#bullet points in PowerPoint presentations | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

solxamber · 3 months ago

Text

Guide Rank: Overwhelmed || Malleus Draconia

Being a high-ranked guide is tough—you’re basically a glorified babysitter for overpowered, emotionally constipated espers. But it gets harder when Malleus Draconia, the strongest esper in existence, asks you to guide him. And somehow, despite it all, you’re pretty sure Malleus is the best thing that’s ever happened to you. Or: Guideverse au!

Series Masterlist

The world is a nightmare. It used to be bad enough with things like taxes, slow WiFi, and that one sock disappearing in the wash. But now? Now you have random cosmic hellmouths opening up and vomiting out monsters that think humans are snack-sized protein bars.

They call them Gates. They pop up out of nowhere like your intrusive thoughts at 3 AM, and if no one deals with them, entire cities get turned into discount horror movie scenes.

The only reason people aren't living in a monster apocalypse is because of Espers—overpowered individuals who fight these creatures with sheer force, wild abilities, and a complete disregard for their own safety.

But there’s a tiny problem. Espers have the durability of a wet paper bag. They burn through their energy, go berserk, or outright implode if left alone for too long.

And that’s where Guides come in. Guides stabilize Espers, keep them from disintegrating mid-fight, and prevent them from making headlines as "Local Hero Explodes on Live TV."

And you? Congratulations! You are an SS-Class Guide, one of the absolute best. This should mean power, prestige, and maybe even free drinks. Instead, it means you are a walking, talking, highly sought-after life support machine, and every Esper on the planet wants a piece of you.

And not in a fun way.

You’ve spent your entire career dodging unhinged, desperate, overpowered individuals who think "force-bonding" is a reasonable dating strategy.

Some try to flirt their way into your schedule (bad idea). Some try to bribe you with things like gold, private yachts, and one guy who straight-up offered you a castle. And then there are the truly feral ones, who don’t understand the word “no” and think "What if I just grabbed them?" is a valid problem-solving technique.

One time, an S-Class Esper sent you 72 marriage proposals in a single day. Another time, a different one broke into your apartment and left a PowerPoint presentation on why you should bond with them. With transitions.

If you had a nickel for every time you had to physically dodge an Esper trying to latch onto you like a clingy octopus, you wouldn’t need this job anymore. You could retire to a nice, peaceful life in the mountains, away from all of this nonsense.

But no. You’re still here. Still dodging Espers who treat you like a Black Friday deal at 90% off.

Something has to change.

It’s another day at work. Another day of wading through a swamp of increasingly deranged requests for guiding, because apparently, every high-ranking Esper on the planet thinks you’re the Holy Grail of Stability™.

You take a deep breath, open your inbox, and immediately regret your life choices.

Request #1:

"O Supreme and Benevolent Guide, I have compiled a PowerPoint titled ‘Why You Should Guide Me and Not Those Other Losers.’ Please see attached. I am very persuasive. Also, I have snacks. Just saying."

Attached: A 657-slide PowerPoint presentation with bullet points like “I Only Go Almost Berserk Like Every Other Tuesday” and “Look At This Dog I Found, Do You Like Him?”

Request #2:

"Greatest and Most Esteemed Guide, I humbly request your guidance. I will literally pay you in gold. Actual, real gold. Or cash. Or—listen, name your price. My mental stability is at stake here. I am ONE bad day away from levitating into the stratosphere and exploding like a firework. PLEASE. I am BEGGING you. Sincerely, your most devoted, desperate, and slightly deranged fan."

Attached: A poorly photoshopped picture of you both standing in front of a sunset. You’ve never met this person in your life.

Request #3:

"GOD-TIER GUIDE, PLEASE, I WILL DO ANYTHING. I WILL FETCH YOUR GROCERIES. I WILL WALK YOUR PET. YOU DON’T HAVE A PET? I WILL GET YOU A PET. I WILL BECOME YOUR PET. PLEASE, FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THAT IS HOLY, JUST GIVE ME 10 MINUTES OF YOUR TIME. MY LAST GUIDE QUIT ON ME AND MOVED TO AN UNDISCLOSED LOCATION. I AM VERY STABLE. PLEASE."

Attached: A video of the sender crushing a monster’s skull with their bare hands while sobbing.

You pinch the bridge of your nose.

This is your life now.

And then—you see it.

A request.

A normal request.

No groveling. No bribery. No half-deranged monologue about why their existence is crumbling without you.

Just a plain, simple request for a guiding session. No attachments. No drama.

You do not even look at the name or the rank.

You just slam the approve button so hard your screen nearly cracks.

And you schedule them for today.

Whatever poor, normal, well-adjusted Esper just sent that request? You’re about to meet your new favorite person.

You hear a knock on your office door and, without looking up from your third coffee of the afternoon, you say, "Come in." You assume it's just another esper with an unhinged request or a government official trying to bribe you into a permanent bond arrangement (as if free coffee is enough to make up for dealing with an unstable murder machine forever).

But when you finally glance up, you’re met with Malleus fucking Draconia.

SSS-class esper. Only because the measuring device physically cannot display values above SSS. If it could, it would probably just scream in binary before shutting itself down out of fear.

And Malleus, the walking cataclysm, smiles at you. A polite, almost sweet smile that absolutely does not match the soul-crushing amount of raw, unstable power radiating off of him.

He thanks you, so genuinely, for agreeing to guide him, and suddenly, you feel like maybe—just maybe—the guy who sent you a PowerPoint presentation about why he’d be the perfect esper for you would’ve been a safer choice. Because in what world were you qualified to guide Malleus Draconia?

But you’re a professional. A highly trained SS-class Guide. You’ve dealt with terrifying espers before. (You survived guiding Leona Kingscholar, and that man once threatened to bite someone’s hand off for waking him up.) So you take a deep breath, paste on a practiced, reassuring smile, and gesture toward the couch. “Please, take a seat.”

Malleus does, settling in like a well-mannered prince, and when you take his hands, his power hits you like a truck.

No, scratch that. A truck would be merciful. This is like getting yeeted into the sun.

Because for all his outward composure, for all his eerie, elegant calm, his body is ripping itself apart from the sheer force of his own abilities. His energy is so volatile, so uncontained, that even just touching him feels like holding onto a live wire dipped in liquid magic.

You open your mouth, fully prepared to yell WHAT THE HELL, but instead, what comes out is a weak, strangled, “So… how long has it been since your last guiding?”

Malleus blinks, tilting his head slightly, as if the question is odd. “Ah,” he hums. “A rather long time, I suppose.”

You squint at him. "Define 'long.'"

There’s a pause. And then, with the same pleasant smile, he says, “Over a decade.”

…

…A decade.

You stare at him. Your soul leaves your body. Your hands are on him right now, guiding him, and no other guide has touched him for ten whole years??? You’ve guided espers who've almost lost their minds after three months without stabilization, and this man—no, this monster, this eldritch entity in the shape of a handsome Esper—has been raw-dogging reality for a full decade???

And the worst part is, you get it.

You’ve heard the stories. No guide is willing to risk their life guiding him. He’s too powerful, too unstable, too dangerous. But also??? He’s the reason those cowardly soy-latte-drinking guides even get to enjoy their caramel cream monstrosities without getting eaten by a Gate Beast. The least they could do is try.

So you do.

You take all that power, all that impossible, barely-contained force, and you stabilize it. As much as you can, at least, because Malleus is like an ocean, vast and endless, and you are one person desperately trying to keep the tide from sweeping away an entire city. But you manage. And when the strain starts to weigh on you, when exhaustion creeps in, Malleus—ever the gentleman—gently removes his hands from yours before you overextend yourself.

He looks at you like you’ve done something extraordinary. And in that soft, almost reverent voice, he murmurs, “Thank you.”

And when he asks if you’d accept his request again, how could you possibly say no?

You’ve seen Gates before. Too many, in fact. You’ve spent years standing at the edges of battlefields, waiting for Espers to stumble out after pushing themselves to their limits, ready to catch them before they crumbled into a pile of unstable, overpowered problems.

Usually, you’re waiting outside, stationed alongside other Guides, ready to stabilize the Espers who come stumbling out looking like they just did twelve rounds in a blender.

And today? No different.

The Gate suppressors finish their job, and as the shimmering tear in reality finally vanishes, a wave of exhausted Espers begins to stagger out.

Your fellow Guides immediately spring into action, swarming their assigned Espers like the world’s most exhausted yet underpaid nurses. You hear the usual litany of groaning, the occasional complaint about “why does guiding feel like drinking a warm glass of sadness,” and at least one voice yelling, “DON’T THROW UP ON ME, BRO.”

All in all, a standard post-Gate event.

But then—then.

Malleus Draconia walks out.

And the reaction is palpable.

Every Guide freezes. The air itself seems to shift, a held breath, a quiet hesitation, a collective someone else handle it.

Which, yeah. Fair. SSS-class esper. Walking apocalypse. If the world were a video game, he’d be the final boss, the secret bonus boss, and the eldritch horror you accidentally summon if you input the wrong cheat code.

But unlike every other high-class Esper, who would immediately demand a Guide’s attention like a toddler throwing a tantrum in a supermarket, Malleus just… looks around. Sees the other Espers getting help. And without a word, he simply starts walking away.

And something in you breaks.

It’s not just that your fellow Guides are scared of him. It’s the fact that he expects it. That he doesn’t even try. He just accepts that no one will come for him, and he leaves.

It’s one thing for a terrifying Esper to demand your attention, to expect you to fix them as if you’re a mechanic and they’re a car with the check engine light permanently on. But this? This quiet resignation? This acceptance of the fact that no one will help him?

Oh, absolutely not.

You push past the usual crowd of unstable, desperate, feral Espers who are trying to grab at your hands (“PLEASE, I WILL PAY YOU IN GOLD—OR FAVORS—WHICHEVER YOU PREFER”), and you march after him.

“Malleus,” you say, grabbing his arm before he can vanish into the night like a dramatic antihero.

He turns, blinking down at you in quiet surprise. “You’re here.”

“Of course I’m here,” you say, like he just told you the sky is blue. “I’m a Guide. This is my job.”

His expression flickers, the barest crack in his usual calm. “You would guide me?”

“Yes,” you say. “Now sit down.”

He actually listens. Thank the stars. You’re not sure what you would’ve done if he refused. Probably wrestled him to the ground, which would have been a terrible life choice, but whatever.

You sit across from him, take his hands, and—oh.

Oh.

Oh wow.

It's as bad, if not slightly better than the first time.

If guiding most Espers is like sifting through a river, guiding Malleus Draconia is like being pulled into the center of a supermassive black hole. It’s overwhelming, his power a heavy, crushing thing that hums under his skin like an unrelenting storm, pressing at the edges of your mind.

“How long has it been since your last session?” you ask, voice a little strained as you work to stabilize him.

Malleus tilts his head, thoughtful. “My last session was with you.”

Your grip tightens around his hands. “It's been 5 months.”

He hums. “No other Guide has been willing to take me on.”

That—that makes you want to throw something. Because sure, Malleus is terrifying. Sure, he’s a walking natural disaster. But he’s also the reason those Guides get to breathe.

You exhale sharply. “Well. That’s stupid.”

Malleus blinks. “Stupid?”

“Yes. Stupid.” You focus, pouring everything you have into stabilizing him, because you might not be able to guide him fully, but you sure as hell can make things better.

Malleus says nothing. He just… watches you.

And when you’re finally done—when you pull back, exhausted but satisfied—he tilts his head, voice soft.

“Allow me to escort you to your car.”

There’s a weight to the way he says it. A quiet intent.

You glance at the still-lingering crowd of Espers who have been waiting for their chance to pounce, and—ah.

That’s why.

Because Malleus walking with you means no one is about to harass you for an impromptu guiding session.

You glance back at him.

Malleus Draconia. The most powerful Esper alive. Unstable. Dangerous. Literally a walking storm.

“…Okay,” you say.

He walks you to your car, a steady presence at your side, and for the first time in years, you are not approached, begged, or proposed to on the way.

It’s peaceful.

Nice, even.

And as you slide into the driver’s seat, Malleus thanks you again, voice warm, quiet.

And impulsively—because your brain has fully given up on thinking before speaking—you blurt out, “Repay me by taking me out for coffee.”

There’s a pause.

A long one.

And then—Malleus smiles.

Not his usual polite, diplomatic smile. A real one.

And you realize, with sudden clarity, that you may have just changed the course of your entire life.

The next day, you step out of the Guidance Center, utterly exhausted.

You’ve spent all morning dealing with overworked Espers who don’t believe they need guiding until they start twitching like a broken lightbulb. One guy genuinely tried to convince you that he was “built different” and then proceeded to collapse mid-sentence.

So yeah. You’re tired. You just want to go home, take a nap, and not think about the absolute disaster that is your job.

And then you see him.

Malleus.

Waiting just outside the building, standing with the kind of stillness that makes him look more like a painting than a person.

But it’s not just him.

It’s the flowers.

A full bouquet, wrapped neatly, cradled in his hands like something precious.

And when he sees you, he smiles.

Your brain immediately blue-screens.

You walk up to him in a daze, already bracing yourself for the inevitable attention this is going to bring because, let’s be honest—Malleus Draconia standing outside your workplace holding flowers is about to start rumors.

(And by rumors, you mean your coworkers are never going to let you live this down.)

But when you reach him, he doesn’t do anything dramatic. Doesn’t say anything insane like “these flowers pale in comparison to your radiance” or “I will obliterate anyone who disrespects you.”

(You have, unfortunately, received both of those lines from unstable Espers before.)

Instead, he simply hands you the bouquet, his voice warm. “For you.”

And just like yesterday, you realize—this is different.

It’s not some desperate attempt to tie you to him, not an unstable Esper trying to own their Guide before anyone else can get to them.

He’s just… appreciative.

Grateful.

Your heart does something very annoying and fluttery at that realization.

You glance at the bouquet, then back up at him, and—oh.

He looks so pleased.

Like giving you flowers is the highlight of his week.

“…Are you free for that coffee now?” he asks, tilting his head slightly, expectant but unassuming.

And despite your exhaustion—despite knowing that this is probably the beginning of something huge and irreversible—you find yourself smiling.

“…Yeah,” you say, holding the flowers a little closer. “Yeah, I am.”

So far, this coffee date has been perfect.

You’re sitting across from Malleus, ranting about the absolute clowns you have to deal with daily.

“…And then this Esper looked me in the eyes and said, I will literally perish if you do not guide me this instant. Like. Sir.” You slap a hand on the table. “Sir. Please. This is a Starbucks.”

Malleus chuckles, eyes alight with amusement. “And what did you say to that?”

You sigh dramatically, tilting your head back. “I said, ‘Sounds fake, but okay.’”

He actually laughs at that—low and warm, and oh no, it’s really nice.

Before you can spiral about that, your drinks are ready. Malleus, being the gentleman he is, gets up to retrieve them.

And that’s when you feel it.

That unmistakable feeling of being watched.

