#i'm all out of art juice by now though

[rizardofether]

Came up with yet another story idea, this time a very heavily D&D based, using the races classes and basic fantasy setting of a D&D story. I decided to use characters I've made for D&D though never got to play in any games. Some old some new.

I've named the story just "The Treasure Hunt" as that is what is going on in it, sticking with that unless I later come up with something better.

Why are nearly all of them tieflings? Uhh.. they're from a country that mostly consists of tieflings, the royalty and nobles are mostly tieflings as well.. yup.. Not at all me having a bias towards one race, not at all..

Ennui, an amnesiac tiefling warlock, seeking their past and to cure the old couple that found and took them in of their illness.

Joy, the tiefling bard who enjoys having and spending money, as well as killing people. Easy way to earn money and kill people as an adventurer going after bandits and such.

Amatheus, a tiefling warlock, ex-wizard apprentice who faked it by making a deal with an archfey. Said archfey however made him promise to let them possess his body at times.

Sly, a tiefling rogue who grew up in the woods, never knowing their parents. A young curious soul seeking adventure. And mischief.

Ralus, a tiefling sorcerer who accidentally set his house on fire as a child. Grew up on the streets as an urchin after his mother disappeared one night. Seeking money and glory to win a better life for himself.

Kilvir, a tiefling wizard who loves making potions. He became a wizard at a young age and had also studied alchemy, creating potions as his career. His ambition to create new potions led to him spending most of his money, having to seek out other ways to earn money for his business.

Ririn, a goblin wizard who lost his family when he was young, and is seeking ways to bring them back. In this world you can only bring dead back to life if they died very recently, and alas it was too late to earn enough money to revive them. Now the only answer is necromancy.

This group of misfits meets when they each hear about a treasure hunt inviting all those interested in earning large amounts of money or just the adventure. They decide to team up for safety in numbers, few would dare venture into dungeons in search of treasure alone after all.

While I don't generally like giving my characters hard set moral alignments, I did decide to give them ones just for fun, I ended up giving each a different alignment. With 7 members, nearly every alignment is there. Just no lawful neutral or lawful evil in there. Guess who the two evil aligned characters are haha

[certifiedcodbabygirl]

Simon Riley who realizes how much he fucked up and that maybe therapy isn't such a bad idea

AN: Lil bit longer than usual, but it's been on my mind

Art credit to SubsurfaceChaos on Twitter

Something was off with him all day. It wasn't too noticeable until he began distancing himself, getting irritated at being around anyone. You confronted him, simply trying to see if you could help or maybe provide comfort, and fuck did that backfire.

He was sitting in the living room watching whatever was on the channel, but it's not like he was paying attention to it. Thoughts and feelings of the deployment he just came back from a few days ago build up, irritation filling him like water in a bathtub. He doesn't usually have flashbacks or anything like that, the military would discharge him if he had PTSD, but some days he thinks too much.

He didn't even notice you coming in until you were sitting next to him. He snaps out of his thoughts just to meet your soft eyes. You sat on the other end of the couch, not wanting to crowd him too much while he's like this.

"What." He deadpans, voice devoid of all emotion.

Yeah something's definitely up.

"What's wrong, Si? Somethin' been messing with you today?" You ask gently, not wanting to come off as if you're accusing him.

He gives you and irritated look, suggesting you drop it, "Nothin', 'm fine"

You're not stupid. He tends to need a little push in order to open up.

"I know you're not", tone still soft, "I'm not trying to irritate you or anything, I ju-"

"Well you certainly got an affinity for it" He snaps, "Drop it"

You inhale, trying to not take his words personally, "Si, I'm your girlfriend, it's kinda my job to check in with you"

The bathtub overflows.

"You can't listen, can you? I said drop it, fuckin' 'ell" He stands up from the couch and walks to the kitchen, trying to create distance.

"Simon I'm just trying to help, I'm not here to make things harder for you" You try to reason with him, swallowing the lump in your throat.

You follow him into the kitchen but still give him space. He doesn't say anything back, a small part of him knowing you're right but the larger part won't connect to that. Pouring a class of orange juice, he keeps his back to you.

"Si-"

"Can you shut up for once?! Can you? I said bloody drop it. It's not up for discussion!" He sets the cup on the counter with a thud and snaps at you, "You're always fuckin' naggin' at me, clearly not takin' a bloody hint. Jesus Christ"

That shuts you up. The lump in your throat intensifies, tears beginning to form in your eyes. He's never yelled at you like that before. Sure, he's had bursts of irritation during arguments, but he's worked hard to make sure he never treats you how you don't deserve.

"Why are you yelling at me? All I'm doing is trying to be there for you" You ask quietly, voice not really allowing you to speak louder. a couple tears fall down your face, and your nose begins to get stuffed up. You try to quietly sniffle but he still hears it. He hangs his head down and groans quietly.

"Now you're fuckin' cryin'. Great."

Not wanting to be around him much longer, you turn to leave, "Come find me when you're calmer", Your voice betrays you and cracks a little.

You walk away and go upstairs to your shared bedroom. Once you close the door, the crying begins. His words cut through you like a knife, a deep pressure-like hurt seeping through your chest. Sobs rack your body yet you still try to be quiet, not wanting him to hear. You know he's gonna snap out of it and fuckin hate himself for what he did. You know he loves you, and if he were in his right mind he would have never uttered a single degrading word to you.

You slip into bed and lay there, crying. You guessed he would be up anytime soon and the smell of him on the pillows was both comforting and hurtful.

Downstairs though, Simon was fucking fuming. Seeing you go up the stairs, lip quivering, evaporated every bit of him anger. He groans loudly and throws an arm over his eyes.

'How fuckin' stupid can you be? How the fuck can you speak to her like that?'

He removes his arm and leans against the counter, arms crossed over his chest. You've stuck through with him since the moment you meet. Never once judged his off stand-ish behavior and learned to find ways to work with him. He cherished you so wholly, feeling what he thought he never would. You came into his life and slowly broke down his walls, allowing you to see him apart from his exterior.

He thought he was going to lose you. Sure, you had arguments before, but he had never purposefully tried to hurt you. Knowing that he did made his stomach churn, nausea kicking in. 2 years of the best relationship (not that there were very many before you) all to be broken down, at least what he thought, because he was pissed off.

'Maybe I should fuckin' go to therapy.'

Let's be honest, he could use it. He tried to go through it before but just quit due to how uncomfortable it made him. He figured he was on his own, all before you, and there was no one to deal with his bullshit besides him. Now he has someone who he cares about so much that it doesn't matter if he's uncomfortable. He'd rather be uncomfortable than never be with you again.

He gathers the balls to go upstairs and carefully opens the door. He's met with the sight of you curled up, your sniffles being the only sound in the room.

"Go away" You call out, although not too loudly. Your voice is wobbly and stuffy.

He'd think it was adorable, had he not been the one to cause it. He walks to the opposite side of the bed and gets in, spooning you. He kisses your hair so gently it would give you butterflies if you weren't so upset.

"I'm so sorry, love. I haven't a clue why I did that to you and you didn't deserve a single lick of it." He feels the small burn in his nose as he starts tearing up a little, "I promise it'll never happen again"

You sniffle as more tears fall, the pain sticking to you despite his words.

"I wasn't trying to piss you off" You whisper.

"I know baby, it wasn't you. I promise it wasn't. Could never be that mad at you" He says softly, a tear falling. He grips you a little bit tighter and kisses the back of your neck, trying to bring comfort to both of you.

"Then why did you yell at me? I've never heard you like that before."

He sighs, "Been thinkin' 'bout what happened while I was gone and it came out at you. 'M gonna go back to therapy 'n try to fix what ever the hell is wrong with me" He kisses your neck again, " 'M gonna do better, gonna be better"

He's not stupid, he knows his words aren't gonna go away overnight. He knows how much you love him, even if he doesn't understand it, and knows hearing that from him hurts more than it would anyone else. He knows you're gonna be affected by them for a bit and he's prepared to fix it. Anything for his love.

You turn around so you're both still on your sides but you're cuddled into his chest. Wasting no time, not even hesitating, he wraps his arms around you and holds you tight. He lets out a sigh of relief, knowing this is your way of accepting his apology. He softly kisses your forehead and cheek, whispering how much he loves you and how it's gonna be better.

He knows he can't run from his issues anymore and for once he's ready to face them.

[leconcombrerit]

This thing had been rotting in my files for a year (minus three weeks but that's basically a year). It was a redraw of one of my first ever pieces for this fandom, and I still find it quite okay if a little stiff in places, so I thought I might as well share it since I don't draw that much anymore.

And then I had second thoughts, which obviously led to me posting it anyway, as you can see, but I realized I've almost made it a point not to draw anything related to Sasi anymore. As in at all. I can't, and I don't want to, and even sharing old art feels a bit 'meh'. It's too directly linked to my long going art block.

What I mean by that is that if I took all the followers I have out there and asked them what they know me or initially followed me for, you might have a fair amount of Lis 2 and the occasional Desert Bluffs afficionados, but you'd get an overwhelming majority of Sanders Sides. Sanders Sides fashion posts even. I was by no means famous for it or anything, but at my small artist scale, it was the biggest success I had.

And it makes it much harder to go back to it at all now. One, because I don't give a damn about the show anymore. Two, because I haven't been properly obsessing over anything in a while (there was a series early this year but given the actual emotional distress I get thinking about it I'm ruling it out). I haven't had real engagement from my own brain, nor real engagement from a broad audience -which makes sense, I'm not posting for anything that will reach a broad audience. But it takes its toll regardless.

Even when I finally finished writing a long fic, I couldn't help but feel 'all this for what ? Ten people or so and two hundreds have dropped it ?'. Which is a bad way to think about stuff you write for your own enjoyment but, you know, the brain gets happy with external validation even if you pretend really hard you don't care.

And so it feels tempting to go back to the golden goose just the time to get the creative juice pumping back, and I try, and I always end up frustrated and angry and feeling even less like making art that before. I'm not having fun with Sasi. Like an old friend you have nothing to say to and yet you have so much to say otherwise, so you get a bit frustrated, you know ? Not sure I'm making much sense, but that's how it feels. I want to have something like that again, but it won't be with Sanders Sides, and I somehow just want if off my radar.

It was left hanging, then lost its spark, and then I stopped caring altogether and I most likely won't even watch the finale when it does come out. I'm over it. I wish I wasn't though, because it does feel like the artistic spark won't come back all on its own this time, and the buzzing community made it so much easier to bounce back and do shit when your brain got wired all wrong.

It sounds like I'm just bawling after love and likes and stuff, and I guess that's part of it, in a way ? Like I'm in no place to do things for myself, and seeing the one thing I used to use to get back in the flow giving me a bored sense of dread doesn't feel too great.

Yet this drawing is still good ! I find it good ! I don't remember everything, but I can tell from the looks of it that I spent a while on it ! It's nice ! I should celebrate that. So I'm sharing it. I think it will be the last piece of Sasi I ever share, though. I'm not watching the finale when it comes out. I don't care about it. I'll just keep doodling my OCs and characters from cool books every once in a while. I'll write little things.

I just really, really need to stop trying to go back to it when it's clearly not working and not even for good reasons. It was a fun ride though ! So yeah. Basically. A whole ass rant for a one year old piece of art. I'm in my bi-annual depresso mood, nothing too surprising there.

[mangostarjam]

study break — kaiju no. 8, hoshina soshiro x reader, established relationship, it's just fluff, "love" as a pet name, 700ish words

for 🧸 anon

"Soshiroooooo."

Hoshina Soshiro pauses at the door, but you only bury your head further into your arms resting on your desk. He comes closer and sets a small plate of sliced apples by your elbow, where there's still some space. Papers are crumpled everywhere, haphazardly, books pinned open with whatever was at hand at the time — a half eaten bag of strawberry matcha kitkats, Soshiro's nearly empty coffee mug from this morning, your pencil case with highlighters spilling out —

"Soshirooo, save me," you whine, interrupting his mental catalogue of your desk. The soft glow of your lamp washes over both of you as he leans closer. "I don't know how to read anymore."

Soshiro laughs and slides his calloused hands along your shoulders, slipping them beneath the thin straps of your tank top. And then — there's no other word for it — you melt as he begins massaging the stiffness from your muscles. "My poor lil love," he says fondly. "That sounds pretty bad."

You tilt your head to look at him and pout. Even with dark circles beneath your eyes, you're criminally cute, and Soshiro has to resist the urge to pinch your ear. "How am I gonna take these tests if I can't read, Soshiro?"

"You're a smart one," Soshiro digs his thumbs into your shoulders and you groan. The corner of his lips lift in a lopsided smile. "You'll figure it out."

"I'm gonna fail," you sigh. You reach for his hand to press a soft kiss to his palm and his heart does a funny little skip. "Will you still love me if I'm illiterate?"

"I'd love ya to the end of the world," Soshiro says easily. You press his palm against your cheek and your elbow bumps into the plate he brought in.

"What's this?" you dislodge his hands as you sit up to grab the plate. "Did you really cut them into little bunnies? This is so cute!"

"Only the best for you," he says, stealing a slice and popping it into his mouth. The fruit is crunchy and sweet, its juice flooding his tongue as you copy him and hum with pleasure.

"I should take a pic and send this to your friends!"

"Please don't," Soshiro snorts. "You're gonna ruin my rep."

"But they deserve to know how amazing you are," you say seriously. You turn your seat so you're facing him properly, hooking your legs behind his ankles so he's standing as close to you as possible while you're still sitting in a chair. "Soshiro, these apple bunnies are a work of art! They belong in the — mmph!"

Soshiro sticks another apple slice in your mouth and holds it there as you chomp down on it, shooting him a halfhearted glare for interrupting your passionate speech. You look cute with your cheek all puffed up with chewing, but he knows better than to mention it now. "If ya learn how to read again, maybe I'll teach ya how to cut 'em like that."

You finish the apple and shake your head adamantly, still chewing. He waits patiently as you swallow, cupping your cheeks with both hands when you're done and squishing your lips together as you laugh. Your smile is so wide he feels like he's got the world in his hands.

"I only want apple bunnies from you."

"Alright, if ya finish your study session early tonight, I'll give ya a kiss."

You frown beseechingly and your hands come up to play with the hem of his loose sleep shirt. "But I've got a billion more pages to go!"

"Sleep's part of the job, too," he flicks your forehead lightly and chuckles when you pout. "The rest of it'll still be here tomorrow."

"Alright," you sigh, though you show zero signs of letting him go, "I'll remember this when you're the one staying up too late working."

