#!!!!! YOU ARE A GENIUS!!! I AM CRYING AGAIN!!!

[sunburstsky]

So in this last episode we had confirmed:

1. Indri, who 2/3rds of the party is infatuated with, is Big BAD Lady in a very real way and can call down the memories of stars, including the ones shining into her library

2. If you “flee” (and i just feel that the definition of that might be a little squishy in this specific scenario) *within a mile* of Grimore, you are as good as dead

oh this is DELICIOUS

[willowser]

willow have u ever seen the movie ‘13 going on 30?’ bc i just rewatched it last night and it gave me nerd bakugou brainrot 😩😩

like he’s your neighbor and he’s in love with you but you’re just…. your head is in the clouds and you can’t see what’s right in front of you 🥺 and something brings you crashing down, and you wish yourself into an alternate future, where all the hard, embarrassing teenage years are far behind you and you got everything you thought you wanted.

but— in those skipped-over years, you’d left katsuki behind 🥺 traded movie nights and dnd campaigns with him for parties with the in crowd. it’s funny— the more people see you,, the less you he sees. he barely recognizes you, but it doesn’t stop him from watching from afar. catching glimpses of you through the windows still makes his heart race; watching you get picked up for a date by the goddamn golden boy makes it ache.

going to college is a relief. he’s almost managed to forget about you (except for the occasional comment from his mother that sting less and less as the years pass) until you show up at his doorstep, confused and panicked and calling him by the kiddie nickname he hasn’t heard since you stopped speaking in seventh grade. he has half the mind to take you to the hospital, get you checked for a concussion or retrograde amnesia.

meanwhile… you’re realizing all the things you’ve been longing for aren’t right for you. and chasing after them will condemn you to a life of being lonely and disingenuous. you don’t need to be liked by everyone—you need to be loved by one person. now you just have to find a way to fix it 🥺🥺

🥺🥺🥺

[hauntingblue]

Inept 8 year old boy dragon tries to save floating island is such a concept

[xcziel]

if i could have your attention please

jawdropping portrait of Liu Chang via 水与雨 on weibo

for those discerning interested parties who may find it relevant, i present: Haaaaaannnds

a photo post from a fan who clearly has their priorities straight

a beautiful collection from 氧气缺氧了 on weibo

[lovinggreeniehours]

you know what arifive is such delicious grounds for tragedy though. just saying

[gibbearish]

huh. having now understood reaching my target audience of one i think i now get why certain artists have gone batshit, and its because no matter their audience size or how explicitly they state things, no one gets what theyre actually saying

[dipplinduo]

TALA.

TALA OH MY GOD.

I am in absolute shambles. 😭💛💛💛 No, like SERIOUSLY. Your art always touches me, but this particular piece geniunely took me by SUCH surprise and conveys so much emotion on a spiritual level. You have encapsulated what I see as the entire essence of this story in this one powerful image, and it feels so timeless and irreplaceable to me. I want to frame this. 🥹🥹🥹

Thank you for constantly sharing your interpretations - you remind me of why I do what I do and kindness like yours rekindles the fire that is my motivation any time it flickers. It is so utterly meaningful to have my stories be seen in itself, but to have their spirit be resonated with and echoed back to me with such passion is by far the most meaningful aspect of becoming a writer for me. I am seriously, seriously grateful above all else.

This is honestly my favorite piece you've ever created for me, and I really mean it when I say you have made my year with it. 💛

Here’s another reminder that S&S D exist lol

Sweet and Sour Dipplins by @dipplinduo

[kashverse]

gojo lives to make you laugh. literally. he wakes up in the morning and chooses chaos, dedicating his entire existence to seeing you wheeze, cry, and gasp for air because he's an absolute menace. he'll do anything—stupid impressions, fake injuries, borderline illegal pranks—just to see you fold. you’re not even safe when you’re eating because he'll time his worst jokes right as you take a sip of water, watching in delight as you choke. he calls it a win if you snort, a jackpot if you end up in tears.

nanami, on the other hand, is not actively trying to be funny. but that’s what makes it funnier. you’ll catch him muttering complaints about how “dish soap should not smell like fruit,” or see him standing there, stiff as a board as he folds laundry. sometimes he’ll turn around too fast and smack his forehead on the cabinet door he left open. you giggle. he sighs. mission accomplished.

toji is a menace in his own right, except his approach is pure teasing. he’ll poke fun at you, steal your snacks, hold things above your head just to watch you struggle, and laugh when you get all huffy about it. but then you pout. and toji, for all his bravado, cannot handle you pouting. so suddenly, he's like, "man, maybe i am a washed-up loser. what am i even doing with my life? thirty-something years old and all i have is my devilish charm and incredible good looks. pathetic." he says it with such a straight face that you burst out laughing. mission accomplished. again.

geto doesn’t have time to make you laugh. he’s busy. he’s stressed. but somehow, in the middle of telling you about how he had to break up a ridiculous argument between gojo and shoko about whether cereal is soup, he makes you laugh anyway. or when he gives you the latest gossip, complete with dramatic reenactments, you end up in stitches. he’s not even trying. he’s just naturally entertaining.

choso is trying. way too hard. and it’s adorable. he’ll send you the most outdated memes like exercise? i thought you meant extra fries! with absolute confidence. he’ll stare at you expectantly, waiting for you to laugh. and you do—not because the meme is funny, but because he is funny. the effort, the sincerity, the fact that he has no idea he’s a whole decade late to the joke. you can’t break his heart and tell him. so you let him think he’s a comedy genius.

sukuna? yeah, no. he does not make jokes. he does not entertain foolishness. he does not degrade himself to the level of plebeian humor. but god forbid you laugh at someone else’s joke. suddenly, he’s in the worst mood of his entire existence. sulking, throwing insults, acting like you’ve personally betrayed him. "oh, so that idiot is funny, huh? maybe you should go be with him instead. tch. whatever. laugh it up, brat." and that? that right there? the way he gets all dramatic over it? that’s what actually makes you laugh. and now he’s even more mad.

[nondelphic]

the five stages of grief: writer's edition

denial: "this draft is amazing. no need for edits. it’s practically perfect as is." you’re so confident that you close the document for the day, smiling like you’ve just discovered the next great american novel (or swedish, or british, whatever). plot hole? who is she?

anger: "why did i ever think this was good? this is garbage. i am garbage. my characters are flat, my dialogue is cringe, and my prose sounds like a robot swallowed a thesaurus and threw up on the page." rage-quit the doc and go aggressively scroll pinterest for "writing inspiration" that you will never use.

bargaining: "if i fix this one scene, the whole thing will click into place. i just need to write one more subplot, maybe five more chapters, a quick rewrite of the entire ending, and then it'll be fine. totally manageable." queue up 17 youtube videos on "how to fix your plot" that you play in the background while staring at your ceiling.

depression: "i will never finish this book. it’s doomed. i’m doomed. why do i even write? who let me have ideas?!" lay dramatically on your bed, considering taking up knitting or rock collecting instead. cry a little over how your characters deserve a better writer.

acceptance: "this is the best i can do right now, and that’s okay. i’ll take a break, come back with fresh eyes, and remember why i love this stupid, broken story." suddenly, your MC whispers something brilliant, and you're like wait… maybe i'm a genius after all.

and the cycle begins again. writing is a joy.

[frankenbridez]

MATTEEOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO *falls 2 my knees* 💐💘✨💖💥💥💥

makes that loud ass howling basset hounds do 🔊🔊🔊

🌹🍓💋red draws for my @frankenbridez ໒꒰ྀི｡- ˕ -｡꒱ྀི১

[hauntingblue]

Sanji crucified and getting punished by a giant spider lady for his sins against women....

[metalomagnetic]

Canon Marauders meet Fanon Marauders

“I will kill him, James. I simply have to kill him. It’s a duty at this point,” Sirius whispers, at breakfast. 

James is morally opposed to murder, to say the least, but now when he opens his mouth to automatically tell Sirius he can’t kill people, the Abomination walks into the Great Hall, and James closes his mouth, with a sigh. 

He condones it. 

“Can you kill me, too, please?” Remus asks, as he watches his counterpart walk behind the Abomination. 

“Oh, come on! The Other You isn’t so bad.” 

“They’re all bad,” Peter mutters. “Just unbearable to watch.” 

