#my level of interest in this show is so normal and okay

[puppymort]

Fujoshi Summer shipping her brother with her grandpapa

so obsessed with this!

no one pays attention to summer. moms always at work, or drunk out of her mind and asleep half the day, jerry is ‘job hunting’ if that’s what you call begging people for money, morty is always out doing something with rick. she just fades into the background most of the time. so it makes sense that morty doesn’t notice his sister watching him watch rick—he hasn’t taken his eyes off him for at least twenty minutes. she paces over, takes a seat on the couch next to him and ever so casually asks, “why haven’t you made a move yet?”

morty freezes, slowly turns to face her. “what..?” he asks, disgust lining his tone. tension fills him and she can feel the hostility between them now. which is unfair, she feels, because it’s not like he’s exactly hiding his pining for rick. he’s following him like a dog all day everyday.

summer rolls her eyes. “you know, ask him out or something. tell him you like him. he’s going to fuck you, seriously, you’re holding back for no reason.” straightforward, yeah, but she’s been wanting to say something for ages—frankly they’ve been like her own personal television show. rick gently brushes morty’s arm and he’s melting. morty sneezes and rick is melting. rick shoves morty out of the way and morty’s melting. morty asks for help and rick’s melting. their interactions are always interesting, especially because they don’t have any idea that they’re being watched. so it’s completely authentic.

“what the fuck, summer?” morty’s nose sinches up, like he can’t believe what she’s saying. “that’s disgusting!”

“oh my god, morty, please don’t play high and mighty right now. ive seen your porn history, you watch so much incest porn your computer should be on a fucking watchlist.”

“why are you going through my computer?”

“you leave it out in the open and you’re gone almost all day. don’t act surprised. if you really cared you’d make your password something other than the year you were born, idiot.”

morty melts into the couch, covers his face with his hands. this is humiliating. “why are you so okay with this? this isn’t normal. you should be lecturing me. telling me this is gross—something. i don’t know. feels weird that my sister is trying to set me up with my grandpa. and it feels weirder that im not against it…”

summer groans, decides that she’s going to have to take initiative here, like she often does. she waves rick over, and he comes fast. must be bored. usually he’d tell her to fuck off.

“grandpa, morty wants you to stick your tongue down his throat. there you go. you’re welcome. thank me later.”

morty’s face turns bright red. he jumps up off the couch, stands above his sister now. “summer! what the fuck! why would you say that?” he tries to cover up the fact that she’s right by acting like he’s surprised, but rick is no idiot.

“yeah, sure.” he says, all too casual. that’s where summer gets it from, probably.

“summer! i hate you i hate you i hate you!” morty turns away from them both, embarrassed, ashamed, a little aroused but he’d dwell on that later.

rick rolls his eyes. “be nice to your sister. you think this is news to me? im not a dumbass, morty, i can tell when someone’s eye-fucking me. you, on the other hand, are terrible at picking up hints. don’t hate your sister for pushing you to get what you want.”

morty sniffles, teary eyed, wanting to curl up and die. at the very most he thought summer would tease him about it every now and then, not completely out him. he couldn’t even tell if rick was serious or if he was fucking with him, as per usual.

“see, that look on your face, you’re trying to find out if im fucking with you, aren’t you?”

morty blushes, turns away. “no.”

“yeah, you are. idiot, im not. why would i fuck around about this? that’s a different level of weird, even for me.” he grabs morty’s face, pulls him so close and gives him a wet, sloppy kiss, leaves his mouth dripping with spit. morty stares agape when he pulls away.

summer’s hands are completely covering her mouth. eyes shining, little stars in them. they just jumped several seasons, in her mind, and the finale was perfect. neither rick nor morty seem to care that she’s watching, and even seem to invite it in a sense—well, they don’t tell her to fuck off. maybe as a ‘thank you’ for granting them the permission they’ve been waiting for.

[dokidango]

My friend expressed interest in maybe giving supernatural a try and I'm being very normal about it.

[sunlightfeeling]

I genuinely feel like I dont have a right at all to complain or talk negative about Japanese fans but like……..the evident cliqueish-ness of honestly what looks like a very unfortunate larger chunk of them ……😮‍💨

like i gotta be honest the concert was a lot more isolating than it actually already was in itself because of the vibes at least a couple of clusters of fans gave me

[comradecowplant]

great, andor is back, can't wait for every leftist on this website to write novel-length think pieces about the revolutionary decolonial politics in their favorite disney+ show for the next three months 🙄

[mwphisto]

LaDs: You have a Low Libido

~ inspired by anon’s ask! I hope I captured the idea okay! As someone with a typically high libido I tried to think from the perspective of when I’m on my period and not in the mood at all lol

~ all love interests included

Warning, this post contains: mentions of sex, mainly fluff.

Xavier

⭐️He can control himself and his needs, if you’re not in the mood? Then neither is he. Cuddling is more than enough

⭐️Xavier knows that a low libido doesn’t mean no libido, so when you’re actually in the mood for once? He jumps on the opportunity and makes sure you enjoy it too.

⭐️Xavier loves being intimate with you in a variety of ways, and he knows his limits to his own restraint. He’ll always prioritize you and your needs before his own.

“We haven’t had sex in like a month.” You mumble the words sheepishly into his chest, eyes peering up at him as if you were bracing yourself. “Yeah, and that’s perfectly fine.” It’s a sleepy yawn of reassurance, his fingers toying with your hair as you pout. “You’re not… bothered by that? I feel bad…” that gets him, blue eyes zeroing in on where your head presses to his chest. “It doesn’t bother me in the slightest, you have no reason to feel bad. Why would you even feel bad about not being in the mood for sex?” That struck a cord in you, eyes widening slightly as you meekly offer. “Wouldn’t you prefer a partner who’s more in tune with your needs?” You knew for a fact that your boyfriend’s libido was high. “Don’t be ridiculous, there is a lot more to our relationship than sex. Sure when we do have it it’s great, but I don’t need it every day to know I love you.”

Rafayel

🎨Rafayel has a normal libido (save for ebb day) so when he learns your libido is a bit low? No problem!

🎨He loves showing his affection to you through other intimate means — hand holding, cuddling, taking a bath together, painting your portrait, and many more

🎨When you are in the mood, he’s sure to make it special. Candles, petals, nice music, he’ll go the full nine yards to make sure the experience is worth it for you

“Y’know, it means a lot that my low libido doesn’t bother you.” You confess it softly one night as you two share a bath. You’d been lingering on this for a while now, a bit envious of the fact that you didn’t get turned on as frequently as others did. “Course it doesn’t bother me, cutie. Sex is great but you being comfortable and having your needs met his much greater to me.” While you appreciated the sentiment, you wished you could crave your boyfriend on a deeper level. You did, of course, having a low libido didn’t mean you had none at all. You just wished for his sake that it was a little more… frequent? “Don’t you dare think like that.” Had you accidentally said it out loud? “It doesn’t bother me at all, cutie. We don’t need to have sex every day for me to know I love you more than words.”

Zayne

🩺Zayne doesn’t mind it at all, if anything, you having a low libido calms his nerves. Especially at the start of your relationship, he likes to take things slow!

🩺Zayne is a man of patience as well as a man of restraint. He knows when to hold back, if you are not in the mood when he is? It's totally fine, he'd never put that level of expectation on you.

🩺When you are in the mood though? Expect Zayne to be feral -- but within your comfort zone of course.

"Are you sure you're okay with this, Zayne?" You had been scrolling your period tracker, and from what you could see, the last time you had marked the day with a little red heart was… “Three weeks is not that much time, sweetheart. I’m pretty sure we’ve gone two months without seeing each other because of work.” But that answer didn’t really help you for some reason. “I just feel like… I’m failing you.” At that, Zayne’s book snapped shut and his attention fully focused on you. “Don’t you dare equate having a low sex drive to failing me as my partner. I have loved you far before I even knew what sex was. I would love you until my dying breath even if we never had sex once in the decades we have been together.” You didn’t think it was possible to love the man more than you already did.

Sylus

🍷Sylus being the consent king he is, has no issues when you confess to him that your libido is relatively low.

🍷He’s very in tune with his own body for that matter, if he attempts to make a move and you’re not reciprocating in a way that tells him you’re also in the mood? He doesn’t mind at all, he’ll take care of his needs later on.

🍷When you make the first moves signaling that you’re down? Expect this man to ask your consent once, twice, three times before he even touches you. He needs to be positive you're doing this because you want to, not because you feel obligated.

"I love you so much, Sy." The bedroom was quiet, your bodies bare and pressed together underneath silk sheets. Roughly twenty minutes prior you two had gotten out of the shower after having sex. It was the first time in about a month, and you were completely satisfied. "I love you too, kitten. More than anything." Even still, you couldn't help yourself from feeling a bit self conscious. Even after being so thoroughly loved by the man whose heart was thundering under your ear. "Promise me that you're really okay with me not having a wild sex drive..." You could feel him stiffen a little, a quiet huff slipping past his nose. "Kitten, I will say it every day until it is engraved in your head. You having a low sex drive does not stop us from being intimate in other ways. I love you as you are, I'd be upset if you ever changed. So please know that you are nothing less than perfect for me, I would never ask for anything more.”

Caleb

🪐Caleb struggles a little bit at first, his sex drive being relatively high most of the time. He craves you so damn often.

🪐Caleb is able to reign himself in, I mean he did so for how many years? If you don't have a high libido, he can figure out his own means to take care of himself if he is seriously in the mood. He'll never, ever, force you into anything!

🪐When you are in the mood? Caleb goes insane, he'll make sure you have the best time, your pleasure being his absolute focus. He'll genuinely fuck you like it's his last chance ever.

"Y-you know just because my libido is pretty low... doesn't mean we'll never have sex again." You can barely push yourself up, entire body trembling as Caleb pants beside you. "I know, Pips. I just can't help myself sometimes. Makes me go a little insane when you're needy." You feel your cheeks warm, hiding your face in the pillow below you . "I love you for never pushing my boundaries... I just wish I could help you out a little more often." His brows pinch together at that. One glance from the pillow and you see Caleb has rolled over to stare at you. "Pips, my love. You are perfect, an absolute angel sent to earth and I have the honor of loving you. I may be on the higher end of the libido spectrum..." He makes little air quotes and you find yourself cracking a smile. "...But sex is often the last thing on my mind when I get to hold and love you every day. We don't need to have sex every day, every week, hell even every month for me to know that I love you just as deeply as you love me."

[solxamber]

Unstable Stable || Leona Kingscholar

You were an S-ranked Guide just trying to live your life, but now you're emotionally (and spiritually) babysitting SS-class menace Leona Kingscholar—who’s decided you're his personal charger and refuses to unplug.

or: Guideverse AU!

Series Masterlist

Life used to be normal.

You know, back when your biggest problem was whether to risk food poisoning for that suspiciously cheap sushi combo. Taxes were annoying, capitalism was soul-sucking, and people still thought “ghosting�� only applied to dating. Cute times.

Then the gates showed up.

Like surprise holes in the fabric of reality. No warning. No gentle push notifications. Just BAM—mystical rift to MonsterLand™ opens in the middle of your grocery store and suddenly your choices are “fight or die with a half-priced avocado in hand.”

And that would’ve been it for humanity—extinct in a week if not for the emergence of Espers. Superpowered humans with the ability to close these gates and yeet the nightmare creatures back into the void.

Cool, right?

Except—Espers are dramatic. They're the “I’m fine” as they bleed out types. The “I didn’t sleep for three days, but I still went into a Class-A gate because I felt vibes” types. They save the world, but emotionally? Spiritually? Mentally? Absolutely not okay.

That’s where you come in.

You're a Guide. The human equivalent of emotional duct tape. Your job is to wrangle these unhinged battle gremlins post-gate before they disintegrate or cry themselves into a psychic nosebleed. Sometimes both.

It’s like babysitting, except your babysitter is also a licensed therapist, a soul mechanic, and sometimes a romantic interest depending on how "fanfic" things get.

Is the job dangerous? Constantly.

Are the Espers dramatic? Tragically so.

Is there a union? Not unless you count the Group Chat of Collective Suffering.

And does it pay well? HAHAHA.

Still, between dodging death and massaging the egos of glorified magical toddlers, you’ve somehow become really good at this.

Which is great, because your next assignment?

Is going to change your entire life. Probably ruin it. Possibly give you feelings. Definitely not covered by health insurance. (But then again, what is?)

It’s raining like the gods themselves are ugly crying, but you? You’re bone-dry and smug. Perched on your little foldable stool like a judgmental gremlin, your umbrella is perched just right. Stylish. Functional. Invincible.

Across the street, a cluster of fellow Guides are soaked to their very souls. One of them is trying to use a clipboard as shelter. Another’s shoes have absolutely given up on life. They glare at you like you personally invented weather.

You take a sip of your lukewarm vending machine coffee and shrug.

“Sorry losers,” you say cheerfully, “get on my level.”

Then the gate sputters, flickers, and folds in on itself like a haunted paper fan. The Espers return—bloodied, bruised, twitchy-eyed and definitely seconds away from fainting like overcooked noodles.

Chaos erupts.

Guides leap up, yelling names, waving emergency blankets, fumbling for their med kits. People are screaming things like, “Catch him, he’s falling—OH GOD, HIS ARM,” and “Who packed juice boxes in the trauma bag again?!”

You stay seated. Sip your coffee again. It's mostly rainwater now. Whatever.

Then someone stops in front of you. Tall, soaked, radiating the exact vibe of someone who has murdered for being woken up too early.

And he yanks your umbrella to cover himself.