"Is my reward gonna be the same?" Soshiro asks. You giggle.

"With your work ethic I think I'll need to come up with something bigger to pull you away from your desk," you tug on his shirt and he snorts. Your smile softens. "Thanks for the snack, love."

That's just unfair. He sighs, smirking to himself when you tilt your head in confusion. "This doesn't count," he mutters, leaning down to give you a slow, sweet kiss. You sigh into his mouth and he huffs in exasperation, pulling away reluctantly.

"Is it bedtime already?" you ask teasingly. Soshiro pinches your ear lightly.

"Shut up and eat your apples."

[dont-know-where]

ALRIGHT MORE LEVITY RISES IDEAS! THIS TIME FOR SMILE PUP! (Plus randomly assorted LR ideas/hcs)

Smile Pup

Smile Pup (or SP for short) is still trying to make an eternal party (Smilegeddon?), but it's more "I'm gonna spread happiness across the multiverse by making everyone else happy, whether they want to be or not :D" and less "MY FRIENDS AND I ARE GONNA TEAR THE MULTIVERSE TO SHREDS AND MAKE IT INTO PARTY HATS WOOOOOO!!!"

Imagine the Mabel Bubble, but one for everyone. That's it that's Smilegeddon.

SP is both of the Pups btw. It's kind of a hivemind situation??

Smile Dip was a thing SP inspired to form better communication between SP and humans, but it got...discontinued.

SP is a dream demon, but one under more...specific conditions. SP can only enter the mindscape of people coming off an energy burst. So all Mabel has to do to talk to the pups is chug a cup of Mabel Juice, run around for an hour or so, and pass out.

SP makes a deal with Mabel! SP gives Mabel art tips and pointers on where to find anomalies in Levity Rises, and she helps her brother and his girlfriendddddd ooooooo work on the mysterious portal in his basement! A win-win-win!

Assorted Ideas

Ford knows how to knit (only a bit though...the most he can make are six-fingered gloves. Mabel teaches him a bit more though!)

Dipper had claustrophobia! But after Sixer helped him! (by leading him into a cave and getting them lost, thereby proving he can survive anything and curing his claustrophobia) On an unrelated note, Sixer has claustrophobia now.

Pacifica makes the memory gun, but it's reserve for her and her alone. Eventually, Fiddleford finds the blueprints and makes his own version, starting the Society of the Blind Eye just a year or two before Stanley and Sixer arrive at Levity Rises.

Along with gravity shortages, anyone caught in the power surge that the inter-dimensional portal creates feels like someone pumped their brains full of pure joy. (Because cmon. Levity Rises. Levity.)

[papermonkeyism]

I think I'm finally starting to recover, after a few years of artistic dry season.

The plague was a big hit, then losing my job and finally my social life collapsing once my IRL DnD group basically disbanded pretty much destroyed what creative juiced I had always lived on up to that point, and it's been HARD to just not having any desire to be creative or do anything.

But now that I have a job again, and have had it for long enough my bank account is stable, and having been adopted into a new DnD group that's active both in-game (weekly game sessions!) and outside of it (we actually talk and communicate generally as well! It's mostly online, but it's still more than I've had in years), I have started to feel more like myself again. That, and the brain meds. I can't overstate how big it is that my default doesn't have to be brain fog anymore.

Like, I'm doing evening doodles again? I'm actually having fun thinking up creatures and characters and plots again? I stopped carrying my sketchbook and pencil case with me everywhere I went during my dry stint of nothing, but now I actually feel like I'm missing it when I don't have it on me at times, like during coffee shop visits.

And I kinda... want to MAKE a thing again.

(Just thinking out loud again, pay no mind.)

I miss having a Project.

Jumping back into making fully plotted out comic feels a bit too much at this stage, though, so I probably won't dedicate myself wholely to something of that scale.

I don't know what exactly will be the final shape of Arcanth's eventual thing, but I'm currently enjoying myself in the fiddly worldbuilding stage. (And just so you know, in the slight off chance that I might maybe pick Wurr back up again some day, I probably won't tell you about it. After all this time and all the messages I've gotten, I don't trust you guys with that one anymore. Even if I would eventually get back to posting it online, it won't happen untill I have a full year's worth of buffer and that would still be a loooooooong way from now even IF I got back to it full time, and I still have that day job besides anyway.)

But what if...

I think an art book or a zine or something might be more achievable at this point.

I feel like the dinosaur project thingy needs some more fiddling with its eventual format (I know I already have enough concept doodles to fill a zine on its own, but I crave an excuse to go ham with watercolors and make full illustrations), but it's one option I still want to make eventually.

And I kinda want to do a slight redesign for the Singing People. (I bought a skull replica a while ago that had narrower snout than how I had drawn them. And I know it doesn't matter that much, and I can always invoke artistic licence and "they aren't necessarily supposed to be any specific real life dinosaur species, it could always go with the 'undiscovered' route if I feel like it and the Troodon/Stenonychosaurus material is super fragmentary anyway", but I'm pretty sure it would bother me anyway if I didn't at least try it out and see how it looked.)

Though I think I got an idea about what to do with Entica!

Those of you who've been here a while know that one started out as my pandemic project. The world had just shut down along with my job warehouse, things were still new and uncertain, and I suddenly had so much free time and not much to sink my creative juices into, and I wanted something low pressure to do.

So I dug up an old setting from my teenage years two decades ago, gave it a facelift, threw out my teenage baggage and just ran wild. No planning, no plot, just art.

The "no planning" part did get back to bite me when the morbs eventually hit and I finally ran out of the creative juices, but that's still a lot of very good material, right there, ready to use.

But I just thought of a new framing device that would work with the already existing material AND give the character more of a goal and agency to make plotting more fun! And I think I like it.

Instead of a random scribe with no background from a place I didn't bother designing who just wants to see the world, Didor now works for a library that has sent her on a mission [to document something and/or take a message to *place*]. She still wants to see the world, but now she has a background, goal and a motive to do so!

And instead of just hanging around at Maaro's cart while Maaro does her own unrelated thing, Maaro is actively helping in her goal! While also doing her job.

I feel that having Didor be on a field work mission would give it more structure while not having to technically retcon anything already existing, and gives more solid excuse to do things than "random encounter number 82" would. Also potential reasons for further adventures ("While you're already out there, could you maybe also do X on the way?")

Also I want to insert nawani in it earlier. I didn't even have them as part of the setting untill psrt way through, and I want to show them off more.

Maybe a travel journal, perhaps?

[the-anime-enthusiast]

today is Iida's birthday !!!! maybe some drabbles/headcannons about what it would be like to celebrate with him :3?

TENYAS BDAY‼️‼️

headcannons and drabbles 😜

for everyone else who has requested stuff and I haven't replied, I'm so sorry 😭 I just moved 4 states away from home by myself and I've been busy ASFFF but I'm finally starting to get some free time again so pls be patient with me, I appreciate it 🙏

GIFT IDEAS 🎁

Okay so this first one is oddly specific, but every time I go on my own personal Tenya Iida bend, I alwaaayyyss think of this. My fav "perfect gift for him" idea is a pair of glasses (stick with my now), but not just any pair, a pair with his hero name

"Ingenium"

engraved in the side‼️ It may seem kinda dumb cause hes got like, idk a bagillion pairs of glasses, but these are perfect for special occasions and we all know he prefers the finer things in life so I think he's love this 😌😌 (possibly sheds tears bc he loves his brother like it's nobody's business and he feels the weight of this gift in his soul, ong)

My favorite gag gift ideas all come down to one thing, oranges. (ifykyk but de I will still explain) So, as a lot of Tenya fans know, his quirk uses oranges/orange juice as the fuel for his engines (no I'm not lying, it's random ik, his family has so many random traditions and small details thrown into the show, I love them sm 💞)

Like many people, I love gag gifts, and I would have a field day with this. I'm talking sunglasses shaped like oranges, bottles upon bottles of assorted orange juice, Sunny D merch, the whole nine yards. While this HC is made to be a gag gift, I think he would actually lose his shit over this, like best gift he's ever received type shit. He'd keep a specific shelf on his bookshelf for all things orange you get him (like a shrine or sm shi 💀) It def weirds ppl out when they don't know the story behind the shelf, but he loves it 😌👍

Another gag gift idea I love 😋 (okay so rq)

fun fact Abt me: I'm in mechanics and I js know bro would eat up auto mechanics related gag gifts Soo much 😭😭

Like cleaner for his mufflers, car oil (strictly for shits and giggles) js dumb shit like that 😭 Again, definitely has a stash/shrine for all this stuff, everytime you tell him he can get rid of it

"it was just a joke tenya, you know you don't have to keep it right?"

"well dear, it could come in handy one day! You never know ☺️"

Spending the Day Together 💞

Bros prim and proper, if your lucky, you wake up before him. It's no secret that appreciates the finer things in life (and the small things, atp he appreciates literally everything. Tenya is an angel sent from heaven and don't you forget it ✋) But if you decide to wake this man up to some bomb ass breakfast, I'm talking bacon, eggs, possibly pancakes, and ofc a big ass glass of orange juice he WILL tear up. I know deep in my soul he's an emotional (or at least dramatic) gift reciever.

I feel like his birthday would actually be a pretty average day, other than the morning and night. He ofc wants to have breakfast with you, whether it's cooking or the two of you going out, but he makes a NIIGHT out of his birthday. Y'all are doing it all don't even play ✋ Anything he could think of that you would also enjoy, is going on the list. (ofc there's a list, this is Teny Iida were talking Abt 🙄🙄)

There happens to be a festival near by? ✅

Oh your in a town known for it's street foods? Take a wild guess where your going. ✅

Open Business Shack street strip? You're walking that thing about 50 times. ✅

Art Museums. Movies. Live Music. Wining and Dining. Walks in a Park. Walks on the beach. Hero conventions. Literally any event near or on his birthday y'all are going to. You can try to plan all you want for him but he's got things mapped out before you ever thought possible. Something to be grateful for though, he doesn't mind it. He doesn't mind planning all of these things for HIS birthday because making you happy in the process is more than enough for him to get by (selfless baddie).

At the End of the Day 🌆

As much as I'd like to think, and we'd all like to think, that Tenya gets in a good amount of alone time with you at the end of his birthday, it just doesn't happen (ikik trust the process 😔)

After a long day of walking around the town, eating great food, spending way to much money on entrance fees to museums, gift shops, and that great food I mentioned, bros pooped (sry guys I'm js a girl and idk how else to word that with equal humor to that phrase 😔)

The second you walk through that door bags are crashing into the ground, shoes are being thrown across the room (not rly tho cuz u leave ur shoes by the front door 👍), clothes are being scattered across the living and bedroom. All bro wants to do is crash into his bed. He barely has time to out his night cap on 😔😔

It's slightly mundane but sweet because trust me ✋ After a day like the one he has planned y'all's bed sounds like heaven. I mean you can swear you hear the angels themselves singing to you once y'all slink into bed together, and honestly he wouldn't have it any other way. Spending an amazing day with his amazing partner, then getting into an even more amazing bed with said partner at the end of his lil adventure 💞

this is kinda on the short side, but it's late ash where I'm at and I'm tired asff BUT I FINALLY WROTE SMT AGAIN 😍😍 (praise God life was getting so boring) I hope y'all enjoy! I haven't been an iida girlie for awhile now but y'all are bringing it back 😜 (not to mention that one scene from the anime where it's class 1-A vs Deku and bros looking extra yummy) (slay) (pls don't come for me I'm 18 and have been watching this show since I was 12)(I'm also asexual so I'm not being weird I swear)(ik some of my reposts say otherwise but guys good writing is good writing what can I say 😭🙏)

Hope y'all have a wonderful night!

Lots of love 💞

BYYYEE ‼️‼️

[clanwarrior-tumbly]

Hello hello friendo! I was wondering if I could request a Wally x wolf puppet reader? the scenario being that the other neighbors are afraid of R (reader) no matter what due to them looking like a big 'bad' wolf, R's appearance is quite frightful; stitches in a few places along with big teeth and claws plus they are on the large size (roughly Barnaby's size, if not a bit shorter). While on the outside they look all mean they are actually really sweet and just want to make friends.

"Do you think I'm doing something wrong, Wally? 'cuz I feel...unwanted here."

"No, no. You've done nothing wrong, Neighbor! What made you think of such silly things?"

"...well everyone's still acting like I'm gonna eat them for breakfast."

"Breakfast?? Why, that's nonsense. Breakfast is composed of bacon, eggs, juice, and toast..not people!"

"Uh, that was just a....nevermind." Sighing, you shook your head as you gave up trying to explain the idiom to Wally. But having this conversation with him over the phone did manage to cheer you up a little.

How you wished it was this easy talking to the rest of the neighbors, though they were all absolutely terrified of you and would've hung up the second they heard your voice.

Fortunately, Wally had recently learned a valuable lesson from Barnaby, who told him that he should never "judge a book by its cover". And he lived by that philosophy every time a newcomer came to town, whether they stayed or left.

You were no exception despite being a rather frightening-looking wolf with large sharp teeth, untrimmed claws, and stitches all over your body that made you look like a zombie. Of course, your clothes covered most of them, yet they didn't fully hide all of the things your neighbors were afraid of.

Of course, it didn't help that you're the child of The Big Bad Wolf...but you're nothing like him! You're not deceptive or evil in any way; all you wanted to do was make new friends.

But that was tough to prove when someone screamed if you so much as smiled at them.

Poppy was understandable, given she was a bird who already had some anxiety issues to begin with. And Barnaby was alright since you're both tall canines (and even then, he was still the taller one). He tolerated your presence and can stand being in the same room as you.

As for Julie, Eddie, Frank, Sally, and Howdy....you unintentionally scared them out of their wits.

For instance, you visited Howdy's bugdega for the first time to get groceries, and he ducked behind the register as you approached. The poor guy sounded like he was in tears as he stuttered that everything was free of charge.

Back then you thought he was having a bad day..but even outside of work, he seldom talked to you out of fear.

How naïve were you..

At least you had Wally, though, considering he's able to have normal chats with you both on the phone and in person. He still kept his joyful tone when speaking to you, and when you left he'd turn around to scold the others for "overreacting".

Honestly, he was growing tired of them treating you this way and not taking his advice. No neighbor deserved to feel so unwelcomed.

You weren't scary at all! He'll prove it!

And now he finally got an idea that he believed would work.

"Say, [y/n]..whatdya think about coming with me to the park?" He suggested. "I'm organizing a little painting lesson, and at the end we're all gonna paint something we like! If everyone's there and sees us getting along, they'll finally see how nice you really are!"

