself to act, because he doesn't have the resolve and is only here under duress.

Krillin also suffers in the opposite way of Yamcha. They can't reduce his prominence in the anime, but he does suddenly turn into a hapless loser and cowardly buffoon whenever Toei gets their turn at writing him. It's even a running joke in the movies that Krillin always gets a chance to try to fight the villains and gets comically punked out of the action; He starts commenting on it in later films.

There's a point in the Cell arc where Goku and Chi-Chi make a deal to back off on the academia and let Gohan train for the Androids. The anime elects to ignore it and continues doing Tiger Mom bits throughout the rest of the arc, despite manga Chi-Chi holding to her end of the agreement.

Bulma, like Krillin, is often characterized as much softer and sweeter than she is in the manga. Except when they're drumming up sympathy for Yamcha, she's a lot more gentle and traditionally feminine. There are also a ton of filler scenes of Bulma just sitting around fretting about Goku, even when she has no idea what he's up to. They just have her, wherever she is, doing the "I can feel that he's in danger in my heart, my heart aches from the pain he must be in," bit usually reserved for couples in anime.

It's not just the characters, though. Dragon Ball filler is rife with absurd inconsistencies. There's an episode where Goku travels back in time to learn from Mutaito, the master who trained Kame-sennin and Tsuru-sennin. This episode features Mutaito teaching Goku about ki manipulation for the very first time... Despite it being between Piccolo-Daimao and the 23rd Tenkaichi Budokai, when Goku's been shooting Kamehamehas for years.

Like Goku and Chi-Chi's bargain, the anime elects to ignore the fact that Senzu leaves you full and satisfied for seven days. That gets in the way of doing comedic "Goku eating a truck full of food" bits, which they love to animate and add into the show a lot. So that established metaphysic doesn't exist anymore in their version.

As aforementioned, the rules of how the afterlife works get in the way of having the dead villains cause trouble, so those are gone too. Toei loves having the dead villains break out of Hell. They did it in the Anoyoichi Budokai filler arc, in the Fusion Reborn film, and again in the Super 17 arc of GT.

In the manga, when you die, you become a powerless soul. On rare occasions, a god may permit you to keep your body, allowing you to retain your strength and cultivated ki while all other souls do not. Then you enter into the karmic cycle, with evil souls spending an amount of time in Jigoku until their negative karma is purged and they are able to reincarnate.

In the anime, all souls keep their bodies, always. If your ki is really strong, then I guess Hell just won't be able to contain you. Death is just, like, involuntarily being moved to a different physical location, but is otherwise no different from being alive.

They did actually nail this in the Ginyu Force filler arc, where Kaio explicitly states that he restored the Ginyus' bodies so they could be used as a training exercise for the Earthlings. But no explanation is ever offered for why all the other villains get to keep their bodies too.

A really funny thing the anime does, not really an inconsistency so much as just an entertaining bit of guesswork, is that they clearly wanted Goku to have a love interest. There are lots of filler bits throughout the first anime shipping Goku with Chi-Chi and Bulma... and also Snow from Jingle Village.

Snow. The redhead girl from the Muscle Tower arc. They bring her back in the Piccolo-Daimao arc and it is so wild. But after Chi-Chi is canonized as Goku's love interest, we basically never hear from her again. I think she appears in the Majin Buu Spirit Bomb "Lend me your energy" bit and that's it.

Just. Hedging the fuck out of their bets so that when Toriyama finally gives Goku a romance, they'll have foreshadowed it.

Which ultimately still ended up working against the story's integrity. Because when Chi-Chi does show up to the 23rd Tenkaichi Budokai, it's supposed to be a huge shock. We haven't seen this girl since fucking Fire Mountain. You probably forgot she existed. Goku did.

But in the anime, we've been watching Goku pop by and hang out with her multiple times in filler just in case she's going to be revealed to be his offscreen girlfriend or something. So it completely ruins the surprise. They put in extra effort to try and foreshadow whoever Goku's ultimate ship would be, and in the process ruined a shocking reveal that was meant to go unforeshadowed.

