#for this one little crumb

[longelk]

kaycee's sweet little angel eyes while she explains what POGs are to leshy

[notmoreflippingelves]

Actually going insane over the implications of Jason asking Dick to be the Robin to his Batman in Battle for the Cowl.

Like I initially took it at the purely surface-level of Jason wanting a partner in the general sense. Which made sense, it's a huge responsibility and a lonely one so an assistant/sidekick/partner seems a no-brainer if you can get one.

But then I really thought about it, because Jason is not asking Dick to be his partner in the general sense; he's not even asking Dick to be his Nightwing. He's asking Dick to be his Robin.

And they both know exactly what Jason means: "Be the light to my darkness. Be the smile to my scowl. Be the hope to my fear. "

He's saying "Be 'Robin'; be the embodiment of Love and Justice and Goodness. Be the exceptional person that you have always been. Be the slightly-less exceptional person that I was when I wore your colors. Be the person that I was in the process of becoming and might have been (or might still be), if only Joker hadn't clipped my wings."

He's saying "I am prepared to become vengeance, become the Night. And I will go further than Bruce ever dared to, because it is what is needed. I will be the necessary evil. But you don't have to be. If Batman is Gotham's curse, Robin has always been its blessing. I will be the brutal punishment to our world, and I am asking you to be its incandescent gift."

He's saying, "Be for me, what we were for Him. Be my anchor, my comfort, my hope. Remind me what it's all for, why it's all worth it. And remind yourself as well."

He's saying "Be 'Robin' again--for both of our sakes."

[wizards101official]

Could u draw Jade with afro puffs because i think that would be cute

Ofc I could *_^ this is one of the only times I’ve ever used watercolor so I’m hoping and praying this looks ok

[catcrumb]

[mamawasatesttube]

the thing about kon's relationships is that, despite how much posturing he does about being a flirt and a ladies' man, he has only ever had three (3) relationships, two of which were with adult women who groomed and preyed on him, and the third was with a closeted lesbian who mistook her gender envy as attraction to him.

(to cassie, kon is literally the boy from the posters on her bedroom wall. she sets up that crush before she ever meets him, and by the time the two of them get together, he's already got the idea that relationships = a woman gives him a box to fit into and he does his very best to stay in it so he can prove he's good enough for her. this isn't cassie's fault by any means, but like, it's no wonder they break up and both immediately seem relieved about it, yknow?)

even when other people flirt with him, like when serling tries to ask him out, he turns her down because he's not in a space where he feels like he can be in a relationship. he's not actually the horndog and total flirt he pretends he is. i would posit that he just learned "this is how teenage boys are supposed to act" from all the media and pop culture downloaded into his head. that was the only standard or cultural context he had. it's how he tried to socialize in hawaii when he went to high school, too. he didn't know how to act beyond being a tv personality.

anyways, what i'm getting at is that i will never be convinced this guy has ever actually experienced attraction to a woman. it's posturing and comp het all the way down, babey. kon-el is a demisexual gay man, and in this essay i will

[sonknuxadow]

hi i like sage a lot

[luvring]

vulnerable vere is!! such a concept!! I love the idea of him eventually shedding that front he puts up w the mc but I’m curious as to how…basically, could we get some more vere hcs? 🥺 I absolutely love how you characterize him (and all the touchstarved charas!)

VULNERABLE VERE HCS

gn!reader | (hypnotic/alluring voice) red spring studio drop more lore so i don't look like a loser when all of this is absurdly inaccurate

VULNERABLE VERE!! aahh... with so little information to work with. i will try my best to think of possible scenarios!

starting out with going on a 'mission' with him—'mission' because it might not necessarily be an actual hunt. he could totally just lie to see what you'll do. you're intriguing!

a scene where you have the option to leave him behind, use him, hurt him in some way, and simply not doing so. and he's distrustful and shocked—maybe he had just done something to piss you off earlier—but you tell him you'd never have let that happen. and he might not thank you, but he eases his remarks for the day

^ actually you might get a Little thanks. just a little one. dependent on how far along you've gotten with him

you finding vere after he's gotten injured on a hunt. and he tells you he'll be Fine but it's cute how much you care but sits and lets you examine him anyway. maybe if you weren't looking for any scars or blood you'd notice the way his tail twitched when your fingers almost touched his skin

i don't think finding out vere's history is going to be as easy as a deep conversation.. like i don't think it'll be something he reveals voluntarily in some safe place. unfortunately. though i could still be wrong! which would be soo awesome

but to me. it seems like something that'll be commented on/exposed by other characters, something you'll be witness to when he has to transform, etc etc. and then there's an awkward tension because well, you're not really sure what to do now. you know vere and that's why you're hesitant, but also he kinda fucking hates the hesitancy

because ! great ! you've seen him ! and of course you're fucking scared (even if you aren't), of course you're staring at him silently, trying to start a conversation that no, he does not want to have right now.

but i Am expecting a deep late night talk. come onnn come on!!! there has to be one where he opens up a little bit, maybe he's a little tipsy, or he was and actually, he's quite sober right now, but you don't point that out because you don't want him to stop talking.

and then you open up. and he's silent while you tell him your story, when you tell him you wish you could touch somebody without the fear of turning them into something else. and maybe he thinks about every single innuendo he's thrown around and wonders what you were really thinking. wonders about you're different but also the same

and of course. the highly awaited scene of him finally letting you touch his collar/chains. you don't realize you're holding your breath, and he's sitting oddly still while your hands hesitate. then your hands touch the metal for the first time, and really you're not even sure what you plan to do. you have to be careful not to touch him, after all

and i think he might try to be dismissive of it . what the collar means, what letting you touch it means. your fingers follow the chain down his chest and he says something about how it's "nothing special," about how you're so nervous—does he make you nervous?