They’ve only arrived in this cursed universe the day before, but it’s already too much to suffer. 

When Sirius met this universe’ version of himself, he had to be restrained from committing unspeakable violence. 

“What’s with the pranks?” James wonders. “Look, they’ve only just entered the Hall and they’ve already pulled a few pranks.” 

“You call those pranks?” Sirius sneers. “Those lame jokes?” 

“They probably take the ‘prankster’ label too seriously,” Peter bemoans. “And I’m missing again. It’s like I don’t even exist here, like those guys forget I’m their best friend.” 

After the Other Sirius, Other Peter was done the dirtiest. He’s much uglier than the real one, far shorter, and so stupid Sirius thinks he shouldn’t even be allowed to attend school. 

Not that Other Sirius is smart- oh, no. Other Sirius is a moron, apparently allergic to books. 

Remus got an upgrade- he’s now a wise genius to rival Dumbledore, and he spends his days giving people chocolate frogs.

It’s a wonder the Abomination is so thin, with how much chocolate he’s getting from Other Remus. 

So thin and short. 

“Why am I short?” Sirius growls. “I don’t know mate, it’s like the creator of this universe misremembered our heights and switched them around,” Remus offers, watching his other self, a very tall bastard. He’s even taller than Real Sirius. 

Outrageous. 

“I could suffer you short,” James says. “But look at him, he’s - why is he so…is that ...nail polish? Gods, what have they done to my Sirius!” 

“I asked him if he still has the bike,” Peter whispers. “He said he does, but I mean- he’s so fragile and dainty, how does he even manage that monster bike?” 

Sirius shakes his head in horror. “I have to kill him, there’s no way around it.” 

The Other Sirius whines in the distance. “MOOOOONY,” he pouts, and that's it, Sirius stands-

“Not here,” James pulls him by his sleeve. “You can’t have witnesses.” 

(-)

It takes them a few days to figure out what’s wrong with Other James. At a first glance, he looked normal, compared to the others. Almost unchanged from his real version, if only stupider. But not as stupid as Other Sirius and Other Peter, of course. 

A chicken wouldn’t be dumber than those guys. 

When they do figure it out, James throws up. 

“There, there,” Sirius pats his back. “Breathe, mate. Breathe.” 

“I’m fucking your brother! Your brother, Sirius!” 

“Oh, no, that is not my brother. That is Other Brother.” 

This version of Regulus is apparently not a bigot at all, it’s all just a big misunderstanding. He’s an Animagus, too, somehow. 

Sirius actually thinks Other Regulus is an alright lad- nothing like his brother, mind you, but alright, in general. 

James throws up again. “Me! With Regulus Black! I’m not even gay! I love Lily, and she loves me-” 

“Well, apparently she’s gay, too, in this world.” Remus says, which only makes James cry.

That isn’t so bad, really. Many things are wrong with this universe, but Lily and Dorcas look hot together. Sirius had a wank thinking of them the other night. It’s fine, he tells himself. He’s not betraying James. This Lily is nothing like their Lily back home. This one is like a goddess of beauty here, hair far more vibrant than the Real one, flawless skin and overall perfect in everything she does. Extremely selfless, saint-like, to the point she apparently offered to carry Regulus’ and James’ baby after Hogwarts.

Real Lily would hate her. 

She’s still not worse than Other Sirius. Nothing is worse than that. Real Sirius has taken to bullying Other Sirius, daily. Hourly. The Abomination whines about it to Other Remus all the time. 

“I want a word,” Other Remus hulks over, ridiculously muscular and, for some reason, with scars on his face. 

What the fuck happened to this bloke? Who even is he?

Real Remus slinks back. He was never one for confrontations, their Remus, but apparently this upgraded version is all up for it. 

“Listen,” Sirius tells him, because he doesn’t hate the man- sure, he’s not Remus, but he seems like a nice lad. “Why do you put up with that insufferable drama queen? He deserves to hang, and you deserve better.” 

“That’s my baby! That’s my Pads,” Other Remus says, suddenly all violent, his eyes turn yellow- what the actual fuck? 

But Sirius is already nauseous, stomach turning as soon as he heard ‘baby’ and ‘Pads”  coming out of his mouth. 

Real Remus cheers from the sidelines as Sirius wipes the floor with Other Remus. The Abomination cries somewhere in the distance, all helpless, until Real James hits him over the head with a candlestick. Other James is too busy sucking Other Regulus’ face to notice anything. 

(-)

Other Snape has a split personality, as if someone out there can’t decide if he’s evil reincarnate or a mewling, innocent boy. 

It’s jarring to see the shifts, day to day, and Sirius doesn’t know which version he hates more. 

He never thought he’d miss Snape, but he does. He misses their Snape, gods damn it, the Real one. 

(-)

He finds out his parents- or at least his parents in this world- torture Other Sirius on a daily basis. With the Cruciatus, even. 

Other Regulus tells him this, all traumatised. 

“Well,” Sirius says, shocked to the core. He almost laughs at the absurdity of it. “To be fair, if I had a son like the Abomination, I’d torture, him, too.” 

(-)

Dumbledore is Evil. But stupidly so. Even a random eleven year old saw through his evil plans and humiliated Dumbledore at breakfast. Some smart arse kid, who’s apparently Lord Potter Black Gaunt Slytherin, and talks like an eighty year old politician. Apparently Dumbledore stole his money or something. 

“I wonder how Other Voldemort is like,” James says, anxious to consider it. 

“I don’t even care,” Peter says. “We should join him. It’s either him, or siding with these lunatics.” 

They all nod in agreement. Voldemort can’t be worse- nothing can be worse than Other Sirius and Evil Stupid Dumbledore.  

(-)

There’s two Voldemorts. 

One is practically a ‘cartoon character’ Remus says. Sirius has no idea what that means.

This Voldemort is Ridiculously Evil. 

Insane Bellatrix is his most loyal. For some reason Insane Bellatrix cackles all the time, and mutters about blood and the Cruciatus under her breath. She’s also dressed like a slut. 

Real Bella, like the aristocrat she is, would never be caught looking like that in public. 

Sirius takes her aside to have a few words with her, and then he finds out apparently she, too, was tortured daily by her parents, like Other Sirius. 

“And raped,” she remembers, with a shrug.  

Wow, and Sirius thought the Real versions of the Blacks were bad, but these people take the fucking cake. 

If the Real Blacks would find out what these Other Blacks are doing to their children, there’ll be hell to pay. 

His mum is a right basket case back in his world, insufferable and cruel with her words, unreasonably strict, but if she’d ever find out another version of herself is torturing her children- why, she’d cut that bitch in pieces. 

(-)

The second Other Voldemort is some misunderstood good guy with a sob story. He whines about his tragic childhood as much as Other Sirius. 

At least this Other Voldemort is still tall, unlike Other Sirius. 

“It’s all Dumbledore’s fault,” he ends a monologue. “He made me do all I did. Or-” he checks a list. “Apparently sometimes he simply framed me and I didn’t do anything at all. Also, you can call me Tom, in private,” he invites them. 

It’s a tragic state of affairs. 

They decide to join Ridiculously Evil Voldemort, simply because he’s the only one that wouldn't protest to murdering everyone. He talks about murder every single day, and Sirius promises him he’ll do anything If he’s allowed to kill Other Sirius. 

“Oh, by the way, you should deal with Good Guy Voldemort.” 

“With who?” 

“You know, the hotter you, the one that’s innocent of all wrongs and calls himself Tom.” 

Evil Voldemort has a heart attacks and dies. 

(-)

They’re on the run from everyone in that crazy world, when a hooded figure enters their tent.  

“Is it you? Is it really you?” the man asks. “Potter? Black? Lupin? Pettigrew?’ 

“Yes, it’s us.” 

The person lowers his hood. It’s Snape. Real Snape. With greasy hair and a large nose, but with intelligent, sharp eyes.

There’s no ‘Victim’ stamped on his forehead, nor is he an evil arrogant bastard, like the Other Snape.

“Fuck, Snivellus! A sane person! I could hug you!” 

“I’d rather not,” Snape spits at James. “Alas, I am...relieved to have found you. We need to work together. I came here after you-” 

“Of course you did, you berk! You were stalking us, as usually, weren’t you?” 

“Yes,” Snape says, unashamed. “I killed the Other me.” 