"You think so?" Your ears perked up, a small smile forming on your face as your tail began lightly wagging, thumping against the furniture.

While you haven't done any art since settling into the community, this hangout seemed to be a good place to sharpen your skills and, hopefully, make some friends. If they saw you indulging in a passion, you'll be able to connect with them more.

"Yup! I think it'll work! So are you in or out?"

"I'm in."

"Great! See you in an hour!"

Your smile dropped. "Wait, it's toda-?"

However, you didn't get the chance to finish as you heard the 'click' on the other end, realizing he hung up. You sighed and hung up your phone, too.

The thought of seeing everybody at the park so soon had you feeling anxious all over again, but you tried shaking off your worries, not wanting them to deter you from going. You couldn't disappoint Wally after how hopeful he sounded.

So instead you focused on making lunch for yourself before packing some art supplies together, finding a canvas or sketchbook to bring with you.

And about an hour later, you were fully prepared.

'It'll be fine..Wally's gonna be there..' You told yourself, taking a few deeps breaths, heading out the door with your head held high.

Surely, the neighbors will finally change their mind about you once they see that you shared a similar hobby as them..

Right?

.......

It turns out you were wrong.

As Wally hosted his painting lesson in the park, going over how to paint different figures and scenes step-by-step...most of the gang could barely focus on what he was saying.

Instead, their eyes were anxiously fixated on you as you tried ignoring them and listened to his words. Whenever you made direct eye contact with any of them, they'd quickly look away and shudder, their hands shaking as they pretended to paint or draw.

They kept their canvases close to their chest, as though you were gonna pounce and tear it to shreds if they let their guard down.

Obviously, Wally took notice of this fast and would ask them questions about what he just said, his smile slowly turning into a frown as some stuttered out answers..while others just didn't catch it the first time around.

You only expected this, although you did manage to impress everybody with your scenery of a moonlit sky after accomplishing the final task of painting something you liked.

But it wasn't enough for Wally. They only complimented you because they were scared you'll get angry if they said the wrong thing...he could just tell by their shifty gazes.

They're just pretending.

After everybody eventually left for home, as the sun was going down, you stayed in the park with Wally. He was still sitting motionless on the same flat rock, having already put his supplies away.

You frowned as you approached him, not knowing what's gotten into him lately

Of course this hangout wasn't going to immediately make you everybody's best friend, but you didn't think he'd be this upset.

If anything it should have been you who was upset, though you believed things went quite well considering nobody ran away from you this time around.

Unfortunately, Wally begged to differ, given how he hasn't spoken a word to you since everyone else left.

"Wally?" Crouching down in front of him, you tilted your head. "What's wrong?"

"...I don't get it."

"..look, it's okay-" You went to place a comforting hand on his shoulder, only for him to suddenly look up at you with frustration in his wide eyes. Even his pupils seemed to tremble as he spoke.

"No, it's not okay. I-I..I know they can't help it but..I thought they trusted me, Neighbor. I planned all of this so they could stop being scared of you! And yet...they..." He trailed off, fingers trembling as they curled into his pants. "They're never gonna change...are they?"

"They can. They just need some more time." You tried to reason, yet he shook his head.

"But how much longer will it be until y--?" He started, but quickly stopped upon seeing the flashes of concern in your eyes, shrinking away.

"...until I what, Wally?"

"........"

"Are you...scared that I might leave one day?" You finally connected the dots. "Is that why you're so upset over all of this?"

Given his silence as he looked back down at the ground, that basically confirmed your answer.

Now it all made sense.

"Oh, buddy.." You hugged him close, feeling him flop against you as he rested his head on your fluffy chest. "You don't have to worry about that. It's gonna take a lot more than just a few skittish people to kick me out."

"But..you're so nice...and I don't know why they can't see that.." He mumbled, slowly hugging you back. "I swear I've tried everything-"

"You don't have to do anything more, Wally. I appreciate what you've done, but..you don't need to be stressed for my sake. I'm not going anywhere, okay? I'll even pinky promise it for ya."

After a long silence you felt him nod, and you smiled, relieved that he trusted you.

Soon you let each other go and made that pinky promise, sealing the deal. You could see that lifted a huge burden off his shoulders--one you didn't even realize he was trying to carry this whole time--as his own smile returned.

"C'mon. It's getting late. I'll walk ya back home." You suggesting, slinging your bag over your shoulder.

"Haha..that's usually my job, Neighbor." The blue-haired puppet chuckled as he fixed up his messy pompadour. "But thank you. I'll take up your kind offer!"

[abyssalzones]

What's your comic writing process like? I'm starting to get into making my own comics and I really admire your work!!! Any advice?

Ah, intrepid traveler, you've done well to journey to this secluded mountaintop spire, in search of the answers you seek. I indeed can provide such forbidden comicmancy knowledge... at the cost of your mortal soul...

coughs. anyway, I'm going to warn you immediately that what works for me does not work for everyone else, and in my experience the way I do things can prove very slow and discouraging for anyone who is more interested in the actual "drawing the damn comic" part of the process. I only do it this way because I enjoy weaving a narrative web that feels not only fully contained but re-readable, but my projects are often so long and my memory so shitty that I can't just keep all of it in my head! It would spill all over the place and make a really embarrassing mess of brain-juice. Not ideal.

but as for my own process, uhh... I suppose a comic would be fitting, right?

a little choppy but you get the idea.

as for turning words into art, I've been experimenting with figuring out the best way to do that for a little while now. Originally what I was doing for something like Ad Astra Per Aspera was to take my "script" and sketch it out on paper very loosely, before transposing that onto my canvas and working from there:

...but, I've found that can make it kind of difficult to space everything around on your standard page-size, and the thing I'm having the most problems with currently seems to be finding the sweet spot of panel-size proportions. So, I've taken to printing out standard thumbnail templates (you can just find these on google) and sketching very tiny panels in those, which seems to give me a slightly better sense of scale... (mild chapter 5 spoilers, sorry ad astra fans)

but I have yet to totally pull through on this, so who knows, maybe I'll try something else in the future!

As for advice, this is probably most applicable to me, but as a disabled artist I have a very hard time managing my workload without literally working myself into injury. I don't think I talked about this publicly but when I was working on that ten year anniversary comic I was literally drawing every single day for 3 solid months. Sometimes, in my case, I really can't bring myself to stop once I've latched onto an idea, and sometimes I find the most rewarding thing I can do with my time is to draw- but I seriously cannot overstate: Do not fucking do this.

You will fuck up your wrist, your back, your neck, your eyes, and probably your mental health. It's a well-known fact that mangaka have a lower life expectancy than the average japanese person due to the intense workload imposed on them by deadlines and personal expectations. Comics are a very demanding artform, and even though I'm not on any sort of mandated schedule there are times where I've toiled away at something when I likely should have been exercising or taking vision-breaks. Therefore the best advice I can give you is to chill the hell out.

Namely, find parts of the process you can be lazy about, and embrace the laziness! You don't like digitally sketching? Don't do it! Skip it, or maybe find a way to traditionally sketch things out in advance like I do. Hate lineart? Don't fucking do it. You really don't feel like wasting your time writing 72k words of comic scripts? ...then, don't be like me. skip that part. I'm a flawed human being and what works for me might not work for you.

The second most important piece of advice I could give is to read comics. Of all kinds. The reason for this is pretty self explanatory: In order to figure out your own comic-making style, you should first pick out bits and pieces from the artist's buffet to add to your plate. Manga, graphic novels, american comics, european comics, weird niche little webcomics, funny papers, anything and everything. This advice rings true of pretty much any art form, but I find it to be essential to honing comic-making skills because so many things you feel will just come intuitively often don't. and that's okay! nobody is born knowing how to leave space for speech bubbles or shape their panels in a way that imitates stretches of time. The best way to figure out stuff like this, in my experience, is to study the "masters", and then after becoming well accustomed to the basics, figure out what rules you want to bend or break to create your own style.

I consider myself to be in equal parts a writer and an artist, which lends itself well to making narrative comics, but maybe you're a bit more of an artist and want to focus on panel-by-panel visual storytelling. Or, conversely, maybe your talents lean closer towards writing, and the art itself is more of a secondary skill. Regardless of your unique blend of talents you can and should make a comic, you should just also be aware of your strengths and try to hone in on those- there will always be opportunities to build up skills you lack, but focusing on what you do best will always lead you in the right direction.

Anyway, that being said, here are some recommendations in no particular order:

Monster, Naoki Urasawa (!!)

Bone, Jeff Smith

Witch Hat Atelier, Kamome Shirahama

The first IDW run of Transformers comics (namely More Than Meets the Eye and Lost Light)

Persepolis, Marjane Satrapi (!!)

Through the Woods, Emily Carroll (really any Emily Carroll comics)

Kill Six Billion Demons (webcomic) (!!)

Akira, Katsuhiro Otomo

The Third Person, Emma Grove

Tintin, Hergé (can be super racist please be wary)

Dungeon Meshi, Ryoko Kui

Calvin & Hobbes, Bill Watterson

Maus, Art Spiegelman

Cucumber Quest (webcomic)

Jellyfish Princess, Akiko Higashimura

Golden Kamuy, Satoru Noda (!!)

Note that I did not grow up with manga so I am seriously behind on a lot of extremely influential japanese comics such as Dragon Ball, One Piece, basically any of the original Shonen Jump comics, but they're widely considered building blocks of the genre so if you love the artform I think you should give them a try! Same goes for classic non-shonen manga genres like various Shoujo, Josei, Yuri, Gekiga, ETC.

same as above applies to a lot of classic DC and Marvel works, I unfortunately am just not a big fan of superhero comics... but I'm sure there's good stuff in there. a couple of my mutuals talk about booster gold and the blue beetle all the time so I'm assuming there has to be something worthwhile.

...and many, many, many more that I'm forgetting! I noticed as I made this list that, to my knowledge, hardly any of these are made by black or just non-japanese-mangaka BIPOC artists, which makes me sad about the gaps in my own comic collection. Therefore, anyone is welcome to add their own recommendations in the replies!

now go forth, and combine images with text!!!!!!!!!!!

[theoneprecioustome]

Aikoto Moments Masterlist: Episode Aigis

This list will focus on the remake. To see how it fares in comparison to the original, check this post.

Notes:

Since Makoto isn’t actually in the game, most of the list will focus on Aigis' side of their bond as well as the little things that connect them.

There will also be third party quotes about Aigis’ bond with Makoto.

I bolded the most important moments.

The post is image heavy & contains spoilers for the entire game.

When that person died, there was nothing she could do to bear the pain. The machine girl found herself thinking that she had no use for a heart that did nothing but let her feel pain. And thus, the girl's heart became a blue butterfly, which took flight, and the pain in her chest disappeared. However, in its stead, there was now a large, gaping, empty hole in her chest. The emptiness in her chest didn't hurt, but it also did not let her feel anything. She wasn't alive anymore. Nothing but an empty shell, devoid of emotions, cursed to stand still in time where she was forever with no place to move forward to. — Episode Aigis Epilogue, Persona 3 Official Fanbook. Translation by Nenilein.

PROMOS

✤ The Key Visual of Episode Aigis features Aikoto. What's more, it reveals that Makoto in the original P3R art was meant to be looking at Aigis all along, like two halves of a whole.

✤ Soejima released an illustration to celebrate Episode Aigis. The illustration features Aikoto & Metis.

✤ The First Edition of the Episode Aigis soundtrack comes with a double-sided Aikoto box featuring the Key Visual and their AOA attacks. This is what Lotus Juice had to say about it:

"In the cover, you see P3HERO and Aigis looking at each other... if you open it, they'll be separated... like they're almost within reach of each other, but aren't. I wonder if that feeling gets across to fans as well? It's very beautifully done."

✤ SEGA Korea welcomed September with an Aikoto Calendar featuring the Episode Aigis Key Art (alternative link).

✤ HINEMOS released two more Aikoto Sake bottles to commemorate the release of Episode Aigis.

OPENING

✤ Episode Aigis features an exclusive opening & song focused on Aigis' feelings after Makoto's loss. Full lyrics here and Analysis in the post linked above!

(Lost without you) But little things like the scent of his cologne Is a painful remindеr that he’s gone It feels like my heart is suffocating How do you make amends when you’re gone from me? Even though with a win, how come I feel so lost? Nothing makes sense to me I’m so numb, so lost without you

BATTLE SONG

✤ The new Battle Song, Don't, is also from Aigis' POV. While it focuses on Aigis' feelings through her conflict with SEES, it also has references to her feelings towards Makoto. Full lyrics here!

Already lost my keys to the door wide shut Only had one wish now it’s never gonna come true Trapped in time Forever in remorse How could I ever be in peace when nothing else matters to me?

MENU & UI

✤ In the menu, Aigis is shown holding a blue butterfly who flies away from her. According to the old devs, blue butterflies are used to symbolize Aigis' heart, which is the perfect imagery for Episode Aigis. Curiously, blue butterflies also often used in relation to Makoto, which carries very meaningful implications they're soulmates your honor.

✤ P3R's UI is meant to represent "the Protagonist's Sea of Souls", and it reflects their psychological state. True to form, Aigis is shown looking sad and lonely in hers, which is how she has felt since she lost Makoto. In the Equipment menu, we can even see her reach out before sadly retreating into herself, as if she were trying to catch someone who is now long gone.

PROLOGUE

✤ During the anime cutscene, we see a new rendition of Makoto's and Aigis' last moments together.

MARCH 31ST

✤ Aigis is the one who kept Makoto's Evoker after his passing.

✤ Aigis says that the one thing she feels certain of is that Makoto wouldn't have blame any of them for what happened, showing how well she understands him.

✤ Junpei comments that he’s glad Aigis has been “hanging in there” (spoiler: she isn't) because "It really seemed like you cared about him more than anything in the world."

✤ Aigis reveals that she remembers her last moment with Makoto whenever she closes her eyes. Depressed, she kept having the same dream over and over again: running after him, calling his name but never being able to catch up.

✤ She also recalls the promise she made him during the rooftop scene: "I promised to protect him, and I made that my reason for living. But now... that promise can never be fulfilled."

✤ Aigis says that one day, her sadness "mysteriously" left her. She stopped dreaming and requiring sleep. Unbeknownst to her, this is the event that draws The Abyss of Time to the dorms.

✤ When Aigis is scared of losing more precious people, she sees Makoto walking away from her and desperately tries to reach out to him. Then, Athena metamorphoses into Orpheus. It's interesting to notice that the effect used when Makoto disappears is the same effect used when Orpheus appears.

