#probably still would’ve been a gremlin

[solxamber]

Unstable Stable || Leona Kingscholar

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

or: Guideverse AU!

Series Masterlist

Life used to be normal.

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

Then the gates showed up.

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

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

Cool, right?

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

That’s where you come in.

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

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

Is the job dangerous? Constantly.

Are the Espers dramatic? Tragically so.

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

And does it pay well? HAHAHA.

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

Which is great, because your next assignment?

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

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

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

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

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

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

Chaos erupts.

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

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

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

And he yanks your umbrella to cover himself.

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

You blink.

“Uh. Hello?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Welcome to your life now. Hope you brought snacks.

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

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

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

You keep going. Until—

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

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

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

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

“I need you alive, herbivore.”

You freeze.

Your brain does a little Windows error sound.

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

“Your car’s this way, right?”

“…How do you know where I parked—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then someone yanks your box out of your hands.

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

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

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

You short-circuit. “What?!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then Leona walks in.

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

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

Leona?

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

You blink. “Um. Hello? Sir?”

No response.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then he leaves.

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

This job is going to kill you.

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

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

Then a gate opens.

Right there.

Next to the cheese stall.

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

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

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

Leona.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Leona notices. His brow furrows. “Tch.”

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

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

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

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

You nod into his shirt. “Okay.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

You are, shockingly, thriving.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Just another day in your life.

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

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

SWOOSH.

The jackets are gone.

You blink. Arms empty. Sanity shaken.

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

• The jackets

• The socks you forgot you picked up

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“For what?!”

“Come to the gate.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Because he still isn’t waking up.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You freeze.

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

And blood.

So much blood.

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

You step forward and your stomach lurches.

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

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

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

You breathe out, finally.

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

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

Leona sits you down first.

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

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

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

“Herbivore,” he mutters. “You okay?”

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

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

You smile, small and tired, but real.

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

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

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

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

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

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

You don’t expect the knocking.

Frantic. Panicked. Desperate.

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

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

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

“I quit.”

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

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

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

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

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

You blink. “...Yeah.”

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

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

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

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

You snort softly. He huffs a laugh.

Maybe the world can wait a little longer.

You're not supposed to be here.

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

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

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

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

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

But then you see him.

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

You run to him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

You hold him tighter.

It happens on a normal, sunny day.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?”

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

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

“Dead serious.”

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

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

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

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

“I know.”

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

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

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

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

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

And he exhales shakily. “Okay then.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then you happened.

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

Instead, they got you.

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

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

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

And you? You pulled his ear.

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

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

And then—

Then it all bled away.

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

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

He had to ask someone your name.

It pissed him off for weeks.

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

And somehow… it had worked.

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

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

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

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

It was you.

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

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

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

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

Didn’t bristle.

Didn’t bow like the others.

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

And that—

That pissed him off.

Because you didn’t recognize him.

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

You didn’t even remember.

Leona’s eye twitched.

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

He’d just have to remind you.

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

Still blank.

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

Leona huffed a laugh through his nose.

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

He’d make sure you remembered.

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

He remembered that day like a fever dream.

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

And you—

You were pacing.

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

You were scared.

For him.

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

Leona would never forget that look.

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

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

And something in his chest broke a little.

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

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

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

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

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

And maybe that’s when it happened.

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

Leona remembers the gate break too clearly.

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

No.

He remembers it because of you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And he swore—

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

Leona had felt fear before.

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

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

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

“Transferred?” he asked, brows furrowed.

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

His vision tunneled.

Burnout.

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

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

And you smiled.

Small. Tired. But real.

It wrecked him.

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

And Leona… he said nothing.

Because what could he say?

“Come back?”

“Let me fix it?”

“I need you?”

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

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

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

He stayed until morning.

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

Leona refused to let anyone guide him after you left.

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

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

He wanted you.

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

Because letting someone else guide him after you?

It felt like cheating.

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

He endured. And endured. And endured.

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

Scolding him for not taking care of himself.

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

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

So he kissed you.

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

You didn’t pull away.

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

You were his fate. You always had been.

And Leona Kingscholar had never once considered being free.

Now, you're permanently bonded.

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

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

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

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

And it hits him again: you’re his.

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

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

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

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

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

He comes home to that now.

To you.

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

He feels like he’s living in it.

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

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

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

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

“Remember what?”

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

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

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

You stare at him. He stares back.

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

And then it clicks. It clicks.

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

He raises an eyebrow, almost smug.

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

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

He thinks, this.

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

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

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

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

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

Masterlist

[wandasaura]

YOURE ON YOUR OWN KID

summary — when boredom strikes in the absence of your girlfriends, you make friendship bracelets that will tether you together no matter the distance

warnings — fluff, the slightest indication of hurt but not really, mentions of lethal weapons and battle, minor mention of ohio but it’s a soft/happy moment

authors note — i am so high you gremlins better appreciate this, i got so carried away

Truthfully, you weren’t entirely sure when summer had lost its whimsical spark, but as you trudged through the halls of the compound searching wistfully for something to do that could even begin to fill a fraction of the time until your girlfriends returned home from a last minute op, the early days of August just didn’t feel the same as they did when you had popsicle sticks and sandcastles to look forward to. The endless days that had once been vibrant within your memory, defined by sleepovers and an assortment of frozen treats, were now bland and filled with earnest longing for company that was hard to come across when the entire world needed saving and that impossible responsibility fell on the shoulders of a few ragtag individuals. 

The height of summertime had befallen you if the scorching heat outside was any minuscule factor in the judgment that determined ever changing seasons, yet still you felt paralyzed in an eternal winter, pessimistically comparing the barren landscape of early February to the isolating interior of Stark’s state of the art compound. Pepper and Maria had become familiar faces since the Avengers workload had picked up again, becoming short lived intermissions to the reality you lived in permanently, but even with their infrequent trips upstate to visit with you and collect paperwork that probably could’ve waited until Tony himself returned home, persistent boredom was slowly becoming your worst enemy. 

Wanda and Natasha had been trying their best though it was hardly any consolation, sending nightly texts and assuring that although they missed you terribly, they were doing well, but it just wasn’t the same as having them home with you. They called anytime they got the chance, FaceTime’d whenever a hotspot managed to be secured, but it would never be enough to heal the ache of their physical absence beside you in a place that you so desperately tried to call home for them. 

Scrounging through the game closet, because as ‘tough’ as Tony attempted to appear in the light of the everlurking media, he still valued spending time with his wife and friends – as hesitant as he was to ever truly call the Avengers such a thing. It was something of a shock to stumble upon a bracelet kit in the madness of board games and extravagant card decks, but knowing the billionaire, it had most definitely been purchased in a haze of sleep deprivation and later been put away by Pepper who would’ve  ultimately been the one to unbox each package as they came. 

Shrugging off your initial surprise, a smile derived of childhood nostalgia pulled at the corners of your lips, and for a single second, that unreplicable spark came back to you just as  the August sun created a breathtaking sunset beyond the living room windows. Settling onto the couch, illuminated by the slowly ebbing traces of warm daylight, you pried open the plastic packaging and allowed that innocent child within you to have a single moment of joy. Intricately you weaved plastic beads onto thin rubber string, shifting through tiny sections until you found colors and letters that fit your wildest desires, leaving out no tacky charm whilst you were at it. Before you knew it, your wrist had become adorned with personality by three entirely cliche bracelets, all different colors and hues but perfectly cohesive as they mirrored the colors visible just beyond the large windows. You grinned down at them blissfully, caressing the ‘N’ on the highest one on your wrist, mesmerized by the simplicity of their appearance on your body. They were so effortlessly simple, weaved and tangled together by environmentally damaging globes of hollow plastic, but they’d healed a part of your being that you hadn’t even recognized was slowly dying as adulthood stole the joy of childhood. 

After cleaning up the house, although you most definitely did slip the bracelet kit into your shared bedroom with Wanda and Natasha instead of placing it back in the closet for communal use, you fell into the couch once more, this time with a lousy dinner of buttered pasta and a sitcom that just didn’t hit the same without Wanda’s amusement to drown out the laugh track and Natasha’s dry commentary. At some point, you had fallen asleep to Michelle Tanner stomping through the kitchen, but when you awoke, groggy and disoriented, you found that the sky had morphed into a deep shade of violet and the house was filled with echoes of shuffling. 

You frowned, rubbing at your eyes with balled up fists as you took in your surroundings. The room was painted in near total darkness, however the lamp nearest your body had been switched on and bright an ambient glow to the blackness that threatened to drown you within it. There was also the telltale sounds of quiet conversation, and though the thick walls did a lot to muffle the sounds of life existing beside you for the first time in days, you recognized the drawl of Wanda’s soft Sokovian accent instantaneously. 

Shooting up from the couch, barely acknowledging that someone had thrown a blanket over top of you, weaving through the hallways that didn’t seem so barren anymore until you found your girlfriends bent over the countertop, still dressed in their tactile uniforms and covered in dust and dirt, but happily snacking on the left over pasta that you had placed on the highest shelf in the fridge. You didn’t give them a moment to react to your abrupt presence in the kitchen, certain that Natasha had heard your feet pattering against the floorboards and Wanda had felt your energy shift and grow closer. The Russian happened to be on the side of the island closest to you, and without hesitation you embraced her in a tight hug, wrapping your arms around her midsection and digging your face into the center of her back, effectively pinning her arms to her sides, though she could’ve easily escaped you if she wanted. 

“Hi, malyshka.” She cooed softly, her voice hoarse from smoke inhalation and a long stretch of yelling over bombs and active fire, but you paid it no mind, happy just to have her back in your arms miraculously in one single piece. “You gonna let me go so I can hug you the right way?” She teased when your grip remained steeled, not wavering for a second even as you nestled your head farther into the back of her spine. 

“No.” Your voice was small as it fell into the air, drowning both Wanda and Natasha in your tender softness. “Never letting you go again.” 

“As endearing as that is, malyska, you refuse to be in the bathroom when I pee. You’re going to have to let me go at some point.” Her humor was dry, blunt enough to have your cheeks twinging a shade of pink they hadn’t been since the day she and Wanda left, but you didn’t hold back your strained laughter like you would’ve had she not just been gone for nearly a week, instead, you allowed the sound to tear through your body and vibrate hers. 

You only loosened your grip because Wanda had rounded the corner of the island and pulled you back into her chest the minute you were in reach. Natasha took that to her advantage, shimming out of your loosened grip to turn around and embrace you fully, one hand cupping the back of your head whilst the other looped around your waist over top of Wandas. You sighed contently, laying your chin against Natasha’s shoulder while your hand slipped down to grasp firmly onto Wanda’s. 

Only when curious fingers brushed against your wrist did you remember the bracelets adorning your arm, and passionately you wiggled away from them to snag the lowest bracelet off, extending it to the Sokovian with an admittedly sheepish grin. “I made you this.” You offered simply as an explanation, awaiting Wanda’s reaction as she took in the sight of the bracelet, the lone bead in the center the first letter of your name. 

Wanda’s mesmerizing green eyes wrinkled beneath the kitchen lighting, and tenderly she stroked her finger across the beads that framed your single letter. “I love it.” You smiled shyly beneath her tender stare, cheeks heating up as you shifted your attention to Natasha, pulling off the bracelet that just as simply as the first, bore a black inked ‘W’. “I thought we could wear each other's names. That way when you're off saving the world one Hydra base at a time, you still have a little part of me with you, and I have a little part of you.” 

Natasha couldn’t contain her endearment, and for a single second as you glanced at her tearful expression, you were worried that she hated it, that she thought it was stupid and childish, which it most definitely was. A spluttered apology was on the tip of your tongue, hot and loaded as it formed in seconds, but it was pointless, because once she had taken a few seconds to collect her reserve, she slid the bracelet onto her wrist, fitting it comfortably over the sleeves of her sleek black uniform that desperately needed a dry clean, and smiled at you. 

“Yelena and I used to make these in Ohio. They weren’t as pretty, and they didn’t really mean anything significant, but it was the one thing that we could do that made us feel like real kids; me more than her. I love it, detka.” Natasha mumbled insightfully, though you didn’t have a second to unpack her whispered admission, because she was pulling you into a kiss that tasted of vodka and pasta the second words stopped forming on her tongue. You didn’t whine about the taste of her tongue, or how her lips were painfully chapped against yours, simply melted into the touch and shuddered as Wanda came up behind you to kiss a soft trail down your neck. 

Two weeks later, they were called away on another mission, this time in Nigeria where a Hydra base had apparently popped up out of the blue, but this time, amongst their tactical uniforms and lethal weapons, were two bracelets crafted by you. When they returned six days later, those same bracelets remained, looking dingy beneath the ambient glow of sunset, but entirely perfect as well.

[superectojazzmage]

Watched the Nimona movie last night. Review I guess. It was pretty damn good. Definitely would’ve probably been regarded as Blue Sky’s magnum opus if they’d gotten to release it instead of being fucked over by Disney. Very cute, very funny, very powerful in the right moments. A thing that stuck out to me is that it’s really only an adaptation in the loosest sense of the word. It takes the core premise and beats of the comic but is functionally an entirely different kind of story that does its own thing. And given that ND Stevenson was heavily involved in production, I suspect that was intentional.

The comic was much darker and more downbeat in a lot of ways, plus it was significantly longer and thus could afford to be slower paced. But more than that, it was a lot more meaty in terms of themes and scope. The whole “LGBT allegory” element was there, but it wasn’t the sole focus, the comic was a story about a lot of different things; not just an LGBT experience, but also discussion of fantasy genre tropes and clichés, criticism of other fantasy deconstructions, character study, exploring what it means to be a hero or villain, critique of the glorification of crime and cruelty in underprivileged communities, corruption in governments, peer pressure, the senseless and self-perpetuating nature of violence, the worthlessness of revenge, etc.. And above all that, it was a story about trauma and people’s responses to it, with Ballister representing people who actually deal with their problems and move on while Nimona represented people who let their mistakes and suffering and grief consume their identity, or worse, use it as an excuse to indulge their worst qualities and take out their feelings on everyone around them.

The movie, by contrast, has a much more narrow focus. The LGBT allegory is front and center and basically the entire focal point of the movie, aside from a spattering of themes about the danger of zealotry and rigid fundamentalist thinking. This gives the movie a much tighter narrative and pacing that suits its inherently shorter runtime, but also leads to a ton of changes to the story either to convey a different kind of message or just work better in a different medium. Most obviously in how Nimona is vastly more sympathetic in the movie and essentially really is the silly gremlin the comic fakes you out into thinking she is, scrapping the comic’s twist that she was a genuinely bad person who was completely serious about wanting to be a villain, caring nothing for the lives she destroyed with her behavior and idolizing Ballister because she thought he was the same as her and would thus tell her what she wanted to hear (i.e., that she was justified in killing and destroying everything around her in the name of getting even). And in the changes to the Institution’s history and nature. And all sorts of other things.

All in all, I feel if you go in comparing and contrasting the movie and the comic, arguing which changes are for the better or worse, you’ll be setting yourself up for disappointment in either direction because they’re two different beasts and it’s like comparing apples and oranges. So keep that in mind if you’re a fan of the comic watching the movie or a fan of the movie wanting to look into the comic. I think ultimately I still like the comic better, but that’s purely my personal opinion and there’s plenty that I think the movie did better.

Some other observations:

Riz Ahmed my beloved, thank you Mr. Stevenson for this perfect casting. Literally perfect for Ballister.

Acting in general was very good. You can tell this was a passion project for a lot of people, not just Stevenson.

Only two changes that are objectively bad are Ambrosius losing his awesome Van Halen hairdo and changing Ballister’s last name — Blackheart is a way cooler name than Boldheart and it’s a pointless change, one that I’d argue even hurts the narrative since it makes it too obvious that Ballister isn’t actually a bad guy.

The animation is really great with fantastic expressions, stylish movement, and wonderful aesthetics that perfectly suit the story, but there’s times where it feels a little off. But there are parts where it looks less “movie” and more “cheap mid-2000s CGI-and-Flash cartoon show from France”.

The humor can be a hit and miss, in a “going through the motions of a Hollywood animated comedy for kids” way. The movie excels when it’s either imitating the comic’s Old Internet sense of humor or going hard on the drama, but there’s bits where it seemingly slams on the brakes to do Illumination-esque Twitter humor and those bits definitely throw off the vibe.

Having an actual straight up attempted suicide in the climax was shockingly ballsy. I genuinely can’t believe they went there, but I’m glad they did because the film wouldn’t have felt nearly as raw without it.

I don’t know how they managed to make the Director even more of an asshole than in the comics, but they did.

[wayfayrr]

This is based on @sketchyspook's Mask - the hero of terminal! he's a lil gremlin who in this decided to pull a sky and break out of his game. He just wants a sibling though so can you blame him?

“Hey we were thinking about going out tonight [name], you want to join us?”

“Nah, I’ll be honest I was planning to stay in tonight. Just want a rest you know, got some old games I’ve been planning to replay.” “Fair, if I hadn’t promised someone I’d join them I’d probably be doing the same. See you around sometime [name].”

After how hectic everything has been recently it’ll be nice to have a night in where I can just zone out and do next to nothing; really what better way is there to do that than by playing through Majora’s mask for the, what 50th time? It’s such a nostalgic game to me that it can’t be anything other than my go-to relaxing game. Besides that though, really it’s just fun to fish using the fierce deity mask. Something about an ancient war god going fishing like that? It’s a fun break from the rest of the game.