Your instincts immediately go on high alert. Slowly, casually, you glance at the table next to you, expecting to see some shady esper trying to worm their way into your life.

What you actually see is so much better.

Sitting at the table next to you are three of the most suspicious individuals you have ever seen in your entire life.

The first one is a tiny man drowning in a trench coat three sizes too big, like a detective in a noir film gone wrong. He has an obviously fake mustache that is slightly peeling off his face, and he is watching you intensely.

Next to him, there is a guy wearing a tragically ugly pink wig.

He is asleep on the table.

Just. Fully unconscious. Like someone just unplugged him.

And finally—

A tall guy in fake glasses with an even faker nose, aggressively shoveling cake into his mouth while glaring at you like you just stole his firstborn child.

It’s silent.

You blink.

They blink.

And you immediately have to slap a hand over your mouth to keep from bursting out laughing.

Malleus returns, setting your drink in front of you, and you immediately point at the disaster trio sitting next to you.

“…Do you know them?” you ask, barely holding it together.

Malleus follows your gaze.

Sees the absolute circus happening at the next table.

And sighs.

A long, suffering sigh. The sigh of a man who has seen some things and has just realized he is doomed to see them for the rest of his life.

“Yes,” he says, like the words physically pain him. “Unfortunately.”

And that’s all you need to hear.

You immediately wave them over.

Because honestly?

Why not.

They look hilarious.

And you were right—Lilia (who introduces himself with a flourish and an actual theatrical bow) is an absolute riot. Silver, despite the crime against fashion sitting on his head, is actually very nice. And Sebek—who is still burning holes into you with his eyes—is begrudgingly polite, only because you’ve been guiding Malleus.

It turns into a full-blown sitcom.

At one point, Lilia pulls out a picture of an egg and tries to convince you that it's a baby picture of Malleus. You're not sure if he was serious. Sebek is still glaring at you, but it’s now 30% hostility, 70% begrudging respect. Silver almost faceplants into his drink.

Malleus, across from you, looks like he’s actively questioning all of his life choices.

It’s beautiful.

Eventually, when it’s time to leave, Malleus insists on walking you to your car.

And that’s when you notice it.

He’s pouting.

Not a dramatic pout. But his lips are slightly pressed together, his brows furrowed, like a cat that just got denied a seat on the kitchen counter.

You immediately find it endearing.

“What’s up?” you ask, amused.

Malleus exhales, glancing away. “…I was hoping for this to be a time where we could get to know each other.”

Oh.

Oh, that’s adorable.

You grin.

And before you can second-guess yourself, you lean in and press a quick kiss to his cheek.

Malleus freezes.

His eyes go wide. His breath catches. He looks like you’ve just blue-screened his brain.

You step back, grinning. “I'll see you around.”

And before he can respond, you slip into your car.

But as you drive away, you catch a glimpse of him in your mirror—

Standing there, hand pressed to his cheek, smiling like you just gave him the greatest gift in the world.

You hate Gates.

You hate that they can just open whenever they want, completely ignoring normal human schedules like some kind of otherworldly chaos entities (which, to be fair, they are).

But mostly, you hate that they always seem to open in the middle of the night.

Like, is there some kind of Gate Union that collectively decided on this? Do they hold meetings where they specifically vote to screw over guides by opening at the most inconvenient times?

And in the dead of winter, no less.

Truly, suffering knows no bounds.

Still, you drag yourself out of bed, slap on as many layers as physically possible (to the point where you briefly resemble a sentient pile of laundry), and head to the Gate’s location. On the way, you stop by an all-night café, because if you’re going to be miserable, you might as well be miserable with hot chocolate.

You even get two cups.

Not because you always do this for espers (you don’t—they can suffer like the rest of you), but because he is different.

Malleus.

The most powerful esper on the field tonight. The one who singlehandedly keeps half the Gates from turning into full-scale disasters. The one who always acts like he’s completely fine no matter what comes out of them.

And, most importantly—

The one esper you have a ridiculous, stupid, undeniably massive soft spot for.

So, you wait.

And wait.

You’re perched on a bench, holding your hot chocolates, trying not to think about how this is starting to feel like some kind of romantic drama scene, when you finally see him step out of the swirling remnants of the Gate.

Even exhausted, he still looks ridiculously elegant. His coat is dusted with frost, his dark horns curved like the wings of a dragon at rest. His presence—so big, so vast—immediately settles over the field, even as other espers struggle to regain their balance.

His expression is neutral, as always. Composed. Untouchable.

Until—

He spots you.

He blinks, as if surprised to see you.

And his face softens.

He doesn’t react right away, like he’s making sure he’s seeing correctly. But then, when it clicks, his lips part just slightly—an unspoken question, a faintly surprised blink—before they curve into the warmest, most gentle smile.

And wow. Wow.

Maybe the cold is getting to you, because you suddenly feel a little too warm.

You lift a hand and wave.

Malleus immediately starts walking toward you, his movements slow but steady. His eyes stay locked on yours, like he’s drawn to you without realizing it.

“You’re here,” he says, voice carrying that soft rumble that’s way too nice to listen to at this ungodly hour.

You roll your eyes. “Yeah, well, Gates don’t believe in work-life balance, apparently.” You hold up the second cup of hot chocolate. “Here. Thought you could use something warm.”

“For me?” he asks, sounding so genuinely touched that your heart does something stupid.

“No, for the other giant dragon esper who just walked out of that Gate,” you deadpan.

Malleus huffs out a soft laugh, the kind that makes you think he doesn’t do it nearly enough. He takes the cup from your hands, fingers brushing against yours, and you don’t miss the way he lingers there for just a second too long.

“You should let me guide you,” you say, reaching for his free hand.

Malleus makes a vague sound of protest. “That isn’t necessary.”

You stare at him.

He stares back.

And then, before he can argue further, you unleash your most powerful technique.

“Please?”

Malleus Draconia—the Apex Esper, the one who holds dominion over storms and shadows, the one who can level an entire battlefield with one command—

Folds like a house of cards.

“…Very well,” he murmurs, looking a little defeated, a little amused.

You beam and take his hand, immediately pressing your energy into his.

And wow, yeah, he definitely needed this.

His presence, which is usually so steady, flickers faintly at the edges. He must have been holding himself together through sheer force of will, because the second you start guiding him, his shoulders finally relax.

Not that he’d ever admit it, of course.

You feel his weight lean into you ever so slightly, just enough that you know he’s letting you support him. His energy curls around yours, vast and dark but gentle, like the hush of a midnight storm.

For a while, neither of you speak.

The night is quiet, save for the distant sounds of other guides working, of espers coming down from battle-highs.

You steal a glance at Malleus. His eyes are half-lidded, his breath even, his fingers curled loosely around yours.

“…You do this often?” he asks suddenly.

“What, guide tired espers?” you shrug. “Yeah. Someone’s gotta be here to catch them before they crash.”

Malleus hums, a thoughtful sound.

“…No,” he says. “I meant… this.”

You blink. “This?”

“Wait for me.”

Oh.

Your grip tightens slightly, a flicker of warmth creeping up your neck.

“I—” You hesitate, then exhale through your nose. “No. Not really.”

Malleus watches you closely. You can feel his gaze on you even as you pointedly avoid meeting it.

“…Then why?” he asks, and his voice is so quiet, so genuine, that you feel yourself falter.

You take a deep breath.

And then, before you can overthink it, you grin.

“Well, you always push yourself too hard,” you say, squeezing his hand once for emphasis. “Someone’s gotta make sure you don’t keel over from exhaustion.”

Malleus huffs, clearly amused. “I assure you, I would not—”

“Uh-huh. Sure.”

He laughs, quiet but real, and your heart skips a very concerning beat.

“…You are quite peculiar,” he muses, gazing at you like you’re some kind of strange, fascinating mystery.

“Yeah, yeah, I get that a lot,” you say, waving a hand. “Now, if you really wanna thank me, take me out for coffee again later.”

Malleus pauses.

You watch, in real-time, as your words settle.

And then—

Slowly, slowly, he smiles.

“…I would like that,” he says, his voice quiet, but so very certain.

And suddenly, the cold doesn’t feel quite so biting anymore.

It was late. Too late. So late that if anyone dared to bother you right now, you would simply keel over and die on the spot out of sheer spite. You had finished your work, logged everything, and were seconds away from clocking out and going home to live as a blanket cryptid when someone grabbed your wrist.

That was already mistake number one.

You turned around, tired and mildly homicidal, to see one of your fellow high-ranking guides standing there. You recognized them—someone competent, someone respected, someone you had never spoken to outside of required work matters.

And yet, here they were, gripping your wrist like you were about to reveal the secrets of the universe to them.

"You got a second?" they asked, eyes shining with something too intense for this ungodly hour.

No. You did not have a second. You barely had the energy to stand upright, let alone entertain whatever nonsense this was about to be. But before you could tell them that, they were already pulling you off to the side, lowering their voice like they were about to ask you for classified information.

"How’d you do it?"

Your brain, already running on fumes, barely processed the question. "Do what?"

"Don't play dumb," they said, looking equal parts exasperated and impressed. "How'd you bewitch Malleus Draconia?"

Your mind, previously sluggish and exhausted, full stopped.

The sheer audacity of the question short-circuited your ability to respond. You just blinked at them, waiting for them to explain whatever the fuck they were talking about.

They misinterpreted your silence as playing coy because they leaned in conspiratorially and hissed, "Don't gatekeep. We want a bite too."

It was at that moment you considered committing actual murder.

"I'm sorry. A bite?" you echoed, voice dangerously calm.

"You got Malleus Draconia—Malleus Draconia—to let you guide him, regularly," they stressed, looking half in awe and half like they wanted to shake you for answers. "No one else has ever gotten close enough to work with him like that. If we knew he was harmless, we would’ve stepped in ages ago. But we weren’t going to take the risk."

You could physically feel something in your brain snap.

So that was it. That was why. It wasn’t that they hadn’t had the opportunity to guide him—it was that they had actively chosen not to. They had taken one look at Malleus, decided it wasn’t worth the effort to risk handling someone as powerful as him, and just left him alone.

And now, because you had proven he wasn’t some terrifying force of destruction, they suddenly wanted in? They suddenly thought they deserved him?

Like he was some exclusive club they wanted membership to?

Your hand twitched. You ripped yourself free from their grip, scowling. "Screw this."

Their eyes widened slightly, clearly not expecting that reaction. "Wait—"

But you were already storming off, anger burning through your exhaustion. You didn’t even realize where you were going until you stepped outside—

And saw Malleus standing there.

Waiting.

For you.

His sharp eyes flickered with concern the second they landed on your face.

"Are you alright?"

Your rage didn't cool, but it twisted into something tighter, something that made your throat close up for an entirely different reason.

You didn’t answer. Instead, you reached out, grabbed his hand, and started dragging him down the street.

Malleus didn’t resist. He simply followed, letting you pull him along like this was perfectly normal behavior.

The café door chimed as you shoved it open with more force than necessary, still stewing over the conversation from earlier. Malleus, utterly unbothered, stepped around you to order both of your usual drinks without hesitation.

The fact that he had memorized your order without ever asking, without making a big deal of it, without using it as some kind of flex, made something in your chest ache.

You sat down at the table, staring blankly at the surface as you tried to untangle your emotions.

Why were you this angry?

Was it because they had ignored him? Because they treated him like some kind of trophy instead of a person? Because they had assumed the worst of him and only changed their minds when it was convenient?

Yes. Absolutely.

But then—why did you also feel like crying?

Your fingers curled into fists on the table.

And that’s when it hit you.

Oh. Oh, fuck.

You liked him.

Like like liked him.

Like the kind of like that made you want to scream into your hands and never recover. The kind of like that made you want to turn back time and stop this from happening before it was too late. The kind of like that meant your life was now ruined beyond repair.

Your whole body tensed, brain going into full meltdown mode.

And then—just to make everything infinitely worse—

A cup slid into view.

You looked up, and there he was.

Malleus.

Standing in front of you, holding out your drink.

His eyes were gentle, studying you carefully, like he could see every single thought racing through your head. "Are you alright?" he asked again, voice quiet, sincere.

And in that moment, you realized you had two options:

• Stay here, drink your drink like a normal person, and accept the horrifying truth of your newfound feelings.

• Launch yourself out of the nearest window and never be seen again.

Option two was looking real tempting right now.

Another night, another gate opening at the worst possible time.

You were so tired. Bone-deep, soul-weary, existentially exhausted. The universe seemed determined to ensure that you never got a full night’s sleep, and you were starting to take it personally.

Still, you were here, bundled up against the cold, sipping a hot drink as you waited for Malleus.

The gate was a high-level one tonight. You knew it had to have been difficult—he was strong, but no one walked out of those things completely unscathed. So you were already standing up, ready to meet him halfway, when—

That guide.

The one who had all but interrogated you last time.

They stepped in before you could move, approaching Malleus with their best professional smile, like they hadn’t spent years pretending he didn’t exist.

"Do you need guidance?" they asked smoothly, their voice dripping with the absolute audacity.

Malleus blinked at them, clearly surprised. Because why wouldn’t he be? No one else but you had ever offered before.

And your chest burned.

Of course he’d pick them.

They were higher-ranked than you. More experienced. More respected. Malleus, despite everything, was still an outsider to most of the guide network, and it would make perfect sense to accept help from someone with more prestige.

You braced yourself, swallowing the bitter feeling threatening to rise—

But then—

He looked past them.

His eyes landed on you.

And then he smiled.

"I must decline," he said simply, voice polite but final.

And then—much to their visible horror—he walked right past them and straight to you.

The sheer triumph that surged through you was immeasurable.

You barely stopped yourself from cackling, but as you took his hand, guiding him like always, the urge to turn back and stick your tongue out at that seething guide was so strong.

Malleus, oblivious to your inner gloating, watched you with a softness that made your heart ache.

And then, suddenly, it all just—

Hit you.

The sheer depth of your feelings, the way your chest tightened at the sight of him, the way everything in you just settled when he was near—

You broke.

You grabbed him, yanking him forward, and before he could even react—

You kissed him.

Malleus let out a surprised sound against your lips, but after only a second of hesitation—

He kissed you back.

It was warm, steady, and when you finally pulled away, he was glowing, his expression soft in a way that made your breath catch.

"I like you, Malleus," you confessed, your voice quieter than you expected.

And his smile—

It was like you had given him the world.

He cupped your face so gently, kissed your forehead like he was sealing the moment into reality.

"I have feelings for you too," he murmured.

You melted.

You leaned against his chest, warmth seeping into you despite the cold night air.

And as his arms wrapped around you, as you felt the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, you couldn’t help but be so glad you had accepted his guidance request all that time ago.

(And okay, maybe you were also smug as hell about it. Because when you glanced back at that other guide—

They looked ready to throw hands.)

You had been waiting.

Patiently. Lovingly. For months.

Malleus loved you. You loved him. You were in a relationship, you slept in the same bed, you guided him, he refused to let anyone else even offer—so what the hell was taking him so long?

