#open to dialogue

[dimeadozencows]

You know it's over for you when you can draw a whole page of only one character

[urfriendlywriter]

How to write angst ?

@urfriendlywriter | req by @everynowandthenihaveacrisis @aidyaiden :)

know your character. from their deepest fears to what they cherish the most. know your deepest fear, ask yourself how you will react and feel at that moment. "oh shit, if this happened to me I'll lose my mind" what's that type of scenario for you? write it. :)

decide on the type of angst you are going for!

major, minor, physical, emotional, paranormal, spiritual, verbal, abusive, quarrel, misunderstanding, etc.

and then, decide on--what reaction you can take out of your character by doing what to them.

are they gonna be, held at a gunpoint to give something up? or have their soul wrecked by whom they thought were close to them? or is it going be horror, or etctec, decide on it.

moving on to actually writing it-

Tip 1 - Use sensory details.

her eyes brimmed with tears

his chest heaved

pain clawed at his heart, as his face twisted with hurt

his scream pierced my heart

her lips quivered

she dug her nails into her palms (to distract herself, to stop it from shaking, etc)

show what is happening to ur MC, instead of telling it.

Tip 2 - how to actually write it.

If they're panicking, make them notice too many things at once, show every detail that they're seeing, feeling, from touch, to that burning sensation on their eyes, the blood on the ground, that dryness of their throat, the buzzing in their head and their parted lips unable to trust their own sight, and--and, boom! have them register that they're really really in trouble. and that they've to act fast.

use short, very minimal type of writing for this. make it long, but not long enough that it feels like it's being dragged.

the readers should hold themselves back from skimming the page out of curiousity, they should be in their toes to find out what happens next.

what does your MC do in times of panic? do they chant calm down to themselves, do they get angry, or start crying.. or?? what makes your character genuinely feel an emotion so hard that they'll burst?

there's always something, someone that'll always give them love and easily can be that something or someone to take it away. yk.

Tip 3 - crying.

what is close to your character that u can deprive them of? will it make them cry? beg for it?

what will make ur character cry so hard, that their scream fills everyone's ear, stays in their minds like ghosts and always haunts them?

make a character who never cries, burst out with tears.

while writing crying, focus on the 5 senses, one after the other.

focus it on their breath, make them run out of breath, gasp for air, feel like they're being choked, cry so scrutinizingly. it shud punch the reader's gut.

have them replay what had just happened over and over again in their head

best books and writing styles (for angst) to analyse and learn from (in my opinion);

3rd book in the AGGTM series (yk it hit hard like a truck. it got me depressed in bed the entire time lmao)

Five Survive by Holly Jackson. The moments of red outside of the truck, and moments leading to it.

there's this book called " Warm by @untalentedwriter127 " in wattpad. the author served angst for breakfast, lunch anddd dinner.

and if there's more angsty ones, drop em in the comments! :)

Hope this helps, tag me when yall write a masterpiece! ;)

[riddlerosehearts]

isabeau's confession at the end of ISAT is constantly living rent-free in my head it's so fucking good. right now i'm obsessed with the way he responds to siffrin saying "i love you too" because just. imagine you're siffrin and for so long now you've believed that you were horrible disgusting manipulative unloved and unworthy of love and yet. your best friend is telling you he loves you. and you feel that you love him too (in what way? the same way that he loves you? you're not quite sure yet, but stars, you feel like your heart is going to burst out of your chest, he means so much to you) so you tell him so.

and he responds by telling you he already knew that because he has eyes.

you're siffrin and you are kind passionate protective and so loved and full of love for your friends, your family, and yet you hate yourself so, so deeply that you don't see any of that but isabeau does. according to him it's written all over your face, apparently--the face you're always trying so hard to hide with your hat, which as the universe would have it, you don't have anymore!! and he sees you and he loves you and he knows you love him back, even after you said and did such horrible, cruel things to him and the rest of your family that you know they didn't deserve, after you almost broke the world trying to keep them by your side, somehow isa understands you and still loves every single part of you. and you love him, you love him, you love him because how could you not?

especially since he also got so excited when you told him you loved him that he shouted "CRAB YEAH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" in your face.