Something feels different this time though. I can’t quite pinpoint what but even the opening cutscene feels different. There’s more static than there should be, it just feels wrong. There’s also this feeling, I’m probably just being paranoid, but I swear someone’s watching me. Judging me even. Like they’re trying to evaluate me for something, I just can’t tell what. It’s nothing I’m sure. Just need to shake it off and carry on playing. 

Saving it after getting the deity mask feels like a good point to leave it off for the evening, how long have I even been playing? I could’ve sworn it wasn’t that long but - It’s past 2?? It’s never taken me this long to get to this point before, maybe it’s been glitching way more than I thought. I mean it felt like every few minutes I lost control over Link, oddly enough it was only when his model was facing the screen. My controller must just be acting up, I knew buying the cheapest one on eBay would’ve been a bad idea, of course, it’s gonna have some issues. Just turn off the game and go to bed, it’s that easy [name]. Your bed’s comfortable anyway, you’ll fall asleep in no time. 

What’s that sound? It’s barely enough to wake me up, am I hearing things? What’s gotten into you tonight [name], first being paranoid while playing, now hearing things? Am I coming down with something? Just try to go back to sleep and deal with this in the morning. 

Okay, I can’t just be feeling things now, did something fall on me during the night?

No, it feels far too much like a person, but then who is lying on me? And how did they get here? Opening my eyes to a blonde kid who looks suspiciously like Link doesn’t feel quite real, maybe I’m still asleep and something fell on me and affected my dream? Oh, what am I kidding myself? I’m awake. I’ll just try to gently wake him up to get some answers, if he doesn’t wake up then at least I can move him so I can get a look at just how he got here. 

“Bewegen Sie mich nicht, ich fühle mich hier wohl.”

So he didn’t like that then, my german is rusty but even then it’s clear enough what he meant by how he’s trying to get closer to me in his half-asleep state. He’s going to be staying right where he is for as long as he can get away with it. All I can hope for in the meantime is to try and find out he got in here without moving. There isn’t any broken glass or windows so he didn’t get in that way, it would be insane for a kid to break in just for hugs as well so that rules out that possibility. 

There is broken glass though… by my laptop… what?Of all the - my laptop is shattered. How did that - did he? My laptop is broken and there is a game character in my arms, that has to be related, doesn't it?  

There are tiny cuts and fresh burns on his arms, ones that look like they could be - did he?

That would explain how my laptop broke. There are more questions from that though. Such as how did a video game character get out of my laptop and into my arms?? And why? Answers aren’t going to show themselves and theres only one person who knows why he did this. 

“Kid? I know you don’t want to move, but can you tell me what’s going on? How you got here at least?” That seems to have woken him up a little, enough for him to look at me now even though he looks very bitter he’s had to move. Now that I’m getting a better look at his face though, he’s certainly link but he looks a little different to how he does in the game. White streaks in the front of his hair, paler eyes and far too many scars for someone his age. It’s like he’s picked up traits of the fierce deity mask, you know what if he’s here in my room real like this why couldn’t he look different from in game?

“Ich kann, ich tue es nicht - I don’t want to be in the game any more, so I got out.”

“Can I ask how you got out?”

Alright no answer for that besides a quick look at his hair, must be a sore point for him. I won’t press him on that until he feels more alright to talk about it.

“Is there any reason you wanted to well, be like this link?”

With a gesture to how he’s decided to lay on me, he has at least a little bit of shame as he looks away from me before mumbling something just loud enough that I could hear.

“After you playing through it for so long, you uh, you feel like an older sibling to me. So I’ll stay here with you [name]?”

It’s either he can stay with me or he’ll go out to the street, not that I have the heart to throw him out, after everything I know he’s been through. That I’m partly responsible for putting him through? If I didn’t play his game, he - he wouldn’t have had to go through that would he. It’s my fault. 

“[name]? You aren’t upset at me are you? I didn’t - I didn’t mean to make you cry, I can - Nun, ich denke, ich kann - if you don’t want me here I can go back.”

“No I don’t - of course I don’t think that. I’m sorry link, I made you keep reliving all of that. I never even knew that you were - oh god I’m so sorry link.”

He paused at that to think things over for a second, most likely about to say something although I can’t tell what from his body language. Is he crying now? Shaking slightly while leaning towards me like he wants a hug, I wouldn’t be surprised if he was crying after everythin-

“AUGH! WHAT WAS THAT FOR?”

“You wouldn’t stop crying because you were blaming yourself for ‘hurting’ me. Now we’re even so you can stop crying about it.”

As much as I hate it he is right, somewhat, one single bite doesn’t exactly make up for everything that I put him through but I’m not going to say that aloud incase he bites me again. Inspecting my arm there is a neat mark from his teeth, kid’s got a strong jaw I’ll give him that.

“Alright [name] I’ve seen a few things of your world when you were playing, but um would you mind showing me what it’s like? You’re my big sibling now so I think that’s just what you have to do.”

“Oh about that, why do you see me as a sibling?”

A shrug with yet another glance at his hair like it holds the answer. 

“I’m not the only one who sees you as my sibling, I know the deity has kinda unofficially adopted you as well.”

“Huh? The deity? Like the mask, the thing you use in game? Has adopted me?”

“Mhm, he’s the one who encouraged me to get out, it’s a little complicated but basically I wore the mask a bit too much.”

Just another thing I’ve done wrong then, or maybe not seeing as he seems to be fine with what is happening and the fact that it’s gotten him out of the game. 

“You gonna explain what you mean by that?”

“Nah not yet, gotta come to terms with it myself as well before any of that.”

[crowsandturtlesandbatsohmy]

It’s really funny to me to stop and think about my early experience watching Haikyu. Specifically in reference to Nishinoya’s introduction.

I don’t remember to what extent, if any, I’ve talked about my first impression of him before, but I think it’s a fun story.

When we were first introduced to Nishinoya, he was nothing like what I expected from Karasuno’s “Guardian Diety” and I didn’t really know what to make of him. The first good view we got of his face was a very “Oh yeah, I’m so cool” expression, and my immediate reaction was “oh. We’ve got a hot-shot (/derogatory)”. And his stance, with his legs wide apart and him being super hunched over, paired with a c:< expression came across as very gremlin-esque. And then we got the pose with the jacket slung over his shoulder. Again, all reading as “hot-shot”. It mellowed out the following episode, but I’d already begun to resign my self to the knowledge that I probably wasn’t going to like this guy.

And then he blew up at Hinata and I liked him even less. Hinata was my number 1 boy, and he was a sweetie and he was trying his best, and here comes this guy having a temper tantrum because Hinata’s excited to not be the shortest person around.

Even so, I couldn’t help but find him somewhat cute? When the rest of the team arrived and when he was interrogating Kageyama, his expressions were softer than the prior ones, and he was more of the lovable goofball I’ve come to adore now. Still, he’d just yelled at Hinata, so I wasn’t very fond of him.

Apparently he decided he hadn’t dug far enough yet, because that’s when he brought up the girls’ uniforms as one of his main reasons for attending Karasuno, and proceeded to charge at Kiyoko as soon as she arrived. (All of this earned him a “*Sigh* Great. You’re that character”)

With all of the above considered, I’d made my “final” judgment and stood firmly on the side of strongly disliking him. So much so, that initially his decision to walk out on the club had no effect on me other than an irritated “but we need him for our defense or there’s no way we’re going to win anything.” Sure. His loyalty to this “Asahi” was somewhat admirable. But I didn’t know Asahi either. It largely meant nothing to me other than that our boys were gonna be in a tough spot, and this little jerk was the one who put them there.

Isn’t it funny how things change? If you’d have told me then that the same “little jerk” I was watching with an immense dislike would be the character I would come adore the most out of the entire cast, I would’ve scoffed at you. Never would I have ever guessed that I’d make multiple posts focused on him, or have to make a conscious effort in my season wrap-ups to keep his section equal to everyone else’s. And yet here we are.

I went back and rewatched those first few scenes, having now been through all four seasons. And my change in perspective makes all the difference. I couldn’t stop smiling, and instead of irritation or resignation, I just felt incredibly fond. The expressions that annoyed me so much back then read less as “I’m so cool” and more as “I’M BACK!! >:3”. I could still see why I made all the judgements I did initially, but it didn’t bother me the same way now that I’d actually gotten to know his character.

Haikyu is such an amazing show. Multiple times it’s reminded me not to judge a book by its cover and to wait to get to know people instead of making snap judgements and writing them off. Nishinoya is definitely my favorite example of that

[determinedwriter]

My Little Hawk (Tony Stark x Daughter OC)

Title from Fourth of July by Sufjan Stevens

Content Warnings: sickness, seizure, vomiting, hospital stay, medical procedures

Tony raises Ro from birth AU

•

Tony

Ro has been under the weather lately. It started with just mild headaches, but they’re getting worse. She tells me she’s been getting chills. I checked her temperature and she has a fever, so I assume it’s just a cold, maybe the flu.

I put her down for bed not too long ago and now I’m working on a car and doing some tune ups when I hear little footsteps enter the garage.

“Do I hear a little gremlin?” I tease, coming out from under the car. “What are you doing up?”

She frowns, looking pale and clammy. “I don’ feel good, Daddy…”

“Oh baby, let’s get you more medicine.” I coo.

“I don’t like it. It’s icky.” She complains.

I card my fingers through her hair and kneel in front of her. “I know, mini. But you have to take it so you’ll feel better.”

“I don’t feel better yet…” Ro pouts. “When is it gonna work?”

I sigh. “Soon. Come on, let’s go back to bed. I have something else that might help you feel better too.”

I take out a project I’ve been working on, looking at the glow in the dark aromatherapy and voice commanded stuffed bear with Jarvis installed to help monitor her breathing and heartbeat while she sleeps to keep my mind at ease.

She smiles weakly when she sees it, hugging it to her chest. “Th…th…tank you, Daddy.”

Ro doesn’t quite have her th sounds down yet, still having a baby voice. I’m gonna hate when it goes away. She’s growing up too fast.

Rubbing her eyes, Ro sways on her feet. “Mmm…feel sick…”

I hate seeing her like this. It breaks the heart I didn’t think I had. “I know. I know, hon. It’ll be better soon. I promise.”

She suddenly vomits all over the bear and the front of her ninja turtle pajamas, immediately bursting into tears. “I’m s-sorry, Daddy!”

I put the bear aside and scoop her up in my arms. “Shhh, it’s okay. You’re okay. Don’t be sorry.”

“I ruined it…” She sniffles, pointing at the bear.

“I’ll fix it.” I reply. “Daddy fixes things, remember?”

Ro nods. “Uh huh…I ‘member…”

I kiss her head. “Let’s get you into a nice bubble bath, huh? And fresh pjs.”

She snuggles into me, probably staining my shirt with vomit, but I don’t care. Some things are more important than the grossness that comes with parenthood. Raising a six year old tends to cross into gross territory often. Especially when your six year old likes to make mud pies and play with worms.

And eat spaghetti with her hands. It took forever to get her to use a fork. It wasn’t even that she didn’t know how. It was that she didn’t want to.

I love that kid to death.

She barely has any energy in the bathtub, barely able to sit up straight while I gently scrub her body, trying to relax her by massaging her scalp with shampoo and conditioner, washing it out with warm water and brushing her hair softly.

Her eyes droop and close, fighting to stay awake. I quickly take her out of the bath and help her dry off, dressing her in a pink nightgown with little white polka dots on it.

I’m barely able to brush her teeth due to her fatigue, but I manage, carrying her to bed and taking her temperature.

It’s gotten higher. I thought the medicine would’ve helped by now. “Get some sleep, bambina.”

“Can you hum Nonna’s song?” She asks with a yawn.

I grin. “Yeah, of course I can.”

Anything for you, Ro.

She falls asleep while I hum the song my mother used to hum to me. I think it’s something she made up. I never heard any words, just the humming and vocalizing. It always put me right to sleep.

I’d honestly forgotten all about it up until Ro was born. Her birth reminded me of my own childhood and brought the song out of me as I held her for the very first time, tiny hand wrapped around my finger, head against my chest, content and quiet.

That’s when I knew she was my girl.

She wakes up in tears again, fever not going down. Her head hurts and she’s complaining of a stiff neck. Poor baby.

I’m not able to give her more medicine so I just put a cold cloth over her head and try to cool her down. She’s whimpering and shivering in my arms as I cuddle her in her little twin bed.

I drift off once she starts to sleep, waking up maybe a few hours later to see her shaking, back turned to me.

“Oh baby, it’s okay. It’s okay. We’ll visit the doctor tomorrow morning, alright? I’ve got you. Don’t you worry, Ro.” I coo.

I gently flip her towards me so I can see her face, a chill running down my spine when I realize her eyes are half closed, vomit on her lips as she convulses. She’s not shivering, she’s seizing.

“Oh God.” I gasp. “Okay…okay, it’s okay. Jarvis, is this what I think it is?”

“It appears that the young miss is having a seizure. I recommend you get her medical attention as soon as possible.” He replies.

My stomach lurches. “Do I move her?”

“Lay her on her side and wait for the seizure to end.” Jarvis instructs me.

Watching her continue to convulse is hell. She’s so tiny and pale and vulnerable. She shouldn’t be going through this. What is wrong with my kid?

Once the seizure ends, I hurriedly carry her to the car and drive right to the hospital where they take her in right away and start to do tests.

Ro comes to, blinking confusedly at her surroundings. “Daddy?”

“I’m right here, baby.” I reassure her. “You’re safe.”

“Where are we?” She asks.

“The hospital. But you’re okay. The doctors are gonna figure out how to help you, sweetheart.” I tell her.

Ro frowns. “I thought the medicine was gonna make it better. You promised…”

My heart sinks. “I know, bambina. I know…I’m so sorry. I thought it would. I’m sure the doctors will find out what’s wrong and give you brand new medicine. Then you’ll be good as new.”

She nods sadly. “Okay, Daddy…”

It both warms and breaks my heart that she trusts me so wholeheartedly. I will let her down. I already have. I hate to break that trust when she’s so purely good and innocent and young.

But I ruin relationships. I self-destruct and hurt the people around me. It’s inevitable. I don’t know why I thought it would be different with Ro. Why I thought keeping her was a good idea.

I love her more than anything in the world, but I’d give anything for her to be safe, even if that means I never see her again.

But in my heart, I know I’ll never leave her. Part of it is selfishness. I don’t ever want to live without her because of how much I love her. She’s my kid. My little girl.

But that love may destroy her.

The doctors tell me they have to do a spinal tap after they do some blood work, not satisfied with the results and needing more diagnostic tests.

They mention a brain MRI. God, how serious is this?

I hold Ro while they stick the large needle in her back, causing her to shriek and cry. “D-Daddy! Daddy, it hurts!”

Clinging to her and fighting back tears, I manage to speak without breaking apart, though my voice wavers. “I know. I know. I know it does, bambina. God, I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry. It’s all gonna be better soon. I got you. I’m not going anywhere. I love you tons, honey. I love you so much.”

Things eventually calm down once the spinal tap is finished, but they go ahead with the MRI, taking her into a room with the large machine.

The thing looks like it swallows her once she’s inside, the technicians telling her to stay still multiple times because she won’t stop squirming in fear at the sound of the machine whirring.

I speak into the mic when their instructions don’t seem to work, hoping my voice will calm her. “Baby, you have to stay still. I know it’s scary but I promise it’s okay. I won’t let anything bad happen to you. Daddy’s still here. It’s almost done. Just keep still and it’ll be over before you know it and I’ll give you a big hug.”

She does as I say, finally allowing the technicians to get a clear reading. Once she’s out of the machine, I go to give her a hug but am stopped by a doctor.

“Sir, I’m sorry but you need to keep your distance. We’ll give you gloves and a mask to wear but you have to be careful. We suspect it’s fungal meningitis and it is highly contagious and dangerous.” He explains.

Ro looks at me fearfully, making a face like she’s about to cry. “I don’t care. I don’t. I need to hug my kid. I need to hold my baby.”

“Sir-“

“No. No, I have to. I can’t let her do this alone.” I interrupt, hoisting my daughter up in my arms and carrying her back to the hospital room, laying her on the bed.

I do wear the mask and gloves, which seems to spook her a bit. “Daddy, you look like a scary doctor…”

“Why a scary one? I’m Dr. Stark. I’m a good doctor.” I reply.

“The mask covers your beard.” She explains. “It doesn’t look okay.”

“So you’re saying I should never shave it off?” I ask.

Ro shakes her head. “Nuh uh. That’s weird.”

I smile. “Okay then, baby. I’ll keep the beard. But u do have to keep the mask and gloves on too.”

“Why?” She questions. Such a curious kid. It’s a blessing and a curse.

“Because Daddy could get sick. We don’t want that.” I say. “We’ve gotta focus on getting you better.”

She nods. “Okay…”

“Love you tons.” I tell her.

“Love you tons.” She replies wearily.

Ro falls asleep for a bit while we wait for results, waking up a bit scared. “Daddy, where are we?”

“The hospital, baby.”

“W-Why?” She cries.

“You’re sick. But you’re gonna get better. I promise.” I reply.