Krillin also gets two filler shippables, Mint and Maron. And Gohan gets one named Lime. None of these characters are ever spoken of again after manga canon reasserts itself, but they don't hurt the story by existing. I'm still salty that Maron never got to meet God after winning the Nyoi-bo/Power Pole from Karin in strip poker, though. I demand my "Maron in God's Temple" scene.

There's an entire filler arc of Gohan being Great Saiyaman under Videl's nose while constantly dodging her attempts to unmask him. Which ruins the Gotcha moment where Videl nails his identity in one day because she's observant and open-minded while he's bad at faking normal. Videl's intelligence doesn't shine through in the anime, and she instead comes across as a hapless damsel for Gohan to rescue from her own self-destructive foolishness over and over.

Anime Frieza has an infinite supply of minions for the entire duration of the Namek arc when he's supposed to be down to just himself, Zarbon and Dodoria, and Appule - with those three gradually diminishing. But because they don't actually exist in manga canon, they are forbidden from influencing the plot and just hang out in his ship doing nothing. They're just there so he and Captain Ginyu can kill them in filler sequences to show off how wicked they are.

Oh, except for one episode where they get in a fight with Bulma and lose.

And that's not to mention the Garlic Jr. arc, which is a direct sequel to a non-canon film somehow happening within the anime's canon. Fuck you, that's how. Toei legitimately does not care. They don't care who the characters are, they don't care what the rules are, and nearly everything they write ceases to be canon the second the manga canon returns to the screen. They aren't really writing Legolas x Aragorn slash fic. They're writing an episode of The Simpsons and inserting it between Lord of the Rings pages.

But that's only problem 1. The other issue is the padding. And again, people say "padding" and they think of. Like. Goku screaming for ten straight minutes as he transforms. Charging up a beam attack for six minutes before firing it. Reaction shots of each individual character, some of whom aren't even present. That sort of thing.

And that certainly is present in the anime. To be sure. The manga's action is far more fast-paced than the anime. Sometimes this is, admittedly, to the manga's detriment. Goku's first Super Saiyan transformation takes like one page. It's over and done with. Vegeta throws like one or two punches at Final Form Frieza before giving up and accepting defeat.

There are moments of action in the manga that feel like this could have been longer. I will give them that.

The problem with the padding is really just more problems with filler, but in an action context. There's a lot of extra fighting inserted between panels being adapted. On paper, that makes sense as the kind of thing you might add to an episode when fleshing it out, but it has... problems in practice.

Characters will spend between 30 seconds to a full episode going through original fight choreography that the same people writing those filler episodes came up with. The problem with that is twofold.

One, this is all action happening between panels. That means that, at the end of this piece of choreography, the fight must return to the same place it was at the beginning of it. Frieza smashes Vegeta into a rock but then Vegeta suddenly gets up and they start fighting again. Nobody takes damage, nobody does anything significant, and at the end of it Frieza smashes Vegeta into the rock a second time so he can be where the manga needs him to be.

This makes a lot of the action feel weightless, because there are extended sequences of fighting where both characters are effectively invulnerable. It would ruin the story if anything changed before we get back to the manga, after all.

This filler action is where a lot of iconic Dragon Ball animation shots comes from. You shoot a ton of ki blasts into your enemy and they explode into a smoke cloud. You breathe a sigh of relief knowing you got him. But then he slowly emerges unscathed. WHAT!?

Is it because he's SO POWERFUL? Uh. No. Hitting a really powerful guy over and over usually still does some damage. It's because this part of the fight isn't really happening so he has Filler Invincibility turned on.

Goku's body is destroyed by the Kaioken but suddenly he gets a second wind and is able to jump around and throw punches like he's full of energy! Is Goku back in the fight? No. At the end of it he'll be right back where he started. It's just that this part of the fight isn't really happening so he has Filler Infinite Stamina turned on.

