#it even works with random sci shit.

[theblehthatbloos]

It's all about relearning your vocabulary and turning your language into something that makes you occasionally sound like a wizard. It's especially funny if you do it randomly.

Drop something? And want to say it was awkward?

"Damn, faux pas on me..."

Realize you forgot something and now it's more bad?

" I've gained an epiphany and the circumstances are now more dire."

The day was rough? Need tequila?

"This cascade of unfortunate occurrences makes me yearn for agave."

Your lexicon is a weapon you can weld as a blade breaker if you use it correctly and in the most mundane situations. Throw them off, Home Skillet.

[inkskinned]

hello. you left a neon pink post-it with pgs 194-359 due 9/12 in the book, by the way. it is now May 23rd and the library's printer is running out of ink. it jammed and tore my passport application. one of the librarians dutifully blacked out all my information (front and back!) before proceeding to use every unmarred inch as scrap paper.

i think maybe our (plural, inclusive) lives are connected. all of them. i have been thinking a lot about borrowing. about how people move through the world in waves, filling in the same spaces. i have probably stood on the same subway platform as you. we held the same book. all of us stand in the same line at the grocery, at the gas station. how many feet have stood washing dishes in my kitchen?

i hope you are doing well. the pen you used was a nice red, maybe a glitter pen? you have loopy, curling handwriting. i sometimes wonder if it is true that you can tell a personality by the shape of our letters. i'm borrowing my brother's car. he's got scrangly engineer handwriting (you know the one). it's a yellow-orange ford mustang boss. when i got out of the building, some kids were posing with it for a selfie. i felt a little bird grow in me and had to pause and pretend to be busy with my phone to give them more time for their laughing.

i have a habit of asking people what's the last good book you read? the librarian's handwriting on the back of my smeared-and-chewed passport application says the glass house in small undercase. i usually go for fantasy/sci fi, but she was glowing when she suggested it. i found your post-it on page 26, so i really hope you didn't have to read up to 359 in that particular book. i hope you're like me and just have a weird "random piece of trash" "bookmark" that somehow makes it through like, 58 books.

i wish the concept of soul mates was bigger. i wish it was about how my soul and your soul are reading the same work. how i actually put down that book at the same time you did - page 26 was like, all exposition. i wish we were soul mates with every person on the same train. how magical to exist and borrow the same space together. i like the idea that somewhere, someone is using the shirts i donated. i like the idea that every time i see a nice view and say oh gosh look at the view, you (plural, inclusive) said that too.

the kids hollered when i beeped the car. oh dude you set off the alarm, oh shit is she - dude that's her car!! one was extremely polite. "i like your car, Miss. i'm sorry we touched it." i said i wasn't busy, finish up the pictures. i folded your post-it into a paper crane while i waited. i thought about how my brother's a kind person but his handwriting looks angry. i thought about how for an entire year i drove someone to work every day - and i didn't even think to ask for gas money. my handwriting is straight capital letters.

i thought about how i can make a paper crane because i was taught by someone who was taught by someone else.

the kids asked me to rev the engine and you know i did. the way they reacted? you would have thought i brought the sun from the sky and poured it into a waterglass. i went home smiling about it. i later gave your post it-turned-bird to a tiny child on the bus. she put it in her mouth immediately.

how easy, standing in your shadow, casting my own. how our hands pass over each other in the same minor folds. i wonder how many of the same books you and i have read. i wonder how many people have the same favorite six songs or have been in the same restaurant or have attended the same movie premier. the other day i mentioned the Book Mill from a small town in western massachusetts - a lot of people knew of it. i wonder if i've ever passed you - and didn't even notice it.

i hope whatever i leave behind makes you happy. i hope my hands only leave gentle prints. i hope you and i get the same feeling when the sun comes out. soulmates across all of it.

[rambling-at-midnight]

omg a part 2????

i loved it so much!!!

Ahh I'm so glad you liked it!!! It's my first Jason x reader fic :) Here's a part 2!

Pros and Cons of Midnight Snacks (Part 2)

Pairing: Jason Todd x Gender Neutral Civilian!Reader

Summary: Now it’s time for a meet-ugly-ish with some dude named Jason. Also, you see the Red Hood again.

Word count: 6.3k (holy shit)

You’re not crazy, right? It’s weird that the library is completely empty because it closes in two hours and the weather is actually nice outside for once, and some random dude wanders in and sets up two seats down from you. He’s not even here to study; he pulled out a sci-fi novel as soon as he sat down.

Who comes to a GCU campus library to read recreationally? The seats are uncomfortable and plastic. And the sun is shining. Everyone else is outside soaking up the Vitamin D.

Honestly, you’re mostly surprised the chair he’s on didn’t snap as soon as he sat. The dude is huge. Football player huge. Shouldn’t he be at practice, instead of forcing the chair to make the most irritating squeaking noises known to man every time he moves an inch?

You grit your teeth and put on your headphones, but you can still hear the poor chair’s dying lamentations, so you turn on an instrumental playlist that hopefully won’t distract you too much from studying.

You let yourself stew over the annoyance until your stomach growls so loud you hear it over the soft music. He has the good grace not to look at you, but you definitely see him pause.

Okay, you’ll call it even. This is what you get for running to the library right after six hours of classes. You need to cement the knowledge in your mind while it’s still fresh, and if that means you have to forego lunch…

He’s still there two hours later when the closing time alarm goes off. It’s a shrill old-school bell, the kind no one can ignore, and he jumps like he’s never heard it in his life. The poor chair finally gives up. He tumbles to the ground.

You look over in case he needs any help, but he’s scrambling for the book, face bright red.

If he is a football player, you wouldn’t be surprised that he’s never heard the bell before. That sort rarely stays this late at the library—if they enter at all.

He rushes out. You pack up a little more methodically. All that’s left for you to look forward to tonight is trying to study in your apartment, but you never have much luck.

He’s outside the library on his phone when you walk out. Maybe waiting for a ride? You’re a little on edge from the events of two days ago, so you watch him out of the corner of your eye as you walk away.

Thankfully, he doesn’t follow you.

At least the library closes earlier on Wednesdays, 6 pm instead of 9:30. You don’t know why. It’s still a weekday. But it forces you out while the sun’s still shining, which is probably a good thing.

Within two minutes of the twenty-minute walk home, your hip hurts. By the ten-minute mark, you’re trying not to limp.

Despite your better judgment, you keep your gaze turned to the rooftops, even though you know the vigilantes are nocturnal. It’s stupid to want to see a flash of red helmet, anyway. The Red Hood probably saves hundreds of people every week; there’s no way he would remember you.

Of course, when you finally get back, there are the stairs to contend with.

Your cat, that ungrateful little beast, beeps at you furiously for being gone so long. Never mind that your roommate works nights, so at most the cat’s been alone for an hour. He makes a break for the hallway, and you box the doorway with your legs and slam the door closed against your hip as you slip through.

Your injury explodes with pain, but at least the cat doesn’t get out. Ungrateful little beast. As if he isn’t fed and loved enough.

You finish slipping through the doorway and just stand for a moment listening to the blood rushing through your ears. Damn, but that hurt.

In the bathroom mirror, you hike up the hem of your shirt and check the state of your injury.

All in all, it could have been much worse. The bullet scooped out a fair chunk of skin, but it was just a surface wound. There’s no fresh blood on the gauze, and when you change the wrappings, the skin is pink and raw but starting to scab. It scooped out a chunk and left a trail of bruising, but you got off fairly lightly, all things considered.

The GCPD released the robber’s mugshot yesterday morning. In the picture, the man’s eyes were so swollen from your pepper spray he could hardly open them.

You preferred the bullet, honestly.

You try in vain to study a bit more, but even after you take more painkillers, you’re not in the mood. You feed your cat, then curl up on the couch to watch a couple episodes of the show you’re currently in the middle of.

That was the first time you see the huge guy, but it’s certainly not the last.

You wouldn’t notice him so much if he wasn’t the size of a damn refrigerator. He’s gotta be a linebacker for the Knights, but he’s not on their roster. You looked it up after the third time he wandered into the library just a couple minutes after you. It’s probably not updated yet, but you see him so often, you’d like to know his name.

Also, he’d bleached a patch of hair right at the front of his head—was that a trend now, or something?—so it wasn’t hard to spot him.

On Saturday, your feelings shift from mild annoyance and curiosity to a sinking sort of dread when you notice him at the coffeeshop you always visit on the weekends. The employees know you by name and use it to call out your order, so now he knows it, as long as he’s paying attention.

You think he might be.

You don’t want to be that person. Not everything in the world revolves around you, obviously. But you might still be shaken from what happened on Monday, because the thought wiggles in the back of your brain: what if you have a stalker?

You try to tell yourself that it’s just paranoia. GCU isn’t that big a campus, after all, and there are only so many places in the city that are: A. close to campus, B. reasonably priced, and C. comfortable to work in. You’ve run into classmates here before, and you don’t have a monopoly on the library or this coffeeshop. Just because he shows up at the same time you do doesn’t necessarily mean anything. He might be establishing a schedule that just so happens to line up with yours.

But, you have to admit, it is easier for stalkers to stalk people when they know their regular schedule.

You keep a watchful eye out and are pretty good about keeping off the streets after dark, but a week and a half later finds you stranded an hour’s walk from your apartment. The buses worked for two days, then shut down again, and you foolishly believed that following the detour that said would get you home would actually get you home. You don’t want to call an Uber because traffic would make the ride longer than the walk and bankrupt you in the process. Same reason you can’t call anyone to pick you up unless you waited the two hours until rush hour dies down.

Walking is, unfortunately, the best option.

So you clutch your trusty pepper spray and prepare yourself for a long night of looking over your shoulder and ignoring the pain in your side. The wound has mostly closed, although the bruising has gotten worse.

Three minutes later, you hear the roar of a motorcycle followed by angry car honks. You barely pay it any mind until the motorcycle pulls up next to you and doesn't pass.

You keep walking, avoiding eye contact. Maybe ignoring them will dissuade the rider from catcalling you.