✤ Aigis and Makoto have the exact same Velvet Room and Aigis can even access his entire Compendium. In other words, they must share the same space “between dream and reality, mind and matter.”

✤ Elizabeth also explains that a Persona "represents one's heart and soul." Aigis can use Makoto's as if they were her own. Let that sink in!

✤ When Aigis thinks that reaching the Answer to Life may lead to her death, she is surprised to "discover how little the possibility bothered me." With Makoto gone, Aigis has lost her reason to live. It's to the point that when Aigis believes that she may die if she loses her key, she says: "If I did, then that would be fine..."

✤ During one of the activities with Metis, she comments on how fulfilled she feels whenever Aigis trusts her with something. If the player lets Aigis say "I think I understand", Metis will say: "Then you must have someone in your life who's just as important to you as you are to me." Which is quite big, because Aigis is literally Metis' everything lol

✤ Aigis getting Makoto’s power means she "inherited" something from him.”

✤ Aigis says early in the game that normally, people have a reason to awaken to their Persona, but that for her it was backwards. She had a persona and then she gained a reason (protecting Makoto). Later, we discover that the reason for her awakening to the Wild Card was that with Makoto gone, she has lost her purpose and her reason to live.

✤ The door that lies in the deepest part of The Abyss of Time leads to Aigis’ past and the moment she awoke to the "Persona abilities" Makoto had. In here we see Aigis' dream, the one where she runs after Makoto, trying to reach him in vain. We also find out that she was in so much pain and so lost after his passing that she wished she could go back to being just a machine again.

It was so painful losing him... I couldn't bring myself to do anything, so... I just hid in my room. For a while, I did nothing but chase after him in my dreams...

✤ Aigis' trophy is called "The one who dreamt", after her dream of Makoto.

✤ After the fight with Shadow!Makoto, he disintegrates into blue butterflies as Aigis desperately reaches out for him.

✤ Aigis can't decide whether she wants to go back to the past, or respect Makoto's sacrifice and remain in the present. Irritated by Aigis' predicament, Yukari accuses her of running away from her own feelings for Makoto.

✤ Metis explains that she would do anything to protect Aigis, because she is "all she has". This prompts Aigis to say that she, too, once felt the same way about someone.

✤ Aigis being willing to lay down her life to not have to fight her friends makes Metis break down. She echoes all of Aigis' buried feelings at Makoto's sacrifice. "Why do you have to die? Why does it have to be you...? Why can't it... be me instead? Please don't leave me behind... I'll give my life for the key, too! And if that doesn't work... then I'm coming with you! So we can always be together... Please, don't leave me all alone!" 😭

✤ Aigis realizes that she has been running away from her own feelings. Before going back to the past, she needs to know why Makoto did what he did—because she won't give up on what's important to her.

✤ After that fight, Aigis finally acknowledges that she wants Makoto back, too, and explains that she needs to know exactly what he did before she can make a choice. Despite her own feelings, Makoto's come first to her 😭

✤ Aigis screams "No!" as Erebus aims for Makoto. We also get two new shots of Aikoto's last moments together, showing Makoto smiling peacefully on Aigis' lap.

✤ After the final fight, Yukari acknowledges her jealousy over Aigis inhering Makoto's power and says that just like Makoto, Aigis is the one who knows how to move forward.

✤ Aigis reaches the very same Answer to Life that Makoto did: Friendship and Bonds are what give people life.

✤ Metis tells Aigis that there's still a way for Aigis to keep her promise to protect Makoto, and that is by fostering connections with others, so that they may one day reach the same answer they did.

✤ Metis is revealed to be Aigis' Shadow: the manifestation of the heart Aigis wished away after losing Makoto.

✤ Once Aigis regains her heart, she breaks down crying at last, finally processing her grief at losing Makoto.

✤ Before she fully fades away, we hear Metis' voice talking to Aigis and telling her how she can reach Makoto so he won't have to carry on alone anymore.

ENDING

✤ Aigis goes back to the rooftop for the final cut-scene. Just like that last day she spent with him, there are cherry blossom petals blowing in the wind.

✤ The credit song, Brand New Days, is once again from Aigis' POV. It focuses on her feelings towards SEES and Makoto as she walks forward into a new tomorrow.

There are days when I tire of calling out the meaning of my life, and my head droops But still, in my heart (So look up to you) Is your smile

✤ During the credits, we see Aigis looking back over her shoulder as she walks through the Moonlight Bridge (the place that started it all for her and Makoto). Lastly, cherry blossoms once again welcome her when she reaches the school. Considering their meaning (Don't forget about me), I'd like to think they're yet another reference to the fact that Aigis will go on living—forever carrying her memories of him.

✤ The Clear Data Save features Aigis' portrait over a cherry blossom background. If you beat the game on Heartless, a cherry-blossom-colored butterfly is added and placed over Aigis' heart.

EXTRAS

✤ In Orpheus' myth, he descends to the underworld in search of his dead wife, Eurydice, but ultimately fails and finds his own death. Knowing this makes Aigis having Orpheus as her main Persona even more meaningful. Not only is Orpheus' Makoto's Persona—so it's like he's left a piece of himself with her, his own version of I'll Never Leave You—it also represents Aigis' plight during Episode Aigis: either moving forward or going back to the past in search of Makoto. Unlike Orpheus, Aigis is eventually able to move forward carrying her memories of her beloved with her.

✤ Aigis' Compendium is signaled by a bookmark with a red butterfly, while Makoto's is the same bookmark but with a blue butterfly.

✤ Two dictionary entries evoke Aikoto. The first is That Day, which mentions it's "the last day Aigis ever spoke to him." The second is Aigis' Past.

✤ One of Elizabeth dialogues is "Do you posses the power to overcome any adversity as well? Just as he did...?" Another of her dialogues foreshadows Elizabeth wanting to ask Aigis to help her free Makoto's soul from the seal ("When the time comes, I may ask you to..."), just like in Persona 4 Arena.

✤ When Fuuka learns that Aigis may die if her key is taken, Aigis explains that she didn't want SEES to worry over her, too, when they're all "doing what they feel is best... for him..."

✤ Just like in The Answer, Yukari spends the game jealous of Aigis because she heard Makoto's last words and inherited his power—although this time she luckily handles it a lot better. This leads Mitsuru to explain that Yukari doesn't mean Aigis any malice; as she does so, she acknowledges Aigis' feelings and says that Makoto did no mean any less to Aigis than he did to Yukari. Later, Yukari herself ends up acknowledging Aigis' feelings and suffering over Makoto, strengthening their friendship.

✤ It's revealed that both Mitsuru and Yukari made promises to Makoto, or rather, to themselves after Makoto's passing. This bears mentioning because Aigis' promise to Makoto is never described in such terms in the game. At the contrary, in the original game, Yukari even goes as far as comparing them to say that unlike Aigis' promise to Makoto (あなたと違う), hers was one-sided (一方的に), highlighting that Makoto was there to acknowledge Aigis'.

✤ Metis tells Aigis that "The souls of all living things are connected through a plane similar to a sea." The Seal of Souls is likely where Makoto & Aigis are shown together in the opening, and the storyboards even describe it as an "unexpected reunion" 😭

✤ Mitsuru decides to give everyone their Evokers back, so it’s fair to assume Aigis still has Makoto’s.

✤ The Persona 3 Official Fanbook holds a short story about Aigis and Metis (I included an excerpt of it at the top of this post) and a column on the symbolism behind Aigis getting Orpheus (Orpheus, just like Aigis, went to the underworld in search of his lost beloved). While it's not material that came out with this version of Episode Aigis, it's still as relevant (and touching) as ever, so I really recommend reading it.

[spongebob-connoisseur]

So what is Slappy exactly? Is he undead? I’m so confused lol

He's undead without question. When I first saw him in birthday blowout, I knew instantly he was something that crawled out of a coffin somewhere. Something about those cute soft-boiled egg eyes..

Now the details of it, well I'm glad you asked because I have yapped about this to my sister many nights prior. Finally! Someone who will listen <3333

I'm sure Slappy is some sort of zombie fish but not in a stereotypical sense since he doesn't seem to rot and he prefers bugs over brains. The fact that he has an actual burial plot and headstone implies he was dead for a period of time before being ressurected (it also implies that his family must've been well off, do you know how EXPENSIVE dying is?? Let alone a headstone with his face carved on it).

Who knows why or how but the gag where he decapitates himself makes me think it's a hint of how he died. Perhaps he was executed by guillotine or he ended up at a fish market, or maybe Nosferatu was the one who killed him by ripping his head off and drinking his juice.

I really hope they revealed just HOW he died and how he got ressurected and started worked for Nosferatu. I really want to see 👉👈

Speaking of Nosferatu, Slappy also works for the vampyre, Nosferatu (His name is actually Count Orlok but that's not important) and he basically fulfills the role of Renfield (or what Renfield is named in Nosferatu, Knock). He's basically a vampire's familiar which can be counted as it's own species of undead. There is an srticle he wrote in the unused art for the Bleeder's Digest magazine for Squidferatu. He wrote for the Bikini Bottom Familiar. It's in the name duh.

Slappy has all of the traits of a Renfield; Insane fits of laughter, penchant for eating bugs, calling his vampire "master", ect. Renfield himself is usually mortal according to the book but I'm sure Dracula cooked his brain cells hence why he's like that. Though some pieces of Vampire media sometimes makes him sort of undead like the 1979 Nosferatu.

How sad would it be if Slappy was actually a normal person once but Nosferatu scrambled his brain and that's why he's like that? Sometimes I think about it. I also think of the possibility that he was dead but he came back wrong. But I also prefer if he was always naturally a freak. I think he probably always had morbid tendencies, he is a licensed mortician after all. Being a mortician automatically makes you hotter a freak.

Tbh for the longest time I assumed Slappy was undead because of Nosferatu, however because of the most recent Patrick show episode, I think he was undead before he met Nosferatu and his obsession for Nos grew over time. He had his slumber party in the cemetary in his own burial plot which is set up like a home with a mail box and a framed picture of Nosferatu. He still works for Nosferatu but clearly not full time yet in The Patrick Star Show. He has work as a mortician and seemed to have money for his own things like a boat and a phone. I think Nosferatu slowly consumed his unlife. Probably because it's nice to have a friend who gets how it feels to he undead. Slappy is prone to obsessive tendencies so it just consumed him and that's why he seems much more dependent on Nosferatu in Spongebob Squarepants. Idk that's just my thoughts. I could just be over thinking it. Nosferatu probably refused to allow the slumber party to happen anywhere near the castle, so Slappy had to improvise lol

Now the real question is how OLD is Slappy. Is he just a regular middle aged dude from the current time or was he from centuries prior. How long has he been dead? How long has he been undead for? Does he have any surviving family members? I'm begging on my knees to know😭😭😭🙏

[novelconcepts]

There are a lot of Worst Things about depression. Everybody's got a different Worst Thing. Hell, I can't always decide on what my personal Worst Thing is. Sometimes it's the numb despair. Sometimes, it's the dumb animal panic. Most of the time, though, it's that there isn't enough room inside of me.

What I mean is: I care about too many things. I think that's pretty standard these days for a lot of people. Empathy stretched fine as gossamer. We see so much suffering each day. We see so much more than any one person was meant to. So you wind up caring, because caring is what a person is wired to do, what makes life worth living. You care about people you know. You care about people you've never met. You care about situations in countries you haven't set foot in. You care about the political climate of your own hometown. You care about your own dreams. You care about your best friend's bad luck. You care about your pets' health. You care about when the next book in your favorite series will come out. You care, and you care, and you care, because you're wired to care about it all. It's exhausting sometimes, but it's life. Sometimes the best part of life.

With depression, the caring space gets to feeling too full. Has packed tight, all those elements butting into one another until they lose meaning, the darkness threading into the gaps. There just isn't enough room inside of me for all the fear and the despair and the weird empty anger, much less the stuff that actually matters. So I start shorting out. Because, see, depression makes it so I can't care; don't see a point in even trying. And the real me, the part of me that isn't being cannibalized by the demons, doesn't know how to do anything else. So the middle ground becomes: shrink the caring space. Shrink it down bit by bit. All systems are running at once, and we're getting low on juice, so the natural thing is to start shutting off lights. Start jettisoning the extraneous to make room.

Except it's depression at the wheel, not common sense, so it's not just the extra flair getting turned off. Not the despair and the mind-numbing terror and the reckless urge to pick fights. The stuff that winds up getting tossed is stuff I need. Stuff that keeps me going. It's all being shut down at once, no rhyme or reason, until I suddenly can't care about the things that are me. Intrinsic, fabric-level stuff. I can't care about creating. About making art. About telling stories. I can't care about other people telling stories. I can't care about my friends the way I'm supposed to. I can't care about their travel or their kids or their wins. I can't care about making food for myself. I can't care about brushing my teeth. I'm shutting down to component parts, but I didn't get to pick which components are still running full-power, so I wind up with just a handful of randomly blinking lights. Suddenly, I care very much about my fear of the future, my financial insecurity, how fast I can run a 5K, a single television show--and just about nothing else.

It isn't healthy. It's sure as fuck not sustainable. And I know from experience that the rest of the system will come back online eventually. I'll find myself telling another story in a week or a month. I'll find myself sketching something out of nowhere. I'll find myself able to grieve a lost loved one and treasure my new nephew. It'll all come back, in time. But it's the in-between bit that grates. The bit where I'm in the shuttle with my knees tucked against my chest, sucking oxygen through a straw, trying to conserve whatever is still running. The bit where I resent the people in my life who aren't running on fumes like I am. Where I'm furious that they can care, that they can move freely, that they aren't pacing a minuscule cage like I am. It's a loss, all the months and years I've spent on life support. It's a fucking waste.

That's where I am right now. Life support. Little things get in, from time to time. I can suddenly inhale a book series start to finish. I can suddenly coax myself into eating the same thing for lunch for three weeks straight. Those are extra lights on the dash, and I have to treasure them. Because there isn't really room, so any little thing that I find space for is a gift. And everything else--talking. planning. trusting. creating. intake.--has to stay dark for a little while longer.

It'll come back on. I have to believe it'll come back on.

In the meantime, I hunker in my shuttle, and I wait.

[passedaway44]

I will never get over this cute official art of them, it's really refreshing to see them in their personal style. So, I'm gonna rate their outfits :3

Starting with Krul

FASHION ICON TBH

I don't really like her, but I can't deny that every outfit of hers is eating up

Now I want krul to come back alive just to tell me from where she got that dress

10/10

Ferid:

For once, his outfit seems comfortable. Because I know damn well that those high heels and shoes were hurting his feet

I like his outfit, seems comfortable and it looks good on him, but those colors don't flatter him at all.

