#This is the same shit that we hear from multiple other anons and just...Shut the fuck up

[my-jukebox]

hihi! i have a obey me request that i thought of after reading the hug headcanons w the brothers post you made!! (it was REALLY nice btw <3 i loved it!)

what about mc coming home after a tiring day at RAD and mammon just hugs them n they just have a cute fluffy moment …or!! mammon coming home after a tiring day at RAD, and mc just hugs him n again they have a cute fluffy moment, any of the two are fine since they’re both so cute!! im gonna leave the choice up to ya, cant wait too see what u write <3

- 🃏 anon! :3

I'm so glad you loved the previous post. I brainstormed my best here and tried to make it longer so forgive me if it's not up to the mark. Also God it took so long, I'm sorry.

Genre: Oneshot, Fluff

Characters: (gn! reader), and Mammon.

"Mammon, towards the light!"

The photographer said as Mammon turned towards the light, maintaining his pose. He had been going for hours together with only a ten minute break every hour.

"Majolish is gonna love these pics. Great job today!" was all Mammon heard before he rushed to his studio room and removed his makeup. He looked so tired, to the point where he should've considered getting Asmo to keep the people at bay.

He took deep breaths and finally got some shut eye until—

"Mammon, the next shot is ready!"

"Ahh shit, here we go again!"

Mammon headed out the room and watched as the studio began filling up with multiple models who he was supposed to pose with.

'This is gonna be draining!' He thought as he was being dressed and practically, dragged by his photographer on the stage.

—

The lecture seemed never ending. The professor kept talking about Latin phrases for spells and potions but all you could think about was sleep.

"(Y/N)?" The teacher called out.

"(Y/N)!?" She repeated.

"Yeah!!"

"Are you zoning out? Please pay attention or else you'll fail the midterms."

"Yes, ma'am"

The teacher nodded her head at you and went back to teaching some spells again. You couldn't be bothered. You'd just have to pull up another study session with the brothers again, it seems.

The minute the bell rang, you got up from the bench, refusing to greet anybody as you made your way to the House of Lamentation.

Upon reaching back home, you entered your room to find Mammon asleep on your bed. You gently shook him.

"Mammon, are you alright? It's pretty rare to find you here of all places." You said, voice laced with concern.

"I'm alright. I'm just so tired. When I tell ya' I was like a prisoner there, I'm not kiddin'!!" He said as he looked up at you. He had absolutely no energy left in him.

"There?" You asked, unsure of what he was talking about.

"The modelling studio. Those stupid, little ahhhh.....they weren't letting me rest." He said, clearly annoyed with how his entire day went. You chuckled at his little rage towards his workers before throwing your bag on the floor and removing your shoes, making your way towards the bed.

"Aww baby don't worry. You wanna....cuddle?" You asked him as you watched his cheeks get flushed with different shades of red.

You laughed and opened your arms wide for him. He scowled but still laid down on your chest as you massage his head gently. This moment was all you needed. Especially after a day like this.

"How was your day?" He said softly, so as to not disturb the peaceful moment.

"Eh. You weren't there in class so it wasn't the best." He grinned widely at you response.

"Of course it wasn't the best. The Great Mammon promises to never leave you alone again."

"I'll hold you on that promise."

You hear a low rumble from Mammon, indicating that he was chuckling. You hug him even tighter, never wanting to let go. As you both cuddled, you found yourself finally content and at peace after such an awful day.

And so, you both stayed up the entire night; talking, laughing, joking about everything and nothing at the same time. The night began to fade slowly as you both found yourselves with each other once again, cherishing the eventful moments of closeness as the world outside was asleep.

I finally did it. i got a conclusion at last!

~Masterlist~

Do like, comment and/or reblog if you enjoyed!

[abyssalpriest]

Hey! I saw your tags on my Poseidon post that it confirmed some things for you (@magnoliessence is my side blog hence anon) - I would love to hear more about that and your thoughts on/experience with Poseidon if you are open to discussing!💙🌊✨

Hey there, welcome! And thank you so much for your post, I would love to give thoughts! Boy would I love to never shut up about this entity lmfAO Though disclaimer, I want you and anyone else who reads this to know I'm not 100% sure I know Actual Poseidon so I am not claiming with certainty I work with him. Andddd this is going to be long for that reason - those reasons. I love talking about him but I do need to kind of set up a window into my view here so you can decide whether we're talking about the same entity or not 

To give you a background: I work chiefly with two deities, one of whom is not featured here and that's Hermes, the other would be the Possible Poseidon, but I mostly know him as Leviathan. Physically, I work with two other channellers and it's sort of a thing among us and Hermes (who works with and possesses all three of us alongside Leviathan) and the other spirits we work with including Demeter that Leviathan is Poseidon, though none of us really work with that name since he doesn't tend to present as Poseidon to us. At least not often. We have other forms/names of his more important to our practices, like Leviathan and Shiva. It's also not just Leviathan who says he's Poseidon; the Trinity of Leviathan, (brother), and (brother) all claim at least around us to be the Trimurti (Shiva, Indra/Brahma, Vishnu) as well as Poseidon, Zeus, Hades. So it's either true he is Poseidon or its a group effort lmao.

I am pretty damn sure though especially after seeing your post, not because I'm taking that as the sole informant to my opinion on him being or not being Poseidon, but because I have had a lot of evidence I have up until your post been ignoring, and that post made a lot of things click especially when I took it to Leviathan to be like "ok, damn, this is you?". I just am not able to be 100% sure because Ive had issues with spirits lying about who they are in the past

I say all that (that we work with him, i work wih a group, etc) specifically to highlight that while I put in the work and don't approve of seeing similar characteristics and saying "yep, these cross cultural deities are the same!" without actually putting in an effort to confirm through the deities themselves and multiple physical people I am.... VERY aware this is PVG and based on personal experiences with spirits, which means do not worry, I don't intend to convince you, your UPG and PVG are more important to your practice than mine. Maybe you and I are talking about the same entity, maybe not. But your post is the first time I've really started to actually understand what "I am Poseidon" might mean from Leviathan, because yeah, holy shit, everything on that is so bloody Leviathan and I don't think any of our group (again, we don't work with that name he's just told us so we dont really look into it) knew the name Poseidon was connected to those things. 

So yeah, I'll just talk about my experiences with Leviathan (and I'll call him Leviathan because whether he's Poseidon or not, he's Leviathan) that are relevant to the name Poseidon and that post you made, and you can decide for yourself if we're talking about the same entity or not. At worst, I guess you get to hear about a very similar entity, maybe that will be interesting. Lemme pop this under read more just to save my followers dashboards

Leviathan is an incredibly complex person, but at the core of his being he connects to the water cycles, the sky and ocean, the weather, the sun, the underworld as one of its rulers (or one of the rulers of one plane of the underworld), and has a complex relationship with humanity as one of its fathers. Oftentimes when he's around the three of us he makes it rain or otherwise changes the weather, he has a huge, encompassing presence that is often tied to water, watery depths, cold and dark - but not intimidating as a hollow dark night, he's comfortingly full and present and like the safe embrace of the water. That, I understood to relate to Poseidon. Leviathan is very oceanic, an ancient and wise deific being that's been around humans for a long time... Before your post what I understood of the god Poseidon was his connection to the ocean especially as his symbolic wife due to how Leviathan interacts with the ocean, his connection to horses which echoes in other names he's mentioned being him, and his part in the trinity of Hades, Zeus, Poseidon. Oh, and his trident. The trident is an important symbol of power and of the trinity of Leviathan + brothers and is used publicly as a symbol on their plane in the underworld, so that was also something I saw as relevant. You also see the trident as their symbol with the Trimurti in hinduism and in the stereotypical scapegoat of the Devil and probably other places too, its a big royal family trinity thing. That's pretty much all I knew though since as I said Leviathan didn't really work with us through that energy and name. The "I am Poseidon" thing already made sense given the impressions I get from those working explictly with the god Poseidon, he seems very stern and serious and fatherly, the ocean personified almost as a self-contained and private but hugely powerful thing... That made sense to me.

The ocean as his wife thing, that also made sense and to clarify what I meant by that - the Leviathan exists in many places at the same time, hes just a huge, encompassing father deity who can expend that sort of energy and divide his extensive awareness into multiple parts. He spends a lot of his time partly swimming in deep space which he equates to the depths of the ocean, and specifically he blurs with reality so much that it is like swimming in the ocean and being the ocean at the same time. The "ocean" he is in is so close to being his literal other half, actually I would say with how interconnected with reality he gets it literally is his other half, in the way of two halves of a persons body moving as one - but to humans the best metaphor probably would be he moves with and as the ocean like he and her are a couple who are so in tune with each other they move as a cohesive unit that can separate and reconnect at will. Leviathan moves the world around him like Poseidon and his waters. Leviathan does have multiple actual wives though so Amphitrite may be one of their names, but it definitely would check out symbolically. Actually, just googled her to make sure I was right about her being interpreted as the ocean (she is to some) - theres mountains being referened again... Ill get to his connection with those later.

Horses also made sense, they're core to Levithan's being, one of his sacred animals among other things like wolves, hawks/birds, bears, fish, etc. They're used in war which he is deeply tied to, they're a pinnacle of something core to him which is a relationship between animals/animal forms and the being, especially in regards to taking animal forms and becoming them in order to get things done since when riding horses you and the horse must become one. They're tied deeply to one of his chief homes here on Earth and the people there who associate him with them. I've been reconnecting with my link to the Sky through him and the Storm Mother, who is an entity closely tied to and close with Leviathan, and I remember it keeps coming up with them that I see the sky as shown by them as this amalgamation of horses almost like Sleipnir with the many legs, but with many heads, legs, etc. I can't explain this quickly without sacrficing a tonne of context, but effectively Leviathan teaches that the sky is inhabited by a bunch of bodies moving together in complex ways that create the weather system and whatnot, and while I don't understand them well this lifetime I know very well that Leviathan and Zeus possess these bodies to bring in storms and rain and such. It's a lot like working with and riding horses, is what I'm saying. In my workings with Leviathan the sky and the ocean are one, mirrored selves, and so I absolutely understand the idea of Poseidon and his horses tying not just to the fact that he literally rides horses, but also to the ocean (and the sky) as his horses... His mind is filled with horses and what they represent to him.

But here's the thing: While I knew Leviathan was connected with the ocean, I and our group so much more saw him as the rain and the rivers and the water cycle in general. Its something that pops up in the name Shiva; before I knew he was Shiva I knew of Leviathan with rainwater pouring from his hair, and I later came to find out that the Ganges river is supposed to be coming from his head and hair... He's always shown me that hair = personal power and energy, so to him the water cycle and bestowing and removing water from places is core to his being. Hell, I even have a character representing him called "River" lmfAO  He's also associated with mountains both in PVG and also as Shiva. Shiva lives in a mountain, mountains are where the earth touches the sky, theyre also the sources of many rivers, they dance with the sky without moving. They're the imagery of his asceticsm, his knowledge, his removal yet presence in humanity, of him as a tall and watchful father, and of his teachings as hard to surmount and challenging but open to anyone to try and climb. One of the first visions I had of him was something like his body (giant and bigger than mountains) being pierced by swords and drained and draped over a mountain in order to feed the earth, a commentary on the relationship between mountains and the sky - clouds are torn down at mountains to feed the earth. That vision may have been from Zeus given some of the commentary on Poseidon in it lines up with how Zeus sees Poseidon... But the brothers have known each other longer than our plane has existed, so its not like the bit I explained of the mountain thing was inaccurate

And that I think ties into the relationship you pointed out with Demeter and Poseidon if I'm understading right. He talks a lot about Mother Earth, in a lot of his names and just as a person he's tied very romantically to the Earth as an archetypal goddess figure, the idea of Mother Earth as his other half (as a partner as opposed to the literal other half of the ocean) and a partner with which he dances, loves, entangles himself, is constantly reoccurring in his work with our group. Even when he doesn't mean to explicitly talk about the Earth he does and in such a loving, vital way, the way an enamoured husband would talk about his wife... Point being, the metaphor of water and earth, Sky and Earth, ocean and land, rivers and valleys, plants and weather, etc, is absolutely fundamental to Leviathan's entire existence. He sees himself as a Sky Father deity, which is something that makes sense in the other names I know from him, but Poseidon always seemed (in my willful ignorance, I hadnt had a reason to look into Poseidon) to be so tied to the ocean which seems to, by nature as its the part of the water cycle that is, detached from the earth. The ocean is the water that cannot meld with the earth, it is filled with salt...

Idk I think with the myth you posted... This is just my own interpretation, but "the ocean, salty and derimental to earth-bound life, is not wanted by Mother Earth. If they met and mated it would not be wanted by her, it would cause so much destruction to life out of the ocean. In order for life to continue and for this union to happen, the Sky Father needs to not just take a form that is congruent with the Earth Mother's workings (she takes a form that he can match, plants merge with water to form life, not rocks or dirt), but also he takes the form that is representative of (Poseidon)'s connection to the Sky like the horses in the sky and then representative of his land-bound an land-traversing form, which is specifially horses. It probably doesnt go well given how harsh weather, associated with the raging sleipnir-esque horses I mentioned earlier, can ravage the land - what she needs like plants do is to be gently steeped in the water from the rain in order to properly foster new life. She gets it, she gets the harshness of the sky, and then steeps in the water of the right manifestation of the Sky Father, the right part of the water cycle as it finally settles in the land as a fixed body of water". It depends on how metaphorical the story is and allllll the context im missing, Im so sure that this myth is way more about the origins of that goddess than a metaphor for her parents, but it makes a lot of sense to me how its gotten across especially with the fact that horses are how he gets around when bound to the earth. It just like. Resonates. Not saying I actualy get the myth but it resonates. yeah thats the word Ill use

And speaking of "earthquakes (opening) fissures in the land, and rivers were sometimes thought of as the entrances to the underworld" - reminds me of something he was telling me the other day about "entering the underworld" (he says hell, but hell is a metaphor for states of suffering): "Who controls the doorway to Hell? The mind teeters on the brink of discovery. The adventurous humans fall into sleep, deep down, dense matter, condensing like rain droplets hanging tantalisingly above the thirsty desert, but they do not fall until the consciousness drops to a place it can be lapped up by the hound." It was metaphorical I know, but he never does things for no reason, and the vision in my head he showed me accompanying the words is so clearly of someone fallling asleep, and falling through their bed as it turns to clouds specifically in the sky as if the clouds are the gateway - and like all sky related things with Leviathan its inherently related to the ocean and water. Clouds are suspended bodies of water, and this isnt falling from the bed to the sky then through clouds, its clouds being the gateway, what the bed and plane dissolves into to become the gateway to the underworld. Oh! And later on in the same post lmfao he literally said "Climb the spires to the clouds, rewrite the center of your mass from dense rain, follow yourself back to the form of the river." as to how you ''get out of hell'', basically he was saying the process that happened with the clouds to get to hell, you reverse itto get out of hell, so the water cycle takes you there and back. alright damn!

Your connection to human waterworks too just bloody blows my mind, whether it was a thing or not in antiquity its just... I understand it makes sese that a water god rules over water displacement, but another thing he was telling me the other day: "The rain falls from the sky into the earth and arranges itself into ordered, purposeful motions, siphons, dances with molecules shifting the ground and being shifted by it. It moves through channels carved out by dense matter, mechanical roads through plantlife and organic bodies, hydraulic machines, watershed siphons, generator sparks through tributaries… (...) Machine is a thing between states, organically placed between alcoves in creation, parted waters and the small allowance of a river between." He was specifically in that post and in general to me talking about how the connection between earth and rain is comparable to that of a machine, specifically talking about how he relates the two. He associates himself and I associate him for very valid reasons lmfao with machinery and technology (reasons being his and his brothers involvement with the evolution of technology on his plane and overseeing it here), so he was explaining how it works in his mind that the water cycle is connected to machines. Its like... Waterworks are so.... Exactly what hes talking about. The Earth is a hydraulic machine and like aqueducts siphoning water from place to place - and he as the water cycle is like waterwork machinery, hes the drive and siphoning between water locations, the connection between earth and water is like machinery, etc. And as a conscious being he decides where it goes which means hes like a pupose built aqueduct or siphon or etc so much more than just the nebulous "where will water go we just dont know" - no, hes not nebulous, he's mechanical AND purposeful like humans building structures to control the course. Of course he very well may have been symbolically connected to and invoked for this stuff's physical applications.

"I see (...) a Majestic Stallion (...) the King of Rivers (...) a liminal god (...)  a Father of Mysteries whose teachings allow mortals to harness the awesome power of water and tread the flowing currents between our world and the underworld" That is so absolutely 100% a statement I would echo in its entirety about the god Leviathan. That's been basically my entire work with him. Horses, rivers... And very, very liminal. He is so close in nature and for personal reasons to the Void, the liminal space in-between everything, and presents as such... He's so in-between and outside the understanding of humans, but also so present. Liminal absolutely. And a Father of Mysteries... Most of the spirit work discussions (as opposed to all the casual conversations) we as a group have had with him have related to the unravelling and visceral presentation of core key secrets and mysteries of the world. Working with him is like having the viscera of the world served up on a platter in front of us cleaned and gleaming, his revelations do not hold back and contain views and information that unsettles and off-puts the biased, unready mind, like the vastness of the ocean off-puts the unequipped, but the secrets he reveals are not malicious, theyre an opportunity to transcend the boundaries between yourself and this world, yourself and your deeper self/mind, to destroy ignorance if you're willing to meet him halfway. If you prepare yourself and brave the ocean, you will find things you never dreamed you could find. If you know his arts, if you're initiated into his patronage, you will see things you never dreamed would be possible to understand nor experience. And a lot of what he teaches either is explicitly water and sky related or else its taught in ways that reference and use the water cycle as a baseline....

Yeah. That post just sounded so much like Leviathan Who Says He Is Poseidon and im... Goddamn! Ok! I know why I dont have any trust left for people telling me theyre this that and the other, my ex (a spirit officially banished from ever looking at me again) wiped the floor with all my willingness to meet him half way, but damn. Well, hi Poseidon! He has thrown a tonne my way about this being him, Hermes refers to him (occasionally, he has many names and pet names to cycle through Hermes' mind) as Poseidon, my channeller friends refer to him as Poseidon, hes been trying to prove it to me... Thank you so much @magnoliessence for your post because I think you really gave me an important key regarding him

[discourseboyfriends]

this is some of the dumbest shit ive heard... he/him lesbians have been a thing for decades. and we arent harming you, its the cishets that are fucking shit up for you. get mad at them for not getting that pronouns dont equal gender. get mad at them for not understanding that trans men are men and lesbians that dont conform to gender roles are different. leave lesbians alone.

We’ve gotten many messages like these before, yet they just keep coming in, so let’s open this can of worms again.

I’m not even going to get into the whole topic of how he/him lesbians have been a thing for decades because THAT discussion always end up being entirely fruitless. But, where, oh where do I begin with your claim of how he/him lesbians aren��t harming trans men. Ah yes, let’s start with this link again. https://discourseboyfriends.tumblr.com/post/172636311524/it-costs-0-to-leave-lesbians-alone-you-yourself

And if you REALLY don’t want to read through that whole thing before seeing red completely, let me just pick out a thing and copy paste it for you.

“I am a trans guy, someone who is viewed as using he/him pronouns “but is actually a girl”. ACTUAL women using he/him pronouns while insisting that he/him can be “girl” pronouns DIRECTLY harms me, because there is a very thin line between how people view lesbians and trans dudes (and in the case of lesbians using he/him, there’s basically NO line).Okay? Okay, so we’ve established he/him but with a vulva = still a girl harms trans guys, yes? Okay.”

And don’t even get me start on how “pronouns don’t equal gender” because that’s a whole load of bullshit. If pronouns DIDN’T equal gender, there would be no such fucking thing as misgendering. A person wouldn’t feel uncomfortable being called the wrong damn pronouns if pronouns didn’t equal gender. Someone could call me she and according to this somehow fucking famous logic of “pronouns don’t equal gender!!11!1! UwU” I should just go like “Oh, that’s okay because pronouns don’t actually mean things!!”