“I am not getting soaked again,” he grumbles, shaking rainwater out of his hair like an angry golden retriever with a six-pack.

You blink.

“Uh. Hello?”

Leona Kingscholar. SS-Class Esper. Walking lawsuit. The man once growled at a government official for chewing too loudly.

And now he’s under your umbrella like this is some shoujo manga and he’s your tsundere warlord boyfriend.

He side-eyes you. “Aren’t you gonna guide me or whatever?”

You panic a little. “I—I’m not certified for SS-Class. I’m just S-Class.”

He snorts. “Didn't think you'd forget me, herbivore.”

What does that even mean??? Is this… Esper code for “I like you”? Or “I won’t kill you today”? Who knows. He’s already sinking to the ground like a dramatic cat, using your thigh as a pillow without even asking.

And just like that, you’re guiding Leona Kingscholar while sharing an umbrella in the pouring rain, your fellow guides still watching like you’ve been chosen by some eldritch force.

Welcome to your life now. Hope you brought snacks.

Leona is basically half-dead in your lap, but still manages to look like he owns both the rain and your dignity.

You sigh and set your coffee down, running your fingers through his wet hair. It’s soft, unfairly so, and smells like something expensive. His breathing starts to even out under your touch, eyes fluttering shut as your stabilizing energy pulses through him.

He doesn’t say anything. Just rests there with his head in your lap like this is a Tuesday afternoon nap spot and not the wet, cracked sidewalk outside a gate that just tried to eat reality.

You keep going. Until—

He grabs your wrist, eyes suddenly sharp. “Are you trying to kill yourself?”

You blink. “Uh. No? Pretty sure I stopped doing that in college. Why?”

He scowls. “You’ve been channeling too long. Idiot. Burn yourself out and you’ll fry your nerves. Can’t stabilize anyone if you’re unconscious in a puddle.”

You try to pull your hand back but he doesn’t let go. “I’m fine, Leona—”

“I need you alive, herbivore.”

You freeze.

Your brain does a little Windows error sound.

And then he’s standing, still holding your umbrella like it’s his now, yanking you up by the wrist like you’re the fragile one. You try to protest, but he ignores you entirely.

“Your car’s this way, right?”

“…How do you know where I parked—”

“Because you always park near the vending machine. Which is stupid, by the way. You don’t even lock it.”

You're still processing the fact that Leona Kingscholar, Mr. I-Hate-Everyone, has apparently been keeping track of your parking habits, when he tosses your keys back at you like a lazy monarch commanding his carriage.

And that’s how you end up being frog-marched to your own car in the rain by a grumpy, half-stabilized SS-Class Esper who refuses to let go of your umbrella.

You’ve barely had your morning caffeine and the email has the audacity to say: Transfer Notice – Effective Immediately. No warning. No prep. Just vibes and bureaucracy.

You're sent to the high-level West Sector Guidance Office. The same one with SSS-Class Guide Vil Schoenheit, the gold standard of grace, glamour, and glaring disapproval.

So naturally, you walk in clutching your sad little cardboard box of office plants and off-brand snacks, looking like a lost intern who accidentally wandered into a luxury spa for dangerous superhumans.

The receptionist is too busy having a breakdown over printer ink to help, so you start aimlessly wandering the halls, trying not to make eye contact with any Espers that could punch through concrete.

And then someone yanks your box out of your hands.

You flinch, ready to throw hands, until you realize it’s Leona. Hair still a mess. Hoodie on like he just rolled out of bed. He doesn’t greet you. Doesn’t ask how you are. Just nods his chin, “Keep up, herbivore.”

You scramble after him like a duckling with no sense of direction. “Leona—what the hell is this? Why am I here?”

He doesn’t even look back. Just strolls down the corridor with your office supplies like they belong to him now. “Told ‘em I only want you.”

You short-circuit. “What?!”

“They asked if I’d take Vil or the new SS-rank from Sector 4. I said no. Told ‘em to transfer you instead.”

Your mouth opens. Closes. “You… requested me?”

He shrugs like this isn’t causing you a spiritual meltdown. “Whatever. You’re not annoying. You stabilize me fast. You don’t treat me like a bomb about to go off. You’re fine.”

And then—like this conversation hasn’t just rewritten the structure of your career—he dumps your box onto a random desk and starts walking off.

“Wait, that’s it?” you call after him. “You’re just—leaving me here?”

He lifts a hand in a lazy wave. “See you tomorrow.”

You stare at the desk. Then the hallway. Then the spot where your sanity used to be.

You don’t understand what’s going on. But let’s be honest—you’ve never understood anything and that’s never stopped you before. You graduated on sheer vibes and a terrifying ability to guess multiple choice answers with unearned confidence. You once guided a Class A Esper while half-asleep and running on a breakfast of sour candy and spite. You thrive in chaos.

So when you show up at your new desk (which may or may not have been assembled incorrectly), you take a deep breath, sip your mediocre vending machine coffee, and prepare yourself for another confusing day of “just wing it and hope no one dies.”

And then Leona walks in.

No knock. No warning. Just opens the door like he owns the place—which, considering the way your coworkers scurry out of his path, he might as well.

You’re ready to guide. You roll up your sleeves. You stretch your fingers. You mentally prepare for the usual Esper touch-their-hands routine.

Leona?

Leona lays down on the office couch like it’s a five-star hotel bed. Puts his head in your lap. And knocks out like a tranquilized jungle cat. No explanation. No shame.

You blink. “Um. Hello? Sir?”

No response.

You glance around to see if this is some prank. Nope. Just you, a couch, and a warm grumpy lion man making your lap his personal pillow.

So you do the only logical thing: sigh, roll with it, and start guiding like this is completely normal.

The stabilization process is smoother than usual. Leona’s energy calms fast, his breathing evens out, and it’s honestly the most peaceful you’ve ever seen him. He doesn’t even twitch when you accidentally brush a hand through his hair mid-guidance.

When you're done, you gently nudge him. “Hey. Nap time’s over, sunshine.”

He grumbles like you’ve just committed a crime and blinks up at you with all the judgment of a cat disturbed mid-snooze. Then, with the reflexes of a seasoned villain, he sits up, grabs your coffee off the table, and chugs it like it’s his birthright.

“Hey!” you cry, scandalized. “That was mine! That was my life juice! That’s the only thing tethering me to this mortal realm!”

He hands you the empty cup with all the remorse of a man who steals from vending machines and sleeps through emergency drills. “You can get another.”

And then he leaves.

You stare after him. You stare at your empty cup. You stare at the void where your caffeine used to be.

This job is going to kill you.

But you’ll die confused and employed, and that’s the best you’ve got.

You’re at the farmer’s market. Living your best domestic fantasy. You’ve got your reusable tote bag, your overpriced jam, a bundle of fresh herbs like you’re the protagonist in a cottagecore fever dream, and a leek that you're weirdly proud of because it was the biggest one in the pile. Life is good.

Then a gate opens.

Right there.

Next to the cheese stall.

The sky splits like a broken lightbulb, the air warps, and BAM—there's a rift to monster hell spewing nightmare fuel in the middle of tomato season.

You don’t know how it happened. One moment you were asking about eggplant pricing, the next you were in a technicolor void smacking a drooling, three-eyed creature with your leek like your life depends on it. Because it does.

You’re cornered by something that looks like the illegitimate child of a bear and a blender, just about to accept that this might be it—death by demon at a farmer’s market—when a figure crashes in, trailing lightning and rage.

Leona.

He surveys the chaos with a look of supremely irritated confusion. “Why the hell are you here?”

You, still holding the leek like it’s a holy weapon: “I don’t know, man, you tell me! I was just buying root vegetables!”

He groans like you’re giving him a headache worse than the gate, and with a single swipe of power, the monsters start dissolving into nothing. He suppresses the gate like he’s swatting a fly, and before you can say “gluten-free honey loaf,” he’s grabbing you by the arm and dragging you back to solid, blessed, non-nightmare reality.

You’re trying to catch your breath. You’re covered in monster goo. Your leek is bent in half. And you’re shaking.

“Okay,” you say, trying for calm but sounding like you’ve just survived the apocalypse (because you kinda have), “let’s get you stabilized so I can go sit in a bathtub forever.”

You reach for him—but your hands are trembling too much. You’ve seen monsters before, sure. But not that close. Not nearly getting your face chewed off.

Leona notices. His brow furrows. “Tch.”

Then—softly, carefully—he pulls you into his chest.

You freeze. Not from fear this time, but from the sudden warmth of him, from the way he smells like dust and heat and something grounding. You feel his hand gently settle between your shoulder blades, like he’s not sure how to comfort but he’s trying anyway.

“You don’t go in the gates,” he murmurs. “I go in. I’ll suppress every last one of them, no matter how many pop up. You just stay out here, alright? You wait for me.”

It’s the first time you’ve ever seen him look at you like that—not annoyed, not smug, but serious. Protective. Like your safety matters more to him than anything else.

You nod into his shirt. “Okay.”

And he holds you a little longer. Just until you stop shaking.

You form a temporary bond with him after the whole gate-at-the-farmer's-market debacle because let’s be honest—your energy reserves were not built for stabilizing a lion in man’s clothing on a daily basis. You were running on fumes and instant noodles. One more session and you'd have crumpled like a used juice box with a sad little wheeze.

Leona didn’t even flinch at the idea of a temporary bond. Just looked at you like finally and said, “Took you long enough.”

Now, you’re guiding him and only him every day. Which sounds intense, but honestly? This is the freest you’ve been since graduating. No more being pinged at 3 AM to rush to a different gate across the city. No more sorting through esper tantrums or being asked if your hands are “certified emotionally soothing.”

You’ve got one glorified cat man to take care of, and he doesn’t even talk during sessions. He just shows up, flops onto your couch, puts his head in your lap like it’s routine, and is unconscious within minutes.

You're so free, you picked up a hobby. You, the overworked guide formerly known as Burnout in a Coat, now crochet lopsided scarves while waiting for Leona to show up. Sometimes you experiment with baking (badly). You’ve even started watching those long, slow documentaries about birds that people put on to fall asleep.

You are, shockingly, thriving.

Every now and then Leona’ll glance at your latest attempt at a potholder-turned-coaster-turned-abstract-art and grunt, “You’re getting better.”

Which, in Leona-speak, is basically high praise.

Life is weird. Life is monsters and gates and nap-hungry espers with bad attitudes.

But life is also calmer now. Just you, Leona, and the occasional crocheted disaster.

The rift today is the kind of thing news stations send helicopters for. It's so massive that your phone buzzes with emergency alerts and a “Good luck lol” from your supervisor. You’re standing just outside the barrier, watching chaos unfold like it’s a live-action anime, umbrella in one hand, your thermos of emergency caffeine in the other.

Then—bam—some random, shaky-looking esper stumbles out of the gate and straight into your arms like you’re the protagonist in a romance drama. You're mid-stabilization out of pure reflex, patting his back like “there, there, emotionally damaged soldier,” when a low growl cuts through the sound of the rift and monster screeching.

Leona storms out of the rift next, all raw power and pissy vibes, his coat half burned and dust clinging to his hair. He sees you cradling Random Esper #453 like he just walked in on something illegal. His expression goes from “I need a nap” to “I'm about to commit a felony” in zero-point-three seconds.

Without saying a word, he grabs the guy by the scruff of his tactical vest like a misbehaving kitten and just yeets him toward another approaching guide.

"Not yours," he growls, before quite literally collapsing into your arms with all the elegance of a sack of emotional bricks.

You don’t even get the chance to complain. He’s already out, breathing slow and heavy, head tucked against your neck like he belongs there.

And you? You’re stuck holding one of the most powerful espers in the world like a sleepy toddler while another guide screams in the background about how Leona threw someone at them.

Just another day in your life.

You are three seconds away from emotionally combusting in front of a full-length mirror, clutching two jackets like they personally offended you. One is sleek, black, mysteriously expensive-looking, the kind of jacket that says “I pay taxes and win arguments.” The other is fluffy, cozy, slightly ridiculous, and makes you look like a sentient marshmallow with excellent taste.

You’re weighing your options with the seriousness of someone deciding between saving the world and saving ten puppies. There are charts. Internal debates. You're about to do the unthinkable and consult the price tags when—

SWOOSH.

The jackets are gone.

You blink. Arms empty. Sanity shaken.

You whirl around and see Leona—yes, Leona Kingscholar, SS-class esper, noted napper, chaos incarnate—casually walking away with everything you were holding. That includes:

• The jackets

• The socks you forgot you picked up

• A weird little plush you were definitely only holding "ironically"

• A novelty mug that says #1 Guide, Certified Not Dead (Yet)

You trail after him, fast-walking with the energy of a startled mall pigeon. “Excuse me?! What the hell are you doing?!”

Leona doesn’t even slow down. He makes a beeline for the register like this is just a regular chore.

“You were taking too long,” he says over his shoulder, as if that explains anything.

“I was deciding! With purpose! With nuance!”

He pays. Effortlessly. Doesn’t flinch at the total. Just swipes his card with the bored grace of someone who buys entire coffee shops out of spite.

You arrive at the register breathless and confused. “I didn’t ask you to buy my—my impulse garments.”

He takes the bag, hands none of it to you, and starts walking out. “Didn’t say you had to ask.”

You make a strangled noise, flapping after him like a duckling trying to make sense of capitalism and emotional whiplash. “Are you—are you okay? Did you hit your head in the last gate? Why are you shopping for me?”

“Can’t have my Guide dying of hypothermia,” he mutters. “Especially not because they can’t pick a jacket.”

“That doesn’t explain the mug, Leona!”