“Why do you look scary? I-I don’t like it…I don’t like it…” Ro whines.

Why has she forgotten about the mask? Why can’t she remember where she is and why she’s here? It scares the hell out of me.

The doctor soon comes back and confirms that it’s fungal meningitis, explaining that they will give her an antifungal medication through an IV and that she should recover.

Thank God.

I’m still not at ease, but it’s a little weight off of my shoulders. I’m never at ease. Not after having a kid. I wasn’t expecting that when I first became her dad. The constant worry.

But my brain seems to hate me and decides to come up with ways that she could die or get seriously hurt. Wild scenarios that leave her in the worst of situations.

That feeling was particularly strong when she was an infant. I worried she’d get SIDS. That she’d smother herself or suddenly stop breathing.

Once she was crawling, I worried about her sticking her tiny fingers into electrical sockets or choking on some small pieces of something I forgot to put away.

And when she started to walk, I was scared that she’d bang her head on sharp corners or fall down. That she’d get tall enough to open cabinets full of hazardous materials.

Other than a few bruises and the occasional fall, I’ve done pretty alright so far. So this whole fungal infection thing has me feeling anxious and guilty.

How did she get something like this? Is it something I did? Something I could have prevented?

The doctors say it’s rare, so I’m left wondering how my six year old kid managed to get it.

After a few days on the medication and staying in the hospital, Ro is showing serious improvement and is allowed to go home, the infection running its course.

I don’t end up getting it even with my close proximity to Ro, refusing to leave her side. I’m pretty lucky. I wish it happened to me and not her though.

Once she’s all better and fully rested, I give her her now clean stuffed bear and allow her to eat ice cream for breakfast while we have a Barbie movie marathon. I didn’t want to give her these things while she was sick for fear of making her feel worse. Plus, I haven’t had time to fix the bear.

And by fix, I mean clean the vomit out of its fur.

Those Barbie movies are cheesy and annoying, but she absolutely loves them. I can’t really complain when I see the look of excitement and wonder in her eyes as she watches the screen.

Hugging the bear to her chest, Ro falls asleep on the couch as the credits roll on the fourth movie of the day.

I drape a blanket over her and kiss her head. “Goodnight, sweet pea.”

Despite all of my faults and fears of destroying her, I know I could never leave her side.

Plus, we’re gonna be okay. Me and Ro against the world. Nothing will stop me from being her dad. From raising her and watching her grow into the woman she’ll become one day.

I feel it in my bones.

Just don’t grow up too fast, baby girl.

END

Thank you for reading! Please let me know if you’d like more like this!

[spaced-out-tiger]

GrabPack People AU ideas/stuff since @smallturtlebomb wanted em xD

So the starting thought for these five was: ‘what if the GrabPack hands were human/humanized?’ Which I then ran with as you could see-

The main thing for them (rn) is that they were meant to help the workers who used the GrabPacks at the factory learn what they did and how they worked!

Red and Blue were mainly on the top level, green on the same level as the Game Station, and Purple and Orange on the same level as the Playcare (I based this on when/where you get each hand during the chapter/area)

(They also did physical labor and stuff since they were good for that)

All of them have the basic GrabPack abilities, but Green, Purple, and Orange have the same abilities as their game counterparts (Red and Blue just have better versions of the basic GP abilities :D)

Blue and Red are close because they were normally kept together

Green was normally on her own (apart from the other experiments) since she was the lone GrabPack member near the Game Station and is pretty used to that

And Orange and Purple are also pretty close since they were also kept together

(Every once in a while tho they would be brought back together)

They didn’t take part in the Hour of Joy, instead opting to find places to stay safe and hide, and they’ve pretty much just been doing that ever since

As for what they’re like themselves:

Blue: Blue is the calm and collected leader (most of the time at least), he’s the one that makes sure everyone is alright and taken care of, along with being the voice of reason and one to go to in a time of need. (The kid they used for Blue would’ve gotten along with Matthew let’s be honest-)

Red: Red is the chaotic gremlin who’s ready to jump into any situation xD. They’re a hot head but one who will defend the others with their life (I’d like to think that the kid they used for Red would’ve gotten along with Kevin lmao), but they can also be calmer when needed and are good to go to when you need someone to pick ya up

Green: Green is the stoic and logical one of the group, always thinking of plans to get out of problems the group might stumble upon. But she can also be very sassy and sarcastic (she and Purple butted head at first-) along with also being caring, mainly with Orange. Green is probably the most agressive when they can’t find a way out logically, being the one with the electrical system they can just shock their opponent(s)-

Orange: Orange is the youngest of the group (and therefore the one the others protect the most /hj) but can handle herself just fine! She often accidentally shoots flares at things she doesn’t mean to but she’s trying! Green often helps her out with that kind of thing. She’s often the closest to Purple physically, and likes to hang around them.

Purple: Purple is the confident and cocky one of the group, often coming off as aloof and rude. Green and them did not get along well at first (since they reminded her of some of the scientists and workers, while they thought that she was too apathetic to care about anyone (which was not true)). But once you get to know them, you can see the kinder person underneath. They have a soft spot for Orange, often showing that side much more around her.

I’m still not sure what to do with their story just yet, like if they’re their own thing or if they help the Player or smthin, but I like em a lot and they’re gonna be sitting in the corner of mah brain :]

(…I just realized how much I wrote sooo uhh, have fun with all that XD)

[atmilliways]

Wrong On The Money (27)

part 27 of ?? | 810 words | Teen+

Blackmail fic on Ao3 | on tumblr

Summary:

Steve knows his hands are shaking, and he wants to stop them but he can’t. He’s also breathing too fast and his face feels like it’s crumpling, but he can’t fix that either.

27.

Steve knows his hands are shaking, and he wants to stop them but he can’t. He’s also breathing too fast and his face feels like it’s crumpling, but he can’t fix that either.

And he knew it, he knew that Eddie hates him. Why else would the guy think it was all to . . . to show off or something? It was stupid, even after all they’d been through, to think that might’ve changed. To think that “Big Boy” was anything more than temporary insanity, like his own overcompensating with Nancy and that six little nuggets speech.

The thing is, Steve had thought. He couldn’t help it. There’s this thing that happens when he throws himself between people and death—starting with Nancy, at the Byers’ house in ‘83, when he’d seen the bandage on her hand and pushed his way inside. It had extended to Jonathan as well when a monster dropped through the ceiling. Extended to Dustin when he got in his car the following year, and more of the other little gremlins as they came into his orbit. Steve started to care, and to his surprise they cared back.

So yeah, he’d assumed Eddie might too. That’s what this alternate dimension shit does, it makes you rely on the people in it with you, and with that comes . . . honestly, some of the best friends Steve has ever had. Friends he’s goddamn lucky to have.

But Eddie still hates him, the way Barb probably would’ve still hated him if she’d survived. It’s fine, he should have known to expect this, it should be fine. 

(It’s not. Steve does want Eddie to look at him, he realizes, and not in a hateful way at all.)

He clenches his fists, digging his blunt nails into the heel of his palms, but in the end it’s the words that reel him back in. Eddie is talking again, rambling to put even Robin to shame. 

Saying thank you for bridal carrying him out of hell. (As if a fireman's carry wouldn’t have been worse for Eddie’s injuries.)

Saying thank you for deciding to give him the money, and for using his being an asshole to trick him into taking it for Wayne’s sake. (An exaggeration. That made it sound clever, when Steve acted on impulse.)

Saying sorry for asking for interest, and that it was honestly all spent on Wayne’s medication, sworn on Dustin’s mother. (Judging people for how they spend money once they have it is something Steve used to do. He’s trying to not be like his dad anymore.)

Saying sorry for being a hypocrite, because he’s gay, and adding that Steve can spread that around if he wants because it’s not like Eddie’s reputation could get much worse. (Steve had kinda figured, but it’s nice to not have to assume.)

Saying sorry for being wrong. 

At first Steve takes it all as lies to get him to stop making a scene. What other motivation could Eddie Munson possibly have? But the guy keeps going, and going, and going, and gradually it starts to sink in. 

And Eddie keeps going like a runaway train. “Everything you did this past week is some of the most metal fucking shit I’ve ever seen in my life, man. Which I wouldn’t still have if you hadn’t dragged me in here and made them treat me. With what Dustin informed me was ‘the most badass temper tantrum ever,’ by the way.”

Steve almost chokes on a breath, managing in his surprise to get out a chuckle that only sounds half strangled. “Dustin said that?” he rasps. 

“Oh yeah. Kid worships you, dude. It was kind of annoying, until . . . all this.” Eddie waves his hands around like they’re birds trying to launch themselves clear of his body. If it’s an attempt to get Steve to laugh, it doesn’t work.

But it’s a near thing. 

Instead, Steve takes a deep breath and no longer feels an iron band constricting his chest anymore. He wiggles his fingers without any phantom pinprick sensations. The tension drains out of his limbs and he feels exhausted.

“Eddie?” he asks. 

“Y-yeah?”

When he looks over, Eddie stares back with those big anxious Bambi eyes full of trepidation, as though he actually cares about what Steve’s about to say. Is it guilt? Is it trauma bonding and the solidarity of the matching bat bites on their torsos? Does it matter? Either way, it’s still care.

“Truce?” Steve offers. 

There will be time for him to explain to Eddie about the panic and the nail bat he keeps in the trunk of his car, about Barb and wanting to be better. For now, he can bask in the smile that cracks across Eddie’s lips and the immediate “Yeah” he gets in return for the olive branch.

Maybe it will be fine. Maybe they can be friends.

[jaywaslost]

Did it matter?

------

This is a birthday gift for a dear friend of mine, the one and only @asukamood

I didn't expect to be posting it anywhere but after some convincing, here we are! While I do doubt this is gonna show up on anybody's feed or be read by many, I hope it's worth the time of whoever does. If there are any errors do forgive me please I haven't read this twice as I can't stand to view my own writing—

I've stalled long enough, enjoy!~

----

Sypnosis:

It was over now, he didn't need to think of anything that happened in the past. Things have always been this way, Hacker would even say he hated and still hates the man with his entire soul!

The images infront of him only fueled that, but why did it hurt so badly?

Why did he still care?

----

Hacker was losing his patience.

He’d been flipping through the channels on T.V for the last 2 hours, unable to find something interesting enough to settle on. His phone was dead and the charger nowhere to be found, but his laptop wasn’t much of an option either considering the fact Randy decided to “revoke his computer privileges” because his sleeping hours became even more oddly timed than before.

Why does it matter, anyway? He still got the recommended 8 hours, sometimes even more!

He scoffed remembering that conversation, but it was too late to really change anything. Could he steal it back? Probably, Randy never quite bothered to hide things from him or Bobby unless they could actually hurt them.

He kept losing his cigarette packs recently, which was quite odd considering he shouldn’t even know about them..

It’s fine, he was probably thinking too deeply into it.

The laptop was most likely just..out there in the open.

It would be so easy to grab.

..then again, h̶i̶s̶ d̶a̶d̶ Randy placed enough trust in him to leave it that way while he was out of the house. Hacker didn't want to lose that trust or even worse, disappoint the man.

He could make-do with the TV for now, that is if it stopped showing the most boring content ever.

Really, what was so interesting about a recent robbery and why was everyone talking about it?!

A robbery isn’t something new or even rare, quite the opposite. It didn’t make sense, if it was Nightmare’s doing the news would’ve already spread even faster than this so that idea was scrapped quickly.

Couldn’t be either of his “emotional support idiots” as he called them either, the outcome would’ve been similar if so.

Hacker buried his face in the cushions, considering going back to sleep at this point.

Bobby woke him up a few hours prior (he should’ve already been awake by then, as it was 3 in the afternoon but really, who would pass up a chance to sleep in? His boss did say he had the day off due to complications anyway so who cared, really.) telling him he and Randy were leaving, saying the older one asked if he wanted to come along or stay. He opted for the latter, too out of it to guarantee not embarrassing himself in front of h̶i̶s̶ b̶r̶o̶t̶h̶e̶r̶ Bobby and giving him valid blackmail. The little gremlin would absolutely love that and he didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of it, really.

They planned to get groceries and maybe pass by a few other places, he made sure to remind them to buy him a charger replacement. It was stupid, neither of them had an iphone so he was left with no choice but to let it be which was irritating. How was he supposed to entertain himself properly? It was so boring alone, he couldn’t even talk to Blue to pass the time. Hacker was sure he figured it out by now but didn’t drop by as to not give away their location.

Time was passing by so slowly, Hacker felt like he spent days on the couch waiting. He almost regretted not going along with the other two, maybe he would’ve gotten a kick out of that and not gotten so bored. Knowing them, Bobby was probably rambling on and on about a new piece of minecraft merch he wanted and Randy, being himself, was unable to say no when he asked to buy it.

Seriously, did that kid not know how to calm down? He was gonna be the reason they ended up broke soon if it went on that way.

I̶t̶ w̶a̶s̶..n̶i̶c̶e̶. T̶h̶e̶y̶ w̶e̶r̶e̶ h̶a̶p̶p̶y̶ t̶h̶i̶s̶ w̶a̶y̶. I̶t̶ w̶a̶s̶ c̶o̶m̶f̶o̶r̶t̶a̶b̶l̶e̶, t̶h̶e̶ m̶o̶s̶t̶ w̶e̶l̶c̶o̶m̶e̶ h̶e̶ h̶a̶d̶ e̶v̶e̶r̶ f̶e̶l̶t̶.

After nearly falling back asleep, Hacker finally mustered up the energy to stand up and move a little. Maybe that would make it a little less boring than just sitting there.

He didn’t have breakfast yet, so he headed to the kitchen. It was emptier by this time of the week after they got through everything, but at least there was still the ends of a bread loaf and some waffles in the freezer.

It took some time to decide but Hacker ended up just making a regular sandwich. Best not to end up throwing the bread out, not after their hard earned money was spent on it and it was perfectly fine anyway.

His focus was no longer on what was going on on the television, instead busy deciding if he wanted to go back to sleep after this until the other two returned or not.

Too busy thinking about what he was going to distract himself with, Hacker didn’t realize the knife in his hands ended up cutting his finger a little bit.

“Not again, I don’t even know if we have band aids this time..” he muttered, seeming more annoyed than anything. The cutting board had some of the blood on it now, he’s definitely getting questioned about that later on.

How much more entertaining could this day get?

Leaving his now abandoned breakfast on the counter he left to search for the box that should just about contain all of those.

They weren’t in the cabinets, nor were they in the bathroom or closet next to it.

There was a box in Bobby’s room but that was a last resort, he’ll get the silent treatment for a few days for using those over a small cut like this one but letting it be like this wasn’t much better.

It didn’t take much longer for Hacker to remember Randy kept some in a box under the TV.

All the way back in the living room.

And he went around the entire house for absolutely no reason.

None at all.

For a man who wanted to live so desperately he was starting to think death didn’t really sound all that bad.

With a sigh, he made his way back to check if there were any.

Sure enough, they were there.

A full box.

‘At least that wasn’t for nothing?’ he thought while opening it, finally covering the cut. Hacker knew he should’ve been more careful ,but the reminder was annoying regardless.

Whatever channel was on was still talking about the same topic, the words blurred together as he didn't care enough to focus on them.

That was until a certain name came up.

Hacker’s eyes snapped up to look at the screen as a cold sense of dread crept upon him.

There he was.

The same man he referred to as his ex constantly.

There was never an issue speaking about him vaguely, but for some reason seeing him after so long didn’t have the same effect.

A long time passed since they parted ways, Hacker would’ve forgotten the details if not for how they met in the first place.

It wasn’t…normal in any way but it could’ve been worse, a lot worse really.

He remembers looking around the room he woke up in, trying to figure out where he could be or see if there was anyone he knew.

Anyone who could help him figure out what happened, really. All he knew was that it was not where he remembered being a few moments prior.

After a comically long explanation, his eyes finally landed on someone who looked around the same age.

The man standing over him called the other, through the whispers of other people in that same room Hacker was able to figure out he was his son and that this man was the boss.

Apparently, his name was Colton.

Eyes still glued to what he was watching, Hacker listened attentively this time to what was being said.

Colton was handcuffed, saying some things he couldn’t decipher over the sound of the justice reigns employee speaking about the entire situation.

His eyes kept darting back to the blond instead of focusing on the words like he wanted to, but he caught enough to understand the gist of the situation.

After he returned back to his normal life, many questions about what happened came up. He was declared dead after a nasty crash, so how was he here and if it was faked then who would do that and why?

Hacker didn’t have the guts to answer at the time, he wasn’t sure he’d go into detail if asked now, either.

Apparently, one of Colton’s ‘minions’ was meant to go into a store and get something from the cashier, but they were seen and authorities were called after the citizen noticed how much more afraid she got as the conversation between them went on longer.

After the arrest, they couldn’t stay silent for long.

Everything about the gang finally came out, which led to the current situation at hand.

Hacker wasn’t sure how he felt about it. It was good, finally there was no need to think about the possibility of whatever website he was looking at being related to them, or being targeted as a possible threat and potentially even killed.

Part of him wasn’t so sure about that feeling, though. There was a slight panic at the back of his head, that same part of him didn’t want to see it happen.

He knew it would come so why did it feel strange?

Why did he feel like he..regret something?

