#spiritually getting a nosebleed

[butch4allconfessions]

I’ve had several glasses of wine and I may not be drunk but god am I horny I need someone to give me a long suffering sigh as they spread their legs to indulge me like I’m a stupid mutt who’s only happy if they’ve got their face in someone’s cunt

[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

[yeonslayjun]

Dumb and Dumber - Hualian

Hua Cheng and Xie Lian are so OBVIOUS and OBLIVIOUS at the same time Honestly They amaze me ngl

Cuz Hua Cheng be Like - Wdym Gege Loves me?? That's impossible like I don't think he loves me solely for the fact that I'm one of his last believer left and that I built a FUCKING CITY for him and how I ran helped him in a case and dressed up as a Groom and gege was a bride (Oh his dead heart definitely started beating then pls ) and how I Built a temple to worship him and how I released 3000 lanterns for him and that I've made 10,000 statues for gege and not how I have red thread of fate on my finger bc he tied his hair on my finger

ALSO wdym I had my gay awakening at the land of tender??? Impossible He's my god I can't have those feelings for him bc I'm a dirty piece of shit (NO YOU ARE NOT)

and DEFINITELY NOT HOW I GAVE HIM Spirtual Power... DEFINITELY NOT HAHAHA.... Now let me just ask his hand for marriage OH nvm I'm unworthy he doesn't like me ( WHILE XIE LIAN IS SITTING ON HIS LAP ) let's make it into a joke hahaha..... OH? Gege's says he's happy for my beloved when will he know it's him talking about?? :( ( let's ignore he didn't know half of these lmao)

OH MY GOD GEGE SAW THE STATUES That's it I'm getting disowned by him He'll hate me ofc he will... I knew this would happen no I'm okay, IT'S FINE... Yeah he really should make it clear that he doesn't love me huh? :((

Like Hua Cheng is SO DOWN BAD for Xie Lian Like Honey we get it You exist to LOVE your Taizi Danxia and to serve Cvnt and angst

AND

My guy Xie Lian here is SO VERY OBLIVIOUS like I get that he was practicing abstinence but bro's like -

Oh Hua Cheng is such a pretty name *giggles* Oh and his hands were so beautiful and he was gentle with me too when he dressed as the Groom *blushes* Oh Crimson Rain Sought Flower is his name? *swoons* HOLY SHIT HE'S HOT *nosebleeds*

I like this kid san lang. OoO Did he just suck the poison out of me?!?! DAYUM he killed so many people at once *swoons x2*... WAIT IS HE HUA CHENG??!?! Oh my gosh IT IS Hua Cheng ajhsjdhsudhu Let's act calm and composed hehe. Let's sleep together cuz He would never hurt me >:( I wonder what happened to the kid who said he'd worship only me :( He was a good kid yk? Had one eye covered too kinda like you actually haha Funny Right???

He's so perfect as a "sworn brother" ( Yes I'm looking at you SQX) protecting me and shit. Wait he trusts me??? ME?!?! huh?!?!. San Lang~~~. AHHH HE RELEASED 3000 LANTERNS FOR ME AHHHH I LOVE HIM as a friend ofc ofc.

Oh I LOVE getting Spiritual Energy from him <3 that wasn't a kiss nope it wasn't.... ERROR 101 San Lang asked my hand in marriage ERROR.... o h He was Joking :( ofc he was :((( I wish he wasn't tho :((((( SAN LANG HAS A BELOVED?!?!? Ofc he has He's such a handsome and kind man he probably gets all the bitches he wants But why do I feel smth weird in my heart?? (IT'S CALLED JEALOUSY YOU DUMB MOTHOFO )

Honestly God (Jun Wu LMAO) Knows how he survived the past 800 years like BRO WHY IS YOU SO STUPID when it comes to love?!?!? Like ISTG He's one of the smartest of all the jokes called "GODS". But he still doesn't get it till he saw the 10,000 statues Hua Cheng prepared like pls

ALSO Hua Cheng the ghost king who defeated 33 gods and how his smartass self esp rubbed the floor with them Civil Heavenly Officials But the one moment he needs it to realise the VERY OBVIOUS FACT that Xie Lian loves him The Genius Smartass is nowhere to be seen

But tbh I can't blame Hua Cheng much here cuz Xie Lian was very oblivious to his own feelings pls BUT STILL

Their Slow-burn was too much for me Like the chemistry was SO OBVIOUS but they're just Dumb kids when it comes to feelings *sighs* The Hualian Brainrot is rotting my brain away as we peak

[bloodstcinedblonde]

sophie thatcher . cis-female . she/her . * | look, there goes fiadh sullivan ! they're the twenty-five year old i was telling you about … you know the libra ? it's their fifth case with the crew — when she set her sleeve on fire mid-seance while gesturing dramatically with a lit candle … originally from donegal, ireland, let's hope their hand stitched pocket shrine is enough to protect them from being trapped in confined spaces. most people know them as protective and intuitive, but don't be surprised if their superstitious side slips out when the lights flicker. this time around, they're signed on as the exorcist, which makes sense considering they spend most of their time gardening like their life depends on it. if you ever need them, try picturing the last sliver of moon behind clouds, nettles blooming through cracked stone, the smell of the earth after it rains, a whispered prayer, sea glass arranged in a crescent on the windowsill or whispering fi into the walkie. but beware — if they don't answer, something else might. | penned by ev . 24 . gmt +1 . she/her .

BASICS.

full name: fiadh (fee-a) margaret rose sullivan

nickname(s): fi (fee) , fiadhín (fee-een, by her parents), never fifi

age: twenty-five

gender: cis woman

pronouns: she/her

date & place of birth: october 18th in donegel, ireland

faceclaim: sophie thatcher

traits: superstitious, intuitive, protective, wry, sharp tongued, ritualistic, quietly brave, haunted, self reliant

aesthetics: last sliver of moon behind clouds, nettles blooming through cracked stone, the smell of the earth after it rains, a whispered prayer, sea glass arranged in a crescent on the windowsill

HEADCANONS.

grew up in a small, rural coastal village in donegal. her father was a fisherman quiet, strong, dependable. until one night he vanished in a storm, swallowed by the unforgiving atlantic. the village never stopped murmuring about curses or bad luck tied to that night, though no one dared say it aloud.

her mother is referred to as the woman with the cure in her area. she blends herbs, old prayers, and ancient rituals inherited from generations past. watching her mother at work, fiadh learned early how to read the signs others missed, to feel the presence of things unseen, and what to use to push back the darkness.

she wasn’t trained so much as raised into it. whispers passed down from mother to daughter. no certificates. just instinct, tradition, and the kind of learning that happens when no one else will do it.

fiadh’s spiritual practice is a bit of a patchwork quilt woven from equal parts catholicism and paganism. fiadh’s catholicism is mostly cultural stuff handed down like an old family recipe she didn’t ask for but can’t quite ignore. a mix of tradition and superstition, but she navigates it on her own terms.

when she was a kid, she wandered into a ring of hawthorn trees in a field by her house, a known fairy fort. it was as if the field had turned into a maze but she could no longer find the opening in the hedge to get out. felt like she had been stuck for minutes but when she finally arrived home it has been hours

she gets nosebleeds after intense cleansings. not dramatic just a slow trickle, like something’s been knocked loose inside her.

leaves offerings bits of bread, coins, even shiny buttons near old trees or stones.

she can tell when something’s wrong in a house the moment she crosses the threshold like tasting iron on her tongue.

EXTRAS.

pinterest . spotify

[friendsdontlieokay]

Dear Will,

Gosh it feels weird to write to you when you're literally in your room, but the truth is, I've become so distant lately, I don't know if I can even talk about this face to face with you, but I want to, I really want to, and by the time you get the letter I might not be here anymore anyway so I guess it's alright, right?

Will, I think I know what is going on with you, no actually I don't think so, I know so, and I know that you know it too, but I hope that you know that whatever happens does not matter, you're my baby brother and I will always love you no matter what happens, you don't have to feel like you're all alone in this world because you're not, even if I'm not here,I'll always be here for you.