“Good job. I killed the Other me, too,” Sirius boasts. “I took my time with him.” 

“I killed Other Lily,” Snape says. “She had to go. She was all ...wrong.” 

James sniffles. “She was.” 

And then they all sit down, and plan how to kill Good Guy Voldemort and Evil Stupid Dumbledore. 

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

A Barter 6

Warnings: dub/noncon, smutty smut, I am a dark blog and I write dark things.

Summary: You are bargained to be wife to the witcher if he can slew the beast in the village.

Character: Geralt of Rivia

**note, I am not a Witcher genius or aficionado and so I may get some things wrong.

As usual, I appreciate any and all feedback and enthusiasm. Please reblog and leave a comment. Love! 😍

Your breath hitches and your breath drones. Your head lolls back on Geralt's shoulder as you writhe and grasp his forearm tighter. Your toes curls and your spine arches. Whatever he's doing, you can't get enough. 

It's whispered that the witchers have a touch of magic. Perhaps he has put a spell on you. His finger plucks you like a harp, drawing sweet notes from your lips. You bring your hand to your forehead, water slaking down your face in your delight. 

Your pelvis rocks into his hand. Your body moves in instinct alone, on the desperation field by his touch. This man, this stranger, this vaunted witcher tangles you in his thrall.  

You whine through your teeth and spasm as ripples roll over you. Gasping, gulping, clutching onto him you shake with ecstasy. Your eyes close as you puff out pathetic squeaks. 

His finger crawls further down. He traces along your entrance, up and down, up and down. He pushes slowly into you. As he gets deeper, your walls clench him. He forges past the resistance and sinks in to his knuckle. He pulls in and out, teasing you as your wriggle helplessly. 

He slips out and lines up a second finger. He dips into you again, stretching you around his thick digits as you whimper. You reach back to grasp his burly arm and lean into him. The calloused pad of his palm presses to your clit as he rocks his hand, growling over you as his muscles tense with his heavy breaths. 

You cum again. Your hand slips back and your fingers tangle in his waves. You tug them as you twitch and clamp your thighs against his hand. You buck through the intense release and babble as he eases you through, his hand moving with the rhythm of your body. 

You moan and lay against him, weak and wilted. He snarls and drags his hand up your pelvis. He splays his fingers wide and lifts you slowly. He feels below you and angles his member under you. You squeal and squirm but he doesn’t let up. 

“Mm, my good little wife, are you ready for me?” He grits.  

He pushes his tip again your cunt. He delves into you slowly, past the taut resistance of your inexperience and the tension of your close legs. He hooks an arm under one knee, then the other, and pulls them apart. He bends your legs high as he thrusts and sinks further in. 

“You are doing well, wife, deep breaths,” he cooes. 

You exclaim as he splits you. Your insides feel tight as your walls ache. You blow out between your lips and your head lolls down to your chest. Your lashes flutter as you look down at yourself. He’s not even halfway in and it feels as if you’ll break. 

“A little more, wife, yes?” 

He jerks his hips again, a little deeper, and you cry out again. He plants his feet and gives another thrust. You shriek at the fullness and quiver as your stomach knots and your chest racks. You can’t take all of him. There’s no way. 

He drapes your left leg over his knee, keeping your other over his arm. His hand clasps onto your hip and he pushes you down onto him. Your mouth falls open as he buries himself to his hilt. You tremble uncontrollably as your garble senselessly. 

“You take your husband well,” he rasps and shudders against you. 

You drone and shake your head, touching your stomach as it bulges. He slowly slides out of you. You sigh and bite down on your lip. He pushes in again and you squeal and squall as your nails cut into your flesh. 

“A good husband will show his wife how to serve him,” he squeezes your hips as he thrusts once more, the water sloshing around you. “And she will do as he bids. She will keep him happy.” 

He pumps up into you and you lean back, your head hanging over his shoulder as you claw at your torso. He brings his hand to your chest and fondles you as he keeps his motion steady. He drags himself out slowly to his tip, only to plunge back in quickly. Each time, his pelvis claps against you harshly. 

“Vow to me wife,” he huffs as he quickens, water splashing with his building fervor, “sweat to me you will always obey.” 

“I... I swear,” you gasp as he tweaks your nipple. 

“Swear you will be loyal.” 

“I swear,” you whine as he pounds from below, bouncing you with each unrelenting tilt. 

“And swear, wife, that you will always take me like this.” He groans and clutches your chest, groping you in a tight fist as he bucks furiously. “That you will take--” he chokes and a warmth blooms inside of you, “every,” he quakes, “last,” he puffs, “drop.” 

He holds you down as he rocks chaotically and pushes his cheek against your temple. He pants as he fills you up, slowing only as his climax cramps in his thighs. He eases back against the tub and growls. 

“Wife...” 

“I swear it,” you whisper. 

[wandering-pirate]

Mouthwashing Crew Headcanon

Congratulations! You're now the Tulpar Crew's Unwilling Therapist

Why? How? Everyone's a mess and they need you, so stop questioning >:(

One fortunate 2 AM morning, you were raiding a snack stash. Whose was it? You're here to eat not think

And while shamelessly munching on a yogurt coated oatbar like a man lapping his last meal on death row, the door hissed opened

You straight-up started choking to death, trying to secretly Heimlich yourself, and when you finally dislodged the oatgrain having it shot out your mouth and landing 3 ft. away from the couch, you looked up...

There’s Daisuke. Full-on ugly crying. Like he’s the one who almost got scythed by death

Daisuke so damn cheery 24/7 you were half-convinced his cheeks were sewn to back of his head. But now? Yeah, no. The guy’s face is doing this wet sad puppy thing, and honestly, you kinda miss the creepy sewn-on grin

"Y/NNN~"

Shit, it's his stash! You were ready to half-ass a reason to pin this to Swansea but he grabbed your collars and sobs on you neck

"Is it normal to cry on a wrench? Y/N, Boss gave that to me, it's like my cute little puppy. Except, y’know, it gives me nosebleeds when I’m tightening nuts on the ceiling."

Alright, at this point, the oatbar's been reduced to ashes and dreams, the hell is going on?

The door hissed again, and now you were scrambling, the position Daisuke trapped you in right now can get you a free hundred-day subscription for merciless bullying

"It's not what it lo--"

"Hey Y/N, is the kid finished?"

"Wha-- you mean Dai?"

"Yeah, if he's done then you gotta hear me out now. What's the worst thing someone said behind my back?"

Ok right now, your brain's all question marks. 'Cause a sobbing grown ass man is snotting on your neck and another's asking like he's some prep girl needing to beat someone up over some petty rumor

"No-none that I've heard of..."

"What!? No one's talking about me?? That's even worse!"

Somehow, you manage to wrangle these overgrown manchildren, putting them both to bed after they’ve successfully obliterated your snack time

Daisuke, of course, is still clinging to your arm like a teddy bear, overly needing reassurance

After that? Life... it wasn’t the same

The captain received some valuable intel from a certain co-pilot then starts stopping you at the lounge when you relieved yourself at midnight

“Y/N... do you think I’m a good captain?”

It's 1 am

"Well, no one's mutinied yet, so... yeah, you're probably fine."

"Of course! The absence of rebellion is the mark of true leadership! Y/N, you're a genius! I've been looking at this all wrong!"

You watched Curly skipping - SKIPPING - to his sleeping quarters after patting you in the head

The respect you had for Anya skyrocketed, and once being alone with with the nurse you asked her

"Hey, how'd you deal with all the crap with those rascals?"

She looked at you blanked, then you were unexpectedly given a fromt row seat to Anya's hidden and horrifying side

"I CAN'T! ONE MORE "CAN I EAT EXPIRED SPACE FOODS" QUESTION FROM DAISUKE, I'M RAVAGING THAT GUN FROM THE COCKPIT AND PU--"

"Hey hey hey, Anya, calm down, love!"

"IT'S THE 17TH TIME THIS MONTH, Y/N! SEVENTEENTH!"

After what felt like an eternity of inhale-exhale simon says with the nurse (for her, but mostly for you), her breathing finally slowed down. Thank the stars for that

"How'd you do it Y/N? Every time they ask useless nonsense or dump very emotionally overwhelming things... you send them off calm! It's witchcraft, I swear."

