#i wanted to do a more complex piece but ive been slowly working my way up to it

[certainkindofscientist]

Literally the 3 worst people you have ever met are in love. Win?

[eepyfaggoth]

Job Opportunity in Boston

Hello! I'm a multiply disabled medically complex wheelchair user in greater boston who relies on caregivers and i am hiring! No experience necessary, just be resourceful, patient, covid cautious, dependable, and an enthusiastic learner. Especially looking for other fat people! Hoping for someone who drives but I am accessible via the T.

Turning to tumblr as a bit of a hail mary because i am having a really hard time finding someone who can do the job, show up, and also be normal to me as a fat disabled queer through local channels, and i have one worker now who comes as often as they can, but ive been without adequate support for a while. i would appreciate anyone and everyone who reblogs, to possibly get this in the eyes of someone who might be a good fit! welcoming advice as well!

I have the sweetest esa cat

Pay is 19$ an hour funded by masshealth, i have 30-35 hours available and you can work as many or as few of those as you want

Im still very much trying to figure out life with my disability and how to function and organize and communicate my needs and navigating what I'm emotionally able to accept help with, but in general I need help with housework, cooking, managing my medical care, pushing me in my manual wheelchair, sometimes help using a slide board, and I'm still trying to figure out what things look like on a daily basis. going places with or for me. helping me get in the car, helping me pack a backpack if i need to go somewhere. getting mail, helping clean and pick things up off the floor, organizing medical appointments, making phone calls, unpacking medical equipment. emptying a pee jar. Helping me manage/charge medical equipment. I have a hard time lifting my arms a lot because of really bad neck issues, and i have really limited stamina. Putting drinks in smaller bottles, taking packaging off things. I also kind of need help with dressing and bathing sometimes but I have a really hard time coping with that and so like. That happens when it happens and is what it is. I have some systems for washing my hair without actually getting in the shower. I have variable conditions so things might not be the same all the time, on a good day I might be able to sit up for a while and do tasks, on a bad day it's very hard to bring a drink to my lips.

There's no physically lifting my entire body, but I do need someone who can lift the 50lb largest piece of one my wheelchairs and standard everyday heavy stuff like groceries or boxes of protein shakes. And sometimes my limbs. There's also likely things like reaching and stooping, alas, I drop a lot of things on the floor. I have a lot of allergies and some tasks are more complicated than they otherwise might be, and Im really hoping to find someone who can pay attention to detail and is comfortable working through things slowly.

i have a lot of allergies so memory and attention to detail are important, as is a willingness to wash hands frequently. i have a disorder called mast cell activation syndrome and frankly the precautions i need to take feel absurd

covid precautions:

Masks required! I'm hoping to find someone who also takes other precautions.I also need someone to be careful about monitoring yourself and not coming in if you are sick with *anything* because I *will* get it and it *will* be a multiple week ordeal where I likely experience dangerous symptoms. must be able to test weekly and mask with a k/n95 while around me. ideally be someone who lives low risk (masks everywhere, doesnt attend crowded events / spaces, etc). cannot be someone with a high risk lifestyle (has kids in primary school, unmasked in food service areas regularly, etc) we can talk about my precautions too, right now i havent left my house in weeks, i have two way masking with my current pca, and occasionally an unmasked delivery person will come into my apartment though id like to work on solutions to this. i need to like. revamp my precautions. but i dont go anywhere without a mask, i only have unmasked contact with another person if someone comes into my apartment and i cant get to my mask, i am eating while my pca is here and they are masked, or when my also homebound and careful partner is visiting. if someone was working for me more than 25 hours a week and lived a very low risk life i might be open to having a bubble with them during non surge times with precautions like air filters?

i really try to create a calm and positive work environment, though i have complex and real needs and i've been struggling to survive for a long time and i am very overwhelmed. i care deeply about a humanizing workplace, and i am looking for someone who will care enough about my needs as a human being to take the job seriously even though i am as flexible as possible.

About me, in case that helps?

Fat genderfluid dyke. I'm on my third medical leave from college (like a champ!) but I study medical anthropology, disability studies, and linguistics. I don't get out much or do a lot right now because of my illness but i like fiber arts, music, I don't do tons because I spend most of my time in bed but im really passionate about mutual aid, it's been a a minute but I've been wanting to get back into d&d, I think the magicians is the greatest work of television ever written, and I've been trained as a clown and want to try stand up (well, sit down) comedy at some point. I'm a bit neurotic but very self aware. trying to sort out anticonsumerism in the context of my disability. i value creativity, resourcefulness, autonomy, and consent.

(if this went like really well, i am also potentially looking to apply for housing assistance with accommodation for a room for a live in aid, but probably in western mass. idk)

Gwen :) he/they

Message for details

[nilboxes]

Can i just...drop in and say THANK YOU for writing ratio the way you do in your fics...i mean, thank you for sharing your writing GENERALLY because i think it's got such a beautiful, dark, alluring vibe to it all and you really do aven and ratio soooo much justice (which is, sadly, something quite rare to see in what i've experienced of this fandom so far). but ratio especially because ive seen so many bad takes on him recently and coming across your works has been literally therapeutic. i mean, on some level i don't blame people for not grasping his personality, but some of the takes are just so atrociously off the mark and idiotic that...augh, seeing them fills me with dread fr fr. sorry to not be in the presence of mind to point out the details of what i like abt your portrayal of him - this is just me expressing my thanks for your cooking, from one ratio appreciator to another.

Hello Anon! Thank you so much for your kind words 😭 and you're welcome! It's really nice to hear that my love for Dr Ratio is shining through, because I really really really really do love him to bits and pieces (I call him my princess haha), he's so driven and so kind and yet he seems like a lonesome figure despite his big heart because he stands sooo apart from everyone, being a class of his own and yet AJHDJAKSHD urghh (and Aventurine is the same, they are both such loner, alienated types and they have found each other and it makes my heart soar so hard)

I know what you mean about their characterization and the bad takes I really cannot 😭 like people can do what they want really but it makes me sad that very complex characters seem harder to grasp and so it's easier to just put into vastly cut and dried stereotypes for a ship and seem to have waaay more traction, but these fics are somewhat personally self-indulgent in that they are my canon companion/adjacent pieces for myself to fully enjoy the game and these wonderfully complex characters some more 🤣. I'm so glad and lucky there are at least a few people who have been very vocal about their enjoyment of them, which makes them all worth it in the end! It's still nice to hear and still really gives me such a boost that I'm writing with takes that resonate with others too.

and the only thing I can really do is write fics (I still got a lot more Aventio me I think!) and possibly essays about them (I am formulating a Ratio essay with regards to his feelings regarding being overlooked by Nous in relation to the philosophies of Sartre, Heidegger regarding existential Abandonment by "god" and of course Nietzche which seems like a HYV fave as much as mine) in order to just slowly combat it. They really are super challenging to grasp like sometimes I feel like I have to explore only one side of their characters for a piece because I've got so much thoughts about them I would like to express in action and ahhh

Anyway I have rambled a lot, but thank you so much Anon, writing about Ratio grief for Etiam part 2 is taking a lot out of me and this was quite a great perk-me-up! I just hope to deliver good food soon in thanks ♥♥♥

[in-ky]

Hi! I’d love a story about Negan being a serial killer who only kills “bad people” (like in Dexter) and maybe he saves the reader from her ex who’s about to kill her and Negan can save her and takes her in because she’s a mess but she’s actually a killer herself (who kills rapists etc/ only the bad ones) and Negan and the reader start fighting and then get caught up in steamy hot sex 🥵 thank you!

Savior - Negan Killer AU

Warnings: Warnings: GORE + violence, smut, domestic abuse, swearing, dirty talk ig? idk how to tag this lol

A/N: hey! i struggled over this one for a while lol. ive only seen like. 3? episodes of dexter so. i really hope this meets your expectations! also forgive any mistakes its late, im tired, and i wanna get this up lol. also, is negan batman? maybe. 3.7k words

"Will, stop you're hurting me!" I hissed, grabbing at his wrist. He tugged me out of the bustling restaurant and into the dark street.

"I don't really give a shit," He snarled, throwing me into a secluded alleyway a few buildings down from the restaurant. Will had taken me out to a business dinner with his boss in hopes of showing me off and making a good impression. But things didn't quite go according to plan. "You embarrassed me in front of everyone!" He pushed me against the brick wall of the closed department store.

"What was I supposed to do?" I sneered, trying to wiggle away from him "He kept commenting on my body, saying how he wished he could take me home at the end of the night and do all kinds of 'unspeakable things to me'."

"You were just supposed to shut up and take it!" Will said, voice filled with rage "But no, you and your untamable fucking complex just couldn't handle a compliment. You threw your drink in his face! You're lucky he didn't fire me right then and there. You made me look like some pussy who can't control his whore."

"You're an asshole." I shouted, tears welling at the edges of my eyes. Will's face contorted further into a look of pure, unadulterated hatred.

"What the fuck did you just call me?" He seethed, clasping his hand tightly around my throat and constricting his fingers around my airway.

"I said you're an asshole who cares more about his dead-end career than his fucking girlfriend." I croaked. I hated him. I hated him so much. My vision clouded with the combination of disgust, loathing, and lack of oxygen, so I hit him where I knew it hurt. "There's a reason you needed me for arm candy tonight. It's 'cause you're a boring, piece-of-shit, lowlife who has no skill whatsoever. How does it feel knowing you need me to make something of yourself?" With that, he threw me to the ground by my throat. He wasted no time and pinned me to the cold concrete. His knees dug into my shoulders and his hand flew to his back pocket, whipping out the switchblade he carried as a precaution against mugging. My eyes widened as they caught a glint of the moonlight off the sharp knife. He brought the blade up to my throat and slapped me over the cheek harshly with his free hand.

"You better take back those words, bitch," He hissed, pressing the blade into the soft skin of my jugular "or they might just be your last." A dribble of blood ran down my neck with the pressure. Realization flashed through my mind. I could die right then. That could have been my last moment. Was I scared? No. Why wasn't I scared? Maybe it had to do with the shadowy figure that was slowly approaching us from the ally entrance.

There was plenty of time for me to warn Will that someone was coming. But I didn't. Instead, I stayed quiet and watched as the shadow figure pulled Will from my body with ease and tossed him to the side. Everything was kind of a blur. I was still oxygen starved and filled with a whirl-wind of emotion. I heard Will cry out in surprise and indignance. The shadow figure said nothing. It saw the switchblade with a steady line of my blood. It kicked Will in the chest, knocking him to the ground. Then it lifted up a baseball bat over its head and cracked it down over Will's skull. He continued to beat Will until he stopped squirming. The shadow figure paused and swung the bat over his shoulder. I had regained my breath and pushed myself to my elbows. The shadow noticed me moving and took a few heavy steps in my direction. I squirmed away slightly, instincts telling me to get away from the thing that had just pulverized my boyfriend. The shadow entered a stream of moonlight. It was a man. He had peppered hair and a blood-speckled face. He had dark brown eyes and a small smile perched on his lips.

"You okay, sweetheart?" He said. His voice was deep. I was partially surprised. He wasn't a bulky man. He was tall and had a broad frame, but his limbs were long and his body was lithe. He wore a leather jacket and his boots were slick with what I could only assume were Will's brains. I didn't want to look at his bat.

"W-Why did you do that?" I whispered. It was all I could muster.

"He was going to kill you." The man sounded confused, like I was supposed to know who he was and why he saved me.

"You don't know that." My voice was quiet. My eyes were glued to a spot behind the man, unblinking. He let out a throaty chuckle and dropped to a squat, leveling with me.

"Doll, he had a knife pressed to your throat," His words were gentle "Looked like he was gonna fuckin' kill you." He hesitantly reached out two fingers in the direction of my face. I didn't move. He was wearing leather gloves. The ridged fabric ran along my injuries. "Seems like he did some damage before I could step in. Damn. Sorry about that. Listen, I live a few streets down. If you want, I can get you cleaned up."

"Okay," I said softly. I let him help me up to my feet. He guided me along with one arm while holding his bat with the other. As we walked out of the alley I couldn't help but look down at Will, or what remained of him at least. His forehead was split in half, a pool of chunky blood bubbling on the ground. I clenched my jaw and forced myself to swallow the bile that had risen in my throat. And yet, I didn't feel sad. I didn't mourn him. Maybe it was shock, maybe it wasn't. "Thank you?" I murmured, though it was more of a question. The man and I stepped out onto the street and I was grateful there was no one around to see us leaving the scene of a very heinous-looking crime.

"No problem, doll," The man hummed, setting a brisk pace down the sidewalk. "The name's Negan, by the way." Cool. Negan: my Savior.

~~~

"So you're like Batman?" I asked Negan as he dabbed the blood away from my neck. He gave a short chuckle and tore away the sticky part of the band-aid.

"I guess you can say that," he mused, splaying the bandage over the cut the knife had left "but I specifically go for people that I know have hurt others. The baddies, if you will."

"Is that legal?" I tilted my head, crossing my ankles as they dangled over the bathroom counter. My palms were flat on the surface of Negan's marble sink top, fiddling with the wrappers of the medical supplies he had used to clean and bandage my small cuts and bruises.

"I haven't been caught," Negan shrugged "besides, it's less work for the police. They don't have to do any interrogation bullshit or anything. I usually catch people in the act, like tonight. Then I do my thing."

"Do you kill everyone?"

"Only the bad people," He reminded, tossing away a bloody tissue "only people who have hurt others. But, yes, usually the offender ends up on the business end of Lucille over there." He pointed out the door into the living room, where the still-bloody bat rested against a chair. I furrowed my brow.

"Well, doesn't that make you a bad guy?" I pressed. He tapped my knee and I dropped down to the tile floor, tucking my hair behind my ear and gathering some of the scraps.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, you still kill people, right? Even if they're bad? So doesn't that still make you a killer?" Negan was quiet for a minute. "Let's put it this way," I continued "What would you do if you came across someone who was like you; someone who hurt the bad people. Would you still kill them. They're hurting people." Negan took a deep breath and let it out with a contemplative sigh, itching his bearded chin.

"I'm not sure," He mused "I've never really thought about it before. See, I don't consider myself a bad person per say. Yea, what I'm doing might be considered fucked up. But I'm doing it for the right reason. I'm protecting people by attacking their attackers. In the end, someone's saved." He brushed off his hands and led me out of the bathroom, flicking the light off. "Would you rather me not have saved you tonight?"

"No," I said immediately "thank you. Really, thank you. You saved my life. Will is...was...always a dick, but I never thought he'd actually hurt me. I guess that proves people can have a whole bunch of layers." Negan nodded and moved to the kitchen. He raised a bottle of whiskey as an offering. I shook my head but he poured himself a glass.

"I was just doing my job," Negan grinned sympathetically "I'm sorry your boyfriend was an asshole who tried to murder you." I shrugged, amusement in my eyes.

"Eh, it happens to everyone." I smiled as he let out another laugh. I felt as if I shouldn't be laughing, but at the same time, everyone has their own responses to almost getting stabbed to death in an alley. So I let myself have this moment. Besides, Negan was a good guy to be around. He made me feel safe, comfortable, secure. Everything I needed right now. "So, Negan, what do you do? Surely vigilante-ing can't pay well, and this apartment is really nice."

"I'm a retired baseball player," Negan said, sipping his whiskey and settling into one of the armchairs in the living room "Hence the bat."

"Were you any good?" I asked. He let out a loud scoff.

"Was I any good?" He mocked "Sweetheart, I have a whole damn trophy room. I was fucking amazing. I just got old."

"So you're rich with no real job, you kill bad guys, and you have a massive ego," I listed "You really are like Batman, aren't you?"

~~~

Negan let me stay on his couch that night. It was leather, like everything else that man seemed to own, but it was comfortable. I woke up to the smell of bacon filling the air. I groaned and rubbed my fists against my eyes, clearing them of sleep. I stretched my arms above my head in a yawn and rolled off the couch, stumbling into the kitchen. Negan was hunched over the bubbling pan, dodging pellets of grease as they shot up at him.

"Smells good!" I purred, closing my eyes and taking a deep inhale.

"Good," He grumbled "You better fucking enjoy it because I've gotten burned at least three times." I laughed and walked up to him examining the small red patches that dotted his arms.

"You didn't have to make me breakfast you know."

"Yea, but I wanted to make sure you were comfortable," He sighed, turning off the stove and scooping the cooked bacon onto a paper towel. "Besides, I was craving some bacon when I woke up. I haven't had someone to share a meal with in a while."

"Well, if you want, you can come by my house for dinner." I offered, crunching down on a piece of bacon "I've been meaning to whip out the family alfredo recipe for a while, maybe a hot date would give me that incentive." I gave him a playful wink and he chuckled.

"Sure thing, doll," He hummed, putting the pan in the sink "I love me some fucking spaghetti. I'll see you around seven?"