It doesn't work. "Hey," the rider says, and it's only because the voice is mechanically distorted, recognizable only because of how many videos of him that you won't admit to looking up the last week, that you look at him. "What are you doing?" asks the Red Hood.

"What are you doing?" you counter. He's blocking the flow of traffic talking to you.

The Red Hood looks over his shoulder, flips off the person honking behind him, and steers his motorcycle onto the sidewalk. He drives fast, and you flinch in case he tries to run you over, but he screeches to a halt at the last second.

"Haven't seen you in a couple of weeks," he says casually, like you two meet up often.

"I've been staying out of trouble," you say.

"Not tonight?"

"No. That wasn't my fault, though. I took the Southwest bus because it was supposed to connect with the L line, but all the signs they posted were a lie, apparently, because—" You cut yourself off. "Never mind, I'm sure you don't care. Point is, I'm walking home. It's not too far."

"It's about an hour," he points out. "How's your bullet wound? Will it object to that walk?"

"I'll be fine."

He pats the back of his motorcycle seat. "Hop on. I'll drive you."

You take a couple hasty steps back. It may not be a white van, but you know better than to follow candy into someone's vehicle. "Oh, no, thanks. Traffic's pretty bad right now."

You get the sense he's smiling when he says, "I bet I can get you back faster than walking." If only he wasn't wearing the stupid shiny helmet, you would be able to read his expressions better.

"Really, I'm okay. I'm sure you have better things to do than drive me home."

"Helping people is literally my job," is his response. "I have to make sure you get home safely. So either you get on the back of my bike, or I follow you the whole walk back to your apartment."

You know a losing battle when you see it. As a general rule of thumb, it's usually smart not to argue with the dude carrying at least two guns. "Don't kidnap me," you order before slinging your leg over the seat.

He chuckles. It's the first time you've ever heard him laugh, and it makes him sound so much younger. "You can't ride like that."

"Like what?"

He cranes his neck to look back at you. There's at least six inches between both your bodies. You clutch the sides of the seat with both your hands, hoping he doesn't take off with such a lurch that you topple off the back. "I drive fast. You'll have to hold on."

"I am holding on."

"To me."

You've only met the man twice. You're pretty sure clinging to someone's back is at least a third-meeting type of touch, but he reaches back. The Red Hood snakes a hand nearly twice the size of yours into the crook of your knee, then yanks you to him. You shoot forward with a strangled yelp and catch yourself on his back.

You've never before understood the phrase 'wall of muscle,' but you get it now.

He is huge. And strong. You gingerly put your hands on his shoulders. That's not an inappropriate touch, you think.

He has to live at the gym, right?

"You're still not holding on," he chides. "I don't have a helmet for you, so you really shouldn't fall off."

You swallow and move your hands, but he's too thick for you to link your hands around his front. So you fist both of them into his jacket. It presses your bodies tight against each other from shoulder to thighs. Through the layers his body radiates heat, but you shiver.

"Going," is all the warning you get.

Then you're gone; the bike shudders beneath you, then takes off like a jet.

You can't catch your breath. This must be what riding a dragon feels like, is your first nonsensical thought, a side effect of your roommate's obsession with Game of Thrones.

The bike roars beneath you, but you can hardly hear it over the rush of wind and the pound of blood in your ears. You can't see much with the wind drying out your eyes, so you press your head against the Red Hood's back and squint to one side. Cars and street lamps blur together into a stream of mismatched lights and colors.

The Red Hood drives fast. He weaves between lanes, runs through red lights, cuts onto the sidewalk. A couple bikers shake their fists at him when he passes them in the bike lane. A lot of cars honk at the two of you.

Judging by the way his shoulders shake with laughter, he likes pissing them off. You have to admit, the feeling is a little intoxicating.

You can't hear the sound, but your front is plastered to his back. Even with the layers of his suit and leather jacket, you can feel the vibrations of sound deep within his chest. He has a fairly deep voice, after all, unless the helmet changes that.

No less than ten minutes later, he parks abruptly. You lift your head, blinking moisture back into your eyes, and stare dumbly at your apartment building.

He'd actually brought you back.

Maybe he really was reformed.

You stumble off the bike onto unsteady legs. The Red Hood kicks his stand into place and rests against the bike, leaning with elbows on his handlebars. Like he expects a Midwest goodbye. And you find yourself dawdling.

Maybe you want one, too.

"Thanks for the ride," you finally say awkwardly.

"Anytime," he says, and you laugh, thinking it's a joke, but he doesn't. After a brief awkward pause, the Red Hood tries, "So how have you been?" as if you're old pals meeting up for brunch, and the question is so ridiculous coming from a sort-of-reformed crime lord slash serial killer that you respond without thinking.

"Pretty good, except I think I may have a stalker."

His helmet doesn't do a great job translating whatever sound he makes in response to that. It comes out as a crackle. "What?"

"I've noticed this dude recently showing up wherever I go," you say. "But I think it's just a coincidence. Sorry. That was a bad joke." It wasn't, but you don't want to accuse someone without proof of stalking you. If he's not, you'll seem self-obsessed. If he is, then he knows that you know, and it's not like the GCPD will do anything. One of your friends from your hometown had a stalker for literal years, and the police never did anything, even after he sent her death threats. They said there wasn't enough proof to make an arrest then, so someone showing up at the same places you are definitely isn't enough proof now.

The Red Hood tilts his head. "Does he make you uncomfortable?"

"You don't need to beat him up or anything on my behalf," you say. "I mean, you've seen me with a bottle of pepper spray. I'm pretty sure I can handle myself."

"I know you can," he says. You can hear the smile in his voice, like he finds something about the situation funny. "And I'm pretty sure that you know that I'm going to check this out anyway."

"No," you say, surprising yourself with your firmness. You can't rely on vigilantes to solve all your problems for you. "Seriously, it's okay. Thanks for the ride. Maybe I'll see you around."

"I'm counting on it," he calls as you walk away.

And he's right. Two days later finds you at the gas station at ten-thirty at night. You don't want to see him, per se. You're definitely not looking over your shoulder at the slightest sound. You definitely didn't check the parking lot for a notorious red motorcycle on your way in, and you certainly aren't taking peeks out the window every time headlights pass by on the street.

You're just... curious.

Maybe.

But you have absolutely no warning, not even a suspicion that someone is behind you, when you reach for a box of Cheez-Its. Someone else's hand gets there first and you nearly jump out of your socks.

"Hey," the Red Hood wheezes. He's clutching his side like he has a cramp. "Question: if I buy these for you, will you patch me up?"

"What?"

"I may have been cut," he admits. Judging by the angle of his hunch, it's a little more serious than just a 'cut'. "So: do we have a deal?"

The thought occurs to you, as you help him up five flights of stairs to your apartment, that you're escorting a strange man into your place of residence. You haven't even given your roommate a heads-up, though you're pretty sure tomorrow's his night off.

Sure enough, the only person there to greet you when you walk in is your cat. As per usual, he tries to escape. The Red Hood gently but firmly ushers him inside with his foot with such ease he must have one of his own. "It's cute," he says, still clutching his side.

"Thanks," you say. "He always tries to get out, but if he actually escapes then he just freezes in the hallway until I bring him back inside." Then you realize that you're discussing your cat, of all things, with the Red Hood. You clear your throat and say, "Let me take a look at you."

The crime lord and cat trail after you into the bathroom. It gets a little cramped because the Red Hood's about as small as a fridge is small, but you two figure out a passable system: he's too tall, even while sitting down, and you don't want to bend in half while you stitch him. So you sit on the toilet, he stands in front of you, and your cat jumps on top of his leather jacket on the counter to observe and judge. Luckily, the suture kit is still in the bathroom from when you thought you would have to stitch yourself up, so it's not long before you're instructing him to lift up the hem of his shirt so you can see the damage.

You hiss between your teeth at the sight. Someone grazed his side with a knife, by the looks of it, but the wound is deep. It might go all the way to his subcutaneous tissue.

After you clean it off, you're sure that it does. "You call this a cut?"

"I've had worse," he says gruffly.

"And you're still alive?" You squint at him.

He huffs like that's funny.

"They basically cut you in two! I don't know if I can fix this. I've never stitched someone up before!"

"What do you mean?" He tilts his head. "You stitched yourself up, remember? You told me you would."

Shit. Of all the ways to stick your foot in your mouth—

"It wasn't that bad," you say weakly.

“It looked pretty bad.”

“It just looked bad because I was wearing a light colored shirt. Don’t worry; I’ve learned my lesson.”

The Red Hood scratches under your cat’s chin. “About wearing light colored clothing, or about getting shot?”

You’re trying to thread the suture needle, but the stupid thread won’t cooperate. “Hmm?”

“Which lesson did you learn?”

“The former, mostly. Believe it or not, ‘try not to get shot’ is something most people, including me, know intuitively.”

"Let me see."

"Yeah, right," you say, "my apartment's basically a strip club, isn't it? First your shirt's coming up, then mine. Absolutely—" You slap his hand away— "Not. I'm fine. Now hold still while I stab you."

The process goes by quickly. He stands like a statue the whole time, like he's used to the pain of getting stitches. Considering his profession, he probably is.

Actually, you can see a couple healed-over scars on his torso just from the small bit of skin he's revealed by pulling up his shirt. And, you're pretty sure, a perfectly defined six-pack, but that's none of your business.

"I don't have the fancy dissolving sutures, unfortunately," you say while you tie off the thread. "These should come out in about a week."

"Yeah, I know," he grunts, letting his shirt fall back down. And you're not disappointed. At all. "Same time next week, then?"

"What?"

"To get them out."

"Uh." Your brain stalls out. You'd been operating under the assumption that this was just another freak coincidental run-in.

Is it just you, or is the Red Hood looking to make a friend out of you? Or maybe just a free pseudo-surgeon?

"Sure," you say. It's not like you can stop him, really.

"Thanks," he says, stroking your cat one more time. Then he nudges the pest off his jacket and shrugs it on, even though there's not really a need for it. The weather's been pretty mild the last week.

You walk him out the door. He pauses in the hallway, turns, and says, "By the way, what's your name?"

You tilt your head and tell it to him.

"Nice to meet you," he says. Then he walks away.