"Honestly, I'm as clueless as you nurse. But you've got too much on your plate, lemme handle this. I've got two ears and infinite tolerance."

"Infinite tolerance? You? The same person who chased Daisuke down for 5 minutes just for a yogurt cup?"

"Hey, that was the last cup and were still 200 days away fro--alright. Just trust me Anya, I got this."

Y'all laughed about the outburst, but you're secretly terrified of her now (respectfully, of course)

One day, you were helping the grumpy mechanic and the man's acting weirdly cryptic

“Why can’t people just…? Ugh, forget it.”

Finally, after handing him a screwdriver for the third time, his grumblings axed a huge ass crack in your patience

“Alright, Swans. What’s eating you? You’re gonna blow a gasket at this rate, and I don’t mean the ship’s.”

The man got two choices, save his non-existent high pride or just release it all

“It’s nothin’. Just Jimboy's been stickin’ his nose where it doesn’t belong, Cap’s stressin’ over somethin’ again, and Daisuke-- Why can’t they just… leave me outta it?”

Ah, he chose wisely. and you weren't gonna tease him for it (not yet, he's gotta pay for stealing your dinner twice)

“Maybe it’s because they think you’re reliable.”

The gruff old man had the nerve to squint at you, you can see it through your trusty side-eye (it made your eyeballs hurt)

"Me? Reliable? Bullshit. 'M just keepin’ this old horse from fallin’ apart.”

“'xactly. You keep the ship together, so... maybe... they figured you can keep them together too.”

This gotta break the record for Swansea's longest silence ever, no snorts, no sighs, no scoffs

The mechanic processed that like you just revealed the meaning of life and sprinkled some fairy dust on his dirty blond head (at least the color's just named dirty unlike jimmy's actual dirty ass hai--)

“Hmph. That’s dumb.”

Your eyes woulda twitched if it weren't for his shoulders relaxing and a small smirk on the mans perma-wrinkled face, you were about to leave when you heard a small mumble

“...Thanks. For the help. Or… whatever the hell that was.”

Men and their pride, however you gave him a pass and grinned

“Anytime, Teddy Bear."

Most days, you could never even breathe oxygen in peace

For the first time, you eyed Polle with a jealous-fueled burning gaze. All it does was blast you with warnings, and you don't even have to do anything! Just breathe in its general direction and you've rewarded yourself with "SAFETY'S A PRIORITY!"

Meanwhile, you’re over here, literally tweaking and that damn horse was living its best, noise-polluting and noise-free life

Eventually, they started dragging you into these "group venting sessions," basically just everyone talking over each other until it’s less of a calm-headed, adult and mature discussion and more of a competition to see who can throw the best threat (Anya surprisingly won thrice)

Until you bang your trusty pot and spoon,

“ONE AT A FUCKING TIME!”

a/n: this is what my rotting, sleep deprived, caffeine overdosed brain produced, hope y'all like it :,D

[writing-mlm]

Pls write dick grayson x male reader 🙌🏾🙌🏾

How can I help?

Summary: The three times you help Dick with his father issues and the one time he helps you Pairing: Dick Grayson x Male reader WC: 7.4k a/n: this went through five different plots before I landed on this one I am so sorry

He’s given his entire life to Bruce. He’s owed him as much for everything he’s put him through; taking in a rowdy, traumatized orphan and dealing with the near limitless energy he had. Then the teenage angst, he understands why Bruce kicked him out. He had to. He understands that everything he’s gotten in his life is because of Bruce. 

Bruce wasn’t… he wasn’t bad. He was doing his best with what he could, after all, infinite money didn’t come with infinite wisdom. And Bruce had given Dick his best, so really, Dick should be happy. He’s better off than some orphans, most orphans really. 

So why does he want to strangle him?

He doesn’t get it. He loves Bruce, he’s the closest thing to a father he currently has. But he can’t be around him, he can’t stand his voice, he can’t even think about him without being upset. 

He bites harder and you wince, staring at him as he bites your shoulder. You doubt he’s even aware of it, he hardly ever is. These moments are rare with Dick, usually after he visits his father and it goes wrong. It almost always goes wrong. 

The biting makes it so he doesn’t cry, he doesn’t like crying. Not because he’s a man and men don’t cry but because it makes it harder to see. To focus. His breathing gets all loud and he can’t sneak around. But with biting, none of that happens. 

You rub his back as the pressure on your shoulder builds and builds. He’s nearly breaking skin before he finally pulls away and stares at the TV, more quiet than he ever has been. 

“I’m sorry,” He mutters after the episode ended. Feeling his fingers wipe away the drying spit and then soothe the throbbing spot, you turn to look at him and shake your head. 

“Still invulnerable,” You remind him. While yes, it hurts a little, you know it’s not going to bruise. It’s not going to do anything aside from give him some sort of healthy release. He nods, still looking at the spot. You can tell his mind is running, it doesn’t take a genius to tell that much. “Dick, I’m perfectly fine.” He looks at you, eyes red and bleary before he huffs and turns his head away. He blinks and tilts his head to the ceiling while you watch. 

He doesn’t like it when you watch, it makes him feel bad. Like a burden. But you watch to make sure he doesn’t put too much pressure on his eyes when he rubs them. 

“It’s not your fault.” You promise and his breath hitches. God, he wants to believe you. So badly. “It’s not your fault.” Lips pursed and a lone tear running down the side of his cheek, Dick turns to you. “It’s not—“

“Stop.” He begs. His eyes screw shut and he shakes his head. “I know— I know it’s not, I do. But…fuck man.” Pushing himself away from you, you watch as he enters the kitchen and runs his hands through his hair. “I can’t just leave him!” He nearly shouts, convincing himself as he throws open the fridge. 

“You can.” You nod, eyes flickering to where he’s grabbing a water bottle. 

“No,” He says through a dry laugh before taking a large gulp of water. “No one leaves Bruce.” Turning to you, Dick licks his lips. “Do you know what it’s like? Trying to run from the world's greatest detectives and his mini Batman’s?” Shaking your head he shakes his back and walks over to the couch again. 

“Oracle, Red Robin, and Batman! Those three have found unicorns before. End of the rainbow pot of gold. Compared to that, I might as well have a giant sign on my head! Then he has Superman and-and Martian Manhunter. Zatanna. Constantine!” He’s nearly shouting now, hitting each finger as he rapidly lists them off. 

“Have you asked him for space?” It’s the question you’ve wanted to ask him for years now. His plan is always to up and leave, his bad thoughts are to up and leave. His good thoughts are to leave a note, and then leave. But he’s never thought about that. You know because he pauses and looks at you. 

“He wouldn’t…” Shaking his head, Dick lays his head on the armrest of the couch and brings his legs up to yours. “I’d just get the society needs Nightwing talk. He’d say I’m leaving behind innocent people who need me.” He angrily says into his water bottle. 

“You could get amnesia,” You half seriously suggest, running your fingers along his legs. He shaves pretty religiously, something about his suit needing less friction to get on and off. “Go by Ric without the K.” At that, he snorts and looks down at you. 

“I love you,” He says and you smile. 

“I love you too, dude.” Groaning, he kicks your arm and sits up. You laugh and rock into him, watching as he stares at the TV. His hair falls over his forehead nicely but he shifts it back, probably out of nervous habit. 

“I can’t leave Damian.” He quietly says, a deep frown forming on his face. “He’s already been through so much.”

“You all have.”

“But he spent eleven—“

“This isn’t the trauma Olympics, Dick. You all can be fucked up at the same time.” There’s a long pause in the apartment and you get up to take the cookies out of the oven. They’re his favorite, macadamia with raspberry chunks. 

“You know what really sucks?” He calls and doesn’t wait for a response. “We can’t even see a therapist about this! I mean, could you imagine one of us trying to see a therapist? It’s either Harley, Dinah, or some poor civilian!”

“Why not get therapy as Nightwing and then therapy as Dick?” It feels stupid, it sounds like it should be stupid but honestly, as Dick thinks about it, it might work. The biggest issue would be separating himself from Nightwing. Being a hero has been such a big part of his identity he doesn’t know how to unassociate the two. He doesn’t even know if they’re still two separate people. 

“Maybe,” He shrugs and turns back to look at you. “Can I get a cookie?” He asks, half of a frown on his face. 

“They’re hot,” You shake your head and poke one of the cookies. “Give them five minutes.” 