Why wouldn’t he just ask?

It was infuriating. It was agonizing. It was the most painfully obvious conclusion to your relationship, and yet—

Malleus refused to bond with you.

And frankly? You were at your limit.

So tonight, as you lay wrapped around each other in bed, his arms comfortably encircling your waist, you finally decided to just ask him.

"Malleus," you said, looking up at him, voice soft but firm. "Why haven’t you asked me to bond yet?"

He stiffened. Just slightly. His fingers twitched where they rested on your back.

And then—

He gave you that look. The sad, gentle smile. The one that made your heart clench because it meant he was about to say something infuriatingly self-sacrificial.

"If you ever regret me," he murmured, "you won’t be able to guide anyone else." His thumb traced circles on your back, soothing even as his words infuriated you. "I don’t want that for you."

You froze.

You stared at him.

And in that moment, you were torn between laughing at his stupidity or crying because how could someone so powerful be so utterly dumb?

So you did neither.

Instead—

You kissed him.

You kissed him until he was breathless, until his arms tightened around you, until his body melted into yours and he let out the softest, neediest little sound against your lips.

When you pulled away, his pupils were blown wide, his expression dazed, and you felt the way his heartbeat had turned erratic beneath your palm.

"You," you whispered, pressing your forehead to his, "are the only thing I've ever been sure of in my life."

Malleus let out a shaky breath.

And then you kissed him again.

You pressed him into the bed, slotting yourself against him, feeling his hands grasp at you like he was afraid you might disappear.

But you wouldn’t.

Because you were here. You chose him.

And that night, you finally bonded—just as you always should have.

Malleus had always been powerful. From the moment he was born, strength had been woven into his very being.

His draconic lineage alone made him stronger than most, but when his Esper abilities awakened, it had set him apart even further. Too far apart.

The strongest being in the world.

And because of that, people had feared him.

It had been that way for as long as he could remember. Even other Espers, who should have understood, kept their distance. Some whispered about him behind closed doors, about how a being as powerful as him didn't need guidance in the first place.

It had been Lilia who had guided him for most of his life, a steady presence who never flinched, never wavered, never treated him as if he were something to be afraid of. But when Lilia lost his guiding abilities, that stability was suddenly gone, leaving Malleus untethered.

For years, he had gone without. And then, one day, he heard about you.

You were a Guide who accepted nearly every request. You had guided Espers with overwhelming abilities, those who were labeled as difficult or too much to handle. You had never turned anyone away. And so, despite knowing the likelihood of rejection, Malleus sent a request.

He had expected nothing to come of it. But instead, he got you.

You had seemed nervous when you first met him, but it wasn’t the type of nervousness he was used to. There was no fear in your eyes, only cautious curiosity—an instinctive wariness, perhaps, but not rejection. And despite whatever initial hesitation you had, your hand had reached for his without trembling. You had guided him.

For the first time in over a decade, Malleus had felt light.

And then, the first time you guided him outside a Gate—

That had been a key moment in his life.

He had stepped out, battle-worn, expecting emptiness. And instead—you had waved at him.

You had smiled at him.

He had thought, at first, that perhaps you had simply been assigned to check on him. That maybe it was some unspoken duty, a requirement of your role. But then, as if that warmth weren’t enough, you had asked him to coffee.

He had expected a quiet outing, a moment to rest and speak with you in a more peaceful setting. Instead, Lilia, Sebek, and Silver had shown up, disguises both laughable and obvious, as if the flimsy mustaches and oversized trench coats could fool anyone. He had braced himself for your irritation, for exasperation or a resigned sigh.

But instead—you had laughed.

And then, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, you had welcomed them to join you.

That had been the moment he first thought, perhaps, he liked you.

The first time you had brought him hot chocolate would forever be etched into Malleus’ memory.

It had been a bitterly cold night, the kind where the air cut through even the thickest of coats, where breath curled in the air like mist, and the sky was so crisp and clear that it felt endless.

The battle had left him drained, his energy worn thin in a way he had long since grown accustomed to. He hadn’t expected you to be there. There had been no reason for you to wait for him—you could have guided someone else, finished your duties quickly, and gone home to rest.

But instead, there you were.

Sitting on a bench, bundled in layers, your arms crossed to hold in whatever warmth you could, with two cups of hot chocolate in your hands. You had waved at him like it was the most normal thing in the world, like of course you were waiting for him. Like of course you had brought him something warm to drink.

He had been so startled by the sight that for a moment, he simply stood there, staring, trying to commit every detail to memory. The way the streetlights cast a soft glow against your skin, the way your breath curled in the cold, the way your fingers tapped against the side of the cup as you held it out to him.

He had taken it without a word, still dazed, still trying to process why you had done this. And then, as if you hadn’t just shaken the very foundation of his existence, you had grinned and asked him to take you out for coffee again.

Malleus had never known such warmth, even in the frigid winter.

Then there was the day he had waited for you.

He had been standing outside the guidance center, patiently waiting for you to finish your duties. It had been something of a habit by then—he always waited for you when he could, just as you waited for him. He enjoyed the way your eyes lit up when you spotted him, the way you always greeted him like you had been expecting to see him there.

But that day, when you finally stepped outside, there was no warm smile, no familiar greeting. Instead, you stormed out, eyes blazing, frustration radiating off you in waves. Malleus had barely opened his mouth to ask what was wrong before you grabbed his wrist and started dragging him down the street.

He followed without hesitation, allowing you to pull him along, his mind still catching up to what was happening. You had led him straight to your usual café, barely stopping to take a breath as you shoved the door open and beelined for your favorite spot. Malleus sat across from you, watching with quiet curiosity as you fumed, hands clenched around your menu, your foot tapping aggressively against the floor.

And then, as the tension in your shoulders refused to ease, as you let out a frustrated huff and glared at your drink like it had personally offended you, you had finally told him what had made you so upset.

They had questioned you. They had asked how you had bewitched him, of all people. Like he was some trophy, some untouchable relic that no one had dared lay claim to until you had somehow managed to crack the code. They had assumed that if he were harmless enough to guide, then they would have taken him for themselves. They had spoken about him like he was something to be owned.

Malleus had expected you to be upset. What he hadn’t expected was for you to be so furious on his behalf.

And he shouldn’t have liked it—shouldn’t have felt anything beyond quiet gratitude for your defense of him. But there was something ugly in his chest, something selfish and dark that thrived off the way your anger was so fiercely his.

For so long, people had feared him, had rejected him, had kept him at a distance out of self-preservation. And yet, here you were, not just standing by his side, but fighting for him, defending him, choosing him.

And he wanted that.

He wanted the way you almost stormed into battle for him. He wanted the way your voice shook with anger because you cared about how he was treated. He wanted the way you grabbed his wrist without hesitation, the way you dragged him to this café because he was the person you sought out in your frustration.

He wanted you.

And as you finally sighed, your anger fading just enough for you to take a sip of your drink, Malleus came to a quiet realization.

He had liked you before. But now?

Now, he was falling.

Malleus had never expected to be offered guidance by anyone else.

It had never once crossed his mind as a possibility—he had long since grown used to being avoided, used to the way others hesitated to even meet his eyes, let alone reach out to him. The moment he stepped out of the Gate, still feeling the lingering exhaustion of battle, he had been prepared to find you, as he always did.

And yet, instead of you, there was someone else.

A guide—one he recognized, one who had been among those who had always turned away from him before. And now, suddenly, they were standing before him, offering their assistance as if it were something he needed, as if he should be grateful.

Malleus didn’t even consider it.

How could he? How could anyone else fill the space that was meant for you? How could he even entertain the thought of accepting someone else’s hand when your hand was the only one he ever wanted to hold?

So he simply stepped past them, not bothering to spare them a second glance, not wasting a single breath on an answer. Because they were irrelevant.

Because you were there.

And the moment he spotted you, standing just a few steps away with that bright, warm expression that was meant only for him, he felt something in his chest ease. Like everything had shifted back into place, like the air had cleared, like he was where he was supposed to be.

And when you laughed, really laughed, like this was all some great joke only the two of you were in on, he thought it might be his favorite sound in the world.

And then you took his hand, and the moment your fingers intertwined with his, he knew with absolute certainty—there was no one else for him. There never could be.

And then you kissed him.

For all his years, for all his strength, for all his wisdom, Malleus Draconia had never once been prepared for this.

You had grabbed him, pulled him in, and pressed your lips to his, and Malleus had let out an embarrassingly surprised sound before his instincts took over, before his hands found their way to your waist, before he was kissing you back like he had been waiting for this moment for centuries.

And maybe he had been.

Because when you pulled back, just far enough to whisper, “I like you, Malleus,” he felt like the world had stopped spinning, like time itself had come to a halt just to give him this moment, just to let him have this.

And when he smiled, it was because it felt like you had just handed him the world.

So he kissed your forehead, let his lips linger against your skin, and whispered against you, “I have feelings for you too.”

And when you leaned against him, when you let yourself rest against his chest, Malleus felt something settle in his soul.

He was home.

Then you asked him to bond.

And Malleus hesitated.

Not because he didn’t love you—he did. He had never loved anything the way he loved you.

But because he was afraid.

Because bonding with him meant forever. It meant you would be tied to him, it meant you would never be able to guide anyone else, it meant that if one day you woke up and realized you regretted him—realized you wanted something else, something more, something that wasn’t him—then you would be trapped.

And he could not, would not, allow that to happen to you.

So he had told you no. Not because he didn’t want you, not because he didn’t ache for you in ways he could never put into words, but because he would die before he let you shackle yourself to him forever.

And then you had kissed him.

Hard.

You had pressed him into the bed, breathless and unyielding, your lips against his like you were trying to prove something.

And maybe you were.

Because when you finally pulled back, when your fingers threaded through his hair and your forehead rested against his, you whispered, “You’re the best decision I’ve ever made.”

And Malleus—Malleus, who had spent his entire life waiting to be chosen, waiting to be wanted—felt his walls crumble.

So he let himself believe you.

He let himself hope.

And when he kissed you again, when he let his hands roam over your skin and let himself take you, it wasn’t just an acceptance of your love.

It was a promise.

A promise that no matter what, no matter where life took you, no matter how much time passed—he would always be yours.

And as the bond settled between you, as he felt the pull of your soul entwining with his, Malleus let himself hope for more.

He hoped you would be with him forever.

You woke up feeling warm.

Not just from the blankets wrapped around you, or the way the room was still dim from the early morning light, but from the way Malleus was wrapped around you.

His arms held you firm but gentle, his breath soft against your forehead, his body curled protectively around yours. It was comfort in its purest form.

You smiled, still basking in the afterglow of your bond, and tilted your head up to kiss him.

Malleus stirred, letting out a sleepy hum as his lips curved into a small, contented smile against yours. His eyes fluttered open, still hazy with sleep, and you both just… looked at each other.

The love in his gaze was overwhelming.

So, naturally, you asked the most important question of your life.

"Was the egg picture that Lilia showed me actually you?"

Malleus blinked.

Then blinked again.

And then, to your absolute delight, he looked flabbergasted.

"You—" He stopped, as if trying to process the sheer absurdity of your first words after bonding. "That is the first thing you wish to ask me?"

You nodded, completely serious. "I've been meaning to ask for a while."

And then—

Malleus laughed.

Laughed and laughed.

Deep and rich, his chest vibrating against yours as his entire body shook with amusement.

You pouted and waited for him to get it together, only for him to kiss your forehead, still grinning.

"Yes," he admitted, eyes twinkling. "That was me."

You gasped. Vindication.

Finally.

The mystery that had plagued you for months was solved.

With a triumphant little noise, you snuggled back into him, pressing your face against his chest as sleep threatened to claim you again.

Malleus chuckled, tucking you closer, and as he rested his chin atop your head, he couldn’t help but think—

Despite your eccentricities, he had never been happier than being yours.

Masterlist

#twst #twst x reader #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #malleus x reader #malleus draconia x reader #malleus draconia #twisted wonderland malleus #malleus draconia x you #guideverse x reader #guideverse #࣪ ִֶָ☾. guideverse

2K notes · View notes

cosmic-dust-poltergeist · 3 months ago

Text

Pt 2 to the dpxdc AU where Danny is a Forever Teen.

[Pt 1 here][pt3 here]

The Justice League and Justice League Dark were confused when the Bat Clan called for an all hands on deck meeting. Usually only one section of the JL was needed, but no one questions it because, HELLO, IT'S THE BATS. If they think everyone is needed, then everyone is needed. Especially when even Nightwing, the sunshine friendly Bat, looks serious.

"Thank you for all coming on such short notice, but something has been brought to my attention, and I believe it's imperative that we get a handle on it before more people get hurt." Batman glances towards Red Robin and suddenly a PowerPoint is pulled up on the projector. "Anti-Ecto Acts" is in bold at the top and frankly scary bullet points are underneath it. Nightwing politely asks Flash to help him past out papers, which he does. "The Anti-Ecto Control Acts are a law that makes it legal for the government to experiment on and terminate anyone or thing that produces or requires a substance called Ectoplasum to survive."

A commotion breaks out with all the magic users in the room. There's choking, terrified shouting, and an irate John Constantine blowing a fuse.

"It also allows anyone who is caught harboring one of these beings to be arrested for treason." Batman mercilessly continues once they quiet down enough for him to be heard by most people. "It was passed into law in XXXX with the help of Dr.s Fenton, a Mr. Masters, and a now disbanded government agency called the GIW or Ghost Investigation Ward."

There was gasps at the agency's name. It's no secret they killed "The First Hero" who was just a kid helping his town survive from attacks of "ghosts" and human alike. The Child Hero was mourned by many, most of whom didn't personally know him.

"I shall begin with what ectoplasm is exactly for those who do not know." And he does. He explains everything Danny informed him of about ectoplasm, as well as explaining its connection to Lazarus Pit Water. He points out which heroes in the room would qualify as an "ecto entity" under these acts. Red Robin jumps in to explain how the entities from the Infinite Realms (que the magic users having another fit) work and how to safely deal with most of them if you do come across them, while emphasizing how unlikely it is to come across one (JL Dark demands they be called if an infinite realm being is found, not trusting the rest of the JL to not get them all killed). The JL/JL Dark are so confused by the Bats having pictures of different levels of Ecto Entities (Danny had some on his phone. He found it again by chance and didn't want to lose his pictures of his family.)

The second half of the presentation is much darker. It dives into the legalized crimes of the GIW and the government agency that became their successor. The Bat Clan spent a month breaking into different government buildings to get all the classified documents they needed to prove the unethical experimentation on ecto entities and contaminated beings was still happening 30 years after the bill passed. They spare no details.

"We would like to introduce you to one of the victims of these acts." Red Robin pipes up once the presentation is over, but before everyone can start talking or try to leave.

"Please tell me you didn't bring an ecto entity on this death trap!" Constantine protests, and Red Robin can't help but smirk.

"Okay, I won't say it out loud then." Red Robin snarks before waving to an "empty" spot near him. "I'll just introduce you to Danny."

