Helix lads ♥ Had a lot of fun with the gradients in their hair, I think they’re the most obvious but everyone has them!
I had to switch Edgar and Scriabin for the sake of the delivery of the joke but they really do look better in this order I think
Gaster taking notes on this human, all his preconceived notions are being very strongly confirmed haha. Nny would probably like skeletons better than regular humans, except they don’t bleed so, not that interesting really
I was going to add a warning and a lil comf message as always in this type of fanfics, but I think annonie explains it pretty well <3
responding to this request
It was Grim who approached him—nervously, voice urgent.
“You gotta talk to Yuu, Professor. They’ve been… off. They flinch when I get too loud, and the other day I saw bandages I know weren’t there before. I don’t get it… why would they do that?”
Crewel paused.
He had graded over fifty exams last night, scolded a third-year for exploding a cauldron... But that one sentence stopped everything.
He didn't scold Grim. He didn't panic. He nodded once and said,
“Thank you for telling me. You did the right thing, pup.”
That night, Crewel stayed up researching.
He was poring through psychology journals. His brow furrowed as he read about pain, coping mechanisms, and invisible wounds.
The next morning, he requested Yuu stay after class. Not in front of the others—he simply handed them a folded slip during potion lab, saying, “Come see me after last bell. No rush.”
When Yuu arrived, they looked uneasy, shoulders high with tension.
“I’m not in trouble, am I?”
“No. Sit. Please.”
They did, eyes darting to the ingredients shelf, then to the floor. Crewel sat across from them, hands folded on his desk, voice softer than they’d ever heard it.
“Grim spoke to me.”
Yuu froze. Crewel continued gently.
“He’s worried about you. And now, so am I.”
Silence. Yuu’s throat tightened.
“I’m sorry—” they blurted, eyes starting to burn.
“I didn’t want anyone to know— I was just— I didn’t know how else to deal with everything and—”
“Stop.”
Not a harsh command. Crewel stood and walked around the desk. He knelt beside them, one gloved hand hovering over their shaky hands .
“You have nothing to apologize for. Pain is not a moral failure. It doesn’t make you shameful. It makes you human.”
Yuu’s breath hitched.
“I’m not here to fix you. I can’t wave a magical pen and erase what you’ve felt. But I can promise you this: you’re not alone in this. Not anymore.”
He rose, placed a hand over his heart.
“You’re a part of this college. My student. And I take care of what’s mine.”
From then on, Crewel didn’t hover—but he checked in.
When Yuu looked withdrawn in class, he’d ask them to help sort ingredients. I
f they were dissociating, he’d say, “Mind walking with me to the greenhouse?”
Small tasks that let them breathe.
And he never pushed. Never pried.
Only left the door open—always open.
Crowley had a knack for dramatics. He thrived on being the center of the room.
But when Grim nervously shuffled into his office one rainy afternoon and said, “I think Yuu’s in trouble,” the headmage's feathers metaphorically dropped.
He didn't say a word at first. Just listened.
Later, he knocked on Ramshackle’s door himself.
Yuu answered, surprised. “Headmage?”
He took off his mask.
“May I come in?”
They blinked.
Crowley never took off his mask.
Never.
Crowley stood in the entryway.
“I hear you’ve been struggling. And before you say anything—I’m not here as your headmage.”
He placed the mask gently on a dusty table.
“I’m here as someone who once felt like a ghost too.”
Yuu swallowed hard.
“I know it’s hard, adjusting to this place,” he continued. “You’ve had to survive here without magic, without family, without answers. And you’ve done it all without a safety net.”
His voice wavered.
“Perhaps I should’ve given you one sooner.”
Yuu stared at him. Crowley’s eyes, usually behind his mask, were steady.
“Can I show you something?” he asked.
He led them to a storage room near the staff quarters. There, behind old uniforms and spell books, was a small chest. He opened it.
Inside were journals.
Dozens of them, worn at the edges.
“I wrote these when I was your age. A long, long, long.... long time ago.” he said quietly.
“When I didn’t understand the world, or my place in it. When I thought maybe… the world would be better off without me.”
Yuu’s breath caught.
“You’re not weak for needing help,” he said, turning to them. “You’re wise for accepting it.”
From then on, when he saw them anxious in a hallway, he didn’t sweep them away with flair.
He’d tap their shoulder, whisper, “There’s tea in my office. Let’s get some air.”
And on days when Yuu couldn’t speak at all, Crowley would sit beside them in silence. No mask. Just himself.
In time, Yuu came to understand that even the loudest voices sometimes scream just to be heard.
And Crowley?
He’d make sure Yuu never had to scream alone again.
It started with a quiet knock on the side door of Mystery Shop one evening after lights-out.
“Hey, little imp,” he said without turning around“Didn’t expect you tonight.”