“You’re hot.” He grins. 

“Still not getting a cookie.”

“Aw, man.”

—

It’s the last stretch of the day. After coming back from his detective-ing and patrolling and you coming back from the WatchTower, Dick lays his head between your legs and sighs. He likes it there, he could spend hours between your legs if he could. Truthfully, you think he likes it more when it’s nonsexual. The feeling of your thighs cupping his ears, your fingers running up and down his hair mixed with being able to get up whenever he wanted was one of the times he was most relaxed. 

He sighs again, leaning his head further back as your nails drag against a spot that had been bothering him for a while now. You smile and give it extra care before exploring the rest of his hair, secretly glad he hadn’t realized he’s due for a haircut soon. The once blunt ends have dulled and you hope he doesn’t notice the starts of split ends soon. You could just repair them, right? There are shampoos for that. 

Although you wouldn’t tell him, you did enjoy his mullet phase. The long hair was pre-dating but it’s what caught your attention. He only cut it the night before your first date, which was admittedly a little heartbreaking. But the shorter hair definitely was better. It worked wonders for him, really drew attention to his eyes and his smile. 

Plus when he was fighting no one could grab his hair and bang his head into a wall as much. 

You feel along scabs and small scars that his thick hair hides, carefully dragging your nails over it. But not too harsh that it would remove the scabs. His hands flex and tense on your thigh as you do so but the way his shoulders drop lets you know to continue. He’s close to snoring at that point, the only thing missing was the white noise he had to listen to. Sure, it annoyed the shit out of you, but it wasn’t ruining your sleep. 

The room is dark with the curtains drawn and the door is closed, but there’s a video playing with the sound barely audible. It’s nothing compared to Haley snoring in the corner of the bed, though. Maybe she could be the white noise. 

“Do you think…” He says, voice soft as he tries to let go of the day's pressure and just live. But he never can, you don’t think he’s ever actually just relaxed before. “Do you think I’m a good son?” He finally asks and you see the tip of his nose move as he frowns. 

“A great son,” You hum, tucking some of his hair behind his ears. “Hell, I stopped speaking to my dad after he forgot my birthday three years in a row.” You laugh. 

“You had a reason, though,” He shakes his head. “I owe Bruce—“

“Adopting a child doesn’t mean you’re owed shit.” You tell him and carefully sit up, now staring down at him. “He chose you, he doesn’t get to hang it over your head like some sword. And you shouldn’t either, one good choice should never negate years of building resentment.” He frowns and stares at you until you sigh. “How about this? You go to family therapy, you did say Bruce is different now.”

“He is,” Dick nods, guiding your hands back to his hair. “I know he’s a good dad but sometimes he sucks.” He blinks, briefly staring at you before he closes his eyes. It’s clear he wants to continue the conversation but he can’t bring himself to say anything else. His mind is a fog and he doesn’t truly want it to clear out. He doesn’t want to face reality just yet. 

“Is this a bad time to mention that I have to shit?” He snorts and nods, eyes still closed as he gets up. He watches as you scramble out of the room, nearly waking Haley up in the process. He follows after you like a lost dog, his feet slapping against the freshly mopped floors. 

He doesn’t want to be alone, he knows it’s probably not healthy to be so attached he couldn’t fathom going twenty minutes without seeing you while you’re in the same apartment but he can’t. At least, not right now. He can’t be alone with his thoughts and if he has to deal with them, he wants to at least look at you. Touch you in some way. 

“We’re at the stage where you watch me shit?” You joke as he opens the door and sits on the edge of the tub. You don’t mind as much as you thought you would, not with Dick slowly sinking into the tub and getting rid of his shirt, and then pants. He throws his shirt at you to get your attention when you’re nose-deep in your phone. Unaware of his actions.

“Bath?” He grins, the sound of him slapping his thighs echoing in the bathroom. 

“I’ll get the bubbles,” 

The bath is nice, the water is cold against Dick’s aching muscles and you’re staring at him from the opposite end of the tub. Well, as best as you could with the lights dimmed and the occasional phone screen illuminated on the counter. He’s messing with the bubbles, creating beards and blowing them at you. Making sure you can’t move away by locking his ankles behind your back, he watches as you wipe the bubbles from your mouth. 

Spluttering them out, you grab your own handful and smush it against his face. 

You both laugh and sink further into the water. He’s down to his chin, his knees awkwardly sticking out of the water while the water is just up to your chest. 

“I think I’ll talk to Bruce about therapy,” He says as the laughter is nothing but a memory on the tiled walls. The bubbles slowly popped around him and the water gradually got warmer. He nervously drags his hand down your leg and then slowly up again until he reaches your thigh and stops. 

“I know some family therapist,” You softly tell him and he nods. “I think Dr. Sampson would be good for you two. She does virtual and in-person, flexible for the most part.” That’s good. He doesn’t think Bruce would let Brucie Wayne get seen walking with his eldest child into a therapist's office. 

“Thank you.” He says as he reaches over and pulls you onto him. Water splashes over the side of the tub and some gets in your eyes but you blink it away. “I’m so in love with you,” He says, unable to look at anything but your eyes. 

“I love you, too.” 

—

It’s a calm Sunday when your door flies open, it bangs against the wall and you’re almost sure there’s a dent where the knob hit. But it’s neither here nor there as you hear Dick shouting in Romani. Whatever’s happened, he’s beyond upset so you abandon your work and meet him on the couch. 

The shouting stops when he sees you and he frowns. It’s deep and etching in his skin. You offer him a welcoming smile as his nose turns red and his lip quivers. 

“What happened?” You ask, guiding him to the couch. With your hand on his back, you can feel that he’s shaking. Instead of replying, he shakes his head and collapses onto the couch, his head in his hands. His fingers thread through his hair, pulling and grasping randomly until he moves his hands around his torso and finally looks at you. 

“I killed Joker,” He finally says. The house is silent as you stare at him, eyes flickering across his face as his breathing goes jagged and he gags. “I…fuck,” He looks at you and you look back at his eyes. “I fucking killed him!” He repeats but this time it seems like shock has washed over him. That he’s the character in a movie, holding a household item turned murder weapon and the dead body is right in front of him. 

“What… why?” You ask, a million questions running across your mind. 

“I thought he killed Tim,” He shakes out, his eyes closed as he remembers what happened. “I thought he killed Tim, he had this illusion of Tim. He looked so much like Jay’s after he killed him. And I… I couldn’t lose another sibling to him.” You notice he’s flexing his hands and staring at them, noting the bruises on his knuckles. Parts of his skin is ripped, like he’s been licking at the bruises and scrapes to make them into cuts.

“I lost control,” He croaked out. A sob travels up his body but he forces it down and presses the balls of his hands into his eyes.

“Does Bruce know?” You ask and he shakes his head. 

“Just Tim and Babs. And you,” That’s good, heaven knows how Bruce would react. 

“Well,” You huff. “Joker was going to die anyway. He deserved it.” There’s nothing you can— want to do about it now. Sure, there’s definitely a way to bring someone back to life but… the Joker doesn’t deserve it. What you can do now, is comfort your boyfriend. 

“We don’t kill!” Dick looks at you. He’s been crying for a long while now, you can see the stains on his cheeks and the redness of his eyes. “Killing is the one thing B doesn’t stand for.” If you could, you’d tell Dick every single issue you have with Bruce. The hypocrisy in his rules, and the moral high ground he puts himself on is fake and it sucks that everyone seems to go along with it. 

But you don’t. Now isn’t the time for your personal qualms with his father. 

“One death,” You tell him, pulling him closer to you. “Is nothing compared to what Joker has done. He’s killed Jason, he’s paralyzed Babs, he’s killed over a thousand people. And Bruce doesn’t have to know. I doubt Tim or Babs is going to be telling him.” He nods at the last part. Out of everyone he knows, he knows his siblings and Barbra wouldn’t tell Bruce that. They’d hold that secret like no other. 

That calms him down. Aside from them, the only person who could possibly know was a god. And he doesn’t think he’s pissed any off as of late. There weren’t any cameras, no one was around for blocks. Not even a single church mouse knows. 

Now came the hard part. Life after killing Joker, pretending to not know where the Joker was. 

He’d just left the body there but he knows they got rid of it. And he doesn’t want to know the details, the less the better. He’s afraid he’d somehow give Bruce hints during their weekly therapy sessions.

