#yall are so creative like

[joshym]

ive been thinking about this for some time now and i just know you can create a wonderful one shot with it! (As always! 🤍)

ex husband Jake having to take care of your kid because you are going out on a date. You two co parent a beautiful child. Jake is picking up your kid from your house and catches you as you are getting ready for your date night. You two are still hopelessly in love with one another.

Fast forward to the end of the night, Jake comes back with your kid and sees how exhausted you looked after one of thee worst dates ever.

Let’s just say he wins you back. 🤭

(I kind of wrote this fast so i am terribly sorry if none makes sense)

alright, my sweet anon.

this request has taken up space in my brain for m o n t h s now. & i mean SEVERAL months. i'm so sorry it's taken me so long to respond to this.

but. be on the lookout in the next week or so. this story is gearing up to be one of my absolute favorites that i've written. it certainly took on a life of its own, so i hope that's okay. 🫣

i can't wait to share this. thank you for trusting me with it. 🥺🤍

*hint* the song all i want by kodaline might have something to do with this story. & yes. this one will hurt. it’s been an insanely difficult month, so i’m placing all of my emotions into this & le morte d’arthur right now. ����

ps. i do have a taglist going for one-shots but let me know if you'd like to be tagged in this specifically. 🥰

[celestialalpacaron]

HERES THIS REALLY DUMB IDEA THAT’S BEEN LIVING RENT FREE IN MY HEAD AND I HAD TO SKETCH IT OUT SO FAST AHSJSKAKAKS

YALL know how like…Alastor has his little minion guys as his goons??? My brain said “I wonder what Husk’s minions looked like when he was an overlord….” And I WASSSS gonna give him little bunnies (hahaha magician motive) but they turned out too similar to Alastor’s so WHY NOT GIVE HIM SOME SEVERAL RIGHT (and left) HAND MANS HDJSKSKKSKASJA

Anyways DO WHAT YOU WILL WITH THIS INFORMATION :) 🩷

[opikiquu]

iknow my comics are ugly please just hear me out

[smiuffzo]

didnt plan on posting this today originally but decided that it actually fits really well with the beginning of the spooky season, so!

a fake doai movie poster inspired by posters for movies 'a short film about love' and 'on the silver globe', both by andrzej pągowski! and just for fun i also made a version with a shoddy polish title, how authentic am i right

[raineandsky]

This is for the lovely anon who requested the New Better Villain taking on the villain's hero and gettin a lil too violent with it :) hope you enjoy!!

tw: implied violence, blood

The hero, for lack of a better word, looks normal.

The villain isn’t sure what he was expecting. Most people look normal. But all those years under a mask, a charade… it kind of became all that the villain could see him as. The hero. Even now, looking him in the eye as the person he is—really is—it doesn’t seem real.

That and, well— the villain can’t deny that he’s pretty alright to look at. That was certainly an unexpected twist.

The other villain—the bastard he’s cursed to work with, the jackass taking his job, his nemesis, his city—has the hero in a death grip. It feels like it’s all moving in slow motion. The two of them are tousling, kind of, as much as they can tousle with the other villain raining hellfire on a hero that’s well out of his depth.

It’s strange, that the other villain seems to be the outlier here. The hero and the villain have danced around each other for years. It’s been some sort of unspoken rule that they never quite hit hard enough to truly maim. But the hero came here, probably expecting the villain, expecting their usual song and dance, and instead got met with an entirely different tune.

Does the villain want the hero dead? Does he want their game to end? He doesn’t have time to decide.

“[Other Villain],” he snaps, “stop it.”

The other villain leans back, his fist still balled in the hero’s shirt, his other pulled back for yet another strike. “Oh, sorry.” His chest is heaving, as if he’s the one losing here. “You want a go?”

The villain doesn’t know what his answer would be to that. “I think he’s got the idea. Leave off.”

The other villain doesn’t move. The hero wipes idly at the blood painting his mouth.

Like a child asking a genuine question, the other villain simply says, “Why?”

“Because you’re ruining my fun.” True. ��You’re taking over on my nemesis.” True. “You’re on my watch.” Half-true, without the supervillain to take charge. “I know this life better than you. Let me do my job and stop butting in.”

“You’ve been fighting [Hero] for years without any progress.” The other villain’s brow knits, genuinely confused. “I’m doing you a favour.”

