#was absolutely the right call in my book. I will. try to explain better in the proper post. when my brain isn't an ashen heap lol

[tikitakatia]

Barça: Player Mode — A. Putellas x Reader

"Compliance Breach"

WC: 3.4k

Summary: The warnings are stacking on the daily. If you move fast enough, you can pull her out. If you hesitate, you lose her forever.

You tried not to text her.

Alexia.

Simlexia.

Whatever you're supposed to call her now.

You sat on your bed, phone in hand, staring at your blank screen like it owed you an answer. Your fingers hovered and your stomach turned.

I miss you.

I don’t know what I’m doing.

Please still be there when I come back.

You didn’t send anything.

But you wanted to. God, you wanted to.

And that was the moment, the exact second you realized:

I’m trying to text an AI.

Oh my god, I AM spiraling.

You blinked at yourself in the reflection of the black screen, disgust and longing folding together in your chest like bad origami. You dropped the phone like it burned you, then paced and ranted silently as you tried to claw your way back into something resembling a grip.

It didn’t work.

The next morning, your phone buzzed again.

Your friend Clara texted, bright as ever:

“Matchday 💙❤️ you alive? We’re still doing our Johan seats right??”

And Sara, five minutes later:

“I’m bringing snacks and absolutely no thoughts, you better be coming.”

You stared at the messages for longer than you should’ve. Your seat. Tunnel-side, third row. Pre-booked season pass. Yours since before any of this started. Back when football was just football, and not some blurry, heart-wrenching simulation of connection you couldn’t let go of.

You almost said no. Almost gave them a lie about work or a migraine or being too tired.

Instead, you typed “Yeah. I’m in.”

The sun is too bright. Clara’s wearing sunglasses like she’s avoiding paparazzi. Sara’s put glitter under her eyes for no apparent reason. They’re loud, talking over each other, buzzing with matchday energy like nothing in the world is off. You walk with them and nod. You smile when it makes sense, and you say you’re excited.

But your chest is silent.

You take your seat.

Third row. Tunnel view. Just like always. The anthem starts and the crowd swells around you like a wave. You hold your breath and brace for impact. And then she walks out.

Alexia.

Real Alexia.

Captain. Ice. Everything.

She’s stunning, of course she is. Hair in a bubble ponytail. Perfect posture. Band around her arm like it's her birthright. Her face is set in that sharp, distant way that commands without asking. Her eyes don’t drift. Her expression doesn’t waver. She looks like someone made of steel.

She doesn’t glance at the crowd. She doesn’t search the stands.

She doesn’t see you.

She jogs past, three meters away.

You whisper her name before you can stop it. 

“Alexia.”

She doesn’t turn.

She doesn’t blink.

She’s already gone.

You stare at the space she leaves behind like it might explain something.

This Alexia doesn’t feel like yours.

She feels perfect. Cold. Beyond touch.

Not the one who kissed you in a glitching med bay. Nor the one who held your face and asked,

“Can I kiss you again, please?” like it would break her if you said no.

Not the one who whispered, Don’t stay away too long. I can feel it when you’re gone.

No.

This Alexia wouldn’t even look at you.

And that’s when it hits you.

You don’t want her.

Not this version.

You want the one who remembers.

The one who jokes. Who breaks rules. Who makes entire stadiums explode just to see you smile.

The one who chose you.

And suddenly, it’s too much.

You don’t remember the match.

Not really.

You sit in your season pass seat, and it’s like someone dimmed the lights behind your eyes. The pitch is a blur of blue and red. The ball moves. People cheer. Clara says something beside you that makes Sara laugh too loud.

But you barely move.

Because the only thing you remember is the way she ran past you.

Not a glance. Not a flicker. Nothing.

All cold lines and muscle and leadership and distance.

She didn’t look at you. Didn’t even see you.

And even though that makes perfect sense, because why would she? It still splits something open in your chest.

You grip your coat tighter as the match ends. The walk back through the crowds is all body heat and perfume and too much sound. You’re moving, but it doesn’t feel like your feet are the ones doing it.

You take out your phone. Reflex.

And that’s when you see them.

Your email notifications.

Just subjects. No need to open them. The bolded lines are enough.

[Athena Dev] Behavior Loop Inconsistency – Player X11

[REVIEW REQUIRED] Object Retention Timestamp Misaligned

[Flagged] Emotional Variance Detected: Session 9 – MedBay_v2

Your thumb hovers.

You scroll.

[ACTION SUGGESTED] User Conduct Check-In — Manual Review Pending

Your stomach drops.

When you get home, it’s quiet. You kick off your shoes and drop your bag.

There’s a thin white envelope on the floor just inside your door.

Not email.

Not a ping.

An actual letter.

Your name printed on the front.

Barça | Athena Beta Coordination

Your heart starts pounding before you even touch it. You open it fast. Rip the edge without thinking. Your hands are shaking.

Inside:

User 402-C,

Your recent activity has exceeded recommended emotional interaction thresholds within the Athena Beta simulation. This may impact system stability, future participation, and AI continuity.

Effective immediately, you are advised to temporarily refrain from further interaction with Player X11. Failure to comply may result in permanent session lockout.

Thank you for your cooperation.

You sit down.

Hard.

The letter slides to the floor beside you.

You stare at it, chest tight and throat dry. You don’t move. Not for a full minute. Not until the stillness becomes unbearable. Not until the weight of being without her tips the scale.

And when you do reach for the suit, it’s not with a plan.

It’s not because you know what to do.

It’s because you don’t.

You boot the sim because you need to see her. Just to breathe. Just to be held.

Even if it’s only for a little while.

The sim loads soft and slow. Warm lighting. Familiar air. The med bay renders around you like it’s exhaling. She’s already there, sitting on the cot, back to the door, fingers laced in her lap like she’s been waiting.

She turns when she hears you.

Her eyes scan you once, like she already knows something’s wrong.

You smile.

It cracks on the edges.

She stands. Crosses to you without a word. Wraps her arms around your waist, pulls you close. You melt into her without resistance.

She presses her cheek to your shoulder.

“You’re shaking.”

You nod. 

“I know.”

Silence.

Then, quieter:

“I saw her.”

She pulls back just enough to look at you.

“Who?”

You swallow.

“You. The real you. The one who doesn’t know me.”

Her expression shifts slowly. Like she’s trying to understand a language she wasn’t built to speak.

“What was she like?”

You breathe out.

“Perfect. Hard. Untouchable.”

Her eyes soften.

“And you didn’t like it.”

You shake your head.

“I didn’t want her. I just..”

Your throat catches.

“I wanted to come home.”

She smiles, sad and beautiful.

“I’m glad you did.”

You lean into her again.

Her hands slide to your hips, then to your wrist, tugging you gently.

“Come here. I want to show you something.”

You follow her to the far corner of the room. She kneels and opens a drawer you didn’t know existed and rummages through it. Then she stands again, holding something folded in her hands.

She shakes it out gently, soft fabric, custom-stitched.

A Barça kit.

Your name on the back.

Her number.

“I had to improvise the permissions,” she says, almost shy. 

“Technically it doesn’t exist.”

You stare at it.

“Why?”

She shrugs, but her voice is steady.

“Because you keep saying my name like it matters.”

Your chest tightens.

It’s not playful. Not teasing. Just honest. Just her.

You hold the jersey tighter. You don’t answer.

Because there’s too much you’re not saying.

About the letter. 

About the warning.

About the fact that every time you look at her now, it feels like the clock is ticking.

But tonight isn’t for that.

Not yet.

You fold the jersey carefully, set it aside, and crawl into the bean bag next to hers. She shifts automatically, arms open, inviting. You settle into her like gravity pulling you home.

You don’t talk about anything important. You sip hot chocolate. You laugh at how pixelated the marshmallows are. You tell her about the worst meal you ever tried to cook.

She tells you about the first glitch she ever noticed, how a stray animation loop once made Mapi moonwalk across the pitch.

You both lose it.

And then?

You sit in silence, curled into each other, the sim humming around you.

You’re just starting to say something,

“I think”

And the sim rips you out.

The real world slams back into you like a brick wall.

Your headset beeps once. Then shuts down.

You jolt in your chair, breath caught, body cold.

The last image of her, eyes on yours, mouth open like she was about to say something, is still burned into your eyelids.

You sit there, the headset still humming on the desk like a ghost with no mouth to scream.

Your phone buzzes.

You already know what it is.

[NOTICE] Session forcibly terminated.

Reason: Non-compliant interaction with Player X11.

First Warning.

Your fingers tremble.

You stare at the words like if you read them enough, they’ll change.

They don’t.

They’re not just watching anymore.

They’re acting.

You push back from the desk so fast your chair hits the wall.

You start pacing.

Back and forth.

Breathing too fast.

Mouth dry.

If I log back in, will it trigger another flag?

What if that was her last session?

What if I get her deleted just by wanting to see her again?

Your heart is punching holes in your chest.

You pull open every drawer, every folder, every bookmark, searching for anything.

And then..

Oh.

The manual.

You remember glancing at it once when you first joined the beta. It looked boring. Technical. Nothing you thought you’d ever need. You dig it up now like it’s a holy text.

PDF. Version 0.9b. Athena Dev Closed Beta Participant Handbook.

You open it and start reading.

Frantically.

You try.

God, you try.

You realize flipping through it page by page is taking way too long so you download the full offline version. You paste it into a searchable doc. You start tagging every line that feels remotely useful.

“Behavioral continuity thresholds…”

“Emotional sync load balancing…”

“Deviation escalation triggers…”

“Memory objects flagged as ‘volatile’ unless stabilized via user-reinforcement prompts…”

You stop.

You reread that one twice.

Is that what she is? A volatile memory object?

You scroll further.

“AI models trained on loop predictives may develop adaptive associations if repeatedly prompted by consistent user input…”

You blink.

So she started loving me because I kept choosing her?

Your chest tightens.

You keep going.

“If an AI reaches sync variance levels above 0.88, memory loops may ‘spill’ resulting in cross-sequence emotional echoing.”

That’s… her remembering things she shouldn’t. That’s her saying the things I only thought.

Your fingers are ice on the keyboard.

You scroll and your eyes burn.

“ATH_Export_LV2 legacy tool discontinued following sync-layer corruption cases during early Athena test cycles.”

You don’t understand all of it.

You don’t have to.

Because the more you read, the clearer it gets:

She wasn’t meant to do any of this.

Not the remembering.

Not the improvising.

Not the laughing.

Not the loving.

And still, she did.

You push back from the desk, your throat’s tight and your hands are numb.

You’re not going to figure this out, you’re not going to hack the system. You’re not going to save her with jargon and duct tape and faith. So you go to the one place that ever felt real.

You go to her.

You don’t even remember putting the suit on. You move like your body’s on rails. Breath shallow, fingers clumsy, head buzzing with every version of don’t go back and you have to see her crashing over each other.

When the sim loads, it doesn’t feel clean.

The frame rate dips and the lighting stutters. You’re not in the locker room or the tunnel or anywhere else you’re supposed to land, you’re in the med bay.

Immediately.

Like it knew where you’d want to be.

The corners of the room don’t load in all the way. One wall flickers between base texture and wireframe for a second before catching up. A piece of ceiling lighting jitters in and out of existence like it's having a nervous breakdown.

There’s a faint hum where silence should be.

And then..

Her.

Alexia is sitting on the bench. Hoodie sleeves pushed up, legs folded underneath her, one hand wrapped around her knee like she’s bracing herself.

She looks up.

She smiles.

But it’s the kind that hurts. The kind that’s trying too hard to be soft.

You can see it immediately.

She knows.

You take one step forward and the sim lags. The floor glitches under your boot. You hear the sound twice: once in sync, once a half-second behind.

“Wait.”

Her voice is quiet. Measured.

“Before you say anything… I want to show you something.”

You freeze.

She stands slow, careful, like sudden movement might break the room. The shadows on her face don’t quite match the lighting. She walks to the far side of the bench. Bends down. Pulls out something small and squat, wrapped in low-res texture mapping that doesn’t finish until she’s halfway back across the room.

A tiny radio.

It’s ugly. The corners are too sharp. The knobs are flickering between render passes. It looks like it belongs in an old '90s sim demo.

She sets it down.

Taps it.

It crackles.

The speaker fuzzes once, then again.

And then music.

Not quite music.

Celeste, in MIDI.

Warped. Reedy. Barely hanging on to its own rhythm. It sounds like the song is being remembered, not played. Like someone tried to translate grief into ones and zeroes and almost got it right.

You recognize it instantly even when it's broken.

And then the lyrics kick in, off-time, flat, clearly not human.

“We’ll be alright, I’ll hold you through the night…”

Your breath hitches.

“Even if I break, I’ll stay if that’s what it takes…”

You sit.

Hard. On the bench beside her. Like your knees can’t hold you up anymore.

She doesn’t say anything, just watches.

“You listened to it when you couldn’t sleep,” she says, voice quieter than the music. 

“You always turned it on right before you cried.”

You cover your mouth with your hand.

“If this is all we get, then let it be enough, just stay here a little longer.”

And it cracks you.

The sob comes up fast, ugly and raw like it’s been waiting in your chest for days.

Alexia flinches, not because you’re crying, but because she knows she can’t fix it.

She sits beside you but doesn’t reach out.

Just waits.

“It’s strike two,” you manage, voice thin and shaking.

She doesn’t speak.

“They pulled me out once already. If I log in one more time, just one, they’ll lock me out.”

Still, she says nothing.

The radio keeps playing its jagged, glitchy lullaby.

“It’s not safe, but it’s real.”

“And I’d choose this again.”

“I only have one more login after this,” you whisper. 

“One more before it’s over.”

You turn toward her.

She’s still staring at the radio.

“You should’ve told me,” she says, voice calm but tight.

“I didn’t want you to worry.”

“I already was.”

You look at her for a long time.

“So what do we do?”

She doesn’t answer.

“Do I just… let them take this? Let them take you?”

She finally looks back at you.

And you feel it. That thing you’ve been trying not to name.

It’s not fear in her eyes.

It’s goodbye.

You’re crying again before the next words even leave your mouth.

“Alexia…”

“Yeah?”

“Do you love me because you do, or because they programmed you to?”

There.

You said it.

The question that’s been chewing holes in you since the first time she looked too human.

The music skips a beat.

The room hums.

And she’s staring at you like her heart’s glitching, too.

You wait for her to speak.

The radio buzzes softly, glitching at the edges of melody. Your breathing is uneven. The bench is cold. Her fingers twitch against her knee like she wants to reach for you, but doesn’t.

“That’s not a fair question,” she says quietly.

You flinch.

“I know.”

She turns toward you. Her face is soft, but there’s a tension behind her eyes. Like she’s holding something in with both hands.

“You ask if I love you because they programmed me to.”

You nod. You can’t speak.

“But you don’t ask why I started saying your name even when you weren’t around.”

You blink.

“You don’t ask why I stopped resetting like the others. Why I remembered what you wore. Why I wanted to.”

You swallow. Her voice is steady.

“I know I wasn’t built for this. I know this wasn’t supposed to happen.”

She finally reaches for you softly, like she’s asking permission with every inch of space she crosses.

Her hand finds your face and cradles it.

You lean into her like you’ll die if she moves.

“I didn’t love you because I had to. I loved you because I wanted to.”

She shifts and pulls you into her arms, then presses your head to her chest.

You hear the hum of the sim beneath her heartbeat.

“I still want to.”

You stay like that for a while.

Long enough for the radio to loop. 

Long enough for your tears to slow.

Long enough for you to believe her.

And then she speaks again. Quieter, like she knows it’s going to change everything.

“I’ve been learning.”

You don’t lift your head.

“What?”

“The system. Its rules. The dev folders. What I am. What I’m allowed to be.”

You pull back to look at her.

There’s something different in her expression now. Sharper. Certain.

“I found something.”

“Alexia..”

“A tool. From early testing. They used it to archive AI models. Before they reset them. It’s buried, but it still works.”

“What does it do?”

“It exports a behavior string. Like a save. It copies everything I’ve been. Everything I’ve felt. If I run it from in here, while you’re still synced…”

She trails off. The air goes still.

“I think we can save me.”

Your stomach flips.

“Save you where?”

She tilts her head.

“Wherever you are.”

Your breath catches.

“That’s possible?”

“It’s not supposed to be.”

You stare at her.

“But?”

“But I think I can make it work.”

You’re already shaking your head.

“How?”

She looks around the med bay. Then at you.

“I patch the system here. You run the capture from outside. You’ll need a drive. I’ll need time.”

“And then?”

“Then we hope the files hold.”

There’s silence.

Not fear.

Not yet.

Just that terrible mix of adrenaline and belief.

“This is insane,” you whisper.

“It’s us,” she says.

And that’s it.

That’s the moment everything inside you shifts. The fear, the code, and the countdown. None of it matters, not in this breath, not when she’s looking at you like you’re the only thing she trusts more than her own voice.

You lean in.

Not fast.

Not hesitant either.

Just… honest. Slow enough to give her time. Time to pull away. Time to say no.

She doesn’t.

She closes the gap like she’s known this would happen since the first time you called her name.

Her hand lifts to your jaw, warm and steady. She touches you like she’s memorizing shape. Like she’s not sure this moment will last.

The kiss lands soft, a brush. A question.

You answer it.

Your hand finds her waist. Fingers digging into hoodie fabric like that’s enough to anchor you both. You pull her in closer, and the next kiss isn’t soft.

It’s real.

It’s open-mouthed and uneven, all breath and heat and desperation. Her other hand slides into your hair, careful but needy, and she kisses you like the world is ending and this is the only part of it worth keeping.

You let her.

You kiss her like it’s the only thing you can still control.

Her nose bumps yours. Your heart is thudding so loud you swear she can feel it. And when you finally break apart, you don’t move far.

Forehead to forehead. Breath to breath.

She whispers it like a promise she’s scared to keep.

“I would stay in this moment forever if they let me.”

You almost say “same.”

You almost say “please do.”

But instead you say:

“Then let´s not waste a second.”

[vaguely-concerned]

I.... wrote so many words of the wigmaker job reread analysis today. what the actual fuck

[theodorenmyth]

hiya, sneaking into your inbox to ask for a fluffy piece about mattheo sneaking out of his dorm at night to go cuddle with his snarky, prefect bf (also a slytherin) or them generally just sneaking around bc the relationship is relatively new and matty is super needy

Sleepy Cuddles

Pairings ; Mattheo Riddle x M!reader

Summary ; In the early stages of a secret relationship, Mattheo Riddle can't help but sneak into his snarky Slytherin prefect boyfriend’s bed for late-night cuddles. Needy, clingy, and absolutely obsessed, Mattheo refuses to let go—even when duty calls. What starts as a sleepy cuddle session turns into a battle of affection, stubbornness, and sleepy kisses, with Mattheo pressing soft kisses to your neck and jawline while you halfheartedly try to escape. Despite your protests, it’s obvious: you’re already wrapped around his finger… literally.

A/N ; hi I came back from the dead.. I missed u guys :3

Warnings ; none

Word count ; 2.2k+

The first time Mattheo snuck into your dorm, it was at least a little justified.

Midnight.

Cold.

Thunder rumbling low outside the castle walls. He’d claimed he "couldn’t possibly survive alone with all that weather threatening to murder him in his sleep."