"Sounds good."

~~~

I ran down the sidewalk, chest heaving. There was enough darkness to cover me, but I still kept my head down to prevent recognition. I held my hands close to my stomach, praying that the blood on my fingers wouldn't drip on the pavement and leave a trail. I had been on my way home from the store when I heard some commotion coming from an alley. My first instinct was to run, but then I heard the girl crying for help. Negan came to mind, what he did, how he helped people. I couldn't turn away. I marched down the alley and saw a greasy man pinning a woman to the wall of a building. Flashbacks of the night before hit me like a train. I looked on top of the alley dumpster  and saw a crowbar perched on one of the lids. I grabbed it and stormed up to the man, whacking him upside the head with the weapon. I kicked him to the side and brought the crowbar over my head before swinging it down. It connected with his face in a sickening 'thwack.' I thought of Will. I thought of what might of happened if Negan had never stopped him. I thought of all the times that bastard had gotten drunk and told me I was nothing. I let the rage bubble up and fuel my beating. By the time I was pulled back into the moment, my muscles were screaming, the woman was gone, and the man's face was unrecognizable. I tossed the crowbar into the dumpster and ran back home.

Dried blood is extremely hard to wash off. It sticks to your skin in flakes, creating a pattern of red veins crawling over your hands. Fuck. I scrubbed as hard as I could under the rushing water of the sink, pumping more and more soap into my hand. It was under my fingernails. It was stuck in my palm prints. Shit, did I leave fingerprints at the scene? Would they be coming for me? With a hiss, I rubbed even harder at my skin, small flecks of blood turning the sink water red.

Suddenly, my door opened.

"I'm ready for my s'getties!" Negan boomed with a wide smile. My head whipped around, looking at him with wide eyes. His grin faded and he crossed the room in record time, grabbing my wrists and turning the sink off. "Is this fucking blood?" He snarled, bringing my hands up to my face. I clenched my jaw and dropped my eyes to my feet. "Jesus, who's is it? Answer me!"

"I-I heard someone screaming on the way home," I said quietly, eyes still downcast "I thought I would help..." His jaw went slack and he let go of my hands, running his fingers through his hair.

"Jesus fuck, you can't just go around killing people!"

"Why not?" I snapped, eyes meeting his "You do it all the time? What's the difference? Why can't I help people?"

"Because it...Because you just can't!" Negan growled, shaking his head.

"Why are you so special?" I hissed back, drying my hands off on a towel before tossing it at him "It's not like you can get a permit for fucking murder. Why do you do it, anyways? Is it some perverted thing? Do you get off on saving people from attackers?"

"Watch yourself." Negan warned, eyes darkening.

"Pfft, or what?" I laughed, tossing my head back "What are you gonna do, kill me? I'm not afraid of you, Negan." As soon as the words left my mouth, he charged me. His hand flew to my throat, squeezing my airway lightly. His hips pressed me against the counter. I let out a small gasp when he shoved his face next to mine.

"Oh, but doll, you really fucking should be." He spat, curling his lip "I could snap your neck right here, right now." He gave a small squeeze to emphasize his words. I let out a strangled moan. We both froze. "Are you turned on right now?" He muttered, furrowing his brow. I licked my lips and squirmed in his grip, pressing my thighs together slightly in an effort to alleviate the warm pressure growing in my belly.

"No," I lied, voice weak. A sinister grin curled over the bottom half of his face and he licked his tongue over his teeth.

"And I'm the perv, huh?" He sucked on my earlobe and peppered kisses down my jawline "Sweetheart, tell me, do you want me to fuck that pretty little pussy of yours? Do you want me to make you cum harder than you ever have?" I whimpered at his dirty mouth. "Use your words, doll, or I'll leave right fucking now."

"Y-Yes!" I breathed as Negan's lips sucked on the sweet spot right beneath my ear.

"Yes, what, princess?"

"Yes, I want you to fuck me, please!" I groaned, clawing at his shirt. He let out a short chuckle, muttering something about how needy I was, but I didn't care. Right now, the only thought running through my head was that I needed Negan. I needed all of him. And damn me if I wasn't going to get it.

We clawed at each other's clothes like rabid animals. Once we were completely bare, Negan moved his kisses down my body. His large, calloused hands kneaded my breasts, twisting my nipples between his thumbs. My arms flew around his neck and I dragged my fingernails up his back. He shivered against my touch and slid his hands further down my body. They settled firmly on my hips as he captured my lips in a fervent kiss.

"Fuck, sweetheart," he grunted, pulling back for air. I looked at him. His tawny eyes were now black, pupils far beyond dilated with lust. Both of our lips were swollen and red from the intensity of our kisses. Negan's chest inflated and deflated quickly as his eyes roamed over my body. "You're so damn perfect." I smiled sheepishly and pulled my bottom lip between my teeth, looking up at him through lidded eyes.

"You're not so bad yourself," I reached out my hand and used my pointer finger to draw a line from his collar bone down the center of his chest and through his navel, finally ending right over his pulsing cock. He sucked in a breath as my fingers closed around him. My thumb swept over the hot tip, gathering precum on the pad of my finger and rubbing it around.

"Shit," He hissed as I slowly pumped him "I'm not gonna fucking last if you keep doing that." He gently pried my hand away and took a step closer to me. I could feel his hardened length resting against the inside of my thigh. The thought of him being so close made a burst of heat rush down between my thighs. Negan took a long finger and ran it through my folds, collecting my wetness. I moaned as he teasingly dipped the first knuckle into me. He pulled back and let out a low whistle. "Damn, girl," he chuckled, raising his finger to my face "You're fucking dripping. Who's that for?" His slick-coated fingers glistened in the light of my apartment. I let out a deep groan as he slid them between his lips and sucked.

"You, Negan!" I whimpered, wrapping my legs around his waist "It's all for you." A wolfish grin spread over his features as he tugged me off him and pulled me down off the counter. He spun me around and pressed gently between my shoulder blades until my chest was flat against the cold surface.

"Then if you don't mind," Negan cooed, lining himself up with my entrance "I'm going to take what belongs to me." With that, he slowly pushed into me. I gasped at the stretch, balling my hands into fists as he continued to split me open.

"Fucking shit," he groaned once he bottomed out "you're tight as hell. I bet you've never had a dick as big as mine." He pulled out slightly and I let out a moan at the growing emptiness inside. The moan soon turned to a yelp when he brought down his hand against my ass. The smack was loud and he rubbed the red spot tenderly. "Have you?"

"N-No!" I gasped when he thrusted into me for the first time "Never. Fuck, you feel so good." Negan's thrusts sped up, his hips snapping against my ass in an obscene rhythm. Grunts and moans of pleasure slipped from both of our lips as he plowed unapologetically into me. I could feel every inch of him. He was hitting every spot, dragging against my walls in a sinfully perfect way.

"You're doing so good," He purred, kissing and biting my shoulder "So good for me. You're so perfect." I tossed my head back and he grabbed my chin, tilting my face towards him so he could give me another bruising kiss. I could only keep up for so long, though, and the white bliss of pleasure he was giving me soon became overwhelming. My jaw went slack and my head dropped against the cool tile of the counter in an attempt to ground myself in the moment. "I want you to cum, doll, cum around me. Wanna feel those walls squeeze me." His thrusts were starting to become sloppy and I could tell he was getting to his end. One of his fingers danced down my spine and found its way to my clit. He circled it with just enough pressure to get me to the edge that I was so willing to jump off. "Now." Negan growled. I obeyed, feeling the band in my lower abdomen snapping violently. We reached our releases simultaneously. My walls clenched around him, milking him of every drop. I screwed my eyes shut and screamed his name, holding in a large breath as the world around me spun. Negan eventually pulled himself out and collapsed on top of me. We both were breathing heavily, sweaty bodies entangled as well as we could over a counter. I swallowed, my throat dry from panting through my orgasm. When my eyes fluttered open, I could see Negan's thumb tracing circles over the love bites that were starting to darken on my shoulders.

"Are you going to kill me?" I rasped, running a hand through my wild hair "I guess I'm a bad person now." Negan chuckled, still out of breath.

"I think I'll make an exception," He mused, pressing a sweet kiss to the shell of my ear "I don't think I'm ready to let you go just yet."

[wizzycore]

the thing about karamelle is that it tries to have 2 separate plots going on at once and it fails. the Cabal plotline (the disappearance of the Old One) and the Corporate plotline (the strikes and unions and propaganda and whatnot). The plots are so utterly disconnected. You can explain one without even mentioning the other. as a young author, i can tell you: that is BAD WRITING. Things need to connect. Plotlines must be weaved together like rope, not simply placed side by side like hay.

like, at least Zafaria's individual plot (finding the missing students) connects to the overall plot of Arc 2 (stopping morganthe), because Morganthe actively split the students up and kidnapped the Prince to recover something that'd aid her in her own goals. As you quest through the world you slowly discover how deep her influence runs, and slowly piece together her plot. It builds her as a villain, albeit only subtly.

oh yeah for sure like this is mad well written, (your ask i mean) i just really fucking hate zafaria because im a hater. im sorry to morganthe im just a little hater. idk something about fighting the elephant guy a billion times and also the weird way zafaria gets treated by the narrative (whitely) just makes me not like it.

see heres the thing i actually had a BETTER time there in zafaria than im having so far here. also thank you everybody for being very courteous about not spoiling the dip-end of karamelle for me! i appreciate u all very much for being careful.

anywho, you're exactly right! hell i didn't even think about how much the two plots do not mesh at all i was too busy burning with rage about the way yw was absolutely just jerked around thruout it so far.

OH, yeah, so! LOOOONG rant below. ill just cap it under a read below. here we go.

soooo MY personal gripe with the writing of karamelle so far is just....... it both assumes the player is extremely smart and extremely stupid -- things that have been explained by characters (example - GRETA) in one moment is immediately ignored for the next 20 quests because the story assumes you didn't read it, and makes the wizard look like a total idiot. but THEN, because we no longer have the anchor of a narrator (which, though it doesn't, in my heart makes this feel sooo much messier), we're left to try and divulge information from so many unreliable narrators, so often that we're left with genuinely Nothing to work with in EITHER plot. I *really* wanted to be a part of both plots! I gave them both such a chance! And the old one/cabal plot TRIES to be a faux-murder mystery, but it doesn't follow up on that because it drunkenly falls into the unionizing plot (i.e the frankly obnoxious half-truths that von trap seems obsessed with dropping before leaving) instead of delivering meanful information to the player!!!!!

there was one moment where i genuinely said, "okay, yw cannot be doing this, are we hypnotized right now?" and my friend said, "no, but i appreciate your leaps to try and make this make sense", and then seconds later we heard a piece of dialogue that genuinely made them think "no, maybe you're right". i just. god. this world seems like it had such good BONES, is the thing!

i think another place where this paradoxical player is smart/player is stupid blunder occurs is in actually just the delivery of the themes of the unionization plot. every post ive seen so far seems to talk about this the most LOL. like........ the themes could NOT be more hamfisted. its sort of as though they expected that the market they were writing for in arc 1 had to suddenly digest themes with a level of complexity that the audience for arc 3 was used to. except arc 1 writing was literally more complex than this.

ACTUALLY, i take that back. the writing in karamelle IS complex -- but i mean that INCREDIBLY derogatorily. the writing is complex because its convoluted, because we're handfed so many dead-ends and lies in the haste to try and MAKE the player understand that this is a propaganda driven society (DESPITE the fact that in the past "propaganda" such as the old one existing in the first place or, say, grandfather spider being real (stretch) were true) that the story just handwaves away from the INCREDIBLY obvious, child-media level of obvious, themes and tries to direct the player towards some bullshit they won't need 10 levels from then, just in an ATTEMPT at complexity.

not to stan empryea, but im going to compare really quickly to the nimbus section of empryea. nimbus has the same bones as karamelle does. two groups, both giving false information, interfering and fucking with the player at every moment. but from the MOMENT you enter nimbus you can feel somethings off (and, actually, we in my discord server were somewhat dissatisfied with how long it took to uncover what we had already figured out) (and secondly, it's less in your face than karamelle. good lord.) and the buildup is TANGIBLE. the discovery of clues as to what happened to sparck and his parents, what side people are truly on, and what their plans are, are CONSISTENT. they are SOMEWHAT SUBTLE. and they build up to something EMOTIONAL and IMPORTANT to the PLAYER (bat!! the chains!!). nimbus does, admittedly, do its share of thinking the player is stupid -- but it doesn't IMPEDE the story. the red herrings given are distracting but in a way that makes sense narratively.

AND!!!! the themes of the effects of militarism, the conflict between science and religion or magic, the themes of blood and what that means, they aren't as CRAMMED down the players throat. you are free to interpret the events, to understand them and what they mean underneath the setting, and most importantly to understand what they mean for the player!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! AUGHHH!!!! and the only time they fail at this is sacrificing complexity for comedy (niles) (but its funny so it gets a pass).

karamelle, i gotta say, takes all the minor flaws of the nimbus storyline and cranks them up to ten, and then adds a couple more on for good measure.

and (my last rant point) karamelle just. Isn't Enjoyable. Even if you look past all of the story blunders, even if you look past the age old "ah, the first world of any arc isn't necessarily going to be perfect", even if you look past the INCREDIBLY crammed in theme conveying.... karamelle isnt fun!!!!! the (as my dnd dm friend says) railroading is a constant frustration, the locations are dreary (purposeful, yes, but to push a point the audience ALREADY UNDERSTANDS!!!!!), and it feels as though you can take no action that counts whatsoever. your hand is dragged by von trap more than your hand has ever been dragged before. all of the folktale and fairytale references are simple headnods at most and never incorporated very much into the story, and the locations that are fun to look at you never stay in very long.

i understand that the story is meant to be heavy, but the khrysalis storyline is said to be the heaviest one ever executed, and yet you feel engaged and BOPPING to the storybeats all the way through. (well, if you can get through all of the quests.) (luckily, in a pure force of hyperfixation, i stayed engaged and boppin the whole time). and, i realize that this may be a reaction to what fans felt were what they liked least about, say, mellori -- the excessive comical relief. well, in karamelle, i feel as though they struggled to find a middle point. not just in comedy but in immersion, in creativity, and in the level of enjoyment the average player might have.

soooo. yeah.

[shidoukanae]

YGO! Questionnaire

Tagged by @cipher-wise​

Favorite series:

My favorite series based on what I watched and enjoyed would have to be Arc-V!!! It's honestly the series that got me to adore YGO when previously I'd seen YGO as, and I chilidishly quote, "uncool". Everything about Arc-V is pretty much wonderful: Yuya's presence as a "everyone MUST be happy" kind of character in a plot that discusses themes of war, revenge, and despair is absolutely refreshing (especially when Yuya's ideals of happiness are stripped from him and made a mockery of by, *coughs* one of my favorite characters in the franchise *coughs*). 

I love how the four Yuu boys are a wonderful combination of "protagonists" (/anatagonists) and how they each play off of each other's weaknesses and strengths, often acting as mirrors to each other in their individual dimensions while having amazing interactions (Yugo and Yuri, anyone? Yuri and Yuya?).

I admire how the endgame plot is a perversion of Yuya's ideals: he gets what he wants, showering happiness upon all, but that "happiness" is corrupted into the notion of entertainment. While Yuya seeks to provide people with smiles and laughter, to give them hope to work together through tough times and to stay strong in the face of adversity, his "counterparts" in the endgame are really good at acting as Yuya's mirror: showing that his style of performing can also be used to appease the bloodthirst of one's own self and that happiness can be corrupted into self-deserving power.

...Hard to put that into exact words without spoiling a lot of things but, gosh, let's just say that Yuri and ____ are the perfect mirrors to Yuya in terms of what his entertainment dueling style is meant to be.

The plot over all is pretty good! I won't lie and say it stands strong all the way throughout the story but the first half is amazing and there are some pretty strong episodes in the second half (Yugo and Rin, the parasite episodes in general, Yuri Yuri YURI). I can definitely say that the humor is there, the characters are amazing (if nothing else, watch for the Yuu Boys, the Bracelet Gals, and Shun versus Sora!!) and having come into the show around episode 104, I was pleasantly surprised by the trip Arc-V brought me and how it played with its protagonist, giving him hope, kicking him down, and toying with his mind - just like the way a warzone might to any idealistic individual.

In terms of other series, I like VRAINS but only up to like episode 19 (or the end of the Data Bank arc). It had potential and I kept hoping it would get better but the plot was constantly floundering, there are plot holes abundant (sewer monsters, ugh), character development is inconsistent not to mention very shallow, VRAINS has some of the best side characters but they're kicked to the curb by a bland protagonist and a villain that could've been so much cooler but they made him a sympathetic mess.

...I have a lot of gripes with VRAINS but, if it were to ever be rewritten with clear goalposts and plot twists in mind (not to mention development on ideas like Charisma Duelists because at the end of the show I still have not a fucking clue what a Charisma Duelists is or was) I would say it has potential to become my favorite series but Arc-V clearly beats it for me in every category lmao.

Zexal’s also really good too!!! I don’t get all the hate behind it because it’s actually really interesting and engaging (also IV’s definition of fanservice is literally the only type of fanservice I will ever accept) and I think I’ve even cried a couple of times during the course of the plot which is like,,, shocking considering it’s not a show I thought I’d cry over (I cried in Arc-V too but goddamn does tiny Yuya just want to make you tear up lmao). This show is really good emotionally and it’s literally so stupid how Kaito carries a lot of the early and middle game of the show yet most of the meat of the plot doesn’t begin to unravel until the second season.

Also, if you ever want to watch a show of 100+ episodes that is so masterfully written that there is foreshadowing for stuff in like episode 130+ on EPISODE ONE, please watch this. Literally there are so many hints of what is going to happen in the future in the early episodes and you won’t really be able to tell what those hints are until you’ve finished the show but goddamn when you go back and rewatch things it does indeed feel amazing how much foreshadowing they threaded into the show without you ever knowing...(please don’t search for spoilers if you intend to watch this. I went into the show knowing some spoilers tho not all and, while I was still pleased by what I watched, I honestly can agree the show is A Lot Better without knowing ANYTHING)

Favorite Protagonist: Yuya. For sure, out of all the series, Yuya. 

He’s a refreshing protagonist, especially considering he shines in a world of war and despair. He’s also someone who you empathize with right at the start and want to hope in, especially since he is the “happiness” in a word of “madness” and “sorrow”. He’s not someone out to save the world (not really, anyways), but his actions touch on the lives of others anyways, giving people in a hope in a world that is otherwise cruel and heartless. Also, it really helps that he’s able to pull you into his world of “egaos”, making you believe in him and root for him despite how cheesy his ideals may or may not sound.

Also love how, despite being the centerpiece of “happiness”, Yuya isn’t allowed to always be happy :> Not spoiling plot related things but if you like protagonists going off the rails insane at times, Yuya’s definitely a fun protagonist for that!!!

Favorite Rival:

Kaito Tenjou!!! Literally the best rival in the series that I’ve seen. Everything about him is literally perfect ngl. From the way he’s chillingly introduced, with the spine-tingling whistles and cruel, almost merciless nature, to the way he slowly becomes sympathetic while also remaining a terrifying presence whenever he appears...I love him????

Favorite BFF:

Does Shoichi count? Because like...he’s Yusaku’s closest friend and ally in the series and I generally don’t pay attention to the other BFF’s in the other series (or at least, the ones I can recall bc I know in Zexal that Yuma has a whole group of friends lmao).

But I like Shoichi!! He cares about Yusaku a lot, is pretty damn cool as a sidekick hacker, his sideplot with his brother was actually honestly endearing and I loved the mystery about him. His early-game jokes w/ Ai to tease Yusaku were also a good laugh.

Favorite GFF: 

Not a girl friend forever for the main protagonist (although she like...lowkey confessed to him...though that plot really never went anywhere so I still don’t know what the fuck THAT was about) but,,, Ema Bessho,,

If y’all knew me back in my peak YGO days when VRAINS was airing,,, this gal was and STILL is my favorite girl of the YGO series. Even though she was pretty much done dirty imo I still love her (even despite considering she’s been made a damsel-in-distress at least three times, she’s only ever won one duel on-screen despite being supposedly good at dueling, ngl they could’ve done so much more with her but tbh she’s mostly just an asset to solve problems at whim and barely gets character development/does nothing but watch and spectate stuff late-game).

Even though she’s like...the unfortunate side character who’s probably meant to be more fanservice than interesting, in the first 19 episodes (and even the Revolver vs. her fight as well as the one time she meets Aoi IRL early-game) made her out to be a lot cooler and complex than she ended up being. I mean,,, a hacker gal who’s self-serving, cynical, and cold-hearted taking on the tasks of her (potentially ex) boyfriend while being really nice to his sister to the point she baffles even herself,,, we could’ve had a really unique and cool character to play around with here but instead we got...cool-ass character with potential to be something more reduced to a spectator with nothing better to do than idolize the main protagonist and have a plot with her brother that honestly detracted from her character more than it added to it imo.

Also Ema could’ve been a female Yuri but,,, nope,,, they decided she was better as a background piece instead TwT

Favorite Villain: Yuri.

Literally Yuri.

I could choose the leather jacket w/ fluff boi in a certain series because hot damn was that guy convincing AF that he wasn’t an evil psychopath (and even while knowing that he was, I still got fooled into thinking he was a good guy somehow omg) however,,, I’ve always held a love for Yuri and the way he’s been portrayed.

Despite ALWAYS being the bad guy, the show has always made this purple fucker into the most entertaining character on-screen. He even beats Yuya sometimes in terms of how entertaining he is - that’s literally how good he is,,

Also his facial expressions are amazing, he’s a VERY VALID threat to the main cast (and his creeper levels are not only off the charts but literally called out by the main female protagonist herself lmao), and he acts as the perfect foil to Yuya, battling not to entertain others but to entertain himself.

Also, he likes killing people.