There was nothing to regret in the first place.

W̶h̶y̶ w̶a̶s̶ h̶e̶ s̶t̶i̶l̶l̶ a̶t̶t̶a̶c̶h̶e̶d̶.

Feeling around for the remote to turn it off, he still couldn’t pull his eyes away from the screen.

From his face.

Hacker never saw him looking like this. Helpless, in a way.

Why did that make his heart hurt? There’s no reason for it.

It wasn’t like their time together was that good anyway, he knows it. Both of them knew it wasn’t healthy, but it was addicting. The thrill of something new and unexpected, the possibilities that came along with it and little feeling of control it gave.

T̶h̶e̶ a̶t̶t̶e̶n̶t̶i̶o̶n̶ h̶e̶ n̶e̶v̶e̶r̶ g̶o̶t̶ b̶e̶f̶o̶r̶e̶.

I̶t̶ w̶a̶s̶ a̶d̶d̶i̶c̶t̶i̶n̶g̶.

Whatever, what they could have been is in the past by now. He moved on and improved himself and his relationships.

..right?

He’d like to think so at least.

Whoever was speaking seemed to finish, as the camera focused on the cuffed man held in place by none other than Finch.

Hacker didn’t have any difficulty recognizing him really- Serious as ever, doing his job as usual without any unnecessary speech or pointless banter as he ordered around some others.

The man’s demeanor caught his attention very quickly but that was besides the current point.

Colton seemed to be thinking of something, and if Hacker knew anything about him is that whatever came out of his mouth next would either cause someone a crisis or get him into more trouble with the law.

He wasn’t stupid enough to go with the second guess, he knew better than that.

Somehow it was a mix of both, surprising and not at the same time.

Suddenly, he could no longer breathe.

Not a single sound came from him, he didn’t move a single inch.

Not even when the report ended, he and every other gang member was officially in custody of the police.

Why does he care?

..well, ‘care’ is a little much.

Hacker didn't know how he felt, if he had to be completely honest.

Despite being mostly happy about it at first he couldn’t help but consider how things would’ve been if that went differently.

If the past itself went differently.

From the moment he heard the name get mentioned, Hacker knew his fate was sealed.

Colton was to be executed for all the crimes he committed, nothing could get him out of the grave he dug for himself.

Not now.

It didn’t matter, that was fine.

Hacker wouldn’t be affected by it, if anything that’ll only further prove the fact he never actually killed anybody (what was the need to frame him, seriously wasn’t being ‘dead’ enough??).

He felt weird.

Whatever, it won’t last.

He’ll forget soon, he always does.

..The silence was getting irritating, but he didn’t really have any desire to move and put something else on, it would probably be something else that’s boring just like before either way so there wouldn’t be a point.

The food left on the counter now long forgotten, Hacker found himself thinking about some things. Past events that could have gone differently, how things would have gone.

What if he never got through the database that one day? What if he listened to the warnings and didn’t stick his nose where it didn’t belong?

He probably wouldn’t be in this situation now or before, they’d have had no interest in him.

Why was it so conflicting? It didn’t make sense anymore.

Not like it ever did, but this was new.

It didn’t take long for him to lose track of time, too engaged with considering the possibilities and chances that were missed.

Could there have been a time they were truly happy?

Why did Colton take interest in him? It’s not like he was boring or unattractive, quite the opposite really. But, with the way that man saw people it probably wasn’t very relevant compared to something else he saw. The question still remained as to what it was.

It wasn’t like he could get answers for that question, not now.

No use dwelling on it.

It had been a long time since that anyway.

Since the day they met, the fire had died by now.

He had no reason to crave it. The silence was messing with his head.

..He missed the late night conversations, the absurd topics that sometimes came up out of the blue. They were rarely ever peaceful or calm, but they were entertaining. A nice change. Colton was always the type not to waste time, discarding whatever seemed useless or bothered him even slightly the moment it did so, yet he kept Hacker around instead of ignoring him.

He didn’t need to, but he did.

T̶h̶e̶ t̶h̶o̶u̶g̶h̶t̶ o̶f̶ h̶a̶v̶i̶n̶g̶ t̶h̶a̶t̶ b̶a̶c̶k̶ w̶a̶s̶..p̶l̶e̶a̶s̶a̶n̶t̶ i̶n̶ a̶ w̶a̶y̶.

S̶o̶m̶e̶o̶n̶e̶ k̶e̶p̶t̶ h̶i̶m̶ a̶r̶o̶u̶n̶d̶. S̶u̶r̶e̶, i̶n̶s̶u̶l̶t̶s̶ a̶n̶d̶ a̶r̶g̶u̶m̶e̶n̶t̶s̶ w̶e̶r̶e̶ t̶h̶r̶o̶w̶n̶ a̶r̶o̶u̶n̶d̶-̶ q̶u̶i̶t̶e̶ f̶r̶e̶q̶u̶e̶n̶t̶l̶y̶ a̶t̶ t̶h̶a̶t̶, b̶u̶t̶ h̶e̶ w̶a̶s̶ n̶e̶v̶e̶r̶ i̶g̶n̶o̶r̶e̶d̶. A̶t̶ l̶e̶a̶s̶t̶ n̶o̶t̶ f̶o̶r̶ t̶o̶o̶ l̶o̶n̶g̶.I̶t̶ w̶o̶u̶l̶d̶ b̶e̶ a̶ h̶u̶g̶e̶ l̶i̶e̶ t̶o̶ s̶a̶y̶ h̶e̶ d̶i̶d̶n̶'t̶ e̶n̶j̶o̶y̶ g̶e̶t̶t̶i̶n̶g̶ "s̶p̶e̶c̶i̶a̶l̶ t̶r̶e̶a̶t̶m̶e̶n̶t̶" a̶t̶ t̶h̶e̶ t̶i̶m̶e̶, n̶o̶t̶ g̶e̶t̶t̶i̶n̶g̶ t̶h̶e̶ s̶a̶m̶e̶ a̶s̶ a̶n̶y̶ o̶t̶h̶e̶r̶ m̶e̶m̶b̶e̶r̶ i̶n̶ t̶h̶e̶ g̶a̶n̶g̶. S̶o̶m̶e̶t̶i̶m̶e̶s̶ t̶h̶o̶u̶g̶h̶ h̶e̶ c̶o̶u̶l̶d̶n̶'t̶ t̶e̶l̶l̶ i̶f̶ t̶h̶e̶ l̶o̶o̶k̶s̶ h̶e̶ w̶a̶s̶ g̶i̶v̶e̶n̶ w̶e̶r̶e̶ t̶h̶o̶s̶e̶ o̶f̶ e̶n̶v̶y̶ f̶o̶r̶ h̶i̶s̶ p̶o̶s̶i̶t̶i̶o̶n̶ , b̶e̶i̶n̶g̶ w̶i̶t̶h̶ t̶h̶e̶ l̶e̶a̶d̶e̶r̶'s̶ s̶o̶n̶ s̶o̶ i̶n̶t̶i̶m̶a̶t̶e̶l̶y̶ c̶a̶m̶e̶ w̶i̶t̶h̶ i̶t̶s̶ b̶e̶n̶e̶f̶i̶t̶s̶ o̶f̶ c̶o̶u̶r̶s̶e̶, o̶r̶ j̶u̶s̶t̶ p̶i̶t̶y̶....

While they were never official per say, they acted the part frequently enough for Hacker to consider it that way. He found it funny how at the time it seemed to be the other’s first go at something like that, it was no wonder he couldn’t know how to act properly to make Hacker know his place and yet keep whatever they had going on alive.

He thought it would be safe to assume most of his..negative? Traits were due to the influence of his father. The man was truly one of the worst he ever had the misfortune of coming across.

The idea of being stared down at by that man, tied down in what seemed to be the middle of nowhere made his skin crawl.

..Did he ever know about them?

He knows he never said anything, it was unlikely Colton did either but he couldn’t help wondering if that was possible.

He was just a mere tool anyway, all of them knew that.

The reason he was kept living was the fact he was useful at the time, that was it.

It was good enough for him.

The realization of that stung at first but he came to terms with it eventually.

At the time it wasn’t expected to come up in conversation, but it did regardless and undeniably made him question some things.

It was during the end of his first month there. Hacker was still getting used to the new routine, which was quite boring but he couldn’t do anything about it even if he tried to (it wasn’t like he wanted to piss someone off, he was even more of a twig back then than he is now so there was no chance it would’ve ended well, thinking about it.). Wake up, take a shower and get your breakfast avoiding as many people as you could to not aggravate anybody then go see what Colton was up to and potentially even get a task assigned to him. Those “tasks” weren’t any easy feat by any means, although it was all digital Hacker wouldn’t be allowed to get up and do anything unless absolutely necessary before he was done. He was always watched to make sure nothing was leaked either, it was quite uncomfortable for a while. Energy draining, to say the least. (He wasn’t even allowed to sleep in after as compensation. Just how unfair was that?!)

That day though, instead of being busy with something as he usually would be whether it was ordering (or moreso berating) someone around or actually doing some things himself, Colton was just..spinning around on a chair seemingly bored with not much to do. When the door creaked open his gaze immediately landed on Hacker’s curious face.

“Your hair looks absolutely terrible, did you even look at a mirror before coming here?” he scoffed, sitting up properly instead of whatever deranged position he was in just moments prior. (How did his back not snap actually he never thought about that..)

“You flatter me so early in the morning” Hacker rolled his eyes, a normal greeting in their words consisted of that and occasionally some other pointless remarks so it was a good sign.

“Why did you come here to bother me already”

“Can’t I just see my favourite person in this entire place?”

“Cut the bull, what do you want”

“You <3”

“Maybe I should get rid of you by now-”

“No-”

“-it’s not really like anyone would care, no one is looking for you or into your supposed death anyway”

Hacker wanted to respond, but he couldn’t.

A good sign, he said. Clearly.

“Oh?” The previously bored man now seemed interested, his expression perked up when he realized the other didn’t respond but actually only looked towards the ground instead.

“Did I hit a nerve there?” Despite the question usually being used in a joking matter when mentioned in a conversation with any normal people or friends, Hacker could clearly tell he was being mocked.

It wasn’t the first time someone said he wasn’t cared for.

Why does it matter now.

Why did he freeze.

Colton got up and walked towards him before grabbing his hand and stroking it gently. He never did that without reason.

“Poor little Theodore, I heard there wasn’t even a proper funeral held for you”

“..”

“I doubt many, if anyone, would have attended though so it doesn’t matter that much, don’t you agree?”

Nothing.

“To most you were probably just that annoying person they wanted to get off their backs huh? I bet some were even happy with the news.”

How long did he plan to continue?.

“Annoying, in their way. Did you ever have many friends, actually? I don’t see a reason for that to be the case but I can’t help the curiosity”

“Stop it.”

“When were you the one in the position to demand things of me?”

Right. He wasn’t.

“I understand them, really. The reason I’ve kept you around is because you’ve been useful, I have no reason to hide that. I'm sure you already knew, though?”

He hoped it was just some sort of insecurity acting up.

Apparently it wasn’t.

He leaned closer, now speaking right into his ear.

Hacker would have usually liked the sensation, he wasn’t one to complain about a man he found so pretty willingly being so close to him (quite the opposite unsurprisingly) but this time it was chilling.

“If only you kept yourself in your own business, then this wouldn’t even have come up at all. I’d not need to put up with you still, you wouldn’t need to be told all of this. Maybe you’d have come to the realization yourself after some time hm? The reason few were there before you were “dead”, how no one is looking for you right now despite some details about the death not adding up. Honestly I’m not sure how they even made the mistakes that they did but it doesn’t matter, I digress. Won’t you humor me with a response?” He continued, Hacker could practically feel his smile growing wider.

Of course he’d want to hear that.

“..I think I’ll be leaving”

“What a shame, so fast today”

Colton moved away slightly, but grabbed the other’s chin to bring him closer for a few moments before letting him go.

While Hacker would usually find that nice, he didn’t feel the same about it this time. He wanted to just go.

“You can leave, but don’t forget to come back in a few hours. You’d get lonely so I doubt it’ll happen, but a reminder doesn’t hurt”

“Right..”

It didn’t need to be said, Hacker’s mood was ruined after that. He left quieter than usual after that, clearly not happy about what just happened. N̶o̶t̶ l̶i̶k̶e̶ h̶e̶ h̶a̶d̶ t̶h̶e̶ g̶u̶t̶s̶ t̶o̶ s̶a̶y̶ a̶n̶y̶t̶h̶i̶n̶g̶ a̶b̶o̶u̶t̶ i̶t̶.

It wasn’t like he didn’t already know but that didn’t make it better, the others in highschool made sure to remind him plenty. He heard it so much before and never cared, what was different this time?

He ended up back in his own room if it can really be called that considering how it felt more like a cell of sorts than anything (did these people not know what paint was?? Grey isn't the only colour for walls, seriously it was BEYOND boring! It was even chipped, come on!), still without an answer.

Why was Colton so amused seeing him react that way? It couldn’t be that entertaining, it sucked to be told that kind of thing.

Saying anything back may have ended with him dead, so he just..didn’t respond at all. It fueled the other even more to continue which was the opposite of what he was hoping for. Though again, it wasn’t all that surprising seeing what he is, why did he expect anything else? That was stupid.

Though, people are different anyway. Maybe he was having a bad day, so he couldn’t help but take it out on somebody right? It made sense, Colton was never the type to wear his heart on his sleeve. He trusted Hacker enough to show him that, if anything, the man should be proud, really. S̶t̶o̶p̶ m̶a̶k̶i̶n̶g̶ u̶p̶ e̶x̶c̶u̶s̶e̶s̶ f̶o̶r̶ h̶i̶m̶.

He was unharmed anyway, it was fine. Knowing the other, Hacker doubted anybody else would have managed to end the conversation there. But, he did. He was allowed to leave without too much trouble. He wasn’t hurt, Colton didn’t lay a harmful hand on him at any point despite some occasional threats of it. His….humor? was unique to say the least, finding what would usually be disturbing to be amusing instead. Though, it wasn’t his place to comment too much about that.

Some insults here and there are normal especially for a gang setting so he didn’t pay much mind to those, if anything a lack would be strange.

Nothing was wrong, but he couldn’t help feeling hurt.

It was so annoying.

It was all fine.

..How quickly was his supposed death handled?

Did his parents even know? Did they ask? Miss him? Search for him in hopes it was all fake?

If they did, would they have known?

Was there a possibility they cared enough to try s̶a̶v̶i̶n̶g̶ looking for him in this situation he found himself in?

He wanted to humor that thought for a little longer, the thought he mattered to them enough for that.

I̶t̶ h̶u̶r̶t̶ t̶o̶ k̶n̶o̶w̶ t̶h̶a̶t̶ w̶o̶u̶l̶d̶ n̶e̶v̶e̶r̶ h̶a̶p̶p̶e̶n̶, b̶u̶t̶ i̶t̶ h̶u̶r̶t̶ e̶v̶e̶n̶ w̶o̶r̶s̶e̶ t̶o̶ t̶h̶i̶n̶k̶ t̶h̶i̶s̶ w̶a̶s̶ i̶t̶ f̶o̶r̶ h̶i̶m̶. K̶n̶o̶w̶i̶n̶g̶ t̶h̶e̶y̶ d̶i̶d̶n̶'t̶ e̶v̶e̶n̶ b̶a̶t̶ a̶n̶ e̶y̶e̶. I̶t̶ h̶a̶s̶ a̶l̶w̶a̶y̶s̶ b̶e̶e̶n̶ t̶h̶a̶t̶ w̶a̶y̶. A̶s̶ c̶h̶i̶l̶d̶r̶e̶n̶ o̶t̶h̶e̶r̶ p̶e̶o̶p̶l̶e̶ g̶o̶t̶ i̶n̶t̶o̶ t̶r̶o̶u̶b̶l̶e̶ w̶i̶t̶h̶ t̶h̶e̶i̶r̶ p̶a̶r̶e̶n̶t̶s̶ i̶f̶ t̶h̶e̶y̶ a̶c̶t̶e̶d̶ o̶u̶t̶ a̶t̶ h̶o̶m̶e̶ o̶r̶ s̶c̶h̶o̶o̶l̶, H��a̶c̶k̶e̶r̶ W̶I̶S̶H̶E̶D̶ t̶h̶e̶y̶ c̶a̶r̶e̶d̶ e̶n̶o̶u̶g̶h̶ t̶o̶ s̶c̶o̶l̶d̶ h̶i̶m̶ a̶t̶ a̶l̶l̶. M̶a̶y̶b̶e̶ h̶e̶ w̶o̶u̶l̶d̶n̶'t̶ b̶e̶ t̶h̶i̶s̶ d̶a̶m̶a̶g̶e̶d̶.

"F̶r̶e̶e̶d̶o̶m̶" w̶a̶s̶n̶'t̶ a̶s̶ n̶i̶c̶e̶ a̶s̶ p̶e̶o̶p̶l̶e̶ t̶h̶o̶u̶g̶h̶t̶ i̶t̶ w̶a̶s̶, h̶e̶ w̶a̶s̶n̶'t̶ "l̶u̶c̶k̶y̶" t̶o̶ b̶e̶ a̶l̶l̶o̶w̶e̶d̶ t̶o̶ l̶e̶a̶v̶e̶ a̶t̶ a̶n̶y̶ t̶i̶m̶e̶, h̶e̶ w̶a̶s̶n̶'t̶ a̶l̶l̶o̶w̶e̶d̶ t̶o̶, i̶t̶ w̶a̶s̶ j̶u̶s̶t̶ t̶h̶a̶t̶ n̶o̶b̶o̶d̶y̶ n̶o̶t̶i̶c̶e̶d̶.