Literally, stop trying to use that damn argument because surprisingly enough for you people with only half a fucking brain cell, words mean things. And the thing is, we aren’t talking about the entire lesbian community, we’re only talking about a FRACTION of lesbians who happen to cause harm to trans men whether or not you want to believe that!

At this point, most of you should’ve realised that trying to tell us that we’re wrong, or telling us to go kill ourselves etc. is NOT going to work! We are speaking about our experiences, AND the experiences of others that we have heard! So shut the fuck up, honestly, and just leave your pointless opinions to yourselves.

[jinkicake]

Mouthful

You suck them off while they’re on the phone. 

Kozume Kenma x Reader

Kuroo Tetsurou x Reader

Miya Osamu x Reader

Here you go Anon, I hope you like it!!! I am pushing the Oikawa, Kuroo, Bokuto bffs agenda because we were robbed of that interaction. I just know they would all be good friends like please,,,, imagine these mfs in college together as roommates.... It would be so perfect and they all have the brooding quiet type s/o heheh.... Also, I saw spoilers for bnha and um..... ummm.... UMMMMMM

SEMI-SMUTTY // NSFW

WC- 1,830

~~~

Kozume Kenma 

Kenma has the best poker face, nothing is going to give away the fact that he is getting head

Except for when a tiny, tiny, appreciative sigh leaves his lips…..

Then the other person on the line, most definitely Kuroo will be like ‘Yo, what are you doing~’ Yes, Kuroo can tell when Kenma is getting head and will probably praise him for it 

I think if you first try your advances Kenma would simply stare at you with disgust, making no effort to hide that same level of repulsiveness in his voice 

He’d go along with it though because he is not going to try that hard to stop you, ‘why waste that energy’ 

His nimble fingers would card through your hair and he would instantly become relaxed like his shoulders would go limp and he’d flutter his eyes shut

Kenma would still be able to keep up with the conversation though because he doesn’t really add that much input anyway

However even though most people wouldn’t find any difference in his change of attitude….. Kuroo would notice, how can’t he? He would notice the subtle changes in his pudding hair best friend and would be like ‘are you getting head right now’

To which Kenma would go bright red and tense up really quick and try to hide it but ultimately give up and just sigh in defeat ‘yeah’ 

Kenma doesn’t like talking on the phone,,, you take it upon yourself to help him relax~

Kenma pulls his bottom lip between his teeth, trying hard not to let the hiss escape his lips. He doesn’t glance down at you, he knows that if he did, he would come undone. The feeling of your warm mouth sucking him in so nicely, your cheeks hollowing around his legnth, your tongue running underneath his cock, it makes his knees utterly weak.

“Yeah, I met that dude Oikawa, I don’t know why everyone hates him. He seems like a cool guy to me,” Kuroo aimlessly rambles, going on about how he met the well-known setter. “he’s going to hang out with Bokuto and I next weekend. You wanna come?”

Kenma sighs and it’s not because of your tongue. He silently thinks long and hard before speaking up again.

“No.” 

You end up gagging on his length, blame on the fact that you tried laughing while sucking him off. 

“Kenma, you’d really like him.” Kuroo persuades and Kenma mentally pictures the pros and cons. 

“I’d rather play video games,” Kenma’s fingers rake through your hair and he makes the mistake of looking down at you. A quiet moan leaves his lips, the perfect little ‘ah’ that he doesn’t even hear himself. The line goes quiet for awhile and Kenma assumes that it is because Kuroo is trying to come up with another reason why Kenma should join them.

“Is (Y/N) giving you head right now?” Kuroo asks boldly and you gag once again, pinching your eyes shut at the humiliation. Defeat washes over Kenma. 

“Yeah.” He sighs and Kuroo hums slightly.

“Finally, good for you, take it like a champ.” Kuroo praises and Kenma’s nose scrunches in disgust. “Anyway, I’ll come by at like nine on Saturday okay? Oikawa is only in Tokyo for the weekend.” 

Kenma never can win, can he?

“Fine.”

Kuroo Tetsurou 

Kuroo is suuuuch a showoff, please he will do it just to make you flustered

He will purposely roll his shoulders back, sit on the couch all arrogantly, stare straight into your eyes as he bites his lip, use his hand to push his hair back while purposely flexing his bicep, he does it all for your enjoyment as well

He is eye-candy and that bitch knows it,,,,, anything for his lovely s/o

Kuroo wouldn’t make any noises though because he doesn’t really want to get caught in the middle of a blowjob. You would refuse to finish him off and then he wouldn’t have your sweet mouth anymore….. 

But,,,, if someone did catch him in the middle of a blowjob, Kuroo would not be embarrassed, please his ego would flourish I feel like he is into that kind of thing

Side bar…. Sometimes I go off with Kuroo and I think,,,, is this too occ? because I remember he is just a big science dork but then I remember no he is a scorpio and then it all makes sense, Kuroo is the best of both worlds 

Kuroo wouldn’t be able to pay attention at all to the conversation at hand like Bokuto could be asking him questions about something and Kuroo is just like ‘yup, it was really hot today’ like he can’t keep up….. not when you’re so generously sucking him off

Then Kenma is like … and Akaashi is like … because they can put two and two together unlike their oblivious friend

It gets to the point where Kenma will start doing something else, like playing a video game while Bokuto tries to keep a conversation going between four people all by himself

Please, Kuroo is the ultimate tease with you but….. if he is going to get pleased then he will also try to please you as well

“And then the vice-principal got mad at me,” Bokuto groans loudly, his eye twitching as he thinks back to the incident that happened earlier in the week. “it’s not my fault he wears a wig!” 

“Bokuto that was not the reason you got in trouble,” Akaashi sighs disappointedly, Kuroo doesn’t pay attention to them.

“What happened?” Kenma comments, slightly curious in the conversation at hand. Kuroo gently cups your cheek, running his thumb against your skin lovingly as he stares down you. At the sight of your teasing eyes and sinful tongue sucking on the tip of his hard cock, his thighs twitch beside you.

“… then Bokuto spiked the principals head to ‘kill the bug’ and also set his wig back to normal.” Akaashi finishes, heaving another disappointed sigh.

“See, I was helping him. He should be thanking me not scolding us for an hour.” Bokuto complains and Akaashi tries not to slap his captain through the phone. 

“This is what I deal with on a daily basis, I even have a notebook to predict his next moves.” Akaashi tells Kenma, his head still numb from the scolding he had to endure earlier in the week. 

“I don’t think anyone on our team is that bad, maybe Lev,” Kenma thinks and Kuroo licks his lips, his eyes darkening when he zones in on your mouth. 

“Kuroo, is he even listening?” Bokuto asks curiously and Kenma narrows his eyes when he pieces together why his friend is so quiet. He knows Kuroo is either getting head or giving it. 

“Ignore him, Bokuto, it’s good we don’t have to hear his voice.” Kenma tosses out and Kuroo gasps. Of course, out of everything, that is what he heard. 

“Kenma!” Kuroo snaps and the setter simply hides further under his blanket on the other end of the line. “I’m just busy,” 

“With what?” Bokuto eagerly pesters and Kuroo glances down at you once more. 

“Stuff.”

Miya Osamu 

Osamu also has a good poker face, nothing can give away that he is getting head…. There will be no slip-up from him

Unless Atsumu says something and Osamu’s competitive side jumps out for a hot second then…… then there is a slip up

‘Fuck you ‘Tsumu, I’m getting head that’s why I don’t care about your bullshit story’ cue a dramatic gasp from Atsumu and Ojiro on the other end of the line like … silence 

Yeah, Osamu doesn’t do well when provoked…. Good luck with that one 

Osamu wouldn’t say no to getting head like if you got onto your knees and pushed your hair back,,,, Osamu would be like ‘shit, here we go again’ he might be hesitant at first but then he will cockily accept it

He’ll carry on the conversation with disinterest, not really paying attention because all he can do is stare at you

Sometimes he will fuck your face,,,, literally….. he has no shame but when you gag too loudly then he lets you have control again 

Osamu doesn’t really want to get caught…. He wants to shield you away from that

His little comments that he slides in conversations here and there will probably be noticed once he stops saying them because he is preoccupied with other things. The team can’t figure out what has him so distracted though

Osamu is usually pretty gentle,,,, until he gets angry so if you suck him off while he is having a conversation with Atsumu…. Good luck

“I have to help my grandmother around the house today, so there will be no practice. Take the day to rest.” Kita’s voice sounds throughout the multiple phones and Osamu lets out a soft hum. His eyes are staring directly at you while he holds your hair back out of your face, despite his neutral face you can still see the fondness swimming in his eyes.

“Say hi to gran for me!” Atsumu says and Ojiro glances at him, the two on the same device as they walk through the city. 

“No.” Kita responds and Atsumu sighs dejectedly before going off on Ojiro when he starts to laugh at him. 

Osamu continues to pay no attention to him, instead, he thrusts into your mouth while holding your head still so he can control the pace. It feels so good, he could fucking cum-

“Yo, ‘Samu what are you even doing? Reading your old man magazines?” Atsumu snickers when he notices how quiet his brother has been. Osamu closes his eyes momentarily, trying to calm himself down from snapping. He gently pulls himself off of you, allowing you to take over the pace. 

“Eat shit ‘Tsumu.” Osamu snaps back, now watching the way your hands grip his strong thighs as you bob your head along his length. 

“My grandmother-“ Kita starts but is quickly cut off. 

“Ah, the shit that you cook ‘Samu?” Atsumu retorts, sticking his tongue out despite Osamu not being able to see it.

“Stop it, my grandmother-“ Kita tries again but Osamu interrupts him. The grip in your hair tightens as his anger grows.

“You really like that shit then since all you do is fucking eat it!” Osamu curses and Atsumu decides to tease him even more. 

“I’ve never seen (Y/N) eat your cooking, that’s how you know it’s shit.” A gasp is heard right after Atsumu’s comment, Suna’s mouth falls open in shock.

“She eats all my cooking, I feed her well but right now she’s too busy sucking my dick.” Osamu spits and you immediately pull off of him, your mouth a perfect ‘o’ as you stare up at him in disbelief. 

“You, right now?” Atsumu asks slowly and the line goes quiet.

“My grandmother is listening, I have the phone on speaker.” Kita finally finishes and the Miya twins start to count their final days.

~

Taglist.

@yams046 @why-am-i-sad-and-sleepy @xhanjisungiex @xxashshs @chaosamu @angelkogane @augustdearly @kunimwuah  @littleshopoflove @osamuonigiri @pearzuko @darksxder @macaronnv @nerdygremlin @buzzybeebee​

[jean-kayak]

Anon Request: Can I request Mattsun brat taming reader talking shit about them to look cool infront her friends

A/N: Anon, thank you for this, and I think I definitely went overboard 💀

Warnings: overstimulation, cockwarming, unprotected sex, oral (f.receiving), use of a vibrator in public, multiple orgasms

Word Count: 1113

Mattsun never had a problem with you inviting your friends over. He sometimes would sit in the same room with you and your friends, but he's never really paying attention to the conversation.

But he does think he's hearing things when he finally does tune into the conversation. He was walking to the kitchen to get something to eat, and you probably didn't hear him come in because there would be no way you would be talking the way you were if you had known he could hear you.

"Come on, guys, you really think he's the one calling the shots?"

He actually stops in his tracks in surprise, his eyebrows raising, but he keeps walking, keeping his ears trained on your words. Your friends are skeptical, but you keep it going. "Yeah, I always get what I want. No questions asked."

He huffs softly, having trouble covering his laugh, and he walks into the living room, seeing if he can catch you in the act, waiting to see your face. "Hey, baby, I was thinking takeout for dinner. Sound good?"

You turn around to look at him, the smirk he was wearing drops. "Yeah, that sounds great," you respond easily with a nod. You give him a smile, the look in your eyes is missed by your friends, but it definitely isn't missed by him.

You were doing it on purpose.

As soon as your friends leave, he's crowding you against the door, hand around your neck, squinting his eyes softly when he sees no sign of surprise in your eyes. "You think you're cute, huh?"

You smile at him as you tilt your head. "Whatever do you mean?"

"You want to get the brat fucked outta you?" Your smile widens as you shrug.

"I dunno. Do I?"

Then he realizes what your real plan is.

"You do, don't you?" He doesn't show any indication that he's onto you, and your eyes widen when he takes his hand away from your throat, your eyebrows raising in confusion.

No, no, he was gonna draw this out.

From one extreme...

"Issei, please," you whine, your nails digging into his arm as your face falls onto his neck.

"Hm? You said something?" he says, paying you no mind as you walk through the store, his hand in his pocket as tears form in your eyes. The vibrations increase suddenly, making you jump, biting your lip to keep any sounds from spilling out. "This is what you wanted, right?"

You don't respond, your legs shaking as you stop walking, your climax right there, and your eyes widen when the vibrations stop. "Please, Issei, I'm sorry." You gasp when he turns them up again, your tears soaking his shirt.

He knows this isn't what you wanted. You wanted him to fuck you until you were seeing stars, the only thing coming from your mouth is a broken promise that you won't act up again. "You call all the shots though, right?"

He smirks with a huff as you look up at him with pitiful, teary eyes, your eyelids screwing shut when he turns the vibrations up again.

He doesn't make it any better for you, replacing the vibrator with his dick, making you cockwarm him while he plays with Makki. He holds you close to him, arms wrapped around you as he taps away at the keyboard, your head in the crook of his neck, trying to keep yourself from squirming.

Whenever he dies or Makki goes to do something, he'll softly press on your clit, forcing your legs over his so that he can keep you spread open while his teeth graze over your neck. "Don't cum, baby," he coos, your chest heaving as you try to control yourself, but you can't do anything.

He has your legs pinned so you can't move them, and you're not even going to try and think about moving your arms, which twitch when he rubs more firmly over your clit. You grip the handles of the chair, your back arching as you feel your orgasm on the brink of snapping, just for it to be taken away again.

You whine softly, making Matsukawa chuckle quietly. "We got a long way to go."

...to the other.

"This is what you wanted, no?" he asks before diving right back in, his hands digging into your trembling thighs as you hard time figuring out whether to pull his head closer or further away.

He sucks on your puffy, overstimulated clit, making your vision blur for what seems like the millionth time today, your body essentially going numb from the blinding pleasure. "Issei, Issei, please! Fuck!" you cry, your face soaked in tears as your body shakes uncontrollably, begging him to relent.

He smiles against your folds but doesn't let up, and you can't even scream when you cum, your body shaking so violently as your eyes roll back into your head, and your body is still quaking as you come down from your high.

And it's not even hours later that he's on you again, this time overstimulating you with his dick. He's flipped you in so many positions that you've gone lost count and gotten dizzy from the number of times you come and the different positions.

You barely have time to breathe before he's sliding back into you, your essence and his seed easily allowing him to enter you without any resistance as your juices drip down your thighs. Your hands grip the sheets to the best of their ability, finding yourself with more tears in your eyes.

Every time he slams back into you, hitting those bundle of nerves inside you, it feels like you're being shocked, a weak moan forcibly coming out of you with every contact. "Too much, Issei, t-too much," you manage, not knowing how much longer you can take it.

"Aw, but didn't you wanna cum?" he taunts, and you can't even respond, his pace never slowing down, and he groans when your gummy walls pulse around him. "You're getting what you asked for, aren't you?"

Speaking isn't even an option anymore, the massive amount of your slick and his release causing a disgustingly loud squelching sound to echo through the room alongside the slapping of skin, and all you can do is hold on, your body practically limp.

"Cum, baby, you can do it. Go ahead," he coaxes, and he gives a few more calculated thrusts, and you're pretty sure you blacked out for a couple of seconds because you barely remember anything, just Issei shooting one last load into you before he slowly pulls out.

"Maybe you'll think twice about being a brat."

Tags: @iwascrybaby, @mxhriii

[drabbles-mc]

Okay, so I wanted to bounce off of the anon's imagine for a juice spider fic, but I also want to see the guys' react to this situation. I know that would be asking a lot, so maybe a headcanon for how the boys would react? Can you imagine Tig's cheekiness/horniness, or Happy's deadpan reaction? Hell, even Chib's would be hilarious. I leave it to you

Since we’re doing this HC for multiple characters, I figured a list might be better than multiple fics. Hope that’s alright! Also threw Opie into the mix because I love him haha. Based off of This Fic

(Also currently drafting a fic that is a different version of this for Kozik for a different request which is why I didn’t include him in this)

Reaction to finding you screaming and naked outside the bathroom because of a spider- 

Tig:

For sure bursts into the room with his gun ready to shoot someone because he doesn't think that there’s any reason someone would scream that loud except if they’re about to be murdered

When he walked into the empty room he was insanely confused, but that confusion only lasted for about three seconds when he saw you standing outside the bathroom naked, dripping water all over his floor

He doesn’t even bother to ask what happened or what’s wrong as he makes his way over to you. You can see it in his eyes that he only has one thing on his mind, and it has nothing to do with the spider on the other side of the door

You push him back, telling him that he doesn’t get to lay a finger on you until he takes care of the monster living in his bathroom.

“It’s not going anywhere, c’mon, we can be quick,” he reached out to touch your hips. But you’re firm, keeping him at arm's length, “You don’t get to touch me until that spider is dead.”

He tries to protest, to sweet-talk you into forgetting about it, but you step away from him and point at the door. You make it very clear that the vibe in his dorm isn’t going to be a sexy one until you know that the eight-legged nightmare is dead and flushed down the toilet.

He rolls his eyes with a sigh but he begrudgingly opens the door to take care of the problem. You can hear him mumbling under his breath about how he can’t believe that you would really push him away over a spider and that he couldn't believe you expected him to see you standing there like that and think about anything other than having his hands all over you.

Despite your annoyance, you had to laugh at his frustration. He made quick work of the problem and came back out, a smirk on his face. He backed you towards the bed and both of you had to laugh at the entire situation

“Y’know, I might start keeping other weird shit in there if it means I get to walk in and see this all the time,” there was a cheeky grin on his face as he thought about it.

You shook your head, “I find any more spiders in there I’ll never be naked in this dorm again. You can count on it.”

Chibs:

If he had heard the scream coming from anywhere else, he would’ve been concerned. But he knew that there couldn't possibly be anything that terrible happening inside the shoebox of a room that passed for his dorm.

He found himself chuckling when he heard you yelling his name, telling him to “get the fuck in here now.”

He walked in and found you sitting on the bed, knees pulled up to your chest. He saw the trail of wet footprints leading from the bathroom to the bed and he had a million questions he felt like he should be asking.

“Do I even wanna know, love?” he was trying not to smile and failing miserably at it. You looked at him, “Do you like company when you shower?” Confusion came across his face, “What?” You repeated yourself, “Do you like company when you shower?” He laughed, “Only if it’s you.”

You shook your head, “Really? Because you have quite the friend hanging out in there waiting for you!” He couldn't even try to pretend that he understood what you were talking about, “Ye gotta start talkin’ sense to me. What the hell--” You cut him off, “There’s a giant fucking spider in there!”

Once he realized that that’s what it was, his laughter continued. He came over and stood by the edge of the bed, pushing the dripping hair back out of your face. He didn’t want to say what he was about to, but he couldn't lie to you, “Aye. I know. Keeps all the other bugs away.”

“You know?” in that moment you contemplated leaving him. If you hadn’t been naked you would’ve stormed right out of the room and left the compound. He held his hands up in mock surrender, “I hardly ever use the shower here! We leave each other alone!”

“Go kill it. Now.” It was plain as day on his face that he was amused but also didn’t really want to do what you were asking him to. He tried to reach out and caress your face but you pulled away, “C’mon, love. That just don’t seem fair. He’s just tryin’ ta do his job.” You started daggers at him, “Filip. I swear to god--”

“No need to bring God into this,” he chuckled as he made his way over to the bathroom, “I’ll take care of it for you.” He opened the bathroom door and took his boot off so he could squash the creature causing the issue.

A few moments later you were rewarded with the sound of his boot banging against the wall. He walked back out, pulling his shoe on as he did so. He shook his head as he walked over to you, “All taken care of.”

You allowed him to drape a fresh towel around your shoulders, “If you want a pet we can get a fucking cat or something. Or a dog for the clubhouse. But no more spiders.”

Happy:

He swung the door open to the room, the same angrily neutral expression on his face that he always had. He could hear the shower still running, and it made him wonder why exactly you were standing outside the door to the bathroom. He looked back and forth between you and the doorway, waiting for you to offer something up about what was going on.