A thin child bleeds into view, and the heroes gasp, realizing this particular child. "Hi.."

"Phantom?"

"That's Phantom, right?"

"Oh my stars! That's Phantom!"

Danny flinches when he hears his old hero name. He instinctively turns invisible again.

"QUIET." Batman demands, silencing the heroes. "To answer your questions. Yes, Danny WAS Phantom. Due to the amount of trauma he suffered while baring the name, he would like to be called Danny until he finds a new name for himself. Understand?"

There's muttered apologizes and murmurs of agreement. Danny bleeds back into view, standing an arm's length away from Batman now.

"Good." Batman is still glaring at the heros while softly saying, "Share when you're ready."

Danny's lips press into a thin line before he pulls off this shirt, exposing all of the scars on his upper body. He explains how he got his "powers", showing off the lichtenberg scar. He explains his parents, the portal, and their legacy of death and horror. He explains all his surgical scars. He explains watching less stable people and creatures End going through as little as a third of what he endured before escaping. He explains how he doesn't age anymore, that most things won't kill him now, and how tired he is of never being safe enough to even nap. He's tired of being scared.

All in all, it's very effective. The JL and JL Dark are up in arms and dismantling anything that has anything to do with the Anti-Ecto Control Acts and it awful ideals. Danny feels free and mostly safe for the first time in decades.

#tim drake #batfam #batfam shenanigans #danny phantom #danny fenton #bruce wayne #dc x dp #dpxdc #justice league #justice league dark #anti ecto control acts #giw #tw human experimentation #tw child abuse #tw vivisection #dick grayson

1K notes · View notes

flwrkid14 · 3 months ago

Note

Could I request your Tim Doesn't Hold Grudges with a Dead Tired Twist, cuase just imagine he doesn't hold grudges against anyone who wrongs him, but the moment you say something bad about his boyfriend-

Danny does it too but itn reverse, he grudges against everyoen who ever hurt his boyfriend.

And the batfam don't understand why Tim's boyfriend hates them all witha burnign passion

thanks for the ask! and I can totally do that, their dynamic is everything to me! <3

Tim Drake does not hold grudges.

It's not that he forgets—oh, no, Tim has perfect memory when it comes to betrayals, slights, and near-death experiences. He could give you a full PowerPoint presentation on every time someone has wronged him, complete with timestamps and psychological profiles. But does he hold it against someone? Never.

The League of Assassins kidnaps him and tries to brainwash him? Eh, just another Tuesday. The Justice League ignores his warnings about a world-ending threat? Annoying, but whatever, Young Justice have managed on their own. Bruce replaces him without a word? Disappointing, but he’ll manage. Damian tries to murder him again? Tim still sets aside a plate for him at family dinners.

Tim is a firm believer in moving on. He takes his hits, internalizes them, and keeps going. No point in holding onto anger. No point in letting grudges slow him down. If someone screws him over, well—he probably expected it anyway. That’s just how life works, right?

But the moment you insult Danny?

All bets are off.

It’s not even an explosive anger—it’s worse. It’s cold. Calculated. Petty. You say Danny’s a bad influence? Suddenly, every embarrassing piece of information about you is mysteriously public knowledge. You doubt Danny’s skills? Weird, your bank accounts have been flagged for fraud (don’t worry, it’s temporary… probably). You try to slight Danny in any way? Hope you enjoy Gotham’s worst coffee because Tim has blacklisted you from every decent café in the city.

And then there’s Danny, who holds grudges for Tim, and he holds them with the fury of a thousand dying stars. If you so much as look at Tim wrong, Danny will remember it forever. You made Tim cry in third grade? Cool. Danny’s counting down for the day karma comes knocking. You ever doubted Tim’s capabilities? That’s fine—Danny’s just going to glare daggers at you until you feel physically uncomfortable in your own skin.

Now enter the batfamily, who are so confused because Tim is still as calm and forgiving as ever, but his boyfriend? His boyfriend hates them.

Damian: "Why does your boyfriend keep glaring at me?" Tim: "I have no idea." Danny: "I have a few ideas."

Jason: "I swear your boyfriend wants me dead." Tim: "I mean… you did shoot me." Danny: "Oh, don’t downplay it—HE PUT A BULLET IN YOUR CHEST."

Dick: "I don’t get it, I was trying to be friendly." Danny: "Remember all the times you made Tim cry? Yeah, well I do."

Bruce, exhausted: "What do I have to do for your boyfriend to stop glaring at me?" Danny: "You exist, that's already beyond unforgivable."

Meanwhile, Tim thinks this is all hilarious and has no intention of stopping Danny. He just sips his coffee and enjoys the show (and basks in all of Danny's love, obviously).

#thanks for the ask <3 #tim drake #danny fenton #brain dead #dead tired #dc x dp #batfam

880 notes · View notes

sirfrogsworth · 1 month ago

Text

Clinging to sanity

Summary of this post...

My brain is broken. My A/C is broken. My phone is broken. My computer is broken. My support system is broken. My financial stability is broken. My family is broken.

And the big finale...

Please give Froggie a Yelp review to repair his relationship with his estranged uncles.

Seriously, I need a whole bunch of you to say nice things about me in a convoluted plan to get back the money my brother stole from my dying father.

If you don't feel like reading all of my broken stuff and just want to read about giving me a good review as a person, you can skip to the bullet point list at the end.

Alright, here we go...

I sometimes get in these states where I feel like my sanity is compromised. My mental defenses are minimal and I lose the filter on my brain that tells me "this is a good idea" or "this is a bad idea."

This causes me to say embarrassing things. I overshare with strangers. I keep myself from falling asleep because I have some amazing idea. But when I wake up in the morning I can't believe I lost all of that sleep for such a ridiculous idea. I write weird posts that no one likes. Or I post about controversial subjects like A.I. and trans people and RFK Jr. that I *know* will result in contentious feedback.

And my insane brain says, "You can handle it! Besides, you are so factually correct about this, no one will dare question your meticulous research. IT'S ALL GOOD! SEND IT, YOLO!"

I have a rule. If I am not emotionally or mentally prepared to defend my point of view on a controversial subject, I should wait until I am ready to publish.

Insane Froggie Brain ignores this rule.

After I "send it" and the negative feedback starts to flow in (even though I was assured by my brain it wouldn't), I become afraid to look at messages and replies and reblogs. And a lot of times I need that sense of community. I need to talk to my cool little community so I don't feel lonely. But Insane Froggie Brain cuts me off from that. I give myself all of this anxiety that could have been avoided by just posting another time.

And because I have no emotional defenses, that anxiety is amplified. Mean comments hurt much more. I obsess over them and my OCD causes thought feedback loops where I cannot get something out of my brain. I once couldn't sleep for a weekend because someone said I was wrong about how light reflects off the moon. They were right and I was also right but they said I was "misleading." And that just lived in my brain for days. I kept trying to think of new ways to better explain my point of view. I used up energy I didn't really have to take pictures of a baseball in a dark closet.

It was silly. It didn't matter. It was just a small disagreement. But OCD doesn't do small. OCD makes everything BIG.

What I'm trying to say is...

People need their emotional defenses.

People need their filters.

It's weird because I still have full access to my logical brain. So sane thoughts get all mixed in with the less sane ones. Sometimes I am self aware and can shut down the less sane ideas. Other times I am oblivious. And I *hate* losing control of my brain in any way. It's one of the reasons I've never touched alcohol. Which is why I get very disturbed when this happens.

I remember one time I was positive I was going to move to Florida and start a pet photography business. I had an entire business plan worked out where I trained people how to take the photos so the business could run itself if I got sick. I made an entire PowerPoint presentation to show Katrina so she would be my business partner. I was looking up rent prices for office space. I was making equipment lists for camera gear. She was going on a trip so she told me I could talk to her about it when she returned. And I am so lucky she wasn't available at the time.

Maybe if I had a normal person's energy, I could make something like that work. But once I returned to sanity, I realized it was orders of magnitude more complicated than anything I was actually capable of doing. I am still planning to do pet photography, but I have to come up with a more reasonable plan that does not involve Insane Froggie Brain.

I think it is just my ambitious mind trying to escape. Chronic illness is often heartbreaking because you have to temper all of your ambitions. And it is especially devastating when you are a very ambitious person, as I am.

I want to have all of these big ideas. But I have to filter them through reality. And when that filter is broken, I just unleash big ideas on all my friends. I once even held an official video chat meeting and we took notes and made plans. And I feel so guilty I wasted 4 people's time like that. None of those ideas happened. They had no chance of happening with my energy levels. But my friends and collaborators still did the meeting and nodded along like everything was fine. I appreciate them humoring me.

I also overshare. I overshare normally, but when I get like this I OVER SHARE. You are probably going to witness it in this very post. But I tell everyone everything about what is going on. I tell strangers. I tell a dog walking by.

"Hey doggie, my testosterone is returning and I'm struggling with having a libido again. I know most people would not complain, but it is very disruptive to my day! I have other things I want to do!"

Right now I am just not confident in anything I think or do. I wrote a post about social constructs yesterday. That literally took me all day to write. I was endlessly tweaking it and I thought it was going to be viral and helpful and win the trans debate for everyone.

It currently has 49 notes.

I'm afraid I did not fix trans rights.

Sorry about that.

And my rant about Christopher Nolan using IMAX is doing pretty well. I nerded out about film grain for like 2 paragraphs and it is getting way more notes than a philosophical perspective on constructs.

I just have no idea what people are going to like and I used to be pretty good at judging that. It's like I'm throwing spaghetti at the wall to see what sticks but instead of a wall I'm throwing it into the void. The spaghetti just disappears into infinite darkness.

I'm clearly still recovering from the big house clean with Katrina. And I am more tired than normal. But I am also very stressed about losing the house. I'm trying to figure it out, but I may only have until the end of June before I have to make some scary decisions.

And also, my air conditioner is not working. It has a leaky evaporator. Last year, I had it recharged and that lasted the entire summer. If the leak is leaking at the same rate, I could just do that again. It would be expensive, but replacing the evaporator is so costly, I'd be better off getting a heat pump installed. I'm a good candidate, it could save me money in the long run, but I am nowhere near in a position to make that happen.

Also, my phone is falling apart.

Literally. The only thing keeping it together is the phone case.

And this laptop, which I love, was not meant to be my main computer. I bought it when my dad was sick and I needed something upstairs to manage his prescriptions and bills and appointments. It wasn't meant to be an image editing machine. And, to their credit, Apple has made a crazy powerful little computer. I admit it, I love an Apple product. It can handle way more than expected. But my photo restorations can sometimes end up with 5 gigabyte files. I can't even save them as PSDs. I have to use this weird "PSB" format. It stands for "Photoshop Big." When I fill up the RAM, my computer uses the main SSD. And when I fill that up, I think I can hear the laptop crying and saying, "I wasn't meant for this! Please use fewer layers!"

But I need to finish restoring these photos because I have delayed their completion by about 5 months (got sick before I could finish). And also because I need to pay for the A/C recharge.

You might be thinking, "Didn't you fundraise to get the big fancy powerful computer of your dreams a few years ago? Why don't you use that?"

My big fancy computer has been broken almost since I got it.

It was right before my mom got really sick and there is a major hardware problem. I worked with tech support for over a month and we could not figure out what the issue was. The computer is mostly unusable. Like, "can't even web browse" unusable.

It honestly has caused me so much depression. Like deep, deep, crying-myself-to-sleep-for-weeks depression. I still cry about it. I know it is just a thing, but I am genuinely heartbroken about it.

Why haven't I fixed it? I'm a good computer fixer, right?

Once I had to take care of my parents, I just did not have any extra energy to deal with it. After a month of back-and-forth emails from the manufacturer, I finally told them, "I'm sorry, my parents are sick. I will email you when I have the energy to revisit this."

If you know my story and how I took care of my parents all alone because I have a neglectful brother, then you can probably guess that energy never came.

I am good at tech support. I have been an expert in computers since I was a teenager. I have taken apart and built computers more times than I can count. I have never had a problem this frustrating before. It works fine for a few hours, and then it just progressively slows down to being unusable. I narrowed the issue to either the SSD, the CPU, or the motherboard. All things that are not easy to replace. (The SSD is behind the damn GPU.)

In the 30s, the Royal Air Force used to have issues with their planes that baffled them. This is where the term "gremlin" came from. No matter what they did, no matter how many parts they replaced, they could not get the "gremlin" out of the plane. These were professional mechanics who just could not fix something and it drove them nuts.

I have a computer gremlin. I've never experienced anything like it in all of my years of fixing computers. I was working with professional tech support people. I was on reddit forums. And the only thing left to do was start swapping out parts. I'd work on it maybe an hour each day with whatever energy I had and it eventually was too much. I just could not deal with it. They told me to send it back, but I could not take care of my parents without any access to a computer. So I just rebooted it every time I used it.

At that point, my parents were requiring 24/7 care and I was so overwhelmed that I said, "fuck it" and ordered this laptop. I figured I'd fix the computer when I had time or energy. But that time and energy never came. And I certainly didn't have the energy to haul a 60 pound computer upstairs, box it up, and then take it to UPS. So I just kept putting it off and putting it off.

And I let the warranty expire.

When I realized I did that, I cried myself to sleep for another few weeks. This material object has caused me legitimate emotional trauma.

Any part replacements are now on me. And there isn't really any way of knowing which part is faulty. I figured I'd buy a cheap SSD and start there.

I feel so fucking guilty because people donated money for me to have that machine. I feel like I let them all down by not getting it fixed. When I finish my recovery, I'm hoping I can sort it out. But that could be many months from now.

Recovery has been such a dark, lonely place. Trying to restore my health a millimeter at a time is a grueling marathon of misery. I have been struggling to keep Insane Froggie Brain at bay this entire time.

I felt like I was stuck in a hole.

And like a superhero with the power of friendship and puns, Katrina pulled me out of the giant hole I was in. My house turned into a biohazard. She flew from Florida to essentially clean and organize everything. How do you even begin to thank someone for that?

But also, she shouldn't have had to do that. I have a perfectly functional brother. But he hasn't spoken to me for nearly a year now.

I have other family in town. But I missed so many family gatherings over the years, they don't really know me. None of them have called. I'd have to rebuild those relationships if I want them to be a part of my life again.

And I haven't talked about this yet because it has been too painful.

But... my support system fell apart.

My aunt had to move away to take care of her father-in-law. A year before my mom passed she took care of my grandma as her end-of-life caregiver. And people should only have to do that once. But she has to do it again, and unfortunately, we haven't been able to speak much.

We were very good at keeping in touch in real life. But she is of an older generation and has trouble maintaining relationships on a smartphone. I mean, I get it. Some people are just better at meatspace than cyberspace. That was actually one of the things I liked about our bond. Almost all of my friendships are online. Having someone who liked to visit me and talk to me in person was special.

But, for the time being, I lost that. And it feels a bit like temporarily losing another parent.

I am struggling to even start writing the words for this next part.