I will give it a 9/10 classic but I like it ig

Shinoa

Very cute, but impractical in a way.

These r winter outfits and I hope that she's wearing some thick tights.

The skirt is cute, she even has purple socks.

I think we get what's her favorite color now😭

8/10

Yoichi

He knows what he's doing.

HE'S COSPLAYING DAZAI BRO

At the same time it feels like he's copying Ferid

7/10

Mitsuba

YES GIRLY IT'S ADORABLE I LOVE IT BUT IT'S WINTER 😭😭😭

She's serving but I hope she's serving in a warm place

She looks like she's in a lemon juice ad though

9/10

Guren

What's that outfit BRO IT'S GIVING TWINK

Not too bad though, I actually like it

He looks like an e boy from 2018, but I'll accept it

8/10

Mika

Another twink outfit, but this one's more obvious.

It's giving femboy

I'll accept it though because it's Mika. 8/10

Yuu

I'm too lazy to write now but it's an 8 out of 10

[fearmaiden]

|| Five Year Plan || A Reader X Jonathan Crane, slow burn fic ||

Synopsis: Every so often, the city of Gotham will randomly select one person to have a really, really bad day. This time, that lucky person is you!

Aka: Your stupid ass accidentally signs up to be a goon at a “Goon Hiring” Agency after your landlord increases the rent. Oops!

Word Count: 11,059

TW: General violence, drug use, coercion, and swearing.

Note: So, uhh. Still working on this concept that has gripped me by the throat. There’s a lot of little references scattered in this chapter to Arkham!Verse, Reeves!Verse & other DCU works. The Gotham this x Reader takes place in is sort of an eclectic jumble with it’s own unique timeline. For previous chapter, click here. Enjoy the second installment of “Please don’t tell my psychiatrist!”. ♡ And let me know what you think in my asks if you want~

Banner art made by: @skxtchyghost

Song: “Are You Satisfied?” by Marina & The Diamonds

It wasn't a bad job. As far as employment went in Gotham, it was okay. Ish. The pay wasn't horrible and the location was a quick, 15 minute, monorail ride away from home. And sometimes, when the manager wasn't there, you got control over what songs the radio played. All this considering, you really couldn't complain. There were worse ways to get a paycheck... However, today's shift at the Cadmus Bar had you wondering if that was true or if it was another lie you were telling yourself to cope?

Your questions began with the first wave of early morning customers who'd exploded through the door, eager for their (keto) protein shake to start off the day. Several complained that their drinks were made wrong even though they'd gotten the exact things that they'd ordered. One of them, a woman sporting a bob cut, screamed at you for making her gluten-free veggie wrap gluten-free. Another demanded that they use the bathrooms before ordering anything. You were forced to tell them that it was against company policy to allow "non-paying individuals" access to the restrooms unless they bought something first. This ignited a vitriol-fueled tirade where you (eventually) had to ask the person to leave. On their way out, they kicked over the store sign and damaged it. You'd tried fixing the frame but to no avail. It remained slightly crooked.

Shit snowballed in the afternoon, just before the lunch rush, when the new trainee spilled a whole tray of smoothies on a customer, then managed to lock their cashier register out of the system. A mistake that spelled doom for everyone else who was working front of house. Specifically, you. It'd taken HOURS to figure out what they'd done and by that time, the trainee had already clocked out. To top it all off, your (least favorite) manager had decided to pop in unexpectedly which meant the radio was now honed onto 95.6 The Outlaw Star, a station that only played country music. Really bad country music. The kind that grated on your ears as it repeated the same insipid chorus lines again and again and again...

You're almost certain crap like this violated parts of The Geneva Conventions. But, what could you honestly expect from a restaurant chain that was owned by Lex Luthor?

Well...

At least you weren't unemployed.

"I'd fuck him."

Whatever worries you had about your job totally vanished in an instant when Zen, your co-worker, made this off-handed remark while cleaning the lobby with you in-between customer flows. She gave no additional context after that, leaving you baffled.

Glancing around first to see if your manager was lurking nearby and not finding him, you ask Zen-

"What?"

-with a deadpan tone that distinctly conveys just how excited you are about the subject matter of this conversation and where you believe it's most likely headed.

"I think he's hot," she reiterates, "I mean, the suit is weird but I'd still fuck him."

You stop wiping off the sticky, juice residue from a tabletop to stare at Zen. "Care to, uh, elaborate a bit more?" You question her, "Because I'm lost here."

Your co-worker waved over at the TV perched in the lobby corner. It was set to the Gotham News Network. Displayed on screen, lead anchorman, Jack Ryder, was interviewing several Gothamites at the scene of a burnt-down brewery. A chyron banner underneath stated: "Ten People Saved in Joker Attack by The Batman, Grand Re-opening Postponed Indefinitely."

"Batman!" Zen announced as if it were obvious, "I think he's sexy. I mean, he's got those incredible pecs and that delicious jawline! I'd absolutely be down to fuck. But, he's gotta lose the suit in bed. Or wait! No, scratch that. He should leave it on..."

A giggle escaped from her. You continue to stare at your co-worker like she's suddenly grown two heads. Eventually, though, you clear your throat and go back to scrubbing the table. Zen scowled at this.

"Oh, c'mon!" She exclaimed, "Tell me you haven't thought about it. Not even once?"

You roll your eyes.

"Literally, not even once," you reply, voice devoid of enthusiasm while you continue to do your job. A bit of orange gunk had crusted onto the table and was being difficult against the force of your washcloth.

Zen didn't believe you.

"Liar," she said.

"It's the truth," you shoot back at her, applying a bit more pressure into your scrubbing. Still, that infuriating splotch remained.

A wicked grin curved along your co-worker's lips. Zen hopped onto the table. She leaned in toward you, invading your personal space and stopping you from cleaning. You glare at her sourly. It only encourages her to scoot even closer near you.

"Let's play a game of Fuck, Bang, Kill," she said, not waiting for your response either way before launching into her proposal, "I'll pick the options and you say 'fuck', 'bang', or 'kill'. Simple enough, right?"

"No."

"Okay!"

"Ugh, you're really gonna make me do this, aren't you?"

"Yup! No mercy!"

One brief moment passed where your co-worker tapped her finger against her chin. She looked to be deep in thought while considering the choices for the game. Knowing Zen, however, you figure she had probably come up with it weeks ago...

"Clayface," she said first, squinting (narrowly) at you for signs of a hidden monsterfucking fetish. 

This one is a no-brainer.

"Kill," you automatically reply, wasting zero time to deliberate.

"Killer Croc," she says next.

Frowning, you answer: "Kill."

"Firefly," Zen states, "But, you gotta let him move into your apartment."

"He'd set too many things on fire. Kill."

"Two Face."

"Double Kill."

"Scarface."

"I'm not into puppets, kill."

She tossed her hands in the air, "Oh my god, you can't just keep choosing kill! That's not how this game works!"

"Well," you shrug, "You said it was my choice. So, I'm just playing according to your rules."

"Joker and Harley Quinn."

"Kill them."

“Catwoman.”

“Eh, kill.”

"Poison Ivy."

"Ask why my succulent is dying, then kill."

"Mad Hatter."

"Do I look like an Alice? Kill.”

With the slightest hint of satisfaction, you watch as Zen's face betrayed her own frustration. There was practically (black) smoke billowing from her ears while she tried to guess which Rogue you'd be most likely to marry. Or fuck. You wonder how long it would take until she called it quits?? After all, the two of you still had a lobby to clean. If the manager caught you both slacking off, you'd get written up for sure.

Suddenly, your co-worker's face brightened.

"THE RIDDLER!" She exclaimed like she'd solved a crime, jabbing her index finger up into the air. "I bet you'd break for the Riddler."

You blink.

Something flickered in the back of your mind. An old memory that you thought you'd forgotten.

"Uh, kill?" You answer, although you sound a hint uncertain, "I don't know, you can't really see him behind that mask and I'm not sure I could handle his followers. Plus, those riddles..."

Zen pouted. You could tell she was getting close to admitting defeat. It was only a matter of time now. You give the stubborn splotch another hard scrub with your rag, really putting your arm into it. The tiniest portion was beginning to come off. However, you pause when you hear Zen suggest a name that you'd never heard of before:

"Well, how about that new one? The one that the news is calling the Scarecrow?"

You open your mouth to speak but find yourself interrupted by a rush of customers. Moms with their kids in soccer uniforms and teenagers who were just getting out of school. Zen lets loose a sigh, knowing that you'd been spared from her torture by fate or chance. At least, for now. She quickly rushed over to the cash register, putting on her "customer service" smile while she began taking orders, leaving you to finish up the lobby alone. You caught Zen glance over at you once as if to warn you that this wasn't over. Not by a long shot. 

Unfortunately, she wasn't someone who gave up easily…

Minutes before you were scheduled to take your ten, the manager calls you into his office. With a lazy wave, he gestures for you to sit down in the chair across from his own while he riffles through a filing cabinet behind his desk. You happened to sneak a peak and see that what your manager is picking through are employee folders. An unease settles over you when he yanks out a file labeled "[your name]," then places it down between you both as he takes a seat. He looks at you for just a moment, eyebrow raised.

"Where you do see yourself in five years??" He asks you.

Your mind is racing in all possible avenues at this question.

"E-Excuse me?" You stammer out finally, though it sounded as if your voice was just a squeak, "I don't understand what you're-"

"Back in March, when you filled out your resume, you said you were planning to go back to college next semester. Is that still true?"

Your manager cuts you off. He cracks open your file, selecting the job application that you'd filled out a year ago when you decided that you needed an extra source of income. Despite this city being a trash fire, Gotham was still an expensive place to live. And college wasn't cheap! Buying textbooks for all the psychology courses that you were going to take in September would cost you. Even with the grants you were on! You watch nervously as your manager thumbs through your application idly, waiting for you to speak. He seems annoyed.

"Uhm," you mumble at first, but recover yourself enough to ground the uncertainty fluttering inside your stomach as you attempt a reply, "Yeah, that's the plan."

Your manager sighs.

"Look," he says, skepticism dripping from his tone like leaded water in an old pipe, "I didn't want to be the one who had to point it out to you but upper management has been cracking down on us lately. Our customer reviews have been too low for the past couple of months. You came up during our team meeting last Wednesday as a topic of interest. Several times, actually."

You blink, confused.

"Wait, what?"

You knew you weren't the best employee that the Cadmus Bar had. But, you knew that you weren't the worst either! Certainly, this had to be a huge misunderstanding. You ask for some clarification and your manager (with all the energy of a mildly disappointed father) begins to list off a series of ridiculous infractions, accusations, and "witness reports" that pegs you as the person who keeps breaking the smoothie blenders. Something that you, yourself, have been reporting (complaining) to management about since the very first day of your employment here.

"Annnd, we don't feel like you're smiling enough," your manager adds, placing the cherry on top of his corporate-talk cake, "You don't really portray the warm, friendly disposition that the Cadmus Bar is known for in its employees. Uh, one report we recently received about you seems to call you 'weird and off-putting'. Another one claims you're 'unhelpful' and 'have a rude attitude'. So, uh, you understand how none of this looks good, right?"

You scrambled for a reasonable explanation. Any explanation. However, what slipped out was half cooked mumblings that didn't sound convincing when spoken aloud: "I'll try harder. It's just been a rough couple of weeks and-"

Your manager holds up an authoritative hand.

"No, it's been a rough couple of months," he says, correcting you immediately with the slight bite of annoyance heard from every word that he spoke, "And look, we were willing to grant you a brief period after your accident so you could get reorientated again. But, this behavior has turned into a pattern."

He levels an accusatory stare at you.

"I..."

The world darkens for a moment as you process his words. Images flash before your eyes in quick succession: rain on the windshield, a blind corner of a lonely road, high beams and screeching tires that tore through the air alongside screams, fire, blood staining wet pavement... Your mouth goes dry. You feel numb inside. Somehow, it's like you are there, reliving that awful night all over again. Your manager brings you back to reality when he clears his throat, appearing uncomfortable with how you were handling this talk. He tries shifting your focus by telling you "the good news" about your predicament...

"The silver lining is we're not firing you yet. We've got that new trainee, though, so you might want to start seriously thinking about the future. All those college fees are going to be expensive. Maybe you can put some work into that smile in the meantime, yeah? Start wearing some pretty buttons on your vest to show our customers the real Cadmus Bar spirit."

You wished you had said anything other than the quiet, mumbled agreement that had slipped out of you. For some reason, the words you could've chosen just ran through your fingers like sand at a beach. With no refutes available, your manager sends you away, satisfaction on his bloated face that advertised (quite obviously) the pleasure he took in crushing your spirit and making you feel small in this moment. He tosses your file into the trash as you leave the office. The knowledge that your days working here were numbered became suddenly clear.

You decide to take your ten.

"They can't fire you!"

Inhaling a deep lung full of smoke from her joint, Zen medicated the rage she felt, then released it with a mighty exhale and a walloping cough. She passes the burning joint onto you, who partakes from it less aggressively, and continues her rant despite wheezing in between (her sharp-spoken) words.

"You and I keep this shit together!! If it wasn't for us, nothing would get done right. They think the evening prep gets done by Terry and his shift?! I can't count the times they've fucked the freezer up!"

You exhale a small stream of pungent marijuana into the air. Then, cough. Even though your chest seized, the relaxation you felt afterward was just enough to persuade you to take a second toke. It had been a stressful day for you already. And the day still wasn't over yet...

"I know," you agreed, grumbling at the hand your job was dealing you, "But, I don't "smile enough" for fucking Terry, apparently. I'm too 'weird and off-putting' and 'unhelpful with a rude attitude'."

"Well, that last one is true. You are pretty fucking rude sometimes," Zen replies, reaching out to take the joint you were offering back, "But, it's still bullshit! That trainee can't replace you. She's barely handling the dishwasher right now. A few weeks won't make a difference if she's that dumb and incompetent!"

"I know, right?"

"Like, who am I supposed to talk to about stupid shit all day?"

A sobering kind of silence fell upon Zen and you. Despite the city noise that pounded at your ears, the only thing you could hear was the emptiness that was forming in the slots of your daily routine and the dreadful monotony that would take your co-worker's place. While you knew Zen wouldn't totally disappear from your life, things would be different enough that you cringed just imagining it. You don't think you'd be able to stand working around anyone else. Sighing, you lean your head against the brick wall behind you and gaze up at the thin sliver of (overcast) sky above. This might be the last time you smoke with Zen in this shitty alleyway. You try to savor the moment but all you can do is frown as if you'd tasted something that had spoiled.