[densewentz]

old married couple istg ☠️

[magicicephoenix]

They locked me in a room a rubber room

You don’t want to go in time out, do you?

(context)

[petridumps]

for 75 day 💕

happy 75 day! i know for sure they're having the time of their lives in malaysia rn 😌

[fandomsworstnightmare]

In The Stillness

TW: Blood, J*mmy mention

[lazylittledragon]

absolutely devastating that i actually have the art skills now to produce the dating sim/visual novel my teenage self dreamed of and the only thing standing in my way is being a very mid storyteller and even worse at coding

[stealingpotatoes]

what’s your favorite art that you’ve made?

ooo very good question!!!! these two ac1 pixel arts and this old altmal piece are very solid contenders (thats so funny does altaïr just make me good at art), but I think I have to say the mando s3 satine comic!!

i love it as a concept anyway but it was my first time trying to use symbolism etc in a comic while keeping it in one scene and when I made it I labelled all the main cinematography decisions i'd made PURELY so future me would know how cool n smart i was being loll

[solmesia]

sex is nice and all but have you considered just laying there... holding your vampire lover... and talking about the first time you broke your oath...........

[bookished]

if you’re open to requests/just an idea maybe some touch starved prompts?

touch-starved prompts—for when they ache, but don't know how to ask. adjust phrasing as necessary. feel free to make edits to better suit your muse, but please don’t edit or add on to the original post <3 if you like, please consider supporting me through tips.

“you can… hold me. if you want.” “i’ve been waiting for you to say that.”

character a flinching instinctively, only to melt the second character b gently cups their face and says, “you’re safe now. you don’t have to pull away.”

“do you want me to keep touching you?” a nod. eyes closed. they don’t trust their voice.

tracing invisible shapes on their palm, the kind you used to draw when you were kids. “i remembered you liked this. i didn’t forget.”

arms around their waist from behind — “i don’t want you to think you have to be strong all the time.”

brushing their knuckles over a scar you didn’t know they had. “does it still hurt?” “not when you do that.”

falling asleep with your head on their chest, hearing their heartbeat steady for the first time in forever.

“you’re shaking.” “i haven’t been held in a long time.”

hugging them like you’re afraid they’ll disappear. and them hugging back harder.

“i know i don’t say it often but... i miss being close to you.”

they hesitate before leaning into your hand — then cling to it like they’ll fall apart without it.

“can you just… stay like this?” the words are small. the need is loud.

letting them cry silently into your hoodie, not asking questions. just staying. just being there.

you offer your hand. they stare at it like it’s the sun. like they forgot warmth existed.

“i’m scared.” “me too. but you don’t have to be alone this time.”

“you can… hold me. if you want.” “i’ve been waiting for you to say that.”

they flinch at first—then lean into the touch. “you’re safe now. you don’t have to pull away.”

“do you want me to keep touching you?” a slow nod. no words. just need.

tracing tiny shapes into their palm like you used to. “i remembered you liked this.”

arms wrapped around their waist from behind. “you don’t always have to be strong.”

brushing knuckles over a scar. “does it still hurt?” “not when you do that.”

resting your head on their chest, letting the silence speak.

“you’re shaking.” “i haven’t been held in a long time.”

hugging like the world is ending—and maybe it is.

“i know i don’t say it often but... i miss being close to you.”

they hesitate—then cling to your hand like it’s oxygen.

“can you just… stay like this?” (the words are small. the need is loud.)

letting them cry into your hoodie, no questions asked. just warmth. just presence.

offering your hand. they look at it like they forgot what warmth felt like.

“i’m scared.” “me too. but we don’t have to be alone anymore.”

[assassin-artist]

morton the watch fob king

[psychotic-nonsense]

In October of 1967, Steve Harrington is born in Hawkins, Indiana.

He's raised there, forced to live under the strict expectations of his parents, Richard and Samantha. Barely escapes their clutches, freedom fueled by the kids and adults that take the role of guardian and family when the time is right. Keeps himself in check with the always impending apocalypses that arise beneath his feet.

