#im not done writing this story

[choccy-milky]

from my new oneshot, 'the vexing village of vellmore' ✨ ao3 / wattpad ((it's about seb & clora visiting a cursed village and trying to figure out how to break the curse, and since it ended up being 50k words i decided to split it into 2 chapters and the next part will be out soon!🙏 also, while it does have spoilers for the raven and the snake, it's a standalone story and can be read blind💖))

[blueskittlesart]

in the nicest and most non-confrontational way possible. i feel like some of you think that anything that isn't directly openly spelled out for you within a story is "missed potential" or "unexplored." like. sometimes there are implied narratives. sometimes the point is that you as the reader are supposed to think and draw your own conclusions and participate in the story. the writers not directly spelling every little detail out for you doesn't mean that the story is poorly written or missed its own plot details somehow. PLEASE.

[deoidesign]

Time and Time Again comes back tonight!

Thank you all for being so patient with me, I know it was a long hiatus.

My health was struggling, my arm was (is) hurting, and I decided it wasn't worth it. I'd rather be slow!

So thank you for giving me that grace, and I hope you'll be there with me for the rest of the series.

[chateautae]

hi <3

my lovelies are you still here? i'm thinking of dropping something 🥺

[greatgoddyke]

watch it all go by

[raineandsky]

#137

tw: mentions of death

“You might consider yourself lucky, [Hero],” the supervillain snaps coolly, “being here, still alive. You are only alive because I let you—because you are much more fun to slowly squeeze the life from, until you’re begging me to end it all, and we will have plenty of time for that.”

With one last cold glare and a swish of his coat, the supervillain leaves the hero in the dungeon. The hero would be inclined to call it a prison, or even a cage, but the walls are damp and there’s bloodied chains sitting in one corner, so in their mind this counts very much as a dungeon.

They settle against the cool stone as comfortably as they can manage, which frankly isn’t comfortable at all. They close their eyes, a sigh escaping their lips. They’re prepared to face whatever agonies are doubtlessly ready for them ahead. Waiting for said agonies will be boring, that’s all.

“You too, huh?”

The hero opens their eyes to glance across the dungeon, to the other side of the darkness. They can only just make out the outline of a figure sulking in the other corner, but they recognise the voice all the same.

“Fancy seeing you here,” the hero says with a short laugh. “What did you do?”

The villain practically growls. “I’m not entertaining you.”

“It’s not entertainment; I’m just curious.”

There’s a second of silence, and the hero thinks they might get an answer before the villain simply says, “You first.”

“Fucked up.” The hero shrugs, though they can’t tell if the villain can see it or not. “Did something not particularly heroic.”

The villain shifts a little, chains clanking together with the movement. “Huh.”

“You sound surprised.”

“I figured it must be something bad.” The villain makes a noise that might be a laugh or a scoff. “[Supervillain] doesn’t get super serious with just anyone.”

“Must’ve been pretty serious for you to end up down here, then,” the hero comments with a huff.

The villain raises an hand to their face, and the hero gets a glimpse of the line of chain trailing from their wrist.

“Oh, it’s whatever. I also fucked up. Did something…” The villain grapples for a word awkwardly. “Not villainous.”

The hero barks a laugh that seems to make the villain jump, if the sudden clank of metal is anything to go by, but they can’t help it. A newfound anti-hero and a good-hearted villain sharing a supervillain’s dungeon. What a pair they make.

“You’ve peaked my curiosity,” the hero says brightly. “Please, continue.”

Like a broken record, “You first.”

“Ah, y’know, the usual.” The hero doesn’t really want to say it out loud. “I, uh… I killed someone.”

“Oh.” The silence following that is uncomfortably long, until, thankfully, the villain adds, “Yeah, you’re right, that’s not very heroic.”

The hero nods, though they’re not sure if the villain can see it. “I didn’t mean to. It was another villain. I don’t know who—they had red hair and glasses.”

“Oh,” the villain repeats, a little more strained this time. “Yeah, that’ll do it. They’re one of [Supervillain]’s favourites. Or were, I suppose.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Eh.” The villain waves a hand at them nonchalantly. “I didn’t really like them, honestly. They were always showing me up in front of [Supervillain], but I think that’s why he liked them. I wasn’t as willing to throw my comrades under the bus for attention.”