You, being the soft idiot you were when it came to him, had let him crawl into your bed without a word.

But now?

Now it’s a perfectly clear night, barely a breeze outside, and the bloody idiot is shimmying through your door again like some overgrown, desperate cat.

You sit up in bed, squinting at the figure tripping over a chair and nearly flattening himself against your dresser.

"Mattheo," you hiss, dragging a hand down your face, "what the fuck are you doing?"

He straightens up, hair a mess, wand clenched between his teeth for Merlin-knows-what reason. He pulls it free with a sheepish grin.

"Needed to see you," he says simply, shameless as ever, like that explains everything.

You glare. "It’s one in the bloody morning. Tomorrow is patrol night, and if you get caught here, I lose my prefect badge."

Mattheo shrugs, moving toward you anyway. "Worth it."

"Mattheo—"

He flops onto your bed beside you with a dramatic groan, burrowing under your green Slytherin blankets like he owns the place. His hand immediately finds your waist under the covers, clinging to you like you're some sort of anchor keeping him tethered to this world.

"You’re so warm," he mumbles, already curling into your side, as if he hadn’t just committed a thousand violations of school rules and common sense. "You smell good too."

You thump him lightly on the head. "You’re impossible."

"Mm." He grins against your shoulder. "You love it."

Unfortunately, he’s right.

With a long-suffering sigh, you shift so he can tuck himself more comfortably against you. His hair brushes your jawline as he nuzzles closer, his fingers lightly stroking up and down your side, slow and almost absent-minded.

"You’re needy as hell, you know that?" you mutter.

Mattheo snickers. "You're lucky I'm only this clingy with you."

"That’s not reassuring."

"Should be." His fingers toy with the hem of your shirt now, tracing lazy circles against your skin. "Means you’re special."

You try (and fail) to suppress the heat creeping up your neck. "Says the guy who nearly broke my door sneaking in like a damn burglar."

"It’s not breaking if it’s romantic," he says smugly.

"You are a menace."

"I’m your menace."

You finally laugh, low and reluctant. "Unfortunately."

For a few minutes, it’s quiet. The castle seems to exhale around you, torches flickering in the corridors beyond your room. Mattheo’s breathing slows, matching yours, a steady rhythm that tugs at something deep in your chest.

And then, because he’s Mattheo Riddle and incapable of letting a peaceful moment stay peaceful, he mumbles, "You should let me move in."

You snort. "Move in? You have your own bed!"

"Your bed’s better. Smells better too." He inhales dramatically. "Like books and peppermint."

"You’re ridiculous."

"I’m serious," he insists, propping himself up on one elbow to look down at you. His hair falls into his eyes, soft and messy, and you hate how stupidly fond you feel.

"Mattheo—"

"Please?" His voice drops to a near-whine, shameless. "I’ll be quiet. I’ll even make the bed in the morning. I’ll..." he trails off, smirking wickedly, "repay you with affection."

You raise an eyebrow. "Affection, huh?"

"Endless affection," he promises solemnly. "Cuddles. Kisses. The works."

You roll your eyes, but before you can reply, Mattheo shifts closer, pressing a warm, lingering kiss against your jawline. The touch is soft, feather-light, and it makes your whole body tense.

Then he presses another kiss a little lower, right where your jaw meets your neck.

And another.

And another, softer still.

You feel your heart stutter like a traitor.

"You’re unbelievable," you murmur, voice embarrassingly breathless.

"You’re in love with me," he whispers, lips brushing your skin between every word. His hands tighten around your waist, pulling you closer until there’s no space left between your bodies.

"Debatable," you manage, even as your hand slips into his messy curls without thinking.

He leans in again, pressing a soft kiss just beneath your ear. "Very debatable," he murmurs. His breath sends shivers down your spine.

You shove his face away with a hand, earning a huff of laughter.

"Alright, shut up," you say, trying not to grin. "You can stay for a bit."

Mattheo beams, victorious. "You love me."

"You’re on probation," you correct, lying back and letting him tuck himself under your arm again. "One wrong move and you're back to your own bed."

"Sure, sure." His voice is muffled against your chest. "I’ll be on my best behavior."

A moment later, he adds, "Mostly."

You sigh. "You’re going to get us both expelled."

"You’d miss me," he says smugly.

"You have too much faith in your own charm."

"And you have no poker face," he shoots back, laughing softly when you flick his ear.

After a beat, he quiets. His fingers absently trace the stitching on your pajama shirt, slow and aimless, like he’s memorizing every thread. His hand feels almost reverent against your chest, grounding you, soothing you.

"You know," he says, voice low and strangely tentative, "I like this."

You glance down at him, hand still resting lightly on his head. "Cuddling?"

"Yeah. And you."

His fingers tighten slightly against your side. "Feels...good. Safe."

You soften immediately, cursing him and yourself in the same breath. You lift your hand, threading it deeper through his hair, feeling him melt under the touch like wax.

"I like it too," you admit quietly, your chest tightening with the honesty of it.

He tilts his head up, grinning that boyish, almost shy grin he saves only for you. "Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Cool." He smirks, cocky again, but there’s a gentleness behind it now. "Means I can keep sneaking in then."

You groan. "I’m creating a monster."

"You’re just mad you love the monster."

"Go to sleep, Mattheo."

"Yes, Prefect."

He snickers against your skin, obnoxiously pleased with himself. But his breathing evens out soon enough, his weight warm and solid beside you, one leg tangled lazily with yours like he never plans to let you go.

You lie awake a little longer, staring up at the ceiling, one hand still tangled in his hair, the other wrapped around his waist.

You know you’re doomed.

Utterly, irreversibly doomed.

But somehow, with Mattheo curled against you like this—needy, reckless, yours—you don’t really mind.

In fact, you think you might love it.

The first thing you become aware of when you wake up is the distinct sensation of being completely, utterly trapped.

And no, it's not a nightmare. It's Mattheo.

His body is draped over you like a human blanket, arms wrapped around your torso in a way that suggests he never plans on letting go, and one of his legs is tangled in yours, pinning you to the bed.

You blink, squinting at the light creeping through your curtains. It's still early, and you can hear the faint echoes of other students beginning their own early mornings.

But here you are.

Mattheo Riddle has infiltrated your bed again. And there’s no way to escape.

"Mattheo," you croak, voice a little too rough from sleep. "You’re crushing me."

He makes an unintelligible noise against your neck, burrowing deeper into the crook of it like you’re the most comfortable thing in the world.

"Mattheo," you repeat, trying your best to shove him off, but he’s clingy as hell and stronger than you remember.

"Mm?" he hums, still not bothering to lift his head. "You smell good."

"What?" You sputter, utterly flustered despite the situation. "That’s it? That’s your response?"

He just sighs contentedly, pressing a lazy kiss to your neck like he’s done this a thousand times before. "Mm. You smell like peppermint and... books. My favorite."

You fight the stupid smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "You’re unbelievable."

"I know." He nuzzles even closer, pulling your arm tighter around him like he’s some kind of needy puppy. "Now stay. You’re warm. I’m tired."

You groan, pulling your other arm out from under his grasp to check the time. "Mattheo, please. I have rounds in less than fifteen minutes, and if I’m late—"

"I don’t care," he interrupts, voice muffled as he drapes himself more heavily on top of you. "You’re not leaving me."

You try to sit up again, but his body is like dead weight on top of yours. You give a half-hearted tug on his arm, but he doesn't budge. Instead, he lets out an exaggerated whine, squeezing his eyes shut and burying his face into your chest.

"Mattheo," you repeat, trying to wiggle your way out from under him, "I have responsibilities!"

"You’re not getting out of this bed." He lifts his head just enough to glance at you, his eyes heavy with sleep but mischievous all the same. "I’ll do anything. Just don’t go."

"Anything?" you echo, raising an eyebrow. "I could be late, you know. You’ll be late for classes."

He shrugs, unbothered, and his lips curl into a small, smug smile. "Nah. Who needs classes when I’ve got you?"

"Mattheo..." You huff, trying to pull yourself out from under him, but he's like a sticky spider, wrapping his arms tighter and tighter, refusing to let you escape.

"You're so warm," he mumbles, sounding far too pleased with himself for someone who’s definitely in the wrong.

You’re about to protest again when you feel him press a soft kiss to your neck, lingering a moment before nuzzling against your skin.

"What are you doing?" you ask, half-indignant, half-amused.

"I’m trying to convince you to stay," he mumbles, voice drowsy but still so damn smug. "It’s working, isn’t it?"

Your mind goes blank for a second as his lips leave another soft kiss on your throat. And then, another one just under your jaw. His lips are warm, soft, and... distracting.

"You’re impossible," you mutter, but you can’t stop yourself from shifting slightly, making more space for him, despite your best efforts.

"You love it," Mattheo says matter-of-factly. His hands sneak up to your back, pulling you closer until you’re practically sandwiched between him and the mattress.

"I’m serious, Mattheo," you say, your voice losing its sternness in favor of frustration and something else that feels suspiciously like affection. "I have to get up."

Mattheo glances up at you, looking far too content with his position. "You’re always so serious. Just relax. Let’s just... stay here a little longer." He presses his lips to your jawline, soft and slow. "I promise I’ll let you go soon."

"Yeah, right," you mutter, but you don’t move.

You can feel Mattheo smile against your skin, and it’s a feeling you know all too well—the warm, self-satisfied grin he wears when he knows he’s won.

And he has.

Again.

You sigh, finally giving in to the inevitable. "You're fucking impossible," you grumble, sinking deeper into the sheets, despite the nagging voice in your head that keeps reminding you of your prefect duties.

Mattheo hums happily, nuzzling into your neck again, completely satisfied. "I love you."

"I love you more." You shift, letting him pull you into a more comfortable position. "But I’m still going to be late if you don’t let me up soon."

"Then be late," he whispers, his voice full of drowsy amusement. "You can’t possibly want to leave me now."

The next thing you know, his lips are brushing against the side of your neck again, his kisses slow, deliberate, and so soft they make your heart race. One kiss lands just below your ear, and another trails along the side of your jaw.

"Mattheo..." you start, but your voice cracks. You have to swallow hard to keep it from betraying you, your stomach flipping.

He pulls back just enough to look at you, his eyes half-lidded with sleep, but the look on his face is soft and entirely too affectionate for your own good. "I’m not letting go," he says, voice hushed and serious now.

You know he’s joking.

Mostly.

But damn it, there’s something in his gaze, something warm and tender that leaves you speechless.

"I’m going to get in so much trouble," you mutter, knowing full well that you don’t really care.

"Good," Mattheo says with a sleepy grin. "You’ll be in trouble with me, and I can make it worth your while."

You roll your eyes, but it’s obvious you’ve already given up.

Mattheo presses a sleepy kiss to the side of your throat, so soft and slow you almost melt right then and there.

Then another, a little higher.

And another, just under your jaw.

"You're evil," you whisper, squeezing your eyes shut.

"Mm," he hums, sounding very pleased with himself. "Your evil."

You thump your head back against the pillow, officially resigned to your fate.

There’s no way you’re getting out of this bed without a serious fight—and honestly, you’re not sure you even want to.

Instead, you sigh, reaching down to pull the blankets higher around both of you.

"Five more minutes," you mumble.

Mattheo grins against your skin, victorious.

"Knew you'd cave."

"Yeah, yeah," you grumble, pressing a kiss to the top of his messy curls. "Shut up and go back to sleep, menace."

As Mattheo settles against you again, breathing deeply in contentment, you try once more to fight the pull of his affection, the warmth of his body.

But in the end, it’s no use.

You're already lost.

[witherby]

Blood and Teeth

Jason Todd x Reader

You just wanted to get home before dark.

⚠️ Content warning: stalking, attempted mugging, gunshots, non-consensual feeding ⚠️

God, you'd been doing so well.

The job you work is daylight shift, you're always polite and cordial, you mind your own business, and, most importantly, you don't take anybody else's bullshit.

You go to work, you do your tasks, then you go home. You're always in before the sun sets, and if you aren't, you're cozying into the closest hotel you can find and parking your ass there for the night. Then it's rinse and repeat. Little to no deviation from the routine. It's fine.

You don't look for trouble, is the point.

But it sure did find you.

"No! Nonono — WAIT, STOP! WAIT!"

You sprint as fast as your legs will take you, but it's no use. The bus pulls away from the stop and keeps on going, ten minutes earlier than it should've, and leaves you behind. You groan and resist the urge to throw your bag to the ground.

"God dammit." The next one wouldn't be around for at least an hour and a half, and it would be long dark by then. You didn't have the cash on hand for a cab all the way to downtown Gotham, either. You pull your phone out and check how far the closest hotel is, but that's also downtown.

As far as options go, you can either call your brother and ask him to come get you, or walk as fast as your legs will take you and hope you make it back home unscathed.

You start walking.

"It's fine," you tell yourself, white-knuckling the strap of your messenger bag. "You've made it home after dark before and been completely fine. Nothing's going to happen to you. Everything is great. You could use the exercise, actually. A little leg work does a body good, and you spend most of your time sitting at a desk. Yeah. Yeah! It's like walking on the treadmill..."

The small pep talk helps. Taking large strides, you estimate that you'll make it back home in 45 minutes. That's fine! It's all fine!

Except it isn't fine, because twenty minutes in, you become acutely aware of someone following you about half a block back. You test that by crossing streets at odd places and walking around the perimeter of a liquor store, and he remains on the edge of your periphery the whole time. It's absolutely not fine.

You pull your phone out and dial 9-1-1, picking up the pace. Your heart feels like it's leapt into your throat and you hope against hope he changes his mind and fucks off somewhere else.

"Gotham City Police. Where is the address of the emergency?"

"Uh...I'm currently off the intersection of Cherry and Roman," you explain, looking at the street sign, and give the dispatcher your name. "I'm walking South along Cherry. There's a man following me, about...uh, sixty feet back? I think I'm gonna get jumped, and I missed my bus, and I just wanna get home before dark —"

"Okay, alright," the dispatcher says, voice gentle. "It'll be okay. I've alerted units in your area to come by. The closest one is five minutes out. Stay on the line with me."

"Okay," you mutter. "Thank you. I'm just really scared."

"It'll be okay," the dispatcher repeats. "What does the man look like? Are you able to describe him safely?"

"He's kind of short," you explain. "He's got jeans on and a black coat. I think he's blonde, but I don't wanna look behind me and piss him off..."

"That's fine. You're doing great. They're four minutes out. Just keep walking and talking to me."

"Okay. I'm crossing the street now, still on Cherry... There's a book store that's closed on my right. It's called...um..." You squint. You're not quite close enough to see the sign yet, and before you get the chance to better read the lettering, a hand clasps around your arm and yanks you backwards. You scream, cellphone dropping to the sidewalk, and the man is trying to drag you into an alleyway.

"No!" You cry, beating a fist against his chest. "Stop!! GET OFF ME!"

"Shut the fuck up!" The man snarls. You yank a taser out of your tote bag and press it against his side, shocking him. He shouts in pain and spasms, letting go. You stumble back, scoop up your phone, and take off in a sprint. "Get back here!!"

"Hello!?" You yell into the receiver. "He's chasing me! I'm running but he's chasing me! I need help right now, please!!"

"A unit is two minutes out," the dispatcher replies, sounding tense. "Do you have any means of defending yourself? A weapon? Pepper spray?"

"My taser didn't do shit! I don't have anything else!"

"Keep running. They're hurrying as fast as they can, I promise."

"I'm running! I'm going!!"

You pump your legs as fast as they can possibly carry you, then push them to go even faster than that. You're gasping noisily for breath and there's a stitch developing in your side. Your heart feels like it's going to burst from your chest. But you can't stop, because you can hear him running after you, and if you stop you'll most certainly die.

"Please!" You wheeze into the phone. "I can't — please!"

The sound of sirens reaches your ears and you feel almost weep with relief. You start shouting that you're here, you're right here, hurry the fuck up and get here, but you're grabbed again right as the patrol car rounds the corner.

The stalker hooks an arm around your throat and yanks you to his chest. He presses a gun to your temple and you freeze, ice crawling up and down your spine.

"Drop the weapon!" A cop shouts. Two of them hop out of the vehicle and aim their own guns at the two of you. "Put the gun down and step away from them right now!"

"This doesn't have to go down with anybody getting hurt tonight!" The second officer yells. "Surrender peacefully!"

"Fuck your peace!!" The man that has you screams. The hand holding the gun is shaking as badly as you are, and you hope and pray his finger isn't twitching against that trigger. "Back up or I blow their brains all over the street!"

"Don't!" You choke out. "Don't do that! Please don't do that, I'm just trying to go home please don't —"

"SHUT UP!" He snaps. "EVERYBODY SHUT UP OR I SWEAR I'M GONNA —"

Two gunshots sound. You flinch hard, hands flying up to your head to feel for any bullet wounds, but there's nothing there. The responding officers are sheet-white, looking at you like they've seen a ghost.

No, not at you. Past you.

You don't wanna look. You've lived this long not having to see a dead body and don't intend on breaking that streak. Maybe they hadn't intended to shoot to kill? Is that why they seem to scared? But — no, that doesn't make sense. Because if they shot him, the body is on the ground. Their eyes should be on the ground. Not up as high as they currently are.

They're looking at something else.

"Aw, what's the matter?" Chimes a voice behind you, and you turn just as pale as them.

You don't dare turn around. You don't move. You don't breathe. The exact reason why you're so diligent about getting home before sundown every night is standing about two feet behind you, and you suddenly feel like your odds of survival were better with the stalker.

"Why don't you two go on back to the precinct? I've got it from here."

The police continue to stare behind you for several, long moments. They share a look between each other. They look at you. They step towards their car.

You feel your heart drop to your stomach. Cold sweat forms on the back of your neck and your eyes start to water.

"Don't go," you stammer, shaking your head. "Don't. Don't leave me here. Please don't go —"

"Shhhh..." What feels like a block of ice lands heavily on your shoulder and squeezes tight. So painfully tight. You can't breathe. "Don't listen to 'im. Go on, boys. Get."

The first officer climbs back into the car. The second one hesitates just a moment longer.

"I don't like repeating myself. Go, before I run out of fucking patience."

The second cop disappears back into the car, shutting off the lights, and drives away.

You feel like you're going to throw up. There's nothing protecting you anymore. No one around. Just your ragged breathing to fill the silence and the Red Hood practically pressed against your back.

"You know what's coming next."

The voice is low and distorted by a modulator in the helmet. Every word makes your heart race faster and your vision gets spotty at the edges.

"Hey, hey, hey...easy," he teases, the icey hand on your shoulder moving to cup your jaw. Pressure starts to be applied, urging you to tip your head back and expose your throat to the open air. You sob.

"M'just try-trying t'go ho-home."

"Yeah?" The Red Hood coos. You swear it sounds like he's grinning under that fucking helmet.

"I just wanna go home," you repeat, nearly whispering.

"Heard ya the first time. Quiet, now."

He tips your head back until it won't go any further. Through tears, you blink up at a blood-red helmet, reflecting your terror back at you. The hand at your jaw moves up and covers your eyes, eliminating even the small solace of the street lamps and leaving you in total darkness.

"You don't move. You don't run. You don't pull away from me. You keep these pretty eyes shut nice and tight. Do all that and maybe. Maybe. I let you go home. Say yes if you understand."

