#it has been a part of my life my ENTIRE life

[alchemistc]

Found this in my drafts and decided to finish it up, written before the Abby reveal so we're just pretending that never happened, have some outsider pov of the alt timeline where Tommy and Buck met before Buck was at the 118.

Tommy is being weird. That's the only way Hen can describe it. He's been quiet on calls, none of the usual banter and posturing she's used to; he's been quiet in the station, prone to staring at the space between his lap and the dinner table even as Chim spouts off some ironic quote that would have had him cheesing it up a few weeks previous; he's been quiet as he packs his shit and heads out for his truck. Each afternoon since he'd quietly announced his transfer to the 217, he's been quiet, and it's weird.

Hen's not entirely surprised. Tommy's nothing if not protective of his own feelings - years and years of Gerrard all hanging over their heads even though he'd admitted a few drinks deep one night that he was pretty positive his professionally scathing complaint about Gerrard was very likely what tipped the scales ("Could have been Sal's, though," he'd said with a shrug as his eyes drifted to the head on his beer.). From what she's gleaned off Chim, there's a good chance he'd been an ass in part to protect himself from feeling too bad about losing someone, too (again) - not that that's any type of excuse for the shit he'd had a hand in putting her through. An excuse for the things he's said, in the heat of the moment, in the quiet caverns of life under a shitty captain.

(Stumbled apologies, serious expressions on a face softened only by the shots he'd been buying all night, words said and unsaid between them and the gaping maw between a Chim happy to accept and move on while Hen downed her tequila and waited for the other shoe to drop.)

It's been years since then. Years and years winding between them all, a dozen captains and more than a few transfers of good firefighters away from the 118, and something good and warm and special brewing in their house with the arrival of the captain who'd made family dinners a daily occurrence.

She'd sort of expected Tommy might finally open up, when those family dinners kept going and Nash kept staying and things started to settle into something closer to friendly instead of the soldiers of war camaraderie they'd grown so used to. And maybe he has, to someone who isn't Hen - who'd taken his little efforts to change at face value and refused to put in more work than that for a colleague who'd made mostly bare minimum efforts post-Gerrard, always accepting the new status quo, refusing to make waves. She respects Tommy. Trusts him on the job, and sometimes off of it when they've had a shitty shift and need to decompress before they go home to the people in their lives who can never really understand losing someone to the heat of a fire, to blood loss and blunt force trauma. Doesn't care for him the way Chim seems to, doesn't really desire a closer relationship than the one they've maintained through the turnover of captains and the 48's they pull on occasion.

But Tommy's being weird, and Hen's pretty sure she's the only one who sees it.

She waits until she's sure Chim has a date to hit up Tommy for an after shift drink, and his eyes crinkle around the corners in suspicion because he knows just as well as she that she's putting them in an awkward position without the buffer zone of an extra coworker to fill in the blank spots of the things they don't say to each other. He'll be gone in a week. There's not a single fucking reason for her to try to get to know him better now.

"Sure thing, Wilson," he says, and when he offers to drive them both Hen makes up some excuse about needing her car in case of some Denny related emergency.

---

She expects it to take a while. Ply him with a few drinks, figure out what it is about Howie that always puts Tommy at ease so quickly when they're out like this and try to replicate it - he keeps things close to the vest but Hen has ways of weaseling things out of people once she's got them where she wants them.

Tommy sighs and picks at the label on his bottle. Thins his lips, and stares at her sideways. "I'm seeing someone," he says, in an undertone, and Hen hasn't even taken her first sip from the bottle he'd ordered for her, too, while she scrounged up one of the smaller booths. His eyes dart, like he's checking to make sure no one else is listening, that no one here recognizes him, and Hen - Hen knows that look. She just can't square that look with Mr. Toxic Heterosexuality himself.

Hen takes a sip. Forces herself not to vibrate out of her own skin because - because - because she's gotta wait this shit out. Could be he's found himself attracted to some weird goth chick, or a woman with meat on her bones, in which case he's in for a big ole smack to the head or one of the looks she reserves for when the boys get a little too caught up in their locker room talk.

He darts his gaze up. Meets hers, steady on, for the first time in...weeks, actually, now that she's thinking about it, and the guilt there in his eyes sure is something to behold.

"He's younger," Tommy says, and Hen rolls her tongue over her teeth so she doesn't do something stupid like hone in on that pronoun with either glee or full-on righteous anger.

Hen narrows her eyes instead, and is surprised that he keeps her gaze. She's expecting - unnecessary contrition, or maybe a ducked head or excuses. He chews on the inside of his lip and chuffs out a self deprecating laugh.

"I don't have a fucking clue what I'm doing and he still lives in a frat house."

Hen's mind goes somewhere inappropriate, and she has to stop herself from making a truly horrible hand gesture because he can't possibly mean -

He rolls his eyes. "I know where to stick it, Wilson, that's not the issue."

She has about half a million questions queueing - things she's not sure they're close enough to ask, things she doesn't actually want the answer to but stick there in the back of her mind anyway, things she'd never ask someone who'd been kind to her from the outset. "How'd you do it?" he asks, and Hen remembers the way he'd stood, arms crossed and face blank and something sad and vulnerable in his face while she lectured from her red and chrome pulpit. Jesus. He's known. He's known a while.

"I've never exactly been passing," she tells him, and winces at the aggression in her voice, in that statement, in the very existence of the idea. He shoots her a bitchy look that's far more familiar, in line with their normal dynamic. It has her rolling her shoulders back, has her sitting up a little more in her seat. "Is that - are you asking me how to come out?"

Tommy shrugs. Tips his head. "You're the one who wanted to get drinks."

"And if I hadn't asked?"

She knows the answer. The dumbass would have transferred out of the 118 with no one the wiser. Probably fallen off all the group chats, squared with himself for however long it took, decided one way or another who to tell from there. But he's here now, talking to Hen. Telling Hen, the person he's probably the least close to.

Hen sighs. Takes a longer drag off her beer this time while Tommy folds up a piece of the label he's ripped off. She's not gonna be his fucking gay guru. They're not anywhere approaching that close.