The villain glances down at the supposed favour he’s getting. Blood splatters the hero’s face, deep crimson painting his clothes. Something of a black eye is already appearing, and the villain hates that noticing that means he also notices that the hero is looking right at him.

He’s not sure why it’s so off-putting. Should he have caused that? Does he want it to have happened at all? His emotions are clashing together in a horrendous cacophony and deciphering any of them is impossible.

“Let go, [Other Villain].”

The slight frown turns into something more hateful. “No.”

“Your violence isn’t welcome in this so-called partnership. Pull it together, or go tell [Supervillain] you ruined his plan.”

“You’re generations out of date, [Villain].” It comes out of the other villain’s mouth as a spit. “Violence is the way forward. I’m helping in ways you’ll clearly never understand.”

The villain isn’t entirely sure why he lurches for the other villain, much like he hasn’t been sure of anything since the hero showed up here and ruined what was already a fairly shitty day.

The other villain has his work cut out for him with an opponent that’s not already half-dead, it seems. The two of them land in a heap on the ground, the other villain’s grappling for his partner’s throat and the villain’s grip tight on the other’s wrists and the air disappears from the villain’s lungs and the world seems so far away and everything is muffled—

The villain gasps his next breath, scrambling away unsteadily. The world slowly comes back into focus, the hum of the city below and his own haggard breathing tuning back in. He swallows nothing, the feeling a sharp burn in his throat, and whips around to look for the other villain.

The villain finds him on the ground, unmoving, the lightest trail of blood trickling from his nose. The hero is sitting next to him with a battered road sign lying at his feet, staring off into nothing.

“Did—” The word hurts. The villain tries to clear his throat and only makes it feel worse. “Did you hit him with a roadwork sign?”

The hero huffs a sort of laugh that melts quickly into a cough. He doesn’t look at the villain when he says, “Think it was about time I hit him back, wasn’t it?”

“I didn’t know you had it in you. You’ve never hit me quite that bad.”

The hero actually laughs this time, the sound choked. “You pull what he just did and I’ll consider it.”

The villain hums a sort of laugh as well, settling on the floor opposite, and the two of them fall into silence. They’re both too tired to say much anyway.

This is another strange experience. The hero and the villain usually fight and go their separate ways. This sort of… hanging out is new. Different—and thankfully not the type of different that got them here in the first place.

The hero smiles at him, and even through the bloody face paint and the blooming bruises, the villain hates that he still looks good. Looks normal. Looks like a nice civilian that the villain would end up curiously following for a couple blocks because his half-decent face caught his attention.

The hero is, the villain supposes, a person too. Another civilian that looked at the state of the world and took up a side, just like the villain did.

“Thank you,” the hero says through the daze of annoyance, “for saving me.”

“Eh.” The villain waves a nonchalant hand. “It’s not like you were going to do it.”

That earns another choked laugh. “Ah, you’re funnier than you like to admit, [Villain].”

The villain scoffs in offence and quiet falls over them again. “Thanks as well, I guess, for…” He gestures vaguely at the other villain lying next to them. “Hitting my colleague over the head with a road sign.”

The hero’s smile grows. “You’re welcome.”

The hero reaches for his mask, just as stained red and tattered as its owner. He turns it over in his hands for a moment, slow and thoughtful, before carefully putting it back over his face. “Back to the heroics, then,” he says lightly.

The villain nods, but he’s not really listening. He finds that, now he’s seeing the person he’s familiar with, he preferred the hero without his mask after all.

[runraerun]

Chapter 4 of Easy as 123 is LIVE! 📺

And look! More wonderful art from @racketti <3 He really understood the assignment (commission) and brought Mr. H to life! 🥹♥️ I’m so obsessed. Thank you again, my friend!!

[writinganon1]

@cokoweee

Ya’ll ever have a dream so lifelike it feels aggressively real until one thing goes a little too wrong and then you start to realize that maybe you’re in a dream but it’s also too real to convince yourself it’s not real that you can’t wake yourself up? 

TW: panic attack, I say gun, uhhh blood ig? Bishop says a kinda weird thing but that's just him bein him

can I say blood? last time I did it marked me as mature...

-

Her heart thumped against her chest, lactic acid building in her legs as she ran. She tapped furiously at her phone, fingers slipping over the screen as she tried to deploy Sheldon. 

Donnie says “no no no” chimed a pixilated picture of Othello, his finger waving back and forth. 