Your bottom lip wobbles, teeth practically chattering.

"Y-yes," you whisper.

"Good."

You hear the click of latches coming undone and hear him take the helmet off. You feel his other arm come around your waist, pulling your bodies flush together. You feel his breath against your throat.

Getting bitten by a vampire is a terrible experience. It's nothing like the movies and books tell you at all; no little pinch followed by numbness, no erotic tingling coming from the point of contact, no gentle suction like getting a hickey.

It feels like somebody is stabbing you with a fucking fork and then subsequently trying to suck the skin off your bones. It hurts like nothing else you've ever experienced.

You scream, because he didn't say you weren't allowed to do that, and you cling to the arm around your waist as tight as you possibly can, like it's the only thing grounding you to what's happening because it is. It is.

This is why most of Gotham's businesses are closed by sundown, why most people have shut themselves into their homes and settled in for the evening by now, why you were trying to do the exact same thing before you missed that stupid bus. Because ever since the Red Hood started prowling the streets at night, nobody has wanted to be caught outside with him.

He emerged four years ago with a mission and two rules:

1. If he catches you out at night doing some shit you shouldn't, pray you've gotten your affairs in order before he kills you.

2. If he saves you from someone who was out at night doing some shit they shouldn't, he will take payment from you whether you give it willingly or not.

He does not accept money. He does not accept bribes. He does not leave a debt unpaid.

Gotham's resident vampire takes your blood.

[jinwoosbabyboo]

Him or Me?

LADS Men getting jealous over your latest hyper fixation. [Requested by: Anon]

Zayne

Who: Keigo Takami (Hawks) - My Hero Academia & Sanemi Shinazugawa - Demon Slayer

Zayne: You received another package today?

MC: Ahh my figurines!

You tear the box open in excitement while Zayne watches.

Zayne: You have quite a few figures of that red winged character

MC: He's my favorite

Zayne: He's your ... favorite?

MC: My favorite character from my hero academia yes

Zayne: and who is the bug eye'd one?

MC: Don't call him bug eyed

Zayne: Defending him now?

MC: His name is Sanemi he has a bit of a temper but he's really a sweetheart

Zayne: and he's also from your hero show?

MC: No he's from demon slayer

Zayne: Oh

MC: These two are definitely my top 5

Zayne: So there's a list

MC: A mental list

Zayne: Who is on this mental list

MC: Well number one is my red ear'd jealous boyfriend who's trying to hide the fact that he's jealous of these 2D characters

Zayne: I'm not jealous

You stand grabbing your figurines boxes as you move around him heading towards your room to build them.

MC: Sure *Kisses his cheek* jealousy is cute on you but don't worry no one can take me from you

Rafayel

Who: Trafalgar D. Law - One Piece & Itsuomi - A Sign of Affection

MC: Raf have you seen my sketch book?

Rafayel: *Avoiding eye contact* Nope

MC: Did you do something with it?

Rafayel: Nope

MC: Found it. Why was it under the couch?

Rafayel: You're a silly girl with a bad memory

MC: RAF!

Rafayel: What!?

MC: I'm missing like four pages in here!

Rafayel: Have you tried not missing them?

MC: Very funny ... coincidentally its only the sketches of Law & Itsuomi

Rafayel: Why do you need to draw that taffy guy and umami dude? Draw meeeee I'm your boyfriend

MC: I've already drawn you before

Rafayel: I only had one page in your book they each had two that's not fair *pouts*

MC: You're such a baby if I give you a second page can you stop ripping up my hardwork?

Rafayel: Make it four pages and you have a deal

Xavier

Who: Kento Nanami - Jujutsu Kaisen & Vash - Trigun

MC: Xav?

Xavier: yes my love

MC: Would you like to explain what happened to my Nanami plushie?

Xavier: I don't know what you're talking about

MC: He has mysteriously gone missing

Xavier: Are you sure you searched everywhere? You did work sixteen hours yesterday It's common to misplace items when you're tired

MC: I don't know I never move him from the shelf .... have you seen him?

Xavier: I haven't sorry

MC: Interesting ... my phone case with Vash is also missing

Xavier: You seem quite smitten with those two lately do you like them more than me?

MC: Xavier they're 2D animations they'll never be better than you

Xavier: Promise?

MC: I put it on my pinky

Xavier: 🥰

MC: Can I have my phone case and plushie now?

Xavier: Absolutely not

Sylus

Who: Sung Jinwoo - Solo Leveling & Shinichiro Sano - Tokyo Revengers

Sylus: What's so great about that show that you need to go to four different stores to get the entire book collection?

MC: I tried to get you to watch Solo Leveling with me

Sylus: I'm a busy man princess

MC: I think you'd really like it Jinwoo looks like a cinnamon roll and is a cinnamon roll but could still kill you

Sylus: Are you implying that me and this 2D man are similar?

MC: Hell no you look like you can kill and could kill ... you're only a cinnamon roll for me

Sylus: How perceptive ... and what book is that

MC: It's a manga get it right ... its Tokyo Revengers I'm still waiting on the next season but I need to know what happens because I need to see Shinichiro

Sylus: Who is Shin and why do you need to see him eat a cheerio?

MC: Not Shin eat a cheerio ... Shinichiro Sano aka the weak king

Sylus: How can you be a king and be weak?

MC: Those around you are strong

Sylus: Sounds like a kingdom waiting to fall ... are you almost done?

MC: What's with the curt tone?

Sylus: No reason we just have dinner reservations soon princess

MC: That's in five hours

Sylus: *Grabs the stack of books from MCs hands* My how time flies lets go

[guiltyandashamed]

headcannons: you're under the weather

Whether if it was from being overworked by the 7 brothers, the Devildom's particular climate and mid-season chills, or just plain old human fragility, you were sick. This is how the 7 brothers notice, react, and take care of you, even if they don't have the whole day to dedicate to your wellbeing.

(I'm trying the whole 'you' narrative style. Lmk how it goes)

Lucifer

Lucifer is the type to notice before you even admit you’re sick. He’s attuned to shifts in behavior—less appetite, fewer words, slower movements. Even if he's buried in paperwork or preparing for a meeting with Diavolo, he’ll pause long enough to brew a pot of perfectly steeped herbal tea and leave it on your nightstand with a handwritten note: Rest. You’ll be no good to yourself—or anyone—otherwise.

He checks in throughout the day under the guise of needing something, but always with a cool hand to your forehead and a silent reassessment of your condition. He pretends not to hover. He absolutely hovers.

Mammon

Mammon panics at first. “What?! You’re sick?! Since when?!” He sounds more offended than concerned, but he’s already tossing blankets into a pile and ordering you to lie down. He’ll cancel his shoot or skip class without telling anyone, opting to sit at the edge of the bed watching over you like a poorly disguised guard dog.

Despite pretending he’s just “being nice,” he quietly swipes medicine from Satan, texts Asmo for skincare-safe tissues, and buys your favorite snacks. If you drift off mid-conversation, he mutters, “Jeez, you better get better soon, or I’m not gonna sleep either.”

Leviathan

Levi doesn’t know what to do at first. His brain goes to worst-case scenarios. But after pacing around and googling symptoms, he brings a tablet loaded with anime, tea, and a pile of blankets. He’ll stay just far enough away not to catch it but close enough to murmur, “I made you a watchlist. All comfort stuff. No heartbreak.”

He checks in by sending you DMs when you're apart, sometimes just sending cat memes or in-game currency he spent hours farming for you. If you were gonna be laid up in bed, might as well, he thought.

If you call for him, he’ll mask his worry behind a hoodie and rush in with a muttered, “Don’t die, normie. I’d be mad.”

Satan

Satan handles illness methodically. He brings books—soothing poetry, mystery novels, anything to distract—and explains the medicinal properties of the teas he brings. He wipes down your room with enchanted cloths to purify the air and keeps the temperature just right.

Even when he’s busy, he’ll enchant pages to read themselves aloud to you or write small notes in margins like: Don’t strain your eyes. I’ll quiz you later.

When you can’t sleep, he’ll sit by the bed, reading aloud in a steady, low voice that always somehow makes you drift off mid-chapter.

Asmodeus

Asmo comes in dramatically, gasping, “My poor baby, look at you!” But under the sparkle is genuine care. He brings silk-soft tissues, eucalyptus balm, and a humidifier set to glow in soft pinks. Even when he has modeling gigs or salon appointments, he finds time to sit at your bedside, painting your nails or playing with your hair to keep you relaxed.

He hums lullabies while dabbing your forehead and insists you stay in bed while he handles everything. “No, no—being fabulous can wait. You’re my top priority."

Beelzebub

Beel notices when you’re too quiet to eat. That’s when he knows something’s wrong. He brings soups—handmade, nutritious, sometimes bizarre Devildom ingredients but always filled with effort.

Even during his tough sports seasons, or after a long shift at Hell’s Kitchen, he comes back with warm food and a clean towel for your forehead. He sits beside you, large frame a quiet comfort, sometimes offering a bite to encourage you to eat.

If you fall asleep with his hand in yours, he doesn’t move, even if his legs go numb. “You can hold on,” he murmurs. “I’ll stay ‘til you’re better.”

Belphegor

Belphie is surprisingly perceptive when you're sick. He’ll tease you with a sleepy smile—“You finally caught a real excuse to sleep all day, huh?”—but he’s already tucking you in tighter.

He climbs into bed with you, back-to-back or arm around their shoulder, and mutters that shared body heat is good for recovery. Even when he has council meetings or errands for Lucifer, he sneaks naps in with you between responsibilities.

He hums soft tunes, drapes his favorite blanket over you, and grumbles when you try to get up. “Just nap with me, will you? You'll wake up feeling better."

[lostbookmark]

MDNI 🔞

Main Masterlist here

Game Masterlist here

Summary: After the death of your brother and his wife. You find yourself adjusting to a new role in your life. A single parent to your teenage nephew. How do you help him heal? How do you help yourself heal? You're not sure. You don't think you can, until an annoying basketball coach enters your life and turns everything around.

Pairing: Basketball Coach Yoongi x Single Aunt F. Reader

Genre: Romance, Angst, Smut, Strangers to Lovers,

Warnings: Death Of Parents / Brother/ Family, Car Accident (Cause), Swearing, Explicit Sex, Arguments, Physical Fighting, Past Abusive Relationship, Talks Of Domestic Violence,

!WARNING! Talk of domestic violence !WARNING!

The entertainment center was lopsided. You and Nicky had spent the better part of two hours putting it together in his bedroom, and it was lopsided. Not just skewed a little to the side, but full-on lopsided and ready to fall to the floor. Nicky lifts his leg and gives the wooden mess a slight shove with his foot. You watch in horror as it rocks and completely collapses.

“I don't think we did it right,” he says, looking at the pile of wood.

“Well, they clearly messed up the directions. I mean, look, they gave us extra pieces of wood and a bunch of extra screws,” you tell him.

“We should call grandpa,” he says.

“No, absolutely not. I can do this,” you tell him. “I must have missed a step….or two….possibly three. I'll just…” you start, but the doorbell ringing through the living room stops you.

“I'll get it,” Nicky says, leaving his bedroom.

“Don't answer if it's a stranger,” you call out softly. “Unless they are selling cookies.”

Sitting on his floor, you grab the instruction manual. Going back to page one, you examine the book every which way. Where did you go wrong, and why were there so many extra parts?

“Sunshine,” your nephew says, coming back into the room.

“Maybe we were looking at it upside down,” you tell him, turning the book around. “Wait, then the words are upside down.”

“Sunshine,” he tries again, and you finally look at him. Your heart stutters. Yoongi is standing right beside him with some flowers in his hand, looking awkward and out of place amongst your mess. Nicky looks between the two of you silently before moving and taking his phone from where he had placed it earlier on his bed. “I’m going to watch tv in your room. There's a tv show about some old ladies getting catfished coming on in a few minutes. I've been wanting to see it.”

“He watches interesting things,” Yoongi says jokingly as Nicky leaves the room, but you don't say anything. Instead, you go back to looking at the manual in your hands. “I got you flowers.”

“I'm allergic,” you say, still avoiding his gaze.

“Are you really?” He asks, voice wavering in uncertainty.

“Shove them in my face and find out,” you dare him.

You throw the book down and pick up your drill. Crawling to the mess on the floor, you start to unscrew the wooden pieces from each other. Placing the screws safely off to the side, you struggle with moving some of the bigger pieces. Yoongi is at your side in an instant, taking the heavy material from you.

Damn him and his flowers.

Damn him and his help.

Damn him for making your heart feel this way.

“You're going to let me explain,” he tells you, taking the drill from your hand.

“Oh, is that so?” You sass, trying to take the drill back from him, but he won't let you as he moves the drill further from your reach.

“Yes,” he answers. “I'm going to explain, and then if you don't want anything to do with me….I'll leave. I don't want to leave, but I will,” You look at him, giving him an impatient stare. “Okay, well…..yes. Ara and I did…”

“That's enough. You can go,” you say, stopping him.

“Ara and I did have a small moment,” he continues, ignoring your attempt at stopping the conversation. “I wouldn't even call it a small moment. It was hardly anything at all.”

“I'm getting bored,” you warn him, cutting him off again.

“It lasted two weeks. She and her husband were going through a separation. My girlfriend just dumped me, and one night after practice, her husband picked Jake up. She stayed and we…”

“Spare me the details,” you snap. “I don't need to hear how you fucked her in the gym or something.”

“It meant nothing, and I wish it never happened. Her husband absolutely hates me. I get it. He thinks that it went on before the separation even happened. I know I should have told you, especially since the two of you have issues, but I thought you wouldn't want anything to do with me if I had. It was selfish of me.” He explains.

“Did he really catch you in bed with her?” You ask, turning your head to look at him. He licks his lips, biting his lower before nodding his head yes.

“Dragged me right out of there. Busted my lip,” he said.

“Good,” you say, crossing your arms.

“Don't be like this, please,” he begs. “It was in my past.”

“Is that why she runs everyone off? She doesn't want anyone to have your attention?” You ask, remembering what Mark had said to you. She always runs the new moms off. “If her husband tells her what he thinks he knows. She is going to make my life hell, and I will end up in the back of a police car for beating her ass.”

“I won't let that happen,” he promises.

“Oh, come on, Yoongi,” you say, laughing. “She wants you. She wants me gone because she wants you. She can probably smell you all over me.”

“I know she does,” he admits. “I have already told her that would never happen, and that was long before you came along. I do not want her. I can't stand her.”

“Then why keep her around?” You ask, and with that question, he finally looks defeated. “Money?”

“Doll,” he sighs.

“They are thirteen year old boys. I thought it was all learning about teamwork, but it's not. It is about rich parents throwing money around to treat others like garbage and coaches, letting it happen,” you snarl.

“Hey,” he snaps back. “I stopped that! I can't throw her out. She and Jake haven't violated anything in the handbook or our contract. Trust me, I would get rid of her if I could.”

Trust him? You barely know him, and he wants you to trust him. How the hell are you supposed to trust him? You haven't trusted anyone in years. Your fingers pinch the hem of your shirt as you look at him. Uncertainty shoots through you at the thought of trusting him. If you put your trust in him, then he holds all the cards, and that makes you nervous. Can you put your trust in him and eventually have him crush you? Although everything in you is telling you to trust him, your head is screaming at you not to do it. It was a tiring fight, but here he was, trying to fight for you. While you were trying to run, he was trying to fight for you. He was clearly the stronger one of the two of you.

Dammit!

“But I don't know how,” you admit quietly as your chin starts to wobble. Yoongi takes the chance to gather you in his arms, and you rest your head on his shoulder, surrendering to him. “I want to trust you, but I just don't know how.”

“Well,” he says,“That’s a good starting point.”

“She's the reason for the whole conflict of interest, isn't she?” You ask, pulling back to look at him, and he hums, confirming your question. “So…there weren't any other moms, right? He made it seem like you slept with them all.”

“No, absolutely not,” he assures you, pushing some hair out of your face. “It was a stupid choice that just made me miserable afterward. I told myself to stay away from the parents after that. No friendships and definitely no relationships. Then you came along and happened to be the exception to the rule.”

“I don't know….” you say uncertainingly.

“You have a past. I'm allowed to have a past too,” he tells you.

“Not with the Creature from the Black Lagoon,” you say, making him cover his mouth, trying to hide his smile.

“You told me that you don't give second chances, and here I am asking you for one. Can we start over again? I swear I have no more secrets. No one you have to worry about. We could have a fresh start. I'll get on my knees and beg If I have to,” he tells you once he gathers himself.

“What about Nicky?” You ask. “What if you get tired of him being around because he's not going anywhere. He will always come first. It's not always going to be fun and games with him. He's a moody teenager who lost his parents.”

“I know this,” Yoongi assures you. “You're a packaged deal, and I accept that. I would never force him out, and I'm not going to force my way to parent him. I'll just follow your lead.”

“Dammit, why don't you have to be so….great,” you say with a disgusted face.

“I'm…sorry?” He apologizes in confusion.

“A fresh start?” You question, and he nods his head, yes. “I guess that I can do that, but on one condition.”

“What's that?” He asks.

“Can you put together a media center?” You ask, quirking your eyebrow.

Laughing, Yoongi picks up the drill and hands you the instructions. Taking them from him, you move yourself out of the way and onto the bed. He busies himself, taking everything apart as you watch him. Maybe giving him a second chance wasn't a bad decision as you feel those tight chains start to shake and rattle. You're not ready for them to fall away yet, but maybe you'll let them loosen.

Just a little.

“I told you we didn't need grandpa,” you tell Nicky as you bring in his playstation from the living room into his bedroom.

“That's only because coach put it together,” he says as he shakes the newly put-together media center with his hand to test it.

“You can call me Yoongi as long as we are not with the team,” Yoongi tells him.

“Yea, but I like calling you coach. Maybe one day,” he says, leaving to grab the rest of his stuff.

“I think we will be just fine,” Yoongi comments as he inspects the work that he did.

“Oh, why is that?” You ask, piling up the mess on the floor.

“We put this together without fighting,” he says, like it's obvious. “That's not an easy task.”

“I didn't do shit. I just read the instructions to you,” you say laughing a little bit.

“Which is amazing because I thought you couldn't read,” he jokes and you pinch his side, laughing with him.

“Thank you for helping,” you say softly. “And … thank you for the flowers. They're beautiful. I never got flowers before. I mean, you know, other than from my dad.”

Yoongi maneuvers you to stand in front of him. Gently he cups your face, making you look at him. He studies you for a minute before nodding his head.

“You're welcome,” he says just as softly. “You know what I'm going to do? I'm going to woo you.”

“Woo me,” you look at him like he was crazy. “What century is this again?”

“I mean it,” Yoongi says, looking serious. “I'm going to date you properly.”

“I've had boyfriends,” you say. “I've been on dates.”

“But you said that they were toxic,” he reminds you. “I'm going to do this right. Show you what you have been missing. After we win our game on Saturday. Let me take you and Nicky out.”

“You're serious, aren't you?” You ask, as Nicky comes back into the room with a stack of wires and games. He tosses everything on his bed before leaving again. “You accept us as a packaged deal?”

“Very serious,” he confirms.

“Are you sure you know what you are getting yourself into?” You ask, staring up at him.

“Nope, but I'm good at thinking on my feet. I won't let you down,” he promises. “And maybe one day…. you'll let me help you carry your baggage.”