No this is not a joke.

He literally likes killing people. And is pretty sadistic about it, too.

(^^^^ for those who don’t get the joke, “Fusion” is pronounced “Yuugo” which sounds similar to “Yugo” which is what,,, Yuri is making fun of,,, more context is needed of course but this is a Great Running Gag)

Favorite card:

I don’t know if it actually exists as an actual card but...that crystal dragon from the YGO movie with the glass pyramid. Blue-Eyes Shining Dragon...it’s really pretty...I love it...

Favorite Episode:

I’m...too lazy to search for names of these episodes but I can give brief summaries of them,,, because I can’t choose,,,

Arc-V: Shun vs. Sora (ALL episodes). Hot damn if you have never watched YGO but want to try and see for yourself why people like it: WATCH THESE EPISODES. I can’t explain how amazing these episodes are and, while I admit jumping straight into them might have you missing out on some important context (such as who Shun is or why Sora’s battle tactics lead to revelation) it’s honestly an amazing fight regardless. The battle starts off plain enough - there’s obvious tension, it seems like a typical fight of a battle royale, etc. - my god does the battle ramp up in emotional tension and promptly kick you in the gut with not only how blindsided you’ve been, but it also showcases just how cruel these “entertainment duels” can really get.

Any episode with Yuri. Literally any episode he’s in. 

I think this is like...episode 8 of VRAINS...but whenever it is that Akira hires Ema to find the reason why Aoi just...straight up got knocked into a coma. Literally this is my favorite episode when it comes to Ema. The way she makes fun of Akira even while aware of his situation,,, her cruel selfishness and desire for money bubbling to the surface, the way she confesses how she can’t be trusted willingly and still asks Akira why he’s hiring her,,, god I love this episode in terms of what Ema could’ve always been.

Episode 13 (/14?) of Zexal!!! This is the episode Kaito appears and when the show REALLY picks up. Kaito is a fun bastard of a rival and tbh I don’t think I’ll ever stop getting chills of him walking in, debris frozen in time all around him, as he approaches his victim, whistling an eerie children’s tune as he gets ready to close in for the kill,,,,

Favorite Deck to Use:

I don’t...really play the game itself but...I have used a couple of decks and I guess you can say I really love Raid Raptors??? First of all, those warbirds make really fun sounds I love ‘em in the anime but they’re also just fun to use in general (even tho I used a,,, very basic deck for them,,, I love them still).

Fusion, Ritual, Synchro, XYZ, Pendulum or Link:

XYZ bc it’s really the only summoning method I’m used to lol :P. Also XYZ loyalist I guess???? 

Years in fandom: roughly five to six years iirc? I mean, I was a fan of the early day YGO and watched it as a kid but not active enough to be in the fandom for it lmao. Also not in the fandom atm because Sevens lost my attention (it’s a good show!!! I’m just unfortunately more a fan of things with serious plots and darker themes and it’s hard for me to stomach slice-of-life shows that don’t focus on a mature and engaging plot). However, Arc-V and Zexal holds a special place in my heart (as does VRAINS, begrudgingly) and so I occasionally find myself wandering back to these shows like right now,,, 

[missmonsters2]

The Color of You || Part IV

PAIRING: Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Reader/OFC

Summary: It was another mission Natasha was assigned to. Nothing she hasn’t done before. Same mission, different people. Sent undercover to investigate William Cain, suspect to funding terrorism and smuggling weaponry. Under the disguise of Natanya Rovinski, Natasha is ready for another routine mission. Until she met you, William’s fiancé. 

Warnings: There are dark elements to this series. Also, smut later on. 

Genre: Angst, Romance, Drama, Action

NOTE: Y’all know the drill. Drop a comment to be added to tag list! Also, I wrote this while I was sick, so please ignore any glaringly obvious mistakes LOL

PART I || PART II || PART III

PART IV of X

Count: 2420

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The morning before Natasha was to meet William, she decided to stop by to see you again. Natasha’s not exactly sure what compelled her to do so, but it didn’t settle well with her how things ended last night. 

The maid let Natasha right in, stating once more that William was already gone to work. 

Now, Natasha stood before your studio door again, looking through the glass at your back once more. 

You were painting, working on the same piece you were last time. Whatever it was, you were intensely focusing on it.

Natasha let out a slight huff of breath as she tapped her knuckle lightly against the door.

You jumped slightly and genuinely.

“Come in,” you said, turning your attention to the door. You seemed surprised to see Natasha entered, but your face showed no memories of last night--to Natasha anyways.

“Natanya,” you greeted quietly, and it was then that Natasha finally got a better look at you. 

There were streaks of paint on you again, shades of yellow on your arm and even a stripe on your cheek.

Your hair was in a tied up messy bun, strands falling out and framing your face as you demurely tucked a stray strand behind your ear. 

Natasha missed this look of you. Rather than the fancy dresses and strains of politicians around you, she wanted you to always look like this. 

But when she looked at the oversized men’s shirt on you, she couldn’t help but shirk a little.

And you noticed.

“Is that William’s?” It’s hardly words of greeting, and Natasha feels she might regret hearing the answer, but she can’t help it.

You’re ruining her. 

You look down at your shirt and chuckle lightly.

“No,” you tell her, and Natasha feels the tension in her stomach relax, and it annoys her a little.

“I end up ruining a lot of shirts when I’m painting, so I buy shirts in bulk for cheap,” you explain further, tugging slightly at the hem of your shirt.

Natasha only smiled, eyes flitting over to your painting. 

“Yellow today?” Natasha asks even though it’s clear with the streaks of paint on you.

You nod, looking at your work in progress as well. 

“Tell me something about the color yellow,” Natasha says, falling into habits.

“Other than the obvious things?” You tease her and tilt your head when she chuckles.

“Well,” you start, thinking of what to tell Natasha. “Yellow is actually a very difficult color to read. Since it reflects so much light, it’s straining to the eyes. I can’t help but feel happy when I see the color, though.”

“Why?” Natasha asks softly.

You look up to the ceiling, and Natasha wonders what you see.

“It reminds me of my childhood,” you reveal to her. “In my parent’s summer cabin they used to own by a lake. Many yellow flowers grew there, and my mother used to bake sweets while my father fished. I would draw in my sketchbook, and nothing mattered then.”

“What did you want to not matter?”

“The future,” you say quietly. 

The way you said it was so soft and sad that Natasha might’ve missed it if she weren’t hung up on your every word. But then the moment was gone when you looked back down and quirked your lip at Natasha. 

“What else do you see about the color yellow?” Natasha asks you, not sure what else she can say but she doesn’t want the moment to end.

“It’s a complex color,” you tell her. “But it’s also the color for friendship.”

There it was. 

Acknowledgment of last night.

Words that Natasha didn’t want to hear.

And so she crosses the threshold, invading your space as her hand touches the bottom of your back, dragging it’s way up until it’s between your shoulder blades.

“How are you so different from William?” Natasha asks quietly in your ear.

This was exactly what you had asked Natasha not to do, but she can’t help herself. She doesn’t want to pull away.

“How can you tell me to just be your friend?” It was a quiet hiss in your ear. Natasha lined her shoulder up to yours, her right hand covering your left. 

“How can I only be your friend?” She asks you, her lips just brushing the tip of your ear and you bite your tongue.

“When I’m begging you like this?” Her forehead momentarily rests against yours as if in defeat and Natasha feels a wet spot against her wrist.

She pulls back to see a bright shade of yellow against her black sleeve. Your eyes pull down, and you frown.

“Sorry--I’m always getting paint on you,” you tell her, turning away to grab a cloth but Natasha grabs your hand.

“No,” she tells you. “I don’t want you to wipe it away.”

Her hand slowly slips from yours, and Natasha turns away to walks off, adjusting her coat in her arms. 

“Natanya, wait--”

Natasha stops and turns her head back at your call.

“Tell...tell me something interesting too,” you ask her softly.

Natasha purses her lips tightly before sighing as she gives you a half-hearted smile.

“It’s getting harder to pretend you exist only here to me.”

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Natasha pinches the bridge of her nose. 

She’s distracted. 

How immature of her, she thought. 

The entire afternoon, Natasha had been working on looking through the files and following up with Tony to see if he had anything.

The entire time, she couldn’t get you out of her head. 

A part of her--the dark park, whispered about how it was a weakness. You were a weakness, an infection that was making her inefficient. 

But after years of being with Clint, it was easier to silence the voice. 

She heard a car drive up to her front porch and checked the time. 

New plan, Natasha thought.

If she could find out tonight what William’s plans were, and in addition, secure all the microchips, she could be done with this all. 

William would be put away, the microchips wouldn’t be released, and you?

You...

Natasha released a heavy sigh from her nose before she opened the door to see the driver.

“Miss Rovinski,” he greeted before gesturing to the car. 

One step at a time, Natasha reminded herself.

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

The drive was shorter than Natasha thought was normal. 

The driver wasn’t taking her to the warehouse that Natasha had seen Emilio load off the microchips at. 

In fact, she ended up on the Cain’s estate once more, but instead of the main house, she was being led to the right-wing that was detached.

“Natanya, glad to see you made it okay,” William greeted her as she stepped in. She was the last to arrive, seeing many familiar faces of politicians and CEOs of companies that were supporting William’s campaign. 

There was one face that Natasha didn’t recognize. 

A woman with very sharp facial features, blonde hair, and in a tight pencil skirt stood a little further away with her hands behind her back.

Natasha took a seat as William started his presentation.

“I’m glad you all could make it. As you know, I’ve promised for my campaign something revolutionary...and I’m here to provide just that.” William grinned, throwing his palm out to the blonde in the back. She placed something in his hand and William brought it back, placing it delicately on the table.

“What this? A phone chip?” One of the CEOs asked as he leaned closer to take a look. 

William chuckled and shook his head.

“Not even close. This, everyone, is our future. It’s a bio nanochip, meant to be inserted just right behind your ear. It’s a data collector. Anything about yourself will be put onto this microchip. Health, genetics, personal preferences, all of it.”

“Why would anyone want to have that?” Another person asked, William just grinning further.

“Think of it like this. Your family has a history of heart problem, the nanochip picks up on that. You’re constantly making unhealthy choices--not exercising, eating junk food, not visiting the doctor. The nanochip is picking all this up, by the way. Maybe you need a heart transplant--what would you do?”

The men and women looked at each other around the room, perplexed by the hypothetic situation.

“I would go to the best doctor available,” one woman said.

“What if you can’t afford it?” William countered.

“I--” She stuttered.

“What if you’re a student wanting to go to the best university there is, and you didn’t get any scholarships--what would you do?”

“Get student loans from the bank or government,” a CEO offered.

“You didn’t qualify, or maybe you don’t want to pay the insane interest rates for the rest of your life. What then?”

Everyone is silent. Natasha is confused about what exactly William wants to do. 

He pushes the nanochip forward.

“This nanochip collects all your data on you, gives you the information via an app. As stakeholders, you’ve all purchased your share into the company I’ve started up to provide this technology to the public. The chip is free itself but to get it, people must sign an agreement with our company that it can collect, use, or sell their data.” William lifted his finger off of the nanochip, looking at everyone. 

“In situations where maybe people are looking to get a little...help, stakeholder and other companies who purchased into the company can reach out to this individual and set up a side contract with them. Be it their services or whatever they can offer in exchange for the financial help, connections, or whatever it is.”

Natasha felt her stomach dropping more and more as William spoke.

She was going to vomit, she’s sure of it. 

William was going to turn poor people into...into slaves to the rich and to companies.

Poor people who can’t afford healthcare, education, a job, or even a home. They wouldn’t even realize what selling their information would do.

Who is to say a company or person using a someone’s information wouldn’t do things like make them unemployable--forcing them to turn to rich people and companies for help?

The worst part is many people wouldn’t even see a problem with it. They would be stuck in a cycle, relying on the rich to stay alive or achieve anything. The rich would have complete control over people who’ve signed their life away.

“Amazing,” A CEO said, looking at the chip. The potential for free employment was outstanding, and he was already increasing his profits for the upcoming year.

Sure, they may be shelling out thousands of dollars, but whatever they were shelling out would be made back on interest and their services. A trade of equal or higher value.

After all, humans are the best resource there is. 

“How do you know if companies will want to be involved?” A woman asked.

William grinned throwing a stack on paper on the table. “On average, 70% of businesses in each state has already invested in this. Even some internationally. The funding for everything is already secured.”

“When is it set to roll out?” Natasha asked, plastering a smile even though she felt sick.

“It’s already rolling out,” William told her, “it’s been going in batches. The last batch will be shipped out tomorrow night.”

The first thing in Natasha’s head was panic. 

The second was that she needed to call Tony and Steve immediately.

The third was that she needed to get a hold of the last batch. 

There was a small celebration happening, and Natasha stayed as she felt the group was too small for her to sneak out unnoticed. 

When it came to an end, Natasha made sure William watch her leave in her vehicle.

Halfway through, Natasha got her driver to stop, drop her in the middle nowhere, send him off on his merry way as she turned around and made her way to the warehouse on foot.

The warehouse was quiet, quieter than Natasha expected. No guards standing outside, but maybe because that would seem suspicious. Using her intel from last time, she slips through a window, landing gracefully and moves behind a pillar when she sees a guard standing inside at the door instead.

She makes her way quickly to where the crates were last time which was the back of the warehouse, but there’s nothing.

No crates. 

It was all gone. 

Suddenly, alarms were going off, and Natasha found herself in flashing red lights, guards were screaming, and there were footsteps quickly rushing towards her. 

Natasha didn’t have time to make it back to the window where she came in from and quickly left the through the nearest back door that led outside. 

Red flashing lights were on the outside too as the alarms continued to ring and Natasha was running into the trees and bushes outback. 

She could hear the footsteps running after her and Natasha thought she would have to take out the guards.

If she did that, it would alert William for sure someone was onto him. 

Just as Natasha debated on what her next move should be, an arm shot out from behind a tree, pulling her roughly in before shoving her down and underneath a bush to hide.

Natasha was about to attack whoever was on top of her, her body tensing up but when she found herself staring into your wide eyes, fingers to your lip as you signaled her to be quiet, she did as she was told.

Time seemed to stop as the silence shrouded the two of you, the footsteps in the distance.

The two of you didn’t dare move. 

It was an awful time to notice how warm your body was and how much it fitted against hers, but Natasha had always been acute to noticing everything around her.

It wasn’t until the footsteps and voices passed the bush the two of you hid in without incident, the voices fading further and further away until there was nothing but silence again. 

You let out the breath you were holding in, eyes closing in relief, shoulders sagging, and Natasha felt all the tension leave your body.

She wanted to open her mouth and ask you what in God’s name were you doing out here and how the hell you knew she was here.

But you opened your mouth first as you turned your head towards Natasha, eyes ablaze with fury.

“What in the hell were you thinking?!”

PART V

[xmxisxforxmaybe]

Remnants, Part IV

This chapter is another build--there’s going to be a little more action in the next.

    Summary: You are in the midst of formulating your dissertation, but you’ve hit a wall. Your doting aunt, Rebecca, has a solution that brings you face to face with Ahkmenrah, Fourth King of the Fourth King. As the connection between you and Ahkmenrah grows, and as the secrets of his ancient tablet unlock, the once-king will find himself faced with a difficult choice.

    Thanks so much to @kitkatcronch @kpopperotp12 @seafrost-fangirl  @sassystrawberryk and @perfect-rami for reading : ) If anyone else wants added to the taglist, let me know. I’ve greatly appreciated all of the feedback!

    Warnings: Another wee, mild reference to sex. Ahk is a solid 20 years of age to be certain to avoid any squick factor.

* * * * *

  You couldn’t stop thinking about Ahkmenrah’s long-returned-to-dust bedtime garment. Of course, you couldn’t stop picturing him in it and chastised yourself for that, but as his friend, you also longed to help him combat some of that nostalgia. You were really beginning to create a vortex of chaos when it came to your thoughts about the once-pharaoh. You saw him as a person now, a complex, oddity of a person who loved the thing you loved the most, too. The distance you told yourself to keep was now more of a suggestion than a rule.

   You sighed, frowning and mentally swearing to recement your own rule. It was for Ahkmenrah’s safety as much as it was for yours. You two couldn’t have a life together without you sacrificing everything, and you couldn’t bear the thought of having to break his heart if the two of you got in too deep. The true problem was that it was very easy to reestablish a solid boundary when you weren’t looking into his beautiful, intense eyes.

   Oh! Senet! Yes! You thought to yourself, remembering the board game that the ancient Egyptians played. While the rules had never really been discovered, you were sure Ahk would know exactly what it was. There was an antiquities store in Greenwich Village that specialized in recreating ancient artifacts. There was a niggling remnant of a memory in the back of your mind of you gliding your hand across the smooth top of the board, wondering what it would have been like to sit on a rooftop with a fire and the night sky providing just enough light as you played, the burbling of the Nile in the background, its din a sweet music to your ears.

   Yes. Senet would make the perfect gift for Ahkmenrah.

As you packed up your bookbag after a long day at school, you mentally mapped out your late afternoon. You had just enough time to journey into the Village to try to find the game for Ahk before you needed to begin the first chapter of your dissertation. Today had been a great day as you met with the three professors who would be serving as the chairs for your dissertation. Out of the three, there was only one who intimidated you. She was known for being tough, but you weren’t about to let something as little as criticism get in the way of your dream.

  You were just about to step out when your phone buzzed.

  “Done. Give it a look?”

  Your thumbs hovered over the letters as you decided when to meet Ryan.

  “Busy tonight. Tomorrow?”

  “Brunch. North Square on Waverly?”

  “Perfect :)”

  A small part of you longed to tell Ryan about the museum; he would love it, and you knew he would keep it a secret. However, you also knew it just wasn’t worth the risk. You considered Ryan your closest friend, but Rebecca was family, and she had risked everything by telling you about the museum’s secret. You also remembered Larry’s torturous induction; Ryan’s dissertation would be finished by the time Larry actually let him meet an important display.

  You shoved your phone into your bag and headed for the Village, picturing the delight on Ahk’s face when you surprised him tonight.

  * * * * *

Even though you had to explain some of the newer pieces, like dice, Ahk was impressed with how close the reconstruction was. He immediately went over the rules and you then spent the better part of the night losing to him again and again. He was so happy that you didn’t mind at all. And when you finally won a single game, you were highly suspect that he had let you win.

  “May I ask you something?” you questioned as you moved your piece to yet another square of bad fortune, falling further behind Ahk’s own seemingly blessed by the gods gamepiece. 

  Ahkmenrah rested his chin on his hand, a look of concentration on his face as he stared at the Senet board.

  “You may ask me anything.”

  “What was it like for you at Cambridge?”

  Ahk furrowed his brows and looked up, disregarding the dice as he explained, “Well, when I arrived at Cambridge, it was the first time that I had awoken since my entombment. According to Jack, he was the scholar assigned to examine the findings from my tomb and he later became my close friend, the tablet was stolen right before my tomb was sealed. During the excavation of the pyramids, it was actually discovered sealed up beneath a statue of Anubis. For years, people thought it was cursed. Jack, he was such a clever man, pieced together that it was the Tablet of Ahkmenrah, although he got quite a shock when he reunited me with it.”

  The game lay forgotten between the two of you as you listened to Ahkmenrah’s story. He had a strange look in his eyes, as if remembering something bittersweet that he had tried very hard to forget.

  “You don’t have to tell me anymore if you don’t want to.”

  “No, Y/N. I swore to always tell you the truth. It is painful to remember, but I suppose it’s a good kind of pain. It means I’m still human, still alive.”

  Yes, you thought, it most certainly did.

  Your mouth formed a small o of horror as you realized, “So you came to life, literally thousands of years later. That had to have been a shock!”

  Ahkmenrah barked out a sharp laugh.

  “To put it mildly, yes. If it weren’t for Jack, I think I would have lost my mind. He was so patient, obviously eager to learn, like you, but he really took time to explain everything to me. He would sneak me out to take me to all of Cambridge’s museums, and he even took me to the Museum of Natural History. He helped me understand where I was, what life was like now—well, then. He taught me the history of my empire, and more importantly, empathized with me as I grieved for the loss of everything my people had worked to build.”

  “Oh, Ahk, do you still feel that way? Like your Egypt has been lost?”

  “In some ways, yes, because it certainly has. That way of life, my way of life, is gone. But Jack showed me many of the things that my people have given to this world and that brought comfort.”

  “And that was in the 1940s? 50s? We now know even more about the advancements that are credited to the Egyptians, probably because of the work of people like Jack.”

  And then it dawned on you: “Wait a minute. Jack. As in Jack Cecil Evans?”

  “Yes. Do you know of him?”

  You reached into your backpack and pulled out your laptop. Ahkmenrah moved to stand behind you, watching your fingers dash over the keys. Google retrieved several images of Jack, along with the many articles he published on the subject of the Tomb of Ahkmenrah. Ahk was Jack’s life work.

  Ahkmenrah reached out a shaky finger and traced it over the image of Jack on your screen.

  You quietly asked, “What happened to Jack?”

  Ahkmenrah took a deep breath and returned to his seat across from you, his eyes glistening in the light.

  “He died a few years before my exhibit was moved to the United States. I suppose that is when I really began to understand loneliness. Jack knew he didn’t have much time left, so he ensured that I would be safe, able to get out and to move. It wasn’t long, though, before the allure of my tablet attracted those awful men who moved me here and locked me up.”

  Silence settled between the two of you, Ahkmenrah lost in his memories, you lost in making sense of the layers of pain that Ahkmenrah hid beneath his cheerful demeanor.

  “Ahkmenrah, if there’s one thing I could do for you, what would it be?”

  “You have given more already than I could have ever hoped. You are proving to be as good of a friend as Jack, except, you’re a bit younger and much prettier.”