“What the-” She slammed against a wall, her shoulder crunching against the brick. 

His stupid programming on the poor thing to keep Sheldon at his house. Maybe she could override it? 

No, not enough time. She was just going to have to run and hope for the best. 

Her shoulder screamed in protest as she climbed the ladder in the alley. Scrambling over the side of the building to catch her breath, she tapped at the screen again. 

There had to be something she could do to foil his programming. She wiped at her nose, the cold still not quite gone even after days of bed rest. Bullets flew over the edge of the building, seemingly locking on to her body heat. Throwing herself at the ledge at the last second to force the bullets to crash into the wall she coughed violently, phlegm coating her throat.

Stupid sickness. 

Stupid Othello leaving her with the stupid rabbit farmer.

She pushed herself off the ground, arms struggling under the weight of herself. It was as if every muscle in her body was on fire, each fiber screaming at her to stop. She gulped raising her head over the ledge. Agent Bishop was standing on the adjacent rooftop, his face curled into a sneer, eyes unblinking despite the sun in his eyes. 

He waved at her, fingers waggling in the air as he pulled a small gun from his pocket. Aiming it directly at her chest he grinned, his eyes flickering with something distinctly unhuman. 

She stumbled backward, her feet skidding over the concrete as he seemed to lock onto her. Loose rock dug into her knees as she clambered over the rooftop. 

Away.

All she needed to do was get away. 

She placed a hand over her stomach, feeling the raised bump of the scar, as she moved.

This was…

This was wrong? 

It didn’t happen this way. 

No. She didn’t need to get away, she needed to get out. 

The bullet ripped into her skin, tearing away at muscle, and shattering the bone in her rib.

She screamed, blood pouring from the gaping hole in her chest, as Bishop moved closer. He walked to her side, footsteps clanking against the concrete. 

Clawing at the ground she dragged her body along the roof, rocks digging under her nails. Bishop laughed, his foot trampling her hand, digging it into the ground. She gasped, breathing shallowly as she fought to get loose. 

He grabbed her hair, wrapping it between his fingers and tightening his grip as he pulled her from the floor. 

“Oh, this is wonderful.” He smiled, voice dripping with venom. “Such a pretty little thing I caught this evening. I’ve been dying to chat with you.” He pulled her hair up, forcing her to rise. “I wonder if she’ll do any tricks?” 

She spat in his face, her ears filled with an all-consuming ringing. 

Away. 

She needed to get away. 

It didn’t matter how. She needed to get away. 

He said something else, flaunting some sort of mechanism he had hidden in his shirt. She tried to focus on his words, but her breathing was too shallow, her limbs too shaky, the ringing too loud for her to hear a word. 

She clamped a hand over her chest, a sorry attempt to staunch the flow of blood from the gaping hole in her body. Cursing softly she watched as the red seeped into a slithering pink fleshy mass. 

She stifled a scream as the pink turned an orange maroon, her own blood fueling some sort of monster. 

“Shhhhhhh.” Bishop whispered against her ear, “It’ll be done soon. Just one quick slash and you’ll be out of my hair for good.” 

The mass jumped forward, faster than she could comprehend, her body spasming in pain as she scrambled back.

Was this the Krang she’d heard so much about after she’d left the jail? Weren’t they supposed to be mindless or something? 

It lunged forward again, tentacles lashing toward her face. Bishop shook her in front of him, like a toy for a dog. 

“Kendra?”  

She screamed as he tightened his grip on her, shaking her around like a bag of flour. The world around her turned hazy, her vision blurring in and out. 

She wasn’t going to go out without a fight. 

Throwing her head back she jammed her skull into his chin, breaking the grip he had on her hair. 

She clawed at the ground, a strange silky feeling coating her fingers. Pushing away the softness of what was sure to be Krang, she kicked at the mass as it wiggled unnaturally. 

“KENDRA!” A familiar voice shouted at her, a gentle three-fingered nubby touch against her arm. 

Her eyes flew open, arms flailing to the sides to swat at what was left of the Krang matter, as hands held her back. She gasped, her chest heaving as a sinking feeling hit her gut. Dread splashed over her head like a wave, drowning her, leaving nothing but fear.

Eyes widening she looked next to her for Tello, horrified as darkness encroached on her vision, leaving her staring through a pin hole. Nausea rolled through her stomach as she gasped for air, her chest shuddering to keep up with her breathing. 