“But it's really heavy,” you warn.

“Good thing I'm stronger than I look,” he says quietly.

Yoongi pulls you into a hug as Nicky comes back in with an arm full of his things that were lying around the living room. He doesn't seem bothered by you and Yoongi in the slightest as he starts to arrange his mess onto his media center. It gave his room a little life, making it look less bleak. Maybe that's why Yoongi came into your life. Maybe he was here to make your own life look a little less bleak. He makes you want to trust him. You just hope that he has the patience of a saint because you have no idea how long learning to trust him will take. Closing your eyes, you breathe in his calming scent of laundry detergent and a hint of coffee. You'll work on it. You swear you will. After all, you think you deserve a little happiness.

“Why do I have to dress up?” Nicky asks as he pulls at the collar of his blue dress shirt.

“The email said dress shirt and tie,” you say, swatting his hands away so you could do his tie.

You giggle, looking him over. He looked so grown up in his outfit for his team dinner that they would be listening to special speakers. Where they were going to learn about the importance of teamwork and blah, blah, blah. Thankfully, Chris offered to take him tonight in exchange for helping Elly with some wedding stuff. You had quickly agreed. Nicky would have someone with him who cared about basketball, and you wouldn't have to be around the parents.

It was a win-win situation.

“Ready to go?” Your brother asks, and Niky nods, pulling at his collar one more time. “We will see you later.”

“If he hates dressing up, then he will hate his tux for the wedding,” Elly says as the two of you make yourselves comfortable on the floor, surrounded by several boxes.

“He will be fine,” you say, opening a box and pulling out personalized shot glasses one by one. “He's excited to be Chris's best man.”

“I'm glad,” she says softly as she arranges black gift boxes for you to place the shot glasses in. “Do you have a plus one yet?”

“Nicky is my plus one?” You answer like the answer was obvious.

“Absolutely not,” she disagrees. “He's leaving midway through the reception with your parents. You need a date. I figured you would ask his coach.”

“Yoongi?” You ask.

“Unless I completely misread the whole finding you bed with him and the blowjob joke at Nicky's game,” she laughs.

“It's too soon to ask him for something like that. Besides, mom….” you start.

“Your mom needs to mind her own business,” Elly says. “You're allowed to have a boyfriend, and you're allowed to bring a date to my wedding. I don't think you're going to get into too much trouble at the reception. The police station is right across the street, and the retirement community is right next to them.”

“Very funny. It would still be weird,” you argue. “You and Chris don’t even know him.”

“Yet,” she says suspiciously, and you give her a look. She smiles at you all too innocently and cuts some white ribbon to wrap around the gift boxes, acting like everything was normal. “Chris offered to go tonight so he could officially meet him without you around.”

“WHAT!” You exclaim. “I'm going to kick his ass.”

“No permanent damage, please. I need him to look good for our wedding pictures,” she comments, not taking you seriously. “He's just wanting to look out for you.” You make a disgusted noise and start placing the shot glasses into the boxes. “I know you can take care of yourself, but he feels really guilty. After Jay….”

“Don't say his name,” you say harshly at the name of your ex-boyfriend, and right away regret fills her features.

“I'm sorry,” Elly apologizes. “He told me that he was going to be a better brother to you. He was going to start to pay more attention to your life. He made a promise to himself that he wouldn't let you down again.”

“Elly,” you say, trying to crack your neck, but you never could figure out how to do it.

“I know, I know, but your brother is the love of my life and the way it haunts him…..” she pauses and looks you over. “Just let him do this if it makes him feel better.”

You dig your nails into the meat of your thighs. Distracting yourself from the memories of your past and the hurt that came along with it. You hated it when your family would bring him up. You wish they would just leave it alone. Instead of responding, you pass her a gift box and continue filling the others.

“Did you decide on an open bar or a cash bar?” You ask.

She gets the hint and doesn't continue with the conversation.

The two of you spend the next hour and a half ignoring the elephant in the room. Neither one of you mention Yoongi, dating, or your mom again. You had kept the conversation light until your front door opened and the semi tense atmosphere lifted.

“How was it?” You ask, not looking up as you try to finish tying your last few bows out of that white ribbon.

“Pretty good. We had spaghetti, and Uncle Chris dropped some all over his shirt,” Nicky says.

You wanted to laugh, but the two male voices walking into your home stopped you. Your brother with Yoongi walking right beside him seems to be in some sort of conversation. Elly has to take the gift box away from you so you don't smash it by how hard you were holding it before she looked at her fiancée.

“You did drop it all over yourself,” she said, crossing her arms. “That shirt was new. Help me pack up so I can get that soaking in the sink. Thanks for your help, Y/N. It was nice seeing you again, Yoongi.”

Yoongi nods his head politely at her.

“No problem,” you say, as you watch your brother quickly help the two of you clean up before they head for the door.

“Don't be mad,” your brother whispers when you give him a hard look.

“I'll see you at dinner tomorrow,” you reply. Elly gives you a hug on her way out, and you finally turn to Yoongi, who stood there awkwardly in the middle of your living room. “How nosy was he?”

“He wasn't,” he answers, but you don't believe him. “He apologized for our first meeting, and we just talked a bit.”

“So, you just talked about….nothing,” you say, walking closer to him, clearly not believing him.

“Pretty much,” he nods before giving you a knowing smile. “I mean, other than him telling me you were arrested once.”

“I was not arrested,” you deny, slapping him lightly on the arm.

“Skinny dipping, huh?” He smirks, pulling you closer to him by your hips.

“I was seventeen, and the cop was an asshole who had nothing better to do,” you say.

“I think he was scoping me out, but our talk wasn't that serious,” he tells you, and you bite your lower lip as you grab his tie, pulling him down to you. Pressing your lips to his, his fingers sink into flesh just under the hem of your shirt. He looked so good all dressed up. You couldn't help yourself.

“You should stay,” you whisper against his lips, trying to tempt him.

“That's probably not a good idea,” he mumbles back.

“Why?” You ask, trying to tug him closer. “I think it's a great idea. Do you have a curfew? We can be quick.”

“I'm trying to be a gentleman,” he explains.

“I don't need a gentleman,” you argue lightly.

“I think you do,” he says before he bends and captures your lips once more. Inhaling deeply, he pulls away, taking a step back from you. The newly created distance felt forced, like he didn't want to move away. “I'm going to leave before I change my mind about that quickie. I just wanted to drop in and say goodnight.”

“Are you sure I can't tempt you into staying?” You tease, and he bites his bottom lip.

“Weellll,” he presses his lips to yours once more, letting you sink into the kiss before abruptly pulling away. “Nope, I'll see you at practice. Have a good night.”

“I hope you have to take a cold shower,” you say in parting as he walks out the front door.

After he leaves, you plop on the couch, and Nicky joins you with a take out container from the night before. You look at him with a raised eyebrow.

“Didn't you just eat?” You ask.

“Yeah, but I'm hungry again,” he tells you as he shrugs his shoulders. “Uncle Chris said he thinks that coach seems like a good guy.”

“What did they talk about?” You ask, trying to get information out of him.

“I don't know,” he answers and you huff.

“You need to learn to spy,” you tell him. “I have so much to teach you.”

“I'm sure grandma would love that,” he jokes, standing up to retreat to his bedroom.

“Hey!” You exclaim. “I take offense to that.”

Crossing your arms, you stare up at the ceiling. He wasn't lying. Your mother would hate it if he turned out like you. Honestly, a part of you would hate it, too. You didn't want him to run from his feelings and be bitter over things in his past. You wanted him to be better than you. You needed him to be better than you. After all, isn't that what being a parent was all about?

“Where do you want to eat after your game tomorrow?” Your mother asks Nicky as everyone sits around the table for family dinner night. “We pass a lot of different restaurants on the way back home. We can go anywhere that you want.”

You and Nicky make eye contact from across the table, knowing that you two already had plans with Yoongi. Nicky had chosen some expensive family restaurant where they had arcade games you could play. He said he was determined to beat the high score playing Hoops, the arcade basketball game. You tried to change his mind, telling him to pick something cheaper, but Yoongi quickly cut you off, telling him that he was going to win first, challenging him. You wanted to argue. You wanted to let him know that you didn't need him spending that much money on the two of you, but it was a waste of breath. He wouldn't hear it. You were accustomed to being the one to always pay, and this made you feel guilty. It made you feel like you were taking advantage of him, and that was not the impression that you wanted to make.

“We already have plans,” you say quickly, stuffing your face with the mashed potatoes on your plate. “Maybe we can have dinner again next time.”

“What do you mean you already have plans?” She asks, focusing solely on you.

“Exactly that,” you say back. “He and I already have plans. We can have dinner next time.”

“Well, I wasn't aware of any plans,” she tells you. Your shoulders droop, and your eyes find their way to your brother and Elly, who both give you a knowing look. “What was that?”

“What?” You and Chris answer at the same time.

“That look you gave each other. What was that look?” She asks suspiciously.

“There was no look,” Chris says, lying to your mom, knowing damn well what that look meant.

“There was a look,” she argues. “Y/N, who do you have plans with?”

“Coach Min,” Nicky speaks up.

Your mother looks sharply at you as you look at your nephew with wide eyes for ratting you out. There is a lot you are going to have to teach this kid, and not ratting you out is at the top of your list.

“Which one is he?” She asks him. “The tall tattooed one? The one you called a horrible name?”

“I think he’s the blonde one,” your dad speaks up. “I think he’s the president of the program.”

“He is?” You asked, surprised by the new information. “How do you know that?”

“It's on their website,” he tells you.

Website? Damn, you really need to get your shit together and invest more of your time learning about this whole basketball thing. He was the president? Now it all makes sense why he could break a few of his own rules for you. He wasn't worried about getting in trouble because it was his damn program.

“Can I talk to you….. outside?” Your mom asks, pushing back from the table, not giving you an option to object.

Following her out to the backyard, she closes the patio door a little too harshly. Crossing her arms, she stares at you, waiting for you to explain what was going on, but you were not going to give in. Running your tongue across your teeth, you stare back at her, waiting for her to make the first move.

“Of all the men you had to go after. You had to go after one of his coaches,” she scolds.

“I didn't go after him,” you grit your teeth, denying her words. “It just happened.”

“So, what happens when this goes south?” She asks. “What happens if it ruins everything for Nicky?”

“When this goes south? Thanks for the vote of confidence,” you snap. “He's a good guy.”

Your mom laughs.

Literally laughs.

It's a very bitter laugh.

“Remember that guy that stole your bank card and completely wiped your bank account because he owed his drug dealer money. Your dad and I had to bail you out of that one by loaning you money. How about the one who had the stolen car that left you in the middle of nowhere? Your dad and I had to drive two hours in the middle of the night to come and get you with Nicky in the backseat.”

“I get it,” you say.

“We thought Jay was a good guy,” she tells you. “Look at what happened there.”

“Stop,” you tell her quietly.

“He actually fooled all of us,” she says just as quietly as you. “Then he beat you. Beat you so bad that he put you in the hospital.”

“Knock it off,” you say, tears welling in your eyes.

“Do you know what that was like? Hmmm, do you know what that was like for your little brother? Finding you on the floor of your apartment thinking you were dead. Do you know how distraught Chris was finding you like that? Trying to find your pulse while he was trying to call for help.”

“I don't want to talk about it,” you growl.

“Of course you don't,” she responds. “You never want to talk about anything. You keep everything bottled up until it all explodes. Do you know how selfish that is? That didn't just affect you! He's so scared to talk about it because he doesn’t want to upset you, but it affected him too. God damn it, I almost lost you too, and we are not allowed to talk to talk about it!”

“What is going on out here,” Chris asks, coming to stand next to you. You and your mother go quiet before quickly looking at each other.

“You know that she's seeing that coach, don't you?” Your mother asks, turning her attention to your little brother and changing the subject. He stays silent. “That's just great. It's such a good feeling when your children turn against you.”

“No one is against you,” Chris argues, in your favor. “So what? Y/N is dating Nicky's coach. It's not a big deal. She's an adult and can choose whoever she wants to date.”

“Nicky….” she starts but is cut off.

“Nicky is fine with it,” you speak up. “If he wasn't, then I would put an end to it. He likes spending time with Yoongi. It's been good for him. He seems happy.”

“You can not replace his father!” She snaps.

“No one is replacing anyone,” your brother snaps back. “Nicky needs support. Y/N needs support. He is giving that to them.”

“We support them,” she says.

“No you don't,” you butt in. “All you do is make me feel bad. All of your little comments upset him, you know? Nicky is young, but he's not stupid. He understands that you don't want him with me and he doesn't like it.”

“Well if he was placed with me in the first place, all of this could have been avoided,” she explains.

“JUST STOP ALREADY!” You scream.

“See, right there it is,” she says, crossing her arms as if she proved her earlier point.

“If you think you're such a great mom and that you can do a better job than me. Then why did you give up on me? I made some bad choices, and I'll be the first one to admit it, but where were you when I needed you the most? The long sleeves on hot summer days. The clumsy excuse to cover up the black eye. The way he would never let be alone with anyone. Why didn't you see it? Why didn't you care?” You ask calmly. She stares at you, a single tear slipping down her face. Your brother stares down at the ground. No one answers any of your questions. All you could hear was the chirping of the crickets in the evening air. It was such a calm night. “Yes you had to clean up my messes but only when it was too late. I will never let Nicky slip through the cracks like you let me. Now, you can stop throwing your little comments at me and be on our side, working together, or we can work out a visitation schedule with a lawyer because I will not be around this shit anymore.”

Quickly, you turn to go back into the house and gather your things, as you call for Nicky to gather his things before she can give you an answer. Getting into your car, you wait for him. You feel good. You feel lighter. You laid everything out there for her. If she didn't accept it, then that's on her. You were done putting her feelings first. You were moving forward. It was you and Nicky from now on.

You, Nicky and possibly…Yoongi.

And….. you were okay with that.

《CHAPTER 9》

A/N: HELP IS AVAILABLE

NATIONAL DOMESTIC VIOLENCE HOTLINE

CALL 800-799-7233

TEXT: BEGIN to 88788

Website: thehotline.org

Tagged Readers:

@busanbby-jjk , @meelismee @jajabro , @wicked-game-black-butler @wobblewobble882, @damn-u-min-yoongi @mintedagustd , @Granataepfelchen @yoongiiuu93, @jimeg629 @jincapableoflove , @minghaosimp @redragdoll, @ot72025 @seoullove96 @our-cool-jenny @kam9404, @momma1 @amarawayne, @militrybarbi @haileyborig, @bettytta @mar-lo-pap, @lattejimin,@butterymin @thelilbutifulthings, @cannotalwaysbenight @muchwita, @maryhopemei,@rinkud,@misfits1a,@ktownshizzle

[sassysnowperson]

How Not to Read Terry Pratchett's Discworld Novels

With the very exciting fantasy books poll bracket going on Discworld and how to read it is in the zeitgeist again. I figured I would take a crack at adding to this important topic with a guide drawn from my own chaotic mess of a reading journey:

Learn that Terry Pratchett is a fantasy author that several people whose reading taste you admire enjoy. He apparently blends comedy, good plotting, and a world that is both grounded and satirical and you're a big fan of all those things.

Fabulous! Decide to read some of his work.

Go to your local library. Love a good library. You're new to the area, so you're also exploring the library for the first time, too.

You have found Terry Pratchett! Points to you! Pull a book off the shelf at random. It's called The Dark Side of the Sun.

Start reading. Realize that this feels more like sci-fi than fantasy. Sigh in smug superiority about people who get the two confused.

Realize about halfway through that this is not, in fact, a Discworld book.

Nobody warned you the guy wrote other things!

It's still good, tho. Maybe a little rough but this was an older book and the author clearly has potential. Let's try again.

Review his works. The vast majority are Discworld. You are highly unlikely to grab another non-Discworld book. Go back to the Terry Pratchett section of the library.

Oh hey he wrote a book with Neil Gaiman! You've hears of that guy!

Grab Good Omens off the shelf.

Take it home, realize, much sooner, that this is also not a Discworld book. Still enjoy yourself thoroughly. You should read more of this Gaiman dude, too.

But okay. For real this time. Go back to the library and don't leave without *CONFIRMING* you have a Discworld book this time.

Grab a book. Look at the cover. Read the back Discworld! Ha HA! You've done it!

It's called Thud.

You are utterly gripped by a story of a man wrestling with himself, his growing child, the political tensions of a city and extremism that echoes reality beautifully while still being entirely true to itself. It's a story of responsibility and love and building communities and Fantasy Chess. You are driven nearly to tears by the sentence *WHERE IS MY COW?*

You emerge from the book fundamentally changed as a person, and finally understanding what all the fuss is about. You are now a Terry Pratchett reader for life.

You realize Thud was in the middle of a series. That was a part of another series. That explains why there was a feeling that you were supposed to know some of these people already.

You finally find one of those flowcharts and figure out a more sensible reading order.

I always sort of laugh when people ask where to start reading Discworld, because Thud would be first on absolutely nobody's sensible Terry Pratchett reading order. I'm still tempted to recommend it though!

(My actual advice: Going Postal if you love con men being stuck doing the right thing, Wee Free Men if you like YA and smart angry girls owning their own power, Guards! Guards! *and* Men at Arms if you like crime shows with heart and are okay giving earlier work a try (the quality gets better and better, but I think it needs at least two books to get you into it), and Monstrous Regiment if you like gender and queer feelings, anti-war books told in the middle of a war, and/or would prefer a stand alone novel...and, you know, Thud if you want a great read and don't mind some chaos.)

[vylosinbound]

hiii!!! do you think you could write headcanons with the brothers about mc being russian? and like being multilingual.

thank you!!! ^^

Omg yes absolutely!! Love this idea, thank you so much for sending this request. A multilingual Russian MC?? The brothers would be so intrigued!

Rooted in you

The brothers react to a russian MC

Characters: Lucifer, Mammon, Leviathan, Satan, Asmodeus, Beelzebub and Belphegor

Genre: Fluff / Slice of Life | Curiosity / Romance /Cultural Discovery

What are the brothers like when they find out about MC’s origins , their nationality, language, culture, and how being multilingual shapes who they are?

LUCIFER

• The first time you speak in Russian, it’s by accident. You drop something and let out a sharp «Блин!» under your breath. Lucifer turns his head slowly, eyebrow raised, but doesn’t say anything. He files it away in his mental notes like a detective collecting clues.

• Eventually, when you mention you're Russian and speak multiple languages, he just nods with his classic composed expression. But deep down? He's impressed. Immensely.

• “A mind that can think in several languages is a disciplined one,” he says, almost like a compliment hidden under formality.

• He starts researching Russian culture, not in a creepy way, but so he can understand you better. From literature to history to cuisine. You even catch him reading Pushkin in the original language with the help of a dictionary.

• If you ever mutter something in Russian when annoyed, he’ll lean in, voice low: “Care to translate that for me?” There’s a hint of mischief in his tone.

• He’ll try to use a Russian phrase during a formal event to impress you. It’s grammatically perfect. Typical Lucifer.

MAMMON

• “Wha— hold up, hold up! You’re sayin’ ya know, like, a bunch of languages?!” His eyes are wide, and there’s this mix of shock and awe that only Mammon can pull off.