You watch him walk down the hallway until your cat escapes, and then you have to chase him. You're pretty sure the Red Hood sees it, because low-pitched laughter hits your ears as you gather the little bastard up, but when you look, the vigilante's gone.

"God, I hope he's up to date on his tetanus shot."

You find yourself at the coffee shop the next morning, determined not to let a buff bookworm change your routine. You're the first customer, and they have your order ready by the time you finish setting up your stuff on a small table in the corner of the shop, far from where the line will build up when more people trickle in.

Like clockwork, the bookworm wanders in just a couple minutes after you do, orders two coffees, and settles down across the room with his front to you.

Every time you glance up, he's utterly focused on his book. He's probably not watching you. Right?

Fifteen minutes later, the coffees untouched, he stands up. You watch out of the corner of your eye as he picks one up, approaches the counter, and...

Walks right past it.

Walks in your direction.

You stare blatantly, and he holds your gaze with a set jaw and something a little challenging in his gaze.

He's walking to you.

The coffee cup slams on the table, splashing a little over the edge, and you jump to move your laptop away from the liquid.

"Shit, sorry," the bookworm says. He runs away.

You stare until you realize he's grabbing napkins and hurrying back. At least ten, even though the spill's pretty small, and he piles them all onto the table.

His face gets redder the longer you watch without saying anything.

Once he's absolutely sure your laptop is safe from the couple drops he spilled, he balls them all into one large fist and rushes out, "I'm sorry—I was supposed to meet my brother here, but he canceled, and your drink cup's empty, so I was just wondering if you wanted this one? It's a little warm, but..."

"But free is good," you say, deciding to put him out his misery. And he certainly looks miserable rambling in front of you. Like he's mortified for some reason. "Um, thanks. What..."

"Just an iced coffee. Probably watered down."

You take a sip, just to be polite. It is watered down, but he didn't add any milk to it, so that's probably a good thing. "Thanks..." You tilt the cup to look at the name written on the side. "Jason?"

"Yep." He nods. He's still standing in front of you, like he wants to be invited to sit, but you have a lot of work to do, and he's a complete stranger, and all his stuff is still on his table across the room.

Something clatters behind the counter. You both turn in time to see the two baristas duck out of sight, whispering furiously. Probably about the spectacle you two are making.

"You go to GCU's campus library a lot, right?" Jason asks suddenly.

"Yeah, I do. So do you." You don't phrase it like a question.

"Yeah," he says. "It's peaceful to read in there. Quieter than my apartment."

"Okay," you say slowly. You're really not interested in this conversation, but you don't want to be rude.

He must understand you, though, because he rubs the back of his head and steps backwards, mumbling something about getting back to his book.

Jason's brother never does end up meeting him. You tell yourself that's why you keep glancing at him. Once or twice, you two peek at each other at the same time, and you always look away first, face hot like he's caught you doing something wrong.

The next time you go to the library, it's packed. The weather has turned, so students have nothing better to do than prepare for their finals. You head to the quiet floor, slowly losing hope that you'll find a seat.

A head snaps up the moment you walk in, dark-haired with a striking streak of white at his forehead. Jason.

Something like relief passes over his face, and he waves you over.

"I saved your seat," he whispers, dragging his bag off of the chair.

"Thanks," you say, actually touched. "You didn't have to."

He shrugs. "You're my reading buddy."

The next day, he's sitting at the library's entrance when you walk in. Jason shakes his head. "All the seats were already taken when I got here."

"Ugh." Strictly speaking, you don't need to study tonight. You're pretty confident about the next test's material, and you're also pretty burnt out.

"We could check out the Student Center?" he suggests. As if it's a given that the two of you are going to spend the afternoon together. And, you realize, after two straight weeks of studying in his proximity, you don't mind the presumption. That's how you made your closest friend in undergrad, anyway.

In fact, you think you might want to get to know Jason. Maybe ask about his white streak; you've been growing more and more curious about it. And why he's about seven feet tall and two hundred fifty pounds of muscle but has a passion for romance novels.

"I don't think I've studied in there before."

"It's not too bad, but it's a little louder than the library."

So you two head to the Student Center, but he doesn't open his book, and you open your laptop but don't turn it on. He buys you coffee, though you insist that you can pay for it yourself, and a simple query into what book he's reading currently turns into a two-hour conversation.

Jason likes to read every genre, but he likes classics and romance best. He doesn't just have one brother, he has four, and a sister. He's not on the football team like you'd assumed; he just likes to work out. He's finishing up his sophomore year of undergrad studying English Lit—he sees how your smile freezes at those words, and you're asking how old he is, and he's laughing when he tells you he took a couple gap years. He's your age, actually, and that's relieving for reasons you can't quite put to words.

When you check your watch and curse at the time—it's almost time for your cat's dinner—he asks for your number, and you put it into his phone.

You feel good on your walk home. You haven't made a new friend since the first semester of vet school; the course load is too demanding for you to participate in any GCU clubs. Your roommate asks why you're smiling and you wave him off. Of course, your cat doesn't care that you're in a good mood. He only cares about getting fed.

You see Jason a couple more times over the week, and soon you're too embarrassed to admit that you thought he was stalking you. He's almost as bad a texter as you are, responding at such hours you're half-convinced he doesn't sleep, so you're less self-conscious about taking hours to respond.

You've just gotten around to answering his last text when something knocks against your window.

You drop the phone on your face.

The Red Hood is laughing at you when you open the window to let him in. You'd forgotten he was coming, but you don't say so. He tumbles in, moving a little stiffly, but a lot better than he'd been last week. Your cat, the little traitor, runs to greet him and rubs against his ankles, purring like an engine. The Red Hood bends to pet him. "Hey, kitty." The red helmet tips up and those unnerving white lenses fix on you. "Hey, doc. Here to get my stitches out."

"How have you been feeling?" you ask.

"Good," he says, almost defensively.

It makes you suspect that something is wrong, but when you all pile into the bathroom again like it's a clown car and he pulls up his shirt, the wound is healing nicely. No pink or heat that signals infection, no puffy skin. You remove the stitches quickly, and again he hesitates, like he wants to stay longer.

You find yourself thinking about Jason. You're pretty sure you wish he was here.

"Well, thanks."

"Anytime."

He pauses. "Really?"

You shrug. "I mean, not if you need a hospital. Then I'd expect you to head straight to a hospital. But stuff like this—no worse than this, ideally—I guess I can help you with."

"You're pretty cool for a vet," the Red Hood says. "The last one I visited kept freaking out on me for stealing codeine."

"Well, that's a restricted—wait, you were stealing codeine? What for?"

He shrugs.

"What were you using it for," you repeat sternly.

"Okay!" he says loudly. "Well, thanks for patching me up, doc. I'll see you later, yeah?"

"Wait," you call out uselessly, but he vaults out the window. You gasp and rush to the sill, but there's no Red Hood-shaped puddle on the ground. Instead, his rapidly shrinking form disappears in the distance, swinging between the buildings that make up the Gotham skyline.

You don't see the Red Hood for a while after that, but you hear whispers of him wearing a new costume. You get caught up with finals and Jason, who asks you out after the semester ends.

Your vehement 'yes' takes you by surprise. Him, too, judging by his wide eyes and wider smile. You wonder why he asked if he thought you would say no. You wonder why you didn't realize earlier how desperately you wanted him to.

Now that you're out of school, you pick up shifts at the vet clinic. By some unhappy circumstance, they can only schedule you for the evening shifts. Jason works nights, too, and you've never fully squirreled out where he works, but at least you can spend some days together.

It's when you're walking back from your first shift that you see the Red Hood again after almost three weeks of radio silence. He pulls up next to you on the motorcycle. It's so late that there's no one on the road, so he stays on the asphalt and idles along at your walking pace until you break and say, "Long time no see, Hood."

"Did you miss me?" he teases.

You stop walking, because.

Most of his costume changed. Because it's summer, and even the nights are hot and muggy, you assume.

The pants are the same. So are the boots. But his jacket is red and sleeveless and has a hood that goes down to his eyebrows, the armor beneath short-sleeved, which means most of his arms are bare.

And...

Your mouth is dry. You swallow.

You're pretty sure not even Batman is that ripped. He looks like he's chiseled out of marble.

The longer you're speechless, the more amused he gets. You don't know how you know that, but something about his posture seems smug.

"You're taking 'red hood' seriously now, are you?" is all you manage to say. Because what else are you supposed to comment on? His bare forearms? His veins are so beautifully pronounced, they would be a dream to take blood from, but you have a boyfriend of a whole one and a half weeks, and you may be many things, but you're not a cheater.

He laughs, then pulls his hood low when it slips back a bit. His voice is still modulated, although it's not through a red helmet anymore. This is more like a muzzle. You can't tell if the eye covering is part of it, or like the domino masks that Batman and Robin wear, but the lenses are red now instead of white.

He's really leaning into the theme.

"You want a ride?"

"We're two blocks from my apartment."

He shrugs. "I'm heading there anyway."

What the hell. You've already hopped on the back of his bike before. It's easier to do so the second time. You wrap your arms around his torso again, and when his arms settle over your own, they're warm with his body heat, but not hard, even though the muscles look sharp enough to cut glass. He's firm all over, but his skin is soft, apart from the raised, bumpy scars that seem to cover him from head-to-toe. It makes you worry about him, just a little.

He doesn't drive fast this time. He drives slow enough to hold a conversation and tosses over his shoulder, "So what's new with you?"

"Not much," you say into his ear. Is it just you, or does he shiver? "I finished another semester of vet school."

"Top grades, I'm sure. Did you get extra credit for patching me up?"

"I wish." No, your grades are good, but not exceptional. But exceptional is what got you into vet school. As long as you graduate with a DVM, even if you're the lowest in your class, you're a licensed doctor. There's some relief in that. "The dude I thought was stalking me asked me out, actually."

"Really?" he asks, interested and alert. "Was he really stalking you? Do you need me to scare him off for you?"