This is most noticeable in the Super Saiyan Goku vs. Frieza fight, which has like ten straight episodes of Filler Action. At one point Gohan's Filler Battle Lust snaps on and he comes back to fight 1v1 with 100% Full Power Frieza. He doesn't get his shit completely rocked, though, because he has Filler Invincibility turned on; he has to survive and return to the ship once the manga's ready to start up again.

This kind of stuff completely destroys the pacing of a fight. It's not a problem when the Filler Action is good. But that's where the second problem, the "Toei doesn't really care" problem comes in. The same people writing those Simpsons episodes are also choreographing these extra bits of fighting.

Filler Action is rarely innovative, rarely does anything new or interesting. For the most part, it's derivative. They lean heavily on referencing cool shots and cool scenes, and on reusing cool attacks from past arcs regardless of whether it actually makes sense.

The Shishin no Ken/Multiform technique appears one time in the Dragon Ball manga. Tenshinhan created it for use against Goku in the 23rd Tenkaichi Budokai. However, it was critically flawed. Goku was able to pick apart the flaw and overwhelm Tenshinhan, delivering a crushing defeat. No one ever attempted the technique again. Because it's bad.

The anime makes it a staple of a completely different character whatsoever. Piccolo whips out Shishin no Ken all the time. He trains with it. He uses it against enemies. At certain points, Krillin and even Cell also use the technique? Everybody loves Shishin no Ken even though it's a bad technique that lost its only fight.

Zanzoken/Afterimage was a really strong technique at the beginning of the manga. But as the characters advanced in their study of martial arts, it became obsolete. Once ki sensing entered the picture and nobody needed to track a foe with their eyes, leaving a Zanzoken in your place as you move became pointless. You made five shadow clones. Cool. I can sense which one is real, so there is no value in doing that.

The anime continues using Zanzoken for Filler Action all the way through the end of its run. What about ki sensing, you ask? That's fine. Nobody can sense ki in Filler Action. The anime just forgets that's a thing when ever Toei is in the writing seat.

Characters who can sense ki are constantly losing track of their opponents in Filler Action. Kick up a cloud of dust in the air and you can get the drop on Goku. He has no way of telling where the next attack will come from if he can't see you with his eyes!

This is often used in tandem with... Looney Tunes tunneling? I don't know why that's a thing in Filler Action but Toei likes having characters go subterranean and then suddenly erupt from the ground to grab their opponent's feet. It always makes for a surprising ambush since the characters can't sense ki anymore.

Oh, and Bukujutsu. Characters in Filler Action sometimes forget that they can fly. There are so many Toei-written scenes where characters plummet uncontrollably through the air for tension or are surrounded/confronted by an obstacle that could be easily solved by going airborne, especially in the Baby arc of GT.

Piccolo breaks out the one-handed Makankosappo/Special Beam Cannon a lot. In the manga, he was doing it with one hand because he'd lost the other one. He demonstrates the two-handed Makankosappo in the fight with Nappa, and then never uses it again in either form. But it was an iconic moment when he did the one-handed one against Raditz, so one-handed Makankosappo divorced from context became a staple of his Filler Action moveset.

In the manga, characters are constantly innovating. Constantly evolving their styles, creating new and better ways of using their techniques while inventing new ones. But Filler Action is stagnant, with characters simply deploying existing attacks and referencing Cool Moments like playing cards from a deck. Genuinely innovative and interesting things, like using the sun to create a Solar Genki-Dama and obliterate Namekian Dracula, do happen but are few and far between.

Once Super Saiyan enters the picture, the anime uses it like Kaioken. Characters will try to fight without it and fail only to suddenly reveal that they can transform at the eleventh hour, long past the point where it actually would have made sense to do it. I have complained at length about this so I'll keep that part brief but suffice it to say that Filler Action characters often let themselves get beaten up really badly while coasting on their Filler Invincibility even when they have the ability to stop losing at any moment.