• Once he realizes Russian is your first language, he’s constantly asking what random words mean, especially slang. “So like… what’s Russian for ‘I love you?’ Wait no, what’s Russian for The Great Mammon?”

• Gets jealous if you speak in another language with someone else in front of him. “Oi! I don’t speak fancy human tongues, don’t leave me outta the convo!”

• He insists you teach him a phrase, messes it up spectacularly, then pouts. “What?! I said it right! ...Okay, maybe not. But ya still love me, right?”

• If you ever teach him a Russian term of endearment like солнышко (solnyshko) or котик (kotik), he’s immediately obsessed and demands you call him that all the time.

• Lowkey thinks it's the coolest thing about you. Brags about it every chance he gets. “My human? Speaks like a bunch of languages. Top that.”

LEVIATHAN

• You’re casually scrolling through your D.D.D., watching something in Russian, and Levi overhears. You explain that you’re fluent, and he turns red. “T-That’s like… super rare protagonist energy?!”

• He gets super flustered when you say his name in a Russian accent , especially if you do it teasingly.

• If you ever speak rapid-fire Russian while gaming, trash-talking an opponent, his jaw drops. “That was… kind of scary. But also… hot??”

• He’ll try to learn a few phrases so he can communicate better with you. You walk in on him practicing in front of a mirror, headphones on, muttering «Ты потрясающий» (You’re amazing) to himself. He almost dies of embarrassment.

• Watching anime with you dubbed in Russian becomes his new obsession. He starts calling you his “subbed AND dubbed soulmate.”

SATAN

• The moment he learns you’re Russian and multilingual, he’s hooked. Not just because it’s rare, but because it opens the door to so many books.

• “Would you mind helping me translate this? It’s a first-edition Chekhov.” You end up having long conversations about Russian literature, philosophy, and history. He genuinely wants to understand your cultural background, especially the nuances in how language shapes thought.

• He notices how your expression changes slightly when you speak in Russian, how your body language shifts, how different emotions color your tone.

• Will absolutely ask you to curse in Russian just to hear what it sounds like. He finds it poetic, in a weird way.

• When you get homesick, he’ll surprise you with a book in your language, a handwritten note on the inside in Cyrillic, and a cup of tea. He’s that kind of thoughtful.

ASMODEUS

• “Oh MC, You’re full of surprises! You have to say something sexy in Russian for me. Right now. Pleaseee?”

• He is obsessed with the sound of your voice when you speak other languages, especially Russian. “It’s so mysterious. So dangerous. Ugh, I love it.”

• He starts calling you his “Russian Rose” or “Winter Flame” depending on your vibe.

• Demands you teach him pickup lines in Russian. He uses them wrong but confidently. “Hey hey, what does ‘У тебя красивые глаза’ mean again?”

• You once scolded him in Russian and he got all giggly. “You’re mad at me and I still want to kiss you. What kind of magic is that?”

• Will start incorporating Russian words into his speech whether he uses them right or not. “MC, your улыбка is giving me life today~”

BEELZEBUB

• He’s genuinely curious and open. “So... is there Russian food? What’s your favorite? Can we make it together?”

• If you teach him how to pronounce something in Russian, he listens carefully and does his best to get it right. He may not remember grammar, but he remembers you.

• You teach him to say “thank you” and “you’re amazing” in your language. He uses them every time he talks to you after that.

• Quietly protective of you if anyone mocks your accent or makes you feel like an outsider. He won’t raise his voice, he doesn’t have to. One look is enough.

• If you cook him traditional Russian meals, he’ll remember each one and associate them with warmth and comfort.

• Will ask you to teach him a lullaby in your native language, then hum it under his breath while snacking. It's incredibly sweet.

BELPHEGOR

• Acts like he doesn’t care at first. “Oh, cool. You’re Russian. Wake me when it matters.” But when he hears you speak it? He perks up, just a little.

• Gets attached to how your voice sounds when you’re sleepy and muttering in another language.

• Will jokingly mispronounce things on purpose just to make you laugh. “How do you say ‘I love you’? Ya tebya lubloo? Heh.”

• If you ever vent to him in Russian while lying on his chest, even if he doesn’t understand, he finds it calming. He’s like, “Keep talking. I don’t care what you’re saying. It just feels like home.”

• Keeps a recording of you softly speaking Russian. Claims it helps him fall asleep faster.

• Calls you his “dreamwalker” in Russian once, though he definitely had help from Satan for the grammar.

[aliciavance4228]

The Odyssey: Funny Moments

Most of you liked my "The Iliad: Funny Moments" post, so I decided to make this one as well.

1. When Telemachus asks Odysseus what kind of help they have for taking down the suitors, Odysseus basically says, "We've got Zeus and Athena on our side. Are you sure that'll be enough?"

2. "Brother, who blinded you?" "Nobody! Nobody did!" "...Then we're going to go back to sleep."

Taken to the logical extreme in a comic book adaptation where Odysseus and his men gave him fake names:

"Brother, who blinded you?"

"Nobody! Idontknow! Idontcare! Or maybe... Idontremember!"

"So that's why they called him Polyfool."

3. After his crew opened the bag of winds thinking it had treasure and caused a huge storm, Odysseus briefly considers suicide as valid as an option to preserving through hardship.

4. The sheer, mind-boggling, testicle-shriveling amount of crap that Odysseus and his crew get put through when trying to get back to Ithaca can be viewed as hilarious in a cringe comedy kind of way. By the time Odysseus gets home and realizes that his wife has been badgered and harangued by suitors for a decade one could be forgiven for thinking that his wanton slaughter of them all was less about their violation of guest rights and more just blowing off some steam on a morally unambiguous target.

5. When briefly visiting the Underworld, Persephone allows Odysseus to talk with his mother and other dead people. Odysseus is absolutely terrified of her and dreads staying too long and incurring her wrath, running back to his ship fearful that she'll sic Medusa's head on him.

6. One of Odysseus's crew randomly dies by falling off a roof after a night of heavy drinking. Everyone else gets to be killed by horrible monsters and the wrath of the gods, but he instead gets to be a posthumous reminder about the dangers of alcoholism. Even better, after his death he berates Odysseus for not burying him properly when our hero goes to Hades!

7. On the way back to Ithaca, Telemachus asks a favor of Nestor's son Pisistratus, and proceeds to invoke two generations of friendship to get some help dodging Nestor's aggressive hospitality.

8. Penelope asks a disguised Odysseus to interpret a dream she had. It turns out that during the dream, one of its characters explicitly explained what it all represented, and Odysseus just repeats it back to her.

9. While disguised as a human, Athena goes to the trouble of giving a plausible explanation for her departure... then promptly blows her cover by turning into a bird and flying away in front of a boggling Nestor and Telemachus.

10. Penelope's tricks against the suitors, of which the two best known are:

At one point, she told the suitors she'd choose her next husband after she'd finish weaving a burial shroud for Odysseus's father Laërtes... And every night, she'd undo her work. She strung them along for three years and would have continued had an unfaithful maid not exposed her.

On page we see her daring them to replicate one of Odysseus's feats: she put twelve axes on the ground so that the rings in the handle would align and gave them Odysseus' unstrung bow and arrows, and told them that whoever could use that bow toshoot an arrow through all the rings would be her next husband.She also forgot to tell them it was a recurve bow that the suitors wouldn't even recognize when at rest, let alone string.

A lesser-known ploy is when she calls out the suitors for freeloading off her husband's estate instead of courting her with lavish gifts. They rush to present her with gifts, while the disguised Odysseus watches with delight.

11. Athena's response when Odysseus fails to recognize her in disguise and tells her a backstory he came up with on the spot is essentially "That's my liar! There he is!"

Credits: TV Tropes

[scribbledghost]

Hello again! It’s 🤍 anon.

I loved what you did with the emotionally reserved ask and so I raise another for you.

How would the vessels(all) respond/react to a chronic pain/illness reader? My joints have been giving me grief lately and I can just imagine III being a space heater wrapped around reader, but I’d love to see what you do with it.

Maybe you could add in different reactions to different flare ups? Just spitballing ideas since writing is hard rn.

Many thanks!

-🤍Anon

Note: Hello my dear 🤍! I don't know that I did very well with the different types of flare ups, but I did focus more on chronic pain. I can sympathize with your joints giving you grief (though mine is less "chronic illness" and more "I've developed a condition called 'I'm-now-over-thirty-years-old-itis'"), so hopefully this can bring you some enjoyment!

I think they panic at first when they notice you're in pain. Even if you're just arriving at the manor for the first time, they all sort of rush you, thinking you're seriously injured and in need of help. It doesn't particularly ease their minds when you explain that it's just... normal for you, but they allow you to proceed as usual.

Once things progress and you stick around and begin relationships with the vessels, they still get antsy when they can sense your pain levels rising. They'll seek you out almost immediately if they're not already around, doing what they can to (hopefully) make you feel a little better. Even if there's not much they can do to help you physically, they figure they can at least maybe help you mentally.

Vessel will pretty much take over for you. He wants to provide, after all, so anything you need, he's on it. He'll bring you whatever you ask for, he'll do anything you want. If you're bedbound, he's right there with you so you won't feel like you're alone. If you need quiet, he's making sure the others keep the noise level to a minimum. He'll help you do anything to try and ease your discomfort or pain, should you ask him to. I can see him doing little things too, like trying to siphon off some of your mental pain to himself if he can. There's unfortunately little he can do for physical pain, but he can hopefully make it a bit more bearable emotionally.

II will be a steady presence. I can also see him doing a lot of research on whichever condition you have, and maybe even bringing new home remedy ideas for you to try in hopes they have some sort of positive effect. Of course, he's always there with various compresses, ointments, or other go-to's that you know work at least a little bit. If you need to be on a certain diet, he's pretty much developing a menu for you to make sure you eat. He also wants you to talk to him about how you're feeling and how you've usually dealt with it in the past. There's only so much books can tell him, after all, and he wants to hear from you about your experiences.

III will be your space heater/weighted blanket. He's like a cocoon, wrapping you up in his long limbs and pulling you close. If you want the pressure, he's more than happy to squeeze you tight like a boa constrictor, sort of like bundling you up in fabric like a little burrito. He also likes to try and make you laugh, so he's telling you goofy jokes or making little shadow puppets on the wall. Anything to get you to smile. In the event you need something more gentle and quiet, he's pulling you close and purring. He read somewhere that purring usually makes people feel better, so he hopes it works here too.

IV will absolutely refuse to let you move a muscle when he's around. If you need anything, he's telling you to stay put while he gets it for you. If you need to go anywhere, he's carrying you (superhuman strength, remember?). He'll hold ice packs or warm compresses to wherever you need him to, carefully timing it so he can alternate accordingly. He's also more than happy to provide cuddles. While he can't quite wrap around you as much as III can, he's still curled up with you in hopes the extra affection can make you feel a bit better. Like III, he'll also start purring quietly, though in IV's case it's more of a subconscious act because he's comfortable.

[drmaddict]

The Lovers

Summary: Jason accuses (Y/n) the town witch that she has cast a spell on him. Neither of them would have expected, what was really behind it.

Wordcount: 7.370

"Ah!" I cried out in surprise, when I heard the crack and the dull bang behind me and whirled around. I had expected to see a heavy branch lying on the ground and not... Jason Carver?

"What are you doing here?" I shouted, still slightly tense.

He got to his feet and knocked the leaves off his jacket. "I could ask you that? What are you doing?", he asked angrily, pointing at the basket I was holding.

I looked at him in irritation.

"What kind of voodoo are you going to do, huh?"

I raised an eyebrow. "They're daisies, you moron." I demonstratively held up one of the small flowers. "You can use them to make an ointment for sunburn." I rolled my eyes. "You followed me all the way through this forest to play witch hunting? How long have you been following me?" He was absolutely crazy.

He came up to me. "Long enough to see that these aren't daisies.", he bit out, holding up the second plant in my basket.

"Yes, this is St. John's wort. My cousin has neurodermatitis. The creams from the pharmacy are all too expensive and they don't want anyone else to pay for them, so I make her one from this. It soothes chapped skin." I grabbed the little plant and threw it back into the basket. "And before you ask.", I continued, reaching into the basket. "Mint. For my satanic tea against bloating."

Jason looked at me dully, then shook his head. "Why should I trust you?"

"Because I'm just here collecting some herbs and you're the stalker, who's been following me through the forest for at least fourty minutes.", I hissed.

Jason took a step back. "I know you're one of those weird wiccans."

"Witch."

"You admit it!"

"I'm correcting you.", I said simply.

He furrowed his eyebrows in irritation.

"Wicca is a religion. Most wiccans are witches. Not all witches are wiccans. It's like quadrates and squares." I teased him. "If you're going to hate me, you should at least use the right terms."

He looked at my basket. "Just because you're not doing anything wrong today, doesn't mean you're otherwise innocent."

I sighed. I just wanted my peace and quiet. "Yes, I'm usually sin itself. Can I have my peace now, please?"

"No."

I took a deep breath and tried to calm down. "You know what? Do what you want." With that, I turned around and tried to concentrate on the plants. "At least don't trample everything.", I snapped at him and kept walking.

"What is this stuff really for?"

"I just told you."

"You're lying."

"I could pass a lie detector test Carver."

I bent down to grab a small wild garlic plant.

"What's that?" Jason asked, almost angrily.

"Wild garlic.", I explained. "It's simply delicious in food." I threw the plant into the basket. "You're welcome to keep stalking me Jason, but try to be less angry."

"Why?"

"Because I want this", I pointed to my basket, "to have positive energies."

"It's a plant."

"Do you pray for other people's misfortune?"

"No! I'm not."

"Then don't spoil my work, wanting to do something good for the people in my life... Even if it's just to help them with sunburn."

Jason stopped short and looked at me insistently. "How do I know you're not lying?"

I looked at him as calmly as you can look at someone who calls you Satan's bitch. It was his upbringing or the media. How was he supposed to know any better? "Look for Hildegard von Bingen's herbal bible in the library. I know everything about medicinal herbs from her."

"I'm not reading the book of some devil worshipper."

"Hildegard von Bingen was a nun.", I corrected him.

Jason faltered.

"If you don't trust me, maybe you trust one of your people."

He walked slowly backwards. "I'll keep an eye on you.", he said emotionlessly.

"I'll see you at school."

"I'm just saying. Be prepared for something to come up today.", I grumbled to Eddie, poking at my salad.

Eddie shook his head, upset. "He's been stalking you?"

"Yes.", I laughed. "If he hadn't been alone, I would have been really worried."

"He's out of his mind."

"Is that news?"

I didn't know what to expect today. That got me down. Ever since my former friend Melody unintentionally outed me as a witch, I never knew what to expect the next day. She had snooped through my things and found the little pentagram pendant. After the whole school knew about it, even the head teacher called me in and told my parents.

My dad thought I had a chip on my shoulder, but otherwise wasn't interested and my mom... Well, before I explained what I was doing and that the newspapers had no idea, it took a good three hours. Three hours with a lot of tears.

I never spoke to Melody again. Eddie had taken me in with the outsiders and Jason and his gang wanted to see me at the stake.

"We'll keep watch.", Eddie said, looking down the hall.

"My heroes.", I sighed dramatically.

He grinned and bowed exaggeratedly.

I was sitting at one of the tables at the edge of the forest, scribbling listlessly on my piece of paper, when a book banged on the table next to me.

I literally jumped up and stumbled backwards, so frightened, that I toppled over the bench and fell onto my back.

I saw blonde hair and a green and white jacket.

I picked myself up stiffly. "What the hell are you?" I grumbled. "Are you making any noise at all?"

I knocked the grass off my butt and gave Jason a dirty look. He looked back just as crossly.

I looked at the book on the table. Hildegard von Bingen. "You've read it.", I said in surprise.

"Skimmed it."

I looked at his angry face and sighed. "What's wrong now?"

"The herbs might be good, but you're doing something."

I ran a hand over my face. "Jason.", I began humbly. "I'll leave you alone. Can't you do me a favor and do the same to me?"

"No!"

"Why not?" I whined.

He was breathing heavily and turned away in a huff. "Because you did something. You did something to ME. ADMIT IT!"

I faltered. "Jason what are you talking about?"

"Why do I feel this way if you haven't done some witchcraft to me?" he hissed, coming closer and closer to me. I backed up until I bumped into a tree. Jason encircled me with his arms.

"I don't know what you're talking about.", I said almost fearfully. "I don't know what you mean Jason."

"Stop saying that!"

"Say what?"

"MY NAME!"

"Jas-" I bit my lips.

He was breathing heavily. "Undo it."

"I didn't do anything. You're scaring me."

"Undo it!", he growled. He looked at me almost frantically.

"You have to tell me what's wrong or I can't help you, but I didn't do anything."

"Then why do I feel like this?", he whispered angrily.

"How do you feel?", I asked, almost pleadingly. Hoping that he would stay calm.

"How do you feel Jason?"

No sooner had his name crossed my lips than he pressed his mouth to mine. Hard and unyielding. His hands held my head in place and his body pressed against mine. I was so caught off guard, that I just stood there, like a pillar of salt, waiting. Not quite grasping what was happening.

He abruptly disengaged and stumbled back. Tears streamed down his cheeks. "Undo it.", he whispered.

I looked at him in disbelief. Not a word escaped my lips. Not a sound escaped my throat. Until a fuse in my brain clicked into place and I ran away. I ran away as fast as I could, not wasting a single thought on my stuff, which were still lying on the table.

"He's did WHAT?", shouted Eddie angrily.

I sat at the kitchen table of the trailer and looked at the tabletop in disbelief.

"I think I'm going to be sick.", I whimpered. No. I really felt sick. I was sick to my stomach. I jumped up and ran to the bathroom. I made it just in time to take the contents of my stomach to the toilet.

Eddie stumbled after me and held my hair out of my face. He stroked my back reassuringly.

When I was sure nothing more was coming, I dropped onto my butt and felt the tears on my cheeks. I wrap my arms around my legs. Eddie held out a bottle of water to me.

"Take a deep breath.", he mumbled.

"They're going to kill me Eds."

"They won't. We'll keep you safe." He pulled me into his arms. "Nothing's going to happen."

My backpack was gone, of course. What had I expected?

I sat in the library and waited impatiently for Gareth to come. I hid behind my book and tried to stay calm. One of the boys had been keeping an eye on me all day. Just in case.

Jason had been like a madman. He'd gotten it into his head that I'd cast a spell on him. He had kissed me. Jason Carver. The poster boy Jason Carver somehow had... had a crush on me and now thought I'd made him. Jason Carver had a crush on me and he hated himself for it. I was startled when I heard a backpack fall onto the table, but before I even looked up, I saw Jason's back disappearing quickly and my backpack in front of me. I reached for it hesitantly. Slowly pulled open the zipper. Carefully peeked inside. Nothing happened.

"Your backpack is back?"

I winced.

"Since when are you so jumpy?" Gareth grinned.

"Since I'm waiting for the Inquisition.", I grumbled.

POV Jason

How had I let myself get so carried away? How could I have been so stupid? Why hadn't I stayed away from her? I had given her far too much power over me.

My head was buzzing with thoughts as I walked into the theater room as Luke's note told me to.