It hurt. It hurt so bad. 

“Hey, hey, hey.” He whispered, hand placed against her back. “It’s ok you’re home. You’re with me.” 

She jerked backward. He was loud. So so loud. Even with the ringing in her ears, he was too loud. 

Breaths were punched from her lungs faster than she could finish taking them in. Tears streamed down her face as her eyes blew wide. Her chest tightened, lungs twisting as she shook. 

She’s dying. She has to be dying. There’s no other explanation. 

Dead in her room from a nightmare-induced heart attack,  

Her eyes flickered back and forth over the room, not focusing on anything, just wildly scanning for danger she knew wasn’t there. Willing her arm to move, she let out a chocked warble. 

The room seemed to melt around her. Things blurred together, a fuzzy abstract painting of almost-real-life. Sweat beaded on her forehead as she tightened her muscles. 

Her whole body shook as she tried to take steadying breaths. 

“Did you know softshell turtles only have half a plastron?” 

She was in the middle of dying. 

She most definitely did not need turtle facts right now. 

“Technically a full one, but it’s covered by skin, rendering it effectively useless for plastron purposes.” He shrugs. “Same deal as the shell.” 

She looked at him, confusion breaking through the panic. 

“Makes us really flexible though. Wanna see?” 

He got off the bed, walked to the middle of the room, and bent backward. He smiled upside down at her from the floor and smoothly brought himself back up. 

“Pretty neat huh?” He waggled his eyebrows. “Bet no other turtle you meet could do that.” 

Amusement rippled through her as she watched him demonstrate his stretches and various yoga poses.

“I’ve never met another turtle like you.” She breathed, some of the panic melting away. 

“Precisely! No one can do it like me!” He said, pointing his finger at her triumphantly before his face softened. “ We starting to feel a bit better?” 

She brought her thumb and pointer finger close together. A little 

He nodded. “Am I good to come back up or do you need some space?” 

She patted the bed next to her, inviting him closer. She waited until he was seated comfortably before slumping against his shoulder, exhausted. 

He shifted slightly, reaching for his phone with one hand, the other wrapped around her. He let them sit for a moment, reminding her to breathe every few seconds before Sheldon zipped into the room. 

He whispered something to Othello before zooming out of the room. She watched passively as it happened, her body still not quite connected to her soul. 

Sheldon returned moments later, a bag of ice, a bottle of water, a cookie, and tub of lavender lotion in his little propeller arms. 

Othello took them from him, patted his head, and shooed him away. Taking one of the ice cubes he flattened out her hand and placed it in her palm. 

She jerked slightly at the sensation of cold in her hand, surprised when he placed another in her palm. 

“Focus on the melting.” He said, voice low and gentle. 

The ice filled the lines of her hand and dripped over the sides and down her arm. She shivered as the water pooled in her hand. Othello grabbed the cookie from the pile he had created and broke off half to give to her. 

“Thanks?”

He watched her carefully. “What does it taste like?” 

“A cookie?” She said through a mouthful, her hands still full of TV static. 

“I need details.” He pressed. 

She paused, taking a moment to consider the flavors in her mouth. “Vanilla, chocolate chips.” She took another bite. “ Like I left it in the oven a minute or two too long and overcooked them just slightly.” 

She’d have to make another batch, this time keeping an eye on the time. 

He pressed an uncapped water bottle into her hand. “Drink.” 

She pressed the bottle to her lips, feeling the way the cold blossomed against her skin as she held it there. Quietly observing the way she could feel it go down her throat and into her stomach. 

“Are we feeling more alive?” 

She nodded, running her hand along her thigh to feel the fabric of her pajama pants as she pressed her head against his side. 

“Good.” He murmured, sleep creeping into his voice. “You had a panic attack I’m pretty sure.” 

“...Sorry it was for something stupid.” 

“I get worked up over stupid stuff too.” He mumbled, eyes half closed. 

“Your stuff isn’t stupid.” She countered. 

“Then neither is yours.” 

She stopped, lifting her head to look up at him.

He grabbed her hand, flexing the fingers for her. “You feel ok?” 

“I don’t know.” She answered honestly. 

He nodded and guided her to a lying position. “Tell me five of your favorite things.” 

She paused, looking around the room. “Hmmmmm. You.” 