Power levels basically cease to exist in Filler Action. See above, re: Gohan surviving throwing hands with Full Power Frieza. But also in other ways, like an episode of Dragon Ball Super that features Goten and Trunks being menaced by a random jungle snake, and needing to turn Super Saiyan to escape from it. At one point in GT, Trunks has to turn Super Saiyan to lift a pallet full of bricks?

Toei has a general idea of "This character is to some extent stronger than that character". Except when they don't, like characterizing Yamcha as a worthy opponent and rival to Tenshinhan or suggesting that Chiaotzu would be a match for a member of the Ginyu Force.

For every "Goten and Trunks menaced by snake" moment, you also get stuff like "Pre-Namek Vegeta can destroy an entire planet in seconds with a casual shot fired from his fingers." They have no idea how powerful these characters are supposed to be at any given time, or what their abilities actually are, or how those abilities actually work. And so they make a lot of errors in both directions.

And it makes for hollow fight choreography where the moves being made are derivative and overly referential, none of the moves make sense as things these characters would be doing or would be capable of doing, and it doesn't mean anything anyway because it's happening between panels so it's all going to reset to 0 at the end of it. Except in the movies and GT and stuff where only two of those things are true.

Even the DBS: Broly movie, which I love to death, has a lot of shitty Toei-style fight choreography baked into it. Stepping through stages of Super Saiyan for no reason? Check. Characters letting themselves get shitstomped for no reason but it's fine because they're invincible? Check. Over-reliance on referencing iconic manga moments even when it makes no sense and breaks the integrity of the scene? Just once I'd like to see a Fusion Dance that doesn't Play the Hits of the two characters turning into Fat Gotenks. You know they have to wait an hour or so to try again, right? Because the movie doesn't.

So, all in all, the anime gives me a lot of grief. The manga wasn't this exceptionally crafted masterpiece. Akira Toriyama did a lot of improvising. He was writing by the seat of his pants. But he at least tried to present a consistent universe with consistent characters and rules.

So, for me, watching the various Dragon Ball animes is like being pricked by a thousand tiny needles. That's not how that works. That's not how that works. He wouldn't say that. She wouldn't react like that. Nobody uses that attack anymore. Why can't he sense his opponent? That's not how that works. He wasn't there for that scene. Why is Uranai Baba here?

weird question. how do you feel about toriyama's art, and the use of his art style?

Artistically, if people take anything away from Toriyama's work, I want it to be his talent for conveying action through still panels.

I've read plenty of comics and manga where the action is honestly pretty hard to make sense of. Like taking still images of one of those jumpy thousand-cuts-per-minute modern Hollywood action scenes where the images are taken like fifteen seconds apart and there's no real sense of how anyone got to anywhere or where that punch is supposed to land.

By contrast, reading Dragon Ball is like watching an actual martial arts film. Toriyama's panel work was a big part of what made him such a great mangaka. It's very easy to follow Toriyama's action from panel to panel; To read the visual language of the fight.

Look how smooth that is. People don't think of Dragon Ball fights as clear, concise affairs where every punch has weight and every move counts. But that's exactly what the manga is. This was Toriyama's greatest asset as an artist.

Look at how the panels follow Frieza's right leg. He's stepping forward with his right leg. His right leg is in front of Goku's face. His right leg kicks Goku into the air. Then he sweeps with his right leg. And then the right leg connects.

That whole sequence follows Frieza's leg. It's what is going to be used to hit Goku and so the action tracks it from panel to panel. You always know where Frieza's right leg is.

And it's why the whole "Characters designed by Toriyama" thing never really meant as much as it was hyped to be. It doesn't matter if he drew a guy's hair Goku-style. What matters is this. When the fists start flying, is it going to be his action?

Or is it going to be something like this?

Did Goku push Vegeta? Did he shoot him? Because he was like ten feet away from the fighting when that maneuver was completed. And then he definitely took that hit to the back of the neck but I guess he was just playing pretend?

Did Son Goku just fake a knockout so he could land a cheap-shot sucker-punch on an adversary?

(This same fight also had Goku defeat Granolah's knack for targeting someone's vitals by suddenly being able to reposition all of his organs somehow, incidentally.)

11 pages of pure action just to convey that Goku and Moro are equally matched. By the end of this, the fight hasn't actually moved in any way.

Goku and Moro chitchat with each other across a beam struggle?

Just so Goku can brag that Toyotaro knows what the Zanzoken/Afterimage is.

By contrast, Toriyama's Beam Struggles look like this.

Intense, strenuous affairs which are clearly and visibly taking a toll on both participants, in which one party ultimately and significantly prevails over the other.

In Goku and Moro's struggle, neither of them really seems to be trying very hard. Goku and Moro are able to water-cooler chat across the beam somehow and then they both just stop caring and leave. It was a Continuity Moment so Goku could call out the Zanzoken but ultimately Goku's Kamehameha achieves nothing and the fight just carries on like it never happened.

Also there's a point where Moro telekinetically yanks Goku down out of the air and then, on the next page, Moro telekinetically yanks Goku down out of the air again. What's that about?

The double-punch panel to show that they're evenly matched is... I have no idea where Moro got the strength to suddenly do that when last we saw was him recoiling from being hit over and over? Moro suddenly gains Super Armor between pages so he can be back in control of a situation where they were not evenly matched and he was clearly on the back foot.

The art is really good and, visually, Toyotaro has a good bead on what these characters should look like. But not what they should move like. It's not Toriyama's action, and you can feel that difference.

[star-crossed-planet]

I have this headcanon that Meeks and Pitts (as in, romantic mittsie) so rarely ever have arguments or fights. Like, they have disagreements, debates and full on screaming matches about stupid shit that's never actually serious, js dumbass energy. But it's precisely bc of that that when they do fight, when they actually hit a bump in their relationship that can't be resolved instantly with just common sense, they actually don't know how to fix it. The thing malfunctions, they're so used to solving problems easily, quickly and with maturity, so when it's actually not that simple, they get stuck in a dead end. WHICH IS ACTUALLY THE PLOT OF MY WIP FIC THAT I'M ACTUALLY NEVER GOING TO WRITE—

[cynicalmusings]

i actually NEED to write for boothill and empath!reader again (was rereading some of the snippets and… not gonna lie the vibes are kind of on point with some of them) but i don’t know WHAT to write and it’s really, really frustrating

[swimming-karyss]

Sabo: loneliness, connection and affection

Trying to organise my thoughts on this matter hehe

I just thought that Sabo's relationship with loneliness and connection are very interesting, and not much people talk about how terribly lonely his childhood days were(even compared to Ace&Luffy).

Ace has been alienated from people from the beginning. Raised in the middle of the jungle, by bandits who never showed much affection, and who repeated the same hurtful words as others did. The state of loneliness is the norm for him. He has never known any other life. Naturally, he'd be protective of what little he has(Sabo) and reluctant to open up and accept new connections(Luffy).

As for Luffy, he has been left alone. Shanks left him after a year staying at Windmill village. Garp constantly took him out of his regular life only to leave him alone in the jungle. And he as well took him away from the village and Makino, after he ate his devil fruit. And while he didn't have [present] parents, he had been cared for. Luffy knows the difference between loneliness and companionship. Which is why he chased Ace's recognition so much.

Sabo's situation is more similar to Luffy's.

But do you ever think that Sabo loved his parents? That he wanted them to love him too? He wouldn't have drawn them if he didn't. He wouldn't be so disheartened at their dismissal if he hated them from the start. But his parents made their love conditional. Sabo had to earn their love and his happiness, while they ignored his pain and attempts to connect. 