one indicator that he's learned to trust you i think could be falling asleep around you... like, not even just going to sleep at the same time with you, but simply letting himself rest while you're nearby. not having to worry about being woken for a job, or you trying to do something terrible, etc. i think that could be very sweet!

vere's tail...not just brushing it, but he flicks it at you knowing you won't retaliate in any harmful way. it's playful and teasing as always, but something he wouldn't do with someone he didn't want his tail near

a time where you can Touch him. perhaps the first time you think it's safe to try and he can tell you're freaking out so he moves into your touch before you can retract your hand

vere who is just like...a little calmer? he teases, but unlike the first meeting where he's dropping innuendos with every sentence, he doesn't really feel the need to do that? like vere's first meeting was definitely building up a character not just for us but for MC themself like...scratches head. anyway. vere in the morning where you've been in a relationship for a while and he's just. he comes up from behind while you're making a drink, and he might run his fingers along your back to send a chill down your spine, but then he's sitting down and holding a regular conversation about your plans for the day. yeah

i really want to know about vulnerable vere because right now . that one blushing sprite when you ask about ais at the end of the demo ... ??? like i Cannot imagine a scenario when else we could elicit that response. it is such a loving flustered gaze it's baffling because not a single story plot point i can think of right now for a character like vere would. ... well! it'll happen! it's a sprite for a reason! waauww...

[mad-as-a-box-of-frogs]

Echo (2024)

[goatsandgangsters]

favorite callbacks/foreshadowing payoff in A Power Unbound that made yell "oh goddammit" at my book

MY MOST SATISFYING "OH GODDAMMIT" MOMENT. FULL ON HAD ME PACING UP AND DOWN MY APARTMENT GOING "OH MY GOD THEY ACTUALLY DID IT, THE CRAZY SON OF A BITCH, THEY DID IT"

it wins #1 because this line always made me SO suspicious, but I also thought it was such a longshot. between the suspiciously specific phrasing of "blow up" and alan calling the lockroom easy to misuse in the same scene, my prediction was actually that the bad guys were going to do some fuckshit with the lockroom, because ART introduced us to the concept of "using hair to channel magic" and having a room full of everybody's hair seemed... uh, bad.

so I was just wrong enough to be delightfully shocked and just right enough to feel so satisfyingly smug. 10/10 felt terrific.

"adelaide tapping her ring" is SUCH a sneaky little detail. because she's tapping her ring all throughout a marvelleous light, and then sURPRISE it was the contract piece all along, beautiful bit of same-book foreshadowing, well done everyone go home

so when it showed up again in a power unbound, I was like "aw cute. I like that she's still got that little habit, even though it's not a Plot Relevant Foreshadowing Moment anymore, what a nice detail"

and then adelaide pseudo-flipped me off with her ring finger and went SURPRISE, GOT YOU TWICE, WHAT WAS THAT ABOUT MY PLOT RELEVANT RING?

this one didn't take me by surprise, but it's exactly what I love about reading a careful and deliberate writer.

this is in the same scene where we find out about jack's secretbind. so when I read it, I thought "okay well, we just found out he has A Mouth Thing. but he subconsciously touches his leg as well as his mouth, so probably he has A Leg Thing too." and then did a quick "probably from the war, right? seems most likely" and felt confident I knew that Jack had some kind of leg injury long before A Power Unbound even came out

and it's just SO FUN, because when you have a really good writer like this, you get the absolute joy as a reader of reading One Single Sentence and going "I see you, I know that means something." it's delightful, it's my favorite kind of puzzle, it's so rewarding

the way robin gets super uncomfortable with the penhallick crowd gossiping about what happened to jack and then changes the subject to magical people born into unmagical families who never discover their magic

the way jack and alan are linked together through this one worldbuilding-during-dinner conversation from two books ago. beautiful. profound.

and finally. my grand final of moments that made me go OH!! FUCK!!—

that's the first mention of jack by name, ever, at all, in the entire series.

that is the very first detail we ever learn about him.

AND THEN HE DID IT AGAIN, AFTER ALL THOSE YEARS OF NO MAGIC, AND I WAS SO PROUD, AND I LOVE HIM SO MUCH, AND ALSO I HUCKED MY BOOK ACROSS MY BED.

HIS FIRST MENTION AND HIS FIRST ACT OF MAGIC AFTER OVER A DECADE, crying, crying forever, we have come full circle

[boneinator]

Guys guys what if scemo sp- *I get tomatoe'd to the ground*

Shitty class doodles but like . Do you see my vision . I think this era of Rabbit fits well in this style

[brewstersbru]

More radioapple with ace Alastor (cont. of last 📻🍎 fic) sorry if its a little ooc im sappy

“No.”

Alastor’s voice comes out quick and staticky as he expertly dodges Lucifer’s hands trying to pet down his waistcoat. Lucifer immediately steps back, eyes wide.

“Sorry! Sorry, Al, was that not okay?” He asks, still keeping his distance. Alastor’s expression is inscrutable, nose wrinkled as he smiles at the ground.

It’s quiet for a moment before Alastor shakes his head.

“I need to be alone for a bit.” He grits, then, just as Lucifer goes to respond, his shadows envelop him and he melts from the room.

“That’s-“ Lucifer sighs, “fine.” Leave it to him to somehow fuck this up. “This” being the unspoken, ever so slightly romantic thing he and Alastor have had going on ever since that night in the bathroom.

It started with meals; after figuring out that Lucifer was bearing his wound, Alastor- for lack of a better term- threw himself into feeding him.