But when Yuu stepped inside, their energy wasn’t curious about the items. It was heavy.
Sam finally looked over, smile fading as he saw their eyes red rimmed, hands tucked in their sleeves.
“Something happened?”
“I relapsed.”
Sam didn’t recoil, didn’t gasp.
He just set down the crystal orb he’d been polishing and stepped out from behind the counter.
“Come sit,” he said gently, guiding them to the little seating nook near the incense shelf. “Tell me what you need.”
“I don’t know,” Yuu whispered. “I just—Grim told the others, and everyone’s being kind, but I feel like I’m broken again. Like I failed.”
Sam reached over and pulled a tiny wooden box from a shelf behind him.
“Know what this is?” he asked, resting it in their lap.
Yuu shook their head.
“This box came from a spirit walker in the Scalding Sands. It’s over four hundred years old,” Sam explained. “Used to carry healing charms, notes of love, little promises folks made to themselves when they were hurting.”
He opened it slowly.
Inside were slips of folded paper—some new, some brittle with age.
Sam added one more—his own. He held it out to Yuu.
“Write one. Anything you want. Doesn’t have to be big. Could be: ‘I want to breathe tomorrow.’ Or: ‘I want to see the sun.’”
Yuu stared, then shakily took the pen.
After a long pause, they wrote:
“I want to believe I’ll be okay again.”
Sam tucked it inside the box, sealed it, and whispered, “Now it’s kept safe. No refunds, no backsies. That promise is real now.”
Yuu smiled weakly.
From that night forward, Sam always had a space open at the back of the shop.
If Yuu was overwhelmed in class, they’d sometimes find a handmade “delivery” waiting in their dorm room: a spell charm for calm dreams, a candle, or a simple note that read:
“Healing ain’t linear. But I’ve seen how stubborn you are. You’ll get there.”
Professor Trein stood at the front, chalk still in hand, yet his eyes had wandered from the blackboard.
He watched Yuu—slumped at their desk, shoulders taut, eyes unfocused. Not bored. Not distracted. Disassociated.
Lucius had already leapt from his desk perch and was weaving around Yuu’s chair. Trein set the chalk down.
“Yuu,” he said calmly, “Could you assist me in the archive room for a moment?”
There was no reason to doubt the request. It was casual enough.
No alarm in his tone. No heads turned. Yuu nodded numbly, rising without protest as the class barely took notice.
Trein’s pace was slow as he led them to a quiet hall—far from noise.
He closed the door behind them.
“Would you like to sit?” he offered, pulling out a chair from a reading desk.
Yuu did. But their gaze remained lowered.
Trein sat across from them, hands folded.
“There are lessons one cannot find in any curriculum,” he began, “Lessons about how to exist in a world that often refuses to make space for our pain.”
Silence.
“You don’t need to speak right away. I only ask that you listen.”
Yuu nodded once—just enough to let him know they were still with him.
“I’ve seen the signs,” he said. “The trembling. The vacant stares. The way your hands fidget when you believe no one is watching.”
“I want you to know I do not pity you. Pity can be shallow and cruel. What I feel is respect.”
Yuu looked up, confused.
“It takes strength to face each day knowing you’re at war with your own thoughts. It takes courage to survive when the world you knew has been torn from you and replaced with a place that doesn’t always feel real.”
Trein continued, “Grim came to me out of concern. And I assure you, Yuu… there is no shame in stumbling during recovery. Only in believing you must do it alone.”
Lucius jumped into Yuu’s lap then, curling up. Yuu slowly let a hand drift to stroke his back.
Trein gave a faint smile.
“Even Lucius knows who needs grounding.”
He then reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a bound notebook—aged but blank.
“This is for you. Write what hurts. What confuses you. Or write nothing at all. You may tear out the pages, burn them, or never show a soul. But sometimes, the mind cannot quiet until its burdens are given a place to rest.”
Yuu took it gently.
Down the road, Trein never hovered. But he always noticed.
If Yuu’s answers in class were shorter than usual, he’d adjust the lesson pace. If he saw their breathing stutter when voices around grew loud, he’d assign a solo reading task and lead the others elsewhere—shielding them with normalcy.
“Oi! You’re not gettin’ out of PE that easy!”
Yuu had hoped to sneak past the training field.
But Vargas spotted them with that hawk gaze of his and jogged over, waving enthusiastically.
They braced for a lecture about attendance, but he paused as he got closer.
“You okay?” he asked—less gruffly than usual.
Yuu tried to shrug it off, but Vargas tilted his head.
“I know I ain’t always the most gentle guy. But I do notice when one of my students looks like they’re carryin’ a boulder on their back.”
He crossed his arms.
“You wanna go for a walk?”