They clear their throat awkwardly, and the hero takes the hint. “What about you, then?” they ask shortly. “What did you do?”

The villain sighs, the puff of warm air catching in the one strip of sun lighting the place. “Well, quite the opposite.” A cough of a laugh jolts them slightly, like they weren’t expecting it. “I stopped [Supervillain] from killing someone, and they got away.”

The hero sits on that for a moment. “That’s very noble of you,” they offer eventually.

“Oh, don’t you start.” The villain tsks in annoyance. “I already have [Supervillain] calling me soft for it.”

“I can’t blame him. I mean… are we sure I’m the hero and you’re the villain here?”

The villain laughs like the idea is ludicrous, and the hero laughs too because it is, but then a silence falls over them and the hero knows that they’re both thinking the same thing.

“You know,” the villain starts slowly, “I’ve never really liked being here.”

The hero snorts humorously. “I can’t say I’m a big fan of grotty dungeons either.”

“Not here, you moron,” the villain snaps. “I mean here, with the villains. As one of them.”

“Oh, cheers to that. The agency has too many rules.”

“This hellhole doesn’t have enough.”

“Well,” the hero says brightly, “I’m sensing something big is happening here.”

The villain hums thoughtfully. “Can we maybe talk about it outside of the dank dungeon?”

“Oh, I thought you’d never ask.” The hero’s mind is already running through plans, scenarios, ways of escape. It’s always easier with a teammate, anyway. “Let’s get the hell out of here and start our new lives.”

[plazmafields]

Kerry opened his eyes just enough to see the room blurred, fuzzy behind a familiar haze he was too tired to place. He yawned, sprawling out on the bed, and slowly realized the abundance of space. While it worked out well that V wasn't a starfish sleeper like him, Kerry still expected to feel the merc somewhere close by.

He groaned as his eyes opened fully and he let his head fall to the left. He didn't see V in bed, but did spot a silhouette perched on the windowsill.

“V?” Kerry said, voice raspy, rubbing what he thought was sleep from his eyes. “What fuckin’ time is it?”

V didn't answer, and when Kerry finished wiping his eyes, the haze hadn't gone away. As his vision focused, he saw the gentle glow of a cigarette in V's hand.

“You smokin’?” Kerry asked as he rose from bed, an exaggerated yawn escaping him as he stretched upward.

“Go back to bed, Kerry.”

He froze, any remnants of sleep culled by a familiar cadence. The voice was V's, but that tone.

After his initial shock died down, the feeling was immediately replaced with annoyance. Kerry threw on his robe and took heavy steps toward V's body. He snatched the cigarette away, taking a long drag and blowing the smoke back in his face.

“V doesn't smoke.” He put out the cigarette in one of the synth-bonsai nearby.

“We have an arrangement,” Johnny huffed.

“Uh-huh. I'll be sure ask him about that once you fuck off.”

Johnny rolled his eyes as Kerry walked off toward the bar. No matter if it was 1 a.m. or 6 a.m., it was definitely too early to be drinking.

“Thought seein’ you again was a one time thing.” Johnny heard mumbled from the next room, but wasn’t sure he was supposed to answer. He stood from the windowsill and walked toward the bar himself, leaning against the wall in a way V never did: hips jutted out, shoulders rolled forward. Johnny wasn’t used to being shorter than his bandmate.

“Don’t get to choose when I’m in control, ya know. Not like I wanted to wake up naked in bed with you. Might be my worst nightmare, in fact.”

Kerry sneered and knocked back a shot. “So, what? V just get sick ‘a bein’ behind the wheel of his own damn body? Figured you could drive for a bit?”

Johnny rolled his eyes, but stayed uncharacteristically quiet under Kerry’s scrutinous gaze.

“The fuck you doin’ here, Johnny?” Kerry pressed further.

Johnny glanced up to meet Kerry’s expectant eyes and sighed. “Had a seizure in his sleep. Usually the Relic’s way of puttin’ me in charge. Could fight it, but that only makes things worse for V, so here I fuckin’ am.”

