#I genuinely don’t know what people who aren’t artists do with their time

[doctorsiren]

I can’t imagine the number of weird asks you get as a artist. As someone whos learning to draw i both admire and feel sorry for the sheer amount of drawing stuff you do/probably are asked to do. Your art is great, but i hope ur not burning out with all the good stuff you’ve been posting lately from asks n stuff

I have over 1000 asks in my inbox, and there are some weird ones for sure

When it comes to asks for me to draw things, it’s actually pretty nice because hey uh yeah free ideas! But also sometimes there is that pressure, but i’ve learned that hey I don’t need to answer every ask I get and I also don’t need to draw something for every ask y’know?

When I need something to draw to keep me busy for whatever reason, I can just look in my askbox and usually find something, so I’m always grateful for any asks that I get!

[millieisawriter]

Love spell... or not

javier escuella x reader

summary: javier feels drawn to the newest member of the gang - a fortune teller of mysterious background. he views your tarot cards as sinful, yet can't help his growing attraction. one drunken night solves one problem, and causes another.

wc: 3.8k

tw: religious guilt, mentions of sin, sex under the influence of alcohol, unprotected p in v sex, mentions of religion during sex

all pics taken from pinterest

♡this wasn't requested, but if you wish to request something you're more than welcome♡

You were a young girl, traveling with two sturdy horses to pull your wagon, telling fortunes from one town to another. It was a decent life, though far from honest. When the townsfolk eventually discovered you were also a sly con artist, it was your cue to pack up and move on.

It was a good business − very good, in fact. You’d warn a man that his horse might be stolen, and later, when it inevitably went missing, he’d applaud your foresight, blissfully unaware you were the one who took it. Then you’d offer to divine its location for a fee and reunite him with his stolen steed.

Were your skills just a fraud? Of course not, you had great knowledge of techniques for seeing the future, for reading people’s fate. But knowing how to manipulate fate, well, that was just good business.

One night, when you met the first man you didn’t manage to con, you also found a new way to survive.

“Good evening, mister,” you greeted your target, “are you interested in hearing what the spirits have to say to you?”

All Dutch wanted to do was go outside to take a piss, and then come back right to his table, where the rest of the gang waited. They had just arrived in this territory, and what could’ve been better of a reconnaissance than a night out at the saloon? He didn’t expect to meet you at the back of the building, leaning against the wall nonchalantly.

“I’ll pass, miss,” he replied, “goodluck trying to find someone who believes in that sort of thing.”

But you were determined to obtain his pocket watch, that you’ve noticed some time ago, having observed the group. “It works best on people who don’t. Aren’t you even a little bit curious, mister?”

Dutch considered the offer. He was a gambler at heart, after all, and he couldn’t resist a game he didn’t understand. “Alright then, miss. Let’s hear what the spirits have to say.”

You invited him upstairs, to the room you had previously paid for. It was small, lit only by a dim oil lamp, with the perfect ambiance for a tarot reading. You gestured for the man to sit at the rickety table, while you took the chair across from him.

“First of all, I’ll need a personal item of yours.” You explained convincingly, as if the rule was real. “Something close to you, something the spirits can… connect with.”

Dutch smirked, shaking his head as he reached into his coat. He pulled out the watch, exactly what you wanted, passing it to you. “Fine, but if something happens to this watch, you’ll regret it.”

You laughed softly, brushing off his subtle warning. “No need to worry. You and your watch are in good hands, mister.”

He raised an eyebrow as you tucked the watch into the top of your corset. “What are you going to do with it?”

“It has to be close to the heart.” You explained, as if the rule was sacred. “I absorb the energy of it and ask the spirits for guidance.” Your movements were graceful, but not rehearsed, you pulled your deck of tarot cards from your satchel.

It seemed like a strange practice to the man, he was no stranger to deception, he’d spent his life perfecting it, but your conviction was… well, working on him. He wasn’t even sure anymore if you were pulling a con or genuinely communicating with the supernatural.

Meanwhile, the rest of the gang remained by the table. Dutch had been gone longer than expected, which was unlike him. Especially since they didn’t even hear any gunshots, which meant their leader wasn’t starting any trouble. Odd.

“What’s takin’ him so long?” Arthur was the first to ask.

“If he’s not back in five minutes, we’re checking on him.” Javier stated, draining his drink and setting the glass down with a thunk.

“Gentlemen,” Dutch announced, spreading his arms theatrically, “allow me to introduce a new… friend of ours. She’s got a knack for seeing opportunities where others don’t. I think she’ll be… valuable.”

Oh, how big their surprise was when Dutch had returned, but wasn’t alone. Right next to him were you. He let you finish your reading, and eventually confronted you. However, instead of punishing you for trying to trick the Dutch van der Linde, he offered you a place in the gang.

You saw this as both a chance and a challenge. And you liked the idea.

Of course, Dutch wasn’t going to explain the whole situation at the saloon, where everyone could hear. On the next day, back at the camp, that was where he explained the circumstances he ran into you.

Javier had been different to you from the beginning. Everyone else was either interested in your fortune-telling skills, like Mary-Beth, Tilly, and Karen, or simply didn’t believe it but still respected it (or didn’t care) like Arthur or Sadie. While Javier… he wasn’t the slightest bit friendly to you.

You were mysterious, and strange. It wasn’t that you were a con, that was okay by him, everyone in the gang was a criminal. However your cards, omens, spirit-talking was what clashed with his faith. To him, you were worse than reverend Swanson, because he at least believed in God. You, on the other hand, it seemed you not only rejected God, but even spoke with the Devil.

“Sin.” Javier muttered one night as he sat by the campfire alone.

You weren’t trying to bother anyone, your target for the night was to go sleep in your wagon that was stationed next to the girls’ wagon.

“You always talk to yourself, or am I just lucky to catch you at it again?” You retorted. His fear, or whatever it was he felt, was amusing to you. It wasn’t the first time you heard Javier muttering about you, and this time you were going to confront him.

“Just speaking my mind.”

“You think it’s funny?” He leaned back, his back against the log. “You have no respect for anything sacred. The Devil sent you.”

“Don’t let me interrupt your devout sermon then.” You gave a short chuckle, crossing your arms on your chest.

You tilted your head, your smirk widening. “Are you afraid of me, Javier?”

“It’s not fear, bruja,” he stood up, “it’s disgust. You’ll go to Hell, don’t you care about that?”

You laughed softly, the sound infuriatingly calm in contrast to Javier’s rising fury. “If I do, I’ll meet you there. You seem awfully concerned about my soul for a man on the run for murder.”

“Stay away from me.” He barked, and you could see the muscles in his jaw twitch. “Others may trust you, but I know you’ll doom us all with your brujería.”

You watched him retreat to his tent for the night, not arguing further. There was no point. You had no problem discussing faith with people who could keep a polite conversation, maybe even understand your point of view. But Javier spoke a lot of respect for the sacred, while his hands were stained with blood.

Not everyone in the gang was like him, though. Arthur didn’t believe in God, but at the same time he didn’t completely reject the idea of some higher power looming over this cursed world. So, he didn’t mind it when you offered him a reading the other day. For him it was just something fun, like playing dominoes or poker to pass the time.

“The Lovers.” You put the last card on the table.

Arthur eyes the card, unconvinced. “Now that’s reaching. There ain’t no—”

You interrupted him. “It doesn’t have to be about love. This card can also represent loyalty, who you stand by when the time to make a choice comes, and it will come. Sooner than you might think.”

Arthur leaned back in his chair, a low chuckle coming from his mouth. “I can take a look around any nearby town and tell you the same. New century, where there ain’t no place for people like this gang. I don’t need the cards to know that.” It was just common sense for him.

“And yet you stay,” you pointed at the previous card, the Hanging Man, “because you don’t know which way to go. You’re stuck, maybe not even because of your own choices, but because of other people’s decisions. You’re caught in the web of loyalty and circumstance, and it’s hard to see a way out.”

“Only if you were that good at reading Javier, huh?” Arthur teased, redirecting the course of the conversation after you’d hit a sensitive spot. “Don’t think nobody sees how you look at him when you’re not at each other’s throats.”

“It’s called intuition, and I am well aware of what Javier feels.” You weren’t going to deny it. “A part of him is afraid, but I can feel his energy pulling at me. Let me tell you, he’s far from disgusted, what he claims to be.”

Before Arthur could reply to this, a shadow loomed over the table. You collected your cards as your eyes traveled upwards to be met with Javier’s gaze.

The Mexican asked. “You done filling Arthur’s head with your nonsense?”

“I didn’t force him to sit here with me.” You remained calm. “It was an offer, which he accepted.”

“Are you sure you haven’t put a spell on him?” Javier’s tone was sarcastic. “You think it’s all fun and games until you end up cursing someone.”

Arthur stood up with an amused smile. “Don’t worry, Javier, if there’s Hell, I’m already going there.” He said, patting him on the back and walking away.

Javier’s eyes followed Arthur. “Doesn’t change the fact I don’t trust her!”

You knocked on the back of the deck, and shuffled the card. As you did that, your gaze stayed on Javier, knowing he was waiting for your retort. A few seconds later you pulled out the Seven of Swords, flourishing to Javier. “You don’t trust yourself, question your own intentions. When will you stop sabotaging what your heart wants?”

Javier’s expression shifted slightly. It wasn’t anger this time. It was doubt, but he masked it quickly, his gaze darkening once more. “You don’t know me, bruja.”

A faint smile appeared on your lips. “Your heart already tells me everything I need to know.”

He walked away quickly, his boots kicking up dust as he stormed off. You knew what he really felt, and he knew that too even if he hated it. And you knew, one day his feelings would come to the surface. Sooner than he expected.

It happened on the night of your first robbery with the gang. You, Karen, Sean, and Lenny had successfully robbed a stagecoach that was passing nearby. It carried money, a delivery to the nearby bank. You figured it would be easier to attack the stagecoach, than the bank.

Before the law arrived at the scene, the four of you were already back at the camp. The whole gang was in high spirits, Dutch even played music from his gramophone. It was the first time you had seen the gang so free. Bottles of whiskey and moonshine were passed around, and for the first time since joining the gang you truly felt like this is the place you belong in.

Tired from the dancing, you sat down on the log near the campfire and for a moment all you did was sit and watch the others. There was a nearly empty bottle in your hand, and the biggest smile on your face.

Karen was dancing with Sean, who was far too tipsy to keep up with her steps but tried anyway. Molly was being twirled around by Dutch, Arthur agreed to accompany Tilly for one song, and with the corner of your eye you could see Mary-Beth trying to encourage Kieran to dance with her. Even miss Grimshaw allowed herself to relax and swayed to the music with Uncle.

Then there was Javier. Standing a few feet away from the dancing bunch, leaning on Pearson’s wagon with a bottle of moonshine in hand. He happened to shift his gaze to meet yours, as if he sensed you were looking.

You finished your bottle before speaking, “Maybe I like what I see.”

“You’re staring, bruja.” Javier called out to you, his voice lacking its usual bite, but still sarcastic. And, for some reason, the man walked over to you.

He sat down right next to you, and you could swear the magnetic attraction you’d always felt was now impossible to ignore. Maybe alcohol was all the two of you needed. Maybe it was all Javier needed to finally be honest with his feelings.

He asked. “You know, it’s not that I hate you, right?” As if he didn’t think you must have been already aware.

“I know.” You hummed.

“What is it, then?”

You couldn’t give him an answer. His feelings were far away from hatred or disgust or anything of that kind, but you couldn’t be the one to teach him what he felt. It wasn’t your place to make him say things he hid from himself.

“I know it’s not fear,” he added, “I’m not scared of you.”

“Aren’t you scared I’ll curse you?” You chuckled. “You seemed pretty concerned about that.”

“Oh, please,” he snorted, his gaze briefly shifting to the ground as his mind recalled it, “I think you’ve already done that. Long ago, the first time I saw you.”

“Is that so?”

Javier nodded with a barely noticeable smile. He leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees. “You just… appeared one day in our lives. Different from what we’ve known, but you didn’t even try to fit in. You simply… do. Maybe that’s a little disturbing.”

You laughed. “Ah, I thought the moonshine’s gonna make you take a liking to me.”

“I meant it in a good way,” he sat up straight, “you make me think. It worries me, because no woman did that before.”

The sounds of the gramophone, and the cheerful laughter of the others was so distant out of a sudden. Javier’s confession wasn’t anything you hadn’t at least suspected, but it made your confidence falter.

“And what do you think?” You inquired, subconsciously leaning in closer.

“I think…” Javier hesitated. When his gaze met yours, just inches away, you could really see the true conflict in his eyes. “I think I don’t know what to do about it.”

It was the first time you’d been that close. His eyes told you he was looking for a reason to pull away, even walk away from the fire, and pretend you still hate each other the next morning. But none of that happened.

Instead, your lips connected. You weren’t even sure who initiated it, both of you were equally eager. Except it wasn’t like two lovers finally admitting their feelings, no, it was as if your bickering continued without words. It was the culmination of every sharp word you said to each other, every insult thrown.

The few following seconds were a blur when Javier led you to his tent. Thankfully, no one else noticed that, and you had at least the illusion of privacy. Any words were unnecessary as you undressed each other, movements rushed and messy, as though you didn’t wanna break some kind of spell that had woven itself around the two of you.

Javier’s tent, the inside of it, was exactly how you would have imagined. His guitar resting somewhere in the corner, the tent lit just by an oil lamp that stood on a box next to Javier’s cot. And, what briefly caught your attention, was the picture of the Holy Virgin standing right next to the lamp. She was beautiful, but her eyes pierced right through you, as if she was judging.

And she had every right to judge. Javier, the man who so strictly believed in his catholic God, let himself surrender to the temptation. Maybe it was obvious all along, the Devil had sent you as a way to test Javier’s faith.

Apparently, his faith wasn’t strong enough. As your lips connected again, he pushed you back to lie down. And as he was now completely naked upon you, one thing couldn’t have gone unnoticed. From his neck hung a pendant of the Holy Virgin, now brushing your skin as the man entered you.

Each time he rolled his hips into your core, it felt like a rebellion. A silent type of a protest towards himself, and what he believed in. The pendant swung with every thrust, brushing against your skin, as if marking you with its presence.

“She’s watching,” you whispered, one hand faintly scratching Javier’s back, the other touching the pendant, “judging.” Possibly, for the first time, you felt guilty. But why? You didn’t believe in his religion.

“Mhm, I know.” Javier replied, guiding your hand away from the Holy Virgin.

The man briefly pulled out, and with one movement flipped you over onto your stomach. With no warning, he slid right back into you, his pelvis now meeting with your ass when the tip of his cock reached places it couldn’t in missionary. You arched slightly, like a cat in heat, and the pleasure mixed just perfectly with the pain of his dick hitting your cervix.

“Perdóname.” Javier whispered, but you figured he wasn’t apologizing to you, even if you couldn’t see the way his gaze flickered to the picture next to his cot.

You felt his breath on your neck, warm and uneven, as he leaned closer, his hand gripping your waist tightly, grounding himself in the physical even as his mind battled with the spiritual.

You clawed at the cot beneath you, biting your lip to stifle your own cries as his thrusts became slower but harder. If there was any trace of the Devil lurking within you, it seemed Javier was intent on driving it out, leaving nothing but the rawness of sin and surrender.

Feeling you clench around him, and the way your breath was now coming in short gasps, he knew he wouldn't last much longer himself. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head as you let your deliciously overwhelming orgasm flow through your body, reaching every part of it.

Just as you came down from your high, Javier pulled out with a strained groan, and no sooner you felt his warm seed across your back. Maybe it was the moment his post-nut clarity kicked in, but he wasn’t the most talkative as he cleaned you up.

He let you stay in his tent for the night. Your still tipsy mind figured it was the alcohol mixed with the sex that made him so tired. You were exhausted as well, after all. Except, falling asleep came easy to you, meanwhile Javier laid on his back, awake, for what could’ve been both half an hour or three hours.

He replayed the evening in fragments, and weighed them against the condemnation he felt. One of his hands reached to the pendant on his neck, it was around some morning hour. He hoped maybe a prayer would solve his problem. Maybe a prayer would be enough to feel peace.

“Madre Santísima, perdoname por lo que he hecho.” Javier spoke, his eyes closed as he tried to focus on how much he should regret what he had done.