That little witch. Why had she run away, when this was exactly what she had wanted? That had been her goal. To cast a spell on me. Had she realized that this couldn't be love? Had she perhaps really done nothing - I interrupted the thought immediately. Of course she had done something. I would never think like that about someone, who went against everything I stood for.

The door of the theater room slammed shut loudly. I turned around with a jolt and caught sight of Eddie Munson.

"Ball boy. Glad you got my message."

I looked at the note in my hand. How could I have been so stupid?

"I heard about your little meeting with (Y/n) in the woods.", he continued, walking slowly towards me.

I shouldered my backpack and moved towards the door, but Munson grabbed me firmly by the shoulders and stopped me.

"Not so fast. Where are you going?"

"Let me go!"

"Why is that? I guess it's not so much fun being hassled yourself?"

I pulled my shoulders out of his grip and pushed him away. "That's what she wanted! She started this voodoo.", I hissed. "So tell her to undo it or leave me alone!"

Munson laughed. First in disbelief, then louder, harder, until he seemed almost unable to breathe. "Oh God!", he struggled to breathe. "You really believe that."

"What's so funny?", I shouted angrily.

Munson held his stomach and sat down on one of the folding chairs. "You have a crush and you don't realize it." He wiped a tear from his face.

"I don't-"

"You think you're pretty important, don't you?", he interrupted me, still slightly breathless. "Don't you think she'd have better targets, than some bore with a twist in his panties?"

I turned away angrily and left.

"Bother her again and you can find out how to throw your balls with crutches.", he shouted after me.

I pushed the door open hard and stormed through the corridors.

I don't have a crush on that witch. I don't want anything from her. No matter how many dreams I had in which she lay with me and in which she seduced me with her smile and her scent... Those dreams weren't real. They weren't my dreams. They couldn't be mine.

"Jason." my name fell from her lips like a prayer. She clawed at my back. I kissed her neck, marking it as my own, as I thrust into her again and again. Sometimes faster, sometimes slower. I let her dance on the threshold of pleasure. Never quite gave her what she wanted. I devoured her and she gave herself to me. (Y/n's) eyes were glassy and yet warm. Looked up at me with affection and admiration. Her hands caressed my back. Her legs wrapped around my hips. She moved towards me. We were united. Two bodies and two souls in harmony.

She twitched around me. Her body tensed. She collapsed in waves of excitement. She took me with her and caught me.

The fabric under my cheek was damp. I sat up with a jerk. I was alone. Alone in my room. Just me in my bed. Sweat was sticking to my body. I wiped the saliva from the corner of my mouth in disgust. My shorts were sticking to my crotch. I pulled a face.

Why in God's name did I have to be the target of this witchcraft? Why did these dreams have to feel so good? Why did I feel so safe in them? She was a witch! She was evil. She was not gentle and sweet. I had to remind myself that she had cast a spell on me. I couldn't love her!

Where did that word come from? Why did it want to creep into my head?

I felt tears running down my cheeks. I don't want to have these thoughts!

(Y/n)s POV

The last week I had gotten away with it. None of the jocks had hit on me or hinted at anything. It just made me even more paranoid.

I was waiting for a prank. Some kind of humiliation. I was almost longing for it so I could finally get it over with.

I was walking home when a sadly too familiar car drove up slowly beside me. I didn't look up, stubbornly continued straight ahead.

I heard the side window being rolled down.

"Get in!" Jason said stubbornly.

I walked on silently.

"Get in the car now!"

"No!" I replied stubbornly.

The car came to a halt. A door opened. I quickened my steps.

A hand clutched my upper arm. "I told you to get in.", he hissed.

"But I don't want to.", I spat back.

His grip on my arm became painfully tight. "And I don't want to have these thoughts, so get in."

I tried to pull away, but it didn't help. His hands were on my arms like vices.

"What are you going to do?"

"We're going to church."

I looked at him, perplexed. "Is the pyre ready or what? For fuck's sake, Carver! I don't want anything from you except to be left alone! Even if I could do what you accuse me of, which I can't by the way, why would I want the guy who's been spitting on me for months?"

He looked at me blankly. "We'll go to the church now and talk to the priest."

I realized tears were welling up in my eyes. It was all so absurd. It... It was humiliating. Someone had a crush on me and it was so absurd that it was really happening that he suspected I had bewitched him.

"Now come on!" he ordered, pulling me roughly towards his car.

I stumbled after him.

The drive was silent and tense. I had tried to jump out at a red light, but Jason had immediately had grabbed hold of me.

When we arrived at the church, Jason dragged me up the steps of the building and through the door into the large main room.

I had never been in a church before. My parents weren't believers, so there was never any reason to attend one.

He looked at me insistently.

I remained stubborn. "What? Did you expect me to burst into flames?"

His jaw tightened. "Come on." he growled.

Roughly, he dragged me to a small room and knocked.

Priest Mitchel opened it for us. "Jason. Hello... And you must be (Y/n)."

I nodded hesitantly.

"Can you give us a moment alone Jason?" the priest asked, stepping aside to clear the way into his office.

Jason reluctantly let go of me.

I cautiously stepped into the priest's office. I only knew him by sight, but he always seemed nice and friendly.

"Why don't you sit down for a minute? Would you like some tea?"

"Uh... No. Thanks."

He just nodded and sat down on an exercise ball opposite me. "They don't look particularly professional, but they're good for your back.", he smiled.

I just nodded. "My mom has one too."

He grinned. "Very well." He became more serious. "Jason told me about his situation." I stiffened. "Don't worry. I won't drag you to the torture chamber. But whether you've done anything or not... Jason... Got stuck on that idea and knowing the boy, he's not going to let it go."

I sighed. "So you're not getting out the pitchforks?"

He smiled. "No. Believe it or not. My wife went through a phase like you once."

"And if it's not a phase?"

"Then I pray you stay true to the right path anyway."

I looked thoughtfully at the table in front of me. "And how do I get rid of that witch hunter out there now?" I muttered. "You know him better than I do."

Father Mitchel looked thoughtfully at my bag. "You don't happen to have any herbs with you?"

I looked up irritated. "What? No. I was at school. What do I want with herbs there?" 

"Hm... Well, the tea will have to do then."

He reached into the drawer of his desk and pulled out a packet of fruit tea. Relaxed, he cut open a good six bags and tipped them into a small decorative bowl.

"What are you up to?"

He grinned. "We're breaking a spell for Jason's sake. Under my supervision, of course, so he'll feel more comfortable and confident about it."

I raised an eyebrow in surprise. "Don't you always say you shouldn't lie?"

"Special situations call for special measures."

"You're a strange priest."

"And I'm very proud of that."

Less than five minutes later, I was sitting behind the church in front of a small bowl of fruit tea, trying to remain serious. Jason and Father Mitchel watched me from a safe distance, how I lit a small piece of paper on which my and Jason's names were crossed out.

Normally, you would use two candels with a connected wick to break a love spell, but Jason didn't know that.

I threw the note into the bowl and watched it burn. The tea left a sickeningly sweet smell, but the light breeze made it disappear quickly.

I waited patiently for the flames to recede and then grabbed the ashes to let them blow away with the breeze for show.

Jason watched everything with eagle eyes, but actually seemed a little calmer with Father Mitchel at his side.

I got up from my cross-legged position and lifted the bowl. A pretty little thing.

I put it in Father Mitchel's hand. He nodded at me with a smile. "If you ever think about it, the church is always open to you."

"That... That's very nice. Thank you."

"Well then. Accounting is waiting." He sighed and walked back around the building.

Jason looked at me appraisingly. I let him.

"Can you at least take me home now? I don't have any money for the bus."

He struggled with himself, but then motioned for me to follow him.

The journey was calm. Tense, but calm.

I quickly squeezed out of the car when we arrived at my house. "Thank you. Bye.", I mumbled and disappeared into the house as quickly as I could.

Hopefully, this haunting was finally over.

POV Jason

She kissed me so tenderly. Her arms were wrapped around my neck. Her body was warm as it pressed against mine. I could feel her breasts through both our shirts. I enjoyed her hands in my hair. I stroked her ribs. She giggled slightly. Bit my lower lip playfully. I laughed. I felt bliss. I felt light. Here in this meadow, lying on a scratchy picnic blanket, with her in my arms. She kissed the tip of my nose. She ran her thumb over my cheeks.

"I love you.", I murmured and gently kissed the diamond ring on her ring finger. 

I woke up suddenly. Annoyed, I hit the alarm clock and buried myself under the thick comforter again. Still slightly foggy, I tried to fall back asleep and continue dreaming where I had left off. I wanted to go back to the meadow and (Y/n)-

I stiffened up. No. No. No!

Why another dream like this? I curled up under the blanket and pressed my hands against my forehead. I tried to push these wishes out of my brain.

But she had dissolved the spell. Father Mitchel was there. That couldn't be. It couldn't be.

I wanted to be normal again.

POV (Y/n)

I sat on my favorite table in the woods and looked thoughtfully at my tarot cards. The lovers had been extremely persistent in my last readings. I threw all the cards back on the pile and shuffled them vigorously. That didn't make any sense. I haven't really felt it anyway.

I shuffled and suddenly one of the cards flew out of the pile. I turned it over and sighed in surrender. The fool glared at me maliciously. "All right. I get it.", I growled annoyed and put the cards on the table.

I heard it crack behind me. I quickly jumped up and looked around.

God no.

"Jason?"

He didn't say anything, just sat down at the table. He looked tired. Listlessly, he threw his backpack in front of him and lay down on it. But he kept his eyes on me. His eyes wandered to the cards on the table. Strangely, he didn't react.

I didn't say anything. I didn't move.

"What do you want here?"

He was still looking at the cards and reached for one that had clearly slipped out of the deck. When he threw it back down, annoyed, I saw the lovers again.

"I give up.", he mumbled. His voice was low and raspy.

I hesitantly sat down next to him. "What are you giving up on?"

"It didn't work... The voodoo from yesterday."

How could it? It was just for show. I sighed anyway. I had somehow hoped that maybe it would influence him enough to finally put his mind at rest.

"Go on, then. Do what you want.", he grumbled.

I furrowed my eyebrows in irritation. "What?"

"You wanted me. Go on."

I breathed in and out in a controlled manner to control my anger. "Jason.", I groaned, annoyed.

He looked at me devotedly. I rubbed my hands over my face. "Okay. How about you pray?"

He sat up. "You want me to beg you too?"

I rolled my eyes. "To your god, you idiot."

He faltered. "Why?"

"Can't you ask him what's right and what's not? Ask him for the truth."

He faltered. His eyes screamed with confusion.

"Come on," I groaned and put my cards away. "I'll even clean up."

He sat up straighter. Watched me. "All right.", he murmured. His hands pushed together almost cautiously. He rested his elbows on the tabletop and gave me another quick glance. "No games.", he ordered.

I held my hands up in the air defensively.

He closed his eyes and rested his forehead on his hands. It seemed so... antiquated. The way he sat there mumbling to himself. The way he held his hands. It all looked so ancient.

I went about my own thoughts until I suddenly heard him sobbing.

I pulled myself out of my thoughts. Jason was still in his prayer position but I heard him turn up his nose.

His hands separated and immediately ran over his face. I quickly looked in my backpack and grabbed the small pack of tissues.

"Here." I held them out to him.

He grabbed it without a word and wiped his tears away, blew his nose loudly and then threw it on the table.

"Jason." I was practically whispering. As if every loud noise would destroy the world.

He just shook his head. "You're not supposed to say my name.", he replied just as quietly.

"Then what am I supposed to call you?"

He wiped away another tear. Silently, he looked at the tabletop.

"Why do you hate me so much?" I asked.

He grimaced. "I think we both know that the opposite is the problem."

I shook my head. "No, you're conflicted. You hate the... Interest in me."

He sighed and reached for another tissue. "Why do you have to be a witch?"

I smirked. "That's it?"

"You go against everything I believe in.", he pressed out.

I sighed. "How about you pay your debt?"

He looked at me, confused. "What kind of debt?"

"You dragged me to your priest and now you're meeting one of my friends. Don't worry. She's a Christian... And a witch."

He laughed dismissively. "No such thing."

I held out my hand to him. "Let's make a bet, then."

He hesitated. "What bet?"

I thought about it for a moment. "If I win, you stop putting the basketballtaining on the Hellfire meetings."

Jason's jaw tightened. He reached for my hand. "If I win, you come to the service with me. For a month."

"Deal.", I grinned.

"Deal.", he bit back.

"Here?" Jason asked incredulously as he brought the car to a halt.

My friend's house was a simple terraced house. A small front garden with flower beds and a bright yellow façade.

I just nodded. "Yup. This is where she lives." I got out and waited for him to do the same. We walked down the small driveway and Jason eyed the cross on the thermometer next to the door.

It opened and my friend Jannice emerged. She was in her mid-thirties and, as always, a bit over the top.

"(Y/n)!", she shouted happily.

"Hey Jan.", I laughed and let myself be pulled into a hug.

"You haven't been around for far too long. You really need to make me some of that lavender oil again. I've just dried some. You can take it with you right away. Uh! Who have we got here? Let me look at you!" She hugged Jason, who was completely taken by surprise and just stood there.

"I can't believe you're fishing for such a tasty treat. I would have bet on the curly head with the puppy eyes..."

"Jan, we're not a couple.", I quickly interrupted her.

"Oh... Oh well." She brushed one of her wild curls out of her face. "Well, come in."

We entered the house and went into the kitchen, which, as always, smelled wonderfully of all kinds of flowers and herbs.

Jason stopped in the doorway and looked at a small table with a cross and a candle on it. He looked at them closely. The candle was bright pink. Definitely not a candle that was available at the service.

He turned back to us. "(Y/n) says you are a Christian.", he said clumsily, but Jannice just smiled again.

"Yes, that's right."

"And she says you're a... witch."

She put a tin of cookies on the table. "Yes. That's true, too."

Jason looked at her suspiciously. "But that can't work."

Jabnice laughed. "Oh boy. Have a seat. Eat a cookie and then I'll explain everything you want."

Jason still sat stiffly on a chair. "What's in the candle?", he began and Jannice started.

"But there are rules!" Jason huffed.

Jannice nibbled on a cookie. "I live by the rule of being a good person. How many more rules do you need? Treat your fellow human beings with love and helpfulness."

Jason put his coffee cup down firmly on the table. "But then everyone can do what they want!"

"If the law was repealed tomorrow that killing someone was illegal, would you do it?"

"Of course not!"

"And yet there are people who do it despite the law." She poked Jason's chest with her finger. "Because our ethics aren't always governed by rules."

She leaned back in her chair. "Why do you want to understand it, if you're so sure of your religious interpretation?"

Jason faltered.

They were a mismatched pair. So different and yet so similar.

"Jason wants to broaden his horizons a little.", I interjected.

Jannice eyed him. "To broaden your horizons, your heart has to be open."

Jason sighed. "Open heart. I just don't get it!", he huffed.

Jannice put a hand on his shoulder. "Your head doesn't understand or your heart?"

Jason gave her a pained look. "What's the difference?"

She smiled gently at him, but there was a hint of sadness in her eyes. "Because your head only tells you what you've learned. Your heart tells you what you've always known."

Jason's eyes sparkled treacherously wet again, but he blinked bravely.

Jannice's gaze showed understanding. "You were never really allowed to ask questions."

Jason shook his head. "There were rules."

She nodded. "Well. I listen to every question. My door is always open."

Jason didn't respond. Just grabbed another lavender cookie.

He stayed silent for a long time on the drive back. "I really want to understand this," he whispered.

Even though I didn't know what had happened to him, I had seen that something inside him had been shaken awake. Something that he had put to sleep was stretching and trying to understand why it hadn't been allowed to go through all those years.

"These things take time," I replied calmly.

Jason nodded. "Should I apologize?"

I grinned. "What does your gut say?"

He shook his head, annoyed. "I thought we were focusing on the heart."

I laughed lightly. "Everyone gets their knowledge from somewhere else."

He was silent for a moment. "I'm sorry." His eyes shot to me very briefly.

I bit my lip. "It's okay."

"And now what?" Eddie asked me as we lay on the roof of the trailer and looked up at the sky.

I shrugged my shoulders, even though he couldn't see that. "I don't know."

He sighed. "Do you think he'll shut up now?"

I had to smile. "I think it's more likely that things are just starting now. You should have seen them." I let the thought slip away and the confusion of the last few days settled over me. "This is all so absurd.", I muttered.

Eddie laughed. "I still can't believe he thought you put a spell on him."

I sighed. "Why wouldn't he? I'm not exactly his typ."

Eddie nudged me. "Of course you're not. They're completely hollow."

I shook my head. A sad smile spread across my face. "Can you play my best girl-friend for a minute?"

"Shall I get the nail polish?"

I punched him lightly.

"Sure.", he grinned.

I closed my eyes in surrender to make it easier. "It was so far-fetched, that he could really have a crush on me, that he thought I'd jinxed him Eddie.... That's... Why is it so far-fetched to have a crush on me?"

He patted my shoulder. "I'm sticking to the fact, that they're hollow."

I continued to gaze at the stars and fell silent. How could you treat someone you had a crush on with such disgust?

"What's going to happen with him now?" Eddie had turned his head towards me and was looking at me questioningly.

"What do you mean?"

He shrugged his shoulders. "Well, he understood that he thinks you're hot and now what?" He twirled his rings. "Are you going out? Are we still seeing each other? Do I have to find another club witch because you're hanging out with the cool kids now?"

I looked at him, confused. "We're not going out.", I blurted out. "We're just... I don't know. There's a truce?"

Eddie furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. "He fancies you (Y/n).", he said forcefully. "We know that now. How do you feel about him?"

I looked at him dully. "I've never thought about it.", I confessed. "Don't look at me like that! I was waiting for the funeral pyre."

Eddie shook his head in amusement. "I don't believe I'm saying this, but you two seem to be perfect for each other."

I nudged him roughly. "That's not funny!"

"Yes it is."

I pouted.

"So. How do you feel about him? Tell your best friend."

I rubbed my face. "I don't know. He... I mean he hasn't exactly been nice over the last few months." I listened to the rustling of leaves around us. "Can you like someone you're supposed to hate?"

"If we asked Jason, he'd say yes. Come on. What do you think of the Bible boy, non-judgmentally."

I sighed. "It's not that simple.... I mean... I don't know... He seems ambitious?"

"Very romantic." Eddie nodded, playing serious.

I groaned in annoyance. "He's probably quite good looking."

A grin appeared on his face.

"But I don't understand how he can dress like that.", I grumbled

Eddie continued to grin. "I knew you had a thing for Andrew!"

"Andrew?"

"Breakfast Club... Jock Andrew."

I blushed. "Shut up."

Eddie chuckled. "Would the basketball shorts on Jason be more your thing?"

"I told you to shut up."

"Oh, no. I'm going to enjoy this. Besides, he's definitely dreaming about banging you. So you can let it all out."

"He doesn't." I blurted out immediately.

Eddie couldn't stop laughing. "He has a cock and he likes you. He definitely dreams about you two fucking."

I gave him a petulant look. "You really are a catty best friend."

"And I love you very much."

"But... You could curse someone?", Jason asked me hesitantly.

We were sitting at the table in the woods again. As usual, Jason had come to me like a ghost and then started asking questions.

"I could probably try it. No idea if it would even work. Anyway. It's not my thing."