“Sure it does.” He turns, smirking slightly. “You’ll need it tomorrow.”

“For what?!”

“Come to the gate.”

And with that cryptic nonsense, he strolls off into the distance.

You stare after him, confused, and wonder how exactly you ended up in this weird half-domestic cold war with a man who solves problems by spending money and napping through consequences.

Dragging an unconscious SS-ranked esper to your car is not as easy as it sounds. Especially not when that esper is six feet of solid muscle, deadweight, and attitude—even while passed out.

It starts at the gate. After the monsters are suppressed and the chaos settles, Leona doesn’t get back up. You wait—he always gets up. Even when he’s cranky, bleeding, covered in soot and monster gunk, he always stands with that infuriating smirk, like he’s just taken a nap in a flower field. But this time? Nothing.

You run to him, heart slamming against your ribs, calling his name. No answer. Just the quiet rise and fall of his chest. Stable vitals, sure, but his magic signature is drained.

You can’t leave him there—not sprawled out in the dirt like a fallen war god. So you do what any sane, worried, emotionally-compromised Guide would do—you throw all logic out the window and start dragging.

Getting him into the car is a series of humiliating maneuvers that you’re certain would be classified as a war crime if recorded. He keeps slipping down. You have to brace your back against the seat and heave like your spine won’t sue you in the morning. At one point, his leg knocks the gear stick and almost sends the car rolling down the street. You cry a little.

Finally—somehow—you make it. You slam the door shut. Collapse in the driver’s seat, sweating like you’ve just run a marathon. And then—because fate is a comedic little gremlin—you have to carry him again. Up the stairs. To your apartment.

You consider leaving him in the hallway for a second. Just one second. But then he mumbles your name in his sleep, and your heart betrays you by going all soft and stupid.

Once inside, you get him on the couch, check his vitals again, and then begin your descent into spiraling anxiety.

Because he still isn’t waking up.

You pace. You hover. You poke. You even lightly slap his face once (he doesn’t react, but you apologize anyway). You check the clock. You make tea. You don’t drink it. You Google how long can espers sleep before it’s an emergency and get conflicting answers and a concerning ad for calming dog chews.

Two hours later, with your thumb hovering over the call button for emergency services, you’re just about to commit to panic when he stirs.

He stretches like a lion waking up from a particularly satisfying sun nap. Hair a mess, shirt rumpled, magic signature humming faintly back to life. You gasp like someone just turned the world back on and smack his arm with all the force of a mildly annoyed wet sock.

“You absolute menace!” you cry, voice cracking under the weight of emotional exhaustion. “You scared the life out of me! Do you want me to die first?! Because you are on a damn good track—”

He blinks up at you, unbothered. Like you’re background noise to the dream he just left. Then he raises his hand and—pat pat—smooths it over your head like you’re the one that needs comforting.

“‘m fine,” he mutters, which is frankly not the point, and then he drags you down onto the couch like you’re a weighted blanket.

The couch. The tiny two-seater couch that you got on sale and have never once regretted until this exact moment.

He adjusts slightly, making enough room for exactly one leg and half your soul, then shuts his eyes again like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

You stare at him, betrayed by the calm of his breathing, the warmth of his body pressed against yours, and the weight of everything you feel but haven’t said.

“Leona,” you whisper, voice too raw to be anything but honest.

“Sleeping,” he grumbles, completely unmoved. “You should too. You’re loud.”

So you stay. Your hand still buried in his hair, your heart still halfway out of your chest, your soul wrung out like a wet towel—but you stay.

And somehow, in that cramped, lumpy, too-small space, surrounded by exhaustion and emotion and quiet, you find the first real moment of peace that day.

It’s not supposed to happen like this. Gates break, yeah—but they’re not supposed to breach before the espers arrive.

You're still in your uniform, badge clipped on, hair barely brushed, breakfast halfway digested (a mistake), when you arrive at the scene, and—

You freeze.

It’s a remote town, or used to be. Right now it looks like a war zone someone dropped from the sky and left in ruins. Roads cracked and splattered. Buildings collapsed like toy blocks. Smoke curling into the sky like it’s auditioning for a post-apocalyptic music video.

And blood.

So much blood.

You see espers fighting—familiar ones, ones you’ve guided before, their faces hard and blank as they tear through monsters like paper. But the monsters got people first. You see the cleanup teams already moving in. You hear crying. Someone screaming names. And then you see bodies being carried out in bags.

You step forward and your stomach lurches.

You force yourself to take a deep breath. You’re a Guide. You have training. You are not allowed to cry. You are especially not allowed to cry in front of espers who just fought through hell. You breathe in, focus on your mantra: I am here to help. I am here to help. You swallow down the nausea like it owes you rent.

That’s when you feel it—warmth behind you, a solid presence—and then large, rough fingers gently slide over your eyes.

“Don’t look, herbivore.” Leona’s voice is low, soft, somehow more grounding than anything you’ve clung to today. You don’t even flinch at the touch—just close your eyes properly under his palm and let the sounds of chaos fade a little.

You breathe out, finally.

When he lets go, you turn your head, eyes shut, and nod once.

He doesn’t say anything else—just places a hand on your back and steers you gently toward the tents that have been set up nearby. Emergency stabilization camps. Medical supplies stacked up. Guides running back and forth. Your people. You should be helping.

Leona sits you down first.

You start working. Slowly. Mechanically. He leans against your side as you place your hands on him, guiding the storm in his mind back into stillness. He’s watching you the whole time, like he’s memorizing your breathing pattern, your expressions. You don’t say anything, not even when your hands shake slightly at first.

When you’re done, he doesn’t move. Doesn’t make a smart remark. Just sits with you, quiet.

You lean your head against his shoulder for a second. Just one.

“Herbivore,” he mutters. “You okay?”

“No,” you say honestly. “But I’ll do my job.”

And he doesn’t argue. Just lets you rest before getting up and hauling a blanket off the supply pile and dropping it onto your lap with a grumble about “stupid guides forgetting they’re human too.”

You smile, small and tired, but real.

You lasted longer than most would’ve. That’s what you keep telling yourself.

But it doesn’t make it easier when you turn in your resignation. Doesn’t make it hurt less to watch your fellow Guides blink in stunned silence. Doesn’t make it easier when the manager doesn’t even try to talk you out of it—just looks at you with that tired, knowing gaze and signs the form like they’ve seen a thousand others do the same.

And it really doesn’t make it easier when you go home and cry into your instant noodles like a defeated anime protagonist.

It’s not that you don’t love your job. You do. Or you did. But after the last breach… after seeing what happens when you’re too late… something inside you cracked.

You can’t keep holding people together when you’re falling apart.

So you go home. You unplug your work tablet. You turn off your work phone. You decide, firmly, that for the foreseeable future, you are retired. You make a little ceremony out of it. You throw your Guide badge into the drawer, slap a cartoon band-aid on your mental wounds, and decide your new job is to be horizontal and useless.

You don’t expect the knocking.

Frantic. Panicked. Desperate.

You open the door and Leona’s there—disheveled, annoyed, and clearly having run through multiple “I don’t care” speeches in the hallway before deciding none of them applied.

“Why’d you leave?” he says, skipping greetings entirely. His voice is rough like he ran here. Or yelled at a few people on the way.

You look at him. And you break the news gently.

“I quit.”

He stares at you like you just said you decided to become a professional soap-eater.

You try to explain—how you can’t take another bloody battlefield, how the sound of someone sobbing over a friend’s body has made a permanent home in your ears, how the pressure of always needing to be stable is crushing your chest like a vice.

“I just… I can’t do it anymore, Leona. I need a break. I need to feel human again.”

You expect pushback. Some snide comment. Accusations of cowardice or weakness.

But all he does is stare at you a moment, eyes sharp but quiet. Then, finally, he asks, “You happier like this?”

You blink. “...Yeah.”

He nods once. Then pushes past you like this is his house, grabs the half-eaten bag of chips from your counter, flops onto your couch, and turns on your TV like nothing happened. The audacity.

You just watch as he scrolls past every serious movie and lands on the stupidest slapstick comedy you have saved. And then he’s lounging there, one arm slung across the back of your couch, chewing chips like he pays rent.

You don’t ask him to leave. You don’t even sit far.

You curl into his side, just a little. Just enough to feel someone warm, someone solid, someone who didn’t leave even when you quit the one thing tying you together. And he doesn’t move, doesn’t make a snide comment, just lets you sit there while two characters on-screen fall face-first into a giant wedding cake.

You snort softly. He huffs a laugh.

Maybe the world can wait a little longer.

You're not supposed to be here.

You're retired. Done. Free. You’ve been living a soft life, surrounded by overpriced lattes and therapy podcasts, learning to crochet ugly little hats for your houseplants. You’ve earned it. You deserve it.

But the moment the alert flashes across your screen—“Category Red Gate Breach”—your blood runs cold.

You tell yourself you’re just going to check. Just to make sure. You don’t bring your badge. You don’t bring your stabilizing gloves. You bring anxiety, a hoodie, and a tupperware of homemade cookies, because apparently trauma turns you into someone’s tired suburban mom.

When you arrive at the site, the street’s already cordoned off, flickering with damage and Gate residue. Monster ash drifts through the air like cursed snow. The temporary field hospital is chaos—Espers limping, bloody, barely upright, Guides running ragged trying to stabilize them before they keel over.

You’re not supposed to get involved. You’re not.

But then you see him.

Leona. Stumbling slightly as he walks, covered in dirt and blood and smoke. He bats away the hands of every Guide that comes near like they're flies. His expression is sharp, but his eyes are glazed. Too bright. Too wild. His coat’s half off his shoulder and his aura is fraying at the edges—like he’s running on fumes and sheer attitude.

You run to him.

“I told you to take care of yourself!” you shout, more out of panic than anything else. “You absolute menace—what the hell, Leona?! Have you not had a single guiding session since I left?! Are you trying to die?!”

He doesn’t answer. He just turns his head slowly, eyes locking on you like you’re a dream he’s too tired to question. His breath stutters.

And then he’s pulling you forward—no warning, no words—just grabbing you and kissing you like the world hasn’t ended yet because you showed up in time.

And you freeze for a heartbeat. Just one. Then your hands are on his shoulders, in his hair, your lips meeting his as the unstable storm of his aura crashes against yours.

You guide him—not with standard channels, not with gloves or focus crystals, but with your whole self. Through the kiss, through the desperation in your grip, through the way you’re pouring every unspoken emotion into him. Every “I missed you,” every “You idiot,” every “Please be okay.”

And slowly—slowly—his breathing evens. The twitch of his muscles fades. The trembling stops. He leans into you, forehead pressing against yours, and whispers, hoarse and raw, “Knew you’d come.”

You hold him tighter.

It happens on a normal, sunny day.

Leona’s in your apartment, lounging like he lives here—which he sort of does at this point, considering how often he shows up without knocking. He’s flicking at one of your crocheted cactus hats with a deeply unimpressed expression, like it's personally offended his sense of aesthetics.

“You’re wasting perfectly good yarn,” he mutters. “This thing looks like a limp sea anemone.”

You throw a cushion at him. “Shut up. It has character.”

He snorts and catches it easily. He looks too big for your space. Too dangerous for your IKEA throw pillows. Too important to be wearing a hoodie you accidentally shrank in the wash, but he is, and it’s riding up just a bit at his waist.

And you—you’re just watching him, feeling the weight of it. The Gate breach. The kiss. The way he let you in like you never left. The way you still know exactly how to guide him better than anyone.

You set your tea down a little too firmly and blurt, “I want to form a permanent bond.”

The room stills. Leona doesn’t move. His hand is frozen mid-poke, just inches from your succulents-in-hats lineup.

“What?”

You swallow. “I want to bond permanently. With you.”

He turns to look at you slowly, eyes sharp, reading every inch of your face. “You serious?”

“Dead serious.”

“You sure this isn’t the post-massacre adrenaline talking?” he says, voice flat. “People say weird shit after trauma.”

You raise your eyebrows. “Okay, yes, I saw several eldritch nightmares and had to fight one with a leek, but I’ve been thinking about this for a while. I’m not going back to guiding just anyone. I only want to guide you.”

Leona’s quiet for a long time. Then he sits up—really sits up—and leans forward, forearms on his knees, staring at the floor like it's hiding answers in the carpet pattern.

“You don’t get to change your mind after this,” he says, low. “It’s a one-way door.”

“I know.”

“You’ll feel what I feel,” he says. “You’ll know what I feel. Even the ugly stuff. Especially the ugly stuff.”

You smile. “Leona, I’ve seen you eat cold pizza at 7 a.m. while shirtless and complaining about filler episodes. I know ugly.”

He groans like you’ve physically injured him and slumps back again. “You’re gonna make me regret this with your dumb jokes.”

But there’s a warmth in his tone now, soft and fond and careful.

He stands up and walks to you, crowding into your space, eyes locked on yours like he’s giving you one last chance to back out. You don’t. You reach out and link your fingers through his.

And he exhales shakily. “Okay then.”

He presses you back into the couch—your stupid, lumpy, too-small couch with the blanket that smells like lavender detergent—and his hands are cupping your face, his forehead resting against yours.

He looks at you, eyes bright. “You’re stuck with me now, y’know.”

You grin. “Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

And just like that, you’re not just a guide and an esper anymore.

You’re his. And he’s yours. Permanently.

Leona remembered the first time he met you like it was a fever dream—a chaotic, embarrassing, infuriating fever dream.

He’d been a rookie then. Raw, unstable, claws out at the world and not interested in anyone who thought they could leash him. He didn’t need a guide. Didn’t want a guide. Especially not in some packed training center with too many bodies and not enough air.