Yuu blinked. “You’re not gonna make me run laps?”
“Nope. Today we walk. Slowly. No sweat.”
So they did—around the track, where Vargas usually shouted drills.
His voice was calm, explaining how, even in physical training, injuries sometimes come from inside.
“Used to have a friend back in my rookie days,” he said. “Tough guy. Strong as hell. But he had demons in his head that none of us could see.”
He glanced at Yuu.
“Pain ain’t just broken bones and bruises. You can be fightin’ for your life, and no one will know unless they look close enough.”
Yuu swallowed. “I didn’t want to disappoint anyone.”
“You didn’t,” Vargas said, dead serious. “You’re still standin’. You showed up today. That takes guts.”
They stopped near the bleachers, and Vargas handed them something—a pair of weight gloves.
“These are yours now, not for lifting. Not for workouts. Just a reminder. You’re stronger than you think.”
From then on, Vargas kept an eye on them.
If Yuu’s breathing quickened during group drills, he’d subtly call a “water break.” If they looked spaced out, he’d shout, “Hey! Wanna time me on the sprint?”
this shit is from like 2024 ( the pic ) but i wanted 2 do it anyway because i thought it was fun and wanted 2 make something since i havent drawn FOREEVEERRRRUHH
so I absolutely LOVED “the sunshine you are”, it got me to thinking what about the Z4 casts reactions to meeting black cat!reader for first time?? Like maybe they just don’t get MK and reader together but then they see and are like “yeah, it works”???
It All Make Sense
Pairing: Mekonnen Knife x Black Cat reader!
Word count: 2.4k
Warnings: Fluff
Requests: Open
A/N: I'm happy, you loved the sunshine you are and I love writing the black cat x golden retriever trope.
The thing about MK was that he never really told the cast much about you. Not because he was hiding you, but because MK was private — a soft-spoken, slightly mysterious guy who liked to keep certain things just for himself.
So when word got around that “MK’s girlfriend is visiting the set”, the cast got curious.
Malachi had been the most vocal about it in the greenroom earlier that morning.
“I’m telling you, there’s no way she’s real. He’s been hiding her from us for months.”
Milo had just laughed. “What if she’s like the exact opposite of him? That’d be hilarious.”
“Or,” Freya chimed in with a smirk,
“what if she’s exactly like him? Double the mystery. Double the silence.”
By lunch, everyone was buzzing with theories. That’s when you showed up.
You walked onto set with this outfit. Your hair framed your face in a way that made your sharp eyes stand out — feline, observant, like you were constantly calculating the world around you.
The room seemed to still for a second. Not because you were flashy, but because your presence was quietly magnetic.
You spotted MK across the room before anyone could point him out. He’d been leaning against a wall, his script in hand, but the way his face lit up when he saw you — the relaxed grin, the warmth that immediately softened his posture — that was the first sign to the cast that there was more to this story.
“Hey, trouble,” you murmured when you reached him, your voice low but teasing.
“Hey, bad luck,” he shot back, his grin widening.
He wrapped an arm around your shoulders like it was second nature, tucking you against him.
The group exchanged looks.
Kylee, whispering to Chandler
“I thought she was gonna be scary…
but that was… cute?”
Chandler raising a brow
“Yeah, I kinda get it now. That was weirdly soft.”
The introductions began.
Meg stepped forward first, bright smile ready. “Hi! I’m Meg, it’s so nice to finally meet you. I’ve heard nothing about you, by the way, so I’m dying to know—”You chuckled. “That sounds like him.”
MK just smirked. “I like my privacy.”
Malachi was next, leaning against a table with a lopsided grin. “So… you’re the girlfriend.”
“The girlfriend,” you confirmed dryly. “You must be Malachi — the guy who didn’t think I existed.”
He froze, then laughed. “Okay… she’s good. I get it now.”
Over the next hour, the cast watched you two interact — the small things they’d never expected:
You catching MK’s hoodie sleeve when he walked off too quickly without you.
Him quietly making sure you had a chair beside him when they all sat down for a break.
You leaning over to fix the way his necklace sat, and him not even flinching like it was routine.
Sway, sitting back in his seat, murmured to Julian,“It’s like… she’s not sunshine-y, but she’s his sunshine, y’know?”
Julian nodded slowly. “Yeah. They fit. Like… perfectly.”
By the end of the day, all the confusion was gone.
Freya summed it up best, watching you and MK quietly sharing a granola bar between takes:
“I didn’t get it before. But now? Yeah, it works. They’re like… the black cat and the quiet moon.”
And Milo, ever the loudest in the room, called out from across the set:
“Alright, MK, you win. She’s cool. You two are disgustingly adorable in your dark, mysterious way.”
You just smirked, leaning against MK.
MK glanced down at you, his voice low so only you could hear:
