#its still just a first draft so.

[xxplastic-cubexx]

oh boy 2AM !!!!!!

[crunchchute]

[samarecharm]

Ryuji having the worst bi crisis of his fucking life bc his mom just had to fucking ask “oh, whats this young ladys name?” when he showed her a picture of Akira petting Morgana. Like okay yeah Akira is like objectively pretty, hes like the Classic Delicate Pretty Boy just like Yusuke which is like whatever; straight dudes have eyes, and they know what women like to see. But now hes like. Seeing things he likes in girls IN Akira now and he cant make it Stop like its genuinely keeping him up at night 😭

Pretty boy used to be A Face that would come up in his mind when he thought of the term. There was no specifics in mind, just like. Pretty Boy. Pretty boy! You say that and theres like a Face Template that shows up in ur minds eye and hed just attribute that to any dude who was like Vaguely Pretty. But now its Akira 😭 and he finds himself cataloging things that Akira does that he KNOWS he finds cute when girls do it. The hairtuck behind the ears. The headtilt when he mishears a question. The Actually Pretty Doe Eyes. The breathy, nearly inaudible chuckle he does in place of a Real laugh (thats made better by the fact that its so hard to get him to laugh in the first place). He likes cute snacks. He blushes easily. Ryuji is sitting here like ‘theres no fucking way man. Like theres just no way. That shit makes NO sense (a lie)’ lying in bed in the middle of the night looking like this vvvv w his phone in his hands (looking at pictures of akira)

It drives him insane bc like he did Not see any of these things as like inherently girly or whatever. Like thats just akira thats just his bro! And he does OTHER weird shit that cancels all that shit out. Hes like a messy engineer/tinkerer, he rolls out of bed and whatever situation his hair is is everyones problem. He wears that AWFUL gym uniform and doesnt tweak it AT ALL?? He likes baseball?? hes got a whole binder of trading cards that he will show off if u show any moment of weakness. Like hes just Some Dude but also manages to be Some Girl at the same time and Ryuji is like thats not fair. Life sucked ass but at least it made sense before Akira stumbled into it 😭

[zecoritheweirdone]

hey do you guys wanna see a comic for a msa au me and my friend ascel came up with? trick question yes you do. anyway- hehehehehhhoo body swap au <3.

okay quick context for this rq- this is an au where it diverges after freaking out- instead of possessing the truck, lewis ends up chasing the gang for a while, maybe a week or two? arthur and vivi don't know why this random ghost they met ages ago keeps going after them, but one things for sure- he really, really wants arthur's head on a spike.

cut to the present- arthur got separated from vivi and mystery, and lewis ends up chasing him into the woods!

[midnightclover]

Summon Night: Swordcraft Story (ATLUS, 2003)

[duskerot]

i disappear inside myself / my friends don't know it can't be helped

[Pure You - Nothing But Thieves]

[drawnfamiliarfaces]

i... wrote a smol fic (っ´▽`*)っ

also!!!!! If you haven't seen it - shoutout to first ever published fic in Ninja Showdown/My Immortal Soul tags - Lustrous Red by @missadmyre !!!

[megacarapa]

i found this post and had to make it with them immediately

[triglycercule]

dust with a fucked up savior complex save me dust with a fucked up savior complex SAVE ME!!!! he's literally sooo savior complex coded. he killed his underground to "save" everyone and stop the human from killing them. he thinks that it's better that he does the murdering instead of the human because he has better intentions. he's sad at the beginning (rightfully so) but savior complex dust really gets so much cooler when you add in the fact that dust eventually started to LIKE killing his underground 😭😭 like just..... imagine a manic dust who's gone mad going around claiming he's helping everyone with what he's doing when he's really,,,, not. soo cool.,,, (like dude how are you SAVING people if they don't exist after you've killed the person who was killing them. there is nobody to be safe but yourself anymore) (can you tell this was inspired by the one comic of dust killing his papyrus and saying "it was better if i did it" or something)

but also also on the other hand,,,,, revenge fueled dust??? he's gotten SO bitter from the repeated resets and genos that he's genuinely bitter enough to risk it all to stop the human. he doesn't have pure intentions in this one. dust doesn't claim he's saving anybody with what he's doing murdering them all. he KNOWS it's bad and wrong and hypocritical but he does it anyways because he wants to not only stop the human but to make them suffer. he purposely wants them to keep coming back after killing them just so he can kill them over and over and over and have them experience a fragment of the suffering he did with having all of his friends and family killed. but i think a revenge fueled dust (in contrast to savior complex dust) would be a lot cooler if he still felt shitty for killing everyone. it's painful to do but hate is stronger than love and dust's hate for the human is MUCH stronger than his love for the underground atp