And then you happened.

He had just come out of an intense simulated Gate. Aura flaring wild, brain buzzing with static, teeth gritted like he could physically bite down on the overwhelming noise in his head. The instructors had already radioed for a Class A guide, probably even a Class S, someone who could deal with an untamable lion.

Instead, they got you.

You must’ve been nearby and operating on some unhinged kind of autopilot, because you stumbled into the fray like a grad student five espresso shots deep and grabbed him by the collar without even checking his ID tag.

And then—then—you had the audacity to guide him.

It wasn’t the gentle coaxing kind either. It was hands in his hair, forehead pressed to his temple, murmured words like a mantra while he struggled to get away. He’d cursed, snarled, told you to back off before he did something you’d regret.

And you? You pulled his ear.

Pulled his fucking ear like he was a naughty cat on a countertop.

“Sit still, I’m working,” you’d snapped at him, voice sharp and fed-up like this was your fourth Gate that day and you were not about to let some rookie cat-boy ruin your stats.

And then—

Then it all bled away.

The noise. The storm. The static. It melted under your touch, under that weird, grounding, relentless presence of yours. He remembered your aura—bright, strong, so confident in a way you clearly hadn’t earned yet, but hell, it worked.

By the time he came back to himself, panting and blinking in the too-bright light, you were already gone, off to stabilise the next idiot without even sparing him a backward glance.

He had to ask someone your name.

It pissed him off for weeks.

Because you hadn’t even realized who you’d grabbed. You hadn’t known he was a potential SS-class Esper. You hadn’t cared. You’d just seen a wild beast and told it to sit down while you fixed it.

And somehow… it had worked.

He remembered it like a film reel soaked in rain—gray skies cracked open, streets slick and flooding, people scrambling like wet rats to get to cover. And in the middle of that chaos, you.

The only dry, smug bastard in the entire goddamn city.

The rain hadn’t touched you. Not one drop. Umbrella balanced perfectly, a coffee in one hand, phone in the other, like the gates of hell hadn’t just burst three blocks over. You were humming. Humming, for crying out loud.

And Leona had frozen mid-step. Not because of the gate, or the suppression order blaring in his ear—he didn’t even hear it anymore.

It was you.

The same energy. Same aura. That same maddening calm like a slap to the face. He didn’t even need to reach for his senses to know it was you—the one who yanked his ear and made his soul stop screaming all those years ago.

He’d spent months trying to forget that moment. Or rather, trying not to remember it too fondly. That was the worst part: how easy it had been to just give in to your touch. No fights. No snarling. No claws. Just... quiet.

And now here you were, in his city, acting like the rain had never met you, walking through a Gate breach zone like it was your stupid, peaceful backyard.

You didn’t even flinch when he stepped up to you.

Didn’t bristle.

Didn’t bow like the others.

Just blinked at him and went, “I'm just an S class guide.”

And that—

That pissed him off.

Because you didn’t recognize him.

After all that? The ear-pulling? The spiritual mugging you gave his aura? The time you wrangled his chaos into submission with the annoyed grace of someone trying to fix a printer jam?

You didn’t even remember.

Leona’s eye twitched.

No. Fine. That was fine. He could work with this.

He’d just have to remind you.

He leaned in, voice low and lazy, that smile curling sharp and knowing. “Didn’t think you’d forget me, herbivore.”

Still blank.

“Oh?” you said, sipping your coffee like he wasn’t radiating enough energy to fry the sidewalk. “Should I have?”

Leona huffed a laugh through his nose.

Okay. You wanted to play this game? Cool. He’d just put himself on your schedule. He’d get stabilised. Regularly. By you. He’d show up with his whole chaos bleeding out and dare you not to remember what you did to him back then.

He’d make sure you remembered.

And by the time you did, he'd already be sleeping in your lap.

He remembered that day like a fever dream.

The burn of energy spent down to the marrow. The static buzz in his skull, everything blurred and muffled. He didn’t remember passing out. Only that when he cracked his eyes open again, he was on a couch that was too soft, under a blanket that smelled like you.

And you—

You were pacing.

Pacing like your heart was about to break through your chest. Muttering to yourself. Swearing quietly. Picking up your phone like you were about to call for help—and that was when it hit him.

You were scared.

For him.

You, who once yanked his ear like he was a brat in time-out. Who lectured monsters and officials alike with the same exhausted sigh. You were standing there, shoulders hunched, knuckles white, about to call an ambulance like he was something fragile.

Leona would never forget that look.

Wide-eyed. Raw. Like you’d just lost the world and were scrambling to piece it back together.

He stirred just to stop you from dialing, more out of instinct than anything, and your reaction—Sevens. You swatted him like he was the one who gave you heart failure, your voice wobbly as you whined about how close you’d come to losing your “life juice thief.”

And something in his chest broke a little.

He didn’t say anything. Just patted your head with a heavy hand, tugged you onto the couch like you weighed nothing, and pulled you close. Too tired to talk. Too overwhelmed to pretend.

You didn’t argue. You just curled against him, the two of you folded together on that stupid couch not built for two.

He fell asleep with your heartbeat right there, under his hand.

And later, when he pretended it was the proximity that calmed him and not you, he knew he was lying. Because that image of you—panicked, pacing, nearly in tears because of him—was burned into his brain like a brand.

He thought: No one’s ever looked at me like that.

And maybe that’s when it happened.

Maybe that’s when he stopped running from what you meant to him.

Leona remembers the gate break too clearly.

Not because it was the bloodiest he’d seen—though it was. Not because the air had smelled like ozone and rot, or because the monsters had crawled out of that rift like nightmares given shape. Not even because they lost people, though the weight of that had sunk deep into his spine.

No.

He remembers it because of you.

You weren’t supposed to be there. You were supposed to be off somewhere doing idiot hobbies and yelling at your succulents. Not standing there, pale as ash, looking at the wreckage with wide, hollow eyes.

He’d spotted you across the chaos, just as another stretcher went past you, another guide screaming for medics. And you just stood there, frozen. Staring. Not blinking.

Leona moved before he even realized it, instincts kicking in harder than battle mode ever had.

You didn’t flinch when his hand covered your eyes from behind.

"Don’t look, herbivore," he muttered. Not like a command. Like a plea.

You made a small sound—shaky, half-choked—and he felt it. That tremble that ran through your body like a frayed wire.

And he knew, right then, that he’d never forget your expression. The look of someone who’d seen one horror too many. The kind that made you never sleep easy again.

He turned you around, tucked you under his arm like he could shield you from the world with just his presence alone, and walked you to the temporary camps.

You guided him there—your hands still trembling, voice quiet—but you guided him all the same.

He watched you carefully the whole time, like if he blinked, you’d disappear. Like if he wasn’t careful, you'd shatter.

And he swore—

If he could help it, he’d never let you wear that look again. Not for gates. Not for anyone. Not even for him.

Leona had felt fear before.

The kind that came with being outnumbered by monsters too big for even his claws to take down. The cold sweat of overusing his abilities to the point his bones felt like glass. The fury of watching comrades fall mid-battle.

But none of it—not once—had made his stomach drop the way it did when he opened your office door and saw the place getting cleared out.

Your desk was bare. The plant you used to scold for not thriving was gone. The mug that said “Espers are drama queens” was nowhere to be found. There was just a box, some paperwork, and a couple of Guides gossiping in the hallway.

“Transferred?” he asked, brows furrowed.

“Nah,” someone said. “Resigned. Burnout, probably.”

His vision tunneled.

Burnout.

You’d burned out—and you hadn’t said a word.

Leona didn’t even remember leaving the office. He just remembered standing in front of your door, knuckles aching from how hard he knocked, heart rattling in his chest like something was trying to break free. You opened it after what felt like eternity, hair a mess, hoodie too big, eyes shadowed with exhaustion.

And you smiled.

Small. Tired. But real.

It wrecked him.

You explained in soft words—words that he barely heard because he was watching the way your shoulders curled in, the way your voice wavered when you said “I needed a break.”

And Leona… he said nothing.

Because what could he say?

“Come back?”

“Let me fix it?”

“I need you?”

No. He wasn’t good with words like that. So he just walked past you, flopped on your couch, and turned on the dumbest show in your streaming queue. The one with the laugh track you always made fun of. The one you claimed made your brain smooth enough to nap.

And you came and curled next to him without saying a word.

Leona didn’t sleep that night. He watched you instead. Watched your face soften as the tension bled away. Watched your chest rise and fall. Watched the proof that you were still here, even if a little frayed at the edges.

He stayed until morning.

Because if you couldn’t carry the world for a while, he’d hold it up for you instead

Leona refused to let anyone guide him after you left.

They tried, of course. S-class guides who were calm and polished, eager to work with him. People with pristine records and delicate, careful hands. They hovered around him after every mission, offering stabilizing touches and soft-spoken reassurances, but he bared his teeth at every single one of them.

He didn’t want calm. He didn’t want pristine.

He wanted you.

And it wasn’t like he meant to be dramatic about it, either. He knew how it looked—how reckless it was to take on gate after gate without being stabilized. He could feel it in his bones, the exhaustion chewing at the edges of his mind. His temper frayed easier. His sleep was worse. But every time someone reached for him, he’d shrug them off like their hands burned.

Because letting someone else guide him after you?

It felt like cheating.

Even if you’d never been his. Even if you’d never called him yours. Even if you’d left the job entirely and moved on, arms full of groceries and that stupid smug grin on your face like you hadn’t just ripped something vital out of him.

He endured. And endured. And endured.

Until that gate. The breach that nearly turned into a disaster. His vision had been half-gone from the overload, his hands shaking from pushing himself too far. He was stumbling toward his car, snarling at the idiots trying to grab him, when you came out of nowhere, yelling at him.

Scolding him for not taking care of himself.

You, who had no reason to be there. You, with your arms full of cookies and your dumb little apron still dusted with flour. You, who looked so heartbreakingly angry and worried all at once, like he’d carved a hole in your chest and left it open.

He barely heard the words. He couldn’t think past the rush of your voice and the you-ness of it all.

So he kissed you.

He didn’t ask. Didn’t hesitate. Just leaned forward, dizzy with the ache of needing you, and kissed you.

You didn’t pull away.

You kissed him back with a kind of fury that made his knees weak, like you’d been waiting just as long, like all your feelings were poured straight into your touch. You guided him with your hands on his face, your forehead pressed to his. And for the first time in weeks—months, maybe—he could breathe again.

You were his fate. You always had been.

And Leona Kingscholar had never once considered being free.

Now, you're permanently bonded.

Leona comes home, not to silence or tension or the eerie calm of an empty apartment—but to you. You, burning something in the kitchen again. You, curled up on the couch in those ridiculous socks that he secretly bought two more pairs of because you kept losing them. You, complaining about your houseplants like they personally offended you, even as you tuck a blanket around one because “she’s sensitive to cold.”

He walks through the door and something tight in his chest unwinds. Every time.

Sometimes he still expects it to go away. Like he’ll blink and wake up, stuck in some sterile recovery room with a lecture coming and a headache already forming.

But then you smile at him, bright and familiar, and you say, “Welcome home, dumbass,” with that soft tone you always save just for him.

And it hits him again: you’re his.

You bonded with him. Not temporarily. Not out of desperation. You chose him.

Leona doesn’t care for sentimentality. But he knows—knows—he’ll never forget the day you tugged on his ear and made him yours.

Because something about the way you touched him… the way your hands didn’t shake… the way your voice didn’t flinch…

He hadn’t felt fear. He hadn’t felt chaos. He’d just felt—settled.

Even now, when you steal his hoodies and press kisses to the corners of his mouth and scowl when he eats the last cookie, he still remembers that exact moment. The tug on his ear. Your hand in his hair. The audacity you had to treat him like a person before he’d ever earned it.

He comes home to that now.

To you.

And for the first time in a long, long time, Leona Kingscholar doesn’t feel like he’s enduring the world.

He feels like he’s living in it.

You’re both tangled up in the sheets, legs braided together, skin warm with the afterglow, when you roll onto your side and ask, “Hey… why me?”

Leona blinks at the ceiling, arms behind his head. “Why not you?”

You nudge his side, unconvinced. “No, seriously. You had your pick. So what made you want me?”

He’s quiet for a second. Then he says, almost casually, “You don’t remember, do you?”

“Remember what?”

“Our first meeting. It wasn’t during that gate in the rain.” He shifts, turning to face you fully, voice low and quiet. “It was way before that. Back when we were both still rookies.”

You squint, thinking hard. “You mean—?”

“I was a mess,” he says, lips twitching at the memory. “Raw, half-feral. I’d just come off a surge and nobody could get near me.”

You stare at him. He stares back.

“You,” he says, tapping your forehead lightly, “stomped over, grabbed me by the ear like I was a misbehaving mutt, and told me to ‘stay put,’ like you weren’t terrified I’d snap your arm off.”

And then it clicks. It clicks.

“Oh my god,” you gasp. “That was you?!”

He raises an eyebrow, almost smug.

You burst out laughing. Actual, full-body, face-hiding, breathless laughter.

Leona watches you lose it, and something deep in his chest tugs—gentle, powerful, unmistakably warm.

He thinks, this.

This right here. The sound of your laughter in his sheets, the crinkle of your nose, the disbelief in your eyes as if you couldn’t possibly have manhandled one of the most dangerous espers in the country—this is what he wants every damn day of his life.

You’re still giggling when you huddle closer to him, pressing your forehead to his.

“I pulled your ear,” you murmur, like it’s the funniest thing in the world. “No wonder you’ve been so whipped since day one.”