Kerry’s eyes scrunched closed as he rested his elbows on the bar and hung his head in his hands. Johnny took the time to make himself a drink, taking it over to the cluttered coffee table and sitting on the edge. He sipped as Kerry grumbled to himself, “Fuckin’ ‘course he did. Said he didn’t get ‘em anymore, said shit was slowin’ down. And now I gotta hear it from Johnny. No, that’s preem—fuckin’ preem, actually, V—thanks for that…asshole.”

“Feel like I’m the middleman here. Gotta bring this up with him, ya know. Can’t relay nothin’ while I'm in the driver’s seat. ‘Specially not right now, he’s still asleep. Kinda. Hard to really explain how it all—”

Kerry slammed a whiskey bottle down on the bar. “CAN YOU SHUT THE FUCK UP!? Jesus fucking Christ, forgot how much you insert yourself in every fuckin’ aspect of my life.”

Johnny raised an eyebrow at the bottle, surprised it hadn’t cracked with the force.

“You die; somehow that becomes my problem. I’m movin’ on, movin’ up. I date a guy; acts just like you. Hated that, fuckin’ weird. Dump his ass, find a new fling. Wants to grow his hair out; starts lookin’ like you. Get married—fuckin’ married—do you understand the level of fucking desperate I was at to get married just so I would stop fuckin’ men that reminded me of you? Got any idea how much that fucked with me?”

Johnny couldn’t remember the last time he was speechless. But there he was, jaw slack, as Kerry unloaded fifty years of frustration.

Kerry was pacing the room at that point, arms crossed, not even noticing the sleeves of his robe sliding off his shoulders. “Then you bust down my fuckin’ door, fuck with my guitar—MY fucking guitar, that I had tuned that way on purpose, might I fuckin’ add…”

Kerry stopped, back to Johnny and hands in the air like he was about to scream. But he lowered his hands slowly as he said under his breath, “And there’s V. wrapped up in all your bullshit…and he just had to be perfect.”

He let those words hang in the air for a moment, hands trembling at his sides. Johnny could barely make out the breathy voice as Kerry whispered, “He’s perfect, and somehow he’s you. It always comes back to you.”

The gentle hum of the fridge behind the bar was all they could hear, both processing…that. Kerry took a couple steps back, the backs of his thighs colliding gently with the arm of the couch. He sat, not allowing himself to look at Johnny.

“Shit…” Johnny murmured. “Knew you wanted to fuck me all those years ago. Didn’t realize just how bad.”

Kerry slowly turned his head toward the dead rocker possessing V’s body. His eyes were slightly red, and Johnny swore his eyeliner was running at the edges. “That’s what you took from that?” Kerry’s voice was flat, void of any emotion. “Really?”

He hardly gave Johnny a second to respond before he stood and sauntered back to the bar, chugging the unexpectedly intact whiskey bottle. Johnny had only enough time to blink before he saw the bottle flying across the room at him. He ducked, the bottle shattering off the glass railing behind him.

Johnny was on his feet in an instant, screaming as much as V’s docile vocal cords would allow, “Are you out of your goddamn mind!? Yell at me all you want, but don’t take this out on V!”

It was an all too familiar song and dance. Kerry didn't move an inch as Johnny stomped toward him, just leaned back against the bar, crossing one leg over the other, one arm under the other.

“I'm not like you,” said in the calmest of tones. “I don't take shit out on him. Not like you took shit out on me whenever Alt stood you up. Not like you took shit out on Rogue whenever I was over your shit. Not like you took shit out on Alt whenever Rouge wouldn't answer your calls.”

Johnny's hands were trembling in their balled form, fists begging to act, mind telling them to hold. “Tryin’ to fix all that.” He growled through his teeth.

“Good luck. Now give him back to me.”

Minutes seemed to pass as their gaze held, Johnny trying—genuinely—to reach V; Kerry waiting with tired eyes and an impenetrable emotional wall.

Finally, after trying to force their nervous system to swap, Johnny's hands unclenched and he looked away. “Can't just switch places like that. Trust me, it'd make all this a lot easier if we could.”

Kerry looked at him a moment longer before rolling his eyes and turning back to the liquor shelves to grab another drink. “Whatever. Just make sure he—”

A struggled groan interrupted him. He tried to keep the glance over his shoulder casual, but the very act of looking at all revealed his worry. He watched as Johnny stumbled back onto the couch, clutching his head and Relic slot. With one last sharp breath, Johnny's eyes drifted open, V's hand relaxed over the Relic slot, Johnny's fingers stopped digging into his skull, and V's breath steadied.