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

when you try to stargaze but all you have is ceiling set lights. and they're not even on. smh

[liquidstar]

wait speaking of getting isekia'd via truck, a couple weeks back me and a friend on were talking abt portal fantasy/isekai tropes (mostly bc i was infodumping abt rz again), and it made me think abt a fun concept for an ocverse. tho its possible similar things have been done obvs with just how inflated the genre is, just hear me out OK

story starts in the normal world, with a typical Nerdy Guy going about his daily life, expositing about how he feels bored and longs for adventure and magic, just like in all of his favorite media. as he's crossing the street, distracted by his mobile game, he doesn't notice The Truck(tm) coming straight towards him. except he's not hit by it- he's pushed out of the way in the last second, saved by a passing girl who gets hit in his place. this is who the story is about now.

mc gets sent to that sort of intermediary dimension that some isekai have, where she meets the Goddess Lady or whatever that was in charge of the whole isekai situation. goddess lady proceeds to freak out, because she nabbed the wrong person, and she's going to be in SO MUCH TROUBLE. she starts questioning the mc, only to find out that this kid has a good social life, does well in school, is in sports, and has barely ever played a video game. basically the opposite of the socially introverted, underachieving, repressed, genre-aware guy she was supposed to have reincarnated. for the sake of fulfilling somekinda hero prophesy or whatever. and the mc kinda bargains to be sent to the fantasy world anyway bc, well, its that or death i guess. so the two of them kinda have to team up to course-correct this mix-up.

mc is kinda given a list of tasks to do that basically mirror how a typical story like this Would Go, expected to fall in line with the tropes in order to achieve the ultimate goal, but kinda ends up failing at all of them... or not? failing backwards, maybe. doing it in a way different from how its meant to go- using the wrong formula, but somehow getting the right solution. while sort of continuing to question the insanity of the whole situation, and the nature of this whole fantasy world. just fucking up all the tropes.

but a layer i'd wanna add on top of all that is the fact that the hero prophesy (or whatever) called for a man. so upon arriving to this new world, the mc is basically put into a "gender swapped" body and... doesnt seem to mind. this isnt an uncommon isekai trope either, but i hardly see it tackled with much care to really explore whole Gender Thing beyond gags about the "mismatch" (which can be in poor taste) or the conclusion that "well because their Body is now this gender, their gender identity changes to match" which i feel is a pretty shallow and binary take-away to draw abt bodies and identity.

but i think there can be more to explore w the prospect if you actually wanna get into gender stuff. in this case, i'd particularly wanna get into the idea of imposter syndrome. the main character was not MEANT to be... the main character. seen as a phony fighting tooth and nail to meet expectations, and constantly fumbling. not a real hero, or a real man. but its meant to be an act anyway, so why does that bother her? it was like that back on earth too, trying as hard as possible to be the perfect girl. a good social life, does well in school, is in sports.... but that good girl thing always felt fake too. or desperate. what was she trying to prove? how long as this BEEN bothering her, actually? why does it feel easier to breathe in this body, despite everything? the way this whole act makes her happy is scary, because its fake isn't it? but wait, which part was fake? the before or after? is it all fake? isn't this all just a mistake?

was it really a mistake? who is more heroic; a guy too focused on a mobile game to pay attention to those around him, or the person who risked their life to save a stranger? but the hero prophesy was for a "man," right? what does that even mean?

[19agbrown]

Just finished a chapter of a WIP that's been on my desktop since February. Feeling pretty good about it.

