#it feels weird to think that I ever thought he'd be good in a field

[yanmuffins]

I love your P&F reader! Have you ever thought of a Milo Murphy reader?

Everything goes wrong and they have the worst luck in the world. Magic users are thinking maybe their mother's bloodline had to be cursed or something.

Regardless they handle it all with a smile and their trusted backpack and dog, Diogee

They get in all sorts of trouble and shenanigans all over Gotham. Their backpack is filled with everything you can think of and things you probably would never have thought of. No one's quite sure how they got an anchor to fit in their bag. Or why have a stun baton or how they seem to have every type of glue in existence but Elmer's. But it is Gotham so people look the other way.

Damian is P&F's and Jason is usually the favorite in neglected stories but let's have Tim some time to shine.

M.M. reader gotta be pretty creative to people to deal with they have to do everyday and I feel like Tim would be a great choice with their smarts together.

Imagining them rolling on a wrecking ball down the street as Harley's hyenas chase them as they try to get to class.

Reader: What doesn't kill you only makes you late for school :D

Tim would obsess so hard on like why this is happening??? but learn to embrace it. Probably a good lesson on what to do when things go south. He's a gremlin in my opinion

I don't think he'd try busting them since it's literally just bad luck but he does document all of this weirdness cuz who is he if doesn't have a file of one person and an extensive list of their life and actions

I can see him sending reader to someone he doesn't like to make them drop their favorite ice cream and would consider having them root for Ra's after seeing what happened to that one enemy football team when reader started rooting for them and they lost and demolished the field. But wouldn't since they'd be in danger.

I don't think the batfam could even stop them or fully protect them like they wish. They'll be asking their hero friends and allies but how do you stop Murphy's Law? It'll probably drive them crazy with worry.

Cue Diogee being anywhere but home and being bros with Perry.

@plembyduck

hello!!! these seem like such good ideas but unfortunately i have never watched milo murphy’s law so i don’t really have anything to add. sorry to disappoint! (｡•́︿•̀｡)

[thegnomelord]

Imagine Price With a Virgin Reader

CW: NSFW Dom Bottom Price, Sub Top M!Reader, dom/sub, light humiliation, MReader

My brain continues to be weird before exams, soooo I did a thing. Calling it Gnome's Imagines. I think I kinda turned Price a bit southern :Dd Asks/reqs are always welcome.

Imagine you're in Price's office doing paperwork as punishment for backtalking a superior officer in the field. Fatigue wears down the chains on your tongue so you start bad-mouthing the SO under your breath, harsh words tumbling from your lips until Price grips your chin and tilts your head towards him. "That's enough out of you." Price shuts you up with a quick kiss to your lips, his beard tickling your skin.

He doesn't think anything about it until he pulls back and sees your wide open eyes. When you lean back to trace your lips with your fingers and mutter "Huh, so that's what that feels like" he grows even more confused. He's old enough to have some notches on his belt, so your reaction throws him for a loop.

"What? Are you a nun or som'thin' bumkin?" He teases, because frankly he can't understand how someone like you hadn't ever kissed anyone when you have all the qualities he finds desirable.

But he stands corrected when you look away with your ears burning and give some offhand comment about waiting for the right person. "I don't whore myself out." You say to hide the embarrassment of being called out like that, hoping to hide behind your words.

"Oooh bumkin," He chuckles and grips your chin again, tilting your head to keep your attention squarely on him. "Does that mean you think I'm right for you?" He asks, stroking along your jaw and loving the way you relax into his hand.

When you shrug in leu of answering it proves him correct, his heart fluttering in his chest and pants feeling too tight around his cock. "Tell you what sugar," He chuckles when you attempt to hide the way you perk up when he speaks. "How about I teach you some new tricks hmm?" Hot arousal burns in his gut and floods his system at the thought of introducing you to sex, of ruining any future partners for you, of ruining you.

A small pathetic sound makes its way out of your throat before you can catch it, but you're quick to hide it, subtly nodding your head.

"Need you to use your words there," Price orders, keeping a firm grip on your chin to keep your focus on him (as if you'd look anywhere else).

You grip his shirt, "Just kiss me already." You grumble and are immediately rewarded with his hot lips against yours. Your inexperience shows as you kiss him back sloppily, unsure how to move your lips or tilt your head so you end up bonking your foreheads, your teeth messily nipping his lip and drawing blood as you try to all but swallow the breath in his lungs.

"Oi," Price growls against your mouth as he holds your head firmly. He licks his bleeding lip, but he's the furthest from mad right now. "Just follow my lead. You're good at that." He waits until you answer with a verbal "yes", then he's mushing his lips against yours. He holds your head still, guides you how to kiss him properly, his tongue lapping at your clenched teeth until you give him access to your mouth.

Your captain tastes like tobacco and whiskey and the several cups of black coffee he'd drank and something that's just him, the taste making you feel high while his tongue licks around your mouth and urges you to do the same so he can suck on your tongue.

"How's that sweetheart?" He asks when he pulls away and keeps you from following after his lips, leaving you breathless and panting. "Eager for more?" Price teases. "Come on, use your big boy words."

It takes you a few seconds to find your voice, several more to admit what you want— him. In whatever way he'll give it.

A devious smirk tugs on Price's lips. "Bumkin, your wish is my command." Next thing you know your world is doing summersaults as he stands and hoists you on his shoulder like you're a sack of potatoes. When the sudden motion makes you yelp and struggle you're rewarded with a sharp slap on your arse, "Keep still." His hand stays on your arse to keep you steady on his shoulder while he moves quickly to his room attached to his office.

"Don't throw your back out old man." You say, hoping to disguise the embarrassment burning in your gut with snark.

"Watch it, it's your back you should be worrying about." He chuckles, gropes your arse for good measure. "This old geezer can keep up with you just fine, sugar."

Though he picked you up roughly, he sets you down on his bed like you're made of glass.

With a hand on the back of your neck he guides you into a second kiss, a pleased rumble in his throat when you adapt quickly, eagerly kissing him back just like he did you. You part just enough to take off your clothes, Price taking your wrists to place your hands on his hairy chest.

"Go on, bumkin, ain't goin' to bite you...yet." He purrs and you take it in stride, roaming your hands all over him. He rewards you for exploring his body; Gives you a quick peck when you find a new sensitive spot, scratches down your chest each time you squeeze his plush side or thigh, and leaning your head down to latch on and suck his nipples earns you a very firm grope on your cock and a pleased sigh.

Growing bold you catch his eyes and then bite down on the bud between your teeth. He jolts and yanks your head up, his own teeth bite a big bruise into your throat. "Don't push it you brat." He murmurs against your skin, trailing kisses and bites down your front until your torso is black and blue with his marks, his claim.

His nose nuzzles into your groin as he settles between your legs, thick hands squeezing your hips while he mouths at your cock with his little pink tongue lolling out to lick at your cum hole. His beard tickles your skin when he takes you into his mouth, suckling on your head and looking at you with hooded eyes.

You can't control the sounds which escape your throat, your thighs shaking and head rolling back from the sudden assault of sensations on your nerves. It feels so much better than your own fist, your balls already churning with how hot and tight his mouth is.

Then the bliss around your cock stops.

Your neck almost snaps from how quickly you turn to look at him, and he's looking up at you with a smug smirk. "That's right, keep your eyes on me." Price smiles and rewards your focus on him by taking you down his throat, hollowing his cheeks and relaxing his jaw so your cock can slide past his tonsils in one fluid move.

With your focus on him you can't hide your reactions and his lips quirk up in a smirk even when they're stretched wide around the base of your cock, enjoying the faces you make with your head full of bliss as much as he finds himself loving the weight of your shaft on his tongue and the taste of your pre dripping straight down his throat.

Gripping you by the wrist again Price moves your hand on his head, a pleased hum vibrating from his chest to your cock when you take the offering and tangle your fingers in his hair. Focusing on his breathing he lets you rock your hips and rut your cock into his face like a bull in heat, rolling your balls in his hand.

Your orgasm sneaks up on you so embarrassingly fast you don't even have the sense in mind to warn him before you're cuming down his throat. He swallows it all down with his throat bulging and keeps you balls deep in his mouth until you've grown soft. Only then does he pull off and licks the residual cum from your head so he can see you shiver with the overstimulation.

"That was fast." He mocks you with a teasing lilt in his voice, "Still want to make comments about my age?" Price asks, voice somewhere between mocking and amused.

"At least I can go again quickly." You know you're playing a dangerous game but you can't help but say it. "Bet you need to take a nap after cuming once."

His eyes narrow, pupils blown so wide they swallow the blue in his eyes. "Oh, is that so?" He grips your soft cock, tearing a hiss out of you when he begins stroking you. "Let's see about that, hmm?"

He sits on your thighs, keeps you pinned down beneath his bulk with his hard rock cock next to your rapidly hardening one as he grabs the lube. Slapping away your hands when you try to touch him he braces against your chest and quickly preps himself, almost silent groans leaving him save for when he tells you to "Fuckin' wait.".

When he's done he pours lube on your almost fully hard cock, ignoring how the cold lube makes not-quite-pain race up your spine. You watch him grip the head of your cock and line it up with his puckered hole. "Wait, shouldn't I be on top? Since, you know-"

"Oh no sugar, you're not there yet." He laughs, holding your hips firmly in place before he sinks down onto you, relishing the burn as his hole greedily swallows inch after inch of your hard flesh. "When you can last more than a few minutes I'll let you fuck me good 'n proper." He braces both hands on your chest, looming over you as every pound of muscle and fat keeps you pinned to the bed. "'Till then, be good and just sit back, be useful for some'tin' other than running your mouth."

"You're a bastard." You manage to say before the tight heat around your cock steals your ability to think.

Price can't explain how fucking powerful he feels when just a simple shift of his hips makes whimpers and moans slip past your lips; can't explain how his heart flutters when just bottoming out and clenching around you makes you shudder and groan. He lets you grip his hips and grind into him, his powerful arse and thighs clapping against your legs each time he bounces on top of you with your shaft spreading him wide.

You don't even notice your second orgasm approaching until you're cuming inside him with a small whimper, flooding his insides with your seed.

Price just laughs as he feels you soften inside him, nowhere near close to his own release. "I'll take that one as a compliment bumkin." He snorts.

But he doesn't stop.

"What's the matter, didn't forget 'bout me, did you?" He grins and rolls his hips down, his weight pinning down your wriggling body until the sweet heat and strong clenching of his hole has your cock hardening right up despite the pain of overstimulation. "You know, it's bad form to leave your partner high and dry." He tuts, like some teacher, a sadistic glint in his eyes.

The mixture of cum and lube eases the way for your cock so he can teach you how to find his prostate, making you shift your hips every time you bottom out until you can tell the difference between his prostate and his gummy walls with the tip of your cock alone. "There you go, good," He groans—first real sound of pleasure he's made all night— then raises his hips so only your head remains inside him. "Now do that again." He grins, his cock only now beginning to leak.

He pulls three more orgasms out of you by the time he's close to the edge, your poor cock so overstimulated and balls so empty you'd be begging him to stop if you still had your voice. His belly bulges from the amount of cum in his bowels, a puddle of his own seed collecting on your stomach. Finally he cums with one final bash of your cockhead against his prostate, kissing you passionately as he paints your stomach white and slumps against your body.

He pats your chest like you're a work horse, his heart beating just as quickly as your own. "You did good," He whispers with a hoarse voice, leaning down to kiss your sweaty brow. Your eyes droop with exhaustion encroaching now that he's satisfied.

Then he grinds his hips into yours, a devious smirk on his face. "Oh, bumkin, I'm not done with you."

[celestialprincesse]

Hello! Can you write Lieutenant Ghost x Colonel or Captain reader, please! And take your time with it! Thank you 💗💗

I really did take my time with getting around to this whoopsie🥴 Anyways !

John Price retired four months ago, and to the surprise of everyone in TF141, had been replaced externally, instead of by one of them. Ghost, in particular, had not been thrilled with that information. Until he met you.

You'd been one of Laswell's most trusted associates, worked alongside her for years in all different military and CIA branches. Truly the cream of the crop. Despite all your acclaim, the 141 had always been a tight knit family, held together by Captain John Price. What if you couldn't fill his shoes? Keep them running like a well oiled machine?

He'd be the first to admit that despite he and Price's similarity in age, his Captain had been the closest thing to a paternal figure he'd ever had, in his own weird, fucked up and emotionally distant way.

Admittedly, you're beautiful, funny and completely magnetic - but you're not Price. Something about how - how seemingly flawless you are seems to only make you less approachable to Simon, like he'll say one wrong thing to you and not be enough.

You feel the exact same way about him.

Realistically, you know he's your lieutenant, he was Price's too. He should've been the next choice for captain. All of them could've been better for the position than you. Gaz had shadowed Price for as long as he was in the 141. Johnny was the youngest ever to pass the SAS recruitment test. Ghost was noted as exceptionally physically proficient on his file, and had been in the military since he was legally able. Not to mention, Laswell had raved about him to you. You can see why now.

When he lurches at your back, seeing you safely to your office like some loyal guard dog, you can't help but to feel so immensely comforted, like he's a storm, in which you've somehow found yourself in the eye, protected fro, the world outside. And Ghost, loyal as he is, will always protect his team.

The others had taken to you so well, instinctively protective towards the only woman on their team, although you've shown them time and time again that you can hold your own. Simon, however, is on a different level entirely. It's stayed the same since day one. Something in him calls to something in you, and vice versa, and where you go, he goes.

At first, you had thought maybe he was trying to suck up to you, earn your favour, but when he'd started getting in your space, memorising your coffee order and helping you with everything you could imagine, you'd quickly realised that your lieutenant, the big, brave Simon 'ghost' Riley, has a big fat crush on you.

The feeling is mutual.

Obviously, you've got to be careful with the way you go about showing it, especially in a professional environment where fraternisation is frowned upon. It's clear to the both of you though, the pining isn't one sided.

Maybe when you're fully comfortable in your position as captain, well settled into the team, and sure that no one will think that to only way you achieved your position was by blowing someone higher up, maybe then you'll act on your feelings. God forbid you want to. One thing you've fortunately learned in your months working with Ghost, however, is that he's a patient man. He's willing to wait, to let you get comfortable.

Good thing you're patient too.

But until then, you'll settle for the stolen glances with soft eyes, or the way he's always checking on you when you're in the field together. You'll savour the gentle hands patching you up, or the moments between sparring sessions when you sit there sweaty beside one another, just breathing, touching, being.

Pining!! Mutually!! fuck yeah!! They can't have each other!! (yet)😛

still in love though

just subtly

[left4dead4everr]

It’s so nice to see someone writing Mlm stuff for until dawn!! 🙏

Hope this isn’t an odd request but could we possibly get some Hcs about Mike trying to get over internalized homophobia when crushing/dating male!reader?

Mike Munroe crushing on a male reader

Pairings | Michael "Mike" Munroe X male!reader hcs

Game | Until Dawn

A/n | anon, there are no odd requests here! If it's not on my 'I don't write' list, I'll do it ;) anyways any excuse to write mlm is what I'm here for! I hope you enjoy x

-Mr. Michael Munroe the classic all american man who's the class president, good-looking, a ladies' man, charismatic, the list goes on!

-He's always identified as straight, always having girlfriends and female flings never once has he ever looked at a guy in that way

-He's not homophobic. I mean, he's totally cool with gay people, but he wouldn't kiss a guy or crush on one just because that's not what he's into

-Well that's how he felt before he met you.

-Once meeting you, he found himself feeling conflicted, having thoughts and feelings about you that he'd usually have for women.

-Trying to pass this off as admiration because you're a cool dude, he would often tell himself that it was wrong for him to see you that way, that you're just a bro and nothing more, that he just looks up to you.

-At first it wasn't so bad, just the average thoughts of

'Holy shit this guy is so cool'

Which eventually led up to him wondering what it would be like to hold your hand at times

-You could suspect that something was up with him due to the way he'd act around you no matter how hard he tried to keep up this whole "oh I love women I'm a tough guy" act

-If you play any sort of sports with him chances are after you're done with practice he'll come up to you and congratulate you in the..oddest way

'Hell yeah man you looked good on that field..I mean like you played..you..I don't mean that in a..you did good man.'

-In the locker rooms he'd subtly not so subtly eye you as you changed, if you or anyone caught his wondering eye he'd say he was just trying to compare your muscles to his and then start flexing and bragging about how his build is wayy better than yours to throw people off

-See with Mike he wouldn't be totally upfront with his feelings, I mean after he realizes that he likes you he's constantly fighting with himself.

-He's always liked and dated girls. He shouldn't have these feelings for you. I mean, what if people found out he liked a guy.. What if YOU found out? What would people think of him then

-In his mind, people would shun him. He wouldn't be the class president anymore or have that high pedestal he was put on

-He's scared of his feelings, but that's something he'd never ever admit.

-Him? Scared? Pffftt you gotta be joking!

-In all seriousness he'd never be willing to tell you he liked you, too scared of what others would think, too scared of coming to terms that he liked a man

-He'd keep his feelings to himself, going out one night to party and get with a few different girls just to keep his mind off of you but no matter how hard he tried, you didn't leave his mind

-Eventually, one night, he got a little too drunk off his ass and made his way over to your dorm at the ripe time of 4am

-After a few minutes of banging on the door and inaudible drunken mumbles you opened the door, clearly just woken up

-Sober Mike wouldn't do this, he wouldn't be here right now if it wasn't for the alcohol giving him courage. Once he laid his eyes on you his lips formed into a smirk as he leaned in the doorway almost slumped down fully

-After a few drunken chuckles and nonsensical mumbling he'd eventually be straightforward.

'Look *hic* look man not in a *hic* weird way, and you have to be totally cool about *hic* this! I fucking like you man like..like how I do women and *hic* I.."

-Mike would start to cry. Cry because he was starting to realize in his drunken state what he was doing. That he was standing at the doorway of your dorm, drunkenly confessing his feelings for you just because he felt a little confidence boost from the alcohol that he chugged down earlier that night

-As you went to console him, you put your hand onto his shoulder. He flinched away from your touch before semi aggressively wiping his face

-In his mind it was like a battlefield with himself. With who he was. With his feelings

-When you offered to let him stay the night..or well actually insisted he stayed, he was hesitant but knew that he would crash at any moment so he let you guide him inside and onto your bed

-It took him a little to get adjusted but once he did he crashed, falling asleep in your bed, snoring heavily as he tangled himself up in your sheets

-It really was a sight, seeing mike wrapped up in your blankets, in your bed, in your dorm. Truth be told you've been crushing on him for a while now, falling in love since you first laid your eyes on him but he didn't entirely seem like he was into you..

-As mike snored loudly as you made your bed on the floor out of some clothes and a thin blanket you had laying around, you didn't mind, honestly!

-As you stayed staring at the ceiling you listened to mike snore, thinking about his words..he liked you huh? You smiled to yourself as you slowly began to fall out of consciousness, eventually falling asleep

-The next morning after you both woke up, he'd thank you for letting him crash in your dorm and ask if he did anything regrettable last night

-Once you took a moment to tell him what he said in the most calm way ever you could tell he was panicking

-He stood up from your bed, his breathing picking up noticeably. shame, fear, and something else you couldn't quite read showed from him

-After trying to apologize in a very poor way, to his surprise you were okay with it, doing your best to calm him as you stood up and walked closer to him

-Not sure of what to do he'd run his hands through his his before shaking his head

'Fuck..listen I was drunk last night. You gotta believe me! Please don't tell anyone about this man I was just wasted and you know how it is when people party like that!'

-After you shrugged it off saying it was okay, he felt sort of..calm..

-He'd awkwardly say he had to go and make his way to the door, you following behind. As he was about to leave he turned on his heel to face you awkwardly putting his fist out for a fist bump as one final 'thanks'

'Thanks again man, I'll uh,, see you at practice, yeah?'

'Yeah. Yeah sure thing mike..hey just know if you ever feel curious or something like that you know where to find me'

-He'd awkwardly chuckle before leaving your dorm and making his way down the hall, the thought of what you said crossed his mind

-He wasn't sure what this meant for him but he wasn't totally opposed to the offer..