"No," you say, smiling at the thought of the Red Hood trying to scare off Jason. They're about the same build, now that you think about it, which you're sure the vigilante isn't used to. And Jason's never been anything but gentle and polite, but you saw an undercurrent of something strong, something like titanium, under that gentle spirit the one time he stood up for one of the baristas at the coffee shop that you first spoke to each other. He hadn't needed to do much apart from stand up and glare at the beleaguered corporate guy angry that there wasn't enough sugar in his coffee, and the dude shut up and scurried out as fast as he could.

It was probably the hottest thing you've ever seen him do, except for that one time you pushed your laptop a little too close to the edge of your desk while studying, it tipped over, and he caught it one-handed without looking up from his book. What can you say? Saving you a couple hundred dollars in getting that fixed was hot.

"It was a misunderstanding," you say. "We just ended up in the same places at the same times."

A gust of wind pushes back the Red Hood's hood, exposing a head of thick, dark hair, the same shade of black as Jason's. The motorcycle swerves in his haste to pull his hood back up, and when you reach your apartment and hop off the bike, he's pushing his hair back, back, beneath the hood.

What's the point of ditching the helmet if he's just going to be fussing with the hood all the time?

"What's new with you?" you ask, scuffing your toe against the sidewalk. Your shoes are falling apart; the sole is peeling away.

"Same old, same old," he says. His voice sounds rougher, but that might just be the new modulator.

"How's your side?"

"How's yours?" he counters. "You still haven't let me see it. I bet it scarred because you were too stubborn to take my advice and patch it up."

You will never admit that he's right. You challenge, "Let's compare scars, then," knowing full well his armor dips below his pants. It's a little silly to picture the Red Hood wearing an armored one-piece, but that's all you can imagine.

He clucks his tongue and shakes his head. It dislodges the hood. A patch of hair falls down to his forehead, and it's white.

But the back of his hair is black.

White and black—

Your stomach flips.

"I thought you had a boyfriend, honey. Why're you asking me to strip?"

So that's what all the teasing's been about. He hasn't been flirting—or he has, his own weird version of flirting, because he's a dumbass.

For a moment all you can hear is the rush of blood in your ears, then you flex your fingers to regain feeling in them. You roll your eyes and say, "I think we've established that my apartment is basically a strip club. Why don't you come up and show me, Jason?"

"Well, I'm flattered, but—what?" He splutters like he's choking on his own tongue. Serves him right. "I'm not—why do you think that—I mean, I could be anyone—"

Yeah, he can have his little crisis on the street. You tug on your own fringe, then swipe into the building.

You hear his muffled cursing as the door closes.

You look forward to him catching up.

(My requests are open, so let me know if you want me to write anything in particular! Also let me know if you want to be added to a taglist.)

Forever tag list:

@lemirabitur @annymcervantes @queenmissfit @quiet-because-it-is-a-secret @iksey @thehyperactiveteen @luxmoonlight @andreasworlsboring101

[goodluckclove]

You Don't Need an Agent! Publishers That Accept Unsolicited Submissions

I see a few people sayin that you definitely need an agent to get published traditionally. Guess what? That's not remotely true. While an agent can be a very useful tool in finding and negotiating with publishers, going without is not as large of a hurdle as people might make it out to be!

Below is a list of some of the traditional publishers that offer reading periods for agent-less manuscripts. There might be more! Try looking for yourself - I promise it's not that scary!

Albert Whitman & Company: for picture books, middle-grade, and young adult fiction

Hydra (Part of Random House): for mainly LitRPG

Kensington Publishing: for a range of fiction and nonfiction

NCM Publishing: for all genres of fiction (YA included) and nonfiction

Pants of Fire Press: for middle-grade, YA, and adult fiction

Tin House Books: very limited submission period, but a good avenue for fiction, literary fiction, and poetry written by underrepresented communities

Quirk Fiction: offers odd-genre rep for represented and unagented authors. Unsolicited submissions inbox is closed at the moment but this is the page that'll update when it's open, and they produced some pretty big books so I'd keep an eye on this

Persea Books: for lit fiction, creative nonfiction, YA novels, and books focusing on contemporary issues

Baen: considered one of the best known publishers of sci-fi and fantasy. They don't need a history of publication.

Chicago Review Press: only accepting nonfiction at the moment, but maybe someone here writes nonfiction

Acre: for poetry, fiction and nonfiction. Special interest in underrepresented authors. Submission period just passed but for next year!

Coffeehouse Press: for lit fiction, nonfiction, poetry and translation. Reading period closed at time of posting, but keep an eye out

Ig: for queries on literary fiction and political/cultural nonfiction

Schaffner Press: for lit fiction, historical/crime fiction, or short fiction collections (cool)

Feminist Press: for international lit, hybrid memoirs, sci-fi and fantasy fiction especially from BIPOC, queer and trans voices

Evernight Publishing: for erotica. Royalties seem good and their response time is solid

Felony & Mayhem: for literary mystery fiction. Not currently looking for new work, but check back later

This is all what I could find in an hour. And it's not even everything, because I sifted out the expired links, the repeat genres (there are a lot of options for YA and children's authors), and I didn't even include a majority of smaller indie pubs where you can really do that weird shit.

A lot of them want you to query, but that's easy stuff once you figure it out. Lots of guides, and some even say how they want you to do it for them.

Not submitting to a Big 5 Trad Pub House does not make you any less of a writer. If you choose to work with any publishing house it can take a fair bit of weight off your shoulders in terms of design and distribution. You don't have to do it - I'm not - but if that's the way you want to go it's very, very, very possible.

Have a weirder manuscript that you don't think fits? Here's a list of 50 Indie Publishers looking for more experimental works to showcase and sell!

If Random House won't take your work - guess what? Maybe you're too cool for Random House.

[enci-rebloggies]

This.

https://twitter.com/delaneykingrox/status/1090402436995473408

[blond3ang3l]

🌷♡₊˚geek lover! eren🦢・₊✧

———————————————————————

This is a remake of the already geek lover eren, but specifically a sfw version but I actually really love this story

———————————————————————

Eren is a geek lover. He absolutely is enamored with you. Watching your lips with every word you spoke. The way you got excited telling him about every single new detail of the things you got interested in. Eren worked hard as a famous rnb singer, long days in the studio trying to perfect his songs. Then having to perform when he literally had the WORST anxiety known to man. It always felt like someone needed him and was on his ass about something.

But he did it all for you. So you can have everything your heart desired. He left nothing behind when it came to you. You wanted to see a new sci fi movie? He already bought out the theater. There’s a new podcast you like? He’s downloaded all the episodes for you on both yours and his phone. Don’t even get started on books. On your first date you mentioned you like to read and study psychology in your free time. Once you moved in he had your very own book room built for you. Carefully picking out each book for you on his own. Your own desk and room for you todo your writings in. He even surprised you with a laptop and camera so you can start your own podcast! He just wanted to show you how much he loved and supported you.

For moment like this were he could come home and listen to you tell him. About the things you've watched in your huge list of video essays that you had in a playlist on YouTube. How you lit up telling him different facts from how the dating game killer had a coworker that also happened to be a serial killer and he didn't know to the conspiracy theory of the 27 club, no matter what you said it always made you so happy and seeing you all giddy and stimming while you talked to him made him so content with his life.

"I know cotards syndrome, Koro, Diogenes, fregoli, hypochondria, pica, capgras, boanthropy, apotenmophilia, kulver bulcy, ekbom, erotomania, Stendhal. Pics is like one of the more well known. You know that show my strange addiction that we watch together? Yeah so like those people who eat the random shit like the lady who ate rocks- omg that reminds me!"

Erens ass was not listening one bit. He was watching you, watching your body. You guys had been apart for a little over a month so could do a very short tour in another country and he was sick as fuck that he couldn't bring you.

Everyone knew it too. His attitude fucking sucked that trip. He was antsy, his anxiety was through the roof, he snapped at everyone, overall he fucking hated it. But now, sitting here with you he finally felt at peace.

You were sitting on his lap, yapping his ear off.His eyes couldn't help but wander to your legs which lead him to notice you were wearing his boxers. Your hands thick thighs were filling them out so well. His hands moved to grip them as he watched you talk. You’d kill him later for not listening but he just felt so much dread when he was away from you that he couldn’t help but just stare at you forever.

“Rennie, papa are you okay? You’re getting all red. Are you feeling sick baby?”

You were worried, he had a bad history of getting sick easily. With him coming back from another country he could have likely caught something. It would hurt your heart to know he wasn’t feeling well.

“I’m fine baby. Keep going. I wanna hear you talk.”

“Are you sure baby? We can go lay down if you’d like.”

It warmed his heart how much you cared for him. You made him the man he was. He used to be so closed off to anyone that wasn’t your friends mikasa and armin. You taught him how to deal with the grief of life and got him therapy to get through the rough days of his depression. He just loved you so much and truly couldn’t imagine being anywhere without you.

“I’m fine baby, just missed you so much..”

For my girlie @merakidoll

[dontmixpaintinyourcoffee]

Things I Can't Stop Thinking About Since the Gravity Falls Renaissance; An Overly Long Compilation

• It's mostly a joke-y cartoon thing but holy shit Dipper wakes up screaming kind of a lot??? How long has he been doing that for?? How long will he *be* doing it for??

• Stan had to basically teach himself advanced physics and complex multidimensional theories. He had the advantage of the portal mostly being built and having a bunch of the notes post-Bill, but still!! He had to learn how to operate the damn thing! I highly doubt Ford wrote about the portal in the same accessible manner he wrote about cryptids, especially as he spiraled into paranoia. The machinations of the portal weren't meant to be shared with the layperson, it just wouldn't be practical information for most people to have.

(also notable that he went through the whole process of learning how to operate the portal not only through pages and pages of dense code, but with the background of a 1970s highschool education and literally nothing else that would be relevant. Ford works really hard, but this is also stuff that comes to him very naturally. Designing a functioning portal wasn't the hard part. The hard part was getting the idea for the portal in the first place and knowing what to do with it. This shit is so ridiculously advanced and Stan is not an academic mind by any means. No wonder it took 30 years, he had to keep up a fake life and fund his project while grinding away at advanced quantum physics interdimensional whatever science wizard nonsense. I think about those 30 years a lot.)

