#finally finished some of my wip ;D

[ruelin024]

Of course I've gotta make fanart for you. 😙 @littleyukki5033

Yukki: "Hey some of them tried to kill me at first, but we're all friends now. Come here."

[blindmagdalena]

Eat Your Ego, Honey (CH4)

homelander x oc 18+  escort services, sex work, masturbation, voyeurism, stalking, Homelander in general. see ao3 link for detailed tags. chapter index. check out the playlist!

Homelander’s session was a disaster. Layla sits in the aftermath of it, still collecting herself a good twenty minutes after Homelander has departed. Perched on the couch, she buries her face in her hands and takes several deep breaths. Now that she’s alone, she can finally process everything that happened. She can feel the furious beat of her heart in her throat, and her legs ache. Shifting sideways, she leans down to slip off the shoes. In doing so, she catches a glimpse of her calves, where she can already see distinct hand-shaped bruises forming. Her stomach flips. Delicately, she traces the outline of blossoming purple along her skin.

He’s replaced the bruise on her neck that had only just faded.

With a sharp inhale, Layla stands up. She needs to change her clothes, and get herself out of this mindset. Tears well up in her eyes in the wake of her adrenaline fading, burning as she blinks them away. She’s hyper-aware of the feel of the bruises as she walks barefoot to her closet, slipping out of her dress with practiced ease. She hangs it up, and reaches for a linen sweater and a soft pair of pants.

Over and over, Layla replays the session in her mind as she dresses, pinpointing the moment everything changed. She’s established and enforced boundaries with him before, but never has his response to them been so visceral. Something different happened today, but try as she might, Layla can’t figure out what it was. There must have been an internal trigger. “I’m not like lots of people,” he had snarled. “Do you understand that? I’m a god, and I don’t need your fucking pity.”

She had tried to humanize him, to allow him space for this vulnerability, but today she’s learned that John is so lost to the mantle of Homelander, to the weight of his powers, that he is convinced he is above such things. It doesn’t matter that he wept against her. The second it was over, he wanted her to forget it ever happened. Layla can’t forget. Looking at the dress now, it’s still spotted wet with his tears. This doesn’t feel like a man in love with his delusions. This feels like a man trapped by them. Who told you that you have to be a god? Who won’t let you be a man?

That was the moment Layla knew she needed to see the suit stripped away. The bruises on her legs were unintended, that much she is certain of. It was as if with the flip of a switch, he went from present to wholly gone, not hearing a word she said. When he did come back to himself, he let go of her immediately, and apologized in a voice so small, she barely heard it. He wore his shame clearly, self-hatred wet in his eyes. She remembers bringing him into her arms before she could reconsider. Layla knows herself better than to think of that act of comfort as an entirely altruistic one. The truth of the matter is that she enjoys both his vulnerability and his unpredictability. More and more, taming a man like Homelander is proving to be a power trip like none other. One moment he’s utterly wrapped around her finger, and the next it’s as though she’s freefalling.

Homelander is rekindling a fire in Layla that she thought long since safely fed and satiated by her line of work, and she can't bring herself to smother the embers. Distantly, the logical side of her brain screams at her that this is madness. The dull ache in her calves calls for a restraining order, not a date. Homelander is a literal walking red flag; he wears it proudly as a cape. Yet Layla’s mind is left buzzing, drowning out that shrill cry of reason.

Lying down on the couch, she wonders what he’ll wear instead of the suit.

Layla spends most of the following week talking herself in and out of the date. Up until this point, she hasn’t needed to consider the scope of John as a whole, or her actual compatibility with him. He was a client, and all that mattered was that she treated him as such. Whoever they were in the world outside of that relationship didn’t matter. Suddenly, it could very much matter. He isn’t just John, he’s America’s Homelander. Her grandmother must be rolling in her urn. They were never a particularly patriotic family, to put it lightly. She calls Jason, who’s no help at all.

“If you want to go, then go. If you don’t want to go, don’t go.” He doesn’t know what to do with her mix of exasperation and stubbornness any more than she does. She knew even as she was speaking to him that she was being irrational. She feels like she’s going insane over the whole situation. A significant part of her agony is knowing that if she could just tell Jason who it was, the details of their relationship, or if he could see the faded bruises on her legs, she’s certain that he would tell her no, absolutely not. What she cannot figure out about herself is why she’s looking for someone else to tell her “no.” She’s lived her entire life on her own terms, but there’s something about Homelander that makes her question her capacity to make rational decisions. He’s enthralling even in her thoughts, and he’s slipping into her fantasies more and more each night.

Every time she convinces herself it’s a terrible idea spurred on by mindless infatuation, Layla picks up her phone. Every single time, she hesitates, and ultimately sets it back down. Tomorrow, she tells herself. I’ll sleep on it, and I’ll know by tomorrow. Soon enough, too many tomorrows have come and gone. It’s Friday evening, and Layla is in the back of a polished black car sent to her apartment. She’s out of time, and on her way to Vought International. It’s a chilly night, so she’s opted for a coat and pantyhose, but otherwise she’s dressed precisely the way Homelander last saw her. She drums her fingers on her thighs, once more wondering if and how he’ll uphold his end of the bargain. Layla leans closer to the window, peering up at Vought Tower. The top of the tower disappears into the haze of the night sky, too tall for her to see. She’s always considered all one hundred floors of the tower to be something of an eyesore, an out of place advertisement thrust into the skyline of the city. But up close she can at least admit it’s an impressive feat of architecture. Ugly all the same, but impressive.

The car pulls around a side road that curves into a courtyard, stopping at a security check. The headquarters of a multibillion dollar corporation hardly screamed date night romance, but John had been insistent it would offer them a spectacular view, and the privacy he required in order to meet her demands. He assured her that the food would be good, promising the best steak that New York has to offer. Once they make it through security, the drive up the courtyard is slow. The pace allows her to admire what little greenery they have tucked behind the building, which is admittedly more than she expected. The finely trimmed hedges and manicured flower beds are unfortunately broken up by gaudy bronze statues of Vought’s golden age heroes: imposing metallic faces with meticulously carved eyes that seem to follow her as she passes them, lit only by the harsh white spotlights below them. It gives the whole place an eerie, artificial atmosphere, particularly in the dark of the evening. It feels more like a graveyard than a garden.

However, much of that falls away when the car pulls up to the private entrance, and Layla sees a sleek silhouette cut out against the fluorescent hall lights. There stands Homelander not in his star-spangled usual, but in a well fitted suit. At first she thinks it black, but as he approaches the vehicle the light catches it in such a way that she realizes it’s a deep navy with black accents. The black bowtie at his neck reminds her of old Hollywood, a look that would have given even Cary Grant a run for his money. I’ll be damned, she thinks, smiling broadly. The car door swings open, and Homelander extends a rare ungloved hand to her. Slipping her hand into his, she allows him to effortlessly draw her up out of the vehicle. Though Homelander returns her smile, she can see the tension at the corners of his mouth. It reminds her of the tight way he’s been smiling for the cameras for the last several weeks, and not at all of their usual comfortable exchanges during sessions.