  Your soft laughter pulled a smile from Ahkmenrah.

  “I’m being serious, though. What do you want or wish you could do?”

  Ahkmenrah’s face transformed as it filled with a childish excitement, making him look much younger than his 20 years. 

  He spoke softly, as if afraid someone might overhear: “I want to see the city, really see it. I want to know life as a normal, modern man.”

  Once again, you found yourself forsaking your rule, and you broke out into a grin because Ahkmenrah’s excitement was contagious.

  “Ahk, that’s a pretty simple request.”

  “Is it? You go and ask Larry. I’ll wait here and listen for his bellow.”

  “Larry doesn’t own you. You were a king, Ahk.”

  “Perhaps Larry needn’t know?”

  “No, he needn’t,” you said slowly, returning Ahkmenrah’s sly grin.

  You began to chew on your bottom lip, thinking deeply about what you would need to do to take Ahk out for a night. Clothes and shoes, maybe practice with those, figure out places to go, you didn’t want to wander around in the city and overwhelm him, and—

  “Care to share?”

  “I think we need a night to plan. I can pick up some clothes tomorrow morning and tomorrow night we will make sure they fit. Then we need to plan out where you want to go.”

  Ahkmenrah, his voice filled with anticipation, asked, “May I offer some suggestions of places I have been most curious to explore?”

  “Of course! It’s your night!”

  “There was a photography exhibit a few months ago that showed the view from the Empire State Building. I am curious to see just how high this building is.”

  “Done. I’ve got a friend who can get us tickets. What else?”

  “Music—some of my favorite nights during my youth were sneaking into my parents’ parties and listening to the music, watching the dancing and revelry. I miss. . .people.”

  You smiled, sadness tugging at your heart, but knew this wish was an easy one to fulfill, too.

  “Also as good as done. I know the perfect place in the Village, and it’s near my apartment.”

  Ahkmenrah’s face threatened to split into two as his grin widened even further.

  “Jack told me about life and he explained it well, but he never let me live it. When I was locked in my sarcophagus, I spent most nights worrying that I would never get the chance to live. And you know how Egyptians felt about the gift of life.”

  Indeed, you did. Well, so much for your rule—you’d have to once again reconcile that what you were doing for Ahk was more meaningful than maintaining a boundary. Besides, just because you were giving Ahkmenrah a taste of life didn’t mean that you were in love with him; you were being a good friend.

  “I’m going to duck out a little early tonight to get some sleep. I’m meeting a friend for brunch tomorrow, before work, so I’ll need to run the errands first.”

  “Thank you, Y/N. I am forever indebted to you for your kindness.”

  “Uh, remember those 4,000-year-old papyruses you gifted me with to allow me to finish my dissertation proposal? I’d say we are barely scratching even.”

  Ahkmenrah couldn’t stop smiling and you elbowed him in the ribs as he walked you to the front desk to say goodbye to Larry.

  “Stop smiling,” you hissed. “You’re terrible at being discreet.”

  Ahk composed himself for all of 10 seconds.

  “Fun night?” Larry asked, raising his brow and taking in Ahkmenrah’s unabashed happiness.

  “Y/N brought me a game that we used to play in my time. It was a real. . . blast from the past.”

  Larry laughed and you chuckled, too.

  “You’re really catching onto the slang, Ahk,” Larry said.

  “I’ve always been a quick study.”

  “Goodnight, boys. I’ll see you tomorrow!” you called, waving as you dashed out.

  * * * * *

Shopping had been a success, although you were now ten minutes late for your brunch with Ry, which was highly uncharacteristic for you.

  “I was about to call the coppers.”

  “Sorry—had to run some errands. I’m starving, though!”

  You picked up your menu and scanned for what you wanted. Ryan knew you well enough to know that you couldn’t focus on anything he said until you determined what you were ordering. Once the waiter returned and the two of you placed your orders, you turned your full attention to him.

  You asked him how he thought his proposal turned out, and he explained what he wanted you to look for during your proof. He knew your time was limited, but you assured him that you didn’t mind.

  Conversation flowed without effort and you found yourself smiling, falling into the charm that was Ryan. Things were so easy with him, so easy in the bright light of the sun that streamed through the window of the café.

  “Our mates are all headed out tomorrow night. Any chance I can convince you to meet up?”

  “Tomorrow, huh? I’ve—”

  “You’ve got plans,” Ryan said, his smile faltering a bit. “Any chance you wanna tell me what’s got you so busy all of a sudden?”

  “The same thing that’s going to have you so busy soon enough. I thought you and I didn’t do the whole jealousy bit?”

  “I’m not jealous—just curious.”

  “Mmm. You forget that I know you better than that.”

  “I don’t want you working too hard. You know how you get, Y/N. Your passion for your research is enviable. Is it wrong to wish that maybe you were that passion about something else? To keep a little hope that maybe it could be me?”

  “If you recall, I showed up at the airport and begged you to take me to Australia with you for the summer after the first year of our ‘friendship.’ God, I’m still not over that embarrassment.”

  Ryan laughed, the sparkle returning to his eyes.

  “What happened to that girl?”

  “She’s still here, just a little preoccupied.”

  “Well, I’ll text you, just in case you change your mind about Saturday.”

  Ryan held the door open for you as you exited the café. He pulled you into a tight hug, and asked, “Going my way?”

  “You know I am,” you replied and linked your fingers with his proffered hand.

  You and Ryan walked to NYU, hand in hand, the sun warming your skin and wrapping you up in his radiant energy.

  * * * * *

You had bought two sizes of everything, planning on returning what didn’t fit to the store tomorrow. It had been a long time since you had a boyfriend to dress up, so you were really loving the idea of seeing what Ahk looked like in your purchases. You also brought along some product to attempt to tame his curls.

  You crammed all of your purchases into your backpack, while simultaneously cramming down any thoughts about what you were doing. Brunch with Ryan had reminded you of exactly why you shouldn’t be getting so close to Ahkmenrah. The two of you would never stroll hand in hand through the New York streets in the sunlight. You could never wake up in Ahk’s arms, and the thought of exactly what would happened if you did should have been enough to scare you straight.

  Should have been.

  Except, once again, there he was, and he was barely able to keep from bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet the instant he saw you.

  Ahkmenrah swept forward, his cape billowing behind him, as he grabbed your hand.

  “Come on—I know where we can go to avoid detection.”

  You followed Ahk through the museum and into an old, clearly forgotten storage area. Stacks of boxes lined the walls, overflowing from the shelves that also had boxes and items of antiquity stacked to the ceiling. The room was about the size of a modest living room and was cast in a greenish hue from the single, fluorescent overhead light.

  Ahkmenrah locked the door, stating that as far as he knew, no one at night had a key.

  He started shedding his garments, faster than you could register and when he pulled his belt off, you said, “Whoa. I know nakedness isn’t, like, a thing for Egyptians, but it is for me, well, us, you know what I mean. . .”

  “My apologies. I am just so eager!”

  You laughed shaking your head and pulling the clothes from your bag.

  Ahkmenrah stood patiently now, and it occurred to you that he seemed to be more presence than actual personhood. He was fit, gorgeously proportioned, but he wasn’t a big guy. You sifted through your purchases and selected the smaller sizes.

  You pulled out a package of boxer-briefs and explained to Ahkmenrah that he should put these on before his pants.

  He examined the underwear closely, his nose scrunching up at the idea of being constrained, then proceeded to ask no less than ten questions. You considered yourself a patient person, but finally just exclaimed, “Ahk! Try them on!”

  He hooked his thumb into the tie of his shendyt and pulled, and you whirled around to give him the privacy that he clearly wasn’t concerned about.

  You listened to his shuffling and when he stilled, you asked, “Are they on?”

  “Yes.”

  You turned around and drank in the sight of the once-king in nothing but a snug pair of white boxer-briefs. The white complemented the darkness of his skin, even under the subpar lighting, and for the first time, you noticed the faint trail of dark hair that led beneath the waistband of his newly donned garment. His legs, just as perfectly proportioned as the rest of him, were muscular, strong, and you found yourself wondering if you could make the muscles of those thighs twitch if you were on your knees—

  “Does this look suitable?”

  You swallowed as you attempted to appear perfectly in control of your body’s reaction and nodded.

  “What’s next?” Ahkmenrah asked, still barely containing his excitement.

  You grinned, “Pants.”

  “Damn.”

  “Come on. Don’t discount them before you’ve even tried them.”

  You had chosen a pair of tight-fitting tan pants made of a soft, stretchy fabric. You were a little worried about his reaction to them, so you had also bought a pair of looser fitting jeans as a backup.

  You handed the pants to Ahkmenrah and he put them on slowly; you couldn’t hold in your giggles at the faces he made as he pulled them up his legs and over his hips. It was like you’d made him try on pants made of fire and barbed wire instead of cotton.

  Then, he puzzled over the hook-snap and the zipper for a moment before declaring he was afraid of getting something important caught if he were to zip up the pants. You laughed and told him to tuck himself in while you grabbed the two sides of his open pants. You assured him that everything would stay safe as you zipped up the zipper. Ahkmenrah sucked in a breath, clearly terrified. You showed him how the snap worked, and once he released the breath he was holding, you stepped back to look at him.

  The pants were certainly snug, but they fit him well. He was standing with his legs comically spread a part, clearly unsure about being this confined.

  “And this was why I wanted to practice,” you said as you pulled a shirt out of your backpack.

  “Alright, last piece before shoes. I think you’ll like this one.”

  You pulled out a thin, black, long-sleeve shirt. You figured it would be the perfect balance for a New York summer night that was muggy, but sure to cool as the night wore on. 

  “This is nice,” Ahkmenrah said as he ran his hands over his arms and smoothed out the material.

  “I thought so—it’s primarily a linen blend, something not too far removed from your clothing. And now for shoes.”

  You pulled out a pair of black, high-top tennis shoes that looked like a more expensive version of Converses. Ahkmenrah’s feet ended up being a little bigger than you thought, so you’d have to exchange for a size up, even though he didn’t want to admit that his toes were flush against the shoe.

  “I promise it’s not a big deal. I’ll bring the right size tomorrow. Our night won’t be delayed. You wouldn’t even believe how easy it is to just get another pair of shoes.”

  “I believe it if you say it is true, but it is still difficult to imagine.”

  “If we have time, we’ll walk by a shoe store so you can see just how many pairs are readily available.”

  “Do I look acceptable?” Ahk asked, biting his lower lip, his eyes shining with worry.

  You smiled as you took in Ahk’s appearance before nodding your affirmation.

  “But let’s get to work on that hair.”

[hardyimagines]

Part 1 - War

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Ive received so many requests including Eddie and venom so I’ve tried to mix them together and create a story for you all! I will always take more requests for Eddie & Venom, but this one is a mix of what I’ve received!! I hope you enjoy it.

Venom doesn’t get along well with Eddie’s girlfriend, the reader, and she isn’t exactly head over heels for the symbiote either. When Eddie’s personality starts to change due to the beast living inside him, will he find a way to make things work or lose the only girl he’s ever loved?

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The gravel beneath Eddie was a blur as he strode hurriedly down the crowded pavement. The tip of his boot kicked a rock every now and then and he’d only briefly look in the direction of the pebble, watching as it bounced down the road and out of sight, before he’d tear his gaze back to the area in front of him. “Eddie.” The voice in his head ground out lowly in warning. The man didn’t respond. “What are you looking for?” The symbiote demanded. Eddie’s thoughts were frantic and loud and quite annoying in Venom’s opinion, but he couldn’t silent them.

It had been a week that he’d been living with this— thing. This parasite. He could practically feel the anger forming in his head where Venom was angrily declaring that he wasn’t, in fact, a parasite. This symbiote occupied the internal parts of Eddie’s body and he wasn’t sure how to handle it. At first, he wanted it gone. Now, he just wanted it to be quiet. There were times when he didn’t mind Venom’s presence, not at all, but on occasion, he wished the extraterrestrial would just shut up.

“Eddie!” Occasions such as now. “Eddie!” Your delicate voice sounded in the wind. You watched the way your boyfriend stiffened. The grey hoodie he wore was speckled with sweat and mud stains and as you approached, you couldn’t find an answer as to why he looked so filthy. The blue-eyed man craned his neck to peer over his shoulder. “Y/N.” He rotated instantly. His plump lips pressed together in a purse before the corners twitched upward. Your locks were curled loosely to frame your face. Your cheeks were red from the cold wind kissing your skin as you wished Eddie would and your lips were lightening by the second, a sign that you needed to get out of the cold. You lifted your hand, red-painted nails skimming your forehead as you brushed away a stray piece of hair. “Where have you been?” You inquired. “I tried to call you, but your phone is um-“ You continued before falling silent as he fixed you with a look of confusion. He didnt want to hurt you or leave you under the impression that he didn’t want you.

He rolled the sleeve of his hoodie up to the crook of his elbow before he stepped forward, an apologetic look dancing in his eyes. “I’m sorry, things have been so..” He licked his lips as he sorted through his countless thoughts for an excuse. The truth would frighten you and he couldn’t have that. “crazy, but I’m sorting a few things out. I haven’t had my phone on me and I..” Eddie fell silent as he watched a look of concern and pain swirl around in your gaze. He was hurting you while trying to avoid hurting you. He heard the deep rumble in his head, a sound that meant Venom was growing agitated and hungry and you looked absolutely delicious. “No.” Eddie hissed under his breath.

Your brows lifted at his sudden word. “No?” You pushed on, attempting to drag out why he’d just said that. “Eddie.. I’m feeling a bit ignored and you’re so distant..” You frowned gently at his expression. He looked angry and annoyed. Though, you didn’t know it was because Venom was seconds away from devouring your head. “If you’re not going to tell her the truth, you can’t see her anymore.” Venom tore the control in Eddie’s body away from him and forced the man to turn and walk away from you.

You stood in shock as he retreated before halting. His limbs seemed to be hesitating and then retreating, but when Eddie looked toward you with a quiet sound of what you could only describe as pain, you had no control over your body either. Moving forward, you curled your arms around his neck and pulled him into you. “What is going on with you?” You whispered against the stubble that blanketed his jaw. Your fingers traced the front of his hoodie, applying enough pressure so he could feel your touch through the heavy fabric. Craning your neck, your lips were centimeters from his own. “Eddie.” Venom ground out once more. “You don’t listen.” Before Eddie had any control, his skin darkened and his teeth grew sharp. Eddie Brock was no longer stood in front of you, his entire form molded into a monster. A very tall, seething, drooling beast who wasted no time before gripping your arm and dragging you into him. The scream that built up in your throat didn’t even have a chance to escape before the symbiote grabbed ahold of the apartment complex and began to climb the side of the building.

His grip on you was secure, but as your legs dangled and your body was lifted further and further away from the ground, you couldn’t hide your fear. Crying out in surprise when he leapt through a window, the glass shattered loudly, bits and pieces falling through the air to land against the pavement below. Your body rolled from the monster’s grip and your entire form stiffened. Your reddened eyes filled with tears of confusion and you had no other instinct than to back away as the large alien-like creature stood. His tongue fell from between his teeth as he smiled a wide and wicked grin. “What a cry baby. This doesn’t seem like your type, Eddie.” Though his words were verbally spoken and you could hear every single one, Eddie could as well.

You shivered on the floor beneath the approaching creature. You couldn’t speak. You wanted to ask what he was? What he wanted? Where was Eddie? Backing away further as your eyes latched on to his, he lowered himself down and wrapped his lengthy hands around your ankles. Hauling you back and beneath him, he hovered over you, a hungry look present in his eye. “Don’t you dare hurt her!” Eddies voice shouted internally. Venom heard him loud and clear. Eddie used every ounce of strength he could muster before trying to yank Venom away from you. You were helpless beneath the overpowering symbiote and couldn’t do anything but shake uncertainly. Too much time was passing by of the creature just simply staring at you. He snarled once before tightening his grip on your legs.

“Eddie?” You whispered. It was obvious that you were terrified. You were trembling, very noticeably.

“Eddie’s not here.” Venom growled out.

“That’s not true.” You squinted your eyes accusingly, feet propped up on the coffee table as Venom explained the way the pair of you had met. Adjusting the blue bowl that balanced uncertainly on your stomach, you rolled your eyes. Venom had a tendency to rearrange the past. “I assure you,” You mumbled, pushing a mouthful of buttery pieces into your mouth. “I wasn’t ever afraid of you. Surprised, yeah, but I didn’t cower away.” Eddie was stood beside the island in the center of the kitchen, knife slicing the round tomato on the counter into little pieces. Behind him, Venom had retracted from a portion of your boyfriends back. He was nothing more than a floating head. A floating, black, grimacing beast who held nothing but dislike for you. The pair of you didn’t get along in the slightest. Shoving another handful of popcorn past your lips, you sighed breathily before looking back to the tv. “You must have some sort of memory loss.” A low growl left Venom. He was growing angrier by the second, but he knew he couldn’t hurt you — no matter how much he wanted to.

Eddie looked toward you, a little smirk playing on his lips. He couldn’t believe how accepting you were of the creature. He understood why the two of you fought so much. Venom was living inside him and you were always around. Venom was jealous and he really hated it when the pair of you got physical. You didn’t care though and Eddie really didn’t care. Dropping the slices of tomatoes on the sandwiches, he closed the tops and set them on the plates before moving toward the couch. Venom didn��t have a chance to defend himself before Eddie spoke up.

“Here, baby.” He set the plate on the coffee table beside your ankle. You looked toward the plate before smiling slowly. Gripping his wrist, you drew him into you so you could kiss him softly.

“Thank you.” You spoke against his lips before dragging him down on the sofa. Leaning back so he was forced to fall down and on top of you, you set the popcorn bowl to the side so it didn’t topple over. Looping your arms around his shoulders, your lips re-connected with his. Inhaling deeply, you smiled into the kiss, stomach churning happily beneath his lips. He kissed you back slowly, passionately, taking his time to trace your tongue with his own. You groaned out breathily in enjoyment before whimpering in pain when his teeth sunk into your bottom lip. Placing your hand on his shoulder to push him back gently, you winced. “Eddie..” The want to shout at him was strong, but you could see venom, so evident in your boyfriend’s gaze. “Asshole.” Sitting up, you laid your hands on your knees with a frown and straightened. Eddie growled out, internally screaming.

“Venom.” Eddie hissed out under his breath. His hand found your arm. “Baby, I’m sorry.” He told you breathily before leaning in and pressing his lips against your cheek. You shrugged lightly. It was so hard to just ignore the fact that you couldn’t have your boyfriend all to yourself. How was this fair? You couldn’t even kiss him without the symbiote getting in the way. Rising from the couch, you stepped around his knees and the table before moving to the corner. Opening the cupboard, you suckled on your sore lip, searching for something. Anything. You just didn’t want to sit beside Eddie right now — or rather Venom. Eddie closed his eyes. “We talked about this.” He warned. “Do not jeapordize my relationship.” Eddie stood. He rubbed his hands off on his jeans and listened for venom’s response. It didn’t come. Venom knew that if it was between himself and you, Eddie would always choose you. He could hear the man’s thoughts. Every single one. And they were all infested with you. The pair of you may have gotten along if he hadn’t have met you under such sudden, stressful circumstances and if Eddie hadn’t have spent the entirety of said night comforting and making love to you. Eddie followed you into the kitchen, barefeet padding softly against the tile. “Baby?” You stiffened at the suddenness of his voice before looking over your shoulder. Cradling the jar of Nutella, you adjusted it in your hand before biting on your lip. A little hum of question escaped your lips, but your eyes didn’t linger on his own. “I’m sorry.”

“You’re always sorry. And he always gets in the way. I don’t understand what’s happening.” You mumbled out before opening the jar. “I love you, Eddie, but god.. this is aggravating. I can’t even kiss you without him attacking me.” Attack was a little dramatic, but you were furious. The sexual tension that was bubbling in your belly wanted to be burned out with eddies help and you couldn’t have it because of a certain asshole that resided inside him. Leaning against the counter, your arms folded. Eddie lifted his palms to your arms and stepped forward with caution.

“I know. Im sorry. I talked to him.. he’s going to stop.” Venom was silent. His usual urge to shout back or correct Eddie wasn’t there. You stared up at your boyfriend. His eyes held honesty and sincerity, but you could see venom in them. He was always there. Tearing your gaze away, you let out a soft hum before slipping away from him once more and instead to the corner to retrieve some bread. He watched you. “I’m sorry, Venom.” He whispered breathlessly before setting off once more along behind you. Taking your hand in his own, he twisted you around and dragged your body into his own. Pinning you between himself and the counter, he held you in place, mouth finding your own with no hesitation. You melted in his grip, small hands shakily lifting to fist in the front of his shirt. Eddie hoisted you up and on to the counter, opening your legs with his palms. He dipped his hips forward and toward yours, little apologies escaping his lips. This was the one thing about your boyfriend that you wouldn’t ever be mad about — he had quite a convincing and good way of apologizing.

Venom bared his teeth and tried to plug his ears. He hated listening to your overlapping sounds and pleasure infused noises, but he couldn’t do anything about it.

This was how every night went. Eddie and you would have such a good day. Usually. Work, cuddles, dinner, sex. Always sex. Venom was sick of it and every time that the two of you connected in such a sickening way, he felt his anger and disgust seeping further and further into Eddie. It was as if having so many emotions crammed together in one place was causing some sort of internal struggle. And it was. Eddie was becoming confused over which feelings were his and which were Venom’s.

Eddie Brock had been with Venom for a month. Venom had disapproved of you for a few weeks and Eddie’s body was the one suffering. He didn’t know what he felt anymore. His cheeks were in his hands, blue eyes latched on to the table as he sat in the uncomfortable seat. You were standing in the corner, arms wrapped around yourself as you stared at your boyfriend. Arguing seemed to be a very consistent occurance. Over the smallest things and Eddie always seemed to be the one that started them. The smallest things were setting him off and not just a little — no, he was losing it.