Lucifer thought it was sweet that he used his, surprisingly human, ways to care for him through recovery. The food probably didn’t do anything tangible in helping Lucifer’s body patch itself together, but it made him feel warm, loved. Better than he has in an age.

The food, of course, was delicious, but what Lucifer liked most about taking meals with Alastor was the quiet sense of simply being with another person, without expectation. Without an unspoken asking for something in return. Lucifer had already done his part, and the pulsing pain in his chest each night was infinitely worth each peaceful hour.

At first, Alastor didn’t touch him if he didn’t have to, but just him being there, acknowledging Lucifer’s presence and doing his best to care for him through the pain was enough. Lucifer thought it would be over when he was finally healed, that Alastor would consider his debt repaid and leave him to his own devices once the bleeding stopped.

It was almost too much to imagine.

Lucifer has a nasty habit of getting attached, which is really quite unfortunate given his circumstances. Still, he hasn’t been able to shake it quite yet, and in a shameful moment of spiraling weakness, he had torn through his stitches, hoping to elongate the healing window, even just slightly.

He left the three green X’s alone, tried to keep it secret, but somehow Alastor figured it out, like he always seems to.

Furious, he’d marched Lucifer right back to the bathroom and redid his stiches, this time entirely with the neon green thread he is able to manifest at will.  The thread was warm, a little biting against his skin, but Lucifer liked it. Liked that it meant Alastor would pay attention to him.

God, what a pathetic thing to do. He still cringes when he thinks back on it, but loneliness will make a wasteland out of you. And Lucifer was desperate enough to bleed for the company, his blood is a mere pittance, after all. He’ll never run dry.

The longer they spent together, the more comfortable Alastor was touching Lucifer; little brushes against his shoulder as he passed behind his usual seat at the kitchen island, a steadying hand on his side when he checked his stitches.

It was bliss.

There was a starving, gnawing part of him that basked in it; that took the offered touches like scraps from a table and still wanted more. Another part of him, cold and still burnt from the last time, told him not to get stupid, not to ask for more than he was worth.

Never to beg, because begging is unbecoming of a king.

They fell into a rhythm, small touches, loaded glances, oh so subtle forms of care. Lucifer was healed before he wanted to be, but Alastor didn’t stop. Didn’t leave, even when he checked his stitches one day and, grinning, snipped them away to reveal a shining pink scar.

Even healed, Alastor cooked for him. Even on days when he couldn’t force himself to leave his room, a covered plate would be left just outside his door, food incomprehensibly warm even hours after being made. The touches- maddening, lovely as they were- continued, chaste and addicting as ever.

Lucifer began to feel wild with it. Something inside of him- frayed at the edges, and torn in the middle- couldn’t quite grasp what was happening. Why? He thought. Why, still? Why me? He never got the courage to ask, too afraid of Alastor realizing his mistake.

So, they continued like that. Alastor got more comfortable touching Lucifer who was more than happy to let him. It seemed like he didn’t get much practice with it. Touching.

The more Lucifer fell into the lull of security, the more he noticed the tentativeness of each touch, the careful laying of each finger against pale skin, as if Alastor were exploring touch for the first time. As if it fascinated him.

Lucifer never asked- always afraid of doing something stupid to make the final shoe drop faster- but he did notice. And he began coming up with a plan. Alastor is not the only person in hell who sees their relationships as transactional. Good deeds must be paid back. They must, or you’re indebted. Or, more frighteningly, at least to Lucifer, they will grow bored of you.

They will see that you are ungrateful, and they will leave.

Unwilling to let that happen, Lucifer devised a plot. Alastor has very obviously never been very intimate with anyone before, which is totally ok, if not confusing given his objectively handsome features. But he evidently, somehow, feels safe exploring intimacy with Lucifer, which is so incredibly heartening (it makes something hot burst in his chest every time he thinks about it). Lucifer can use this to pay Alastor back, slowly introduce him to different touches until he feels more comfortable with them.

It’s perfect. Or- he thought it was perfect. Until today. Until Alastor got that wide, panicked look in his eyes as he shouted “No!” before running off to recover. Father Above. How did Lucifer manage to fuck up this bad? There’s no way they recover from this.

He takes a second to mourn the relationship before squaring his shoulders and heading to his room to write about a hundred drafts of his apology letter. He can’t believe he so brazenly stepped over a boundary, not even realizing it was there!

He’s the king of hell for godssakes, he should know when one of his subjects is on edge, or uncomfortable. More than that, he’s spent enough time with Alastor that he should know his tells, as well.

Some king he’s turned out to be, huh? Fuck.

***

It takes Alastor two days to appear before Lucifer again, and not for lack of trying on his part. Lucifer had forced himself from his room each day, wandering the hotel’s grounds looking for him. Several times he would sit at the bar for hours on end, watching, waiting.

Not for nothing, though, he’s learned something quite interesting about the bartender, Husk, and Angel Dust, the porn star.

Over a series of poorly hushed conversations, and not-so-surreptitious glances, he’s learned that they’re dating. Have been for a good few weeks, and somehow no one’s noticed. They seem glad of that fact, though, so Lucifer resolves not to tell anyone.

More interesting, though, is that Husk has been urging his boyfriend to ‘go for what he wants, for once’ which Lucifer hadn’t really understood until he looked over and caught both of them hurriedly looking away. Super unsuspiciously. It was almost enough to make a grown man blush, the sudden knowledge that he was wanted. That despite what he tells himself in his worst moments, he is desirable.

Angel is an attractive man, Lucifer’s not too insecure in himself to admit that, but something curdles in his gut at the thought of pursuing anything with him while he and Alastor are still on the rocks. Which… Is new, and a little terrifying.