Kerry tried to read their movements, to tell which one was sitting on the couch at that moment. Different parts of their body seemed to exhibit different mannerisms. Some V's, some Johnny's, some twitched like it couldn't decide from whom to take its orders.

Suddenly V was gripping his head again, and muttering under his breath, “Ah, fffffuck…” No one said it as softly as him. Certainly not Johnny.

Kerry finished filling his glass, walked over to the couch, and tapped V on the shoulder to offer it to him. “Hey.”

V looked up at him with cloudy eyes, sparks and pixels still popping. It took him a moment to process the scene his Kiroshis were transmitting to his brain. It was like an entire system reboot, everytime. After a few blinks, and his eyes darting between the whiskey glass and the man holding it, V gingerly took the cup and gave a weak smile. “Hey, Ker.”

“Y’alright?”

V sipped the drink, unable to taste yet. “Will be in a sec. Just gotta…recalibrate.”

Kerry nodded mindlessly before taking a seat next to V. The real V; body, mind, and soul. He eyed him with a look somewhere between caution and skepticism. Those hazel eyes that had been drilling into him seconds ago now regarded the whiskey in V's hands with a pleased arch of the brow. Hands that threatened to hurt—bruises on the knuckles to prove they could—held the glass delicately, touch so light that gravity should have been pulling it away. Lips that moments prior had delivered burning words so casually, now wet with liquor, V's tongue flicking out to clear them of the remnants.

Kerry wasn't thinking as his hand rose and the back slid across V's jaw, before deft fingers curled under the younger man's chin. V turned his head as Kerry's fingers instructed, only having a moment to look confused before he was pulled into a kiss.

It felt like an apology, soft and hesitant, checking in to make sure all was forgiven. He let it continue, despite the wariness behind each touch of their lips. V set his glass on the coffee table before using his newly freed hand to bring Kerry in closer, cupping the back of his neck.

“Hey,” V pulled back slightly, “what's up?”

Kerry kept his eyes closed for a second too long, and when they opened, his gaze looked past V, to the glass railing behind him. Another beat before he said, “Johnny was out.”

Following his eyeline to the railing, V saw shattered glass and a puddle of expensive spirits. A quick scan of the scene showed the bottle's trajectory, and the speed at which it had flown.

“He, uh…say somethin’ to piss you off?” V looked back to his lover, Kerry's eyes still glued to the crime scene.

“Eh, when doesn't he?” Kerry shrugged, finally looking V in the eye.

“Hey, look…I'm sorry you have to—”

“Told me you weren't gettin’ seizures anymore.”

V's eyes darted back into place, locking with Kerry's.

“Yeah. Wasn't for a while.”

“So you lied to me? What, thought it would make me worry less?” He still felt angry from his unresolved fight with Johnny, aware his wording was directing that left over anger at V, despite having no hand in—or memory of—the argument.

“Nonono,” V rushed to absolve himself, “you know I wouldn't. They just…stopped for a bit, then came back outta nowhere. Thought I was gettin’ better, genuinely.” He held either side of Kerry's neck.

Kerry stared for a moment before looking down at V's lips again. “You tell him he could smoke while he's runnin’ the show?” His thumb traced along V's bottom lip, over the cuts and scrapes he always came home with.

“Tastin’ it now. Fucker…” He was going to say more, but as his lips tingled from Kerry's absent stroking, V just watched Kerry's eyes slowly blink.

“What'd he say?” V asked after a long, tense moment, Kerry petting his lips all the while.

Kerry didn't answer, but his movements paused.

“Like you, V. A lot. And it doesn't have shit to do with Johnny, okay?”

V felt himself recoil with disbelief, “Johnny accuse you of usin’ me to get to him?”

Kerry sighed, hand sliding around to the back of V's neck to pull him in, resting their heads together. “Just need you to know I'm into you. Sure, might not've met if it weren't for that bastard, but if we had, can promise I'd still be into you.”

V smiled and placed a hand over the arm that held him. “I'm super into you, too, Ker. Like, crazy ‘bout you. Got no idea how I'd get through the day if I didn't have you waitin’ for me.”