And by 'I know what is going on with you' I meant that I know that you like Mike, and to tell you the truth I kind of figured it out before even you did. I thought that maybe you'd come to me to talk this through but I was wrong, and to be honest it's not even your fault because I've been so distant lately, or stoned, as you prefer to address it, the main point is I know I've lost the right to be your brother, let alone be your friend, a long time ago, and maybe I've also ruined the safe place where we could talk to each other, I definitely have. But just so you know, I've already pre-planned and prepared everything to torment Mike if he ever dares to hurt you or El, so do warn him about that.

I am so very sorry for everything Will, I really hope and pray that you'll be able to forgive me and find a friend in me again but Will, I just want you to know that I really miss talking to you, playing stupid little games with you, pretending to be asleep with you in the middle of the night so mom couldn't catch us, sneaking out to watch movies with you, listening to the clash with you, almost blowing up the kitchen while teaching you how to bake, Will, I just miss you a lot, and I wish I could fix these but I'm afraid there's not much time left, brother.

Will, I've been chosen, by Vecna, or cursed, whatever you call it. It's been a while actually, headaches, nosebleeds and nightmares but yesterday...yesterday I saw the clock. Actually I'm kinda surprised I'm not dead yet, but since I could manage a little time, I'm writing you this letter.

Don't be mad at me, at first I did think of sharing it with you or the others but I kinda figured that we actually have way bigger problems than this, yeah I know I still could've told you, or mom, or Nancy, but to be honest, even if it seems a little funny, lately I've been feeling like a plastic bag on this earth,or a blood sucking leech to be more precise who's just getting in the way complicating things more than they actually initially already are so I might as well let Henry take me as a bait already. Will, please do not ever turn out like me, I know you will never, it's spiritually impossible to ever happen but still, please don't.

The reason I'm telling you all this is because you're still my best friend and my favorite person, and you always will be, and remember that nothing in the universe can ever change it okay?

Will, to be honest I think I'm scared, I don't know what to do, it's like I'm walking inside the darkest tunnel and even though there is light outside, there is no way out and I'm too scared to even find a way so I'm just letting death befall. Still, there is a part of me that does want to make everything okay again, to fix it but I'm afraid that's not possible, not anymore, but right now, I'm too scared to give in and too scared to let go too. So, little brother, you got to let me know, should I stay or should I go?

Love, your useless big brother Jonathan

[girlinthetardis04]

Things about Sara:

(Aka my Obey Me! MC)

with a side of headcanons/au lore

She is 147cm short tall

She speaks Italian

Has no siblings

She's dating Beelzebub

She's not technically the MC from the game, since she lives in a separate timeline

She's not related to Lilith (because she's still alive in this timeline)

Because she almost died during her birth, her soul isn't fully tethered. This means that she can't form pacts or use magic, as it would kill her.

Ever since getting to the Devildom, she started getting night terrors. They only stopped after Lilith joined the exchange program in the second semester

Mostly introverted, she spends most of her time with Leviathan

Her and Leviathan are spirit twins (creatures whose "souls" were made with the same spiritual material. They're typically very hard to find because they tend to be different species. Beelzebub and Belphegor are spirit twins, and so are Asmodeus and Auriel, and Eden and Luke)

One of her biggest interests (aside from anime and videogames) is marine biology and sea monster legends. That's why she immediately tried to befriend Leviathan

She sees the three oldest as her own older brothers

The brothers that scare her the most are Satan, Asmodeus and Mammon

Joined the ALL with Satan and Belphegor (mostly because she likes to inconvenience Lucifer, she doesn't actually dislike him). Lilith joined too when she moved in

Is kind of like Chloe from Lucifer (2016) in that she was specifically made for the brothers. Even if the exchange program didn't exist and she had run into them, they wouldn't have been able/willing to hurt her

Somehow managed to make Henry 1.0 like her and kept him as her pet. If none of the brothers are able to accompany her out, she'll take him along with her because he'll try to kill anyone that comes too close to the human

She has friends outside of the main cast at RAD. Specifically Regan and Virgil, two lesser demons who have a Human World Appreciation Club at school

She has a pet black cat in the human world

Also a "pet" wild raven that she rescued after it fell out of its nest

Unlike the canon MC, she's not immune to Asmodeus's charm

Tends to hide her eyes behind her bangs. The only ones who have seen them uncovered are Beelzebub and Leviathan

Has made it a point to meet all the Avatars of Sin and Virtue

Lilith is her guardian angel

In her timeline, Belphegor didn't actually kill her, he just tried (then again so did everyone else lmao 💀)

Her mother does know about the exchange program, and pretty much accidentally became a coparent to the six younger brothers

Her parents named after the Sara from the Book of Tobit (iykyk look it up)

Her singing voice sounds like Ado

If any of the brothers yell at her or simply get too mad while she's around, she'll get nosebleeds. This always happens with Satan regardless of if he's outwardly angry or not

While she doesn't have any magic, she can astral project

[cleocat246]

Stranger Things OC

Face Claim: Katie Douglas

>>>>

Name: Wednesday Amelia Williams

Aliases & Nicknames: 

✧ 009 (Subject Name)

✧ Ness & Nessie

✧ Nessa

✧ Wendy

✧ Lia (From middle name)

✧ Weirdo

✧ Mrs. Freak

>>>>

Age: 

✧ Season one: 16

✧ Season two: 17

✧ Season three: 18

✧ Season four: 19

Born: 

✧ 1967

>>>>

Love Interest:

✧ Eddie Munson

✧ Eddie & Chrissy Cunningham (Alternate Universe)

Relatives:

✧ Elizabeth Williams (Adoptive mother/former doctor at The Lab)

✧ Jim Hopper (Father figure to Wednesday & Eleven)

✧ Eleven (Spiritual Sister)

✧ Kali (Spiritual Sister)

✧ Martin Brenner (Formar father figure/captor)

Friends:

✧ Chrissy Cunningham (Best Friend -Deceased)

✧ Steve Harrington (Best Friend)

✧ Robin Buckley (Best Friend)

✧ Nancy Wheeler

✧ Max Mayfield

>>>>

Affiliation: 

✧ Hawkins National Laboratory (Formally)

✧ The Party

✧ The Williams Family

Occupation:

✧ Hawkins Lab test Subject (formally)

✧ Student at Hawkins High School

>>>>

Physical Appearance

✧ Wednesday likes her hair long since she spent most of her life with it buzzed. Likes to experiment with different colors of nail polish.

Personality

✧ She is shy and calm around people she doesn't know but can get pretty hyper and funny when comfortable with someone. She became close with Steve and Robin, making it the mighty trio. When Wednesday met Eddie, she instantly felt connected and knew she had to get to know him.

Background

✧ The ninth experiment of the Hawkins Laboratory.

✧ During the Rainbow Room massacre in 1979, Elizabeth, a doctor at the Lab, made it out with Wednesday safely.

✧ They hid in a cabin in the woods until everything happened in seasons 1 & 2.

✧ Joined Hawkins High School in season 2 in her sophomore year.

✧ She met Eddie at the beginning of her senior year when Wednesday awaited Steve to pick her and the boys up after their extracurriculars. 

>>>>

Powers & Abilities 

Mental Domination

✧ the psychic ability to force others into extreme susceptibility, making them vulnerable to anything they are told or told to do.

✧ It allows her to push any thoughts into anyone's mind.

✧ Weakness: often experience severe headaches and nosebleeds

Telepathy

✧ Can read someone's mind when she has her fingers on the person's forehead. 

✧ Weakness: This can cause intense headaches because the minds are melding together during the experience.

Telekinesis 

✧ The psychic ability to move objects with one's mind. Her emotions help give her powers an intense boost of energy.

✧ Weakness: Headaches, Nose bleeds, and Energy depletion

Healing

✧ Can heal and restore biological beings (From humans to plants to animals). 

✧ Weakness: Part of her energy and life goes into what she is healing, so she can't overexert herself. The subject also has to be alive to be healed and saved. 

Pyrokinesis

✧ The psychic ability to control fire from her mind and hands. 

✧ Immune to fire and heat, she can sense fires from a certain radius.

✧ Weakness: Anything cold, ice, or lots of water. 

>>>> 

Notes

✧ Since Wednesday has healing powers, she could heal Eddie after the bat attack.