[alwaysshallow]

— gorgeous, part 5

Simon "Ghost" Riley x f!reader

You attend a military gala with Simon - and you learn new things about him, as well about yourself. (5k)

READ ON AO3

previous part

You would never, ever, ever see yourself looking for a fancy dress with an intention of wearing it for someone; specifically, for Simon. Person who quite literally was nothing but your client, with his adorable cat that you already loved with your whole heart. Seemed like a joke, right? The thought of going somewhere with him. You didn't have much in common, gestures with walking you home and that mechanic situation were just being nice , you thought.

Well, it still seemed like a joke when you tried on multiple dresses, muttering under your breath comments about each one of them; trying not to go spiraling because the job was tough . You wanted to look pretty, you even needed to, considering the circumstances and the place where the gala was originally taking place in – and that's at the casino.

Pretty military choice, honestly. Odd, maybe, but military.

You glanced once again at chat with Simon, sighing to yourself; his way of asking was also odd, but when he wasn't like that? The invitation was over a text, a quick message if you want to go to a gala with him because he "needs company" and you seemed like a good one. As hesitant you were, trying to find a catch in this, you eventually agreed – and that was it. Deal done, no other words whatsoever, just a simple reaction to your message (thumbs up, obviously).

With anyone else, you'd think it's a joke – with him though, it seemed like something he'd really do, so you weren't even questioning it like you normally would, no overthinking.

All you needed was a pretty dress, heels and makeup that wouldn't scream "I don't know what I'm doing here".

You had an idea for everything but a dress.

Maybe it was your picky taste, but it was really hard to find something good enough for something like a military gala happening in the casino . You had to be representative enough to match the vibe of your partner and the others – which, to be completely honest, could be a tough job, considering you were just a civilian. Not someone important, but someone that other people will definitely look at the moment you walk into a room full of generals and such.

All in all – a room full of people that you've only heard of on the TV, when they talked about military action in a press conference. What was even more weird for you, Simon probably knew them, and they knew him, probably even worked with him at some point since he had a medal for his action in the field. That's pretty much all you knew about the whole thing and if it seemed like little information (because it was little information about it) for that skull-masked guy it was already much though.

What you learned from that one bar interaction with him, learning about him was a process no one could skip, something inevitable, no matter how he liked you, respected or something else. Many people would probably give up, but that mystery behind him was too endearing for you, too challenging and you loved challenges.

Especially when someone had a sharp tongue like him, especially when someone wasn't so clear about how he feels. A little over a month after knowing Simon, it became a bit more obvious that he's more into acts of service, quality time than words.

And it became more obvious in that bar, after Soap's slurring when he had a couple of beers and drinks, confessing his love to everyone around, but it was your observation too.

"It's a good dress." A woman behind you said, smiling a bit; you saw that in the mirror, when you looked at your image so carefully, like your life depended on choosing the right dress for the night. It wasn't even your night, night about you, but you wanted to look the best. In your head, he should appreciate it.

You cleared your throat. "Isn't red a bit... too much?" you turned your head to a nice lady. For some reason, your comment made her laugh.

"For what you've told me, red is exactly what you need."

Draped red dress, where the one arm was completely bare, and another clothed with material. Knee-length; so not too short, but not too uncomfortably long so you wouldn't freely walk around.

Seemed like a good idea, but it was still stressing the shit out of you while you drove back to your vet clinic, listening to some random pop station, trying to calm your nerves. You couldn't understand why you were so stressed about something like this, but the answer was pretty simple – Simon's opinion . After all, he was your partner, the main person you were supposed to go to that gala, a plus one for a man that won something. You wanted him to like the dress, and you didn't even know his favorite color.

A ball of stress, you were. A bit too much, but it was always a problem of yours: a weird want of approval in situations where you weren't so sure about what you are doing, and you needed someone to bring you back down to the earth. Simon seemed like a good person for doing that with demeanor of his, but you decided to not call him.

Decision changed the moment you ended your shift in the clinic, and automatically dialed his number with prepared questions in your head, such as who would drive, what should you know about people here, and how long he wanted to stay.

If it was the right decision to pick the red dress too, but you decided that's gonna be the question you would ask last. You've already felt embarrassed about it, there was no need of making it worse, feeling like a child anyway.

You've felt worse though, when he didn't pick up – so, you texted him to call later because you wanted to talk about the gala.

Ten minutes later, he was the one to call you, with a weird tone of voice. "What gala?" had you confused enough to forget all the questions. There was a possibility he wanted to joke a bit, but when he repeated the question...

"You asked me." Your voice became a bit raspy, as you massaged your temples. "To go with you, I mean. To that military gala of yours, where you're supposed to receive a medal."

"I asked you?" His tone was a bit too shocked for your liking; a cold shiver went down your spine, while you nervously gnawed on the pencil.

"Yeah. Pretty much, over the text."

The silence on the other side was defeating; you'd like more if he'd admit that he simply changed his mind about you being his plus one. Instead, he seemed to be completely clueless about you being here in the first place, which got you more than confused: you had evidence he texted you. It wasn't your imagination, nor a dream – you even checked in the meantime.

It took him ten minutes to find out what happened. Ten minutes where you were just on the line, waiting for him to say something, while he was trying to recollect what could happen. Ten minutes, where you pretty much destroyed your pencil, to find another one to torture with your teeth. Nervously because you hated this situation, and started to regret that you said "yes" in the first place.

"Soap texted you." Seemed like a nail to your coffin when Simon started speaking. "He thought it's gonna be a funny joke. I don't know what got into him, he wanted to..." the man stopped, sighing once again. It seemed like he was exhausted by this topic already, and honestly? Honestly, you were pretty exhausted too. "I don't use my phone, so I didn't even check texts before."

You didn't really know what was appropriate to say; you felt like the stupidest person alive, to be put in the position where Johnny asked you to be plus one for Simon, not the man you were interested in going with. "Mm."

"Sorry for that. Should'a keep my phone from that bast-"

"-No, no, really. It's okay. Seriously," you laughed awkwardly, interrupting him; it probably sounded to Simon like you were forcing it. He'd be right – you never felt more embarrassed and eager to end the call. "Anyway. Night, I have to close clinic."

"Addison, wait-"

Maybe it was a bad idea to end the call when he clearly wanted to say something, but the damage was done, even if you wanted to ask him what he had in mind. You were too embarrassed and too prideful to call him again, so you started cleaning your office with the intention of closing everything under ten minutes to get the hell out of here.

Hell, even that dress in your apartment you picked so carefully had no purpose other than returning it, and you really thought it was going to be her time.

Your phone rang again, and you couldn't resist answering it. "You're really a tough one to catch." Hearing that low voice had you shivering slightly, when you walked out of the clinic. "When I say wait , I mean it."

You can't help but chuckle at this authoritative tone, coming out in probably the stupidest situation ever. "I thought there's nothing else to add."

"See, if you'd only listen..." he sighed. "You wanna go?"

"What?"

"Told you before, don't ask stupid questions."

"I'm just..."

"Do you want to go with me?"

"I don't know shit about the military, Simon. I might embarrass you, maybe it's not a good idea," you mumbled out. "And I don't want it because you feel bad for me or something."

"Oh, I feel everything but bad right now," he murmured. "You don't know, and it's even better. You don't have to talk, just be here, observe, after two hours we will head back. No after parties and shit like this."

"I like talking."

He snorted. "Oh, believe me. I know."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothin'. You up or no? I can go alone."

You had nothing to lose, right? Absolutely nothing. No one would know you in a party full of rich fuckers in military with one purpose – to eat and get drunk after the official part. And there were also a lot of advantages for you; food, alcohol, company of Simon that you really wanted.

A chance to get to know him better, around different people this time. People full of authority, people that know him from battlefield and special actions, not privately. Another persona, you could say.

"Alright."

"Be ready at six tomorrow," he said after a few seconds of silence.

"Okay." You cleared your throat. "...Simon?"

"Yes?"

Question lingered on your tongue; you had to ask. "Do you have a red tie?"

"Mmm... not sure. Why?"

You took a deep breath. "We should match."

"And it's supposed to mean what, that red? Can't it be black?"

"I have a red dress."

You met with another silence. It seemed like your partner had to think. "I'll buy a red tie, then."

"Right."

Just like that, the call ended – and you just had to process it on your way home, so you couldn't help but choose a number to Rosalie. When she picked up, you added Celia to the conversation and told them the whole story. Laswell was less shocked, considering that the whole operation really sounded like Soap's mischief; she laughed more too, asking if you're really ready for that "date" with Ghost.

"He's gonna be different," Celia murmured.

"He's different in general." You shrugged to yourself, as you parked your car in the underground parking. "Besides, Rosa knows him, right? She knows the deal with him."

"Oh, I wish I knew the deal with him," she interrupted you, at which you all collectively laughed. "Yet, I think it will be interesting. You're gonna be the one person he wants to see in this gala, he hates fancy things."

So, with this attitude, you were getting ready the next day; you even practiced walking in heels a little in the morning since it had been a long time since you wore them. Make-up tutorial helped you in choosing something classy, yet, not complicated on the occasion. Hair? The most easy of them all, you just curled it a bit, so it would look slightly better and fancier.

You were pretty satisfied with the outcome; you couldn't recall when you looked at least half as attractive as you looked before the gala.

The only problem you had? You were nervous as hell. Not even slightly nervous, but nervous, where you couldn't really eat something without feeling that you're gonna vomit it in the next second. The mystery, what were you so stressed about? Being at the gala with a lot of people you don't even know about, the importance of it for Simon, or...

Simon itself? His presence? Not the first time you were supposed to be with him around people, nor the first time alone at some point . Nonetheless, you couldn't brush off the uneasy feeling, and nervous tick of playing with your fingers while you waited for six o'clock to go outside of your apartment.

He was quicker than you, though – texted you that you can go outside, so you did, just to meet with Soap as a driver, with "Ghost" in the back. Nickname suited him at that moment, considering he had a mask, similar to the first time you've met him; you could only see his brown eyes popping out.

"Going undercover?" you joked, as you took a seat beside him. What you noticed immediately, his perfumes were just perfect , just like the suit he picked. Black, classic one with a red tie – you wished you could see his face, though.

In your opinion, it would look better, but who were you to judge?

"Kind of. They don't have to see my face,” he murmured, shrugging. "Gonna take my medal and that's it."

You nodded, like you got it – and in some way, you did. The person behind the mask wasn't allowed to see by anyone else, but the people that he trusted. Man with a mask? Completely different story, you'd say – especially that he wore it out on the battlefield with his enemies and comrades, where everything happened. There was no place for a man behind the mask to come out; a man possibly so much more human and fragile. You wanted to know him this way, if he'd let you.

You said nothing in response to his statement; you thought it was a mistake a few minutes later, when he still hasn't said anything. The one person who talked was Soap, and he was pretty much talking to himself, considering that no one really answered him, and he indicated his irritation on that fact, but did nothing with it besides a few comments.

Road to the casino looked beautiful – with trees losing their leaves, everything around was just screaming with perfect, early fall. It was your favorite season; not only did it meant Halloween was coming up, but also everything was becoming... easier to romanticize? You were that person, who romanticized life to get through it sometimes, and it happened fall was the easiest for you. Baking things, trying new recipes, watching horror movies or romcoms under the blanket when it was dark outside.

Just a perfect scenario for you.

You thought for a second that it's going to be also a slow season in your clinic; besides a few pets that could catch cold or be vaccinated, nothing really was happening around that time.

So, it was supposed to be more of a time for you and helping others. Animal shelters, for example, which you've supported for a long time. They always needed help, and if you just had time and money, you tried to do the best thing you could.

Sudden braking brought you back to the moment; with you almost hitting the front seat with your head, which resulted in you feeling embarrassed as hell. Maybe if you wouldn't be so caught up in your thoughts, you'd see this coming.

"The fuck , Johnny?" Simon snarled, looking at his friend with question in his eyes; Scot nervously glanced back at you two.

"Fuckin' gooses are driving right in front of me, 's what. Sorry."

"Hopin' you're not the fucking goose," he murmured, glancing at you. "You okay?"

"Nothing damaged. Besides my dignity," you replied, giving him a thumbs up.

Simon snorted, shaking his head. "Happens to the best of us."

You raised an eyebrow, smiling under your nose. "So, to you too? I'd absolutely love to hear it someday."

"Glad that you think 'm the best, Addison," he hummed, tilting his head, while you just were absolutely bamboozled. "But it doesn't happen to me, no."

He got you, somehow. Normally, you'd just roll your eyes at this comment, normally it wouldn't make such an impact on you, but it was Simon . With his low voice, British accent and deep, brown eyes. Something definitely was in those eyes – eyes that could literally melt your heart, if he tried hard enough. You were pretty sure he also was able to convince you to do anything he wanted, and it was a scary thought.

A crush? More of an appreciation of his beauty, you liked to think.

"I didn't say that."

"Uh-huh," he snorted, shaking his head with amusement. "Apparently red looks good on your cheeks, too."

Apparently red looks good on your cheeks too.

If you could get more red at that compliment, you probably would. Maybe it wasn't a straight-up compliment though, but something hidden behind that comment; you were red as a tomato, after all. Too,  was a keyword that had you choking on his words, that got you smiling under your nose, that got you even more red so you had to look at the world outside.

It made you more confident; you rested your hands comfortably on your thighs, instead of nervously clamping at the material of your dress. Simon's opinion was more important than anyone else's – you were here for him, not for generals, not for people that don't know you, not for the people that wouldn't see you after this little military gala.

Your partner on the other hand... could see you on various occasions. In theory, in your clinic, at the visit with his cat, but you were pretty convinced he's gonna see you earlier. Maybe it was a bold statement, but you thought you've got a bond with him; silent understatement, where the two of you, even with differences, could easily get each other.

Was it because of those walks with you, where he basically protected you from getting possibly kidnapped or murdered? Maybe, maybe it was his chuckle every time you cracked a joke with him, maybe it was something about his head tilting every time he heard you talking about something that he didn't quite understand.

Either way, you liked him. Really. Maybe too much, considering that he was more mysterious than the Vatican secret archives. Your friendship with him could end up in multiple ways, you were aware of it, but it didn't really change the way you looked at him when he was on his phone, deep into scrolling through it.

His face, covered by a mask... hell, you were thankful that you've seen his face without it.

Ten minutes after this, you arrived and left Soap's car, just for him to yell after you to not make a mess and be good citizens. His friend, and your partner in one, flipped him off, and continued to walk with you towards the entrance of the casino.

Which was just beautiful.

Long, crystal chandeliers – you were pretty sure you'd be dead if one of them would fall – got your attention first, when they sparkled like finest diamonds in the world. After a while though, you were pretty convinced that the painted ceilings were the most beautiful thing, like those in St. Peter's Basilica, but less holy ; equally beautiful, though.

Gold and white were definitely the theme of this party, when you looked at the tables and chairs everywhere, including all the games that the casino offered. There was something weird about how many men were there with way younger women by their side, treating them like a trophy. Nothing positive about their possessive touch, only the want to keep them, so they wouldn't run; but you weren't the one to talk, so your gaze was on the surroundings more than people. For a moment, though.

"Nice to see you, Simon." Seven minutes after your arrival, a stranger's voice brought you out of your awestruck back to earth. You didn't know him, but the posture and his attitude just screamed that he's someone important.

Simon's hand landed on the small of your back, like on instinct; fingers curling a bit, like he wanted to create comfort, not to cross a boundary with his sudden touch. You weren't that close with him, after all. "Likewise."

Your partner's tone spoke volumes about how much he wanted to talk with that person – officer, general or whatever ; you just saw that he had many medals on his chest, proudly, like it was something he had to accentuate for everyone. It wouldn't surprise someone like you, a citizen since you believed that military people most certainly have to be proud about their accomplishments.

The way Simon looked at him, though... It was enough for you to cling to his side more, listening to the old man rambling about various things that you had no idea about. You've only recognised that he's pratting about tanks being useless these days because the military has no funds to make them a bit "trickier" for the enemy. Only that, the other parts were like a black magic to you, why is he so frightened with it.

Especially when your partner looked quite bored in the conversation, replying briefly to him that's probably the way of the world and some things don't need to change. Wasn't a quite satisfying answer for the other guy, definitely not making him quit the conversation, he only put it in the other direction.

"So, who's your little lady, then?"

It seemed like the point Simon decided that this conversation is no longer interesting for him; as he gave him a polite look, introducing you without giving the details. He only mentioned something about you being his friend, meeting with your mutual friend, and that was it – he already snatched you away from him, grumbling something under his nose.

"Not really a nice dude?" you asked, tilting your head, as you sipped champagne, previously taken from the waiter who offered you the alcohol.

Simon shook his head. "No. He's an arse, thinkin' he's better than everyone."

Quick question, quick answer. You nodded in understatement. "Noted."

"Less you're 'round 'em, the better. Military men, in general."

Somehow, this made you smile; the thought that he doesn't want you around people like that because he knew they weren't only a good fit, but they would just make your life more troublesome. Pure truth, as you remembered Rosalie's words about military people being complicated , as well as relationships here, and Simon only added another puzzle to the picture.

Maybe it was the career and images that they saw, or just people that went to the military in general were like that, you didn't want to judge, but for some reason, you could easily spot who was a plus one, and who was just supposed to be here.

Even multiple cocktails didn't blur your vision. At least, that metaphorical one, when you mindlessly waited for Simon to come out on the stage after his disappearance. He told you he's gonna be back in five , but five went to five drinks (thanks to your new best friend, bartender). Time was just slipping through your fingers.

You could easily blame your sudden love of alcohol not only on the bartender (that was really nice and she sold you a gossip or two), but on being quite lonely . It's not like you had anyone to talk to long-term, Simon was away, and remembering you promising him to not talk to most of the people here, you didn't even try to find someone normal. Spending time on alcohol seemed like a only normal option, which was ironic, but oh well .

Sixth drink in, he finally arrived, and you automatically got up from your seat, not wanting to be disrespectful towards him receiving a medal. It was a big thing, not to mention that it was something that you've firstly come here for. For him, to show support, the most honest one because even if you didn't know him as much as the others, as his comrades at least, you wanted him to see the real happiness.

Because he deserved that. Because he deserved something more than just a pat in the back, he deserved more than a simple "good job". Medal was a big thing, especially if it was the first of bigger ones in his career.

At least, you thought it was somehow a bigger one. You didn't get a chance to ask him, but he seemed to be nervous like he was getting it for the first time.

"That's your man?" the bartender asked, as you practically bounced in one place, just to see him more clear. As you gave her a weird look, the woman laughed. "You're jumping like you're at a One Direction concert."

"I just want to see the whole thing! He's... not my man. A friend. So maybe my man. But partially. Definitely not romantically," you slurred with a drink in your hand; a shameful reminder why you were slurring, so your attention automatically went to Simon again.

It wasn't a long ceremony. A few soldiers, every one introduced separately for their action in the field, including Simon Riley (that was where you learned he lied with his surname) were given a medal. Different ones, some of them even put out a show with tearing up and all, but your partner was... just standing there. Gracefully, looking at the general, just to shake his hand and nod with such a gentleness to it.

What had a bigger meaning to you, was the fact that he pretty much looked at you the entire time; his expression practically unreadable, but his eyes spoke volumes about how he was feeling, how he wanted to step down from that stage. And at the same time, how proud he was of himself also.

Like a proud... friend , you took a photo of him. Maybe blurry, maybe against the rules (since there was a "no photos" policy on every door around), but it was something that you wanted to send him, so the memory of this night would live forever in him.

Seventh drink you ordered in toast to his accomplishment – for you and for him, when you saw that he made a bee-line to you without even looking at anyone else. He probably muttered a few thanks , and your heart skipped a beat at the thought.

"Simon Riley, huh?" you raised your eyebrow playfully, as you gave him the glass. You just had to allude to it.

"Thought I wouldn't see you anymore. The less you'd know about me, the better." He shrugged, accepting the alcohol; after taking a sip, he frowned. "Bloody hell, what is this?"