“Watch it,” he warns, but there’s no heat in it. Just fondness.

You grin, and he kisses it right off your mouth.

Masterlist

[bookdragonideas]

Here's the thing. I'm a girl, and as a girl, I really like it when girls are portrayed in fiction. Especially fantasy.

But so much fiction/fantasy mixes up 'girls' with 'unstoppable forces of female badass' and there's not necessarily anything wrong with having a character who is an 'unstoppable forces of female badass'. But it gets old real quick. And it is not the same as portraying normal girls, or having good female characters.

And that's one of the many reasons I love Avatar the Last Airbender.

Because all the girl characters have flaws and weaknesses and sometimes act like idiots or jerks. They get emotional and make mistakes. They lose fights or arguments or are just wrong sometimes. Some of them are amazing warriors, and some aren't. Some are powerful or special and some are normal, with nothing special about them.

And I Love that.

I was around the same age as Katara when I first watched Atla. And I instantly connected with her as a character. I loved her optimistic attitude and her fighting spirit. And I could relate with her anger, and with her maternal instinct. I admired her fighting skills of course, but I loved how the show portrayed her compassion and kindness, the way she could both beat up a bunch of bullies AND enjoy a relaxing day at the spa. She was a baddass warrior that should never be crossed. But she was also a normal teenage girl who had a lot of the same internal struggles and problems that I did.

(I never connected to Toph on the same level, but I did relate to her on a few things. She's an adorable trash gremlin who would commit any crime for fun and I love that. But she struggles with being both independent and letting people help her, and I still struggle with that sometimes. I've learned that sometimes, you can help others by letting them help you.)

Yue is, in my opinion, a perfect example of a type of hero that seems to be disappearing. She is not a warrior. She is not a fighter. She's not even a bender.

Yue is a perfect princess, a perfect daughter. She is extremely feminine in a rather older sense.

And she was the only one who could save the world. She gave up everything for her people. She saved everything, everyone, the entire world. Without ever becoming a fighter.

Yue is a perfect example of a girl who was never more than a girl, and how that's okay. Not every girl has to be rough and tumble and fight for her rights in order to change everything. Sometimes it's okay to just be a quiet obedient girly girl. Sometimes that's all it takes to be a hero.

And I love that. Yue is strong in her own way. She is unique and interesting. She appears in only a few episodes and yet manages to be one of my favorite characters.

Song is another great example of this. Song is a healer in a small town. We don't see much of her but we see her compassion and empathy. She is gentle and generous. A healer not a fighter.

She watches Zuko steal her ostrich horse and does nothing.

Is that because she's kind and generous and knows he needs it more? Or is it because she's a healer girl who knows she can't actually stop those two from taking the horse? Maybe neither, maybe both. I have always thought that the scene where Zuko steals the horse and only the audience knows she saw it is one of the most thought-provoking in the series.

Suki is a badass warrior woman who is an awesome fighter and good leader. She is one of the best non bender fighter we see in the entire show. She was one of the smartest, most efficient, and powerful characters we ever saw.

She kissed a boy she had just met because she thought he was cute.

Now don't get me wrong I love SokkaxSuki. Its one of the best couples in the show.

But Suki totally did the old 'love at first sight' thing. And that is awesome. Because when she kisses him she delivers one of the best lines, not only from her, but, I think, in the entire show.

"I AM a warrior, but I'm a girl too."

Being a warrior doesn't mean that she isn't also a teenage girl. She might be a fighter, but she still gets crushes and likes to flirt with cute boys. And hey, she picked a good one. Not every boy is going to come break you out of prison.

Anyways, let's have more realistic girls in fiction. And please enjoy the next 24 hours.

[perilegs]

I'm thinking about the Dalish conversation with Zevran and how he tells of the circumstance of his birth in the most matter of fact way and calls it the oldest tale in the book. If the Warden says it was horrible, Zevran plays it off with a nonchalant "Is it?" and says it's normal, especially for the boys he grew up with. But! He approves of you acknowledging that his past has been horrible to him. He keeps diminishing his own problems and trauma, and it's interesting because there are so many little aspects of him that show themselves in that tiny bit of dialogue.

Zevran, as a crow, is trained in the art of seduction and it has been one of the reasons he's still alive to this day. He knows it's typically unsexy to lament on how terribly your past has been affecting you. If you tell Zevran you're sorry for him, he immediately turns the conversation into complimenting the Warden.

It can be read as a test of character if one so chooses. Obviously Zevran isn't going to show a weak point to a person he just met, but, he is telling about himself, on a deeper level, and it's up to the Warden on how they react. Also, It's a good way to scope intentions and such. Zevran is still sharing information on himself, but on his terms. He chooses to tell the Warden about his childhood when all they asked was a question about the Dalish. And he sets a neutral tone to it.

Zevran's childhood is not a pleasant subject and he distances himself from it. It's far easier for him to talk about it that way, and it doesn't force him to process what he experienced and how it was horrible.

But he does enjoy someone, an outsider, reaffirming that what he went through was horrible, and it wasn't okay just because others have gone through the same and worse. Was there a moment in his past, where he even mildly suggested his childhood might have been less than ideal, and gotten back the reaction that it's no different from his peers? Or that he is lucky to have been bought by the crows?

"My first victim, as it were." Is that what the crows said to him? How they reassured Zevran time and time again how he was meant to be an assassin, it has been so since his birth.

[imjustdelusionalok]

yandere dc: meeting camgirl! reader <3 pt. 2

Yuppp, this is the part two of my previous post <33 but this time she'll be meeting the rest of the batboys and kon! (reminder she has met some of them even from before!!)

if you get into the 'terry mcginnis' part and is confused on who he is, watch batman beyond bc hes the new batman and its sooo good and hes underrated <3

Anywho here it isss

BIG warning: this may more or less have the same amount of clownery as the last one so prepare my sweets and also my brain is fried so some parts might not make sense but i tried😔💔 please repost to support me i spent sm timee 😭

tim drake aka 'red robin':

Also one of your most biggest and creepiest faithful fans that you've ever had in your stream!

Hes a frequent donor AND victim to your relentless charms just like jason and dick.

Has met you before you decided to even become a cam girl, as you two both go to the same school AND classes too 🥰 (he may or may have not gotten bruce to manipulate the principal or some higher up into changing classes...)

he's like a lovesick highschool student who developed a crush, but this time more extreme.

While you on the otherhand, saw a weird looking boy staring at you with the most fullest smile you've ever seen. toothy, cheshire grin, and all-- (he ran away almost IMMEDIATELY when you saw him)

(...you also chased after him when he ran 💀 he was shooked, but stops once your hand grabs his shoulder and you ask him who he was)

"You >:D i saw you looking at me, who are you >:)"

...my, he never knew you were this bold... you really need to stop being so cute or your further fueling his delusions i swear--

You shake him. "Ow- okay-- my name's Tim--"

You then smile and drag a stunned but intrigued timothy with you.

...Are you perhaps some social butterfly, darling?...

From that moment on, tim's interest in you increases and a friendship between you and him bloomed! Hes so proud of himself for making the first move even though you did it first...

(Again, dont ask how darling lives in bludhaven, but meets tim and jason whose in gotham 💀 either think of her as having teleportation powers being the reason for the frequent back-and-forths or tim being so obssessed, he moves in bludhaven just to see reader--)

When i said creepy, i said c r e e p y. Even worse than klarion, thaddeus, and even dick who i said before was on another level 😦

Tim is both sweet, nervous, and shy... or at least, is how he shows himself for you.

he must look decent for you or how else would he make you reciprocate his feelings?

He's capable of changing in a blink of an eye so anybody who isn't his beloved, dont test him, okay? <3

He sits in the back with darling in class. In the back. You heard me.

Normally he'd be in the front to be able to see and listen better, but darling is a slacker so--

He sighs, looking at his rushed and poorly written notes. He doesnt even know what the topic is anymore, and it kinda looks like hieroglyphics--

Meanwhile, you on the otherhand, was cooking instant noodles with the others... with a pot AND a stove... D: (he loves you but damn he wants to cry rlly bad on how screwed you two are--)

As for the part where he finds out about your part-time job as a cam girl, this man was seething.

No honey, not at you, but at your parents-- how could they let their beautiful daughter do this?! Do they even care?!-- oh? What was that, darling?... Your parents were gone? i guess that explains it...

proceeds to feel bad for you, and wishes to look after you. But you being you, you remain so hardheaded. Why cant you let him love you?? why cant you quit that stupid job?! >:( (hes a bit hypocritical on this one since he literally donates thus further fueling you to go on)

Sigh... nevertheless, he realizes a bit that he can't persuade someone like you for now, so he donates in your live like the good friend he is...

Yeah, 'good friend'...

In the darkness of his room, he watches with unblinking eyes the way your body moves on his screen. You look so enticing, the way a bit of pink colors your cheeks, how every moan you give were light and breathy... simply fantastic. He sighs.

"Oh baby... what am i going to do with you?... <3"

Yandere rating: 100% on money, 38% for nuisance, 70% for humor (80% as red robin)

⋆˚✿˖°

conner kent aka 'superboy':

Ah yes, another top donor and one of your most perverted watchers out there.

Cocky, rebellious, womanizing... doll, you're just another girl for him to use in order to piss off tim since he loves pushing that man's patience so much.

Has probably met you through him too, as this man follows his best friend that has been, in his eyes, acting a bit too strange lately.

And he now knows why. You.

thinks you're absolutely adorable. the way you act out of impulse to the way you speak so brazenly to him, intrigues the kryptonian so much.

Hm, your going to be so much fun to play with <3

But unfortunately, the boy of steel did not know who he was up against.

"...Doll, what did you just say?--" it was 8 at night and he was in his best attire holding a bouquet of flowers. Not just your average red roses, but a well-thought out blend of daffodils, carnations, and tulips. just for you.

But right now, you're breaking his heart.

"Yeah Kon, i love you but no. i'm not dating you. Sorry."

...you don't have the right to say you love him.

"a-and why can't we date?--" he was so confused, these months spent trying to court you, all wasted.

"erm... im not interested, kon. yeah you're hot and you support me and all, but im gonna be honest with you... you're not my type. and plus..."

he feels his heart break even more when you continue.

"...I'm interested in someone. I've known them for so long Kon, and i would hurt them if i get with you."

...

"...sorry." you run away.

things with kon has never felt the same since. he no longer visits tim just to see you, only him. he ignores you too, not even a single glance being spared. but you swear you could feel cold blue eyes watching your figure sometimes...

...and then that happens. you see a message notification from him. conner.

'im sorry if i made things awkward between us. forgive me, doll? :('

your thumb hovered whether or not to answer. you made your decision.

'kay. wanna play dti? :3'

he's so glad you cant see him right now... crying pure tears of joy, and complete relief that you took the bait.

'okay :)'

just because he got rejected by you once that doesnt mean he's immediately gonna back down <33 and about that boy you like, who was it? can't you tell him and he'll give a quick visit to the very lucky guy...

Yandere rating: 100% on money, 49% for nuisance, 80% for humor (95% as superboy)

ᯓᡣ𐭩

damian wayne aka 'robin':

...knows the guy that you like.

he's genuinely angry at you, but mostly at your taste.

seriously, him? why not him instead...

frequently donates money and is also very dedicated in line.

(to save you trouble, most of the batfam is a big fan to you and are often your biggest donors. they wish to stop you from pursuing such a... scandalous, line of work but cant help but further support you the more they give money and get addicted to the content you make 😞💔)

discovered you on accident when a certain someone, *cough* tim, *cough* left their computer on without closing the tabs.

you cannot simply imagine the sheer shock that painted his face during that time, seeing someone, you, getting it on with another guy that seems all too familiar.

...and he cant help but get angry. (you'll all understand soon enough why he and kon hates reader's man and possible bf sm 😭)

meeting you face to face... thats a whole situation. tim immediately regrets bringing damian to see you because this man already went off on how much of a 'hoe', you are.

you can take a lot of things, but this boy rubs you off wrong.

"seriously, drake? your new friend is a prostitute? you drew the line making friends with that kryptonian clone, but this takes the cak--"

*slap.*

...that hurts. damian's hand slowly makes its way up to his cheek, where the red was starting to spring.

he looks at you like you were mad. you are, thanks to him. "...you... you little---"

he was held back by an angry but calmer kon despite being also insulted, whilst tim holds you comfortably.

"hey don't listen to damian over there, alright? :( he's just a bit--"

"I'm speaking facts here!-- hmpfh!" a hand covers his mouth.

"seriously tim, does he ever shut his mouth?" kon says.

he huffs. "no. and that's why i was considering bringing duct tape earlier, Kon."

...okay, maybe his first impression forever got him labelled as a bitch in your eyes, but damian tries to make it up to you in any way he can since he actually finds you decent after getting to know you. (think of those asian parents that after scolding you till you cry, they give you food but instead money in damian's version)

"...ahem."

no response.

"...AHEM."

you finally look up at him, and a bag was thrown straight at your face. "you stupid ass-- wait a minute." you look inside the bag and it was filled with... money.

you look up at damian, only to see his figure quickly dashing off and hide behind a wall where he would secretly try and take a peek for your reaction. you smile and give a thumbs up.

"...you aren't that bad, but try shutting your mouth most of the time, okay? :3 <3"

...the green in his eyes glinted... and he scoffs. typical damian wayne.

"...sure, prozzy-- HEY STOP CRYING--"

fierce but protective. rude but caring. that is what damian is towards you.

and that is how he'll always be as long as that man is around...

"i'll be with you. and i shall do everything in my power to ensure you do not end up with him!--" too late.

Yandere rating: 100% on money, 25% for nuisance, 78% for humor (89% as robin)

ִֶָ࣪☾.𔘓

terry mcginnis aka 'batman beyond':

...is the man that kon, damian, and the others have beef with.

how he's part of the main timeline in this is that all of the events before batman beyond happens earlier. (i also tweaked a few things in canon here so dont mind me)

terry's dad died before the entire 'Powers' situation, leading to Terry living with his mom earlier.

...terry also suffers from something.

at a young age, terry cannot feel any sort of emotions. remorse, empathy, such things were removed from him. he could only feel empty, comparable to having a large gaping hole inside his chest instead of a beating heart.

the boy ponders why he was cursed with such a thing, and why he could only feel pity and sadness. just a little.

...he thought he was unsavable. until--

his eyes lands on you, the girl who was playing on the playground's swing. (note: darling used to live in gotham as a kid)

...he gulps. pretty...

"you there, what's your name?" you asked. always the first one to make a move...

...and you sound nice.

"hm? well? :3"

...he decided to speak. "...terry. i'm terry... you?..."

you smile. "they call me (name), pretty right?" he could only nod. yes, it was very pretty...

i think everybody could guess how things go from then on.

he meets you, grows up with you, falls in love with you, and in the end lives happily with you... if only it weren't for his tendency to maim just about anyone who gets near you.

he's a dog, honey. but he's your rabid, vicious dog.

by the time he grows up, he's learned how to hide what he truly is from you, and the terry that we all come to know and love is now here.

charming, witty, humorous... terry mcginnis is nothing but an amorous boy for you... and you love it. (u match his freak sm)

in his eyes, you two are together <3 and its not even a lie you two are but you're too much in denial since you firmly believe he deserves better :( (tho thoughts like that dissapear when he and you yk ;))

absolutely hates it when you spend time with anyone, especially with his adopted siblings. dick, jason, tim, and damian? fuck no. (if you read the batman beyond comics, those two despise each other--)

...so expect those two to be at each other's necks.

and about the cam girl part, yup, this man knows. and like tim, he tries to persuade you to stop. you're a complicated person, he knows. either for money or fun, you do crazy shit like this every time... but this one's really serious.

"...look at me." you obey, eyes staring back at ocean blue ones. terry's eyes were always so pretty...

"...hehe, pretty eyed as ever, mcginnis..." and he can't help but smile slightly at your words.

"..." damn you, really. his soft spot for you is huge, and 99% of the time, you get off the hook easily.

in the end, he might have allowed you to do this... 'artist' stuff, but on one condition:

he gets to f*ck you on some parts.

you blink, cheeks starting to redden. "...what--" and just like that, your fate is sealed <3

...currently, you were on Live. the rest of your boy toys watched with envious yet very heated gazes as your pussy was getting demolished by his dick. the close up shots were so unnecessary, the way he roughly pummels into you was so--

'$10000 from GR4YS0N_68'

'GR4YS0N_68: ugh yea terry ruin that little bitches cunt'

terry grins, feeling you getting closer. the position you and him were in was perfect, babe... perfect for a pic.

his strong hand gently but firmly grabs your jaw, making you face the camera.

he whispers to you so closely."smile for the camera, sweetie."

you oblige, a broken smile on your lips. the stream abruptly ends.

no need for the public to know what you both are doing in private anymore...

Yandere rating: 100% on money, 0.0001% for nuisance, 90% for humor (100% as batman beyond)

(finally its finished 🤕 i have so many unfinished works huhu....)

(update: ill also try editing this too <3)

[ladykailitha]

Murder in the Heartland Part 1

Here it is, the most wonderfully insane idea I've ever come up with and I've had some whoppers (Steve in a mental institution and Vecna's Timeloop from Hell for example). This is still the wildest. Only that's a twist that's coming up way down the line. My wonderful discord peeps @forgottenkanji, @dreamercec, @bookworm0690 know all, but you'd have to join my discord to be in on the secret (there are other lurkers there who might know, but they might not *shrug*).

Summary: When a serial killer strikes Hawkins, the police zero in on Eddie Munson. But when the last would-be victim Robin Buckley says that it Jason Carver who was trying to kill her and not Eddie, the police are further put in their place by an anonymous tipper who did all the work they should have done instead of going after clearly innocent Eddie. So Eddie becomes a PI to find this anonymous tipper. Featuring Mystery Writer Steve, who will play into the later plot. ;)

You will see snippets of Steve as the story goes on, but it will be Eddie's story for about 2/3 of it. It is also set in canon time for reasons that will become clear as the story goes on.

~

Interviewer: I’m here with Steve Harrington who has put just put out his seven novel in the thrilling Joe Keery books, ‘The Hollow Promise’. How are you this morning?

Steve chuckled: I’m tired. I’m a writer, I spend all my nights writing and my days sleeping, so this is a little outside my normal waking hours.

Interviewer: Gosh I wish I could do that, but I chose to have a morning talk show instead. Won’t you tell the listeners about your latest book.”

Steve: It’s about a series of murders in a small town and our hero comes to town to investigate and finds a bigger mystery than he anticipated.

~

Eddie’s life went to hell the day Steve Harrington blew town. Not that he would find that out until years later. But then again people were more preoccupied with Robin Buckley swearing up and down that Jason Carver who had been trying to kill her and not Eddie than remember a kid being thrown out of his parents place for being gay so... yeah.

Well, okay, so his life had been hell a little bit before Steve blew town. But that wasn’t as interesting an opening as the day Steve blew town. So he still had a flare for the dramatic, sue him. After all it was that flare that made him become a private investigator in the first place.

When Chrissy Cunningham had been murdered just after Eddie dealt her Special K, that made him the prime suspect in her death.

Which, rude.

She had been dealing with some pretty fucked up shit. Like being queer in a small town levels of shit on top of her mom being constantly on about her weight and her boyfriend pressuring her wear a promise ring. In high school.

Then another student died. A boy on the basketball team, Patrick McKinney, who someone else claimed had bought steroids off Eddie. Which couldn’t have been true, not if it was performance enhancing drugs. He had offered to sell them to high schoolers when he first started dealing, but Rick assured him he already had someone for that.

Then another girl died. Someone Eddie hadn’t known. He knew of her. But she wasn’t even in any of his classes, in any of his senior years. She also didn’t do drugs. Hell, Molly Masters was a known Straight Edger. She wouldn’t have gone near Eddie unless she wanted to throw hands.

Which is why he was blamed for her death, actually. They insinuated that she had finally had enough of his drug dealing ways and had gone after him.

He even had an alibi for that one, not that it mattered. Playing in front of five random drunks and a stingy ass bartender wasn’t exactly as air tight as it could have been. Because as far as witnesses go, they were pretty shit.

Then Barb Holland died. And that was a kick in the teeth. He knew who she was but only in a tenuous ‘best friend of the girlfriend of the most popular boy in school’ kind of way. Eddie was starting to see the pattern, even if the cops didn’t.

Then the final one which ended in the death of Jason Carver, Chrissy’s boyfriend. Only Robin Buckley was still very much alive.

But for the those first three days, she was in a coma. So the police spun the narrative that Eddie had been trying to kill her when Jason had interrupted them; saving her life, but losing his in the process.

Until she woke up and blew the whole investigation out of the water.

“I’m telling you Jason Carver was trying to kill me,” she said for the tenth time to a motley crew of Hopper, Powell, and Callahan from her hospital bed.

“Now why would he go and do a thing like that for?” Powell huffed. “Jason was a good, upstanding young man. Captain of the basketball team. He loved Chrissy. He wouldn’t hurt her. Not for anything.”

Robin let out a long sigh of frustration and buried her head in her hands. She looked up at them, weighing her options before she finally snapped, “Because I’m a lesbian!”

They stared at her blankly.

“Apparently Chrissy was too and that’s why he killed her.”

“You telling me that Jason Carver, all American boy next door was a murderer killing queer kids?” Callahan huffed in disbelief. “There’s no way.”

“And I’m telling you it’s true,” Robin hissed. “Plus whoever saved my life and killed the rat bastard wasn’t Eddie Munson.” She crossed her arms over her chest and settled into the bed, grumpy.

Hopper pinched his nose. “Let’s say we follow this line of inquiry, why do you believe Eddie Munson wasn’t involved at all. You keep saying you never saw your rescuer’s face.”

She looked up at him like he was stupid. “Because the guy that took the bat to Jason’s head was wearing a short sleeve shirt.”

The cops all looked at each other in confusion.

Robin threw her arms up in the air. “No tattoos, assholes! Eddie very famously has bats on his...” she looked at her own arms for a second, “right forearm. And whoever this Jesus with a bat was, he didn’t have any tattoos on his arm.”

“Robin!” her mother admonished. Melissa Buckley was there to ensure that the police didn’t try and twist Robin’s words into saying something that wasn’t true.

Robin just shrugged, unrepentant. They were being assholes and someone should tell them to their faces.

“Well, shit!” Powell snapped, throwing his hands into the air in frustration. “If it wasn’t Eddie then who the fuck was it?”

Just then the door to Robin’s room burst open, startling all those inside. Officer Glenn Daniels came running up to Chief Hopper, a large envelope in his hands.

“Florence got this this morning,” Daniels said, panting for breath. “And we wanted to verify its authenticity before bringing it to you. So me and couple of the other officers looked into it.”

Hopper opened the envelope, his eyes growing wider the more and more he looked through it. “And how much it of is accurate?”

“All of it.”

“There is no way,” Hopper growled, slamming the envelope on Powell’s chest. “No evidence is that air tight. There must be some kind mistake or error in there somewhere.”

Powell took the envelope and looked down into it. His eyebrows shot up. “There are actual fucking writings by Carver in here. Where the hell did they find those?”

Daniels just shook his head. “Whoever found this shit was meticulous. There are no other fingerprints than Jason’s on anything. But there is a letter.”

Powell went searching through the envelope and pulled it out, handing it to the Chief, who read it, mumbling to himself.

“Well, as much as I would like to say the bastard is wrong,” Hopper said with a resigned sigh. “He’s not. Or she or whatever. They’re not wrong. The victims wouldn’t have gotten justice, not with them being queer. Jason would have been lauded a hero and paraded in the streets for taking out the trash.”

“‘To the police,” Powell read out loud. “I am sending you all the evidence you failed to collect when you were too busy trying to pin these murders on an innocent man. It didn’t take a lot to realize the true connection the victims had. I’m just sorry I was too late to save Molly Masters. She didn’t deserve to die in that horrible way.

“Once I figured out who it was, I knew that there would be no justice for these kids. Not when Jason Carver was who he was, and why he was killing his peers. So I quietly compiled all the evidence I could. His journals. His distinct lack of alibis for any of the murders. His emotional connection to the first victim, his girlfriend, Chrissy Cunningham.

“I’m just glad I was able to stop him from killing that final girl. But if she did die later, I hope Carver rots in the hell of his own making. No one deserves to die because of who they love.

“-Jason’s Executioner.”

“Well, that ain’t creepy as shit,” Callahan said sarcastically. “Well it’s not as though we could have used any of this evidence anyway.”

“And when is Eddie Munson being released?” Melissa huffed, pulling herself up to her nearly six feet of height.

Hopper blinked at her for a moment. “I’m not sure I understand the question, ma’am.”

“That boy is innocent!” Melissa said sternly. “And what? You’re going to just sweep this all under the rug and leave Jason Carver’s reputation intact?”

“That’s not what I said,” Hopper replied, low and dangerous. “And I don’t appreciate you putting words into my mouth.”

Melissa crossed her arms over her chest and stared him down.

“He is innocent of the murders, yes,” he said, “but he still sold an underaged girl ketamine. And last time I checked that was still very much against the law.”

“I don’t believe you actually have proof of that,” Melissa said with a winning smile.

“He confessed,” Powell said in confusion. “We have it on record of him confessing to selling the drugs.” He put his hands on his hips. “There’s no way he’s not going away for the drugs.”

“Under duress,” Melissa said smugly. “Which any lawyer worth his salt will get tossed out in a heartbeat. You have nothing on the boy and you know it.”

Robin grinned up at her. “Isn’t she so cool? And she’s my mom!”

“Stop calling him a boy!” Callahan hissed. “He’s twenty! He knew full well what he was doing and I’m not going to stand here and let you pretend otherwise.”

Melissa scoffed, eyeing him up and down with a raised eyebrow. “I’d call your dog to heel there, Chief, we wouldn’t want me to scream police intimidation, now would we?”

“Don’t make me arrest you, Mel,” Hopper growled. “Again.”

Melissa grinned up at the chief. They had been on very opposite sides of the Vietnam War. Him having been in the army and her having been in the protests against the War. Hawks and Doves.

“And just what would be the charge this time, Chief?” she asked with a wink.

Hopper squeezed his eyes closed and then opened them slowly. He let out a long exasperated sigh. “Eddie Munson will be released without charges by the end of today.”

But before his underlings could protest he held up his hands. “It’s either release him and sweep under the rug that some rank amateur or we don’t release him and Melissa here goes to the press about how we put away an innocent man and get the national media up in our business.”

They stared at him for a moment before they grumbling agreed. Hopper bid the Buckleys goodbye and then led his officers out the room.

So how did Eddie know all this? He talked to Hopper, Daniels and the Buckleys and while some details varied they pretty much confirmed that how it went down and how Eddie got out on a ‘technicality’ as the cops were calling it.

When he stepped out into the fresh air outside of the jail with Wayne waiting for him, he took a deep breath and let it go.

“I don’t know how you can stand living in this hell hole,” he groused as he hopped into Wayne’s truck.