“Eddie?” You whispered in attempt to try and get his attention. His blue eyes flickered up to your own. He was far away despite his automatic urge to look toward you. “I don’t know what to say.” You whispered. Your voice shook with your words, but he didn’t seem phased. He wasn’t worried. He seemed so careless. “You’re so distant.” He narrowed his eyes toward you before shaking his head as if your words were false. Pushing the plate that sat in front of him away, he stood from the chair and let out a heavy sigh. The side of his thigh bumped the table, effectively knocking it noisily to the side. He didn’t want to sit and listen to this. It was so easy for him to get riled up — he was beyond aggravated simply because you’d asked a question. When he stepped around you, your fingertips moved to his arm, an attempt to halt him, but it merely spurred his anger. He turned on you, a warning look sprinkled in his gaze. Eddie wasn’t the same and it became painfully obvious in that moment. Venom and venom’s feelings for you were taking over and for the first time, you felt scared. Scared of Eddie. Drawing back and away from him, you created some distance between the two of you. “Eddie, I..”

“What.” It wasn’t a question. It was just a word to express his annoyance. Deep down, he felt guilty for being so rude, but there was nothing he could do to swallow those feelings down. They were painfully filling him, so much so that he wanted to shout.

“You’re scaring me.” You whispered breathily. “Venom.. is scaring me. Your whole attitude is changing. I don’t know what’s wrong or what the hell’s going on, but you’d better fix it.” The underlying threat present in your words made Eddie straighten.

“If you’re scared, then why don’t you leave.” Eddie ground out. Pushing past you, the man left the room and made his way toward his bedroom. He couldn’t find it in himself to comfort you. To assure you. To reason with you. Venom was dominating his thoughts, his actions, his words. He didn’t even make it all the way to the bedroom without hitting the wall on the way. Eddie froze in the hall before practically shouting. His jaw clenched so tightly, he thought it would break. “Venom.” He hissed.

“Eddie.” The creature responded with no remorse for how Eddie was treating you.

“Youre going to make me lose her.” The man moved his hands to his face. Rubbing it down, he closed his eyes and spun around on his heel. Setting back off down the hall and toward you, still stood in the doorway, he moved up behind you. His arms wound around your shoulders, curling around you securely. He pulled your back against his flexed chest, lips resting beside your ear. “Baby, I’m sorry.” He told you breathily. “That- It wasn’t me.” You closed your watery eyes. This was what scared you. One minute he’s Eddie and the next hour he’s Eddie, but Eddie mixed with Venom. You rotated around to face him.

“I can’t do this. You love me for an hour and hate me for a week.” The sadness in your gaze made Eddie’s heart ache. The feelings between Eddie and the symbiote clashed entirely too much. “I need to go.” Though your words were honest and you wanted to leave, your feet made no movement to. Glued to the spot, you stared up at your boyfriend. This was still Eddie.

Eddie Brock. He owned your heart. But Venom. Venom was changing him. You sniffled before stepping forward to walk around him.

“Let her go.” Venom warned. Eddie didn’t listen. His hand wrapped around your own, grasping ahold of you tightly. His fingers squeezed yours, gently tugging you back into his arms. Eddie would rid of Venom before he’d ever let you walk out of his life. You’d been here for what felt like forever and he wasn’t ever saying goodbye to you. He felt those angry feelings forming again, brewing beneath the surface, but he ignored them. Instead, he cupped your cheeks and drew you in for the softest kiss. Your lips slanted against his perfectly, fingertips curling in the gray hoodie he wore. Clutching on to him, your mouths moved in time with one another. Venom would never get use to this. Or the disgusting thoughts Eddie had each time he kissed you. Eddie, as he kissed you, silently warned venom. The symbiote would have to act right or Eddie would get rid of him. There was no question about it.

———————————————————————

A/N: OKAY. 1, I hate this ending. 2, Im doing a part 2!!!

Tagged: @peakblogbecauseimweak @bsotstory @mollybegger-blog @morphoportis @ghost-of-student-sufferings @drippydownes2002 @ellar21 @sovereigngoth @willowick13 @xxxxxeroxxxxx @wheresthewatermelon @anrm1 @pansexualginger @marvelgirl7 @evilspretty-dead @heyitscam99 @wow-he-cute @haroldpain @justrepostandlove @sparklyreaderx @emerald-bijou @multireality @innerpaperexpertcloud @giftofdreams @ihclipse @meer0rauschen @inkedfandom @thatsamegirl @doct0rstrange @jakechillenhaal @shanty-lol @centerhabit @clevertheoristpainter @jamierdr @favouritereadings @badmaax @thephuonganh @wewillfindourwaythere @uhhhemilyrose @scarrasco1325 @matoki-darkpanda @bignastyfan-nz @hot-and-spiceyyy

[comicteaparty]

July 4th-July 10th, 2020 Creator Babble Archive

The archive for the Creator Babble chat that occurred from July 4th, 2020 to July 10th, 2020.  The chat focused on the following question:

What was an unexpected aspect of making webcomics you didn’t realize before making one yourself?

Krispy §[Ghost Junk Sickness]§

How much our comic and it's story we're going to change during the years of creation was the biggest and most jarring aspect for sure. There's scripts and thumbs that were all made before we ventured out to make GJS with paths completely different from what we initially thought we would take that have completely changed how we approach not only writing but reading webcomics too. Webcomics as a medium have the biggest connection to time, whether it be production or the consumption, they have this opportunity to exist and transform in the long hours it takes to enjoy and read them. It's honestly one of the biggest advantages imho. To see a story slowly unfold, listening to ur audience reactions, peer critiques, or new inspiration can make such a drastic and intense impact on a long form work- its both jaw dropping and humbling to be apart of!(edited)

Deo101 [Millennium]

For me it was the community aspect of comics. I knew a community existed on the reader side of things (comments!), but I didn't expect the creator side to be how it is! I don't know why, but for some reason I kind of always thought that all of us were sort of throwing our comics out from the void... I guess that was me looking at comics from a reader's point of view! But as soon as I started making comics, I started meeting people who made them too... and it's been incredible!

Eightfish (Puppeteer)

@deo I never really understood what an internet community or internet friends were until I started making a webcomic

Deo101 [Millennium]

Yeah, I had been in (and quickly decided to not be in 0_0) gaming communities, but nothing really as wonderful as what I've found through comics. Closest I had gotten other than that was comments on social media

Shizamura 🌟 O Sarilho

Community definitely one of the big things, much like Deo pointed. I was kinda expecting to have get connections through readers, but it's much more with other creators, which is super satisfying in it's own way. Also gonna second Krispy's comment about how time affects how you see your story's past and future. A lot of things changed in the past four years that made my comic change as well and having so much time to think each individual scene allows them to be much more complex and interesting than they would when I first thought them through. Having the time really helps. This also kinda touches the topic of personal change too, which affects how I write and what feels most important to focus on and that's interesting to think about as well

eliushi [Keyspace]

How long things will take, the longer the story goes on! I started out being able to complete a page in 2h but then I found more I wanted to try on each page (colours, layout, composition etc) and even wanted to extend certain scenes. With 500 pages planned, I definitely thought I’d be farther along by now, heading into AWT’s first year anniversary in a month. That being said, I’m also enjoying the ride and it’s all thanks to the great community here and making connections with other comics folks/readers. I never expected to get comments and so each one has been a treasure to read.

Desnik

An unexpected aspect of making webcomics is how much people respond to them. I figured I'd be creating into a void but I met so many people as a result of publishing my dinosaur comic

shadowhood {SunnyxRain}

Ditto on the webcomic community. I didn't realize how far reaching it was to have a community that supports each other. And I've enjoyed meeting so many wonderful and creative people who raised each other up. Another thing I didn't expect, however, was how invested I got into my comic.(edited)

At first I was doing it mostly for fun. But the more I delved into it, the easier it was to get sucked into my story and want to draw it out. And as a result taking it a lot more seriously.

Desnik

yeah sometimes I miss my dinosaur comic even though I had some pretty good reasons for moving on. It was created out of desperation and evolved into something that made me feel good about myself

Haruh2 (Colony Life)

How much work and time it takes to keep a weekly update going with no backlog

Deo101 [Millennium]

Yeah same

Cronaj ~{Whispers of the Past}~

For me, I didn't realize how much it would affect my life to make comics, and vice versa. In a weird way, I didn't know how interrelated the two were, or how easily life could interfere with my comic, or the inverse.

eliushi [Keyspace]

Making comics became a lifestyle for me

@Haruh2 (Colony Life) When I had no backlog I was updating every two weeks with 7 pages per update; so about 14h of work. But this is with a finished script. I am also told I work fast.

Eightfish (Puppeteer)

omg

Cronaj ~{Whispers of the Past}~

That's soooo much, Eli!

That's at least twice as much as I do (edited)

Eightfish (Puppeteer)

For me, I didn't realize how much it would affect my life to make comics, and vice versa. In a weird way, I didn't know how interrelated the two were, or how easily life could interfere with my comic, or the inverse.

I hadn't realized how much I put myself into my comic! My friends who read it have all said that it's incredibly in my voice and reflects my opinions and worldviews Before I shared it with people I hadn't thought of it in that way at all

Joichi [Hybrid Dolls]

As an artist, I didn't expect how my comic production and mindset will change. Once I started comics, it brought out my ideas from thoughts to a physical form. I start to invest more time into it. Each project evolved through each chapter. How to balance script writing to a polished piece. I put alot of time and research in my works. It makes me glad to hear other creators do the same. I'm not the crazy artist who's wasting her time. One of the positive change was meeting other creators, how we give advice and receive praise.(edited)

eliushi [Keyspace]

The support has been amazing. It makes the work less lonely

Cronaj ~{Whispers of the Past}~

Fish, oh for sure! I didn't realize until recently how much my characters are all just facets of myself!

eliushi [Keyspace]

(I don’t work that quickly anymore and I’m making big changes to the format soon so it’s going to be a Transition)

Joichi [Hybrid Dolls]

I've been in school with art students who never made comics, so when I came to CTP discord, reading comic discussions. It was comforting and fun. I enjoy the cooperation our group has, helping each other.

eliushi [Keyspace]

I like to commiserate about the unique challenges comics have

Cronaj ~{Whispers of the Past}~

Hahaha, yeahhhhh

Joichi [Hybrid Dolls]

I agree, it's different from illustrations. Different approach(edited)

eliushi [Keyspace]

I am perpetually balancing time spent on a panel vs how much time the reader will spend on it

Vs illustration: lemme make all the details

Joichi [Hybrid Dolls]

Oh I agree, each panel takes longer than it takes to read it. Hence I dislike when readers call manga creators 'lazy'

Eightfish (Puppeteer)

how much time does it take to read one of my pages?

20 seconds?(edited)

haha

e.e

wait is that emoji supposed to be someone rolling their eyes??

i jsut looked it up

i might've been using it wrong this whole time

Cronaj ~{Whispers of the Past}~

Pacing

It's way different than in novels, and definitely came as a shock at the start

eliushi [Keyspace]

Yeah have to play to the strength of the medium. Still imagining AWT as an animated movie written from a novel, in the format of a comic

Cronaj ~{Whispers of the Past}~

Haha, same kinda

Haruh2 (Colony Life)

@eliushi [Keyspace] ah haha, that makes me feel better about my update habits, but thats a good goal for me to shoot for now that im learning a new way to make long comics specifically

cAPSLOCK (Tailslide)

I completely underestimated the amount of effort that would have to go into formatting, website design and maintenance, etc. If I got to do it again, a little more research beforehand probably would’ve saved me a lot of time and hassle.

snuffysam (Super Galaxy Knights)

I really overestimated the "if you build it they will come" aspect of webcomics lol. Like, you actually have to work to advertise your comic in order for people to read it. Nobody ever got hundreds of readers just from posting their comic onto some hosting site without doing major marketing work.(edited)

dako

yeah, I feel that

I've never really been an advertising type before my comic, im learning to just get used to it

Deo101 [Millennium]

I've not really done much advertising tbh, it makes me uncomfortable

dako

it feels kinda...embarrassing? might be too harsh of a word

i dunno

Deo101 [Millennium]

its just uncomfortable idk! i feel awkward doing it

dako

yeah, same ive done it a few times on reddit but i have to force myself

Haruh2 (Colony Life)

it does feel, odd..hell most of the time it just feels like i open the door to my house and toss a bunch of paper to the wind hoping someone can see it

Deo101 [Millennium]

yeah, I dont know if ive done anything other than posting updates on twitter and talking about it in groups like this

and twitter is mostly just me talkin to people who already read it...

idk talking about my work without being asked first makes me feel like im inserting myself where im not allowed

keii’ii (Heart of Keol)

Self promo got MUCH less intimidating for me when I started thinking of it like: "okay, so my comic is made for readers like me, people who share my tastes. That means I only need to answer one question: what can I say to get me to check out this comic? I don't need to impress anyone else. I just need to appeal to me." (since "me" is my target audience)

Deo101 [Millennium]

mhm ^^

keii’ii (Heart of Keol)

But take it with a grain of salt because I'm still not really promoing

Haruh2 (Colony Life)

exactly, thats why i find it hard to tweet about it most of the time, but i get the whole if i dont care about to talk without being asked no one else will either

Deo101 [Millennium]

yeah lmao mood im like what would get me to read... hmmm... probably exactly what im doing.... I'll keep it up then :)

Haruh2 (Colony Life)

yea i get excited to draw out certain parts..but wouldnt want to just tweet about all the little tidbits of the story ruining it for others

Deo101 [Millennium]

sweats

dako

i made a whole side twitter for my comic cuz talking about it on my main intimidated me too much

it is my containment chamber

Haruh2 (Colony Life)

hm may do that, just to say i did it and to get my mind away from the thought

snuffysam (Super Galaxy Knights)

yeah same

Deo101 [Millennium]

My main is just whatever I want it to be idk. Its kinda for all my comics, since my comics are all I want to talk about

snuffysam (Super Galaxy Knights)

though my main is mostly just retweeting from my side twitter lol

Deo101 [Millennium]

it removes a lot of the pressure of like what if my followers dont wanna see this??

cause they wouldnt be here if they didnt wanna see it

cause its all Ive been doing the whole time

dako

thats a good point

i had my main way before my comic so most of my mutuals/followers dont follow for that

Haruh2 (Colony Life)

yea, it can feel abit disorienting when there is no interaction one way or another on anything you tweet (also if twitter has messed up and causes your tweets to not show up)

Deo101 [Millennium]

but yeah I dont really advertise cause it just makes me so uncomfortable >.<

dako

understandable

Cronaj ~{Whispers of the Past}~

I'm kind of somewhere in between. I advertise my comic mostly because it is all I wanna talk about, like Deo. But I also don't think it's gotten me many readers. Most of my readers came as far as I can tell because I was making something that appealed to them. (The whole "if you build it, they will come" thing.) Although, I really don't have a big audience, I do have an audience, and I am certain most of them came from me just posting.

I think it's determined a lot by luck, and also, how big your niche's audience is to begin with (and some skill tbh).

Deo101 [Millennium]

yeah like I think "gay sci fi" is a p big niche so ive got a big amount of people I could potentially reach

which makes it much easier to draw people in

Cronaj ~{Whispers of the Past}~

I'm particularly lucky, I guess, that fantasy/romance has a lot of readers (also more competition, but...)

Deo101 [Millennium]

yeah fantasy romance is a damn big one

Haruh2 (Colony Life)

eh i think im in an awkward void with my action/drama story (since im not doing romance drama)

Cronaj ~{Whispers of the Past}~

I just go with the mindset: "what makes my fantasy/romance different from the rest" and go from there.

Deo101 [Millennium]

mhm

tbh I dont think my sci fi romance is doing anything special?

but im having fun so :) I dont rlly care about that hahahha

dako

having fun the most important thing

Deo101 [Millennium]

its not my goal to make somthing mindblowing ^^ truley im just here for a good time

Cronaj ~{Whispers of the Past}~

I mean, LGBT+-inclusive sci-fi is pretty unique

I haven't seen a lot

keii’ii (Heart of Keol)

It's clear that your characters are people, and that's special, regardless of how common/uncommon

dako

think if i didnt love my comic as much as i do id have stopped a long time ago

Deo101 [Millennium]

thats true keiiii, thank you <3

also yeah its Sad that theres not more LGBT+ sci fi cause its like youve got aliennnssssssssssssssssssss you can do whatever you waaaaaant

Cronaj ~{Whispers of the Past}~

I knooowww

Deo101 [Millennium]

guess it shows what ppl want or something

Cronaj ~{Whispers of the Past}~

yup

Deo101 [Millennium]

off topic

so to make it back on topic

I underestimated how much people would like gay sci fi GJKLAGJLAJLKAGJSLAKGJKL

keii’ii (Heart of Keol)

One thing I learned specifically with my current comic... I did not realize how much difference the reader's cultural background would make in terms of interpreting my story.

Deo101 [Millennium]

!!!!!

I actually almost mentioned you in class once tbh keiii

keii’ii (Heart of Keol)

Big oversight, in retrospect

!?

Deo101 [Millennium]

saying "someone I know makes a comic which they noticed, it's interpreted completely differently just depending on cultural backgrounds" kind of a thing

keii’ii (Heart of Keol)

like I would not have made the comic any different, but I would have approached the... presentation differently. Like, talk about it differently

Deo101 [Millennium]

cause we were talking about how narratives affect rt

Cronaj ~{Whispers of the Past}~

I guess another thing that was unexpected about making webcomics was... there are way more people with my exact tastes than I thought

Deo101 [Millennium]

and I was saying that I think the viewer's narrative affects art more than the artists narrative

I mean, the artists narrative obviously is what makes it so.

keii’ii (Heart of Keol)

In the eyes of the beholder

Deo101 [Millennium]

but interpretations and all that... yeah!!!

so. actually I might have offhandedly mentioned you I cant remember if I did or not

lemme check

I did! very like "second hand" offhandedly mentioning though ahaha

hope that doesnt make you uncomfortable GSKLGSJALGJLGK no one replied to me so e.e

in the class I mean

keii’ii (Heart of Keol)

I am super uncomfortable and offended !!!!!

j/k

Deo101 [Millennium]

hgjkghsjkagskajgdhsakgjhgjd

but... yeah idk starting out I truly just was making it cause I really love my characters a lot, the idea that other people would like them too is very unexpected :) in a good way

I also definitely didnt expect how important enviornments were e.e

didnt plan those well enough.

Cronaj ~{Whispers of the Past}~

that relatable feel

sssfrs (JOE IS DEAD)

I really desperately advertise my comic everywhere. I don't really know how to do marketing effectively though & I don't know if its working

eliushi [Keyspace]

I find what increased readership most consistently is still the feature aspect from the hosting sites. It’s really about finding the right readers/right readers finding you

Eightfish (Puppeteer)

Same, I'm basically a rounding error away from being 100% reliant on the features for subs

sssfrs (JOE IS DEAD)

I don't think my comic has ever been featured on the hosting sites. My numbers have always been low on Tapas and maybe thast why

Cronaj ~{Whispers of the Past}~

Yeah, features help a lot

I've been featured on Webtoon, but not Tapas, and you can really see the difference in readership there

Deo101 [Millennium]

Ive been featured on both, uhh in a couple of diff places, if you wanted a breakdown of how many readers i got from the diff spots and stuff ever just lmk im happy to share

keii’ii (Heart of Keol)

I've been featured on both. It certainly got people to check it out and even sub, but retaining those people (even if they've subbed!!!) is a different story. I think my story is just not the right type for the platforms, but eh, even if 99% of the platform users aren't into the kinda thing I'm making, 1% increase is still an increase.

Which is another thing I learned over the course of running this comic, specifically (since the internet has changed so much after my first two attempts). Just because the majority of your subs don't actually read the comic, doesn't mean your work sucks. Today's internet caters to casual users, and there's a bajillion factors affecting who's actually reading your stuff.

dako

i agree

my comic has never been featured on either, and webtoons doesnt have a guideline on what they pick but tapas does and my comic doesnt really meet their featuring requirements so i dont think either site ever will feature mine haha

so i gotta advertise on reddit and use twitter tags a lot

keii’ii (Heart of Keol)

Don't go too crazy with twitter tags; they can make people zone out and not look at your tweet.

dako

i try to use 5 at the most, i know too many is unpleasant to look at haha

Jib {WIP haha}

Oh huh, my rule of thumb is to use 1-2 on twitter and as many as I can on Insta but I’m no expert lol

keii’ii (Heart of Keol)

Yeah, IG seems to be where you want all the tags XD

varethane

Webtoon's algorithms are like turning a hose on and off lol

The difference between views and sub growth during periods of being featured vs not is stark(edited)

carcarchu

i've never been featured by webtoons but i've seen series grow from 100 followers to 10k overnight

not an exaggeration

varethane

I put my new comic on webtoon in november 2019, and in 1 month I crawled up to.... maybe 50 subs?(granted I only put up one episode and then paused for a bit)

Then in December I started updating it weekly and got placed in the new and hot section of the app

And bam, 6k subs

It last 2 weeks and then the section updated and all growth stopped, and subs went down by 10 or so over the next week

Krispy §[Ghost Junk Sickness]§

(Omg featured is like the new Daily Deviation goals from DA way back in the day!)

varethane

Until it got another feature on a different part of the website and went up another 2k. It was like playing with the handle on a faucet lol

dako

I got some pretty good growth during canvas week, but beyond that not really

I get 1-2 subs after an update if I'm lucky

varethane

I feel like their algorithms are very reliant on the regular rotation of features that staff have to do manuallt

Outside of that, discoverability is quite weak

Mostly because of the volume of comics on there

boogeymadam

same boat as vare. the only thing i know about webtoons features is they have stated a couple times one of their recquirements is consistant updating, so if u skip a week that disqualifies u for a lil while i imagine

varethane

I wonder what they count as consistent. I was doing every 2 weeks for awhile, but this month I'm gonna try weekly to see if it helps me earn more $$ from ads :U

dako

I wish there was more incentive for readers to check out the new section on webtoons and tapas

carcarchu

i have found some amazing gems in the new section

i swear i've seen stuff in featured that were not at all updated consistently

dako

I have too, there's a ton of good comics that get overlooked because they're not in the front page

some featured comics havent updated in months sometimes

varethane

I definitely would not have considered myself consistent at the time of the first feature, considering there was a gap of a month between episode 1 and 2 lpl

carcarchu

the consistently updating thing is more of a recommendation than a requirement i feel?(edited)

boogeymadam

ooohh good to know!!

varethane

I'm sure it cant be a hard rule, especially for comics that have just launched

boogeymadam

im just going off their canvas qna's from last year

dako

if it's actually a hard rule for staff to feature comics that regularly update they break that rule a lot

i also heard a bot picks up comics too

carcarchu

well i at least think the staff or bots or whatever at webtoons are doing a better job with features than tapas is

tapas is always pushing their premium comics way more than their indie stuff

boogeymadam

tapas needs to bring new comics onto the frontpage more often than it does, yeah

dako

yeah I agree

keii’ii (Heart of Keol)