"So, now you want to see me?" You tilted your head with a little smile; alcohol was getting to you, you could tell. "Piña Colada."

"Horrendous. Whisky, please. Double, if that's possible." He turned to the bartender, who quickly nodded at his request; then, his gaze was on you again. "You'd like that? For me to see you?"

At this point of being drunk, maybe a little wasted even, you could tell him anything. You could nod at his question and tell him all about how much you want to see him in private. Not in your clinic, but as friends , or something more – you saw everything happening in your imagination, but... well, it wasn't the way.

"Maybe. If you'd want to see me," you answered, shrugging so casually. "If you wouldn't be like that all the time."

"Like what?"

You squint your eyes a little. "Stern. Professional." "Why are you makin' this face?" "Answer me. It's rude to answer a question with another."

He sighed, deeply, as he looked at you once again.

"I'm not that stern, dove. And professionalism comes in handy."

Somehow, the way he spoke made you laugh, the way he said that word of endearment; dove . He sent you a look of shock, even if his face didn't change at all. It's just his brown eyes speaking right now, and by now, you've learned perfectly how to read them, even if it's tough at times. "You find it funny?"

"Your words? No, I find it pretty sweet." you shook your head. "But your accent? I find it funny. As fuck,  honestly."

He raised his eyebrow.

"Somethin' wrong with my accent?" "There's nothing wrong with it!" you clarified, almost like you were afraid that he's gonna get this whole conversation wrong; you even started gesturing with your hands. "Like... don't get it wrong. I'm American." "'Course you are," he scoffed, taking a sip of his whisky.

You gasped with theatrical manner; you punched him in the arm for the effect. Simon didn't even flinch, he just looked at you like he'd want to question your doings.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothin'."

"No, no. You had something in mind, you tell me."

He hummed, like he was in thought, while you patiently played with the glass of your almost empty drink, as the ice melted in it slowly.

"What's wrong with Americans?" you asked, tilting your head, when he didn't reply after a few minutes. "What isn't, though?" he barked a laugh, seeing how offended you were with that simple comment. "What? Truth hurts?"

"At least we don't have this unhealthy obsession with tea," you pointed out, leaning against the bar a bit more, to get a better view of his covered face. You could see how the whole situation amused him, and his eyes were the prettiest back then. So warm, so rich , just like the color of his whisky.

"You're so American with this comment."

You chuckled. "Is that an offense?"

"I don't know, is it?" he asked, at which you barely kept yourself from rolling your eyes again. He had to see that, considering you could see the smirk under his mask, as he took a sip from his glass.

"Seems like an offense," you answered, trying so hard to hide that smile on your face.

"Guess it is an offense, then."

"Americans are better anyway," you said after a minute, as you took his drink – boldly – and drank all of it. You frowned at the bitter taste of double whisky. "Now, this is horrendous."

"You're just not old enough to appreciate it," he pointed at you. "You like your fancy drinks, dove. I like classics ."

"Whatever, dove ," you emphasized the last word, clicking with your tongue. "Let's take another, shall we?"

"You look like you had enough, though. S'all." He put his hand on the small of your back – his enormous hand and you just felt how your cheeks are burning. "We go, now. Alright?"

And what other choice did you have, instead of agreeing?

[vxmpyree]

hiii!!! Hello!!!! What is your thoughts and headcanons on Rodion?

Ik he is on the same team as Nikto (or used to be, it says on the wiki that nikto is awol so idk :33), so i was wondering if you have ever thought about any of the other Spetznaz members!

sure!! i think i got all of them but if not let me know <3

[ever (foreign flag) - team sleep]

[ rodion ]

he has his heart in the right place, but he's still a little fresh. he rose in the ranks quickly, but he's still a rash 26-year-old. he wants nothing more than to be part of a cause. maybe he has a bit of a savior complex. he likes helping others so that he can be "the good guy." i feel like he'd be a typical sports bro if it he didn't choose the military. lots of gym time, rugby, weightlifting, boxing, you name it. relationship wise? i think he'd want someone good-humored and light-hearted, someone silly ^-^ he's one of those guys who can pick up anybody. he def likes picking you up, like using you for his bicep curls or letting you sit on his back while he does pushups. it's a little ego boost for him. speaking of his ego, it's inflated. his love language is somewhere between words of affirmation (mostly compliments,,) and physical touch. he loves someone who strokes his ego and makes him feel like this good, tough hero.

[ nikto, formerly ]

he likes fucking with people. if he catches kids staring at him, he'll make scary faces. when people ask him about his scars, he'll switch up the story each time. and oh, he loves Halloween. i think he'd dress up as a werewolf or maybe a zombie. he takes fistfuls of candy out of bowls when he's only supposed to take one. he comes back wrong after surviving torture from zakhaev. he's always been an egregious man, but his stares linger in certain places for far too long and he now shares a brain. the man his team once knew is gone, and in his stead is a man set on revenge. he tries to crack jokes, but not a lot of people like them because they're just,, dark and weird. he doesn't mind showing his face, but he keeps it covered like most other operators for the sake of privacy. but when he isn't on the field, he'll show his face freely. let people think what they want. he won't stifle himself for the pleasure of others. dating him is troublesome. sometimes, he'll stand you up on dates or cancel last minute because it's difficult for him to get out of bed or leave his soldier state. and he isn't a good man either-- he's killed the enemy for the thrill or because he can, not for justice. but if he loves you, he'll certainly try to make an effort to impress you. maybe he'll wear something decent.

[ minotaur ]

imagine saving the lives of countless people and "losing" your brother in the process. and that fucks you up, making you leave the military career you've meticulously nurtured for years. this man is a girl dad-- he had four kids while he spent 10 years operating in southeast asia until his brother, who he thought was dead, hunted him down and convinced him to join the allegiance. then, he had to go away for longer than he promised his girls to fight al-qatala. i think he was a present father, and that he just wanted a fresh start after all the shit that went down at kurbanov hospital. he still writes letters to his partner and children back in southeast asia while crouched beneath a tarp, trying to avoid the humidity in verdansk. he's a tough parent-- he and his partner have a good cop-bad cop routine. he's the one telling them to put up their toys and go to bed or they'll have to do more chores tomorrow. but he doesn't let anybody lay a hand on his girls, either. seeing his own brother bleed out made him fiercely protective of the ones he loves. he will not let any of his blood "continue his legacy" for as long as he lives.

[ bale ]

he laid awake late at night often, writing letters to his brother that he would never send. but something in him kept him from sending them, so he stuffed them into the drawer of his nightstand. as the years passed, the thought of contacting him grew harder and harder to consider. but when general barkov let him go, the guilt was a ton heavy and needed to be relieved. this man got shot in the spine and FULLY REHABILITATED in five years. he isn't afraid of anything, but that doesn't mean he goes around making rash decisions like rodion does. he takes rodion under his wing and guides him. he can't end up like him, bleeding out on the floor all because he got too impatient-- he might not get so lucky. i think he really likes hot food and drinks, like an old man. he'll drink black coffee and bitter teas. he likes dark chocolate or an orange as a little treat after meals :] i think he'd be okay with any partner as long as they make good coffee and prefer quiet getaways like he does

[tame-a-messenger]

Damangela lives rent free on smoshtwt

...but in the most unfortunate way because have they not seen from this fixation of theirs that there's a section of us who will have a field day if Damien surprise us one day as a guest in a Starkid prod? Or another variant at Smosh where both Angela and Damien can showcase their talents and intellect? Their chaotic bickering is like treats because there's also other Smosh duos that have it too. But those fewer times where they truly shine, whether they're in the same video or not, really feels like a reward to witness it unfold.

(I am one of those who like this duo because of their musical inclinations and astounded by their way of thinking)

I simply don't know what they are trying to impose. The perfect person podcast really sealed it to me. That if what they imply is she only tolerates every interaction she had with him is simply off the marks. The pièce de résistance they can't ever refute.

Is it also not a tad reaching to practically put it on blast with their straw picking speculation that it was a Damien thing where they perceived him not being as socially adept in a way he is not in good terms to his coworkers? That's not a good look to give to someone who was masking before.

Smoshtwt can be too much sometimes,

I think I finally figured out why the interactions between here (tumblr) and there (Twitter) are so different - They partake in 'Stan' culture, while over here is a bit more rooted in classic 'Fandom' culture.

If you didn't know, 'Stan' comes from combining 'Stalker' and 'Fan' (I believe originating in the K-pop community) (though if you google it, it says it comes from an Eminem song. Funny, but I don't think that's right) so it's a bit more... intense. (either origin for 'Stan' is pretty extreme though)

That and Twitter in general festers a more hostile community. The more you make someone mad the more they interact with you, so Twitter pushes that content because of that.

(Back to your ask)

I don't know if I could physically watch a Starkid production with Damien in it, PURELY because I'd be TOO DAMN HAPPY. I'd be pausing every second and hyperventilating lol. (fr though, that would be SO FUCKING COOL!!)

It's maybe a little bit of a weird relation but, their dynamic to me is like watching a movie with incredible writing? For example of what I mean by that- Their Reddit Stories Ep really had me thinking totally different about all the situations. Literally every story Shayne would read out I would be thinking about what I thought about it, (I like to see if anyone on the couch is going to have similar opinions to me) and every. single. story. Angela and Damien came up with points I never even thought about, but were SO RIGHT!

He'd bring up something, then she'd dunk it with the most factual thing I've ever heard! (that guy not being able to wear that watch ever in front of his girlfriend !!) That whole episode is so good just for the way they both problem solve and how well they compliment each others opinions! They just have such good dialogue with each other. (Genuinely Oscar worthy writing in that episode of RS)

Every time I come across a post ANYWHERE talking about how they don't get why people even like Damangela because "Angela doesn't even seem to like Damien" it makes my eyes pop out of my skull.

WHAT DO YOU MEAN?? DO WE KNOW THE SAME ANGELA AND DAMIEN???

Like the sheer amount they both have gone on record saying how much they enjoy each others presence and love each other doesn't mean anything to them?! The amount they make each other laugh??

Like it really does come across as these Accounts just really not liking Damien more than anything to actually do with his and Angela's dynamic. (I could talk about reasons why Damien comes across as 'awkward' or 'bad with coworkers' to some people at length, but I'll save that for another day)(<-signed, Another Neurodivergent person with people issues <3)

I'm also totally convinced all the people hating on Damangela haven't seen much content with both of them in it. That's the only reason I would accept as to why they hate Damangela so much lol, they truly just don't know what they're missing out on <3

[partyrock-isinthehouse]

Idk why this feels like a weird thing to start on. Maybe since it's something that has been avoided since literally the creation date of Juan himself, and I mean this extremely literally. I always had a gut feeling that he was supposed to be bisexual, but I made him straight because I had never had a straight character before, or something like that... like okayyyy I guess!!!! And even after claiming that Juan was, in fact, bisexual, I would always say that he didn't know. Well actually he does know, and here is how... if it matters? Plus, I'm mildly fixated on learning about things to do with bisexuality recently, like how it's portrayed in media and such. Suddenly all of my bi ocs are on the forefront of my mind and you will have to just accept that...

How did Juan figure out that he is bi?

It was when he lived in Italy, (which was between him being 15 and 18) Juan was always out of the house with his friends. They'd hang around in all sorts of places, whether it was in the town centre or a random field, the beach or the shopping mall. He'd even go to small, messily arranged raves held in abandoned buildings, but that's a different story. Being 15 in a new country, he quickly learned Italian, which wasn't much different to his native Spanish anyway, and settled quite well into school and made many friends, even if he was far from academic. He would start to get attention from girls and this was greatly appreciated. He had a girlfriend for a little while, with whom he would experience things like first kisses and... other things. His attraction to girls was never brought into question, he just knew. However, his affinity for the movie Top Gun wasn't just because he thought the fighter jets were cool and the soundtrack was good. Sure, that was mostly why he liked it, but something about Maverick made it difficult to look away or to stop thinking about him. This could've been due to the pure awesomeness of the character leaving an effect on him... but it wasn't. He toootally had a celebrity crush on him. A similar but much more real feeling would overcome Juan when he was sat with one of his guy friends one day, and the way he'd laugh at his jokes would give him butterflies. The exact same feeling he got when he made a girl he liked laugh. Interesting. He also found his friend to be strikingly good-looking. Kind of like how a girl could be pretty. Interesting again. He would think about this moment, and experience similar moments, and remember moments that had happened already that he didn't realise at first. He knew he wasn't straight but he didn't do anything with this secret information.

Later once Juan was with Gabi, who is also bi, they had a conversation about their bi-ness. This could've been when Juan officially labelled himself as bi, since he didn't really think to do it before. Maybe he was between 19 and 20 now. Thanks Gabi!

Juan has never had a boyfriend, he's never kissed a boy either, (Carlos doesn't count) but that doesn't matter. He's also with Gabi now and they have a daughter together, so I can't imagine that happening anytime soon, if ever. However, neither of these things change the fact that he is still, and always will be, bisexual. He doesn't need to prove anything to anybody and neither does he owe an explanation. I think he knows this, and I think everybody should know it too...

El Fin

[chicken-wayng]

No Strings Attached

I do not own 911, obviously.

Current Word Count: 7, 086 (or around 26 pages)

Track#1: Bi, Bi Bi

It starts like it's going to be a normal night. Buck is on his way over, Chris is setting up their usual spot on the couch, and Eddie has just finished up burgers for their dinner. Then Eddie's phone pings with a message alert that changes the evening:

Would it be alright if Tommy joined us? Sorry it's such late notice but he’s got tonight off and…

Eddie doesn't read the rest of the message. His heart feels weird and he suddenly feels a little hot. It's not like the panic attack he'd experienced when he was afraid Ana and he were moving too fast, but it definitely is as uncomfortable. It feels like everything sturdy was pulled out from beneath him; which was a statement in itself from a man in his field of work. His ears ring as he types out a short response of consent.

Why does he feel so weird about Tommy coming over? Tommy has visited before and had dinner with Chris, but adding Tommy to family nights felt different in a way Eddie couldn't properly word. It felt entirely unreasonable how his entire being suddenly rejected Tommy's presence… And lately even Buck's. Ever since he'd announced his newest paramour, it seemed all Eddie heard about. Tommy likes this Star Wars themed coffee place near the 118, Tommy likes dark chocolate over milk chocolate, Tommy likes scary movies, Tommy likes video games, Tommy likes Buck and Eddie feels sick every time he thinks about it. Just the thought of it is horrible and it only makes Eddie feel worse. It's a vicious cycle of destruction he can’t stop himself from participating in.

A knock at the door interrupts his circling for now, but it's the subject of his thoughts knocking so it's like ice on a burn; a temporary fix with lasting damage. Chris lets out a cheer, grabbing his crutches and making his way towards the door. Eddie makes it after the excited boy, just in time to see Chris throw the door open and yell, “Buck!”

Eddie motions for Chris to step back and tells him to go make sure the living room is picked up while he gets the guests settled.

Buck is dressed in a pair of well fitting jeans and a purple sweater that hugs his body comfortably. A bit of his collarbone peaks out of the neck and it’s tight enough that Eddie can trace it without use of imagination, as it elegantly rises and falls with his broad shoulders. It’s a thin, dark purple sweater that brings out the blue of his eyes and the blonde highlights of his curls.

Tommy clears his throat, as if politely reminding the two he’s there, before stepping up behind Buck and holding up a bag of sour patch kids in his right hand. Eddie’s happy Tommy thought of Chris, but his attention narrows in on the left hand on Buck’s hip and suddenly he feels angry. Tommy smiles pleasantly as he says, “We brought a treat for the little dude and,” using that offending left hand he motions to a case of beer Eddie hadn’t had the time to notice in Buck’s hands. “some for us.”

It is a petty side of Eddie that makes him channel his father as he says, “Oh that’s so nice of you man, but it’s just that it's late and I don’t want Chris to have too much sugar before bed. Also I don’t think I want to drink, you can if you want I just don’t really need it to have a good time.”

Buck looks crestfallen and Tommy looks… odd but Eddie is saved from having to explain his attitude as Chris saunters back into the room. A huge cocky smile is on his face as he says, “I beat your score! It was so easy.”

Eddie’s earlier happiness briefly returns as he watches Buck separate himself from Tommy to go check the screen recording Chris had captured, both talking so excitedly it's easy to ignore his current discontentment. Until he has to turn around and entertain it.

“So how was work?” Tommy asks, friendly as ever. Dressed in a casual, pink v-necked sweater and jeans, Tommy looks genuinely comfortable. Eddie had known him well enough to know that while he was content and happy with the current life he’d built for himself, Tommy still had something he had been working through the last time Eddie and he had hung out. It seems that in the few weeks he’d been dating Buck, he'd gotten the metaphorical job done.

“Surprisingly boring,” Eddie says with a laugh, glad to have familiar territory to discuss. After returning the question, Tommy regales him with a tale of his day and Eddie slowly begins to relax. Realizing he hadn’t made a plate for Tommy, he does so as he listens as Tommy’s no-good day finally comes to an end that leaves them both laughing. It’s so easy to like Tommy, he’s such a great guy.

Realizing he’d kind of cornered himself into not drinking (not even his normal one bottle with dinner), Eddie grabs orange juice from the fridge and pours three glasses. Raising an eyebrow, Eddie asks, “Would you like one too?”

“Of course,” Tommy says, the left corner of his mouth quirking up as he leans on the counter. Something about it feels blatant to Eddie, but he’s not sure what it is. It’s too obvious and he’s never been one to guess the glaring plot, even with the number of telenovelas he’s watched. “Please and thank you, sir.”

Eddie jolts for a moment, an unexpected thrill going along his spine and traveling to a place it shouldn't be at a dinner party with his son, best friend, and his best friend’s boyfriend. He recovers quickly, but the damage was done in two ways. Not only does his jumping cause him to overspill, but he knocks over the glass intended for him as well. The orange juice covers the counter and quickly runs towards the floor, luckily Bobby was his cooking teacher and one of his tenants was to have a cooking rag. Eddie was able to sop most of it, but his shirt and jeans would have to be changed.

Tommy grabs the sink rag and uses it to wipe the sticky up, his shoulder bumping Eddie’s in the small space. They work to quickly clean up the mess and with their combined effort it doesn’t take more than two minutes.

Eddie tsks, shaking his head as he says, “I’m sorry man. Boring days get to me. Dinner is done so you don’t need to worry about it but I’ve got to change. Have Buck set you a spot at the table. Tell him the green mats are in the wash so he’ll have to make do with the yellow ones.”

“No problem. Now go before it starts to feel gross,” Tommy responds with a laugh.

Eddie passes Buck and Chris on the couch, who both look up with questioning countenances before noticing the spill down Eddie’s front. Eddie goes to his room, taking off the dirty clothes and going to his attached bathroom to wet a rag. Once he’s acceptably clean, he grabs the first shirt in his closet and quickly pulls on a pair of jeans. Pausing to check himself out in the mirror, he realizes it’s a blue sweater Buck had gotten him for father’s day. It has the word dad (and all related synonyms) all over it, in over a hundred languages, done in different shades of blue and eclectic fonts. Mentally preparing himself to go back, Eddie tells himself, “You haven't done anything wrong yet.”

Although not much of one, the pep talk does its job enough to get him out of his room. Chris and Buck are still on the couch, chatting happily, so Eddie goes back to the kitchen. Tommy has set the table and is now standing there, looking out the window with his arms wrapped around himself.

Now it's Eddie's turn to awkwardly clear his throat in announcement of himself, and he watches how Tommy jolts. The larger man turns to face Eddie, a guilty expression on his face and suddenly Eddie feels like shit. Tommy is his friend, no matter how Eddie's day went he has no right to make him feel so insecure.

“You okay man?” Eddie asks, not wanting to overstep but not wanting to fall short.

Tommy smiles, one so self-deprecating that Eddie recognizes it from the mirror, and says, “Yeah I just got in my own head. I can't stop beating myself up.”

“Don't,” Eddie says sternly, knowing how hypocritical the command is. “You wouldn't treat anyone that way so you don't do it to yourself. Want to share a beer with dinner?”