[hauntedpotat]

Preview of something I'm working on! I can't get DCI uniforms out of my head so I'm kinda rendering some of my favorites, except I love them all soooo idk how many I'm going to do :P

This is from the 2024 Wyoming Troopers "Dance with the Devil" show. The reference isn't pictured, but it was from their Instagram :3

[icewindandboringhorror]

boy in silly sitting positions compilation

[whumble-beeee]

The Name of The Game

The (Un)Official Guide to Hero-Keeping | Cont'd from Part 8

Content: mentioned past attempted noncon, hysterical whumpee/nervous breakdown (seriously yall, it gets bad), disabled whumpee, trans whumpee, tied up/handcuffs, noncon unshirtening, past captivity references

* * * * * * * *

Excerpt from: The (Un)Official Guide to Hero-Keeping; a self-help guide for villains and bounty-hunters

[While following this guide, as well as generally while playing the wonderful game that is villainy, you will find that the advice can rarely be fitted to every specific scenario. But one piece of advice is universal: If you value your freedom, your loved ones, and your life, you must never reveal your secret identity to your captured hero. As soon as you do, there is no more facade. Villainy is no longer a game. It is your life. And heroes will not hesitate to destroy your life if it means they can win the game. 

If a hero (or ANY untrusted party) ever happens upon your secret identity, it is your responsibility, as a villain and as a human being, to accept the end of your life as you know it…

Or to ensure that the hero can never tell another living soul.]

* * * * * * * *

“See you soon?” Deeby repeated Sweater-vest’s last words incredulously. “See you soon?! Christ, and you know he knows– god, he just needs to stop being such un pendejo and shut the hell up, stop making everything about his goddamn god complex and shoving it en las caras de todos–”

The sudden anger from the usually cool and smug Deeby did not help the apparent panic attack seeping ever so quickly into Stan’s consciousness, especially with said seething bounty hunter circling around the room like an angry shark as he muttered to himself and gesticulated wildly. 

Stan cowered to hide his shirtlessness from said angry shark. His chest and limbs started to buzz from all the excess oxygen entering his system as he took in heavy breaths, his head spinning, dizzy, hurting, every muscle clenching.

“--y quién se cree ese cabrón para venir a joderme MI TRABAJO?” 

He was so angry. So loud, talking so fast, and what the hell was he even saying?! It was too much, too much.

 “Y la puta Lana no puede ni aparecer para decirme que me está jodiendo la vida OTRA VEZ porque es lo único que le encanta hacer, joderme TODO lo que–”

Stop it stop it stay calm stay calm please not now please please please not now you can’t show weakness like this in front of your kidnapper you can’t stop it STOP IT–

He took in an involuntary loud heaving breath. Then fell into a stuttering slew of smaller breaths as he tried to keep quiet, and Deeby finally took notice of the state of his captive. 

Stan squeaked and pulled the jacket around himself tighter. He was small, he was silent, he was invisible. 

Then he gasped in another desperate heaving breath with an involuntary cry of panic when he suddenly ran out of air. He’d stopped breathing entirely with all his efforts.

“Stan? Qué es–... Ah, you good?”

Stan nodded quickly, shaking. “F-fine, fine.”

Deeby raised an eyebrow at him. “Don’t lie to me. What is this, you having a panic attack?”

He couldn’t get his eyes to focus, but he shook his head fervently. Then reeled as it made the dizziness and headache so much worse.

“Stan, talk to me, chiquito. If he actually did something to you, tell me. I need a good reason to kill him, you’d be helping me out a lot.”

He didn't actually even hurt me, did he? 

“No–! I-I u-uh-uh yes-s-s, but– but–” 

I don't WANT to ‘help you out’! I don't want to talk about it! ESPECIALLY not with you. 

He let out a whine and failed to swallow the giant knot forming in his throat.

“Alright, is this about the shirt then? Or the uh, the chest thing? Is that why you went from colonizer white to ghost white when you thought I was gonna make you strip earlier?” He walked over to the tattered shirt and scooped it up. “Because if that's what got you, I can assure you I don’t give a single crap what you’ve–... got in your...”

Deeby trailed off as he held up the grey strips of fabric that used to be Stan's button-down. 

And just stared.

Stan gawked at the unrecognizable shredded fabric hanging in the bounty hunter's hands. His breath caught in his throat. He hadn't realized how utterly destroyed his beloved shirt was. What was he supposed to wear now?