I mean, I get why they put premium on the front page. But I feel more variety would help them because it's more interesting for the readers?

dako

I can't tell whats premium or not with tapas sometimes

boogeymadam

i do like that they've been asking stuff like this in the forums tho

carcarchu

more distinction would be helpful to me too dako

i don't think its as clear as it could be

dako

yeah, webtoons at least it's clear what is and what isnt featured or canvas

Jib {WIP haha}

Huh, anyone remember that really popular writing podcast? I forgot the name

Or have any recommendations I guess

Moral_Gutpunch

Terrible writing advice? It's sarcastic

snuffysam (Super Galaxy Knights)

is this related to the topic?

Moral_Gutpunch

It's a podcast about writing, so I'm going to say yes.

keii’ii (Heart of Keol)

I think snuffysam meant the weekly topic for the channel

Moral_Gutpunch

Oh

Just for this channel, no. I'm too new to know that.

Cronaj ~{Whispers of the Past}~

Please check #rules

Moral_Gutpunch

Sound more like someone forgot context than the rules

That's why I'm hardly here. I don't know stuff people who've been here for a long time know like podcasts or older comics(edited)

keii’ii (Heart of Keol)

Basically each of the channels under "CTP Activities" on this server has its own topic of the week.

Cronaj ~{Whispers of the Past}~

It's not a matter of being here for a long time or not. This channel is used solely for discussing the weekly topics, and such information can be found in #rules

Moral_Gutpunch

Kudos then. I came for creator babble only.

keii’ii (Heart of Keol)

For general webcomic creation-related advice (either seeking or giving) and such, #shop_talk usually is the place!

creator_babble is for answering the topic of the week

It's not actually for generalized "creator babble" despite the name.

dako

looks like they left

Jib {WIP haha}

Oh my bad, it’s been a while since I read the rules, I brought up the new subject

keii’ii (Heart of Keol)

Happens!

Cronaj ~{Whispers of the Past}~

No problem, we were just reminding you all :)

Jib {WIP haha}

Ty for that then haha

dako

I think one unexpected thing for me is that no one tells you how crazy the highs and lows can be

well I guess people do but you really don't know until the highs and lows happen to you if that makes sense

Cronaj ~{Whispers of the Past}~

Oh God, that's so true

Burnout is way more dreadful than I could ever guess prior to experiencing it

Feather J. Fern

One unexpected thing for me was how many people I would meet because of my comic. It surprised me greatly that I found so many cool people through the comic community and made the friends I have made now. Love you all

rajmews

The unexpected thing for me was just how much you have to just...predict...what the market will want to read. Like even if you research a whole lot, and you draw really well, and have been doing art professionally, you can still strike out. It's a humbling experience, but being able to just let go of poorly received pages and move on and try things differently is a lot of the battle for doing a webcomic. It teaches you how to fail gracefully because...it's all a process of learning your readers better. Even if they're few at first.

LadyLazuli (Phantomarine)

My major unexpected thing was how much my initial ideas change as I work through a page. Everything from the expressions, dialogue, and layout can change as I look at it and 'solve' it more closely than I did in thumbnails. There are pages I look back on and realize they are ENTIRELY different than what I had first sketched. And they're better for it. Allowing myself the freedom to edit during the artwork... it's created some majorly awesome opportunities.

Deo101 [Millennium]

Yes!!!!! Me too!!!

It's exciting thoufh

Eightfish (Puppeteer)

Absolutely same

Could plan something out meticulously but then change it in the last 2 secs before uploading

Deo101 [Millennium]

Yup... I don't thumbnail much ahead of where I'm at cause of this(edited)

I thumbnail a scene at a time, and then usually I end up changing stuff halfway through ahahfjjdkskdkss

varethane

Same hat, haha. I often make changes at every stage-- even the thumbnails will often depart from the script. If anything, I wish I made even more changes-- I feel like my page layouts tend to be pretty standard, I do a lot of pages with the 3 rows of 2 panels each, and I want to break out of that more. But... well, that's a work in progress.

[shadowsof-thenight]

Better together: Part two of two

Summary: Three years ago he left. He walked out of Sarah’s life and broke her heart in a million pieces. Now they are forced to work together again and she suddenly realises that three years did nothing to dull the pain, or her love.

Ships: Bucky X OC

Warnings: Violence, ptsd, domestic violence (sorta), injuries, angst, sadness

Words: 2306

Masterlist 

Part one

A/N: I thought I had posted this part already...so sorry. My life if crazy at the moment. Anyway, here it is. i hope you’ll like it!

Sarah stepped out of her room in the compound, after having taken a quick shower to wash away the grime and blood. The warm water cascading on her body had done nothing to ease the tension in her shoulders. She had not truly expected it too, with worry still etched in her mind. Relaxation was far from her mind.

Quickly, she made her way back to the medical wing to see if Bucky was out of surgery, knowing full well that it wasn't likely, and to check on her other injured team-mates.

Sharon had been diagnosed with a concussion and laid in a bed, hoping to sleep it off. Clint was stitched up and ready to go as she came his way. As was Sam, with his arm now fully (and properly) bandaged. Natasha however, was grounded for a good while with her broken leg. It wasn't a complex fracture, which was good. But it still would require weeks of healing, followed by weeks of physiotherapy before she would be back in the field. Safe to say her spirits reached an all time low. Not low enough to ask for updates on Bucky though. After promising to keep her updated, Sarah left.

Steve wasn't hurt as badly, mere cuts and bruises, much like Sarah, and he was pacing the waiting room. Waiting for news on his oldest friend. Sarah braced herself as she approached him. He oozed worry and she knew he was not going to be patient or dulcet. She also knew he had every right to leave those characteristics at the door.  Today more so than ever.

“Anything?” Sarah wondered as she joined him, her voice quavering as she pondered Bucky's condition.

“No!” Steve snapped at her angrily, then quickly turned to apologize, which Sarah brushed off. She knew how much Bucky meant to him, how much strain this situation must put on him. He would never have to explain himself about that or excuse his behaviour. She understood. When it came to Bucky, she understood better than anyone. Knowing this Steve didn't press his apology.

A few minutes later Clint and Sam joined them, while Vision called in to announce the return of the second team. They were sent on what had turned out to be a wild goose chase and were all unharmed. They would arrive in a few hours.

Steve knew the ambush had been planned and it was important to look into that, but all he could think of was Bucky. Which was why Tony had decided to revise all their Intel instead. Giving Steve a reprieve from his captain duties.

Sarah dropped down in a chair and watched Steve pace in silence. No words were needed between the two. Sam took a place near Steve, watching him like a hawk, ready to step in if he needed it. While Clint sat down next to Sarah, hoping against hope he could sit with her and skip his debriefing. Tony would give them as much time as he could, Clint knew that-they all knew that. But he was only one man.

Sarah felt Clint's gaze on her and met it, offering a small smile. She was fine. Or, at least, she would be. As soon as they would tell her that Bucky would be okay, that he was safe and out of the woods. He had to be right? He was a super soldier after all. He'd be able to beat six bullets to his torso...Right?

Her hands were clammy and her breath was hitched as she became more restless with every minute that passed by. How long could this surgery possibly take?

When the doctors finally came to give them an update, two hours later, it was to tell that he was now stable. However, he was not out of the woods yet. They would keep him sedated through the night, but they were hopeful that they would be able to reverse it in the morning.

Steve had demanded to know why they kept him sedated. Bucky had enough tampering with his body. This felt like a violation of sorts. He'd sounded agitated and Sarah placed a hand on his arm, hoping to calm him down. She understood. However, she was sure the doctors knew what they were doing. Not just anyone was hired to be part of the avengers surgical team.

The doctor had remained completely calm as he explained that keeping Bucky sedated was better for him right now. It would keep him calm and that would speed up his healing process. With his super soldier abilities, it might just give him the kick he needed.

Once Steve had calmed, the doctor told them that in a few hours Dr. Helen Cho would fly in with the regeneration cradle, to help him speed up the healing process further. All in all, he just needed to get through the next few hours. Four tops, he'd said.

***

Sarah frowned down at the pale frame of her former lover and wondered if four hours wasn't too long for him. Beads of sweat on his forehead showed that he was fighting something still. As she quickly pointed it out to the nurse in the room and she had her suspicions confirmed.

“There was a poison on those bullets. Not enough to kill him, usually.” the nurse said, her voice sombre.  

And that last word was what scared Sarah more than anything, much more than she dared to admit. She could not voice her worries in front of Steve, she wasn't sure he could handle that. A healthy Bucky would have fought it off, like a simple virus, but the trajectory of the bullets had done quite a bit of harm and they had weakened him. Would Bucky be strong enough in this state?

Fear churned her stomach and it made her nauseous and anxious. She needed him to get better. No matter what had happened between them, she still loved him with all she had. It didn't matter that three years had passed. She needed him to be well.

Sarah wanted to be able to talk to him. She'd even settle for imagining his life from a distance, if that was what he wanted. She just needed him to make it out of this in one piece.

She sat by his bed and held his cold flesh hand in her sweaty ones, brushing her thumbs gently across his skin. Eventually one of her hands moved to brush through his hair, where it was stuck to his sweaty forehead.

“Please be okay” she whispered, leaning in so her lips were close to his ear, “I need you”. Tears fell from her eyes and onto his cheek, but she didn't bother wiping them off. She hardly even noticed them. She felt someone move to stand behind her and as that person placed a hand on her shoulders, giving them a squeeze, she sighed. Steve. He was right there with her, filled with despair of his own.

“He will be okay” Steve said, his voice steady and determined. Sarah wondered if he was trying to convince her or himself. It didn't really matter. None of it mattered. Only Bucky.

A little over three hours later Dr. Cho ran into the room with her team and Bucky was quickly rushed off to the chamber she had brought with her. Steve and Sarah stood in silence as they watched Bucky taken from the room. All they could do now was hope, hope that Dr. Cho had been on time.

Steve wrapped his arm around her and pulled her close and she sighed. He needed reassurance as much as she did.

***

Two days had passed since then and while Bucky was still unconscious, he was now back in a bed and out of the cradle. His vitals had been arrhythmic and they chose to keep him under sedation a little while longer. The cradle had done all it could and now it was up to him. The skin had seemed almost healed. The colour had returned to his frame and his breathing was calm. However, they were not certain what damage the poison had done.

Today the doctors had decided to slowly dial back the sedation, effectively waking him. Once he was awake, they would be able to check his mental state, whether he still felt pain and if he could use all his muscles. Those were the lasts tests he needed to pass. If he did, then all he would need was time to recuperate. Steve was hopeful, while Sarah was still just scared.

For hours, Sarah sat beside him again. Nodding off every now and again. Neither she nor Steve had slept since the mission and while he seemed no worse for wear, it was completely wearing Sarah down. Still, she could not find any rest. Hopefully, once he had woken up, she'd be able to sleep.

She'd just nodded off a little, her head leaning against the wall near his headrest when Bucky began trashing wildly.

His eyes were still closed and he grunted, pain evident on his features. Sarah knew instantly what was happening. Unconsciousness had left him, making room for sleep. Which in itself was a good sign. Even so, with sleep came the never ceasing nightmares that made him relive the worst days of his life.

For a short moment Sarah was frozen in her seat, watching him struggle with his inner demons. She shook it off and sprung into action. She could hear hurried footsteps in the hall and knew Steve wasn't far out now.

She stood from her chair and quickly climbed in the bed. Wrapping one arm around his waist and placing the hand of her other arm on his cheek, she began whispering softly. Telling him that she was there, that he was safe. Asking him to wake up. To open his beautiful eyes for her. That she was waiting on him, as was Steve. And that everything would be okay, once he woke up.

It took nearly ten minutes of softly speaking to him, before his body lost it's restlessness and he calmed, nestled in her arms. Bucky hummed as he inhaled her scent, pulling her closer to him. He struggled a little with the restraints of his iv, as it pulled on his arm slightly. This prompted him to furrow his brows in confusion and pulled him to consciousness completely.  

His eyes slowly fluttered open, and a loud sigh came from Steve as he stood in the doorway. Relief washed over him and tears streamed down his cheeks. Though Sarah knew he was bursting at the seams to hug his friend, he stood in the doorway. Not evading the space they were in. Giving them a moment. Something she was more than grateful for.

Bucky craned his neck to watch Steve, a small smile on his face, before slowly looking back at Sarah. His arms still held her close as the silence hung thick between them. For what felt like an eternity, they just stared at one another. Steve retreated from the room quietly and finally Sarah spoke.

“I thought I'd lost you there for a minute”

She was trying to keep her tone light, but as tears threatened to spill from her eyes, she knew she had failed. His hand reached up to brush over her cheek and wipe at a stray tear.

“I thought you'd be glad to be rid of me” he finally replied. His eyes searched Sarah's face for a confirmation of his fears, which he would not find. He only saw the tears now flowing freely as her brow creased.

“I love you” she choked out, hoping he would hear the sincerity in her voice. She wasn't the one to walk away. She would have stayed with him forever, if he had let her.

“After all I put you through?” confusion obvious on his features.

“Forever” Sarah leaned forward and cautiously her lips grazed over his. She would never stop loving him, she knew that much. Three years apart had proven that for her. She just didn't know if he would still love her. But, he was alive and that was all that mattered now.

“I nearly killed you” the pain was evident in his eyes. Three years had done nothing to dull that. Pulling back from her, he scooted to the edge of the bed. The hurt now clear in her eyes as she watched him. He apparently didn't care much for his current state as he looked at her in agony.

“Please stop” Sarah whispered, her hand reaching to him, not quite touching. Giving him a choice.

“Stop what?” he didn't understand what she meant.

“Running”, she sat up, looking down on him and placed her hand on his carefully, afraid he would pull away again,” you don't have to be alone.”

“I nearly killed you”, he repeated, “The on person I love more than anything and I broke you”

“you didn't break me. I am right here. And I think we can fight this together. You are not the first and you won't be the last to suffer from ptsd.”

Bucky remained silent as he observed the woman before him. She was determined. No hesitation as she reached for him.

“Bucky I love you”

There were no certainties in life. Nothing set in stone. Sarah did not know what the future would bring them, she just knew she wanted to face it with Bucky. His hand reached up, found it's place in her neck and gently pulled her forward. His lips grazed hers and as tears streamed down her face again, she kissed him back.

This one was posted on A03 first, and I wasn’t sure i’d post it here….but now I did. Hope you like it!

[prolapsarian]

Conversation with David Panos about The Searchers

The Searchers by David Panos is at Hollybush Gardens, 1-2 Warner Yard London EC1R 5EY, 12 January – 9 February 2019

There is something chattering. Alongside a triptych a small screen displays the rhythmic loop of hands typing, contorting, touching, holding. A movement in which the artifice strains between shuddering and juddering. Machinic GIFs seem to frame an event which may or may not have taken place. Their motions appear to combine an endless neurotic repetition and a totally adrenal pumped and pumping tension, anticipating confrontation. 

JBR: How do the heavily stylised triptych of screens in ‘The Searchers’ relate to the GIF-like loops created out of conventionally-shot street footage? DP: I think of the three screens as something like the ‘unconscious’ of these nervous gestures. I’m interested in how video compositing can conjure up impossible or interior spaces, perhaps in a way similar to painting. Perhaps these semi-abstract images can somehow evoke how bodies are shot through with subterranean currents—the strange world of exchange and desire that lies under the surface of reality or physical experience. Of course abstractions don't really ‘inhabit’ bodies and you can’t depict metaphysics, but Paul Klee had this idea about an aesthetic ‘interworld’, that painting could somehow reveal invisible aspects of reality through poetic distortion. Digital video and especially 3D graphics tend to be the opposite of painting—highly regimented and sat within a very preset Euclidean space. I guess I’ve been trying to wrestle with how these programs can be misused to produce interesting images—how images of figures can be abstracted by them but retain some of their twitchy aliveness. JBR: This raises a question about the difference between the control of your media and the situation of total control in contemporary cinematic image making. DP: Under the new regimes of video making, the software often feels like it controls you. Early analogue video art was a sensuous space of flows and currents, and artists like the Vasulkas were able to build their own video cameras and mixers to allow them to create whole new images—in effect new ways of seeing. Today that kind of utopian or avant-garde idea that video can make surprising new orders of images is dead—it’s almost impossible for artists to open up a complex program like Cinema 4D and make it do something else. Those softwares were produced through huge capital investment funding hundreds of developers. But I’m still interested in engaging with digital and 3D video, trying to wrestle with it to try and get it to do something interesting—I guess because the way that it pictures the world says something about the world at the moment—and somehow it feels that one needs to work in relation to the heightened state of commodification and abstraction these programs represent. So I try and misuse the software or do things by hand as much as possible, and rather than programming and rendering I manipulate things in real time. JBR: So in some way the collective and divided labour that goes into producing the latest cinematic commodities also has a doubled effect: firstly technique is revealed as the opposite of some kind of freedom, and at the same time this has an effect both on how the cinematic object is treated and how it appears. To be represented objects have to be surrounded by the new 3D capture technology, and at the same time it laminates the images in a reflected glossiness that bespeaks both the technology and the disappearance of the labour that has gone into creating it. DP: I’m definitely interested in the images produced by the newest image technologies—especially as they go beyond lens-based capture. One of the screens in the triptych uses volumetric capturing— basically 3D scanning for moving image. The ‘camera’ perspective we experience as the viewer is non-existent, and as we travel into these virtual, impossible perspectives it creates the effect of these hollowed out, corroded bodies. This connects to a recurring motif of ‘hollowing out’ that appears in the video and sculpture I’ve been making recently. And I have a recurring obsession with the hollowing out of reality caused by the new regime of commodities whose production has become cut to the bone, so emptied of their material integrity that they’re almost just symbols of themselves. So in my show ‘The Dark Pool’ (Hollybush Gardens, 2014) I made sculptural assemblages with Ikea tables and shelves, which when you cut them open are hollow and papery. Or in ‘Time Crystals’ (Pumphouse Gallery, 2017) I worked with clothes made in the image of the past from Primark and H&M that are so low-grade that they can barely stand washing. We are increasingly surrounded by objects, all of which have—through contemporary processes of hyper-rationalisation and production—been slowly emptied of material quality. Yet they have the resemblance of luxury or historical goods. This is a real kind of spectral reality we inhabit.  I wonder to myself about how the unconscious might haunt us in these days when commodities have become hollow. Might it be like Benjamin’s notion of the optical unconscious, in which through the photographic still the everyday is brought into a new focus, not in order to see what is behind the veil of semblance, but to see—and reclaim for art—the veiling in a newly-won clarity. DP: Yes, I see these new technologies as similar, but am interested in how they don't just change impact perception but also movement. The veiled moving figures in ‘The Searchers' are a strange byproduct of digital video compositing. I was looking to produce highly abstract linear depictions of bodies reduced to fleshy lines, similar to those in the show and I discovered that the best way to create these abstract images was to cover the face and hands of performers when you film them to hide the obvious silhouettes of hands and faces. But asking performers to do this inadvertently produced a very peculiar movement—the strange veiled choreography that you see in the show. I found this footage of the covered performers (which was supposed to be a stepping stone to a more digitally mediated image, and never actually seen) really suggestive— the dancers seem to be seeking out different temporary forms and they have a curious classical or religious quality or sometimes evoke a contemporary state of emergency. Or they just look like absurd ghosts. JBR: In the last hundred years, when people have talked about ghosts the one thing they don’t want to think about is how children consider ghosts, as figures covered in a white sheet, in a stupid tangible way. Ghosts—as traumatic memories—have become more serious and less playful. Ghosts mean dwelling on the unfinished business of the past, or apprehending some shard of history left unredeemed that now revisits us. Not only has no one been allowed to be a child with regard to ghosts, but also ghosts are not for materialists either. All the white sheets are banished. One of the things about Marx when he talks about phantoms—or at least phantasmagorias—is much closer to thinking about, well, pieces of linen and how you clothe someone, and what happens with a coat worked up out of once living, now dead labour that seems more animate than the human who wears it.  DP: Yes, I’ve been very interested in Marx’s phantasmagorias. I reprinted Keston Sutherland’s brilliant essay on how Marx uses the term ‘Gallerte’ or ‘gelatine’ to describe abstract labour for a recent show. Sutherland highlights a vitalism in Marx’s metaphysics that I’m very drawn to. For the last few years I’ve been working primarily with dancers and physical performers and trying to somehow make work about the weird fleshy world of objects and how they’re shot through with frozen labour. I love how he describes the ‘wooden brain’ of the table as commodity and how he describes it ‘dancing’—I always wanted to make an animatronic dancing table.  JBR: There is also a sort of joyfulness about that. The phantasmagoria isn’t just scary but childish. Of course you are haunted by commodities, of course they are terrifying, of course they are worked up out of the suffering and collective labour of a billion bodies working both in concert and yet alienated from each other. People’s worked up death is made into value, and they all have unfinished business. But commodities are also funny and they bumble around; you find them in your house and play with them.  DP: Well my last body of work was all about dancing and how fashion commodities are bound up with joy and memory, but this show has come out much bleaker. It’s about how bodies are searching out something else in a time of crisis. It’s ended up reflecting a sense of lack and longing and general feeling of anxiety in the air. That said I am always drawn to images that are quite bright, colourful and ‘pop’ and maybe a bit banal—everyday moments of dead time and secret gestures.  