He could have lied, though, is the thing. Seems like he's maybe been lying for a while, if the uncharacteristic fidgeting is anything to go by. She knows him under stress, knows him when he's walking through literal fire. Figurative fire is an entirely different matter. She doesn't know that Tommy.

The words that fall out of her mouth aren't the ones she's aiming for. "You and Sal." she says, and then bites down the rest of that sentence like it'll burn them both. His eyes dart up. He shifts in his seat.

"The only reason I'm saying a word is because the answer is no," he says, and - yeah that's fair. Everyone has the right to come out of the closet in their own fucking time.

"So this kid," Hen says, moving on, and - oh. There's that look. It's a little dreamy-eyed, the way he's been getting sometimes when he's looking down at his phone and trying his hardest to keep a straight face. "What's the deal there?"

"He's new," Tommy says, and Hen can feel her brow tic up of it's own accord, because he says it with the authority of someone who isn't new. Hen has to wonder exactly how many times the perpetually single Tommy joke had been made while Tommy was less than single. God, that had to have stung, hadn't it? "He's - apparently he didn't realize he was flirting until I kissed him about it."

That's remarkably brave for a man who isn't out to a single person he and Hen are mutually acquainted with. At least as far as she knows - Chim can't keep a secret to save his damn life so at least she knows he doesn't know.

"You know you didn't have to tell me any of this."

His expression is wry. He bites his lip, curls his tongue over his teeth, shakes his head like he's clearing cobwebs. "The transfer isn't the only thing I had on the docket for major life changes."

Karen's gonna be pissed if Hen doesn't get the dirt, she tells herself as she leans forward, so she throws a teasing edge to her voice as she quirks a brow. "This life change have anything to do with your baby gay or is that just a natural progression of the coming out process?"

Tommy's posture eases, just a little. He gives her a look that she's more familiar with seeing when Chim's in the booth next to him, or they're elbow deep in shit-talk at the station.

"Happy accident, actually," he says, and Hen leans in to listen to him dish when his eyes go all soft and gooey.

___

She's known Evan Buckley a total of six hours the first time he mentions his boyfriend. There's a nervous edge to it, like he's still testing the word out, like the syllables are unfamiliar, and he glances down at the phone in his lap right after he says it, like he's double checking something. Hen wouldn't have pegged him for it, for all that she tends not to make assumptions. It's just. He's so.

Hen shoves back against the stereotypical bullshit and throws him a bone, because he looks like he's fucking desperate to share information on the fact that someone cares enough about him to let him call them his boyfriend. She lobs a layup, something relatable about 'my wife, Karen'.

"Yeah, Tommy said you were married."

Hen pauses. Wonders if she can turn her head like an owl so that she doesn't have to shift her weight to look behind her at where Buck is happily washing dishes, elbow-deep in sudsy water. There's no one else up here with them - most of the shift is working off dinner downstairs.

"We never have meals like this at home, I'm lucky if the guys I live with don't steal my last packet of ramen before I can get to it," he'd said, and she remembers Tommy grinning at the memory of this Evan he'd been seeing being inordinately impressed by the fact that Tommy could grill a steak. ("Jesus, Kinard, are you sure you're not robbing the fucking cradle?")

Hen shifts. Eyes him a little more carefully as he turns his head to meet her gaze, and - holy shit, she's actually feeling a little protective of Tommy Kinard right now. "He know you're out here sharing his business?" It's not the tone she's going for - admonishing instead of exploratory, but Buck just grins at her over his shoulder, like he's pleased Tommy has someone watching out for him. Shit. She'd been a little concerned that Tommy was in over his head, stuck up on the idea of being out out and clinging to the first boy that batted his lashes, but it feels like maybe there's more to it than that. She can't square that with what has to be at least a decade of years between them, but -

Love is love, and all that.

"We, uh. We've been talking about it."

Hen raises an eyebrow, because that's not actually a green light to air Tommy's business.

"He - well last night we talked about it again. So. I mean it's not like Facebook official or anything. But he said it was cool to talk to you. A-all of you. He's - everyone at Harbor knows me."

It hurts a bit to know that Tommy's been there less than six months and felt more comfortable being himself with a bunch of strangers, but...

It's good. That he has that. That he's not walking the world just shoving bits and pieces of himself away.

Hen watches him rinse his arms and square his shoulders and shift to face her. "How'd you two meet, anyway?" she asks, because Tommy had been so stuck on the trying to figure out how to have an honest relationship piece that she'd never gotten around to asking.

Buck's expression could be easily mistaken for a solar flare, for the way it lights up the whole loft.

[cressidagrey]

Such A Mystery - Part 12 - The End

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Colette Leclerc (Original Character)

Summary:

Max Verstappen fell in love at the ripe old age of 12 and never looked back.

Colette Leclerc really regrets posting that particular Taylor Swift Lyric to her private Instagram account, because it made George Russell go insane.  

The rest of the world has absolutely no idea that the Dutch Lion and Charles Leclerc’s twin sister have been a couple for 15 years and are expecting a baby. 

Warnings: 

Pregnancy, Mention of multiple miscarriages, Pregnancy complications, George Russell Bashing (he's probably really nice in real life but in this, he's the bad guy, sorry), Jos Verstappen, We have apparently now reached the time where I also bash Ferrari. I am sure they are super nice in real life too. They are not in this.

Author Notes: Huge thanks to @llirawolf for holding my hand through this. Chapter 12 of 12!

They were alone. Just the three of them.

Colette had never felt so exhausted in her entire life. But she had also never been so happy. Charlie had been fed once more and had then fallen back asleep, curled up on her father’s chest. Colette herself could barely keep her eyes open.

And she should be sleeping, but she could only watch her daughter curled up against Max's chest.

"How did we manage to create something so perfect?" She asked him softly.

Max let out a tired little huff of laughter, not bothering to open his eyes. “She is perfect, isn’t she?” he murmured quietly.