“You look very handsome,” she tells him, reaching up to smooth her fingers along one of the lapels of his jacket. He’s a good deal more slender than the supe suit makes him appear. His shoulders are less broad without the protruding pauldrons. His torso is ridiculously bulging. Still, he is by no means a slight man. Truth be told, she finds the figure he cuts in a formal suit far more appealing. His hair is also styled more softly, looser, as if no longer needing to compensate for the bulk of the suit. Where normally she would expect him to preen under the compliment, Homelander rolls his shoulders subtly, clearing his throat. She wonders how long it’s been since anyone new (or anyone at all) saw him in anything other than his Homelander suit.

He gives her hand a subtle squeeze, and suit or no suit, there is no doubt that the power that thrums in his body is wholly his. “Thank you,” he says, closing the car door behind her. He signals the driver off with a flick of his wrist. “And you look… radiant,” he says, regaining some of his usual composure once he’s able to shift the focus onto her. His smile thins slyly as he draws her nearer. “Looks like I’ll have to warm you up again,” he said, giving her jacket a playful little tug. “Surely it won’t be as cold inside,” Layla responds, glancing over to the double doorway. “We won’t be eating inside tonight. Still, you won’t be needing it,” he responds, slipping a hand beneath her coat, settling it on her hip. Even against the night air, the press of his hand is warm as ever. The heat of him seeping through the fabric of her dress.

Layla looks up at him, expression pinching incredulously. “It’s freezing out.” “Relax,” he purrs, closing the slight gap between them with a small step. “You trust me?” She hums with a purse of her lips, wrinkling her nose at him. “Tentatively. The ice is thin.” Homelander’s smile broadens. “Good enough for me.” With that, he scoops Layla up into his arms, startling a soft noise from her. Before she can ask what would necessitate him carrying her to dinner, her stomach flips the way it does when going down a hill in a car; a sudden shift in her gravity. Looking down, she sees the pavement she was just standing on, growing more and more distant, along with the flowerbeds and statues. Inhaling sharply, Layla grabs a tight hold of his jacket, the other arm curling around his neck. Her heart leaps in her chest, pumping a surge of adrenaline through her as the ground grows more distant, and the sickly thrill of danger climbs higher. “W-wait, hold on–”

“Relax,” Homelander says again, a laugh bubbling up beneath it. “I’m not gonna drop you, alright? I’m a professional. Just breathe,” he tells her, which she’s sure is easy for him to say. The higher they climb, the more the world below them looks surreal, like the most realistic toy city she’s ever seen. “Not long to floor eighty-eight.” “Eighty-eight?” Layla echoes incredulously, her heart skipping a beat. “Look at me,” Homelander murmurs, his voice warm in her ear. She turns sharper than she means to, staring up at him with wide eyes. Once again, unbalancing her helps him recover much of his confidence. He may not have a suit to scream superhero! but flying her to the top of a one hundred storey building is certainly one way to do it. “Atta girl, see? Safer than a plane,” he says, throwing in a little wink. He chuckles at that, and she feels as though he’s making another one of those jokes she’s not privy to.

“I would have been just as impressed if you had carried me up a hundred flights of stairs instead, you know,” Layla says, flexing her grip around his neck, her stomach flipping wildly. The ground is still fading away, and when she chances a glance up, she sees they still have a long way to go. Homelander is moving slowly enough that the breeze is gentle, but the air is only growing colder and thinner as they climb. Homelander scoffs a little laugh. “I don’t believe that.” Taking in a slow breath, Layla looks out across the city. While it had been dark on the ground, from here she can see the remnants of the sunset creeping across the edges of the horizon. Above the haze and light pollution, she can even make out stars twinkling in the night sky. Not even her high rise apartment allowed her enough altitude to stargaze in the city. It’s beautiful. A tapestry of rich blues and purples dotted with constellations stretching in every direction. She can’t remember the last time she really saw the sky.

“Okay,” she relents, resting her head on his chest, gaze lazily flitting over the star-dusted sky. “Maybe not as impressed.” He hums at that, his own stare focused solely on her, smirking his satisfaction. Layla looks up at him, and the way he waggles his brows at her makes her laugh. ”But you don’t need to look so pleased with yourself,” she says, tentatively releasing her grip on his jacket to poke the corner of his mouth, where that smirk of his sits proud. “I’m drifting freely above the finest city in the greatest country in the world, holding a beautiful woman in my arms. What’s not to be pleased about?” Homelander counters, leaning into her touch. Layla opens her palm to allow for the way he pushes into it, turning a playful little gesture into something more intimate, her hand cupped to the side of his face. His words would make her roll her eyes if he didn’t speak them with such earnestness. There is so much about him that would fall flatter than roadkill on paper, if it wasn’t for the specific kind of charisma he carries. It has captured her more than she cares to admit. When she expects to hear irony in his voice, oftentimes she is met with a sincerity that she rarely sees in men of his age and status.

The air has grown thin. Layla feels light and fuzzy in this moment, warm in his arms despite the chill of the night. Their breaths mingle visibly in the cold. The impulse to kiss him strikes her, and she follows it without a thought, her thumb stroking his cheek. The edges of his smirk soften against her lips as he kisses her back slowly, unhurried, but with no less passion. Just the way she taught him. What she had initially intended to be a brief press of her lips stretches into coaxing movements, deepening with each passing second. Layla pushes her hand up into his hair, cupping the back of his head, encouraging him with a pleased little noise. Homelander’s hand tightens at her waist, under her legs. Despite the fact he’s currently flying her nearly a hundred feet directly into the air, the eager way he follows her lead as she kisses him gives her a sense of control over him that eases the drumming of her heart.

Layla falls so deeply into the kiss that she nearly misses the gentle jostle of their landing. When she opens her eyes, she’s met with a row of hanging lights, dangling prettily from a white fabric tent set up over a patio. It’s upheld by sturdy wooden beams, with a single dining table between them. Truth be told, it’s far from what Layla had expected. The singular square table is rather small, making for a much more intimate setting than she had anticipated. “It’s warm,” she says, more thinking aloud than speaking to Homelander, who hums approvingly. “State of the art outdoor conditioning. Four regulators, one in each corner. They circulate warm air, and keep the cold out. Something about creating pressure,” he says dismissively, setting Layla down on her feet. Placing his hands on her shoulders and giving a slight squeeze, he asks slyly, “May I take your coat?”

Smiling over her shoulder at him, Layla lifts her hands to unbutton her jacket, allowing him to slide it off her arms. She feels the tips of his fingers graze her bare arms, his own hands pleasantly ungloved. “Thank you,” she says, watching him fold the garment over his forearm. He offers her his other arm, and she takes it for the walk to the table. “You’re quite the romantic, aren’t you?” She asks, taking note of the bouquet of roses set at the table, and the smattering of tealights lit all around it. Instead of being set across the table from each other, the chairs were set opposite one another at the same corner. Homelander looks pleased at that, following her eye to the table setting. “Ahh, well, maybe a little.” In addition to the flowers, there are two dishes sitting under silver cloches, though only one of the two is paired with a glass of red wine, the bottle not far away. She sits down, and Homelander drapes her coat on the back of her chair, sliding it in under her. He moves to take the seat next to her, unbuttoning the bottom of his jacket as he sits.