Why did it have to be you? You weren’t the woman for him. A woman that believes in nothing would have been better than the woman who practices devilry. A woman who believes in nothing might have been easier to sway, to mold, to save. But you? There was no way you’d leave your magic that Javier was sure Satan had put into your hands.

Javier continued his prayer. “Perdóname por mis pecados, por dejarme llevar por la tentación de una diabla.” Maybe, after all, he was scared.

You blinked your eyes open. Though quiet, his whisper did manage to wake you up. He had no idea you could hear him, his eyes still closed as his prayer continued.

“No quiero perder mi alma. Ayúdame a resistir—”

You cleared your throat. “Seriously?”

Javier froze, his eyes opening and his gaze met yours. You were upset. There you were, letting yourself think that maybe he could warm up to you. That the night meant something to him.

You sat up. “You kill with no remorse, steal, lie, do God knows what else,” you listed with anger and disbelief, “but this − sleeping with me − is what you need to be forgiven for? This is where you draw the line?”

You huffed, attempting to leave the cot, the blanket slipping down your bare skin. The man’s hypocrisy made you feel filthy. Like sleeping with you was worse than murder to him.

His jaw clenched as he sat up, running a hand through his disheveled hair. “You don’t understand it.”

Tears burned your eyes as you put your clothes on. “Don’t act like you’re the victim. Don’t act like I dragged you into this. Like you didn’t want this as much as I did.”

Javier didn’t consider himself a victim to your seductive powers. He knew he was guilty, and maybe this made it even worse. “That’s not what I’m saying. I… I wanted you.”

“Then why the prayer?” You asked, crossing your arms on your chest for a slight illusion of comfort. “You either want me, or you think I’m the Devil.”

“It’s just…”

You interrupted him before he conjured the right words. “Do you think what we did was worse than the blood on your hands?” Your voice lowered. “Or is it just easier to feel guilty about because it doesn’t make you face the man you really are?”

That one night, or rather the morning after, proved to you something you pondered since you had met the gang. You’ve never killed, and you wondered how come these men could sleep with so many innocent souls on their conscience. Now you knew. The solution was to find something easier to feel guilty about.

Silence stretched between you, heavy and uncomfortable. Javier was looking at you now, but not with anger. He looked at you, knowing how well you had him figured out. He was completely exposed, his wretched soul bare before your eyes.

Javier had no answer for you. He stood up, wanting to say something, but he couldn’t make up anything that didn’t sound like an excuse. For a second he hesitated, wanting to reach out and take your hand in his, but he stopped himself.

You scoffed, shaking your head. “You know that, Javier? Stick to praying. Seems to be the only thing you’re good at.”

With that, you stormed outside of his tent. The morning air was refreshing, different from the suffocating air inside the tent, where Javier stayed in stunned silence.

All you wanted was to get as far from him as possible. Finding a quiet spot near the outskirts of camp, you sat down and wrapped your arms around yourself, and that was when you allowed yourself to cry.

[boringbones]

A Letter to Talented Creators

I've been part of this community for 20 years, watching artists rise, fall, leave for new journeys, or simply stop playing or creating. We've received amazing content, but we've also missed out on much.

I wonder how many of these artists could still be creating extraordinary content if they had the support of their communities. It’s common to encounter cliques of creators who vilify anyone considering making a living doing what they love. They’ll use every trick to convince you that not only do you NOT deserve it, but that pursuing it somehow taints you.

With every new friend and artist I meet, my first advice is always: FIND a way to monetize what you do. I believe that if you have the chance to make a living doing what you love, you gain MORE TIME to do what you're great at and, especially, what others love.

Besides, you don’t need everyone’s support—just those who, like me and many other players, are willing to contribute to ensure you have the time you need to keep producing and delivering something only you can create. There are ideas that haven’t been thought of and projects that haven’t been started. Life brings unexpected situations, and we never truly know what goes on behind the scenes for each person who shares their art with the world.

Let me tell you, people are willing to support you. In reality, there are more people willing to support a creator than those who aren't. The difference is that those who are willing don’t make as much noise, but they genuinely enjoy helping an artist who continually exceeds expectations.

I know some people think, “If I make money from this, I’ll have to commit to a level I’m not willing to.” And if that’s the case, that’s fine. You don’t have to if you don’t want to. However, I see this commitment as something positive, but I respect those who disagree. As an artist, you want a certain level of "healthy" pressure. After all, art requires it—not too much pressure, but not too little, either.

Criquette, for instance, is one of the best creators for The Sims 2 in my view. He made incredible things that nearly every player has used. He was ambitious on a level I’ve rarely seen. But he’s been inactive for years. I wonder how much more he could have created if he’d been able to monetize his work—cover household bills, put food in the fridge, or handle basic expenses. How much more time he might have had to create and share? How many brilliant things we could have today in The Sims if he were still here? But he wasn’t monetized, and maybe he was never interested in it, and that’s okay!

For every artist who monetizes, there are many who prefer to do it as a hobby. And that’s wonderful. There are many runners who do it for well-being, pleasure, social connections, or the benefits it brings to life. However, there are those who run professionally. They commit to a level an “amateur” NEVER would. They undergo training that a casual or hobbyist runner would NEVER endure. They maintain diets that others would NEVER tolerate. But the fact that some monetize running and turn it into a career doesn’t prevent others from running for love, fun, or enjoyment.

So, what I’m trying to say is: it’s all okay. If you believe monetizing your talent would give you more QUALITY time to sit and produce what you love, give you the chance to take someone you love to a special restaurant simply because you can, or allow you to be BETTER at what you do because it frees you from worrying about adult responsibilities—then do it!

Be prepared for the noise others will make, but remember that those people aren’t your target audience. Even if they make noise, they don’t consume what you produce. And if they do, they might do so in secret—because attacking a creator and consuming that creator’s work is contradictory. But believe me, there’s often more inconsistency than consistency in this world. And that’s okay!

Remember that on the other side, there are many kind people who don’t mind contributing a small, medium, or even significant amount to support a creator they love, appreciate, and benefit from. Keep this in mind when considering monetization, no matter which version of The Sims you create for. If there’s even one person willing to support you, that’s all you need to start.

I am sure that with this, you’ll have more time, more quality of life, more joy, and a healthy commitment to push yourself in a positive way to give back to your audience for the support and love they have for what you create.

If I have time to create and contribute today, it’s because of these people. They’ve changed my life, shown me that I have the chance to live the life I genuinely want for myself rather than the life circumstances might have dictated. They show me daily that I can LOVE what I do and make a living from it, and that monetizing it doesn’t take away my love for it—instead, it enhances it. I hope you consider my words.

In the end, remember this phrase: “Beyond daily life and what others think of you, what do you think of yourself?” Your value is something only you define. People will respect you to the extent that you respect yourself. If anyone says you don’t have a place “here,” remember, we’re always speaking about ourselves.

We can only give to others what we have, what we are. Trust in your talent and find a way to monetize it, whatever it may be—whether it’s making jarred cakes, selling pudding door-to-door, or creating content for The Sims. I’ve done all these things, and if I’ve learned one thing, it’s that our circumstances change according to our sense of worth. When we recognize that every job has value and that there’s nothing wrong with making a living if you’re providing benefits to others with what you have to offer... So follow your heart. Take risks, give it your all, and be the artist you want to be, because there are people ready to support you. You deserve it, and you will succeed. I hope this letter reminds you of your worth.

Never forget that each of your creations is a unique expression, something only you can bring to the world. May that value and uniqueness always guide you and give you the confidence to keep doing what you love.

[tbzhub]

Money Shot

Pairing: photographer!Lee Hyunjae x afab!reader

Summary: a night in with your boyfriend turns into a photoshoot

Warnings: MDNI, smut, marking, fingering, unprotected sex, lots of photos are taken, pet names like twice

Rating / Genre: M, established relationship au, some fluff, smut

WC: 3.6K

Artist Note: this is a little part 2 to this fic: just go fuck him ♥︎ thank you for the love on that story, i'm sorry the title is so misleading alvjbhvxzgfn. i figured i'd revisit these two!

Tagged: @deoboyznet @everykebbie @blizzardfluffykpop

psst i finished it @the-boy-meets-evil

m.list tag list

It’s a wonder how much a person can change in a year or two. 

These days your chest doesn't feel as tight. Your thoughts aren’t as intrusive and insecurity visits you infrequently. The smiles that grace your lips are genuine– often prompted by the joy that's found its way into the tight confines of your heart. 

With each passing day, came a further understanding of what it meant to live. To experience the world with an abundance of love intertwined with your being. 

Hyunjae wouldn’t agree, but he made all the difference. You are far more vibrant now; confident, social, witty. Being deeply in love brought out a version of yourself that was content and yet utterly fearless. 

There’s peace, both in knowing someone has seen the harshest parts of you and that they still love you just the same. 

Hyunjae gave you the space to be yourself– to show up however you were able to on any given day. With you, he was gentle and understanding in a way that’s reserved for people who care. 

Dating him meant never having doubt– not when he made every day feel like a gift. It was easy to smile with him around. He was funny without trying and hilarious in times when laughter was needed most. His spontaneity took some getting used to, but only because you were a homebody. Now, you look forward to the days you spend with him, enamored by Hyunjae’s innate ability to make every moment memorable. He saw the world in a way that left you inspired. Through his photography, he taught you that beauty was found in the most unlikely places.  Like at a run-down flea market during sunset, or while walking past a vacant flower stand on a late night– the florist long gone after an honest day’s work. Overexposed shots of your hair dancing in the wind as you slump in front of a fan, trying to survive in the summer heat. 

He was always taking pictures of you. Initially– you hated it. You’d go shy or tense up when you saw him bring out a camera, on high alert when he brought out his phone. But over time, you appreciated it. Being his muse– being able to see yourself the way he saw you– helped you in areas that you hadn't realized needed assistance. Through your days in front of the lens, you've learned that you have a brilliant smile. That your hair harbored a different tone in the wake of a setting sun. Sometimes you’d catch yourself anticipating the camera on days when you knew you looked your best, growing confident as more time passed with him by your side.

Now, more than anything else– you both are beyond comfortable and obsessed with one another. Your ears perk up when you hear the bedroom door creak open and the way you immediately step out of the bathroom to greet Hyunjae with a face covered in skin care products proves the aforementioned sentiment.

Coming over to kiss him sweetly, you briefly melt into his firm arms and as you lean back you swipe your thumb over the gray dot of mud mask that sticks to his nose with a chuckle.

“Aww…” Hyunjae coos, taking in your spa headband and the little strip across your nose. 

“No…” you groan, shielding your face away from him and his predictable nature.

“But you look so cute, right now.” He whines, peeking from behind the camera while his fingers hover over the button.

“No, I don’t. I look like the moon emoji” you mumble back.

“What do you mean? Hyunjae asks, looking at you with a clueless squint.

“You know, the one that’s like…”  you give a side glance to look more like the little gray icon.

There’s a small flash of light as the shutter clicks and Hyunjae chuckles as he looks at the tiny screen while you stand stunned that he tricked you so easily. You playfully push him in response, causing him to laugh harder and you can’t help but join him, finding his antics funny. 

You kiss him on the cheek before heading towards the bathroom. 

“I’ll be right back.” You announce with your back turned. “Don’t miss me too much,” Hyujnae calls out absentmindedly, eyes fixed on the camera in his hands and you smile at the remark as you walk onto the cool tile floor.

You come back to him with a washed face and a silly smile embossed into your pretty features. Bounding onto the bed, you allow Hyunjae to tug you into his arms. He peppers you with kisses, lips smacking against yours a couple of times until he’s pulled a wide smile and a few giggles out of you. 

“Wait– stay right there,” he says and you groan but your smile only grows wider.

“Don’t you get tired of taking pictures of me?” You ask, looking him over in amusement as you honor his instructions, holding your current angle. “Nope,” he replies, twisting in his spot to grab his polaroid camera. “Maybe when you have a hot girlfriend, you’ll understand.” He jokes, sending you a flirtatious look over the top of the camera while his finger turns the camera on with muscle memory.

Your laugh is accompanied by the roll of your eyes. Hyunjae presses the shutter and you ready yourself for the flash, relaxing thereafter as the camera goes to work.

The whirring of the film getting developed halts your joking, Hyunjae carefully plucks the film out and shakes it in his hand gently once it pops out of the top of the camera.

Falling further into the comfort of his pillows, you smile up at Hyunjae, observing the way he looks at the picture. His eyes were soft as he swept over the image, the arches of his cheeks raising slowly as a smile blossomed on his lips. For whatever reason the sight struck a chord within you.

“You really think I’m beautiful, don't you?” You voice the thought without realizing it, not until Hyunjae’s gaze shifts to you and you're taking in the sincerity in his eyes as he speaks. 

“Of course.”

He doesn’t say anything else and you didn't need him to. Not when he’s looking at you like you’re the only thing that exists in the world. The only thing worth gazing upon. His hand trails its way into your hair and you look into the lens again, relaxing under Hyunjae’s touch as the shutter clicks again. You shift slightly on the bed as Hyunjae inspects the second polaroid the same way as he did the first. He puts the two pictures on the nightstand for safekeeping before leaning down to kiss you on the lips. 

With your arms looped around Hyunjae’s neck, you steal more kisses off his lips until he drops the camera onto the bed and climbs on top of you. The kiss deepens as one of his hands roams down to grab at your waist and pulls your body closer to his while he props himself up to keep from crushing you with the other. He lingers on your lips, pressure changing from soft and teasing to hard and wanting once you wrap your leg around his hip.

You stay like that long enough for your heart to mimic the rapid thud of Hyunjae’s heart rate.

When Hyunjae pulls away from the kiss you’re left wanting more, grabbing at his shirt in an attempt to bring him back but you stop when you notice what he’s doing.

He hovers above you with a polaroid camera in hand. “Just one more. Your lips look perfect,’ he murmurs as he lines up the shot and you lick your kiss bruised lips before giving bedroom eyes to Hyunjae through the lens. You hear the sound of the camera going off and the flash follows before the whirring begins. You watch patiently as he studies the picture with a smirk on his lips. His hand moves smoothly up and down your bare thigh as his gaze flits across the film. 

It was hot seeing him like this, so obviously turned by what he’s doing– by you.

His hand comes up to caress your neck before falling lower, squeezing your chest over the thin fabric of your tank top and you pick up on how he bites his lip before finally tearing his eyes away and placing the picture to the side with the others.

“Wanna take more?” You ask, gingerly tiptoeing into uncharted territory. “I mean… I’d be down?” You suggest lightly while looking up at Hyunjae’s face. His expressions bounce between confusion and surprise before settling on mirth and something else indescribable.

“Yeah?” He asks for confirmation, his voice suddenly low and velvety.

As you nod your head yes, you wrap your fingers around Hyunjae’s wrist and guide his hand down to rest at the hem of your top. 

His hand scrunches up the fabric, exposing most of your stomach as he dips down low to meld his mouth with yours hotly. He kisses you slowly, taking his time with you in a way that you’ve never experienced with him before. His hand slides up further, delicately cupping your chest as he sighs against your lips. The sharp sting of Hyunjae’s fingers digging into your skin sends a shock to your center and your lips part in a soft moan in response. His tongue brushes against the tip of yours tenderly as your skin pebbles under his touch. 

The kiss remains slow as he savors every last second of having you like this, nibbling on your lower lip before sucking the tender spot and kissing you hungrily. You lay slack underneath him, body and mind being led by the pleasure he pours into you with his sinful lips. 

Your back arches as he lifts your tank top up further, pulling the garment over your shoulders. Hyunjae’s hands fall onto either side of your cheeks, holding your face in place as he presses his lips onto yours firmly and warmth floods your chest. His hands travel down your neck and sweep across your shoulders as he drags his lips along your jawline. He continues his descent until he reaches a particular spot on your neck that makes you bite back a loud whimper. He sucks the sensitive area while you squirm underneath him with your eyes half closed. You shake out a soft moan, bliss surging up your spine as he moves to another spot on your neck.

He sucks mark after mark into your skin until you're nearly trembling and soaking wet with need. Your shoulders and neck are covered in splotches of deep reddish and purple hues that you can’t fully see but the look on Hyunjae’s face as he leans back tells you that look to die for. He drinks you in with a lust-clouded gaze, looking you up and down a few times before reaching out for his camera.

“Fuck– you look perfect like this…” he praises, voice imbued in admiration and want. He lines up the shot, standing on his knees above you and you can see just how much he’s into this.