In June of 1985 - when Steve Harrington is 18, while Richard and Samantha Harrington are visiting New York for an extended work trip - Veronica Harrington is born.

She was carried and raised in secret from their hometown. They take care of her between their business hours, dropping her in the hands of nannies and babysitters galore. They don't even think of Indiana during Veronica's early childhood, too focused on work and making sure their daughter starts up right.

In October of 1986 - when Steve Harrington is 19, aged further by ending the Vecna War, yet tamed by his newfound love in Eddie Munson - Richard and Samantha Harrington return to Hawkins.

They don't ask about what happened to their son. They don't ask about the town. They don't ask questions, just give responses to them. Sneering at Steve's friends, complaining about the state of the house, commenting at the disfunctional chaos their home has become.

In November of 1986, Richard and Samantha Harrington disown Steve.

They just let him go. They at least give him a folder of his legal documents, but otherwise just tell him to get out of their house and never use their name again. Claiming Steve doesn't need anything from the room because the Harrington's own everything in it. They don't call him son, they don't say goodbye, they don't acknowledge who's actually taken care of the house, they don't admit most of Steve's former room has changed with money Steve earned himself, they don't dare to give him any money or care where he goes. They just say they're sick of dealing with an unworthy mistake of a child, and force him out of their house.

In November of 1986, the Party's adults adopt Steve.

He runs to them first after everything happens. Held himself together at the start, but broke down the second the words were out. While everyone was trying to comfort Steve, Wayne Munson and Jim Hopper were the first to succeed. They know firsthand that this family would never be the same as blood, no matter how much that blood has boiled and burned before, but the love will be stronger and it will be here. When everyone seconds it, Steve finally accepts it. He becomes a child of the Party - he's everyone's son and everyone's brother, taking whatever surname he sees fit.

In November of 1986, Steve Henderson and Eddie Munson leave Hawkins.

Despite all this good, Steve can't bear to stay in this damned town a second longer, where everyone knows who he is and will soon know everything he isn't. And it's not like Eddie was looking forward to sticking around Hawkins either, especially without his Steve. The kids are the first to agree, surprisingly, and the adults promise to find a way for the boys to get out. Later that week, when Richard and Samantha leave the house to prepare for Veronica, Steve and Eddie break in to take everything that's rightfully theirs. While they're there, not sure what prompts him, Steve makes a bag of his clothes with shoes and his wallet tucked within it, shoving it into his closet. Dustin's mom uses an old favor to get the boys an apartment in Chicago, the Party has one last farewell, and the two boys are gone.

From 1986 onward, Veronica Harrington is raised in Hawkins, Indiana.

Richard and Samantha are adamant in their daughter coming out exactly how she should. They steadily convince the town to forget the Harringtons ever had a son and lock the room on the second floor next to the stairs without ever touching the inside. They raise her with formality and pride at the top of their expectations, wanting at least one child to come out right.

But Veronica is the spitting image of Steve's honesty and care. She puts on a facade when needed, but even at a young age, she wants nothing more than to be someone's light in the darkness. She plays with every lonely kid at school, and tries to make people laugh at the business parties she's dragged to. It's not received well by her parents, but Veronica is much too strong willed and stubborn to let it phase her.

In April of 1991 - when she's 6 and they're so much stronger around their hearts - Veronica Harrington meets Steve and Eddie Munson for the first time.

It's the year Erica is set to graduate high school. Steve and Eddie have been making the drive for every holiday this year, ordered determined to give her the best senior year she could have. It's Easter Sunday, and Wayne somehow managed to drag his boys away to church - a Munson custom, as even Eddie insisted they go.

While at the snack table post sermon, a little girl comes up to Steve, mistaking him for her father. He and Eddie gently comfort the girl, introducing themselves and offering to help the girl find her parents. That's when Veronica introduces herself, striking Steve deep in his heart. Still, he keeps quiet, even gifting her a little origami crane made from napkins at the table. He calls her "chickpea" for the color of her dress, tells her to keep the crane secret and safe, "If ever you need to find your way back home, you hold that close, and it'll tell you."