S̶o̶m̶e̶t̶i̶m̶e̶s̶, i̶t̶ l̶o̶o̶k̶e̶d̶ l̶i̶k̶e̶ t̶h̶e̶y̶ e̶v̶e̶n̶ p̶r̶e̶f̶e̶r̶r̶e̶d̶ t̶h̶a̶t̶.

H̶i̶m̶ d̶i̶s̶a̶p̶p̶e̶a̶r̶i̶n̶g̶.

He left years ago, why is he thinking about this at all?

He didn’t like it.

W̶h̶a̶t̶ d̶i̶d̶ h̶e̶ e̶v̶e̶r̶ d̶o̶ f̶o̶r̶ t̶h̶e̶m̶ t̶o̶ n̶o̶t̶ s̶t̶a̶n̶d̶ h̶i̶m̶ a̶t̶ a̶l̶l̶ w̶h̶a̶t̶ d̶i̶d̶ h̶e̶ d̶o̶ f̶o̶r̶ t̶h̶e̶m̶ t̶o̶ n̶o̶t̶ c̶a̶r̶e̶ n̶o̶t̶ e̶v̶e̶n̶ o̶n̶e̶ b̶i̶t̶ w̶h̶y̶ d̶i̶d̶ e̶v̶e̶r̶y̶o̶n̶e̶ e̶l̶s̶e̶ g̶e̶t̶ t̶h̶a̶t̶ w̶h̶e̶r̶e̶ d̶i̶d̶ h̶e̶ g̶o̶ w̶r̶o̶n̶g̶ w̶h̶y̶w̶a̶s̶i̶t̶h̶i̶m̶w̶h̶y̶d̶i̶d̶n̶'t̶t̶h̶e̶y̶c̶A̶R̶E̶-̶

His head hurt.

A nap wouldn’t hurt would it?

If he was needed, he’d be woken up.

A few words wouldn’t hurt after, he probably didn’t rest well enough that night.

Yea, that's why he was unsettled.

T̶h̶e̶ r̶e̶a̶s̶o̶n̶ h̶e̶ t̶h̶o̶u̶g̶h̶t̶ t̶h̶a̶t̶ C̶o̶l̶t̶o̶n̶ w̶o̶u̶l̶d̶ h̶a̶v̶e̶ a̶ s̶e̶c̶o̶n̶d̶ t̶h̶o̶u̶g̶h̶t̶ w̶h̶e̶n̶ i̶t̶ c̶a̶m̶e̶ t̶o̶ h̶i̶s̶ f̶e̶e̶l̶i̶n̶g̶s̶.

It wasn’t like he’d be hurt over it anyway, T̶h̶e̶y̶ c̶o̶u̶l̶d̶n̶'t̶ b̶e̶ b̶o̶t̶h̶e̶r̶e̶d̶, h̶e̶ w̶a̶s̶ e̶a̶s̶y̶ e̶n̶o̶u̶g̶h̶ t̶o̶ s̶c̶a̶r̶e̶. Colton wouldn’t let it happen. ...h̶e̶ w̶o̶u̶l̶d̶n̶'t̶. R̶i̶g̶h̶t̶?̶.

Definitely, he had no doubt.

It’ll be okay once he wakes up, forgetting this even happened.

Who knows, maybe he could even get an apology!~

Or that was just wishful thinking, either way it was fine. I̶t̶ w̶a̶s̶ t̶h̶e̶ o̶n̶l̶y̶ t̶h̶i̶n̶g̶ d̶i̶s̶t̶r̶a̶c̶t̶i̶n̶g̶ h̶i̶m̶ f̶r̶o̶m̶ a̶l̶l̶ t̶h̶a̶t̶ c̶o̶u̶l̶d̶ h̶a̶p̶p̶e̶n̶, h̶e̶ c̶o̶u̶l̶d̶n̶'t̶ g̶u̶a̶r̶a̶n̶t̶e̶e̶ s̶t̶a̶y̶i̶n̶g̶ s̶a̶n̶e̶ i̶f̶ h̶e̶ s̶a̶t̶ d̶o̶w̶n̶ a̶n̶d̶ t̶r̶u̶l̶y̶ a̶c̶k̶n̶o̶w̶l̶e̶d̶g̶e̶d̶ t̶h̶i̶s̶ s̶i̶t̶u̶a̶t̶i̶o̶n̶. D̶i̶s̶a̶s̶s̶o̶c̶i̶a̶t̶i̶n̶g̶ w̶i̶t̶h̶ i̶t̶ e̶n̶t̶i̶r̶e̶l̶y̶ w̶a̶s̶ b̶e̶t̶t̶e̶r̶ f̶o̶r̶ t̶h̶e̶m̶ a̶l̶l̶.

I̶f̶ h̶e̶ d̶i̶e̶d̶ h̶e̶r̶e̶, t̶h̶e̶n̶ s̶o̶ b̶e̶ i̶t̶. A̶t̶ l̶e̶a̶s̶t̶ h̶e̶ d̶i̶d̶n̶'t̶ d̶o̶ s̶o̶ a̶l̶o̶n̶e̶, s̶o̶m̶e̶o̶n̶e̶ w̶a̶s̶ b̶y̶ h̶i̶s̶ s̶i̶d̶e̶.

..D̶o̶e̶s̶ i̶t̶ t̶r̶u̶l̶y̶ e̶v̶e̶n̶ c̶o̶u̶n̶t̶?̶

..Hacker was starting to consider requesting some sleeping pills, his mind was running wild again.

It was annoying and pointless.

It’ll be fine when he’s awake, everything will be normal again.

This won’t matter, it’ll never come up again.

---

Word count: 4.4k

[ninjagirlstar5]

Protag Teruya AU - Sora Design

Hi, Sora!

With Teruya as the Protag and Akane still alive and running around, Sora’s role and creation is very different compared to her canon counterpart. And because Mikado takes on the support role in the story, her reason for existence must also be different. So I thought, “Why not change Sora’s design? You know, for fun.” So I did.

Since AI!Mikado doesn’t exist in this AU as Mikado would have no reason to fuck around with the Alter Ego program (and Kokoro would probably keep him away from it so he didn’t catch onto her plans of reviving Utsuro through a killing game with said program), I ended up just...combining Sora and AI!Mikado together. She’s still the Sora we all know and love, she’s just more of a chaotic gremlin that likes to banter with her father, Mikado. And since their relationship in this AU is far better than the one in canon, for obvious reasons, I felt it was best to represent how close they really are by making Sora look a little like her creator. Her hair has a more wavy texture, her eyes are flatter and a paler shade of brown, and while her hair is blonde to represent AI!Mikado’s design, it still fades to gray like her creator’s hair. And as a nice little reference to Mikado’s mask, I gave Sora a punctuation mark underneath her eye, except it’s under her left eye and is an exclamation mark instead of a question mark. It helps make her design feel like her own while still having a clear connection to her creator. While her design is heavily based off of Mikado’s, Sora is still Sora with her low ponytail and scrunchie and her plaid collar, sleeves, and skirt.

Because Akane takes the role of the 16th student and Teruya is the Protag, Sora doesn’t get to participate in the Killing Game herself. But frankly, that’s probably for the best as there was a likely chance the Wheel of Fate would’ve sacrificed her at some point. But that doesn’t mean she doesn’t have a role in the plot! If anything, she’s been trying to get into the Neo World Program from the outside to help stop the killing game or just contact somebody to try and help them escape with a reset code. I won’t go into further detail for spoiler reasons, but just know that she becomes a lot more important in Chapter 6.

Btw, her name Sora is actually an acronym. S.O.R.A. stands for “S.upportive O.bservant R.ecovery A.ssistant.” :]

The Protag Teruya AU was inspired by @/anotherprofessional’s post! Beware of Void spoilers though!

[threerattsinatrenchcoat]

Shadows of the Lost

Full piece will be here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/48508831/chapters/122361202

SUMMARY: 

(big TOTK spoilers)

Hyrule's newest greatest evil is slayed... except he keeps coming back. Zelda wants to turn him into a fine upstanding citizen. Link wants to turn him into a pincushion. It's going to take all three to face a new threat to Hyrule and the surrounding lands: a mysterious darkness spreading over the sky.

"Darkness again," Zelda mused. "Do we think it's related? Of course it is, it's always—Link, stop throwing things at it."

Features: Link: an absolute gremlin. Zelda: just doing her best. Riju: Watch your tone. Ganondorf: Did not ask to be here. Sidon: Happy to be here. Josha: Snuck in here. Purah: Here to get Josha.

Smuts and relationships about Zelda/Link, Zelda/Riju, Zelda/Link/Ganondorf and technically Sidon/Link? The last one is just a tease. Sorry. There are a few cute couple moments, though!

CHAPTER 1:

The wyrm came apart on a subatomic level. His cells found each other as repulsive as he found the world, and as the blade slid into his head, he burst apart.

The golden child opened her eyes. Slightly maddened by the last 10,000 years, she poured light and time into him, just as it was poured into her.

He awoke.

A pitch black world greeted him. He bolted up. Something yanked him back by his hair. Trapped, trapped again in the crushing darkness, without even the glow of that cursed arm or his magic. Nausea wrapped around his chest like steel bands, forcing his breath into shallow, desperate gasps. Bile filled his throat.

He closed his eyes, and that tricked his brain long enough for him to take a full breath. The air felt cool, dry. Still, but like he was in a large space. His fingers found rocks, the soft flesh of a mushroom. Some more fumbling revealed that his hair was caught deep in the rock. Too weak to pull it out, he settled for tearing it one strand at a time.

Eventually, he slept.

He awoke. Before he remembered, he opened his eyes. Far, far above him, a pinprick of light steadily grew brighter. The sun, he assumed; this confirmed he was underground. He returned to his hair.

Night fell and bones awoke.

He screamed as they gutted him.

He awoke. Soft blue wisps surrounded him. 

"Get back!" he shouted. They moved closer. He kicked one and his foot went through it.

They didn't seem to mean him harm. By their welcome, beautiful light he resumed tearing at the thick tangles of his hair. He found some small comfort in talking to the wisps, complaining about his weakness and how far he'd fallen. How much the darkness unnerved him. Uncovering the holes in his memory. 

He was probably going mad. At least he wasn't alone.

Night came. So did the bones.

He died. He awoke.

He died again when the temperature plummeted, and again when a wandering monster found him, then from thirst, then when it rained and his hollow flooded.

Again and again he awoke.

The wisps stayed with him until the soldier arrived.

Link. A name that described him perfectly; not a sage, not a god, just something that held two other, more important things together.

With a single swipe of his putrid sword, Link cut his head off.

~*~

"You found him in the depths," Zelda breathed.

Link patted the bundle thrown over his horse.

"And no one saw you?"

Nope. No one ever saw him. He liked that. He could get things done when people left him alone.

"And he died, but he came back?"

Another reason he was glad no one noticed him. It would've been really embarrassing if he'd paraded around the demon's head only to have him come back to life.

"What do we do?"

Link drew a line across his throat.

"But he'll come back. We can't kill him every day!"

He pointed to Zelda's stone.

"Sealing him doesn't work, either…"

Maybe if they blew him up and dropped all the little pieces into the ocean. Maybe if they tied hundreds of Zonai rockets to him and launched him into space! Maybe—

"We could…" she mumbled. "No… but, well. What if it did? Could I… Sonia…"

Link didn't like that tone in her voice.

"I could. I could try," she decided. "We will try something new."

~*~

"Class," Zelda said. "I'd like to introduce you to a new student. This is Gan."

The children looked at the massive Gerudo man crammed in a seat designed for a Hylian child.

"Wowza," one said.

"Nee!" said another.

"Are you sure about this?" Purah asked. Symin frowned in agreement.

No, actually, Zelda was not sure about this. She didn't see another option, though, and she had to try. To try and fail was the same outcome as not trying.

Please, Hylia, don't let this be another failure.

Purah pursed her lips and tweaked the slate a little. Dark circles ringed her eyes. She and Robbie worked all night to make bands that could hold the demon king and a kill switch if he tried to run. They glowed faintly around his wrist, throat, waist and ankles.

"I need you to catch a yiga, next. Somehow they're fusing without a Zonai arm. I need to know how," Purah said.

"I can do it!" Josha piped up.

"No. You're still too little to go into the depths."

Zelda nodded. "I'll put my best people on it."

"You're going to put Link on it."

"...yes."

"I'm taller than Link," Josha said. She'd grown like a weed the last few months.

"I have three rules, Josha. Keep up with your studies. Do your chores. And no going into the depths until you're 16!"

"Today's lesson," Zelda said, desperate to not lose control of the classroom, "Is on the Great Calamity."

Ganondorf sulked the entire lesson. And the next one, and the third. The sulk stretched on for two weeks, then he rushed the board, shoving Zelda aside. Link had his hand on his sword in a heartbeat, but he stayed seated when Zelda held out a hand.

"This is ridiculous," Ganondorf said. "Your leadership wasted that much time gathering guardians? Technology that was centuries out of date? Foolish! Iditotic!"

The children exchanged looks. One nodded.

With the gravity of a man about to lead a militia, Ganondorf picked up the chalk and said, "This is what you should have done!"

They all listened with rapt attention as Ganondorf launched into a 6 hour lecture about everything Hyrule did wrong. He covered stockpiling and rations, siege tactics, logistics, morale and propaganda. By the end of it, Zelda had dozens of pages of notes, a sleeping bodyguard, and a certainty that Ganondorf should never be allowed to have an army.

"You understand what we struggled through with the Calamity. Are you sorry for your part in it?"

"What part?" he sneered.

"Your part in unleashing evil into this world."

"I defeated evil. This nation is a whore for the stars." He banged a fist on the chalkboard and yelled, "Hyrule deserved worse!"

One of the children yelped. Another started to whimper. With an ugly look to Ganondorf, Link ushered them outside.

~*~

They kept him in a cell in the well. Zelda arrived that evening with a stack of huge papers, several jars of inks, brushes and pens. 

"I want you to explain Hyrule's perceived slights."

Ganondorf snorted and said, "No."

"Why not?"

"They are as much perceived slights as you are an inspiring and effective leader. And you're as inspiring and effective as a wet feather."

Zelda looked at her shoes. He was right. The best thing she ever did for Hyrule was go away.

No, Zelda. Those are your father's thoughts. Don't think them.

"If I'm a wet feather of a leader, and the slights are me, then they weren't that bad?" she asked. "They are also the wet feather of wrongs?"

"No!" The bars shook when he slammed a palm against them. "Is the product of the Zonai takeover. Your people betrayed all of us."

"What takeover? Rauru and Sonia offered a benevolent allegiance of all our people"

"They annexed the Gerudo tribes to Hyrule, and Sonia did nothing to stop it."

"She was the nicest—"

"You're very naive if you think a nice person can't be complicit in cruel happenings."

Zelda choked. How dare he. 

She and Sonia never shared an apple, or anything like that. Zelda didn't love her in that way, but sometimes she wished she did, because it was easier to show how much someone mattered when you could give them everything physical. A lot easier than trying to show them how they'd changed your entire life.

How dare he say that about her.

 After his outburst in the schoolhouse, Purah had added a gag and blindfold to the ensemble. Anything to make him easier to subdue. Every evening Zelda had to come check on it, repair it and sync with it. She pressed a finger to that ring, horribly tempted to put him away.

"You have already decided what story to believe. I'm not speaking with you about this," Ganondorf said.

"No, wait," she said, taking a deep breath. Impa had taught her that anger was a tool, something to use. Anger wasn't a helpful tool now. She let it slide off like water. "Please, teach me. I want to be better."

"Your education is not my burden," he said, and no matter how much she argued, he didn't fold.

~*~

Mabe Village bustled with life. New buildings stood on the foundations of the old ones, built in the classic sprawling convertible style of a Mabe trader house, where homes doubled as stores and entire walls opened into overlapping public areas.

As a child, Zelda came here often. A toymaker felted horses using fur and hair from the local ranch. They were crude, stiff toys, different from the mechanical ones her father commissioned for her, but she wanted to play with toys of Hylian kids, not Hylian princesses.

When she locked herself in the castle, into that fever nightmare, Calamity Ganon found her old toys. One of its favorite things to do was reenact destroying Mabe Village. A single Guardian marching on the sleeping town, cutting a line of fire through their fields. Picking off those who fled with the unhurried slowness of the inevitable, then hunting down those who hid. The horses, screaming in their stalls as Malice pooled through the stable. The toymaker, arms out, trying to protect a group of people.

Guardians' shots went through people.

The three dismounted near the memorial. Link trotted off to grab a snack, returning right as Zelda finished tying the horses. 

"Look!" A passerby murmured to Link. "Zelda!"