• It doesn't really get addressed, but I think about Wendy being "super stressed out, like, all the time!" A lot. God, can you imagine living in the same house as Manly Dan? Let alone being the only girl there? Especially depending on when their mom left/died, she probably felt incredibly alone for a lot of her teen years. And given the Apocalypse Training it doesn't seem like Manly Dan is the most stable parent either.

• Stan, Ford, and Wendy could probably bond over having shitty holidays (and subsequently being forced into having awesome holidays when Mabel found out.) Filbrick took Stan and Ford to get free cinder block samples for Hanukkah, and the Corduroys did apocalypse training every year instead of Christmas.

• Pacifica still hears the voice of the Lumberjack ghost in her nightmares, but it's implied on the website that the Lumberfolk spirits have actually declared her under their protection since the events of Northwest Mansion Mystery. That means one of two things: that the ghost in her dreams is just her own guilt-ridden brain, or that the ghost has been appearing in her dreams to try and help her. I think about both options frequently.

• Stan struggles a lot of the time with physical activity, but that's mostly to do with age. He's actually really goddamn strong (beating down the zombies, punching a pterodactyl in the face, grabbing Ford and hoisting him up off the ground no problem, scaling scaffolding and holding the twins up by a rope one-handed). This makes the fact that Wendy beat him in an arm wrestling contest three times in a row way funnier.

• The way the Stans were almost definitely completely willing to beat a random guys ass so that Waddles could get on that bus. Stanford "Your math is no match for my gun you idiot!" Pines implicitly threatened to shoot a stranger with a Weird Sci-Fi Firearm for his great-niece. Stanley is even more direct. There is no confusing what brass knuckles will to to you. I also absolutely believe that they were not bluffing. One of them would've stolen the bus if the guy had mysteriously fallen unconscious due to unforseen circumstances.

• According to Soos, Tad Strange is crushing hard on Woodpecker Guy. Is this general town knowledge? Does everybody know that the Woodpecker marriage is on the rocks? How does one divorce a woodpecker? Alternatively, how does one get divorced *by* a woodpecker? Does Tad have a chance? Is this a small town scandal? Mr. Hirsch inquiring minds want to know. Has Toby Determined written a gossip column on this drama yet. Get your head in the game, Toby

[dr-spectre]

I just saw your post about the callie tattoo & her having octoling friends and i would like to add that in the splat2 final fight concept comic, one of callie's octoling dancers worries about her when her head starts hurting and even offers her water.

What's your opinion on this fun fact? Asked by the (self-proclaimed) biggest octarian fan ever

I. Love. This. Oh my god thank you for sending me this. The Octoling background dancers being cut from the final game was such a bad choice im gonna be for real.

Guys... i am telling you all. It is time for me to preach again...

CALLIE WASN'T KIDNAPPED!!! SHE WANTED TO GO THE OCTO CANYON!!! Octarians liked her being there. She missed shaven Octarians in ROTM! she took inspiration from Octarian culture for her Splatoon 3 attire. Do i have to keep saying the same shit again and again?

"But they said she was kidnapped!!!" In an artbook on a random blurb that was probably written by an intern or something.... not in the game. "But Marie-" from her perspective she would see it as kidnapping. It's Marie we're talking about here, she's known to worry about her cousin, no fucking shit she would think her enemy kidnapped her cousin. It's not what happened tho.

"But what if after Callie said she would hear out Octavio, he put the shades onto her and therefore kidnapped her?" This was a real point that I saw on a discord server and it boiled my blood. There is no evidence, you are making shit up, im sorry but that is complete bs.

Like if the Octarians truly did awful things to her then why does Callie seem fine in Splatoon 3? Why did she smile seeing DJ Octavio? Why was she okay with Octavio being at the Grand Fest? Why does she have Octoling friends then? Hmm? It's not just Marina and Shiver. She probably has a lot more.

"But! But... brainwashing!!!!!" Shhh... listen, if you read the Bomb Rush Blush mission dialogue in multiple languages on Inkipedia right now, they literally flip flop between hypnosis and brainwashing, two terms that are opposites definition wise, aka, bad writing.

Remember gamers, hypnosis is not mind control, a suggestion given to a person in a hypnotic state cannot go against their will and or consent. You cannot ask a person to murder their family while under hypnosis. That's not how it works.

I don't care that hypnosis is seen as mind control in pop culture i do not care. It's a lame ass trope to use hypnosis like that anyways, so either way Splatoon 2 is poorly written.

If you wanna use the social version of brainwashing for Callie where she learns to adopt the Octarians beliefs without any sci fi influece and she chooses to believe their ideologies, then fine, go ahead, but that word has been ruined in my brain, any time i see or hear that word now i get shivers and freak out a little. Plus Nintendo clearly went for the bullshit lame ass basic bitch ass uninteresting sci fi version.

Anyways, sorry for the ramble, if you bring up Hypno Callie this happens... I'm gonna keep rambling about this forever and ever.

Thanks for showing me that!!! Can you send me the full comic? I think that's from the Splatoon 2 octo expansion artbook yeah? I haven't seen the full fan translation of that yet and idk where to find it.

[c0smoshit]

Back home with you˚₊﹅

⋆ ࣪. ℙ𝕒𝕚𝕣𝕚𝕟𝕘 ≫ Leon S Kennedy/Reader

⋆ ࣪. ℙ𝕝𝕠𝕥 ≫ Giving Leon a comforting massage on the bathtub after what happened in Spain <3

⋆ ࣪. 𝕎𝕒𝕣𝕟𝕚𝕟𝕘𝕤 ≫ fluff, slight suggestive(?), kissing, bath with lots of massages, just tired Leon coming back home

⋆ ࣪. 𝔸/ℕ ≫ Short fluffy fic for Leon cuz I miss him so much. Sorry if there are like, a lot of spelling mistakes wrote this at 2 am lol. Not proofread !!

⋆ ࣪. 𝕎𝕠𝕣𝕕𝕔𝕠𝕦𝕟𝕥 ≫ 1.804

Spain, a place you've learned to hate the moment Leon had stepped outside of your door a few nights earlier.

Couldn't the goverment leave him fucking alone for once? He already survived Raccoon City not so long ago. Why did he, out of all people, had to rescue the president's daughter??

You missed him, he was only gone for a few hours and you already wanted him back home with you, safe. After all the countless nights you had woken up to him sweating and breathing quickly just because he had a nightmare with Raccon City.

You had met him a year after the incident yet he couldn't get over it, not even six years later. And you didn't blame him, he was just a rookie cop whose luck wasn't at it's peak. He had told you everything, from Marvin to Sherry and that weird giant guy. At first he wasn't so talkative with the matter but the longer you had told him to just let it out, the more he told you about his worst nightmare. God and the things he saw, you sometimes wondered if he was just exaggerating, but the way he spoke, his voice toned down and that glint in his eyes. He wasn't lying, he knew that what he had seen sounded like some sci-fi shit, but it was real. He wished he was lying.

You sat down on your sofa after you had finished your dinner, picking up your phone. He hadn't answer any of your calls and you were starting to get worried. He always picked the phone if it was you, it didn't matter if he was working, filling some papers or if he was busy talking with his boss.

What if something had happened to him? God it had been almost 2 days since he left and he promised you that he'd be home before you could even blink.

You tried to stay positive, he already had survived a zombie apocalipse before and this was just some random village in Spain... right?

Hours passed, it was already dark outside, the moonlight bathing your living room as you sat there patiently waiting. You wanted to do something special when he came back, something that could take the stress out of him. A bath came into your mind, he loved baths, the feeling of the warm water washing away all the dirt and relaxing his sore muscles. Yeah, he probably wanted that but you wanted to do something else for him.

A ruffling of keys disturbed your thoughs. Quickly getting up from your seated position you rushed to the door, not even putting on your slippers as you opened the door. It was really him, finally back home.

"Leon! "

Your squeal filled his ears huffing when you launched yourself into his arms, hugging him tightly. He was so happy to be here with you again, being able to feel you, breathe you in.

He returned the hug, securing his arms around your waist as he smiled softly while looking down to see your face smashed into his chest. He found it a cute gesture, hell, everything about you was cute, waiting for him at this hour of the night.

"You're not asleep"

He mumbled out and you pulled off him to face him, eyes finally locking again.

"Of course not, I was waiting for you dummie"

Your sweet voice was like taking a wiff of fresh air for him, he had waited so long to hear you again. But he felt a bit guilty, you should be getting some rest now, not waiting for him to come back home. That was one of the many cons he mentally listed about his job, it kept him away from you, sometimes for days or even weeks.

He couldn't bear the loss of your soft touch, your voice, your hair, your smell. Everything about you was perfect to his eyes and the nights he had spent alone at work, without your sweet reassuring whispers and the way you drew soothing circles on his back whenever he couldn't sleep, it made him crazy. He couldn't sleep without you, not as deep as you managed to drive him into Cloud 9.

"Why haven't you answered your phone? I was dead worried about you"

Right... his phone. With all the fights he got involved into in Spain, he wasn't surprised when his phone had dissapeared from his pocket. And he knows he should've called you, maybe someone could lend him their phone but he wanted to hear your voice as soon as possible, coming from your mouth and not some stupid device.

"I'm sorry baby, I must have lost it, I should have called you"

You shook your head telling him not to worry that he was here with you afterall. He felt himself being yanked inside your shared home and into the bathroom, your hands quickly unfastening his belt.

"Woah, I didn't think you missed me so much"

His smirk made your cheeks heat, cheeky bastard.

"You're taking a bath first"

You replied in his same teasing tone as you smiled back. You began filling the bathtub, putting some relaxing lavender bath salts inside. He got his shirt off his hand falling on your waist as he pulled your back into him by your belly, kissing your shoulder.

"I missed you"

His whispered words made your heart clench, you finally had your blonde back with you. You leant into his touch, now both of his hands enveloped your waist and his kisses travelled higher until they met your neck. He really missed you, he missed your kisses and god those hands of yours, he just wanted to hug you and smoosh every part of your body until he died. Giggling you pulled him off you, looking at the water.