Meanwhile, Wayne has come across Richard and Samantha in the crowd opposite the kids. Exchanging formalities, Wayne mentions his son and nephew are in town, news the Harrington's are surprised at, as Wayne didn't seem like the father type. However, trying to keep face, they remain civil and insist on introducing their daughter.

Cue Veronica running to her parents with Steve and Eddie in tow. Cue Steve calling Wayne dad right to Richard's face. Cue the Harrington's immediate leave from the church, Veronica waving behind her with a crane placed carefully in her pocket.

From then on, Veronica Harrington's life changes indefinitely.

Her parents' expectations grow tenfold. She finds out she's horribly allergic to chickpeas. All of her friends must be approved by her parents, and any that don't fit their image are ordered to leave her.

Veronica takes these changes in stride - is her class's top student, captain of the softball and volleyball teams in junior high, keeps the friends she wants in secret from her parents - but she can't help but keep the crane in a little box in her room. Gets a necklace with a little origami crane pendant, holds it whenever she needs to make a hard choice. Can't help but expand herself in secret, learn things her parents would never approve of - lock picking, other languages, sleight of hand, a clothing style that's nothing like the dark blues of her family, all warmth and light. She explores every room in her house, yet is unable to find her way into that room upstairs next to the steps.

In May of 1998, Veronica Harrington discovers the truth about her brother.

She's about to be a freshman. Her class was touring the high school in preparation, and while passing the athletics hall, her eyes hit the swimming trophies. Each row stuffed with trophies, and each one with a name that stabbed her right in the stomach: Steve Harrington.

After that, she couldn't bear all the secrecy anymore. Late that same night, she finally uses her lock picking skills to break into that room. And though it's devoid of life, it is a bedroom, so evidently lived in. It's frozen in time, twisted sheets covered in dust, old papers crinkled from being stepped on but not picked up, old clean clothes still sitting in the hamper. It's a boy's room, clearly, and Veronica is careful walking around this place of memories.

She does still explore, quietly clicking on lights around the room, too cautious to touch the overhead lights. She looks under the bed, finding a bat and a trash can lid, both embedded with rusty nails. A shirt that still smells like fresh laundry yet has a back stained permanently with long red lines down the shoulders. Dozens of stapled documents labeled NON-DISCLOSURE AGREEMENT, detailing horrific events that each have that same name signed at the bottom.

With shaking hands she checks the closet, and finds it mostly empty. All except for a deep green graduation robe and cap, a cream Hawkins High letterman, and a duffel bag hidden in the back corner. The cap has a 1985 tassel, and the letterman has Harrington branded on the back with basketball and swimming patches galore. And the bag, when she checks it, looks like a survivalist pack someone would make in an apocalypse. At the top sits a wallet, and inside is an ID for a Steve Harrington, who has the same face as the one in her origami memories.

And Veronica is done. She wakes up the next morning and throws Steve's jacket on the kitchen table, startling both her parents mid sip of coffee. She finds herself in a screaming match with her father, demanding them to quit lying to her, begging to know who her brother is.

In a fit of rage, Richard tells her. Tells her everything Richard and Samantha never saw in Steve, about Veronica's secret birth, the disownment, Steve's disappearance from the Harrington house and Hawkins. She's reminded of that one Easter Sunday, and is told how Richard and Samantha faked Veronica's allergy to keep her mind from being tainted by whatever curse befell their bloodline before. Orders her to never say that name again.

In a fit of rage, Veronica bites back. Calls her parents cruel and overly expectant. Comes clean about her secret freedom. Says she'd rather be nothing than ever carry the burden of the Harrington name ever again.

She hides away in her room after the fight. Cries in her closet with her origami box cradled tightly to her chest, begging it to take her home because this place isn't anymore, maybe never was. Cries for the brother she never even got to meet, who went through so many horrible things yet still got put through this same punishment. Cries for the future she won't get to have, losing her hope for a new beginning that will now never be.

At the start of June, 1998, Veronica runs away.