Instantly the crowd broke out in whispers. Zelda, 100 years old and still fresh as a new bloom. Beautiful. Cryptic. Sage-Priestess. Witch-Queen. Her eyes saw through you. She trapped a demon in her own home. She abandoned Hyrule to the upheaval. Resurrected their champion. Enslaved him. Flowers grew where her tears fell. At night she howled and screamed. Fight for her naked or she'd steal your farm tools and haunt your well. 

She rebuilt this town. 

That point was the one that mattered the most to these people. They would accept their strange, aloof princess for a house and a tavern.

Another passerby let out a low whistle. "Lookit that horse!"

"Forget the horse, look at that man! No wonder the horse is so big!"

"He looks Gerudo."

"They both do. They look like they were made for each other."

Link had thought the same thing when he saw the horse. He named it Demon's Brother and lent it to Ganondorf only when Zelda promised he would get it back.

"Link. This way," Zelda called. If she didn't, he'd stand there all day, listening to the citizens before running off to solve their problems.

Everyone watched Link dash to catch up, then one said, "That's Link?"

~*~

A pedestal rose in the grotto of the memorial. A bowl perched on top, and underneath a plaque read:

We bloom for the fallen

We bloom for the lost

Cast us and remember

Calamity's cost

Sunlight beamed through hidden windows, hit the copper plated ceiling and diffused, lighting up hundreds of flowers. In the center of the bed, Zelda cast her handful of seeds, filling in the areas that were threadbare.

"This is what you do," Ganondorf said flatly. "You plant flowers."

What an awful person. She steeled herself with the same resolve she built facing her father's constant pressure and criticism and said, "You may also plant some."

"I'm not your gardener," he sneered. "I'd never allow so many weeds."

"These flowers represent people. None of these are weeds."

"They represent Hylians."

"No. This village was a trading hub. 15 Gerudo perished. They are represented by the poppies." She pointed to the little red blooms scattered around. Hopefully he at least cared about the people he led.

"You cannot kill a Gerudo," Ganondorf said.

Link pressed his lips together and rolled his eyes, nodding like, "Trust me, I've tried to kill this one particular one so many times."

"Nevertheless, we honor them," Zelda said. "They were also victims of the Great Calamity."

"Do not pretend to honor us. Poppies? Pathe—what is that thing doing here?"

A construct squatted in the corner, glowing softly.

"It maintains the windows," Zelda said. "It makes sure the plants have light."

"You really are a fool. A child playing with toys she cannot possibly understand. One of those—" he said a word she didn't know "—here?" He spat and turned on his heel, grinding some flowers into pulp. 

"Don't hurt them," Zelda ordered.

"I'm not yours to command." Without another word he strode to the limits that his bindings would allow.

~*~

"Perhaps he doesn't feel remorse because none of this feels like a bad thing to him," Zelda said. She asked Riju what the mystery word meant, and a few days later Riju came back with "someone who wears the knowledge of an ancestor as their own; graverobber."

The constructs were piloted by the dead, she knew that. Gerudo had an intimate relationship with death. Even Riju didn't allow constructs in her city. Thinking back, Ganondorf and his entourage had left in a hurry after Mineru revealed the constructs.

Link threw a laughing child in the river, watching to make sure he could swim out. Another kid jumped out of a tree. He caught her and threw her in the water, too. He didn't join in Zelda's pondering; he was more an action type of person.

"Perhaps we need him to love Hyrule, in order to understand how he's harmed it. Then he'll stop being so… him."

That got Link's attention.

He knew just how to do it: the way he had. Serving her. He could drag the demon around, slaying monsters and rebuilding towns. Exploring ruins, meeting travelers, seeing the beauty of it. This would be way better than sitting in a stuffy classroom. 

"The grand central mine went dark. That might be a good place to end up at," Zelda said. She knew Link never made it from point A to B without also swinging by points N, Z, F and 4.

Link didn't bother packing. If it wasn't in his pockets, he didn't need it.

"Bring the slate!" Zelda called. "I've been using magnesis to make him walk. Target the cuffs."

~*~

Link took the demon to the most beautiful place he knew, the home of the most charming man in existence: Zora's Domain.

"Link!" Yona greeted them. "I'm glad you're here. I discovered a new frog."

She placed it in his hand. It was curious, its skin pale green and clear as glass. Its organs glowed. If he ate it, would he turn clear?

Link shut his mouth. Like Zelda always said, eat your first frog only when you're around people who will take care of you and keep your secrets.

"Sidon has been so listless lately. I'll give you three of those if you cheer him up." Yona winked.

Link knew exactly what she was talking about. She and Sidon were wife and husband, but he was Sidon's closest friend, and that meant doing very close friend things. Very close friend things. Like getting him out of a low through any means possible.

"You're back!" Sidon declared with a smile. "And you brought an angry friend."

The demon scowled. Link magnetized the demon to a pole and fumbled in his pockets. He presented Sidon with a bundle of treasures, rocks and flowers and other interesting things. Including apples, of course. All red. Everything red reminded him of Sidon.

"Thank you!" Sidon beamed. "In your honor, we'll throw a fish feast tonight!"

Fish! Link grinned. He loved fish. He was going to go catch some fish right now.

He took the demon to the top of a waterfall, where they could see the sky islands. Some muck still clung to the rocks, so Link positioned the demon to the east. The view was nicer. He stripped down to his shorts and cannonballed into the water. Sidon was already down there, two fish clutched in one hand. Link yelled and kicked when Sidon shoved one down the back of his shorts.

Link resurfaced and spat water. He ducked back under and came up again to get his hair out of his face.

"I thought you had a tan, but you're just dirty," Sidon grinned.

Yeah, he was pretty dusty. He swam until he could stand, and ran his fingers over his arms, his chest. He turned his back to Sidon and shook his hips, making the fish tail waggle. After a few more dives, he waded back to shore, both hands full of fish.

The demon watched him leave the water, one corner of his mouth twisted in disgust. Link gave himself a look over, because for a look like that he had to have a leech on him, but there was nothing. Maybe the shorts? The shorts were a little clingy when wet, but the three of them were adults. With eyelids. Let the demon close his eyes if he was offended.

He showed each catch to the demon, who didn't seem impressed. Who didn't like fish?

No worries, there were always bugs. Frogs. Rocks? Gems!

When the demon scowled at a ruby, Link started to get worried. 

Sidon did his best, too. He offered the demon the finest snacks, had his musicians play their instruments, showed the demon art and regaled him with stories.

Proof that the man was horrible. No one in their right mind could hate Sidon.

~*~

"He's striking," Sidon said. "Tall, broad. Your type."

A lot of people were tall and broad compared to him But, yeah. Definitely Link's type, if he weren't so evil.

"He was watching you swim. Very closely."

Link mimicked the demon's scowl. They had to swim downstream to escape it. Soon he'd have to fetch the demon but…

Not quite yet.

"Yes, he's a sour puss! Do you think he keeps that face during the deed?"

Sidon always went there. He thought the deed was hilarious.

And he was right. Sidon made Link laugh more often than he made Link do the other thing, and he made Link do the other thing so much that they were forbidden from sharing apples upstream of Zora's Domain.

Link scooted closer to Sidon and leaned against him.

The sunset splashed across the sky, as brilliant as the flowering meadows below it. As brilliant as the red in Sidon's scales. Sidon rested a cheek against the top of his head. Slowly, Link relaxed, from his eyebrows to the back of his head, his jaw and shoulders, his weight heavier against Sidon. He kicked his feet, the light catching the faint, sparse hair on his legs and arms. A light sunburn dusted his chest, rosy pink and only a little painful.

"I've missed you. We've been too busy, after the Upheaval," Sidon said.

Link missed him, too. He traced where red met white on Sidon's leg, following the curve to his knees and back up the inside of his thigh.

"Is that what you want?" Sidon grinned.

Link straddled his lap and pointed at his mouth.

"Did Yuna put you up to this? What did she offer?"

Link pointed harder at his mouth.

"I'm glad you like her."

It never occurred to him not to. Sidon liked her, so obviously he would, too.

Sidon hooked a knuckle under Link's chin and tilted his face up. Their lips were nearly brushing.

"Dance with me tonight. Please," Sidon said. 

Such a romantic. So different from Zelda, who's idea of a date was frog hunting.

Sometimes Link liked that. Sometimes he wanted nothing more than to cuddle up to her after a long day in the rain, with the fire going, and slowly shed wet clothes until they ended up on the rug.

And sometimes he wanted dancing, seduction, and two shafts as long as his hand.

Link went onto his knees, pressing their lips together, cupping Sidon's jaw. Their chests were together, his hips pressed against the smooth, bare skin of Sidon's stomach. Sidon dragged his fingers over Link's back and down to his thighs, goosebumps chasing after them. His touch felt cool, refreshing, slippery with a light oil that dried clean and left skin soft and smooth. Link probably kept his youthful looks because Sidon kept him well moisturized. 

His fingers slipped down the back of Link's shorts, cupping his cheeks, grazing his crack. Link yanked him closer by the head fins. The prince groaned, shoving Link's hips into him with one hand, a finger slipping between his cheeks.

Link shivered as Sidon nibbled his shoulder. Zelda must've told him about that. 

"What do we have here?" Sidon grinned, working his shorts down. "So hard! What does it want?"

Splash fruit. Link plucked one from a bush. With a grin, Sidon bit it, ripping it in half and wrapping the wet, slick flesh around Link. His knees went weak. He bit a knuckle to keep quiet—the demon was right there!—and leaned back, eyes rolling up as Sidon pumped him. Wet, strong, Sidon's teeth shining in the dark, one finger pressing against his hole, a threat or a promise—

A bundle of limbs and robes came crashing down the hill and landed next to them. The demon. One of his feet was gone, the one that used to have the ankle cuff Link used to trap him.

"It's night!" the demon shouted. "The bones have—what are you doing?"

"Are you alright?" Sidon asked the demon. A tourniquet was wrapped around the ankle.

"It will grow back," said the demon, grinning a nasty grin. He crawled closer. "But you two… If you don't want me to tell Zelda what I've seen, I'll—"

"Tell her what? Oh, no, Link, did she want us to record this?" Sidon said.

Link shrugged. The only thing the demon said that made sense was that the skeletons were back. He tried to shove himself into his shorts so he could go fight, but he was too wet, slippery, and hard.

"Listen, swordsman. You will free me, or I will tell her that you're with this man!"

Confused, Link shook his head. Zelda knew about Sidon, just like he knew about Riju. And she knew about Mipha, and Terra, once, never again. Tray, that really cute stablehand whose name he could never remember. Link got around.

"Did she send you to do this?" the demon gasped. "This is how you maintain peace between your people. With a whore!"

"No?" Sidon said. "We will have entertainment at the party, though. The ones with purple on their fins are available for hire. Do not call them whores, please."

The demon spat. Link finally found the sheikah slate and pushed the button. The demon collapsed into unconsciousness. 

"What is his problem?" Sidon muttered.

No clue. Maybe he was like the Rito. Only one partner at a time.

The lifestyle seemed awful. Zelda liked to hole herself up in castles with ultimate evils or in the library with books. Link liked to take very long naps or to see how far he could run across Hyrule without stopping. Sometimes Zelda wanted conversations; sometimes he wanted to be with an optimist. How could you force one person to be everything for you?

An arrow whizzed out of the night and hit the ground. Link sighed and picked up his sword.

~*~

"I took your arm," the demon said suddenly.

The demon didn't remember a lot, but sometimes he had moments. He'd say something like, "the entire town fell in minutes," or "500 died, backed up against the cliffs," and Link would know, deep in his core, that the evil was still in there.

They'd left Zora's Domain five days ago and slowly trekked back to Hyrule. Link hadn't been kind to him on the trip. He tried, at first, but the demon continued to be rude and demanding. 

Frankly, the demon didn't deserve kindness. He'd killed thousands of people and impersonated Zelda. If anything, he should be punished. That meant no delicious kebabs; he got dubious meals. Sleeping outside, cuffed to a stake. Cold baths and the barest protection from the elements. Link liked to stasis him and tap his hand so it would fly up and hit him in the face.

Sometimes Link missed his old arm. He could do so much if he could fuse.

"Do you always obey her? Without question?"

The demon was trying to drive a wedge between him and Zelda. A coma, a prison, time and being a literal dragon hadn't torn them apart; what chance did a powerless demon have?

Maybe more of a chance if Link didn't like being told what to do, but he did. Nothing wrong with it. His entire day was spent running, fighting, cooking, and people wanted him to make decisions on top of that? He made hundreds of decisions when he was trying not to die. Zelda taking some of the burden of keeping Hyrule safe was a dream come true.

He didn't do everything she said, either. She'd asked him to refer to the demon as "Gan", but the demon didn't deserve a name. So there. One thing Zelda wanted that he didn't do.

"You go where she wants, kill who she wants, lie with who she wants."

Did he kill? Could monsters die? They came back every blood moon, like the demon.

Could he die? Had he died and woken up? He watched the demon when it happened. Every piece of him, from a tooth to a single drop of blood, would glow gold, then skitter towards the largest piece on a path faintly traced out in magic. In the case of the demon's head, it unhooked from Link's belt and bounced backwards through the air, mocking Link's gait until it reached the body. The demon had kicked and jerked as nerves reknit, then started breathing.

Link didn't remember dying, but the demon didn't, either. He remembered suffering. Pain. 

So did Link.

They both healed fast. They were both tough. Unafraid to hurt. Signs of immortality..?

"What do you even want out of life?" the demon asked.

Link pulled his fish off the fire, raised it towards the demon, and dug in.

"Do you have no ambition?"

Nope. All he wanted was good food, good sleep and a spa treatment.

"I'm not going down there," the demon said. "You will not drag me down there."

Correct. Link finished his fish and shoved the demon into the chasm.

~*~

The depths were rather nice, now that the gloom was gone. Deep, cool and quiet. Link led the way, pausing to fill his pockets with muddle buds and bomb flowers. The demon followed, staying in the halo of his brightbloom without Link having to make him.

The grand central mine was, as Zelda said, dark, even for the depths; an unnatural shadow covered it, thick and heavy like smoke. Only the closest lamps were visible, their light reduced to a dim, dusty motes.

Miner's Armor it was. He yanked off his boots and pants, not bothering to turn away from the demon. He had eyelids. Let him use them.

"I will not go in there," the demon sneered.

He would.

"I don't have any magic. I don't have a weapon. You've cursed me into helplessness. I don't even have light!"

Link didn't need the helmet. He threw it to the demon and got back to suiting up.

Wrap here, hook there, clink, click, clack. This was the hardest part, where right before he got the final hook in, where sometimes the entire shirt liked to slide off—and there it went. The chain clattered to the ground.

Fashion was worth it, he reminded himself. He got the ensemble back into place, and jumped when the demon grabbed the chain, holding it still. His hands were as big as Link's shoulders, and Link had great shoulders.

He hooked the shirt on.

"What do you think it is?" the demon asked, gesturing to the shadow.

Didn't matter; he was going to stick a sword in it.

Read the rest here? https://archiveofourown.org/works/48508831/chapters/122361202

[starrcrossrose]

Okay for the risk of a long post, I’ll put all my answers under the cut but I wanna play!

Here are my answers to these 😗🐢✌🏻

1) First exposure to TMNT was I think the 2003 series?… wait NO it was the movies from the 90’s! But I don’t remember them super well so I’ll just say 03.

2) Watched 03 on weekends or sometimes after school as a kid when I’d visit my Nana’s house (she had cable tv, but my mom did not so tv time was sacred and special to us at Nana’s 😂)

3) I loved them, the theme song was awesome, and I was always always ALWAYS a Leo girlie

4) I was always a casual fan of TMNT and enjoyed almost every new bit of content when they hit big screens. However, Rise of the TMNT did me in. I have been a goner since late 2020, but DEFINITELY since 2022 when the movie released.

5) I’m most familiar with Rise by now, but have definitely done more digging now that I’m IN. Second to that would probably be the Bayverse movies and then 2003 (again, only bc I didn’t have cable or internet so most things I loved as a kid were watched in spurts and all of them incomplete lol)

6) I own SOME official TMNT merch. I have a couple of comics (IDW Collections volumes 1 and 2, the 40th anniversary comic, and the TMNT X MMPR volume 1 comic), as well as a couple of figures and some games. But most of what I own currently is fan made bc Rise got NO good merch. Not a single thing.

~Favorites~

7) Rise is my favorite, hands down. But there are things about the other iterations that I do love. It’s just that Rise has everything someone like me LOVES, so it’s perfect for my silly brain

8) Leo. Always Leo. And Donnie is always fighting for that top spot but I always end up caving into being a Leo girlie. Especially with Rise where Donnie WAS my favorite… until season 2 🤣 sorry lil dude

9) tbh Rise Leo is my favorite of the Leo’s ONLY because I loved the divergence from his typical outward character traits. It was fun to see who he COULD be if the weight of responsibility and leadership were not forced upon his shoulders at a young age. And, at his core, he is STILL such a Leo. He just buries a lot of those things under his cool guy persona. There is nothing I love more than a well written, multi-faceted character

10) Rise Leo 💙✌🏻

11) I have come around to loving lots of the Raph’s, actually. I really like Bayverse Raph, and I like 07 Raph, 03 Raph, and Rose Raph for very different reasons. Rise is special to me tho bc he has such eldest sibling energy and problems that I heavily relate to

12) Oh I ADORE Bayverse Donnie he’s just such a gentle, quietly unhinged dude. But RISE DONNIE. HE IS EVERYTHING IVE BEEN SAYING A DONATELLO COULD BE! Little mad scientist who can make anything out of everything and is so unhinged in his projects and his love for his family. But every Donnie is so good, so cherished. (Except for maybe 2012 Don… sorry buddy your writers failed you just a little)

13) Favorite Mikey is also Rise Mikey and now probably Tales Mikey. Because I think he deserves to be a little more of a gremlin. Channel that youngest energy (even if he’s the same age he just has that “youngest” privilege in a lot of ways I think). I loved how he got to be more blunt and feel an array of emotions instead of always being the party guy in the recent two iterations.