Tommy nods, grabbing them each one. The weird ice wall that had gone up seems to melt, conversation flows better as Eddie finishes grabbing all the needed condiments.

“...Anyways, it all boils down to human error,” Tommy finishes.

“People,” Eddie sighs as he grabs Chris’s burger, splitting it into four. “You'd think with a computer with all of human knowledge on it, we'd be smarter.” Eddie holds up a finger to halt Tommy before he responds so he can yell, “Boys, dinner! Go wash your hands.” He waits until he hears them scrambling up until he waves for Tommy to continue his thought.

“Oh but why learn when we can watch funny cat videos?” Tommy laughs, a deep rich sound that Eddie thinks fills the room pleasantly. It’s enthralling. “Much more important.” Tommy licks his dry lips to wet them, and Eddie would like to say that’s what drew his attention to them but then he’d be lying.

This close, Eddie can scent Tommy and it’s intoxicating. An alluring mixture of sandalwood, eucalyptus, and Kraken - whatever soap he uses and the deodorant - and most importantly Buck. The lavender and rosemary of the herbal hair products and the bergamont antiperspirant (“Never deodorant, Eddie. Not unless you want to smell me after two hours!”) Buck keeps spares of in Eddie’s bedroom bathroom. Distantly, Eddie notes that they’re both Old Spice guys too but mostly he can’t stop focusing on the fact that Tommy smells like Buck, which must mean the opposite is true. Something about this triggers Eddie’s earlier bad mood and he has to look away or else he just knows Tommy will see it.

As usual, he’s saved by Christopher as the excitable boy exclaims, “Dad please?!”

“Please what?” Eddie laughs, looking up at Buck with an eyebrow raised. The dirty blonde blushes and Eddie has to look away.

“Buck says there’s a new Kung Fu Panda movie out!” Christopher explains with a sigh. Eddie shares another look with Buck, this one much less confusing and clearly saying, ‘Kids, amiright?’

Buck laughs in response, moving towards his seat. Eddie would describe Tommy’s laugh as enthralling, the sound was nice and he would never grow tired of it; but Buck’s laugh was addicting. It felt like the times he went without it were the most miserable parts of his existence. He’d do anything to hear it for the rest of his life.

“Did you catch the game last night?” Tommy asks as he brings their beers over from the counter, taking a seat at the round dinner table, between Christopher and Buck, and across from Eddie.

“The college playoffs?” Eddie confirms as he holds up the mustard and ketchup bottles and in a silent question if Chris wants either. When he was younger he was normally a ketchup only kid, but ever since he'd entered his preteen years Chris liked to have the option.

“What else is on?” Tommy responds playfully.

“Ain't that the truth,” Eddie laughs as he puts the wanted mustard on the four cuts of burger. Eddie passes the bottle to Tommy and for a moment their hands brush and linger for a moment longer than necessary. Eddie brings his hand back with a grunt of apology.

“There was a new David Attenborough ocean documentary last night,” Buck comments, before taking a bite out of his burger.

Chris gasps as he asks, “You watched it without me?”

“No,” Buck laughs. “I watched the game with Tommy. I was making a joke because he implied there was nothing better on.”

“Ohhh,” Chris laughs too and then says. “You and Tommy should stay and watch it with us!”

With this he looks at his dad with such puppy eyes that Eddie only shrugs and responds, “It's up to them but we've gotta work tomorrow so they probably won't wanna, bud.”

And now it's Buck's turn to use his own Labrador eyes as he begs, “Tommy please? I have a set of clothes in my drawer big enough to fit you as pajamas!”

Eddie knows exactly how Tommy feels even before he gives his answer, because he's been there a thousand times for Evan Buckley:

whipped.

Track#2: Bringin' da Noise

Dinner goes pleasantly and soon they're heading for the living room to start Buck and Christopher’s documentary. The two settle into their usual spots, and just as Eddie is about to sit in his he realizes that he can't sit there. Normally Buck is sandwiched between the two Diazes but he'll probably want Tommy to sit next to him. Eddie hangs back and when Tommy stops to give him a questioning look he simply motions to the spot and says, “Currently the best place in the whole house.”

Tommy snorts and takes the seat and soon they're all settled and watching the TV. There's basic conversation between the three, but really they don't talk because Buck and Chris are paying more attention to David Attenborough. It's surprisingly comfortable, almost exactly the same as their normal routine. 

Halfway through, both Tommy and Eddie are out of their beers and Buck’s out of his orange juice. When Eddie goes to stand and grab them a refill, Tommy stops him and says, “Let me. You just relax and I'll be back soon.” 

Eddie thanks him and goes back to watching TV. It isn't until Tommy is coming back ten minutes later with a piece of paper does Eddie realize how long it had taken him to grab the drinks. The source of his stalling is apparent, as he doesn't have the drinks and instead holds up a “contract” Eddie recalls all too well for the drunken night it had been written. 

It was after Shannon had died, and Eddie had needed nothing more than to get drunk with his best friend. Chris was at abuela’s so Eddie wasn't worried about letting his inhibitions go, and let go they did. Unable to recall the exact circumstances, somehow Eddie had gotten into an emotional state wherein he was complaining about being alone forever. Chris was growing up, soon he'd be 18 and then college and Eddie would be left with an empty nest. Equally as drunk, Buck had been reminded of a movie he and Maddie had watched where the main characters agree to get married if they aren't by a certain age. Long story short, they had decided to create a similar contract. Written on one a piece of construction paper for a project of Chris's, in the worst handwriting and so badly misspelled it looked like old English, was written,

I, Edmundo Diaz, of sound mine do hereby declare if by ages, 45 and 40 respetifly, we are unmarried then I will marry Evan Buckley.

It's simple and to the point, written big to take up the paper. Buck had doodled little hearts and flowers to border it and over the years that it had resided in the kitchen it had obtained a few cooking splatters of unidentifiable sorts. A piece of paper that truly should have been thrown away by now, yet Eddie had persistently kept on the fridge regardless of how many girlfriends gave him funny looks over it.

“Did you guys make a Wedding Pact?” Tommy asks, and to hear it from anyone else, especially a man of Tommy's stature and profession, Eddie might have been nervous but from him Eddie feels only a fierce protectiveness that makes no sense. 

“It seemed like a good idea at the time,” Eddie snappily defends them, crossing his arms. 

“Wait,” Buck says, swallowing and halting himself mid-sip of his beer. “You don't think it's a good idea anymore?”

Once again he's channeling his inner Golden Retriever to give Eddie the most pitiful look, one that has him scrambling to explain, “No! Not at all!” Somehow Buck's face falls further and Eddie further says, “Or, not no I don't want to marry you. I definitely do!” Seeing Tommy's joyantly raised eyebrow, Eddie further digs his hole. “Er, I mean I don't not want to marry you when- IF!- if the time comes.”

Tommy laughs, the joy and his eyes taking over his countenance as he says, “Oh my God, you two!” His own laughter cuts him off. 

Eddie's face feels hot and he distracts himself by putting the subtitles on. 

“It's a completely valid contract,” Buck says. “I would pay to have it notarized!”

“I would notarize it for you now,” Tommy responds. “If I had a printer for the finalizing paperwork.”

“Dad has a printer!” Chris helpfully offers. 

“It's notarized in our hearts,” Buck says with a dismissive hand wave. The conversation ends, and they settle into a comfortable silence filled with the narrations of Mr. Attenborough. Eddie feels like something has shifted, even though Tommy just sits down and they go back to watching TV.

Once the credits start rolling, Eddie turns to tell Chris to get started on his night time routine but stops when he sees him passed out with Buck. Both are laying in the same sprawling-fashion, heads thrown back and mouths open, tucked into each other like they couldn't sleep as soundly without the other - and truly they couldn't. Eddie lets the credits roll through and another doc play as he observes his little family.

And then his eyes glance next to him and he realizes he isn't the only one completely enraptured. Tommy has a soft smile and suddenly Eddie feels…

“What time is it?” Tommy asks, his head darting up as he realizes Eddie was staring at him. 

Eddie checks his phone, it's late. “12:46, we should probably get them in bed.”

Eddie stands up, his body aching from a good day's worth of work, so he twists his back to crack it and alleviate some of the pain. 

“I could help you with that really quick,” Tommy says. “I got my masseuses license.”

“Wow, vet, firefighter, pilot, masseuse; you're pretty skilled,” Eddie responds as he thinks over Tommy's offer. It's not like Tommy hasn't given him a rub down before, but it's different this time - he's Eddie's best friend's boyfriend now.

“Don't forget notary and best coffee maker at Jabba the Hutt,” Tommy adds with a laugh. “I like to keep busy.”

“Sounds like it,” Eddie says along with his own chuckle. “Hey if you ever really get bored I've got my hands full here,” Eddie waves his hands at his boys, before his hands return to his aching back.

“Oh I'd love to,” Tommy says energetically. “Anytime you need me let me know. I know it's a bit awkward me suddenly dating your best friend just as we're becoming friends ourselves and all, but I really want to be your friend. I wasn't trying to, like, use you for information on Buck.” Tommy's blue eyes reflect that he's telling a heartfelt truth. 

For an Ex-catholic, Eddie prays a lot. Currently he's praying for a metaphorical bell to save him, but since it's not coming he decides to just ring true. “I know that, and I didn't mean to make you feel like I don't want to be friends… it's just…”

And that's just it. Eddie can't even admit it and understand it himself, there's no way he can say it aloud. Thankfully Tommy takes over and charge, as he leans against the counter to nonchalantly admit, “You know, I thought you and Buck were looking for a third. I didn't realize you two weren't dating until a couple weeks into our friendship and right before he visited me at work.”

Eddie desperately wishes for another beer, just so he has something to distract himself with, but instead he raises and lowers his hands while his mouth gapes open like an idiot. “Shh-Whattt???”

“I mean, I was okay with it,” Tommy shrugs. “But it was a shock to learn you guys weren't-”

“- Tommy? Eddie?” Buck's voice is deep with sleep and he rubs his eyes with curled fists in a way that is both adorable and attractive. “We should put Chris in bed and get there ourselves. We all have work tomorrow.”

“Yeah, of course!” Eddie responds, jumping at the out. “I'll carry Chris to bed if you make sure he has all his school things together?”

Buck hums his consent and they split apart to do their familiar tasks. Eddie tucks their son in bed and by the time he makes it back to the kitchen Buck is already back. And with Tommy. The larger male has him backed up against the counter, panting breathlessly and blushing redder than Eddie has ever had the pleasure to see. Suddenly, it dawns on Eddie that it will be Tommy sharing his bed with Buck tonight and that he'll be the one on the couch.

And he wishes for midnight - even though it's already there. 

Track#3: Makes Me Ill

Eddie's circling turns into a whirling hurricane.

A curse to see Tommy with Buck. It had happened once before he knew they were dating, but now it seemed every time he went out they were on a date. During their shift after the sleepover, all he hears is about how much fun Buck had and how they should do that more often. When he takes Chris to school on their next day off, he decides to drive by Buck's apartment… only to find his visitor’s spot taken up by Tommy’s truck and opts to drive on. During the family dinner Bobby and Athena hold at their place once a month, Eddie overhears their hosts inviting the younger couple to a double date for later in the month. Once Buck had somehow forgotten his phone at home and they'd had to go on a call before he could grab it, when they'd gotten back to the house Tommy had been waiting with it and flowers, telling Buck, “not to forget about his dentist appointment after his shift tomorrow,” with an adoring kiss good-bye.

Tommy was becoming a permanent fixture and the thought of losing his position scared Eddie beyond thought.

It had been two weeks since their sleepover and Eddie had found every excuse to get out of having to endure another one. It wasn't that he couldn't stand Buck or Tommy, he just couldn't stand them together and not… well that's just it. He could tell his avoidance disheartened Buck, yet the alternative was something beyond words and incomprehensible. It was better this way.

So he did his best to avoid the couple while failing horribly. The first time it happened Eddie had to head back to the station because he'd left his wallet. Since it was the middle of the day, Chris was at school and the only hassle about this was the drive back and forth. When he'd pulled up and parked, the fire engine rushed out. Then as he was exiting his truck, Christopher's school called to talk about a bake sale. After 30 minutes (33 minutes and 24 minutes according to the call log) he was finally ready to head inside the house.

It was silent without the B squad and eerily odd without his team. Like going into a school or a doctor's office after hours, the same anxiety about being caught even though he was allowed to be there. That's when he heard it.

“If you keep doing that, I'm going to be late for work and we're going to be caught,” a deep voice says, followed by a rich chuckle. Although they've only known each other for a short amount of time, Eddie recognizes the voice easily as Tommy's.

A naughty laugh answers his statement.

Realizing just what they’re doing in the shower room, Eddie quickly backtracks, unwilling to let that image haunt him for the rest of his day. Not that him not seeing it helps, if anything it makes it worse, because now every time he goes to take a shower all he can imagine is what exactly he could have caught them doing.

The second time he's on a movie date with Marisol.

Pepa had agreed to watch Christopher so they went with something mature. Honestly, Eddie wasn’t too interested in watching a seemingly smart person make bad decisions and miss the blatant truth in front of them, so he wasn’t paying attention to the movie’s plot. They were about halfway through the movie and Marisol seemed to be enjoying it, so he simply leaned back and distracted himself by looking around.

There hadn’t been a lot of people in the theater to begin with, but after the main character had made a cringy decision over half of the little crowd had departed. Now it was just Marisol and Eddie in the front three rows and a couple in the back row.

From his position and the darkness, Eddie couldn’t make out the faces of the lovers but now that he was focusing on anything but the movie he realizes he could definitely hear them.

At first it was just a heavy breathing, which quickly gave way to a panting then the intermittent sound of addicting whimpers joined the hushed cacophony. The participants were obviously trying to keep it down and Marisol had yet to notice, but it was all Eddie could focus on. He'd had sex thousands of times, in multiple ways, but never anything as passionate sounding - even as muffled as it was.

Eddie shifts, trying not to let Marisol in on his discomfort.

A deep, pleasured moan comes from the back row, and Eddie can't help but look at Marisol to see if she heard it. Somehow she hadn't, but when Eddie looks at the screen he sees a sex scene and realizes she must have thought it belonged on the screen.

Thankfully Marisol doesn't notice and the movie is over within 30 minutes. Grateful, Eddie makes a speedy exit, practically dragging Marisol out the door. Unfortunately, she stops him in the hallway outside to point out a poster for an upcoming movie. Which means that Eddie witnesses the couple exiting the theater, hand in hand and with matching countenances of love and bliss.

Buck and Tommy.

Eddie only gets a moment to covetously observe them before Buck sees them. It does make him a little happy at how obviously happy the other man is at seeing him, but his desire to be there too trumps any joy Eddie feels.

“Eddie!” Buck exclaims, holding his hand up as if Eddie could miss him in a room full of people.

‘This must have been a little of what Buck felt when I crashed his first date with Tommy ,’ Eddie thinks but he says, “Hey guys! How goes it?”

“Great! We just saw one of my favorite books on screen!” Buck responds, the couples facing each other now so Eddie can see his pure smile easily. “It was an amazing adaptation!! What did you guys see?”

“I think we might have seen the same thing!” Marisol remarks. “Did you just come out of theater 6?”

As Buck confirms her, Eddie catches Tommy's eye. He's unable to keep it for long because the glint of them says Tommy knows Eddie knows they weren't really watching the movie.

A month has gone by, which means Bobby and Athena's dinner is tonight and that Tommy and Buck have been dating for two and a half months now. The indefinable feeling that haunts Eddie has gotten worse. Everytime he sees them together he feels his blood boil with it, when Eddie sees them separately it lays dormant. So far he's been good at keeping their visitations quarantined, but at a family dinner he would inevitably have to be around the both of them. Maybe he could use Chris as a buffer.

It's with this goal that he slowly gets them around, to the point that Chris essentially is rushing Eddie out the door. They arrive later than everyone and Chris quickly abandons him to go hang out with Denny, Harry and Mara. Eddie curses his son's extroverted personality as he makes himself go hang out with his best friend and good friend, who just so happens to be his best friend's boyfriend. Nothing to be weird about.

Why is he being so weird about it?

“What's up with you, man?” Tommy asks as he and Buck make their way over to him.

“Nothing much,” Eddie answers with a wave towards Chris as he continues, “Just been so busy lately I feel like I haven't had any free time.”

“I feel that,” Tommy says, wrapping a firm arm around Buck's waist. “Are we still on for Sunday? No pressure if you've got something else to do or just wanna use the day to relax instead.”

“Oh, y’know, it's just, I've got no one to watch Chris,” Eddie stammers out the excuse, knowing how flimsy it sounds as he says it. “You guys have fun!”

Buck shakes his head then says, “No, no! I don't really like basketball. Why don't you guys go together, I'll watch Chris! I've missed my Captain America time.”

And how can Eddie say no to that? So he doesn't, “Are you sure? I wouldn't want to make you feel… like you did before.”

“Yeah but that was before…” Buck blushes, looking down shyly where his hand rests on Tommy's wrist. “I didn't understand how I felt then, and now I do. I don't want to come between the two of you like that.”

“Of course you wouldn't,” Tommy comments lowly just for Buck, but Eddie hears it anyway.

Not understanding it and also knowing it wasn't intended for him, Eddie ignores it as he says, “Okay, awesome. Sounds like a plan! I'm looking forward to it.”

Luckily, Bobby chooses this moment to make his way over and their weekend-plans conversation ends. They chat for sometime about general things, before Athena makes her way over. Eventually they get on the topic of children and for once Eddie doesn't notice Buck with Tommy, as the couple slips away.

Actually, it isn't until they're sitting down for dinner does he notice their absence, because Chris asks Eddie, “Where is Bucky?”

Looking around, Eddie shrugs and says, “I don't know. How about this, you go save our seats and while I go to the bathroom I'll look for them.”

Words he'd come to regret as soon as that heavenly blessed, muffled moaning once again graced his ears. He should have known with his luck he'd catch them again . Should have somehow guessed what they'd be doing because he knows both of his friends.

What he doesn't expect himself to somehow know is how… distracting their noises are. Unlike the time in the theater, Eddie stalls to admire the sound and what he hears leaves him yearning for a cold shower.

“Tommy, please,” Buck whines, a sound so desperate and pleading. “Don't tease, we have to hurry.”

“Then maybe you should do so,” Tommy responds deeply, clearly just as aroused. “Come for me, Evan.”

The sound that Buck makes is one Eddie will never forget and also why he couldn't meet neither Buck nor Tommy's eye over dinner. After all, how do you make eye contact with your best friend when you know the frantic sound they make as they ejaculate? How can you look into your friend’s eyes when you want to hear their boyfriend orgasm?

And what if you just as desperately want to hear more.

Today they're at the wedding venue to help Maddie and Chim plan their wedding. “They” being Athena and Bobby, Karen and Hen, Buck and Tommy and Eddie. They were invited to help on choosing the cake and none of them were going to give up free sweets.

“I'm so glad May was okay watching all the kids today,” Karen comments to Maddie. “I can deal with my sugar rush, not theirs!”

This garners some laughs and the congenial mood follows them into the room where they'll be taste testing. The group is led through the Japanese-inspired sliding door to a beautiful room that utilizes and encaptures natural beauty. The table they sit at is elegant but clearly made from a large tree. Eddie is sat next to Buck and the end of the table, with Tommy on Buck's left, Athena is next to him and Bobby is at the head of the table at the fiancee's insistence. Karen is across from Eddie, Hen is next to her, then Chim and Maddie.

The first cake is a simple red velvet, which Eddie is immediately biased for until he takes a bite and realizes it tastes nothing like his abuela's. Trying to conceal his face because the others seem to like it, he wipes his mouth and takes a drink of his water. Karen catches his eye and without words he knows she's in the same boat.

“How's Christopher?” She asks after setting her own glass down and dabbing her lips softly so she doesn't mess up her chapstick.

“Oh you would not believe…” Eddie starts, telling her about Christopher’s foray into the dating world.

Karen laughs, “Well do you expect any difference with who his other father is?”