“Why’d you scream?” his voice was gruff. You pointed towards the shower, “There’s a spider in your shower!”

His brows furrowed in confusion, “So? Kill it.” Your eyes went wide as you shook your head, “I’m not gonna kill it!” He tilted his head slightly, “Just gonna stand there naked and waste all the hot water, then?”

You huffed. You loved the man but sometimes you wanted to smack him repeatedly with a rolled-up newspaper. There were downsides to being with someone with a bloodlust like his, one of them being that he would never be able to wrap his head around being afraid of something like a spider.

“Can you just go kill it for me, Hap? Please?”

He didn’t say anything else to you about it but he did go over and walk into the bathroom. He shut the shower off and after a few moments of him looking around, he lifted his foot and kicked the wall of the shower where the spider had been, a brief grunt falling from his lips as he did so.

He walked back out to you, “It’s dead now.” You had to laugh at his deadpan delivery of the statement, “Thank you.” He grabbed a towel and handed it to you, “You should get used to killing stuff. You chuckled, “Yea. I’ll get to work on that.”

Opie:

He walked in and saw you frantically waving him over. He shut the door behind him, not wanting anyone to walk by and see you. You were holding the bathroom door shut like you were trying to lock someone inside.

“Who you got in there?” it was hard for him to not find the situation at least a little comical. He reached and grabbed a shirt off the top of his dresser and handed it to you. “Not who,” you shook your head as you quickly pulled his shirt on, swimming in the fabric.

“What’s going on?” he reached for the doorknob but you beat him to it. You waited for him to look at you, “There’s a spider in there.” The confusion and concern melted away from his face as he laughed, “A spider?” You slapped his chest, “Don’t laugh! Thing has legs as long as yours.” He smiled and shook his head at you, “I doubt that.”

You hand him a shoe that had been cast aside by his dresser. He shook his head and waved you off, “I think I’ll be alright.” You stepped back as he walked into the bathroom and shut the door behind himself. There were the quiet sounds of him scuffling around on the other side of the door.

A minute later you heard the flush of the toilet and let out a sigh of relief. He opened the door and smiled at you, “All gone.” You peaked around him and did a quick scan of the room, as if to make sure he was telling you the truth.

He pulled you against him and pressed a kiss into the dripping wet hair on top of your head. You could tell by the look in his eyes that he was thinking of another smart comment to make so you quickly started pushing him back towards the door. He laughed as he allowed himself to be escorted.

“Just bring me in to do your dirty work?” You laughed as you stood on the other side of the doorway from him. You didn’t justify the comment with a response as you shut the door on him. His laughter made it’s way through the walls between you, “I love you!” he called to you. You rolled your eyes despite the fact that you couldn’t see him, “I love you too, even though you raise monsters in your shower.”

These were super fun to write!! Hope you enjoyed them. xo

[antiochean]

hey! another rika and vanderwood enjoyer :-D! i love the semi-realistic way you draw MM characters (which is to say is an art style that is rarely ever seen in this fandom, unfortunately)! may i ask what are your thoughts on the other MM characters and/or their respective routes--or, instead, if that's alright w/ you, could you share more of your CMC Jake Park? so far, i'm interested in Bleeding Paint and I can't wait to see more of it :-)!

Anon I am kicking my legs around in my bed hugging my pillow like a schoolgirl bc this is the first ask I've gotten in this sideblog and it is literally so sweet and I'm so excited to have gotten it

Because of that you will have to endure me discussing every single topic you brought up in great detail

1. So glad to hear from another Rika and Vanderwood enjoyer. I get pretty self-conscious about liking Rika because of all the negativity, but the truth is that she's a major comfort character for me. When I realized what she meant with all of her talk about darkness after therapy one night I cried for hours LMAO it was a major milestone in my mental health journey.

And that event is actually what made me start writing bleeding paint, AND this is the part where I tell you that if you like Rika and Vanderwood, the good news is that they're the two love interests in the fic. But the bad news is that Rika and Jake's relationship is Extremely toxic. Radioactive. But the good news again is that with Vanderwood, it's the opposite.

2. Thank you for complimenting my art style :)) If my different background means I'm bringing something new to the table, then I'm ecstatic to provide.

3. My opinions on the other characters are!! Difficult to word, because until a couple months ago I hadn't played since Ray's route came out, and this year I've only replayed another story and Seven's route. I'll try my best to give you a summary, though.

Zen and Yoosung: my B plot KINGS. Where would I be without you. Adorable brotherly dynamic. A much needed wholesome break from all the angst. I would die for you.

Jaehee: her role as the Straight Man is executed extraordinarily, in my opinion, because of how often she's just tired. It's so realistic and it makes you feel for her so much. But when she's something else instead of tired, she absolutely slays, it really sticks out. AND I would like to say I think the way her voice changes when she starts fangirling about musicals is ADORABLE. I've been in love with this woman since I was 17.

Jumin: I HAVE THE MOST CONFLICTING FEELINGS ABT HIM OUT OF ANYONE ELSE. Okay stay with me for this one but I'm a hardcore anarco-communist. Which means there are multiple points in the game where, if he were in front of me, I would grab him by the neck and shake him like in that Simpsons bit. Shut up about the free market shut up about the free market. He's so privileged and his lack of empathy means he only alienates himself further and further. So on one side I feel extreme frustration and anger towards him. Then on the other, the emotional maturity of this character is unparalleled. He is, like, completely actualized. On top of Maslow's entire shit. While in Another Story, some of his dialogue has been having me awestruck. I think that IRL, Jumin and I would have the kind of dynamic where we would be able to talk until 3 AM and not realize it. So yeah man I don't know. He's on both sides of the love and hate spectrum for me at the same time.

707: what can I tell you about my bestest boy in the whole world? I would not change a thing about him. He can have my entire house and life and hand in marriage.

V: in my opinion. Okay look. God. I don't have any strong *feelings* about V. But I have very strong opinions.

If you asked me to list any other characters who display the level of emotional complexity his guy has going on, I'd have very few examples.

But the execution of the concept falls short for me.

How many days does the game have in total? Think about it: He's the MOST STUBBORN FRUSTRATING MAN TO DEAL WITH IN THE WHOLE WORLD for ALL but 3 of them, the 3 days at the end of his route. He's a goddamn broken record. Furthermore, his route is so focused on the backstory MC wasn't there for, that it forgets to tell you why you two should feel a bond at all.

It's hard for me to suspend my disbelief and look past all that to enjoy the potential he had.

Saeran: SE Saeran is one of my faves :)) he's not my type in his route, but his portrayal of mental illness matters a lot to me. I have talked to my therapist about Saeran.

4: IT'S JAKE TIME - GET ABSOLUTELY SILLY

Where can I start with Jake William Park. Well first off, he's a bitch. Second off, he had his bisexual awakening in a sasunaru forum post at age 12. Third off. See that picture? He has a septum gauge and, while shitfaced one night, put a silly straw in it. He then couldn't get it out, had a panic attack, and ended up in the hospital.

He was born in Canada. When he was 8, his parents got divorced and his dad moved back to Korea while he stayed. Now he's in Korea as an exchange student for his senior undergrad year.

He's a literature major. He's Extremely pretentious about art. He has a cat named Rodya (nicknamed Rascalnikov). He dabbles in writing horror, but is mainly aiming at becoming a professor.

His superiority complex is his most annoying flaw. He thinks he's so smart and his taste is the only correct one and he's a different grade of human being from most people. He can be mean about it (he bullies Yoosung).

The meanness ties into another flaw of his, which is that he thinks showing emotion is a weakness.

His first version was much goofier and careless and dressed a little bit differently. In Another Story, he becomes what I've come to refer to as Traumajake. The kidnapping and cult stuff really gets to him, he's almost killed or cleansed. And he decides that, if Rika wants a boytoy, then he will be the perfect boytoy until he can get out alive. He pretends to develop Stockholm syndrome - but he's not every worried about it, because he's FAR too smart to develop it for real. Right? Hilarity ensues.

By the time he's rescued, half of him doesn't even want to be. For the rest of the fic, he struggles to find a balance between emotion and reason.

There's a lot I'm leaving out, but this is already far too long and I doubt anyone will read it LMAO

5. I appreciate you mentioning Bleeding Paint a lot!! I have no evidence anyone ever read it and sometimes it makes me embarassed to keep posting sjdaskdjkjds but if just one person has given it their time of day, that's good enough for me :))

Tysm for the ask.

[theimprobabledreamersworld]

““ you look like shit. “ “ thank you. “” with Janus and Remus or Virgil?

Thanks for this request anon! I wrote this with Remus and Virgil, then Janus is mentioned here and there :)

There's warnings for injury detail, a fight mention and swearing but it's not too graphic! It was fun writing enemies to lovers- but it's a pretty slow burn, I'm almost tempted to write a part two for this :) This is basically the start of an enemies to friends to lovers.

Hope you enjoy! <3

General writing taglist: @psychedelicships @jwillowwolf @lost-in-thought-20 @red-imeanblue @writerwithtoomanyships

Read on Ao3!

I hate you, but I'll look after you.

Remus/Virgil (Pre-Dukexiety)

Warnings: Injury detail, fight mention, swearing

The firm knock on the door startled Virgil awake. He rubbed his eyes and realised that he had fallen asleep on the sofa once again while watching some complete garbage on the TV. He stumbled over to the front door as the knocking became more insistent and frantic.

“Alright, alright! Calm the fuck down down, I’m coming!” The irritation clear in his voice, whoever was on the other side of this door better have a good excuse. He grabbed his key and unlocked the door before pulling it open aggressively. Virgil was about to shout again but faltered when he saw the sight in front of him.

It was Remus, a person who has been in his life for many years. They never got on, or agreed on pretty much anything. They argued and bickered whenever they were in the same room as each other, which continued to the point where they hated each other with every bone in their bodies. They’ve had to be physically separated on multiple occasions by their long suffering friend Janus who was always caught in the middle of their altercations. Enemies would be the perfect word to describe them, but even in the epitome of hatred, Virgil couldn’t turn away.

“Woah… you look like shit.” He said in a matter of fact way. Remus was clutching his side and he was gripping the pillar next to the door with all the strength he had left. There were cuts and bruises all over him, a particularly nasty cut shone in the light above his eye. His other eye was swollen and he was clearly in pain, but despite it all he managed to smirk and give Virgil a sarcastic comment in response.

“Aww, thank you! Ah, Virgil. My mortal enemy. After all these years, it’s nice to hear a genuine compliment from you.” Virgil rolled his eyes before grabbing Remus’ shirt and dragging him inside the house. That cut on his head was concerning if nothing else. He finally lets go of Remus and pushed him down onto the sofa. He clicked his fingers while pointing to him as a warning. Move, and there will be more injuries for me to clean up. Remus slouches on the sofa, the pain was starting to get to him and he was not in the mood to argue or intensify the situation. He gritted his teeth and tried to breathe through the pain, so he looked around the room while listening to Virgil moving around the kitchen getting things out of cupboards.

He had to admit, this wasn’t he was expecting Virgil’s house to look like. Given his coldness and callousness towards Remus, he didn’t anticipate how… warm the house felt. The rich purple walls covered in photo frames, the tables with various textbooks on them, and the windowsills that had several plants on them. Unlike Remus’ place, these plants were alive and thriving. Seeing this side of Virgil made him realise that he wasn’t the tough, closed off guy he had always assumed him to be. He shook his head of that thought, he only came here because he was desperate, not out of any kind of sentiment. Remus began to try and assess the extent of his injuries, so he carefully placed his fingers on his face and hissed when he felt the deep wound above his eye.

Remus was so busy making his injuries worse that he didn’t realise that Virgil had come back into the room and was moving everything onto one arm so he had a hand free. He walked up behind Remus and slapped his hand away from his face. He whimpered like a lost puppy and Virgil rolled his eyes for the hundredth time since Remus turned up at his door unannounced.

Virgil dumped his arsenal of first aid equipment on the coffee table, and he sat down on the other end of the sofa while scanning Remus’ face trying to decide which cut to clean up first. Remus watched as Virgil concentrated, and how he tried not to make eye contact. He laid out everything that he needed, and Remus’ eyes widened in fear as he saw the bottle of antiseptic. Had he fallen for some kind of trap? Virgil wasn’t going to help him at all… he was going to hurt him.

“Oh, I see. You’re going to use this opportunity to torture me… tell me. How much have you dreamed of this moment?” He tried to mask the fear he felt with sarcasm, but he chastised himself due to how scared he sounded. He’s had many experiences with wounds being cleaned up, and the agony that comes with the antiseptic. Virgil was pouring it onto some gauze when Remus began to speak, and when he reached the end of his performance, Virgil stopped what he was doing and put it down carefully on the side while sighing.

“You know I have to use it to help you, you dumbass. Yes, it’s going to hurt, but I’m not going to enjoy it… what do you take me for?” He grabbed a new bit of gauze before putting the antiseptic on it once again. He took a deep breath and waited for Remus to nod reluctantly before dabbing it delicately on the cuts. The other ones were okay, Remus grit his teeth and dug his hands into the cushion next to him. When the smaller cuts were cleaned up, Virgil turned his attention to the worrying one above the eye, and despite his best efforts, Remus couldn’t help but cry out every time the gauze touched his head. He couldn’t see it because his eyes were closed, but Virgil looked at him with sympathy, regretting the fact that he was causing pain. Even though they have caused each other a significant amount of pain and injuries over the years, this was different.

“Okay. It’s done. I’ve patched up what I can, you’ll need to keep an eye on them all, especially the one above your eye… so as payment for my kindness. Tell me what the hell happened to you. Now.” It was Virgil’s turn to try and disguise the worry in his voice, but it failed. Remus heard the sincerity and sighed, this wasn’t going to be easy to admit given their history. He winced as he sat up properly but stared at the floor as Virgil waited patiently for an answer.

“I was walking home earlier tonight, I saw some of our old… friends. They were talking shit about you. Bad stuff, even by my standards. I couldn’t help it, I- I saw red and I went for them. They got me in return pretty good… but I think they got my message loud and clear.” He looked up and saw Virgil staring at him in shock, confusion danced in his eyes and Remus leant back a little, not looking forward to the response.

“This all happened… because of me?” Virgil’s breathing started to get frantic, and Remus could feel the anger coursing through Virgil. “Why the HELL would you do that?! You HATE me!! I hate you! Where the fuck was Janus?” Remus shrugged, he didn’t know how to explain why he did what he did, but the hatred he usually felt wasn’t as strong, not anymore.

“I went to him first, but Janus wasn’t home, and no fucking hospitals. We might hate each other, Virgil… but the only person who can talk shit about you is me.” He couldn’t help but smile when Virgil chuckled at the statement. It was nice to see Virgil smile, it made him feel like all of this was worth it. He looked at the clock and saw that it was already 2am, so he pushed himself off the sofa and gave Virgil a nod of appreciation. Virgil followed suit just to make sure he got down the street safe. Not that he cared… of course not. As he stepped in front of Remus to open the door, he turned back trying to work out what to say.

“You know, as mortal enemies go… you’re the best one a person could have.” Virgil shuffled his feet before looking up at Remus. They smiled at each other, lingering in the company before Remus finally made the first move and left into the night.

As he heard the door shut behind him, he felt his cheeks that were red hot. Maybe Remus didn’t hate Virgil anymore, not really. Unbeknownst to him, Virgil was leaning against his door thinking the exact same thing.

[bluegarners]

dick + jaw wired shut ???

hiii anon!! sorry this took awhile to get out there, but here it is! ao3

Jaw Wired Shut

It happens quickly. A bit too quickly, really. One could say it happens in a flash, but neither Wally nor Barry are really here to appreciate that, so it just happens quickly.

He’s on his bike, a slightly older model of the same one Robin rides, just larger and more loved (well-used is another kind term, but he really means beat-up), and they’re both reaching speeds upwards of seventy miles per hour. One hundred and twelve kilometres if he’s using the correct measurements, but no one really cares. Either way, the point is that they’re going fast and only getting faster as their high-speed chase takes them down long streets filled with trash and night-walkers alike.

Robin is slightly ahead, his smaller bike a bit better at maneuvering around the sharp angles and narrowing roads, and Dick is trying his best not to think about how one pot-hole could spell the end for both of them at the speeds they are currently keeping. Of course, they’re both wearing helmets with more padding than standard (thank you, Bruce), but it does little to reassure him as he keeps one eye on the perpetrators they’re tailing and the hardly fourteen year old boy handling a motor-bike like he’s been at it for a lifelong and fulfilling career as a Nascar driver.

It’s not raining, Gotham in some sort of mid-fall drought, and Batman took the car in the opposite direction to try and cut off the gang before they reached the city limits, so there are small mercies. Very small, but Dick is used to relying on slim chances so it’s fine. Fine, really.

The thing is, though, is that they’re only getting faster. Later, Dick will wonder how in the world the gang managed to fix an engine onto the old van to make it go so fast, and later Dick will shake his fist at the sky for his inattention or his too divided attention, but for the moment, Dick is only pushing his bike to keep pace with Damian’s, and going back and forth between glancing at Robin’s wildly flapping cape and watching for civilians that got in the way.

They’re hardly forty feet from it when the van doors kick open and two men crouch at its opening, shouldering what looks to be a machine gun (holy shit, they weren’t supposed to have that kind of weaponry) and a few hand-guns. Immediately, Dick is calling into the comms with the new development.

“Fall back, they’re armed!”

Robin cooperates, lessening his speed and coming to ride along Dick’s flank.

“Weaponry?” Batman asks.

“Hard to say,” Dick shouts, wind screaming in his own ear. “Definitely a few 9mm and maybe a GPM. They’ve got more than a few rounds in there too.”

“Copy. Stay back. Do not engage and keep distance. I’m closing in on them. Keep civilians out of the way.”

“Like we weren’t just doing that,” Robin mutters, the feedback in the comms a glimmer of humor despite the intense situation.

“Got it, B,” Dick responds, a grin marring his serious tone.

He’s hardly got the words out before the first lash of bullets is hitting the rough pavement, metal clashing against stiff cement and slightly more malleable cars. They’re lucky that these thugs just seem to want to put more distance between themselves and the vigilantes because the bullets are only hitting the path in front of their bikes. Still, the ricochet is violent, metal casings bouncing up and pelting anything even remotely close, and it pushes Nightwing and Robin back further. It’s the middle of the night, somewhere close to three a.m., so there aren’t too many civilians out, but it’s still Gotham.

It’s just a normal Tuesday for most of them.

“Maneuver five?” Robin asks, swerving to the right as a slurry of bullets hits a sewer covering. “Or seven?”

“Seven,” Dick decides, grimacing a bit as his front wheel wobbles against the pavement. “Push it up to a Scenario B, and,” he adds, taking care to emphasize the stress in his voice, “minimum engagement.”

Robin doesn’t respond, a blow of air into the comms all that Dick gets in reply, before Robin is suddenly speeding up and launching his bike onto the civilian pathways and gliding by store displays and carefully made signs.

A maneuver seven typically involves three people; one to distract, one to enact, and one to take care of whatever other obstacles there are. Seeing as their only backup was about twelve streets away, the plan adjusts to a Scenario B; meaning that now there is only the distractor and enactor. Being the distraction is more dangerous in this scenario as there is no one to ensure that they aren’t instantly put into a direct line of fire, so that role is automatically deferred to either the older or the more experienced. Both of those apply to Dick, so he takes it upon himself to do his best to keep the attention of the machine gun and 9mm on himself while Damian builds up enough speed to intercept or figure out a way to crash the van itself. Thus, the enactor.

It’s a difficult maneuver but not impossible, and both of them have trained and even done the maneuver a few times. Of course, other variables like speed, location, psychology of the criminals, and the vehicle itself all play major roles in the outcome of maneuver seven, but thinking on one's feet isn’t as difficult to do when it’s either do that or die standing still.