(This is where I add that I wish I knew the IDW boys better. I’ll get there someday)

14) Mmm I actually really liked 03 and 07 Splinter. Wise, tired dads with good character designs. And yes I also like Rise Splinter (again, complex and multi-faceted and you have to actually pay attention to get the payoff of his own character arc. It was refreshing to see the Sensei also experience growth even tho he’s an old man).

15) Favorite April is also absolutely 03 and Rise. Fierce ladies who will absolutely put themselves on the line for their turtle friends in very upfront ways. I did also enjoy 07 April but just didn’t get as much time with her as I would’ve liked. That movie had a lot of sequel or spin-off tv series potential but alas.

16) Casey… is harder for me to answer. But tbh I really like IDW Casey, and I also love Casey from Rise bc it was such a different take on the character. I don’t remember too much about 03 Casey as far as personality so eh. He was there but doesn’t stick out as strongly to me.

17) RISE SHREDDER IS PEAK, YOU CANNOT PRY THAT PLOT AND INCREDIBLE DESIGN FROM MY SILLY LITTLE GRIP

18) Mmmm… favorite Villain… I mean Shredder is the classic but I think I really like the Kraang in Rise bc they’re actually scary in the sense of the power they hold. But I also liked Superfly in Mutant Mayhem, he was interesting. I need to keep reading and watching other series to get to know the other villains better. XD Bishop is a good one too

19) Favorite ally… gosh this one is also hard to answer bc I don’t know many of them well enough yet to give an opinion. For now I will say Casey Jr from the Rise Movie

20) THEME SONGS. I will always love the 03 theme it was MADE for the era is was airing in 🤣 the Rise one also slaps. But tbh I think TMNT has stayed pretty consistent in having good soundtracks and theme songs throughout time ✌🏻

21) Favorite story arc isssss also hard to answer. Again I didn’t have cable to I never got to finish arcs and see them out from start to finish. And Rise was too short to have anything more than “Growing into being heroes and defeating Shredder” arc into “traumatize every single one of them down to their bones and almost kill Leo right in front of me and my salad” arc for the movie. 🪦 and in 03… I also never saw enough of it to fully finish arcs either. I’m sorry I’m a fake fan 🫡😂

22) My favorite pizza is Hawaiian and when I found out Rise Leo liked it too I actually yelled 🤣

Okay I will answer the rest later! 💙💙💙

In honor of TMNT's 40th Anniversary, here are 40 questions for people to send you about TMNT!

~~ Background ~~

1.) What was your first exposure to TMNT?

2.) What was your first exposure to [TMNT iteration]?

3.) What was your first impression of [TMNT iteration]?

4.) When did you become a fan of TMNT?

5.) Which iterations are you familiar with?

6.) Do you own any TMNT merchandise?

~~ Favorites ~~

7.) Which iteration is your favorite?

8.) Which turtle is usually your favorite?

9.) Who is your favorite version-specific turtle?

10.) Which version of Leonardo is your favorite?

11.) Which version of Raphael is your favorite?

12.) Which version of Donatello is your favorite?

13.) Which version of Michelangelo is your favorite?

14.) Which version of Splinter is your favorite?

15.) Which version of April is your favorite?

16.) Which version of Casey is your favorite?

17.) Which version of the Shredder is your favorite?

18.) Who is your favorite villain?

19.) Who is your favorite ally?

20.) Which theme song is your favorite?

21.) What is your favorite story arc?

22.) What is your favorite kind of pizza?

~~ Fandom ~~

23.) What is one of your favorite TMNT fics?

24.) What is one of your favorite TMNT fan comics?

25.) What is one of your favorite TMNT AUs?

26.) What is one of your favorite pieces of TMNT fan art?

27.) What is something you love to see in TMNT art/fics?

28.) What is one thing you would like to see explored more in TMNT art/fics?

29.) What is one headcanon that you have?

30.) What is one common headcanon that you reject?

31.) What is one piece of TMNT canon that you dislike/ignore?

~~ For Artists/Writers ~~

32.) What was the first thing you've made for TMNT?

33.) What is your favorite thing you've made for TMNT?

34.) Which character do you write/draw most often?

35.) Which character relationships are your favorite to write/draw?

36.) Which character do you have the hardest time writing/drawing?

37.) Do you write/draw for one specific iteration, or multiple?

38.) Do you generally stick close to canon, or diverge from it?

39.) Do you have any TMNT OCs?

40.) Do you give the turtles tails?

[calateralrobot]

Hey nerds.

So.

Um.

I ghosted. (Not literally. That would’ve been very on-brand though.)

First off—I’m sorry.

For the silence. The vanishing. The sudden stop in posts when I know at least three of you were very invested in whether or not my haunted vending machine bracelet would strangle me in my sleep (spoiler: it didn’t! but it did hum aggressively one night?? weird??)

I didn’t plan to disappear. It just… happened. Because life happened.

Because curses are real, and trauma’s a hell of a curse too, and sometimes your brain turns into static and even writing about haunted sewer gremlins feels too heavy.

WHAT HAPPENED?

Short version:

I got too close to something dangerous.

There was an incident—curse-related, obviously—and I got hurt. Not just “oops I tripped and fell into a haunted well” hurt. Like… hospital hurt.

And I guess the scariest part wasn’t the curse—it was realizing that no matter how much I study, or record, or joke about all this… I’m still just a guy. A cursed-energy-less, breakable, weird little guy with a camera and way too many questions.

So I pulled away.

From the blog. From everything.

I needed time to feel okay existing again. To not flinch every time I felt cursed air shift.

WHY I’M BACK:

Because I missed this. I missed you. I missed rambling about weird spiritual phenomena at 2 AM like a caffeinated cryptid with a keyboard.

And also—because the world of jujutsu isn’t going anywhere.

The curses are still out there. The energy’s still shifting. People are still dying and fighting and trying to make sense of a system that was never meant to be kind.

And I still want to understand it. Even if it scares me.

WHAT NOW?

Posts might be a little slower for a while. I’m still healing.

But I’m here.

Still watching. Still learning. Still yelling about cursed knives in public places like a nerdy disaster man.

Thank you if you stuck around. Thank you if you’re reading this now. You make this haunted little corner of the internet feel like a weird kind of home.

I’ll be back soon with another proper post. Probably something dumb and curse-related and way too enthusiastic.

The usual.

— L

(Still alive. Still nerdy. Still documenting the end of the world, one cursed blog post at a time.)

[violetsteve]

A companion piece to the makeout fic (though both can be read as stand alones). Also posted on AO3 here!

If someone would’ve told Robin three years ago that not only would Steve “the hair” Harrington be her very best friend, but she would also go on to fight evil Russians and demonic bats with him and live to tell the tale, she would’ve laughed in their face.

Actually, she probably would have given a very obnoxious, very nervous laugh, and then ran in the opposite direction because obviously that person was either insane or under the influence of something very bad.

Still, they would have been right. Steve is her very best friend. She would move mountains for him. She would walk into the fiery depths of the upside down to pull his sorry ass out. She wouldn’t even hesitate.

But goddamn is she tired of seeing his stupid fucking turned on face.

***

Robin admits that she enjoys DnD nights more than she thought she would—which is to say she thought she wouldn’t enjoy them at all.

The truth is, though, they’re fun. It’s the one time where they can all get together and just be. They don’t all play DnD, but all of them are typically clustered in the same room, strewn over couches and scattering about the floor, all just spending time in the same space without the pressure of the impending end of the world hanging over their heads.

Plus, it’s kinda fun to watch the nerds play DnD. Eddie gets so into it, and in turn so does the rest of the table. Robin has to admit that Eddie is good at this—dragon mastering or whatever.

She’s not entirely sure what he’s making the kids battle right now—thinks maybe it’s a goblin army—but Eddie is perched with his feet on his chair, crouching down and making slight growling noises as his goblins attack the kids. He’s got his fingers curled into claws and when he speaks he sounds ridiculous. It’s embarrassing, is what it is. His voice is somehow growly and squeaky, high pitched as he bares his teeth at the group clustered around the table.

Eddie looks so much like a gremlin in this moment that it makes Robin cackle. Eddie is being an absolute weirdo, and she turns to share in her delight with Steve, only—

Jesus fuck does she regret looking over at him. Steve is very obviously paying attention to Eddie’s actions right now, just like Robin had been, but there’s a very definite difference to the kind of attention Steve is paying.

Steve’s eyes are already hooded and slightly unfocused when Robin looks over, his bottom lip tucked between his teeth as his index and middle finger tap a staccato rhythm against his thigh and—

“Steve, gross,” Robin whispers harshly, her whole body recoiling.

Steve’s gaze cuts to hers, a slight look of confusion clouding his face.

“What?” He whispers back, but Robin can tell he’s only half in the conversation. He’s got his head turned towards her, but his gaze keeps drifting back towards Eddie—pulled almost as if by magnetic force.

Robin wants to throw herself off the nearest tall surface.

“Do not tell me you are turned on right now. If you tell me you are turned on by Eddie doing that—” Robin gestures to where Eddie is still crouching on his chair, his fingers now forming dancing hooks in the air in front of him as he speaks in that warbling, growly tone, “—I will gouge my eyes out with my own fingernails, I swear to God.”

Steve’s fingers still against his thigh, his posture going rigid. Slowly, so slowly, he brings his gaze to meet Robin’s head on. He seems to debate something with himself before he says—

“Do you want to go shopping for sunglasses before or after you’re blind?”

Robin shrieks.

Steve laughs the entire time the rest of the room tries to assure that Robin is not dying. To be fair, she’s not entirely convinced she’s not.

***

Robin and Steve are ¾ of the way through their shift at Family Video when Eddie strolls through the door, promptly making Steve forget he’s at his job—making him forget that despite what it might look like to the outside viewer, they do have things they have to get done before they can leave.

“Eddie!” Steve crows, and the smile on his face is so big that Robin forgets to be annoyed for a second. It’s just, God she’s so happy for them. They’re disgustingly cute, and she’ll never forget how supportive Steve was when she started dating his ex. He deserves just as much support in his relationstion.

Plus, she just likes seeing him happy. Though if anyone ever asks, she’ll never admit it. She’d dove into a creepy lake to pull his ass back through a hell dimension portal, but admit that she has a vested interest in his happiness? Gross, absolutely not.

Eddie makes his way to the counter where they’re processing returns, or, more accurately, where they were processing returns. Steve isn’t doing anything except staring at Eddie like he was the one who put all the stars in the sky.

She’s so going to make fun of him for it later.

“Hey, Stevie,” Eddie says, leaning forward to rest his elbows on the counter, effectively putting himself in Steve’s space.

It’s like Robin doesn’t even register. Has Robin mentioned how gross they are?

“I have something for you,” Eddie says, removing an arm from the counter to dig around in his pocket. After a moment, he makes a little victorious noise. He pulls his hand out, something grasped in his fist, and holds it out to Steve. Steve hovers his own hand under Eddie’s, palm up.

Robin watches as something small and shiny drops into Steve’s hand. It looks like gold, but Robin knows that’s ridiculous.

What she doesn’t know, however, is what it actually is. She reaches out to take it from Steve, saying, “What even is that?”

Only, her hand barely even stretches across the counter before Eddie is hissing at her. Full on teeth bared, hissing.

She lets out a startled yelp, yanking her hand back to her side as she looks up at him with wide, surprised eyes.

For a moment, everything is silent and still. Robin is just about to comment a very polite ‘what the fuck,’ when Steve blurts—

“Baby, no offense, but what the fuck?”

Eddie looks up at Steve with wide eyes of his own. “That was really weird, wasn’t it? Sorry, Robin.”

And the thing is, Robin can tell Eddie is genuinely asking. She can tell that in Eddie’s head, it isn’t even something he thinks could be weird, just something he does—instinctive. Robin, however, has literally never been hissed at like that by a human.

It’s so, so weird, and Robin turns to Steve, naively thinking that Steve is going to patiently explain it to Eddie—explain that Robin is curious by nature and they share everything and Eddie shouldn’t hiss at her. She gets one look at his face and realizes that that is very much not the case.

Steve has both lips tucked between his teeth, his mouth a firm line of consternation, and a flush in his cheeks. He’s very clearly dismayed, but Robin can’t figure out why. Is he embarrassed of Eddie? Robin immediately dismisses the thought. Steve is hard to embarrass in general, and she’s never seen him be embarrassed because of something weird Eddie has done, animal noises included. In fact, normally he’s—

“Steve,” Robin whines when she puts it together. Steve isn’t embarassed, he’s fucking horny from Eddie’s little display. Robin hates him so, so much.

“Sorry,” Steve croaks, and Christ he’s blushing. He’s refusing to meet her gaze and he’s blushing. There’s a flush making its way up Steve’s neck, slowly filling out his cheeks and Robin hates him.

“Oh, my god,” Robin mutters. “You are unbelievable.”

Robin can see Eddie’s gaze darting between the two of them in her peripheral vision, obviously trying to work out what’s happening—what silent conversation is passing between them.

Steve lets out a small squeak that might, in some languages, pass as a feeble ‘yeah,’ before he’s reaching across the counter and fisting a hand in the front of Eddie’s shirt. Eddie lets out a startled squawk as Steve starts tugging him along the outside of the counter—arm extended across it as he walks down one side and pulls Eddie down the other.

“Gonna take 15, Rob.” Steve doesn’t even look at her when he says it. He has a single minded focus on getting himself and Eddie to the break room as fast as possible.

Robin’s too busy plotting her own murder to remember that Steve already took his break. She didn’t even get to see what Eddie gave Steve. She hates everything.

***

Steve and Robin are in the middle of a conversation when the most baffling thing happens.

Well, it’s baffling to Robin. Steve doesn’t even seem phased. Or, well, he does, just in a vastly different way.

She’s in the middle of lecturing him about the proper way to flip pancakes, Steve rolling his eyes—it’s like she serves raw pancakes one time and suddenly she’s banned from the stove forever, nobody even got sick!!—as he continues to flip with a spatula.

Seriously, Robin is so sure if he just twisted his wrist in the right way it would do a sick flip in the air and land right back in the pan. What’s the point of him playing all those sports if he can’t display some basic hand eye coordination?

Anyway, her point is, she’s in the middle of lecturing Steve about the correct way to flip pancakes when Eddie walks into the kitchen, waltzes right up to Steve, and just bites him. Completely unprompted. Like his whole purpose of walking in the kitchen was to sink his teeth into Steve’s bicep.

Steve lets out a startled yelp, the spatula swinging dangerously close to Robin's face as he spins around.

Robin waits for the “what the fuck,” maybe even anger. She’d probably be mad if someone bit her. She waits, but it never comes.

Instead, she watches as Steve stares at Eddie, his face weirdly intense. Eddie states back, a wide eyed, falsely innocent look stealing over his features.

The air in the kitchen is so still for a second Robin is sure she could hear a pin drop from three rooms away, and then—

Steve reaches out, fists the hand not still gripping a spatula in the front of Eddie’s shirt, and tugs. He tugs hard enough that Eddie goes stumbling forward, catching himself on Steve’s chest and oh god his lips.

Robin is forced to witness Steve sticking his tongue in Eddie’s mouth. She has to watch with her own eyes as Steve slots his mouth over Eddie’s, apparently not wanting to waste any time before he shoves his tongue past Eddie’s lips.

Robin lets out a high pitched, disbelieving laugh. She cannot believe them. She feels like she’s going insane. Why does this keep happening to her?!

And the worst part? Robins isn't sure if she’s more upset about the burnt pancakes, or that this is the third time she’s seen Steve stick his tongue down Eddie’s throat in less than two days.

***

“I just think it’s fascinating.”

“Robin, please. Not this again.”

Robin gives Steve a mean look from her seat across the booth. Honestly, sometimes she cannot believe him.

“Steve. Steven. Listen to me. I have had to witness your horny face—” Steve’s face twists up at this, a displeased turn to his lips, “—more times in the last three weeks than I have the entire time I’ve known you. Do you realize how insane that makes me feel?” Robin throws her hands out, gesturing at the general air around them because she needs Steve to see her point. She needs him to pay attention right now.

“Do you realize how insane it makes me feel to hear you talking about my horny face?”

Robin reaches across the table and flicks Steve’s nose. Steve lets out an irritated noise, but his face otherwise remains relatively level.

Robin would like to know why he’s being so stoic on the topic. She feels totally certifiable.

“Steve, I’m being serious.” She’s whining again, she knows, but she thinks maybe if she whines enough Steve will give in. He’s always been a sucker for a particularly good pouty face. “I want to talk about it. If you’re going to keep forcing me to witness it, I deserve the answers I so crave.”