“Not at all,” Eddie says with his own laugh. “I just hoped he'd learn more from…” he turns to Buck, “What'd you call it?” He snaps his fingers, turning back to Karen to answer his own question and continue, “Point 2 version than Point 1.”

Buck's eyes are furrowed in confusion until he seemingly realizes they're talking about him because he considerably brightens as he chimes in, “Oh please! We've had the same amount of hook-ups since you joined - actually I think you've had more than me in the last 6 or 7 years!”

Eddie opens his mouth to start protesting but stops himself as he does the mental math. Shannon, Ana, being friends with benefits with Lena until she'd called it off, countless one night stands, and lately Marisol. Ali, Taylor, Natalia, 13 one night stands (Eddie knows how many because Buck has told him about every one) and now Tommy. Libido wise, they’re matched. Relationship wise, they’re on a similar path.

“Whatever,” Eddie mock-scoffs, the smile on his face a sure sign that he’s joking. “I’ve had more serious relationships.”

“Indisputably,” Buck mock-snarks, his smile just as mischievous. “You’re looking for a mom for Christopher, not a partner.”

Eddie gasps, bringing his hand to his chest in false offense, “How dare thee!”

“Why would he need to be looking? You’re both,” Hen jokes.

Tommy laughs, “You can’t even deny it, Evan. The only decorations you have are his art works. They’re framed and displayed in places of honor,” He looks at Karen and Hen as he says, “When he brought me over to his apartment for the first time, I swear he spent the first hour showing me around like he was some art curator showing off his favorite artist’s work.”

Everyone laughs, which is what the bakers walk out to with the next cake.

“I’m glad to see everyone’s having a good time,” A woman says, obviously the head chef or the baker’s version of that. “Are we ready to try the next?”

At everyone’s agreement, they clean up the table and pass around new plates with the new cake. Eddie would know what kind it was, if he had been able to listen to the baker instead of being completely enraptured by Buck and Tommy. The way they catch each other’s eye and share a secretive smile… It's alluring. The way their smiles sweeten, obviously in love and happy… Eddie wants to join them.

And Eddie realizes he knows exactly what that indefinable feeling plaguing him is.

It’s been obvious the whole time.

He drags his gaze away, looking straight ahead and meeting Karen’s eyes. They’re surprisingly sympathetic, like she’s experiencing something sad and wants nothing more than to fix it. Eddie can understand how she’s such a great mother, because he feels her love and he’s not even a child. Meeting her gaze is hard, but definitely easier than staring at the sweethearts.

“So Denny wants Chris to come over for a sleepover, I know we’re kind of busy now but since we’re both here we might as well chat about it,” Karen suggests as she tries the cake.

Eddie loves his family.

Grateful to her distraction his mind is taken off of the constant repetition of BuckTommyBuckTommyBuckTommy… or at the very least it’s an obnoxiously loud background noise.

“That’s perfect!” Eddie responds. “I can take them this next week if you could take them next sleepover.” Eddie subconsciously observes Tommy excusing himself and standing as he pulls out his phone to see his calendar. “Denny could come over this Friday. He could join in on our family night.”

“Yay!” Buck joins in to say after looking back from Tommy’s retreating form. “I’m excited! We’re going to have a Kung Fu Panda marathon so we can go watch the new one on Tuesday. Do you think Denny would like to come?”

“Definitely,” Karen says, all smiles. “Hen and I could use her day off to have a girl’s day with Mara. Denny went to my last salon and got embarrassed by all the grannies, he doesn’t want to go if they’re going to be there. They get… pinchy.”

Eddie laughs, “Oh my abuela and her book club are pinchy too. Every time they come around Chris he’s pretending he’s sick and wears his mask!”

“That’s smart!” Karen snaps her fingers. “I’ll have to tell Denny to use that one.”

“I’ll bet Chris already has,” Buck says. “Denny is just too sweet. Chris is more mischievous,” He rubs his head bashfully. “I swear that’s not from me.”

Everyone laughs. “Sure, Buck,” Hen says sassily, looking at him with a sisterly look. “Although, I will say he does get it from both of you.”

“Do what?” Maddie asks, leaning to face them better from the conversation she, Chim, Bobby and Athena had been having as it had come to an end.

“Chris got his player personality from both his dads,” Karen explains.

The entire table laughs.

“Oh goodness it is becoming apparent how alike our children are to us all,” Athena laughs waving her hands as she explains everything that had occured with Harry.

“I’m glad it’s all going to work out,” Buck says when she’s done.

Eddie nods, “Truly. Although, it all works out in the end, otherwise it’s not the end.” Everyone nods, adding on their own regards, but Eddie stops paying attention because it’s all taken by Buck discreetly excusing himself to the bathroom.

Which is a totally normal thing to do, but Eddie can’t stop focusing on the fact that Tommy isn’t back yet. The last time, he should have expected it and has been kicking himself for not realizing soon enough. Unable to give conversation, he crams his mouth with the rest of his cake and just nods along.

Ten minutes go by.

At this point he’s chewing mush, but he knows exactly what he’s going to do as soon as he’s done eating.

He swallows.

“Hey, I gotta go to the bathroom,” Eddie softly says as he stands up, pushing in his chair robotically. “I’ll be right back.”

The walk to the bathroom is thankfully short and the door is the same papery thin, sliding door that they had been led through before. Which means Eddie can hear them perfectly.

“You don’t think so?” Tommy is saying. “I know so, that's why I was feeling him out.”

“No way, he’s got all that Catholic guilt. Even if he could, he wouldn’t,” Buck replies.

“I’d beg to differ,” Tommy chuckles.

“Well I’m begging you to hurry,” Buck interrupts himself with a moan. “Please, oh my God, please .”

“Don’t beg God, keep begging me.”

There isn’t much talking after that. The time Eddie spends in that hallway feels innumerable. Able to easily listen, he makes sure to leave and be sat back in his spot well before they’re on their own way back.

Eddie finds that this time makes it no easier to meet the couple’s eyes.

The last time, Eddie had gone to Buck’s apartment after he and Marisol had gotten into an argument. In his defense, his spot had been open and only Buck’s Jeep had been in the apartment’s designated parking spaces. The walk up the parking garage stairs and to the elevator was daunting and the walk down the hallway to Buck's apartment was ominous, yet that was normal lately.

Maybe that's why he thinks nothing is off as he uses his key to unlock the apartment and goes in.

The sight that greets him is straight from a porno made by God for him.

Buck is bent over his counter, face twisted in a pert near illegal expression of pleasure, clearly overstimulated and loving it. Tommy is behind him, a similar countenance of ecstacy written across his face, dirty but adoring of the man beneath him. They are both facing the door, which means as soon as Eddie walks in and sights them that the opposite is true as well.

For a few seconds the momentum carries them through a few more thrusts and Eddie watches, captive to his own desire before he realizes this is real real life and not one of his repressed dreams.

“I'm sorry,” Eddie cries, trying to look away and failing as he backs up towards the door. “I'm going!”

“Eddie,” Buck says, voiced perfectly hoarse and fucked out. “Wait,” he straightens and Tommy backs up, pulling out evidently by the moans.

Eddie can't help but watch, but he also can't stay. Somehow he peels his gaze away, and runs from the apartment.

Upcoming Queue

(this is a rough draft outline. I wanted to cross-post what I have written so far because I can😎 I'd really like constructive feedback or someone to describe my writing. I'm also in need of a summary and I'm obviously no wordsmith)

(Blue are Posted, Red are Not Posted)

Chapter #1: Bi, Bi, Bi :: The set up OR As Eddie is setting up for a normal family night, Buck asks if Tommy can come and Eddie feels... Feelings about it.

Chapter #2: Bring in the Noise :: The set up pt2 OR An addition to family night doesn't disrupt it as worried.

Chapter #3: It Makes Me Ill :: Eddie has arrived in Jealousytown. All of the stations make him sick, especially when every stop be has to see Buck give love and attention at his will. And you can't imagine how it makes Eddie feel, to see them without him OR The 5 Times Eddie Catches BuckTommy.

Chapter #4: It's Gonna Be ME :: Eddie, Tommy and Buck get drunk at Chim’s bachelor party. Eddie makes a big confrontational speech to Tommy about how he thought they were friends and he can't believe he'd go behind his back type thing. Essentially telling Tommy there's been hundreds before him and Eddie's been there the whole time, it's gonna be him. Realizing he's made a fool of himself, Eddie runs off and avoids teven.

Chapter 5: No Strings Attached :: Eddie asking Chim, Hen and Bobby if he's homophobic, Chim says he's homo something (this is the plot bunny that started this fic)

Chapter 6: I Thought She Knew :: a proper break up with Marisol where he apologizes and she says she knows and there's no apology needed if he doesn't do it to another woman. They chat and he learns one of the big reasons she left is because she's bi too.

Chapter 7: Just Got Paid :: Eddie is still avoiding Buck and Tommy after Madney’s bachelor party and wedding but things are going more smoothly. Between more talks with Bobby and Hen he comes into his queer identity

Chapter 8: This I Promise You :: Confession

Chapter 9: Digital get down :: Domestic bliss 101

Chapter 10: That's When I'll Stop Loving You :: Found Family moment/telling the firefam

Chapter 11: Space Cowboy :: +1

Chapter 12: That's When I'll Stop Loving You :: Domestic bliss 202

[idyllcy]

I was your pinata, she was a star charter

Word count: 4.7k

Summary: The library boy... he's cute.

You rush into the library, tote bag in arms and book in hand. You aren't too excited to start school, but you suppose that studying at the library will help, somehow. The smell of paper and cloth covers fills your lungs as you step to the tables. The tears of the sun spill in through the stained glass windows, and you rub your arm gently. It's warm. The last drops of sun before the clouds cover his glory and destroy you. You wonder if a good cry will help you out.

You set a mug on the table and pry open your laptop. 

The words on your laptop drive you insane. The lines and lines of literature grasp your mind, forcing you to focus and read the phrases. Nothing goes through your mind like it's supposed to. You grow tired of the lines, head dizzy, and mind a mess over the assignment. You hated seminars. You don't like sitting and reading. You hate this. The crown of thorns tightens around your head, and you feel that familiar feeling of disgust crawl up your throat. 

How lovely.

"Um... hello?" A voice fans the clouds forming above your head. 

"Yes?"

"The library closes in five minutes," He smiles. 

You turn to face the boy, and you pause. 

He's gorgeous. Holy shit. You thought he'd look old because his hair was white, but the only thing going through your mind was over how angelic he looked. Your lips part as your eyes trail to his lips, and you swallow unconsciously. He's pretty. His green eyes are almost clear with how pale they are, and his skin is a deathly shade of peach, but he's so pretty. You're in love. Is that what love is? Oh. Great. You're in love with a random librarian working on campus.

WELL, WELL, YOU CAN'T BLAME YOURSELF!! HE'S GOT PRETTY CLOUDY HAIR AND THAT CLASSIC PINTEREST ACADEMIA OUTFIT!! HE'S JUST REALLY PRETTY!! HE LOOKS DAZZLING. HE HAS THOSE PRETTY GLASSES AND THE DAZZLING RUBY CHAIN HANGING FROM THE EDGE OF HIS GLASSES. HE LOOKS PRETTY, OKAY??? IT'S NOT JUST A YOU THING-

"Sorry," You snap out of your trance. Does he think you're weird for staring at him for that long? You hope he doesn't. "I'll pack up."

"Thank you," He smiles.

As he leaves, your eyes trail back to the document on your laptop. You got... a little work done. Barely anything. You sigh to yourself as you toss what needs to be discarded and shut your laptop. Well, at least you met someone cute. You hope he works here often.

The boy works here four days a week. He's here on three weekdays and Saturdays. He usually organizes books or sits at the front desk, checking books in and out. His coffee order is an oat milk latte, and he drinks more tea than coffee. He has never once shown up without his glasses or knitted vest. It's just his style of clothing, you suppose. Nothing bad. You liked how he looked. It offered some semblance of chaos in a library that was prim and proper. You like it. It reminds you of the clouds.

The sun burns into your skin as you walk toward the library.

It's become a spot where you hang out often. You sit there and do your homework, biting and chewing on your lip as you read through more files than you can digest. Your stomach churns with disdain as you scribble onto your tablet. You want to leave. Please. You miss frolicking in the fields and living like a protagonist. You aren't the lead of the story now. You're just a character in the background to support others' growth. You trip and tumble over pebbles and boulders until the main characters end up together, leaving you in the background.

You don't know if you like that role too much.

Yet, as you set your tea down and pull out your laptop, you wonder when the cycle will break. You don't possess beauty as Psyche does. You hold no wrath of the gods for being beautiful beyond what Venus could ever imagine. You prayed that somehow, someday, you could be as beautiful as the princess herself. Perhaps the arrow of love would graze someone on accident, and you would finally live to be the center of attention. 

Though, all of that was just pointless daydreaming.

You finish the last of your tea, checking two things off your to-do list, three more. Three more, and then you could rest for the night. The sun is starting to set, the hairs on your neck straightening from it. The light from the sun places itself on your skin, burning down your back as you finish another two assignments.

Before your final one, you turn to the side to stare at the pretty librarian. You lean on the palm of your hand, watching the way the sun coated his back in gold. The chains on his glasses look gold under the star, and you take note of how prim his fingernails were. He didn't bite them, and his hands looked elegant compared to the ones you were used to. Even your own nails are damaged because of how you used to bite them. The skin on your nails struggles to grow back because you still pick at them.

You grow nervous too often. You can't help it. 

You turn your eyes to your laptop screen, fingers clicking on the keyboard.

The sun sets with the moon's chasing, and you close your laptop once you finish your final assignment. You tilt your neck to stretch it, your bones cracking as you do. The glass cup is empty of the latte you got earlier from the local coffee shop. You slip everything into your bag and wrap your arms around it, pulling out a stuffed animal to rest your head on. You don't feel like going back to your dorm. 

You close your eyes, resting your head on the cushion. A quick nap couldn't kill you.

"Hey, time to wake up."

Your lashes flutter, and you sit up slowly. Your muscles ache. You don't like the sleeping position you were just in. Yes, you started drooling because it was a DAMN good nap, but your back is not having any fun at all. That was not a good nap for your body. You're going to need to stretch when you get home. You crane your neck in an attempt to soothe your muscles. It's not working.

You lean back, locking eyes with the male.

"A-ah!" You jump in your seat. "Is the library already closed? I'm so sorry!"

The male jumps back at your sudden movement, and you shove the stuffie into your bag. You probably pissed him off. Oh, no. You don't know if you want that. What if he kicks you out permanently because you hindered closing time? That wouldn't be good. Then, you wouldn't be able to come back and stare at the cute librarian ever again.

"I'm so sorry!" You bow ninety degrees to the boy, and the male looks taken aback. 

"No, no!" The boy stutters, waving his hand. "Don't worry about it! You seemed tired, so I thought it'd be better to have you leave last. You still have two minutes."

"I'm so sorry again!" You grab your stuff, heart racing as you rush out of the library. Ah. How embarrassing. You hope he doesn't think badly of you after that. You can't believe you almost slept until closing.

You check your phone.

Huh? Closing was ten minutes ago. Are the clocks inside the library broken?

The gates of summer make way for the guards of fall, the burning rays of sun replaced with falling foliage. The steps to the library are covered in orange and brown, the latte in your hand replaced with a cup of diluted earl grey tea. You don't know why you're trying it. Maybe it's because you saw the cute library try out the tea the other day. You're at least glad that you added milk and sugar. Hopefully, it keeps you awake like your caffeine did.

Your lips part at the sight of the cute library boy jumping into a pile of leaves. Your cheeks grow warm, and you gasp. He's... jumping into leaves? You watch the leaves flutter around him, and time seems to slow as you watch him. He's pretty. Though his hair is in his face as he's hidden behind the pile of leaves, he's pretty. A giggle slips past your lips unconsciously, and you slap a hand over your mouth. Shit.

You rush into the library, praying that he didn't see you laugh at him. Embarrassment burns at your neck as you sit down at your usual spot. He's cute. Even if you couldn't see his face clearly, he was pretty. Your neck grows warm as you recall the scene, and you take a sip of your drink to calm down. You have assignments to do. You don't know if you could survive if he had seen you.

You don't actually recall what the librarian looks like. You remember staring in awe at his beauty before rushing off because it was closing time. You wonder if his hair is actually soft to the touch. Maybe... you'd ask him one day? Maybe you should get his name first.

The cloud covers the sun as you reach into your bag for the textbook. You hate the stupid course. Why couldn't they have been kind like the other professors and used a book that's available online? Oh, were you not supposed to say that? Oops. Oh well. Not like you're the only one. You don't know how many of your other classmates are doing things their parents would kill them over.

You chew on your bottom lip as you submit another assignment. 

The sun is long gone at this point, and you wonder if you should actually make use of the free time you have left. You want to stalk the cute librarian. You wonder if you could ask him for book recommendations. Maybe he'd give you one that you actually like. 

You grab your bag, tucking everything in. You'll check out a book before you leave. You're craving murder. You'll read about that.

"Ah, sorry," You step to the counter. "I was wondering, since you're the librarian, if you had any book recommendations? I wanted to read something like murder mystery."

"Well," You tilt your head at his cough. "I'd recommend Conan Doyle or Agatha Christie. Have you read And then there were none?"

"Ah, no," You tap your chin. "Which area is that book in?"

"I'll go with you," the male smiles.

"Thank you..." You pause to squint at his nametag. 

"Nagito Komaeda." He starts walking. "Please call me Nagito."

"Thank you, Nagito," You trail along behind him, and your internal monologue goes wild. He looks so pretty. His back is so pretty. Oh, god. You sound like a pervert right now. You're going to go insane. Your neck is warm, and you nearly crash into him as he stops. Your heart jumped into your throat from that. You didn't need him to kill you before you even got to know him.

You stop behind Komaeda as he reaches for your book, and you stare at the way his arms reached up. He's got little to no muscle. He's incredibly thin. You think he looks a little healthier compared to when you first met him, but you suppose he might just be like that. It wasn't like you hadn't put on weight since starting college. You should've paid attention when your teacher talked about the freshmen 15.

Komaeda grabs the book while you're lost in thought and you don't even notice how close you are to him. You flinch as he turns around.

"Sorry!" He gasps.

"No, no!" You wave your hands in a panic. "I'm sorry for being so close! I was looking at the other book."

You pull out a romance book from the shelf, and Komaeda flushes. You don't even notice that it's a romance book. 

"Are you more into romance?"

"I like both," You look to the side, spotting another book. "Ah, speaking of which. Have you read Growing Pains? I heard it's really good."

"I have," He smiles. "It's a really good book. Have you?"

"No," You shake your head. "Shall I read it?"

"Yes," Komaeda grabs for it, sliding the book on top of the stack in his arms. "How about It's a soulmate thing? You're holding I'm here, so I assumed you might-"

"Yes, please," Your eyes sparkle at the sight of the cover. "I'm a sucker for soulmate stories."

"I'm glad," He reaches for another book. "and... Seashells and Sketchbooks?"

"Mermaids!" You gasp. "Sorry, I've read that one. I loved it."

"It's good, isn't it? I love it too." He smiles. 

"What's your favorite?" You stare up at him, batting your lashes.

"Growing Pains," He mumbles, looking to the side. "It took my heart and crushed it in the best way possible. I can't get over the ending. You?"

"Hands down, it's Sketchbook and Seashells," You mumble. "I'm here is a close second. Both of them were so gentle and fluffy. I was living in a cloud while reading both of them."

"I'm willing to bet that you'll like Growing Pains more once you finish the book." He looks you in the eye, and you fight the urge to shrink under his eyes. "Hm?"

"Sure," You smile. "What does the winner get?"

"We'll decide after you read the book," Komaeda takes the book from your hands.

You're on autopilot until you return to your dorm. He's so pretty. Komaeda is so dazzling. Your heart is racing a million beats a minute as he checked out your books for you. You can't stare him in the eyes. He's just too pretty. His hands are so nicely kept, and you recall the way his pale eyes had stared into your soul. You would cherish the book. You can't believe you're doing this. Your heart is racing from a boy you barely remember the face of.