Plus, he doesn’t exactly seem like the type to take charge, if you catch his drift, and while Lucifer is happy to play any role his partner wants, he doesn’t know if he’d be any good at it. Not anymore. He just can’t see himself as a figure of authority, not when he knows what it’s really like to be himself. Pathetic, and lonely. The thought of embarrassing himself like that while vulnerable is excruciating, so he pretends not to have noticed their intentions. Thankfully, Angel hasn’t approached him yet. He’s not sure what he would say, anyway.

Back to the most pressing matter, Alastor knocks on Lucifer’s door late at night, two days after the awkwardness of Lucifer’s unwanted touches. When Lucifer opens the door, he’s smiling calmly, and holding two covered plates, one in each hand.

“May I come in?” He asks. Lucifer nods, doggedly, then flushes when he remembers the state that his room is in, after several nights of wallowing. Being the king of hell does have its perks, though, so he snaps his fingers and the place rights itself.

Not before Alastor gets a good enough look to purse his lips disapprovingly, though.

Lucifer manifests a small table and two chairs, which Alastor makes immediate use of, placing a plate in front of each chair, and pulling one out for Lucifer to sit in.

“Please, take a seat. I think we need to talk.” Great. That’s always a good start to a conversation. Not like that’s ever gone wrong for Lucifer before. Nope.

With a sigh- internally steeling himself against the impending rejection- Lucifer sits. Alastor hums, and follows suit, snapping his fingers to disappear the lids to their food as soon as he’s seated.

It looks delicious, as it always does. Some sort of colored rice dish with meat and veggies mixed throughout. Lucifer smiles and thanks him, snapping to manifest some drinks- a champagne for himself, and a rich red wine for Alastor.

It’s quiet for a bit as they take their first few bites. Lucifer hums his appreciation, which Alastor’s smile ticks up at.

Finally, stomach knotting itself enough to disrupt his enjoyment of the food, Lucifer speaks.

“I’m so sorry, Al. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, but I did, and if there’s anything I can do- anything at all- to make up for it-“ before he can finish, Alastor cuts in, voice staticky.

“It wasn’t your fault, my dear. You didn’t know. I’m afraid I…” He trails off for a bit, mulling over his next words. Lucifer waits patiently, eyes wide.

“I’m afraid I can’t do that specific kind of touching. I don’t like it.” He’s not looking at Lucifer anymore, head turned to the side as he taps his claws against his wine glass. Lucifer tilts his head.  

“By ‘that kind of touching’, do you mean on your torso? I don’t want to mess it up again.” He asks. It’s a little presumptuous to imply that he’ll be able to touch Alastor, after this, but he’s too on edge to censor himself correctly. Alastor scoffs.

“You did not ‘mess anything up’. There was just a simple miscommunication. By that I mean sexual touches. Or anything meant to lead in that direction.” Ah, Lucifer’s hand had been quite close to his navel, and his intention was most definitely to take the touches further if Alastor was comfortable with it. He nods, apologizing once more.

“Got it. Sorry again, Al, I know you don’t think I need to say it, but I still feel bad. Thank you for telling me.” Lucifer- infinitely relieved and brimming with ill-advised hope- smiles up at him and rests his hand, palm up, in the middle of the table. Maybe he can salvage this. Maybe he doesn’t have to lose everything again.

Alastor’s grin softens at the edges as his eyes rove over Lucifer’s expression. He ‘tsk’s but places his own hand on top of Lucifer’s, gently intertwining their fingers and bringing them up to press a small kiss to Lucifer’s knuckles.

A giddy laugh bursts from Lucifer’s chest and he buries his face- or what he can manage to obscure of it- into the palm of his remaining hand. It’s okay. Alastor’s not angry with him, it’s okay.

A few tears gather on his lashline, but he blinks them away before they can fall. Alastor’s other hand leaves his wine glass to brush just underneath Lucifer’s eye.

“Oh, don’t cry, dearest. It’s alright.” He says, voice softer than Lucifer thinks he’s ever heard it. It occurs to him that this must have been hard for Alastor, too, so unused to being vulnerable, but still showing this part of himself to Lucifer, and for what? So that Lucifer feels better? To put his mind at ease?

It’s so stupid.

It’s so kind.

Lucifer shakes his head, “Happy tears, Al. Thanks for trusting me.”

Alastor’s thumb swipes against the apple of his cheek as he hums.

“As if I could do anything else.”

[corpsoir]

okay here's my main group of ocs stands :]

voulez-vous and förutan vind got some small design updates :) they look much better now i think ^_^ and yes calamari's stand has two acts because i thought it would be fun

[orcelito]

i've seen ppl talking about Meryl & how little we know about her family, but the geo-plant arc of trigun chapters 10-12 gives us some really useful pieces of info, i think

first, we see her thinking of herself as Cold Blooded, just like the dude that wanted Badwick to kill his own parents

[ID: Meryl stands with her gun drawn and a troubled expression on her face as she thinks to herself, "Exactly as you described him... the cold-blooded type..." In the next panel, she closes her eyes and wonders, "Am I really... any different?" End ID]

at the start of this arc, Milly wrote one of her massive letters to her family, while Meryl mentioned not knowing what she would write to hers. then we see Milly get PISSED at Badwick after she learns he threatened his parents at gunpoint, which leads to this page:

[ID: Meryl, held back by Milly, tells her, "Milly... I envy you... My father would have wanted me to get justifiably angry at a person who points a gun at his parents. That is an important thing." She flashes back to the moment in the chapter before where Milly is attempting to punch the son, Badwick. Milly calls in concern, "Ma'am?" Meryl continues, "But I... I just stood there and took it all in without even budging. I am such a cold person. I chose this path of blood and tears without thinking about the rest of my life. All I can see is what is right in front of me." The page shows the face of the father, dressed in basic battle gear, who is watching silently. Now in tears, Meryl laments, "Why could I not see... that when I closed myself off to him, something was wrong? I..." In the last panel, Milly stares down at Meryl in surprise as Meryl slaps her own cheeks and exclaims, "No... Nevermind!" End ID]

this entire situation is obviously striking something in Meryl's heart. some kind of insecurity she has about her distant relationship with her own parents. she shakes herself out of it, determined to not fall into a funk, and then jumps into defense of the land.

after the battle's over & the father's fallen to his ass, we see these pages:

[ID: In the first page, the father, off screen, tells Meryl and Milly, "There are no words to express how thankful I am for your help." Meryl replies with a smile, "Ah. There's no need." The father goes on to tell her, "Ms. Meryl... I know it was rude of me, but I overheard your conversation earlier. Having raised that rebellious son, I don't know if I have the right thing to say, but... All people are different, but the bonds between parents and children are inseparable. It is a great burden, but also the most precious thing in the world..." In the second page, the father concludes, "... Choose your own path, and walk it with confidence. All of life... is connected. You must live your own life, and your parents will love through you." As he speaks, we see Meryl listening to him with a surprised expression. End ID]

this entire arc feels like a metaphor for Meryl's own situation. after these pages, we see Badwick turning in the deed, then finding out that his parents were entrusting the property to him after all. he's the problem son, someone who separated himself from his parents due to his disagreements with them (likely stemming from his dead younger brother). yet at the end of the day, his parents still love him and entrusted their life's work to him.

Meryl sees all this go down, hears these words, and it touches something in her heart. so we see her go from talking about writing to her family like this in chapter 10:

[ID: A single panel of Meryl with her eyes closed and a peaceful expression on her face. She tells Milly, "That would be the normal thing to do... especially when I've been away from home for so long. But I don't know what to write beyond 'it's dry'..." End ID]

to this bit at the end of chapter 12:

[ID: Meryl approaches a mailbox with luggage in hand. She slips a letter inside, then sighs with a smile. Milly yells, "Maa'aam! What are you doing?! We're already late!" To which Meryl replies, "Ok! Ok! Ok! I'm coming!" End ID]

the experience was enough for her to accept that she might not be the closest with her parents (or just father? considering she only ever mentions a father in this all), but it's still worth reaching out even if she doesn't have much to say.

this arc is the most we see about Meryl's backstory in the manga, but I think we can draw a few things from it. we have a definite mention of a father, but no others. no mention of siblings or any other family members. she's distant from her father, too busy following her heart & goals, but she doesn't have a bad relationship with him. just Distant. she feels disconnected from him, even Cold, for her focus on her work & the practicalities in front of her. but even with that disconnect, she still cares enough about him to feel guilty when she realizes she's been doing this.

and then considering later, when we see the flashback of a man giving her the gun... i'd assumed that was possibly a senior at her work (probably tristamp giving me that perception, from Roberto), but keeping all the rest of this in mind... it really could have been her father.

i went looking to try to find that part. did not find that one exactly, but i DID find this one from trimax chapter 34:

[ID: A nearly bald man with a kind face and what appear to be shooting ear muffs around his neck tells Meryl, "Consider guns delicate. Women, most of all, should make use of them. One shot will level the playing field between you and a big, strong man." End ID]

if this is indeed her father, it would explain why she knows how to shoot like she does. perhaps her father taught her as she was growing up out of the wish to help her protect herself. maybe they weren't incredibly close, but he still clearly cared about her & wanted what was best for her and her safety. the kind of father that's content to let her do whatever her heart wishes, since her happiness is his happiness.

and then chapter 12 ends with this page:

[ID: A black framed page with a single panel at the center. The panel shows Meryl from behind, running with her luggage in hand. The text boxes to the sides state, "All of life is connected by a river... And the beginning of the river... is now." End ID]

she continues on her own path, not looking back, but she is still connected to the ones in her heart... including her father.

(Manga panels referenced from @trigun-manga-overhaul !)

[astrobei]

anonymous prompt: “this isn’t byler but do you think you could write some hopper trying to achieve some step-son stepfather bonding time with a reluctant Will?”

As it turns out, in some weird subversion of all of Jim Hopper’s expectations, teenage girls are a hundred times easier to figure out than teenage boys.

El had been a bit of a blank slate at first. She liked Eggo waffles and daytime TV and when Jim put his records on, she didn’t complain. Maybe she just didn’t know that there were other types of music out there, but as far he was concerned, there wasn’t much worth knowing about that wasn’t Jimi Hendrix anyway.

And then things started falling into place a little. El liked Eggo waffles, but she liked them most with the kinds of toppings on top that he wasn’t supposed to technically be eating anymore– whipped cream and candy and enough sugar to induce a heart attack twenty years early.

She liked the daytime TV just fine, but she liked it better when he watched it with her, telling her what all the unfamiliar words meant. Word of the day, he’d said as a joke, when she’d asked what infatuated meant. The irony of that wouldn’t hit him for another year or so.

She liked Jimi Hendrix okay, but he suspects that she actually just liked watching him dance around to the records more than she did any guitar riff, no matter how captivating they might have been. He doesn’t blame her. He’d never claimed to be a good dancer, but he sure could be an entertaining one.

So this is where he stands, currently. Teenage girls are fine. Teenage boys are, actually, a mystery beyond comprehension.