“Hope it’s all to your liking. Prepared fresh from the kitchens,” he says, reaching out to the silver cloche set over her plate. Lifting it off, he reveals a gorgeously plated beef filet. It’s sat atop potato puree and asparagus, with what looks to be roasted fennel on top. Layla can smell the butter and thyme immediately. She smiles, closing her eyes as she inhales it. “Smells incredible,” she says, unfolding the cloth napkin to place on her lap. She had assumed as much when he had inquired about her preference between well done, medium and rare, but this was an admittedly more delicate presentation than she expected. “You don’t drink?” She asks, reaching for the wine glass next to her plate. “No, no. Not for me. Never really acquired the taste for it. Plus, it, uhh, doesn’t do much for me. I’d have to drink the whole winery for a good buzz,” Homelander explains, absently rubbing his hands up and down his thighs. When was the last time he wore a pair of pants that weren’t made of padded material with an NIJ protection level? “Touché,” Layla responds, bringing the glass to her lips. She inhales first, and then takes a sip. It’s delicious, rich and subtly fruity, but not enough to overpower the meal. Glancing at the bottle, she recognizes the label: it’s a vintage Saint Émilion, easily worth a couple hundred dollars. She gives an approving hum. “More for me, I suppose,” she says playfully, setting the glass down. “All yours,” he agrees. His smile is gradually becoming less tight, though his posture is not. He’s sitting straight with his hands on his thighs, nervous in a way she hasn’t seen him before. “Not trying to get me drunk, are you?” She asks, quirking her brow.

He huffs a laugh, leaning back in his chair, seemingly eased by the banter. “You an easy drunk?” “Not in the least. It’ll take more than one bottle,” she shoots back, smiling as she takes a sip. “Well, there’s plenty more where that came from,” he says, interlacing his hands in his lap. 

“Careful, I can become quite an expensive date,” she says slyly, cutting herself a bite of the filet. Clearly he was one to splurge. “And an even more expensive fuck,” Homelander adds without missing a beat, his tone a touch lower. The two of them sit in a dense silence while Layla chews her bite, taken aback. Homelander takes in her expression, and as he does, she can see the gears turning in his head. Some of that tension creeps back into the line of his shoulders as he realizes he may have spoken something that should have been kept a thought. He sits up straight. “Which… is to say–” he begins, trying to recover, but stops himself when Layla starts to laugh. “It’s okay,” she says, finishing her glass in a final sip. “You’re right. I’m a very expensive fuck,” she says, licking her lips. His gaze drops to her lips, following the movement with the precision of a stalking predator. He swallows visibly, eventually smiling in return. “That’s the lifestyle I chose for myself. You’re doing well in keeping up,” she says, giving her empty glass a pointed little tap. He takes the hint and picks up the bottle to refill her glass. “Why did you choose it?” He asks, setting the bottle back down. “Your lifestyle. Your… occupation.”

An inevitable question, but one that remains no less complicated to answer, regardless of how many times it comes up.

Layla gives a contemplative hum. “I’m good at it,” she says, absently running her fingers up and down the stem of her glass. “Better than I ever was in an office. Happier, too. I work when I want, I charge what I want, and I love who I want.” Homelander makes a skeptical little noise. “You don’t love those other guys, though.” Other guys. He’s specific about that, she notes. She decides not to address it for now, nor the fact that not all of her clients are even ‘guys.’ Layla takes a slow breath, and then a sip of her drink, formulating her answer. “I started escorting because I knew I would meet people like me. People who felt incapable of finding intimate connection the way everyone around them did.” She may not be drunk, but the wine has certainly helped loosen her lips. ”I have total control of who can enjoy my time, my affection, for how long, and in exchange they show me the parts of themselves they don’t want the world to see. There is true intimacy in that.” She tilts her head slightly, gauging his response. He, after all, is one such person. His posture has changed completely: he’s leaning in now, with his forearm braced on the table. She continues, “Just because it’s paid for doesn’t mean it isn’t real. I build relationships with the people I want to build relationships with.” “Don’t you think that’s dangerous?” He asks, a lilt to his voice that Layla has difficulty parsing. “Selling people on the idea that you really do love them?” “I don’t say these things to my clients. You’re my date,” she counters, taking a bite of her meal. He straightens up slightly at that, as if he’s been praised. “But no, I don’t. I do my job, and I do it well. I take precautions.”

“Precautions,” Homelander echoes. “Because it’s dangerous.” “You’re not going to tell me anything about my profession I don’t already know,” she says, amused. “I’ve been doing this for years.” “What do your parents think of it?” Layla considers him a moment. “They died when I was young,” she says. No sense in dragging that out any more than it needs to be. “My grandparents raised me, but they passed, oh… About eleven years ago.”

“How did they die?” He asks immediately, brows slightly furrowed.

She could almost laugh. While on the one hand it’s a tactless approach, it’s also refreshing. Oftentimes, that answer means a handful of empty condolences for a bunch of people the person never knew, people who died decades ago, and Layla comforting them through the discomfort associated with death and grief. Homelander didn’t even blink.

“My grandparents passed peacefully within a year of each other,” she says, swirling her wine. “She went first, and I think he just… didn’t want to be here without her,” she says, pursing her lips slightly. “My parents, on the other hand, they had a–let’s say it was a flare for the dramatic,” she says, her smile turning a little wry. “They were junkies.” Homelander’s brows lift. “Drugs?” “No, no. They were addicts, but it wasn’t for drugs. They were adrenaline junkies. It’s how they met. Skydiving,” she says, finishing off her second glass. This time, Homelander refills it without prompt. The gesture makes her smile, and she tips her glass in thanks. “They slowed down for a bit after they had me, but not for long. Eventually they started performing for crowds. You know, stunts. Motorcycles, jumps, demolition derbies. Whatever thrilled them.” “So, what… Blew up in a freak accident?” He asks, shifting to rest his hand on his thigh. This time, Layla does laugh. There’s something liberating about his irreverence. He’s not treating the subject with the kid gloves that everyone else does, and it’s clear he doesn’t expect her to, either. “More or less. They planned this… insane jump. Fitted my dad’s Pontiac with a homemade rocket. They were supposed to clear a jump over a building set for demolition, but the rocket malfunctioned. It didn’t engage until they were nearly off the ramp, and ended up just… flying them straight into the side of the building.” Looking over at Homelander, Layla cocks her head. She half expects him to laugh, crack a joke or make some reference, but he’s just watching her. She sips her drink. “You tell that story pretty straight,” he says at last. She gives a small shrug. “It’s been a long time.” He nods, tapping his middle finger on the table. “Real Thelma and Louise of them.” There it is, Layla muses. “I never knew two people more in love than my parents. They were happiest when they were risking their lives together. Can’t think of a more fitting way for two people to go out,” she says, and though she means it, even she can hear the emptiness sinking into the tone of her voice. She takes a long final drink from her wine, setting the empty glass aside. “How old were you?” He asks. He moves to refill her glass, but she lifts a hand to stop him, shaking her head subtly. He sets the bottle back down. “Twelve.” She chooses not to elaborate, despite the flood of memories that come with the answer. Homelander hums. “Really took after ‘em, huh?” Layla blinks, immediately disarmed. “I–excuse me?”

He looks surprised by her surprise. “I mean… C’mon. Sure, you’re not strapping rockets to your car or throwing yourself out of planes, but you’re not working a desk job, either. You said it yourself. I’m not telling you anything you don’t already know,” he says, echoing her word for word. “You work a dangerous job, and you like it.” She can say with confidence that the last thing she expected to happen tonight was for him to start psychoanalyzing her. She huffs an incredulous little laugh, suddenly wishing she hadn’t stopped him from refilling her glass.