"Water's ready"

You whispered out before placing a kiss into his lips, chuckling when he chased your lips again. He tossed the rest of his clothes off, getting inside of the water before you could even take a glance of his body. The water splashed a bit as he laid down inside of the tub, letting out a satisfied sigh as soon as the warm water made contact with his body.

Poor baby, he must have fought countless monsters or whatever the hell was in Spain. He had scratches and bruises that were already starting to heal on his body, you ran your hand through one of them before slowly kissing it, earning a small smile from him.

You adored kissing his skin, his bruises and his scars. He had been through a lot, kissing him just made you feel as if you were taking away all those bad times he had to risk his life in order to see you again.

You grabbed a sponge and poured some soap on it, rubbing it slowly over his arms first, carefully getting all the sweat off him. Trailing your sponge to his chest you smiled when he squirmed a bit when you reached his neck, slightly tickling him.

You were so good to him, taking care of him no matter how late it was or how tired you were. You were always there for him. He often thought that god himself had made you cross his path on purpose, made you just for him. You were there when he needed you the most, when he needed someone to lend him a shoulder for him to rest in, arms that wrapped around him so warmly. He never really thought he could have fallen in love with someone as hardly as he did with you, hell he thought he never could have fallen in love with someone after all the shit he had been through.

Soon your hands washed all his body, giving him soft kisses in the process, enjoying how he relaxed under your touch. You liked the feeling of his soaked skin touching yours, it was just so intimate, a cute gesture between the both of you.

It was silent there, the only sound that was heard was the movement of the water and the sponge rubbing his body so tenderly. He could get lost in this feeling, and this this was his favourite thing about his job, probably the only one.

You placed the sponge down, resting your head on your arm as you leant into the tub. You were sitting down beside him, your arms were soaked up and with little bubbles lingering on top of your skin. You both closed your eyes, breathing softly and just enjoying your quality time together for once.

Your hands found his right arm, lifting it up and off the water, looking at how the water trickled his skin. Starting by the forearm you began massaging it, making sure all the knots were freed from his muscles. He was literally up in the clouds right now, his arms ached, everything ached. And he was lucky he had such a precious girlfriend who also gave the best massages in the world, he adored your hands, how they worked magic with him.

"You're perfect darling"

He slurred out, so lost in the feeling to even pronounce what he said. You just smiled like a dork, chuckling a bit at his blissed out state, getting back to work on his hands now. You drew straight and firm lines on the longitude of his muscles, focusing on putting preassure on them as you rubbed your fingers up and down on his skin. He had calloused hands, a pretty normal feature thanks to the hard training he had to do with Krausser. He also was veiny, and he had thick ones too, poking out of his skin in a bluish colour. But his hands were pretty, you thought as you slid your fingers over his smooth fingers.

He was your priority right now, and you weren't going to stop until every muscle had softened up inside of him. You just wanted to make him feel good after all the stress he had to be under in that stupid mission. You kissed his hand after you finished, pecking it softly before grabbing his other arm.

He packed such strong arms, he was a tough guy after all. And that made him perfect, the way he could hold you up on his arms without any sign of pain for as long as you wanted to, how he enveloped your entire stomach with his massive arm, god he was so perfect.

He still had his eyes closed when you had finished, resting on the side of the tub as you watched his slow breathing. He was finally here with you.

[jolenes-doppelganger]

Jules Nichols Headcanons (Pt. 2)

Previous part in collaboration with @ilovehotactresses

(She helped me with a few (most) of these, but she's being a bitch and not SHARING Jules. She's OUR beefy boyfriend!!! (If the Jules fic gets pushed to the bottom of the WIP list, you know why).

Jules x Fem!Reader (Boobs are referred to).

General Personality

-This woman is one bad day away from locking herself in the generator room and never coming out.

-Upon first introduction, (if you can even call it that), she says her name and maybe three words.

"Hi Sheriff Nichols, I'm [Name]"

"Oh. It's Jules. Don't call me Sheriff."

"Oka-"

*POOF*

-Has the ability to literally disappear like a cat. Doesn't want to be seen? Won't. You won't find her anywhere, don't try, she climbs up in the vents. Yeah. You heard me. The fucking air vents.

-BOY HUMOR. She's been around men her entire life. Her humor is absolutely rancid. Every dirty joke in the book. Not 'one of the guys' , she is a 'guy'.

-All of her friends are men. They slap each other on the back when hugging, first hugs are going to be interesting.

-First contact you'll ever make with her is a handshake. Very firm. This woman can GRIP.

First Date/ Getting to know each other

-Jules doesn't know what dating is. She's the equivalent of a Silo Comp Sci major, except she wears deodorant. You bet your ass asking her out is like asking out a brick wall.

"Hey Jules, I was wondering if we could hang out sometime...?"

"We're talking right now."

*Stares. Just fucking STARES.*

-But if she has feelings, it is at least ten times harder.

"Hey, want to grab coffee?"

".... What's coffee?"

*Looks at you with bugged out autistic eyes.*

-She lurks if she has a crush. Looking out from the corner of the room with those same bugged out eyes. She doesn't talk. Maybe she fixes something in your tool kit without asking, but you bet your ass she's not talking first.

-It's like trying to befriend a feral cat. Good news? She can and will be bribed with food.

Awkward Stage

-After you coerce Jules into a date, because you will have to be the one to make the move with her, she becomes worse with the lurking.

-Breathing over your shoulder, her front almost touching your back but never quite making contact. Itching to touch, but also not wanting to touch. INDECISIVE.

-Sniffing.

-Yeah bud, you heard me. She sniffs. Finds out what soaps you use, maybe perfume. Invests in that shit.

-Starts naming things after you. Her favorite wrench? Now it's [Reader] wrench. New mechanical equipment? Automatically your name. EVERYONE around her knows she likes you simply because she refers to the generator with your name once.

-(She climbed into the air vents after that screw up).

Relationship Stage

-CLINGY.

-We've established she's a bottom. Wants to be babied all. The. Time. She's like one of those large Newfoundlands that want to be held like a baby. Is she baby sized? Can she even fit in your lap comfortably? No, but she sits there anyways.

-Eating EVERYTHING in your house.

-Can't cook? You're gonna have to learn to. This woman doesn't cook, only eats. If you don't feed her she will bitch and moan until you do.

-SO. FUCKING. HANGRY.

-Being alone with her is like having a breathing shadow. Wants to cuddle, needs to cuddle. Cuddling on the sofa, in the kitchen, in the bed, in the shower.

-Nibbling. Forget wearing anything except turtlenecks, your neck is covered in red marks constantly. Lots of kisses though, so it works out.

-Nose in your neck. Face in your shoulder, face in your boobs if she can. Face. Must. Touch.

-Loves your boobs. Mesmerized by them every time they come out. Also mesmerized by other things ;)

Random (Basically Jules being autistic)

-Investing in a stim swing would be the best present EVER. Swing is life. Bouncing and spinning, just the feet out. It's her new air vents.

-Wants TIGHT hugs. They have to be tight. As tight as you can make them. That pressure is good.

-Ties her shoes really tight too. Would wear tight pants if she could avoid harassment, therefore all of her pajamas are tight.

-Saltines are her favorite snack. You heard me. Crispy, same texture every time and just salty enough. Munches on them like a hamster.

-Saturday night activities include taking apart your kitchen toaster and fiddling with it until it works RIGHT. (It was making a high pitched noise that was driving her nuts).

-Does all the fixing in the house not because you can't but because she cannot watch you do it because you're not doing it 'right'.

-The bug eyed look is basically her resting face.

-Brings home a kitten from the generator one day, proudly naming it Lug-nut. (Luggie for short). This cat is basically Jules in cat form. They have the same expression. At all times.

That's all!

Tag list: @marvelwomenrule @midnight-lestrange @bjoerkumlaut, @lovelyy-moonlight, @coffee-is-my-oxygen, @appparadox407

Send a message/ask to be added. Ageless bios are automatically put in the SFW sub category.

[bucketbender]

Analysis of Tervo throughout the seasons

I think the reason why I love SO so much is because the romance is not the reason you watch the show, at least at the beginning. For 3 seasons straight, the two characters who have so much chemistry aren’t in love. Or technically, they’re not together. Which makes sense, because they’re not supposed to be in love. They are shlorpians with teammate affinity.

(Note that I think the whole Valentine’s Day plot was a bit of a stretch, with teammate affinity being something that’s literally never been mentioned once. But you know what ? I can look past this. There are worst stretches in cartoons. Like the Simpsons.)

What makes their relationship so interesting is that, not only do they absolutely work even though they’re complete opposites (I know, that’s the point of the show), but they have been sharing that braincell ever since the first episode. Terry shows something Earth-related to Korvo, Korvo actually takes an interest because it fascinates him, they have fun and bond, it goes to shit, Korvo goes back to working, and repeat. They don’t have the best dynamic, yet their bond is strong enough to make it work. And it works because even in the first Season, they like spending time with each other.

S1 :

In season 1, Korvo spends most of his time on the ship. Half of the time, Terry is here to keep him company. He doesn’t do anything, he just sits there with a magazine or a Tiki drink and blabbers about human culture. And his inattentive and forgetful nature sometimes gets Korvo hurt when he fixes something. But still, he remains. Even though Korvo could and probably should banish him from the ship for their own safety. But the thing is, he actually likes having him around. Despite all his faults, Terry is sweet, and cares enough about him to stay in this boring ship to talk to him. That’s more than probably anyone has ever done for him, from what we’ve seen of their past.

As for Terry, he sees this guy who works literally all the time, and even if he usually shuts out anything fun, when Korvo does indulge him, they get into some crazy sci-fi action. He also knows his friend works hard, and does all of the chores, and cares for the whole family, even if he never expresses it directly. If you headcanon that he’s sapiosexual (« It is sexy when you know about the ship »), that also explains why Terry had some interest in him as well.

Even in the first season, even when they hadn’t shared a single kiss, they liked each other. (big up to the dumb ray episode that made people go nuts when it came out. We’ve come so far)

They’re not in love, but you can already see that Korvo will be the one to fall for his opposite first. Terry annoys him so much - and by grey gods, he endured more stupidity from his friend every day than my parents in a year. But he knows Terry genuinely chooses to spend time with him even though he could be boning humans literally 24/7. He chooses to stay in this boring ship with him to talk and just spend time together.

S2 :

They pretty much share the same dynamic in Season 2, except that now, they also share kisses sometimes. It’s not exactly a love kiss, at least not yet. It’s more of a way to say « I’m sorry » and « thank you ». It’s not often and it’s treated as a treat. Other than that, everything is the same. Terry keeps going around to have intercourse with humans and comes back in the ship to eat and hang out with Korvo. And… I have a theory. A SO theory. Remember this ?

It’s barely a 1 sec image of Korvo squinting while watching Terry vibe with a random human. It’s from the red goobler wedding episode.

And I think half of the reason Korvo… did what he did in that episode, was because he was frustrated with his relationship with Terry. Or rather, the lack of relationship he was wishing for. And so, there was this other being, that had a deep connection to him, and who he vibed with and who wanted him… and they boned. And Korvo told him they should get married. And their relationship worked for a solid 2 minutes.

I wholeheartedly believe this whole thing was much more about Terry than it was about anyone else. And if this has already been explored in like, 50 fics, I am sorry, and proud that I realized this by myself.

S3 :

Anyway, let’s keep going with Season 3. This one marks a huge change in their dynamic because it’s the year Korvo finally decides to put down roots on Earth. No more fixing the ship all the time, just occasionally. Thus, he spends the rest of the day with Terry or his family.

… Which makes him realize just how much time Terry spends with other humans, with whom he shares more than just hobbies. And it really frustrates him. Along with the Gladwell episode, he openly voices his jealousy this season. Maybe he even realizes that the "smooch on the lips" wasn’t just their thing, but that Terry did it with random strangers in the street ? In any case, he hates it.

(Small detail that even though Korvo craves something more with Terry, he’s the one who shows it the least. He tries to keep this "authoritative and strong and awesome" persona even when he just wants to rip Terry’s shirt off. My proof : « And then after that, we make out ? / Maybe. / That means no. / No ! It means… maybe. »)

This season also doesn’t show Terry having sex with anyone. In fact, it shows him being abandoned by his lovers who turned out to be psychos. Instead, he gets to share more of what he likes with Korvo and spends more time with him (the line, the skull bullet, tacos bell). And he’s obviously very happy with this new dynamic. Not only does Korvo listen to all of his stupid ideas, but now he actively participates in them. Gradually, he spends more time with his teammate and therefore, less with humans.

S4 :

Season 4 is the second best after Season 5, and not just because Dan Stevens joined the party. In season 4, Tervo don’t just smooch. They completely kiss and moan like sexy savages. They have sex twice on camera, even though we only see it once. Everything changes, but they still have the same chemistry they had in Season 1. Do stupid things, get upset, make peace, repeat. Then make out. That’s the difference. Korvo saves Terry in the stock-a-verse with « the power of love » and stabbing, and Terry tells a stranger he can’t have sex with her because he’s in love with his partner. *squint at the Valentine’s Day episode*

But then, after they "finally realize that they have love", they immediately get married. As if what Shlorp told them about their species was the only thing holding them back.

And then… oh boy. That’s some loving, horny rollercoaster we get on for Season 5. I had as many « awwww » moments watching it as I did watching WOY, but not for the same reasons.

S5 :

This time, their dynamic actually shifts. Korvo is more than ever the one doing the silly, stupid shit. And when he’s not spending his time beefing with a human, he’s with his family and/or lover. Tervo don’t argue about stupid shit anymore. They let it slide. And they truly, deeply love each other.

Korvo clearly shows it more, as he’s been dying to express his feelings (the skirt, the endless honey moon, the desperation to keep the what if device away). But he didn’t know if it was normal or even allowed to do before the Valentines Day episode. Now that he knows they can be in love and are, he doesn’t count the seconds, the pennies, the attention : it all goes to Terry.

I’m telling you, that pupa specialist is spoiled as hell every day. But he doesn’t love Korvo for his ways of always going the extra mile. He loves him for the same reasons he liked him at first : he cares for the family, he’s smart as hell, he’s dedicated. Yet he’s still so emotionally stupid. But it’s fine, he can be the emotional intelligence for the both of them.

I honestly wonder if we’ve reached the peak of their relationship or if there will be much more. Maybe in Season 6, we’ll see Terry sacrifice some things for Korvo. Maybe Zarck will kidnap one of the duo and they’ll spend three episodes getting him back. Maybe we’ll finally have the episode that explores Korvo and Terry’s past to understand their daddy issues. Or maybe we’ll have more Gravity Falls style shenanigans with the replicants. I don’t know which idea I’d like more, honestly.

Anyway ! Thanks for reading. That was some long analysis. I’m going to eat breakfast now. Toodles !

[mylittleredgirl]

today i'm thinking about b5 worldbuilding choices that seem like they were deliberately chosen to differentiate it from star trek. (this is a joyful statement, by the way, They Both Look Nice.gif)

i'm not talking about hyperspace/jumpgate technology, which is way too structurally load-bearing to think of as just Not Warp Drive.

it's more the small-ticket differences, like earthforce using american measurements (when the real life american military uses the metric system), and the sometimes conspicuous absence of the sci-fi technologies that are most iconically identified with star trek: transporters, replicators, all-purpose tricorders... and phasers with a stun setting, which is where things get kinda fucked up.

the sci-fi gun filling the phaser niche on b5 is the PPG. it's also a bloodless energy weapon, but it only has one setting, which is at least as deadly as a modern gun (i say "at least" because of how often someone is "killed instantly" with a single shot). officers are not armed with a less-lethal option.

in season one, it's routinely emphasized that no one except earth force personnel can have weapons of any kind on the station. the ban is pretty hardcore. not even religious ceremonial knives are allowed, there are active scans of everything coming on board, and security has the right to check for weapons even in the "foreign soil" of ambassadorial quarters.

there are a quarter of a million people here on any given day, mostly civilians, many of them aliens. there's a backdrop of petty crime, mostly theft and fistfights. occasionally someone gets stabbed with a homemade shank. security has Shit To Do! people to arrest, and so on. but the total weapons ban means that in the vast majority of cases, anyone that security can expect to encounter, especially inside the station (vs. the customs area) will be unarmed.

and this all seems like a recipe for disaster. a human in uniform killing an unarmed alien bystander (or a suspected petty criminal who hasn't been charged with anything) is going to be a problem for the Don't Start Wars With Aliens station!! of course the initial peace train derails mid-series, but at the beginning, sinclair is really holding on to the goal of peace by his fingernails. you would think that both he and earthgov (who Really want to keep earth out of war) would prefer that the random dumbasses in security carry a non-lethal option as a first-line weapon, even if they are also armed with a backup PPG... which implies that the humans in the b5 universe just never bothered to work on this technology.

meanwhile, in the real world, police tasers came into use in 1993, at the exact same time as b5 started. the idea that cops should have a way to subdue someone resisting arrest without shooting them was a pressing concern in the national conversation... so somehow it ends up being worse than just picking american riot cops off the street and sticking them in space. to us at home, especially in the 2020's, it fits in with the rest of the "hey, don't you and the good guys think this is kinda fucked up?" stuff, but it's not treated that way, because the good guys don't notice it at all (that's honestly a theme with law enforcement issues in b5 in general, but that's another post).

which is why i wonder if it was a Not Like Star Trek choice early on to avoid "set phasers to stun," and it just never came up again.

[suzukiblu]

I just wanted to say I think you're really cool in the way you defend your own boundaries while also trying to see the best in people (e.g. off-topic Wednesday asks / etc.). Like you make your ask box feel like it's okay to ask questions or not worry too much about how something might come off wierdly if it's read a certain way but also you don't let people walk over you, and that balance is a fucking skill which takes effort and work.

Thank you. 🧡 I definitely do go to a lot of effort to be clear about certain things I'm cool/not cool with while also assuming the best of people's intentions if I ever get comments or questions that are phrased poorly or seem . . . well, questionable, to make an unintentional pun there, haha. I just don't wanna start shit that doesn't need started or slather bad vibes all over some poor well-intentioned random soul who just doesn't have the most immediately up-to-date/informed language or certain experiences to inform their perspective, AND all over all of your dashes on top of that. Like, we were all confused about shit and awkwardly attempting to figure out what the magic question that would explain that shit to us was at SOME point in our lives, if nothing else. You gotta remember your internal stupid kid and how bad they wanted to figure shit out without having the tools for it!! You just gotta!!!!

Like, I literally did not realize gay and bi people were a thing until I was FOURTEEN, man, I just did NOT have that context/experience as a kid. And then, like, four months later I was . . . uhhhhh I'm pretty sure literally the first kid who was publicly out in my entire very tiny "quaint lil' small town full of well-off retirees with gorgeous lawns and literally nothing for a teenager to do outside of school" high school, and at least as far as I ever knew there wasn't another one until my friggin' senior year. And I didn't figure out what asexuality was OR my gender identity until I was in my thirties, despite actively TRYING to figure those out! I just didn't know! I didn't have the word for it for so long I didn't even GET it was a thing that should have a word!

Though to be honest, I really do get way, WAY more people worrying that they're overstepping and preemptively apologizing about it than I ever do people who are actually doing anything I'd personally consider to be overstepping, and I get even fewer people who are INTENTIONALLY overstepping on top of that. Like, I've been very lucky in the audience I've managed to snare/cultivate in my internet times, I very rarely encounter anyone coming into my inbox in bad faith. "Don't like/don't read" seems to be generally respected and I appreciate it, basically, hah.

Also, like, not to get too extra or serious here, but a lot of the reason I write fanfic is because it can contain a lot of things that standard publishing is less immediately open to releasing--like, especially back when I started, it was just NOT a thing to have explicitly queer kids in mega-popular mainstream YA series or all that much gender/racial/neuro diversity past, like, token presences that were at MOST only diversity-CODED half the time anyway and "didn't like labels". And like, that bugged me a LOT as a kid and as a young adult, and still kinda bugs me sometimes these days. I wanted, you know, that SEEN feeling, and I didn't want to only get it from hyper-niche genres/authors that were only writing about being queer and sad about it. I wanted that shit in my dang sci-fi and fantasy and all the FUN stuff, not just, you know, the tragedy-porn cautionary tales. So I want people who are reading my stuff to feel that way, even and ESPECIALLY when they're some totally different flavor of whatever we are from me, and so I REALLY try to be inclusive and welcoming and assume the best of people, at least to the best of my ability.

. . . okay I got kinda carried away with this answer, maybe, haha, but tl;dr: literally everyone has got enough bullshit going on in their lives, I can at least be nice about weird kinks and random gender/mental/physical/???? issues that I don't always necessarily understand the full nuances of on the internet.

[physalian]

Writer Guilty Pleasures

At least they are to me.

1. Romanticizing the shit out of things

I write sci-fi and fantasy. These genres exist to romanticize the humdrum of daily life and take it to wondrous and fantastical ends. The zombie-apocalypse story is never just about zombies. The tragic love between an angel and a demon is never just about angels and demons. The lone starship lost in the middle of the void isn’t just about a supremely unlucky crew of star-sailors.

It’s not just a flower or a tree or a pair of old stockings. It’s not just unworn baby shoes and a birthday cake that went stale with only one slice taken from it. It’s not just soap bubbles in the bath or water-rings on the coffee table or the smell of wood stain in the workshop.

2. But what if they just kissed…?

Huge problem of mine and how I ended up with a polyamorous love interest who wasn’t planned. You think you’re having a ship war over my characters? Babe I have written fanfic of my own works that will never see the light of day with the most random of rare pairs in the most outlandish of situations. It takes genuine restraint to keep characters platonic sometimes.

Sometimes, though, letting yourself ask ‘but what if they just kissed?’ opens the door for an amazing pairing your original outline could have never anticipated. 

3. Yes I am absolutely doing this trope and you love it

There was only one bed!! I deliberately go out of my way to set up classic shippy tropes just to subvert them—in a fun way, no shade on the original trope. One of those is ‘only one bed’ or more accurately ‘character A wakes up spooning B with no knowledge of how they got here’. Thing is. B is ace. B does not react whatsoever to these events and doesn’t freak the fuck out over accidental proximity.

Or, say, a majestic beachside jaunt on horseback while A pines hard over B… while B is completely oblivious and even if they were told to their face, would not care. They like beaches. Simple as that.

—

Now what are yours?

My LGBTQ+ vampire fantasy novel Eternal Night of the Northern Sky is out for preorder now! Paperback debut on 8/25/24.

[mors-neptune]

707 / Luciel / Saeyoung Choi Headcanons I Have

‼️⚠️ SPOILERS AHEAD ⚠️‼️

• Has ADHD but if anyone brings it up he brushes it off because he thinks it makes him lesser. He’s not ableist he just needs to be educated :(

• I know in the official art he’s pretty pale but I hc him as having tanner skin and some freckles

• Has an undiagnosed personality disorder probably

• Too paranoid to go to church in person so he made a personal shrine in his home that he makes sure to spend time at

• Hates seeing his father on TV because it reminds him how similar they look. He’ll go into a weeks long depression every time where he’ll avoid mirrors because all he sees is his mother and father

• Loves cross dressing but is too scared to think deeply and self reflect about the gender euphoria it gives him because Korea isn’t very accepting

• Hated college because he felt like it was too structured and he doesn’t like being told what to do

• His favorite color is red (obviously)

• Doesn’t want or have any tattoos

• Most of the decor in his house was handmade impulsively and placed somewhere random

• Ultimately wants to move out of the bunker and into a more realistic house with no sci-fi-like doorbells or weapons but his paranoia stops him

• Sometimes stays up till the morning watching security cams in and around the bunker out of fear someone will try and hurt Saeran or MC

• Loves the dopamine hit that buying new cars gives him. It’s almost addicting impulse buying expensive things

• Desperately needs someone to match his neurodivergentness and thankfully his twin brother does perfectly

• His glasses are constantly dirty he never cleans those mfs

• Likes to paint his nails black but it’s always cracked and messed up

• Him and Saeran made up a secret language that they refuse to teach anyone else, even MC

• Welded flowers and spray painted them for him and MC’s anniversary (Saeran told him which flowers to make bc he knows their meanings)

• MC’s engagement ring is a Ruby (to represent Saeyoung) and whatever stone is MC’s favorite swirling together to look like a binary star system

• We know in his route that he has muscles because of his work, but after he runs from the agency, MC noticed some of his bulkiness going away

• But he still keeps a lot of his muscle, he just has some more squishiness around his torso

• Regrets his bunker not having windows because he knows Saeran loves looking at the sky

• Builds a garden in his backyard for Saeran :)

• Too paranoid to get a therapist so one of his more toxic traits is using MC as a therapist

• Goes through periods of not sharing anything emotionally with MC & sharing way too much and borderline dumping all his shit on them

• Has bad abandonment issues

• Loves experimenting with makeup and showing Saeran and MC

• Has both an inferiority and superiority complex

• Owns an obsessive amount of stuffed animals and yes, they all have names

• Idk if this is canon or not but he has curly hair

• I can’t believe I haven’t mentioned this already but I hc him as bisexual (he literally mentioned at some point that V’s voice was his type)

• And since it’s basically canon he at least finds V attractive and V is more of a parental/guardian figure to him, I can conclude Saeyoung 100% has daddy issues (duh)

• Has had feelings for Vanderwood at some point

• Horrible at personal hygiene

• Doesn’t drink or do drugs (canon)

• He’s a compulsive liar :/

• Wants a cat but is so bad at taking care of himself he doesn’t trust himself taking care of an animal

• Has staff constellation, and planet stickers & posters all over his room (he’s a nerd)

• Learns sign language so when he’s mad at MC or Saeran he only communicates through sign to piss them off

• Wayyyyyyy too comfy invading people’s personal and cyber privacy because of his line of work

• Lactose intolerant because I think it’s funny

• Light sleeper because of the house he grew up in and his work at the agency

• Kind of apathetic to traumatic things other people go through if it wasn’t as “bad” as his. Not in a “I think I’m better than you” kind of way, but in a way where some issues just don’t compare to an abusive, alcoholic mother, a politician father who wants to kill him, being a secret agent made to do who knows what, and more.

• Catches up on childhood by indulging in childish hobbies and interests. He’s making up for the lost time :(

• His tummy always hurts from his horrible diet

• His cologne smells like apple spice (it’s actually a perfume for women but who cares)

• But tbh on the daily he smells like a mix of his basic masculine body wash, honey buddah chips, and grease (sorry)

• Very protective. Takes on a caretaker role for those closest to him

• Sometimes very controlling. Gets anxious when he can’t control everything around him.

• Acts very parental towards Saeran. He always did because he had to in their childhood, but Saeyoing still does it. It makes him feel good being able to properly provide for Saeran.

• He mentioned in his route that he never really wanted or thought about having a family other than Saeran, and I feel like he would still think the same after meeting MC. Just now he thinks of his family as just him, Saeran, and MC. I don’t think he’d want kids

• Literally never cleans his sheets…

• Can only convince himself to clean anything in his house because he doesn’t want Saeran to have to live in filth again

My first post. I just wanted to share these :)

[explainslowly]

Semi-random manga rec based on looking at what I rated 10/9/8 on myanimelist like a decade ago

For your benefit I am going to eschew the stuff I see discussed on tumblr all the time. Like by this point no one needs me to tell them that like, Junji Ito is good, right? Right.

The water is just fine:

Hikaru no Go - now this one used to be pretty big in fandom spaces but it was like fifteen years ago so I don't feel bad bringing it up. It's a sports shonen about a boy falling in love with Go and growing up through finding his passion in it. A classic bildungsroman type of shonen narrative but executed with finesse. Also illustrated by the same guy who drew Death Note if that sweetens the pot.

Kekkaishi - do you guys like a fun little shonen about creatures and youth with magic powers and shit? This one is simply a pleasure to read as well as well paced. I especially appreciate a somewhat strict magical/power system. Maybe it's nothing insanely special but I do feel it has been somewhat overlooked so I put it on this list.

Hourou Musuko - this one got an anime fairly recently (*checks notes* uhhh. In 2011. Nvm, kill me) so people might know it. But hey, you guys want a sweet little manga story about a teen trans girl and her gaggle of friends? Of course you do. This managaka generally writes a lot of stories about queer ppl, so feel free to check out all her work.

Ashita no Ousama - bildungsroman, but for the girlssss. It's a story about a young girl moving to the city and falling in love with theater and writing. I am simply a sucker for stories about people finding their passion and working at it.

Getting deeper:

Blame! - again, a recommendation that would sound sooooo silly like twenty years ago but Tsutomu Nihei is simply not in the public eye the way he used to be. The pleasure of this manga is to a large extent visual. But you guys do want to see a trek through a crazy technological landscape, don't you?

Bokurano - Mangaka is a known sicko and this fucked up little story about feeding children to the war machine is a good entry point. What if Evangelion was even more evil? Now you can find out.

Monster - the Naoki Urasawa story that really put him on the map. I think people say that 20th century boys is superior but why not start at the source? Psychological/mystery story especially suited for people who can set aside their reservation when the psychology gets a little dubious with it (if that's a line you don't cross, do go on and check out 20th century boys instead)

Now we are getting somewhere:

Shigurui - Anyone here looking for an awe-inspiring visual orgy of violence? Anyone?

Dainippon Tengutou Ekotoba - I am outrigh obsessed with this mangaka's visual style. The thick, bold brush lines make me craaaazy. This is as good as any entry into their work, I think - a urban fantasy story about Tengus living in the modern world.

National quiz - looking for a zany distopian sci-fi with great visuals? Look no more!! I don't remember the details of what happens in this one but I remember it being strange and interesting, so do check it out.

Soil - what if Twin Peaks was a manga? Well, it's not one to one, but this too is a story about a small town and fucked up bizarre shit happening in it. Also incredible art, in my opinion.

Shintaro Kago - making an exception here and mentioning a guy instead of a specific work. The thing about Kago is that he shines in writing bizarre short stories, so ultimately you really could start anywhere with him.