“I’m sorry about your wall,” He mutters into your shoulder and you peer at the wall. The dent is small, just the center of the knob left an imprint so it’s nothing five minutes can’t fix. 

“I’ve put bigger dents,” You tell him with a dismissive wave. You haven’t. There’s never been a singular dent in your walls, but he doesn’t need to know that. 

“Can we…” He shakes his head as he thinks. “Do something tonight? Anywhere really, anything but sitting in silence.”

“Yeah,” You nod, turning your body to face him and tucking his hair behind his ear. “Anything you want, baby. How about we drive up to my sisters for the week? She’s having a family thing… I would’ve invited you either way. Besides, if we stay for a week instead of the weekend you will not get any peace and quiet.” You laugh knowing that her kids love Dick. Always asking him to do tricks and teach them. 

He agrees and promises to be ready in an hour. 

There are thankfully no hitches in your plan. Dick had already taken time off from work, your sister didn’t mind that you’d be coming to visit five days earlier than expected, and there was no traffic during your five-hour drive. The two of you didn’t talk much, instead, you took turns blasting music and listening to various podcasts. Occasionally, one of his siblings would call when they realized he’d left Gotham without prior warning but he’d tell them it’s a family thing with you. 

—

Thetford was a small town in Orange County, Vermont. Population, less than three thousand people. It was perfect for your sister who dreamed of two things and two things only. Peace from cities and a nice large farm-style home. 

In the distance, you see the roof of her home and slow down, with no one else on the road you’re not putting anyone in danger. 

“Ready?” You ask him. He licks his lips and nods. “Because I can always drive into town, ask her if she needs anything.” Again, he nods and looks at you. 

“I’m okay, really.” Dick swears. “I promise.” Nodding, you hold his hand and kiss the back of it. He smiles and squeezes your hand back.

Your brother-in-law is already in the garage, grabbing some items from his workshop, and waves you inside. With a three-car garage, there’s more than enough space for your car next to their minivan. He is basically the modern-day Romeo Vasquez. At least that’s what your sister says, you still haven’t seen any of his movies. 

He helps you with your and Dicks bags despite your insistence that you don’t need any help. But he quickly leaves the two of you in the basement when he hears one of the babies crying. 

The basement is nice; a washer and dryer under the stairs, a small living room with various game systems, a bathroom, and a bedroom. You’ve spent enough time down there that you just toss yourself into the bed while Dick stands at the doorway. 

There’s two exits, one that leads to the house and the other to the backyard. It locks from the inside so no one can enter through there but she gives you a key anyway. He sees the small windows at the tops of the walls and it reminds him that the house was built on a slope. The front of the basement is smaller than the back, which is probably why the washer and dryer are over there. 

“Should we go and check on them?” He asks, ridding himself of his sweater. Shaking your head, you roll onto your side and look at him. 

“They’ll come down soon enough,” He hums and lays down next to you. Looking over his face, your eyes naturally land on his hair where you start playing with strands. In your sister's house Haley isn’t allowed on the bed, so she’s laying right below Dick, trying her best to look at him. 

His hair sprawls across the pillow like he’s in a Studio Ghibli movie. Thankfully, he still hasn’t cut it. He watches you as you play with his hair, biting his lip and carefully touching the scraps on his hands. It’s too quiet for him, he can’t enjoy the peace with you. No matter how badly he wants to. 

“Can we see the kids?” He asks almost tightly. You nod, kissing his cheek and guide him upstairs with Haley quick on his heels. 

—

The week is filled with watching children and helping prepare for the upcoming family gathering. Dick is good with the kids and making sure things are strung up, climbing in trees and up to the gutters of the home while you’re better with nailing the umbrella into the dirt and carrying the chairs into the backyard. 

He’s thrown up a bit throughout the days, normally during stretches where no one is doing anything. He nearly strangles you as you sleep, holding you so tight you’re worried for him but it’s calmed down as the week continues on. Especially after his latest session with his father. 

He seems happier, actually sitting down and enjoying the quiet of your sister's home. The two of you go on walks at night, using the basement key to avoid waking anyone up. Every morning you wake up to clips of the two of you walking sent by your sister. 

Haley loves it, she’ll run ahead and wait for the two of you, sometimes she’ll run into large piles of leaves and then run around with sticks she finds. 

But he’s noticed how you’ve been getting as the week continues. As the realization you’re going to be seeing a lot of your family for the first time in a while dawns on you, you get more fidgety. You’ve needed to be doing something at all times. Fixing things that don’t need to be fixed, volunteering to clean the kids' rooms, the bathrooms, and even raking all of the property. It took nearly five hours, but you did it. 

Then, you’d spend hours in the bathroom. Shaving, styling your hair, brushing your teeth to the point your gums hurt. You’ve stopped letting him into the bathroom with you, locking it behind you. Late at night, when you think he’s sleeping, he hears you throwing your hair products. Once, it got so bad you had to wake your sister. He watched as you spent nearly two hours talking to her in the backyard. 

He doesn’t know what to do. He’s not used to comforting you. Sure, he comforts Damian, Tim, Jason, Kori, Cassandra, and basically everyone else he knows but never you. You’ve never needed reassurance before; always being his shoulder. It’s a little selfish to think so, but it makes him feel like a bad boyfriend. 

Even more so when he can’t pull his big boy pants up and ask you what’s bothering you. Instead, he thinks and theorizes. He is a detective, after all. 

It’s the day of the reunion when you feel him kissing your back. You never sleep with a shirt since you always end up with your back all sweaty. He trails up from your shoulder blades, carefully trailing up to your jaw, and then shifts to kiss your cheek. 

“Dick,” You hum and he hums back, his free hand rubbing circles on your hip. “It’s early.” 

“I’m not doing anything,” He reassures but drags you onto him. “Besides, it’s almost seven.” He says it like you’ve slept all day and it's past an acceptable time to be sleeping still. Blinking, you sigh through your nose and sit on his lap, slowly running your hands down his stomach. It’s more out of habit than anything else. 

“Fine.” He grins. “But you’re showering first.” He frowns but nods and you roll off of him, watching as he grabs his clothes from the dresser and heads into the bathroom. Meanwhile, you take a nap. 

A part of you knows he wanted to shower together, but you couldn’t. You wanted to shower in water so hot it’s actually dangerous and he hates anything above a light steam. Something about it being bad for his skin. 

This time, you’re woken up much more rudely. With three children shaking you, you groan and throw the blanket over your head, ignoring their shouts and calls for your name until Dick suggests taking the blanket off. 

“I’m up!” You shout, glaring at Dick as he grins. He ushers the kids out, promising to teach them how to do a barrel roll in the basement living room. Begrudgingly, you start your day and meet Dick in the kitchen. He’s in his head a little, probably because there’s a clown on the TV being called a classical joker but he’s still attentive with the kids. 

You’re helping your sister's husband with making breakfast, something light since lunch and dinner will virtually be an all-you-can-eat buffet for the family. 

Dick joins in when the kids pick a show, cleaning the dishes and staring at you for far too long as you’re watching the eggs cook. You don’t look happy, he finds the longer that he stares at you. You look distant and at one point you look at the ceiling and blink. 

He thinks and thinks, but he doesn’t know what to do. He doesn’t know what type of comfort you need. 

His hand finds yours as you finish up and your sister takes over. He brings you to the couch and just sits with you and it seems to work as you lay your head on his shoulder and hug his arm. But it doesn’t last long, as the kids finish eating and the doorbell rings. 

You remove yourself from him and look at your sister. She checks her phone and nods so you take his hand again and drag him down to the basement. 

“Who’s that?” He stupidly asks as you toss yourself onto the couch and curl up in the corner. Watching as he sits next to you, you look at the black screen. 

“My parents,” You sigh. “My father really, they’re divorced.” He nods. Sure, he’s met your sister a bunch and some cousins but never your parents. He knows the names of aunts and uncles, gossip about family members he’s never met and plenty of birthday wishes from them, but he doesn’t know them. 

“Oh,” He blinks. And you nod. “Are they…?”

“Powers? No,” Rolling to your side, you stare at him. “They don’t know either.” He nods again. “I’m sorry… did you want to meet my dad?” 

“We’ll meet later,” He dismisses. 