"You got me still, man."

Roach breaks the awkward silence. You turn your head to look at the homeless stoner that Zen and you had befriended (adopted) months ago when he'd first shown up in this alley, asking for a light, and rolling papers. With a frown, you realize that you'd miss him. Even if he did bum way, way too many cigarettes. Roach, in some weird way, was also a fixture of your daily life that you'd become attached to...

"Oh, sweetie. We love you but that's not the point being made here," Zen says, taking a quick hit of the joint before passing it along to Roach, "Point is-"

"The point is I'm screwed," you interject, "WE are screwed. Hell, I watched Terry throw my file into the trash! I'm getting fired."

Roach inhaled half the joint as he listened to you speak. Coughing, nearly choking on the cloud he made with his exhale, he summarizes today's ten minute break in three simple words-

"This sucks, man!"

-then, takes another generous toke. The cloud of smoke he made this time was (somehow) bigger than the last. Roach shook his head. Ran a hand through his matted, tangled hair and sighed. He looked genuinely upset. Your heart turned over a little seeing how much these people cared about you.

"Like, who am I gonna bum smokes from now?"

Nevermind.

A laugh rumbles deep from Roach's chest as Zen (and you) just squint at him. "Oh, c'mon! You had to know that was a joke. I'm kidding, I'm kidding! This is a huge bummer, though. I liked smoking with you guys. You aren't weird about how I look. You treat me like I'm normal..." He says this with a heavy frown that collapses very suddenly upon his face.

"Well, you're as normal as the rest of us!"

"Careful guys, they might send us to Arkham."

"Oh my god, I bet they'd put us in cells right next to each other! We could pass along little notes in between the bars or something, haha!"

You all laugh as a group...but it feels bittersweet. 

Zen and Roach give you the last hits off the joint, now merely a blackened nub. You were reminded of the time and realized that your ten was almost over. Zen must've been on the same wavelength as you because she groaned (loudly) when she'd checked her phone. She pouted for a second like a kid who'd just been told to go clean their room. You follow suit in your own subdued way, feeling the weight of each second that counted down to your inevitable unemployment.

Flicking the spent remainders of the joint into an ashtray, you take a breath, and mentally prepare yourself for the last hours of your shift.

"Ugh, time to clock back in."

"Same. I'll take care of the trash?"

"Thanks. I fucking hate doing the trash."

You spend about fifteen minutes lugging stuffed, Hefty bags out to the dumpsters. One split open in the middle of transport. Another was leaking a sticky, warm liquid that got all over your uniform, making your clothes smell like rancid candy and crap. On the last round of trash, Roach helps you toss an extra heavy one that you were struggling with throwing away. You try to thank him. He just shakes his head, though, insisting that no thanks were necessary among friends...

"You've been decent to a bum like me. This is the least I can do for you."

Still, you find yourself thanking him again. Then, turn to slouch back into the Cadmus Bar (where a new wave of customers were surely crowding at the cash register by now) but are stopped by Roach, who wants to give you something. From his stained jeans pocket, he pulled out an onyx black card. He hands it to you with a rare, serious look on his face as he explains:

"Look, I hate to see them fuck you over so here's the number to my cousin, Frankie C. He's a good guy when he's not drunk. He runs a temp agency in Otisburg. If you need some quick cash to get you by while you figure shit out, call him. He can set you up with a small gig just like that. It won't be enough to break even, usually. Sometimes, an opportunity comes in, though. Depending on the season and all that."

You shake your head while telling him that you'll be fine, that you already had a plan (even if you absolutely didn't and were panicking about the next few months of your life). Roach seemed to know you were lying because he refused to take the card back from you. He just kept redirecting the topic onto his cousin. Eventually, he shoved his hands deep into his pockets so he couldn't use them. You're forced to keep the card after that. Roach smiled when you finally slid the thin paper into your vest pocket.

"Just, uhhh, keep the Frankie stuff between you and me, okay? Don't wanna ruin a sweet deal like this on everyone!"

He winks, nudging your side with an elbow. You end up laughing despite your mood. It was hard to be sad around Roach. And you wish you could do more for him than just share your smokes on the days you were working here. You could keep his secret, however. Now, it was your secret, too. You pat your vest pocket and salute Roach as if he were the captain of a ship.

"My lips are sealed!" You exclaim, making a show of pursing your lips and sealing them shut.

Your shift flew by relatively fast. Before you knew it, you were riding the D-line back to Rosserie St. where the peace of your apartment awaited you. The trip was smooth, almost TOO smooth for an average Gotham evening. It had you gripping the canister of the pepper spray you kept hidden in your purse out of suspicion. But, the minute you made it to your neighborhood, you relaxed a little bit. With the GCPD so close to your home, crime here was more tame. The worst it usually had to offer came in the forms of muggings by average thugs. Or break-ins. It was partly the reason your parents had been willing to pay the deposit when you'd moved out. Through some miracle, you'd convinced them it was safe. It'd helped when you mentioned that the police station was just a few blocks away. You knew they regularly donated to the GCPD and their fundraising galas every year.

You spent the rest of your night filling out online applications and re-writing your resume, despite knowing that any place that would hire you likely wouldn't read it.

At 5 am, a loud banging on your apartment door startles you awake. An angry voice accompanies it. By the Pennsylvania Dutch accent, it was your landlord. Reluctantly, you peeled yourself off the couch and stumbled lifelessly through the living room to go figure out what he wanted. Because it wasn't the first of the month and you'd already taken care of the bills so there was nothing that sour old man could (possibly) want from you. A breath is taken before you open the door. A little prayer is said to whatever God was listening up there. You steel yourself, plaster a smile on your face, then open the door to greet your landlord. Your stomach drops when you see he's holding a bunch of envelopes that were addressed to each resident of the building.

"The rent's just increased," he says while handing you your envelope from his pile, "I'm gonna need the difference you owe by Monday, alright?"

Your landlord shoots this new information at you with such casualness that it makes you feel sick. He's staring at you as if you were an idiot for not knowing (or expecting) that this would probably happen. Fortunately, you recover from the shock  quick enough to form what you hope is a protest. It doesn't go well.

"I...already paid my rent, though."

"Yeah? Well, now the new payment is due."

"You can't raise the rent until next month!"

"Look, I don't know what to tell you. It's that "gentrification" stuff all those woke hipsters talk about on the social medias. Prices going up? The rent goes up. Pretty open shut case, alright? Not a lot of mumbo jumbo to it."

"This apartment is rent controlled. I made sure it was when I moved in!"

"Okay, then take it up with the housing authority and wait for them to call you back about it. In the meantime? I'm gonna need that money from you on Monday. 5 am sharp. Or you can move out of here and I'll rent this apartment to someone who would pay triple the new price!!" 

Your landlord's threat ripped the argument from your lips. He seems pleased when you fall silent and appear to crumple internally. You mask it by putting on a brave face...but your attempt isn't a convincing show of strength. Just as he's about to continue speaking, a (LOUD) meow interrupts him. Both you and your landlord stop what you're doing, pressing a momentary pause on your talk, to look towards the source of the noise that was growing more obnoxious by the second. You see that an orange cat was pacing back and forth on your balcony patio. Like it was waiting for you to let it in. Like this was a routine thing you did and not the very first time you'd ever seen it here. As you make the innocent mistake of giving it direct eye contact, it reacts by reaching up and eagerly paws at the sliding glass door.

Your landlord scowls.

"So, you got a pet?" He spits, raising an eyebrow at you, "That'll be an extra 200 for pet insurance. Cats piss and shit everywhere, ya know? Dirty lil' bastards. They'll fuck up my nice, clean carpets."

The carpets in your apartment were neither nice nor clean. Actually, they'd been stained and dirty since day one. The only reason they were decent now was all the steam cleaning you did to keep it tenable! Even then, your carpets were only a few more accidental messes away from being trash...

"That's not my cat," you state firmly, putting your foot down, "I don't have a pet. I don't owe you for a cat that isn't mine!"

Your landlord jabs his finger in the cat's direction and says, "If it's sitting on your fucking patio, it's your fucking cat! End of discussion. Don't need a brain to understand that, do ya?"

He smirks (again) when he sees frustration twist anew upon your face. It made the short-statured man happy whenever he could provoke this kind of conflict in someone. But, you were convinced it meant more to him when that person was you; which filled you with such impotent anger that it nearly blinded you. Dark thoughts about ripping the smirk off his lips and grinding it into the dirty carpets that he seemed so proud of swirled and spiraled around inside your head. You held back, however, because you also wanted to keep a roof over your head. Fall was just around the corner in Gotham. It was about to get cold. Really fast. It'd be iced-over mornings and winter storms before you knew it...

So, you bit your tongue and said nothing.

"You have to think about your future. No one is gonna do it for you," your landlord drives home the point he wanted to make even further, gently patting the frame of your apartment door with a faux concern, "Think about where you wanna be. You got until Monday to decide if it's here like an adult or out on the street in a cardboard box."

That was the second time your "future" had been mentioned. The sound of twisting steel hits your ears. Breaking glass shatters all around you as a tire, engulfed in fire, rolls past your mental vision. Someone is crying out for help. A scream crawls from your throat and takes the form of three tiny words that you speak in a defeated whisper:

"This isn't legal."

Your landlord laughs loudly and shrugs when he hears you, "This is Gotham, toots!"  

He walks away before you can say anything else. You're left holding the envelope he gave you with the cat you now, apparently, owned. Who hadn't stopped meowing, by the way. You could hear it practically yowling, clawing down the tempered glass of your patio door, trying its hardest to get your attention. Sighing, you shut the front door. Lock it tight. Then, turn to face the mess of your apartment. Was paying the rent increase worth it considering what a dump house this place was?? The question nagged you while you crossed your living room (stepping over piled books and dirty laundry that you'd forgotten about a week or two ago) to open the patio door. Immediately, the cat stopped crying once it'd been let in. You watch it make itself at home on your couch and begin to purr.

Nope, you were never getting rid of that cat. You could see 200 dollars literally flying away in this moment as you relented and sat down next to it on your couch. Your fingers ran through the cat's soft, pumpkin-colored fur. Maybe you'd buy it a collar the next time you got paid? Maybe one of those cute, themed ones that you'd (sometimes) see at Petco. If you still had a job by then...

Your head falls back against the couch as a slow and exasperated groan unfurls out of you. With a desperate eye, you search the cobweb cracks in the ceiling for clues on what you should do. Their answer is silence. You were screwed.

So, you decided that breakfast was the answer!

There was a greasy spoon diner down the street that served a (passable) eggs and hash. Despite knowing your wallet couldn't handle it, you found yourself sitting in your usual spot fifteen minutes after opening the envelope, hoping that a simple, hot meal would ease your turmoil. 1,500 dollars plus 200 extra for the cat that wasn't yours and an additional increase on utilities that you didn't use. Like parking. Or the community gym. That's what you owed your landlord by Monday. It was money you just didn't have! Even thinking about it made your eyes bigger than your stomach. You end up ordering way too much food, then regret it almost instantly. Today, the eggs are bland and unseasoned. The hashbrowns are burnt black at the edges. These flavors settled on your tongue, as disappointing as the debt you had to pay, and lingered there with the stress that hung over you like a storm cloud.

Technically, you had the money...but, it was your college fund.

You couldn't touch that.

When you had moved out of your parents' house, blessedly away from Metropolis, you'd promised yourself something; that one day, you'd get your bachelor's degree in psychology, start a practice of your own and finally prove to your family that you were a capable, independent adult. However, more than that bit, you felt a certain gravitational pull towards learning about how the mind works. Even at a young age, you were always absorbed in observations about the people (and the world) around you. You'd scribble them upon sheets of paper with crayons or colored marker or pen and pencil. Sticking them on your bedroom walls. It'd driven your parents absolutely insane. They had dreams (delusions) of you becoming a grammar school teacher. A "safe profession for a girl" that wasn't too ambitious and established your role in the family legacy. All Wrenns were educators. No deviations from the antiquated mold. Unsatisfied with this as you grew older, you tried arguing to your parents that psychology and teaching were similar fields. That they were (for all intents and purposes) practically the same thing! The result had been a disaster. And sometimes, they'd still laugh at the notion over holiday dinner, throwing salt on the wound by mentioning with a mocking scrutiny-

'Except you're not around crazy people!'

-to end the conversation. Not surprisingly, they'd been unsupportive of you the day you'd received your acceptance letter to GSU. They also weren't proud of the grants you'd earned to, in their own words, throw your future away on a crack career like head shrinking. And they didn't help you with anything other than the deposit on this shit hole you now hated renting in the city they hated you living in. Sometimes, your parents would call you to ask if you'd consider coming back home. They would suggest you enroll in the "nice community college" just a few blocks down from their house.  Or they'd sneak details into the dialogue about a new position at the elementary school your Mom worked in when they were feeling extra unhappy by your choices. You'd always say patiently: 'No, I can't. I'm staying in Gotham,' and they'd end the chat on a sour note. Lately, they seemed to really enjoy using how well your brother, Braydon, was doing in Metropolis.

Your college fund was the only thing standing in between you and returning back to your parents, crushed and defeated. You couldn't dip into it to solve your money problem. Doing so would only cement the quaint, milquetoast future that they determined for you. It would set you on a course of compromises until you became less an actual person and more a thing they felt entitled to "set right again." You knew, without any shadow of a doubt, that asking your parents for help in your current predicament would only result in a battle where they'd make you admit that you couldn't handle living on your own. They'd probably drive all the way to Gotham to come pick you up and take you back home. You'd wake up ten years in the future after that; a passionless, grade school teacher just like your mother. Probably married to a man you (barely) tolerated with a handful of kids you'd push into being an educator as you'd been pushed. Insisting they give up their dreams for your vision instead. For the only vision that a Wrenn was allowed. What a nightmare concept.

And yet, you found yourself texting your Dad. He had always been the more reasonable parent...

You: Hey, Dad. Can I ask you a favor?

You: Dad, I really need to borrow

You: So, something came up this month

You: Hey, how're you? How's Mom? [5:55 am]

The response came a half an hour later.

Dad: Isn't it a little too early for you? 😜 We're doing fine. Haven't heard from you in a while. How're things in Gotham? We heard there was a new madman running around the city on the news. [6:25 am]

By that time, you were already back home.