Not as reassuring as it sounds, but it works. Most of the time.

Robin is waiting for the signal to increase his speed, riding parallel to Nightwing’s bike, and Dick fishes for a wingding out of one compartment. He snaps it open, sharp metal edges clicking into place, and with a slight head-tilt, both Robin and the wingding are flying towards the speeding van.

Dick’s accuracy hasn’t failed him in years, and the (essentially) metal boomerang collides against one of the legs supporting what he thinks is a modified GPM. He slings another one, flicking his wrist in a motion that guarantees a slight curve, and a second wingding buries itself into the lower bumper of the van. This one is different though as Dick presses down on a button and a flash-bang goes off, a miniature flare emitting smoke and blinding the gang members inside. Robin is getting closer, a little further than twenty feet from the van off to the right on a sidewalk, and Dick readies a third wingding when he sees a commotion interrupt the panicked flailing of the men.

Previously, Dick had only counted two men in the rear of the van, both armed, but now a third one appears, wielding another gun and some unknown object in the other. They’ve got a gas mask on, goggles too, and they’re staring right at Dick.

“Third assailant,” he hurries into the comms, reassessing. “Armed.”

“Got it,” Damian grunts in reply, engine revving slightly as he pushes his bike further and rapidly gains pace. “Batman, update?”

“Encountered some civilians. Five blocks away. ETA thirty seconds.”

Okay, good, good, Dick thinks to himself, throwing the wingding still in his hand. It knocks out another leg on the GPM and he hears the shout of surprise. “Robin, what’s it looking like for engagement?” he asks aloud.

He veers to the left suddenly, pops of one-two-three as one of the 9mm sounds off. He curses as a stray casing impacts against his back tire and he wobbles for the second time.

“Preparing to board.”

What? Dick thinks as he turns his attention to Damian, who is slowly inching his feet upwards onto the seat of his bike. It’s a risky choice, one that is never 100%, or even 80% guaranteed to work, and Dick feels his heart leap into his throat as Damian continues to accelerate, all the while getting closer and closer to the speeding van and bunching his legs together.

Trust him, a voice whispers in the back of his head, but Dick can’t help but divide his attention by watching his little brother, and god he looks so small, gather his feet underneath him, one hand still controlling the bike, and jump into the screaming air, aiming for the front windshield.

The impact is going to hurt, Dick knows from experience, but he can’t help but feel that sting of pride as he hears the shock of the gang members, the van swerving momentarily before regaining its momentum.

And this is where things begin happening too quickly. Where things happen in a flash.

A lot is going on at the same time. Robin is clinging to the front of a van filled with armed gang members. Robin’s bike is currently still rolling on the sidewalk, slowly, very slowly, coming to a stop and falling on its side. Batman is hardly one block away, Dick can just barely hear the rumble of the Batmobile’s engine against the wind tearing at his arms, but it’s out of reach. The two gang members are still rubbing magnesium and smoke out of their eyes and the GPM is tilting out the van, the slightest push away from it tumbling into the street. The third member is elbowing past their blinded partners, dropping the gun in their hand and fumbling with whatever was in the other.

All of this is happening at the same time, and all of these requires Dick’s attention, his direct action, but he’s still half-way between his heart seizing as he thinks about bruised ribs beneath Robin’s tunic and trying to correct the unexpected and severe quaking of his back tire. He’s always been good about juggling multiple things at once. Give him an orange, a spoon, a bowl, and a paper weight and he’ll put on a show. Give him a week to commute between the Titans, Gotham, Bludhaven, and three new case files, and he’ll get it done a day early. He’s good about handling multiple things at once, but it’s a maneuver seven, a Scenario B, and Dick is slightly more harried than he normally is with it all.

So the grenade being launched out of the back doors and the GPM crashing and splintering into the pavement, parts of it hurtling at Dick’s bike upwards of eighty miles per hour, goes unnoticed. Dick is distracted and misses it. Misses those precious few milliseconds of time and pays for it.

The sound of the GPM practically exploding on impact is what alerts him, eyes zeroing in on first the metal pieces and then the rounder object that just seems to… float, mid-air, gray-green and twirling and heading straight for him.

It’s all Dick can do but break. Hard. A jolt so severe the handles jut into his sides and he’s practically leaning over the front of his bike, before he’s swiveling around, desperate to put some space between himself and the ensuing explosion. From the distance he’s at, the grenade and shrapnel coming from the GPM, he’ll be lucky if he scrapes by with some charred flesh. Who’s he kidding? He’ll be lucky if he scrapes by with his life.

There’s nowhere to go but back because even though it’s Tuesday and most of the shops are closed, it’s still very much Gotham, and Dick just can’t take the chance of diving behind a car or swerving into a shop window without the risk of injuring innocents. His back wheel, dented and more than likely missing some rubber, squeals against the asphalt as he lurches forward, away from the van, hand coming up to hastily, hopefully, patch into the comms to alert Robin, warn Batman, about the explosive.

It happens too fast though. Too quick. He’s barely got a finger onto the side of his helmet before he feels the heat burning into his back, the shock-wave of sound following closely behind. The force of the detonation brings the rear of his bike shooting up, his body pushed out of the seat and flying, arms outstretched and ears ringing.

He thinks he screams. It certainly feels like something is being ripped from his throat, loud and fearful. It’s a distant thought though because even though his arms are spread out before him, his head slams into the ground first, the smack comparatively silent against the roar of everything and nothing in his ears.

He’s not too sure what happens immediately after. Dick thinks he might’ve passed out, lost consciousness as he (presumably) rolled and rolled and scraped his body against asphalt and hard Gotham tar before finally coming to a stop.

All he knows is that when he opens his eyes, it is an enormously difficult task.

There’s feedback going off in his ears, a static cling to it that leaves him nauseous. He can’t feel his fingers or his toes, and some part of his brain is screaming at him that that’s not a good thing, but the other part is relieved. Moving is an impossible task and Dick is glad for the shock.

The world is a tinted mess of shadows and yellow shop lights through the visor of his helmet. Half of it is shattered, the enforced glass fractured and in some areas missing altogether. It filters through to his eyes and Dick is tempted to close them, avoid the pulsing brightness that stabs into his brain. He doesn’t though, an ingrained piece of him knowing that to close his eyes would mean to possibly lose the battle and Dick’s not willing to give in just yet.

There are other noises in the background, piercing and violent, metal screeching against metal, but all Dick can really focus on is the sound his breath makes as his lungs expand and deflate. He can’t decide if he’s breathing through his nose or through his mouth, erratic and chattering throughout his helmet. He doesn’t think breathing is supposed to sound like that, echoey and clunky, but he takes what he can get.

There’s also something against his lip. A few somethings. Small and smooth, and there’s a few just sitting in his mouth. His tongue tastes like iron, like he’s been eating nothing but metal for the past few days, and the sensation of it alone makes Dick want to vomit. He tries that, throat working and muscles in his cheek convulsing, but the immediate pain, the prompt resistance, stops him. Again, he’s not sure how, but he doesn’t vomit even though he badly wants to. Instead, he just lays there, allowing his body to take over the reflex of breathing, and trying his best not to succumb to what he’s sure is a comforting darkness.

His right arm is squashed under the weight of his body, a distant part of him acknowledging that it’s probably been dislocated, but he has no energy to move himself to lay on his back. There are a thousand protocols running through his head, ones he’s known for years and could probably recite backwards if need be, so he knows instinctively that laying on his back or moving from whatever position he’s managed to crash into might mean further damaging his spine. His neck. Not that he’d notice the difference if he were to, the shock from his propulsion slowly ebbing away to the point where awareness of his own predicament is poking at his brain.

For now, though, he just lays there and breathes, maybe even bleeds as well, and tries to fight against the urge to scream and vomit. The pain is getting worse, throbbing and burning at his jaw, his cheek, his entire face. He hopes the helmet has done its job and prevented something worse than a concussion.

Suddenly, there’s movement in his peripherals and Dick spots green boots and black laces.

Robin. Damian.

He’s okay. He made it out. Alive.

Dick finds himself sagging a bit at the relief of that. It had only been a barely second thought to, ‘Oh shit, that’s a grenade,’ but the worry for his little brother’s safety had definitely been pounding away in the background. Now that he can more or less see for himself that his littlest brother is unharmed, Dick relaxes enough to the point where he forgets he’s supposed to be making an effort in staying awake. Gray tickles at the edges of his vision, drifting in and out of focus, before a sharp “Nightwing!” snaps him out of it.

Robin is crouched down to his level, elbows digging into the hard tar as his pensive little mask peers through Dick’s broken visor.

“Nightwing, are you awake?” he asks, a fine tremble lurking behind those words.

Dick tries opening his mouth to reply and instantly regrets it, a shout of agony ripped from him instead. Okay, yeah, that’s a broken jaw. A bad one. And… oh god, those are teeth in his mouth. Loose teeth. As in, teeth that are no longer fixed to his skull and are sitting like popcorn kernels on his tongue.

Panic grips him for a moment, the sudden urge to spit out the tiny pieces of not-really- bone violent and driving. His shoulders move, anticipating the reactionary need to pucker his cheeks and convulse his stomach at the same time, but a small yet firm hand pokes at his arm.

“Stay still,” Robin orders, the only sign of alarm being the slightest twitch of his lips. “You’re going to be okay, Nightwing. Batman will be here soon and we will take you back to the Cave.”

Dick wants to nod, signal he understands despite the dread that’s beginning to curl around his chest, but even that tiny movement is sending jolts of fire throughout his jaw and neck. He settles on a low grunt that comes from the depths of his sternum, and the tone vibrates in his teeth. He’s never taken such special notice to the small things before but it’s all he can think about right now. All he can focus on, the feeling of many hard objects just swirling around in his mouth, slicked in his blood and metallic in their taste.

Popcorn.

Something gnawing at the edges of a frenzy poke at Dick’s composure and it is with concerted and severe effort does he scrunch up his left hand and move it back and forth against the road. Damian can only frown at the movement but understanding creeps in as Dick repeats the motion again, visible strain shaking at his arms.

Damage?

“I don’t believe you knowing the extent will do you any good, Nightwing,” Damian answers, chin crumpling the slightest bit. It’s a new tic of his that Dick has picked up on. Damian only does that when he’s stressed. Anxious.

Dick wheezes in reply, fisting his left hand again and moving it against the rough terrain. He taps the ground for emphasis, another dimmed whine involuntarily escaping from his lips as it jerks his shoulder, traveling upwards to his neck. Knowing the extent of his injuries will at least take his mind off of the fact that there are teeth in his mouth. Teeth that aren’t where they are supposed to be. Loose little kernels that taste like flesh on his tongue. Drool sliding down and out of his mouth like he’s some starving animal with a gaping maw. The stench of his own breath and the smells of bodily fluids and blood smearing within the helmet.

He slams his fisted palm into the ground again. It’s more like a plea than it is a request at this point. He’s freaking out and the pain is starting to get to him. Black spots blur in and out of focus and Robin’s green gloves are all he can pay attention to.

“Okay,” Damian relents, one of his hands hovering just outside of the helmet’s visor, “but please. Calm down. Batman will be here soon, Nightwing, but I need you to calm down first. I… cannot touch you or offer comfort, and I am sorry, but please. Stay still.”

Dick hears him, even through the static clouding his head, and relaxes his fist, slumping further into himself. The spots are turning gray and washing over like a film in his eyes.

“Your suit managed to protect much of your backside from the brunt of the explosion,” Damian continues, settling further down into his crouch. His mask is pinched and aching. Dick does not know what to do. “You will have secondary burns, most likely, and a few lacerations from shrapnel. I don’t believe there are any extraneous pieces lodged, however.”

Something clicks, rather clinks, inside of Dick’s mouth and he feels another smooth… piece fall onto his tongue. The urge to swallow, or better yet vomit, persists. The side of his face feels tacky, like half-dried glue is clinging to his lower cheek. A million fire ants pepper his jawline and neck. It burns.

“Visibly, from my stance, there are only a few other injuries, mostly other lacerations.” Damian pauses, his chin scrunching up again. “However, I cannot see your face. I do not know-”

“Robin,” another voice interrupts, deep and controlled. Edging into a degree of certain authority in their small world of chaos.

Dick is still thinking about the clink though, can’t think of much else except the acid seeping into his bones, his entire facial structure, eating away at his skin and every cell he’s ever owned. What little adrenaline that had been keeping the worst of it to a buzz is fading, becoming a roar in his ears and a sickly, numbing ache in the concave of his right cheek. The gray is darkening, bleeding into what small consciousness he has left to interpret what’s going on around him and Dick is left with the cold sensation of undiluted fear in his chest. Icy and coiling.

There’s a long, high-pitched beep from somewhere beyond his vision and he hears the faint but gruff voice that follows it, every second or third word filtering through to his ears.

“...stable… move… secure…. Robin...”

He blinks. The gray turns darker. Knives are digging themselves deeper and deeper into his face, flaying open his skin and grating against bone.

He blinks. His eyelids are sticky. His nose itches. Something is drying on the sides of his lips.

He thinks he might be dying.

He blinks.

The world goes black.

. . .

He’s jolted from the dark to the screeching heat by his ear, and for a moment, Dick is paralyzed with unknown. Not fear of the unknown, but just an unknown.

It’s like there’s a jackhammer going off right next to him, reverberating and shaking his eardrums and brain into mush, and he’s flinching away from it when something prevents him and holds him still.

“Stop,” is what he tries to get out, a mere gurgle of syllables escaping instead as his tongue refuses to leave the dry roof of his mouth. He tastes plastic. Blood. Ash.

The buzzing stops, erratic silence plunges into his head, and he almost wishes for the noise back until he registers the fact that his jaw is no longer rattling and his teeth are no longer quaking where they lay.

Oh god.

His teeth.

His jaw.

The panic sets in immediately, a ferocious awareness that he has no idea where he is or what’s going on climbing on top of the realization that he’s in so much pain that it’s unbearable and ruthless. It hurts. It hurts so much.

“Master Richard?” a voice calls to him, far away and cavernous. “You’re alright. You are in the Cave now. I have to saw off your helmet. Your jaw has been dislocated and that makes removal difficult. Please, do your best to hold still. You’re going to be alright, my boy.”

“Do as he says, Richard,” another voice chimes in, just another noise to echo in his ever shrinking head. “Stay still.”

Dick thinks he recognizes those voices, trusts them enough to try and attempt the task at hand, but when the buzzing resumes and the thundering in his own brain doubles, it proves impossible. It’s as if the Flash himself is summoning the lightning that dances throughout his face: violent, repetitive, and so, so blinding.

There’s another jolt and his mouth yawns open in a terrible impression of a roar and the world goes black again.

. . .

When he wakes up, it's to the feeling of needing to throw up. It’s that same sick-to-his-stomach feeling he got when he was younger, down with a bad case of the flu but not quite knowing it yet and being unable to do anything except lay down with an ice-pack on his face. There’s a faded memory in the very back of his mind of laying on a leather couch, watching cartoons, and then feeling a lurch in the depths of his being that had him practically yelling for a bowl to hurl into.

He doesn’t throw up. His stomach rolls around and the back of his throat is tingling with an impulsive reflex, but there must be nothing left inside of him because nothing comes up.

Opening his eyes is a chore, sticky and weighing a thousand pounds, and when he does, it’s to the cool, dull fluorescence of an overhead light that pokes at his awareness. Its electric flicker reaches his ears, like a fly hanging around his head, and he turns his eyes away from the light to drift around. Next to him is Damian, small and huddled.

There are bandages on his face, butterfly band-aids holding together small cuts that will eventually heal on their own, and greasy patches of skin where ointment has been applied to yellowing bruises. He looks up at Dick’s gaze, stowing away his phone, and frowns carefully. Damian says nothing though and a part of Dick is grateful for it. The world is still a haze, blurry and out-of-focus, and he doesn’t think the pain medication running their course through his veins will let him hold a conversation just yet.

He keeps the silence, keeps his little brother’s gaze, and after a few minutes of staring, he drifts off again, blissfully unaware of anything else.

The throbbing in his face is what wakes him up again. A pounding ache that feels as if someone is repeatedly punching him in the jaw. He reaches up a hand to touch it, the pull of an IV or some other fluid tube in his hand restricting his already sluggish movement, and a different hand comes up to intercept his inspection. Dick turns his direction from the hand to the owner of the appendage, something like a smile tugging at his sore features.

“Glad to see you awake, Master Richard,” Alfred says softly, holding the younger man’s hand in his own. “Before you do anything else, however, there are some things you need to know so you do not… fret… later on. Do you understand?”

Already feeling the dull emotion of anxiousness, Dick nods anyway. He’s tired.

“Good,” Alfred amends warmly, releasing Dick’s hand. “Your jaw has been wired shut,” he continues. “You will have difficulty talking for the time being, but for now, you will not be able to open your mouth at all.”

Now that it’s been pointed out to him, the sudden need to yawn or say something pulls at Dick immensely, practically an instantaneous reflex as his muscles twitch to open his mouth.

“Your jaw was fractured on the right side of your mandible, as well as dislocated,” the old butler continues, not unkindly. “Unfortunately, your face had become so swollen by the time you were brought back to the Cave, your helmet couldn’t be moved without it being cut off of you. Do you remember that?”

Dick nods, somewhat shakily, as the urge to speak pesters him further. He can feel the restraints though, feel his limitations and taste the metal plates and wires in his mouth. On his teeth. Oh god. There are gaps. There are gaps.

“Yes, you woke up as I was cutting away the sides. I am sorry for that, Master Richard. We had thought you would remain unconscious long enough for us to remove your helmet, which, I am unbearably grateful you were wearing. Your injuries would have been considerably… worse had you not been wearing it.”

Dick wants to make some joke or mockery of the lessons ingrained into him about wearing a helmet since he was nine, but the staunch reminder of his limited capabilities leave him mute and horrifyingly silent. He can’t… He can’t even smile properly. It feels wrong. He feels wrong.

“Just as well, the impact that led to your jaw dislocation also popped out your right shoulder. It was put back in without any trouble, it will just feel sore for a spell. You have some minor burns on your shoulders and upper back, and a few lacerations on your arms, but otherwise nothing else.”

Dick wants to ask about his teeth. Wants to ask how many he’s missing, how many are in his mouth, how many are on the side of the road, how long it’ll take to get new ones or be fitted for some replacements, if any of them are salvageable, but he remains quiet. Too afraid to speak. Too afraid to try and find he can’t at all.

He flexes his lower jaw, desperate for the tiniest bit of leeway, but his jaw remains in place. His mouth remains welded shut.

“For the next few weeks, the wires will remain in place and you’ll be given a largely liquid diet. I, or someone else, can help you with that and the cleaning process required to maintain the wires.” Alfred sighs then, reaching up a hand to ghost over Dick’s hair. It lacks the warmth Dick is desperate for. The touch is too light. Too far away. It makes him feel like he’s not truly there. Transparent. “You were tremendously lucky, my boy. Had circumstances been different, I fear we would be having a much different conversation.”

Just as he’s only found himself capable to do, Dick merely nods, crinkling his eyes in what he hopes looks like a light acceptance. Having his jaw wired shut isn’t a first for him. He’s been knocked down enough in his life to have fractured his face more than once, has experience dealing with getting food from a syringe and trying to suck down things he knows would taste better whole rather than in a puree. This isn’t… new.

And yet, something tight is gathering inside of his chest. Something cold and choking, wrapping around his rib-cage, tighter and tighter. Squeezing.

He just nods though, watching as Alfred walks away to get Damian and Bruce, announce to them that the eldest is awake.