You reply with a moan and glance up, giving the camera a heated look before the camera flashes. His hand comes into the next shot as he wraps his fingers around your slender neck. You catch his dick twitching in his sweats as he takes a second picture with you posed like this. Hyunjae doesn't wait for the film to come out before casting the camera to the side. He yanks at your shorts and underwear, pulling them off of you quickly with your help. You spread your legs wide for him while he works his way out of his clothes. He’s back on you hot and heavy the minute his cock is free, settling between your legs as he devours you with an intense gaze, tracing your form lustfully. 

“Eyes on me, okay?” He orders softly, smoothing a hand over your bent knee lovingly as the other snakes its way up your thigh, leaving behind a sweltering tingle that lingers on your skin. 

His fingers sink into your wet heat and a sultry moan rings through his bedroom. Hyunjae rocks his palm back and forth, two fingers curled upwards against the soft walls of your pussy. You coat the digits, eliciting the sloppiest noises that you’ve ever heard from your wet cunt but you couldn’t be bothered to be ashamed about that in the wake of what he’d just put your neck and shoulders through. 

He picks up the pace and your legs fall open further as a long sigh leaves your chest. You obediently keep your eyes open, trained on Hyunjae while he works you over. The look you share is a charged one as he fucks you with his fingers, his determined gaze contrasting your unbridled blissed-out state. Your swollen lips part as you pant his name, pleading for him not to stop.

Hyunjae blindly grabs ahold of his camera, never stopping the steady rhythm of his deft fingers urging you dangerously close to an orgasm. Your toes curl and your legs tremble as he readies the camera. He lifts it until he’s got the right angle. His biceps strain and sweat trickles down his arms as he pumps his digits in and out of you while rubbing your bud rhythmically. His arm is getting tired but he waits… and waits, finger resting just above the shutter as he waits for the right moment. The one where your face scrunches up and your pussy tries to choke his fingers. He fingers you with just the right amount of pressure to grow the feeling inside you until it bursts–

The shutter goes off and a flash brightens the room.

You toss and turn as you cum all over Hyunjae’s fingers, moaning loudly as he fucks you through it. Gradually his pace slows just enough to gently bring you down from your peak. His fingers slip out of your sloppy folds and he licks them clean without a second thought before retrieving the polaroid from its slot. 

You shiver through the aftershocks of your high while you come down further. “How’d it turn out?” You ask, still breathless. Hyunjae looks over to you with dark eyes and you swallow under the passion in his gaze.

“Unreal,” he replies through a husky tone before setting that picture down beside the others. He climbs back on top of you, kissing you repeatedly as he lays his warm body flush with yours. Your legs tangle with his while you make out and your dainty hands mess up his hair as you roll on top of him in bed. You straddle his hips in haste, desperate to ride him but he clamps his strong hands around your waist freezing you in place.

“There's a shot that I want to get,” he hesitantly admits. 

You look down at him with an endeared smile. You knew him well enough to know what he wanted. He always say you look so pretty sucking him off. “Okay, baby,” you say, shuffling down the bed until your lips are inches away from his cock. 

Hyunjae groans, tilting his head back into the pillows as you take him past your lips. You don’t tease, dipping your head forward to ease more of his cock into your mouth while your tongue glides down his length. Your lips tighten around him, sucking in on your way up and swallowing around the head before gliding down again.

“Fuck–

You grind your nose into his pelvis when he reaches the back of your throat and you feel him squirm in bed. You let up again, going slow as you cover his entire cock in your spit. Hyunjae fists the bedsheets and hisses at the sight of you–  his cock, dripping with the attention that you’ve lavished it with, tucked between your plush dewy lips. You sink his cock into your mouth again, moaning as you sense him preparing to snap another picture of you. 

Your eyes begin to water as you take him to the back of your throat a few more times, looking up at Hyunjae just in time to hear the shutter go off again. You close your eyes and hum, sending another shiver of vibrations down his cock as he tries to check out the picture.

All you hear is shallow gasps for a while as Hyunjae holds the polaroid up to his face, coaxing you up and down his length with his other hand.

“This one is golden,” he rasps, voice ragged and thick with pleasure as he bobs you up and down his cock for a bit longer, entranced by how sexy your eyes look in the picture. You suck harder, swirling your tongue around before Hyunjae gently pulls you off of him by your hair.

“Let me see?” You ask, sitting up and straddling his lap as he places that picture to join the rest.

He just shakes his head. “We have to round out the set first,” Hyunjae teases, hands going to rest at your hips as he lines you up with his stiff cock. Placing your hands behind you on his toned thighs as you lift your hips, angling them to catch his cock between your wet folds before you lower yourself onto him. You sit on his cock in one fluid motion and sigh. He feels so good– the sweet slide against your walls as you’re filled making your head spin. You rock forward, leaning back against your arms for leverage while you rock back, savoring his thick cock pressed against you. You raise your hips and drop back down, moaning at the feel of his cock teasing your needy cunt. 

You circle your hips while you bounce in his lap, slamming your hips down harder with every motion. Your head tilts back as you ride him, so satisfied yet so greedy for more, hips beginning to roll faster. Hyunjae tightens his hold on you before matching your thrusts, sending his cock as deep as possible causing you to cry out in abandon. You bounce faster, breathing ragged as you start to work up a sweat, a sheen covering your stomach and thighs. Your skin slaps against Hyunjae’s as you move in sync, connected as one as your bodies heat up.

His fingertips press into your skin, as he takes control, lifting you up and down with only the strength in his arms. Hyunjae fucks you nice and slow, dropping you down on his cock and sliding you off so you feel every inch of him leave your insides.

“Fuck Jae,” you moan, core aching for release just when he’s decided to slow things down.

“Sorry, sweetheart. You look so good like this. I don’t wanna rush,” he whispers, licking his bottom lip as he looks up at you– still dragging you up and down his cock like you weighed practically nothing.

He doesn’t forget the camera, reaching for it with one hand while you take over once more. You slide down nice and slow before raising your hips, pausing at the top when he tells you to.

“You look fucking incredible, baby.” He says as he takes the last shot.

The shutter clicks and you carefully push the camera out of Hyunjae’s hands, feverishly crashing your lips into his a second later. He immediately falls in line, kissing you and giving you exactly what you’ve been waiting for. His arms circle your back as he holds you close and pounds into you. 

You gasp and writhe, taking all that Hyunjae gives you as your thighs give out. 

Pleasure and fatigue build, and build within you, threatening to overflow as he continues his onslaught on your pussy. He snaps his hips into you with unprecedented strength, and thrusts rough and careless, eliciting nothing but filthy sounds out of you.

His pace picks up, strokes falling out of rhythm as he chases his climax. 

The steady push and pull of his cock filling you up crowds your senses. Your mind goes hazy as you focus on how good Hyunjae makes you feel every time. Pushing your body to places that you didn’t think it could go. You clench around him as another huge orgasm shuts down your body.

When you finally come to your senses, you notice that you're sore and covered in sweat. You feel kind of gross, but there's nothing that could make you abandon your place on Hyunjae’s chest right now. 

You’re so tired that when you try to speak, your words come out as syllables abstractly strung together. The last thing you’re aware of is Hyunjae’s cool lips pressed against your forehead as you drift off to sleep.

-

In the morning, you wake up sore. The marks that litter your neck and shoulders are a little tender and you feel like you did 200 sit-ups and 300 squats right before bed. 

Hyunjae wasn't around, but you weren’t surprised by that– he never missed catching the sunrise at dawn.

As you sit up in bed, the stack of polaroids from last night catches your eye and you leap out of bed to sift through them all. The first photo is so innocent that you chuckle, knowing where the night led you. You glance through the rest, cheeks heating up at how bold you are in front of the camera. 

You flip to the last picture in the stack and can’t help but swoon. You set the stack down, covering the unfiltered pictures with the one of Hyunjae kissing you on your forehead while you were fast asleep.

[mareastrorum]

These are just initial thoughts, and perhaps I’ll learn something that changes my mind on it, but I’m glad to see Critical Role making the leap to their own subscription service with Beacon.

As a lead in: I’m an attorney that has some background in IP law, though it isn’t what I practice currently. I’ve kept in contact with several active practitioners, particularly those that represent small-time creators either in their own independent practice or via nonprofits. I do not have an extensive Rolodex of IP peers, nor do I spend the money to keep up on IP CLEs. I’m just someone who used to know a ton because I did heavy research and work in that space, and that hasn’t been the case for years.

So here’s my thoughts a bit on the IP angle:

The primary reason I’m happy to see this leap is that CR is taking active steps to keep control over its IP. It’s a boring thing to most people, but when I start paying attention to a specific creator (authors, directors, companies, etc.), I tend to be very attentive to how they use their IP. How freely do they license their marks to partner with other creators to make merch? How often do they allow others to make adaptations or derivatives of their copyrights? What is the quality of those products? What is the supply chain like? Are those third parties objectionable in some way? Were the other parties faithful to the original works or marks? Was this a cash grab or an earnest effort to make something worth the price tag?

Honestly, I like how CR run their business. They have a history of tapping fans and fellow small businesses when making new merch or spinoffs. They embrace the culture of fan-made derivative works, both by featuring fanart/cosplay and by sharing their success. Do you know how rare it is for a company to pay fan artists for their already-made and freely posted work and then sell books of it? Let me be clear: CR bought a limited license from each artist so they could print and sell each work in a physical book, then paid the cost of publishing that book with no guarantee that CR would make that money back, let alone profit. I have a copy of the collector’s edition art books: they’re actually very well made and the packaging definitely cost a pretty penny. That’s not a rainmaker idea, that’s genuinely risking financial loss to sell something people could access for free if they wanted to.

The art books aren’t a one-off either. Darrington Press is CR’s separate LLC for tabletop games. (It’s good business practice to split off companies that handle products in different industries.) CR has also made shows based on those games, and the Candela Obscura series has quite a dedicated audience. Everything about Candela belongs to them: the game itself, the rule book, all the art in the book, the web series based on the game, and merch. It’s so successful that they invested in scheduling a live show for Candela later this month. That’s HUGE.

Contrast that with the distribution of Campaign 1 and the first 19 episodes of Campaign 2. CR cannot host those videos themselves; Geek & Sundry still exists and still holds what I presume to be distribution rights (but I don’t have the contract to review). So G&S gets to host those videos on YouTube and reaps the advertising. I can’t speak to whatever share CR gets from that, but considering that CR is locked out of hosting their own copies of those videos, I doubt it’s much, if any, revenue. (If you’re wondering why CR just didn’t buy those rights back, I ask: what incentive does G&S have to sell something that’s making them money for no cost?)

Knowing that background about G&S, I was wary of CR choosing Amazon to host and distribute The Legend of Vox Machina. Originally, TLOVM was not the plan; CR had a kickstarter for an animated special based on C1. It was only because they blew past the goal that CR was able to make an entire season. The reasonable assumption is that choosing Amazon had to have secured CR additional funding for future seasons of the show, which seems evident from how quickly season 2 was announced, Mighty Nein Animated is also going to be a thing, and that season 3 of TLVOM is scheduled for fall 2024. CR had the option of just doing 1 season and keeping it purely in their control, but going with Amazon meant they could animate more of their works. Animation is expensive. I cannot stress enough how doubtful I am that CR would have been able to afford this many episodes and both campaigns if they had not gone this route. As wary as I was in the start, it paid off, and it’s going well—so far. Hopefully CR doesn’t regret that decision if Amazon tries something sleazy. But, as before, we don’t have the contracts and can’t know how secure CR’s position is if any dispute came up.

CR also partnered with Dark Horse Comics to make Vox Machina comics and Might Nein Origins comics. What’s especially surprising is that each of the cast had a hand in writing the MNO comics for their characters, with Matt listed for multiple. That isn’t very common with comic adaptations. Often times, IP owners let comic companies go ham with minimal oversight. Being listed as one of the authors comes with IP rights that have to be negotiated. That means that Dark Horse had to talk with CR about whether that warrants more or less revenue going to which party in exchange for that—or, alternatively, whether the comic gets made at all. That’s a ballsy move. You think people can just demand to write the comics that a publishing company is going to pay to print? Pffft. CR wanted some creative control, and that is a big ask. However, Dark Horse still has the distribution rights, both digitally and for physical copies. You couldn’t buy the comics from CR until they came out with the library edition, a book bound compilation of 4/8 comics. But the publisher is still Dark Horse; CR is just allowed to sell the book directly from their own site as well.

Contrast that with the novels about CR characters. CR partnered with Penguin Random House to publish novels about Vex and Vax (Kith & Kin), Lucien (The Nine Eyes of Lucien), and Laudna (What Doesn’t Break). Liam and Laura were vocal about having some say in K&K, whereas Madeline Roux said in an interview that she had full control over TNEOL. Both of those novels were narrated with CR voices, but narrating a book doesn’t come with IP rights, it just brings in a paycheck. There’s a lot less IP control in there compared to the comics, but this isn’t abnormal for book publishing. To be blunt, I doubt PRH would have agreed to publish the novels if anyone from CR had been a co-author or had heavy oversight over the author or the editing. I don’t think PRH even considered that as an option. Either an author that has already managed to sell X number of copies or nothing. Creative control over a book a huge ask, asks come with reduced revenue, and switching to books from a web series is already a leap. The fact that Laura and Liam had any say is surprising, really.

That was a long meandering tour of what we’ve seen CR do with its IP. The reason I bring up each of these things is that navigating the way to protect an IP in this space is rife with challenges. Different types of IP warrant different strategies because of the cost involved in creating each medium and the challenges placed by industries that have already sprung up around them. Any time that a third party is tapped to create an IP, it’s usually because they already have the funds and resources to create the work, and CR has to negotiate for revenue, creative control, distribution, and—the big one—who gets to be the owner. These are not easy, quick, or fun conversations, and CR is always going to be the smaller company at the table.

Knowing that, I’m not surprised or worried that CR is creating its own independent subscription service with Beacon. It tells me that they’re being careful with their IP whenever they can. A subscription service means they don’t have to trade away distribution rights or give up ad revenue to a third party. They’re in this for a long term investment, and that requires solid income not tied to third parties that can definitely outspend them in litigation in the event of a dispute. A subscription for bonus content is one of many parts in a diverse revenue stream.

(All that said, this isn’t meant to criticize creators that cant afford to do this type of thing. It took 9 years for CR to get to the point where Beacon is financially feasible and a desirable business decision. They have enough ongoing, popular content to warrant paying for a subscription, and they’ve built sufficient trust with their audience that more will be added. That takes time and an awful lot of money.)

As a final note, I take this step as a sign that CR definitely intends to stick around. This isn’t a move people make when they plan on ending the business after the current campaign. I’m glad to see CR is taking steps to secure their foundation and keep making new content.

I’m sure people will chime in on other issues (cost, content exclusivity, etc.), but I hope my perspective gives an idea of why this sort of thing is good for business generally and why it would be good for CR.

[thetepes]

Not to play devils advocate, but I feel like lilys opinion on the usage of the n word is valid. Regardless of someone’s race, I think it’s a little backwards to dictate what someone has to say about another races cultures just because they’re white (or not of that culture), differing opinions aren’t the end of the world and hers wasn’t inherently racist I fear the same goes for the anime thing too, I’m sorry but Japan DOES have of a loli problem, even if her wording was extreme

I’m not white myself (to be fair, not black/japanese either), not that I think it matters to what I can and can’t say about this but I don’t want you to assume I am white because I somewhat defended lily, which is someone I did NOT want to run defense to but maybe I’m too conservative for this space but I mean this in the most respectful way possible, it feels like some of you are reaching on some things just to paint her in a worse light, as if she wasn’t already famously bad 😭

(Feel free to correct me, I’m not trying to be intentionally ignorant for the sake of it I’m just tired of hearing of a lot of echo chambers about the issue without getting to WHY what she says is racist when I think like pretty reasonable??)

Anon, my friend, I do not know how to break this to you, but that is racist. I know you do not mean to be. I know you're trying your best to be as inoffensive as possible. I'm going to do my very best to answer you genuinely because you seem genuine.

Saying Japan has a Loli problem is like saying America has a child pageant problem. It's there. It's a problem, but it's not something floating on the surface everyone in Japan is aware of the magnitude of. It's a niche genre of ero fiction that comes up about as much to your every day Japanese person as child pageants in America.

In the 80's there was this loli boom that took place where it split off from your more typical bishōjo into lolicon. You would find stuff like Future Boy under that genre long before you'd find any ero.