Or maybe it’s just Joyce Byers’ teenage boys that are hard to figure out.

Yeah. That’s probably it.

Jim’s sure he hasn’t been like this when he was younger. He’d been very straightforward about his interests: his dad’s vinyl collection of 50’s rock ‘n roll, the chocolate milkshakes at the local diner, and cutting class to smoke with Joyce Byers under the east wing stairs.

Some of these more so than others, maybe, but they’d been very simple interests all the same. Nicking Marlboros from his dad’s jacket pocket when he wasn’t looking, then slipping them into Joyce’s waiting fingers as she slid into the stairwell next to him. He’s pretty sure his dad knew where the cigarettes had been going, and he’s also pretty sure he didn’t care.

“What are you smiling about?”

Seventeen-year-old Joyce vanishes in a puff of stale smoke, and suddenly, she’s here in front of him again. The real thing this time, not a hazy, memory-worn apparition– faded cotton shirt, plaid flannel pajama pants. Smiling down at him, holding a pan of scrambled eggs in one hand and a spatula in the other.

Jim raises his eyebrows. “Nothing.” He shakes his head as she spoons eggs onto his plate. “I just– I haven’t seen you smoke in a while.”

Joyce huffs out a small laugh as she slides into the chair next to him. It’s early, barely seven in the morning. The kids don’t usually get up until well into the midmorning on summer days like this, so early mornings are for them and them alone. “I’m trying not to. El doesn’t like the smell.”

“Oh. She told you?”

“Will did.”

“Ah.” He takes a careful sip of his coffee. “What about Will? He doesn’t mind it?”

He can’t see Joyce’s mouth behind her mug, but her eyes are definitely smiling. “He doesn’t like it either. He just stopped saying so after a while.”

“Yeah, that sounds like him.”

Joyce laughs again, this time as she squirts a generous dollop of ketchup on her plate. “What, you didn’t kick the habit when you were locked up?”

“Oh, no,” Jim chuckles. “No way. I thought I would, for a while, but– it’s true, you know, what they say about cigarettes being worth as much as gold in there.”

“Really?”

They don’t talk about Russia much– at least not out here. Not in the morning, not after a good night’s sleep, not in the kitchen, where things are supposed to be happy and warm and filled with light. This isn’t the place for it– for things that are dark and cold and desolate, for monsters or funerals or death.

He clears his throat. “Hey,” he says instead, “listen, I was thinking.”

“Oh, yeah? About what?”

“I was thinking, maybe,” he starts, speaking more into the inside of his mug than to Joyce, now. “Maybe I’ll take Will out for the day. Do something together.”

If Joyce is surprised at all, it doesn’t show. “Yeah? To where?”

“I hadn’t thought that far ahead,” he admits, and she gives him an amused look. “I wanted to ask you first.”

Now she looks surprised. “What? Why?”

“I don’t know,” Jim shrugs, “he’s your kid! I didn’t want to cross any boundaries, or–” He trails off at the look on her face. “What?”

Joyce ducks her head, smiling softly. “No, that– that’s sweet, Hop. If he’s okay with it, then I’d love for you two to do something together.”

“Really? You think he would?”

“I–” Joyce starts, and then gets a contemplative look on her face. “You know he adores you, right?”

“Please,” Jim snorts, “he’s a sixteen year old boy. He doesn’t adore anybody.”

“Except–”

“We don’t talk about Wheeler before noon, Joyce,” Jim interrupts, and then Joyce is throwing her head back in another laugh. It’s a nice look, Jim thinks, maybe not as privately as he’d like. He’s sure she can tell exactly what’s on his mind.

“Okay! Sorry! But yes, of course. Go have a day out, just the two of you.”

“Okay,” he agrees, then takes a sip of coffee. “Okay. Sounds good.”

—-

The issue here is that given Joyce Byers’ infamous overprotectiveness, he’d thought acquiring her blessing to have a bit of adoptive father-adoptive son bonding would have been the hard part. And now he’s standing in front of Will’s room, hand raised to knock, feeling just about as jittery as he had when he had to give the Wheeler kid the shovel talk. 

Both times.

Now or never, Jim, he thinks, because for all of his bravery fighting monsters and Russians and that time he broke his own ankle and ran through miles of snow on foot, this doesn’t compare. This is Will. This is Joyce’s kid. And he doesn’t know why that makes him so nervous, but it does.

You can do it. It’s just a teenage boy.

He sighs, and raises his fist.

“Yeah?” Will’s voice is faint from behind the door. “Come in.”

“Hey,” Jim says, and then steels himself, gathering every remaining bit of courage in his body to say, “you got a minute to talk?”

Will raises his eyebrows. “Sure,” he says. It’s wary, cautious. He sits up further, from where he’d been reclining back on his pillows. “What’s up?”

It doesn’t take a genius to see that he’s on edge. Jim supposes maybe this is a bit out of the blue, so he tries to relax, tries to make sure his body language reads I come in peace. “What are you reading?” he tries, nodding towards the book in Will’s hands.

“Um.” Will turns it over, looks at the cover like he has to remind himself. “It’s Slaughterhouse Five. Jonathan gave it to me,” he says slowly.

Jim lets out a low whistle. “Damn. That’s impressive, kid. Is it any good?”

Will shrugs. “It’s okay so far. I just started though.”

Jim doesn’t know enough about Slaughterhouse Five to keep this conversation going with any merit, so he figures maybe he should just cut to the chase. “Hey, listen,” he starts, and Will’s eyebrows creep a little farther up his forehead. “I was thinking of spending a day out. Go for a drive, grab some lunch. You want to tag along?”

“Oh,” Will says. “Um.” He holds up his book. “I was thinking of getting ahead on this, actually.”