“That’s not the same thing,” she dismisses, smiling despite the nagging unease it dredges up somewhere in the back of her mind. “Besides, you’re hardly one to talk about occupational hazards. What made you choose to become a hero?” It’s not her most skillful conversational redirect, but she’s also three glasses deep in a very good wine. “I didn’t,” he answers plainly, his demeanor shifting alongside the direction of the conversation. Layla’s smile falters. “What?” “I didn’t choose it,” he says, voice duller yet. “It was chosen for me. I mean, c’mon. What else was I gonna be? A desk jockey? Hahah, nope.” He sucks a pitchy noise through his teeth. “Like Jesus on the cross… It was written in stone,” he says, tapping his fingers on a roll atop the table. “But do you like it?” She leans towards him, brows pinched. “Being a hero. Do you like it?” He pulls a strange face, looking as if no one’s ever asked him that before. He clears his throat, visibly uncomfortable with the direction her question threatens to take them. “What’s not to like? America loves me.” The words sound stale from his mouth. Layla can’t fault him for them, though. She’s seen glimpses of how important Homelander is to John’s identity, seen firsthand the way praise and adoration can undo him behind closed doors. It comes as no surprise that it’s something he needs to believe. It makes something in her ache for him. Layla shifts closer yet, and gently settles her hand atop his on the table, bringing the percussive tapping of his fingers to a halt. He looks at her sharply, though the set of his gaze softens. His eyes look wider, more vulnerable. Perhaps he forgot he was without his gloves, or he just wasn’t expecting the contact. Either way, it brings him back to her. She squeezes his hand. “It’s okay,” she says, her thumb stroking back and forth. “It’s okay. It’s just us. You don’t need to do that.” You don’t need to pretend. Homelander now wears the kind of surprise Layla might expect to see if she’d slapped him. He stares with his lips parted, a thought half-formed on them. He lifts his other hand over hers, fingertips brushing along the back of her hand, skating up to her wrist, light as a feather as he holds her gaze. Then next thing Layla knows, his grip on her wrist tightens and he’s pulling her body up against his. With a gentle effortlessness that only his strength could allow for, he brings them both to their feet, his other hand moving to the small of her back. The sudden rise is disorienting, but the kiss is so warm and fervent that she can’t help the little moan that escapes her. He takes the opportunity to slip his tongue between her lips, letting go of her wrist in favor of cupping both sides of her face. He always kisses her with such urgency, holding tight, like she may disappear if he doesn’t.

It feels incredible to match his pace, to kiss him as hungrily as he kisses her without the nagging call to slow him down, to maintain his expectations. She falls into it without reserve, free of the rigid pretense of their sessions. She can’t blame it on the wine, she’s been thinking about this for weeks. He pushes his hands further back into her hair, still kissing her like he expects her to stop him at any second, desperate to taste what he can before it’s gone. 

He moves against her with such a force, it causes her back to arch, head tipping all the way back. He takes one hand from her hair to slip around her waist instead, bringing her body back against his. She puts her own hands on his shoulders, gripping him tight and pulling him in turn. He makes sweet, starved noises against her lips when she slips her hand up into his hair, cupping the back of his head. Homelander is the first to pull away, though he doesn’t go far. He kisses the corner of her mouth, her jaw, down the line of her throat. He moves his hands to her hips to hold her steady while he takes full advantage of the plunging neckline of the dress he chose for her. “Come home with me,” he says between kisses, voice thin, ravenous. Her heart skips a beat. Say no. “Yes.” Chapter Five.

[yuriyuruandyuraart]

okay so i somehow survived this week's exam combo (still not done with them but at least i'm getting the weekend ig hh :'D)

and i wanted to animate something small and silly but i dunno who to draw, so i'm finally testing these polls out hehehe

i just went with the bad sans gang cause i felt like it, but do tell me in the tags/comments/asks if there's someone else you'd rather see 👀

[threepenstyle]

sun worship

[zarla-s]

We move forward, 'cause we can't go back...

It's the EIGHTH anniversary of Handplates, and the first one after I finished the comic back in July! I decided to dig up a very old wip that I never finished and finally do it. I've always loved WeMoveForward by The Midnight, and I think it applies not only to the comic itself but also this period after it... there's no way to go back to when I was doing it, only moving forward after it's done.

Even more appropriately, since I did this wip, these characters all moved forward even further... even as this sat in my files, they moved forward, in a sense. I don't know, the song gives me a sort of plaintive, longing, bittersweet feeling... it's hard to explain.

I had a very insistent voice in my head that always made me do a Handplates page over the years I was working on it, no matter what happened. I wasn't sure if that voice would ever stop, even when it's done, but it has! It's gotten quieter now, mostly only nagging me about other projects I should be working on (Defrag, the Ace Attorney/Frozen fic, web design, fic ideas, art ideas...) whenever I'm doing something, much like it did before I started the comic.

How I feel about Handplates finishing though is strange. At times it doesn't feel like it's over, even if I don't feel like I need to do another page. At other times I get sad thinking about it and I miss it, and other times I look back on it with amazement that I was able to do it. Sometimes I look back on it and think about what was happening in my life at that time, and sometimes when I look at it it's unreal and it's hard to believe I even did it, like someone else did the whole thing. It's like it's there but it's not, it's present but it isn't. It's a very strange feeling, it's hard to describe or pin down. I know it'll always be with me in some way, but it is strange to be able to focus so much attention on other things without that feeling of having to set aside a few days to do a page every two weeks... not bad or anything, but I'm not used to it still.

I don't know! When I read the comments on the last page a lot of them made me cry, especially those talking about how the comic had been their childhood, and now their childhood is over. It was sad to think that I had a part in something like that ending... but it ends for everyone, no matter what you do. We, you and me, everyone... we move forward, 'cause we can't go back. That line was so evocative for me that I even used it as a chapter title for the penultimate chapter on Comicfury.

I don't know, just nostalgic thoughts! I don't know if that's the right word for it... but thank you to all of you who read it and enjoyed it. Even now I hear from new people coming to it and reading through it again now that it's done. Even if it's finished, it's still new to people just finding it. It's still "living" in a sense. And thanks to those of you who stuck around even though it's done, I appreciate it. |D

(As a note, the Gaster ukagaka has a surprise if you boot him on the anniversary after seeing the brothers, if you haven't done that)

[index] [patreon]

[mashiiiko]

⚡ rainbow dash wip !! ✨

my take on dash!! super excited to finish this one, ive already made some small design changes that youll see in the final version^^ ive always thought that her og eqg design was kinda abysmal syugdsay so i wanted to really lay into the sports theme and throw some small scene elements in (kinda like she used to be into it but doesnt wanna get rid of her stuff from it :D)

[allfortheslay25]

All for The Fish Master Links 🐟

Sirens v Mermaids breakdown:

Siren Andreil colored mermay doodle:

Fishyards comic wip 1:

Pt 2 ft Kevin and Neil:

Mermaid Kevin and Neil concepts:

Siren facts (fins and flirting):

Neil munching:

Neil eating trash comic (text version):

Neil eating trash comic (no text version):

Extra doodles:

[darylbrainrot]

CHAPTER 01: WIP

AIYGIWGWY || GOJO X READER

How would you—a part time guitarist and streamer, react when an upcoming streamer known as gojo admitted to liking your music and streams?