And he doesn’t even need to open his mouth to talk coherently. Sure, some of the enunciation might be lost, but he can move his tongue and his lips just fine. He’s fine. It’ll only be a few weeks, and then after the wires and the plates are out, he can be fitted for new teeth. Get the dental work done. Yeah, just a few weeks. No time at all. He’s fine. It’s nothing new. Nothing new.

He’s fine.

Dick hears the quick succession of small feet before he sees Damian enter. There are still butterfly bandages on his face, still sickly bruises on his cheeks, and still a slight pull on his brows. Dick does his best to smile as the boy approaches but his own face still feels like it was rammed with a semi-truck, and he’s yet to look in a mirror or take in his predicament properly, but he’s sure he isn’t a pretty sight to behold.

“Good evening, Richard,” Damian says, stilted and unsure. He hovers, just as he did when Dick was still looking through broken glass.

“H-” is all Dick can get out before he stops, feeling that constriction around his chest further tighten. He tried to open his mouth. He tried to say ‘Hello’ and attempted to open his mouth to do so. He can’t though. He can’t. He can’t do that.

His hand trembles as he raises it to his forehead, pushing outwards in a mock salute. Damian’s brow creases further.

“I see,” is all the boy says, easing into the same chair he had sat in before, leaning forward and steepling his fingers together. “No matter. I imagine you would like a report of everything that has happened since… then.”

Dick just blinks at his younger brother in response, trying his best to breathe around the weight in his lungs. He knows how he’s breathing now. It’s through his nose. How silly of him to think otherwise.

“The grenade used for the gang’s attempted escape was essentially a homemade device. Thus, the explosion resulting from it’s release was not as potent as a military grade grenade would have been. Batman was able to successfully stop the gang’s departure near the same moment the explosion went live. I was not caught in any crossfire,” Damian adds, glancing upwards before settling on his fingers again. “Once the suspects were secured, Batman and I assessed you before taking you back to the Cave. I presume Pennyworth has already briefed you on the extent of your injuries?” Damian’s chin crumples at that, one of his eyebrows twitching in a similar manner.

Dick nods. It’s all he can do. All he can do but breathe. Barely. His chest hurts. He’s not… He’s not getting enough air.

“That’s good,” Damian says, shoulders relaxing a fraction. “It’s been approximately twenty-eight hours since their arrest. There were no other severe casualties than your own. Bat- Father is attending a meeting of some sort. He will be back shortly and will expect a report now that you are coherent enough to give one. Of course, seeing as incapacitated as you are now, it will prove to be difficult for you, so I will see to it that you do not make any mistakes and will help- Richard? Are you alright? Richard?”

Dick stopped listening half-way through Damian’s brief, too focused on getting enough air to his lungs. He can’t remember the last time he had a panic attack so severe, so debilitating, and he knows how to control it, knows how to calm down again, but that involves taking deep, calming breaths, something he is incapable of doing seeing as the easiest way to do that is through the mouth and he can’t fucking open his mouth and he’s not getting enough air-

He can’t suck in oxygen fast enough, each intake of breath through his nose like breathing underwater through a straw; too slow, not enough. His hands are gripping the sides of his cot in an effort to strain himself further, lungs working overtime as he inhales and exhales in the same breath, struggling to get any of it to his brain. If only he could open his mouth, breathe through his mouth. If only he could articulate what he’s feeling, force the words out of his mouth, and even though he knows he can do that without opening up his jaw, it is a task much too difficult for him.

His face is on fire and his lungs are following, consumed in his deprivation. Somewhere off to the right he can hear the sounds of someone calling to him, begging for his attention, but he’s not getting enough air and that’s all he needs. Just a little more air. Just- just a little more air and then he’ll be okay.

There is none though. No oxygen for his starved lungs, no salvation for his leaking brain. The pain, the hurt, pulses through him like his own furious heartbeat, and he’s clenching his jaw so hard it feels like it’s breaking, fracturing, all over again.

Just a little more air. Come on. Come on.

There’s a quick succession of snaps, one-two-three-four, and suddenly his jaw is falling open, and Dick gasps.

Great, heaving breaths fall into his lungs despite the absolute anguish in his relief, the gaps in between his teeth whistling as he sucks in breath after breath- greedy, starved for air.

They stutter in his chest, lungs inflating properly and expanding so much it hurts. He trembles in his cot, overwhelmed with the ability to finally breathe, and as he continues to wheeze and gasp, he falls back, releasing his death drip on the metal bars. The sudden release of tension leaves him light-headed, and his vision spots, graying in and out as he calms down.

A figure stands in his peripherals and Dick recognizes it as Damian, tense and clutching a pair of wire-cutters in his hands. His eyes are wide, watchful, and the creases that line his face betray the stress, the fear, building inside his small body.

Dick raises a hand, still gasping as he presses it to his lips and lets his hand fall back down in a sloppy ‘Thank you’. Damian only jerks his head in response, mouth pressed tightly into a thin line.

It continues on like that for some time, Dick continuing to wheeze and Damian continuing to stand over him, wary and strained.

Dick can feel the jagged ends of the wires poking into his gums as his jaw bobs up and down with each breath. Can still taste metal and blood. This wasn’t supposed to go this way. It’s not new. He’s used to this.

But not really. Not truly. Yes, he’s had his jaw broken before. Has had wires holding his upper and lower jaw together. Has been faced with the ordeal of liquid diets one too many times. None of this was supposed to be new, he’s done it all before, but there is something new he didn’t consider. Didn’t think of immediately as being the cause. Of creating the entire experience “anew” again.

Damian.

He’s never been injured in this way, so humiliatingly, in front of the boy. Broken bones are one thing. Cracked ribs and toes, fractured arms and dislocated shoulders. Long gashes and concussions. Par for the course, Damian has been witness to all of these injuries before and Dick has faced them with the same level of casualness as any other.

But this was different. This was… debilitating. Feebling. Near disabling.

Damian was going to have to watch him get fed through a syringe. Watch his muscle mass shrivel away, even if just minutely, because a liquid diet is not the same as rich, solid food. Watch as Dick struggles and fumbles over basic, normal things like talking. Watch as simple, little things become unbearably painful, as the urge to laugh or cough overwhelms him to the point where he needs to sit down.

And even now. Even just then. Damian had to watch Dick hyperventilate, nearly strangle himself to the point of unconsciousness all because he couldn’t breathe through his mouth well enough. Couldn’t regulate his breaths the way he wanted to. Needed to.

And it was so humiliating.

To struggle so much in front of the child he’s tried so hard to be strong for.

Because he can’t talk his way out of what just happened. Can’t reassure Damian with an easy grin that doesn’t turn into a grimace. Can’t wave away the pain, the bruises, the metal contraption in his mouth. Can’t hide effort in remaining natural, just as he always has before..

He’s supposed to be Richard Grayson. Steadfast and loyal partner to Damian Wayne.

And right now, he just feels…

Wrong.

Dick can’t take his eyes off of the white-knuckled grip Damian has on the cutters. Can’t ignore the way every muscle is stiff and rigid. Can’t not realize that it’s his fault Damian is so shaken, so unnerved, even with all of his own injuries and fresh trauma to care for. And now it’s a different type of pain in his chest that makes Dick feel light-headed. The shame, the guilt, that shrouds his head at the knowledge that he’s no good like this. No good for Damian. No good for Bruce. No good for Alfred.

No good for even himself.

It all just… it happened too fast. Too fast for him to do anything about it.

He can’t even catch his breath anymore.

[theladyofdeath]

Baby’s 1st Halloween {Rowaelin}

31 Days of Halloween: Day 4.

All installments co-written with @snelbz​

Based on a prompt sent in by anon: “ Baby’s first Halloween”

Aelin loved Halloween. She loved the pumpkins, loved the decorations, loved the costumes, and loved the candy. This holiday was special, though, because it was the first Halloween that Lena was celebrating. Not only the first Halloween, but the first holiday. She was only a month old, and that made her a Halloween baby. 

Of course, Aelin had bought multiple costumes, unsure of which one she had wanted to dress Lena in to begin with. A strawberry, a kitten, a little zombie, and a traditional pumpkin. Rowan thought she was ridiculous, thought she was overthinking it, but Aelin knew just how important it was.

Now that the day had arrived, she was looking at the spread of costumes atop her bed. Of course, Aelin had costumes to match every one of Lena’s, which Rowan also found ridiculous.

Little did he know that she had gotten him one to match every costume, too.

She had just laid Lena down for a nap and was looking over her options. They had to be at Chaol and Yrene’s for the party at six. She turned and looked at the clock. Quarter to three.

She looked down at the zombie costume, started thinking about the time it would take to not only apply nontoxic, green makeup to a squirming infant, but also to her grumbling husband and nixed it from the lineup, even though it was adorable.

Aelin observed the other three options and sighed. The strawberry was cute, but she figured that Rowan’s least favorite outfit was the strawberry farmer, which included overalls.

Although the traditional pumpkin was cute as shit, Aelin decided on the kitten. Rowan would be a puppy, and although he’d be grumpy about it and throw a little man fit, it was better than the other options. Besides, Aelin didn’t mind dressing up as a cat.

For the first time in a long time, it almost made her feel sexy. 

Before she would wake up Lena, Aelin would get herself ready. All while keeping an eye on the clock, she showered, blow-dried her hair, and painted a kitten-face on her, which included a nose and whiskers. After putting on the kitten-ears headband, and applying mascara, Aelin decided to give Rowan a call.

The phone rang and rang before he finally answered. “Hello?”

“Hey,” Aelin breathed. “Will you be home soon? Me and Lena are already getting ready for the party.”

“I’m about fifteen minutes out,” he said, but there was hesitation.

“Ro…”

“I just left the station, okay?” He admitted. “I’ll be there as soon as I can. They needed me to finish up some arrest reports for the end of the month. If they weren’t filed when I left, it would’ve been my ass.”

“We have to leave the house at five-forty. You have to be showered and ready to go by five-thirty,” she said, sighing.

“I’ll be there, I’ll make it, I promise.”

She pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed. “So help the gods, if I get your infant daughter ready before you are, I’m going to kill you.”

“I love you, too,” he responded, and she knew he was smiling.

“Love you,” she said, sighing, as she hung up.

Aelin crept down the hall and into the nursery, where Lena was fast asleep. 

Aelin hated waking Lena up from a nap, and she hardly did, but on Halloween it was necessary. It was Lenas first holiday party and Aelin would not be late. 

“Lena,” she sang. “Time to wake up, sweet love.”

Her infant did not respond.

With a sigh, Aelin took Lena out of her crib and held her tightly against her chest as she carried her back down the hall, to her bedroom.

By the grace of the gods, she managed to get Lena dressed while she was asleep. She was finishing up with the little eyeliner whiskers when a wail bigger than any baby her size should make burst from her lips. “No no, no,” she cooed, picking her up and holding her to her chest. She rocked and bounced her, the infant’s cries getting more and more desperate.

“Why is my sweet girl crying?”

Aelin turned and found Rowan entering their room, still dressed in his uniform. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

“I’m not surprised,” he chuckled, taking Lena from his wife. She immediately quieted down, as she always did in her father’s arms.

Aelin sighed, exasperated. “She never cries with you. What magical quality do you possess?” 

Rowan grinned, kissing Aelin’s forehead before he kicked off his shoes. “You gave birth to a daddy’s girl, what can I say?” 

“At least she looks like me,” Aelin muttered.

Rowan chuckled as Lena’s eyes opened and she took Rowan in. 

“Hello, my love,” he whispered. “You look very cute. Yes you do. Mommy did a good job. She looks cute, too, your mommy. Yes she does.” 

Aelin smiled fondly at the pair before looking at the time on her phone. “You gotta hurry, Ro!”

He rolled his eyes. “Party times are more of a suggestion, babe.”

One look at his wife told him that being late was absolutely not an option. 

“I just have to shower and get dressed, and we’re out the door,” he promised, bouncing Lena until her turquoise and gold eyes felt shut again, until her breathing evened out once more and her chubby, little hand fell away from Rowan’s chest.

Aelin crossed her arms. “And I have to paint a spot around your eye.”

“Oh, no, looks like we won’t have time for that,” Rowan sang, gently laying Lena down on the bed, careful not to wake her. His grin was far too handsome as he turned and pressed a kiss to Aelin’s forehead before hurrying into their bathroom and turning the shower on.

Thirty minutes later, and ten behind schedule, they were loading a dozing Lena into the car and hitting the road. Rowan grumbled every time he looked in the rear view mirror and saw the large, black spot Aelin had filled in around his eye.

“Oh, hush, you look great,” she said from the passenger seat, reapplying her lipstick.

“I look ridiculous,” he muttered.

Aelin dropped her lipstick back in her purse. “What was that?”

“I said that I love you,” he said, sighing, louder, even though he knew fully well that she had heard him the first time. “I’m so in love with you that I’m dressed as a puppy for Halloween.” 

Aelin huffed a laugh as she leaned across the console and pressed a kiss to his cheek, leaving a lipstick mark on his tanned skin. “That’s what I thought you said.”

He sighed, saying nothing else.

When they arrived at the Westfall house though, he was extremely, extremely thankful he and all of his friends, by some miracle, were able to settle down and start having kids all around the same couple years.

Lorcan was dressed as a dragon, long tail included and face paint included, while Elide and their eighteen-month-old son were a princess and a knight. He’d never seen someone looking so unhappy.

Fenrys, not caring what he wore, thanks to his obnoxiously happy personality, was Buzz Lightyear, complete with a helmet he had tucked under his arm. Jessie and Woody, aka Asterin and their eleven-month-old little boy, were running around somewhere.

Dorian, at least, looked content in his costume, striped shirt and devilishly twirled mustache drawn on, holding their two-month-daughter, who dressed as a bag of jewels. Manon’s cop uniform was nothing like Rowan’s, hanging in his closet back home, and that was probably for the best.

Rowan decided to take a spot by Lorcan as Aelin made her rounds, showing Lena off to all of their friends. 

“Nice costume,” Rowan said, grinning.

“Fuck off,” Lorcan muttered. “I’ve knocked three drinks over with this damn tail and we just got here ten minutes ago.”

Rowan snorted. “Such a grumpy dragon.”

“Says the grown man dressed as a pup,” Lorcan shot back.

Rowan repeated his friend's earlier sentiment. “Fuck off.”

It wasn’t long before Aedion joined the men, chuckling slightly. He was dressed as a pirate.

“What's so funny?” Lorcan asked, eyeing the beer in his hands.

“Lys is trying to convince Aelin to do Jager bombs,” he replied, shaking his head.

Rowan blinked. “She’s breastfeeding.”

“That’s what Aelin said,” Aedion replied, taking a swig of his beer.

“Trust me, when she’s able to drink again, I’m sure she’ll be taking Lys out for a night on the town,” Rowan followed, watching as Elide took Lena into her arms and began telling the infant how she was going to be her favorite aunt. 

“Elide’s had a glass of wine tonight. She only just started drinking again, and that one glass has her tipsy as hell,” Lorcan said.

Rowan slowly looked at him. “You do realize she’s holding my newborn right now. That’s not comforting, at all.”

Lorcan only grinned.

Thankfully, Asterin was reaching over for her turn with Lena, so Rowan let out a slow, relieved breath.

He looked around, taking in the smiling faces of their family, hearing the constant giggling of their children and his heart felt so damn full.

Rowan Whitethorn couldn’t believe this was his life.

Ridiculous costume and all. 

[xpeachesncream]

acquainted | twelve

> series masterlist | series playlist <

summary: the biggest goal of a grad student is to get through school in one piece - no petty drama involved, no sweating over the little things. however, that plan almost always never follows through. sometimes, you can’t help but fall into the most unthinkable, unexpected traps and learn the hard way. like, exhibit a: being unable to resist your engaged, substitute teacher, kim seokjin.

pairing: jungkook x reader x engaged!teacher!seokjin

genre: grad school au, student life au | fluff, angst, smut

words: 3.1k

warnings: cussing/mature language, physical fighting, some asshole-ish things are said/some degradation but i meeeeean.. look at where we’re at lol

notes: i was going to wait a little bit to post this, but my lovely anon has been waiting patiently for their namjoon x ryujin one shot request, which majority takes place in conjunction with chapter 11-12. pls check it out after you read this chapter! 

tags: @laurynne5 @yiyi4657 @miinoongi @teamtardis-notdead@bluesharksandfish@photographic-girl @yonkoghan @moonchild1​ @thebeebi​ (pls msg me if you would like to be added to the taglist!)

Grace knew.

A woman always listens to her intuition.

She knew when she caught that weird look you sent Jin's way during the charity event. When Jin stepped out to take a call in his car that same night. When she's seen his ring tucked away into his drawer multiple times. She knew when she's seen your name pop up on his screen more than once. She knew when the sex didn't feel the same, when Jin wouldn't touch her the same.

When he could barely look at her in bed.

Grace knew.

But she gave Seokjin a chance to tell her, to be honest. To communicate. Yet, it never came.

"G-Grace." He stutters, dropping your hand out of his grip. You stood there, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, unsure of what to do or how to look.

"I fucking knew it." She spits out. "You were seeing each other all this time." She comes closer to the both of you.

"Grace, stop. It's not what it looks like." Seokjin stupidly responds. You furrow your forehead from behind him because, what the fuck did he mean it's not what it looks like?

"How could you? Both of you?" She cries, her eyes bloodshot red. She had been crying. She was waiting. "You have the fucking nerve! You little homewrecking slut!" She yells at you, slapping you against the cheek. The heat pooling at the site causes you to gasp and look at her. You honestly don't even know what to do besides let her bed mad. What could you do? Fight back even though she was right? Hell nah.

"Grace! Enough!" He yells, grabbing her wrist. "This isn't what you think--"

"Save it, Seokjin. I got your message loud and clear." She gets out of his grip and pushes him. "You're disgusting." She spits out before storming away, but Jin goes after her. You're left standing there like a watchdog for your baggages, while Grace rips her arm from Jin's grip once again and leaves him there. You feel incredibly guilty, but also, you're pissed as fuck now.

Because again - what the fuck did he mean this isn't what you think? After all the shit he said to you last night. After this weekend?

"It's not what it looks like?" You repeat to his face. He can tell you're pissed and he shakes his head in regret. "This isn't what you think?" You take your duffle that's sitting on top of his luggage and begin to walk back towards the tram station. He attempts to pull you back, both of his hands on your arms.

"Y/N, I panicked, please don't do this--"

"You panicked? Your fiancé smacks me on the face and you panic? What the fuck happened to being honest about our relationship? So much for I'll tell her when we get home! I look so fucking stupid.”

"Y/N, don't." He grabs your wrist and tries to pull you close.

"Jin, get the fuck off of me."

"No, stop. Y/n, please talk to me."

"I'm going home."

"Let me drive you, don't be ridiculous." You shake your head as you try to shake his grip off of you.

"Don't be ridiculous?" You scoff. "I was fine before you came into the picture, okay? I can handle myself." You finally get out of his grip and take your bag from him. "Apparently, this isn't shit to you." You spat out before you head back onto the tram to head back away from him.

"Hey, what happened?" Ryujin pulls you into a quick hug before throwing your bag in her trunk and settling back into the driver's seat. You begin to cry heavily into your hands, feeling completely overwhelmed from how things suddenly came crashing down. You had an amazing weekend with Jin, only to find out that this truly wasn't shit to him? How he couldn't even just be upfront right at that moment about your relationship? Suddenly you felt like you weren't worth it all over again. Like he was never going to leave.

Once you were able to pull yourself together enough, you told Ryujin about everything that happened this weekend up until the moment Grace showed up at the airport lot. Ryujin couldn't help but just pull you into a tight bear hug once you got into your apartment. You laid your head on her lap as she massaged your scalp and allowed you to cry as much as you needed to. She didn't wanna say it but she knew this could come crashing down the way it did. It was an 'I told you so' moment. But she knew you knew that. You didn't need to be told, or reminded. She just needed to be here for you and that's all she had planned to do, even if she had other things on her mind. You were always there for her through everything and anything; her thoughts could wait.

"I feel so fucking stupid."

"You're not. You can't help your feelings or someone, but what you can do is pick yourself up and move on. Learn from this. Do better for yourself." She responds softly.

"But, it’s him." Ryujin lightly sighs as she continues to brush your hair.

"Honey, you can't wait around forever for Jin to be ready for you or for whatever this is. You can't wait around for him to be a man and pull himself together. You've been through enough." You don't respond. "You need to talk to Jungkook before this spirals out of control. He needs to hear it from you himself."