“That… Motherfucker…” Deeby muttered, almost as as aghast as Stan. “Christ, I knew he'd pull some grade-A bullshit, but this–”

“Y-you KNEW?!” Stan gasped out, surprising himself with the volume of his outburst. “You– You knew he was gonna– gonna try to...”

Deeby didn't look up from the tatters in his hands. “Yeah. He's predictable, if nothing else.”

Stan's entire body felt like it was full of angry bees. “You–... You left me-e alone with ‘im. On pu-urpose.”

“And everything turned out fine, you're fine. Look runt, we need to have a little talk about what–”

“NO!” Stan cried, ignoring the drop in his stomach when Deeby's eyes took on a slight challenging glint at the interruption. “No, don’t change the subject! You left me alone with him! You knew he was gonna try to– to rape me and you left me alone with him! Handcuffed, chained to the floor, powerless, immobile, beat up to hell and– a-and unable to defend myself and you-you left me alone with him!”

The floodgates were opening. The stifling sense of justice suffocating Stan from the inside out wouldn’t let the injustices go unsaid any longer, crashing through his body and just about ready to make him burst. Ironic, given the everything.

Deeby’s jaw set. “Stan. I wouldn’t have left that shit-for-brains alone with anyone if I didn’t have to.”

“Oh, but you– you had to?” Stan taunted, hoping the sarcasm came through in his voice even with the stuttering and heaving breaths. “What, Dee-deeby the great bounty hunter actually answers to someone? Enough to put the uh, the bounty in danger? Or are you just scared of him, wanted to get away?!” 

Deeby snorted.

“Hell yeah, I'll do whatever if the buyer asks it,” he proclaimed. "And I'm not scared of that human cringe-fail. The day I'm scared of him is the day I'm dragged away screaming and turned into… well, you, basically. But I mean, that's when he's actually dangerous…" 

He seemed to think on it for a moment. Then crouched down in front of Stan, smug grin replaced with something like the look a friend gives when they think you're about to ruin your life with a single dumb decision.

“Honesty, bud… I wouldn't be so tough around a guy like that if I were a guy like you. Best to just fuel his ego.”

Stan physically recoiled. “Don't tell me what–! Who-wh–…”

That insult sounded way too genuine. Since when was the mercenary genuine?

“Wait, wait, you'd…” Stan shook his head, trying to untangle his thoughts from the spaghetti of his mind. This concussion was killing him. He could barely think. “If you were… Who even was th-that?”

Another chuckle. “What, Tweedy? That was Vaughn. He said that earlier, though I applaud your ability to block him out. Wish I could do that.”

Then again, the hunter was most likely just trying to psych him out. Get him to behave again. Stan wouldn't fall for something like that.

“No, idiot, I mean–... I meant who is he? Why is he going to-to see me soon?… And– and for that matter, are you working together? Because it seems like you hate each other.”

Deeby let out a huff of air. “Look, bud, we need to talk about that phone call I had to take, the boss–”

“You're avoiding the question.”

“Well frankly, there's more important things to talk about,” Deeby dismissed quickly. “So I was talking with the boss-lady on the phone while you were–”

“I don’t care about what that Lana person has to say!” Stan said, slamming his hands on the floor for effect, a breath-stealing pang running through his ribs at the jostling. “Jus– Just tell me who you guys are, tell me why I’m here, tell me why I should be scared of ‘a guy like that’! Who ARE you?!”

Deeby narrowed his eyes slightly. “We need to talk about what's going to happen to you next. And you're gonna listen to that. Not yell demands at me like some asshole 6-year-old, because you already know I don't deal with all that ‘who am I, secret identity’ crap, so you're not getting those answers.”

Well actually, judging by the horrible sticky weight that slammed Stan in the gut when Deeby said that, he didn't want to know what horrors awaited him next. So next best thing? Keep being an asshole 6-year-old.

“Why?”

“Anonymity is the most valuable tool you can have in this game.” Deeby recited it like a script, exaggerating a monotone boredom. “Also I'm not an idiot, it's protocol that's saved me before, it helps me do my job without getting invested… take your pick.”

“You're not even wearing your mask any more!” Stan cried. “So much for secret identity!”