I had two best friends. Katrina and I are great. Our friendship is probably better than it has ever been.

But my other best friend of nearly 15 years ghosted me without explanation.

I haven't talked about it because it has been too hard. Any time I try to think about it I get upset. My eyes are filling up with tears as I type this.

I have been pretending like it isn't happening.

Which is not working great.

I've been trying to hire a therapist.

They all have months-long waiting lists.

My friend just stopped talking to me and I don't know why.

They went from driving across the country and holding my hand at my dad's funeral to just not being a part of my life.

I'm so scared I said something terrible or did something terrible. I keep going through all of my memories trying to figure out what I could have done. But we had the kind of friendship where we'd talk about that stuff. If I screw up, they would tell me. We'd work it out.

This person who was in my life nearly every week for over a decade is just not there anymore. I keep losing people and I can't make it stop. And I am really worried that I am leaning on Katrina too much. She went from being part of a multifaceted support system to my entire support system. That isn't fair to her.

She has been very understanding. And she knows I am going to rebuild a support system as soon as I am able. But I don't want to overwhelm her and lose her too.

Weaning off this medication and living with no testosterone has been so miserable and she has been the only one helping me through it.

I'm doing so well with my recovery. I think I can be off the meds in 3 months and hopefully my testosterone will be fully back in range. I'm already more productive than I have been in nearly 8 months.

But I have 1 month of financial runway left and I am not going to get well enough before then.

Everything happens all at once. Every single time. And usually terrible things happen in my life at the same time terrible things happen in Katrina's life. She had terrible mold that destroyed her health for months. Thankfully it did not turn her transphobic, but it sure fucked her health for a while. She made all of this progress getting fit and healthy and BAM, the universe says, "You are doing too well, you need a challenge!"

So, what is my plan?

I am a problem solver and I have some doozies to solve.

Right now I am going to appeal to the family patriarchs on my dad's side. On his literal deathbed, my dad asked his brothers to "take care of me" and I am going to attempt to call in that favor.

I am going to ask them to talk to my brother and hopefully mediate a solution regarding the stolen inheritance. I want them to convince my brother to do the right thing and return the money he took from my dad.

Sorry, the money he "legally inherited" due to his wife "reinterpreting my dad's wishes" in the will.

Before you ask, I have no options to fight this in court. A verbal promise is not enough to overturn a written will. And the cost of fighting would be more than the inheritance. Please don't suggest any legal advice. I've talked to good lawyers. And unless I want to sue for emotional distress, there aren't any legal options available.

The best option is to appeal to my brother personally and ask him to keep his promise to my dad.

The only reason I am in this mess is because my brother repeatedly promised to give me the money. He said he didn't want it on multiple occasions. So all of my plans involved the expectation of this money. I was going to fix up the basement apartment and seek a roommate.

But it took over a year to just get it out of probate. A year I could have used to come up with other solutions. But he waited until the last minute and made his lawyer tell me he was screwing me.

I'm sure my brother will argue my dad knew what he was signing. But I know that is impossible. Before my dad passed, we were in the hospital and I saw the will for the first time. I asked him if it reflected his wishes. And I asked him if he meant to include my brother's wife in the will.

His response was, "Are you fucking kidding me???"

Readers, does that sound like a man that knew what was in his will?

Dad was so upset that he was about to have them cut off his leg just so he could live a few more weeks and fix the will.

You have to give my dad credit, he goes pretty hardcore when it comes to protecting his family.

I couldn't let him go through an amputation to protect me from my brother's shenanigans.

But I am pretty screwed now.

That said, my uncles are pretty hardcore too. One is *very* intimidating. So I feel like my uncles talking to my brother might carry some weight.

But I have one problem...

I mean, aside from the myriad problems already described.

How about... I have one additional problem...

My uncles don't like me very much.

They think I am a basement-dwelling loser who is faking his illness and was taking advantage of his parents for two decades.

One uncle even accused me of stealing from my dad.

They are protective of their brother. They loved my dad. Which is a good thing! As long as I can convince them that their assumptions about me are invalid, I think their love for my dad will compel them to help me.

They just don't have the context. They don't know me. They live in far-off lands. And due to some unfortunate timing, one uncle saw me at one of the lowest points of my life. This was maybe 8 years ago? He didn't realize I was thrown into the deep end and very recently took on the role as full-time caregiver for two very sick people.

My awful strategy at the time was "if I don't take care of myself, I'll have more energy to take care of my parents." If you are a caregiver, this is a bad strategy. It seems obvious you have to do some self care to give care to others, but when you are just starting out, that seems impossible.

My uncle showed up unannounced and I wasn't showered, I hadn't brushed my teeth in a week, and my room had a fun layer of trash on the floor. The trash can was overflowing and I literally did not have the spare energy to change the bag.

To make matters worse, my mom's medications and constant pain had broken the filter in her brain that prevents her from saying mean things. She was on this crazy chemo-like infusion that was basically using poison to fight her psoriatic arthritis. Her aggressive, blunt remarks were not her fault. That wasn't who she was. But she could not stop herself from saying hurtful things.

The kindest woman alive was suddenly Don Rickles without the "just kidding" subtext. And my uncle didn't know this and I got into an argument with my mom.

I probably looked like a pampered brat loser who just lies in bed and plays video games all day while arguing with his saint of a mother.

I don't blame him. Without context, that's exactly what it looked like.

So I am writing my uncles a letter.

It is essentially a memoir of the caregiving I gave to my parents. I hope to publish it publicly at some point, but right now it is just a letter to them. If it were a typical hardcover book, it would be about 70 pages long.

I am telling them everything.

If nothing else, I just need them to know my dad's story. I need them to know he was well taken care of. That I did everything humanly possible to make his last year as comfortable as I could. I need them to know he was *never* alone.

Sadly, because they probably think I am an unreliable narrator, I am my own worst witness. So I am asking 3 people in my current support system to write testimony to verify everything in my memoir is accurate. I even have a doctor's note!

It is probably insane to put this much effort into convincing my uncles to like me. But I'm pretty sure Sane Froggie Brain is behind the wheel of this endeavor. Sometimes the craziest, most desperate idea is the only option left.

Basically I am using my writing skills to try and save my Froggie butt.

I don't mean to be braggadocious, but people perusing my prose persistently pontificate that I am proficient at penning pleasing passages.

People say I write good sometimes.

And I think this memoir letter thingie is the best thing I've ever written. So I am hopeful I will deflate these dubious assumptions and tug on my uncles' heartstrings.

But there is something you all can do to help me.

A friend on tumblr is helping me edit this memoir monstrosity. And she gave me her testimonial to add to my 3 witnesses.

"I have been following The Frogman for well over a decade on his website. It was years before I learned his name was Benjamin! We all just call him Froggy. He was (and still is) one of the funniest internet guys out there. He is incredibly skilled at putting together humorous GIFs and photo sets, and his comedic writing is second to none. He regularly goes viral. Along with that, he was open and vulnerable about the toll CFS takes on him. I can attest to many folks over the years telling him that he has helped them as they dealt with their own health issues. He is so knowledgeable about so much--his posts are famous for being long, detailed, and wildly informative. And most of all, entertaining. They are a joy to read. We also followed along on his heartbreaking journey with his parents. He shared so much of them with us over the years that they felt like people we knew. It was so clear, from his long absences, how much he was doing for them. Our hearts broke when he told us his parents were no longer with us. Froggy has fans, and so did his parents. Otis, too. We love and support him and will always wish him the best."

It made me cry.

But it also felt like getting a Yelp review on... my entire deal.

And it gave me an idea.

What if I had a bunch of these as optional testimony for my uncles?

I'm not going to force them to read what a bunch of internet strangers have to say. But it could be a compelling way to prove my website antics were a serious attempt to build a livelihood for myself. My uncles were successful businessmen and respect a strong work ethic and trying to make your own way.

I was too early for monetization options like Patreon, TikTok, YouTube, and Twitch, but I ran a very successful comedy blog. If I had my 2013 success in the 2020s, I probably would've been able to retire and live off that for the rest of my life. I have several original GIFs that were downloaded tens of millions of times. Google said one of them was searched for over 100,000,000 times.

My blog was silly, but I took it seriously and I had sponsors and merch and an Otis plush.

They think what I did was like when you are at the family Christmas gathering and you ask your weird cousin what he's been up to and he says, "I run a blog about corgis from my parents' basement."

How do I relate the impact I had? They don't know what "Know Your Meme" is. They don't know what being on the front page of Reddit means. They don't know the amazing community I built. They don't know that I created one of the largest and most generous online support systems one could possibly have. I'm still alive and trying to make a life for myself because all of you continue to love and support me.

I was successful and I worked hard despite my disability.

I just had bad timing with the financial aspect of that success.

So, if you want to leave a Yelp review of The Frogman for my uncles, I'd appreciate it.

I came up with a list of things I need to prove to them. I'm just going to copy/paste the entire thing here. I'll strikethrough the ones you all probably can't speak to.

I am not a basement dwelling loser.

My website was more than a silly hobby.

I did not mooch off my parents for 20+ years.

I did not steal from my parents.

I am not the crazed, awkward mess [my uncle] witnessed.

I am disabled.

I cannot get a job.

I am a good person.

I am a likable person.

I was a good son.

I took good care of my parents.

My parents would not have been better off in a nursing home.

My parents would not have been better off moving closer to my brother.

My brother and his wife neglected and emotionally abused Mom & Dad.

My brother and his wife changed the will to benefit them against my mom & dad’s wishes.

My brother promised repeatedly the will was a mistake and I would receive the full amount.

I did not take care of my parents to “retain the house” or get money.

So, if you want to attempt to convince two elderly conservative Catholic men that my cat memes were lit, I would appreciate the help.

If you’ve been part of this community, and you’ve ever felt like I made you laugh, cry, or feel understood, a short 'review' of me as a person could mean the world.

Just remember your audience is...

Uncle #1: A stoic, but brilliant 80 year old who writes text messages like they are business emails. Complete with "Dear Ben" and "Regards, Your Uncle". He is still very sharp-minded and lucid. He thinks success is a high paying job, a house, and a family (my brother). He does not like weakness and consistently thought I should "be an adult and get a job." He is very loyal and respected my dad very much.

Uncle #2: A 60-something retired grandpa who thinks his constant dad jokes are genuinely funny. He is empathetic, but secretly judgmental. He will act like your best friend even if he doesn't care for you. He is an amazing grandpa. Very involved with his kids and their kids. He keeps every video of them getting a goal in sportsball on his phone. He will help you if you think you deserve to be helped. He is very close with Uncle #1.

So... kinda running the gamut there.

You can reblog this post or leave a reply or send a private message or email me at [email protected]

I will be anonymizing your names for obvious reasons.

I fear my uncles might not understand why Tumblr user "PokemonAssBlaster69" is saying nice things about me.

Explaining "The Frogman" is hard enough.

Anyway, thank you in advance.

#long post #talk about fishing for compliments

200 notes · View notes

whisperedmeg · 6 days ago

Text

BLIND CONTOUR ―.✦ s.r. soft animal series ∘ part x

pairing: spencer reid x fem!nurse!reader

summary: an HR training forces her to reckon with how it all began — the softness she offered, the power she didn’t realize she held. then a prison lockdown leaves her bloodied, trembling, and safe only in his arms. he holds her like something he never wants to erase.

genre: hurt/comfort, smut

w/c: 3.6k

tags/warnings: post-prison spencer, discussion of power dynamics/imbalance, prison lockdown, mentions of blood/injury, sort of a hostage situation, shower scene, unprotected p in v (unprotected as in no condom but it’s established she’s on bc and don’t worry this isn’t a setup for an unplanned pregnancy trope I promise lmao), crying during sex, multiple orgasms, aftercare/cuddling

a/n: this chapter is kind of all over the place, but I think it’s an important one for a bunch of reasons. as always, I appreciate all comments/likes/reblogs more than I can even express! thank you sm to everyone who has followed the series so far 🫶🏼 part 11 is coming sometime next week. can’t believe there’s only 3 more chapters left 🥲

series masterlist

The PowerPoint projected onto the wall said Ethical Conduct in Correctional Health Settings, but it might as well have said This Will Ruin Your Morning.

I sat in the breakroom with lukewarm coffee and five other nurses while a representative from HR clicked through slides that felt vaguely threatening. Phrases like dual relationships and over-identification floated across the screen in dull font, all framed in neutral language that still made my stomach twist.

“Inmate patients often misinterpret kindness as romantic or personal interest,” the presenter said. “This can lead to inappropriate attachment behaviors, especially if boundaries aren’t clear.”

I stared at my coffee. It had gone cold.

The slide changed. Power Dynamics in Clinical Encounters. A list of bullet points followed — positional authority, dependency for care, zone of helpfulness.

And all I could think about was Spencer.

Not the version of him now — not my Spencer, folded into our shared Saturday mornings eating yogurt with the foil lid still attached. No, the version from Millburn. Hollow-eyed. Quiet. Clever, even when he didn’t speak. The man who used a chessboard to communicate and didn’t smile often, but when he did, it made me weak in the knees.

I thought about the first time he beat me in Scrabble. He used words like flybys and zymurgy and quixotic so casually, as if that was something normal people did during a concussion screening. I thought about how I’d smiled at him like a secret. About how he’d looked at me like I was oxygen.

I’d always let him stay in the infirmary longer than he needed to. I’d played games with him, let him talk to me, given him back a piece of control over his time, his choices. It had felt harmless. Gentle, even. But the truth was, I had been the one holding all the power, even when I thought I was just showing him kindness.

He hadn’t been allowed to decide anything about his own life back then — not what he wore, or when he ate, or where he slept. So I let him decide whether we played chess or Scrabble. I let him talk to me like he was a person instead of a number, and I told myself that meant we were equal. But we weren’t. I was the one who got to walk out at the end of the day. I was the one with the badge, the authority, the agency.

I wasn’t ashamed of loving him. But for the first time, I realized how much of that love had started when he had no other choice but to trust the only softness available. I wasn’t wrong to care for him. But I hadn’t seen just how deeply the system had narrowed his options — or how easily love can grow toward the only open window, like a tiny plant stuck in the shadows, stretching desperately towards the sun.

The session ended. Someone made a joke about how none of us had time for “romantic inmate drama” anyway. Everyone laughed. But I felt sick.

—

When I got to Spencer’s place after my shift, he was on the couch, legs tangled in a blanket, a book open on his lap. His glasses had slipped down his nose and his curls were in full rebellion.

“Hey,” he said, looking up. “You okay?”

I dropped my bag by the door and kicked off my shoes. “Yeah. Just work stuff.”

He watched me cross the room and then set his book aside. I sat down and curled in beside him, resting my head on his shoulder.

I thought about how people — people like Spencer — study faces. I’d spent so many hours trying to read Spencer’s back then, trying to interpret the distance in his gaze, the calculation in his stillness. And now, watching him beside me, I realized I wanted to be read, too.

After a moment, I said, “Will you draw me?”

He blinked. “What?”