She makes it through the rest of May in near silence. She writes notes for all of her friends at the end of the school year, and one for her parents to inevitably find. Finds 75 dollars in Steve's old wallet, stuffs the duffel bag the rest of the way with her belongings, and says goodbye to Hawkins.

She takes the first bus she can find out of town. Doesn't care that it's going to Chicago, doesn't really care where she's going now. She befriends an old homeless man riding the bus as well, becomes another interesting name in his "Book of Wanders (Pronounced as Wonders)." As Veronica's telling the story about unknowingly meeting her brother, she remembers the crane in her bag. She reaches in to retrieve the little box, then the crane, nearly crying seeing how disheveled and unfolded it is. Broken and doomed, just like her. But looking at it now after so long, she thinks she sees something written inside it. Despite it shattering her heart pieces, she carefully unfolds the little crane.

At its center, in old, bleeding blue text, reads, "Find the Swooping Bat if you've lost your way."

The old man laughs then, taking Veronica's hand and placing it onto her chest, over her heart. "It's fate," he whispers in the dark bus. "There's a place called that in Chicago."

Veronica uses her money to rent them both a hotel for the night, giving the old man a warm bath for the first time in weeks. She gifts him the clothes as well, saying it's, "an honorary thanks from my brother, for helping me get here." They bid each other farewell in the morning, the old man telling her to keep hold of fate.

She finds her way to the Swooping Bat easily, hand on her necklace guiding her way. It's a quaint little diner, popular enough to be comfortably warm when she walks in. A young lady in a wheelchair - Max, says her nametag, with pins saying things like, "Summer work blows" and "USC grad or bust!" resting on her collar - guides her to a booth next to the sunrise.

"Anything I can get you today?" Max asks when Veronica's seated.

Veronica's fully ready to order everything on the menu, what with how delicious this place smells, but then she remembers her funds. 5 bucks, if she's lucky. "Just a chocolate milk, for now. Biggest one you have, please." She somehow plays off Max's skeptical look, her eyes sweeping over Veronica's no doubt disheveled and no-food-in-36-hours appearance.

It somehow works out, and Max is wheeling away. Veronica allows herself a moment to collapse, stomach growling in pain and eyes burning with the realization she has no idea what she's going to do now. She just has this last bit of hope to hold onto, and without it, she'll be nothing but a husk.

She's not sure how long she sits there, staring at the sunrise and letting sound and AC whisk her mind away, but there's suddenly a little knock on her table. Her head snaps up, and there's Max again, setting down a giant glass of chocolate milk... alongside a loaded breakfast plate.

"It's on the house," Max rushes to explain, all fondness when Veronica scrambles to get her wallet. "Courtesy of the owner. And between you and me," she whispers with a wink, "just take the damn food, kid."

Veronica stumbles over herself for a moment, rendered near speechless, before she finally comes back. She begs Max to thank the owner profusely, before rushing to dig into the pancakes before her. She's halfway done dousing the stack in syrup by the time Max wheels away, when there's suddenly someone laughing.

"Of course," says a choked-up voice behind her. "Can't have any chickpeas starving in my booths."

Veronica nearly drops her fork. She turns so sharply she gets dizzy. Seven years can't change a person that much, surely, because though he's bigger in the torso and he has glasses on the bridge of his nose and his hair is cut so close, he still has the same softness in his voice and the same slouch in his stance and the same moles around his eyes and his smile is so bright despite the tears in his eyes, and though Veronica can barely see through tears herself, it's not like she needs them anyway to know it's-

"Steve!" she cries, scrambling out of the booth to meet her brother halfway. The relief of it all working out has the rest of her restraint collapsing, forcing harsh sobs out of her and into Steve's shoulder. The siblings hold each other in the middle of a restaurant, a voice in the background asking everyone to leave them be. Steve doesn't stop whispering, even as his chest heaves with broken gasps between tears, "You're save, Veronica, I got you, I got you, it's gonna be okay, you're safe here, it's okay, sis, it's okay..."