You: 🤷‍♀️ There's always a new madman running around Gotham. Dad, can I ask you Dad, I've run into troub I'm doing fine, tho. Just busy. [6:27 am]

Dad: That's good. Remember to put the GCPD on speed dial in case anything does happen, ok? [6:28 am]

You: I've got them on speed dial already. Don't worry. Hey, could we talk about something [6:30 am]

Dad: That's good, sweetie. Just want you to be safe. How's college been? Have you decided on when you'll be transferring over to St. Mary's? [6:35 am]

You stared at the message for a long time after it was sent and realized, with a sinking feeling, just how futile asking your parents for help was. They didn't want you to study at the GSU. They didn't want you to be a psychologist. Hell, they weren't even cool with you living in Gotham! Here they were, already pushing you to leave the city (and your dreams) behind. No, this had been a stupid mistake. If you had a problem, you were going to have to solve it yourself. Like an adult.

You: I'm staying at GSU, Dad. Classes are going really well. My teachers love me. [6:44 am]

The reply from your father came too quick to be anything good. It simply said-

Dad: Ok. [6:44 am]

-and nothing else. You don't text him back. You'd just be wasting time at this point. Instead, you fill out more online job applications. Even the listing you found for a janitor position at Arkham. Right now, you weren't being picky. When you'd milked all of Linked In, Craigslist, GothHires, and several local group forums, you funneled your anxiety in other ways; you began washing the dirty dishes that'd sat in your sink since...you forget, you pick up the books off the floor (putting them together on your shelf), and start sorting through the old laundry piles too.

When you grab your clothes from yesterday, you notice that something falls out of your work vest. It lands on the floor at your feet. You bend down to pick the thing up and peer at it (kinda baffled) and clueless before suddenly remembering what it was. This little black card was the contacts for the temp agency run by Roach's cousin. As you flip it over to see: "Frankie Cee, hiring agent. He'll see the potential in you!" printed on it with black ink and metallic foil, an idea strikes you. A genius idea...

What harm could a phone call do?

You begin dialing the number on the card.

"Hello, Frankie? Hi, uh. My friend Roach said that you hire people for temp jobs. Could I possibly set up an interview with you soon? My call back number is..."

Sandwiched between the glamour of the Bowrey and the government offices of the West End was a dump called Otisburg where all the dirt, sweat, and grime in Gotham collected itself. Comprised of crumbling brick and dark alleyways that were always littered with trash, it stood out against its wealthy neighbors, reminding everyone that just beneath the (gilded) surface was a festering sore left untreated within the city. And that year after year, Mayor Hill neglected it stubbornly despite his many "sincere" promises to do otherwise. It's inside this wound that you find yourself a couple of hours past noon, wondering (worrying) if you had gotten the address right?? Or if Frankie Cee had sent you the wrong pin on WayneMaps...

Because the place your pin had sent you to was a dive bar.

Brows furrowed in confusion, you quickly check  WayneMaps again. Nope! This was it. 4580 45th St (South). Right next to a bus stop and a row of condemned apartments that'd seen better days. Stashing your phone away, you peer at the neon sign that said "Stacked Deck" in mustard yellow and scarlet red with apprehension twisting your gut. Unless this (particular) hiring manager ran a bar or worked at an incredibly progressive, super chill, non-profit, having your interview here didn't make sense. Things like that were typically done in an office. You were starting to realize, albeit a touch late, that this whole situation was sketchy and your genius idea had been stupid! While you knew Roach was only trying to help, he'd set you upon a fool's errand, anyways. Should've stayed home and done job applications. You turn around to leave but surprise yourself when you walk into the bar instead as if a gravitational pull held your feet for ransom.

Suspicious stares fix themselves upon you when you enter the Stacked Deck. Some patrons even leer and throw lascivious comments out, hoping to rattle loose a reaction from you. One guy asks how much your hourly rates are? Another seems way too curious about why "a tiny little thing like you" has come to a place like this? Ignoring each prod and jab these bar-dwellers throw, you wade through the sea of cigarette smoke that hung in the air, focused solely on the long counter where drinks were being served. Unfortunately, you tug your hoodie strings while you do this, advertising the discomfort you felt to everyone regardless of the stiff upper lip you were trying (and failing) to portray. RIP you. After waiting a couple seconds, the next available bartender slides up to you and asks what you want to order with narrowed eyes full of skepticism. She's probably wondering the same thing everybody else is; what're you doing here?

In the back of your mind, you're questioning that too...

"Oh, uhh, no. No, I'm here for Frankie?" You reply, sounding uncertain, your statement forming into a question at the very end, "Frankie Cee? Do you know if he's around?"

Wordlessly, the bartender stares at you. When it was beginning to get super uncomfortable, you tried clarifying. Somehow, this makes you sound less confident than if you'd kept quiet: "I have an interview with him at 3."

The bartender continues staring. Her expression morphs from skepticism to abject disbelief. "You have an interview with Frankie Cee? You?? At this bar?"

"Yes," you say, a bit frustrated now.

She raises an eyebrow, "Are you positive?"

You absolutely weren't.

"Yeah," you repeat, firmer this time, "he gave me this address to meet up. I just didn't know it was gonna be at a bar. Uh, his text said to talk to the bartenders first." 

Judging off pure mood alone, you could tell that the bartender was done talking with you. Before she could show you the door, though, you reach into your pockets and pull out the onyx card that Roach had given you. You hold it up so the lady could see it, like it was an ID, hoping this would be enough to convince her to help you out or at least point you in the right direction. If you'd been thinking with your head on straight, if you'd only paid attention to the red flags, you might've realized how weird all this was. How wrong it felt in the pit of your stomach. But, the specter of lost college funds, homelessness, and your (almost certain) unemployment was blinding your sight to the bad omens surrounding you. You wanted money now more than anything else. Even the possibility of it seemed worth the potential risk.

The bartender sighed when she saw the card. It was obvious she was annoyed by the sight of it. "Well, fuck! Here I was thinking you were a lying bitch I could 86. No happy endings in Gotham. Yeah, Frankie's here. Give me a minute. I'll go snag him for ya. In the meantime, be a paying customer, buy yourself something, and go sit at those seats in the back. Or else I'll have to kick you out, anyway. Alright? So, what's your poison?"

You decide on beer. Something light, something without a high alcohol percentage. After all, you didn't want to get fucked up before the interview. The bartender sighs at your choice. With disgust in her tone, she grumbles 'of course' underneath her breath, then turns around to make your order after you'd handed her 15 crinkled dollars. Soon, with drink in hand, you hurry past the pool tables and the cue rack and the glowing neon sign that said: "Keep Gotham Weird". You slip into the end booth closest to the restrooms where a poster of Zephyrs of the Holy hung. Zen had once told you that the band was magical, so you'd thought it'd be a good place to wait. Maybe their luck would rub off on you?

You were half a beer in when Frankie Cee arrived. The man was not what you were expecting! Bald and beefy with black tattoos blazed up his arms, Frankie was the polar opposite of his cousin. He looked suspiciously like if Mr. Clean had joined a biker gang. The man glances at you (and your drink) once, chuckles to himself, then joins you in the booth. You swear you heard him whisper 'of course,' but you pretend not to hear it. Which was probably the best thing you could do in this scenario for more than one reason.

"So! My piece of shit, good for nothing, bum of a cousin sent you my way, huh?" Frankie asks you, grin on his face. Despite the twinkle in his eye, it was hard to tell if he was joking or being serious. That edge of uncertainty has you sweating bullets. You gape at him; frozen cold in the headlights by his question. You weren't sure how to answer him and Frankie seemed amused that you didn't quite know what to say. He continues speaking, taking a casual sip of the Tennessee Rye that was clutched in his hand while doing so, "You know, that fucker still owes me for the last favor I did. You wanna pay his tab for him?"

"Uhhh."

This interview was going great already! You were going to kill Roach when you saw him next. Your face twists up momentarily as you contemplate the logistics of murder...

The man must've sensed what you were thinking because he erupted with laughter. Wiping a stray tear from the corner of his eye, Frankie switches gears and decides to stop panicking you. "Nahh, I'm just playing' with ya! My cousin's decent when he's not on the drops. But he does owe me a pack of cigs the next time I see him."

"You and me both," you replied, a weaker chuckle than his escaping from your throat, still shaky on whether (or not) this was truly a joke. You try reminding yourself that if everything went wrong for some reason, you had pepper spray handy in your pockets. It was a weak reassurance but the only one you had at the moment.

"Right. Well, enough chit-chat. Let's get down to business." Frankie says, that merry twinkle in his eye becoming much sharper than before.

The man retrieves a folded paper from his pant's pocket, opens it up flat, then slides it over to you. It's a job application. Emblazoned on top was the logo for the temp agency (an eyeball wreathed in flames) with the company name orbiting around it. A small sentence follows underneath: "We can SEE the potential in you!". This agency definitely had their brand figured out, you thought, as the slogan hooked onto your brain like a Super Bowl commercial. Scanning through the rest of it, you find that everything seems pretty normal (about four sections dedicated to general info, medical history, driving record, and previous employers), but when you flipped the paper over...things got a little weird. 13 questions greet you, each more confusing than the last.

You squint at them.

Frankie senses your bewilderment and chuckles. "Just fill the questionnaire out to the best of your abilities, girly. Some of them are a little out there due to our clientele, but answering them all helps me figure out what gigs you'll best be suited for, you dig?? We wanna match our employees' skills to the needs of our clients."

You nod, then ask him a question. But he ignores this completely and asks you one instead. Which nags you in an insistent way. Something was off. Something wasn't right here. Something tugged on your gut for you to leave this place.

"Are you thirsty? I'm gonna snag something from the bar. I'll be back in a moment. Try getting that thing done, alright?? Just don't think about it too much."

Frankie drains the rest of his Tennessee Rye with a single gulp. An impressive feat considering his glass was practically full. He uses your stunned silence to make his getaway. You watch the man saunter towards the bar counter, greeting some new faces that'd just entered the Stacked Deck from the alleyside door. After a second, you turn your attention onto the paper. Blinking, still lost, you search for a pen inside your purse and begin to tackle the easiest parts on the front. That tug in your gut yanked harder. Finally, you arrived at the back page of the application. By that time, it felt like your whole, damn stomach was twisted into knots.

You poise your pen over the first question. Your hand is shaking slightly as you do...

1. How flexible are you willing to be with work hours?

Answer: All weekends and holidays.

That one was normal and simple to answer. You jot your response down without much hesitation.

2. Do you have any physical disabilities that would prevent you from finishing a task?

Answer: No.

This question was also pretty common. You have to have seen it printed on a hundred different job applications before.

3. Do you have any familial connections to law enforcement?

Answer: No.

Another inquiry that didn't appear abnormal. But you wondered, albeit briefly, why a temp agency would want to know that? You figure it was likely a conflict of interest deal for some of the clients. After all, you weren't a fan of the GCPD, either.

4. Do you own a firearm?

Answer: No.

Not an odd question to ask in Gotham. Everyone and their mothers kept some kind of weapon on them. The most efficient option being a gun. You had thought about owning one, back when you'd been planning to move to this city. Instead, your parents convinced you (wore you down) to buy a can of pepper spray. They were mortified by the idea of you shooting a pistol. Luckily, a year into GSU, your dormmate had shown you how to use one.

5. How do you feel about dressing in uniform?

Answer: I'm okay with it.

You supposed this one made sense? Every job in retail that you'd had made you wear a uniform or at least a company T-shirt. You hated the cheesy outfits of some places (like BatBurger), but right now, you weren't really in a position to turn down a paycheck. So, you lie on the application with a bold flourish of your pen.

The next question was where things got strange.

6. If you had a catchphrase, what would it be?

Answer: Ready for anything!

What?? You stare at the words until they seem to bleed off the paper. This HAD to be some sort of attempt at a psychology quiz! One of those lame passes a business would use to gauge your level of agreeability. You roll your eyes, jotting down a phrase that meant nothing to you...but sounded like something that a hiring manager would want to hear. You cringe at the dishonesty. Yet another wave of anxiety rolls over you. Perhaps this beer wasn't agreeing with your stomach?

7. Do you have any physical skills or talents?? Example: Could you scale a wall or jump over a fence? If you had to, could you run for longer than 20 minutes? Are you proficient in martial arts?

Answer: N/A

You blink. Again, the word "what" re-emerged as a question within your brain. You tap your pen on the side of your cheek, chewed it's cap anxiously for a moment while squinting at the query. What in the world kind of business would need martial arts skills?! Was this temp agency hiring people for a dojo? But then, your brain clicks into place, recalling a chat you'd had with Roach about the time he'd been a security guard. He'd quit the job after the first night when a league of black-clad ninjas stormed the vault he was supposed to be protecting. Looking at number seven again, you supposed that it made sense. This was Gotham and insane, crazy shit like that happened all the time.

8. If the police or any legal figures of authority were to ask you to give up the name/s of your fellow employees, would you?

Answer: _________.

How were you even supposed to answer that? Of course, you would have to comply with any legal authorities! What other choice was there? Unless this temp agency was working alongside villains or criminals, a question like this was just strange. You take a gulp of your beer to steady yourself in an almost instinctual reaction, feeling once more a tug at your soul that screamed: LEAVE NOW!!! Five minutes later, you'd drained the whole glass, but those twists in your gut had only grown into a briar patch of knots. You couldn't bail from this opportunity, you reason with the panic. A worse fate awaited you on Monday if you couldn't find another source of income. That fate freezes you to your booth. You decide to leave number eight blank and come back to it. There were five other inquiries to fill.

9. Do you have any medical conditions to your knowledge that may be triggered or worsened by unknown chemical gas?

Answer: I don't know, I've never been exposed before.

Chemical plants. This temp agency must hire for chemical plants and dojos. That had to be it! You mentally pat your own back, proud of your logic, and flawless sensibility. Gotham City retained a high demand for factory workers, chemists, and also...ninjas? Your hand darts out to take another gulp of your beer only to wrap around an empty glass. As you stare at it, the scream inside your head grows louder, evolving into a shriek. Leave now. Leave now! LEAVE NOW! Instead, through clenched teeth, you write the truth in the answer slot. A heavy weight, like you'd signed your death warrant, settled upon your shoulders. Your heart began to pound in your chest. You push on to the next question...

10. Theoretically, if you were thrown into a pit of acid, how would you react?

Answer: ____________.

LEAVE. LEAVE. LEAVE. LEAVE-

"Almost done with that?"