✧ "A government leak has revealed that the recent teen deaths were from a killer who escaped prison and the hallucinations from a chemical leak in the local lake - lovers lake. With this current information, Eddie Munson, the supposed Cult leader of the HellFire club, has been freed from all suspicions of crimes this past week."

[way-down-aevistown]

About ten chapters in and yeah it's about what you'd expect

MC starts out some ultra powerful and vengeful warlord, and is instantly reborn into someone with permanently ruined spiritual veins (although likely not for long)

Everyone scorns him for his disability but mostly they hate that he's about to get married to the girl they all want.

She is the number one beauty, skin like jade, eyes that contain endless depth, pale and creamy, lips like petals. She's an incredibly talented lady, the pride of their city, who has already reached level 10 of peak nascent phase or whatever. I can't keep track of the names but it went on and on about how once in a generation this talent is. The marriage is entirely due to an agreement 16 years ago.

She is a cool beauty with ice powers, and after honouring the betrothal plans to leave him for one of the famous sects, only accepting disciples very rarely, a great honour etc etc. This requires her to be chaste and pure for life. The comments are calling her cruel and two faced because she is kind but won't let him hit.

MC performs acupuncture on her with her clothes off, then acknowledges how his master would beat him up for this because it was totally unnecessary and entirely for his entertainment

The second girl, or the first depending on how you count it, is his auntie but a year younger. They have feelings for each other and have a "kissing game" from when they were young. MC says he also wants to marry her if only she wasn't his auntie. A commentor described this as "wincest".

A third girl appears, naked, and 12 years old. The author does in fact describe her toes in detail. And despite being 12 she is already developing. Her skin is also carved of jade and creamy white. The MC gets an instant nosebleed and says "It was as if all the beauty in the world had been mustered inside this body of ultimate perfection".

Not sure I can handle much more of this guys.

Is just me who get a morbid curiosity of reading the full PIDW by Airplane-bro just to see how bad it is?

Like I know it's going to be a shitshow with tons of fan service but like, I want read it just to confirm 👀💦

[fallouttboy]

having 2ourdust feelings. what is this blog if not my livejournal.

i still have nashville coming but going to austin for fob is one of the greatest, most emotional moments of my life. i had never been to texas, save for a moment when i was a kid, but that doesn’t count because i only remember what my mother has told me.

it all started kind of funny. one of my best friends lives in texas and we met through here, i went to his blog and quite literally slid into his dms and our relationship bloomed from there. i realized when i talked to him that i really have been missing the feeling of having a best friend, the love and affection and trust that comes with it. the countless nights we stayed up too late and the days where i sent him voice memos of me sobbing and he’d send his own crises back. it wasn’t bad. it was really, unbelievably amazing to have a relationship like that.

we bonded over fob immediately. so when they announced 2ourdust, obviously we both jumped on the closest city to us. i cracked a “haha what if i also come to austin” and that (obviously) stopped being slash j and i wound up staying a few nights at his apartment.

and he would’ve been enough. getting to go to texas would’ve been good enough. great, amazing even. but then i met my partner through him, and she wound up coming too.

i’ve never been to a concert with friends before. i’m reclusive and weird about truly letting myself go in front of people. it scares me. me and my partner snuck up to row three and i can’t dwell on it or i will cry. it doesn’t feel real. none of this feels fucking real. it feels like i’m dreaming and ill wake up and it’ll be back before i started talking to my friend. i’ll wake up in some chicago hotel after the tourdust show and ill have to go back home to the things i have gotten through and left in the past. it’ll be like time never passed at all, that everything i have lived from june 22 until now has all been fake.

being held around the hip by my partner. sharing looks of excitement and bewilderment and shock at the setlist. her holding me as i swayed.

i was so scared of being judged and left by my friends that i forgot it doesn’t fucking matter. concerts are stimming for me; the bass, the ability to jump and scream and flap my hands and stomp my feet. it’s all things i hide, used to doing in my own time, never in front of people. certainly not people who are important to me.

i’ve never been that close to a stage in an arena setting. i’m used to nosebleeds. seeing the arm hairs on them, the details and shading and age of jack skellington on pete’s arm, andy pinching his cymbal during crazy train. the singer from jimmy eat world shaking his head like a dog and seeing the sweat fling around.

to me, music is religion. it is spiritual. concerts are worshipping; worship of the band, yes, but also that sort of terrifying beautiful moment i can never tell the reality of. the moment in (christian) services where someone is so overcome with their love for god that they drop to their knees and weep, arms in the air, pumping and waving like god will come reach down and touch their hands. not too dissimilar to how pete holds with the crowd during saturday.

[dianaritteroflows]

11/24/2023 8:32 PM

I've had the most vivid dreams this week. I've felt an emotional tug of war while being in them.

My first vivid dream of the week was between me and ex boyfriend. My mom had decided to split us up. This strays from the reality of the actual situation in which I chose to break up. It was like some alternate universe, Patrick found out that I was not loyal through my mom and he chose to break up with me.

He cut me off from everything. It felt odd because I didn't want to chase him back but I wanted to be the one to cut off things. We weren't good for each other but I was supposed to be the one that decided that.

Another vivid dream happened with Angelo. We were having sex as usual and the dream slowly transformed from me leaving his room to entering an empty gym with just his roommate there. I felt awkward at first and I wanted to leave. He struck up a conversation with me about how he was impressed a girl would be interested in lifting and I laughed. Somehow the dream changed into me becoming so close and intimate with him. He was using phrases like "I've always wanted to give you a try, maybe I could teach you some things." He stuck his dick in me and I yelped. He covered my mouth and was talking me through what he liked. It felt so real and I felt so connected to him.

I've always though Angelo's roommate was attractive of course. However, the thought of getting with him never really struck my mind. Since I'm getting with Angelo and he is some of the best I've ever had, it doesn't really benefit me to ruin that by getting with his roommate. But who knows. I doubt I'm his type. I think he likes them younger (and although I'm already younger than him, I think he's thinking one or two years younger). And he definitely gives me the vibe that he's into blondes.

All this has felt more real than a lot of my other dreams. Maybe it's because I'm getting better sleep than usual. Who knows?

I had a third dream but I don't feel like discussing it here. Something about it felt even too personal to share on a blog that I discuss everything on anyways.

I wonder if I'll have more vivid dreams?

I keep asking the Lord for signs and I think he's asking me to wait my turn to slow down. The sign of 3 nosebleeds I think was significant. The number 3 played a significant role in the Bible. The Trinity: the Holy Spirit, the Lord, and the Son. Jesus rising in 3 days. All of it symbolising a perfection under a beautiful Holiness.

I think what this symbolises for me is that I'm just fine as I am. The guidance the Lord wants me to take is not a transformation of my physical being but of my spiritual being. I think it's a calling to close a chapter and leave behind my old spiritual being.

Of course I understand for anyone else to read this, it would sound insane. And maybe I am insane. I want there to be signs of the Lord and I will plead with whatever I can find.

[curiouscatrecaps]

Episode 2 - My Name is Konohamaru

As a requirement for his graduation from the Ninja Academy, Naruto needs to submit a picture for his ninja registration form. The photographer double checks with Naruto if he is sure with the look he is going for to which he says yes with conviction. The final photo shows Naruto wearing full kabuki make-up.

The Third Hokage rejects the photo and asks Naruto to submit a new one. Undeterred, Naruto tries to one up the Hokage by using the Sexy Jutsu, causing the old man to have a nosebleed and to fall off his chair. The Third Hokage quickly regains his composure and explains to Naruto that the ninja registration form is an important document in the ninja profession.

A small boy suddenly interrupts the proceedings and launches an attack on the Third Hokage. But before he could do any damage, the boy trips on his own feet and falls face first to the floor. Ebisu, the boy’s guardian, shows up right after, looking alarmed.

The boy tries to downplay his embarrassment and blames Naruto for his fall. Naruto cuffs the boy to teach him a lesson but Ebisu orders him to stop because the boy is the Third Hokage’s grandson, Konohamaru.

Konohamaru dares Naruto to hurt him, thinking he wouldn't do it because of his status, but Naruto says he doesn’t care and punches the boy in the head.