"I will, just not now." You cried, Ryujin responding with a simple nod.

"Okay."

"This sucks. It sucks to have deep feelings for someone who doesn't even think you're worth it. He couldn't even just tell her."

"Look, I'm gonna be Jimin and play devil's advocate here. I don't know Seokjin personally like that, but part of him had to at least feel like you were worth it. I'm sure you still are, but he needs to shut this down with Grace first and that's not going to happen overnight. Not for them, especially."

"Ugh." You groaned as you continued to cry.

"It's okay. Get some rest. I'll go grab more of my things and stay here with you." She looks down at you and gives you a reassuring smile.

"I love you. Thank you." You tell her softly as you shut your eyes in hopes of getting any type of sleep.

"I love you too." Maybe you just needed time for yourself too. A breather. This was a lot, and the thing that bothered you the most was not knowing where Seokjin really stood with you. What if this was it? What if this was the moment that made him realize it was always going to be Grace all along?

"We've decided to split." Jin says, his eyes slightly red, bags visible and his body weak. He had been arguing and going at it with Grace as she had packed up most of her things. She had decided to send movers for the rest of her things throughout the week, leaving Jin feeling a little emptier than before. He called the guys over as soon as Grace was out of the house that same Sunday because he knew he didn't have much time until Grace was out there updating friends and family members about the shitty fucking excuse he was of a fiancé. On top of that, he was scared because he hadn't heard from you and he knew he fucked up - he was afraid he had lost you completely, too. That wasn't supposed to be the plan, and that wasn't how this was supposed to turn out. He wasn't sure how he'd handle seeing you in class tomorrow if you both hadn't talked by then.

"I'm sorry, is there anything we can do for you? What happened?" Hoseok sat on the barstool in front of the kitchen island, Yoongi and Namjoon quietly sitting beside him.

"I— uh, no. We just haven't worked out for awhile."

"Jin." Namjoon says softly, hinting that he should be honest with both Yoongi and Hoseok now. There was no point in hiding this anymore.

"Namjoon." He responds in the same tone. He looks over at Yoongi and Hoseok who are quietly waiting for more of an explanation. His head falls as he sighs heavily, his hands tightly gripping the edge of the kitchen island. "Fuck."

"Dude, what is it? What's going on?" Hoseok asks, genuinely concerned.

"I fucked up."

"W-what do you mean by that?" Hoseok goes on, prying him for more details. By the time Jin picks up his head and is about to explain while looking at them in the eye, he hears his front door slam loudly, the walls almost shaking with it.

"Jin!" He hears the voice call out as it came closer to the kitchen. Fuck. This-- This was the one thing he absolutely wasn't ready for. "What the fuck!" Jungkook almost growls. "How could you?!" Jungkook storms into the kitchen, fists clenched. The look on his face is something Jin will always remember - the hurt, the anger, the betrayal he felt by his own brother.

"Jungkook, listen. Let's just go outside for a minute--" Jin tries to pull him aside but Jungkook smacks his hand away.

"No, fuck you dude! Don't fucking touch me." He yells. "I trusted you! You knew how I felt about her! Why the fuck would you do that, and-and-and to Grace?!" He stutters over his words. "Why?"

"Seokjin, what's going on?" Yoongi says, climbing out of his seat to get in between the two. Namjoon is silent because this isn't his fight. He's staring Jin down as if to tell him that he needs to man the fuck up right now. He wasn't going to do it for him.

"Great, perfect. I'm not surprised they don't even know." Jungkook chimes in sarcastically as he pushes Seokjin against the counter. Jin reacts defensively, grabbing his brother's collar as he tries to push and pry him off. "Why don't you tell them how you kept fucking Y/N behind my back? Going after her and doing all this shit, getting her to spend the weekend with you in LA even though you knew how I felt about her? Let alone that you were still fucking engaged to your fiancé this entire time!" Yoongi gets in the middle, prying Jungkook off completely and stepping in between to spread some distance.

"Woah, what?" Hobi looks at him in disbelief, his face lightly turning red from how incredibly fucked this whole situation is. How things just blew up in a matter of minutes. "Is that true?"

Jin sighs, his tears welling up in his eyes as his voice cracks. "Yes, and I'm sorry for hurting you." He turns to Jungkook.

"I just--" Jungkook's tears began to fall. "I trusted you. I always trusted you. How could you do something like that when I never did you wrong?" Jungkook's bottom lip trembled.

"Jungkook, please--" Jin's tears began to fall, feeling incredibly sorry for having hurt his brother this way.

"No!" Jungkook shook his head. "What kind of fucking brother are you?" He spits out before he walks out of the house, Yoongi going after him to check up on him outside.

"Seokjin." Hobi slowly shakes his head, his facial expression full of disappointment. "You know I love you man, but why did you have to do that?"

"I-I don't know." Is the only proper he can come up with, because he doesn't. He was so caught up in his feelings for you and how things felt right, that he just pushed everything that was wrong aside.

"Look, let's just give everyone some time to breath." Namjoon gives Jin a reassuring squeeze on the shoulder. No matter what, he was always going to have his back and be there for him.

"Fuck." Jin groaned as he slammed his fist against the kitchen island. "I need to talk to her. I can’t do this without talking to her.”

"Maybe Y/N just needs time to breathe, too. Give her that. I promise it'll be okay." Namjoon says.

And he's right - you do need time to breathe. You were hurt by the fact that Seokjin couldn't even come forward about you, yet he said all these sweet things to you over the weekend. It all came crashing down, and suddenly, you were questioning if this was all worth it. If you were never going to be worth it in his eyes, why would you keep stringing yourself along?

"Hey." Jimin says, gently rubbing your knee as he sat on your living room floor. "Are you sure you're okay? You've been awfully quiet."

"I'm okay. Thanks for coming over." You smiled at him toothlessly, before looking over at Ryujin and Taehyung finishing up plating the brownies in your kitchen.

"Y/N, please know that you can always talk to me about anything." Jimin says softly, knowing there was something really off about the way you had been acting. He hated prying it out of you, but he knew you'd eventually tell him when you were ready.

"Yeah, I know. Right now, I just need you here, okay?" He nods. As Ryujin and Taehyung are bringing over the plate full of brownies stacked high, a loud, aggressive knock comes to the door that Taehyung takes upon himself to open.

"Jungkook!" Taehyung yells, opening the door widely for you and him to make eye contact. You immediately stood, catching that his expression was angry. Upset. He clearly had a lot to say and you already knew he had given his brother some of it. You knew this would come; you just hoped you had a little more time.

"Y/N." He says, in a heartbreaking tone.

"Jungkook, please— can we talk about this another—" You ask, meeting him at the door.

"No, how could you? He-he was engaged to Grace— I thought we were good— Y/N." He repeats your name, unable to really complete his statements. You began to cry seeing how hurt he was. "I thought I was doing everything right."

"It wasn't you—"

"Then what the fuck was it, huh?" He spat out. "What exactly is it about my brother that made you wanna do this?"

"I didn't mean to—"

"What, you didn't mean to hurt anyone? Y/N, you obviously didn't give a fuck what this would do to anyone!" His tone rose, Jimin and Taehyung immediately coming behind you. "Grace called me crying so hard she could barely speak. You fucked this up for her, you fucked this up for me and my brother— I- just—" You began to cry harder, Jimin now gripping onto your arms as Taehyung stepped in front of you.

"Okay, that's enough. I think you should go now. You made your point clear." Taehyung said sternly, his jaw lightly twitching from how tightly clenched it was and his hand out to create some distance between him and Jungkook .

"What kind of fucking person does that? You're by far the most selfish person I have ever met. I don't know how you'll go to sleep at night knowing all the damage you've caused." Jungkook shook his head before walking off and slamming his fist against the hallway wall. Taehyung watched him walk off before shutting your door and locking it. He turned to face you but you had been sobbing against Jimin's body while he held you tightly.

"Y/N, please don't tell me this is what I think it is." Taehyung says softly.

"I'm sorry." Is all you can say. At this point, what else can you say? What's done is done.

"It's okay, we don't need to talk about this now." Jimin looked at Tae and slightly shook his head.

"Look Y/N, why don't you just go lie down? You've had a really long day." Ryujin softly chimes in. You don't say anything and instead follow Jimin to your room as he keeps his grasp around you. He plops you both onto the edge your bed, allowing you to continue crying on him.

"I'm so sorry, Jimin. I fucked up."

"Stop, why are you saying sorry? It's alright." He shushes you. Yeah, he was truly disappointed, but what was he going to do? This was entirely your life, he only played a small role in it. He just needed to be there for you and help you grow through this. No matter the circumstance, he wasn't going to look at you any differently. Same with Ryujin and Taehyung. Part of Jimin already knew this was a possibility cause he'd also catch on to the small habits in class and how completely zoned out you've been. There was a reason for everything.

Plus, randomly spending a weekend at your parents' house? He didn't think so. You hadn't visited them in awhile, and he knew you always planned your visits way in advance. You never just dropped your shit and left for home.

"I don't know what to do."

"Mm, we'll figure this out, yeah? For now, just get some rest." You backed yourself up on to the bed, catching a quick glimpse of Chance's picture before lying down. Fuck, why couldn't shit be more easy?

As you fall asleep, Jimin makes his way back out the living room where Ryujin and Taehyung are quietly cleaning up in your living room.

"How long?" Jimin asks Ryujin.

"It's been awhile, Chim."

"Why didn't she tell me or Tae?" She shrugged.

"It's not that she didn't want to. She was going to but I think she just got caught up in everything."

"So? What now? We see him in class tomorrow." Taehyung says.

"I don't know? Nothing. I'm assuming she'll just need her space for a little until she can figure out how to approach this."

"Why—why did she do this?" Jimin asks, still confused and disappointed with your actions. "She knew the mess it would cause."

"Don't tell her I told you so. That's not what she needs right now, she knows. I just, I don't know. Sometimes you really can't help who you fall for. She tried to push it aside."

"Tried?"

"Yes." Ryujin looks at Jimin sternly. "She did." The rest of the time, it's quiet. The boys had gotten the living room ready so that they could all stay with you for the night. You didn't leave your bed even after Jimin knocks to let you know dinner had arrived or when Ryujin asks if you wanna join them for a movie.

You just want sleep.

You just wanted to be alone, in this dark, and sleep.

You weren't ready to face your feelings, or Seokjin. You weren't sure where to go from here or what to do. You weren't sure how to pick yourself up. Is it fucked up to still wanna be by his side after all this time? Is it fucked up that he's still the one you want? What the fuck do you do?

Do you stay, or do you go?

[bookofmirth]

The fandom crying about how elain can’t be friends with vassa cause she’s already friends with nuala and cerridwen, but didn’t scream about Feyre making friends with Mor and Amren when she already had alis. Or how no one bat an eye when feyre made friends with the inner circle and they became her family or when Nesta became sisters with Gwyn and emerie. I don’t see anyone comparing Rhys to Amarantha or Mor to Keir. No one is setting up parallel posts of Feyre and Tamlin.

No one is saying you can’t ship someone. You don’t need to set up a list of reasons why you do. Fuck if I wanted to ship Amren and the Bone Carver that’s my prerogative. No one should care. So why are certain shippers so fucking desperate to prove their ship superior by literally turning a ray of sunshine like Gwyn into a monster like ianthe? Why are they so desperate to keep elain and her mate separate that they would accuse someone of racism at the thought of elain being friends with lucien’s friends?

Like if you’re so secure your ship will sail why are you dying to tear apart other’s opinions and paint it as activism? This shit is incredibly transparent and I’m so fucking tired. The weirdness of certain shippers in the fandom pushing a narrative about real world issues to suit their ship needs to fucking stop.

I hear you, anon. It’s been a rough couple weeks. If anything, it seems to have gotten worse as more people finish reading, read the metas and theories that have been posted so far, and then react to those. 

I wish that a lot of the stuff happening didn’t feel so performative and transparent. The takes I’ve seen about Gwyn and Lucien have been 👀 Mainly because they are based on behaviors we literally have not seen from them. And I know why, I know people want to find reasons for their ship to happen in canon. I get it. It’s just being taken to super weird and sometimes offensive places!!!

Both things you’re referring to were really upsetting to a lot of people, for multiple reasons, and the way they were handled was... idk, people are trying. I think we really are trying to exist in the same space, but sometimes we need to take our own advice, shut up, and reflect on what we’ve written. And I’m talking about literally everyone involved right now, whether I agree with them or not, and I am not exempting myself from this. Sometimes, the best option is to NOT ENGAGE. I have to remind myself of this constantly.

Some of the responses I saw to the post about Elain’s friend were brilliant, and the post comparing Ianthe and Gwyn made me ill so I’m glad that people said something (I actually had a little spike of panic reading your ask 😅) but there’s a point at which we have to back away for everyone’s sake. There’s no sense beating a dead horse, right? Fandom is something we willingly engage in. We aren’t winning any wars against oppression by proving that Elain’s friends are or aren’t racial minorities. There are real world things we can do if that’s really where we want to put our effort. Arguing about a fictional character’s friends ain’t it.

It’s one thing if people want to ship something, literally ship whatever the hell, that’s fine, but if we don’t like something else, then just don’t talk about it! It’s so simple! I spent over four years avoiding mention of e*riel even though I despise it, I know it’s possible!!!! It’s kinda hard to avoid talking about at the moment because of his POV but if I can do it, you can too! So maybe that’s what everyone needs to do. Just don’t engage with content and/or people you know will be upsetting. 

But even with that, we have every right to talk about things we hate. I can and will tag that content appropriately. I have talked so much shit about how I hate Ianthe, or how Rhys made me mad in acosf, or how stupid that pregnancy plot was. So I guess it goes both ways. We are free to talk about the books in whichever way we want, but we have to be aware of how others may interpret what we’ve said, be in control of the content we see, and our reactions to what others write. That’s it. 

Okay just to wrap this up, people are being downright nasty, no shipper group is exempt!!! I have seen shit flung everywhere and everyone is getting covered!!!! It just makes the whole fandom look horrible, even though I know there are so many positive, kind, wonderful people in it just trying to have a good time. It’s so complicated and I know a lot of feelings have been hurt but I hope that we can learn from this and be better. 

[formless-monkeys]

What is your favorite relationship(s) in the show (romantically or platonically, doesn’t matter!)

Anon you will regret opening pandora’s box. Or not. In any case, this post is going to be very long because I’m full of love. Also, anything marked romantic does not need to be romantic for me to lose my shit over them. In no particular order, either. Just in the order I thought of them.

1. The Black-eyed trio

Characters: Otto, Sparx, and Gibson.

Type: Platonic, Romantic,

Explanation: These three are grouped together by virtue of not being obscenely powerful and serving more practical uses on the team. Also, their eyes are all the same color. Besides the poetic connections of the colors of their design, they were alone in the robot together while the other three monkeys were out training.

Sparx and Gibson’s interactions give me life, going from playful jabs to genuine fighting right back to ride-or-die is amazing. The beginning of Night Of Fear, the battles in Brothers In Arms, and a bunch of small moments throughout the series are wonderful for this.

I could write an essay about Otto and Gibson, and someone else already has, but I’ll summarize it as ADHD autism solidarity with a side of Shut The Fuck Up Gibson. They care about each other and learn to respect each other in a way that’s better for both of them. I know a real-life Gibson to my Otto and learning that she’s just pretentious and doesn’t really hate anyone, and figuring out that we’re both equally brilliant and incredibly similar has made life a million times better.

Otto and Sparx don’t have as much development as Gibson with both of them, but their jokes together and general trust is amazing. Sparx is the dumb monkey and Otto supports him in his himbo endeavors. 

These three together make an unstoppable technical team, and the only reason they probably couldn’t be a superhero team on their own is because of the raw power and fun dynamics brought by the other half of the team. 

Romantically, these three would make the DUMBEST polycule ever. There is no true mediator here. It’s three dumbasses figuring out how they could possibly share a twin-sized bed when they have the ability to just make a bigger bed. Gibson calculates the most efficient 3 monkey makeout and none of them follow the statistics. They all give Chiro equally useless and conflicting advice on homework. Trying to give them a mediator in the polycule just makes me go back to shipping polymonkeys because I literally can’t decide if Antauri or Nova go better with them.

2. Quiet trust and encouragement

Characters: Otto, Antauri

Type: Platonic, Romantic

Explanation: When Otto is being dismissed by the other monkeys, or by the show itself, Antauri is usually the first to say “that’s bullshit, Otto is wonderful”. Circus Of Ooze is a notable example, but there are little moments in other seasons as well. 

I just love the idea of the historically MOST SERIOUS and strongest monkey, sometimes even elevated to god-like status by some fanworks... paired with the monkey that has been infantilized and disrespected to no end. I personally like making Antauri have to lean on Otto, just to subvert that even further. 

Beyond spite, I ship this simply because I like their dynamic. Antauri needs someone to ground him with more tactile physical things, and Otto needs someone to share his more nebulous thoughts I can’t imagine the others listening to. I love them.

Also, I want Antauri to unlock his true dumbass potential. He has the abilities, but not the will. Be silly with Otto. I want to hear him snort-laugh.

I literally forgot all the silver monkey stuff but I got three fics about that you know I go nuts over mechanic x robot shit.

3. The monkeys and their human son.

Characters: Chiro, Antauri, Nova, Sparx, Gibson, Otto

Type: Familial

Explanation: This family gives me joy. They were forced together through astronomical means and they made the best of it. 

Everyone living in the robot is absolutely fucked up. They help each other in the darkest of times. They lift each other up when it’s light. They are a perfect team and nobody can be missing without it feeling wrong. But they can add people!

“Girl Trouble” as a concept is AMAZING to me but my secondhand embarrassment is so strong that I hate the episode. But never once is any of the monkeys resentful of Chiro. Not even Mandarin is like “wow I wish he didn’t take my place” no he’s also struck with the urge to nurture this kid to his fullest potential. Whether you see the team as a bunch of older siblings or 4 dads and a mom doesn’t really matter, they’re a family.

I mean, this also has a sprinkling of shipping all the monkeys in a really domestic way because I like seeing my optimal future in characters I like, but like literally all of these, it doesn’t need to be romantic for me to go nuts. I just think it would be fun to throw just a big monkey wedding or whatever. And funnier for Antauri to go “Chiro I’m having a baby. The baby is you” and holding up adoption papers because on the principle of Toby “Radiation” Fox I love that joke, especially when made much less weird than the original context.

I have a set of characters who is just 5 people in a polycule raising kids and living life because I really love this concept as a family.

4. Evil Coworkers

Characters: Mandarin, Sakko

Type: Romantic, Platonic,

Explanation: Why the hell are these two, in particular, working together? SK could’ve put Mandarin with literally anybody else and he chose what on the surface appears to be the LEAST compatible person on the account that they’re both monkeys. Some bitter asshole who now looks like the epitome of toxic masculinity and this tiny pink pet who used his femininity both as an advantage and a style. They’re different but it ends up working really well for both of them because they’re different in ways that cover each other’s bases. It’s wonderful. Pink and Orange go well together. Green and Purple go well together. Mandarin and Sakko go well together. Also, they clearly trust each other. During almost the entirety of “Hidden Fortress” Sakko was presumably just chilling inside of Mandarin’s armor. Mandarin trusted him enough to have Sakko in a place where he’s able to mess with his cybernetics, and Sakko trusted Mandarin enough to go into the battlefield with him and probably get tossed around.

If they were both human and in a more modern media, then they would definitely be shipped in the straightest way you can get without actually being straight. The Straightest Gay Ship. 

5. A Witch and her Accidental Evil Coworker

Characters: Skelemandarin, Valeena.

Type: Platonic, Romantic, 

Explanation: These two have been through some shit. Skelemandy was made to serve Skeleton King only to have that purpose yanked away from him. Valeena was groomed to idolize and serve Skeleton King for nearly her entire life. They were forced together by SHEER CHANCE and they both hated it. Arguably they both died at some point. 