You flip through the pages, jaw dropped and heart cracking. There was no comfort in this book. It was completely angst. You don't know what you're doing, yet you can't stop reading. You've cried through a box of tissues already, and your assignments are stacking up, but your heart is crying in agony. It's been 11 chapters. Your mind is breaking as you do. You don't know if a gallon of ice cream is going to cure you of the childhood trauma the two experienced. Curse slow burns. You're going mental over this.

You emerge from your room four days later with fish eyes and a broken and poorly mended heart. The ending was cute, but your heart is not. Neither is how you look. There's no way you can return to the library with a stuffy nose and puffy eyes. You'll take another two days before going back. Komaeda was right. It is your favorite book now. 

You hate him.

You toss the tissues and the trash, splashing water on your face. You still need to read the other two books. You're praying both of them are nice and fluffy.

They are.

You're saved. You're safe. You're cheering so hard right now. Your heart is saved. 

You slam the books on the counter, dark circles present. You don't know how many days you haven't been to the library, but you're just about ready to beat someone up. "You. I'm going to strangle alive."

Komaeda hums, taking the books from your hand.

"I take it that I won the bet, then?" He scans the books back in.

"Yes." You sigh. "You won, but I want you to read Lonely Kids."

"Sure," Komaeda smiles. "So, since I won, I want you to read another handful of books."

"Oh?" You tilt your head.

"Read Stay With Me, Hold my Hand," He smiles. "It's a series."

"Alright." You mumble. "I'll scalp you if it makes me cry."

"It might," He pauses. "It's by the same author as Growing Pains."

"I'm going to cry, then," You grimace. "It's so beautifully destructive. I love the way they write. The whole world is built around you so beautifully only for it to be torn into shreds."

"Yeah," Komaeda smiles. "Though, this one will make you cry harder."

"I'll read it over break," You sigh. "Thank you, by the way. And Then There Were None was a really good story."

"I'm glad." You pull your bag, and you head off. 

You won't tell him that Lonely Kids is a smut book. He can read between the lines by himself. You hope he at least likes it. You're a whore for that author's books. He could throw a book into your stomach and make you throw up blood and you'd still cry over it. That was how much you liked that author. But you suppose that he wouldn't do that to you. You don't know. You cried over "Communication is Key". You don't know how much you can take from that author. One of these days you're going to throw up over a book from how hard you cry.

You don't know if you want to read any more of Komaeda's favorite author. Your heart hurts from Growing Pains enough.

You check your phone, and you stand in line at the coffee shop. What was the librarian's coffee order again? You swear it was... something... you don't remember. No, wait. You do. He's been bringing the woody tea lately. You learned that the other day in class. Patchouli? The... plant. That might be best. Even if he doesn't like it, it doesn't taste bitter to the tongue. You wonder if he'll mind the spice.

"One Patchouli tea and one milk tea please," You smile.

"What kind of tea for the milk?"

"Earl grey," You hum. "Fifty sugar for the milk tea, and twenty five sugar for the regular tea."

You stand on the side, rocking on your feet. You hope he likes it.

He does. 

You watch him grow visibly brighter at the sight of the tea, and you relax under your breath. He likes it. He likes the tea. You'll keep that in mind next time. He looks really happy at the sight of tea, and you can't help yourself. "Uh, do you like tea?" You mentally wince at how awkward that sounded.

"Yes!" Komaeda clasps his hands together, and you mentally cheer. "I have a preference for tea that isn't bitter. I can't taste many things because of my medication, you see."

"Medication?" You tilt your head. He's sick?

"I'm being treated for a couple illnesses." He hums. "Sorry."

"No! Don't be!" You gasp, horror setting in. Did you just make him feel bad? You hope not. "I wish you a speedy recovery. Please take care of yourself."

"Of course," He smiles at you, and you wonder if he's sad. His hair is still in the way of his face. You're starting to get impatient. You want to see how he looks. You're going to kill someone at this rate. Why was it so hard to see someone's face??? 

The leaves on the trees empty out quickly, and you find yourself holed in the library more and more. Your midterms are coming up. You're going to stab yourself. Why couldn't they have just assigned you a research paper? That would've been so much nicer. Ugh.

Someone taps your shoulder gently. "Would you like some help? I took that class already."

"Yes, please?" You stare up at Komaeda with doe eyes. "I'm losing my mind over the subject."

"Does giving you the test and correct answers count as helping?"

"Yeah," You stare up at him, chin tilted to the ceiling. You take note of his lashes. Holy shit he has nice lashes. "Do you have it?"

He does. He hands you his laptop, and he shares a google file with you. It's a blessing. An angel has been sent to you from above. Cupid himself is blessing this marriage. This is a blessing in disguise. Maybe you are Psyche in a different way. Maybe you're actually the main character for once. Even if you aren't, you're happy with what you have currently. 

You work on your laptop with Komaeda, the boy making small talk with you. He has a nice voice. His voice is airy, and it soothes you. It does more than your tea for some reason. You're a little sleepy from his voice. You wonder how well you'd sleep if you were to sleep with him. Ah, how foolish of you. Those thoughts are fleeting, and you close your laptop as you finish checking it out. You hope he doesn't get offended if you nap while he sits next to you. You need rest. You haven't slept properly in days.

You don't remember much of the conversation, but you know that you're going to nap well.

"Thank you..." You mumble. "I owe you."

You don't hear his answer.

You do, however, wake up to him shaking you.

"Closing time," He smiles. "We're the last ones."

"Alright," You mumble, rubbing your eyes. "Thank you. It was very warm."

"Of course," You follow Komaeda as he takes the trash.

The stars sparkle above your eyes, and you exhale. Hopefully your midterms will go well.

Psyche never knew the face of her husband. She had been told that it was a beast, something that was beyond what a human could handle. She had been sold because she was worshipped, yet her husband was gentle without a single candle. Whenever she wanted to see him, he would not let her. She was told to never see his face. Yet, love presents itself in its best form for everyone. You want to see Komaeda's face properly; Even if he runs.

The book in your hands breaks your heart over and over again, an endless cycle of death. You wonder if that's what it felt like. You want to curl up in the book and never touch anything else. You want to wrap your arms around the characters and assure them that there's nothing ahead, well aware that what lies ahead is only heartbreak. It hurts to watch people in a world beyond yours crumble because of the laws of fate. It hurts you. 

You finish the book, heart torn from your chest, tears threatening to ruin the book. It hurts. It hurts to watch people love in an apocalypse be torn apart and destroyed. It burns your throat. You don't like it. You want to break into the author's home and cry on the floor and ruin their carpets. What an awful person you are.

You go to the library again once you've finished the trilogy. It was good. You wonder if Komaeda would be willing to sit down and talk about it with you. You had a couple of questions for him.

Your heart is going a million miles an hour right now. You can't believe you did it. You asked Komaeda to coffee. Would it be too much of a rush to ask him out today? Would it kill him? Maybe it would. You might have a harder time asking him out today. Maybe just one coffee date at a time.

One turns to two.

Two turns into four.

Four turns into an indefinite number. 

You like spending time with Komaeda. He calms you down visibly, and your heart grows softer as time passes. Maybe you got used to how loud it was. You think you learned that somewhere. Sensory adaptation, was it? You don't know. You just know you're embarrassed beyond belief and in love with him horribly. 

Ah. 

You like him.

You like him as the wind finally pushes his hair back and as he goes embarrassed from your staring. 

You like him as he brushes his hands on yours as the two of you sit down to drink the coffee.

You like him as he's chasing you in a field of flowers that the botanist majors care for so much.

You like Nagito Komaeda like a girl has a crush on her senior; and you're terrified. because while in the millions of stories you lost yourself in they get the boy, not many in reality do. You're terrified of losing what you have currently. There's just something that's drowning you alive. 

It's like stepping into quicksand, sinking as you struggle against it more. You thrash desperately against your own feelings, waiting until it consumes you until there's nothing more. You want to give yourself to him wholeheartedly, yet you don't. Cupid's arrows have never hit you, so you wouldn't know. You hadn't even remembered what Komaeda looked like until the wind blew his hair out of the way. There's no way he likes you back.

Yet, as Komaeda's cheeks grow red from your ministrations, you think you have a fair chance.

"Nagito," You breathe, staring at the male.

"What?" He stares at you. 

"I like you."

Komaeda goes silent, and for a moment, you worry that you've offended him.

Your mind spirals as you sit there in silence. It's... confusing. Did he not like you? Why was he taking so long to respond to you? Maybe it hurt to answer? Maybe it was strange? You fiddle with your fingers as he processes the words. You want to step away, yet you want to hear an answer from his lips. Would he answer you?

One minute turns to two. Two minutes turns to four. Four minutes turn to five. 

Maybe he wouldn't answer you. You should probably take a step to the side and let him process it for a couple of days.

You open your mouth, your throat dry. You want to say something. Could you? Was that an option? Your heart is fighting to break free from your chest. You're dying to do something. Can you... tell him? Was that an option? You can let him reject you. You'll mull over the rejection just fine. It's not like you're expecting him to say yes to you. You'll just sit down and cry over it later.

"Say it again," Komaeda grabs your shoulders, cheeks flushed. " Please. Say it again."

"I... like you," You mumble, looking to the side, a sudden embarrassment on you. "I like you a lot."

A silence is thrown over the two of you, and you brace yourself for rejection.

Komaeda's hands shake as he presses them to your cheeks, tilting your face to face him. You stare at him, your heart ringing in your ears. Your cheeks are warm, and his hands are practically vibrating. You're scared. Is he going to reject you face to face? Is he going to reject you while looking into your eyes? Oh, how cruel he was. You look back to the side.

"Look at... me," Komaeda's voice is shaking too.

You open one eye to stare at him.

"I like you too," He whimpers. "I like you a lot too. I'm infatuated with you. It was as though Cupid had grazed my skin with an arrow the first time we met. I adore you to pieces. I can't... I can't think of living without you."

Now it's your turn to get embarrassed. Pupils blown wide with excitement.

"You like me too?" You grab his wrists. "You do? Oh, tell me you do."

"I do," Komaeda swallows slowly, and you hear your pulse in your ears. "I do adore you so much, darling."

And you cry. Silent tears that trickle down your cheeks. You cry the tears of the stars, twinkling and burning your heart as your confession is accepted. You sob silently, hand over your mouth and tears trickling down your cheeks. You're ecstatic. You're... loved. You aren't in the background anymore. You're finally someone who isn't used as a staircase for others. Hopefully Komaeda stays with you.

Komaeda pulls you into his chest, running his hands through your hair.

Maybe you could stay there forever, even if you were a background character.

[wolfyaka]

Has anybody else been overanalyzing All Might's hallucinations? Because I have and I'd love to hear your thoughts on this:

All Might has literally said twice that they are hallucinations and that those are things he's telling himself, so either for some weird reason he just can't and won't accept these are actually Nana and Nighteye talking to him (which would be weird but it would explain how Nighteye knew that was the actual vision) or they are indeed representing his own mind, which is clearly divided. I'm not saying he's two different people, of course, All Might and Toshinori are one and the same, but he does have a complex and contrasting personality and he can oscillate, just like he shows different aspects of himself as All Might and Toshinori.

Either way, if that's the case, I believe Nana represents his heroic, self-sacrificing to a fault self, always pushing him to keep going no matter what, which we saw in the two fights with AFO actually, and which makes sense because that's what she represented as well; and then, there's Nighteye, which represents his humanity, his fragility and in the end, his inherent value as a human being, his right to live; which is beautiful considering Nighteye is probably the first person that actually cared for his life and worried enough to have an argument with him, mind you, I don't agree with the way he handled it, but his heart was in the right place and he did what he thought was the best.

Which leads me to All Might's mindset when acting. I believe in this whole arc after he retired, he struggled with those two sides:

At times understanding his life was worth protecting and wanting to do so. Pushing himself to believe he could change his destiny and thinking of ways to do so, that is, when he promised to live to Izuku's mom, when he told AFO he'd keep living, when he made the promise to bend his destiny with Izuku, when he talked to Aizawa and said he had decided to live, when he decided to ask Melisa for help, when he used his student's quirks as support, when he started streaming his battle and just being aware of people asking him to live.

But at times, there was also the feeling that his life made no sense without helping as a field hero, mourning how weak his human body was, falling into depression, still craving to hold on to his dream, to his heroic core, and in that, doubting that he'd be able to bend his own destiny because in the end, he'd go as far as it was needed, and that, ultimately, it was fine because that was the heroic thing to do.

I believe he went into the fight with AFO with both mindsets at the same time and that's why in his hallucination he jokes about the mentor being meant to die, just for himself to answer back that no, that's just for comics, heroes are human too.

Also, as a side note, I love that the way Izuku's and All Might's destinies changed, wasn't because they stopped being crazy heroic (which yeah probably don't do that in real life, but hey, they did risk their lives for a very huge, good reason), it was because they allowed other people in, to be inspired, to care, and to help and save them, be it with their wishes and will or directly like Eri in Izuku's case and Bakugo in All Might's case. It seems so beautifully poetic, just like someone else said with the wordplay of the Three Musketeers, they gave "One for all", and everyone gave them "All for one" back, which is what society needed to begin with; the fault wasn't in All Might carrying everything on his shoulders per se, it was that he felt the need to do so because a lot of people didn't care enough to move one finger, like we saw with Shigaraki.

By the way... this expression is everything I ever wanted T^T

[stinkyhorsebitch]

Seeing Alex holding a baby made me wonder what Beetlejuice would be like with kids. Your thoughts? Obviously he adores Lydia, and if Charles and Delia ever had kids he'd take to being the Weird Eclectic Uncle like a duck to water (god help anyone who tries to hurt that child or even looks at them funny). But I think he'd also be pretty good with kids in general. Like he knows what it's like to have a shitty childhood, and what it feels like to have people who care, so he'd want to help out kids in the same situation. Maybe be some kind of counselor? Delia would probably be ecstatic the first time he comes to her with questions about getting into the field.

i`ll happily give my 2cents about it too

If a child ever landed in his grubby hands i really hope it wouldnt just be him alone with a small child. Dont get me wrong he would try his best but i dont think that man knows the first thing about childcare or has a responsible bone in his body (that creature just puts coke in his pocket, no baggie, just loose..). Im honestly not even sure if he ever was a human child? So it teeters on what hes seen over the years of being invisible.

Now what im 100% sure about is that kids would just be drawn to the funny, green haired weirdo like cats to somebody who`s allergic. Ask him about every weird thing he does and hed of course would anwer with no filter at all.

And then theres the problem with his temper, he throws temper tantrums like a toddler himself and has huuuuge anger problems. This might make relate better to the kids, so he might know how to help a kid get thru something like that (i wouldnt bet on it tho).

With help and guidance tho he might be a good babysitter for a few hours, he is an eccelent entertainer and would keep a child well occopied. Maybe with "magic" tricks or funny not apropriate for a child stories.

in the end i think it just comes down to the vers. of BJ that lives in your head guess mine is more of an unbridled idiot lol

thanks for your ask<3

[minnlahzz]

drew x male photographer.

requested

— FEMALE READERS DNI WITH THIS POST.

this guy was ass, and i hated him in the anime! the only thing enjoyable about him was the fact that i liked his roselia!! his thing with may was also funny to watch, but he's yk he's drew... i wrote these as headcanons, but since i barely know what this guy does (i suck at remembering) i made a scenario with 'em at the end!

— LOWERCASE INTENDED.

hmm, when thinking of drew he'd be pretty sassy and smug. when drew first spots you snapping photos of wild pokémon, his first thought is something like, “does this guy think he’s going to catch their best side?” he’s a bit smug, assuming you’re just another weirdo or somebody who only cares about fame. but when he notices the concentration in your eyes and the careful way you frame each shot, he starts rethinking things.

as he watches you photograph pokémon with genuine focus, he can’t help but be a little intrigued. drew thinks, “alright, maybe he actually knows what he’s doing.” this little realization sticks with him, and he becomes curious about what you see through the lens that makes you so passionate. he'll probably introduce himself in a weird way, like it sounds mean even though it's not. he'll even do a hair flip.

someone who does not wish to follow their dreams, or isn't confident in their talent is not worth his time. drew prides himself on his aesthetic sense, so when he sees your photos, he’s secretly impressed. “he captured roselia’s petals perfectly,” he thinks, starting to admire your talent. seeing how passionate you're to your hobby, that's probably what made him soften up to you and then start liking you.

drew will join you on your photo excursions, claiming he just wants a break from the contest scene. but it’s obvious he enjoys seeing your enthusiasm for photography. he’ll occasionally even point out great spots for capturing pokémon, trying to act like it’s no big deal.

when he’s practicing with roselia or flygon, you can’t resist snapping some shots. drew pretends he doesn’t notice, but he always tosses his hair or makes sure roselia is angled perfectly. your camera makes him feel like a celebrity, and though he’d never admit it, he loves it. this slowly grows into a habit, and drew starts standing around a little longer whenever you’re nearby with your camera, pretending he’s just hanging out. but he always makes sure to pose just right when his pokemon are with him, making it easy for you to take amazing shots. he’d deny it if you ever asked, though.

you have a few shots of drew when he’s genuinely smiling—no arrogance, no pretense. those moments are rare and precious, and drew will give a soft, appreciative smile when he sees them. It’s a reminder of how your love for photography brings out the best in him. he's not bothered that much with those hidden shots you made. like what i've said before, this guy loves to pose and his ego is high enough to support all of this.

whenever you’re unsure about a shot or want feedback, drew tries to support you in his own way. “it’s almost as good as one of my performances,” he’ll say with a smirk, but his sincerity shows through. drew would also totally brag about you to others (others being may and her gang) , even if he’d rather do it behind your back to save face.

—

you’re out exploring a grassy field at sunset, hoping to get some unique photos of pokémon in the golden light. drew tags along, claiming he’s there to “see what all the fuss is about.” but as usual, he’s subtly angling himself, making sure he’s ready in case you snap any pictures of him or his pokémon.

you spot a beautiful butterfree resting on a flower, wings catching the light perfectly. as you line up the shot, drew moves closer, watching over your shoulder. he’s clearly trying to act disinterested, but he can’t hide his curiosity.

just as you’re about to capture the perfect shot, drew (purposely) nudges your arm slightly, making you accidentally snap a picture that’s a little blurry. “oh, come on!” you complained, hitting him on the head.

“what?” drew says, grinning with a shrug. “i was just… helping.” he crosses his arms, trying to act innocent but clearly enjoying the reaction.

but the butterfree flies away, leaving you with just the blurry photo. determined, you turn your camera on drew instead. “fine, if you want to be in the spotlight that bad.”

drew was caught off–guard "HEY, THROW THAT AWAY."

[thelampisaflashlight]

I Am All Eyes

[Hoping to escape his past and begin anew, a young man takes a chance on an AD in the local newspaper, only to find he has, perhaps, bitten off far more than he can chew. A reintroduction to my OC, Quincy, and how he came to be the abbey's librarian. This fic will consolidate the events of the first two original ficlets I did with Quincy and diverge from the original plot from here. Not suitable for younger audiences.] Below the cut.

For what it's worth, if Quincy had to choose how he was going to die, death by satanic cult is a vastly cooler way to go out than he would have personally imagined for himself.

Kneeling at the base of some... big titty goat person -pretending not to see how worn the bronze in that particular area is- surrounded by a circle of cloaked figures that look like they walked off of the set of some old school horror flick, Quincy's mind, of course, drifts to the worst case scenario.

A million thoughts send his head spinning; When he'll die, and by what means, and one thought that he refuses to acknowledge, because-

"It's like that one scene from that music video I saw yesterday-"

Yeah, nope.

Not the time to be thinking about hockey bukkake.

He pinches his eyes shut and tries to focus on the present.

He hears the click of boots on the black marble beneath him.

He's fucked.

He's so fucked.

Everything he's ever done leading up to this, to the moment he said screw it and shook off the mounting anxiety in his chest and pushed open those ornate wooden doors to take shelter from the coming rain he'd sealed his fate.

He shouldn't have come here to begin with.

He shouldn't have called to arrange an interview with some... some shady lady who called herself something as weird as Sister Imperator.