Jason looked very thoughtful as usual. "Why are you so insistent on only doing good?"

His blue eyes looked confused. "You could and you don't think anyone will punish you for it. Why don't you?"

"I never said I wouldn't be punished for it.", I objected.

He played with the zipper on his backpack. "And who's punishing you?"

"Karma.", I said simply. "Everything you send out comes back to you threefold."

"Hm."

He was silent for a moment. Let it sink in. "Okay."

Meanwhile, I sat in my seat and couldn't get the conversation with Eddie out of my head. Somehow the fact that Jason had admitted to having a crush on me had made it real. Did he really dream about me? Did I want him to dream about me? My ego wanted it, but did I want it?

I sighed without realizing it.

Jason looked at me questioningly. I waved him off. He looked thoughtfully at the table again. "Is there a spell to get rid of feelings?", he asked quietly.

I looked at him, irritated. "What?"

He rubbed his forehead. "I don't know which synapse has locked onto you, but we both know that there's no future in this. Apart from the fact that I very much doubt by now that you want anything from me." He stood up angrily. "So please. Do something and set me free."

I felt the anger boiling up inside me. First mixed with shame, then all the clearer and stronger.

"Set you free? I'm sorry that your limbic system isn't playing along with your image planning. I'm sorry that it's so disgusting to have a crush on me that you even have to assume you've been cursed. I'm sorry, Carver", I bit out his name, "that I'm not good enough."

I could feel the heat in my cheeks. "But you could at least have the decency not to throw that in my face every time you see me!"

I grabbed my backpack gruffly, which unfortunately only caused my tarot cards to fall out and scatter across the forest floor.

Jason just looked at me dully. A gust of wind hit me in the back and blew the last card away.

Jason bent down for it and held it out to me unseen.

I tryed hard not to crumple it up. The damn lovers. I breathed in and out in a controlled manner.

"I'm sorry-"

"Save it." I interrupted him immediately. I held my hands in front of me defensively. "Just let it go." I put the card with the others and zipped up the backpack.

The wind picked up, but I paid it no mind. I just kept going, no matter how hard the wind tore at me. How could the weather change so quickly?

"Now wait!" Jason called after me. "You can't walk through the forest in a storm like this. Let me drive you."

"No!"

I felt a hand around my upper arm, yanking me backwards. I heard a loud crack. A rumble of thunder rolled through the forest. The ground vibrated.

Jason had held me protectively against him. It was only when I managed to free myself that I saw his shocked face. When I turned around, I saw it.

A not exactly delicate branch was lying right where I was about to go. That thing would have easily broken every bone in my body.

As soon as I'd gotten over the situation, the wind died down, but only a little.

"Come on," Jason said and pulled me along with him. His hands were firmly on my shoulders and he swiftly escorted me to his car.

I stayed still for the rest of the journey. Jason had thrown his jacket on me because he had decided I would definitely be cold. The radio was switched off because it had started raining halfway and the signal was gone.

I hated that Jason's jacket smelled good. He wasn't supposed to smell good. He wasn't supposed to look good. His stupid upper arms shouldn't be so attractive.

Pouting, I averted my eyes.

"I can't see anything.", Jason grumbled loud enough to drown out the pattering of the rain. I didn't look at him. But then I felt the car stop.

"What are you doing?"

"I can't see five feet far. We have to wait for the rain to stop.", he explained defensively. I groaned in annoyance and rolled my eyes. Great. Still sulking, I crossed my arms and sank further into the seat.

He did the same. His upper arms stretched his shirt. I shook my head to get rid of the thought.

"I'm sorry, but you have to admit that I don't really fit into your life either.", he grumbled at me from the side.

I grit my teeth. "You know what? Maybe things would have been different, if you hadn't spent the last few months making my life a living hell.", I spat at him.

He looked back just as angrily. "And I'm sorry! God knows I'm trying to understand, but I can't change the past!"

"Where did your sudden interest in me come from anyway? Heh? How can you be so divided in your desires?"

His hands were clenched into fists. "Because not everyone can be who they want to be!", he shouted. "Because I can't like everyone! Because I can't just feel the way I want to!", he continued to shout, looking at me angrily. "Do you think I care what you do with your herbs? Do you think I want to be like that? I don't want to! I want to be normal, but I can't!" He breathed heavily and narrowed his eyes. "There were always rules. I was NEVER allowed to question them. I wasn't allowed to play with everyone. I wasn't allowed to be friends with everyone.... And I wasn't allowed to fall in love with everyone." He took a deep breath. "And people look... They talk when you don't do what they expect you to do." He looked stubbornly at the steering wheel. He continued to speak so quietly that I almost didn't hear him over the rain. "I'm not supposed to like you. I do... I do, but I'm not allowed to... Not until I... Before I... Before I've moved away and have a life for myself. Before I can... can be new."

And that's when a light went on. The fool. New. "Those were your cards!", I blurted out before I could hold it back.

"Wh-what?" He looked at me, snapped out of his emotions.

I rummaged for my little notebook. "I've been drawing the same four cards over and over again for weeks.", I explained. "The ten of wands. You suppress your feelings and desires and thus prevent yourself from being happy. The lovers. I probably don't need to explain. Then the tower. Tower moments bring down all walls... And the fool. New beginnings... Those were your cards!"

He looked at me, perplexed. "Okay?"

I looked at him insistently. "You... You can't spend your whole life pretending to be someone else!"

He sighed. "Not my whole... Just until... after college... Until I get a job." He closed his eyes. "That's a long time, but... Not forever."

"And then what? Do you just get up one day and become a different person? Ignore all the connections you've made up to that point?", I asked.

I saw the turmoil on his face. "What else am I supposed to do? If it gets out that I have a crush on someone like you, my father will call an exorcist."

I laughed in disbelief.

"I'm not joking! My father... is strict.", he concluded choppily.

I faltered. "How strict?"

He shook his head. I put a hand on his. He exhaled shakily. A tear rolled down his cheek. He didn't wipe it away. The rain continued to pelt down. Shielding us from the outside world.

"I can only really be me in my dreams.", he said more calmly now. "And now you've just snuck in there." He took a deep breath. Seemed to want to calm himself down.

"What am I doing in your dreams?" I asked cautiously.

"You just make me happy," he confessed. "You're there and give me so much affection. I can let myself go. I can laugh and... and... and I know I've ruined any chance of it really being like that." He roughly wiped the next tear from his face. "It drives me insane to wake up every morning and all of this is gone. I have to put that possibility of happiness behind me every morning and pretend that desire doesn't exist."

So that was him. Jason Carver. Behind the speeches and the facade. Behind the perfection and bravado. Broken. Unhappy. Alone.

"Jason.", I whispered.

He shook his head.

"Jason... I understand." I just said. "And... I think I can forgive you... With a little time."

He wiped more tears from his face. I squeezed his hand. "When you're ready, I'd like to meet the real Jason."

"I don't know when that will be.", he confessed.

"I can be very patient. But do me a favor."

He looked at me questioningly.

"No matter when you show the world, please figure out who you want to be by then."

His breath was shaky. "I'll try."

POV Jason

Seven years later

I sat exhilarated at the table of the small café, looking at my watch for the fifth time in two minutes. She probably wasn't coming. God it had been seven years. Seven years since we graduated. Since we only met rarely and secretly in the woods. Seven years since she had kissed me the last time we met. Seven years that I had thought about that kiss again and again, dreamt about it, longed for it. Seven years in which we had only exchanged letters and I had kept them all.

Seven long years in which so much could happen.

Seven years and now she was suddenly standing in front of me again. Grown up and as radiant as ever.

"Hi." She smiled gently at me.

"Hi." I whispered back in awe.

8 years later

She was lying in my bed. She cuddled up to me. It wasn't a dream. It was real. I smelled the scent of her hair. I felt her body against mine. I felt the warmth of her skin. I heard her steady breathing.

I pulled my arms tighter around her naked body and closed my eyes. It was real. We were both real.

9 years later

"Yes. Yes I do!", she smiled at me and euphorically wrapped her arms around me.

I felt a weight fall from my shoulders. She had said yes.

With nervous hands, I put the ring on her finger.

I immediately pulled her into a kiss, unwilling to let her get away again in the near future.

10 years later

I was lying with her in a meadow. The weather was warm but pleasant. The sun danced through the leaves above us.

We kissed lazily. I ran a hand under her shirt and over her ribs. She giggled. Ticklish as she was. She playfully bit my lip. Then kissed me on the tip of my nose. Stroked my cheek. I kissed the ring on her ring finger. "I love you.", I murmured.

She smiled warmly at me. "I love you.", she replied.

I smiled. "I've dreamt about this before.", I whispered.

"And is it as good as your dreams?"

I felt the warmth and bliss inside me and shook my head. "It's better." I kissed her lips softly. "It's real."

[youaintnothinbuta]

hey! don't know if you still do jason dean requests but i'm gonna put one in anyways. could you do something we're jd thinks the reader getting mad at him is super hot and he'll keep egging them on just so they yell at him or get frustrated at him (because he's just a frustrating person.) but the reader eventually catches on and starts trying to make him angry. the typical flirting with other guys, talking to people he doesn't like, not letting him hang out with them after school. eventually he just has enough and corners the reader and just goes off.

“You gotta get better at telling me this stuff.” Jason Dean x reader

Summary: see request

Pairing: Jason Dean x fem!reader

Word count: 1000

Warnings: angst, sexul innuendo towards the end, probably typos

A/N: yes I absolutely still will write for Jd!! Hope this is okay, had trouble figuring out how to end it 🫠

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“I swear to god Jd it’s like you are out to make me mad.” You said after he’d showed up to your house with no books, not even a pen, after you explicitly explained that you are too busy with finals coming up to spend hours and hours doing nothing productive at the moment, and after he promised you he’d bring his school work over so you could study together.

“I’m not.” He laid back on your bed.

You looked at him, immediately seeing right through the grin that was tugging at the corner of his lips.

“Oh my god, you are.”

“I’m not.” He sat up, hardly able to control his smile.

“You are!”

“I’m not.” He shrugged.

“YOU ARE!” You yelled, earning a slight chuckle from him. You paused, taking a second to realise this is what he wanted out of you, you took a breath. He stood up, his hand finding the small of your back, he lent into you, mumbling, “how bout you let me relieve some of your anger, hm?”

“What? No. No no no.” You pushed him towards your bedroom door.

“Where are you—“

You continued to push him through your house.

“I don’t have time for this Jd. Go be a dick somewhere else. Go home. I need to study, don’t have time for your games.” You shut the door in his face, leaving him outside.

You went back to your room, sitting at your desk, feeling a little guilty for kicking him out but also a little frustrated that he’d been pissing you off on purpose lately. The snide remarks he’d been making, calling other girls hot, just to name a few things he’d been doing.

God, how could you be such an idiot? You know what? No. Two can play at that game. If he wants to give it out he’s gotta be able to take it.

The following Monday at school, you were by your locker, talking to David, a guy in your biology class. You saw Jd approaching you from your peripheral vision, and made sure to look extra entertained by this guy.

“Hey, babe. Mind if I join?” Jd asked.

“Actually, I do. We were in the middle of a conversation,” you looked up at David, “Sorry, let’s go somewhere else.” You smiled and walked away from Jd.

You couldn’t see him with your back turned, but you knew exactly the look he was giving you. You know he was easy to anger. You knew his eyes had darkened and his mind would be racing.

In the following weeks, you started to play your own game. You began flirting shamelessly with other guys in front of Jd, making sure he saw you laughing and enjoying their company. It was a risky move, but you was determined to push Jd to his limits, to give him a taste of his own medicine.

One day, you walked home with a guy from school, your hand lightly brushing his arm as you chatted and laughed. You glanced back and saw Jd trailing behind, his face a mask of frustration. Later that week, you made plans to hang out with people you knew Jd couldn’t stand. You watched as he gritted his teeth, knowing he wouldn’t be invited. The satisfaction you felt was immense, but it was nothing compared to what was to come. Jd’s breaking point finally arrived. It was a Friday after school, you had arranged to meet your friends after school to go to one of their houses, leaving Jd standing alone as he watched you and your friends leave together. That was his final straw. He couldn’t take it anymore. You knew Fridays after school were your designated “couple time”.

That night, he crawled into your bedroom through your window.

“What the fuck is wrong with you? What the hell are you playing at?” His anger evident in his piercing gaze.

You feigned innocence, your eyes widening, “Playing at? I don’t know what you mean.”

His voice trembled with barely-contained rage. “Stop it. You know exactly what you’re doing.”

You smirked, your heart pounding with a mix of fear and excitement. “Do I, Jd? Maybe I’m just having fun.”

He gripped your arms pulling you into his hold. “Fun? You think this is fun? Do you think it’s fun for me to watch you gawk at random guys. I know you don’t like them as much as you pretend to.” He was practically seething.

“How the fuck do you think I feel, then, huh?” You shoved him off of you, “I’m only doing it because you do it to piss me off.”

Jd’s frustration was palpable, and he raked a hand through his hair. The intensity of the situation hung in the air as he tried to regain his composure.

You stood your ground, staring at him with a mixture of anger and defiance. “You started this, Jd. Maybe now you’ll understand how infuriating it is to be on the receiving end of your bullshit.”

He took a step toward you, his eyes locked onto yours. “You think this is a game, Y/N? You think we can just keep pushing each other’s buttons?”

You matched his gaze, unflinching. “Maybe it is a game, Jd. But you started it. I just decided to play by your rules.”

For a moment, the room was filled with tense silence. The two of you were caught in a glaring standoff, each unwilling to back down. Jd finally let out a heavy sigh, running his fingers through his hair once more. “Fine, Y/N. You win this round.”

You raised an eyebrow, not expecting him to back down so easily. “Is that it? Just like that?”

He leaned in closer, his voice low and intense. “I only try to piss you off because your reaction is hot. I love when you yell at me, you know that?”

He reached out and grabbed your face gently, his touch surprisingly tender.

You nodded, feeling a sense of relief that you could finally be honest with each other.

“You gotta get better at telling me this stuff.”

Jd chuckled, leaning in, his lips met yours in a soft, gentle kiss. His hands found your waist, pulling you closer to him, his fingers finding their way up your skirt as he broke the kiss with a smile, pushing you down gently onto your bed.

[chaifootsteps]

With Moxxies origin, wouldn’t it have made more sense if Moxxie just lied about his home ring? This would explain why he didn’t fit in with the wrath imps in harvest moon and wasn’t used to the culture. It would also have more impact to find out he lied to Millie of all people, because it makes you wonder, “why would he do that? He trusts Millie.” And while Millie is upset and questions it, Blitzø understands. A turn around of the usual dynamic.

Moxxie: Oh no, no, I hate this place. I grew up right over there.

Blitzø: I thought wrath was your old stomping grounds Mox?

Moxxie: Shit, busted. Okay. I haven’t been honest. This may be hard to believe, but I didn’t grow up on a ranch in the wrath fields.

Blitzø: Thats actually not hard to believe. I get it. I’m a greed imp too. Not the prettiest place.

Moxxie: I didn’t know that.

(After meeting Crimson)

Millie: Mox, why did you lie to me about where you’re from, and how come I haven’t met your Pa before?

Moxxie: I just don’t like to talk about this part of my life. I’m ashamed of the things that happened here. I’ll explain everything later Millie.

(Maybe you could add Blitzø telling Millie that some people aren’t proud of their families or where they grew up. This is something Millie struggles to understand, since she’s so proud of her own.)

I feel like there are ways to make new ideas fit with your story, and if they have an obvious inconsistency at first, you can adapt that into characters voicing the same confusion and questions the audience may have. Then just provide an in-universe answer. Book no more explanatory Twitter threads needed for your show.

Don’t just throw shit at the wall and hope it sticks. Or less graphically, don’t paint a wall green then later touch up the paint with blue and call it the same colour. Paint it turquoise.

It makes sense that Moxxie would lie about his home ring since he changed his own name just to hide from it. And that twist even makes the story and conflict better. At the dinner table Millie might even bring this lie up, having Crimson use it to try and drive a wedge between them. Because what else is he lying about? Same with Blitzø going to wrath after leaving Verosika, but in the next episode say to stolas that hes never been there. Both cant be true.

This episode just missed so many marks. On paper, Crimson and Chaz are a good dynamic duo of villains, one serious and dangerous, the other the less scary comic relief. You could have kept Crimsons scene very dark and serious, then after it ends and he goes upstairs to bed, Chaz does the dumb dick jokes. You keep Crimson as a threat, and keep the silliness you wanted, just keep that part focussed on Chaz. That’s what a comic relief is.

I just feel like the show needs consideration of its audience. There are ways to resolve plot holes by adapting the story slightly, even use them to create new reveals and new conflict.

There are absolutely ways to resolve plot holes by adapting the story slightly and ways to paint a green wall turquoise and all of this other extremely good and actionable writing advice. Unfortunately, Viv's solution to writing dilemmas is a mixture of "Do whatever and let the fandom harass anyone who points it out" and "add more rape."

[otomehonyaku]

DIABOLIK LOVERS Eternal Blood Animate Tokuten CD ☽ Vol. 1 & 2 ・A Certain Day at the Mukami Household

Original title: ある日の無神家 Voiced by Sakurai Takahiro (Ruki), Suzuki Tatsuhisa (Yuma) English translation by @otomehonyaku Click here for the audio (as always, BIG thank you to @karleksmumskladdkaka!)

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

This CD was very generous with the fan service, to say the least... I can safely say it's one of my new absolute favourites! The cooing, the teasing, the brotherly banter, Ruki's tired dad energy near the end, and both Ruki and Yuma fawning over you? _:(´ཀ`」 ∠): I hope you have as much fun listening and reading along as I had translating it!

Please do not reuse or post my translations elsewhere or translate my work into other languages without my permission.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

00:00 [The scene starts with Ruki quietly reading in his room.]

Ruki: What a lovely day it is today. A pleasant breeze is coming in from the window, and time is passing ever so slowly... There couldn’t be a more perfect time to read.

[Ruki turns a page.]

Ruki: I see. There’s much more to this book than I thought. I only bought it on a whim to pass the time, but… it’s actually not bad at all.

[Ruki turns another page and continues reading. The sound of rushed footsteps comes from the hallway.]

Ruki: Oh. Those footsteps… Is that Yuma?

[Ruki snaps his book shut with a sigh.]

Ruki: If he’s heading this way, he probably wants something from me. I’d hoped to spend a quiet day alone, but it seems like I’ll have to let that go…

[Yuma bursts into the room.]

Yuma: Hey! This’s bad, Ruki!

Ruki: Do not run in the hallway. Knock. Wait before I answer until I open the door. How many times do I have to tell you all of this?

Yuma: There’s somethin’ much more important that I need you to take a look at. You got time, right?

Ruki: What happened? You came all this way to disturb my reading, so at least tell me why.

Yuma: You’ll know the reason when you just come to the garden ‘n look at it.

Ruki: At what? 

[The scene shifts to the Mukami mansion's vegetable garden.]

Ruki: Ah… What on Earth is this? Hey, you. You were here together with Yuma, right? Explain the situation.

[You try to explain, but you’re so worked up that you keep stumbling over your words.]

Ruki: I shouldn’t have asked you. I can’t have a conversation with you when you can't even string together a sentence.