“Thank you.” 

“Mhm. Uhhh, lavender. The color purple. Satin jackets. Baking. Messing around in the lab. Oh, I guess that’s more than five.” 

He tapped her shoulders rhythmically, “You can keep going if you need to.” 

She took in a deep breath. “I think I’m ok now.” 

“Positive?” 

Nodding she pulled the blankets over herself. What she really needed was rest. She was so exhausted from the whole ordeal that the idea of doing anything else felt impossible. 

He got off the bed again, searching beneath the bedframe for something before he pulled a large purple blanket from under the bed. She blinked in surprise as he placed it over her, a weight holding her down to the bed. 

“I should’ve mentioned it was weighted.” 

She pulled her hand out to give a quick thumbs up as he climbed back into bed. She shifted to hold out her arm for a hug. He smiled and pulled her close, wrapping his arm around her waist. 

“You smell like you’ve been using my soap.” She grumbled against his plastron. 

He shrugged. “ I like the way you smell.” 

Rolling her eyes she tugged the blanket higher over her shoulders smiling as soft chirping filled the room, the sound he always made right as he fell asleep. 

“Good night Tello.” She whispered.

His plastron vibrated as he churred back, gently running circles through her hair. 

She was home. And she was safe.

~

squad don't write stuff at four AM I'm pretty sure this only makes sense to me at this point. Anyway I was listening to my pretty princess playlist while writing this 💁‍♀️

the reason why this was written is in the tags btw

[ghostfiish]

Happy ten years to transcendence au and almost as long to Brian the organ duck! How time flies...

I haven't drawn anything for this au in ages but I did remake the 8tracks playlists on Spotify if anyone uses that. Before Brian shows up, imagine Dipper and Mabel are discussing songs to add to the answering machine playlist (which. that's. Did I mean hold music all this time? lol)

[cinnasalmon]

In case you wanted to know what Gale and Astarion look like in my "style" lol (go easy on me ok its my first time drawing them 😳)

For callmesimplyflo on Twitter! ❤💪

[royaltea000]

[wip] get your ass off the battlefield and become the twitch streamer cosplay slut you were always meant to be

[stealingyourbones]

Luke 24:46: “Thus it is written, that the Christ should suffer and on the third day rise from the dead.”

Original Art and MANY other versions of my art below

[demonwebs]

this might be a hot take, but i feel like following duplicates of a characters shouldn't be as big of a deal as some people make it out to be bc every relationship ends up being so different and explores different facets your muse

[uldahstreetrat]

I love all of you and all of your wols and ocs so much every one of your blorbos is my blorbo and I hope you give them a lil smooch on the forehead for me

[ophernelia]

seeing the copying convo rehashed when i've been saying it's uncouth is so odd but like girl finally! like yes, we all have the same game for sure. but using the same shots, editing the same way, etc. is like over the threshold lol. and it's mad rude when you're doing it when a creator is actively in the midst of making their content. running their series. (be it an lp, a machinima, etc.) and again, i feel like this only applies to creators tho fr. if you're playing your game for your own personal enjoyment then cool. but if you're like specifically curating content, develop a personal style. it makes you as a creator stand out more. stop biting 'cause you see something's hot and it's working for someone else. when all you gotta do is brainstorm a little and i'm very sure you could come up with something just as hot too.

[coeluvr]

Hellooo! I'm not sure if the prompts are still open, but if so, maybe #61 for Vincent? 🙈

“Say it.”

As Vincent falls onto the bed, his eyes widen in surprise, his body tensing for a moment before relinquishing control to you.

“Say it,” you breathe, your voice husky with desire, your eyes simmering with intent. This time, you’ve decided to take charge, assert your desires, and make him beg for your touch. It’s a departure from your usually shy and submissive nature, but the power that surges through your veins at this moment is intoxicating.

You straddle him, your thighs spreading on either side of his hips, and hold his gaze with unwavering confidence. Leaning closer, your lips hovering just above his, you tease him, testing his limits. “Beg for it, Vincent. Tell me how much you want me.”

His breathing quickens, his lips parting to speak, but you can see the struggle within him. Pride and vulnerability wage war on his face, tugging at his desire and restraint. His eyes, filled with yearning, search yours for a moment before he finally succumbs to the delicious temptation.

“Please,” he rasps, his voice thick with need. “I want to feel your touch, to taste your lips. I crave you like nothing else.”