Why'd he think it was a good idea to respond to an AD in the newspaper anyway??

Who even reads the paper anymore?!

Quincy.

Quincy reads the paper -for the crossword puzzles and the horoscopes, and to groan at this one columnist who always has the shittiest takes in the opinions section- because he's a giant nerd.

...and because he has a friendly competition going with the old man who runs the newspaper stand across from his apartment.

Point is-

He just wanted a job in his field, okay?

He spent years studying to become a librarian, but he’s been stuck working at a dive bar since before he could even drink himself, and he’s kind of tired of coming home smelling like spilled beer and vape smoke -the ban on “electric cigarettes” indoors hadn’t quite hit his area yet, and Quincy was sick of having to smell the pungent aroma of cereal scented clouds of vapor.

All that money wasted on getting a higher education, and he’s somehow still stupid enough to stumble upon a cult in broad daylight and embarrass himself in the process no less!

Lord, he wants to cry.

He must look so pathetic down on his knees, because one of the hooded figures offers-

A tissue?

Quincy sniffles.

“First day jitters, huh?” Another says, taking a packet of little bear shaped cookies from their pocket and pressing it into his palm, “Don’t worry, you’ve got this!”

What?

“It’s a lot to take in, huh?”

“I thought-” Quincy looks up at them confused, “-what is this place? I-I was called to… for a…”

He digs into his jacket pocket and pulls out the newspaper clipping, “A-A woman called, S-Sister Impera… Impera…”

“Oh, hey! Someone actually took the job offer! Fucking finally…” someone sighs, placing a hand on their chest, “I’m getting tired of trying to organize that place myself…”

“I… Huh.”

Huh.

With one stiff pull, Quincy is back on his feet, a bit wobbly, but, at least he’s standing.

He feels like a newborn deer surrounded by… surprisingly nice wolves.

“What… what is this place exactly? The AD said it was… um… a-an abbey? A church thing, so… and, and what is that?”

He eyes the statue again, face warming as he takes in the carefully crafted areolas....

What?

They’re massive and very aesthetically pleasing to look at!

“Oh, that’s Baphomet!”

“Bapha-who-ha?”

“Baphomet, he represents the balance between opposites, although, I think the Papa Emeritus that commissioned it just really liked the idea of having a statue with big ol’ boobs in the foyer to be honest…”

Quincy bites his lip.

Ah.

“It used to have a huge schlong, too, but I think they had to remove it back in the 60’s? 70’s? So it would be less, uhh, sinister?”

Quincy opens his mouth, and physically has to stop himself from asking what they mean by “sinister”, instead asking, “W-Where is Sister Imperator… So I can speak with her?”

“Her office is on the third floor, last door at the end of the hall.”

“Third floor, gotcha. And the elevator is…?”

“Out of order until they get the stains off the wood paneling.” the figure who explained the statue says, “However, there are stairs at the end of the hall that will take you up to the second floor, then you just have to head down to the end of THAT hall and take the left up another staircase and, boom, you’re there.”

“That’s a lot of stairs.”

Despite this, at no point does Quincy have the thought that he could just leave now.

Just, not show up to the interview.

For all his earlier hesitance and regret... he just keeps walking.

As he passes door after door, pausing briefly to admire the architecture -the woodwork is gorgeous to say the least- and breathe in the age of the building itself…

No, that thought doesn’t occur to him until he’s actually sitting in the interview, with an older woman in a modest black dress and a tight bun that makes Quincy’s head hurt imagining the pull of it as if it were tearing at his own scalp.

Sister Imperator.

She’s… a lot more intimidating in person than she sounded like she would be on the phone.

She'd sounded rather jovial and kind during their initial conversation, but now, Quincy isn't so sure.

He blames it on nerves.

She adjusts her reading glasses and sets his paperwork down.

“Well, you certainly have the necessary qualifications for the job, although, I do have to wonder… you’re leaving a job you’ve had for nearly a decade now for one that pays…” she folds her hands on top of the desk between them, “I have to ask, what made you answer our advertisement, Mr. Byrne?”

“I attended university with this specific line of work in mind.” Quincy replies, sitting up straight, “A-Although I’ve been working as a bartender for some time now, and I would be making more if I continued to do so… I decided some time ago that I needed a career change.”

“Any particular reason for that that you would be willing to share?”

Quincy shakes his head, “It’s… a personal matter, and won’t have any bearing on my performance.”

“I see.” she looks back down at his paperwork, “Right then, just a couple more questions.”

Quincy nods.

“Full disclosure before we begin, as you’ve probably already guessed based on aesthetics alone… we are a religious organization, no less legitimate than, say, the catholic church, but not quite so… Mn, prominent.” she says, clearly choosing her words carefully, “Will this be an issue for you, Mr. Byrne? We can assure you, that you needn’t subscribe to our views in order to work in our library, it is merely a matter of comfort for yourself, and to avoid the possibility of you treating our clergy discriminatorily. You may also choose not to answer.”

“I’m not particularly religious.” he replies, “I was raised Christian, but I suppose these days I would be considered an apostate? Yes.”

“And as far as your views on our religion thus far?”

“I will admit I was… taken aback… by what I saw in the foyer, but I have no ill feelings towards the people here.” he thinks back to the kindness he was shown earlier despite his obvious apprehension and doubt, “They, your clergy, have been… nice.”

“That is good to hear.” she says, smiling, though Quincy could have sworn he caught a glimpse of something… dark in her gaze before he spoke.

“Onto the next question: We have several semi-permanent residents here, so it is likely that you will be encountering them quite often-”

The rest of the interview goes…

It goes fine.

Quincy doesn’t have an expectations, but when Imperator quietly leans back in her chair, he thinks he definitely didn’t-

“Can you start tomorrow?”

“Y-Yes, but, don’t you have other applicants to-”

She shakes her head, “You’re the only one who replied, and I think it would be ridiculous to let you go.”

He swallows, “So then… I got the job?”

“Yes.”

Quincy visibly relaxes.

“How about a tour of the building?”

.

.

“And this is the dining hall.” Brother Elijah -the figure who had given him the bear cookies earlier, now dressed in a much less ominous, but still quite formal looking cassock- says, gesturing through the open doors to a surprisingly quaint looking dining room, “If you bring food with you, you can eat it here on your break, or you can take it outside and eat in the courtyard, that’s what a lot of us do when it’s nice outsi- Are you quite alright, Mr. Byrne?”

“This place is… way bigger than I expected.” Quincy breathes, “How are you not tired?”

Brother Elijah sets his hands on his hips, looking confident, “I can run the length of this building three times over in twenty minutes or so.”

“I timed it once out of curiosity!”

“I’m… whoo…” Quincy sits down on a nearby bench, Brother Elijah stands beside him, hands behind his back, “I don’t know when I got so out of shape.”

“Ehn, it happens. Once you hit thirty-five or so-”

Quincy coughs, “I’m twenty-seven.”

Brother Elijah’s eyebrows hit the ceiling, “Really?”

“I don’t know whether or not I should be offended, how old are you that you think thirty-five is old anyway?”

“Forty-eight. I’ll be forty-nine in August.”

Quincy makes a face.

“No…”

“Yes, actually!”

“You look younger than me!”

“I have a great skin care routine.” He shrugs, “I think it’s probably because I still have my hair intact, no gray hairs either… Ah, apologies…”

Quincy runs a hand through his hair, through the white patch in the front, “Ehn, I like my hair.”

An awkward silence fills the space between them.

“Um… Do you… Do you like working here, Brother Elijah?” Quincy asks when he’s finally feeling less winded.

The older man nods, “I’ve been here for quite some time now, and I don’t feel I’ll be leaving anytime soon. I have friends here, and, well, it’s certainly an interesting place to live.”

“You live here, too?”

“Many of us do.” he says, looking a little somber, “Some people come to us because they have nowhere else to go, and others, like myself, simply wanted a fresh start… If I might pry a little, could I ask you something?”

“Mn.” Quincy nods, “Go ahead.”

“Are you at all superstitious, Mr. Byrne?”

“Like, do I believe in ghosts and the supernatural? Or… like fortunes and such?” Quincy asks, crossing his legs, “I’ll admit I enjoy reading my horoscope in the paper now and then, but, well, I’ve never really put much stock in the paranormal.”

“I see.” the man smiles, unlike the sister’s smile, it seems wholly genuine and kind, “And what is your star sign?”

“Capricorn.”

“Ah, yes, the sea goat. An interesting one that, being an earth based sign, yet being depicted by a creature you’d sooner see in the water than on land.” He chuckles, “And what did the paper tell you today?”

“I think it was, ‘Something you lost will be returned to you.’, though it hasn’t happened yet, so…” Quincy shrugs, “Though, I don’t recall anything I could have lost either.”

“Is there anything you were hoping to have given back to you?”

“Nothing immediately comes to mind, no.” He says, standing up slowly, “What about you?”

“Hm?”

“Your star sign?”

“I am a leo, if I’m remembering correctly.”

Quincy hums, “I think your fortune for today was 'A new business venture will yield unexpected results’ or something like that… It’s all a bit silly, huh?”

“Indeed it is.” he laughs, then pauses, holding up a hand, “Listen.”

The sounds of a bell tolling echoes through the halls.

It chimes once.

Twice.

And then a third and finally time.

“3 o'clock on the dot.”

“It’s that late already?” Quincy blinks, “It feels like I only just got here…”

“Do you have somewhere else to be at the moment?”

“No, not really, I, uh, I worked closing at my old job last night.” he explains, “It’s been a while since I’ve really been up and at 'em at this time.”

“Ah, I see. We can finish up the tour when you return tomorrow.”

“Thank you, I look forward to it.”

Despite parting ways with Brother Elijah, Quincy finds himself lingering outside of the abbey, waiting for his ride to show up.

He hadn’t wanted to drive all the way out here in his own car… at least not yet, for a variety of reason, but mostly because he hadn’t wanted her to see him leave, to question where he was going or, worse yet, follow him there.

It would be easier to cuts ties with her, with the rest of them, too, if he could just… disappear.

Truth be told, he’d had to stop himself from asking Brother Elijah how one might go about moving into a place like the abbey.

He’s certain if he asked, he might be understanding of his circumstances, but Quincy…

He’d rather not get into all of that on the first day.

“Just… see if you like it, and go from there.” he tells himself, closing his eyes and letting out a deep exhale, “Just gotta wait it out.”

Checking his phone for the first time in hours, Quincy feels the tension build behind his brow as he sees how many missed calls he has, how many texts…

At some point, he’ll have to decide whether to just block them all or change his number.

Turning off his phone, Quincy sits down on the steps and waits.

It’s oddly peaceful out here, and the air feels crisp and clean.

It’s… it’s nice.

Watching the grass roll on a nearby hill, he can’t help but think…

“Shawn would have liked it here.”

He’s glad when the rain picks back up before the car arrives.

.

.

The abbey’s library is absolutely stunning.

He’d said as much when Brother Elijah brought him there after his interview, and, even now, nearly a month into his work, Quincy finds it just as magnificent and fantastical as the first time.

However…

“20 down, 6 letters, an old English word for church…”

Although Quincy loves the library, it’s not the most lively place.

Clergy come and go, and some linger to study books about this or that, Quincy isn’t sure what the primary focus of their research is, but much of it involves skimming through heavy resource books that are all written in some archaic language he cannot begin to understand.

Thankfully, the spines are labeled in English, or, at the very least, Latin.

A bell tolls, signifying midday, and the assembled clergy begin closing their books, setting them off to the side, shuffling their notes and gathering their belongings to leave.

Quincy nods to them as they depart, and receives small waves and warm smiles in response.

The siblings are always very respectful and polite, to the extent that it makes him a little nervous.

Despite having left the faith years ago, Quincy had grown up Christian, and is still struggling to unlearn the more “us or them” teachings his church had beaten into his head as a child and young teenager.

It is not an easy thing to do, and his mind often swirls with negative thoughts and feelings that he tries not to let color his opinions of the people around him, but he has to try.

Quincy stretches, then stands slowly, rolling up his sleeves.

“Right, let’s get to it…”

Tidying up the library requires Quincy’s full attention, having not fully acquainted himself with the layout, he can easily sort the books themselves by their DDCs but…

“Why are none of these shelves labeled??”

“Mn, I believe it’s because the late Papa Emeritus III found the placards too plain, and thought that they ‘detracted from the aesthetics’…” Brother Elijah had told him during lunch one afternoon, “Which is… funny, considering I do not think he spent much time actually in the library… at least not to utilize the resources there.”

“What was he doing then??” Quincy had questioned, “Just sitting about?”

“Ah, no…” Brother Elijah trailed off, “Well, kind of. He was fond of… roleplay so to speak.”

Quincy is still not entirely sure what he meant by that.

What kind of so-called “roleplay” could you even do in a library??

He’d tried to ask Brother Elijah exactly that, but the older man waved him off, saying it was better if he didn’t know.

The same day, whilst cleaning, Quincy found a desk towards the back of the library, out of view, with… decidedly nail shaped indentations on the surface, as if someone had been gripping it tightly.

He’s still not sure what to do with this information, nor certain how or why he thinks it’s connected to the dead guy’s… roleplay.

Returning to the present, Quincy finds himself on the second floor, a single book remaining in his hands; It’s old and worn, and the sticker label marking where it belongs has long since faded beyond his ability to read.

He flips it open, examining cover to cover trying to find some marker or indication of where it belongs, but everything written inside -and indeed it is written, handwritten in a brownish ink- is in an illegible cursive scrawl.

If he didn’t know better, he’d think he accidentally snatched up one of the siblings’ notebooks, but the book was simply too old for that to be the case.

The paper, the bindings…

It’s a very old tome indeed.

Another bell tolls.

“I’ll figure this out later.” he tells himself, descending the staircase and depositing the book at the front desk beside his crossword puzzle, grabbing his bag and departing from the library… only to find the hallways packed with clergy members and much chatter.

Quincy hops to see over the crowd, but he can barely see passed the wall of people.

“What’s going on?” he asks, tapping the shoulder of a nearby sibling.

“The ghouls have returned!” they announce excitedly, “They’re finally back!”

“The what now?”

“The ghouls!”

Quincy blinks, “That… clears up absolutely nothing.”

“The ghouls are high ranking members of the church.” a now familiar voice explains, “They’re essentially celebrities here.”

Quincy tilts his head up in the crowd, making eye contact with Brother Elijah.

“So they’re kind of like… the 'popular kids’ here then?”

Brother Elijah chuckles, “Mn, not quite. They do have a rather large following, but that’s only natural, they are musicians after all, and everyone gets at least a little excited to see their favorite ones.”

Quincy hops to see over the crowd again, catching a glimpse of… well, more tops of heads, and one face towering above the assembled clergy.

He makes the briefest of eye contact with the man; He’s tall and lean, with a narrow face and long brown hair that looks oh so soft, and when he locks eyes with Quincy, it may be his imagination, but there’s the slightest hint of…

…Anger?

Quincy shivers, grateful, suddenly, for the wall of people between them.

He’s certain the other had scowled upon seeing him.

It could just be nerves, or his mind playing tricks on him and seeing hostility where there is none, but he doesn’t try to jump up to confirm either theory.

“Are you alright?” Brother Elijah asks, peering down at him worriedly.

“Ah, just… wondering when the crowd will clear up.” he says, waving off the other’s concerns, “I wanted to go eat my lunch.”

“If you say so.” he hums, “Here, I’ll clear a path. Stick close.”

With that, Brother Elijah begins pushing his way through the crowd, and Quincy grabs the band around his cassock to keep them tethered together so he doesn’t get lost.

It doesn’t take long before they’ve popped free into the main corridor, taking the opposite path from the… the ghouls?

“W-Why are they called ghouls?” Quincy asks, letting go of Brother Elijah’s belt, “Is that, like, a status thing?”

“In a sense, yes.” he says, smoothing his uniform, “It’s hard to explain, and I’m not entirely sure how much I can tell you about that, honestly.”

“It’s another one of those, 'You have to be in the know.’ kind of deals, yeah?”

He nods.

“It’s better if, for now, you just make yourself aware of their presence and avoid them when you can.” he goes on to say, “They’re not bad people, nor particularly dangerous, but they can be a bit… much.”

“You forget I used to work in a bar, Brother.” Quincy points out, “I’ve likely dealt with similar or even worse.”

“Still… I think it would be better if you didn’t involve yourself with them more than you have to.” the other states, his brow furrowed.

He seems genuinely worried about the idea of him interacting with the ghouls, but that just makes Quincy… curious.

However.

“Mn, I probably won’t see them, so it’s fine.” he says, “One of them, the really tall one, he gave me an odd look and, frankly, I don’t want to find out what it means..."

“Ahh, that would be Mountain… He’s a fairly easygoing person, but he can be rather… abrasive at first.”

“His name is… Mountain?”

“Yes. Actually, all of them have sort of-" Brother Elijah searches for the right word to use, "-nicknames?”

“I se-” Quincy’s stomach growls loudly, cutting himself off.

Brother Elijah smiles.

“Come now, let’s get some food in you.”

.

.

Returning to the library after lunch -mostly simple, easy to eat snacks like fruit or cheese for Quincy, and a sandwich from the kitchen for Brother Elijah- Quincy settles back behind the front desk, pulling out the book from earlier and tries to glean any new information from it that he can.

The letters seem to swirl on the pages nonsensically at first, but the longer he focuses on them, the more recognizable the shapes become.

He can tell which are meant to be lowercase 'q’s, 'p’s, 'g’s, and 'y’s now at the very least.

But none of the words are familiar to him.

He sets the book down again, taking out his crossword again.

“13 across, 7 letters, a rumbling during a storm…”

“Thunder.” a low voice booms, “…do you always do puzzles while working?”

Quincy startles, almost falling out of his chair, but a long arm reaches across the desk, grabbing the back of it.

"Ah."

Quincy's eyes widen.

"You should be more careful."

It's... it's the man from before.

It's Mountain.

"I-I'm sorry-"

“You need not apologize to me.” the tall man sighs, “But, really, you should pay more attention to your surroundings, how could you not hear me come in?”

Quincy squirms in his seat, he feels like a little kid caught doing something wrong.

“I… I was distracted.”

“Yes, by your puzzle.” he states coolly, gesturing at the paper, now spread out across the floor behind the desk, dropped in his fright.

“I’m sorry.” he apologizes again, “I-I… were you trying to get my attention? I’m sorry…”

Mountain frowns, righting the chair and pulling Quincy back towards the desk in one fluid motion.

Why is he so strong??

Why is he so… fucking tall??

Quincy gulps.

“I just wanted to say hello, but you seemed to be off in your own little world, so I thought I might snap you back to reality before someone more important found you goofing off on the job.” he chastises, clicking his teeth for emphasis, “You haven’t been here nearly long enough to get away with this sort of thing, so you have to be careful, yes?”

Quincy nods quickly, “Yes, Sir.”

Mountain’s face contorts more, if possible, becoming even more annoyed.

“Don’t call me 'sir’.”

“What… what should I call you then?” he asks, side-eyeing the massive hand still latched to the back of the chair.

“Mountain.”

“Mountain… I’m…”

“Quincy Byrne.” Mountain drawls, tilting his nametag upwards with a single, large finger from his free hand, “I want us to be friends, so, be careful not to get yourself into trouble, alright?”

Friends?

He-

With that, Mountain releases him, standing to his full height, and ascends the stairs to the second floor, leaving Quincy to babble uselessly.

“What.”

What was that?!

Despite Mountain having righted his chair before leaving him, Quincy still bails out onto the floor with a loud crash.

“Ow…”

“…Are you alright?” Mountain calls from the upstairs railing.

“Y-Yeah, I’m great.”

Quincy sits on the floor for a moment, trying to regain his composure.

What even…

Grabbing his paper from the floor, Quincy goes to stand, bumping his head on the underside of the desk.

Thud.

A loud sigh echoes through the silence of the library.

Oi.

“Be quiet down there, some of us are actually trying to get work done.”

Quincy bristles, “I-”

“Shhhh-”

Did he just shush him???