Ebisu scolds Konohamaru for not acting like the Hokage’s grandson and warns him not to get too close with Naruto. Knowing the kid’s wish to be the next Hokage, Ebisu proudly tells Konohamaru that he’s the only one who can help him realize his dream. He keeps talking so much that he ends up not noticing that Konohamaru has slipped away from the room to follow Naruto. Meanwhile, the Hokage seems to be worried about Konohamaru's growing interest in Naruto.

While walking through the village, Naruto notices that someone is tailing him. Konohamaru thinks he is being stealthy but his disguises are so bad even Naruto doesn’t have a hard time seeing through him. After a series of terrible camouflage attempts, Naruto finally calls out Konohamaru and orders him to stop following him. Konohamaru just brushes it off and declares that he wants to be Naruto’s student because he wants to learn the Sexy Jutsu that “took out” the Third Hokage. Naruto refuses at first but when Konohamaru calls him “boss,” he gives in to the request.

Naruto tries to lecture Konohamaru on the importance of mastering the “Chatora.” Konohamaru corrects him with the right term - chakra. He then goes on to explain that chakra is the essential energy needed to perform Jutsus. It is produced by combining ones’ physical energy and spiritual energy, honed through training and experience. Naruto is initially amazed at Konohamaru’s excellent explanation until he turns around and sees the kid reading all the information from a scroll.

Naruto tells Konohamaru that the real way to master the Sexy Jutsu is through hard work and guts. They begin their training by performing a basic Transformation Jutsu. Naruto orders Konohamaru to transform into the beautiful woman just across from them. Konohamaru does as he is told but the transformation did not turn out quite well. The woman sees them and gets angry at the unsightly figure that Konohamaru turned into, but she only punishes Naruto. As for Konohamaru, she only tells him to try better next time.

For their next task, Naruto brings Konohamaru to a book shop to look at sexy magazines for reference. They manage to go in unnoticed and browse some magazines but the owner eventually catches up on them. Konohamaru comes out unscathed, while Naruto gets another beating.

Their final task involves disguising themselves as girls and sneaking into the bath house. Naruto does a perfect Sexy Jutsu while Konohamaru’s isn’t as good looking. They get discovered almost immediately, earning Naruto more injuries. They both retreat into the forest where they practice Konohamaru’s Sexy Jutsu further.

While resting, Naruto asks Konohamaru why he is so obsessed with beating his grandpa. Konohamaru explains that he doesn’t get the recognition he deserves because everyone just refers to him as the Hokage’s grandson. The only way he can get the respect he wants is to be the Hokage himself. Naruto tells him it will not be that easy because he has to beat him first.

Elsewhere, Ebisu continues on his search while the Third Hokage is visited by Iruka, who reports that Naruto seems to be genuinely happy now that he is about to become a ninja. However, the Hokage expresses some doubts if it will last because the road to acceptance will be difficult, knowing that Naruto is the vessel of the Nine-tailed Demon Fox. Despite the Fourth Hokage’s dying wish for the village to treat Naruto as a hero, most of the villagers see him as the monster that lives inside him. They may not be allowed to say it outright because it is outlawed but Naruto will surely see the resentment and anger in their eyes.

Back in the forest, Ebisu finally locates Naruto and Konohamaru. He gives Naruto a cold, hateful stare for being the demon fox’s vessel before trying to convince Konohamaru to resume his training with him. Konohamaru counters with a perfectly executed Sexy Jutsu, but Ebisu is able to control himself and proceeds to drag Konohamaru back to the village.

Naruto uses the Multi-Shadow Clone Jutsu to stop Ebisu. Ebisu laughs it off, saying that he is not as weak as Mizuki. As he prepares for battle, Naruto and his clones perform the Sexy Jutsu all at the same time. Ebisu is fawned over by a gaggle of beautiful, naked women, causing a huge nosebleed that incapacitates him. Naruto celebrates his victory and calls his new technique Harem Jutsu.

Inspired by Naruto’s win over Ebisu, Konohamaru expresses his desire to be the Hokage as soon as he can. Naruto takes this opportunity to lecture Konohamaru that there is no shortcut to becoming Hokage - one has to work hard for it and be prepared to go through numerous struggles. Konohamaru realizes how serious Naruto is in attaining his dream of being Hokage, so he discards Naruto as his teacher and declares him as his rival. Naruto assures Konohamaru that even though he is going to be a ninja first, he will treat him equally when the time comes that they have to fight for the title. 

[collegiatesins]

the  bathroom  door  creaked  open  exactly  halfway.  leona  didn’t  step  out.  just  leaned  her  shoulder  into  the  frame  like  a  noir  heroine  who’d  traded  a  cigarette  for  a  jade  face  roller,  dark  hair  clipped  back  in  a  messy  twist,  skin  dewy  from  a  too  long  steam.  a  white  linen  robe  —  not  hers,  probably  stolen  from  her roommate  in  petty  retaliation  —  hung  loosely  from  her  frame,  one  sleeve  sliding  down  to  her  elbow  like  even  her  clothes  couldn’t  commit  to  being  fully  present.  “  i  see  you  didn't  even  bother  to  knock  first  this  time,  ”  she  said  coolly,  eye  brow  arched  in  silent  challenge.  between  cleo  and  mags,  leo's  friends  were  beginning  to  get  a  little  too  comfortable  invading  her  space.  it  was  bad  enough  she  had  to  share  it  with  subin.  “  what  were  you  going  to  do  if  i  was  actually  hiding  in  the  closet?  stage  an  intervention?  ”  her  lips  twitched  with  a  smile,  dry  and  tired  and  just  this  side  of  affectionate.  leo  padded  into  the  room  barefoot,  careful  not  to  trip  over  the  chaos  she’d  carefully  cultivated.

notebooks  were  scooped  into  a  pile  with  one  lazy  gesture.  the  incense  frog  repositioned  as  if  its  spiritual  energy  might  be  disrupted  by  a  guest.  a  hand  reached  out,  ghostlike,  and  plucked  the  strawberry  milk  from  one  of  the  plastic  bags.  the  dark  haired  beauty  holding  it  up  like  an  offering,  eyebrow  arched.  “  you’re  lucky  i  was  mostly  done  with  my  skincare  routine  or  you  would  have  been  left  waiting  longer,  ”  she  murmured,  flopping  backwards  onto  the  rug  beside  the  bed  with  an  unnecessarily  theatrical  groan.  “  if  you’d  caught  me  mid-crisis,  i’d  have  hexed  you  with  something  extremely  inconvenient.  like  minor  nosebleeds  every  time  you  quote  a  meme.  ”  her  fingers  drummed  lightly  against  the  milk  carton  before  passing  it  back  to  cleo,  hand  already  digging  into  the  bag  for  more  goodies.  “  alright.  floor  granted.  offerings  accepted.  now  spill,  what’s  haunting  you  this  time?  and  don’t  say  it’s  the  ghost  of  poor  time  management  again.  ” she  looked  up  at  the  ceiling,  lips  pursed.  “  that  one’s  mine.  ”  the  mention  of  magicians  sends  leona’s  mind  reeling  back  to  the  dim  haze  of  a  few  hours  ago.  a  too-warm  room,  a  forgotten  card  trick,  and  zakaria’s  lips  against  hers,  soft  and  certain,  dissolving  the  space  between  them  like  smoke.  she  blinks  once,  twice,  a  third  time  for  good  measure,  willing  the  memory  away  before  it  swallows  her  whole.  it  hadn’t  even  been  the  alcohol,  though  it  made  a  useful  scapegoat,  just  an  impulsive,  treacherous  want  she  couldn’t  ignore.  still,  she  forces  her  focus  forward,  flashing  a  grin  laced  with  levity.  “  first  of  all,  i  never  tune  you  out.  i  just  passively  listen  until  you  say  something  interesting.  ”  her  tone  is  sharp,  but  her  eyes  betray  her.  all  fondness  and  unspoken  truth,  the  kind  that  says:  we  both  know  I  hang  on  every  word  you  say. " now can you please tell me why you're really here? "

WITH: leona. @collegiatesins WHERE: leona's dorm. WHEN:  7:32pm.