Colette felt a smile tugging at her face. “Perfect and absolutely beautiful,” she agreed quietly, shifting a little to get a better look at the two of them. "So perfect it almost hurts to look at her."

Max smiled at her. "I...There is this thing you should know," he said hesitantly.

Something about his tone, the hesitance in his voice, made Colette pause. "What is it?" she asked curiously.

"I may have told the whole world about us? On Instagram?" he admitted with a grimace.

She could only snort at that. "I think your father made sure that that cat was out of the bag," she told him drily. "What did you say?"

"That we have been a couple for 15 years. That I couldn't be happier with you and our little family," he said simply. "I wanted everybody to hear our truth," Max said softly. "Not what other people write."

"There is a romantic inside you after all," Colette teased him softly.

"You aren't angry?" Max checked.

Colette sighed. "Not at you," she said simply. "I can't be angry at you. You just want people to know how happy we are together. We kept it quiet for years for me," Colette said, staring at her daughter. "Is it weird that it feels like she put everything into perspective?" she asked him, nodding towards Charlie. "I just...I don't care anymore,” she admitted.

Max stared at her, blue eyes wide, but Colette just shrugged. “I was terrified for so long what people were going to think about me once they knew about us...but now...I don't care. What does it matter?"

Max reached over and laced his fingers through hers. "It doesn't," he promised her. "I'll start screaming it from the rooftops tomorrow, if you'll let me."

A laugh escaped her before she could stop it. "I think the media already knows," she teased, squeezing his hand. "We can just put my Instagram on public and let them eat their heart out," she suggested. It wasn’t meant seriously. Not really. 

But the more she thought about it, she wondered if that was what it was going to take. Opening up the digital scrapbook of her life. Letting anybody have a peek at their relationship. Hoping that finally they would understand.

"We'd break the internet," Max retorted, grinning at her.

Colette laughed. "We really, really would. Reason enough  to do it?" she teased him.

"And give my PR team a heart attack? Absolutely,” Max returned immediately. “Tell me when.” 

"I love you," she told him seriously. "And I am ready to love you in public too."

She had done it from the shadows for 15 years after all.

He stared at her. "Are...Are you sure?"

"I am very, very sure, mon coeur," Colette told him softly, giving his hand a gentle squeeze. "The only opinion that matters to me is yours - and my family's. I don't care what anyone else thinks," she added, glancing down at Charlie again, who slept blissfully on, cuddled against Max's chest.

"If people want to call me an attention whore or a gold digger, they are welcome to it," Colette said quietly. "I don't care. I'm happy and you're happy and our baby is happy. Let them write whatever they want."

***

"Marry me," Max blurted out.

His words came out of his mouth before he had even realised what he was saying. The room suddenly became very quiet, as if all the oxygen had suddenly been sucked out of it, and Max suddenly realised that he had just blurted out the question he had been meaning to ask for months, at a time that couldn’t be further from ideal.

Colette was staring at him, her eyebrows raised and a look of surprise on her face. She seemed frozen and totally caught off guard by his question. And he didn’t blame her for that. She was exhausted, and had just given birth, and here he was, bombarding her with questions as if this was the perfect moment to do it.

But then she smiled at him. 

"Yes," Colette said simply. "Always yes. You know that.”

Relief surged through him so strongly, Max thought he might just about collapse. She had said yes.

Granted she had said yes the last time as well. 

He remembered that day like it had been yesterday…remembered coming home that May evening in 2016…Fuelled with adrenaline from his first “proper” win. Remembered the trophy that still had a place of pride in their living room…the bottle of champagne, the Pirelli cap…and the ring that he had bought after that race. The celebratory crepes for breakfast the next day where still a tradition they kept with. 

Max felt like he could have exploded there and then, just from happiness. He couldn’t believe that he had just asked her, that she had just said yes. It didn’t feel real. It felt like something out of a dream.

"Yes?" he repeated incredulously, just to make sure he hadn’t actually dreamt it. "You’ll marry me?"

"Properly this time," she teased him, with the most beautiful smile on her face, as she leane up to press a kiss against his lips. “I’ll marry you, Maxie.”

He couldn’t stop himself from laughing, the sound breathless. It wasn’t just exhaustion that made him sound like that, it was disbelief, a sort of giddy lightness.

"Properly this time," he echoed back to her, his words soft. "You’ll marry me properly."

He couldn’t actually believe she was saying yes. "I do have a ring," he assured her. "It's at home. I hid it in the trophy."

Colette laughed. "Of course, you hid it in the trophy," she repeated, her voice warm and amused."Of course you did."

Max gave her what he hoped was at least a resemblance of a sheepish look. “Where else would it be safe?” he said defensively. "And I know you wouldn't look there," he added.

"A perfect place to hide something you don't want me to find," Colette agreed.

Max grinned at her. "Exactly," he said happily, gently brushing her hair from her face.

"Which trophy?" she asked him seriously.

"Spain 2016," he answered honestly. His first one. The one. 

"You hid it in the 2016 trophy?" Colette repeated, her smile widening into a grin. "Really?"

"Just felt appropriate,” he answered honestly. He still remembered handing it to Colette for the first time, the ring that he had bought clanging around in the bottom of it. 

"It is," she agreed softly, leaning up to press a kiss against his lips.

Max smiled against her mouth, his arms tightening around her, pulling her a little closer. He couldn’t believe they were having this conversation. He couldn’t believe he had just blurted out the one question he had been wanting to ask for ages, and she had actually just said yes.

"You’re really going to marry me," he mumbled against her mouth, unable to help the words. "You’re actually going to marry me."

"I had your baby, but this is what shocks you?" Colette asked him with a laugh. 

He laughed, pulling her closer again and nuzzling his face into her shoulder, her words causing him to blush faintly. “I love you,” he mumbled against her skin quietly.

"I love you too," she echoed back quietly. "And yes, I will marry you. As many times as you’ll ask."

"I am the luckiest man in the whole world," he said softly.

"No, I’m the luckiest," she told him gently, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him close again. "To have you, and this, and Charlie, and all of it. It’s everything I ever wanted.”