Jim Hopper has braved Russian prisons, secret labs, an underground dimension, his own faked death, and being stood up by Joyce Byers. This is fine.

“Okay,” he says, “that’s fine. No worries.”

“Sorry,” Will adds for good measure, still half-upright on his bed and looking very much like he does not want to be having this conversation.

“Seriously,” Jim says, already backing out into the hallway. “It’s okay. Have fun with the book, kid.”

—-

“He hates me, Joyce.”

Joyce shoots him a look as she climbs into the passenger seat of the car. “He does not hate you, Hop. Maybe you just caught him off guard.”

Jim groans, putting the car in reverse. “I knocked before I went in!”

“Jim.”

“What?”

Joyce pulls the cigarette out of his mouth and drops it into the ashtray. “Please don’t smoke in the car,” she chides. And then, “Well, what did you say to him?”

“I asked him about his book, and then if he wanted to tag along with me while I–”

“Okay, I’d say that caught him off guard a little.”

“How?” Jim exclaims, and then Joyce laughs.

“I don’t know! Will’s just– he needs a second, okay, Hop? Don’t take it personally. I promise he does not hate you.”

“Okay,” he grumbles, as they turn the corner past the high school. “One more shot, and then I’m accepting the fact that both your kids hate me.”

“Jonathan doesn’t hate you either,” Joyce says, but she looks like she’s fighting back a smile. “He just– he doesn’t show affection like that.”

“They hate me,” he repeats, accelerating down the backroad. “They both hate me.”

—-

Attempt #2 goes better. Somewhat.

“Hey,” Jim says as he walks through the door the next evening. Will is curled up on the couch, sketchbook open on his lap. He looks up as the door opens, startling slightly, then relaxes.

“Oh. Hey, Hop.”

Hey, Hop, he thinks. That’s better than Hello, Chief.

“Is your mom home?”

Will shakes his head and looks back down. “She’s at the Wheelers’. She’s having, um. Wine night. With Mike’s mom.”

“Oh, okay.” Jim pauses. “Hey,” he starts, and Will looks back up. “Listen, I don’t suppose you want to watch a movie or something tonight?”

Will blinks. “A movie?”

You’ve come back from the dead, Jim, he thinks. This is just a sixteen year old boy. He shrugs. “Yeah, you know, everyone’s out for the evening. Thought we could make a night of it, just us two.”

“Um.”

“You can pick,” Jim offers, tossing his hat on the kitchen table. “I won’t judge your taste, I promise.”

Will’s lips twitch upwards at the corners, ever so slightly. “I have good taste,” he protests, and Jim shrugs, like sure! Okay! “But I can’t today. Um. Sorry.”

“Oh. Big plans tonight?”

“Actually,” Will starts, pursing his lips. “Mike and I are grabbing dinner soon.”

Oh. Oh. Okay. It’s a bit of a low blow, getting passed over for the Wheeler kid, but it’s fine. Jim can roll with the punches. “Huh. Anywhere good?”

Will shrugs, but he looks like he’s on the verge of a smile. “Just the diner on Main Street.”

“Oh, the diner,” Jim laughs, pulling out a chair. “I used to go there every day when I was your age, actually. Best milkshakes on this side of Indiana.”

“Yeah?” Will puts his pencil down. “What was your order?”

“Ham and cheese. And a chocolate milkshake,” he answers immediately. He dreamt about those milkshakes, thought about them during long, cold nights behind bars, nothing but prison-grade gruel to fill his stomach. Comfort food. The kind of memory you hold on to longer than you’d expect.

“I get ham and cheese too,” Will says, and then he looks a bit surprised at himself, like this was something he didn’t mean to say. “Except I get, um. I get strawberry instead.”

Jim pretends to think it over. “Strawberry’s good,” he admits, “but not good enough.”

“Hey!” Will says, laughing. “Come on. Chocolate is so boring.”

That feels like a win, even if it’s a small one. He’s smiling before he realizes it. Making light banter over milkshake flavors shouldn’t be this exciting, not for someone like him, not for someone who’s been through what he has, but–

“You need a ride?” Jim holds up his car keys, still clutched in one hand. “I can drop you off.”

The smile fades slightly from Will’s face. “Oh, um. Mike’s picking me up, actually. In, like, ten minutes?”

“Wheeler can drive?”

“He got his license last month,” Will says, picking at a loose thread on the blanket. Jim’s first instinct is to protest– something about that’s not safe, and I don’t know if that’s the best idea, but he bites his tongue.

If Mike Wheeler can kill monsters, he can drive a car just fine. Probably.

“Okay,” he says at last, standing up and grabbing his hat. “Have fun, kid. Tell Wheeler to drive safe. Five under the speed limit. It’s my buddies on patrol tonight, remember.”

Will looks like he simultaneously wants to laugh and groan. “Yeah. Yeah, thanks, Hop. I’ll tell him.”

“Have a milkshake for me,” Jim says, then slinks off to his room.

Okay. That could’ve gone worse.

—-

“Okay, I don’t think he hates me.”

Joyce gives him a look like see? “I told you he doesn’t hate you,” she says, reaching across him for the olive oil. “What did you say this time?”

“Something about watching a movie,” Jim says. “I was– God, okay, Joyce, can you take over the onions for me?”

Joyce laughs, and says, teasing, “Broke your way out of a prison but chopping onions is too much?”

“This is why I don’t cook,” he says, then makes his way over to the record player in the corner of the living room. “I’ll take over music duty.”

“Sure,” Joyce calls. “You don’t cook because of onions.”

Steely Dan crackles to life as he turns around. “Oh, yeah,” he grins, “this is it. This is the good stuff.”