A gravelly voice interrupts your panic attack. You glance up to see Frankie has returned; two beers in his hands and looking a little drunker. He gives you a wink, then sets your glass down in front of you. It wasn't the brand you'd bought before. The beer was darker, almost orange, and foamed up so thickly at the rim that it threatened to spill out onto the table. Thanking the man, you move the application away from the glass just in case. You hear Frankie laugh. It sounds almost sinister. You weren't sure what was so funny, but you restrain yourself from asking. There were more pressing matters on your mind like these 13 questions on the page before you.

Frankie seems to sense your apprehension as he seats himself in your booth. "Ya know, if you have anything confusing you at all, just ask. That part on the back can really stump the newbies."

Running a hand through your hair, you decide to take the man up on his offer. Perhaps, maybe, it was only a misunderstanding and you were just being stupid.

"Uhm, okay. So, I am a bit, uh...unclear here about some of these questions. Cause they sound a bit-"

Weird.

Strange.

Fucking out there.

"-unconventional," you say cautiously, choosing the adjective with care, "I've honestly never seen anything like this asked on an application before and I've worked a lot of places in Gotham."

Frankie nods lightly, appearing receptive to your concerns. He stays silent. Allows you to continue rambling with an attentive focus stationed upon you.

"Like number 10. W-what am I even supposed to say to that?? Is this a legitimate concern I should be having on the job? What about number 11. Uh, heads or tails??? Why does your agency need to know that? Okay. And let's just take a moment to  appreciate number 13, because. I'm just...lost on that one! 'Thoughts on tea and scones? How do you brew a proper Earl Grey?? What are your full thoughts on cerebral manipulation via electrode and have you read Alice in Wonderland by Lewis Carroll?'. Just what kind of clients do you have?!"

Frankie answers without skipping a beat, "We're a grassroots cooperative business catering to a high class, criminal clientele and providing them with necessary services."

Silence settles over you. For a few moments, you simply stare at the man, robbed of words to say, and devoid of thoughts to think. Frankie doesn't react, carrying on as if waiting patiently for your next questions. That twinkle gleaming in his eye got just a touch brighter and sharper. It doesn't catch your notice.

"What?" You ask, your mind finally rebooting and turning back on.

The man replies in a similar way as before:

"We're a traditionally-run recruiting agency that connects the criminal element to those in need of quick gigs or temporary employment. Usually, that first one, though, since our clients can be a little hazardous. But only if you're an idiot."

Frankie laughs while you gawk at him.

Swallowing thickly and with a hushed voice, you rephrase your last question again. You just want to hear the man say it another time in case you'd misheard him. Everyone deserved the benefit of a doubt. Frankie's laugh died down, immediately, when you asked him to repeat his simple answer for a third round. Now he was staring at you. You see a frown pull at his beer-stained lips. Another shift in gears brought a more serious tone to the man as he says, "We're a "Goon Hiring" agency."

...

Frankie Cee sneered, "What, my cousin didn't tell ya?"

"No."

"Well, that's just classic Roach, isn't it?"

...

Instantly, you stand up (ramrod straight) and get out of the booth. Plastering your best "customer service" smile upon your face, you thank Frankie for his time, collect your purse, and turn to leave. As you do, the sound of a gun clicking into place hits your eardrums. It's followed by a growl that commands you to sit back down. Trembling, you obediently comply and return to your seat facing Frankie who now has a Glock trained on you. You peer down the barrel of the pistol, eyes watering, heart pounding fast, and internally screaming at yourself for how dumb you were, how you hadn't listened to the red flags. If you were this fucking stupid, maybe it was a good thing you'd never go back to GSU? You could just die (right now) with the knowledge that it would've never worked out.

Still, your dream of being a psychologist spurred you forward...

"P-please don't k-kill me," you whimper, lower lip trembling like an autumn leaf.

"I won't as long as we can finish up this interview, girly. Now stop crying and drink your beer, we're almost through the paperwork portion."

With a shaking hand, you lift the perspiring glass up to your lips. Frankie lowers his gun as you do. The orange-hued booze that he bought you isn't to your liking. It's too strong, too bitter. It had an astringent aftertaste that clung your tongue and lingered there. Stubbornly. But, you couldn't risk being picky at the moment. Frantic, you wonder if anyone would step in to save you? Was anyone aware of this? Were they calling the cops already or rolling up their sleeves to give teach this man a lesson? At least with this question, the answer was obvious; nope. Everyone inside the Stacked Deck was ignoring you as if somebody pulling a gun out on someone else was normal. A tad late, you remember that you were in Otisburg. To this place, it WAS normal.

And nobody was going to come save you...

Frankie rests the gun on the tabletop in between you but still clutches it close, a warning (for you) not misinterpret his relaxed mood with allowing you a chance to escape. He heaves a sigh, looks at you wearily, and shakes his head. "Look, girly, you either leave because you aced this interview or leave with Tommy and Benny in a rug. Totally your choice-"

Was it really, though?

You gulp.

"-but save me the rug, okay? Those cost money. I can't keep buying more rugs this week. Plus, let's be honest: if you didn't really need this job, didn't reeeally need the money, you wouldn't have even called me. I can tell you need the dough, girl. You got that hunger just like me when I was your age. I promise if you come work with me, I'll feed that good. My temp agency ain't fucking Underworld Talent. We don't use algorithms but we're damn fucking good at what we do. You can't do better than me."

You couldn't do better.

He's right.

You feel like the walls were closing in on you.

Frankie continues his pitch, oblivious to your fear or simply uncaring. "You stick with me? Now, you got something good. Something that'll pay good. I've been doing this shit for years and I can see a future henchmen from miles away. And you? You got henchmen written all over ya, girly. Embrace that. Now, what'll it be...? A damn good job-"

He taps the end of his Glock upon your half-filled application. The sound, impatient, and urging.

"-or Tommy and Benny? And before you choose, think HARD about where you want your future to go. Who do you see yourself being in five years?"

Dead.

There was that question again. You swear, it was haunting you. The instant you heard it said, your mind floods with unbidden images. Bloody flesh on slick pavement. Twisted metal feeding flames  and smoke. A cry into the night, soon becoming a wail for help that would go unheard, drowned out by the roll and crack of thunder as it rattled the earth. Lightning flashing across the sky as if God himself was angry. And you, in the middle of it all, crawling along the ground like a worm...

Did you even have a future to imagine after that?

Did you even have a future?

Despair opened its mouth wide to consume you. Yet, before it could, another vision snatches you away from it. Inside the empty hall of an old and dusty classroom, a friend smiles warmly at you. They're patting you on the back as you dab your eyes with a tissue. 'Don't stress out! It's just one bad score. You're gonna make a great therapist someday, trust me.' They say this with absolute confidence. Suddenly, you snap back to reality. A feeling far stronger than despair sparks within you.

Hope.

"I-I want the job!" You exclaim, stammering, but raising your chin to portray enough confidence nonetheless.

Frankie laughs in reaction. He seems pleased by your final decision. "Now that's what I like to hear from newbies! I knew you were a smart cookie-"

The man smiles coldly with a sharp gleam in his eye. Unlike the times prior, you knew that Frankie wasn't joking now. He was being dead serious.

"-so, let's fill out that application, yeah? I got shit to do later."

Steeling yourself, you reach for the ballpoint pen that you'd abandoned on the table and pick it up (determinedly) in your hand. With renewed spirit, you begin tackling the application. You answered every question as best you could. Even the ones that terrified you and made no sense. At the end of the back page, beneath number thirteen, you finally get to the point where your signature was needed. You poise the pen tip over the blank line, take a deep breath, then chew the inside of your lip. After this, there was no turning back. But, it wasn't as if you could turn the ship around now, either. Not if you wanted to keep your roof or go to college next semester...or live long enough to see tomorrow.

Upon the document line, you sign your name. It's a messy scribble of a signature. But, it'll do.

Frankie takes the application from you moments afterward. The ink hasn't even dried on the paper and he's already folding it into his pocket for safe keeping. The man assures you that this was the best choice you could've made; that you weren't going to regret it so long as you did exactly what you were told and followed the rules. Fear seized your heart again. You tried to ignore it. The deed had already been done. The future depended on you making some peace with it...

Because hell or high water, you were going to be a psychologist!

"Well, now that we got that squirt away, let's talk about your first job. A great one just came in an hour or two ago, perfect for a beginner goon like you," Frankie says, not giving you a second more to ruminate before throwing you into the fire, "It won't be dangerous. Just a simple D-List task. If you ask me, it might as well be free money! You'll be cleaning out a warehouse, you feel me? You're in, you're out. Badda-bing, badda-boom! Easy as mother's pie."

"But, I-"

He talks over you, waving away your words with an imperious flick of his hand, "Don't worry, girly, I won't be sending you in alone. This time. You'll be working with a team of my other employees. All experienced with this kind of job. Just listen to whatever they say and you should be golden. They're my go-to squad. So, you're in excellent hands. Trust me."

Frankie snaps his fingers, calling for Tommy and Benny with a voice that pierces through the bar's ambient noise. You're soon joined by two brolic, rough-looking men who tower over you. Frankie asks them to bring him the 'Halloween crap from last year'. A few minutes later, which feels like a lifetime to you, they return, carrying with them a cardboard box full of gimmick masks. Stuff you would buy at a Spirit Halloween store for twenty bucks. Frankie instructs you to pick out one that you liked. Without giving it thought, your hands plunge into the box and pull out a mask at pure random. You blink when you process what you've chosen.

It's a red axolotl mask.

"Take it. Wear it on the job tonight," Frankie says, explaining the purpose of his gift, "Consider it a part of your uniform from now on, alright?? And congratulations, you're officially hired! Welcome to the family-"

He grins at you. His smile has icy shivers racing down your spine.

"-I think you're gonna fit right in."

[sagethegaywitch]

My Muse

Male Artist x Male Reader

TW: yandere behavior, suggestive

Genre: suggestive, yandere

Just a small idea to get them brain juices flowing and get back into writing. Hope you enjoyed.

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Y/N's Pov

You took the job as a joke, really. The little sum of money that the art teacher promised did help a bit though, but you started to have instant regret when the art teacher handed you a literal white sheet as your costume. He insisted that the class was structured around the natural form of the human body and the movement of fabric, and that the toga was necessary for the job. You awkwardly stood on a small stool, surrounded by the art students. You felt nervous with all these eyes watching your every move, but you stuck with the pose that the art teacher forced you into. You carefully adverted your eyes, choosing to stare at the clock, counting down the minutes until you could leave.

Jasper's Pov

I can't believe he's actually here. I can't calm the shaking of my hands as I drop my eraser again. As I lean forward to pick it off the floor, I try to angle my head to see up the short dress, but I fail and quickly grab the eraser before it becomes awkward. I don't know if it was a good idea to sit up front so I could see Y/N up close, I can't seem to contain my excitement. I furrow my brows in concentration as I try to properly portray the god in front of me. I push my dark bangs out of my face before adjusting my glasses on my nose as I glance up to the male. I finish the stroke that completes his left arm, and I lean back to get a good look at my finished product. But, I hastily erase his face, not believing that I fully captured his beauty. I stare at his face, trying to commit it to memory before attempting to to try again. After a few minutes of intense gazing, I move my pencil across the page, finally satisfied with the outcome. I let out a content sigh, the assignment now completed, I can truly appreciate Y/N's barely clothed body. The way the white cloth brightens his skin and hugs his curves. The way the toga barely reaches mid-thigh, and the way he nervously glances down at us. Gods, he so cute. I barely notice that I'm rubbing my thighs together to get some friction as my pants tighten, but I'm startled out of my more graphic fantasizes as the school bell scares me. Y/N lets out a barely auditable puff of air, as he quickly steps off the stool and walks to the teacher. I quickly shove my materials back into my bag as I watch the male adjust the toga as he talks with the teacher. I regret having to walk away from my love, but to compensate, I start to plan how I'm going to visit him in his dorm again tonight.

[sweeteastart]

Tell me about "Soup"!

Also if you want to share a drawing WIP too, they have one for those floating around. <3

Before anything else, I must admit, Soup is quite literally a GUY. I also have very little of the way of snippets for him as I'm still fleshing out exactly where I want to start off.

Soup is the hero of soup I created with the cursed link generator by @gaylactic-fire

He was supposed to be a silly guy having silly adventures but I have no chill so...

I created a whole plot spanning 18 years with political conflicts, a assortment of new monsters, betrayal, a continent wide war, corruption and possession

For Soup :)) The hero of Soup :)

If I sat there and yapped about all the numerous twist and turns of Soup's story, we would be there for hours @lennsart would know, they really had to go listen to all that insanity

Soo for now I'll give you the nice and simple with some more character design and nicknames !!

I present to you this universe Zelda, Ganondorf and OTHER LINK. Yes, you read that right. The adventures of Soup started with two childhood friends named Link going on an adventure what could possibly go wronng ? Every single thing went wrong

Before I even thought of putting any of those guys in LU which I ultimately did because the brainrot for both was so deep I gave them some nicknames for convenience sake !!

A little bit about each of them :

Soup is a playful guy. Friendly and energetic, he avoids any kind of battle like the plague. It is quite impressive how he slivers his way out of conflict, disappearing in the blink of the eye. Though he is of good company, the twenty year old farmer has nothing to his name. Given he has never had any money in his pockets, it's no wonder he became a pro at evading scornful enemies.

Wine is a full on warlord. She leads her country with an iron first ever since nobles tried to overthrow her family in her very early twenties. Years of corruption and a kingdom on its knees from evil taking over froze her over. She is rather cold but an impartial ruler. Impa helped her decipher and utilise Sheika technology to prevent the fall of Hyrule.

Whiskey isn't the big bad guy™ here. There is some lore behind it. He does remember Demise's previous iteration but it's distant and feels like another person's memories and wants. He is actually a pretty chill guy. Actually, with Wine, he was one of Soup's must-trusted companions during his second quest to save Hyrule.

Land is an energetic and headstrong child. If Soup wasn't his voice of reason, he would be long dead. Always running head first into trouble and monsters, it's a wonder he is still in one piece. He holds half of the triforce like Soup but he is the one that uses Fi most of the time. She resonated much more with him rather than the young careful almost fearful demeanor of Soup.

That's what I'll say for now has some more people asked about the boy !! I hope it's not disappointing lmao he is my silly boy who has the most specific hobby in the world : Soup

About the WIP !

I don't have a lot around as I have the LU/Zelda juice running hard in me and I finish most of my art but here's my current sketch of a Fierce Deity Mermaid illustration

It's SUPER SUPER rough but that's like my first sketch sooooo I hope it's interesting !!

Thank you for the ask ♪♪♪♪