[charmedimsure]

uuuhhhhhm can i pretty pretty please with cherries on top request a Dae-ho x reader where the reader was also in the military? but its like that ep. where they revolutionized? if that makes sense? idk i think it be cool if reader eas good eith a gun

anyways HAVE A LOVELY DAY/ NIGHT love reading your stuff (i binge read it :p)

Whiskey Tango Foxtrot

pairing: Kang Dae-ho x gn!reader

summary: As a former soldier, you know just what to do when all hell breaks loose.

word count: 3.7k

warnings: guns, death, blood, squid game stuff, panic attacks, ptsd

A/N: i've played so many shooting games i feel like i've been training to write this fic my entire life. i even named it after a shield from my favorite game (brownie points if you know which game). if you find any mistakes no you didn't <3 tried to make this gender neutral but if you find any slip ups lmk so i can fix it

**this can be read as romantic or platonic**

You look at the woman standing between bunks with wide eyes. You weren't sure earlier when you saw her on the screen, but seeing her standing ten feet away from you, you're absolutely positive that you know who this is.

"Sergeant?"

Cho Hyun-ju turns and gasps when she sees you, a smile lighting up her face. She quickly embraces you, you happily hugging her back. You were always her favorite soldier (she never admitted it, being the sergeant of the Brigade, but you both knew she liked you best). You were one of the only people who supported her when she came out. You tried to fight against her discharge but, as a low-ranking soldier, you had no say in the matter.

"I knew it had to be you!" you say, pulling back with a smile. "When I saw someone go back into the playing field to help a guy with only ten seconds left, I just knew it was my sergeant!"

"It's good to see you," she says. "Though, I wish it was under better circumstances."

You nod solemnly. You had just watched at least a hundred people die while screaming and begging for their lives. As a former soldier, it was hard that you couldn't do anything to help the civilians. All you could do was stand there and listen to the screams and gunshots, and then the silence.

"How are you here? Are you not part of the Brigade anymore?" Hyun-ju asks.

You shake your head. "No, I actually left not long after you were discharged. It wasn't the same without you, and I just couldn't be civil with the others after how they treated you."

She nods, understanding. "Well, if I'm going to be here with anyone, I'm glad it's you. I trust you with my life, soldier."

You smile. "And I you, Sergeant."

<>

You and Hyun-ju had made it through the next two games together, along with some allies you made along the way. Together with Young-mi, Yong-sik, and Geum-ja, you had been the first team to succeed in the six-legged pentathlon.

You had also made it though Mingle with some new allies, though not all of your old allies made it. Young-mi's death was hard on your whole group, but Hyun-ju had been taking it the worst. While you had grown closer with Yong-sik and Geum-ja, she had formed a special bond with the young girl and had to watch her die right in front of her.

While you would like to take the time to mourn Young-mi, a lot has happened in the few hours since the third game ended. The vote on whether to go home or stay ended in a 50-50 tie, meaning you're going to have to redo the vote tomorrow. Then, a huge fight apparently broke out in the men's bathroom, leaving five players dead.

Both sides group together to count their numbers, and you find that there's now one more X than O. While the players around you celebrate, a feeling of dread shoots through you.

"Attention please. Lights out in 30 minutes. All players, please return to your beds and prepare for bedtime."

Shit.

Player 047 stands in front of the group. "Listen, you cannot change your minds. We have to win the second vote and get out of here tomorrow, alright?"

As the other players around you nod and move to their beds, you stay sitting, watching the O players. They're already looking at your group. Watching. Waiting. You look at Gi-hun, the previous winner, and know that he's thinking the same thing you are.

<>

"Those bastards are acting suspicious," Dae-ho says, returning to the small circle you formed on the ground. "It looks like they're up to something."

Jung-bae breathes out a laugh. "Whatever those idiots do, once we win the vote tomorrow, it'll all be over."

"You think we'll be okay?" Dae-ho asks, concerned. "They say things were really crazy in the bathroom earlier."

"We need to be ready," you say from your place between Dae-ho and Gyeong-seok. "They've been watching us since the moment they found out the prize money goes up if we kill each other."

The group around you tenses before Gi-hun speaks up as well. "Once the lights go out, people on the other side will attack us."

"Really?" Yong-sik asks from beside his mother.

Gi-hun nods. "Because if they kill us, they'll be able to win the vote and increase the prize."

"So what do we do?" Yong-sik asks.

"Let's attack them first," Young-il suggests. "They're probably thinking we'll just wait for the second vote. We can use it to our advantage. We'll attack them first once the lights go out."

"That's right," Player 047 says. "It'd be better to attack them first. We have more women and elderly on our side. If we get attacked we'll be at a disadvantage." You send him a glare that makes him freeze for a moment before continuing. "Attacking them first would give us a better chance of winning."

"I agree," Player 145 adds.

"We can't do that," Gi-hun says.

"But we have to get out of here," Young-il argues. "You said it yourself. Staying calm won't get us anywhere now."

"That doesn't mean we should kill each other," Gi-hun says. "That's exactly what they want us to do."

Jung-bae leans forward. "'They'?"

Gi-hun looks at him. "The ones who created this game." He turns to face the rest of the circle. "The ones who watch us play. If we're going to fight someone, it should be them."

It's silent before Dae-ho speaks up. "Where are they?"

Gi-hun looks to the ceiling. "Up there."

You all follow his gaze before looking around at each other.

"On the upper levels," Gi-hun says, "are the rooms they control the games from. The man in the black mask is their leader. Once we capture him, we'll be able to win."

"How are you going to fight them?" Young-il asks. "They have guns."

"We'll fight them with guns, too," Gi-hun says.

"But we don't have any," Jung-bae says.

Gi-hun turns to him. "We'll take their guns."

You and Hyun-ju look at each other. This is what you were trained for.

"From those masked men?" Gyeong-seok asks nervously.

Gi-hun nods.

"That's too dangerous," Young-il says. "Even if we manage to take a few guns, we'll still be outnumbered."