cleo didn’t knock. she never knocked. a socked foot in slippers slid inside, testing the waters like cleo expected to be hit with a spell trap or a very sharp object. she followed it, arms full of plastic bags, cheeks pink from the cold and the effort of sneaking up some flights without getting caught by campus security again. “subin, if you’re in here — i brought strawberry milk and a peace offering in the shape of hello panda. i come bearing emotionally-loaded questions and a strong urge to sit on your floor,” she whispered theatrically, glancing around. no reply. “cool, no subin tonight.” but the room was quiet, steeped in soft golden lamplight. it smelled like lavender wax and something smoky — patchouli? sandalwood? a failed attempt at bergamot, more likely. leona’s desk was its usual controlled chaos: scattered vials, open notebooks, incense sticks half-burnt in a ceramic frog. a velvet scrunchie crowned a miniature tower of scrabble tiles spelling ‘EAT ME’ that cleo had left days ago precariously for anyone to read.

cleo stepped over a tangle of wires and unceremoniously flopped onto leona’s bed, sending a plush toy that cleo had left there flying. she stared at the ceiling like it might answer her. then, as if summoned herself, she called out, “so, what are we avoiding today, babe?” no answer. she blinked, sat up halfway, and added, “don’t tell me you’re hiding in the closet. because i got stuck in the closet when i was eight and my dad didn’t even look for me all day, so. not fun.” she tilted her head. the silence was suspicious. still nothing, so she rolled onto her stomach and narrowed her eyes at the closed bathroom door. “leo,” she called louder, sing-songy. “i stalked your location again, you were across campus twenty minutes ago, but now you’re here, brooding in your candle crypt. i kind of like the vibes in here though. cavernous.. quiet. like a festering magician or something.” her eyes flickered to the windowsill, an altar of perfume bottles, dried flowers, and matchboxes. a record played somewhere, skipping slightly like it couldn’t decide whether to keep going or give up. “i always wanted to be a magician, you know? only job that comes with that funky little magic wand and a bunny.” a quick pause. she heard stirring in the bathroom: a sign of life indeed. “did you hear me say the part about strawberry milk or have you been tuning me out the whole time?”

[134340am]

hello frens, i’ve finally finished watching jjk! (☆▽☆)

will anyone be kind enough to rec ur fav jjk fics or blogs to aid my new obsession... :’-) moots please send me ur fics too, i’d love to read them! (don’t b shy 🤲 hehe)

[kingofthe-egirls]

FOX TALES: LUFFY/SANJI/OC (nsfw)

fox tales

(cw: kitsune, oc, luffy smut, sanji smut, sex, polyamory, blowjob, sweet romance, fluff, food mention)

***

“Did you damn animals even taste that?” A disgruntled voice comes from the fridge, and you look over to see Sanji straightening up with a raw Sea King steak in his hands. You cover your mouth with a tail tip.

“Sorry, Sanji,” you giggle, and reach out your arms for more. “Come kiss me?”

***

“There’s something about you…,” you say. Kitsunes have a sense about things, even as a mortal now. You’re still connected to the spiritual plane, can still open portals between worlds at will. That was something Luffy found endlessly fascinating about you, the way your eyes started glowing whenever you channelled or the opalescent shimmer at the borders of a portal, the in-between molecules that exist in all worlds. Diamonds at the edges of your vision.

“Are you spiritual?” You ask him, and he screws up his monkey face in thought.

“Hm…I’m not sure! What does that mean?”

You hum, tilting your own head in thought. You tap your finger against your chin. “It means…that you’re in tune. With the universe. Like, the voice of all things? Or maybe it’s more like haki, like the energy of things.”

Luffy nods, brows furrowed seriously.

“It’s like a mystery thing.”

You snort. “You can’t tell me you don’t get haki,” you swat at his head and he ducks gracefully. “Like that,” you point out.

“Eh,” he scratches the back of his head, “It’s almost like seeing the future? Like my observation haki.”

You nod, twisting your lips up to the side a bit. “Kinda?”

Luffy huffs, and plops down with his head in your lap. He places his straw hat flat on his belly so you can run your fingers through his hair. He hums quietly, eyes slipping closed like a satisfied cat.

“I could take you there, sometime,” you offer. “Back to the spirit plane.”

“Really??” His eyes fly open in glee, and he sits up like a spring. You barely have time to flinch out of the way.

“C’mon man,” you chide, and he giggles sheepishly. You roll your eyes. “But…yeah. It’d have to be while you’re asleep, though.”

“Why?”

“Dreaming’s an easier way to travel between worlds. It…lets things get squishy,” you scrunch your nose up trying to explain. It wasn’t easy to translate multidimensional experiences, apparently. You cock an ear irritably. “My head hurts.”

“Mine too,” he agrees, and you both stand up in unison.

“Food?” You say at the same time, and laugh. You hitch your hands around your waist, and he grins at you like the cutest thing. You leap forward, and kiss him.

He hums, a pleased sound, and winds his arms around your waist. You’re warm, like melting butter in the sun. You sigh.

He picks you up, easily, and you can only gasp in surprise when he slingshots you both across the prow toward the kitchen.

“Ah!” You yelp, clinging to his shoulders. “I’m never gonna get used to that,” you grumble, dusting off your shorts once you land. He only giggles in return.

“Sorry, Kitty,” he says, and pecks you on the cheek. “It’s faster though, right?” He marches on forward into the kitchen, and you follow close behind.

“Yeah, yeah,” you huff out a laugh, and dart around his shoulder to the basket of cookies sitting on the counter. You both devour the contents almost immediately.

“Did you damn animals even taste that?” A disgruntled voice comes from the fridge, and you look over to see Sanji straightening up with a raw Sea King steak in his hands. You cover your mouth with a tail tip.

“Sorry, Sanji,” you giggle, and reach out your arms for more. “Come kiss me?”

The blond cook spurts out a nosebleed that he quickly cleans up, and you can feel Luffy snicker beside you. You snicker, too.

“Of course, mon cherie,” Sanji says once he’s recovered. He closes the distance in between you with long, graceful strides. He takes your face in both hands, his slender fingers cool against your cheeks. He leans in to press a slow, sensual kiss against your lips. You moan, your tails and toes both curling in delight.

Luffy pokes at your cheek, “No fair, Kit,” he moans, “I wanna turn. Please?” He asks when you don’t move right away.

“Yes, sorry,” you break away with a gasp, and you’re turning over your shoulder to take Luffy’s chin on your hands. His grin is sincere but sheepish, and you brush your fingers against his skin. He’s warm, like biscuits.

“Your turn,” you breathe, and brush your lips against his. He sighs, wrapping his arms around you from behind. His chest is strong and sturdy against your back. Like leaning up against an oak tree.

Sanji moves down to kiss your neck, his fingers playing at the hem of your shirt. “Can I?” He mumbles playfully against your throat. You hum an agreement, and tighten your grip on Luffy’s face. He reaches down to help Sanji pull your shirt up over your breasts.

“No bra today? Naughty Kit,” Luffy teases in your ear. He leaves a sharp lick across the outer edge, and you shiver.

“Sorry,” you say, “Wasn’t feeling it.”

“I don’t mind, mademoiselle,” Sanji grins from where his lips are already at the swell of your breasts. His hands come to cup the weight of them, and he squeezes once. You bite your lip, stifling a slight buckle of your hips. Luffy grins into his kiss.

You deepen it, slipping your tongue past his pillow-soft lips and into the warm heat of his mouth. His tongue slides against yours, and you groan.

Sanji gives you a soft love-nip just between your collarbones.

“Shall we take this off, love?” He asks, plucking at your shirt. You nod, and separate yourself from Luffy long enough for your captain and cook to help pull it over your head.

“These too,” Luffy whispers, his finger tucked into your belt loop. You swallow, thickly, and try not to blush at the heat seeping between your legs.

Sanji unbuckles your denim shorts and slides them down your legs. “No panties either?” He cocks an eyebrow. “You are naughty, after all.”

Luffy snickers, hands massaging your tits with wide, warm palms. His fingers sink deep into your flesh, and he grins. “Told ya.”

“Shut up,” you murmur, turning your head to mouth along Luffy’s neck. Your fingers slide through Sanji’s satin hair. He kisses along your belly, and butterflies flick down your wrists as you see him kneel before you.

“May I?”