“Like in an art class. Blind contour. You don’t look down. You don’t lift your pen. You just draw what you see.”

“Baby,” he said, trying not to laugh, “I can’t draw.”

“I’m not asking for a masterpiece, Spence. I’m asking for an absolutely terrible line drawing of my face.”

He tilted his head. “Where is this coming from?”

I hesitated. “I think I just want to know how you see me. Not the polished version. Just… whatever comes through. Plus, it might be funny.”

He looked at me for a long beat. “Okay,” he said finally. “But only if I get to keep it.”

We rummaged for pencils and a sketchbook. He sat cross-legged on the couch, turned towards me as I sat against the other end.

“No peeking at the paper,” I warned.

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

For the next few minutes, he was completely focused. Every now and then he’d mutter things like, “I think this is your eyebrow, but it might be your nose,” or “I might’ve accidentally given you a third eye”

I couldn’t stop smiling, and his eyes never left my face.

When he was done, he turned the pad around.

It was tragically awful. My right eye sat closer to my chin than my forehead and I was pretty sure I counted four nostrils.

I laughed. “Wow. That’s even worse than I imagined.”

He grinned. “It’s strange how hard it is to get something right when you’re trying desperately not to mess it up.”

The words landed differently than he meant them to. I swallowed. “My turn.”

—

Drawing him was harder than I thought it would be. Not because of the exercise, but because of what it brought up. His face had changed since prison — softer in some ways, older in others. But there were pieces of him I still remembered vividly. How angular he looked in fluorescent light. How his hands trembled when he’d first get brought in by the COs.

I traced the curve of his nose in my mind. Let the pencil follow.

When I finished, I looked down at the paper and burst into laughter. I’d drawn his eyes almost on top of one another, so he ended up looking more like a cyclops than a human. His ears were so crooked you could barely tell I’d even intended for them to be ears. I handed him the monstrosity, still giggling. “It’s so bad,” I said. “And somehow also completely you.”

He held the page gently, as if it was fine art.

“I love it,” he asserted with a wide grin.

After a long moment of silence, I raised a quiet question, my mind still stuck on the HR slides from earlier. “Do you ever think about how little choice you had?”

Spencer looked at me. “What do you mean?”

“When we met. I could’ve walked away. You couldn’t.”

He blinked. His posture shifted, like he wasn’t sure whether this was a memory or a minefield.

“I sat through a training this morning,” I explained. “They were talking about power dynamics. About how inmates might misinterpret kindness. About how health care providers can become too emotionally involved. And all I could think about was you and me.”

He was silent, listening.

“I remember every time I let you stay longer in the infirmary. Every game of chess. Every smile you gave me like it was something you weren’t supposed to hand over. And I realized — even when it felt mutual, it wasn’t.”

He opened his mouth to speak, but I kept going.

“I always saw you as my equal, but you weren’t. Not really. I didn’t realize how unfair that was to you until today.”

Spencer took a slow breath.

“I’m not saying what we have isn’t real,” I added quickly. “God, Spence, I know it is. And you didn’t ever misinterpret anything. You didn’t misread the signs I was giving you. But I still can’t stop thinking about how little agency you had. How I might’ve inadvertently taken advantage of the position you were in, flirting with you when you didn’t have anywhere else to turn.”

His gaze held mine. “You were the only person in there who treated me like I wasn’t broken. If there was a power imbalance, it didn’t come from you.”

“But it was there,” I said. “And you still fell in love with me.”

He reached across the couch, resting his fingers lightly on my knee.

“I didn’t fall in love with you in prison. I survived because of you in prison. I had a crush on you, of course. But I fell in love with you after. After you showed up at my apartment and didn’t look back.”

Tears stung my eyes.

“You made me feel like I was worth knowing again,” he said.

I leaned forward and pressed my forehead to his.

“I’m still sorry,” I whispered.

“I know,” he said softly. “But you don’t have to be.”

Later that night, we curled up on the couch, a blanket tossed over our legs. Our hideous drawings sat side by side on the coffee table.

He traced slow circles on the inside of my wrist.

“We should frame them,” he murmured.

I laughed. “Seriously?”

“They’re terrible,” he admitted. “But they’re honest.”

I smiled, watching the curve of his mouth as he looked at the drawings.

“They’re us,” I whispered.

“Exactly.”

—

I went back to work the next day, giggling at the sight of the drawings on the coffee table before I left his apartment.

It was a normal shift at first — charting, two medication rounds, a sprained ankle from rec time. Spencer had kissed my forehead that morning like nothing in the world could go wrong.

But it happened fast. A snapped broomstick turned into a shiv. A hallway scuffle flared into chaos. And then everything locked down.

Sirens screamed overhead as the COs bolted every entry. The intercom crackled something about securing infirmary staff, but I was already on the wrong side of the door.

I’d stepped out to grab more gauze from the supply room. One second I was rounding the corner near Block C, and the next, I was face to face with an inmate I didn’t recognize — bleeding from the forehead, shirt torn, wild-eyed and twitchy like he hadn’t slept in days.

He had a sharpened toothbrush in one hand.

My mouth went dry.

“There’s nowhere to go,” he said, voice too calm. “They locked us in.”

I didn’t run. I couldn’t. My body was all instinct and slow breath. I raised my hands.

“Okay,” I said softly, carefully. “Let’s sit. I’ll help you with that cut, alright?”

He didn’t answer. Just stared — eyes glassy and unpredictable. I registered the tremble in his hand, the way the makeshift weapon hovered at his side. He wasn’t threatening me, not directly. But he wasn’t stable either.

“I’m a nurse,” I said. “You’re hurt. Let me help.”

A long beat passed. Then, slowly, he nodded.

I sat cross-legged against the wall, heart thudding in my ears. When he crouched beside me, I fought the urge to flinch.

I didn’t have gloves. I didn’t have anything but the gauze I’d been holding. I pressed it gently to his temple. Blood welled beneath it, and it soaked through quickly — onto my hands, into the cuff of my sleeve. I just kept applying pressure, steady and firm.

“What’s your name?” I asked, voice thin.

A pause. “Tony.”

“Hi, Tony. You’re gonna be okay. Just keep breathing.”

We sat like that for what felt like hours — no clocks, no guards, just distant shouts and the thunder of fists on bars. I could hear the static of CO radios, barked orders, the sound of something heavy slamming into steel. Somewhere, someone was crying. Somewhere else, someone was laughing — manic and unhinged.

Tony kept the shiv in his lap. I tried not to look at it.

Every few minutes, his hands would twitch. Once, he stood up suddenly, pacing a few feet before crouching again. I didn’t move.

The second time he stood, I braced for the worst — and then he just sat back down with a sigh and pressed the gauze tighter to his head.

“I didn’t mean to be here,” he muttered. “I wasn’t supposed to be here.”

“I know,” I said, even though I didn’t.

Eventually, a CO found us and barked for Tony to stand. He dropped the toothbrush without protest. I watched them zip-tie his wrists and haul him down the corridor, blood crusted at his temple. I still don’t know what he’d done. I just knew he didn’t hurt me.

But he could have.

That’s what stuck.

My hands didn’t stop shaking, not even when I scrubbed them raw in the infirmary sink. I could still see the red stain of his blood on my scrubs, dried now, crusted at the seams. And I couldn’t get the image of that plastic handle out of my mind — the way it had gleamed under the flickering light. The way it reminded me, viscerally, that kindness doesn’t always protect you.

I wasn’t able to check my phone until I was cleared to leave two hours later.

Twelve missed calls. Seven texts. Three voicemails.

All from Spencer.

—

When I finally got to his apartment, the door opened before I even had the chance to fumble with my keys. Spencer stood there in the doorway, looking panicked and sleep-deprived and like he’d run through every possible worst-case scenario a thousand times.

His hands flew to my face like he didn’t believe I was real. “God, are you okay?”

I nodded, barely.

“I saw it on the news. You weren’t answering. I—I couldn’t reach you. I had Garcia hack into Millburn’s internal system. She got me CO radio traffic and timestamped movement logs, but we couldn’t find anything about you, there was nothing—” His voice cracked. “I thought—I thought something had happened to you.”

“You shouldn’t have done that. You could’ve gotten in trouble with the Bureau for abusing their systems,” I whispered, too shocked and touched to mean it.

“I don’t care,” he said firmly. “I had to try and find you.”

He wrapped his arms around me and pulled me to his chest so tight it almost hurt. I felt the tremor in his shoulders before I heard the heavy breath he sucked in.

I closed my eyes and let myself shake.

—

The shower was his idea.

“You’re covered in someone else’s blood,” he said gently. “Let me help.”

We undressed slowly, almost clinically. He reached for the faucet, tested the water with his hand, then stepped aside, waiting like he was afraid to rush me.

The moment I stepped under the spray, I broke.

Not loud. Not sobbing. Just a quiet, unstoppable unraveling — muscles trembling, jaw clenched, eyes burning. The adrenaline was gone, and all that was left was fear, thick in my throat.

Spencer stepped in behind me. His arms wrapped around my waist like a bandage pulled snug. He didn’t say anything. Just held me, chest pressed to my back, hands splayed over my ribs like he was trying to count each one and make sure none had splintered without him noticing.

I leaned into him and let the water wash over us.

When he reached for the shampoo, his fingers threaded through my hair with tenderness. He massaged my scalp slowly, carefully, like he was afraid I might flinch if he moved too fast. I stood still while he rinsed it out, then turned to face him.

He cupped my jaw and kissed my forehead. Then he reached for the washcloth, lathered it between his palms, and began to wash my body — my arms, my shoulders, my chest, down to my stomach, my legs. Gentle, thorough, like he was scrubbing off the fear and replacing it with his love.

“I was so afraid something happened to you,” he said finally, voice ragged.

“I know,” I whispered. “But it didn’t. I’m right here.”

He exhaled shakily, something cracking open in his expression.

“I didn’t know what I’d do if I lost you,” he said. “I kept thinking, what if I never got to touch you again? What if I didn’t say I love you enough?”

My throat tightened. I reached for his hand and laced our fingers together under the stream. “You did. You do.”

There was a long, trembling pause.

Then came the shift. Like something soft giving way under the weight of too much feeling. He let the cloth fall and leaned in to kiss me — slow, steady, and full of ache.

There was no urgency — not yet. Just the quiet gravity of skin and memory. His hands found my waist, and mine threaded into his damp curls. We kissed under the spray until the water went cold.

When we stepped out, he dried me gently, then himself. We made our way to the bed wrapped in towels, in silence, in something close to reverence.

He laid me down like something precious. Crawled over me like he didn’t want to miss a single breath.

“I need you,” he said softly. “Need to feel you.”

I nodded, brushing a curl from his forehead. “You’ve got me. I need you, too.”

His hand went to the nightstand for a condom, but I stopped him.

“You… you don’t have to,” I said softly, and Spencer looked down at me like a deer in headlights. “I’m on the pill. You know I take it religiously. I’m okay with it if you’re okay with it.”

He froze. “You’re sure?”

I held his gaze. “I’m sure,” I whispered.

His face shifted — awe, want, disbelief. Then he kissed me again, deeper now.

When he pushed inside me, it felt like coming home. He moved slowly and carefully until we were fully joined then stilled there, breath shaking. We both gasped — even after everything, this closeness still had the power to undo us.

He pressed his forehead to mine. Our noses brushed. Our hands found each other and held tight.

We started to move together, slow at first — long, deep strokes that made my body arch into his without thinking. My legs wrapped around his waist, anchoring him to me.

He groaned against my mouth, kissed me hard. “You have no idea how scared I was,” he said, voice broken.

I whimpered softly, fingertips digging into his back. “Shhh. I don’t want to talk about that right now. Just focus on this,” I begged.

We moved like that — like we were rediscovering each other, like every thrust was a tether, pulling us tighter. The pleasure built sharp and slow, pulled from something deeper than just sensation.

His pace quickened, just slightly. His lips traced my jaw, my throat, the shell of my ear. “I need you to let go for me,” he whispered, voice wrecked. “I want to feel you fall apart.”

I moaned, body trembling. “Touch me,” I breathed. “Please.”

His hand slipped between us, thumb circling just right. I broke with a gasp, hips bucking, body clenching tight around him.

“That’s it,” he murmured, holding me through it. “God, you’re so beautiful when you come.”

My breath caught in my throat. My eyes stung. I didn’t even realize I was crying until he kissed the tears from my cheek.

“Hey,” he whispered. “I’ve got you. I’m right here.”

He shifted slowly, gently guiding me onto my side and curling around me from behind. He slid back in with a low groan, burying his face in the curve of my neck.

This angle — this closeness — was unbearable in the best way. He moved deeper, slower, like he needed to feel every inch of me, like anything faster would be too much.

“You’re okay,” he whispered, hand over my heart. “You’re safe.”

I turned my head just enough to kiss his cheek, and it was then I noticed the glistening tear streaks running down his face, too. “Only because you’re here.”

He moaned softly, his arm tightening around my waist, his rhythm stuttering as I pushed back against him. His fingers found mine again and held tight, grounding us both. The pleasure unfurled once more in my belly, deeper this time. A slow rise toward something bright and breaking.

“I love you,” he said hoarsely. “More than anything.”

“I love you too,” I breathed — and then I was coming again, shuddering around him, everything inside me tightening and releasing in slow, rolling waves. My back arched, my breath caught, and I felt him everywhere.

He buried his face in my shoulder and let go with me. His whole body shook as he came, a raw, wrecked sound tearing from his throat. I felt it — the pulse of him deep inside, the heat, the staggering intensity of it.

He clung to me like he might fall apart without something to hold, and I held him just as tightly.

When it was over, he didn’t pull away. He wrapped the blanket around us, tucked his body close, kept himself buried inside me like he couldn’t bear to be anywhere else.

“Promise me I’m never going to lose you,” he whispered, still shaking.

“‘M not going anywhere,” I replied softly, my voice loose and sleepy and in love. I reached for his hand and looped our pinkies together. “Promise.”

We lay there for a long time. Quiet. Still. The worst of the day behind us. The fear, the waiting, the helplessness.

Now there was only this — the warmth of skin, the hush of steady breath, the outline of two people who’d almost come undone.

Not perfect. Not polished.

Just two messy shapes drawn in unbroken lines — holding each other together.

ᝰ.ᐟ

254 notes · View notes

scaraobsession · 18 days ago

Text

Categorically Yours⎯ ♡

⎯ 02. oh wow ;-;

Note: If future written parts don't live up to this one, it's because I used 110% of my sleepless brain for this one and the perfect flavour of insomnia is hard to recreate.

~600 words, Scara x reader

You stare blankly at the whiteboard in front of the lecture hall. On there, a blur of bullet points and philosophical trivia. God, this class is already so confusing. And it’s only the first lecture at that. Nice start with a PowerPoint straight from academic hell.

These are only the basic definitions — easily doable if it wasn’t for the professor trying to make it as confusing as possible. This guy really wants to sound smart. Circling the topic but never getting to the point and instead getting lost in his endless tangents. He must’ve explained the same concept in five different confusing ways by now.