They both have absolutely NOBODY they can trust so let’s make them trust each other. All hilarity and sweetness comes from that. 

Their dynamic is so good that I have them on a blog for a COMPLETELY DIFFERENT FANDOM and people love them with no context. 

This is the only cross-species ship I have (besides chinmay and the antauri ships but that doesn’t count), but the fact that Skelemandy isn’t actually a monkey and needs no cybernetic assistance to be human-level sentient makes it a lot less weird. Just put them on equal ground power-wise (like by nerfing Valeena’s magic) and you have the ingredients for bonding. 

They have like, no cute moments in canon, but that’s why we have fics and art. They have potential. I want them to help each other figure out who they are without their purpose. I want them to survive this horrible life together. I want them to figure out how to trust again. I want a lot but Valeena is fucking dead.

But she doesn’t have to be.

(Also Valeena is REALLY HOT and Skelemandarin is just me as a monkey)

6. Gay Dads

Characters: The Alchemist, Captain Shuggazoom

Type: Romantic, Platonic

Explanation: Oh my stars. Oh null. Oh me oh my hhougfhfakjghf. These two have the angst of Mantauri but on crack. 

They only appeared in about two episodes each and all three episodes are top tier. They call each other “Friend” multiple times in their shared episode. THEY’RE FRIENDS!!!!!!!!! The face Al makes when he realizes that Cap is visiting makes me really happy. The fact that Cap had this whole Batman Double Life thing and he shows the Alchemist BOTH OF THEM is amazing. The alchemist is a hermit living in the woods and he lets Cap into that life. 

There isn’t a lot shown, much less than everything else here. But that makes every single fanfic so much richer since they’re almost completely based on headcanons. Friends who have a mutual crush on each other but are No Homo about it? Secret boyfriends? Husbands with 6 monkey kids? An Old man and a grumpy Skeleton making it work? Literally just platonic friends? Dude, you can do whatever you want. 

The tragedy of these two losing each other to one big horrible event crushes me. It influences my every move in my creative work. I have an entire character dedicated to reuniting these two in the most astronomical and ridiculous way possible because the alchemist angered the gods but she thinks he needs some company in his eternal punishment.

I want Clayton to unlock Al’s less serious, more fun side. I want them to work together. I want them to hold hands. GHGHGHDFBG UTTHTYE CNAZSNT EBCV ASUA ER

7. The girl power duo

Characters: Nova, Jinmay

Type: Familial

Explanation: These two were my only comfort during the uncomfortable nightmare that is “The Hills Have Five”

Nova was the one who trained Jinmay, and it seems like they hang out a lot offscreen in season 4. They fulfill the early 2000′s cartoon archetypes of girl and Girl, so they’re supposed to get along. If they didn’t I probably wouldn’t like Jinmay.

Nova is a really good big sister/parental figure to Jinmay, who never had any family to speak of. 

Anyway, this entry has to be shorter because most of their bonding is in “The Hills Have Five” which is either #1 or #2 in my least favorite episode list. Not because it’s bad, but because it makes me viscerally uncomfortable. I really wish literally any other character than Jinmay was in her role in that episode. Or that the “taken to an offscreen area by an adult man while she screams” just wasn’t there. SHE’S 13!!! Nova did literally all she could to help. 

I really like that scene in questionable where Valeena kills almost the entire gang. It’s what they deserve.

Look I just really like Jinmay and I always have. She deserves a good Mom.

8. "My Second In Command”

Characters: Antauri, Mandarin

Type: Theoretical

Explanation: The fandom has really made this ship go from “literally nothing to stand on” to “integral plot point in a lot of fics”. Seriously. I have TWO screenshots that vaguely imply these two ever stood next to each other on the battlefield. This was entirely title-based and fan-made until ProjectAfectivity interviewed Ciro. Yeah he knows Antauri but only as well as the rest of the team. Anyway. Wow. This ship.

This is by far the worst breakup in history. These two, despite what Antauri says, were on equal ground at some point. According to Ciro (and fan speculation), they trained together. This (and other Mandy ship) changes wildly depending on if you think Mandarin was corrupted by the portal or not. Maybe Mandarin was once a kind leader who just crossed the wrong boundaries and paid for it. He could’ve held Antauri gently before battle. He could’ve been the monkey Antauri went to when he needed someone to talk to. He could’ve hyped the team up like Chiro does.

Or maybe, they were constantly fighting against each other in small ways. An incredibly unhealthy relationship, yes, but an interesting story. I like stories where Antauri isn’t this all-knowing pillar of stability. He’s got weaknesses. One of them may have been Mandarin.

Now that’s a good nickname from one to the other.

Imagine Antauri, in a moment of complete trust, declaring Mandarin his weakness. A sweet sentiment. They both know the other is incredibly strong, and trust that the other would never take advantage of that connection. They love each other. Until...

9. "My Closest Ally”

Characters: Otto, Mandarin

Type: Theoretical

Explanation: Okay I'm looking at the screenshot I put for this entry while also having watched Evil Ages recently. My brain is making uncomfortable connections. Combine that with the fandom and the show’s general treatment of Otto and I’m about to slam my head into a wall. I really do not like that, but I feel like there’s somebody out there who does. 

Anyway, this is Gibotto and Ottauri but with all the spice that shipping Mandarin with one of the other monkeys brings. When done well, it’s all the respecting Otto that comes with Ottauri and all the intimate partnership of Gibotto. And the Angst of Mantauri, but a lot more grounded. 

It paints a lot of stories. A story of a single point of comfort in a world Mandarin thinks is out to get him. A story of powerful validation from the one authority in Otto’s life. Of letting your guard down. Of trust, then breaking that trust.

I’d LOVE to see some things with Mandottotauri because that’s epic and cool and poggers. Don’t see a lot, though.

10.The Hets, I guess.

Characters: Jinmay, Chiro. 

Type: Romantic. Platonic. Canon.

Explanation: Look two entries on this list are polyamorous and four of them are mandarin so I have to say SOMETHING for the heteroes following me. Picked this ship over Spova because when I was a young child still suffering from comphet, I never watched the last episode of the show. I only saw up to season 3 at the most. This was the only canon ship for me. And out of all the ships, it’s the most relatable. I’m currently a teenager with black hair who looks really good in eyeliner dating a girl with pink hair who can pick me up and is unbelievably sweet. Except we’re gay and polyam. Wait a second I totally had a crush on Jinmay as a kid and now my gf is the Jinmay in this situation. Oh my god I was going to make this comparison if I did Spova too and I liked Nova.

ANYWAY

These are two LONELY kids. Chiro had bullies during school, and now he doesn’t even go to school. Jinmay hasn’t really had friends at all. Two kids with places in their universe that they aren’t too sure about, and just need someone to lean on. Their date was cute. They instantly bonded over their love of monkeys and I love that. 

The super robot is sometimes an analog for Chiro, in the first two season at least, and the way the super robot held Jinmay’s hands to keep her steady on the COB while her head flew in was SO SWEET. Chiro’s instant recognition and reaction to Jinmay’s head being thrown at the team, as well. He really loves her.

I think it’d be interesting if she didn’t love him back, though. I might take a stab at writing that.

[maddiefriendlovesbilly]

Spencer x Ghost?

Spencer x Ghost

(AAAAA- it has been months since you sent this to me, and all i can say is im so sorry) Side note I have my friend @lethalbreadkills helping me with this one!

For reference: Maddie (maddiefriendlovesbilly) is green, Jimmy (lethalbreadkills) is red (((its 4:30 at the time i have joined this so im dead braincell wise sorry yall))) and Orange is stuff we decided together :3

Also this is so very chaotic im so sorry for this anon but this has been in my fuckin drafts for SO LONG and this is the only way its getting finished (its now 5 am uwu) im so sorry for all the shitposting i do its a mess. I shouldnt have been allowed here. (we finished at about 5:30 am its hell <3)

Sphost? Ghencer?? Sphoster??? I adore and despise them all equally.

We have decided that it should be BeanieGhost

Anyway I think this ship is really cute

They’re both so neurotic I can only imagine the chaos that would ensue

One of them starts a rant on some topic and the other joins the hell in

I’m an advocate of LETTING SPENCER INFO DUMP BECAUSE HE DESERVES IT OKAY

And Ghost would let this dream come true???

I would die for both of them and if Spencer told me I had to die I wouldn’t even complain, no questions I’d just be like “Aight.” I trust him that much.

(Not sure I trust Ghost’s judgment enough to do that unquestioningly; sorry Ghost)

Back on topic

I can’t imagine these guys on anything that comes close to society’s definition of a date

It’d be more like “hey you wanna come on this hunt with us?” “maybe, depends if there’ll be snacks” or like chilling in Spence’s room binging the entire star trek: original series in one sitting or “oops sorry about that level 11 entity that attached to my soul and is now wreaking havoc in your house, wanna make out later to make up for it?” “Fine but you also have to play three rounds of Call of Duty with me afterward”

They wouldn’t be romantic often but like highkey? I can see them throwing themselves into the line of fire for each other with a recklessness only they could survive

We can’t forget that Spencer is a more than 60,000-year-old overpowered demon/god/entity/thing, which, yes, could throw a slight wrench in this ship for multiple reasons, but I choose to make angst out of it instead.

Side note: Ghost is a chronic conspiracy theorist (and you can’t tell me otherwise) and every once in awhile Spencer will offhandedly say something like “Y’know I helped the Egyptians build the pyramids” and Ghost just goes fucking feral.

Look, I’m not saying Spencer IS touch-starved and most likely has issues creating and developing relationships and therefore avoids interpersonal connection, especially offline, but I AM saying he is prime material for it. (thats a lie thats exactly what shes saying don’t believe it) (I’m projecting okay dont judge me) (loser imagine projecting)

Imagine with me for a second: Why does Spencer willingly stay with a family who locks him in their basement with only minor complaining? He’s a near all-powerful entity just released into the world for Spence’s-sake - If he wanted to, there’s no telling what havoc he could wreak! So why doesn’t he? Why would someone so powerful, so terrifying, so dangerous that a group of people decided to seal him away forever stay with the first family he finds in sub-par conditions for years - especially someone who’s seen to be as high-maintenance as Spencer? Let me hit you with a theory: He’s chasing the feelings of validation, safety, and love - no matter how rarely it’s shown - that a family can provide. Being socially isolated for even a few years can do a number to a person’s psyche (I should know, I’m projecting onto this character right now), let alone thousands.

Now maybe Ghost can’t match thousands of years in isolation, but damn if he doesn’t have a few years of crippling loneliness on his record too.

I can see the two of them learning how to be vulnerable around others together, emotionally and physically; learning how to open up and how to talk through issues; and some third point, because points are better in threes.

(May I suggest that these losers are both trans but thats just me adding in my own projection lmao)

(You absolutely may)

Imagine the conversation thats just “so i have a murderer in my head thats an ass” “rip to u ig sounds like a you problem :///”

imo spence has trouble expressing emotions other than like,,, annoyance and haughtiness, its like sort of his go-to defence, so showing Ghost his emotions is a big step for him

I hear you, and i say yes good. (found this one headcanon that i kinda live by where he was uh, either autistic or adhd i dont remember but theres that too) OH yeah that would be at thing huh. Spencer: *is emotionally vulnerable @ ghost* ghost: oh shit im trusted??? Oh fuck uh.

Yeah so like…. Ghost and spence showing emotion at eachother is kind of :flushed: ghost be like: whats an emotion. Imagine having emotions fuciiing loser hhaha,,,, *laughs nervously*

Ghost is also very emotionally distant with most people so it would probably be like “what??? The fuck?? Emotions?????? You have those???”

Ghost and Spencer be like *gay*

So another idea is that maybe Spencer realizes Ghost doesnt play any games [like the uncultured SWINE he is] and decides he must [remedy] this and so he introduces him to like, nintendo first. (some bitches thought that said nintendo fortnite. Im bitches) and theyre playing like, mario kart or smash or smth and Ghost gets really [fuckin into it]

Ghost and spencer: *literally in eachothers laps playing fucking wii tennis*

Spooker: what are the- *TOAST FUCKING SLAPS A HAND ACROSS HIS MOUTH* shut up you dont wanna know what happens when its mentsonssbfdjfsd (sorry i had a stroke uwuwuwuw)

(Theyre in denial we don’t judge in this house)

They will not hesitate to play dirty either, they will straight up push each other over and vaguely flirt

Ghost is losing and straight up fucking goes “ur hot” and spencer actually dies and boom ghost is the winner. sparkle emoji Magic sparkle emoji

“I am Not a HomoSexual:™:” “Yeah, sure you aren’t” “Screw off”

Pet-names-ish: Asshole, Gaymer-Boy, casual insults, Mr. Spirit Bitch, Mistake, Loves Ghosts More Than His Boyfriend What A Fucking Loser aka Gay-ass

Pros:

They both open up a lot most likely. Gain someone to trust since they’ve sort of been through the same things (though on much different scales)

I can see soft hours of hanging in each other’s bedrooms

Spencer is a tsundere you cant tell me otherwise youre just a coward if you disagree

So is Ghost so this can only go well

Every time Ghost has to solve a case at the Acachallas Spence is just peaking out from his basement like “the fuck is this?? Hot Man??????”

Enemies to lovers 500k (Gets Hot and Steamy :flushed: NOT CLICKBAIT!!!!11!!!!! 18+!!!!!!! GAY LOVE StORY!!!!!!) Lemonz!!! Made from teh Sexiest of Wattpaders UWUWUWU YAOI Boys Love don’t like don’t read!! (this is so fucking stupid jkfnd) I hate this with a passion Q^Q. All my years of being a basic watpad fanboy have helped me to the moment i bring maddie to tears

The steam is just like,,,,, holding hands and being angy all the fuckin time the steam is literal because their anger translates into actual steam

Cons:

Their angst has nowhere to go and it just sits between them like two raccoons at a dumpster-style mexican standoff

They really start off hating each other huh. Like, I know this can still lead to healthy relationships but neither of them are very good at healthy relationships with people he hasn’t known for his Whole Life so that’s an Oh No.

They totally feed off of each other’s stupidity (but this could be seen as a pro too so take that as you will) as well as anger - im talking one-upping each other kinda shit

Its ridiculous honestly how intense it gets, like they straight up need intervention sometimes because they dont realize they can just STOP

Conclusions:

I think this would be a relationship that would that a lot of time and hard work to make work, but i think in the end it would be really super cute!! Like it would make no fuckin sense to anyone else but somehow they’d understand each other and help each other through their similar issues. Also theyre both big nerds in different ways and i think they’d have just ranting sessions back and forth over and over and it would be soft!!!!! So yeah, i think it would work, at least, i want it to :D

So. Maybe?? I feel like it could, but they’d need to work pretty hard to make it healthy and not constant fighting. Could be stupid amounts of cute and wholesome but also could be stupid amounts of oh no and pain, depending on how the two act. If they learned how to get along with each other and work past their differences it could be super cute and soft. Just a very, er, bumpy beginning. And middle. And end. (this makes me very nervous,,,,why did you mention an end) (wouldnt you like to know weather boy) (TvT) UFDUNS bumpy but soft . Agreeing with the loser gay, want this to work it’d be interesting :3

[rambling-at-midnight]

Jealousy

Pairing: Five Hargreeves x Reader

Note: in this AU, Five never jumped to the future. Everyone (except Luther) has moved on from the Academy. They’re all 22 atm.

This wasn’t requested but it popped into my head and I just really wanted to write it!

Five seriously regrets signing up for this eight a.m. history class. He has it on good authority that the teacher is going to move it to eight p.m. next semester, but that would conflict with his advanced math class. Of course, he could have pushed that back a semester too, which wouldn’t have hurt his degree or prevented his graduation at all. But at the moment he’d thought to himself ‘Oh, well, waking up at seven every Monday and Thursday morning won’t be so bad.’

It is. It’s so bad. At this point he’s pretty sure that his blood is 99% coffee.

He’d even had the mind to transfer after the first week. He’s simply a night owl and not an early riser, ergo this is torture without fifteen cups of coffee. But there is one tiny little problem with that, and that is why he hasn’t switched out yet, and the only reason he hasn’t yet missed a single class.

It’s a girl.

Yeah, as stupid as that sounds, the only reason Five hasn’t yet transferred out of his stupid eight a.m. history class is because on the first day of the class, when he had been glaring at everybody and hating just about everyone and everything, a pretty girl had sat down next to him without even a glance in his direction, holding a humongous travel cup of tea, and with earbuds blasting music so loud he could hear it.

Your name is Y/N. You love tea but hate coffee. You like history but hate math. You have a boyfriend called Max with gorgeous blue eyes. You’ve got a cat. You’re not a morning person. You’re majoring in biology.

That’s pretty much all Five knows about you.

But God, he’s got the biggest crush.

He can’t help it! You’re just so... you. He can’t even put it into words, but God, you distract him.

But he can’t do anything about it because you’ve got your stupid boyfriend Max that everyone you know gushes about. He’s not about to be a homewrecker. It just sucks that he hadn’t figured out you were already taken until it was way too late to enroll in another course.

He settles for being a friend.

Five rolls his eyes and kicks your chair a little bit when you’re about to nod off. You jolt up, eyes wide for a few moments, before registering that the lecture is about to start. With a wide yawn, you greet him and reach into your backpack for your laptop.

“Late night?”

“Sort of.” You shrug. “Max wouldn’t stop yelling at me for attention and he always wakes up at the oddest hours and wakes me up, too.”

Privately, Five thinks, I’d never yell at you. Even if it’s for attention, he sort of thinks it’s a dick move. If he ever meets Max, he might just give the asshole a piece of his mind. It’s not the first time you’ve complained about him being an asshole but you never even consider breaking up with him. “He a morning person?”

You snort. “You could say that. He’s cute, though, so I love him.”

There it is; the knife in his gut. You love to twist it around without even realizing you’re doing it. Five just nods and looks down at his notes.

Five’s neither an asshole nor an idiot (and you’ve called Max both those names multiple times, not that he really cares). He can tell you like your boyfriend, for some reason he can’t tell, and that it would really be a dick move to make moves on you. So he’s content (not really) to spend time with you, even if it’s a sweet kind of torture.

That includes math tutoring. You’d seen him reading one of his advanced math books before the lecture started one time and pounced on the opportunity. You’re really smart, but not the best at paying attention and it’s not like your professor’s good at teaching anyway.

And Five, like an idiot, had agreed.

He’s not very good at teaching. The first time he’d brought you to tears he’d panicked and accidentally spacial jumped to China. He’d jumped right back, of course, and the shock of seeing one of your friends disappear and reappear had stopped your tears short.

He hasn’t made you cry since (and he definitely doesn’t have nightmares about hearing you sniffle) which is good for his patience, he supposes. Sometimes a few of your friends will join your study sessions, but most of the time it’s just you and Five.

Alone.

In a library.

Alone.

So now you’re friends? Sort of? At least, you talk with his siblings and he talks with your friends and you’re all kind of one group now.

And nobody. Ever. Shuts. Up. About. Max.

“We really need to see Max sometime,” Vanya says while she, you, Five, Klaus, and two of your other friends are all sitting under the shade of a tree, ‘working’ on homework assignments. Immediately a whole chorus of agreements rise from Five’s siblings and your friends and he rolls his eyes.

“Five’s never met Max,” Klaus proclaims loudly. “He doesn’t know what he’s missing out on.”

“Let’s go right now!” one of your friends, Isabella, exclaims.

“I’ve got a lot of homework to do,” Five replies tiredly. “You go on without me.”

“Are you sure?” you ask, looking at him with your hair falling over your shoulder and eyes a little tired but worried.

It’s like getting kicked in the stomach.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Five waves everyone away, wondering how on earth this ‘Max’ guy is so amazing that everyone loves him. You’re the last to go, still sending Five looks over your shoulder.

He pretends not to notice.

Yeah, he’s jealous. So what?

“Max is so great,” you sigh during one of your study sessions.

I’m pretty great too, Five thinks sourly.

“His eyes are so pretty,” you continue. “Such a pretty blue.”

Five, personally, thinks that green is better than blue.

“How’s your cat?” he asks, to change the subject.

“Great!” you smile at him. Five’s stomach falls down at least two stories. “Belligerent and fluffy as always. You really should meet him, you know.” You stick out your bottom lip and pout at him and dammit, but he really doesn’t feel like saying no to you right now.

Five’s impulsive. He says yes. You beam. He’d say it again, a thousand times, just to see that smile.

His stomach falls again when you stand up and hold out your hand for him to take so you can drag him back to your apartment. You live off-campus because of your cat, supported by moderately wealthy parents who are just relieved you hadn’t gone to college in another country.

Maybe he knows more about you than he’d thought.