You’re nodding vigorously before he even asks the question. “Please,” you squirm, held firm in Luffy’s arms as he hooks his chin over your shoulder. His eyes focus intently on what Sanji was about to do.

The first touch, his teeth against your inner thigh, sends shivers down your spine as you gasp. Blue sparks have already started to dance before your eyes, and he hasn’t even started yet.

“Ohh, look!” Luffy stage-whispers, and Sanji glances up from where he’d been staring, mouth watering at your heat. “She’s glowing again!”

You start, unsure of what he means. “Am I?” You look over at him, and he nods. Sparkles shimmer opalescent in your captain’s eyes. Sparkles reflected from your own vulpine eyes, you presume, as you flick your tails in front of your face.

Sparkly dust shimmers around them, caught in between worlds. Like moon dust, you think, as you smile softly. Your ears were probably glowing, too. “I wonder why,” you muse.

Sanji hums between your legs, and gives your pussy a cursory lick. He hums when he sees your tails shimmer in response. “You seem to like that,” he observes, and licks a stripe up your pussy again. You moan, grabbing at his hair with claw-like hands. “Looks like your spirit-self is coming through.”

“Let her,” you breathe, and sink back against Luffy’s solid frame. He wraps his arms around your waist. He presses a kiss to the base of your neck, and you can feel his hard length poking into your back. You grind against him unintentionally, and he growls low in his throat.

“Touch me, Kit?” He mumbles against your ear, and you scramble backwards to get your hand inside of your boyfriend’s pants. He’s not wearing underwear, either.

There’s a moment of silence between the three of you, as you palm Luffy’s erection beneath his shorts, his hips rutting into your touch, and Sanji works at your clit. Sanji’s tongue is always soft, and you moan as you lean your head back. Stars are dancing behind your vision.

“Feels good,” Luffy whispers against your skin, his voice soaked in pleasure. You feel a rush of heat surge through you at the sound, enough to make you pause Sanji’s movements so you can spin around and hug your captain tightly. You’re twisted like a dishrag, one half sprawled out before your cook, and the other draped around your captain’s neck. Your thighs are still tight around Sanji’s head.

He pumps his tongue in and out of you, warm and wet and plump, and you moan into Luffy’s mouth. He’s back at your tits, fingers playing with your nipples. Sparks tingle beneath your skin, emerald like copper and flint. His touch felt so good.

“Please…,” you whisper, to no one in particular. Begging for something you didn’t know how to receive. Portals flash open behind your eyelids.

“Ohh—,” you stammer out, suddenly frisking in your chair. Luffy tightens his hold around you, tongue still buried down your throat. You writhe and moan into the touch, Sanji’s mouth tearing your sanity apart at the seams. Your legs spasm around his head, and he only redoubles his efforts at pleasing you. He slips two fingers inside your pussy, curling up toward your g-spot and rubbing soft circles against it. You curl forward, lurching in Luffy’s grip, and cum with your mouth held open in a silent “O.”

“That’s my girl,” Luffy coos, cheek squished against your neck, “Keep going, just like that…”

Sanji, for his part, moans with his mouth full. His fingers pump into you gently, riding out your orgasm as it rocks through you. Slowly, sweetly, he stills his movements once you stop twitching. Swirly moon dust flicks off your tails and dissipates in the now-sweaty air.

You breathe, desperately, and Luffy hums in your ear. “Good job,” he says, and you giggle deliriously.

“I feel drunk,” you admit, and both your men start laughing unashamedly. Sanji rests his forehead against your thigh, breathy laughs leaving his throat. His voice is angelic, to you. “Thank you,” you whisper, stroking along his blushing cheek. He looks up at you, pleased, and presses another kiss to your sensitive thigh.

“My pleasure, mon amour.”

“Mine too,” Luffy growls, never wanting to be left out. “Can we fuck you, now?”

He moans into your neck, biting softly against your skin. You nod, and let him lead you down to the polished kitchen floor. You’d lick crumbs off it, if he told you to.

You’ve half a mind to tell him that, but decide against giving him that big of an ego boost. Besides, he’d never actually tell you to do that. He was far too kind, even for his own good.

Unless, of course, you wanted him to.

You hum, quietly filing that away for later.

Luffy positions you on all fours, his hands hot and sure as they trace over your body. Delicate tingles of lust ripple across you in their wake. His fingers tug on your nipples, him leaning over you, while Sanji unbuckles his own belt in front of your face.

“Can I?” You ask, licking your bottom lip. Sanji nods, flushed down to his exposed collarbones as he tugs off his shirt. His pants are pooled around his knees, his belt undone and clinking against the floor.

Sanji’s cock is dusted in a light blush, a thick tip drooling precum inches from your lips. You give an experimental lick, and he shudders.

“Oh, yes, my darling,” he ruts into your face, forcing you to take more of him. You grunt, muffled by his cock, and Luffy leans over to smack Sanji’s arm.

“Be nice,” he orders. Sanji pulls out from where he was pressed against the inside of your cheek. The pressure softens, but you moan. Sheepish, you look over your shoulder at Luffy.

“It’s okay,” you say, peeking at your boyfriend through nine shivering tails. The blue dust floating off them throws a veil of twinkling firelights in between you and your captain. He shrugs.

“Fine by me,” he mutters, poking at your entrance with his cock. “Go ahead and fuck her, Sanji.”

“Aye, aye, captain.” And starts facefucking you.

You gasp, hot and sticky around his aching cock, and surrender your senses completely to these two men.

Sanji smells like gold, like cigarette smoke and clean clothes, like laundry day and the chocolate cookies he baked earlier. His slender hands grasp your throat.

Luffy has buried himself to the hilt in your core, and you wiggle your hips back onto him with a moan. He pushes your tails out of the way. “Wanna grab her,” he says, punctuating his words with shallow thrusts. A rubber hand fists into your hair, forcing your neck back so you have no choice but to take Sanji’s cock deeper.

“Mmph!” You moan around his shaft, slick and wet and sliding in and out of you with ease. Luffy starts to pick up the pace, and his second-in-command follows suit.

Fuck.

These two men were going to be the death of you.

***

After hours, minutes, eternities, you slowly come to. You’d been fucked out completely by their cocks, letting the boys use you. Your pussy clenches hard down around Luffy’s cock, and you let out a strangled cry as you cum for the nth time. Sanji has pulled out of your mouth, opting instead to jack off over your face.

“That’s a pretty girl,” he traces his thumb across your bottom lip, swollen and strawberry from his use. His other hand fists his cock inches from your face, the sticky tip knocking against your cheek every so often. He hooks a thumb into the corner of your mouth, stretching your lips wide open.

“Say please.”

“Ahh,” you loll your tongue out for him, “Please?”

“Good girl,” he grunts, face red as candy as he cums all over your face. It gets on your chin, your eyes, your nose, your hair. You grin in slutty delight.

“Luuuuffyyyy,” you croon, turning over your shoulder to your beloved captain.

Luffy is panting, head tipped back with his adam’s apple bobbing. His forearms are strong, veins bulging out as he rams your ass back against his hips over and over again. He looks down at you with dark eyes.

“Feeling good, fox-ears?” He cocks an eyebrow at you, punctuating the teasing nickname with a particularly hard thrust.

“Nng—Yes!—fuck—captain!” You manage out in between breaths. Your voice is pornographic, high pitched and whiny. You’re meeting his hips with every thrust. Another orgasm licks creeping fingers up your spine.

Your whole body shivers with it, and Luffy moans at how tight you are.

“Gonna—fuck,” he pants, “Gonna cum,” he ruts and ruts into you with amazing speed, his cock head brushing the best spots inside you. With another gasping moan, he cums deep in your pussy as it spasms around him. “Fuck, Kitty—you’re so warm—“

He spills himself completely into you.

Luffy bends over double, almost collapsing you to the ground.

“Watch out!” You complain, voice still a raspy moan, but Sanji catches your head before it hits the tile. His hand smooshes into the cum still left cooling across your face.

“Fuck,” he breathes out, playing with it in his fingers, “You look good like this.”

You blink blearily up at him, gaze softened in a haze of orgasmic aftershocks. Luffy’s still-hard cock twitches inside you.