Looking down at your messy notes, you sigh. Even your pink gel pen can’t save them from looking like they belong to a crazy person. Crossed lines upon crossed lines, question marks on the side and of course the doodles that seem to happen on their own the less you understand.

You hold back another frustrated huff. Hu Tao should’ve been here. Stupid fever. Not that she’d help you get any of this crap — she’d be even more lost than you, probably — but she would’ve made it entertaining. Or at least bearable. Like, at least she’d suffer by your side. But nooooo she gets to stay at home and sleep in while you have to endure a lecture that should be forbidden from ever being held again.

Since focusing is no longer an option, you take a look around. Your eyes land on the desk to your left.

Nothing.

No notebook, no laptop, not even a pen is sitting on the desk. All you see is the smooth wooden surface. That's strange.

This is one of those classes where the professor feels really important, so much so that he won’t publish the presentation slides, because “you retain more if you take your own notes”. Maybe the person next to you forgot their writing utensils. Or is just as clueless as you about the words the professor is spewing.

Curiosity wins and you glance sideways — and oh.

He’s pale, like he hasn’t seen the sunlight in God knows how long. His dark indigo hair falls over his forehead in an almost perfect way. Despite his sharp features, he has an unplaceable delicateness. Not from his expression, but from his facial structure.

And he’s just sitting there. Unmoving, staring at the professor with an unreadable expression. Either he’s in the zone, holding on to every word the professor utters, or he’s in the same boat as you.

You decide to take your chances and open a new page on your notebook, scribbling a quick note for him onto the paper. After hesitating for about a second, you slide it onto his desk.

It catches his attention and he takes out a pen from his jacket pocket.

You look at him wide-eyed. Is this guy serious? Or mental? Doesn’t need notes for this lecture? What if he means no notes in general? He must think he’s a gift from God to academia himself if he actually believes he needs zero notes for a lecture where we don’t get the presentation slides.

Upon seeing your (rightfully so) puzzled expression, he snorts and turns away quickly. You can’t see his face, but you can feel his slightly condescending snigger taking away the last bit of doubt. This guy is some kind of genius. Or some kind of asshole with an inflated ego.

Either way, you outed yourself as completely clueless. And now he probably thinks you’re some kind of idiot who thinks Socrates is a skin care brand. How embarrassing.

previous masterlist next

summary⎯ It starts with a note in philosophy lecture. They sit together once, then again. Now they’re texting, sharing notes, and maybe something else they won’t admit. Minor in philosophy, major in denial.

Taglist:

@bittersweetmiko @lizzie-harper @hntft @bubblebellaz @vlynynynyn @rumitome @qjvt7 @insomniacdaydreamss @vi0let-writes @bananasquash @9meree

79 notes · View notes

rose-tea-and-strawberries · 2 years ago

Text

Ramshackle Family PowerPoint Night Slumber Party Headcanons

Masterlist

Bonus: First years

Sleepovers at Ramshackle are common but one day you decided to spice things up by having a powerpoint night party

You told Ace and Deuce your idea on Monday so that they had enough time to prepare for Friday.

The party begins in the afternoon and the three of you start baking all sorts of treats in the kitchen like cookies and brownies before you get changed into your pyjamas

Deuce:

His are really simple but bless him he worked so hard

He gets super into his and gets all animated and excited

He loves it when you ask questions

His slides are very neat, like one or two bullet points at most with a few pictures. He uses a baby blue background with standard black text.

“I didn’t want to make it hard to read” ♡

Ace:

Ace is what happens when a primary schooler is introduced to powerpoint for the first time

Every single transition and animation is used. He uses those cool font sites to make gif fonts that are going on every slide. It looks like a party popper exploded all over it. Each slide is a different garish colour. ‘Body text’? What’s that? Word art and word art only is his text

His presentations are either typical meme stuff like playing smash or pass with smash bros. characters or they’re the saltiest roasts you’ve ever heard

Yes, the last one was specifically made for you. He loves you dearly and has noticed that you’ve been on the receiving end of many a wandering eye. Prefect, you could do so much better

Grim

Since he’s baby™ he can’t make a powerpoint so he just has a whiteboard with the words ‘BUY ME MORE TUNA’ scribbled on

I’m not going to do the reader’s slides to make it more general but when it’s your turn to present you bet that it would be dead silent. If Ace so much as coughs, Deuce is decking him with a pillow.

After powerpoint night has ended, you play other games like those random Kahoot quizzes, charades with the ghosts, board and card games etc.

You even assemble a blanket fort that takes half an hour longer because of a pillow fight Ace instigated

You all decide to do it again next week

#twisted wonderland #twst #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #twst headcanons #twisted wonderland headcanons #ace trappola x reader #deuce spade x reader #twst grim #ace trappola #deuce spade

832 notes · View notes

onlyyoucanhurtlikethis · 3 months ago

Text

I never would’ve let that happen - one shot, kylian mbappe

The room had settled into that quiet stillness, the kind that came after long nights and half-drunken conversations. Madrid hummed outside, but in here, it was just them—warm skin against warm skin, his arm draped over her waist, his other hand under her shirt, fingers idly tracing the lines of her ribs. He always did that. Like he wasn’t even thinking about it, like he just needed to feel her.

She exhaled slowly, staring at the ceiling. “I really should’ve known,” she murmured. “It’s actually embarrassing how long it took me.”

Kylian huffed a quiet laugh. “It is.”*

She elbowed him lightly, but he caught her wrist, intertwining their fingers.

“No, but really,” she pressed. “You were right in front of me the whole time, trying to shift things, and I just—” She sighed. “I really should’ve killed you.”

“Okay, first of all, rude,” he said, amused. “Second of all… don’t worry.”*

She turned her head to look at him, doubtful.

“I mean it,” he continued. “Yeah, I always say how you were driving me crazy, and of course, I was frustrated, but also… I knew you. We were great friends before anything else, and I understood how your brain works. You need things spelled out—like, in bullet points, preferably with a PowerPoint presentation.”

She groaned. “That’s so annoying, though.”

“It’s just you,” he said simply, squeezing her hand. “I knew that. I always knew that. You weren’t ignoring me on purpose, you were just… following your own logic. And once you have a rule, you don’t break it, no matter how you feel.”

“That’s just basic self-control.”

“That’s you being you.”

She shot him a look, but he grinned, unbothered. “Do you know how many people say one thing and do another when they catch feelings? They justify it, make excuses. But you? You told yourself we were friends, so you made it a fact.”

She considered that for a moment. “So you don’t actually regret how things happened?”

“No.”

“You’re only saying that because we’re engaged now.”

His smirk deepened. “Obviously.”

“No, but really,” she pressed. “You wouldn’t be saying that if we weren’t. If I’d gone on that date with Rafael, if I’d started seeing someone else…”

His grip on her waist tightened just slightly. “That wasn’t going to happen.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Yes, I do.” His voice was even, but there was something firm underneath it. “You were never going to fall in love with him. Or anyone else.”

She studied him for a second, trying to decide if that was arrogance or certainty. Probably both.

“Still,” she murmured, “if things had gone differently, i would’ve been the one that got away.”

Kylian scoffed. “No, you wouldn’t.”

“I wouldn’t?”

“No.” His fingers brushed against her skin again, slower this time. “Because I never would’ve let that happen.”

She huffed a quiet laugh, shaking her head. “So possessive.”

“You know it.”

She rolled her eyes, but she didn’t argue, letting him pull her in closer, his hand settling under her shirt again, palm warm against her skin. The weight of it was steady, grounding. The kind of touch that said,

You’re here. We’re here. That’s all that matters.

#kylian mbappe #football x reader #kylian mbappe imagine #kylian mbappe one shot #kylian mbappe x reader

70 notes · View notes

sadagios · 5 months ago

Note

I saw the initial post for the game developer au and I was like haha this is cute and funny I like this a lot AND THEN YOU RELEASED MORE ART + A TWO THOUSAND WORD SLIDESHOW AND IM OBSESSED

you know what's funny... i was gonna give up on this au because it was too ambitious for me and i was scared it was going to be left unfinished like the last comic au i worked on for my previous fandom. what changed the tides and vibes was the little voice in my brain to just list them all in bullet points and post them as is. if i had tried to write in a normal and proper narrative format, this silly but giant AU will never meet the light of day lol

i'll just focus on letting it all out unprofessionally so i have a shot at hopefully doing, like, maybe... 7-8 parts? (god, HOPEFULLY) also, i like that you called it a slideshow lol now i'll imagine each section with a stupid transition. would be really funny to turn it into a powerpoint presentation too lol.

anyway, thank you for the ask <3

#ask #rambling #AU - Scarian Death Game #sdgau ask

67 notes · View notes

obzessed · 1 year ago

Text

HP characters : powerpoint presentation headcanon

This is so random but here is how I imagine marauders' era characters doing a powerpoint presentation

The Marauders

Do over the top presentations, (down to using costumes, yes) would make the wildest powerpoint (too many colors because they can’t agree on anything)

They make it really fun and entertaining tho

use the airplane (flying broom ??) transition, except the airplane is on fire for some reason

indian drama level of presentation

Will Not stop giggling and interrupting each other

Jocks in middle school vibe, but they’re actually really smart

here to clown and have a laugh

generally get a high grade but get points deducted for clarity and taking too damn long

Severus Snape (+bonus Lily Evans)

In a solo presentation, Severus would make perfect, pristine presentation

King of bullet points

University standards powerpoints

only uses peer reviewed articles

always criticizes said peer reviewed articles

Never uses notes, but doesn't look the audience in the eyes ever

Doesn't look at the audience period

He's not shy, he doesn't even do it consciously

Extremely complicated subjects, Will Not Dumb It Down For You

If anyone has a question, will look at them as if they’re the biggest idiot in the room

The type to explain by simply reformulating what he just said

If they still don’t understand either sighs dramatically and moves on, or sighs dramatically and start drawing on the board, speaking veeeryyyyy slowly, you let me know where I lost you idiot fellow classmate

Actually explains really well when he puts in some effort, has this clean cut way of decomposing each problem and detailing each point, then tying it all back together that makes it really easy to follow

writing on the board and drawing legitimately helps him lay out his thought process

the condescension is just a plus

Type of presentation that is objectively very good and interesting and well thought out but like. no one cares. bring back the airplane transitions.

For a few people sufficiently advanced and interested and who actually understand what he’s talking about, (and who are not rebuked by his style and general attitude), it’s a v good presentation

Positive : Always adds something new and generally brings really pertinent arguments, genuinely passionate about what he’s talking about

Teachers pick up on his fast out of the box thinking and surprising creativity

his powerpoint design is a little depresso, no colors except to highlight important words

very minimalist and to the point

Regulus argues every point of his presentation

Academic rivals to lovers frfr

Gets point deducted for his attitude and his “lack of enthusiasm”

NOW Severus + Lily = best of both worlds, get an O everytime

Lily always insists on using canva (their pwp designs are so cute)

overall they balance each other really well

I feel like Lily would get a little giggly if she fumbles

The marauders would def shout “boring” and giggle like middleschoolers at the back of the class during Snape's presentation

Snape's ability to remain unfazed in the face of bs stems from there

God help them all if they get paired up for a presentation

Marauders + Severus

Snape would have to settle for at least one airplane transition

It would become a war of adding and deleting each other's progress on the pwp design

they split it in two but they try to gain terrain on the other's part like in Clash of Clan

They are at WAR

“I am a commander in battle and your slides are but a village on a map” James Potter

“Fuck you” Severus Snape

“Go jump off an airplane if you like them so much”

Somehow the presentation is even more chaotic than the previous one

passive aggressively asks the other to click on the next slide

always takes the other's question just as they're about to speak

If Snape sees a single one of them look at their notes for too long it's on sight (RIP Pettigrew)

Bc Fuck if he's gonna lose points over this

best or worst grade

lots of brain cells

Teacher tried to make the braincells hold hands but the brain cells are Enemies

155 notes · View notes

my-insanity-is-an-artform · 2 months ago

Text

More Silly Times au wherein Wukong tells MK all about Macaque, assumptions are made, and nobody is beating the allegations, your honour. Bullet Point edition.

It's important to me that you all know that Shadowpeach were not dating. At all. Much to the dismay, begging, and outright bribery of basically everyone who knew them.

Were they in love? Yes. Did either of them know that? Absolutely not. A neutron star would've been less dense than either of them. Many tried to get them to admit their feelings for each other. All failed.

The betting pool odds, though, are legendary.

Mk tries to ask DBK about Macaque and Wukong and inadvertently opens a whole container of worms.

Mk goes to ask DBK about Wukong's time with the Brotherhood in the aftermath of Season 3 since Wukong also told him about that, hoping that he might be able to give some advice or even help about "getting Monkey King back together with Macaque. Or at least talking properly to each other! It's really obvious that they miss each other and-"

Cue DBK tucking MK under his arm and busting into Waterfall Cave on Flower Fruit Mountain, Kool-Aid Man style.

"XIANDI! WHEN DID YOU AND YOUR WARRIOR GET MARRIED!? AND WHY WAS I NOT INVITED?! DO YOU NOT KNOW HOW MANY YEARS I SPENT DEFENDING YOUR HONOUR?! DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA HOW MUCH OUR FORMER BROTHERS NOW OWE ME?! WHO COURTNAPPED WHO?!"

It takes twenty minutes for the yelling to stop before Wukong can explain, no he and Macaque have never courted, let alone married! MK, stop calling him my ex!... Guys, stop looking at me like that.

DBK and MK now share am inexplicable and unbreakable bond built entirely on exasperation.

Wukong once told MK a very similar story to The Hero and The Warrior, called The King and The Hero which is how he started opening up to MK about Macaque. Mk is having war flashbacks during the Shadowplay incident.

Either Mk calls Macaque out for telling the story wrong and Macaque gets told that version. Which makes him feel all wibbly which also just makes him mad.

Or MK tells Wukong and he impulsively hunts Macaque down causing a two hour long argument complete with powerpoint slides, multiple shadow puppets, poking and a very passionate monologue over who's version is right.

Or more specifically, who was the hero.

MK and Mei are there as well. MK is this close to locking them both in a closet. Mei is livestreaming and making bank.

It ends in a stalemate.

And the internet goes fucking feral over their new OTP.

MK and Mei spend a good couple of minutes asking Azure for advice on how to get Macaque and Wukong 'back together'.

However you want to imagine Azure's Brotherhood era's feelings for Wukong, whether one-sided romantic or pure admiration or intensely brotherly, Azure still has an ABSOLUTE crisis while processing what MK and Mei asked him.

He also tells Yellowtusk and Peng while capturing DBK. DBK just fans the flames however he can to try to buy time for PIF and Red Son to potentially escape. (He also demands all the money and favours they owe him now.) (I think the chaos this causes does allow at least Red Son to escape so he's now in on the Season 4 adventures.)

Yellowtusk is all like "Oh finally. Good for them." while Peng reacts like the salty bitter ass they are.