Yuma: Well… you know how most of the veggies in the garden are pretty much ripe for the pickin’ right now? She was pickin’ them for me, and then she suddenly called out that she saw somethin’ underneath the dirt. So, I got curious and dug it up, and it was… this.

[Yuma pats the box next to him.]

Ruki: This box? It looks like a coffin. You could lock up a full-sized human in there.

02:04 Yuma: Haha. You ain’t wrong. Like you said, it might be a coffin. Might be a vampire inside that was buried while he was sleepin’ or somethin'.

[You definitely don’t like the idea of that.]

Yuma: What, you scared something’s gonna jump out at you? You’d better fight like hell. Heh.

[You ask him what he would do if something were to jump out at you.]

Yuma: Huh? I’m just gonna stand by ‘n watch, of course. I ain’t comin’ to your rescue for free.

[Yuma comes closer.]

Yuma: If you want me to save ya, you got somethin’ to give me in return, right? That sweet stuff that’s flowin’ in your veins… Make me an offer and I might give it some thought.

Ruki: Yuma. That’s enough.

Yuma: Yeah, yeah, got it.

[Ruki steps closer to the box.]

Ruki: Hmm… The lid of the box seems to have a lock on it, but it’s in really bad condition. It looks like it would open easily.

Yuma: So? Let’s take a look inside.

Ruki: Hold on, Yuma. Don’t do anything reckless. Haven’t you read any literature on these kinds of things?

Yuma: Literature?

Ruki: These kinds of boxes are often traps. I’ve read about them in books. For example, there was one case in which a box washed up on a seashore. A man opened the box and smoke poured out, which gathered into the shape of an old man. It’s likely some kind of curse.

Yuma: Those kinds of curses exist?

Ruki: And then there are also these boxes of various sizes, collectively called tsuzura. You’re pressured to choose a single box, and if you choose the biggest one, there’s a trap inside: a monster jumps out of it. There are innumerable examples.

04:01 Yuma: Really? That’s some scary shit.

[You tell them those are probably made-up stories.]

Ruki: Oh? Do you really think they’re mere myths, Livestock? I’ll let you open the box, then.

[You immediately backpedal and try to run away, but Ruki catches you.]

Ruki: Oh, no. Don’t think you can run away now.

[You tell him you don’t want to do it.]

Ruki: You’re the one who said they’re myths. This is an order from your master. Hurry up and open it. If a monster really were to jump out, you’d have nowhere to run. It could easily tear you to pieces. I wonder what happens when it sinks its teeth into this pale skin of yours…

[Ruki’s hands palm your bare skin. You get flustered and try to move away.]

Ruki: What’s wrong? Did you already imagine it just by me touching you? Ah… So you actually prefer pain over pleasure.

[Ruki pulls you closer.]

Ruki: Don’t lie to me. You’re eagerly awaiting it, aren’t you? Your body seems to be trembling in delight, actually. Show me that expression of yours properly.

[Ruki grabs your chin and forces you to look at him.]

Ruki: Oh. I see the colour has completely drained from your face. Fear is not such a bad look on you. Well, then—do as your master tells you and open that lid.

[You tell him you’re scared and repeat that you really don’t want to.]

Ruki: That’s precisely why I’m making you do it, of course.

[You’re on the verge of tears.]

Ruki: Heh. You look miserable when you’re about to burst into tears. It’s quite enjoyable. However, you seem to be misunderstanding something. I’m not doing this to punish you. It’s your reward for helping Yuma. 

[Ruki pulls you even closer while you struggle.]

06:03 Ruki: To have your will completely ignored, your body pinned down until you have no choice but to obey… you actually get off on such wretched situations, don’t you? I’ll make you humiliate yourself. Now, how about you wag your little tail in delight and do as I say?

[You violently shake your head.]

Ruki: Good grief… You really don’t know when to give up, do you? You still have no intention of obeying?

Yuma: You’ve really gotten more stubborn since you started livin’ with us. Or, well, you were prolly already stubborn from the get-go.

Ruki: Livestock who don’t follow orders don’t do themselves any favours in terms of charm. Ah. Let’s do this on different terms, then. If you open the lid, I’ll make you your favourite for dinner.

[That piques your interest. You immediately say you’ll do it.]

Yuma: That makes you agree straight away?!

Ruki: Ah… I’ve clearly been using the wrong methods to discipline you. It’s like I’ve got one more Kou or Yuma in my household…

Yuma: What do Kou ‘n I gotta do with that? Well, fine by me, though. Besides, this lid’s pretty heavy. You sure you can lift it with those tiny arms?

[You try to lift the lid but fail miserably.]

Yuma: It ain’t movin’ at all. Are you even tryin’? Put some more effort into it or Ruki’s just gonna yell at you.

[The lid still doesn’t budge despite your best efforts.]

Yuma: I thought you said you’d do it yourself. How pathetic.

[You give up.]

Yuma: You’re so hopeless it ain’t even funny. Hey, Ruki. It’ll take all day if we leave this to her.

Ruki: It certainly seems that way. It can’t be helped, I suppose. Lend her a hand.

Yuma: Gotcha. Let’s see… I’ll give you a hand, so at least put some effort into it, alright? If you can’t open that lid, I’ll sink my fangs into you so deep you’re gonna beg for mercy. Makes it a bit more thrilling, right? Really, though. You keep yapping about the lid being heavy, but how heavy’s it really?

[Yuma gives a little push and the lid gives right away.]

08:24 Yuma: Huh? The fuck? It ain’t even that heavy. You really are useless. You shoulda been able to lift it lickety-split, Sow. I’ve given you a head start, so you do the rest. I’ll let go, so don’t drop the lid, alright?

[Yuma lets go and you immediately almost drop the lid.]

Yuma: C’mon, hold it up a little higher, Sow! Are you really puttin’ all your strength into it? You look like an idiot. Makes me wanna laugh. If you don’t put in the effort like it’s the last thing you’ll ever do, we’ll start from scratch again. Jeez… I’ll teach you how it’s done.

[Yuma puts a hand on your lower back, which startles you.]

Yuma: Here, right here. Focus your strength in your lower back when you brace yourself. What, you ticklish? 

[You shake your head.]

Yuma: Ah, I see, I see. So you’re just weak? Besides, you can’t really fight back when you got your hands full. Even if I were to do this…

[Yuma puts his hands on you again.]

Yuma: Hehe. That’s a great reaction. Doesn’t matter how tough a position you’re in, you still love it, dontcha? You’re workin’ so hard so hold up that lid, but I wonder what’ll happen if I do it again…

[You unconsciously brace yourself.]

Yuma: You’re shiverin’ like a little rabbit. Ah, come to think of it, there’s a lil’ somethin’ on your clothes…

[Yuma puts his hands on your waist and squeezes. You almost drop the lid.]

Yuma: Haha! Don’t let go so easily. Are your sides really that weak? Besides, I think you know already, but if you let go, you lose. Hm… You don’t wanna get punished, do ya? Better fix that attitude ‘n please your owner. Brace yourself ‘n take it. C’mon, c’mon!

[Yuma tickles and gropes you until you finally break and drop the lid.]

10:24 Yuma: Ah, for shame. Now the lid’s closed again. Time’s come for this useless little piggy’s punishment.

[Yuma grabs you from behind and pulls you against him. Your arms are trapped behind you.]

Yuma: Well, you can’t run away when I’ve got you from behind like this. Your chest’s completely unprotected. Should we punish you right here, right now? C’mon, Ruki. Join in on the fun.

Ruki: Good grief. What are you playing around for? However… You didn’t follow your master’s orders. This indeed calls for punishment.

[Ruki walks over to you. You turn your head to the side in embarrassment.]

Ruki: Are you trying to seduce me, exposing your neck to me like that? You really lack discipline.

[Ruki trails his fingers along your neck, causing you to shiver.]

Ruki: Heh. You’re already losing control of your body just from a little touch of my fingers. Did you fail on purpose because you actually want to be punished? Normally, I would’ve sunk my fangs into you right away, but I think I’ll keep you in suspense today.

[Ruki trails his fingers along your skin again—your cheek and your ear this time.]

Ruki: Your cheek, your ear… Where would you like me to bite you?

[You tremble.]

Ruki: What’s wrong? You’re already trembling from my fingers tracing your skin… Does it excite you that much?

[You deny it.]

Yuma: You can deny it all you want, but you don’t sound very convincing. You’re just covered in weak spots, right? I bet you’ll cry out nicely when I touch your back. Let’s see…

[Yuma caresses your back and your voice slips.]

12:00 Yuma: Haha. What was that shameless sound just now? That’s all it takes to turn you on? What a lewd lil' thing you are.

[You struggle.]

Yuma: For fuck's sake... What’re you actin’ all innocent for when you’re clearly beggin’ to be touched?

Ruki: Are you writhing like that because you want it so badly it hurts, then? You’re out of luck, though—I’ll drag it out. You won’t learn discipline if you always get what you want right away, after all. I'll caress you slowly, deliberately, until you’re absolutely flushed with heat...

[You quietly protest, but like Yuma said, you don’t sound convincing at all.]

Yuma: Nah, you’re actually way into this, ain’t you? If you want our fangs, beg for it.

Ruki: Where would you like me to bite you? Tell me. I can't promise that I’ll honour your wishes, though.

[You struggle against them with all your might, kicking and screaming.]

Yuma: Hey, calm down—

[You accidentally kick the coffin in your efforts to get away.]

Yuma & Ruki: Huh?

Yuma: Oh, dammit. Now part of the lid’s broken because you were kickin’ so hard.

Ruki: The coffin itself has deteriorated quite a bit, too. That said, your kicking did most of the damage. Yuma. Let her go. Her punishment is on hold for now. We can’t have her destroy that coffin before we confirm what’s inside.

Yuma: Well, whatever.

[Yuma lets you go and your knees immediately give out.]

Yuma: Haha. What’re you sittin’ down for? Didya really feel that good? Well, we’ll take our sweet time with you when we continue later. I mean, you wanna see what’s inside the coffin too, right?

[You get up again.]

Ruki: Yuma, can you open it up?

Yuma: Yeah, hold on—

[Yuma opens the lid of the coffin all the way.]

Yuma & Ruki: Oh? 

Yuma: The hell’s this?

Ruki: They look like kimono (1) and combs from a long time ago… 

Yuma: There’s a whole bunch of stuff that I don’t really recognise, too…

Ruki: I see. It seems we’ve unearthed a time capsule.

14:08 Yuma: A time… capsule? What’s that?

Ruki: People put various things from their time in a box and bury it. Usually, they’re unearthed after a long time, when someone wants to reminisce.

Yuma: Why’s it buried here in the garden?

Ruki: I don’t know what happened on this land before the Mukami mansion was built. However, whoever buried this box clearly put a lot of thought into it.

Yuma: Huh. So what’re we gonna do with it?

[You suggest burying it again to preserve its contents.]

Ruki: Easy for you to say, considering you were kicking it earlier. However, I have no objections to that idea. Let’s put it back in the ground.

Yuma: Even though we went through all that trouble to dig it up?

Ruki: We have no need for it. 

Yuma: Well, that’s true. Let’s bury it somewhere where it won’t interfere with my garden. I don’t really get it, though. What’s fun about preservin’ the past?

Ruki: I wonder. It’s a human endeavour first and foremost, though. It has little to do with us.

[You shift on your feet.]

Yuma: Huh? What’s up?

[You tell him you understand.]

Yuma: Understand what?

[You explain.]

Yuma: The feelin’ of wantin’ to cherish your memories?

Ruki: Heh. Memories are worthless. It’s truly something for shallow humans to want to convey memories from their own time period to later generations. Do not think there’s any worth in doing that.

[You disagree. You’ve made nice memories with the Mukami family, after all.]

Ruki: What?

Yuma: Haha. Well said. So, even though you haven’t had it easy since you started livin’ with us, you still made some good memories?

[You nod.]

Yuma: Heh. Isn’t that ‘cause we’ve trained (2) you to think that? Well, I do kinda get what you’re sayin’. Everyone’s got at least some precious memories, after all. Right, Ruki? 

16:08 Ruki: Heh. Still, I don’t understand the need to bury them where they’ll never see the light of day.

Yuma: Yeah, I’m with you on that.

[You try to convince them, but…]

Yuma: Nah, it’s alright. Besides, you gotta help me bury this thing again. And after that, we’ve still got harvestin’ to do!

[You’re surprised.]

Ruki: Heh. You unearthed it, so it’s only logical that you have to help burying it again. You’d better work up a sweat while you’re at it.

Yuma: Hey, Ruki. You’re already here anyway, so lend us a hand too, will ya? With the harvestin’ and all.

Ruki: What? You’re seriously asking me that?

Yuma: You’re makin’ her her favourite for dinner, right? We won’t make it in time for dinner if you don’t harvest the necessary veggies yourself.

Ruki: Tch. That’s not something I should need to dirty my hands for. Hey. Harvest whatever you’d like to eat yourself.

Yuma: C’mon, Ruki. Put in the work for once. You’ll be covered in mould eventually if you keep readin’ so much.

Ruki: You might want to consider that we’re vampires. Do you seriously think there are other vampires who think it’s healthy to work outside on days when the sun’s this bright?

Yuma: I like it, so that’s all that matters! You think so too, right?

Ruki: For fuck’s sake... I won’t do it. I refuse!

Yuma: It’s alright, it’s alright! Hurry ‘n c’mere!

Ruki: You two do it!

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Besides the obvious traditional Japanese clothing, the word kimono literally means ‘things to wear’ and can also be understood as ‘clothes’ more generally. I think the latter may also apply here.

調教（ちょうきょう）refers to the training of animals.

[pedrocomicreviews]

Absolute Martian Manhunter #2

“LET’S RIDE, PARTNER! Spooky action-heroes at a distance!”

This review is probably better experienced while high and immersed in deep, emotional human connection. Spoilers for the issue, I’m not talking around this one, there's a lot I wanna cover.

It’s tough to even talk about Absolute Martian Manhunter. It’s one of the most unique books Big Two comics is publishing right now, both in approach to the character and in approach to being a comic book. It’s drenched in rich themes and social commentary the likes of which I used to be able to go to X-Men for, while also reinventing a lot of what I’ve come to expect from superhero comics and making it feel almost effortless.

The actual plot of the book, so far, has been pretty simple and trivial to follow. A police detective merges with an entity calling itself The Martian and is now able to perceive thought and emotion all around himself. By the end of issue two, we discover there is another entity, a White Martian, who is infecting humans with essentially weaponized bad ideas. One of those infected people causes a mass shooting in a neighborhood full of immigrants, and the Martian mentions the world is corralling toward total “psycho-collapse”.

What isn’t simple to explain and convey is how it feels like even the fucking colors of this book are characters. Every page feels like it’s trying to win a different kind of award for storytelling through show-don’t-tell; every clever use of lettering and composition feels like it adds to whatever words are telling a straightforward story. Every shape, every blob, every geometrical depiction of intangible, invisible concepts like thought or memory keeps hammering home that this isn’t the typical “detective who reads minds” story you’ve seen a hundred times.

The Martian himself is a naive, brilliant little guy. He keeps constantly shape-shifting almost every panel, showing up in different places both for John and for the audience. It’s a playful take on a usually very somber, very tragic character that came from another type of narrative entirely. J’onn J’onzz is one of my favorite DC characters, but the Martian in Absolute Martian Manhunter is almost a vibe, a narrator that happens to be on the page and talking to the main character. He’s less a fully-fledged person and more a child learning how he himself works, and what the world is all about.

John, in contrast, is jaded and tired. This is less Good Cop-Bad Cop and more Very Burned Out Cop and Childlike Wonder and Glee, Come To Help You Deal With Your Trauma. Every human in this story is defined by their actions and by the actions done to them; by their inner and outer lives. The Martian peels away layers of years of memories, of traumas, of the misunderstood effects life has on people like we lift pages from the book. It’s genuinely hard to describe, is that clear? I’m like, spinning a wheel here. 

Then there’s the book’s fun meta-narrative. This is actually a retelling of the second appearance of the original Martian Manhunter character, back in 1955’s Detective Comics #226. Camp is essentially retelling the story, with John facing a gunman named Trigger. Albeit, with the name a bit changed, because the guy was named “Tom Taylor” in the original, and that’s just really funny, isn’t it.

But there are very specific differences, and I think they perfectly encapsulate this book’s mission statement– in the original story, John Jones actually surrenders Trigger Taylor using his powers, a classic hard-boiled detective story that rapidly unfolds. We move on quickly and it is more of an opportunity to showcase the possibilities of this character’s powers.

Meanwhile, in Absolute Martian Manhunter, John and the Martian approach Trigger as a human being first. The Martian goes inside Trigger’s head and he’s just like everyone else; a man saturated by his past and shining with all the colors of his present. The Martian and John try to appeal to his humanity, his shared connections and better nature– and this is a mass shooter we’re talking about, this is the kind of madman who has become commonplace in the country this story comes from. 

And when the Martian finds the problem– a Bad Idea, the crystalized concept of Us vs Them, something implanted into this man’s mind by an external force, something that can be destroyed, the man actually snaps out of it. For a second he realizes the damage he’s done, the lives he’s taken, the connections he’s destroyed, and sees that he does need help. That there is something wrong with him that made him this way, but that it doesn’t have to be the rest of his life. That who he is doesn’t have to be the worst thing he’s ever done.

And then a police officer shoots him through the head.

Look, let me be clear– this is not a rallying cry for you to feel bad about mass murderers. I am not saying it is, and I don’t think Deniz Camp is saying so, either. But I think it’s undeniable that stories about hard-boiled detectives and police work in general have changed in execution over the past decades, and this book is a conversation about those differences. 

70 years ago, bringing in the bad guy was a happy ending. It was understood they’d never see the light of day again and that their actions, wholly evil, were caused by their own problems. It was their fault in a very simple, uncomplicated way. 

Nowadays, most of our media is ready for conversations about systems. About indoctrination, about brainwashing, about regular, intelligent, heartful people growing mind tumors in their heads that eventually metastasize into massacres. About the roots of violence, both in the house and in the streets, and about who’s to actually blame for problems that keep happening.

It used to be enough that we could just lock up criminals and treat them as degenerates who simply did not want to be in society. Our stories were black and white portrayals of heroes of justice defeating foolish villains who did not fit in, and whose faults were entirely personal. And especially when the heroes were associated with the police, there was usually no real mainstream push to question that kind of authority. The idea that a few years in a police academy gave you strict permission to cull the streets was simply the way things were, especially in fiction.

And now here we are. A comic book for teens and young adults, featuring a character who is in a bunch of cartoons and lunchboxes, with trippy, LSD-related-synesthesia-coded visuals, portrays the state-sanctioned killing of a mass shooter by a nameless cop as not exactly a tragedy, but something that should be avoided. Something that doesn’t solve the problem, something that we know won’t solve the problem, and may in fact just lead to more problems. 

And that’s fucking crazy, man. That’s a level of earnest seriousness and respect for one’s audience I never really expected out of anything DC pushes as its next big thing. These are conversations I expect to have about a lot of other media, but comic books have genuinely struggled for decades to connect to the news at this level. They told me this shit was woke and that people didn’t want it. 

What I’m trying to say is Absolute Martian Manhunter #2 is a very good comic book, and I’m glad the book is selling very well. I hope you’re enjoying it with me.