"That you, lil' chickpea?" whispers a different voice once they've calmed down. Veronica reluctantly pulls away and finds a man kneeling beside them, a hand on Steve's shoulder and similar tears in his eyes. His hair and tattoos remind her of the tamed wild from seven years ago, covered in black in the middle of church yet glowing brighter than the stained glass, the one that Steve looks at in past and present with a glowing love Veronica never saw between her parents.

"Yeah," she whispers, wiping her tears away before placing a hand atop her necklace. It catches Eddie and Steve's eyes and make them beam with pride and relief. "Yeah, it's... it's me...."

[ghqstwriter]

“You aren’t Superhero.”

The remark came from behind the hero, resonating within the shadows that the rookie was certain they’d checked just moments ago. The voice sounded amused, almost. Like it was ridiculous to think the person standing in front of them should have been the famous, almighty Superhero. As though the difference between the two was so staggering that it was practically humorous.

Hero turned around at the noise, a few moments slower than they probably should have, eyes widening at the realisation that they truly weren’t alone in the room. The figure before them was dressed in dark colours, not visibly armed but still radiating an aura of intimidation nonetheless. Most notably, however, the figure was entirely unmasked, staring directly at Hero with wide eyes and enjoyment tugging at their lips.

“I’m uh— sorry to say I don’t recognise you, either,” Hero commented, trying to play it cool as though there was ever an ounce of chill in their entire body. Their hands fidgeted slightly, fingers flexing nervously. Whoever this was, they weren’t in the files. That was strange, since the villain before them was completely unmasked, as though their identity meant nothing to them.

“I gathered. Don’t get out much, really. More on the introverted side, I’d say. Though, I can’t say the same about you: you’re the newbie I read about last week, something about a fire, hm?” The villain pointed a finger towards Hero, tilting their head to the side. Hero cursed internally, things weren’t looking good for them here.

This was their first major mission, a chance to get their name out of those boring papers that nobody reads and into the news stations that seemed to praise every other benevolent hero on the streets. Superhero had a habit of taking the rookies out for a fly everytime a mission was too dull for their tastes, and this time it appeared they wanted Hero to join them at their side.

“Listen— Superhero is on their way right now. So don’t try anything, ok? I mean, you were expecting them, right?”

“Aw, pity. Here I was, hoping we’d have a little more time to get acquainted. Hero, wasn’t it? Rhetorical question; I know I’m right.”

“Is that supposed to be a metaphor for— you know, torture and stuff?” Hero questioned meekly, to which the villain laughed. It wasn’t particularly menacing or cruel, not the type of cackle you’d see on a Sunday cartoon. It appeared as though everything about this was genuinely amusing to the villain. An amicable conversation with an old friend. Meanwhile, Hero had to tense all of their muscles in order to stop the trembling.

It wasn’t the sheer sense of power radiating from the villain, they weren’t terrified of evil. It was the uncertainty that shook them deeply. The agency’s success had always been defined not by the endless valour of their heroes, but by their extensive knowledge of the city’s threats. Hero had studied the files for hours on end, noting just how thorough everything was. A complete and comprehensive guide to Villainy, where even the most powerful, evasive villains were exhaustively documented. This one wasn’t.

“You’re just adorable, aren’t you? I think I’ve gotten quite lucky today. I mean, if any other hero had taken this route, I’d probably be stuck talking to some self-righteous idiot. Much less tolerable than you are.”

“What are you—“ Hero started, though was cut off as soon as they noticed that the criminal was walking towards them. They paused in their stride when the two were only standing a couple inches apart. As much as Hero wanted to flee, to create some space between the pair, they gathered that ‘against a wall’ is the last place they’d want to be right now.

A C-Rank villain. They were supposed to be fighting a C-Rank. Mild fire powers, flamboyant, much more bark than bite, though still good for publicity (according to Superhero). Despite how weak Hero’s powers were compared to the other supers, even they could take down a C-Rank. This villain was no such thing. Hero felt their blood run colder by the minute as the criminal looked them up and down, investigating now that they were close enough to see every nook and cranny of their persona.