They bring it up during the fight against Macaque and Mei and Macaque just flatly stares at Mei.

Way back in the day, Wukong and Macaque pretended to be a married couple for Shenanigan purposes. Present day people find out.

In the OG JTTW, Wukong spends a lot of time glamoured as other people and at least a few times as a woman and in LMK, Macaque is almost canonically a theatre nerd and a drama queen. So I feel this is absolutely in character for both of them.

So they pull this stunt to steal some stuff from a noble family or some demons and at some point they got like a miniature portrait of their glamoured forms done for giggles.

The gang finds the picture centuries down the track because it is in a position of pride in Wukong's hut, spelled within an inch of it's life for protection against general wear and tear, any sort of damage and dust.

Wukong doesn't understand why they are all looking at him like that. He just misses those days some times!

For everyone's sanity, Wukong had his 'Oh. Oh No.' moment right in the aftermath of Season 5 while they're watching the fireworks. Macaque has his when Wukong holds out his hand.

I like to think Wukong looks back at Macaque and sees him all lit up prettily in the fireworks and quietly looses his mind as he realises just how long he's always thought Macaque looked handsome, and just how Macaque has always been there and now he's back and sure things aren't the same as they were, but they can make it better than it was. Mk has already shown him that anything is possible by just believing in himself so maybe they can be friends again and maybe, just maybe!

(MK sees this playout across Wukong's face and is subtly and frantically texting the Group Chat.)

Macaque has his during the hand holding scene (you absolutely know the one) and just sees Wukong, for once, looking back and choosing to face the end with him. Wukong isn't racing off to fight it, or avoid it or anything else. He's choosing to stay and that's all Macaque ever wanted and he nearly lost him to something beyond death and reincarnation. He Heard everything that went down between MK and Wukong and while it makes him guilty that MK had to sacrifice himself, he's just so grateful that he still has a chance to rebuild his bond with Wukong and he can't blow it not when- oh.

And honestly, it just makes them both even more pathetically down-bad for each other. There just more blushing involved now.

The day Shadowpeach is cannon, the internet breaks, MK weeps tears of joy and DBK breaks into Yellowtusk's hold cell to share a drink for old time's sake and to demand his money.

#Silly Times Au #shadowpeach #lmk sun wukong #lmk six eared macaque #Someone said this sounded like Pure Shenanigans #Yes yes it is #I love me a shenanigan #Also they go through so much stuff in canon let me subject them to the Silly #Also my favourite idea is DBK pulling a Kool-Aid Man and interrupting a monkey pile nap

25 notes · View notes

lefteagleblizzard · 1 year ago

Text

𝕷𝖔𝖛𝖊 𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝖈𝖚𝖘𝖙𝖔𝖉𝖞

Mike Schmidt x gn reader

Summary: You and Mike are fighting for full custody of Mike's little sister, Abby, against their aunt Jane, who seeks custody solely for financial gain. Due to your demanding jobs, the custody battle drags on, and the court mandates that you and Mike attend a childcare course twice a week. But no one warned you of how boring it would turn out to be.

Warnings: no pronouns used for reader. Fluff and smut.

Words count: 2500

Can also be found on ao3 and wattpad

You sit beside Mike in a cramped, overly air-conditioned conference room, its walls adorned with peeling paint and motivational posters that haven't been updated in ages. The fluorescent lights cast a sterile glow over everything, making it feel more like a hospital waiting room than a place for learning.

The professional at the front drones on, her voice a monotone murmur as she reads verbatim from a bland PowerPoint presentation. Her monotonous drone fills the air, a relentless onslaught of lifeless bullet points on child care, each one more tedious than the last.

You glance at the clock, its ticking a constant reminder of the hours dragging on.

You shift in your chair, trying to get comfortable while feeling the hard plastic dig into your back.

Mike shifts uncomfortably in his seat next to you, his eyes struggling to stay open. His fatigue is palpable, dark circles mar his eyes, and his hair is tousled in a way that suggests he barely had time to run a comb through it before rushing here. You know he's had a rough night, another sleepless vigil followed by a demanding night shift.

He glances at you with a weary but determined smile, trying to muster some enthusiasm. He leans in closer, the warmth of his body a comforting contrast to the chill in the room. "Is it just me, or is this the most boring thing ever?" he whispers, his voice low and gruff with fatigue.

You chuckle softly, not wanting to attract the instructor's attention. "Definitely not just you," you reply, sharing a conspiratorial smile. The instructor, a gray-haired woman in an ill-fitting suit, continues to read directly from her PowerPoint slides, oblivious to the whispers and stifled yawns in the room.

Mike shifts his chair even closer to you, his knee brushing against yours under the table. "I can't believe we have to sit here twice a week," he murmurs. "I'd rather be doing... well, pretty much anything else."

He's trying so hard to stay awake, but the material is unrelentingly dull.

He had already taken care of Abby since her birth, those were all things that he knew already.

You shuffle closer to him, your chairs scraping softly against the linoleum floor. He leans closer, his arm bushing yours. "How are we supposed to learn anything when she's just reading to us?" His voice a low, gravelly murmur.

You smile at him, appreciating his effort. "Just try to hang in there, Mike. The more you think about it, the slower time seems to go away."

He leans closer to you again, his breath warm against your ear. "I don't know how much longer I can stay awake," he confesses, his voice laced with a tired charm that makes your heart flutter.

You nudge him playfully "Just try to hang in there."

Mike sighs heavily, his eyes blinking slowly. He leans even closer, his lips almost brushing your ear. "You know, if this were a different kind of class, I'd be finding other ways to stay awake," he murmurs, his voice taking on a playful, flirtatious tone despite his exhaustion.

You can't help but giggle softly. "Oh really? And what would those ways be?"

He smirks, his tired eyes twinkling mischievously. "Maybe we could... practice some hands-on techniques" he suggests, his hand finding yours and giving it a gentle squeeze.

"You're way more interesting than this presentation," he murmurs, his voice a soothing balm to your boredom.

You chuckled softly again, glancing around to make sure no one notices, "Focus, Mike. Stop distracting me."

He chuckles, but it's a weary sound. "Yeah, yeah, I know. But it's hard when you're sitting right next to me."

You roll your eyes affectionately, but you can't deny the warmth spreading through your chest.

Before you can respond, the lecturer clears her throat, and you both straighten up, trying to look attentive. Mike stifles a yawn, his hand covering his mouth.

You turn your attention back to the presentation, scribbling notes as the professional continues to drone on.

This course is just another hoop to jump through in the fight for custody of Abby. Jane, their aunt, is contesting custody, not out of love, but for the financial benefits. The thought makes your blood boil, but you push it aside, focusing on the task at hand.

Mike's voice breaks through your thoughts, softer this time. "I really appreciate you being here with me," he says, his hand finding yours under the table. "I couldn't do this without you."

Your heart swells with affection. "We're in this together," you reply, squeezing his hand. "We'll get through it, boring lectures and all."

An hour passes with agonizing slowness.

The instructor's droning voice seems to meld with the hum of the air conditioning, creating a soporific background noise. Mike continues to fidget, his head bobbing slightly as he fights to stay awake. You can see the struggle in his eyes, and it breaks your heart.

This woman was a living sleeping pill and was starting to have an effect on you as well.

Suddenly you feel a weight on your shoulder. You glance over to find Mike fast asleep, his head resting against you, his arm wrapped tightly around your waist, holding you close even in sleep. His soft snores are a gentle, rhythmic sound in your ear. They tickle, and you stifle a laugh.

You glance around the room, hoping no one has noticed. The couple in front of you provides some cover, their heads bent together as they whisper and giggle, clearly paying no more attention to the lecture than you are.

You adjust your position slightly, trying to make yourself more comfortable while supporting his weight. The last thing you want is to wake him up; he desperately needs the rest.

With one arm pinned by Mike's embrace, you do your best to jot down the key points from the slides, your handwriting growing messier as your hand tires.

The instructor continues her monotonous lecture, oblivious to the sleeping figure beside you.

Mike stirs, his body slipping precariously towards the edge of his chair. You gasp softly and adjust him, his head lolling against your shoulder. He mumbles something, his arm tightening around your waist. You bite your lip to keep from laughing, your heart swelling with affection for him.

Every so often, Mike shifts or murmurs in his sleep, and you can't help but smile at his vulnerability. Despite the circumstances, there's something endearing about his trust in you, his ability to find solace in your presence even in such an unlikely place.

He looks so peaceful, so vulnerable. Your heart warms at the thought of his trust in you, even in sleep.

You glance around the room from time to time, paranoid that the professional will notice Mike's slumber.

Your eyes meet those of a woman sitting a few rows away. She's watching you with a smile, amusement dancing in her eyes.

Panic flares momentarily.

What if she tells you?

The woman shifts slightly, revealing her own husband, who is slumped in his chair, fast asleep with his mouth open. She rolls her eyes and looks back at you, her expression a mix of resignation and amusement. You relax a bit, realizing she's not going to make a scene.

Time drags on. The instructor moves from one tedious topic to the next, covering everything a child needs with the same lackluster enthusiasm. You find yourself stifling yawns leaning toward Mike’s head without applying too much pressure.

You know how much this means to Mike, and by extension, to you. Abby deserves to be with someone who genuinely cares for her, not someone who sees her as a paycheck.

A sudden loud snort startles you, and you realize it came from Mike. You glance around quickly, but it seems no one noticed. You stifle a laugh, shaking your head fondly at him. Seeing him like this, vulnerable and unguarded, only makes you love him more.

Two hours later, the session finally comes to an end. The instructor wraps up with a few half-hearted words of encouragement before dismissing everyone.

You nudge Mike gently, whispering his name. He stirs, blinking groggily as he lifts his head from your shoulder and starts looking around in confusion. "Did I fall asleep?”

You nod, a smile playing on your lips. "Yeah, but don't worry. I took notes for both of us."

He sighs, a mix of relief and embarrassment on his face. "You're amazing, you know that?"

Mike stretches, trying to shake off the lingering grogginess.

"Ready to go home?" you ask, linking your arm with his.

He nods, a tired but content smile on his face. "Yeah. Let's get out of here."

The drive home is quiet, both of you lost in your thoughts. The fight for Abby's custody is far from over, but moments like these remind you why it's all worth it. You glance over at Mike, his profile illuminated by the passing streetlights. He's tired, but there's a determination in his eyes that makes you proud to stand by his side.

As you crawl into bed, the exhaustion finally hits you. Mike slides in next to you, his arm immediately wrapping around your waist. You turn to face him, your eyes meeting in the dim light.

"Thank you for today" he says, his voice soft and sincere. "I couldn't do this without you."

You smile, Jeaning in to kiss him. "We're in this together, Mike. For Abby"

“Speaking of which, should we text Vanessa?” You asked him. You had asked her if she could watch over Abby while you were both busy without really giving her a perfect hour of when you will both be free again.

She agreed whole heartily, saying she had no problems at keeping her until night.

“Let’s wait a little longer. I’m sure Abby is having fun with her”

“You’re already tired?” a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips. The memory of him dozing off, his head resting heavily on your shoulder, played through your mind like a gentle tease.

"Honestly, I can't believe you slept through the whole thing," you chuckled.

"Thanks, you know," he said, his eyes meeting yours with a spark of mischief. "Letting me use your shoulder as a pillow saved me from complete boredom."

You laughed, the sound light and easy. "Anytime. Though, I think I deserve a reward for being such a good pillow."

Mike grinned lazily as he moved closer, his hands resting on either side of your hips. "A reward, huh? I think I can manage that."

He leaned in, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that started slow and tender but quickly grew in intensity. His hands slid up your back, pulling you closer as the kiss deepened, your breaths mingling in the heated space between you two.

He broke the kiss. His forehead resting against yours as he whispered, his eyes gleaming with a playful glint. "You know," he began, his voice low and intimate, "I really need to tire myself out if I want to sleep tonight."

A knowing smile spread across your face. "Is that so?" you replied, your tone equally suggestive.

Without further preamble, Mike leaned in, capturing your lips in a fervent kiss once again. His hands cradled your face, his touch both tender and insistent. The world outside faded away, leaving just the two of you ensconced in this moment of intimacy. His kisses deepened, each one more urgent than the last, as if he was trying to erase the dullness of the evening with the intensity of his passion

You responded eagerly, your hands threading through his hair, pulling him closer. The warmth of his body against yours, the rhythm of his breath mingling with your own, created a cocoon of shared desire. Mike's hands began to explore, tracing the contours of your body with a familiarity that still managed to ignite sparks of excitement.

As the kiss broke, Mike's eyes bore into yours, filled with an intensity that made your heart race. "I think I'm starting to get tired," he murmured, his voice husky with emotion.

You laughed softly, a sound of pure contentment. "Then I suppose we should keep going until you're ready to sleep," you teased, pulling him back in for another searing kiss.

He grabbed your thigh and pulled half of you body on the top of his. Your head was laying on his chest alongside your hands.

It would have felt cute and really cuddly if it wasn’t for his leg right between your thighs.

He knew what he was doing.

He pressed harder, making your breath heavier. “hm...Mike..” you breathed heavily.

Air leached outta his nose as he liked what he heard.

His hand slipped down your neck to your lower back. As his hand were giving you chills and making your back arch; his hand slipped inside and grabbed your butt. He squeezed, his grip making his nails dig into your skin, making you flinch.

“Mike please”

“You’re so adorable” Mike whispers as he presses inside.

You let out a mixture between a moan and a laugh, and Mike thinks it’s the most beautiful sound he’s ever heard.

He sets a slow and steady pace, the two of you staring into each other’s eyes as he slowly rocks them back and forth. You wrapped your arms around his neck while you shared kiss after kiss.

Mike can’t help but to speed up his movements a bit, the feeling too good to resist as he brings you that much closer to the edge.

You wrap your legs tight around Mike as he continues to whisper sweet nothings into your ear, and you moans, peppering Mike’s face with kisses as you tell him how good he is and how much you love him.

When Mike finally falls over the edge, his face is the picture of pure perfection, and you swear you’re staring at an angel as you fall right behind him, holding Mike close as the two of you try and come down from their intense high. You’re breathing hard, both of you covered in sweat, but your smiles are bright, and you share another kiss and whisper “I love you’s”.

In each other's arms, the promise of a restful night seemed almost secondary to the joy of the present moment.

Together, you'll fight for what's right, and no amount of boring lectures or bureaucratic obstacles can stand in your way.

This is an idea that popped inside of my head when I was about to fall asleep during a boring ‘lesson’ (reading slides) and it gave me the boost to continue till the end. Hope you liked it :)

#mike schmidt smut #x male reader #gender neutral reader #male reader #mike schmidt x you #mike schmidt x reader #mike schimdt x reader #mike schmidt #five nights at freddy's #josh hutcherson x reader #derek danforth smut #x gn reader #derek danforth #clapton davis #peeta mellark #josh hutcherson x you #josh hutcherson smut #josh hutcherson #fnaf

140 notes · View notes