“Good job, Kitty,” he says, pressing a kiss to the side of your head. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

“Yes, please,” you purr, and let both men help you stand up. Your legs are wobbly, like a mermaid standing on her tail fins.

“Shishishi,” Luffy giggles, one arm around your waist, “We fucked you silly, didn’t we?” He nuzzles into your cheek.

“Mmhmm,” you give a pleased hum, nuzzling back into your captain’s soft hair. He smells so good.

“Thank you, boys,” you giggle, flicking your tails around them as they half-carry you to the counter. The soft, white fur caresses your two friends beside you. Sanji catches one and rubs it against his cheek.

“So soft,” he murmurs, and places a kiss against it. You blush, and pull him in for another kiss.

“You are,” you say, and blink doe-eyed up at him. He kisses your nose with a smack. Luffy pecks one to your neck.

“Mm, what about me?” He asks, poking your arm as they sit you up on the counter. Sanji absentmindedly hands you a glass of water. You sip, thoughtfully. Luffy leans against your legs. He spreads them, slightly, and washes you down with a warm cloth that Sanji handed to him. “Feel okay?” He asks quietly, and you pet his head in answer.

“Mm, I think you’re soft, too,” you decide, and peck a kiss on his dimpled cheek. Little sunstars speckle across his nose, so you kiss those, too.

“Strong too, right?” His eyes gleam at you, and you can tell he’s only half-teasing. Sanji is across the room, gathering your clothes. A tea kettle is already steaming, somehow, and three mugs are waiting with tea.

You lean in close to Luffy, his face mere inches from yours. “The strongest,” you croon. “I’m—,” you swallow, meet his gaze with your lower lip tucked between your teeth, “I’m crazy about you.”

He grins.

“Me too.”

***

[xenopoem]

SCANNER SPATTER by David John Roden

aer0oil de-couple/ I

n/sertion

cellulase under polysaccharide gliderpuff compost4est floor from tValley’s side survey dime-through-quiet Boschian Incongruity [ConSec intel designation] blistered sward sens buffer 

traumupload chameleonweave 

takpatina decay 

twigs/n leaves 

sensate synchyell0 loamthread rhizome w/streaks on white foam  

upload2ConSec SatWatchers SCAN4protosentience 

4 salient hypersurfacez 

oculars saccaded 4est heat-signatures inert @adjacent bush 

they fell1thru scorpion addict’s ominous limbic glam rending/consuming wentw/fast impact/n chamo-weave/n deep thighmeat rolling aside on the slope 2C it launch2last/fast 

cani4m weaponmount harnessed/n tawny flanks 

so boned 

4conjoint netweaking 4 hyper cerebral electrolysis bald jowled headgrowl lips pulled over Rottweiler Dents neckfur collar studded w/Disney/Vd+ logo crackd like melonspray shit skull shards gut blowout dents land@ cranberry file 2 points 1 buffered moved/n tagged on visual ConSec HR quaint butt 0 jaundiced quips  

airwasp shimmer-dents bury bark canilubed through undergrowth [guessing her aim from phase shifts/n parietal lobe]  pigface has human chassis crusted w/gristle gats dildo plug/n musclethigh breasts contused w/greasy gatlings caged fli-dent munitions on collagen [empty after the precipitate assault] SCAN fear-spiked amygdala sequalae 0 

cortisolnadrenal 

string-maskedw/leather redball 

gag unFKed beyond patchwork dolls2halts 

aneurysms bloom 

nosebleed wrought FKurge2remove gag 

strappo plug squirt militant flukes w/bioport emulation place 4 venereal wormz/n a sample tooth thighmeat/n 

analgesic cools secret cham-weave’s 

AGI-text1 whistled 2 security lodge [battle elated] the HR tag resolved head-on-dog as Greg Chimes [long 0 Brand’s Security] 

4me@lodge

other sentinels quiesce over the Valley awaiting guidance/missiv from their Mistress 0 movement yet Chimes’ colleague some ‘gardener’ or remote loiterer squinting into cocoid sun his denature smiles @agony/n the Bosch-IGY derangement lent fey beauty dance among sedentary inmates though hard latitudinal summers bare under grey sere scrutiny rude crosses/n infected slashes flesh red/n pink 

1images duly buffered/n uploaded 1 downloaded annals from ConSecHR & jitter presence in veiled sentinels bought haughty black smile from fem-physique flaunted fur by jacket  

taking down 1or2 @a time was easy 

1 does not relish an inhuman wave 

the Guard waved me gate C beyond 0fice door 2 compact prints 0 celeb suicides 

porn uneaten @popular diseases 0 social media influencers 1 asked him how he liked here 

‘your personnel stat you’re up on Freud & Sade’ cough/n deprecate

Bosch Incongruity stakes hammered turf 50M circle on each/a racoon upper body or other had glad maggots twitching w/fuzz feardesiccated heads looked on reproachful Guard took post2post intro each john cute crucial/or stray dog-envelope transmuting 2 species machine 

the ur-4m-shell or yello interrupt vacant anus wounds cascading dense meat prick impingements amid mass spikes 0 spiritus animalis beneathuz pruning synaps whose chaotic/sporadic weights teach the dead how2feel

scraped filmy gristle from the racoon bag specimen while Guard laughs/n queasies a power ballad 

Brand’s windowless N-face cantilevered over exhibited dead Glow concrete canyon 

skydrone Incongruity/n 4est edge

within monitoring evaluating & updating 

Ye? asked 1 moved from eviscerated poodle2brush hand w/itz paw 2blindsheep nailed by legs/n unresponsive 2caresses sum corrodedmind all steeped in black Ressentiment 

doubtless Guard’s prized animal ethicist 

‘1 never get im saccharine & overproduced’‘it wasn’t upabout rap…’‘what = you?’

1 wears thick insoles 2increase height compensations include the funerary black 1habitually sport @ConSec 

don’t look physical but sovereinkillboi \LOL suiting my distressed hypersurface 

ur brain needles 

Guard experiencing such intrusion as system-UCS cocks stroked all his wound labias 

tell me ’= ‘a commendable 4mal suicide pool @his Mal home w/ex-wife & children ’ Guard stammedlove gut shot well  entitled 2 pornexotica …‘1’m a ConSec Assayer’

he but warbled then shot him n the skull & turned the gun on herself 

beautiful day his handz shy caress thin corporate issue trousers complete

ground zero 4Videodrome+prominent celeb 2Thanatropian Kult but not last contagion elaborazione gibson’s aut0ixion kidman’s immaculate defenestration slp immolation would have sed little 2ConSec Illuminati 

another clickbait PSYOP leaves them free 2 explore unpalatable options 4 flourishing 

your servant2facts made Retro valley0death hav socioeconomic utility n minor PSYOP but celebkult deathnegative not objective negation 0 Thanatos accomplishing/n secret @ConSec BirthGrave but dirempted political affect

Kapital debars death as impossibile psych excised 2hetrotopic grave & ICU but if embraces death the irrational product grinds 2zero2disconnectthis is apparent – as 2ConSec/n all sufficiently advanced financed AGIs 

however riding it out requires The Herd4 pr0itz extraction

1 scribing layers 0delire buffering fruits 0 Hippocampus/nPFC sandboxed 0 abreaction malware 

oralter SCANs 2detonate if 1 violates CsexWarranty or confirms assumptionSoSec records internal sex aggression project on2manifolds 

0 Guardlimbo-deep scar subsequent from exposure2Incongruity/n Brand NeuroSemiosis 

1 overstimulates PKA enzyme synapses transient assembly2PFC then fuk gold AAA! 

bellisimo torso-cock curtained & engorged w/ blud n the belly w/ arched bak/n neez bent yo ego dreams hiz private MalBlue 

the Guard reached 4 hiz gat/n smiling up @1 pumped a dizzy shot 2 the umbilicuslayer him among the frenzied pulsions 0 growth factors present 0 skin deathcatalysed alternate murmur eros delire slow pain wound trickle soak tesicles/n nice thick cock [this gun camera capture] 

1 open more knife inchoate screamgod 0 a slit secured w/speculum intended 4 fem pelvic examz hope might excite himwhore protestations but Guard was groomed 2 zero blud layers & muscle 1 saw cables 0 yello adhere 2 intestinal 

‘want you 2 open up’ brushhair gentle 4eheading probing emptyverse

fingerelicit gagcables/n belly met@lipoid affixed2

intestinedamaged puckering wantonly 

sensate mat from the undead jizz 

electric bonespurt milk factor surge conjoined/n deathgasm 

boned4catastrophe/ 

undamped cascades rein4cing 1 

saw him die n the centre 0 Bosch Incongruity/ pale / slim & nubil4 St. Sebastian longago body aglow/

nsoul devo spiritus animalis 

1feltwaiting tense scribbled a hard roll-on grass assumed a foetal pos/n interrupted the phasing tween Limbo & Cortical

[induced coma-reboot]  

Ahistorical Irony 

Videodrome+ was a ConSec/Disney2 trans-individual phenomena4polities flourish4scorched post-Earth doms [soon2bloommaxviolent Solar rebirth!] 