“I think what you're meaning to say is ‘thank you for rushing to save my damsel-in-distress ass from some twink with scissors when you heard me screaming for help even though you were dealing with a really important phone call from the worst person ever’. And you're very welcome. Now we need to talk about what I found out in that dumbass phone call and what it means for you.”

He always had an answer for everything, huh? Always another quip.

Stan's blood started to boil, and he may have actually, genuinely growled a little. 

“S-so-so so what, you are scared of her, then? You're scared of her and that's why you left me with that monster?!” He tried, spitting back as much smug asshole-ness as Deeby had been throwing at him. “Is that why you hate them, you’re just their damn lackey doing whatever they tell you to do?! Just a puppet for them to guide around, running around capturing supers and serving them up on a silver platter like a good little servant?!”

Deeby stared at him, genuinely stunned by the sudden venom in the captive's words. His fists clenched by his side.

 Hm. Stan may have gone too far.

“Look, McKellen,” Deeby spat as he took an authoritative step forward, voice slow, low and dark. “There are things at play here that you can’t know about–”

“Why not?!” Stan felt like he was losing it, voice creaky and high and hoarse. “Obviously I’m gonna be trapped here with you assholes for the rest of my short life until you kill me with some new form of torture experiment bullshit! Why not tell me everything?! Why not do whatever you want with me?! Just tell me! Please!!”

Stan glared desperately at the bounty hunter. He knew he wasn’t even just crossing the line at this point; he was sprinting over the line and stomping on it repeatedly in a panic-fueled frenzy, kicking at it and letting out his full fury as if the line itself had done this to him, as if absolutely decimating the line would somehow fix everything.

Way deep down, almost too far down to admit to himself, he almost hoped the mercenary would see through the insults and the fighting to see the pleading, hurt, scared man underneath. And then take pity. Just let him have this one thing, before he broke entirely.

But the bounty hunter glared right back at him.

“No.” He stated venomously. “Right now, you're going to shut up. And listen.”

As if Stan would ever listen to the orders of his kidnapper. Of a villain.

A small laugh, just a little chuckle, took root his chest. A disbelieving smile cracked across his face.

The absence of the signature unbothered grin, the absence of the mask, the deathly seriousness? Not to mention the gun, the knives, the chains, the handcuffs, the power suppressing collar, no cane or crutch or any viable mobility aid in sight, and beaten so hard multiple times that he probably couldn't run properly anyway even if he did have a knee that actually worked…

This really was hopeless, wasn't it? 

He could rage against the dying of the light all he wanted. Scream and shout and cry and fight and say witty things to hide the excruciating, never-ending pain. 

But the light would still die all the same.

He clutched Deeby's very own stupid cowboy-ass jacket around his shoulders. He couldn't even defend himself from getting his shirt ripped to shreds right off his body!

And this bitch–

“You– you don't think…” he had to pause to let out a barrage of inappropriate giggles, then shoved up shakily to his feet, back braced against the wall. “You don't still think I'm gonna– that, that I'm gonna escape, do you?!”

Deeby gave pause, eyeing Stan up and down. Really thinking about it. He took a deep breath. A low grumble emanated from the base of his throat.

“No. I don't.”

Stan laughed out again, full force this time. Desperate. Tearful.

“Then just–... just TELL ME!! IT DOESN'T MATTER!! IT DOESN'T!! IT'LL DIE WITH ME!!”

The mercenary's mouth pressed into a thin line. Was that confusion etched into his features? Or worry? Maybe anger…

“It does matter,” He growled through gritted teeth. “It's probably the most important thing you could know, who I am. Who we are.”

Stan let out a loud cry of anguish, screeching out every single frustration at the unfairness of the world, at this situation, at Deeby and Vaughn and whoever Lana was, at the collar and the chains and the cut and bruises and broken bones and his broken, useless knee into a single, guttural sound. 

“WHY WON'T YOU TELL ME ANYTIN-GAH-AH!!”

Very, very suddenly, the lapels of Deeby's loosely draped jacket tightened around his body and slammed him back into the wall, the fleece-lined collar of the jacket twisting and pulling on the power-suppressing strap clamped around his neck, contracting it, choking him just as the slam forced all the breath out of his lungs. 

Stan clawed back against the force, only managing to grasp at Deeby’s forearms uselessly as they twisted the jacket ever tighter around him. Pinning his arms. Trapping him. He had to heave in and out gasping breaths just to get enough air to breath through his half obstructed airways.

“Look at me, chiquito,” the bounty hunter snarled. “Look me in the eye!”

Stan's panicked eyes paused their sporadic dance around the room. They locked dead onto the mercenary's fiery gaze.

“Did you break your damn brain in the 3 minutes I was gone?” Deeby hissed into his ear. Stan almost screeched in terror. “I don't know what sort of fuckery your mind has been conjuring up that you can't get this very simple concept without going insane,” he jolted Stan and dragged out an involuntary whimper from his throat. 

“But whatever it is, shut it down. Now. I'm gonna tell you the bare minimum of what you need to know, and you're gonna sit there and listen or else I won't tell you jack shit and knock you unconscious so I don't have to deal with your bullshit. Agreed?!” 

“I– Ah, a-ah, I– No, I- I, no-no no No-o–”

He couldn't get his thoughts to line up properly. They swarmed around his head like locusts in a dust bowl, bouncing into each other, frenzied, an indecipherable cloud of fear and frustration that his horrible attempt at defiance, futile as it may have been, always just made everything worse.

He could never stop himself.

Angry tears rimmed at Stan's eyes. His body hurt. His brain pounded in his skull. His ribs cried out in protest as they pressed into the wall. The various bruises and their dull, throbbing aches, the cuts and bleeding wounds and their sharp, searing screeches, the sticky and caked on dried blood, so familiar now it was almost a second skin, Deeby's weight pinning him to the wall, so similar and yet so different to the way Vaughn had done the same.

No. No, no, no, no.

He squeezed his eyes shut, tears finally falling in hot, fat drops down his cheeks. The bounty hunter was so close, too close. Stan tried to pull away, and he just leaned on him harder, their faces barely inches apart.

“Agreed, chiquito?” The voice rumbled through his entire body, sending shivers up and down his spine.

No no no no no no no he needed to get away, get away now, please please that's all he needed he couldn't get away he couldn't even move his arms he could barely breathe–

“WHY DON'T YOU JUST RAPE ME ALREADY?!” Stan screamed into the endless cacophonous void.

And silence.

And the entire world went still.

Deeby’s mouth fell literally agape.

His grip on Stan loosened considerably. Not out of pity or any other considerate emotion. Just shock.

At least Stan could finally breathe again. Not that he took a single breath in the silence.

“I–...” Deeby finally choked out. “I-I beg you finest fucking what?!”

“Just fucking do it,” Stan hissed, gasping. “We both know you could. I couldn't even stop Vaughn, you think I could stop you?!”

The words spewed out of his mouth faster than he could stop them, like a volcano that had finally exploded its top off in a fiery glory. And the way Deeby looked at him, as if his features were having an all out war over shock, horror, or honestly very justified anger? Oh, that did nothing but fan the flames of Stan's sorrow-filed hysteria.

“Tall ass muscle-bound freak with an actual gun that captured me and beat me up again and again then left me to die?! I don't even know who you are! You can do whatever you want and I can't do jack shit to stop you! Just do it, hurt me, rape me, it doesn't matter! Vaughn knew that, you can too!” Stan attempted to shove the bounty hunter off, but he still didn't move. 

“Please, please, I'm begging you, is that what you want?! I'll get on my knees!”

Stan collapsed against Deeby's hold, and to his surprise, Deeby finally let him. Well, not ‘let him,’ more like ‘recoiled and jumped back when he felt Stan collapsing in his grasp'. 

All the same.

“Chiquito,” Deeby rasped. “I'm– not exactly sure what or why you're demanding, but I'm not going to–”

“Why not?! It doesn't matter!” Stan assured, holding his arms out to fully present himself now, shedding the jacket onto the floor behind him and taking a daring scoot forward. “I bet you just kicked Vaughn out because you wanted me all to yourself! I bet you just love seeing me scared and helpless and half naked in your stupid fucking yee-yee jacket–”

“Alright, Stan, enough!”