Later comes two hours after your father arrives. Your mother and some other family arrive at the same time and you’re forced by self peer pressure to make an appearance. With them all in the backyard and you can see around twenty people have arrived and the dread creeps back in. You don’t know why but you feel like you might throw up so you rush into the bathroom. 

He heads out first, you’re still in the bathroom but you don’t tell him to wait so he goes. He sees your sister and goes to her side, she’s talking to everyone who’s there. They all decided to sit at the same table so it made greeting them much easier. 

“This a friend?” Your grandfather asks, eyeing Dick up and down. 

“(Y/n) roommate,” Your father answers through a grit. He doesn’t know if he should correct him or not, if it would ruin the whole thing so he just smiles and introduces himself. He uses Richard for them, he remembers that they don’t like curse words from anyone not considered an adult. So anyone below forty. 

You enter the backyard sometime later and immediately find Dick. He’s at the table with your family, chatting with your aunts. It grosses you out for a moment, seeing the way they stare at him but you push it down and walk up from behind him. It’s almost on purpose how you ignore your father and stand behind Dick, messing with his hair as he talks. 

He pulls up the chair next to him and you sit, greeting your family. 

Everyone talks while Dick listens, the conversation moving to what you’ve been up to. You don’t post on Facebook so they have next to no information on how you’ve been doing, so you fill them in on your jobs and stuff until the other guests arrive. 

Soon enough, everyone is there and the party is in full swing. Music plays and food is being served. Kids run around the backyard and play in the pool but you’re sitting around some of your cousins and their parents. 

They’re talking about random things, mostly. Some of your cousins are already married, showing off their spouses and rings with subtle jabs at their significant others with their issues. A ‘can’t clean up after themselves’ or a ‘doesn’t know what a diaper is’ is thrown around a couple of times. One of them is pregnant with twins and another is talking about their child going to college soon. 

You feel like the odd one out. Although you’ve never put a timeline on your relationship, nor have any real desire for children or marriage; it would have been nice to have some leg in their conversation. Instead, you give everyone their congrats and continue to drink. 

The conversation moves into more conversations you can’t relate to and you find yourself hungry, quietly asking Dick if he wants to grab something to eat. He agrees and the two of you head over to the food table and pile some stuff on. 

“What’s this?” He asks, pointing his fork at the chitlins in a smaller bowl. 

“Nasty is what it is,” You quietly laugh. “Pig intestines.” He nods at the answer and moves along. Your plate is done, stacked up to a point that might be unsafe with a fresh can of soda in your other hand. 

“Are you okay?” He finally asks as he’s piling collard greens onto his plate. 

“I’m fine,” You nod. “Wish there was better music but I’m fine.” 

“No,” He shakes his head and looks at you. “Are you okay? Is there something I can help you with? You were jumping to leave the group and you’re drinking a beer.” 

“I’m fine,” You nod again. “Just normal family things… I swear.” He sighs and you sigh back. “Truthfully, I hate being around my dad. And I feel weird being here, I can’t relate to them.” 

“Because of us?” He asks and you laugh, quickly kissing him. He leans in for a deeper one but you push him back and he frowns, eyes on your lips. 

“Because my job is going to space and saving aliens and their jobs are school teachers and office jobs. And I can’t relate to changing diapers or arguing with my wife— well, boyfriend.” 

“Oh,” He turns back to adding food to his plate. “Well, you can say you’re a baker. That’s a normal job that you kind of have.” 

“True,” Looking over the yard, you see nearly everyone is staring at you. They look away quickly and you clear your throat, waiting for Dick to finish up before heading back to your group. 

“Uncle Richie,” Mickey, your sister's oldest child, says as he walks over with a popsicle stick and most of it smeared on his white shirt. God, if the place hadn’t been silent before, it’s silent now. You’re aware of the stares your way, even though Mickey is oblivious to most of it. 

“Yeah, Mick?” He greets, ruffling Mickey’s hair. 

“Did you make Uncle (Y/n) gay?” He asks with his head tilted while you snort into your drink. 

“Did I… what?” Repeating the question, Dick looks at you with red ears and help me eyes. 

“I been gay, Mick.” You tell him. “Why?” Mickey shrugs and bites the popsicle. 

“Grandpa said not to tell you he said that Uncle Richie made you gay.” Your cousins around you chuckle and you have to bite your lip. 

It’s not surprising. The man who forgot your birthday because he already had five kids before you didn’t know much about your life. He never really wanted another kid, he dotted on your older siblings and gave them everything they ever wanted. You were more of an afterthought, the kid shoved into the attic because that was the only space available. The kid who found a strange monster in the dark attic that gave him magical powers and became even stranger to his father.

“I won’t tell him,” You swear and Mickey nods before running away. 

“He told your family were roommates,” Dick finally admits. “I didn’t know what to say so I just… didn’t say anything.” 

“It’s fine,” You shrug. It’s not fine, but you don’t want to dwell on your issues. Today isn’t about you, this trip isn’t about you. You should try and enjoy yourself.

“Why didn’t you tell us?” Your uncle asks, pointing his beer at Dick. “We should’ve been chewing him out! Not sharing stories!” The others agree and you apologize with a smile. 

“I thought you guys knew,” You shrug. 

“Well,” Your grandmother says from behind you and you jump. “Tell us about your boy toy.” She nods her chin in Dick’s direction and he laughs. 

It doesn’t take long for the adults to gather around you and basically shove you and Dick into each other. You’re a bit embarrassed at the attention, choosing to shove your mouth with food while everyone asks their questions. 

Your father is notably absent, he’s off walking around with a cigarette in his mouth. He doesn’t do gay stuff, you think. He tends to avoid it at all costs. Your mother isn’t there either, but she tends to avoid you so it’s not shocking.

“You said your name is Richard?” Your grandfather asks and Dick nods. “How long y’all been dating?” 

“Couple years,” You answer. 

“Long enough for a ring?” One of your aunts asks, eyes raised at Dick. You look at him too, sure this isn’t a great time to finally talk about that but, hey, why not. 

“Definitely,” He nods. There are a couple of others and haha from them. 

The conversations continue and he watches as you’re more relaxed now. The beer is gone, taken over by the ants who drown in it. You’re happily talking, catching up, and showing pictures. He stares at you so long, so hard, that the others notice and point it out. They call him smitten, and consider you lucky that you’ve found someone who seems to worship the ground you stand on. 

But in truth, Dick doesn’t think he does enough. He thinks back to the times you’ve dropped everything for him, how you’ve learned him inside and out, defended his feelings about his father, and he wishes he could’ve been a fraction of that boyfriend to you. 

He loves you, a whole lot. But he knows he doesn’t really show it. Not as much as he’d like to, anyway. 

He kisses the top of your head and you stare at him, confused. He just smiles and leans close to you, resting his head on yours. 

“Can he fight?” One of your sister's husbands asks and you laugh. He’s been in the family for as long as you’ve been alive, you used to have a crush on him growing up. 

“Joel is a boxer,” You explain to Dick. “He likes to fight the family's boyfriends.”

“A test?” He asks and you give a noncommittal nod. “Okay.” He agrees and Joel looks at you, none of the boyfriends have seemed excited about it before. You just hold your hands up. “I mean,” Dick starts as he stands up. “It’s only fair, Damian tried to stab you when he found out.” He did stab you, but your skin just ended up breaking the blade so he called a truce until he could find something that harms you. It was a long day when he found out it was copper. 

“Make space,” Joel makes a motion at everyone to push back and everyone scoots back while Dick stretches. 

“Should I take my shirt off?” He asks, plucking at his white shirt. 

“Please do,” You grin and he winks, taking it off in one motion. You chuckle, giddy as his back muscles flex while he watches Joel take his shirt off. Dick twists, seeing if his belt is too tight and takes that off too. 

“If y’all break up—“ Your cousin whispers to you and you smack her arm. “Just saying.”

“Should I watch your face?” Joel teases. “Pretty boy, ain’t you?”

“I’ve been told,” Dick shrugs. “But I doubt you could land a hit on it.” Again, your family eggs the situation on and you watch as they fight. It’s mostly playful, until Joel pins Dick down and he looks at you. He doesn’t want to hurt Joel, he’s almost fifty but Joel is a professional and definitely has had worse than Dick’s play fighting. You nod and watch as he wraps his legs around Joel’s body, slamming him to the ground in less than a second. 