As he sat down on his chair with it dipping with his added weight, he reached to his PC to start it up. He was about 20 minutes early to stream so he had to get his streaming apps ready. He wanted to keep this stream chill, he was probably some background music playing to make his stream calming (as calming as possible with his screams from playing fortnite.) As he made the sudden decision to play music on his stream, he opened Spotify as soon as his computer turned on.

He opened one of his designated playlists for streaming, some relaxing music ranging from different artists. He made sure this playlist wasn't going to get him flagged on his Twitch, something he didn't want to happen again.

He finally had his necessities opened, his discord and Spotify opened on his first monitor, his Twitch ready to stream on his third monitor, and finally his main monitor with his game loading up. When he looked at the time, he had around 6 minutes to spare before starting up his stream. With his extra time, he decided to go out of his room to his shared dorm with suguru to grab some snacks.

As he made his way to the shared kitchen, he just decided to grab a Gatorade and some random candies he had stored for when he was craving them. As he was going to retreat back to his room, he heard his fellow roommate's door open.

"Suguru, you should join my stream please." He said, dragging out the please for dramatic effect.

"Hell nah, ima go to sleep anyway." The black-haired man says with a blank stare, passing Satoru as he makes a b line towards the restroom.

"What the flip man." Sighing as he made it back to his room to start up his stream.

—————————

"BROO, no fucking way he got me. He literally only got me for 50 shield." He said, falling back in his chair as his 2nd place ranking got displayed on his screen. His hands now going through his face, raking through his white hair. The soft melodies of 'Cologne' by Beabadoobee fill the stream when he is quiet. The song finished up when one of your songs replaced the quietness, it was a cover you made of 'Paul' by Big Theif.

This is when his chat started flooding with new messages, ranging from questions asking him if he liked your music to how long he's been listening to you. As his arms finally fell from his hair, he looked at his chat when he saw the flood of new texts.

"I didn't know you listened to y/n's music... of course, I listen to their music, she's like one of my favorite artists." He said after reading some questions in his chat. Snickering at his chats surprised reaction, "I'm surprised some of you guys didn't know this, I follow them on twitter and on insta and I know some of you guys stalk my following and shit" He said as he was going back to the home screen of his game, deciding that it was enough of fortnite for him after playing around 10 rounds.

“Have you seen shes working on a new song? She posted about it on her twitter” he mumbled, reading one of the texts that caught his eye. “Yeah I saw her post, hopefully she posts a clip of her song. I know it’s gonna be good though.” He grins, exited that one of his favorite artist might release a song soon.

"Anyways, ima stopping the stream here, I'm done with fortnite for today. I might stream again in the weekend though, I'll tweet about it if I do." Waving at his face cam as he ended the stream, making sure to double-check it was off. He closed off any extra tabs he had open before shutting down his PC. Once he was finally done with his computer, he stood up and went to scroll on his phone on his bed, finally relieving the ache in his back due to his bad posture.

< prev || masterlist || next >

Interact with this post to be a part of my taglist.

this isnt proof read so lmk if theres any mistakes D:

------------------

TAGLIST: OPEN

@bakananya, @lysaray, @reagan707, @cccccccccccleo, @samutoru, @sunaluvrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr, @sur-i-ki, @rybunnie, @ramchu,

[mantequillamcwhoremick]

Probably a common Kenny question but how do you think he'd react/feel if someone admitted to him that they're fully aware of his curse but never said or mentioned anything about it?

LMAO you've hit the spot hahahah I literally have an almost finished Fic Wip exactly about this topic so I've given it LOTS of thought.

Okay first and foremost: Kenny isn't a very reactive guy. He's pretty good at keeping his negative emotions in check, probably owed to his upbringing where he always had to be the sane, calm and collected one to endure his home life (parentification let's go!!!). Instances like in the Coon & Friends trilogy (where he lashes out at Kyle) are pretty unique and rare, the only other time he gets similarly angry and acts on it happens in "Poor and Stupid" where Cartman mocks both NASCAR fans and people in poverty.

Deadass when his friends ditched him for Halloween bc he couldn't afford a phone for the e-scooter (ep "The Scoots") he wasn't even mad, even though he had every reason to be. He was just sad. Similarly in Post Covid; he revealed he'd been pissed at his friends for giving up on their broship, but what did he do? He studied and researched for decades how to go back in time and fix it, and post-mortem he left the option open for THEM to continue his work.

My headcanon is that he tried and learned to be the calm one so Karen could have some semblance of stability in their home, but this situation you're describing wouldn't require him to stay strong for Karen (unless it's Karen that would remember his death). I'd say this is a pretty solid conclusion, drawn from his behavior in episodes like "The Poor Kid" and "The City Part of Town" (which ig are the only Karen and Kenny centric episodes lol). I still think (because of "Going Native" and how he handled Butters' emotional issues) that Kenny simply defaults to understanding and a rational caretaker role, no matter the person. Heck, he was even kind enough to leave Cartman his PSP (ep "Best Friends Forever") because he feels bad for Cartman's loneliness. If you have empathy with an IRL Cartman, there's no one you wouldn't be understanding with.

Having an analysis of Kenny's temper tendencies out of the way, I'm gonna move on to the next statement: I think it might slightly depend on WHO this hypothetical person was, the one who "admitted to him that they're fully aware of his curse but never said or mentioned anything about it."

There's two main reasons that this could even happen:

1: The person is so freaked out by this situation that they were afraid to say anything for a long time, they possibly even thought they might be insane and imagining things

2: The person is Cartman

And because I kinda analyzed this in my fic (not yet published), I'm gonna reference it a little and explain my decisions.

The fic's premise is that in a sudden turn, Butters remembers Kenny's last death. Butters freaks out when he sees Kenny come back and after initially lashing out at Kenny thinking he's a ghost coming to haunt him (like in "The Death of Eric Cartman"), he later apologizes to Kenny, concluding he just imagined his death and is insane. (Butters has been conditioned to not trust his mind & brain, assigned mental disorders when there's nothing wrong with him in the aforementioned episode as well as in "City Sushi", so I felt that this makes sense) This makes Butters a perfect contestant for scenario 1.

What did I have Kenny do? Well, in my fic Kenny is overjoyed to finally have someone that would believe him about his curse, but that's not the scenario you provided. But given Kenny's temper patterns and savior complex/caretaker tendencies (gestures at the entire Mysterion arc and anything to do with Karen, including the TFBW DLC "From Dusk Til Casa Bonita", and also "Going Native" where he swiftly accepts his role as support system for Butters), I find it pretty solid to assume he would show a lot of understanding for why the person didn't say anything before. It's a lot to digest to watch someone die, even more if they just... come back? And everyone else acts like nothing happened? On SEVERAL occasions?? Like, Kenny is the first to relate to that sentiment. He'd be understanding about everything the person would be confused & distressed about, and also the reasons why they didn't say anything before.