"What then?" Gi-hun argues. "Are you going to kill each other all night and hope you survive? Is that what you want, Young-il?"

Hyun-ju breaks the silence. "Do we... stand a chance?"

"We do if we catch them off guard," Gi-hun says. "Out of everyone, they're the ones who would least expect us to attack first. This is our last chance to end these games once and for all."

"How are you going to take their guns?" Young-il asks.

"Once the fight begins tonight, we'll have our chance."

<>

"Lights out in ten seconds."

"Ten,

nine,

eight,

seven,

six,

five,

four,

three,

two,

one."

The lights dim, then turn off completely, leaving only the red and blue lights from the floor.

You roll out of bed, getting under the frame. You feel someone else trying to get under your bed, and you move a bit to make room for Dae-ho. Just as you get in position, you see bodies creeping towards your side of the room, illuminated by the bright blue O on the floor.

There's a scream, and all hell breaks loose.

The lights strobe as you hear the sounds of screaming and bottles being smashed coming from all around you. Somewhere to your right, a bunk is toppled over, sending someone to the ground. Another player runs up to them, stabbing their fork into their neck.

You feel the ex-Marine next to you tense up and put a hand over his, trying to bring him some comfort, or at the very least trying to keep him from blowing your cover.

You hear the buzzer of the door and the lights come on. One of the soldiers fires into the air to stop the fighting as about twenty masked guards come into the room, all armed.

You quickly army crawl out from under the bed, Dae-ho following you as you lay down on the ground.

You hear footsteps getting closer to you, and your ear is moved as a device scans behind it.

You open your eyes, grabbing the soldier so they can't move. "Dae-ho! Now!"

The ex-Marine smashes a bottle over the head of the guard, knocking him unconscious. You take the opportunity to grab the submachine gun off of the soldier, shooting another soldier coming toward you and Dae-ho. You're so focused on the fight that you fail to notice the quivering boy holding his hands over his ears against the bunks.

Grabbing another gun, you quickly scale one of the bunks to get a better vantage of the fight.

"Sergeant!" You yell, gaining the attention of Hyun-ju. She looks to you and you toss the SMG to her. She drops her pistol and catches the weapon, turning just in time to shoot one of the pink guards coming for her.

You use your position to fire at the guards hiding behind bunks. You pull the trigger until you hear a click, cursing as the mag runs empty. You jump down from the bunk, using the butt of the gun to knock a guard out cold. You quickly take his ammo and reload your own gun, firing at a guard trying to shoot Gi-hun.

"Retreat. Retreat."

The voice over the intercom announces and the pink soldiers make their way towards the door. You're able to shoot two more, but most of the soldiers who are still alive are able to make it out of the room. The main guard with the square on his mask is too busy firing back to realize that the door has closed behind him, sealing him in the room with you just as he runs out of ammo.

"Stop! Hold fire!" Gi-hun yells.

Jung-bae and another player run over to the square guard, making sure he won't fight.

"You goddamn bastards!" you hear someone yell on the other side of the room and turn to see Player 047 aiming his gun at a bunch of O players.

"No!" Gi-hun yells, stopping the man before he can shoot. "This is not what we took these guns for. If we do this, we'll be no different from those masked men."

Player 047 lowers his gun, hanging his head and he softly cries.

Gi-hun steps to the center of the room. "Everyone! Don't be scared. Gather round, please! We're not trying to hurt you!"

You walk to stand by Hyun-ju and Gyeong-seok.

"Get the guns and ammo from the dead," she tells the both of you.

You nod, doing as your sergeant says while she takes out the cameras in the room.

<>

Placing one of the last guns on the mattress in the center of the room, you move to stand in line between Jung-bae and Dae-ho, handing the extra SMG in your hand to Dae-ho.

Gi-hun steps forward. "Everyone. We will now head up to the masked men's headquarters. We'll capture the ones who captured us, put an end to this game, and make them pay. Anyone who knows how to use a gun and wishes to join us, please step forward."

You look at the crowd in front of you, but everyone stays where they are.

"Hey," you hear a voice next to you say and turn your head to see Jung-bae stepping forward. "I know you're scared. I'm scared too. But this may be our last chance to make it out of this place alive. Fight with us so we can go home together. All together."

One of the players in the back of the crowd steps forward. "I'll fight with you."

Gi-hun waves at him to come and take a gun. Two other players come forward as well.

You watch as Yong-sik makes a move to step forward, but he catches your gaze as you shake your head at him. It's very brave of him to think about volunteering, but he hasn't even served his mandatory military service yet, and it would kill his mother if he didn't come back. You breathe a sigh of relief when Yong-sik stays where he is.

When it's clear that no one else is stepping forward, Gi-hun turns to you all. "Please check your guns and ammo."

"Let's take one radio each," Jung-bae says. "We'll use channel 7, the lucky number."

You put the strap of your gun around you, checking the mag and putting it back in place when you're satisfied with the amount of ammo that is left. You look to your right to see Dae-ho fiddling with his own gun. Just as you're about to help him, Hyun-ju steps forward.

"Attention," she says, holding up her gun. "This is the MP5, a submachine gun." She continues on the demonstrate how to load the weapon and set it to the mode you should be using. When she's done, she looks at you all. "Are we clear?"

"Yes," you answer, falling right back into the rhythm with your sergeant.

Hyun-ju nods to you, silently telling you to stay by her when you get out there.

"How do you two know each other?" Dae-ho questions, his voice a bit shaky.

You smirk, cocking the MP5. "I was in the 13th Special Missions Brigade. Hyun-ju was my sergeant."

Dae-ho stares at you, completely stunned. "You were in the Decapitation Unit?!"

You chuckle at his disbelief, nodding.

The man can't believe it. He's been bragging about being an ex-Marine while there's been two ex-Special Forces soldiers right next to him the whole time.

Gi-hun points a pistol at the square-masked guard. "Take it off."

The guard slowly removes his mask, revealing a boy no older than 25.

"Good God," Jung-bae says. "Do your parents know what you're doing here?"

The guard just stares at him.