Kerry pulled back a little, grinning. “What, think I just sit at home all day hopin’ you'll pop in? Like a sad puppy?”

V rolled his eyes and pushed forward for another kiss. “Fuck off, know what I meant.” V said between the touching of their lips.

Kerry stood quickly, pulling V up to continue their kiss. He broke away once they were both up, “Take your fuckin’ pills and get in bed.”

V laughed as he followed Kerry to the bedroom. “Dunno if I'm tired anymore.”

“Who said anything about sleepin’?” Kerry said in a devious tone as his robe fell to the floor.

[kuni-kuun]

This year, the cake on Kunikida’s desk is left untouched. There are presents too, but the wrapper is neatly tucked around the corners of the boxes, tape left untorn. A colourful assortment that spanned the borders of his desk. The Agency is quiet, the air still and cold. Freezingly so. Of course they miss the usual liveliness of the space, hell- even his yelling would bring a smile back to their faces. Maybe a pat on his back and “Good job Kunikida!” or “We did it!” and have the other grumble tell them to file a report or do the paperwork instead. Dazai sits on the chair next to Kunikida’s empty one, his trench coat draped over the back. ‘Ideals’ rests on the centre of the desk, the bright flourishing green colour now seems somewhat dulled and worn. Maybe it’s just the lighting, he tells himself. He breaks the silence with a shaky voice, trying to keep his tone lighthearted. “You know…” he starts, trying to keep a smile on his face. This year, it looks a little grim instead. His mask is barely holding together. “You could’ve welcomed me home at least- right…?” The silence is deafening now, but he continues. “You know, when people come home from rehab or…prison…” He murmurs into empty air, his voice becoming choked. “You- you know…? Mersault?” There are tears flowing down his face. He couldn’t register when they started falling, but now his hands are wet and so are his cheeks. Grief salty like the ocean waves. His half-hearted laughter is strangled.

Atsushi is inconsolable. The poor kid thinks that it’s all his fault, and nobody’s been able to get him to come out the room for days. Now, he stands in front of the desk where his senior once sat and solemnly stares at the notebook. This is his second time seeing it without its owner. It feels wrong. He knows which present is his. It’s a little messy, but he’s rewrapped it at least three times, just to try and get it perfect. It probably isn’t anyways. A sorry excuse of a present won’t bring him back, he knows. It’s his fault, isn’t it? So that’s why he has to try harder, because real lives are at stake.

Both Ranpo and Yosano remain silent, watching this scene. Their original partner from the detective trio is now gone. There isn’t a lollipop in Ranpo’s mouth this time and Yosano hasn’t drunk this heavily in months. Now she stands sober, watching over the other’s empty desk. How should she feel? Ranpo doesn’t know either, but his expression remains dark. The future of the Agency, slashed and taken away from them so easily. The idealist.

Even the president is behind them all. Fukuzawa and his imposing figure seems…worn. His usually cold expression holds a hint of…something else. His grey eyes are fixated on the empty desk, but his mind is elsewhere. This time, not even Ranpo knows what he’s thinking.

U think ur so funny. Is it funny for you that this is what i woke up to on kunikidas birthday. I jope youre laughing because im gonna get you.

[dreamsy990]

hi i wanted to draw my own au so have a snippet of scene i rewrote like 12 times and will likely rewrite again

[amogus-real-not-clickbait]

here's some benreys for y'all!!! it's meal time little ones!!!! nobody starves today. i provide

also random gordo he's here too i guess-

[blueskittlesart]

at a certain point i think we need to acknowledge that art is very rarely created accidentally. if you can see a theme in a work than that theme was, more likely than not, at least somewhat intentional on behalf of the creator. you don't put a piece of yourself out into the world without thinking about what it means at least a little bit.