After Kenny gets his understanding & patient savior complex stuff out of the way, I imagine him slowly going insane trying to figure out WHY this person remembers. That's the second part of the premise in my fic; Kenny and Butters try to figure out why Butters remembers, and why now, and Kenny's main motive is because he wants to find a way for his best friends to remember. The Coon & Friends trilogy proves that Kenny is very distressed by Stan and Kyle not remembering, they mean a lot to him. He feels safer and more comfortable with them than probably with his own family. In my fic, his attempts at figuring out why Butters remembers end up with no results and Kenny slowly starts losing it, lashing out at his friends for feelings of resentment he had long buried and his rational temper control starts cracking more and more. I feel like this is how he'd react in any case of anyone remembering his death, as long as it's not Stan or Kyle. I doubt either Stan or Kyle would ever even wind up as the person to be aware of his curse and not tell him. Especially not Kyle.

Scenario 2 is if Kenny found out that Cartman remembers, has remembered since forever, and never said a word. In my fic (spoiler alert?) Kenny doesn't even deal with Cartman. He just goes straight home to pull out his gun and shoot himself lmaooo he does this because he wants to talk to Satan in Hell and demand answers, bc he doesn't know who else to turn to. In Chaos Plan I have a bit where I describe my take on Kenny's general feelings towards Cartman canonically showing signs of remembering his deaths, and the quote goes like this:

"Kenny often wonders if Cartman does remember his deaths, but is simply too much of a shithead to say anything about them." (Chaos Plan chapter 17)

Kenny is a big "Do no harm but take no shit" kinda guy when it comes to Cartman. He doesn't fight him when it's pointless and prefers to preserve his energy (unlike Kyle), but he does call him out on his bullshit occasionally (at least when it's targeted against Kenny and/or his family). Kenny is also scarily emotionally mature for a 9/10 year old (makes sense bc of his upbringing) so I doubt he'd get his hopes up about ever getting some kind of compassion or collaborative effort from Cartman to figure out what's up with his curse's mechanics. While Kenny and Cartman have an interesting friendship, and Kenny is kind of Cartman's soft spot, I can still imagine Kenny thinking "sure, my luck that the worst possible person remembers my deaths and no one else" and kind of be apathetic about it, kind of like he is by the end of the Coon & Friends trilogy before he shoots himself lmaoooo

So yeah, that's what I think :)) You said the question is common but honestly if it is, then it's for good reason because it's one of the most interesting ones the entire show of South Park has provided. I'm probably biased lol but still, thank you so much for the ask anon <3 I hope you weren't expecting a short answer ahahahahah

[your-local-uwu-artist]

it was suggested I post this to the tags as well >:D

fuck it ima tag @transcendence-au as well because tbh I'm very proud of my silly little animation

some me being a nerd under the cut!

okay so this all started when I read the original post this was inspired by and though 'wouldn't it be silly to add some art to this 3 year old post?' but then I decided to animate it for funsies!

and gosh I sure do love animating!

So I got the base sketch and then got into the lineart animation for each component!

i don't have the sketches/wips saved at all sense this wasn't really a project and it took less than a day to complete. but here's a peak at the timeline

I animate entirely in my ususal drawing software: clip studio paint. It's just what's easiest for me.

all of these layers outside that folder are just the sparkles! after I finished I added some sparkles for fun! there's a lot of them because it involved a lot of copy and pasting sparkle layers

the bottom folders here are the wings body and facial expression! for everything like the wings arms and flags I was able to just copy paste, reverse, and then align the timing correctly in the timeline

one thing unique about this animation is that the lineart and colors are in separate layers! I tend to do line and colors on the same layer but this time I was using a brush that doesn't have the same lack of anti-aliasing and sense it's a small animation I wasn't as worried about keeping a minimum of layers like usual.

also the movement of the body is only 4 frames! and one one of those is just the hat shifting position

initially I wasn't going to have the second facial expression but when I got stuck on animating the flags I added the second facial expression while taking a break.

the arm animation is just 8 frames! honestly the only tricky part in this is the flags, everything else was pretty simple, which made it super fun to work on because I got both a challenge and mindless therapeutic drawing out of it.

NOW THE FLAGS there was 3 throw away attempts before I got it: you see the thing that made this tricky is finding the balance between believability and visual appeal. a big part of animation is creating the illusion of physics, this is the 'believability' part, I need these to look like flags that are moving and made of flat fabric, HOWEVER if I animate these one-to-one with realistic physics: it won't look good! I can't apply wind to the whole drawing because then the hair would have to react, and wind goes one way, and I wan't the flags to be pointing opposite directions. so without wind the flags would be laying down flat, but that won't look good at all! and furthermore realistic physics would have the flag not being all nice and front facing most of the time. so the trick here was figuring out how much physics to apply to make it look believable, while still making it look good.

one trick I did to help me animate the flags is I actually made a plan rectangle flag as a guide so that the general mass/volume of the flag would stay consistent, this is something i highly recommend when animating! like having a circle guide along a characters head to keep their height and proportions consistent.

after I finally found the balance with the flag lineart coloring wasn't too hard! sense I just had to follow the lines, and THANK GOODNESS the trans and aroace flag have the same number of stripes: saving me time!

and then it all comes together to make a satisfying perfectly looping bundle of cuteness >:DDD I feel like the tau fandom doesn't have as many artists with particularly cartoony/chibi art styles so I've gotta play my part in spreading the joy-whimsy-adorable-sillys >:D

anyway! hope you get to see a cool beetle today :D

[yasmeensh]

Zelda 2 comic sneak peek

I took out my old full-length Zelda 2 comic draft and chose a segment to make a short comic out of. It's missing context from the whole grand narrative of the entire story, but I think it gets the point across.

There were a couple potentials, and I ended up choosing the scene where Link discovers that his blood is the key to awakening Ganon. It's the most well-known plot point of the game in the LOZ fandom in general, besides the Prince of Hyrule plot. Throughout the comic, Link gets attacked by various monsters during his quest. He thought Hyrule was incredibly dangerous for merchants and travelers, but found out that it was only him encountering monsters at a high rate, thus targeted (that is not discussed in this short comic). This disturbs him a lot. And this is the scene when he discovers why he's a target. It's more than the monsters seeking revenge.

At some point in the game, the player is made to travel towards south-western Hyrule and use the Hammer on dueling peaks to enter and get a magic potion. You specifically enter the peak that is originally Level 9 in Zelda 1. I found that to be very... interesting. And suspicious. Why did the developers think "Okay lets have Link go back to the traumatizing final boss place from the first game to retrieve an item :D" It's kinda epic honestly and it gave me the idea: For the full comic, I made it that Link follows rumors and travels down there in the hopes of finding the magic book containing the revive spell, which is game-changing for the rest of his journey. Being the adventurer that he is, Link takes the risk and goes there thinking the place is long-abandoned and that Ganon probably no longer exists. Except, that isn't the case. (Okay I must add, after the revelation, Link loses his adventurous spirit and gets very serious with his quest. No longer enjoys exploring, which is all this Link is about. He starts developing Big Fears. This eventually spawns Dark Link. I wish I could make the entire comic but I know I can't T-T I should probably finish up and polish the draft and post it online for whoever is interested in a deep dive, lore-intense Zelda 2 story reimagining.)

It's the first time I do a 10 page comic, so I'm going through a learning curve right now xD It's going to be experimental, but I hope you enjoy it still. Here are some WIP shots. Still a while before it's completed.

[eliyips]

Xisuma's Helmet 💜

My 3D final for the fall quarter! 4 assets made from scratch, modeled in Maya/Zbrush, textured in Substance Painter, and rendered in Unreal Engine 5.