Gi-hun cocks the pistol. "Take us to your captain."

<>

"All players, it is bedtime now. Please return to your quarters immediately. Otherwise, you will be eliminated from the game. Let me repeat..."

Gi-hun fires at the speaker, effectively shutting up the voice. Three guards are stood over you. "Get down!"

You duck behind the wall of the stairs. Feeling a hand on your shoulder, you turn to look at Hyun-ju behind you.

"Cover me!"

You nod, shooting at the guards while she sprints to the top of the stairs. From her new vantage point, she is able to take out one of the guards, causing their body to fall over the ledge and down to the floor.

When you duck down to reload, you see Dae-ho next to you. The ex-Marine is sitting in a ball, covering his ears and flinching every time a shot rings out. You look at him with concern, but your attention is stolen by Gi-hun telling everyone to hold their fire. Dae-ho gets a grip on his weapon and you all move, following Gi-hun and the un-masked guard.

As you move down an alleyway, Gi-hun stops the guard. "How much farther? Is this the right way?"

The boy points toward the end of the hall. "The entrance to the management area is around that corner. The control room is right above it."

Gi-hun pushes him. "Move it, then!"

"Wait," the guard says, reaching toward his pocket.

"What are you doing?" Gi-hun stops him.

"I need my mask to pass security," the guard explains. Gi-hun nods and the guard takes the mask out. He looks up, but before he can say anything else, a bullet goes right through his head.

You all take cover as more shots are fired at you. Something slashes onto your face, and you turn to see Player 072's lifeless body falling to the ground.

You drop the floor and crawl over to Hyun-ju, both of you taking positions in a green square area of the stairs. You nod to each other and duck out of cover, firing at the guards. You can hear the men speaking to each other at the other end of the line, but you focus on taking out as many guards as possible.

You and Hyun-ju alternate firing and taking cover, both of you shooting with deadly precision, doing your best to not waste any of the already low supply of ammo you have.

A player next to you screams and is shot. You turn, shooting at the guard approaching from your rear, taking out a few that are behind that one as well.

"Everyone! Check your magazines!" Hyun-ju calls out.

You take the mag out of the gun, seeing that you have about half of a clip left. Everyone announces that they're around the same.

"Young-il, Dae-ho, can you hear me?" The voice of Jung-bae erupts from your radio.

"Go ahead!" Young-il says.

"I think we're right below the control room." Shots can be heard in the background. "But we need backup and more ammo."

"We're running out of ammo, too!"

"There should be spare magazines in the soldiers' pockets in our quarters. Go get them!" Gi-hun yells through the radio.

"Did you hear that?" Young-il turns to the group. "They need backup! Three of us will go, and the rest will stay! Join us once you get the magazines! Who wants to go with me?"

Players 047 and ... volunteer and they run off towards the end of the hall.

"I'll go get the magazines!" Hyun-ju yells. "I'll come back as soon as I can, so just hold on until then!"

"Hyun-ju!" A voice yells. You turn to see Dae-ho raising his hand. "I'll go!" He hurries over to where you and Hyun-ju are taking cover. "I- I'm out of ammo."

"Do you know the way?" Gyeong-seok asks. Dae-ho nods.

"We destroyed the cameras on the way, follow them," Hyun-ju says.

"I'll go with him," you say. "I still have some ammo, so I'll cover him."

Hyun-ju nods. "I'll cover you. Go!"

You and Dae-ho take off down the stairs. He stops a few times, but you pull him along, keeping your eyes up to watch for the broken cameras. As you're running down the stairs, Dae-ho stops, and you turn to see him staring at a dead guard hanging over the ledge of a window.

"Dae-ho!" Jung-bae yells. "Can you hear me? Where are those magazines?"

You lift your own radio to your mouth. "We're getting them now."

"Alright! We're counting on you!"

You put your radio back in your pocket, grabbing Dae-ho's hand and pulling him along behind you.

You burst into the quarters, letting go of Dae-ho's hand as you sprint to a guard, taking the spare mags out of their pockets. You hear someone say your name and look up to see Yong-sik.

"What happened? Why are you back by yourselves?"

"We're low on ammo," you say, not looking up from the guard you're looting. "We need to get the magazines from their pockets. Help us!"

You look up to the boy to see him nod and run over to a nearby guard. Geum-ja and Jun-hee come over to the help, as well.

Once you've looted all the ammo from the guards, you place them into a jacket you found on one of the dead players. You tie it up and give it to Dae-ho, thanking the others as you lead him out of the room.

Gunshots can be heard as soon as you step outside. You keep moving but when you check behind you, you see that Dae-ho has stopped where he is.

"Dae-ho, we need to go," you urge.

He looks at you silently, but the fear in his eyes sends the message. You've seen soldiers like this before you joined the Special Forces.

Dae-ho stands in his spot, paralyzed other than the shake of his body in fear.

You hear your name and Dae-ho's through the radio. "Where are you? Can you hear me?"

You watch as Dae-ho lifts his radio, staring at it as Hyun-ju's voice comes through.

"Did you find the magazines? Are you on your way?"

Dae-ho looks at you. "I'm sorry," he whispers, dropping the radio on the ground and running back into the quarters with the magazines.

"Shit," you say under your breath. You follow Dae-ho into the room, looking around to find where he went. Yong-sik points toward a bunk and you find Dae-ho curled up there, rocking back and forth. Running over to him, you take the jacket with the mags, ready to run out of there. You take a look at Dae-ho, the pure fear coursing through him as he whispers apologies over and over.

You sigh, remembering one of the lessons Hyun-ju taught you as your sergeant.

Never leave a man behind.

Taking out your radio, you bring it to your lips and press the button. "Charlie Foxtrot."

You put your radio down, knowing that Hyun-ju will know what to do. You had picked up the phrase from your U.S. counterparts, saying it to each other when something goes wrong.

Moving to sit on the bed, you take Dae-ho's hands into yours. "Dae-ho, I need you to breathe with me, alright."

He slowly looks at your face before launching himself into your arms, sobbing into your shoulder. You rub his back comfortingly, knowing you can't leave him alone like this.