Ugh…

Quincy picks up his chair and sits back down, about to toss his paper in the bin, when…

“Oh, 20 down…”

“Cirice.” Mountain says from somewhere above, “And do learn to read in your head.”

Quincy bites his tongue to keep from screaming.

[violetnerves]

Bully: Battle Royale, Chapter 1 -

Nothing will ever be the same again.

So I finally got this done, been struggling with feeling inspired to write for a while since my dog fell sick and couldn't walk without help anymore. We were forced to put her to sleep yesterday, and I only just got the inspiration to finish this a few hours ago.

It's a shame, she was a good dog, but all good things come to an end. I feel like I'm taking it rather well, but i'm also the type of person to have the grief hit later on rather than immediately.

It seems rather gruesome to write a fic like this considering all that, but I also feel like it kind of helps... in a weird way.

Anyway, Content warning for the following, I'll also put some of it in the tags too:

Death of a Major canon character.

Blood, like, a lot of it.

Graphic descriptions of injuries/wounds (Might be more applicable in future chapters, not so much here.)

Some foul language.

Honestly, if the deaths of teenagers/children is something that you have a difficult time reading about, you'll want to avoid this fic.

Word count: 2657 (It's short, but I consciously wanted to avoid what happened with the other fic where I had to split chapter 1 into two parts. Future chapters will be longer.)

Like my other fic, I'll also be posting this on Ao3.

Jimmy hated Mondays.

No, really. He did. There was just this suffocating atmosphere of suckage that, well, sucked any and all kind of positive feeling that you could get throughout the day. Besides, what good thing ever happened on a Monday? Exactly! Absolutely nothing!

Sunday was second to it as far as terrible days went, but that was only because the next day after that one was Monday.

Sure, it wasn't an unpopular opinion, but saying it out loud was dumb. It was like saying the sky was blue or that water was wet. The only appropriate response, in Jimmy's opinion at least, for saying you didn't like Mondays was the following:

*"Well, obviously no one likes Mondays **moron**. Who does?"*

...

Why did that sound exactly like something Gary would say?

Why would he even think about that *snake*?

He shook his head, trying to force his thought process onto something else.

This wasn't an ordinary, typical Monday at school, no, of course it wasn't. The entire student body of Bullworth Academy were shoved onto two garbage heaps of buses - Aside from the Preps, who got their own, new and fancy private bus - both of which might as well have been 20 miles away from breaking down and stranding them all in the middle of nowhere.

Jimmy sighed and leaned his head on the bus window as his classmates wreaked havoc all around him. Trent and Wade were throwing Bucky's glasses back and forth to each other across the left section bus seats while Bucky himself tried - and failed - to catch them. Johnny and Lola were - not so quietly - making out with each other in the other seat in the aisle next to him, and the rest of the Greasers were busy yelling at some passing drivers about how shit their cars looked. Several of the Jocks were tossing a mini toy football all around the bus, occasionally - most likely purposefully - hitting one of the nerds with it. The Nerds didn't have much of a way of defending themselves since they weren't allowed to bring any of their gadgets along.

Jimmy was left without a lot of the stuff he'd collected as well, having decided to just leave it all back in his dorm room. It's not like anybody could mess with anything there. The whole school was allowed to go on the field trip, regardless of grades. He'd thought that was a little odd, but he figured it was because the trip was meant to be educational rather than actually fun.

He wasn't sure what the Preps were up to. Most likely, they were all enjoying the experience of having their own bus to their inbred, spoiled rotten selves.

"You boys! Cut that out! You're old enough to know better than to throw things at people!" Mr. Galloway could be heard yelling from up front, his tone of voice sounding more irritated and tired than usual. The Jocks must've noticed his irritable tone as well, or they might've cooperated out of respect for one of the few nice teachers at the Academy, because after that, the toy hadn't been thrown around anymore.

Where Jimmy was seated, he was able to make out some irritated grumbles from Galloway, muttering about needing another drink, and Ms. Philips coaxed him off of the idea.

Galloway was clearly having a pretty bad hangover. This caused Jimmy to feel a bitter disappointment in the man, something that he was unfortunately used to feeling when it came to the adults in his life. He was miffed that Galloway was still drinking despite everything the boy had been doing to get him to stop. But he guessed there was only so much a kid like him could do. It was saddening that one of the few teachers who actually gave a damn about his students acted like a mean and irritable drunkard half of the time.

At least Ms. Philips was along for the trip as well, sitting right next to Galloway. She'd be an extra pair of eyes to make sure the English teacher didn't try and sneak a drink during the trip.

"Hey Jimmy?" Pete Kowalski said, concern in his tone. As Jimmy's friend, maybe the only real friend he had so far that hadn't been made by brute force, he sat next to Jimmy on the bus. Jimmy wasn't sure if he liked sharing a seat all that much, but he supposed it being Pete was better than anybody else.

Jimmy lifted his head up slightly from the window, looking over at his slightly younger friend.

"Yeah, Pete?" Jimmy said, slightly grumbling the first part of the sentence out.

"Are you ok? I dunno, you just seem kind of distracted by something."

Jimmy shrugged, leaning away fully from the window and sitting up in his seat. At first, Jimmy wanted to stay quiet and avoid answering, but he felt that Pete would think he was ignoring him. Which... well, that's pretty much what he would be doing.

"It's nothing, just..."

Jimmy knew he shouldn't look back at part of the source of his bad mood, but...

Well, there was something bothering him. Ok, not something, *someone*.

Jimmy turned in his seat to glare at the occupant of the last bus seat at the back of the bus. There, Gary Smith sat alone. His gaze faced the window, watching the scenery as it passed by and ignoring the shenanigans of the rest of their group.

It was stupid, Jimmy had hardly known Gary for barely a month, and they'd been enemies for longer than they'd been friends. Yet... aside from the fact that it was a Monday, as well as the dumb crap the other students were doing around him... Gary's betrayal still nagged and scratched at him the most.

Mainly from how spontaneous and, frankly, stupid it was. Gary seemed to pride himself on his intelligence and how he always thought ahead compared to the "morons" around him. But... he was by himself. The only other kid that actually sat alone was Russell, who was forced to since his size caused him to take up the entire bus seat. In Gary's case, it was because nobody in Bullworth actually liked him enough to sit by him. How could he even think he could become king of the school when no one even liked him?

"It's Gary, isn't it? He's still bugging you."

Jimmy turned to Pete, who seemed to lean back at his intense gaze.

"What! No, I don't care about that chump! Screw him!" Jimmy replied, following it up with a scoff, "Though i'm sure Gary *wishes* I cared that much about him. You remember how offended he got when I called him *boring*?"

Pete seemed to relax a bit more.

"Ha, yeah. I actually thought he was gonna hit you right after that. I'm surprised he didn't, then again, Gary's always been kind of hesitant about getting into an actual fight."

"Yeah, cause he's a coward. If he wasn't such an asskisser to Crabblesnitch, I'd beat the crap out of him."

Bucky's glasses flew just above Jimmy's head, and he snatched them out of the air. Wade, who'd been the one to toss them, yelled out:

"Hey Hopkins! Toss those to Trent!"

Jimmy frowned, turning around with his knees on his seat and his arms laid on the back to face Wade. He got a side eye from Constantinos, who sat right behind him, but he didn't care much. It's not like his respect mattered much. The kid was no better than Gary, except he happened to be a lot less bold about insulting people.

"Will you dumbasses cut it out! What'd I say about picking on the nerds? Do you want me to kick your ass *again*?"

Wade frowned, but rather than actually do anything, he sat back in his seat. Trent flipped Jimmy off but got back in his seat just as quickly as Wade did.

Jimmy smirked and looked over to Bucky.

"Here, catch."

From 3 seats away, Jimmy tossed Bucky's glasses back to him. Rather than actually catch them, though, the glasses slipped from Bucky's hands and fell to the ground, cracking the left lense right in the middle.

Jimmy noticed but didn't much care, sitting right back in his seat.

"I swear, some people just never learn."

Pete nodded, yawning. Jimmy thought that was kind of odd. Did he not get enough sleep last night? Then again, he did have Gary for a roommate, Jimmy wouldn't be surprised if that weird mumbling Gary had kept him up late.

"Yeah... The kids around her are... So stubborn... man, I'm kinda tired..." Pete mumbled, already appearing half asleep. He looked like he was struggling to even sit up. "W-What about you?"

Jimmy was about to say he wasn't until he himself had yawned before he could. Suddenly, it seemed he was also on the verge of dozing off. This didn't seem right, Jimmy knew he'd gotten plenty of sleep last night. He'd clocked out at 7:30, right after a whole day of running around and doing errands for some extra spending money.

"Yeah... It's weird, I was gonna say no, but for some reason, I'm just feeling like I could pass out at any second... Weird... Huh?" Jimmy looked over to Pete, finding the latter boy passed out... along with Lola and Johnny, who were also passed out in their seat in the next aisle.

Jimmy had a bad feeling bubbling inside him, and despite being on the verge of passing out, he grabbed the back of his seat and struggled to lift himself up to get a look at the rest of the bus.

Every single student, as well as Mr. Galloway and Ms. Philips were in a deep sleep in their seats. He glanced over to Gary, who had his fingers gripping the window, as if he'd been trying to open it before succumbing to whatever had caused everybody else to pass out.

*'What the... Is there some kind of gas leak in the air? What's going on here?'*

Jimmy attempted to get out of his seat to reach the aisle, but his drowsiness won out. He fell, barely catching himself with his arms before even those had failed him. On the ground, he tried to get up again, but his eyelids grew heavier and heavier until he couldn't keep them up anymore.

*'What...'*

The thought barely registered in his head before he lost consciousness.

***

*Jimmy sat alone on a park bench.*

*He wasn't sure what he was doing there, but he had a feeling it didn't actually mean all that much. He was dreaming after all, and as far as he understood it, dreams and nightmares were just your brain throwing out stuff from your memories and smashing them together in your head to sort things out. At least that's what a therapist had told him once, in the one time he went.*

*He'd only gone once because mom had only really paid for one session. CPS had only really required her to take him one time, so that's the only time he'd ever seen a therapist.*

*Suddenly, he wasn't alone, and he turned to find his father sitting with him.*

*Well, not his dad, more like his dad's tattooed body from the shoulders down that Jimmy had only seen from a photo of him as a baby. From the neck up, it was Mr. Galloway's head, which... was a weird sight to look at, given how his bio dad's muscular frame compared to the rather gaunt Galloway was mismatched in the most uncanny way.*

*Jimmy grimaced.*

*"Ew."*

*"Look, I'm trying to work with what I've got here. It's not my fault your mother's taste in men is terrible." The voice that came out of Jimmy's pseudo father figure belonged to the hobo who lived behind the bus. Man, surely he could've had more to work with than that?*

*"Fine, but do you take constructive criticism?"*

*"Sure."*

*"You did a bad job."*

*"Aw, c'mon."*

*Jimmy frowned.*

*"What's up with all this, by the way? Why are you here? Or is asking that question just pointless?"*

*Jimmy's pseudo dad sighed, scratching his head.*

*"Who knows? I guess your brain felt like you needed a father figure at the moment to prepare you for what you might see once you wake up."*

*Jimmy leaned forward, rolling his eyes. So he wasn't even sure why he was here? Great.*

*"And why is that? I fell asleep on the school bus on the way for a friggin field trip to a museum. What could be so dangerous about that?"*

*Pseudo dad went quiet for a bit, sighing.*

*"I guess we'll figure that out soon enough. God help you James," as he called Jimmy "James" he briefly sounded like Galloway for a moment, and he began to disappear.*

*The dream began to break up, and as soon as Jimmy had arrived -*

He woke up.

Jimmy found himself sitting in a school desk, his head laying on the table. He lifted his head up and looked around. The rest of the class was in the room... as well as the townies? None of the townies were sat at a desk, instead the group were laying in a pile at the other side of the room. Mr. Galloway and Ms. Philips were nowhere to be found, something which gave Jimmy pause... as well as a terrible feeling to take over him.

He looked around the room, trying to get a sense of the area in case he could make a quick escape.

The room itself appeared to be an abandoned classroom, left to decay and be ravaged by God knows who. Some plants had grown in through the broken window panels at the right side of the classroom. The floor had visible holes in it, the stone broken either by disrepair or by anyone who explored the building.

"What the hell..." Jimmy muttered, turning his head as he heard someone mumbling. Just one row and two seats behind Jimmy, Russell lifted up his head. It was only then that Jimmy noticed the metal collars everyone in the room was wearing, and as he held his hand up to his own neck, he realised he was wearing one too.

Russell noticed his collar immediately, touching it.

"Huh?" Russell said. His fingers began to curl around the collar as if he was about to rip it off.

Without hesistation and fully going off of his gut feeling, Jimmy yelled out to Russell:

"H-hey Russell, don't pull on that!"

Russell didn't listen, didn't even really register Jimmy's voice at all. He gave the collar a hard tug, and Jimmy heard a loud crack as the pressure caused the metal to break.

Before Russell could even realise the repercussions of what he did, the collar *exploded.*

The sound of the blast woke everyone in the room up, and those in front of Russell got the worst of it as they were sprayed by Russell's arterial blood from his burst open neck. The big guy fell over on his desk, his life literally draining out of him and spewing out on the dirty, decrepid tile floor. The Townies awoke and scrambled to their feet at an almost unnatural speed, their eyes widening at Russell's corpse.

It only took a second of realization, before the scream of one of the girl's caused a panic, and all hell broke loose in the room as desks and furniture were toppled over and people scrambled and ran blindly around the room.

Jimmy hated Mondays, and this time, he felt that he had a good reason to at this very moment.

Nothing good happened on Mondays, and it didn't take Russell's gruesome death for Jimmy to realise that after today, nothing would ever be the same again.

[needs-to-stop-looking-at-yigas]

Hear me out

Muddlebud pollen sex

OP YOUR MIND SO FUCKING F A T. How you walk with a brain so fat? Let's GO!

Link snuck his way into the clan. He thought maybe they'd flag him down for his blonde hair, but nope! Fuckers just let him walk right in. He meant to just come in, steal some shit, get out. But basically he got himself into a mission with a blademaster, and a footsoldier. The blademaster nodded towards Link.

"You brought the bag, yes?"

He nodded.

"Good. Last time we forgot the bag, Sooga kinda got mad at us. Scared me."

The footsoldier nudged him with his elbow, definitely smirking under that mask.

"You gotta admit, he WAS kinda hot though~"

The blademaster folded his arms over his chest, huffing.

"But not hotter than me. Right?"

The footsoldier put his hand on his elbow, in almost pity, before shaking his head.

"No. It's SOOGA. Have you seen his ASS? I love you, banana muffin, but you're not hotter than Sooga, you need to come to terms with this."

The blademaster looked at Link, and he was scared he was somehow caught, before he asked his question.

"Newbie. Who's hotter, me our Sooga?"

Link sat there, awkwardly, before just giving him a thumbs up. The footsoldier scoffed, smacking the other's bicep.

"Don't put the new guy on blast! Either answer is WRONG!"

Link was expecting them to fight, and he wasn't gonna cap he was kinda uncomfortable, when the blademaster decided to de-escalate the situation himself with a huff.

"You know what. Let's just get this mission done, so we can just go home."

They kept walking on in silence, very awkward silence. The footsoldier stuck by his side, and kept his voice low so the bigger one couldn't hear.

"Sorry about him- you jerk off to a picture of Sooga ONCE and he suddenly thinks you're cheating on him. We haven't fucked in like, two months, and I think it's stressing us out."

Link couldn't help but feel bad. He had a soft spot for couples, he couldn't help it. Eventually, they made it to a location. You know those big, weird, red roots you often find in the depths? Well there was one HERE. And surrounding it, was a field of muddlebuds. The blademaster nodded towards Link.

"We need to collect these. Be super careful, if the pollen gets inhaled, you'll freak out, and then there's no telling what could happen."

Link obeyed, helping them pluck the buds and stuffing them in the bag. Again, there was silence, before the footsoldier sighed.

"You still mad at me?"

"Yes. Because I get to be mad. I'M buff! I'm big! In ALL the right places too!"

"Can you not, in front of the new guy?"

"Oh look who's talking!"

Oh god, this was the worst case of him third wheeling he'd ever experienced. They were still arguing, looking as if they'd straight up fight. So, Link decided to help. Well, do SOMETHING. He followed his impulsive thoughts, and he 'accidentally' dropped the bag by their feet. A giant, glittery puff of purple pollen exploded right under them, with all three of them trying desperately to keep themselves from breathing it in. Unfortunately, it was too late.

Link's mind got foggy. He felt...really confused. So confused, he grabbed onto the nearest thing he could. Something...soft. Warm. Big. He felt hands at his hips, almost protectively.

"H-hey. You okay? Breathing in all of that isn't good for you."

Link didn't know why he did what he did. But his hands found their way to his chest, giving them a squeeze. God, so soft, so FULL. The blademaster chuckled, pulling him till their fronts were touching.

"This...is a weird time for you to suddenly touch me again. Not that I mind."

"You sure?"

There was the footsoldier, coming up from behind him. He felt something rubbing up against his back, and he sort of had an inkling of what it was.

"Don't...mind at all."

Don't ask Link how it happened. But suddenly, he was sandwiched between them, legs lifted up off the ground. There was a tear at his uniform, letting his cock and his ass be exposed to the elements. Link shouldn't be doing this, shouldn't let the blademaster push his mask aside to shove his tongue into his mouth.

"God, you feel tighter than usual. I'm...kinda wonderin' if imma fit."

Link felt a tip pressed against his hole, and he should stop them, but his body didn't let him. He felt it pushed inside of him. That wasn't the hard part. The hard part, was his friend.

"I know...imma fit. You're SO good at taking me."

The other's dick was WAY bigger. As in, Link had a death grip on the other's shoulders as it joined the other, stretching his poor little asshole. It hurt, but he didn't care. He just cared about these two different cocks currently fucking him. He cared about the big, fat tongue currently fucking his mouth. Cared about the teeth nibbling at his neck.

"Fuck, I already wanna cum, I already wanna cum so bad..."

"You missed me that much? You never cum this fast."

"I did. I missed this ass, I missed how tight you are and how you squeeze around me. Lemme cum, I need it."

Oh god, he was gonna cum in his ass. This footsoldier was gonna cum in his ass, and this guy was telling him it was okay! Like it was his own body to decide what to do with. Link was tempted to tell them to stop, when the cum filled him up inside. It was hot, it seeped out of his ass and probably onto the other's cock. Okay, maybe he could just. Let whatever happens happens-

"Can...Can I finish in your mouth? Please? I like your mouth."

The guy didn't even wait for a response. Suddenly, he was dropped to the ground, and a cock was shoved right into his mouth. It was done unceremoniously, roughly, with a big hand gripping onto his hair. It was a tight, possessive, aggressive. Link loved it. He didn't care that those heavy balls were smacking against his chin, didn't care that he kept gagging till his throat hurt. Link only had one thought in mind.

That he loved cock.

He loved cock, loved the smell of it, the taste, and the feeling of so much cum being forced down his throat. It slid down his throat, pooled into his stomach. The cock slowly pulled out of his mouth, resting on his face. It was wet, steaming hot, still pulsing.

"Oh no."

"Did we just. Oooh my god."

The pollen seemed to have startee to dissipate, and the two of them looked upon him, cocks out and horrified.

"We just. Fucked the new guy."

"We did. We fucking did. Oooh my god, Kohga is gonna kill us."

"What do you expect us to do?! God, this is all your fault."

"M-MY FAULT?! Are you serious?!"

"If you weren't a pervert, I wouldn't have...wouldn't..."

Link got bored in their argument, and decided to entertain himself, by suckling his balls. The hair, the sweat. It was all SUCH a delight. The footsoldier sighed, almost annoyed.

"Why don't I just join our new friend here, and we just put the whole thing past us?"

"H-hey, no, stop it, you pervert-"

The footsoldier joined him, on his knees, suckling on his balls alongside Link, and for the other's amusement, occasionally kissed Link's cum coated lips. Maybe muddling was a good thing afterall.