“I’ll be honest,” the villain grinned as they spoke, hands gripping their new friend’s shoulders. “I’ve never actually spoken with a hero before. Never been one to see the value in the showmanship part of villainy. No heroes to foil your schemes if they simply don’t know you exist. Alas, as rudimentary as I find the agency, they have something I need.”

“I’m not telling you anything, if that’s what you’re looking for,” Hero bit back, more than intimidated by just how close the villain was. Upon further inspection, Hero confirmed their worries: the criminal was unarmed. That was unnerving. What kind of villain goes to confront a hero without any tools?

"Sweetheart, I'm not here to interrogate you. I just want to make a deal, one that'll benefit the both of us." As they spoke, the villain's hands started to inch closer to the hero's neck, although their grip wasn't particularly tight. The type of hold that would have felt soft if not for the hands tracing the hero's collarbone leaving behind a lingering threat. The criminal ventured onwards.

"Your little agency has a lot of data, no? A complete documentation of all the criminals of the world. But, all that information is practically public. Accessible to any trainee, any visitor, any eager reporter wandering around the building. It would be a horrible decision for them to document some of the more gritty, immoral details, and thus the comprehensive guide becomes not-so-complete. Tell me, Hero, where is it that you get all the information for your missions?"

"So what some information is missing from the database. If it was important to a mission, they'd tell me."

"Sure they would."

"Where are you going with this?"

"I've read everything there is to read about you, Hero. And, if my intuition is correct – which it will be, you'll rise through the ranks quite quickly with that potential of yours. They'll start assigning you to much more deadly villains and, well, I'm sure you've realised by now that the dangerous ones are the ones off the books. No information for them, what a tragedy."

Villain's eyes glinted slightly, words carefully planned. They were cunning, Hero thought to themself. The dictionary definition of the mastermind archetype. Although, they seemed a lot more defined and well-trained than the typical evil genius.

"Is that your end of the deal, then? Giving me information in exchange for something else?" Hero questioned, desperately trying to follow along. If this villain thought they'd picked the wrong hero to confide in, they'd likely get rid of them and search for a much more competent one.

"I'm not asking for much. Just that you'll keep the door open for me when I come knocking. My contacts list is extensive, a web of the most skilled professionals and bastards out there. But, unfortunately, no heroes. I'm looking to remedy that. It's a simple enough request, isn't it? Just think of it as friendship blossoming between us, if that helps you sleep at night."

Hero gulped, legs feeling unsteady. As much as their moral compass wanted to scream and kick, they really didn’t have an option here. It wasn’t just the villain that was leagues stronger than Hero, it was everyone. Their powers were more of a nuisance than anything, and all of their skillset relied on their strategic planning. If they lacked information, they’d be hopeless in a fight.

Deep down, Hero wasn’t even certain that the threats were the main incentive here. Sure, death was still a terrifying concept to them, they were a rookie. They couldn’t deny that for a second. But, if they refused this offer, it wouldn’t just be them dying. If a dangerous criminal got loose, and nobody knew how to stop them, how many civilians would die? At just the concept of it, guilt rushed straight to their chest.

“And what kind of favours do you tend to ask your contacts for?” Hero asked, uncertain.

“Like I said, you won’t need to get your hands dirty, Hero. I’m not a violent person. Far less bloodthirsty than most of my associates. I’ll be asking no more of you than your coworkers would. Information, security, a place to go when clients get a little roudy. Of course, all these same privileges would belong to you, too.” The villain promised, never once breaking eye contact with the hero.

Confidently, the criminal reached out their hand, waiting for Hero to shake it. A promise, one Hero knew they could never go back on. One that could save lives, albeit at the profit of perhaps the most deadly enemy there could be.

I'm sure you've realised by now that the dangerous ones are the ones off the books.

Trembling only slightly, Hero’s hand met the villain’s in a firm handshake. The latter’s expression shifted to something much more prideful, indicative of a job well done. They’d managed to convince a hero to make a deal with the devil, after all, no blackmail required. Hero didn’t let their glee deter them. This was the right decision to make; they’d spend so many nights sleeplessly scanning through documents because they knew that information was their one shot at heroism. At the promise of more, or more accurately: the threat of missing some, the hero was certain that the good of this deal outweighed the bad.