It wasn't until an otaku named Tsutomu Miyazaki was arrested in the late 80s that the darker side of loli came to the awareness of your every day Japanese person. It was a popular genre so there was a LOT of hentai of it. He killed and murdered several little girls between the ages of I think 3 to 6 and it started a panic very similar to the Satanic Panic that happened in USAmerica. He had a massive collection of anime and hentai. I mean massive. From normal things you'd see in Walmart to stuff you could only buy from very specific websites online no normal person would even know about. It wasn't just Loli that was effected though it was all anime.

It's why Otaku culture was so repressed and shameful for a long time and it even killed the Loli boom because the style was associated with the killings. It wasn't until very recently that Otaku culture made a come back, but still Loli isn't making that come back because of the online opinion on Lolicon. It's gone from an art style to something a lot darker and I think that's where the communication sort of faulters? Because if you say to a Japanese person "you have a loli problem" they're going to think you're having a Satanic Panic moment at them.

At least that's been my experience.

This whole thing is why there was the Moe boom in the 2000's, it was an over correction on the part of artists. Trying desperately to get away from that label and people taking advantage of that as well to make slop.

The rise of the Lolita in Harajuku also muddied the water on this because there's an entire beautiful subculture there that branches into a thousand different expressions. "You have a loli problem!" What's the problem with girls in frilly dresses?

You as someone online, who is adept at being online, in critical spaces and animation/anime spaces have so much more exposure to this stuff than anyone on the daily in Japan.

The entire world has a porn problem. The entire world has a sexualizing little girls problem. To point at Japan and specifically repeatedly deem the entire country as having an issue with pedophilia is racist. To go out of your way to bring it up when you're not even discussing anime or Japan is racist. When your hate and ignorance for a place and it's people bleeds into everything you do

That is racism.

[seravphs]

ੈ♡˳·˖✶ — IDOL! GOJO x ROCKSTAR! FEM READER

Gojo loves the untouchable. You’re an off limits rockstar who thinks he’s an idiot. The only thing he can do is take that as a challenge, right?

wc — 6.8k

tags — non detailed mention of idol industry EDs, pride and prejudice type energy tbh, reader is a little superior about being in a rock band and not “selling out”, Gojo has an annoying habit of pointing out their hypocrisy, sneaking around because you’re public figures, nsfw jokes, minor nongraphic blood

Gojo’s not your usual type. He’s too pretty for that, with those long lashes like a doll’s. They’re stark against his pale skin when he flirts with you, peering alluringly at you through half closed eyes like the cheap tricks that get his fangirls to scream will work on you. 

He’s too easy to break for your taste, but from what you hear on Twitter, that’s why people like him. There’s something charming about the gap in his image that draws people in. People are dying for a taste of vulnerability because he's so cocky, but it's easy to make him beg.

There’s a million clips all over the internet of the moments he’s caught off guard, carefully hoarded instances in his career where a genuine embarrassed flush comes over his cheekbones, made into gifs and Tik Toks and YouTube videos. 

That’s not your thing. 

You like people with tough hearts and tougher reputations. People who could take the beating of public opinion without a flinch, not some soft spoken idol who needs his management to hold his hand through an apology. You like your fans, but they know their limit with you.  

It’s not love, not like with an idol. It would never be, you made sure of it. You’d quit before you ever issued an apology for dating someone. 

You hate to be a stereotype almost as much as you hate the idea of becoming a pushover, but you’ve dated a string of bad boy exes who were all exactly what you would expect for the lead singer of a rock band. A little rough around the edges, dark and smoldering. Men who would wear your red lipstick marks like a badge of honor. People who had never even heard of something like an idol image. 

Maybe that’s why no one saw it coming. You were safe, established. Gojo was out of your usual pitch. 

It’s too bad for the fans that you’ve always been a bit of a daredevil. Trying new things has never scared you. You’ve always been willing to test your limits to find the gold in the muck. That’s how you grow. 

That’s how you ended up here, sitting thigh to thigh with the boy wonder of the idol industry. 

“Aren’t you playing a dangerous game here?” You ask as he nudges even closer to you, far beyond what you’re sure his fans will permit. You’ve heard horror stories about the lengths people will go to if they see their idols even look at someone of the opposite gender. 

“Why, you scared?”

“You wish. You’re the idol here. It’s your reputation on the line.”

He smiles at you, saccharine sweet. “I don’t like letting other people control me.” 

That earns your begrudging respect, even if his bony knee is knocking into yours. He’s so lanky it makes you a touch concerned. Shoko’s girlfriend is an idol, and she’s constantly sneaking her food under her manager’s notice. 

That’s another reason why you could never be an idol. Letting someone else dictate your life like that sounds like hell. It was hard enough to convince you to be here in the first place. 

Your band doesn’t do promotion, least of all you. It’s all homegrown talent and homegrown fans, but you’re in stasis. Your growth has plateaued. Like all artists, you’re beholden to bills to pay to keep the music going. You’re big enough to know when you have to make sacrifices. 

It’s nothing personal. That’s just the industry, from pop stars to idols to bands like you. If nothing else, you all share the solidarity of giving anything for the music. You just think you have a harder limit for anything than idols do. 

The host kicks off the segment before you have time to do further analysis. 

“Welcome back to Hot or Not, the variety show where we pit your favorite internet heartthrobs against each other! Please welcome today’s guests - they may not be the duo you expect!” 

The camera pans to you and Gojo. His smile is instant, soft and natural, as real as if he were genuinely overjoyed to be here. You have to give him props for that, at least. He’s good at his job. 

As soon as the camera pans to you, his expression flickers and returns to bored disinterest. He yawns, his teeth pearly white. Veneers, maybe. His tongue flicks around the sharp tip of one canine, his smirk nearly fanged. There’s the feature he’s so famous for, the one that has him edited into cat reaction memes all across the internet. Kitty Gojo and his kitten fangs. 

He’s a grown man. You think you’d jump off a building before you let your teenage girl fans put cat ears on you and coo at you. 

To each their own, you guess. Gojo didn’t seem that perturbed by it. To be fair, he didn’t seem perturbed by anything. 

“Let’s start with Gojo! Remember, if you don’t feel like answering a question, we’ll put you in a surprise challenge with your partner.” 

“Sure,” he says easily. “I’m an open book.” 

“Let’s start easy. What’s your favorite song off your new album, Blue Spring?” 

Gojo makes a face. “Pass.” 

“Sorry, maybe you didn’t understand the question-“

“No, I got it. That’s boring,” he says. “Give me the challenge.” 

You’re amused despite yourself, and fighting not to let it show. There’s the troublesome personality you’ve heard so much about. He wouldn’t be half so popular if he wasn’t so pretty, but that attitude and that face made for a dangerous combination. 

The host is trying to salvage the situation with an easygoing laugh. Backstage, you hear someone mutter, “Gojo is gojo-ing again.” 

It’s all so funny until you realize he’s dragging you into his mess as they set up the challenge. 

Your host explains the rules too quickly for you to catch in their entirety, but it’s something along the lines of a staring contest. You’re supposed to do everything in your power to make the other lose a straight face, with words or actions. 

“Are you allowed to do this?” You joke as they start strapping the electrodes on you to measure your heart rate. 

“What do you mean?” Gojo’s mussing his hair up so he looks more artistically roguish. 

“You know, just being an idol and all. I figured you wouldn’t be able to do things like this without your fangirls jumping on you.” 

“Ah,” he says, scooting his chair closer to you. You’re knee to knee as they finish the last details of fiddling with machine. “You’re one of those types?” 

“And that means?” 

“You think I’m an idiot because I’m an idol.” 

“I didn’t say that,” you protest, watching the monitor to make sure your heart rate isn’t jumping with your words. It’s just a game, but you’re competitive. 

“No, but you’re thinking it. What else? Maybe you think idols are also soulless grifters?”

You wince. It’s not that you think so terribly of idols, per se, you just understand and recognize their need to please their company. They’re products before they’re people. 

“I got it right, huh?” He’s pleased with himself. 

“Am I wrong?” You retort. “You’re really going to tell me you love singing your overproduced pop music for the tween girls who will buy anything you put out as long as you’re pretty enough?” 

“Aren’t you here too? Lot of talk for someone who’s sitting right next to the sellout. You know what they say about birds of a feather…”

It’s all in a whisper, so no one else hears - or sees your startled reaction to find out the pampered show dog has a little bite in him. You could retaliate, but if you’re being honest? 

This makes you respect him more. 

He’s right, anyway. You did sell out by being on this show. 

The machine beeps. He smiles, slow and sweet - or at least it would be if you didn’t already know there was an edge to it. “I win.” 

“Wow!” You’ve never found the host more annoying. “That got heated at the end, didn’t it, folks? Do you mind sharing what Gojo said?”

You smile at the camera in a way that feels more like you’re beating your teeth. “It’s a secret.” 

You’re not mad at him. If anything, you’re impressed. The person you’re really disappointed with is yourself.

So he’s not what he thought you were. So he challenged your biased preconceptions on idols. So what? 

It doesn’t mean anything, but you can’t get him out of your head. 

The rest of the show is an easy and welcome distraction from your inner turmoil over the possibility of maybe potentially tolerating an idol. Throwing out witty answers and being neck to neck with Gojo in winning mini games is much preferable to having to experience emotions. It’s only when it’s over that the problems start. 

You watch as he gets up, biting your lip and debating to yourself. It’s only when he’s halfway out the door that you make your decision. You’ve always been a do or die kind of girl. 

“Hey. Want to get dinner?”

You just want to make sure he’s eating. No other reason. 

His manager frowns behind him. 

“We’re in a weird spot,” he says. “The only thing around are convenience stores.” 

“That’s fine,” you say. “We can get instant ramen.” 

“I’ve never had instant noodles,” Gojo says. 

“Seriously?”

“No, not seriously,” he scoffs. “Just what kind of lives do you think we lead?”

“Deprived ones,” you toss over your shoulder as you lead him towards your monster of a customized car. 

“Oh, no,” his manager is beginning, but Gojo is already sliding comfortably into the passenger seat. His poor manager looks nervously at you as you turn the keys. “Are you sure that thing is safe?” 

“Don’t worry,” you tell him. “If this thing crashes, I’m in here too.” 

You don’t think that reassures him, but your own manager will handle it. You pull out of the parking space and head for the road. 

Gojo’s impatient. He tries the handle almost before you’re done parking. You’re like that too - always ready to move. This time, you’re one step ahead. You lock the door before he can leave. He gives you a startled look and glances outside again, clearly weighing his options. 

“Relax,” you say. “I’m not a crazed fan. Put these on before we attract an actual stalker of yours.” 

You toss him a hat, sunglasses, and a mask. You’ve started keeping them in your car ever since you’ve been hanging out with Shoko and her girlfriend, who was famous enough to get recognized in the street for her autograph. He wrinkles his nose but obediently puts them on. 

It doesn’t do much to hide his overall air of Gojo-ness. He steps into the store like he owns it, which he very well could.

The steam rises from your bowls and coats Gojo’s sunglasses. You’re surprised he can see inside, but he has no trouble navigating. He tells you he has 20/20 vision. 

One thing leads to another and suddenly he’s bragging about his perfect grades when he attended school. He’s a natural genius, which isn’t really a surprise. 

“I thought you were supposed to be a bad boy,” you tease. His glasses are slipping down his nose. You reach out to push them back up before anyone notices. His eyes are rather remarkable, after all. Anyone would be able to tell who he was at a glance. 

“Me?” He gives a choked laugh. It sounds nice. You’ve haven’t heard it before, not during the show. He was more polished then. The ways in which he rebels against being an idol show up unexpectedly.  “Nah. That’s all Getou. He’s the one with a hidden face. You wouldn’t believe what he’s like when the cameras are off.” 

“Somehow I don’t believe you,” you joke. 

“I’m serious,” he whines. “I’m pretty sheltered. Grew up rich, you know?” 

Who doesn’t know? The Gojo name is pretty famous. One of the biggest conglomerates in the entire world, it broke major news outlets when the heir chose to be an idol instead of the next president. 

He’s always been in the public eye, but kept separate like art at a museum. You have a nasty tendency of wanting to ruin things that you’ve been purposefully warned away from. It’s sort of a thing of yours, a bad habit you haven’t put too much effort into breaking. The more impermissible something is, the more likely you are to try, like a cat knocking a glass of water off a table. 

Corruptible isn’t the exact right word, but it’s what comes to mind. You want to mess him up a little. Put your grubby rockstar hands on him and leave smears behind so his fangirls see his tainted reputation. You don’t, of course. It’s just a passing thought that you wouldn’t risk actually jeopardizing his career for. 

It would just be nice to see him live a little more freely. 

The temptation clears with the last of your noodles disappearing into your mouth. There are things that are off limits for both of you. Those are just the sacrifices you’ve made for your dreams. That’s all there is to it. 

It’s so good you sigh at the loss of it, mourning your empty bowl. Gojo’s almost done himself. The minute he finished his noodles, he lets out a breath to mirror yours, then laughs once he catches himself. 

“Come on,” you say. “Let’s get you home.”

You think that’s the end of it. There’s no reason to go any further. You met an idol and he obliterated your previously held prejudices. You’ll never meet again. 

That’s not quite how it works out. 

When your manager offers you another chance to see Gojo, it’s nonchalant. “Remember that idol you were partnered with on that variety show? I know you don’t like those types, but you seemed to tolerate him well enough. There’s another-“

A yes flies out of your mouth so quickly it’s embarrassing. 

Your manager pauses. His eyes narrow. “Didn’t expect you to be so eager, but okay.” 

Your face burns with embarrassment. This isn’t like you at all. Even with your exes, you had been cool and level headed. Always the prize, never the one to give chase. 

He’s interesting, you try to rationalize it to yourself. You like interesting. Life was mind numbing without a kick, and he was the latest thrill. It didn’t mean anything more. 

It’s another variety show. Apparently the two of you had been so popular as a pair that they wanted more. 

Gojo’s in the makeup chair when you arrive. The artist is scolding him for blinking while she applies his mascara. He’s whining about his dry eyes. 

“Don’t be a baby,” you say, dropping into the chair next to him. 

“But that’s what I’m best at!”

“You’re so weird,” you laugh. 

The makeup artist groans. “Please don’t encourage him.” 

Only Gojo would take that as encouragement. He rolls his eyes and receives a light swat across the shoulder for his troubles. You play around on your phone while you wait for her to be free, but soon grow bored. Instead, you watch her swipe powder across Gojo’s face and dab cream onto the apples of his cheeks. 

“Stop staring,” he says. 

“How do you know I’m staring? Your eyes are closed.”

“I can feel it.”

“Well, you’re wrong.” 

“You’re such a bad liar,” he says, and you know he’s just messing around at this point because you’re an incredible liar. It’s your best quality. 

Falling into banter with Gojo is as easy as breathing. It’s no trouble at all to replicate it on the show. From the shadow, your manager gives you a double thumbs up. Dork. 

Sometimes it’s hard to remember that you’re doing this to drum up popularity for your tour. You’re not the only one having trouble. Gojo pulls you aside after filming wraps up to give you his personal number on the phone he’s not supposed to have. 

At night, you get an alert that you’ve received something from Gojo. It’s not a message. It’s a notification that you can save three tickets to your digital wallet. 

A speech bubble pops up. 

Come to my concert, he says. I got you VIP seats. 

Gojo’s impressed you, but you still don’t know about the rest of his band. You’re not sure you want to watch pretty men lip sync and grind on the stage for two hours, but when you tell Shoko, she offers to bring Utahime. That’s conveniently three, so you might as well. 

VIP seats don’t include backstage, so you’re surprised when security comes to retrieve you. There’s no backstage pass for this concert, actually, confusing you all the more. 

Shoko flaps her hand dismissively at you, encouraging you on. By her side, Utahime is trying to feed her snacks. Satisfied that they’re comfortable, you follow the guard to Gojo’s dressing room. He leaves you there without a word. 

After five minutes of waiting for something to happen, you knock. Instantly, Gojo’s voice invites you in. 

He’s sitting in front of the dresser, fiddling with his earrings. You’ve noticed seven piercings in total - three on his right lobe, two on his left, and one conch on either side. Before you knew him, you would’ve been surprised an idol would be allowed to get so many. Now you know he bends the rules whenever he’s able. 

“Pass me that?” You hand him the disinfectant. “Thanks. I didn’t think you were coming.” 

“Then why’d you send me tickets?”

“Thought my roguish good looks and natural charm would win you over,” he says with a smile that says he’s only half joking. 

“You’re insufferable,” you say as you bat his hands away from his ear. “Let me do that.” 

His hair is soft as cygnet down as you brush it behind his ear. There’s something innocent about his expression like this, watching him from above. His eyes are closed, breaths soft and even as he waits for you. 

The silver pools in your hand as you thread it through his ear, a waterfall released when it hooks on. He wears a lot of silver, you’ve noticed. His stylists favor colors that should wash him out but only make him look more angelic. Pale blue silk trims his form, encrusted with embellishments to make him look prince-like. There are sparkles in the inner corner of his eye, soft blush on his cheekbones to make him look sweet. 

He’s anything but when his eyelids flutter open and he notices you watching. A smile almost cruel tugs at his lips. His hand reaches for you as if- 

There’s a knock on his door for the last curtain call. 

“That’s me.” He stands up, brushing his lap off without a trace of anything other than professionalism. He’ll leave you wondering what he was going to do. It’s terrible how good he is at this, though you suppose it’s his job to leave people wanting more. “Keep an eye out for me on stage, will you?”

It’s hard not to. Your eyes are polarized to him. Even when something else catches your attention, like fireworks or confetti, he pulls it back. Greedy, that one. 

You’re not the only one. The crowd lives for him. There’s something electric about him on stage. He naturally draws attention with that height and attitude and face, but what happens when he’s performing is inexplicable. You’d call it a religious experience if you believed in a god. 

Fate has never factored into your life, but now you’re starting to consider worship. Gojo performs like he was born to be an idol. 

Keep an eye out for me, he says, as if you’d have any trouble. You’ll dream about him tonight. The way his mouth fits so sensuously over the words of a love song snags your thoughts like a fishhook. Sick desires run through your blood, each more depraved than the last. 

You want to watch him shed his beautiful silk skin for you, become nothing more than man again. You must retract your prior confession. There’s no longing for the altar in you, only a love of sacrilege. 

Gojo asks for coffee easily, as if you’re two normal people and not celebrities with a lot to lose if you were caught together. You can’t let him outdo you, so you agree. These are the reasons why your manager curses your recklessness. Shoko calls it bravery, when she’s feeling sweet on you. 

The second message comes a second later. 

Gojo Satoru 11:25 I only said it to see if you’d agree Here’s my address lol can’t believe you said yes  Attachment 

You think he gives his address out too freely for a man worth 30 million. The feeling only intensifies as you get out of your car and thank your driver. His gates are pearly instead of the standard matte black, a stark declaration of wealth. He’s practically asking for an incident to happen. 

Security buzzes you in. Someone in a white dress - an honest to god maid - leads you to a mini kitchen where Gojo’s waiting. His hair is wet and dripping down his back where his powder blue shirt is darkened to a navy. You thought you had gotten used to overblown displays of money after your first three years in the music industry. Clearly, you were mistaken. 

He looks up as you enter, reading a trashy tabloid as he stirs whipped cream into a tall glass of something that looks more like a sugary heart attack than coffee. 

You’ve never seen his bare face, you realize. Even that moment when you had walked in on him and the makeup artist, he had been nearly done. He looks practically the same without makeup. People with genetic good looks like him only need to enhance their appearance the tiniest amount. 

What really strikes you is how earnest he looks, soft and open-hearted, though that might be because you’ve caught him in his home. This is what you wanted - him without his skin on, naked and without pretense. He’s wearing cotton pajamas and white slippers. 

“I thought you’d come later,” he says. “Sorry I got started without you. I was feeling something sweet.” 

“I’m early, though?”

“I’m always late,” he says with a one shouldered shrug. “Thought you might be too. Guess you’re not my perfect girl after all, huh?” 

You shove his arm off the armrest of his chair to perch on it, ignoring the perfectly good chair across from him. This is better, anyway, easier to talk to him. “Don’t be absurd. I’m everyone’s dream girl.” 

Gojo chuckles. “I like confident women.” 

There’s been a question on your mind for a while. You knew his group was popular, but all this? Maybe you should’ve become an idol after all. 

“Where’s the rest of your band? I thought idols shared rooms.” 

“Some do,” he says. “Not so much when you make it big. But this is my family home, so none of that applies.” 

Gojo Satoru of the Gojo conglomerate. How had you forgotten? It shouldn’t be so easy to ignore something like that. 

Gojo shifts the conversation easily, but you notice. So he doesn’t like the connection, then. “How was the concert?”

“Don’t fish for compliments,” you say, stealing a sip of his drink before it reaches his mouth. It’s too sweet for anyone’s standards. You spit it back into the cup. He takes it from you, eyes it consideringly, and takes a sip anyways. 

Your mouth drops. “You’re so gross.” 

“Only for you, baby,” he moans, humor like a teenage boy. “Call me names again.”

You roll your eyes at him. 

“It’s fine, it’s just saliva. Now tell me the truth. You couldn’t take your eyes off me, could you?” 

They’d probably sooner pop out of your head and roll away than leave the sight of him, but you can’t tell him that after all you’ve said about idols. Instead, you push off your seat to go rummage through his cabinets. He has a fully stocked coffee cart in this room and the very latest espresso machine, all to choose his diabetic monstrosity instead. 

“You don’t need to respond,” he says cheerfully. “Your silence tells me everything I need to know.” 

“Do you think you know me that well?” You shoot back. His fridge is so big you think you could fit into it. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you’ve registered that he’s moved from his seat as well, and now stands just behind you. 

“Of course I know you,” he says. “I understood you the moment we met.” 

“You’re very confident,” you note. 

You have a weakness for confident men. 

“So you liked my concert. Can I come to yours?” 

You imagine Gojo in a mosh pit for a second. It sends you into a laughing fit while he stands there, bemused. You can’t shake the incongruous picture of him, with his face like a carefully crafted porcelain doll, getting rowdy and wild with your fans. Ridiculous. Never in a million years.

“We don’t have VIP seats,” you warn him. 

“So?” 

“So it can get dangerous.” 

“Aw, you do care about me.” 

“I care about the fat lawsuit your company’s going to send me when their moneymaker breaks his leg at my concert. It’s not happening.” 

“You scared?” 

“No, but maybe you should be.”

“Come on,” he says. When had he gotten so close? It’s distracting. “I know you’ll take care of me.” 

Gojo had invited you to his concert. It’s only right to return the favor. An idea starts forming in your head, though you’re not sure it’s a good one. You tell him anyway.

Usually when soundcheck is over, you have a little bit of downtime to relax backstage. You’re expecting someone tonight, however. 

A rough knock on the door announces Satoru Gojo, spoken in your security guard’s rough voice. Well, he really introduces him as pretty boy idol, but you can guess who it is. 

He looks discomfited, a rare occurrence, as he closes the door behind him. 

“What’s with you?” 

“You’ve got groupies,” he says, looking rattled. 

You fight a smile. 

“Don’t laugh,” he pouts. “They’re insane. One of them tried to chase me here.” 

You can’t help yourself. A giggle bursts out of you. When he tries to leave, you pin his hand to the handle and coo reassurances at him so he won’t. 

When you head out the door, he surprises you by grabbing your hand. It’s as nonchalant as anything he does, so you rise to the challenge he sets by refusing to react to it. You only separate once you reach the stairs; him to the spot you’ve made for him behind the barricade, you to the stage. 

This is one of your favorite venues, moody and atmospheric. The lights are dimmed to your preferred setting, but your eyes adjust quickly. Your crowd is restless tonight, shifting on their feet as whispers follow raucous laughter through the crowd. Noise on noise, the way you like it. 

The wood of the floor is a little sticky beneath your boots as you walk. That’s history gumming the soles of your shoes, generations of artists before you. You’re starting to feel it now, the electric thrum of pure joy in your blood. 

Shoko is strumming light tunes on her guitar to warm up, her eyes closed. You hope she doesn’t take it too hard that Utahime couldn’t make it tonight, though you know if she’s upset, she’ll channel into her music. 

The crowd settles as the hour draws closer. Shoko’s fingers are liquid now, running through chords effortlessly. You wrap the cord of the microphone around your hands, letting the tension build mindlessly. A stage is like home to you. The crowd plays in the palm of your hand, energy ebbing and flowing as you will it. 

It starts with a guitar solo from Shoko. By then, the crowd is already burning with excitement. The first burst of sound from the speakers has them roaring, cheering even though there’s no lyrics to it. The smallest smile touches her lips as she plays to the crowd, showing off exactly why she’s lead guitar for the greatest band in the world right now. 

You step in on her heels, your voice rising over the music. Back before you knew how this felt, you almost quit singing, annoyed by the sound you were forced into. This is more your tempo. The almost guttural curl to the ends of your words, the rasp of your hoarse voice - this is beautiful to you. 

The crowd is yours. Anything that goes on is within your jurisdiction, higher than any judge or god. You notice everything in your realm. 

People are starting to move now, their bodies falling victim to the music. Their mouthes form the vowels and consonants of the lyrics as their bodies shudder and jerk, chained to the rhythm. Bodies ricochet off each other, love taps of respect for your aggressive voice, soaring above it all. 

In the corner, there’s a violent eye of a storm. You think it’s a particularly enthusiastic dancer - perhaps a circle is about to form - before you realize what’s actually going on. 

A fight is breaking out. You catch a glimpse of snow white hair, realize it’s near the barricade, and your stomach drops. 

It’s Gojo and another man, ignoring the security guard trying to separate them. You try to stay professional and play through it, but then you see red. 

Gojo’s hand flies to his face, his nose dripping with crimson. He doesn’t look any more injured than that, but you’re angry enough to step in now. Shoko stops as soon as you hold your hand out, the music veering into a screeching crash. 

“You, in the black tee!” You realize you should’ve been more specific when what looks like the entire crowd looks down at their equally black shirts. “No, the one that just punched Gojo Satoru. Yeah, you, asshole! No fighting at my gigs! Especially not my guests!” 

He had the audacity to yell back. “I was just showing him a warm welcome!” 

You climb off the stage. Gojo didn’t show any fear while he got hit, but there’s concern in his eyes now as you drop to the ground by him. 

“Wait,” he says, “wait, wait. I don’t think you should-“ 

“Shut the fuck up,” you snap, pushing him behind you until his back hits the stage. “Let me handle this.” 

You get in the man’s face. His eyes are bloodshot - drunk, probably. “Who do you think you are, starting shit at my shows?”

“You’ve sold out,” he slurs. Definitely drunk. “He doesn’t belong here.” 

“You don’t get to tell me who can or can’t come to my goddamn show,” you snarl, vicious and low. “Get out.” 

“You can’t-“

“Get out before I make them drag you out.” 

When he doesn’t move, you motion security over. “Does anyone else have any complaints?” 

The crowd is eerily silent for something that was moving like a beast with one mouth before, singing in unison. You clamber back on stage, turning around to grab Gojo’s hand. 

“What?” He says. 

“Up. Now.” Your tone brooks no argument. You haul him up with you. He stands awkwardly as you drag him towards your mic stand, your arm slung around his shoulder. There’s still blood on his face. 

“Gojo Satoru is a very dear friend of mine,” you announce into the mic. You see the confused looks in the crowd. Even Shoko seems wary. This wasn’t on the schedule. “If you're a real rock fan, you'd know that music is more than genre. I get it! I didn’t think idols were anything more than corporate shills either-“ 

“Harsh,” he whispers under his breath, unable to control himself even now. 

“But he proved me wrong. He’s a real performer, just like I am, and I expect the same respect for him that you give to me.”

This is your crowd. They listen. Someone whistles. 

You sit Gojo down, right by your feet. He gives you a bemused smile as the concert starts again, you moving around him like one of your props. He spends most of the concert lounging back, watching you through half lidded eyes. 

It might’ve been enough excitement for one night, but you’ve always been the type to push your boundaries. When the idea springs into your head, you act on impulse, not giving yourself too much time to think about it as you pull Gojo to his feet. 

You’re really manhandling him tonight, but he doesn’t seem to mind. He’s only a little startled as you pull the mic away from your face to get into his space. 

You misjudged the distance. Your forehead knocks into his, just enough to sting, but not really hurt. “Do you want to try something?” Your voice is a whisper to not get picked up by the mic. 

“Give it to me,” he says, and his smile is a bloody thing. 

When you angle the mic towards him, you’re careful about not hitting him this time. 

His voice works surprisingly well for rock. You weren’t sure he could pull off such a sound change, but he surprises you every time, matching you best for beat. 

When he pulls back, your hand snakes into his hair and yanks him towards you and the mic again. He sings wholly at your command, being jerked around by your desires. It’s an inferno on stage, sweat pouring down both your faces. Behind you, the crowd is screaming so loudly it nearly deafens you. 

Not a bad encore, you think as you towel off in your dressing room. Shoko left for a cool down with a bottle of ice water right before you, her post concert ritual, but the look she shot you says that you need to talk. You’ll deal with the consequences later. 

For now, it’s enough to have Gojo shaking with leftover adrenaline against you as you sit him down in your chair. You press a bottle of ice against his face, watching him shiver. He’s still pretty with all the blood. Prettier, somehow, like some teenage wet dream of a vampire from a young adult novel. 

You want to lick the sweat out of the hollow of his collar bones. Instead, you talk to him to rid yourself of your insane thoughts. It’s always a little crazy in your head after a good stage. 

“Well?” You demand. “How was it?” 

He tilts his head, considering. It makes you nervous. Now that you know how good of a performer he is, it almost feels like a test to receive his judgment. 

“I think I’m in love with you,” he says, slowly. 

“That good, huh?” You smile, trying to ignore the aching pressure behind your ribcage. You shouldn’t care so much what he thinks. Why does it matter? 

“Yeah,” he says. “When are you free? I gotta plan our date.”

“Huh?” 

“That was so sexy,” he says. “I was thinking about taking it slow, but I’m not going to last if I wait. I want to date you. I want to marry you.” 

He’s starting to worry you. “Did you have a heat stroke or something? That’s really fast. Really, really fast, Gojo.” 

“I’ve never been more clearheaded in my life,” he says. You only believe him when the medic clears him of any injuries, even the nose. 

“We can talk about marriage later,” you say. “Why don’t you tell me about the date for now?”

Two weeks later, you’re Gojo’s plus one to his first movie premiere. It’s his debut as an actor, and it couldn’t be a better one. He escaped most of the negative pushback that usually comes with transitioning between those two industries, being naturally good at everything. Still, he had worked hard, and you’re proud of him. 

It feels like you’re the only one, because the man himself doesn’t even care about his accomplishment. He’s too busy being delighted about hiding in plain sight. The cameras flash at you as you walk across the red carpet, arm in arm with Gojo. Your stylist had coordinated with his. It could almost pass for a couple’s outfits.  

“You know,” he says conspiratorially. “When you defended me at the concert, I got hard.” 

“I didn’t need to know that.” 

“It was really hot.” 

“You know there are people who can read lips, right?”

“I wish they would figure out what I’m saying.”

“Alright,” you say, rolling your eyes. “Let’s get inside.” 

Dating Gojo is nothing like what you’d expected and everything like you’d expected. He keeps surprising you, doing wild things to get your attention that you never thought an idol would be willing to get their hands dirty with. He might be even more of a daredevil than you are, constantly pushing the boundaries of what you both can get away with before you’re found out. 

In a way, it’s almost like you’re asking for it. You’re both straining at the bit to claim each other. It doesn’t come as a surprise when it does happen, then. 

“Huh,” Gojo says over ramen. “We got papped.” 

Utahime, understandably, freaks. “What? That’s not funny.”

“Oh yeah?” You say. “Are the pictures good at least?”

“You know we always look good. Could’ve gotten a better angle, but whatever.” 

Utahime’s working herself into a minor tizzy in the corner. “Guys, I need you to be more serious about this. This is bad! This is so bad!”

Shoko looks up from her phone and chips on the couch, lying flat on her stomach. “Hate to agree, but she’s right. What are you going to do about it?”

“Nothing,” you shrug. “What’s the point? There’s nothing we can do about it. They have the evidence.” 

It had been a good run. Two blissful months of peace and quiet. Sneaking around had been fun, giving you that thrill you loved every time someone failed to recognize you and Gojo behind your stupid sunglasses. Still, it was bound to fail at some point. You’re honestly surprised it lasted for as long as it had. You can’t be mad. Two months is more than you could’ve asked for. 

“Well,” Gojo says. “Wee-llll.” 

“Spit it out,” Utahime gripes at him. 

You take another bite of ramen, content to let them argue without you. 

“There is something we could do,” Gojo hedges. 

“You’re so annoying,” Shoko says. 

“No one thinks you’re funny,” Utahime chimes in. 

“Hey! She thinks I’m funny!” Gojo frowns. “Tell them you think I’m funny.” 

“Sorry, babe. I never lie to my girls.” 

“Whatever,” Gojo sighs. “Guess you don’t want to hear my genius idea then.” 

“Don’t be a brat,” you tease, knuckling his head. He loves it when you roughhouse with him. 

“What if…” The hesitation is real this time. You can tell the difference between when he’s faking it or not. He’s a good showman, but you know him. You place an encouraging hand on his knee. 

“What if we went public first?” He says it all in one breath. 

You take a moment, turning the idea over in your head. It would wrest back control of the narrative to your team. Even if you might get backlash, it wouldn’t be at someone else’s hands, beholden to their mercy. You like it. 

“Sure,” you say. 

Gojo gapes at you. ‘That easy?’ His thoughts are written all over his face. 

“Why not?” You offer him one of your easy smiles. “I’ve always wanted to say you were mine, anyway.”

[im-so-normal-iswear]

Can you request a Stan/Ford (Seprate) with a younger(29-49) girlfriend who's a Mortician and absolutely obsessed with death(in an artistic way)? Fluff ofc!

Okay!

Ford/stan pines x mortician reader

Ford Pines:

Ford is fascinated by your profession as a mortician. He has a deep respect for people who can approach death with curiosity and artistry like you do. Your discussions about the work you do, the art of preserving bodies, and the beauty you see in death intrigue him beyond belief.

You often catch him asking you all sorts of questions, from technical aspects of your work to philosophical ones. He loves talking to you about your unique perspective.

"So, when you're preparing a body, do you think of it as… scientific art? Like a preservation of life, but through death?

He finds himself comforted by your openness about death, especially considering his own near death experiences.

Your view on death makes it less frightening for him, and he loves how you’ve made it feel like a natural part of life rather than something to be feared.

Ford is surprisingly soft when it comes to your more artistic expressions of death. Whether it’s photography, sketching anatomical designs, or even macabre poetry, he loves seeing the world through your eyes. He thinks it’s poetic that your job is so tied to life’s greatest mystery.

Despite his mind, Ford can be romantic in his own way. Sometimes, he’ll surprise you with small, thoughtful gifts related to your interest, from a rare antique book on embalming techniques or a sketchbook for your death-related projects.

Ford loves hearing you talk about your day, even if it’s filled with things most people would find morbid. He's already quite used to stuff in that field. You make it sound fascinating, and Ford can’t get enough of your stories.

Stan Pines:

Stan is initially a little weirded out when he finds out you’re a mortician. Death isn’t exactly something he likes to think about, and your enthusiasm for it is unexpected. But once he gets over the initial shock, he’s intrigued. Really intrigued.

"So, you work with dead people all day? That’s gotta be a hell of a conversation starter!"

He jokes about it a lot at first, but it’s his way of trying to understand. And the more you talk about it, the more he finds himself genuinely interested.

He loves how you’re not afraid of death and how you’ve made it into something artistic. Stan is all about people who aren’t afraid to live life on their own terms, and you embody that completely. He admires how you’ve taken something most people shy away from and turned it into an art form.

“You’re somethin’ special, ya know that?”

Stan’s rough around the edges, but when he sees how passionate you are about your work, he’s hooked. He may not understand everything, but he loves listening to you talk about it.

He brags about you all the time. “Yeah, my girl’s a mortician. Works with the dead, and she’s damn good at it. Not everyone can handle that kind of thing, but she’s a real pro.” He’s super proud of what you do and loves showing you off for being so unique and talented.

He’s surprisingly romantic when it comes to your art. If you have sketches or projects related to death, Stan will look at them with genuine admiration. He may not fully get it, but he’s impressed by your creativity.

“I don’t know how you come up with this stuff, but it’s pretty damn amazing.”

When he’s feeling cheeky, Stan likes to joke about death in a lighthearted way.

“So, when I kick the bucket, you’re gonna make sure I look real handsome, right?”

It’s his way of showing he’s comfortable with your work and isn’t afraid to joke about it with you.

If you ever doubt yourself or worry that your obsession with death is too much, Stan is the first to shut that down.

"You’re incredible just the way you are. If people can’t handle that, screw ‘em. I love every weird, dark, artistic part of you."

At the end of the day, Stan is just completely in love with how unique you are. He may not always get your artistic take on death, but he’s endlessly proud of you and everything you do.

"You’re the best thing that ever happened to me, y’know? Don’t ever change."

A/n: got sick again while writing these

[raviollies]

Hi I’m one of the many people writing to tell you how much I really enjoy your OCs. I know that message is probably getting repetitive right now but what you said just really got me thinking. It really can be lonely, that’s true, when you’re making something that no one has made before. Beating yourself up for that though gives you an extra problem on top of the loneliness, and that makes it even harder to solve. You’re right that this is an art blog, and how lucky are people to be able to hear commentary directly from the artist about the work? I’m sure I speak for a lot of people who enjoy it and don’t want you to shut up at all. Not to mention, we’re all entitled to feeling sad or lonely from time to time, about anything. It’s not whiny. It’s how you feel.

Basically our OCs live through us talking about them, so it’s natural to want to do that, and it can be super hard when there aren’t many people able or willing to engage on that level. Talking to my friends about my OCs makes me feel more connected to them, and I love hearing about theirs! I don’t want to overstep bounds here or be weirdly parasocial but I really do enjoy hearing about your OCs, and I’ve sent you an ask about it before but they truly do inspire me when I work on my own. If we weren’t just strangers on the internet, I’d love to talk about our respective OCs.

Your love and passion is palpable. I’m sorry that you don’t have more people you can share it with, but I want to sincerely Thank you for sharing it with me/all of us here.

I hope you have a good day.

(And of course please feel free to disregard this. I just wanted to say it, and I won’t be upset or disappointed if you don’t answer.)

Thank you, I typically don't answer these type of asks (or answer in private) cause I just...I guess it's the same 'You're an art account, shut up'.

Thank you I appreciate it!! You're not overstepping anything, questions or comments are genuine highlight of my day. I don't really...have a lot going on in my life. It's rather boring really. I'll try to keep on trucking, it's just...hard. I try to be more open and inviting for conversations or be more social, and feel incredibly awkward when It doesn't work out so I end up in this 'if I don't put myself out I won't get rejected' mindset...

[shintaru]

I won’t write fanfics ever again.

A couple of mutuals thought I was back I never deleted my account so I could return to writing. I did want to delete it but so many people still reacted with what I already wrote so i decided to leave my account up so people who loved what I did write could still read it. I probably won’t be active on here just occasional posts about windbreaker. Once windbreaker ends I’ll change the password and I won’t log back in.

I’ve grown to hate sharing any fandom I’m in on social media because people are very rude. They are quick to attack, cancel, dox, threaten, and etc all over fictional stories… its ridiculous I’ve been on fandom social media since I think 2014 and I’ve been told I should kms numerous times over artists I had a fan page for over liking characters that were either villains or morally gray and for reading BL. I got told idiotic things over posting about a yogurt… I also got attacked for making dark jokes I love dark jokes and I never once made fun of anything bad like someone passing away. I’ve had people become obsessed with me and threaten me, I’ve also had people twist my words in here when I meant to genuinely be nice and let them know they aren’t alone and they get vicious with me because of that.

I’ve had people say we can’t support certain artists or their companies but never explain why but the second you say anything about liking their music they get nasty because apparently you are supporting bad people but no one will inform you. I understand you can do your own research but a lot of the things people are talking about I never heard it never popped up when searching the artists it’s only listed on Reddit so a lot of it’s buried in the internet.

I’m just very tired of being in fandoms online cause you can never enjoy it cause people lack common sense I’ve had someone get rude with me on here for writing about a fandom they hated. Just block me and don’t read my post cause idgaf it’s my page I’m not going to cater to you that pmo cause it’s not hard to block something you disagree with. I don’t like fanfics about real people it’s fine if it’s their character like Ryan playing Deadpool I’m ok with but not fanfics about Ryan himself I’m not hating on anyone who writes or reads those that doesn’t bother me at all I’m ok with that. I personally just am uncomfortable with it so if that pops up on my explore I block it I never hate on the writers or readers because that’s cruel to do when I’m the one that doesn’t like it but I have enough common sense to do that these other people don’t. If it’s their own personal preference or issue with something not everyone has to join them in that.

[kaz-oooo]

I’ve already done music recommendations so, you can check out these posts (playlists and list of artists) if you’re looking for that specifically. But Wilbur made a lot of content over the years and idk, i figured I’d make a a list of recommendations for similar content to fill that void as well :)

Minecraft SMP’s (specifically DSMP)

The same SMP’s but other POV’s — I’ll just start with this cos it’s the most iffy. There’s plenty of enjoyment to be had with these fandoms still, and I personally don’t think we need to let the actions of a couple shitty guys ruin the silly Minecraft roleplay we all enjoy. That said, if you aren’t comfy watching these anymore that’s perfectly valid as well, especially since Wilbur’s character will be lurking around in the background of plenty of these. But yeah, we can also uplift other creators by watching the fun stories they made, especially those who got buried by bigger creators at the time. So Dream SMP, QSMP, Origins SMP, SMP earth, SMPlive all have content you can enjoy.

Different, completely unrelated SMP’s — hermitcraft, the life series, empires SMP (shubble was involved in this one, I’m planning on watching her POV when I find some time) etc. I’ve had plenty of people recommend these to me before, from what I’ve seen they’re very enjoyable :)

Hamilton — not even joking, if you enjoyed the L’manberg era of DSMP and you didn’t watch Hamilton, I’d heartily recommend it. Great music, lots of politics but all in a fun and silly way, also tragic endings!

Editor Wilbur ARG (I’m a massive ARG fan so I have tonnes of recommendations here)

Generation Loss — Ranboo’s very awesome Horror project that they’ve been working very hard on!!! Ranboo’s been teasing new content lately as well so that’s exciting

Analog horror series — Local 58, Gemini Home Entertainment, Mandela Catalog, Kane Pixel’s Backrooms videos, etc. All very good and spooky videos, definetely an inspiration for Gen Loss, and I know Wilbur enjoyed this content as well (though the editor Wilbur arg predates a lot of this genre) those are some of the biggest on YouTube atm, and some of my personal favourites, but there’s plenty more to find (I recommend channels like Nightmind and Nexpo who do analysis videos for all this horror and ARG stuff if you wanna find more)

Marble Hornets — gets its own category! One of the original analog horror genres (predated the genre actually) it’s basically one of the biggest and most comprehensive Slenderman series out there. There’s a LOT of content here and lots of lore and mystery (though a lot of the game clues have been lost to time) (Jack Manifold also reacted to this on stream, it was very chill and good fun)

Horror podcasts — Magnus Archives and Magnus Protocol, Malevolent and Archive 81 are some of my favourites, but there’s plenty more out there to find and enjoy :). Also very spooky with lots of mystery to involved, the Magnus Protocol is very new as well so great time to get into that!

Just Chatting / Geoguessr / other chill content

Geoguessr streamers / YouTubers — honestly I genuinely didn’t watch much geoguessr content outside of Wilbur’s streams so, I don’t have many recommendations here. I know Eret has been doing geoguessr streams lately and their content is very good and chill. Jacksuckatlife plays as well and last I watched he was fairly good at it (like similar skill level to Wilbur), otherwise Rainbolt is a geoguessr legend, he terrifies me a little ngl.

Other streamers — I think the thing with the just chatting streams is that we watch for *that specific streamer’s* personality. It’s hard to really make recommendations other than just saying go watch more of the streamers you enjoy. Personally I enjoy Phil’s hardcore streams, and Sneegsnag’s Crime Time the most, but there’s plenty of other people both in this MCYT space and outside of it that you’ll probably enjoy :)

Sorry boys (unlike horror I don’t watch much comedy so, sorry, this’ll be lacking)

Just Roll With It — Charlie Slimecicle’s DND podcast. I’ve only listened to a little bit of this but it’s really good and REALLY silly (oh, and emotional sometimes, gotta have a bit of angst y’know) Wilbur was a guest on a couple of episodes, but you can always skip past those if you want.

Tommy’s videos — so Wilbur features in a lot of the early vlogs and *minecraft but* videos, but Tommy’s content has always been good fun, his recent stuff is excellent as well! He’s been doing a lot of comedy content lately, specifically a live show so definitely check that out if you want :)

Smosh pit — not something I’ve watched a lot of, but I’ve seen clips of their try not to laugh videos and they’re definitely on par with the bat shit improv you get from Sorry Boys.

Game changer — again, not something I’ve watched much, mostly consumed through osmosis, but the show is funny, the cast is always silly and it’s a lot of fun all round

Whatever else Sorry Boys make after this — judging by some of the responses to Wilbur’s “statement” I think it’s fair to assume if Sorry Boys do continue making content Wilbur will be cut from the group. Of course don’t feel obligated to stick around if you don’t want to, but Wilbur won’t be compensated if he’s kicked and the rest of the guys are still fun :)

YLYL and similar goofy stuff

Just… other streamers again — Jack Manifold does YLYL streams with his friends. James Marriott does a lot of reaction videos as well, sometimes YLYL, sometimes reacting to content his viewers send in (like TikTok’s and break up texts), those are my favourites atm.

YouTubers — that niche between video essay and reaction content, people like Danny Gonzales, Drew Gooden, Kurtis Conner, Pinely, all good fun YouTube channels that make good, silly, and easy to consume content.

Other gaming streamers and YouTubers — Slimecicle, Ranboo, Games Grumps, RT games, and SneegSnag all play a wide variety of games, they’re all relatively chill but none of them take the games all that seriously either so it’s fun and goofy as well :)

And of course Fanfiction!!!

I might be a little bias here cos I write myself but fic is created by and for fans and it exists to give you even *more* content about the stories you love, whether it be reimagining canon events or just dumping your favourite characters into a silly au.

I know a lot of authors (myself included) are feeling super conflicted and weird about writing Wilbur in the future. Plenty of authors have been moving onto new fandoms so if you find something you enjoy make sure you check out the author’s other work and who knows, maybe you’ll find some cool new fandoms that way!

And do the same for artists and other creators, or even go check out some of your mutuals fandoms, you guys might have more in common than you originally thought!

[castlebyersafterdark]

I was always so confused why people think Will being emotional is a bad thing because I thought we as a society had mostly moved on from the “boys don’t cry” nonsense that used to plague us. I mean, it’s not like Will is the first emotional male protagonist! Based on how people act, you’d think every male protagonist was some kind of super stoic! Also, music culture had shifted tremendously, right? Was there not a whole era where emo music was popular, which led into emo rap music, both of which were male-dominated?

But then I realized that while guys are often allowed to be more emotional in music/in the arts, the top male artists currently are all more “traditional” cause there’s still that stigma (hence why morgan wallen will always be more popular than troye sivan). And even with male protagonists who are more sensitive/emotional (Hiccup from How to Train Your Dragon, Samwise and Frodo, Luke Skywalker, Percy Jackson, Aang from ATLA, even Harry Potter!), there is still a tacit expectation that they’ll “grow out of it” and have their big, damn hero moment. People are STILL mad at Aang for not killing the Fire Lord and for being “whiny,” and many of them think he doesn’t “deserve” to be with Katara because of it.

Male characters like Will are truly rare, and I’d say they’re confined largely to indie films, but even so, most characters similar to Will are girls. And it’s not because Will is particularly flamboyant. He’s more “feminine” for sure, but still in a boyish way. He’s a boy with boy interests like star wars who is still deeply emotional and sensitive and artistic and kind- and that’s genuinely terrifying and confusing to people. I think a good analogue is Gordie in Stand By Me? But that came out a long time ago. And Will is probably more emotional.