“Can’t afford to leave,” Wayne huffed and started the truck. “If I could scrape up the money to get out of here, I would and I’d take you with me.”

Eddie gave his uncle’s shoulder a squeeze. “Maybe I’ll be able to get a job and get enough money for both of us out.”

“If wishes were horses,” Wayne said ruefully as he pulled out into traffic. “I’m just glad you were released without charges.”

“You and me both, old man,” Eddie huffed. “I was sure I was going to be Reading, Pennsylvania, Short Line and B&O railroaded.”

“Good thing Melissa Buckley was there when they interrogated her daughter,” Wayne growled. “Or you might still be sitting in that cell.”

“I hope you sent her flowers,” Eddie said. “She certainly deserves it.”

“Delilahs and some of my grandma’s shortbread,” Wayne confirmed. “I even offered to help out any handwork they may need in the future too. And if I were you I’d offer your way around an engine too.”

Eddie saluted. “Aye, Aye!”

Wayne snorted. “If the way she tells it is true, some rookie wannabe detective is the one that provided the most damning evidence against that Carver kid.”

“Wouldn’t surprise me,” Eddie said with a snort. “These backwater cops wouldn’t know their ass from their elbow.”

“Still it makes you wonder who it was...” Wayne said softly as they turned into the trailer park.

“It certainly does that,” Eddie agreed. “It certainly does that.”

~

Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9

I am ridiculously pleased with the railroad joke. It still makes me smile every time.

Tag List: TEN SLOTS OPEN

1- @itsall-taken @estrellami-1 @zerokrox-blog @sadisticaltarts @dolphincliffs

2- @gregre369 ​@a-little-unsteddie @irregular-child @cryptid-system @kultiras

3- @maya-custodios-dionach @goodolefashionedloverboi @val-from-lawrence @carlyv @wonderland-girl143-blog

4- @bookbinderbitch @bookworm0690 @forgottenkanji @dreamercec @blondie1006

5- @yikes-a-bee @awkwardgravity1 @genderless-spoon @fearieshadow @thesecondfate

6- @dragonmama76 @ellietheasexylibrarian @thedragonsaunt @useless-nb-bisexual @disrespectedgoatman

7- @counting-dollars-counting-stars @tinyplanet95 @ravenfrog @swimmingbirdrunningrock @lingeringmirth

8- @gutterflower77 @a-lovely-craziness @just-a-tiny-void @w1ll0wtr33 @beelze-the-bubkiss

[1x20]

hello and welcome to my tutorial on how to create gifs like this one! full explanation under the cut, but if you wanted to take a little peek at the gifset attached to this tutorial, here ya go!

for the purposes of this tutorial i am assuming you know

how to make a gif

what vhs footage looks like

STEP ONE: MAKING YOUR GIF

choose your footage and plug it into your desired software of choice! i use photoshop for this so i can only attest to the efficacy of these methods in that context

as for shot selection, you could feasibly choose anything. however, i prefer shots without too much movement in them - makes it look more like a home video.

because of the heavy amount of colors and filters, i'd recommend a gif somewhere around the 40-50 frames! but of course you can play around.

oh i also set the frame delay to 0.08 seconds. this is slower than most gifmakers tend to set theirs, but it makes it run buttery smooth imo.

STEP TWO: MAKING THE COLORING

here's where we get vhs specific. if you're unfamiliar with vhs footage, i recommend clicking through this youtube playlist! if you're not interested in the coloring, skip to step three (smart object fuckery + filters)

now while making a set i tend to choose some primary colors for my gifs. in the gifset i linked above, i chose to work with blue and orange-y yellow. in some of the other gifs i'll be using as examples (from an unfinished set) i chose green and yellow.

to create the above coloring i generally use these steps:

1) curves

i'm a maniac so i use the same curves layer to initially edit the luminosity AND colors of my gifs. the purpose of this layer is to edit brightness/contrast like i normally would and already start the process of changing the colors a little bit. this is my curves layer for the blue house gif:

to make the gif go from the left image to the right image:

as you can see i used the brightening curves to make the footage a whole lot lighter. i also increased the reds to get rid of the cyan tint a lot of blue footage has, slightly increased the blues, and once again decreased the greens to get rid of any cyan. this does make the blue hue a bit more purple, which is a nice bonus!

as for the gif of the boy, that one's a little harder to show a before and after for, but i'lls how the curves for good measure:

the original shot was already quite bright so i only edited the brightness a litttle bit. because i knew i wanted the gif to be green and yellow, i increased the greens, decreased the reds (except in the shadows), and decreased the blues (to get yellow)

2) channel mixer

now the channel mixer layer takes a little getting used to so i recommend experimenting. ALWAYS USE THIS LAYER ON THE COLOR BLENDING MODE for a more even result.

i use channel mixers to sort of... unify the colors a bit more. for the house gif, for example, i increased the blue channel to +110% blue, but decreased the blue in the red (-12%) to retain the yellow in the window.

if you want me to explain this more in depth, send an ask! it'll be kinda longwinded though

before / after of the boy gif with curves/channel mixer.

3) levels

this is where it starts looking more vhs-y! vhs footage has light shadows and dark highlights.

first, set your levels layer to luminosity blending mode to retain your beautiful colors.

then, crunch the hell out of your gif to make it very... mid.

this may feel a little wrong at first but i prommy it'll look okay at the end. a before/after for the boy:

now that's starting to look familiar right?

4) color fill/gradient map

because i want to unify my colors/make sure my gif is saturated, i usually add either a color fill or gradient map layer. in the case of the house, i chose to go with a dark blue color fill:

because the coloring of the boy gif was a little more complex, i decided to go with a brown to green gradient map.

this will make the shadows yellow, and the highlights green.

BOTH THESE LAYERS ARE SET TO OVERLAY. i usually fiddle with the opacity of them until i like it, but it's anywhere from 7% - 17% depending on what i feel like that day

5) curves (again)

this layer is probably useless but i do it anyway to make myself feel better. this is just a regular curse layer to up the brightness a tiiiiny bit and amke sure everything's clear. also it helps counteract the darkness your overlay color will add in.

6) color balance

this is my most subtle layer so i won't be able to show before and after but i fiddle with the color distribution a little until i'm satisfied. set this layer to color blending 'cause that's what you wanna affect!

i decided i wanted the house gif shadows to be a little more purple, for example, so i added in red (+3), magenta (-1) and blue (+1). etc etc. do what feels good!

STEP THREE: SMART OBJECT FUCKERY AND FILTERS

OKAY that was a lot. sorry or you're welcome. but good news: now's the fun part. convert your animation to a timeline, then select both your coloring and gif layers, right click, and select convert to smart object.

now that your gif's a smart object, i usually crop it. i tend make vhs aes gifs a 4:3 ratio (so 540 x 405 px) because that's what vhs footage was usually recorded as! crop your gif, resize, and then we can continue.

1) color bleeding

vhs footage usually bleeds its colors - this manifests as a short of... weird subtle halo around any object. the way to recreate this in photoshop is to duplicate your smart object.

set your copied smart object to color blending. now move it to the side a couple of pixels (i usually do around 5px, but you do you!)

as you can see, the tree and chimney (and everything else but less prominently) have a yellow shadow to them. this is exactly what we want!

2) filters

now's the time to add your filters and make it look like shit (but on purpose!) first, select both smart objects and convert to smart object again. this will ensure the filters apply to all layers evenly.

i use the following filters:

unsharp mask (amt 35%, radius 4px) - this will subtly add some sharpening but only on the edges of objects

add noise (amt 7.5%, distr. uniform, not monochromatic) - this will add the signature vhs grain.

box blur (2px) - i edit this to be 75% opacity with the little arrows to the right, just to make sure you can still make SOMETHING out when you're looking at the gif. MAKE SURE THIS FILTER IS ON TOP OF YOUR NOISE FILTER. tumblr will kill your gif otherwise

4) ONE LAST THING

usually at this point i'm not happy with either the saturation or levels. (usually the levels). so on top of your smart object, add another saturation or levels layer and fuck around!

in the case of the house gif, i thought it was too bright still so i set my output levels to 13 and 216. for the boy, i thought the shadows were too dark, so i set my shadow output to 11.

BEFORE & AFTER:

aaaand that's it! thanks for reading! if you have any questions, feel free to come to my askbox, i'm always happy to explain my process. happy giffing 🥰

[delusionalbitchinthehouse]

I don't usually write the Papas a lot but i wanted to explore the dynamic between Copia and Perpetua so. There.

"What the fuck are you doing here."

"Hello to you too," Perpetua snorts, pushing past Copia and into the temporary office he's been holed up in.

"Its two in the morning."

Perpetua shrugs, looking around. He avoids the painted eyes of the woman he never knew to be his mother, represses a shiver when it gets him to accidentally meet those of his father's portrait instead. Same eyes as his, same as the twin brother glaring daggers at his back.

"Tour starts in two days. You should rest."

Copia's toned is clipped, his worry directed at the quality of the show Perpetua will have to put on rather than the man himself. Can't really blame him. The new Papa grabs a black and white rat scurrying on the armchair he set his eyes on and plops down in it, curiously holding the squirmy creature at eye level.

"What-" Copia squeaks, "what are you doing ? Set her down !"

Perpetua pets the soft furr on top of the little thing's head, unbothered. Copia makes an aborted move to reach for his beloved pet, but Perpetua keeps her close to his chest.

"Your ghoul bit me," he hums conversationally, deciding to let the rat go for Copia's blood pressure' sake. Relieved, the man deflates, sinks into the cushions of the couch facing Perpetua.

"Which one ?"

"The one that wants my head on a spike."

Copia's chuckle surprises both of them, hangs heavy in the following silence. He clears his throat.

"...doesn't narrow it down much."

Perpetua tugs a glove off, nods toward the teeth imprint, jarring against pale skin.

"Had to get a new pair of gloves, he tore right through them. I hope he's not venemous."

Copia shakes his head, tugging his collar open with a tired sigh.

"The only one who's venemous is Pebble, and it's more a sedative than an actual life-threatening venom. What did you do to piss Dew off anyway ?"

Perpetua glares at Copia with an indignant huff, crossing his arm petulantly.

"I did absolutely nothing, that ghoul just wants me dead in a ditch. And how do you know it was him ?"

Copia rolls his eyes so hard it looks painful, slumping against the backrest with a scoff.

"Fucking V. Those are my ghouls, you don't think I know what their bites look like ?"

Perpetua blinks, slowly, hoping that within the pause he's allowing, Copia will realize how batshit insane that is. Apparently not, because the man just stares him down expectantly.

"...no ? Normal people don't just recognize bite marks ?"

Copia levels him with a stare, eyebrows raising.

"Since when the fuck am I considered normal ? This whole bloodline is freaks after freaks, you included, bat boy."

"Oh, so when Phantom's special interest is bats, or when you dress up as one, it's okay, but when I do, I'm weird ? Rat boy ?"

Perpetua knows he's pushing it, but despite his longing for an actual, non antagonistic reationship with his twin brother, he cannot help how annoyed he feels the second Copia gets snarky. The man in question throws him a dirty look.

"Do not drag Phantom into this."

Perpetua throws his glove at him, which lands with an objectively hilarious slapping noise square on the man's face.

"Oh, settle down, you dick, I meant no harm. He's actually the only one not actively trying to disembowel me."

Copia throws the glove back with a grunt. Not for the first time, Perpetua notices how much older than himself he looks, wiry grey strands running through his hair, deep wrinkles creasing his face. he finds no pleasure in this realization, only sadness and a wave of apprehension. Is it going to happen to me too ?

"He's too kind to you."

"Yes, yes, you think I deserve to get publicly executed for taking your place, I know, we've been over it already."

Though he's trying to play it off as light-hearted, bitterness crawls its way up Perpetua's throat as he says it. To his immense surprise, Copia blanches, straightening suddenly, hands clasping together compulsively.

"Don't joke about that shit," he snaps, voice tight. Strange. Copia's easily flustered, but he usually takes Perpetua's shit better than that. It's unusual to see him wringing his hands and mumbling to himself after just one sarcastic comment. It dawns on Perpetua there might be something else to it when he catches the haunted look on his brother's face, when he watches him get up and rip his gloves off to frantically wash his hands in a small sink hidden in the corner of the room.

"Why are you here ? Because I know you're not going to come crying to me everytime a ghoul bites you," Copia grumbles once he recomposed himself, gloves back on and face almost neutral. Perpetua toys with the fingers of his glove.

"Can't a man want to spend time with his brother ?"

Copia scoffs, kicking a cushion with a somber look.

"We're hardly more than strangers sharing genes."

Okay, ouch, but guess it's not that far from the truth. Perpetua sighs. To think he was considered petty as a child.

"Okay. We'll, i'd like for us to be actual brothers."

Copia tenses, shoulders raising toward his ears. His eyes are lost, far, far away from here, from this conversation. He doesn't sound snappy when he answer, but small. Sad.

"I had real brothers."

His hands are clasped again, with enough strenght to make the leather of his gloves creak. Perpetua leans forward in his seat, too earnest.

"Tell me about them. Tell me about Mom. Tell me about-"

"Trust me, you do not want to know shit about Dad."

But it's not a no. Copia's face scrunches up for a second as he glances at the empty space on his left, grumbling something that sounds a lot like "fuck off", though definitely not directed at Perpetua. It's not the first time he sees it happening, but he decides now is not the time to push his luck. Copia sighs, gesturing toward the man he insist on not calling his brother.

"What do you want to know ?"

Perpetua takes a deep breath, and asks.