“Jim,” Joyce laughs. “What– are you supposed to be dancing?”

Hey, he’s said it before. He’s not the best dancer, but he’s definitely an entertaining one. “Times are hard,” Jim croons along, and Joyce’s laughter grows. “You’re afraid to pay the fee–”

“You’re awful,” Joyce shakes her head, even as Jim grabs a hold of her hands. “And– Hop, my hands are all onion-y.”

He ignores her. “When you need a little bit of lovin’–”

“Ew,” comes a voice from the hallway, and Jim turns around.

“Hey, hon,” Joyce says absentmindedly, dropping his hands and wiping hers on the towel. Onion, she mouths at him. “What’s going on?”

Will shoots him a bit of a strange look. “Sorry. I was just wondering when dinner was going to be.”

“Twenty minutes?” Jim offers, then grins. “Thirty if your mom tries to put me back on onion duty.”

Will crinkles up his nose and turns in the direction of the living room. “What are you playing?”

“I don’t wanna do your dirty work,” Jim belts out in response. Joyce and Will stare, identical dumbfounded expressions on their faces. “Steely Dan?” Jim offers.

Nothing. Apparently he’s dating into a family with zero taste.

“Sorry,” Joyce shrugs. “It’s cute, though!”

Cute! He squints in Will’s direction. “You too?”

Will mirrors Joyce’s shrug. “Sorry. It’s not really my thing.”

“Oh? What’s your thing, then?”

Will stands up a bit straighter. “I don’t know,” he says. “Um. I like The Cure. Stuff like that.”

“The Cure,” Jim muses. “That band, you got the, uh. You’ve got records of theirs, right?”

“Yeah,” Will smiles, then moves forward to sit down at the table. “Jonathan gave me some of his older ones when he left for college so I started, uh. I started collecting them.”

Okay. Okay, he can work with this.

Over Will’s shoulder, Joyce shoots him an impressed look and a thumbs up. You got this, she mouths, and then, aloud: “Hey, I just remembered, guys, I’ve got to go deal with the laundry. Just a second.”

Will frowns. “The laundry isn’t going right now.”

“Okay, then I’ve got to run a load. Be right back,” Joyce says, and then she flashes him another thumbs up and she’s gone, off down the hall.

There’s a moment of silence. Will looks around the kitchen– at the pasta boiling on the stove, the dishes in the sink, the wooden grain of the table. “Okay,” he says after a moment, “I think I should–”

“Hey,” Jim blurts out, “why don’t you, uh. Why don’t you bring one of your records out? You can have a turn.”

Will stops, halfway out of his seat. When he speaks, it’s quiet, a little pleased. “Yeah?” 

Jim nods, spreads his hands out. “Show me what you got.”

Will comes back a couple minutes later with a record in his hands. “Um,” he starts, “so this is their newest one, they released it a couple months ago.”

The red of the cover looks vaguely familiar. Jim’s sure he’s seen this one around in the record shops, something like that. “Very interesting,” he says, as Will drops the needle carefully onto it. “This is, uh–”

He knows the band, of course. He’s not that out of touch. But Will’s mouth twitches as he says, “The Cure,” and then, “um. This is one of my favorites so far.”

Jim doesn’t know what he was expecting, but it wasn’t the guitar. Drums, coming in steady and insistent. He lets out a low whistle. “Alright, wow. Didn’t take you for a rock fan, kid.”

To his surprise, Will smiles. A real smile. “Yeah,” he says, standing awkwardly by the record player. “Jonathan got me into them when I was younger. Um. I guess he liked stuff that had loud guitar and drums and stuff so, you know, I also– I like that stuff too.”

“Loud guitar,” Jim snorts. “Yeah, that sounds like your brother.”

“My dad– um,” Will says, hesitantly. “Lonnie. He hated loud music. The drums and the– I think that’s why Jonathan listened to it so much.”

Right, Jim thinks. Lonnie Byers, an infamously giant piece of work. That checks out. And then, another smaller voice pipes up with You’re the chief of police, Jim. You can get away with–

“Oh, kiss me, kiss me, kiss me,” the song croons, “your tongue’s like poison–“

Will’s eyes widen. “Um,” he says, fiddling with the player. “Um, actually, let’s– I like this other song too, so–”

Jim bites back a laugh. “I like it,” he says, which isn’t a lie. It could grow on him. “The guitar. It’s nice.”

“Really?”

“Yeah,” Jim nods, and then, as the second song starts to pick up– “Will.”

“Hm?”

“Is this a love song?” he grins. “Your second favorite is also a love song?”

“I– no,” Will splutters, immediately turning a brilliant scarlet. “‘Just Like Heaven’ is not a–”

“–I kissed her face and kissed her–”

“Lots of kissing in these songs,” he points out, and Will groans.

“Oh my God, it’s not–! The album is literally called Kiss me, Kiss me, Kiss me–”

Jim grins. Teenage boys are complicated, maybe, but you can count on them all getting flustered the same way. “I’m just teasing, kid. Could you go get your mom, please, because this sauce is about to burn and I don’t trust myself with it.”

“I wouldn’t trust her with it either,” Will mutters, even as he peers around the corner into the hall. “Mom?”

If Joyce hears him laughing, then– whatever. Jim gets a pass. It was for a good cause.

[kellterntempest]

Sonic 3, can I get uhhhh

Goofy evil choreographed musical number that is also a sung duet with Robotnik and Stone?! 🙏

[raisinushigher]

am i just so far gone with these two that i can barely correctly comprehend anything they do toward eachother as normal casual interaction anymore or was this actually topher being worried about abe