And as you know this kind of relationship could leave a lasting impact on how one navigates their future relationships! But on that later😊

Now, Sabo ran away and that opened a whole other can of worms. He's a child, that for five years didn't have anyone to rely on. Of course, Ace was with him, but after he left for the day, Sabo was left completely alone. I mean, at least Ace had Dadan and occasionally Makino and Garp, they shared meals together, he could turn to them in case something happened and they provided him with company and a roof above his head. Sabo lived on the Gray Terminal by himself, in a place where people considered him either a troublemaker to avoid, or a pest to get rid of (those like pirates and bandits). So through Ace and Luffy Sabo gains not only brothers but also other connections and people who care about him! And he welcomes both Dadan and Makino with a bright smile :) Now that I think about it, just like Ace told him about Luffy, he also must've told Sabo about them too🥹

And while all this is nice, his previous problems didn't go away magically. 

(… But his issues aren't stated or shown as explicitly as Ace and Luffy's, so they are easier to dismiss.)

Even though Sabo trusted Ace with his life, he still kept his origins a secret from him, whether it was because he felt them insignificant compared to Ace's or because he feared abandonment in case Ace would be disappointed. And he was more than willing to keep his secret until the very end - Luffy&Ace literally had to beat(strangle) the truth out of him. Sabo also put distance between them in another way too: Ace thought the two of them would sail together, Sabo didn't.

That is honestly also a point to how controlling his parents were. Sabo wanted freedom so much that he didn't mind the loneliness that came with it. Well, he got what he wanted ;) 

Now it would be easy to say that his amnesia also erased his trauma. But it didn't! Sabo still felt hid parents' influence. (And unlike the other weird amnesia case (the sea sure likes to take people's memories huh) - Big Mom - he didn't revert to his younger self, he only lost access to his memories, his feelings and 'character development' remained). If anything it only led to Sabo not being able to identify the cause of his issues → not being able to treat them properly. Now, the RA seem like decent guys, they very well could be the needed support system for Sabo, but again, it's an army with a whole lot of other issues to deal with. So either way his trauma most likely was allowed to fester for a while as we see its consequences show in his adulthood. 

Even though Sabo seems to be doing well as an adult, there's still some signs of emotional distance. He has never reciprocated a hug, even though he doesn't have a problem with physical touch in general, he didn't even think about approaching Luffy in Dressrosa at first and was very tense when actually talking to him. And it's honestly fascinating just how stiff his body language was in Dressrosa (maybe I'll talk about it in general some other time) - be it shock or anger he keeps his arms to his body, unlike Koala or Hack, who choose violence.

He also showed barely any reaction during Vegapunk's speech despite the panelling focusing on him specifically. I'd say he mostly keeps his negative emotions in check, bc in Robin's little flashback he was quite expressive! The main counterpoint is 'special Luff' where he is very open about his anger, but he has a really decent reason for it: his feelings being made fun of. And as you'll see later it's a very sensitive topic for him →

To begin with, he avoids talking about things that have emotionally impacted him in any way.

1.This one might be a stretch, but he begins to talk about his encounter with Fujitora, only not to say anything in the end, idk what's wrong with him; 2. After a very emotional fight with Burgess Sabo dismisses any worries without even mentioning the fight; 3. He refuses to talk with Hack about Luffy, even though we know that he loves to yap about him to Dragon. And that is right after he didn't want to wake Luffy up to even say goodbye! He also changes the topic quickly so Karasu wouldn't be able to further question him.

Even though these scenes are played as gags, he really seems to have trouble with emotional intimacy and opening up about his feelings. And that makes him seem inattentive and irresponsible, thus affecting his relationships with others even more… 

And speaking of which, he is accustomed with either suppressing his feelings or at least just keeping them in check. He hides his worries from his colleagues, appearing as cheerful as always. And during his meeting with Dragon and Iva he brushes aside his guilt and grief for king Kobra (but, I mean it's a work meeting, they need to be professional) and never once he acknowledges his injuries.