Detail shots and some rambling about my process below the cut! :)

The helmet! I've talked about it a lot before, but my design for X's helmet is very heavily inspired by Motocross! :) this model was done with an AHR motocross helmet as my main reference, as well as my own art of Xisuma. The tubing was the main addition!

The pedestal was the final asset I made. I designed, modeled, and textured it in one day, and I'm very proud of how it turned out! I wish I could have shown it off better in the final render, but alas, the composition didn't allow for it. I still think It's pretty neat :) The decals along the top and at the center were designed by myself as well. At the top, we have some text art. It's hard to read (deliberately) but it spells out "XISUMA," repeating four times on each side. The front decal is dragon wings, framing an end crystal.

The flowers I selected are Asters! I was under the impression when I started this project that these were Xisuma's birthflowers, but it turns out his birthday is in October, not September, LOL. I was thinking of the his Youtube anniversary... I still associate these flowers with him either way though!

The flowers were probably the most difficult asset, but the skull might be the one I'm least satisfied with. Skulls are weird and complicated. If I were to do this over again, I'd go for a skull that I can find more precise reference for, rather than a sailfin lizard :') I picked out a lizard because I wanted to invoke dragons a lot in my imagery, but felt like choosing an extinct animal, like a dinosaur, wasn't appropriate for what I was going for? The sailfin lizard is a species which is vulnerable but not extinct, which I decided was more in line with my vision. Again though, if I were to do this over, I'd pick a skull which is more readily documented.

To conclude, some WIP screenshots! :] My initial sketch for the composition, two Maya screenshots, of the high poly helmet and pedestal, and an early screenshot from UE5, figuring out the composition, before I'd finished the pedestal model.

Happy to talk more about this, or answer any questions that people have! :D my ask box is open. I've been considering writing a short fic about the concept behind this piece as well... It's a little fuzzy, the details, but I do have a concept, and most of my choices for this project did have intention behind them. :)

Thanks for reading! 💜

[wolfjackle-creates]

Bring Me Home Arc 3 Part 1

Happy WIP Wednesday! So last week, we had a tie between Bring Me Home and Answer My Call. The tie breaker didn't come in until Monday after I'd already finished the entire Bring Me Home chapter and half the Answer My Call one.

So y'all will be getting two fic upates today then I'm going to sleep. I'm tired after a full day of work with a call out. XP

If you want a say in next week's update, vote in the poll!

Welcome to Arc 3 of Bring Me Home! 🎉🎉🎉

Story Summary: Danny's parents find out his secret. It doesn't go well. But he's not alone. His friend Tim Drake, better known as Red Robin, and the Young Justice will not let him suffer.

Word Count: 1.7k

Warnings: fanon-typical violence. This is my dissection fic, but I don't think I crossed the line into graphic. Let me know if you disagree.

Arc 1: AO3

Arc 2: First, Last

-----

Danny waved goodbye to Sam and Tucker as he made his way home from school. They had a long weekend and he planned to fall into bed and take a long nap. And then maybe grab some midnight tacos as Phantom for dinner.

He hummed as he thought about how awesome those tacos would taste when reached his home. Still lost in his daydreams, he unlocked the door and pushed it open.

Only for electric pain to shoot up his arm. Danny screamed, paralyzed to the spot. He tried to pull his hand back, but something held him in place. He fell to his knees, arm still held out and radiating pain through the rest of his body.

“What? Danny!”

“M-mom?” he forced out between cries. “Hurts!”

He could feel his transformation tugging on his core and he tried to force it back.

“Jack! Quick, it’s Danny!”

“Please,” begged Danny. Even kneeling was getting to be too much. Blackness was threatening the edges of his vision so he closed his eyes. He had to keep from transforming. He had to.

He didn’t even have the breath to scream anymore.

He heard his dad’s voice. There was a flash of light. And then nothing.

---

The first thing Danny was aware of was that everything hurt. His muscles were aching and his right arm was practically numb. The next thing he noticed was that he way lying on something hard. He tried to roll over, only to realize he was strapped down. And not just at his wrists and ankles, but also at his waist and neck.

His eyes flew open in shock and he yelled in panic. Had Vlad gotten him?

“It’s awake, Mads!”

Orange filled his vision as his dad leaned over him.

“D-dad?” asked Danny. He felt his core humming in his chest. His core, not his heart. He twisted his head just enough to see a black jumpsuit.

He was Phantom. His parents knew.

His dad’s face contorted with anger, an expression he’d never once seen there before. “Don’t you dare call me that, impostor! What have you done with my son?”

“Dad, it’s me. I swear. I—I can explain.” He tugged on his restraints, trying to phase through them. Only to scream as the anti-ghost shielding shocked him.

His mom’s steps echoed from out of sight. “You aren’t escaping us that easily, ghost,” she spat the last word. “How long have you been possessing Danny?” She finally came into view, goggles blocking her eyes and her mouth hard.

“I’m not possessing him, I am Danny!”

She sneered. “Jack, now.”

“Release our son!” shouted his father. Then he pulled out a spray can and held down the nozzle.

Danny saw the mist approach him and scrunched his eyes closed as he turned his head to avoid the spray. But of course it was impossible. He whimpered as it settled on him, tiny pinpricks of burning. As he lay there, the feeling grew more and more intense until he couldn’t help but cry out.

And that’s when he breathed it in.

It was all agony, inside and out. The mist settled in his lungs, pure fire trying to melt core.

With a flash of light, he was Danny Fenton again. His heart beat in his chest and his lungs screamed for oxygen. The pain didn’t go away, but it lessened. Danny gasped in deep breaths, his limbs shaking in their restraints as he tried to push through the pain.

“Did it work?” asked his dad.

Fingers brushed his hair off his forehead. “Sweetie? Are you back with us?”

Danny opened his eyes, tears gathering and looked up at the face of his mother.

Her expression turned from hope to hatred so fast he thought he was dreaming. “Green eyes, Jack. The ghost is just trying to trick us.”

“The ghost repellent has never failed before. How are you surviving, ghost?”

Danny screwed his eyes shut so he wouldn’t have to see his parents’ faces. “It’s me, I promise. It’s me. I’m alive. I’m alive.”

“Stop lying!” screamed his mom.

Then he felt a sharp pain in his side, followed by a wave of agony. He felt like he was being electrocuted again. In defense, he transformed back into Phantom—his ghost form was so much more durable.

But the pain only got worse. He screamed. His wail was crawling its way up his throat, only to fizzle out into a wave of electricity when it hit the anti-ghost restraint strapped around his neck.

“Loud, isn’t it?” asked his father.

“Let’s shut it up, Jack,” said his mother.

“No, no please. It’s me, Danny!”

They ignored him, though. The pain stopped just long enough for him to gasp in a few breaths. Then piece of metal was being fixed under his jaw and over his mouth. His head was yanked up so it could be strapped in the back. Danny tried to yell into the muzzle, but it muffled all sound.

After that, he lost track of what they did. So many inventions were taken out, used, and discarded. Anything to destroy the ghost part of him or force him out of his living body.

He wished he could obey. That he could just be their son again and not Phantom. But he’d learned many times over the last three years that it was impossible. He was both Danny Fenton and Danny Phantom and spitting himself apart would only ever lead to destruction.