Will is super rare, and a lot of people don’t know what to do with him, so they make him out to be this anime crybaby caricature, or they focus on his bowlcut. I value these kinds of traits in male characters, but so many people don’t, way more than I realized. People don’t see the massive amounts of quiet bravery he has. They just see this weak, useless, wimpy boy who cries, who can’t accept that Mike doesn’t like him like that, who “can’t even defend El from being bullied.” I saw this one Reddit post this week where someone was saying he should have punched those bullies in Cali, because everyone knows the only way to be a man is to use physical force 🙄

You see this in the recent american election too, with people- and not just fringe people, but people with huge influence like tucker carlson- casually calling tim walz “gay” because of his emotional demeanor, despite the fact that he’s a married heterosexual man who hunts and coaches football. Gender essentialism is back. People- even those who aren’t actively anti-LGBTQ rights- see everyone who doesn’t fit a narrow standard of masculinity as being a “soy cuck beta liberal,” and it’s so disheartening to see. And it doesn’t help that Will IS gay, so that adds to people not liking him (or not WANTING to relate to him). I think these people picked the wrong show to stan, but that can’t be helped now. They’re in for a rude awakening come Season 5 when Byler happens…

We have most definitely not moved on from men being emotional being seen as a bad thing or unacceptable. I think things do improve, I think there’s sometimes a perception that things are better/worse than they are. An annoying yes and no situation. Overwhelmingly - you do not get praised or rewarded by society by being emotional and a man. Or, hell, not emotional and a woman either but that's a whole other conversation.

But good examples, it's true many will love characters like those because of their sensitivity and how they tap into emotion - but many will cruelly criticize them. Will? Yeah, he cries on screen. For valid reasons. He tears up often and easily. I think it's healthy to let your emotions play out authentically and he's a male character who does that. And he's not rewarded. What are his two cliches by casual fans? Bowlcut. Crybaby. Ughh. Shut up.

It's a societal fear of vulnerability and men cannot be that, right? It's very pervasive, especially now it seems to have taken a big swing back this way.

Anyway. Will and his personality and reliance on emotional expression are reasons I personally love him as is the case for his fanbase. And as is the case with his writers/creators! That's how he's written. And it's not done as criticism. That's how he is. So, regardless of society at large - opposed to common belief, public opinion does not dictate what happens in the show. Our Will is our Will, exactly how he is, and I do agree. I think all too many are watching the wrong show.

[mrs-johansson]

Escape from LA - Lisa Manobal x Fem!Depp!Reader

Part 5:

The last show in New York was here in no time. I was happy and also a little bummed about it because I enjoyed every show in Madison Square Garden but I was glad to have 2 weeks off and then go to the next city. My birthday was tomorrow also and what better way to celebrate than go to a Blackpink concert?

But before that, I had one last run in New York. While getting ready I was just really quiet trying to store all the energy for the night and be very electric. I will be presented with a Banner Dedication so it’s gonna be fun.

About half an hour into the show I was sitting in a chair in the middle of the stage at the piano. I was speaking before and the next song was New York on the setlist so I needed a few seconds just to settle in and have a more relaxed demeanor. But then the crowd started singing. I didn’t hear what they were singing because of my earpiece so I took them out and then realized they were singing Happy Birthday.

My mouth fell open and tears immediately welled up in my eyes. The smile on my face was so big that my face hurt and when the crowd was lit up with a big light I saw that everyone was holding a paper with Happy Birthday written on it and a gray heart that I always use. I was so happy and filled with joy as the tears slid down my cheeks.

When they finished singing I took a deep breath and tried to get rid of the huskiness in my voice from the crying then spoke into the mic. “Ah, you guys are the most beautiful people out there. Thank you so much!” I wiped off the tears from my face. “I love you all so much you don’t even know. This means a lot!”

The show moved along pretty fast and the next thing I knew was that we were on the last song. I was taking a water break when another voice rang through the arena. It was Jimmy Fallon. “Y/n Fleur Depp everybody,” he said and my eyes shot to the side of the stage where he walked out from. The only thought running through my mind was What is he doing here?

“Jimmy? Hi!” I said, genuinely surprised that he was on the stage. “Hello buddy,” he walked up to me and we shared a quick hug before I looked backstage’s way trying to find out why Jimmy Fallon was on stage. “You’re surprised, aren’t you?” He asked and I nodded with a smile. “Yeah, I don’t know what’s happening,” I chuckled a little nervously. “Well… I received the unbelievable honor to say thank you to you and to say how incredibly proud of you I am. We all are, right?” He asked the crowd who cheered very loudly. “Thank you,” I smiled shyly, now knowing what this is. “These past two weeks you’ve been giving your heart and soul to the people of New York but actually you’ve been doing that ever since you put your first song out. You are electric. You are dazzling. Your music gives us joy and you give us joy. But most importantly you are inspiring. Y/n you are one of the most impactful people in this generation,” said Jimmy, and the audience expressed their agreement with loud applause. All I could do was smile like an idiot already getting emotional. “And we know it’s not a surprise but we have a little something for you,” he said and then a line of light went straight to the banner with my name on it. “15 consecutive sold-out shows in Madison Square Garden! You are officially the youngest artist alive to ever do that,” Jimmy spoke excitedly as I just kept staring at the banner being pulled up to the top of the stadium. Tears rolled down my cheeks for the second time that night. My name hanging next to Billy Joel, Phish, and who else but Harry Styles. Insane moment. “You made over 250.000 people sing over the past two weeks and we enjoyed every minute of it. And there’s no denying it, you are a legend already!” Hearing Jimmy’s words I stopped looking at the banner for a moment and hugged him again. “Thank you so much. It’s an honor to have this presented by you dude,” I said without a mic just trying to soak in the moments of this evening. “Of course buddy. You’re amazing!” He said then I cleared my throat and turned to my fans.

“Thank you so much.” I bowed in front of the stadium. “This is absolutely insane and surreal. I only say a few words because I don’t want to talk too much…” I wiped away a tear that bothered my eye. “There are no words to express how happy every one of you makes me every single day. Your support is something that makes me feel and live. Without you, there wouldn’t be 15 nights here or a single show in the world, so thank you from the deepest parts of my soul. I'm forever in debt to every single one of you. I love you endlessly.”

***

The alarm next to my bed was going off for the fifth time this morning. But finally, I decided to wake up and start getting ready to leave for California for the first time in a while. I was very excited but at the moment I was more tired than excited.

My phone was going off all day, getting birthday messages from basically anyone who had my number. I answered my family and my close friends then left the others till I had time to look at them.

I left the hotel pretty quickly. By 11 am I was already on the plane, trying to get some sleep. Thankfully I slept through the whole 6 hours of the flight so I will have enough energy for the concert.

Got home and Lily was coming over so I had some food then she arrived. We picked some great outfits and while that we listened to music getting in the mood for Blackpink.

“So how are things with Lisa?” Asked Lily as we were finally on the way to the festival. “Everything’s good. I’m excited to see her finally. We’re still getting to know each other but it’s fun,” I smiled and Lily gave me a weird look. “What?” I asked and she shrugged. “I didn’t say a thing,” she insisted. “You made a face.” “It’s just you know that a relationship will definitely won’t be an option,” Lily said and I glanced out the window and then back at her. “Who said anything about a relationship?” I asked and she sighed. “I just hope you know what you’re doing.”

Once we got to Coachella, Lily and I met with some friends, just chatting with people who we knew. Lily went off to find her girlfriend, Shake, so I sent Lisa a text that I arrived.

me: hey, I’m at the backstage area. Are you getting ready already?

Rosalía was currently on stage so I was watching her perform from the TV at the tent. My phone buzzed in my hand but before I could open the text, arms wrapped around me from behind.

“What’s up, Birthday Girl?” The voice I only heard over the phone for the past weeks was by my ear now physically, I looked up at Lisa smiling and I got up from the couch and immediately wrapped my arms around her waist and hugged her tightly. “Careful, we’re filming for Blackpink’s YouTube,” she whispered and I looked for the camera and spotted them right away. “Mhm,” I cleared my throat and let her go. “Are you nervous? I’m so excited to see you perform,” I said as I turned my back to the cameras and also tried to speak quietly. “I’m so nervous,” said Lisa, and I smiled gently. “Come on, you will eat this up,” I brushed my hand along her arm. Lisa sighed, still looking anxious. I reached towards her and brought her into the friendliest-looking hug, hoping she would get a little more loose and be more excited than nervous. “I’m so happy you’re here,” she whispered and I couldn’t contain my smile. “Me too.” “Come on, let’s see the girls,” she pulled me to their trailer.

As we stepped into the trailer she said something in Korean and all three girls turned their heads towards us. “Hi,” I smiled widely and we all greeted each other and they introduced me to their assistants and managers. We sat around the lounge area just talking and catching up. Lisa got up to get herself something to drink and then sat back next to me. She looked very out of the conversation, just fidgeting with the water bottle. “What’s up?” I leaned closer to ask her and she shook her head with a soft smile. “Have you eaten today?” I questioned because she seemed like the person who won’t eat if she’s nervous. “Yeah…” Lisa was clearly avoiding eye contact and I sighed. “Come on, let’s get something to eat. Do you guys want anything?” I asked the rest of the people in the trailer and only Rose asked for something so it won’t be hard to remember.

We walked around the backstage food trucks, looking for anything comforting for Lisa to eat. “You don’t have to worry about anything, you know? This is your thing, you were born for this,” I bumped my shoulder to hers and she let out a soft chuckle. “You still haven’t seen me perform.” “But I’ve seen videos and my sister also told me. I’m just excited to see it live finally. And not just me, everyone will be at your show,” I said and she smiled. “It’s gonna be insane,” said Lisa. “Yeah, it will. Best way to spend my birthday honestly.” Lisa laughed at my comment but I just spread my arms. “What? It’s true. It’s kinda unfair that you’ve already seen me perform twice,” I smirked. “It’s kinda unfair there are so many people around,” I felt her fingers brush along mine and I laughed. “It’s a shame, yes, but we’ll have enough time. Two weeks seems like a year these days,” I said and she nodded. “Is your boyfriend coming?” I asked and she shook her head. “He’s busy, but it’s better that way.”

Found the right food place, and we got our meals and for Rose. We made our way back to the girls’ trailer, then Lisa looked at her phone before handing it over to read a message she got.

Rosie💩: we all went to look around

Rosie💩: the trailer is free

Rosie💩: LOCK THE DOOR!

I laughed at Rose’s text and gave Lisa her phone back. “Like we would do anything bad,” I said and Lisa looked at me with her eyebrows raised. “We won’t?” She asked and I chuckled, wrapping an arm around her waist and bringing her closer to my side. “Forbidden things have a charm to them.”

[chibishortdeath]

Genuinely debating just deleting all my accounts and starting new doing something else because I am miserable. The Castlevania fandom is the worst fandom I’ve ever been in my whole life.

Vent under a cut. Read the warnings in the tags.

First time I started being a fan of it I was a young teenager. At the time I was heavily suicidal, playing SotN is what got me distracted enough not to do it. Started out with Instagram because that’s where I heard most people went to start an art portfolio and do commissions.

First few months of being a fan of the series the hashtags were frozen due to the election happening, so I, a suicidal teenager, was immediately subjected to graphic gore porn of my favorite character (Simon) who I turned to looking up for comfort that was stuck there until the hashtags were unfrozen. For months I could not turn to my source of comfort without seeing that, and turned to dissociating even worse than I already was instead. That was the first red flag.

After this I had some sincerely good experiences with some live streams. Genuinely nice people doing cosplay and gaming. But there was one person I watched who did not end up as good as everyone else. This person followed me, liked my outfit stories, talked to me in chat. I was still in high school. Not gonna go into details for anonymity’s sake, but long story short I got groomed. And at around the same time I had made another “friend” in the fandom who turned out to be homophobic and would take out all their problems on me, a teen, while they were a grown ass adult. Instagram continued to get worse. Found out someone I was close to made some racist rant behind my back. Found out another was a MAP. So on and so forth. And the worst part is how many people I knew who were close friends with these people, people who would not have believed me if I’d told them. Especially since some of them were more popular than I.

So I gave up on Insta, stopped posting, stopped talking, and I got a discord. Which started out fine! Found a small server of nice fans, made good friendships I still have. I had Reddit for a short amount of time and found out how dogshit it is when a smaller server I thought was cool started bullying a small artist for drawing gay fanart. I use it purely for game dev and vocaloid help questions now. Eventually I got the courage to come here, to tumblr. Months into that move I run into CP. And then several TERFs. And then a necrophile in the main tags. And then misogyny. And then racism. And then defending CP. Then a surge of transphobia. And then I get shit for getting the courage to call out CP. I try to go to YouTube to find content and escape— run into out in the open slurs and people bluntly claiming albino people aren’t human in comment sections about Juste. I try to watch videos and see the art of my groomer being used everywhere. I am constantly reminded that I am outnumbered.

I go back to discord. The main mod of it ends up interacting creepily with minors and is transphobic to my friends. Whole server blows up. Large amount of people take the mod’s side and blacklist us from a large amount of servers, gossiping about everyone involved to completely unrelated people while not telling the whole truth, all while being horrifically transphobic about a friend. Someone else in the server turns out to be an abusive piece of shit. I don’t even try making a twitter because it’s a hellhole anyway, and someone I’d know about from most other platforms I’d been on harassed a friend of mine on there. Not to mention the transphobic roleplay account that’s still around somehow.

I swear I have to block a new person in this fandom every. single. day. I swear some bullshit happens in this fandom every. single. day.

I want to draw a vampire hunter and not be absolutely thoroughly terrified that I am going to run into more vile shit and dangerous situations if I talk to anyone. I want to draw a vampire hunter and not be deeply afraid of meeting new people in this fandom. I want to draw a vampire hunter and not have my paranoia confirmed every day. I want to draw a vampire hunter and find comfort in doing so again.

Is that too much to ask.

[vellichorom]

Hello Discord User Vellichorom AKA Twinkie AKA Velli AKA individual who’s character I love so much who has consumed my literal every day for the last year plus that I have not stopped thinking about (literally, over three hundred and sixty five days have gone buy and every single one of them I’ve had this man in my head, Vellichorom, do you know what you’ve done Vellichorom, you did this to me.) 

NOW I MAY BE UNHINGED ABOUT THIS MAN but how about I take a step back for a moment to just, talk about it? To discuss the absolute mastery I feel has been carefully and lovingly crafted into him? 

I’m really picky about the characters I like. Yeah I am fond of characters, I’ll like them and talk about them and whatever, but NOT ONCE has a character CONSUMED MY LITERAL BRAIN CELLS like Thierry has. Of course he has an amazing base to go off of, he IS THE NARRATOR, and I will admit that I absolutely ADORE TSP and all of the lore that has been crafted into him... but that alone was not enough for me to be purely interested in him for a long period of time (cough: see me not doing much tsp stuff aside from Thierry cough) 

The way that you have woven in every aspect of TSP and its canon into him, and then MADE IT EVEN BETTER AND MENTAL-ILLNESS-INDUCING has got me gripping the edge of my seat like a feral goblin every time you post literally ANYTHING about him ever. You blended TSP/TSPCC/adjacent lore together in a way that makes Thierry his own thing and also the perfect embodiment of the Narrator.

I have hyper fixations that wane and grow over time, things that I have enjoyed for long stints, but NEVER, EVER, Has there been ONE CHARACTER that has captured my attention so wholly. 

Looking at just him as a character, I adore the way you actually embrace and show off his flaws in a way that feels so human and also just like the weird fucking creature that The Narrator obviously is. You paid SO MUCH attention to detail and THAT SHOWS! IT DOES!! The Narrator is EGOTISTICAL, he is AN ASSHOLE, HE IS NOT PERFECT! EVER!I won’t shit on other people for wanting that for their own interpretations, but by god if you aren’t one of the like, two other people I’ve seen PERFECTLY capture that in his actions and behavior. You interpret the scenes in TSP/UD with such a nuanced and in depth eye with Thierry that I actually ENVY YOU FOR IT because I WANT TO DO THAT TOO. The expression of his ego balanced with his simultaneous self-loathing is just a perfect coat of icing on the proverbial cake. You miraculously made this man exactly as loveable and hateable as the straight up copy-pasted canon. I want him to suffer, and I love him so much, and I feel awful for him, and I think he’s an asshole. 

His relationship with Rosemary? Do I even HAVE to say anything? No, I don’t, but IM GOING TO. 