JBR: Yes, but they are not so banal. In dealing with tangible everyday things we are close to time and motion studies, but not just in terms of the stupid questions they ask of how people work efficiently. Rather this raises questions of what sort of material should be used so that something slips or doesn’t slip—or how things move with each other or against each other—what we end up doing with our bodies or what we end up putting on our bodies. Your view into this is very sympathetic: much art dealing in cut-up bodies appears more violent, whereas the ruins of your abstractions in the stylised triptych seem almost caring.  DP: Well I’m glad you say that. Although this show is quite dark I also have a bit of a problem with a strain of nihilist melancholy that pervades a lot of art at the moment. It gives off a sense of being subsumed by capitalism and modern technology and seeing no way out. I hope my work always has a certain tension or energy that points to another possible world. But I’m not interested in making academic statements with the work about theory or politics. I want it to gesture in a much more intuitive, rhythmic, formal way like music. I had always made music and a few years back started to realise that I needed to make video with the same sense of formal freedom. The big change in my practice was to move from making images using cinematic language to working with simultaneous registers of images on multiple screens that produce rhythmic or affective structures and can propose without text or language.  JBR: The presentation of these works relies on an intervention into the time of the video. If there is a haunting here its power appears in the doubled domain of repetition, which points both backwards towards a past that must be compulsively revisited, and forwards in convulsive anticipatory energy. The presentation of the show troubles cinematic time, in which not only is linear time replaced by cycles, but also new types of simultaneity within the cinematic reality can be established between loops of different velocities.  DP: Film theorists talk about the way ‘post-cinematic’ contemporary blockbusters are made from images knitted together out of a mixture of live action, green-screen work, and 3D animation. I’ve been thinking how my recent work tries to explode that—keep each element separate but simultaneous. So I use ‘live’ images, green-screened compositing and CGI across a show but never brought together into a naturalised image—sort of like a Brechtian approach to post-cinema. The show is somehow an exploded frame of a contemporary film with each layer somehow indicating different levels of lived abstractions, each abstraction peeling back the surface further.  JBR: This raises crucial questions of order, and the notion that abstraction is something that ‘comes after’ reality, or is applied to reality, rather than being primary to its production.  DP: Yes good point. I think that’s why I’m interested in multiple screens visible simultaneously. The linear time of conventional editing is always about unveiling whereas in the show everything is available at the same time on the same level to some extent. This kind of multi-screen, multi-layered approach to me is an attempt at contemporary ‘realism’ in our times of high abstraction. That said it’s strange to me that so many artworks and games using CGI these days end up echoing a kind of ‘naturalist’ realist pictorialism from the early 19th Century—because that’s what is given in the software engines and in the gaming-post-cinema complex they’re trying to reference. Everything is perfectly in perspective and figures and landscapes are designed to be at least pseudo ‘realistic’. I guess that’s why you hear people talking about the digital sublime or see art that explores the Romanticism of these ‘gaming’ images.  JBR: But the effort to make a naturalistic picture is—as it was in the 19th century—already not the same as realism. Realism should never just mean realistic representation, but instead the incursion of reality into the work. For the realists of the mid-19th century that meant a preoccupation with motivations and material forces. But today it is even more clear that any type of naturalism in the work can only serve to mask similar preoccupations, allowing work to screen itself off from reality.  DP: In terms of an anti-naturalism I’m also interested in the pictorial space of medieval painting that breaks the laws of perspective or post-war painting that hovered between figuration and abstraction. I recently returned to Francis Bacon who I was the first artist I was into when I was a teenage goth and who I’d written off as an adolescent obsession. But revisiting Bacon I realised that my work is highly influenced by him, and reflects the same desire to capture human energy in a concentrated, abstracted way. I want to use ‘cold’ digital abstraction to create a heightened sense of the physical but not in the same way as motion capture which always seems to smooth off and denature movement. So the graph-like image in the centre of the triptych (Les Fantômes) in this show twitches with the physicality of a human body in a very subtle but palpable way. It looks like CGI but isn’t and has this concentrated human life force rippling through it. 

If in this space and time of loops of the exploded unstill still, we find ourselves again stuck in this shuddering and juddering, I can’t help but ask what its gesture really is. How does the past it holds gesture towards the future? And what does this mean for our reality and interventions into it. JBR: The green-screen video is very cold. The ruined 3D version is very tender. DP: That's funny you say that. People always associate ‘dirty’ or ‘poor’ images with warmth and find my green-screen images very cold. But in the green-screened video these bodies are performing a very tender dance—searching out each other, trying to connect, but also trying to become objects, or having to constantly reconfigure themselves and never settling. JBR: And yet with this you have a certain conceit built into the drapes you use: one that is in a totally reflective drape, and one in a drape that is slightly too close to the colour of the greenscreen background. Even within these thin props there seems to be something like a psychological description or diagnosis. And as much as there is an attempt to conjoin two bodies in a mutual darkness, each seems thrown back by its own especially modern stigma. The two figures seem to portray the incompatibility of the two poles established by veiled forms of the world of commodities: one is hidden by a veil that only reflects back to the viewer, disappearing behind what can only be the viewer’s own narcissism and their gratification in themselves, which they have mistaken for interest in an object or a person, while the other clumsily shows itself at the very moment that it might want to seem camouflaged against a background that is already designed to disappear. It forces you to recognise the object or person that seems to want to become inconspicuous. And stashed in that incompatibility of how we find ourselves cloaked or clothed is a certain unhappiness. This is not a happy show. Or at least it is a gesturally unsettled and unsettling one. DP: I was consciously thinking of the theories of gesture that emerged during the crisis years of the early 20th century. The impact of the economic and political on bodies. And I wanted the work to reflect this sense of crisis. But a lot of the melancholy in the show is personal. It's been a hard year. But to be honest I’m not that aligned to those who feel that the current moment is the worst of all possible times. There’s a left/liberal hysteria about the current moment (perhaps the same hysteria that is fuelling the rise of right-wing populist ideas) that somehow nothing could be worse than now, that everything is simply terrible. But I feel that this moment is a moment of contestation, which is tough but at least means having arguments about the way the world should be, which seems better than the strange technocratic slumber of the past 25 years. Austerity has been horrifying and I realise that I’ve been relatively shielded from its effects, but the sight of the post-political elites being ejected from the stage of history is hopeful to me, and people seem to forget that the feeling of the rise of the right has been also met with a much broader audience for the left or more left-wing ideas than have been previously allowed to impact public discussion. That said, I do think we’re experiencing the dog-end of a long-term economic decline and this sense of emptying out is producing phantasms and horrors and creating a sense of palpable dread. I started to feel that the images I was making for ‘The Searchers’ engaged with this. David Panos (b. 1971 in Athens, Greece) lives and works in London, UK. A selection of solo and group exhibitions include Pumphouse Gallery, Wandsworth, London, 2017 (solo); Sculpture on Screen. The Very Impress of the Object, Gulbenkian Museum, Lisbon, Portugal [Kirschner & Panos], 2017; Nemocentric, Charim Galerie, Vienna, 2016; Atlas [De Las Ruinas] De Europa, Centro Centro, Madrid, 2016; The Dark Pool, Albert Baronian, Brussels, (solo), 2015; The Dark Pool, Galeria Marta Cervera, Madrid, 2015; Whose Subject Am I?, Kunstverein Fur Die Rheinlande Und Westfalen, Düsseldorf, 2015; The Dark Pool, Hollybush Gardens, London, (solo), 2014; A Machine Needs Instructions as a Garden Needs Discipline, MARCO Vigo, 2014; Ultimate Substance, B3 Biennale des bewegten Blides, Nassauischer Kunstverein, Wiesbaden, (Kirschner & Panos solo), 2013; Ultimate Substance, CentrePasquArt, Biel, (Kirschner & Panos solo), 2013; Ultimate Substance, Extra City, Antwerp, (Kirschner & Panos solo), 2013; The Magic of the State, Lisson Gallery, London, 2013; HELL AS, Palais de Tokyo, Paris, 2013.

[pho---to---graph]

Henry Fox Talbot – The Haystack

Posted on July 7, 2015 by Steve Middlehurst In April 1844 William Henry Fox Talbot set up a camera loaded with light sensitive paper and photographed (i) a haystack on his country estate at Lacock Abbey in Wiltshire. The haystack had presumably been constructed in the summer of 1843 but as we have no clue to its original size we cannot tell if it has been used to feed livestock all winter or only recently opened. A ladder leans against the stack, blocks are obviously being cut starting from the top down and we can see that the hay knife has been left high in the stack to the left of the ladder (ii). We can see how the stack has been designed with an undercut to minimise rising damp and painstakingly thatched to protect the valuable crop from the rain. Another thatched roof can be seen behind the stack but this looks more likely to be a barn. I partly chose this image because I lived in rural Italy for a number of years and stacks not dissimilar to this still exist in the mountains of Abruzzo, I found an ancient hay knife in the outbuildings of the house we lived in. This, of course provides a punctum (1) in this photograph that is quite personal to me.

Overall the composition has a strong geometry with the bright ladder and its dark shadow  providing contrast to the mid-tones of the hay. The Haystack is a study of light, tone and texture with the shadows of the ladder, the eaves of the thatch and the undercut all playing important roles in defining the significant and detailed forms in the scene. The dark leaves overhead provide a contrasting backdrop to the stack.

Such a stack would have been common place in rural England in the 1840s, unremarkable, probably identical to many other stacks in the Lacock area if not on the estate itself. This leads me to wonder why Fox Talbot photographed this particular stack, what did he want to communicate to his audience and who did he perceive that audience to be? Because this is a well know photograph, one of a series that Fox Talbot published in The Pencil of Nature in 1844 (2) (iii), it has been analysed, considered, critiqued and interpreted for over 175 years.

In fact it was whilst quite casually turning the pages of Ian Jeffrey’s How to Read a Photograph (3) that I paused to read his interpretation of The Haystack and began to think about the variety of ways in which we can read this calotype and how those readings have probably changed over time. It is interesting to consider such an old image in this way because, whilst we feel compelled to label it, there were no strongly established photographic genres in 1844 and no history of this type of image to speak of so Fox-Talbot only saw his work in the context of his drawing, his scientific research (iv) and as a commercial opportunity. He did refer to his calotypes as Art saying in his introduction to The Pencil of Nature that the book is a “first attempt to exhibit an Art of so great a singularity”  and refers to the process as “Photogenic Drawing” (v) but I cannot shake off the feeling that the practical process or the commercial potential was more interesting to him than the end result.

Fox Talbot, like many educated men of his time, maintained regular correspondence with contacts all over Europe and from the letters held in the De Montford University archive (5) it is possible to find many references to his photographic work but the ones I found (vii) were predominantly practical, or scientific in nature; and perhaps not surprisingly he was very interested in arguing the advantages of his Calotype process over the Daguerreotype. The discussions he was engaged in rarely touched upon the aesthetics of his or other photographer’s work and one letter from Fox Talbot to William Jerdan, the Editor of the Literary Gazette (vi), is particularly revealing; he wrote “The Complexity of the Art requires a division of labour; one person should invent new processes while another puts in execution those already ascertained, but hitherto I have been the chief operator myself in the different branches of the invention.”

We do know that Pencil of Nature is as much a catalogue as a photo book. Fox talbot selected subjects that showed the potential uses of photography; a photograph of his china collection is accompanied by a text explaining how this would help recover them if they were stolen, the leaf of a plant is contact printed as a botanical specimen, and the haystack is included to show how well photography could record “a multitude of minute details which add to the truth and reality of the representation, but which no artist would take the trouble to copy faithfully from nature.” He also places some photographs into the context of schools of painting, his famous Open Door is referenced to the “Dutch school of art”. All of which supports Gerry Badger’s description of the book as “an advertisement, a calling card, an experiment, a history, an aesthetic achievement and a manifesto” (6).

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Ian Jeffrey looking at The Haystack with a post modern eye suggests that the ladder has been placed here to provide human scale, “it serves as an attribute, making practical sense of the haystack”. He goes on to say that the sparse composition leaves the audience focusing on the items that are there so the ladder becomes suggestive of Jacob’s ladder which reached from earth to heaven. All valid points from a highly respected critic; I don’t see the ladder as being “placed” by the photographer, it is logical to me that it has been left here from the last time they cut into the hay which also explains why the hay knife has been left so high on the stack. I didn’t find the ladder suggestive of anything other than a practical way of accessing the hay.

When Fox Talbot photographed The Haystack, his intent appears to have been to show how his new process could capture the infinite detail in a large and recognisable object. He created a pleasing composition and may or may not have had one of his farm labourers bring a ladder and hay knife into the scene to add human scale or human interest. His message was primarily concerned with the functionality of the Calotype; his audience was probably a mixture of the scientific establishment, the British artists he hoped would “assist the enterprise” and the middle-class buyers who, not being able to afford a Constable, might buy a Fox Talbot instead.

Jeffrey sees the photograph as an example of the conceptual game “in which one step forward delivers things and words and one step back discloses the scene itself in all its natural complexity” (3). One the one hand I see it as a romantic view of rural life that has personal links to my life and on the other hand as a photograph taken by someone more interested in process and technology than the picture, rather like those internet conversations about pixels that appear to reduce photography to a technological arms-race. But, my interpretation is no more right than Jeffrey’s nor has this eminent art historian and critic has in any way missed the point, far from it.

The haystack is a prefect example of the practical application of Roland Barthes concept of “The Death of the Author” (7) and the idea of “Creative Attention” as proposed by Ainslie Ellis and Jonathan Bayer (8). (These ideas have been discussed in previous essays – see note viii below)

The post modernist view which is strongly based on Barthes’ essay The Death of the Author argues that whilst “the sway of the author remains powerful” the viewer is the primary controller of Art’s meaning. Barthes argues that reducing the influence of the author “utterly transforms” a piece of art and The Haystack is a perfect example of this process. Its power as a photograph is built upon a complex combination of its original context including the history of Fox Talbot and his competition with Daguerre, the mysteries and ambiguities that exist inside the frame and its aesthetic appeal but this is only relevant as a springboard for the ideas the viewer creates by engaging in a dialogue with the image. Harking back to Bayer’s idea, The Haystack releases its meanings slowly and has been doing so for over 175 years.

(I have also looked at this photograph in the context of semiotics here.)

Notes on Text

(i) Fox talbot patented the calotype in 1843. Light sensitive paper was exposed in a camera, developed and fixed to create a negative. A print was made by exposing another sheet of light sensitive paper placed in contact with the negative. (1) I was intrigued to find a letter in the de Montford archive where he uses the term “photograph” as a generic term “Several photographic processes being now known, which are materially different from each other, I consider it to be absolutely necessary to distinguish them by different names, in the same way that we distinguish different styles of painting or engraving. Photographs executed on a silver plate have received, and will no doubt retain, the name of Daguerréotype. The new kind of photographs, which are the subject of this letter, I propose to distinguish by the name of Calotype; a term which, I hope, when the become known, will not be found to have been misapplied.” (

(ii) Since the advent of silage hay is is used far less for animal feeding and when it is used it is bailed and stacked as opposed to just stacked. The art of making a haystack has nearly disappeared in England but in many parts of Southern and Eastern Europe both the stack and the the unique triangular knives that are used to carve out the hay are still common.

(iii) Fox Talbot’s great contribution to the process of photography was the concept of printing multiple copies of the same picture from a single negative. The Pencil of Nature was the first ever photo book and ran to to six separate volumes that in total contained twenty four calotypes.

(iv) By all accounts Fox-Talbot was a brilliant man, as a gentleman scientist he explored many fields and was awarded a honorary Doctors of Laws degree by Edinburgh University not for his contribution to the arts or even his political career (he served in Palmerston’s government when the MP for Chippenham) but for his many contributions to science. In mathematics there is the “Talbot’s Curve”, in physics “Talbot’s Law” and the “Talbot” is a unit of luminous energy; there are two species names after him in the filed of botany and for good measure there is a Talbot crater on the moon. (4)

(v) He also points out that “you just can’t get the staff” saying that the chief difficulty he faces is the “paucity” of “skilful manual assistance”.

(vi) The full text reads: “I intend sending you a Copy of my new work the Pencil of Nature which I expect will be published tomorrow. I have met with difficulties innumerable in this first attempt at Photographic publication, & therefore I hope all imperfections will be candidly allowed for, and excused – I have every reason to hope the work will improve greatly as it proceeds, & that British Talent will come forward and assist the enterprise The Complexity of the Art requires a division of labour; one person should invent new processes while another puts in execution those already ascertained, but hitherto I have been the chief operator myself in the different branches of the invention.” (Document number 5013 in The Correspondence of William Henry Fox Talbot held by the De Montford University (5))

(vii) It is important to recognise that Larry J Schaaf has recorded approximately 10,000 letters to and from Fox Talbot so it would be quite wrong to give the impression that I have done anymore than skimmed the surface of this resource. I concentrated on reading the letters written between early 1843 and late 1844 which covered the period of The Haystack photograph and the publication of The Pencil of Nature.

(viii) The Death of the Author is discussed in two essays about post modernism here and here and the ideas of Ainslie Ellis and Jonathan Bayer are looked at here and here)

Sources

Books

(1) Barthes, Roland. (1980) Camera Lucida. London: Vintage Books

(3) Jeffrey, Ian ( 2008) How to Read a Photograph: Understanding, Interpreting and Enjoying the Great Photographers. London: Thames and Hudson.

(6) Badger, Gerry (2007) The Genius of Photography: How Photography has Changed our Lives. London: Quadrille.

(7) Barthes, Roland (1968) The Death of the Author. (Included within Image, music, Text, translated by Stephen Heath (1977)) London: Fontana Press

(8) Bayer, Jonathan (1977) Reading Photographs: Understanding the Aesthetics of Photography. The Photographers’ Gallery. New York: Pantheon

Internet

(2) Fox Talbot, William Henry (1844) The Pencil of Nature (accessed at PCCA 6.7.15) – http://www.photocriticism.com/members/archivetexts/photohistory/talbot/talbotpencila.html

(4) Schaaf, Larry J. The Correspondence of William Henry Fox Talbot (accessed at the de Montford University Fox Talbot archive 6.7.15) – http://foxtalbot.dmu.ac.uk/talbot/biography.html

(5) Schaaf, Larry J. The Correspondence of William Henry Fox Talbot (accessed at the de Montford University Fox Talbot archive 6.7.15) – http://foxtalbot.dmu.ac.uk

[simkjrs]

(1/9 I’M SORRY) I was so, so sad to see that post you made about people leaving you rude comments on your fics, because you're one of my favourite fic writers and you clearly put so much thought and effort into your stories. I love reading your commentary on WHY a character might be different than they are in canon, and how you interpret the world they live in. Your analysis on B/NHA economics and how that affects BYGGUALOM I/zuku's view of heroes remains one of my favourite pieces of meta.

(2/9) I absolutely adore the way you write I/zuku in all your different AUs, I love the way you develop BYGGUALOM I/zuku’s relationship with B/akugou and go in depth about all the problems they have, I’ve reread the fic a couple of times and keep finding interesting new tidbits, like the shop keepers first calling it out as abuse when they offer to let him sneak out the back early in the story and he gets SO UNCOMFORTABLE hearing it foreshadowing him having to face it in the future, the slowly

(3/9) dawning realisations of people who know the both of them realising what is up, how B/akugou can still show affection for I/zuku and try to be supportive while absolutely fucking him up and how REAL that is when someone you care about is so good in some ways and so bad in others. You don’t completely villainize B/akugou either, which I REALLY appreciate. So many fics just make him this cruel abusive monster who puts I/zuku down because he’s just bad, but you don’t ignore the more complex

(4/9) aspects of B/akugou’s character. You don’t demonise him but you don’t let him get away with shit either, he has to face consequences for what he’s done, and that balance makes for far more interesting story telling. I’m so into it and so invested in the dynamic you’ve created and how they’ll both move forward as people from now on!And that’s not even getting into MSA, which I am so enamoured with and eagerly awaiting each new chapter with bated breath. It’s true that I’ve had moments

(5/9) where I’ve thought that MSA I/zuku felt out of character, but you’re absolutely right that it’s because of how his experiences have differed and how he views the world. There are fundamental differences between him and his canon counterpart, and when you put him into context you can still recognise the character and his motivations and core beliefs despite all the differing bullshit they’ve been through. MSA I/zuku’s reactions feel so raw and realistic, I have cried for this boy in the

(6/9) latest update. I can still see D/eku in him, he’s not trying to be a hero and avoiding as much of the spotlight as possible, but he’s doing his best to help people, he’s refusing to abandon anyone no matter how jaded and bitter he might have become, at his core he’s still our awkward heroic bean that we all love and honestly? MSA is such an interesting and beautiful story that I will take a little bit of OOC behaviour that makes sense in the context of the narrative you’re crafting if it