“AT LEAST VAUGHN had the decency to not pretend like he was a decent fucking person like you!” Stan yelled. “We both know you're not above it, fucking professional kidnapper and torturer! So just do it! Like Vaughn wanted to, like he tried to! Finish what he started, you have me all to yourself now! DO IT! DO IT I DARE–”

“The name's Declan.”

The statement was a whisper in the storm. Stan almost missed it. But the resolute certainty of the southern twang stopped him dead in his tracks.

“What–… What did you just–?”

It was astounding how quickly his voice had turned meek from the cacophony of chaos mere seconds before. Dark freckles stood out against an even starker white face than usual.

“It's Declan,” the mercenary stated once more. “My name. My name’s Declan. You wanted t’know who we are, who I am? Fine then, I'm Declan. Want the last name too?”

“I– wait–!”

“It's Cansano. Declan Cansano.”

Stan was shaking, a million thoughts crashing down upon him like a tidal wave. If he weren't already on his knees, surely he would have collapsed. 

He hadn't actually… meant any of that. No. Had he? No. He couldn't have. He didn't want to know who the mercenary was. No, he didn't. He didn't, not really! He would never want that! Never!

“That’s not… Wh-why would you…?”

The bounty hunter shrugged. “You wanted to know who I am. You asked, you screamed, you insulted me and you went fuckin’ nuts over it.” His thunder-filled eyes betrayed his completely relaxed demeanor. “Declan Cansano. Don't forget‘t.”

“I just– That's not what– Wait, Deeby, you– Where are you going?!”

Deeby was already halfway to the door when he swiftly spun around, fists clenched and any trace of the easy demeanor vanished in those bright blood-stained eyes. 

“I can't fuckin’ deal with you right now!”

Stan nearly launched himself back in fear, right back onto Deeby's stupid, soft jacket. He grasped it up as a barrier between him and the mercenary without even thinking. The mercenary's demeanor relaxed from absolutely terrifying to merely extremely angry at the sorry sight.

“I'm leaving for a bit.” He whipped around and grasped for the lapels of his jacket to yank it on, only for his grasp to come up empty. He whipped around a third time. “And I'll be expectin’ my coat back when I get back! You better've calmed the hell down by then, if you know what’s good for you.”

Wait, wait, he was leaving? No!

Stan tried to scramble after Deeby, but immediately fell to the agony of his knee and the length of his leash. 

“Don't go, please!” he pleaded.

Deeby didn’t stop. “Why?”

What if you come back with more torture tools? 

What if you don't come back at all? 

I still have more questions for you. 

You can't just leave me here, I'm hurt! 

I shouldn't be alone right now. I can't. I'm scared of what will happen, I'm going insane.

Even you are better than no one at all.

“What– what if Vaughn comes back?!”

Deeby scoffed. “I'm not going that far, damn. Eat some protein bars while I'm gone so you don't die, should help with the insanity. Back soon.”

And the door to the room closed shut behind him, the click echoing off the walls in the sudden unbearable silence. 

Stan collapsed to the floor, defeated.

He clutched the jacket closer. 

Pulled it tight around his shoulders, fingernails leaving small crescent-shaped indents on the well-worn hide. The cotton lining was so surprisingly soft against his skin. Hell, he could smell the dirt and musk that permeated the jacket from years of use, the smal signs that this jacket had seen the capture of dozens of supers.

Declan.

Declan Cansano.

Professional Superhero-Hunter.

Stan screamed into the endless abyss around him.

And this time, Declan didn’t come back to save him.

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Taglist: @flowersarefreetherapy | @pirefyrelight | @cakeinthevoid | @painsandconfusion | @books-are-everything | @paperprinxe | @lovethiswriting

[sanchoyoscribbles]

I don't normally post full pages outside of the comic website (unless it's the chapter covers!) but I wanted to post both of the transformation pages from this chapter because I really like how they turned out TwT

maybe one of my fav things to draw, cannot WAIT to draw more of these in upcoming chapters!!

if you wanna read tokyo miracle, go here! :D (both of these are from chapter two, which is about halfway done rn and updates weekly! you can also follow @tokyomiracle for notifications about updates, news, and freebies like HQ downloads of the chapters as they finish ^_^)