[faulty-writes]

Maybe some headcanons where Bakugou, Tamaki, and Mirio are hit by a quirk that makes them behave mostly the opposite of themselves for a few days to a week.

Bakugou is kind and gentle towards the reader and so visibly in love. He's become quite the gentleman!

Tamaki is super energetic, extremely romantic, and declares his affections in front of at least his entire class.

And Mirio is so very, very gloomy but he's practically attached to the reader and says they're, "One of the precious few rays of light left in this gray, gray world."

[ I really like this request. Hah, personality changes are the best! ]

Katsuki's behavior shocked everyone, including you. Being his usual hot-headed self, he ended up in a quirk accident that changed his personality. When Mr. Aizawa assured you, the effects would be only temporary, you were grateful because Katsuki acting so…sweet, and gentle was just as frightful as when he was his usual self.

Normally, he would be protective of you, but now it's different. "Here, I don't want you to get wet," he said, holding the umbrella over you while he got soaked. "Nothing will happen to me, but someone like you shouldn't be caught out in the rain," he smiled sweetly at you while you trembled in response.

If someone talked to you in the wrong way, he'd pull you close and say, "Please don't speak that way to Y/n, they mean a lot to me, yeah?" Despite this, his loving gaze resembled his angry one and you tried to believe that the real Katsuki Bakugou was still somewhere inside him.

"Let's cuddle!" he would announce bluntly, no matter who was around. If you didn't respond fast enough, he'd pull you into his lap by force. He'd have his arms wrapped tightly around your waist as he nuzzled his face into the crook of your neck.

There was more thought put into your dates and he showed a greater interest in your hobbies. He would take you to your favorite restaurant or spend the evening in the dorm reading or watching a movie. He didn't get angry when others commented on how romantic or sappy he was, unlike before.

He could only react in anger when the effects of the quirk wore off and everyone shared the stories of what he did. "What the hell do you mean I did all that!?" He demanded, explosions sounding from his hands. It was only natural for you to smile because you missed the hotheaded Katsuki.

"Stay close to me, I love you so much…you're so kind and sweet and I can't bear to be apart from you!" To say Tamaki's reaction was surprising would be an understatement. It was like his hero persona times a thousand when he talked so bluntly about his affection for you. But his sudden personality change was credited to a quirk incident.

"I got these for you! They're so gorgeous, just like you. I…I just wanted to thank you for being my biggest fan and….love. I love you so much! I don't care who knows it!" He said after marching over to your desk in the morning and presenting you with the largest bouquet of flowers you had ever seen.

"Wow, another love letter for you! Guess this quirk accident brought out the more loving side of Amajiki, huh?" Nejire teased. It was clear she meant no harm, but Tamaki's love letters were beginning to get out of control. Since the incident, you must have found one to two in your locker every day.

During training exercises, it was normal for friends to cheer for you, but Tamaki took that to another level. The fact that he shouted your name enthusiastically and formed letters with his tentacles was endearing, but it was also distracting.

"Don't rub it off this time, okay!" He said, pressing a small kiss against your cheek. "I just want to kiss you forever!" he exclaimed trailing kisses across your reddened face. You hoped you wouldn't have to adjust to his lack of shame when it came to public affection.

"T-that's horrifying! W-why would I d-do all that!?" He squeaked out, hiding his face behind his hands as he appeared to be close to a panic attack. While part of you missed the proud and outspoken Tamaki, this version was the one you loved.

A quirk incident transformed Mirio into an emotional rollercoaster in a whole new way, and all the good parts of his personality vanished, leaving only doom and gloom behind.

As a result, he lost all his confidence and motivation, not to mention he questioned his purpose as a hero. "Don't get me wrong…having a quirk is great…but…my quirk is just so lame compared to others and if I don't have a cool, flashy quirk..then what's the point?" You wondered whether those were his real thoughts or if his mind was also thrown back to middle school.

"You're truly my only source of sunshine…the rest of this world is…dull and gray to me…" Mirio sought your company whenever and wherever he could, he didn't care if others were watching when he wrapped his arms around you and pulled you close, almost as if he was trying to hide from the gray world he described.

As his self-confidence dwindled, he refused to attend class and skipped hero training. To your surprise, he began discussing new dreams unrelated to his previous lifelong dream of becoming a hero. These included exploring new interests and hobbies and you could only remain supportive.

"I can't stand this gloomy world without you. If you left…I don't know what I'd do…I'd just wither away," you assumed this was his way of expressing his gratitude that you hadn't abandoned him during the long week following the quirk accident.

"Hah! Wow, really? I can't believe that quirk accident made me think so negatively about becoming a hero and yes, my quirk may not be flashy but I can still save the world," he said after all the quirk effects wore off. Then he poked your nose and with a cheesy grin said, "Thanks for putting up with me! I totally owe you one!"

[heraxic]

Hello :o

I just wanted to say thank you (and also thank crumb) for getting me back into thinking about Karl Heisenberg 24/7.

I really love your artstyle, from the amazing expressions (especially the peeved/angry ones) to the scribbly lineart. As someone that’s trying to learn to draw more digitally, I really like to observe your stuff o.o

Your Moldy Family comics are funny, cozy, sweet and comforting all at the same time, and they made me discover and appreciate Eveline (oh man I love how much of a goth tween she is), and the way you draw Heisenberg (his physicality if that makes sense, his clothes, his hair, his everything) is just *chef’s kiss*.

As a former Greek Mythology child, that AU is so so nice owagh. I love all the monster adaptations/designs, it’s all so clever: I love that Kyril is scaley, hairy AND has wings (which I feel aren’t depicted often nowadays with gorgons), Alina is so majestic, with the black tipped limbs and the blood soaked dress, and the daughters being harpies/sirens(?) is also so perfect.

Idk if you’ve already said it, but what is it about Karl’s character that made him interesting to you?

I hope it makes sense (I’m a bit tired) and thank you again for the excellent food :]

Thank you so much!!!<<<3333

he lives in my head rent free…. his crusty-ass hair and barrel-shaped bod gets me every time

im glad you like my scribbly lineart! I tend to get concerned whether it really looks like anything haha

I miss drawing the mold family but i think my forte has always been fantasy, especially cause i love mythology more than anything. That’s not to say i wont go back to the modern mold family though

For greek au karl i wanted him to look like someone had haphazardly stuck animal parts to him so it’d look deliberately unnatural for him to have a relatively normal human body under all that-

I’m not sure i can fully describe why Karl is so interesting. Surface level, being voiced by Neil Newbon is always a big plus and his face model Joel Hicks is awesome-looking. His character design matches his abilities and personality really well, and speaking of personality, queer-coded villains who make a big show out of everything are always going to be my favourite. His gritty, masculine aesthetic is really inspiring in terms of gender as well. On a deeper level, in spite of all the terrible things he’s done, i find him sympathetic and relatable. After decades spent in a highly dysfunctional family, not living on his own terms, completely alone, I need him to finally be okay and get better for his own sake, with the support of people he trusts. It’s the same reason i love Eveline. Morally dark-grey characters who deserved better and could’ve gotten better with a good support system.

[jazzyblusnowflake]

(If this was asked before, I swear to god.) FullCompany (NUziVJ) Headcannons?

aaaaaaaaa time to write once more- i missed being able to type away like the lil shit i am-

anyhow- okay lets see- gonna add some things here- tbh my ideas was mostly for Jenvy ideas mainly- but i guess ill fit Uzi in there lol

Some JeNVUzi HCs:

[once again- Drone au only, and maybe minor suggestive content but not nsfw]

The polycule is essentially formed around Uzi pulling them back together-

J's original reason for siding with Cyn which was rooted in fear- was on the basis that she still had her team on her side so she could keep them safe and so theyd have eachother to rely on even after Cyn destroys everything. she did not however, account for Uzi coming along and messing everything up and ruining her team's alignment while she was "dead".

the entire reason J tried to kill N or V at any time was cuz she knew a clone of them would be sent back anyway- she has basically become desensitized towards death in general given she had also died around 12 times herself [canon]- V and N try to help her through this- during which they also deal with Vs behavior and Ns trauma too.

to communicate with J they often had to spar with her- seeing as she hated talking about feelings- but this became their own thing they all did afterwards to unwind and communicate- as J opened up a lot easier after feeling like she was reached out to.

Uzi and J bond over anime and gaming- the latter being somewhere J could actually use her anger on more effectively XD

they all like reading books every now and then where one would read and the others snuggle or cuddle- they take turns. [this is from their manor days]

J is... unable to emote or show emotion easily and it eats her alive. she can't show the appropriate needed emotion to the mood of the room and it makes her have breakdowns- occasionally throw up- as though you are desperately trying to cry but the tears wont come so you try heaving it out- make yourself fit in and look normal by trying to FEEL something- but she cant. J is a dated business model drone- custom made for office work- she was made to be this way- Cyn didn't change her- and she grows to hate herself for it. so when a situation happens that she doesn't know how to react, she leaves or hides- until N,V or Uzi find her- usually disassociating or somewhat catatonic.

Uzi occasionally feels out of place with the group, as though she's just being a literal 4th wheel, since they have history together. the others try to show her that she is important to them each in their own ways-

addressing the elephant in the room- yes, it took a long time for N and J to come to terms with eachother- J eventually accepting that her original reason for hating N [him being better than her or preferred over her esp by Tessa] wasn't important anymore- and tries to appreciate him and V and Uzi more in whatever is left of her life.

make no mistake V and J are still very much bitchy on a surface level- just cuz they are all growing close does not mean they are all now lovey dovey with eachother or sweet and character-redemption-ed with everyone around them. therefore: "playful catfights" >:3 !

V and Uzi tease J alot- this is one of the reasons why J found more comfort with N- not gonna tell him to his face tho lol.

J teaches N to draw better and they bond over that alot-

Uzi and J like attention alot- and they wanna get it by being as wordless as possible- very cat coded.

Uzi, V and N like to drag J into doing more normal things that have less to do with work. so far J has mostly shown some interest in writing and maybe poetry but she WILL shoot your head off if you try to read her stuff-

J's first kiss was with Uzi- N and V having kissed once back at the manor being eachothers first kiss. J thinks V kisses the best tho lol.

N and V like to cuddle a lot- J and Uzi are usually dependent on mood-

V likes to bite- J likes to be bitten, N and Uzi like both- :3

J likes playing with N and Uzi's fluffy hair. V only lets N touch her hair.

during intimate cuddles- J has passed out the most lol. Uzi following a close second lol-

Uzi and J yap alot about tech work-

hmm this is all i can think about for NOW-

:"3

[crescenthistory]

This sounds kind of vague but regulus nd reader bonding over bugs… I think this strange little guy would appreciate a good bug. Doesn’t have to be specifically romantic either I just thought it was cute

i don't think i can write a fic on this, especially as i am not an avid bug-knower myself, but i'll share my thoughts and headcanons with you of course darling<33

regulus black bonding with you over bugs

regulus bug-lover, evan anatomy-fanatic, barty carcass-searcher and pandora bones-collector; in this essay i will-

dorcas thinks they’re a bit odd but love them as the freaks they are

no, but in all honesty i can picture this so vividly. regulus has such an obsessive personality, he is bound to have some niche and severe interests

if that is bugs and it is a shared one between you two – then that's just fantastic luck, yeah?

regulus is the type of person to not just liking something, it becomes his everything (that boy has never felt normal about anything ever)

finding someone who loves the same things he loves would slot them right beside that interest in his mind, thus making any infatuation that much stronger; he associates you with what you both love

i think his favourite bugs would be spiders, of course, but also termites and beetles

there is definitely a certain level of "this creature is so misunderstood and i relate to it" going on here

on that note, he is more inclined to hyperfixate on bugs like worms, cockroaches, fleas, bed bugs, etc. than the more accepted/cutsey bugs like bees and butterflies

though i don't really picture him disliking any bugs – he would rather spend his time focusing on the ones that resonate with him

regulus most certainly has a scientific approach to his interest

he reads and learns and then reads some more and learns some more; he wants to know all there is to know and be able to use jargon and refer to biology when discussing bugs

if you struggle with reading, he is more than happy (see: fucking elated) over being able to recap any relevant book to you and teach you what he just learned

if you enjoy it as well, he wants nothing more than to ditch your coursework for the night and read up on your own interests side by side<3

my regulus is a poet, and i imagine that he would use all his scientific knowledge of bugs to use them as more effective and accurate metaphors

i think his favourite bug to refer to in poetry is cicadas

he is usually very guarded with his poetry because he writes to process and work through his intense emotions, but your shared love for bugs would be a lower-barrier entry to sharing his writing with you

he would show you some poems that focus primarily on bugs, maybe even use the excuse that you can double check them for "accuracy", and over time he grows more confident in showing you more and more

sitting with regulus in a corner of the slytherin common room or the edge of the courtyard whenever you get some alone time, looking for and admiring the bugs that creep around there

taking note of what spots in the castle are the most abundant with insects and going there together

maybe he would even call you an insect-related pet name? my suggestions: mantis, hopper, buzz — maybe any french speakers know of some cute ones in french?!

regulus feeling seen and known by you on another level as you bond over insects – an interest of his that most of his friends and family members have shunned and gagged at, but that set your eyes alight with a spark similar to his own

daring to be himself more fully with you beyond his interest, because you showed him it is okay

realising he is in love with you when you're reunited after a summer apart and you show him that you have started a journal, documenting the unique and rare insects you stumbled upon over the holidays to show him

starting one of his own for you

proposing to you by asking you to help him look for a special insect in the earth outside your flat/house and when you go you see has dug the ring into the ground, diamond poking out