(7/9) makes for more interesting story telling. Sticking so rigidly to a canon characterisation that developed from experiences this I/zuku just hasn’t had would make for a much weaker story that I’d be far less invested in. Some of I/zuku’s sass may not read as what I’d expect from his canon counterpart who has admitted to having a terrible sense of humour, but it’s just so entertaining and gives you more insight on how many fucks he has had forcibly ripped out of him and the coping mechanisms

(8/9) he has had to develop to deal with his life. Finding a fic with an I/zuku that DOESN’T think he deserves all this bullshit and snaps back against it with such grace and wit is such a refreshing change compared to all the weak stuttery self loathing I/zuku’s I see, and it’s so gratifying when he’s able to push back. I love him. I want to know more about him. I want to hear about all his changes and how he came to be the way he is and what we know makes SENSE damn it!

(9/9) This got really long I’m sorry it’s really late here and I'm so tired so I don't know if my rambling was coherent, I just have a lot of feelings on your works and I hate that someone made you feel bad about something you do so well that I and so many others love so much. You're a fantastic writer who responds well to constructive criticism and puts so much effort into interacting with their fanbase, I wanted you to know how much I appreciate it and you and your writing. So many feelings.

hey listen... this is one of the longest and most heartfelt reviews ive ever gotten  im seriously overwhelmed, i cant believe you just pumped this out on the spot just cause i was feeling a little down. thank you so much for taking the time to write all of this out. i always say this but i really do mean it -- this means a lot to me. i wish i could express in better words how i feel, but i have no idea where to even begin. 

i feel like you’ve seen so many of the things and purposes i was writing towards, and i feel so incredibly gratified that you were able to see what i was trying to do. i’m really glad that my stories have been engaging and interesting, and i’m even happier that you enjoyed them. thank you so much for this review!!! 

[goffilolo]

Demise of Midoriya Izuku (part 7)

I’m back! sorry it took so long to updat,e however ive seen very busy with school. also this chapter is over twice as long as usual, because its a very intense one, so it took me a very long time to write. hope you dont mind. The chapter is also posted on ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11557743/chapters/28807050

“All I’m saying is, next time he comes over we grab a couple of those buckets, fill them with water and drown the bitch into submission!” exclaimed Izuku, while excitedly pointing to the empty buckets in the corridor that were left there by a janitor.

“Izuku, no, just no” said Mrs. Todoroki with the exhaustion of a person who has listened through a hundred and one plans on how to torture her husband.

“You never like any of my plans!” replied Izuku.

“Because they’re not plans, they’re random impulses of vandalism and violent behaviour” she continued “Besides, not that I don’t enjoy your company, but aren’t you supposed meet with piece of shit, or whatever his name was?”

“How did you-”

“It’s a small ward honey. The word gets round quickly” interrupted Mrs. Todoroki while looking pointedly at the four armed nurse, who was currently pretending to be busy writing something in her clipboard and holding the handles of Izuku’s wheelchair.

“Tch, typical” scoffed Izuku.

Now, going back to the topic, YES, he was going to meet ‘piece of shit’ today. The decision was made by his mother who had gone to the Bakugous’ house the previous day and told them about their son’s actions in hopes of resolving the situation (bless her soul) despite the strain it would inevitably put on their friendship. The adults have decided that the best thing to do would be to all go to the hospital and talk things out, to which Izuku’s initial reaction was “not today Satan”, but not much could be done on his side to avoid this trainwreck.

And here he was now, in the common room, killing time with some good old escapism; focusing on all the different ways to torture Mrs. Todoroki’s shitty husband, rather than the ticking clock on the wall above him, mocking him, playing the role of a countdown to the start of what he calls ‘The Bakugou-shitshow’. The sleep deprivation from his meds was definitely not helping.

This was going to be a long fucking day.

“So it’s starting soon, huh? The Bakugou-shitshow” said Shin as he seemingly materialized out of thin air, rubbing his hands in a mischievous manner.

“You’ve read my journal” replied the boy in a cold, flat tone that the doctor hated so much. Honestly, is there no such thing as privacy in this loony bin?

“And you’ve read my medical notes about your case, which may I remind you are for medical staff only” retaliated the doctor, his unwillingness to put up with Izuku’s shit at this point very apparent in his voice. He then turned to the nurse and motioned towards the handles of his patient’s wheelchair “Do you mind if I borrow this little gremlin for a second?”

“Fuck you!” interrupted Izuku.

“See? A little gremlin right here” sneered Shin.

He then grabbed the handles and wordlessly started to wheel Izuku out of the common room in the direction of his office as Mrs. Todoroki and the nurse waved them goodbye.

“So, you’re seeing Bakugou today, aren’t you?”

“Yep”

“Are you mentally ready for it?”

“Fuck no!”

“Thought so, which is why we’re going to have a little chat now” said the doctor as he reached their destination.

Once inside the confines of Shin’s office, the doctor has dropped his cheeky facade in favour of the more uncommon, nevertheless much needed; that of a professional.

“Tell me Izuku, how do you feel about meeting Bakugou?” asked Shin, hoping to go straight to the topic, but leaving the question open enough for his patient.

“I-it’s a lot of-” started Izuku, not yet knowing how to articulate all of the complex feelings swirling together in his psyche, into some sort of a coherent answer “-uugh!” he finished, voice full of helplessness, his posture speaking “I don’t know”, which is still more than he managed to say out loud.

“Okay, that’s...something” replied the doctor, a bit disappointed in the lack of coherent response.

“I’m sorry, it’s just, a lot. Honestly, I don’t know what to expect. He has way too much pride to apologise, although our parents will be there so he’ll probably try to behave more decent with them around. But even if he does apologise, do I want to hear it? Is it going to change anything?” asked Izuku, not expecting an answer.

“You know, my dream of being a hero is dead, and I’m alright with that. I felt like I was on a good path of making peace with myself about that fact, like one day I could look back on it and think fondly of it as in ‘oh, every kid wanted to be a hero and save people’ and not be bitter about it-” continued the boy, his fists clenched, the frustration in his voice growing every second, like a volcano, waiting to erupt “-but he ruined it for me” he spat, full of venom.

“In what way did he ruin it for you?” prompted the doctor.

“To me a hero was someone who could always save everyone, someone who could always make you feel relief upon their arrival no matter how bad the situation was. And Kacchan, he’s-he’s anything BUT that. Having to see him will just remind me of this dream, of all the heroic qualities I aspired for and couldn’t reach, and how someone like HIM, who only knows how to hurt others will be able to reach that dream and ruin it! HE WILL TAKE EVERYTHING IT TAKES TO BE A HERO AND RUIN IT!” screamed Izuku, breathing labored as he became overtaken by his frustration and helplessness.

The doctor did not grace Izuku’s outburst with much of a reaction beyond widening his eyes ever so slightly before looking back down to write some notes, already used to such behaviour on his patient’s part. It tells him a lot about the boy’s repressed rage, caused by what he suspects is a mix of admiration, envy and rather justifiable bitterness, which Izuku himself seems to be in denial of.

Speaking of, as the boy slowly regained his breath his face morphed into one full of fear rather than anger as he became aware of is surroundings, the laughing clock, and the inevitable Bakugou-shitshow that’s just around the corner.

“I-I, wh-what would I even say to him when I see him?!” asked Izuku, eyes full of panic.

“I think everything you said just now” replied Shin.

He then stood up from his chair and started to wheel Izuku out of his office, in the direction of his hospital room, the atmosphere between them clear from any traces of Izuku’s outburst.

“Do you want me to be in the room with you for moral support? Or do you want me to wait outside?”

“I think I want you to be there with me”

“That’s fine then. Let’s get this shitshow started”

“Hey! That’s my line”

Soon they have found themselves back in Izuku’s room, who was hoisted up back onto the bed with the help of one of the nurses, his leg elevated like when he first woke up. Shin was keeping himself busy in the corner by reading through Izuku’s hero notebooks, his face solemn, but eyes full of wonder. It was a face Izuku has never seen before, but he wasn’t going to ask about it now, not when the peace within the room was nothing more than a bubble, ready to burst any minute.

Just because he was expecting it did not mean he was prepared, so when the door opened Izuku’s attention was drawn instantly.

Izuku looked like shit, he knew that much. The bags under his eyes told the tales of sleepless nights spent on nothing but staring at the piles upon piles of notebooks, never to be read again. His hair was a mess, like a bird’s nest, nothing unusual, except it was longer, the extra length swirling at the sides, on his face; the proof on an inevitable passage of time. Has it really been a month?

Well, here goes nothing.

He looked like shit, and he wasn’t going to pretend any different. He didn’t know what to expect when Kacchan made an entrance, but it certainly wasn’t for his childhood friend tormentor’s face to mirror the misery he felt, instead of the usual scowl matched with the condescending look.

It made him somewhat angry.

A lot things made him angry recently.

Upon Kacchan’s entrance, Shin acknowledged his presence ever so briefly before going back to flipping through Izuku’s hero notes, volume 13 to be exact. If he didn’t know better Izuku would’ve thought that Shin was trying to rub it in Kacchan’s face.

He was soon followed in by his parents and last but not least, Izuku’s mother who quickly went and sat by Izuku’s side and held his hand to provide some motherly comfort.

The room was soon filled with a strangled silence, neither of the parties knowing what to say, not wanting to start this rollercoaster.

The problem was soon solved as Mrs. Bakugou elbowed her son roughly on the side “Don’t you have something to say, you little shit?” she whispered, her powerful voice making it loud enough for everyone in the room to hear.

Izuku was going to give it to Bakugou, he looked guilty enough, alright. Quite uncomfortable as well, reminding him of all the visits his homeroom teacher has paid him over the course of the last month. Since walking in he hasn’t looked at Izuku even once, instead trying to find something to focus on in his surroundings. It definitely wasn’t his smartest idea. As soon Bakugou focused on the volume 13, another reminder jabbing at his sides, he dared to trail his eyes up to the man holding it, and was quickly met with the coldest, most cruel look he has ever experienced, that physically makes him flinch.

‘Oh, so that’s what Shin meant when he said moral support’ thought Izuku.

Really, he almost felt bad for Kacchan. Almost.

“Oh, this better be good” said Izuku in spite of himself, with that dead flat tone, hoping it was going to have the same effect on Bakugou as it does on Shin and make this shitshow a bit more interesting.

It was enough to bring Bakugou’s attention back to Izuku, but before he could say anything he was beat to it by Izuku.

“Listen, whatever you’ve got to say, frankly I don’t want to hear it. I’m not letting this trainwreck become a sappy continuous wailing of ‘i’m sorry’s. I don’t care what issues you have with quirkless people, or with your own anger, that’s something for you to deal with yourself. If my forgiveness is just for you to soothe your bruised ego and lessen your guilt, then you sure as hell ain’t getting it!” said Izuku, his tone cold, but harsh; harsher than what he was originally going for, but it seemed to work just fine given that Bakugou looked taken aback by the spiteful attitude displayed by his childhood friend, if he could even still be called that.

“But that’s not what you’re really here for, is it?” continued Izuku, this time more collected, as he slowly turned in the direction of Bakugou’s parents putting on the most obnoxiously fake smile he could muster.

“Kacchan’s quite great isn’t he? So smart, so athletic, and a strong quirk to boot it all, a hero material no matter how you look at it” said Izuku in faux admiration as he listed off Bakugou’s good qualities, as if he wasn’t in the room, having heard those complements one too many times “He’ll surely get into UA without a problem, unless…” he trailed off, pretending to be deep in thought “...unless all the bullying he’s done ends up in his record. After all, no school would accept someone who encouraged their classmate to attempt suicide, and his chances of getting into UA and becoming a hero will be as good as gone. Wouldn’t that be awful?” he finished, voice coated with fake worry.

“So that’s what you want, take a fucking revenge on me, huh?! FINE, HAVE AT IT THEN! I SURE HELL DESERVE IT DON’T I?!” screamed Bakugou, in what most would perceive as his usual angry manner, but Izuku knew there was more to it. Rather than anger it came across as more of a panic. Ah yes, panicked but not surprised. So even the ‘oh so great’ Bakugou knew he had it coming, thought Izuku. Now, THIS was fun.

“You do. And I’m really tempted to get my revenge, but I won’t” stated Izuku.

“Why not? Where’s the catch?” asked Bakugou, getting slightly suspicious.

“Because becoming a hero was always your dream, just as it has been mine and I don’t make it a habit of destroying people’s dreams-” answered Izuku in a slightly more neutral tone, preparing to deliver the ultimate blow “-I’m not YOU” he finished, gathering all of his viciousness into this one, final word.

That seemed to do it, Bakugou looked outright ashamed, having lost all of his desire to argue. Pretty close to crying as well, if the trembling lip and twitch in his eye was anything to go by.

“Just so you know, I’m not letting you off the hook, you should fully appreciate the feeling of guilt you know? It’s the only proof that you’re not a total scumbag if you’re feeling any remorse for your actions. So how about this? Why don’t you repeat what you said to me that day, right here, in front of your parents, my mum, my psychiatrist?” teased Izuku, feeling brave all of a sudden. It was the first time since he met Bakugou, where he was the one in control. He could kind of understand why Bakugou was such an ass all the time if this was the feeling that went with it. And to think he literally had to brush against death to get to this point. He better be careful.

“Fuck no!” shouted Bakugou. He was getting annoyed, but also slightly scared if he was being honest with himself. ‘Deku’ that he knew would never behave like that, he held no sadistic streak, no guts to try and challenge him in such way. And this one, this one was unpredictable, so angry, so vicious in the most passive-aggressive way. Is this what was left of Izuku once he snapped and fell? For all he knew, the Midoriya Izuku that he knew all his life was already dead.

“Oh, you’re not fun!” complained Izuku. “Alright, how about I help you, yeah? C’mon, let’s say it together!” explained the boy as he started moving his hands like a band director in Bakugou’s direction, as if trying to get him to sing his part of the song.

Inko grabbed one of her son’s arms, trying to talk some sense into him “Izuku, don’t you think that’s enough?” she said, while Bakugou looked at her with some sort of hope in his eyes.

“Nope, if anything I think Mr. and Mrs. Bakugou deserve to hear it for themselves, they deserve to know what their son is capable of” he stated and turned back to Bakugou.

“Alright then, let’s say it at three, okay? One...two...three…”

“If you believe they’re holding your quirk over in the next world you should just dive off the rooftop” the boys said in unison; Izuku in an overly cheerful voice, Bakugou in a flat, resigned tone as he kept his eyes down, staring at the floor, not being able to bear the scandalised look on his parents’ faces.

He was now crying, still refusing to look up.

“Now that that’s done, let’s get back to business. As I said, I won’t come forward and tarnish Kacchan’s report, although I do expect some sort of compensation, after all my medical bills won’t pay themselves. But that shouldn’t be a problem for you, right?” said Izuku, as he addressed Kacchan’s parents. Really, it’s the least they could do, especially since it wasn’t exactly a secret that his mother wasn’t doing doing so well financially, the monthly payments sent by his father only being able to cover so much.

The Bakugou couple nodded quickly as they made their way towards their son in an effort to comfort him.

“Oh, and Kacchan?” said Izuku as he addressed the distressed boy, this time more soft, more sincere. He quickly turned to Shin, who stayed the entire time, quietly watching the situation unfold. He gave Izuku a quick nod and a little smile to encourage him.

Bakugou who was now engulfed in his parents’ embrace looked over uncertainly.

“Ever since I was little I looked up to All Might, the number one hero who could save everyone with a smile on his face. He became my ideal, my goal, something to aspire for, my definition of heroism” Izuku said solemnly, the feeling of nostalgia creeping up on him “I’m still bitter about having to give up on my dream, not because I’m lamenting about the unfairness of being born quirkless, but because I live with knowledge that someone like you; for as strong as you are, you’re equally self-centered, unbothered by well-being of others, only caring about fighting, will be able to become a hero and contradict everything it always meant to be one. Congratulations Katsuki, you’ve ruined it for me” said Izuku, the feeling of Kacchan’s full name on is tongue uncanny, but fitting the current situation.

“So when you walk out of this room, I want you to work your ass off till the brink of exhaustion, until you become the number one hero and rub it in my face, so that I won’t feel bad about loosing my dream, knowing that it’s been tainted by you” said Izuku, his eyes filled with determination “You’ve already ruined so many things, so why not go all the way?”

Bakugou, who seemed to regain some of the usually present fire in his eyes was quick to reply “FUCK YOU DEKU, I don’t need you telling me what to do. I’m gonna become number one, regardless of what you say!”

“That’s what I wanted to hear”

[storiesofwildfire]

For the First Time (Again)

          { @starkreactorr -- plotted starter }

♔—- Almost six months passed since Loptr and his twin brother, Loki, stepped foot inside of a Jaeger. For more than four years, they’d been drift compatible and they’d been two of the best Jaeger pilots in the business of defending the world from the massive monsters known as Kaiju. Everyone within the industry knew of the twins and because they often made appearances in their sky-scraper sized mech suit to defend the civilians of Earth from invading aliens, they were pretty well known to people around the world too.

     But their last mission left them both injured. Loki, fortunately, suffered very minor injury. He spent about a week in recovery, patching up what were mostly surface wounds, but Loptr? Loptr nearly died that night. A massive piece of shrapnel tore through his abdomen as a category IV Kaiju threw their Jaeger to shore, where it landed on its back. The sea monster climbed atop it, and shredded the suit’s chest plate in order to get to the pilots inside. The only saving grace had been the fact that the mission hadn’t been a solo one. Category IV’s were rare and it was rarer still for one Jaeger to go head-to-head with one alone.

     Cherno Alpha, a Mark-1 Jaeger from Russia, piloted by two of the most experienced pilots in the business, managed to pull the Kaiju off of Loki and Loptr before the beast to get to the tiny humans inside, but the damage had been done. Loki disengaged while Loptr slowly bled out, unconscious and hardly able to be moved. It was a miracle that Loki could even pull his brother from the wreckage. 

     And their drift caused him to feel every ounce of pain that his brother endured while being nearly ripped in two.

     The injuries resulted in Loptr falling into a coma for almost six weeks. Their Jaeger, Rogue Viper, was destroyed beyond repair and harvested for parts. And Loki? Gods, Loki spent every single day at his brother’s bedside, praying and wishing beyond a shred of a doubt that his twin would wake up. Loptr did eventually wake up, but the lasting damage of the attack meant he would never step foot into a Jaeger again, leaving Loki co-pilotless.

     For a while, that was all right. The shared trauma the brothers endured made the idea of climbing back into a mech suit a bit too traumatizing to think of, but as the weeks turned to months and Loptr turned to engineering so he could help build more Jaegers, Loki was left with an empty, burning hole in his chest. The one thing he was good at, above all other things, also happened to be one of the most valuable resources the planet currently needed, to protect and defend those who couldn’t protect themselves.

     And he couldn’t do it.

     It killed Loptr to watch his brother go through such a disconnect. Loptr always enjoyed being a pilot, but it wasn’t his true passion. Loki, on the other hand, lived and breathed the need to be front and center for the action and his brother seemed lost without that purpose. Loptr found joy in building and maintaining Jaegers, but Loki only kept himself busy. No one aside from his twin was drift compatible with him. They were both far too complex and too difficult to fully understand for an outsider to share a neural link with. At least, that’s what Loptr thought until he spent a few months working with Tony Stark. The shorter man was beyond intelligent, sassy, witty, creative, cynical in the best ways possible, and Loptr found himself thinking that he could very easily drift with his colleague. And if he could drift with Tony, surely Loki would be able to as well?

     Loptr planted the idea in Tony’s mind after a while. The other engineer seemed a bit resistant at first, but the more they spoke about it, the more Tony came around to the idea. It was a slow process. One didn’t just decide to jump into a Jaeger and head off to fight Kaiju in the blink of an eye, after all, but the more he spoke with his friend about it, the more he thought there might be a legitimate chance of working.

     And what better way to test it out than to have Loki meet his engineering partner?

     Loki stepped into their workshop with two cardboard lunchboxes and slowly made his way over to where Loptr sat. The most distinguishable difference between the brothers was definitely their hair. Loptr kept his hair short and highly styled while Loki’s hair hit the middle of his back in an intricate braid. Loptr also sometimes sported facial hair, usually a goatee, but Loki was always cleanly shaven. Out of the pair, Loki looked almost androgynous while Loptr only gave off the air of being a rather beautiful man. But they had the same facial features, the same alluring emerald eyes, and the same lithe build. 

     Loptr smiled as Loki came over and handed him one of the boxes. “How did you know I was hungry?”

     “We’re twins, remember? I always know when you’re in need of something,” Loki pointed out. “Plus, you didn’t show up for lunch, so I figured you were engrossed in your latest project.” Loki looked over the table at the endless blueprints. A new Jaeger design, it seemed. 

     “Sorry, guess I lost track of time,” Loptr muttered as he opened his box and took out half of a toasted turkey sandwich. “I’m actually glad you’re here. There’s someone I want you to meet.”

     “Oh?” Loki asked, arching a brow at his brother. Loptr looked... far too excited about his turkey sandwich. “You aren’t trying to set me up on another date, are you? The last one was absolutely awful.”

     “No, no, nothing like that. Well...”

     “Loptr!”

     “It’s not a date! But it’s kind of just as intimate as one, really. Even more so...” Loptr stared down at the sandwich so he could avoid his brother’s intense gaze. “I think I might have found someone who could be drift compatible with you. He works here, with me. His name’s Tony. He’s a brilliant engineer, but I think, more than anything, he wants to get back into a Jaeger.”

     All Loki could do was blink at his brother, his mouth slightly ajar in shock. He’d almost given up hope that he could ever find another co-pilot. “Really...?”

     Loptr nodded and set the sandwich back into the box. He took a black and gold cane from the side of his desk and used it to push himself up to his feet. He could walk just fine, but not without a little bit of support from the cane. At least Loki had carved it to be a beautiful piece of functional art. 

     He hobbled over to where Tony sat and Loki was quick to stand and follow after him. “Hey,” Loptr said, a soft smile tugging at his lips as he looked down at his friend. “I thought you might like to meet my brother. Loki, this is Tony Stark, Tony, this is my brother, Loki.”

     “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Tony,” Loki said, flashing one of those highly recognizable, charming smiles. Loptr possessed the exact same one.