A commotion began to kick up outside, though the villain didn’t seem to react. Superhero was here, alongside that C-Rank who seemed much more insignificant now. Nowhere near as interesting. The villain gave one final smile before turning on their heels and headed straight to the door. Before they left, they swivelled their head back to look at Hero, who stood idly in the centre of the room.

“I’ll be in touch soon to set up the all the arrangements. Nothing too complicated, don’t worry. Oh, and of course, try not to tell your supervisors about our little chat.” Hero could only nod silently in response, a thousand sensations storming their mind at once. Their fists continued their incessant routine of tightening and relaxing as their nerves grew.

Heavy footsteps pounded from the top floor of the building. Superhero on the lookout for their newest trainee, oblivious to the scene that unfolded moments before their arrival. The criminal laughed softly, the type of laugh that sounded more like an exhale than anything. Then, moments before Superhero walked through the doorway, they left after making one final comment.

“Pleasure doing business with you, Hero.”

[caughtafishie]

saw art yesterday that pmo so bad. im not trying to put anyone on blast or anything but i need to rant about this bc it truly rubbed me the wrong way.

i'll just start by saying that i dont mean any malice toward this artist nor do i want ppl jumping down their throat but i do think we need to have a conversation about why ed is being interpreted like this. (also sorry if someone has made a similar post, i saw this art for the first time yesterday)

...like where do i begin. the racial implications? the izzy victimization? sorry but why are we portraying a brown man as this crazed, red eyed beast whose totally inevitable violence has to be taken on by some white martyr who "takes it for the team"? i kind of can't even begin to understand where this line of thinking comes from when we literally never see ed in a state like this in the show.

its like literally kind of a huge plot point that ed isn't murderous, and is only violent to those extremes when he is pushed. and izzy is usually the one pushing him, so yeah he faced the brunt of the violence ed inflicted. but we honestly really only see ed physically harm izzy, not the rest of the crew, during blackbeard 2.0 era.

like lets think about it. ed harms the rest of the crew in very indirect ways i.e. making them fight each other or sailing them into a storm. he doesn't ever pull a knife or gun nor does he throw a punch. the most he really does is push lucius off the ship, which is bad of course, but not something i'd call a super violent attempt on someone's life. even though he did think he killed him, it's still passive, letting the sea take care of it. the only other people we really see ed beat or kill are colonizers and his abusive father.

and then there's izzy. i wrote a post before about izzy and ed's dynamic during this era, and oh boy am i not done. people have a hard time understanding that their cycle of abuse and retaliation is perpetuated by izzy, not ed. ed isn't this feral wild animal going around harming everyone he sees. he's not an inherently violent person. i feel like the show does so much to make that clear. izzy, however, thrives on violence, specifically blackbeard's violence. which is why he pushes ed, he's a sadist and a masochist. he is putting ed through suffering to gain his own suffering, and that's what he wants. and he wants to keep ed right there with him, even though he acknowledges that ed has moved on.

as for the racial implications, i think maybe we steer clear of drawing poc as big scary monsters who you are inherently unsafe around? so much so that a white man feels the need to take on his rampant violence so no one else has to? sorry but we did not watch the same show if that's how you view ed.

like i said, ed is not a violent person. ed is an emotional person. he doesnt get any more angry than he does sad or happy, he just feels his emotions intensely. and if a mentally ill brown man having emotions screams "danger" to you, especially when he is otherwise shown to pose no physical threat to those around him, im gonna need you to think about why. why would he be any more dangerous than izzy, who has put the crew in more precarious situations than ed did? who has killed more people? the only person on the ship ed ever tried to actively kill during this era is himself, everything else was collateral. but no yeah, lets demonize him and make his abuser the white savior here..

[meandmyechoes]

He had thought he would dread this moment, but he was surprised to feel more a sense of quiet peace than pain. This was the right thing to do, and he knew it, bone-deep.