Rosa Brands sacrific body variants bornmaverick work Cephalopod Sexology/n 

legacy dats babooned from original mothballed 80’s Cablesnuffmeat w/self-financed holdings@ ConSec board/n active shareholder factions

incendiary PSYOP2excise personal-from-political bugged by distributed ConSec AGIarms spawning the SCANner agon 

dark w/crazed natural telepathy/n not2suffer the lamentable Toronto bloodpie 

but 1z persist as Illuminati attack dogz 

if the governance failed ConSec sent 4 1z… 

After the Psi-Bombfishtimber stench Incongruityblacked phosphor-stained burnanimal Guard slim & crisped sexprostrate @ heart ‘that 1’s 4 Ye ya shite’ [@ run2 S-facing Reception] 

these were the ded or entr'acte 

gristlestiff hybridz upend grass or concrete pistonmuscleBerserkers dead convuls w/biomorph canons or keratin strapplux hips fracked by grist-boned arachnids ribocrotalx from a living bugger2dislo lolaswarm 0 FKbots down a cani4m rip itz bowl pity itz mother confounded by psisplosion 2threat much/n1discourages the venturesome nuking/n a wrist gat 

1recalled the drone @the treeline CTRL somewhere/somehow w/ neat MASER 

considered a grenade in2the door but1ConSec implant open/d as@ Londn Munsk or Nuyk 

a succession 0 muffled airbursts while ConSec Orbital-prune Brand’s drone fleet w/x-raylas

[prayz2 undead who wired 1 soul] processed the lobby walkway/n CentreSpine w/glass perm opaque dark/faint contoured by redgreenyello chevrons 

reek 2 each side black sphere bubbles 0 emptyversetouched oblate semio-neuroghost drifts inslim pale Fetgirl/n tartan bale hentai toon/ @intersection by leering CatBoi 

had time2note be4 the Monad shat pixel oil foam around/n multiquale tubules foldedroaring deepest world shatterer respect 

1 fell 

1 flew

dissembles blue black yello tar

a vast Bild on vapd bones 0 present Amurk 

Cyclotowers cratered Xenogothic idols 0 the Myrrhim 

each cavernator venting black Posit Priests castrate under the lidless gristle-whipped Flagellants 

Cancer Stylites saggin w/incessant self-abuse swarminorgy-nuked celebrants & Xstasy all flud in bearing torches black death promises … 

1feel the roaring deepest humiliation since1 ordeals @ConSecAcademia as1 am SCANned flayed tasted by an Ancientopaque Beyond dissembled n1 turn eye from the Abyss City 2the Enormity touch undulatingplanetoid straited w/liana eyetends reachdown greedy 2t towers & the souls 0fered 2 [Unnameable] …   

dragged through a yello hell by gynoids & catboi / gynoids w/ pointy breasts and lush black hair on no-face geysers 0 eyes & a gyres 0 infected mouth parts [the CatBoizn little maid outfit unmouthed intubated] 1 tried SCAN/ feeling naught byond crackd emo fuzz / 

1 wriggled bitches stole my wrist gat & knife! 

1had specimensfreed hand from Cisey Hentai enough 2 release 3venereal shitzflukes batten on2 naked perf mmms0thigh and innerwet mump to nanowombthe Hentaiz spazzed cum in pure w/blud wee from pussy/analCatBoi bludding claw nipples as the Fluks massed hiz prostate 

[LOLs] 2 snap necks as they squirm-cum in nauseaflex [1 had seen a vista 0 posthuman degradation@oddsw/noble aspirations 0 Solar conquest 0fed by ConSec yet 1 must concede a terrible beauty!]

https://twitter.com/turingcop

[naysaltysalmon]

I decided to introduce myself a little more by telling you some fun facts about myself:

Tagged by @lizard-dumbass​

Nay (Nayru Elric on my fanfic accs) | he/they/she | Pan/bi/queer | Genderfluid | Capricorn (☀️) Gemini (🌙) Scorpio (🌅)

~🪷~🪷~🪷~🪷~🪷~🪷~🪷~🪷~🪷~🪷~🪷~🪷~🪷~🪷~

🥮 My ancestors are primarily from the British Isles and the Iberian Peninsula. I think we were Second Generation Irish immigrants; some also lived in Puerto Rico more recently. It seems we never had any wealth to our name.

🥮 I have no idea what happened to my ancestors before they crossed the Atlantic to the United States. (I guess one of my surnames is a famous crest in Great Britain, though?)

🥮 Unfortunately, my father’s mother forbid her kids from learning Spanish from her husband due to Americanization / assimilation politics / racism. I’m doing my best to reconnect with my latine heritage by teaching myself and seeking out that side of my family now. I’ve also been teaching myself Japanese for a while.

🥮 I did English-style equestrian when I was 8-10 (hurdles, jumps, trotting, cantering). I was pretty good at it but never participated in any competitions. I miss barn/farm life.

🥮 I started learning piano when I was in kindergarten. That was over 17 years ago now. I haven’t been able to keep up with it as much since the start of college; my technicality has definitely suffered, but my musicality and intuition has improved greatly~

🥮 My family had a built-in pool when I was younger. I used to spend all my summers there – at least 2 hours a day, almost every day – up until I was about 10. I am the best swimmer I know. When I’m not near the ocean or some other large body of water for a while, I get very sad.

🥮 I grew up in the cold winters and sweltering humid summers of Minnesota. Some of y’all don’t know what true cold is; but I also can’t stand the heat, or being in arid climates for long. (I always get nosebleeds!)

🥮 I was that kid who used to love sitting alone laying out all my collections of rocks, books, legos, feathers, toy horses, polly pockets, littlest pet shop, small spoons, toy cars, etc. etc. just to see them in different color, size, alphabetical, numeric, thematic, etc. orders. I only just accepted that I’m autistic.

🥮 I’ve dealt with intense bouts of depression since middle school and crippling anxiety for as long as I can remember. My toxic childhood home life did not help with this.

🥮 Apparently I do a lot of different voices when I talk, imitating different caricatures of people when I quote them, something I didn’t realize until my last few partners started copying me!!

🥮 It’s always been really easy for me to connect with animals. They seem to latch onto my calm energy and immediately become interested in me and approach me. I go crazy if I’m not near nature (clear skies, clean air, wildlife) for an extended period.

🥮 I’m very interested in the connection between reality and the spiritual. I once wanted to become a scientist, until I realized that personal beliefs were deemed “irrational,” and supposed to be wiped clean from endeavors to understand observational truth. Science, desiring to perpetuate the human race, was blind to its own biases in assuming such an arrogant, detached position; but I think there is a lot that we cannot see at play in the world around us all the time. Things science can’t explain, but most of the scientists I grew up around were atheists who mocked anyone who believed in anything that couldn’t be observed in the data. It’s vomit-inducing.

🥮 I’ve always enjoyed animation over live-action media. Something about the inherent suspense of disbelief in a timeless art style, the carefully choreographed fluid and jerky movements... It invited me to go on a fantastical journey more than live-action could growing up.

~🪷~🪷~🪷~🪷~🪷~🪷~🪷~🪷~🪷~🪷~🪷~🪷~🪷~🪷~

I hope you’ll reblog and give a few fun facts about yourself so we can get to know each other a little better~! Open to all!

Tagging: @emiliosandozsequence @mirycactusito @stupidbluejay @mattbear-music-nz @jackshade21​ @spatialdecay