[raineandsky]

Hello, I was wondering if you could please write something where Villain thinks they are under a love potion slipped by hero’s allies. After every moment they see hero they feel they are in love with them. But when they confront the teammate they find, to their surprise that they gave them a ‘speak your heart’ potion to get them to confess their crimes and never expected them to have feelings for their friend. Coming to the shock and realization that they had indeed fallen for hero but had been ignoring it/suppressing it. Now they are at the point where they can deny it no longer. Thank you for your consideration and for reading this! I hope you have an absolutely lovely day! 💕

this was.... such a cute idea??? i liked writing this one, i hope you enjoy reading!! thank you as always for the request!!

Heroes are liars. The villain knows this well. They’ll lie, cheat and bribe their way into anything that might mean another villain in jail, another victory under their belt.

There are telltale signs of lying, of course. Looking away, shifting about, smiling awkwardly. The villain has learnt all of these, because they know that heroes are liars, but also tend to be bad liars.

This hero, from the villain’s deduction, is either an incredibly good liar or telling the truth. God, the villain wants it to be the former.

“Love potion turns blue,” this hero is saying. “When I poured the heart-speaker in your drink it went orange.”

The hero’s looking right at them, stock still, face blank except for what seems a little like horror. Liar, surely. He’s just a damn good one. “Bullshit. You’re— You’re fucking with my head.”

“I’m not doing anything!” the hero cries. “I’ve been following you around with a recorder because I was hoping you’d admit to your crimes! I wasn’t expecting any of this.”

The villain turns away from them—a mistake most villains know not to make, not that the villain particularly cares right now—and heaves a deep sigh. It makes sense, doesn’t it? Does it?

The villain is no stranger to love potions and their effects. How they noticeably warp their victim’s perception of reality, of who they can trust. The villain, subject to one such potion for one of the supervillain’s strange experiments, noticed that everything felt different, that their feelings on certain people had inexplicably changed. The effects also wore off after a day.

The villain’s been feeling like this for a week. Loose, almost detached, like honesty is the best policy even though their colleagues would scream for them to stop talking.

They’ve seen their hero more than once this past week. Carefully stamped-down, begrudging respect has blown up into desperate infatuation. Their hero says some well-practised lines about taking them down, the villain stutters out some of their own about never being caught, and then they fight, the physicality of it entirely overwhelming sometimes.

That’s more than a simple love potion has ever done to the villain.

Their hero is— how long has the villain been calling them that? That hero isn’t the villain’s anything except their nemesis. They need to get out of their own head before the heart-speaker drowns them in their own emotions.

“How… how long does it last?” the villain asks faintly.

“Well,” the hero says, “at least a week.”

“Oh my god. You don’t even know.” The villain scoffs in offence. “Jesus, I— I can’t see [Hero] again like this.”

“You’re freaking out, [Villain],” the hero butts in carefully. “You’re recognising your own feelings for the first time. It’s a lot. I get it.”

The hero doesn’t get it. The villain feels like the world’s about to end. “What the hell am I meant to do?”

“You could tell them.”

“Are you insane? No!” The villain wrings their hands, pacing thoughtlessly. “No, this isn’t right. The heart-speaker will wear off and everything will go back to normal. It’s fine.”

“I mean…” The hero glances down at the little audio recorder in their hand. It looks ancient, as most hardware does that comes from the agency. “I still have a ton of free space on this thing.”

“I’m not saying it out loud and I’m certainly not letting you record it.”

The hero shrugs, the lightest smirk weaving its way onto their stupid face. “I didn’t think you would. I do have some heart-speaker left. Enough for… someone else.”

On any normal day, the villain wouldn’t care too much about knowing what their hero thinks of them. But this day isn’t normal, and with this goddamn potion working its magic on them, the villain is painfully, embarrassingly desperate to know every little detail of their hero’s thoughts.

The villain squints at the hero to make it clear they’re not agreeing to this immediately, although their body language probably suggests otherwise. “Okay, well, it’s not your worst idea.”

The hero nods sagely. “I think I know which idea of mine you think is the worst. I’ll make sure this one isn’t to your detriment, though—it’ll be fun working with you, partner.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Why, saving it for someone else?”

The villain wants to snap back at them for the tease as the hero laughs, but they can’t deny what the heart-speaker is forcing them to admit.

Yes.