He didn’t know how many times he was forced into a transformation as his body tried to choose the form more resistant to the torture. It didn’t seem to matter, though, if he was Fenton or Phantom. His parents would check his eyes or use the ghost tracker and then the next wave of pain would wash over him.

Eventually, however, even his parents ran out of inventions to use.

“This isn’t working, Jackie.”

“What if we can’t force it out, Mads? What next?”

“We’ll cut it out. You know we’ve long hypothesized about the existence of a ghost heart. What better way to test our hypothesis than cutting the parasite out of our own son?”

Danny’s eyes flew open and he tugged with aching muscles, twisting as much as he was able. His muffled protests were ignored just as much as his words had been.

“Where do you think it’s hiding its heart?” asked his dad.

“We’ll use the Fenton Scanner to find the areas of densest ectoplasm concentration and search each of them.”

His mom stalked out of sight and Danny could hear her rummaging through various bins and cabinets looking for the scanner.

His dad, however, stared down at him, eyes hidden behind his goggles and his mouth in an uncharacteristic frown. “If you’re still in there, Danno, we’re gonna get rid of it. We’ll free you, son.”

Danny wanted to tell him he wasn’t trapped, to say again that he was himself, whatever he looked like. But all he could do was whimper and blink away the tears.

Then mom was back, a small scanner in her hand. She pointed it at Danny and he tensed, expecting more pain.

But he felt nothing. Soon enough, the device beeped and she waved over his dad.

“Look at this, sweetie. It’s working better than I expected. Only two main areas of ectoplasm concentration: his brain and his chest.”

“That’s awfully close to his heart, Mads. I don’t know if we can remove it without hurting Danny.”

“If we don’t remove it, he’ll be dead anyway!” Her last word caught on a sob.

Danny was crying in earnest now, too. This couldn’t be real. It just couldn’t. How long would it take anyone to even notice? Jazz was away at college, Tucker had plans with his parents all night, Sam was trying to get along with her parents to get out of a rich-person function later in the month, and he and Tim didn’t have a check-in until Sunday.

Could he survive his parents for two whole days until then?

He forced his eyes open to see his parents hugging. All he wanted was to be between them, caught up in their embrace. But instead he was strapped down to a hard, cold table.

They separated.

“Hold him still, Jack,” said his mom.

So Danny did the opposite. He ignored the ache of his muscles, the way they protested, to twist and yank and move as much as he could.

But his father’s hands were big and he was strong and Danny was tired. When his dad spread his hands over his shoulders and pressed, Danny couldn’t fight back. Above him stood his mom, holding a scalpel that glowed green.

Danny closed his eyes tightly when he saw her lower the blade. He couldn’t watch this. Then agony as it sliced through his skin.

Danny screamed into the muzzle. The pain was so intense that he could focus on nothing else. He didn’t know if his parents were talking to each other. He didn’t know what they were finding inside of him.

Instinct forced him to hide his core, to push it smaller and disguise it. But he knew that nothing would stop his parents forever.

He had no way to judge the passage of time. It felt like an eternity; it felt like a second.

Then the hands on him ripped away suddenly and new shouts, new voices, rang out in the lab.

Danny blinked his eyes open to see Sam and Tucker above him. Sam was paler than he’d ever seen her and Tucker didn’t look any better. He tried to talk to them, but the muzzle still covered his face.

Sam turned her head away and shouted, “Kon!”

A moment later, Superboy was landing next to her, his face grim. Then Danny’s restraints, muzzle included, fell to pieces. He was free.

He pushed himself up, needing to see, only to cry in pain and fall back down when the cuts on his chest protested the movement.

Sam and Tucker shouted at him, told him to stay still. Their words were fuzzy and hard to focus on. Everything was hard to focus on. But in the brief moment of time he’d been able to see more than the ceiling above him, he saw Tim in full Red Robin get up using his staff to keep his parents away.

Tim was here. And the world went black.

-----

Next

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After about 40k of writing, we're finally back to the scene that started it all! Only now with 4x the number of Young Justice on hand. About three years have passed between Arc 2 and Arc 3, so they've all gotten quite close. There's group chats. So many group chats. Danny's met more members of the Young Justice (and I may write a few of those meetings in the future which is 80% why I decided to make this a series rather than a single work on AO3).

But on the rescue team we've only got Red Robin, Superboy, Wonder Girl, and Impulse.

I'm about a third of the way through with major edits for Arc 2. So I'll probably start cross posting to AO3 quite soon! Main changes are in what Tim tells Bruce about where he is and what he's up to.

[revalition]

New banner!

I finally have finished both the WIPs I have been working on on-and-off since september! (and throwing pieces of into some of the skilltober posts) and was planning to wait until we're done to post them but. restraining from posting one is bad enough. so!

this is *way* too long to all fit in the banner, as you can probably tell (because I was dumb and trusted the first search result that said banners should be 3000x1055 :D ) but oh well. And many of these guys have old designs I have since changed, and some of it looks weird but TOO BAD. sending it out into the world anyway cause I need it off my computer.

version without the red tint and close ups under the cut

the red colour is to go with our blog theme lol. without the tint:

yes I just crammed shivers in there for the sake of including her

[vannyplex]

Okay, so I finally have made enough progress to where I can officially announce my FNAF Security Breach comic, Glitched Entropy!

It is a retelling of SB, but with some changes such as Vanny and Vanessa being fully separate people.

Just an FYI: I absolutely believe Vanny and Vanessa are the same person, it’s basically confirmed at this point & I think their characters are much more interesting that way! This project is just for fun, it’s simply exploring a different version of SB’s story. It’s not meant to act as a theory :D

This AU features all of the characters in Security Breach, as well as some new faces (shown below):

I started working on this project in March of last year because I was quite saddened by the lack of certain characters (*cough* Vanny and Vanessa) in SB, so I thought I’d create my own take on it for fun! It includes all of the events from the game, plus some extra sequences as well :D

This has been a super involved project and I don’t anticipate it being fully finished for a while yet, but I can share WIPs, etc as I work on it! I’m really excited to announce it finally, it’s been tons of fun to work on and I can’t wait to show more as time goes on!

The story will switch between Vanessa and Gregory’s POVs and will be segmented into different chapters. I don’t want to spoil too much of the story just yet, since it’s still gonna be a few months before it’s officially posted.

But, if you have any questions I’m happy to answer them! :D

[real-life-senshi]

It's the 20th anniversary of the PGSM Final Act Air Date in Japan! 🎉

PGSM Final Act aired on Sep 25, 2004 in Japan! Given the timezone difference, I've queued this to publish Sep 24, 2024 my time instead.

To celebrate, here's a re-upload of the transparent art I did 2 years ago in better quality thanks to Tumblr's site updates! Click on the picture for some surprises! Read more for the coloured versions below! But please don't look at them until you've seen the surprise in the transparent art! :D (If you have dark mode on, then please click read more to see what the image would look like without dark mode.)

Additionally, please have a Final Act Rei and Minako reunion hug that we were unjustly robbed of after the trauma of Act 47. 👍 It's not my best work since I had to rush to finish it, but I just had to get it out for the anniversary! Rei and Minako's story deserved a better conclusion!!!!

Now there are 2 last WIP that I need to finish for the Special Act anniversary...

Coloured version!

If you have Tumblr dark mode, this is what the image was intended to look like in light mode, and 'surprise!' in the dark mode.