I seriously have never understood how you and Tomie so amazingly captured that Stanley/Narrator relationship through Gore/Guts in such an AWE INSPIRING, BEAUTIFUL, AND HORRIFIC way. Like, I genuinely do not know how to put into words the way that I absolutely ADORE this interpretation of it. The never ending spiral of desperation, need and reliance that the Narrator has on Stanley (and vice versa) is FLAWLESSLY executed and showcased with Rosemary/Thierry. I know I don’t really talk about Gogu as much as I talk about Thierry, but I have said it before and I will say it again, they are AMAZING, THEY ARE BEAUTIFUL, AND I CANNOT THINK OF ANY LITERALLY ANY NARRATOR X  RELATIONSHIP THAT PERFECTLY EXEMPLIFIES THE WAY THAT THE NARRATOR WOULD BE WITH SOMEONE, AND THE HORRORS THAT COME WITH IT. EVER. 

And the most amazing part is that you, YOU, a fucking EXCELLENT, BEAUTIFUL, TALENTED ARTIST, have made THE design ever. THE. DESIGN. EVER. No exceptions. OBVIOUSLY the enjoyment of a design of a character of such a nature is mostly up to personal taste, but for one second can we stand back and think about who the fuck we’re talking about? 

We can go based off of a few things:

His VA, Kevan Brighting: Mr. Brighting is a fat, old man. He has JOWLS, he has WRINKLES, he has WEIGHT not only to himself, but his voice. OBVIOUSLY not all VAs match their characters, but when you consider someone’s voice and the voice you assign TO a character, you usually want it to mimic that, and The voice that Mr. Brighting does for the Narrator is literally just that. And old, crotchety, fat british man. 

Specifically based on his Voice: Again, to piggy back off of what I was just saying, a character is meant to match the voice, you can hear the way he slightly slurs/mushes his words together, (which, by the way, if people didn’t know, slight lisps can be caused by more weight/fat being in the face! :D) You can hear him creaking around in his chair!

Based on context clues/general ideas of what the character is doing/does: The Narrator, as described in the game, is old (context clues people, context clues), codes/can create things using code, is not human (‘various human sensibilities’ gives that RIGHT away) and sits in a chair coding/reading shit most of the time. If anyone looks me in the eyes and tells me that a person who does that would not at least be heavy set, I will wack them with a stick. 

ALL OF THAT BEING SAID: this means that YOU MADE HIM! Look at him! Look at that man! It’s FUCKING HIM, ITS THE NARRATOR REAL! HE’S REALLL!!! I don’t give a flying fuck what my bias says, if I think of the Narrator I am going to think of someone that looks either like Kevan Brighting, or Thierry Ellis-Baker. There is no other thing for me. I can kinda smush other designs into it, and see it that way via The Square Hole /ref - but it will ALWAYS AND FOREVER be that. He’s an omnipresent voice that doesn’t show himself, when he’s not, he is NOT WEARING A SUIT. But he is FASHIONABLE, WHO is looking at him, seeing the fact that he wears a fucking fancy, flowing, stylish cardigan WITH A GOLD CHAIN, and saying NO He LOokS lIke A sLOb??? Because you are literally wrong, I would AND HAVE worn things that are LESS FANCY than that in professional settings. He’s wearing a turtleneck sweater, dress pants, and some comfy BUT PRESENTABLE shoes. If someone thinks he looks slobby they’re delusional. Like what do they think? That that old man should be wearing a suit for whatever fucking reason??? In his Office??? In his chair while sitting on his fat ass? (NOT TO SAY THAT HE CAN’T, AND I KNOW THIERRY HAS, AND CAN, AND WOULD IF HE NEEDED TO, BUT WHO ON GOD’S GREEN EARTH, ESPECIALLY WHEN CODING AND SHIT, WANTS TO WEAR A SUIT 24/7)  Also, tacking this on here at the end, you have helped SO much with my comfort with acknowledging my own body weight, accepting it, and liking myself more than literally anyone could ever have, and Thierry is a HUGE part of that for SO many reasons.

I love everything about him, Vellichorom, and it is of my humble opinion that everyone who does not and looks at him like he is anything less than what The Narrator is at his most basic, are dirty little liars who are jealous

TL;DR: Anyone who is disrespectful and disregards the expert care, craft, and love that has gone into Thierry lore and design wise can go and suck the fattest, dirtiest rock they find outside in a river, and report back to me in fourteen business days with their illnesses so I can laugh at them :)

Thank you for coming to my two+ page essay/TED Talk Uh... oh yeah this is an ask box... uh... what's your favorite fun fact about Thierry/Romary? :)

ujm jm, umm um that they love you

[blametheeditor]

Voretober Day 6 | Sorcery

Voretober Prompt List

First | Previous | Next

If given the opportunity, would you take the chance to go to space and travel the stars? What if the person offering to take you was someone you trusted more than anyone else?

What if that person is no longer entirely human?

MENTIONS OF SOFT VORE

Content Warnings: Soft, non-sexual vore (only mentions for now). Mentions of body horror. Mentions of experimenting on people. Mentions of death and murder, violence. Being trapped against one's will. Dehumanization. Abductions. Cursing. Darker themes/tone

___________________________________

”Hey Vince?”

“Hm?” 

“What song are you singing?” Scott asked before he could lose his courage. He already felt bad for interrupting said singing, but he wanted to know what kind of song deserved to have the beat tapped out with a wooden spoon.

“’When The Doves Cry’,” Vincent responded, flashed a smile as he turned away from stove that was boiling some kind of pasta. “Prince came out with it a few months ago. It’s been everywhere, though, so I’m surprised you haven’t heard it.” 

Scott suddenly wanted to take back his question. There were reasons why he both hated and enjoyed asking Vincent questions. Because while his best friend always answered him and never made him feel stupid for asking something considered common sense, it always tended to snowball after that. Led the older teenager to discovering something about Scott that needed to be rectified. 

That wasn’t the part that worried him. When Vincent learned he had a rather limited palate that didn’t include candy, Scott started receiving random pieces whenever they saw each other, as well as the Cawthon’s kitchen getting taken over about once a week. But when he considered just how much Vincent adored music and constantly sings whenever he can, Scott couldn’t help feeling genuine fear this might be the last straw. 

So Scott decided to shrug. Turned back to his homework. 

A hand was placed over his notebook almost immediately, forced him to look up to meet a curious expression. “What aren’t you telling me, Scotty?” 

It was said teasingly, the way Vincent always asked when he knew he found yet another thing Scott was in the dark about. But all he could imagine was the cheshire grin turning into a fierce glare. 

Scott didn’t say anything. Earned a thoughtful hum. “Do you know who Prince is?” 

He couldn’t stop his eyes from widening in terror at getting found out. It made Vincent’s smile grow wider. “Scotty, don’t tell me you don’t know any current artist or songs.” 

“...no,” came out in a near silent whisper as his eyes dropped to the floor. He waited for the door to slam shut. For the food being cooked thrown down the sink. 

Neither happened. Vincent started to laugh. “All this time, and you’ve been letting me sing songs you’ve never heard before, and not once you wanted to ask if I was some kind of lyrical genius.” 

Scott tentatively looked up, surprised there was nothing but amusement on Vincent’s face. “I...I knew they came from somewhere. I just, uh, I-I like to hear you sing.” 

Because Scott had never met someone so loud before, unafraid to announce his presence and fill the air with words or singing just because they just felt like doing so. He also never thought people liked being musical outside of church, yet Vincent wouldn’t go anywhere without so much as humming something. 

It was nice. He knew Vincent was there even when the taller stood behind him. It always made everything less daunting, including the large house that surrounded them while they were the only ones inside. 

“For my voice, or for the music?” Vincent asked. 

“The music.” Scott then sputtered, tried to backtrack. “N-Not that your voice isn’t nice to listen to!” 

“You’d be hearing it if you didn’t like it,” the older sneered. “I’ll bring you some CD’s so you can sing with me, though.” 

Scott was suddenly scared for a different reason. “I don’t have, I mean I’d really appreciate it, but I can’t play them.” 

Vincent stared at him long and hard for a moment. “Because your parents wouldn’t approve, or because you have no CD player?” 

“Both,” he murmured. 

“You’re getting a player.” 

“B-But-!” 

“With headphones,” Vincent added as he turned back to the stove. Was careful as he drained the noodles to dump them into the sauce he made earlier. “Every teenager needs to know the national treasures that are Prince and Phil Collins. Including you, Scotty.” 

That was the end of it, Scott wouldn’t be getting out of it no matter how hard he tried. A small part of him didn’t want to somehow manage to change Vincent’s mind, though. 

He gave a thankful smile. “I don’t have to worry about there being any hymns, do I?” 

”Who the hell do you think I am, a priest?”

It hits Scott why watching Vincent cook doesn’t feel right. 

It has nothing to do with the distinctly alien ingredients being used, or the high-tech kitchen setup that provides only one utensil that can turn into anything from a knife to a spoon. They’re currently on the dubbed ‘small’ side of the ship so everything isn’t being done by a giant, and he’s much too familiar with the purple by now for it to really throw him off. 

No, it’s the distinct lack of singing. Vincent’s completely silent as he cuts open a fruit before dicing it up. A concept so foreign he listens intently in case the purple man is only humming. 

There’s nothing. Not a single note or even words being mouthed. It makes the kitchen feel stifling. 

“Aliens don’t have radios, do they?” 

He knows Vincent was expecting him to ask a question at some point, that’s the whole reason why the purple man is cooking. Doing something he finds to be calming while they have a much needed talk so difficult answers can be given instead of needing to take breaks. 

The look of surprise over the shoulder tells Scott that hadn’t been expected. “They do, though it’s used for reporting which sectors have been closed, if there’s a warrant out for someone’s arrest. Music can only be found on planets, and some have recordings you can buy if you know where to look, but nothing sounds like anything found on Earth.” 

It’s silent once more save for the sound of a knife slicing through the fruit. 

Scott takes a deep breath. “Why didn’t you tell me?” 

The blade cuts through the skin completely, thunking against the counter. “About being able to become a giant?” 

“Yes.” 

Vincent slides the pieces into a pan. “I didn’t know how to bring it up.” 

“I’m not saying I would’ve done any better,” Scott begins, careful to keep his voice level. “But I would’ve appreciated a heads up. Maybe before I was face to face with a giant.” 

“That was a significant lapse in my judgement,” the purple man concedes as he starts cutting up another fruit. “I should’ve warned you instead of just saying I needed to show you something.” 

“Maybe even back on Earth?” Scott hedges. 

Vincent stops mid cut. Goes so still it’s hard to tell if he’s even breathing. “Would that have changed your decision?” 

It’s said almost fearfully. And with the purple man’s back toward him, Scott can’t see Vincent’s face. Can’t tell what he might be thinking. “Of coming to space with you?” 

“Yes.” 

“No,” is said so quickly, so vehemently, it has Vincent turning around so they’re facing each other. He might as well be stone, however, expression completely stoic. “It wouldn’t have changed my mind, Vincent.” 

It wouldn’t. It might’ve prepared him a little better for what he was getting himself into, but Scott still would’ve followed. Would’ve climbed onto the ship and went to space. Because like he’s said before, it’s still Vincent. Whether he’s purple, or giant, as long as it’s still his best friend he won’t care. 

Will certainly need time adjusting. Will put down rules he demands be followed with no exceptions. But he will never let Vincent leave without him. He just can’t be left in the dark, by his best friend of all people. 

“Scott,” Vincent begins almost monotone, fixing Scott with a stare that can easily be mistaken as a glare. “I need you to be honest with yourself. Would you really have come with me if I told you on your front porch that I could become big enough to hold you inside my hand.” 

“Why wouldn’t I have?” Scott borderline snaps back, admittedly a bit confused by the question, unsure where the conversation is going. 

The purple man’s brow furrows. “I’m not human, Scott.” 

“So?” 

“So?” Vincent all but spats. And finally, the confident attitude he’s been holding onto crumbles away as the purple man straightens up, using his height to properly loom over Scott. Starts talking with his hands as they gesture to accentuate his frustration. “What do you mean so? Look at me, Scott. Even if you didn’t know what I could do, you can tell after looking at me for two seconds that I'm some kind of monster. So even though I admit it was shitty of me to not tell you everything, what was I supposed to expect? That you wouldn’t immediately run away the moment I told you what I’m capable of?” 

“I wouldn’t run away from you!” 

Scott feels his fists clench as Vincent glares down at him, the distrust toward the proclomation obvious. And that's something that upsets the shorter more than he thought it would. Is a bit surprised by the anger coursing through him. 

Until he realizes he’s not just angry, he’s hurt. He’s hurt that Vincent thought Scott would’ve cared about it so much he wouldn’t have just been elated to finally have his best friend back. He’s hurt that Vincent assumed Scott would’ve taken one look at him and ignored everything they’ve been through together. He’s hurt that Vincent clearly doesn’t understand just how much Scott missed him. 

“Do you think that little of me?” Scott snaps. Ignores the burning feeling of tears threatening to spill. “My best friend vanished, gone without a trace, for 6, whole, years. And the moment I see him standing on the sidewalk right outside my house, you think I’d be focused on the fact you’ve changed? You think my first thought was ‘he’s a monster’ and not ‘oh God, my best friend is alive’?” 

Vincent’s glare starts to melt away. “No, I didn’t mean it that way.” 

“Oh, so you mean I would’ve been fine up until you tell me you were abducted by aliens, and therefore I would hold that against you?” Scott demands. “That I wouldn’t trust you anymore for something they did to you? Tell you to leave and say I never wanted to see you again because of something you couldn’t control?”

His chest heaves as he waits for a response. When Vincent is too stunned to do anything except watch him, Scott angrily wipes at his eyes. Looks away for a moment before sighing as meets his best friend’s searching gaze. 

“Vince, I don’t know what they did to you, and you don’t have to tell me everything unless you want to. The only thing I ask is you tell me things like being able to turn into a God forsaken giant so I’m ready for it. But I’m not going anywhere,” he swears. All but pleads for his words to be taken as the promise they are. “You’re not a monster. I’ll admit, you suddenly being 20 stories tall was terrifying, but not because I was scared of you. I was scared of the fact you were a literal giant because someone didn’t tell me such a thing was possible.”

The purple man stares at him for a moment, slightly perplexed. “You’re really not scared of me?”

“You’re Vincent,” Scott growls in exasperation. “There’s nothing to be scared of. Just the next time there’s going to be a hundred feet of you, warn me for God’s sake.”

Amber eyes stare uncomprehendingly. Then Vincent slowly nods his head. “Okay. I’ll warn you.” 

“Good.” Scott crosses his arms as he looks away, content on ending it there. When the purple man doesn’t say anything else or give any indication he’s also happy with this conclusion, the shorter adds “And if you want to talk, I’m always here.” 

They’re both silent for a good minute. When Vincent finally speaks, it’s in a soft whisper. “You...really don’t care?” 

Instead of validating that with a verbal response, Scott reaches up to smack the taller upside the head. Glares daggers when he’s given nothing except a blink. “Say ‘ow’.” 

His best friend’s lips are haltingly tugged into a smile. “Was that supposed to hurt?” 

“Say it, and then go finish cooking.” 

“Ow,” Vincent deadpans, complete with a small bow as he quickly steps away so another whack can’t be given. 

Scott doesn’t chase him down, opting to watch through narrowed eyes as his best friend obediently finishes cutting everything up to toss into the waiting pan. Feels his pounding heart slowly begin to calm back down, his curiosity getting the better of him as something starts to sizzle without a visible flame. 

He inches his way forward for a better position to watch the sorcery that is Vincent cooking, complete with soft humming as the fruits are seasoned and sauteed with a dramatic flare. 

“I’m sorry for not telling you, Scotty.” 

“I’m sorry for yelling.” 

"Not for the whack, though?” Vincent smirks. 

“You earned that,” Scott huffs. 

The very last of his anger from before dissipates with the rising steam as a bowl is passed over to him. He has no idea what any of the ingredients are, what they’re meant to taste like or what kind of dish is made when they all come together, but the smell makes his mouth water. 

He doesn’t need any encouragement to take a bite once a vaguely shaped fork is passed over. Though he does jolt in surprise at the rather sweet flavor flooding his mouth, it reminds him of potatoes. Specifically ones of a recipe Vincent made so long ago he had completely forgotten about until now. 

“What do you think?” the purple man asks. 

“It’s delicious,” Scott murmurs earnestly. His best friend has yet to ever make something that wasn’t. “I can’t believe you learned how to cook space food.” 

Vincent looks like he wants to say something. Goes so far as to open his mouth. Whatever it is, he decides against it as he looks toward a hallway opposite of where their original ship is docked. “So, about my offer on a tour.” 

Scott shifts. “I'm up for a tour.”