And if he's willing to disregard such a thing as grief, how do you think he really feels about his new title, which was gained by the blood of a man he failed to save?

And frankly, right now we don't know much about Sabo! We know about his childhood, and the way he presents himself now(and that is some material to work with), but the 12 years in the Revolutionary Army are a mystery, and again it's an army, I bet he's seen many things, especially considering how high his position is!

tldr: like Luffy, Sabo has a special relationship with loneliness and abandonment. But unlike Luffy, who especially in pre-ts hated separation, Sabo pushes people away. And what makes it even harder for others to connect with him, is that he tends to hide his feelings and problems.

(like a cat)

but again, I might be reading something wrong, my bad

[wow-an-unfunny-joke]

Aaaaaaagh I wanna write mechanisms fanfiction so bad!!!! I don’t know the character thoooo it’ll be so bad

[yeah-thats-probably-it]

Listen. If Bertie Wooster got stuck in a time loop, it would take him 3-7 days to notice anything out of the ordinary was happening, depending on how eventful the original day was. I don’t have time to explain right now

[thingsthatcometomymindwheniwrite]

every day I wake up and realize I am surrounded by pantsers. Where are all the plotters? Am I the only one? Sometimes I feel like it, you guys are so messy,,, (I love you)

[monstersholygrail]

I'm to shy to say it publicly but i enjoyed reading your work, it's got nice pacing and paragraph break, may i ask how will you plan on improving your writing plot wise in the future?

Hoooold on a minute. Who says my writing needs needs improving?!?? (/j) <<

No, no, but seriously, I haven’t a fuckin’ clue. How does one plot??? How does one subplot so the plot can continue at a good pace while remaining interesting for the reader?? (Yes I went to college for this I still can’t answer. I graduated with a 3.9GPA so figure that out).

If anyone has an answer to this that someone at an idiot level could understand, please share with the class 🙏🏼

[sulfies]

Wrote like a chapter for a older!des(42-43) x younger!ezio (25-27) fic... Ill clean it up a bit tomorrow and post it :3 idk if ill continue it but It was fun to play with older depressed Desmond with survival guilt

[djappleblush]

It's so frustrating how you're so excited to read a very specific scene in a fanfic AND IT'S NOT JUST FVCKING WRITING ITSELF

[irenespring]

Me: This fic needs plot.

My brain: Okay, I understand. The fic needs more wallowing.

Me: No. We need to cut back on the wallowing to get to the plot so this doesn't like three more weeks to write.

My brain. Got it, got it. The fic needs Wilson to have free time so he just walks around and contemplates. Nice long chunk of Wilson's depression and trauma.

Me: No. Not at all. It needs less time reflecting on the past.

My brain: Understood. I have the solution. The fic needs...flashbacks.

Me: Okay fuck it. Fine.

[amtrak12]

When you know the fic will turn out so good, the writing, the characters, the humor, all of it -- but then you remember the effort that goes into writing epic-length 50k word fics

[scribefindegil]

Realizing that my personal catnip when it comes to fanworks is "this is a very canon-typical problem, but none of the characters who could provide canon-typical solutions are available so it falls to someone with zero relevant skills except unlimited stubbornness to figure it out instead."

[stresskidz]

Moodboard for my fic ideas #1

Reader and Minho are both exchange students who struggle to fit in. Minho has a hard time with English, and reader is an introvert. They build a friendship and help each other out. Despite Minho’s parents wish to study abroad improving his English in hopes of getting into a top university one day, he secretly keeps practicing his one true passion - dancing. His biggest supporter? Reader. 

"Do you ever dream of becoming like them?" I ask Minho, whose face was illuminated by the purple light of the BTS poster announcing their upcoming concert. He didn't even have to respond, i could see it in his eyes. This was his dream.