You drag him across campus, probably to ensure he has as little time as possible to change his mind. You always get confused whenever he refuses to meet either your cat or Max, a little bit of hurt clouding your pretty E/C eyes before you blink it away.

All Five knows about you, and he’s never met your boyfriend or cat. He’s never even been to your apartment before.

It’s in a pretty building with a nice view. There’s a park directly across the building, and Five can imagine you on the swings late at night, holding hands with someone who’s on the swing next to you. First he imagines a scruffy guy with blue eyes, and then he imagines you holding hands with a neat brunette boy with green eyes.

“You’re not allergic, are you?” you ask just before unlocking your apartment door.

Five shakes his head. “I don’t think so.” He’s never really been around cats before. God knows pets weren’t allowed at the Academy.

You smile and open the door. “Good. Max!”

Five instantly tenses. He was brought here to see your cat, not your boyfriend. What will he even think about you bringing a guy here, to your apartment, one-on-one?

A white blur runs into the room, making an unusual high-pitched noise, and you laugh and crouch down. “Hey, buddy,” you coo, picking the cat up gently. “Want to hold him?”

Five looks at the triangular face. The cat, just like your boyfriend, has blue eyes that are gorgeous against his white fur. You must have a thing for blue eyes. Something curdles in his stomach at the thought and he nods mutely.

“Max, this is Five,” you coo, gently putting the cat in his arms. “Don’t mind his silly name or his scowl. He’s a softie.”

“Hi,” Five says quietly, rolling his eyes at your gentle ribbing. The cat regards him, studying him, and leans to sniff his nose.

Wait.

Max.

Max?

Five looks at you looking at him and your cat with a gorgeous smile on your face. “This is Max?”

“Yeah.” Your smile grows even wider. “Isn’t he gorgeous?”

“Yeah,” Five says quietly. Holy shit. Holy shit. Holy shiiiiiit.

“He’s also an asshole,” you coo, taking the cat out of his arms. “You’re just the biggest annoyance ever, aren’t you? You know, I was beginning to think you really hated cats,” you add to Five. “You always seemed so annoyed whenever I talked about him.”

“I guess I was focused on other stuff,” Five invents wildly. Your eyes narrow just a little bit at him and you let the cat jump out of your arms. Thankfully, you let him keep his dignity (I was jealous over a cat? Really?) and shrug.

“I have something to tell you,” you say, swallowing.

“Sure.” Five watches as the cat saunters out of the room. Smug, as if he knows that Five is a total oblivious idiot. How did he not know that Max and your cat were the same person? He’s so stupid.

“I like you.”

“Okay. Wait—” Five jerks to look at you, stomach falling again, eyes wide. “What?”

“It’s totally fine if you don’t feel the same way,” you say quickly. “But... I’ve liked you for a while now, actually. It’s why I sat next to you in history, really.”

Five laughs. Then he sits down on your couch pretty abruptly.

“What?” You stay standing, biting your lip and tugging on your hair like you always do when you’re nervous. “I promise I’m not a groupie or anything. I don’t really care about the Umbrella Academy or all that stuff, It’s just—”

“I’m such an idiot,” Five whispers.

“What?”

“I like you, too,” he admits. “I have for a while now.”

Your smile is blinding.

Five x Reader Taglist:

@statsvitenskap @dare-the-punisher @thespian-anon @ask-veronica-sawyer-heathers @fivegallaghers @ggclarissa @akiyamakuro @featuringcone9

Umbrella Academy Taglist:

@fentanvl @deathswretch @lightningidiot @five-hg @iamsnek666 @ameliatrh @ihatecheesyusernames @dora-the-grownup @emilyt0314 @idklol707

Forever Taglist:

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

If you want to be added to a taglist, just let me know!

[slashiest-slasher]

Could we get a part two for Polly Billy and brahams please

anon

you made me write *checks watch* 3.6K holy shit (( ༎ຶ‿༎ຶ )) this is fine everything’s fine

readmore, for obvious reasons, warnings for getting nsfw between billy and s/o, and brahms and [REDACTED], and mildly dubious consent (brahms agrees after someone cops a feel, but isn’t comfortable with what happens after agreeing)

Brahms was very much, entirely, and completely not happy with the current situation occurring at Heelshire manor, his God damn home.

Before, it was just him and his lovely, handsome nanny who seldomly raised their voice at him, cuddled him whenever he wanted, made him his favorite foods for dinner when he was good, constantly babied him, and most importantly of all, loved him wholly and without restriction.

But if there was one thing Brahms loathed more than anything, it was sharing his things. And yes, you might hate it when he calls you one of his things, but it’s the truth, right?

Ever since you insisted on that Billy creep stays here in his fucking house, the amount of attention he was getting plummeted. And that smug Billy knew and relished in it.

He was always watching you, or demanding your attention, and curled up in your lap. That was Brahms’ place! That was supposed to be him laying his head in your lap and getting his hair soothed and played with. Brahms had to settle with sitting on the floor so you could rest a hand on his head and give his scalp scritches. Which wasn’t awful, but Billy was stealing all your attention away.

Billy’s actions bore a striking resemblance to his own, but at least he had the common decency to not make those unbearable noises! Billy was always snorting, giggling, or muttering to himself, and when he talked with you, his voice was rarely calm. Always shrill or ear piercing, saying such disgusting things to you. Always propositioning you and grabbing you in lewd ways that you shrugged off like it was nothing. It always made Brahms’ blood rush to his head.

He would punch Billy for it, but the last time he had attacked that scrawny freak and gave him a split lit, you withheld all affection for an entire month! No goodnight kisses, no hugs, no cuddling, no handling. Nothing! All the while, that Billy got everything!

Brahms could, of course, always kill Billy and tie you up to your bed, but his heart ached and his gut twisted whenever he did something that made you cry. And that would certainly make you hate him forever.

And then there was Billy’s insistence on teasing Brahms! He would say the same disgusting things to him that he would to you, and when he was especially spastic, would paw at Brahms’ chest and thighs when he tried to extend his cuddling and hugging to include him.

You would it endlessly entertaining of course, and that was the only reason he didn’t snap Billy’s neck. Yeah, Billy made his skin crawl, but you lit up whenever you saw them hugging. And maybe there was something about holding Billy, fragile, moments from fracturing Billy, in his arms that made his heart thump.

You called him and Billy “your boys” and that made Brahms’ heart thump a certain way he couldn’t explain.

But all of that, Brahms could deal with. What really got him going was whenever Billy starting switching between his voices and muttering about Agnes or a baby, or naughty Billy. It doesn’t matter what you were doing, you would always drop whatever you were doing to rush to his side.

The worst part was that Brahms couldn’t even be mad at you or Billy for that. He knew there was something serious messed up with Billy, something that happened to him, something you wanted to figure out. And it was in those fits when he was at his worst and you needed to hold him to stop the tears and the tantrums he would throw through them.

If it were any other scenario, Brahms would have found and odd kind of kinship with Billy. Bad parents, living in hidden parts of a house, clinging to anything that gave them a moment of happiness.

But Billy was stealing you away, and Brahms couldn’t let that happen.

So he tried everything he could think of. When you wouldn’t even look at him because you were so wrapped up in whatever Billy was doing, he broke vases and plates and potted plants. He stole your clothes, your /underwear/, he let his rats play in your bed. But all that got him was ban on goodnight kisses and an angry lecture that made the bad feeling in his stomach worse.

Then he tried being an extra good boy. He showered every night, did the dishes without you asking, made his bed (and even yours and Billy’s!), dusted, and surprised you in bed with breakfast. Which got him the sweetest and warmest hugs and kisses that made the lust he felt for you grow exponentially. There were some nights he could hardly control it, and would have to sneak away to take care of himself before you tucked him into bed, or certainly he would do something unsavory that would make you extremely angry.

So, while there was no downside to being an extra good boy, it didn’t take any of your attention away from Billy.

The final straw was when you were late to tucking him. Five minutes to be precise. You were never late, ever. Even with Billy moving in, you always came in at the same time every night to tuck him him, run your fingers through his hair, and give him a goodnight kiss. On his lips too, not his mask anymore!

Brahms gets up from where he was sitting on his bed, and pads down the hall to your room. There’s a chance you could’ve dozed off (and in that case he could tuck you in!), or, and Brahms shudders at the thought, you were talking with Billy again. That creep rarely slept, so at night he was entirely yours. The mere thought made his skin itch.

He could clearly hear the moment he stepped out of his bedroom what exactly was holding you up. He could hear the disgusting, wet noises Billy was making, and you desperately trying to muffle yourself, but still moaning his name. He knew what was happening, and it made the rage inside him rise, but he needed to know for certain.

The moment he peered into your room, he immediately jerked back and pressed himself to the wall, eye shut tightly. It does nothing to settle his heart, which feels like it’s about to burst out of his chest.

Billy didn’t have his shirt on, and in the lamplight each and every scar was visible. His head was between your thighs - your bare thighs - and Brahms couldn’t exactly see what he was doing, but whatever it was, it was making your back arch, legs tremble, and your face to be twisted in pleasure as you watched Billy intently.

You were absolutely gorgeous, warped in ecstacy and making some of the most beautiful noises Brahms had ever heard. If it weren’t for the cold dread settling in his stomach like a weight from Billy, the entire situation would have been a page out of one his wet dreams.

“Fuck!” you muffle the moan into the crook of your arm. “Oh Christ! Oh, Billy, Billy, Billy! Please!” you whine, thrusting towards his mouth. As you get louder, you clasp your hands over your mouth, letting your body rock against the erratic, but brutal, rhythm Billy set for you.

There’s a part of Brahms that wants to storm in there, throw Billy off, and have it be his name that you were moaning. Another part that wanted to throw a fit, and another that wanted to kill Billy where he stood. But he followed the impulsive tug in his chest to lead him back to his room, and start throwing clothes into a bag.

Fine, you wanted Billy instead? That’s what you were going to get. Who cares that this is his own fucking house, he’s going to leave, and you’re going to miss him and realize how bad you fucked up. How you should be showering Brahms with all this attention, instead of Billy.

How you should have just let him love you how he wanted, and if you had then Brahms would still be here.

He changes out of his pajamas into some, as you called them, “normal people clothes”: a t-shirt, jeans that were a bit to clingy than what Brahms was used to, a hoodie, and a sturdy pair of sneakers. You had wanted to go take him walking into town one day, once he was comfortable, but that was long out the window with Billy around.

He throws what he can think of into his bag; another change of normal people clothes, his normal lounging and sleeping clothes, multiple changes of underwear and socks, a tiny stuffed rabbit he absolutely could not live without, some polaroids you had taken of the two of you (he shoved those in bitterly), and a wallet with about £400 of various bills and change in it. That was what he needed to sustain himself, right?

As he starts crawling out of the window, backpack slung on his back, he decides to leave his mask on his bed, and scribble a note out on a piece of paper saying he was leaving and never, ever coming back.

Climbing down the walls of the house was pretty, and scaling the front gate wasn’t too difficult, but Brahms understood why exactly you insisted on a decent pair of sneakers. The nearest town was about a four hour walk. Which would have been fine if it hadn’t started downpouring 20 minutes after he left the manor.

The long, winding road that lead to the manor eventually connected up to a busier road after an hour after it started raining. He had seen it in some of the movies you had watched with Brahms - curled up around each other, petting his hair and feeding him popcorn - and stuck out his thumb and waited until a beat up car pulled up beside him.

“Where you need to go mate?” asked the man driving the car when he climbed in, eyeing him up.

“Nearest-” when his baby voice came out, Brahms cleared his throat. “Nearest bus stop, thanks.” He looks down at the water dripping off of him and onto the seat, and forming puddles on the floor. Being kind and polite will get you anything you need, says a distinctly you sounding voice in the back of his head. “I’m sorry- about the mess.”

The man driving the car shrugged, and kept his eyes on the road. “Not a problem. I would be out of my mind if I didn’t stop to help someone out in this storm.” Brahms eyed him up from his peripherals. He looked kindly and neat, like the kind of man that wouldn’t look out of place in the archives section of a library. His hair was tidy, and there were spectacles that he consistently kept pushing up.

The man is quiet for a long while before he pipes up. “So why exactly was a heart throb like you hitchhiking on a deserted road?”

Brahms bites the inside of his mouth when his heart skips a beat. In a poor attempt to be inconspicuous, Brahms runs his fingers along the heavy burn scars on the side of his face. “Issues at home, don’t really want to talk about it that much.”

The man nod, and smiles. “No problem, I understand.” He doesn’t say anything for a bit, before speaking up again. “You a fan of early literature?” he asks, only taking his eyes off the road for a moment to glance over at Brahms, who nods.

“Mother insisted on having me read classical.” Brahms settles into his seat, the high strung tension seemingly having melted. “Except Oedipus Rex, of course.”

The man chuckles, and pushes his glasses up again. “Oh it was the same with my teachers when we were younger. Something we should really be reading once we were older.

And it’s all something so comforting and alien to Brahms that he can’t ever really recall. Just a casual conversing with someone he barely knows and will likely never see again.

They continue chatting amicably for a a while before it teeters off into a comfortable silence.

"What about you, why are you out here in weather like this?” Brahms asks, the question having been rolling around in his head since the man had asked.

He thrums his fingers against the steering wheel. “Oh, out to clear my head. I’m sort of in the same boat as you, issues at home I need to escape.”

Brahms waits a few moments before retorting. “Bit of shit weather to be doing that, isn’t it?” It makes the man chuckle.

A few minutes later, there’s a hand on Brahm’s thigh, heavy and warm like being under the covers for too long. He jumps at the contact, but keeps his breathing under control.

“I think the company more than makes up for it.” His voice is low and deep. He glances over at Brahms, searching his eyes. “Just another lonely soul, adrift and looking for any port in the storm.” He only lets his hand drift up further and press firmly when Brahms gives him a nod.

Well, you wouldn’t give him this. You were seeking out other people to get off. Why couldn’t he?

When his hand creeps up his thigh, and massages his crotch, a similar, but colder, dream sinks in his stomach. The man continues to watch the road and smile as if nothing was amiss. The same tense, barely there trembling comes back.

He bites his bottom lip and lets his head fall back against the headrest when the man undoes his jeans and pulls his boxer just down enough to free his dick and stroke it. Brahms’ nerves rattle in a way that makes him nauseous. He couldn’t help but buck into the warm hand wrapped around him, and let out a deep whine at the friction.

This felt so, so much better than his own hand. He hadn’t even realized how sensitive he was until now. Short, panting breaths come from his mouth, and he moans for more, please, you-

It hit him like a punch to the chest that he didn’t even know this guys name. That he had only known him for less than an hour. Brahms hand snapped from his side and gripped his wrist tight enough to grind his bones.

“Actually, could you pull over. I’ll walk,” he tells him.

The man thankfully retracts his hand while Brahms fixes his boxers and jeans. “Sorry, I must’ve misread the situation. Are you sure you don’t want me to drive you the rest of the way? It’s a long walk.”

Brahms pulls his backpack into his lap, and nods, hugging it close. He’s not a fan of the biting cold and rain when he steps out of the warm, dry cab, but he couldn’t stay in there for another minute. The man gives him a curt nod before the door is shut and he’s driving away.

Brahms waits until the lights of the car are no longer visible before he sets off in the same direction.

By the time he makes it to the bus shelter, the sky is just only being lit up, and the rain is still coming down in sheets. He plops down on the swollen bench, and rests his head against the wall. All the muscles in his body ache, and he dozes off thinking he could be home right now, in bed, certainly angry, but he wouldn’t be shivering like a wet cat.

But if this teaches you a lesson that you need to appreciate him more, then so be it.

Brahms is awaken by the slam of a car door, and someone familiar yelling his name. The sun isn’t any higher in the sky, and it’s still coming down hard. But he sees you, desperately trying to shield yourself from the rain with a jacket.

“Brahms, what the hell!” you yell over the rain pattering against the bus shelter. You grip his upper arm tight enough to bruise when you sit down next to him.

He doesn’t even dignify looking you in the eyes.

You grab him by his face, and force him to look at him, shushing him and rubbing your thumbs across his cheekbones when he tries to jerk away. “Brahmsy, do you have any idea how worried you made me?” you ask gently, scooting closer to him. He tries to look anywhere but at your face. “You can’t run away like that, don’t you know how much it would hurt me?”

Billy crawls out of an open car window and sits at Brahms’ feet, resting a cheek against his knee. “Pretty Brahms, you sc-scared us,” he shift his voice slightly, slightly off but still close enough to his. “Where’s Brahmsy? Billy what did you do with Brahmsy?” He clutches Brahms’ calves tightly, digging his fingers into his wet jeans. “Brahms, where the hell are you! Brahmsy!” he yells.

When you go to run a hand though Billy’s hair to calm him down, Brahms intercepts it and laces your fingers. Always taking everything away from him.

Your eyes go wide when you put two and two together. “Is that what this is about?” you almost have the gall to giggle if Brahms hadn’t been looking down at Billy with such vehemence.

“But you let him do things to you,” Brahms grumbles, closing his eyes. “You won’t let me do those things. And he get all your good cuddles. And it always holding your hand.”

Your cheeks turn pink when he brings it up. “Well, I’ve known Billy for longer, since before I knew you.” You stumble across your words, trying to get them out. “But Brahms, you know I have two hands right? Both you and Billy can hold my hand.”

“But you’re mine!” Brahms whines, slipping into his childish voice. “I don’t want to share you!”

“I do,” says Billy quietly. He leers his gaze over to you. “Can we share pretty Brahmsy? Please? So sweet and I want him, we can both share.” He asks so sweetly that Brahms doesn’t know what to say.

You smile, and free your hand to lean down and grab Billy’s. You place it in Brahms’ palm, and Billy seems quite content. His hand is bony and only slightly warmer than Brahms’, who has been in the cold rain for the better part of the night. But it feels oddly right.

“It’s not sharing, it’s the three of us, together. Billy’s quite taken with you, and you know I adore you. Will you give it a chance? Letting both of us love you.”

Brahms can only nod as tears well in his eyes. He hides his face in your chest. “I’m sorry, I didn’t want to scare you,” he cries into your shirt.

Both you and Billy wrap your arms around him, Billy seating himself in his lap. “C'mon Brahms, let’s get you home and get us into a nice bath, then we can all get some sleep.”

Brahms nods shyly, and lets himself be led by Billy into the back seat while you climb into the driver’s seat. Billy wastes no time getting Brahms out of his wet clothes. It was a struggle normally with you, but Billy’s odd noises, lewd comments, and groping certainly don’t help. Brahms puts up a fight at first, until Billy starts nuzzling each inch of exposed cold, damp skin.

His heart flutters a bit when Billy grabs a fluffy towel from the boot of the car and rubs Brahms’ hair wildly. Brahms, naturally, swats at him, wrangling the towel away to dry himself off, but Billy simply grabs another and contributes, and tries to shimmy Brahms’ wet jeans and boxers off.

“Hmmm, mmm, pretty Brahmsy, all mine, wrap my lips around you pretty pink coh- huh, hmmmm…” Billy devolves into more humming as he moves down to dry Brahms’ legs. He leaves the towel draped across his lap, letting Brahms finish drying himself off while he rummages around in the boot for something.

Through the rearview mirror, Brahms can see your squinty eyes, and though he can’t see your mouth, he knows you’re smiling. So he puts up with it when Billy drags out a heavy quilt and bundles Brahms up in it, and pulls him to lean against his chest.

Billy twitches entirely too much for it to be comfortable, but having a pair of arms wrapped around him is more than soothing. And the fingers that run through his tangled, damp hair are rough, but the massage to his scalp is worth it.

Something white is flashed in front of him, and Brahms can just make it out in the dim light.

“Pretty Brahmsy want it? I’ll give it to you if you fuuuh- kiss my m-mouth.” Billy doesn’t wait for an answer, and leans down for a quick, burning kiss, certain to press his tongue up against Brahms’ lips before pulling away and placing Brahms’ mask in its rightful place.

Billy’s maniacal laughter makes him grumble, but he simply fixes his mask, and nuzzles his head against Billy’s chest.

It may not be what Brahms wanted, but he supposes it fine enough. Better than being being alone.

You turn the radio on low to a classical station, looking back on them fondly, and Billy makes quiet shushing noises and pets Brahms’ hair when he grumbles too much at his fingers pulling against the tangles.

Yeah, way better than being alone.