[divinemanicstate]

jayers i drew for my wife @jade-lynxx

[lord-squiggletits]

I think the reason that MTMTE remains the most defining, influential, and loved series in the IDW1 run is fundamentally because, despite its many flaws, MTMTE has the power to make you think and wonder about the world beyond what's shown on the page. The character relationships are so strongly developed that it's easy to care about the characters and easy to imagine further adventures they could go on. While the myriad dropped plotlines, underwritten/underutilized characters, and worldbuilding with weird implications are all fucking maddening at times... even if it makes you mad, MTMTE makes you mad because you care and it makes you want to immerse yourself into a world that feels like it's real beyond what's explicitly shown to you on the page. It's a sandbox of a story where there's so much fertile ground for pretty much anyone with any preferred character archetype, storyline, etc to dig in.

It's just... immersive. That's the best way I can put it. It feels like it could be real and it makes you want to spend more time in it than the constraints JRO had. It makes you want to know more about it and come up with theories on how/why things function or happen the way they do. That's why it's loved and that's why it's the best series in IDW1.

[virgil-upinthestars]

post ep 5 - SPOILERS

okay okay okay i think billy yeeted them out of the road. we see jen clawing up from the dirt in trailer footage, i think billy just chucked em back to westview. i don't think he's quite there at murder yet, seeing his last conversation with agatha, which? slay king. as a witch and practicing pagan, love him. "no, not for me" you take that negative energy and turn it right on its fuckin head sweetheart. but also please for the love of the gods don't get carried away, don't commit murder, your father would probably have a stroke even if your mother would sit there yelling you're doing great sweetie!!

also i think the reason why rio wasn't there in the last scene was bc she was collecting alice's body. now i'm imagining her walking out, seeing billy standing there alone with lighting coming from his hands and a scarlet witch crown like

[nexility-sims]

no context outing #4 of ∞ - winter fashion / the den !

see, like i said, jorts ... also obsessed with her winter look, down to the rosy flush :^) / once i figure out how to put that jacket on her we are cooking with fire

[topaziraphale]

"Stop saying Crowley won't help Aziraphale in S3 he'd go back to him in a HEARTBEAT and nothing would stop him" I get it no one likes the idea of Crowley being bitter after what happened for a long period of time but like can we at least acknowledge that he's currently going through probably the most emotional pain in his life since falling? Can we agree that he's opened his heart entirely - something you couldn't pay him to do unless the world is literally ending and he's desperate - to Aziraphale, and got shot down? Can we understand that he did it AGAIN only to lose Aziraphale again? Not that what Aziraphale did isn't without Crowley's own shortcomings (hiding the truth of Heaven's cruelty from him) but like,,,,

The appeal here isn't Scorned Crowley Doesn't Love Aziraphale Anymore, or Never Wants To Help Him Again, the appeal here is Crowley learning enough self respect to not just walk back right to Aziraphale like nothing happened after Aziraphale has had a pattern of consistently refusing him. Going years ping-ponging between "We're not friends I don't even know him" to "That's what friends are for right?" and "We're friends, why would you even say anything?" and "Friends? We're not friends. We are an angel and a demon!"

Like I get it, Crowley is a heartbreakingly forgiving person. Of course he's gonna forgive Aziraphale, I'll be surprised if he didn't forgive him by the time he walked out the bookshop door, but gdi he could at least grant himself the luxury of being at least a little irritated for longer than however long it takes to make a globe and some books float and angrily cry out to God in his flat. But due to the change of pace and dynamic that is establishing part of the conflict for Season 3, I just really like the idea of him for ONCE prioritizing himself and being like "Okay, fine. We'll get back at it when you're ready, then," instead of just taking Aziraphale back like his words and actions meant nothing to him, when clearly they have an effect on him.

What is Aziraphale going to learn if Crowley just accepts what he did so quickly, like he always has the entire time they've been friends? Idk maybe I'm just projecting too much darkness on their dynamic but I mean, if the pattern of Aziraphale pushing Crowley away/disrespecting him one day and then being fine with his friendship the next + Crowley never stopping to be like "Hey, that's not cool, at least give me a little credit" or smth was fine all along and will continue to be fine in the future, then why, after 6,000 years of being friends and loving this demon, can Aziraphale still not accept that Crowley is just fine the way he is, and instead got excited to promote him to an angel in a heartbeat once the opportunity presented itself? You can't blame all of it on Heaven when Aziraphale has demonstrated his free will/defiance to Heaven so many times. Or, I don't know, I guess maybe we can? Maybe I'm just craving too much angst to the point where I'm letting it cloud my analysis of canon. Idk.