After a few minutes, Hyun-ju runs into the room shouting you and Dae-ho's names. She comes running over to you, stopping when she sees Dae-ho in your arms.

"What happened?"

Dae-ho jumps a bit at the new voice, burying his face farther into your jacket.

You look up a Hyun-ju, shaking your head at her. She nods, understanding. You point at the magazines and she scoops them into her arms, ready to take them to the others when the buzzer for the door goes off and more pink guards enter the room, firing in the air and making everyone scream.

Hyun-ju reloads her SMG, ready to take on the entire group on guards by herself. You watch as Geum-ja puts a hand on her shoulder, stopping her.

"You can't die like this."

You sigh in relief as Hyun-ju puts the gun down. From your hidden area, you try to get the guns and mags away from you, making it seem as though the three of you have been here the whole time.

As the guards come further into the room, you use your body to shield Dae-ho from them as he whimpers. You make eye contact with Hyun-ju. Whatever happens next, you'll face it as a team.

~

Dae-ho tags: @whatthefuckeryfuckityfuck @ally1uvsu @thebiggestigurosimp @come-as-you-are-111 @hiphip-horray @k1michii @tpwkcaryslizb @louissst28 @sshwaa @jennwonwoo @sunnysurvives @lalalaa2210 @tayshs @sunshinethatlooksalive @plntmxrss @lxnnrobin @mariaxman @alexx-iia @batty-barty-crouchjr @kxsm3t @takuma-talkz @peacemakersbeloved @skywalker0809 @soobinbunnie5

[pedroscurls]

his girl (one-shot)

summary: logan didn't think he'd ever get a second chance at making his life matter nor did he think he even deserved it... but then he met you. his girl.

pairing: logan howlett [worst wolverine] x fem!reader content warnings: post deadpool & wolverine ("worst" logan!variant), light angst (mentions of death, logan has some insecurities - doesn't believe he deserves you 🥺), all the fluff!, no use of y/n. word count: 1.4k a/n: part of KLLOVEUARY 2025 challenge hosted by @lubdubology and @yxtkiwiyxt ♥️. this song and this character just fits so well and i'm so glad that i chose option 2. at first, i didn't know which route i wanted to take, but let's be honest... worst wolverine has to have some bit of angst right? hope y'all enjoy - i had a blast writing this! thank you kiwi and kristen for hosting this challenge <3 song: my girl by the temptations

Logan had met you over about six months ago when you moved in across the hall. He bumped into you on his way out one morning and you had looked at him with the most gentle and inviting eyes that simply radiated warmth. Even when you smiled at him, he couldn’t help but notice the way the corners of your eyes crinkled. Under your gaze, he felt protected, felt safe, felt at peace. You looked at him like he was the only person in the world, like no one else mattered. 

And if he’s being honest with himself, he didn’t like feeling this way. How his heart began to race even faster just at the mere sight of your eyes meeting his. Or how he felt this sudden urge to get to know you, to make you his. 

Even though he’s been in this universe for a year now, it still feels so new to him and he’s still battling with himself whether or not he belongs here, but you… You gave him hope. 

Something that he thought he lost a long time ago. 

And even now, you still look at him with the same kind eyes and he still feels that same warmth radiate through his entire body. There’s a sparkle in your eye whenever you gaze at him and even during Wade’s family dinner parties, you always make an effort to make sure that he knows you see him. 

Tonight is no different, though. Wade’s entertaining his guests and Logan's sitting on the couch with a beer in hand while you speak with Vanessa. Even through your conversation with her, your eyes flit over to Logan’s who keeps his gaze on you. It makes you blush, the way his eyes make you feel like you’re the only person in the room. You both give each other a small smile before looking away. 

“How about some music, hm?” Vanessa says, leading you towards the music player and pressing play. She smiles instantly, arms raising up in the air as her body sways to the beat of the song.

I've got sunshine on a cloudy day When it's cold outside, I've got the month of May I guess you'd say What can make me feel this way?

Slowly, you dare to look at Logan who’s already looking at you. You can see the way his hand grips the neck of the beer bottle, unbothered by Wade and Vanessa who begin to dance in the middle of the living room among the other guests he has over. Instead, he’s staring at you as you lean against the wall. 

My girl, my girl, my girl Talkin' 'bout my girl, my girl

Logan sees the corners of your lips turn upwards, sees the crinkles at the corner of your eyes begin to form, and he can feel his heart pounding in his chest. Everyone else seems to fade in the background until all he can see is you. His girl. 

I've got so much honey, the bees envy me I've got a sweeter song than the birds in the trees Well, I guess you'd say What can make me feel this way?

You bite your lower lip and turn on your heel, disappearing down the dim-lit hallway. Logan sets his beer on the coffee table before he begins making his way to you. For once, he doesn’t want to hide the way he’s feeling. You give him hope, give him the confidence he never knew he had. He gently reaches out for you and you turn around, eyes gazing up at him. Logan lets out a breath that he hadn’t realized he was holding. You stare up at him, the song filtering down the hallway you both are standing in as he gently reaches up to tuck a few fallen strands of hair behind your ear. His mouth parts when he feels you lean into his touch. 

“Were you gonna stand in that corner all night starin’ at me, bub?” he whispers quietly, loud enough for only you to hear. 

“I’d stand there all night waiting for you, Logan,” you respond. You part your own lips, feeling his thumb shakily brush along your lower lip. “I think we both know that.”

My girl, my girl, my girl Talkin' 'bout my girl, my girl

“You realize what you do to me?” he asks. “The way you look at me…” Logan steps closer to you when he feels your own hand move to his chest, nimble fingers playing with the buttons. “I’m not a good man, bub. I’m the–”

“Worst Wolverine,” you finish for him. “Yeah, I know. You and Wade like to remind me.” 

“It’s true.” 

“All I see is a man who’s trying to make things better,” you reply. “Trying to make his life better with the second chance he’s been given.” 

“I don’t deserve you,” he sighs, eyes and hand dropping momentarily.