“Did I mention I’m an acrobat?” He asks once he’s on top. 

“And flexible?” Your cousin whispers again. You chuckle and look at him, you’ve always liked watching him fight. The way he and his family fight tends to look nice. You’ve never seen a better-looking fight than when they fight each other. 

But god, without a shirt it’s so much better. A little too good, you quickly find out. Taking one last sip of your drink, you excuse yourself and head back to the basement but Dick stops you at the door. 

“Did I go too far?” He whispers, holding you close. “I tried holding back.” He adds, kissing your neck.

“No,” You clear your throat. “I just uh… got excited?” He peers over your shoulder and laughs, watching as you open the basement door and flick him off. 

“I can help,” He offers, following after you. 

“And have my family know we fucked? No!” Closing the bedroom door, you grab the box of tissues and lotion before heading into the bathroom. 

“Lotion and tissues is so middle school,” He calls after you. 

“Fuck off!” You call back. “Stupid ass— why’d you take your shirt off?” You groan. 

“It’s my fault?” He laughs. 

“Yes, clearly!” You shout back. He snickers and listens as you finish and wash your hands. “Not a word about this,” You tell him as you exit the bathroom, avoiding looking at him. 

“Damn,” Joel laughs as Dick joins the group again. “You’re fast.”

“Pretty slow to me,” You cough and Dick looks at you, hands on his hips. You stare back at him, daring him to make a comment.

“Slow?” Joel asks. “Let’s see you do better. You know he couldn't carry a gallon of milk until he was fourteen?” He asks Dick.

“I was twelve,” You angrily correct and stand in front of Dick. “Take your seat, man. Telling him my business.” Joel raises his arms and takes your seat.

“Watch the face,” Dick tells you. “My boy likes me pretty,” He winks. 

“I sure do.” 

Your family watches as you fight, each punch looking more real than the last until you swipe his legs from under him and pin him. It’s a low mount, so as he’s blocking a punch, he bucks his hips and you go forward until you plant your hands on either side of his head and stop your fall. 

“Always the low mounts,” He shakes his head as you’re laughing. “You gotta go high, baby.” 

It’s decided amongst the group that it’s a tie and you sit on the arm of his chair as the night continues. At some point during the fight, your father had joined back and sat weirdly in the middle. The kids have calmed down and dragged their chairs to the odd spots between the adults or gone to sleep inside the house. 

Eventually, you go inside the house to grab some more ice for the coolers and see your mother exiting the bathroom. She hasn’t really spoken to you, she hasn’t said much to you your entire life. You think she feels guilty about letting your father treat you like that, or guilty for even bringing you into that environment. But you don’t care, if she puts the effort you put the effort back. 

You don’t hate her, despite what she may think. You think she’s a little sad, pitiful almost. And that’s honestly so much worse than hating her. 

“Hey,” She smiles at you, rubbing her arms. “How’ve you been?” 

“Good,” You nod. “You?” She nods and sighs. There’s not much to say. She has some new boyfriend who cares about her, some job she sort of likes, and you can’t talk about your life. 

“Richard seems nice,” She says and you smile. It makes her smile more. A real smile. 

“He’s amazing,” You tell her. Hauling the ice bag over your shoulder, you leave the awkward conversation and dump the ice into the water cooler in the middle of the conversation circle.

Your seat was still taken by Joel, so you’re pulled onto Dick’s lap. He’s a bit chattier than usual, but the conversations are ones he enjoys so you aren’t surprised. Looking around, you see your father staring at you. He’s finally looking at you with something other than disinterested— disgust. 

He’s the only one in the family who feels that way, which is odd. He didn’t grow up hating gay people, maybe he just knew you were gay and hated you so by extension— gay people too. Anything that reminded him of you became tainted and for whatever reason, you’ll never know the real reason why. 

You stare back, daring him to say something. Twenty-odd years, nearly thirty of building resentment and you’ve never acted on it. Never spoke on it. Never once have you told anyone the depth of your hatred for him. Dick knows the surface, he knows the kid version of why poor (Y/n) doesn’t speak to his father anymore. 

The birthdays were inconsequential compared to everything else. 

Your father blinks, his eyes flickering to Dick before they look him up and down. Whatever he’s thinking, whatever is running through his mind is wrong. He can’t fight Dick. He’s not smarter. He’s not richer. He’s not taller. He’s not more built. He’s not better. He’ll never reach the level that Dick has. In any matter. 

He looks back at you, eyes boring into your soul. The glare is nothing, you’ve stared at Thanatos, Darkseid, and world crushers before. Comparatively, he’s the dirt under your boots. 

“Am I a cancer or taurus?” Dick whispers and you look at him, confused. “Your cousin is asking everyone their signs.” He explains. 

“You’re a Pisces,” You correct and he thanks you, laughing at his forgetfulness. Nodding, you lay your head on his chest and let the chatter around you become your own white noise. 

Meanwhile, Dick smiles down at you before staring at your father with a glare. He flexes his hands and your father’s eyes dip down to his knuckles. Dick can tell he sees the bruises and the cuts even if they’re beginning to fade away. Your father gulps and looks away, completely turning his body away from the two of you and Dick returns to his conversation like nothing happened. 

And that’s what he wanted. 

[bliss-in-the-void]

No bc Satoru has this whole hallucination-dream-limbo sequence where he’s talking to Suguru about how he wanted to give Sukuna his all to get through to him and show him how he understood his loneliness only to have Suguru go “…you’re making me jealous.”

As an author, what Gege did here is genius because that is such a loaded statement to make in response to Satoru processing his fight with Sukuna. It can mean so many different things and we, the audience, are free to interpret exactly how Suguru meant it.

On one hand, you can say he said he was jealous because he wanted to be the one Satoru fought with all his might. He wanted to be as strong as Satoru, to match him in prowess, and hearing that Sukuna was the one to do it instead made him jealous.

On the other hand, you can say that he said he was jealous because Satoru recognized that Sukuna was lonely and wanted to get through to him, something that he was too late to recognize in Suguru when he was descending into madness, and that in turn made Suguru jealous because it was as if Satoru was saying “I recognized the loneliness in him and wanted to do something about it” when he failed to do that same thing with Suguru.

I personally interpret it the second way more (the first one is very valid, but I just see things the second way), because of the next lines.

He made Suguru cry. While laughing. Once again, holy shit is that such a loaded scene. What did Suguru’s tears mean? We have never seen him cry before. Not when Riko died, not at any point when he was losing his mind, not even when he died by Satoru’s hand. So why, when Satoru said he wished Suguru was there to wish him luck before he fought, did he finally get brought to such strong emotion that he cried?

Was it because he was happy to hear that Satoru still thought of him, even in his final moments?

Was it because after all these years, Satoru never thought ill of him and pictured him there beside him, and he was relieved?

Was it because he regretted making the choices he did that led to him not being there by Satoru’s side?

Or, in a very indirect way, was it an admission of love from Satoru that made Suguru happy?

I wonder that, because of these panels from Chapter 238:

Kashimo asked Sukuna, “if you’re so satisfied being alone, why did you refuse to die and turn yourself into cursed fingers?”

Sukuna’s response is, “Love is worthless. I’ve never needed anyone to satisfy me.”

Which is a directly opposing statement to the one that Satoru had just made to Suguru.

Sukuna: I only have to worry about myself and I get to do as I please. I am satisfied by myself. I don’t need love.

Satoru: I worried about everyone else my entire life and I was controlled by the society. I was not satisfied, but I would have been if you had been there with me, Suguru.

That. Is. Powerful. Those panels imply that love is what made Satoru weak. He did not feel complete because he didn’t have Suguru. He had all of the power in the world, he had status, he had students that depended on him, other friends even, and he still was not satisfied because Suguru wasn’t there.

Sukuna on the other hand recognized how detrimental love was because of what it did to people, how it made them weak, and he decided he didn’t need it.

Those panels were such an indirect-direct conversation between Satoru and Suguru.

Essentially, they were saying:

Suguru: You fought with all of your might and I wish that you recognized my loneliness so that I could have been there with you

Satoru: I was at the peak of my power and I had the weight of the world on my shoulders, and I was allowed to go all-out to fight yet I just wanted you to be there with me

It’s just. Ugh. They’re saying they want each other in the most infuriatingly roundabout way.