Steve rolls his eyes. “Nobody is forcing you to witness it, Robin.”

Robin snorts. “You literally are. Like, you’re doing it right in front of me with no warning. One second I am just standing there, minding my own business, and the next you’re giving Eddie your come hither eyes.”

Steve makes that face again—the one where his mouth twists up—and flicks a fry at her. She fumbles with it, but eventually manages to catch it and throws it in her mouth.

“Gross,” Steve says, but she can tell he’s trying to fight a smile. “Do not ever say—” Steve drops his voice a couple octaves, “—come hither to me again.”

“Okay, fine,” Robin gives easily. “But only if you give me details. Is it a honeymoon phase thing? Are you just constantly on the cusp of ripping Eddie’s clothes off all the time because it’s new and exciting?”

Steve bites his bottom lip, averting his eyes. He’s clearly embarrassed, which Robin thinks is so weird. Her and Steve have basically zero secrets. They’re worryingly codependent, and hardly ever get embarrassed around each other.

Sure, sometimes Steve annoys the shit out of her, but she also went to him for sex tips. Eddie makes jokes about them being the twins from The Shining and they both laugh because it’s not exactly false.

So, it’s a little startling to see Steve acting so timid, so demure, but she’s pretty sure she knows why. She has a theory.

“It’s a weird thing, isn’t it?” She asks before Steve can try and change the topic like he so clearly is gearing up to do. He doesn’t say anything in response, but that’s okay. Robin has always been able to talk enough for the both of them.

“It’s like…Eddie does something weird and you like it, right?” Steve’s cheeks are growing redder by the second, and Robin’s first instinct is to crow in victory—she’s absolutely nailed it—but she holds back. “I think I’ve figured that bit out, but what I can’t figure out is why that embarasses you, why you’re ashamed of being into Eddie’s quirks.”

Steve huffs. “That’s not it,” he says, running a hand through his hair, messing up the artful swoop he had it in that morning. “I’m not, like, embarrassed by being into Eddie or the weird things he does. I actually really like them, as you’ve been so obvious about pointing out. I just…” Steve trails off, looks away from Robin.

He’s thinking, clearly weighing something is his mind. The more he ponders it, the more Robin can see him working himself into something truly upset.

“I like them because it’s Eddie, I think. He’s always so unapologetically himself, and that makes me—” Steve cuts himself off, seems to cut that whole train of thought off as he plants his elbows on the table and buries his face in his hands.

Steve mumbles something into his hands, his shoulders a tense line of misery. Robin almost feels bad about forcing him to talk about this. Almost.

“Steve, babe, I have no idea what you just said.”

Steve lifts his head, his miserable eyes meeting Robins. “Do you remember about five weeks ago at Family video, how you accused me of being past crush territory? Verging on love?”

Robin nods. She does remember. She had been mostly joking, but she has a feeling that maybe she wasn’t entirely off the mark, even back then.

“Well, you weren’t exactly wrong. Rob, I am. I’m so in love with him I don’t know what to do with it. I think I fully accepted it that night I kissed him, and it’s been scaring me ever since.

“God, Robin. I’m terrified. I’m constantly on the verge of telling him I’m in love with him. Every time he does something that’s just so unapologetically Eddie I want to fucking scream ‘I’m so in love with you it makes me act stupid.’” Steve buries his face in his hands again after his little rant.

“So, just curious…what’s stopping you?”

Steve’s head shoots back up and he gives her an incredulous look. “Robin, we’ve been dating for three weeks. Don’t you think its a bit fucking soon?”

Robin contemplates this. It is fast, but honestly she’s seen the two of them together. It’s disgustingly domestic already. Plus, she doesn’t think Eddie is the type of person to reject Steve’s feelings even if he isn’t quite there himself yet.

Robin tells Steve as much.

“Robin, I need you to understand that I love Eddie when I say these next words, okay?” Steve waits until she nods before he continues. “Eddie is a runner.”

Robin goes to cut him off because yes, he was, but he’s not anymore—he’s gotten so much better about it—but Steve holds a hand up to halt her interruption.

“He is. He’s gotten better about it, absolutely, I won’t deny that.” Steve runs a hand through his hair, his expression contorting with a pain that Robin is sure is entirely emotional. “But his flight or fight response still tends to tick more towards the flight, and if I tell him I love him after three weeks, I—” Steve cuts off, runs a hand through his hair again.

Robin isn’t sure she’s ever seen him this distressed, not even at the end of the world. Steve’s always been eerily level headed in bad situations—at least in the time she’s known him—so this is a bit startling for Robin.

“Robin, he’s terrified of getting too attached and I’m desperate for love. It’s a deadly combination.” Steve closes his eyes for a moment, pausing. Robin doesn't interrupt—she can tell he’s building to something.

“Did you know he’s run away from home three times? Like,” Steve waves a hand around, “before all the upside down stuff.”

Robin shakes her head no. She’d had no clue.

“Twice, when he was still living with his dad. Once with Wayne. Do you know Wayne knows he likes boys? Knows he’s currently dating a boy?”

Robin shakes her head no again, but Steve is jumping topics so fast it’s making her head spin. It feels like he keeps opening loops and forgetting to close them. She has no idea how one question relates to another.

“Well, he does. Wayne just accepted that. Just accepted Eddie completely, without hesitation.” Steve rubs a hand over his mouth. Robin can tell he’s shaking his leg under the table in a very un-Steve like way—the whole table is shaking with it. “Robin. Wayne accepted Eddie completely. He-he loved every part of him, and he still ran away from him. He ran away because it doesn’t hurt as much when you’re the one leaving instead of being the one left behind and he’s been left behind so many times.”

And oh, okay. Robin gets it now. Steve is slowly closing the loops, allowing her to realize what’s happening in his head.

“Robin he makes me so fucking happy. He makes me feel like I have a-a shot at a good fucking life, no matter how plain it turns out to be. I’m terrified I’m going to push and push, a-and take and take and he’s going to realize that he’s in way over his head with me and that I’m too much and then it’s—” Steve cuts himself off again with a sound achingly similar to a dry sob. Robin regrets cornering him in a crowded diner.

She's not a particularly touchy feely person, never has been, but sometimes she knows that’s what Steve needs. She knows that she would take on the world for him, so a little physical affection has never been difficult for her when it comes to comforting him, and she wants nothing more than to wrap Steve up in her arms right now, provide any comfort she can because she knows that, ultimately, what Steve is saying is true.

Steve has never been blind to his own flaws. In fact, he’s always been acutely aware of them. She thinks that’s why it was so easy for him to grow, to learn once he distanced himself from the expectations of his father and his shitty highschool friends. He’s always known where his weak points are, and they both know he used them as daggers in highschool. Used them to twist himself up into something he wasn’t in order to hide them. He’s different now, wears his flaws as a badge of honor instead of a reason to cause harm, but they both know he’s still startlingly aware of them. They’re both aware they twist Steve up inside, cutting him like the barbed words he used to use.

Steve is desperate for love. It’s in the way that Steve blooms under compliments, it’s in the way he’s always trying. Over and over. Even when they all dog him for messing up, for saying something stupid, he still tries.

It was in the way he tried so hard to encourage Robin to pursue Vickie, even if that ended in heartbreak. It’s in the way he supports Robin dating his ex. It’s in the way he leans into every casual touch, in the way he seeks out constant company.

And it’s in the way he is with Eddie, now. Once she’s removed the layer of fond disgust, she can see what’s been there the whole time.

Steve loves Eddie. He loves him with a desperation that’s bordering on obsessive because that’s just the way Steve loves. Nobody ever taught him moderation—nobody took the time to tell Steve that loving someone with your entire heart and more is just a direct pipeline to getting your heart broken.

Robin knows that Steve has only loved one other person like this, and that the end of that relationship rocked his very foundation.

Steve confessed to her, once and only once, that losing Nancy had quietly devastated him. In hindsight, he realized that they both had unrealistic expectations for each other and he’d been clinging on to a fractured relationship way before they finally shook apart, but Robin will never forget the tone of Steve’s voice when he told her that Nancy Wheeler had broken his heart.

Robin’s long since talked to both Nancy and Steve about the subject—didn’t quite believe Steve when he’d said he was over her, back when Robin had been harboring her own shameful crush—and knows that Steve and Nancy had had their own discussion on the break up, that they’d made their own amends and knew the fault didn’t lie with just one party.

Still, Nancy’s voice was eerily similar to the quiet devastation of Steve’s when she admitted that Steve had told her he loved her so much he hated her. Robin would be lying if she said that didn’t break her heart.

Robin’s point is: she knows Steve is desperate for love, but she’s never seen him run from it. She knows he’s only ever been in love like this once before, knows it took him years to get over Nancy Wheeler, but it’s never stopped Steve from trying.

Robin can put a lot of the pieces together, but she just can’t figure out why Steve is hiding—why he’s holding himself back so much when he’s always loved so openly before—but maybe it’s the thought of Eddie running from that love that scares him. Sure, Nancy didn’t return the love, but she didn’t turn tail and run from the way Steve loves. She eased him out of it, and Robin can admit to herself that seeing someone actively run from the love you’re giving them is much different from them simply not returning it.

“It’s what, Steve?” She prods gently, focusing her thoughts back on the present, on Steve’s turmoil playing out in front of her.

“It’s like what do I do with myself at that point? I’m not—“ Steve bites his lips, squeezes his eyes shut for a second before blinking them back open, “I’m not good at a lot, Robbie, I know that. And one of those things is holding back. I-I don’t know how to make myself less. How to make sure Eddie doesn’t feel so suffocated by me that he runs.”

Steve’s eyes are suddenly desperate when he says, “how do I make myself less, Robin? How do I not scare Eddie off?”

Robin‘s heart breaks all over again. She reaches across the table, taking one of Steve’s clenched hands into both of her own. How does she make Steve see that Eddie won’t do that. She doesn’t know how she knows, but she just does.

“Steve, that’s not—look, you don’t have to change yourself for Eddie. I’ve seen the way that boy looks at you. I’ve seen the way both of you light up when the other walks in the room. Quite frankly, it’s gross.” Robin squeezes Steve’s hand, making sure he’s looking at her when she says this next part.

“Steve Harrington, I have been forced to witness your reactions to the weird, weird things Eddie does and the way Eddie just blooms under that attention. I have watched that boy turn into a gooey mess when you show him the slightest bit of attention.

“Steve, talk to him. I can almost guarantee it’ll turn out better than you think.”

Steve’s eyes drop to their clasped hands, his shoulders still tight and impending heartbreak still clearly on his mind.

“Yeah, okay,” Steve murmurs, “I’ll think about it.”

***

It takes five days for Robin to realize that Steve took her advice and talked to Eddie. Five days spent in ignorant bliss.

Five days where she didn’t have the sight of Eddie and Steve having some very nerdy private time seared into her retinas.

Jesus Christ, was Steve wearing armor? What the fuck was that voice Eddie was using?!?

Robin hears Eddie’s dreamy ‘god I love you so much’ and Steve’s very enthusiastic response as she high tails it out of the house.

On her way down the porch, she wonders if there's such a thing as bleach for your senses. Eyes, ears, whatever. Anything to scrub her mind of what she just witnessed. Almost considers seeing if that Russian scientist is still wandering around with some kind of memory wipe serum.

She would buy the whole lot of it.

[hismercytomyjustice]

I’ve decided I’m not allowed to write one shots anymore because I clearly have no self control.

My BG3 “one shot” turned into a fucking 100k word multichapter fic.

And now my HH series (which was supposed to be a oneshot) is probably going to hit 80k words with this next part.

There is absolutely no plan with my HH series. It is just straight up vibes. And I just keep leaving myself breadcrumbs for future parts in the event I wanna keep going with it. Which is why it’s a series. Because I have no idea when it will end… I just try to make each part stand-alone-y so I can end it whenever but it just keeps going.

…and now I already have three other potential parts marinating for it, which is the first time I’ve even thought about it beyond “maybe I’ll do another part after this one if people still like it” (because, again, pure vibes)… Spontaneity? In this economy?

There is still no overarching plot aside from smushing characters together to make them kiss… Just “ooh, it’d be fun to throw this at them too,” which is both liberating and terrifying! Just “I will find another situation to put them in as the spirit moves me.” ~( ˘▾˘~)

I am going to start slapping my own hands whenever I start reaching for my phone to throw down more words like the deranged gremlin I have become…

…and I’m pretty sure my kid!Alastor fic (that was supposed to only be ~30k words) that grew a bigger plot and walked off is now gonna be at least 80k words because I’m already at 66k words and I’m not done with the first draft and am anticipating at least two more chapters…

Don’t get me wrong, I am thrilled to be having this kind of “problem,” especially after I went so long without writing on the regular, but sweet wounded Jesus. I never in a million years would’ve believed I could write this much, let alone in the span of a year.

plus I promised BG3 spinoff oneshots (oh god, oh no)

someone save me from myseeeeelf

actually don’t because I don’t want to be saved but I’m still just over here wondering what the fuck is going on lol

…fuck I also forgot I have another radioapple maybe oneshot (it’s also threatening to spiral out of control) that I’ve been working on that’s at like 9k words that is separate from all of this…

ahhhhhhhh!!! ┬─┬ ︵ /(.□. \）

No, your part seven of your fanfic series is getting wildly out of control!

please send help it is over 13k and still going

i fear it may never end

avenge me

[ramblingoak]

Copia is Terrible at Telling Scary Stories: Terzo Edition

Papa III tries to tell Copia’s ghouls a scary story

(gen, sfw, this is just silly)

~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~

“And to this day the beautiful sister can never look at her reflection.  Even if it’s in a window…even if it’s in a puddle of water.  If she ever sees her own eyes looking back at her the demon will take possession of her body.  She will be forced to spend eternity trapped inside her own mind, feeling nothing but fear and pain,” Copia watched as Terzo rested his hands behind his back and let his audience absorb the ending.  

The stupid smug bastard.

“Yes my little ghoul, do you have a question?” Copia whipped his head around and glared as Dewdrop lowered his hand.  The little gremlin had sat perfectly still the entire time, never interrupting Papa once.  The ghoul didn’t even touch any of the s’mores that were being made while Papa spoke.  Terzo had brought two sisters out with him and they had quietly made them while he told his tale, passing them out to Copia’s ghouls with little smug smiles on their faces.

“Can she look at pictures of herself?”  Copia scoffed and rolled his eyes.  Of course she could look at pictures of herself!  A picture was not the same as a reflection.  He crossed his arms over his chest and began to shake his head but he stopped and turned when he heard a growling sound.  Aether’s head was turned his way and Copia could see the glow of his purple irises through the lenses.  Alright, fine.

“Thank you Dewdrop that’s actually an excellent question,” Even through his mask it was easy to see that Dew was preening under the praise.  Sunshine leaned over and knocked her shoulder against him.  A quick grin full of fangs flashing in the opening of her mask.  What in the fuck was happening?  Did Terzo drug his ghouls?

“You see, the poor sister can technically look at pictures of herself.  She can even have her picture taken!  But everytime she looks at them she only sees the demon staring back at her.  It only appears to her, but it’s there no matter how old it is.  It could be a picture of her as a baby or one someone just took of her today.”  Copia heard Swiss mutter about how horrible that was and honestly what the fuck?  He was about to grab one of the sticks the sisters used to roast marshmallows with and stab himself in the face.

“Alright, well I hope everyone had fun!  Tummies full of chocolate and marshmallows yeah?” Terzo stood up and gently cupped Cumulus’s chin.  When he let go she leaned into Cirrus and they giggled together.  Maybe Copia should just summon a whole batch of new ghouls.  Really mean ones. Terzo motioned to the sisters he brought with him and they started to gather up their supplies.

“Wait, don’t worry Papa, we’ll clean up!” Rain chirped from his place between Aether and Mountain.  Lucifer even Rain had been enthralled.  Like Papa was some sort of warlock.  Honestly that made sense.  What else would’ve made his ghouls sit there and listen to that story without interrupting?  No one even stole food or bit each other!  

“Thank you, sweet Rain.  You are always so helpful, actually all of you are.  I’m sure our Cardinal knows how lucky he is, eh?” Copia gritted his teeth at the sight of Mountain shaking his head ‘no’. All. New. Ghouls.  “Alright ladies, let’s go back to my room and uh, clean up a bit yeah?”  The sisters giggled as they each held onto an arm and made their way from the fire and back towards the abbey.  Dewdrop even waved at them as they passed.  

Copia watched as his soon to be unemployed ghouls began to pick up after Papa.  They were talking with each other excitedly.  Probably fawning over Papa and how good his story was.  How delicious the s’mores were.  His stupid handsome face.

He was brought out of his thoughts when he heard a throat clear.  Terzo and his companions had stopped right next to Copia and were whispering to each other.  The sisters smiled and let go of Terzo to keep walking towards the abbey.  Papa lightly slapped their asses as they left his side and their giggles echoed around the campfire.

Copia remained perfectly still as Terzo’s attention switched to him.  Copia looked at him warily, unsure of what was going through the man’s head.  Papa stepped up close to Copia and then leaned in next to his ear, “Well that wasn’t so hard now, was it?”  Papa stepped back and gave Copia a wink and then went to jog after the sisters.

Smug fucking asshole.

~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~

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