“That your opinion?” 

“Just statin’ facts, sweetheart.” 

Then, he lets out a quiet gasp when he feels your hand come up to rest on his cheek. He looks at you, his eyes searching your own. Logan feels his pulse quicken at your touch—the way your thumb brushes across his jawline, soft and delicate, tender and light, gentle and grounding. 

He shuts his eyes and for a moment, all he can see are the people he failed in his old universe—dead and all because of him. It shakes him to his core; he can’t run away from his past, can’t run away from the terrible things he’s done. 

But then you say his name and it brings him back to reality. It dispels all of the inner demons that always keeps him up at night. He no longer sees his old universe. All he can see, all he can feel is you. 

“Logan,” you repeat quietly. 

When he opens his eyes, he’s greeted with your own. So kind and warm, soft and inviting. You were his peace. You were his second chance. 

You were his girl. 

“Yeah, bub?” he finally answers, voice shaky. 

“You’ve got me,” you whisper. “You’ll always have me.” 

“But–”

You shake your head and click your tongue, interrupting him. “And I’m not going anywhere.” 

He lets out a breath and slowly leans forward until his forehead lightly touches your own. He brushes his nose against your own as he hears you inhale sharply. Slowly, Logan’s arm snakes around your waist and pulls you flush against him as your arms wrap around his shoulders. He feels safe—here in your arms, is where he belongs. 

My girl, my girl, my girl Talkin' 'bout my girl, my girl

The song continues as both you and Logan stare into each other’s eyes, swaying side to side in each other’s arms. His eyes fall shut briefly when he feels your lips press against his cheek and his hold on you tightens even further. Nothing and no one else mattered. All he needed was you. All he ever needed was you.

His girl. 

Logan pulls back to look down at you, lips inches from each other. You lean in slowly, hands playing with the hair at his nape. 

Until Wade turns on the light to the hallway and begins clapping loudly, breaking you and Logan out of the moment.

“Fucking finally!” he exclaims with a grin. “Told y’all it would work. Am I the best cupid or what?”

Logan keeps his arm around you as he looks at Wade from the end of the hallway. He narrows his eyes and then glances down in your direction. You’re smiling, lower lip pulled between your teeth as you bury your face against the side of his neck. His own lips form into a small smile and he gently presses a soft kiss to your temple. 

“Wanna get outta here?” he whispers into your ear. 

“I hear my apartment is not that far from here,” you tease. 

Logan smiles. “Lead the way, baby.” 

You take his hand, lace your fingers with his own immediately, and lead him down the hallway past Wade and towards the front door. Logan looks at Wade and gives him one nod—an unspoken gesture of gratitude that has Wade jumping up and down in excitement. 

When you both finally leave Wade’s apartment to go to your own across the hall, Wade lets out a contented sigh and brings his hands to his chest. “I just love love.” 

And Logan can’t help but keep you close to him, the song playing on repeat in his mind. 

My girl, my girl, my girl Talkin' 'bout my girl, my girl

[14dayswithyou]

I literally have the most amazing and wonderful community in the entire world???? T_T In this essay, I will—

This is going to be raw and unedited because I want to get my initial thoughts out there before I forget n go back to crying /pos, but?? Yawl.... I can't even begin to find the words to express how appreciative and grateful I am for each and every one of you!! ;v;

I've spent the past few hours reading through everyone's personally written messages, then rereading them all again to let it all fully sink in. I'm being genuine when I say that I've never felt this loved or appreciated in any community before in my life.

Those in the Discord server might know about this already, but since the start of this year, I haven't really been enjoying myself (nor have I been as active) in the yandere VN community. There was far too much infighting between devs, parasocial communities, and toxic anons that ruined so much for me — so I withdrew from it all and remained in my own small bubble. Even then, I still got belittled, harassed, doxxed, and even became the target of Tall Poppy Syndrome by others; most of which nearly made me want to leave altogether, but the overflowing amount of support from everyone in the 14DWY community made me want to stay.

And even now, after reading all those heartfelt messages... I think it's permanently solidified the little space I occupy here on the internet :3

So... Yeah, long story short (and a story that will likely end up as its own separate Tumblr post gjskskjd), I wasn't enjoying myself at all in the yandere VN community... but I did have the time of my life in the 14DWY community. And it's all thanks to you guys.

I'm genuinely sooooo proud to have such an endlessly kind, social, and talented community; and I'm glad to have brought such an interactive and friendly group of people together over our shared interest in such a nice concept. 14DWY is essentially a labour of my love — and although I'm ultimately creating it for me and my silly interests — it's still something that I want to make worthy of you guys as well. All the love and support you've shown me and 14DWY motivates me to do my very best, and y'all deserve nothing less. So...

Thank you all for finding a comfort character in my Totally Normal Guy and his Totally Not Eccentric quirks. Thank you for all the insanely talented creations y'all make and share with me. Thank you for sending in your silly (/pos) questions and turning them into inside jokes and AUs for the rest of the community to enjoy. Thank you for talking with me and making this space a genuinely fun place for me to be in again.

From the bottom of my heart; thank you all so much. I really hope everyone has had an amazing year so far, and I hope 2025 will be as kind to you as you all were towards me.

I also want to give a big fat massive huuuuuuuge shout-out to Ashe / @flaneur001 my love (/p) for organising the 14DWY letter event on Discord, and for contributing so much of their time and dedication to the 14DWY community. You say you've only been part of the community for a year, but to me, that was a year well cherished and appreciated. The 14DWY community (and me especially) have all been so lucky to spend this past year with you, and I sincerely hope you've enjoyed it as much as we have. You've done so much for me, the community, and the 14DWY Discord server, so it's only fair that you get the recognition you deserve. So thank you, Ashe!! And a big thank you to everyone in the 14DWY Discord who participated in this event as well!

Now, if you'll excuse me, I have some cryin and sobbin to do <3 /silly /pos

[kwanisms]

It’s the season of love, or lust. Here’s a collection of 14 separate tales to keep you company this Valentine’s season. demon/incubus!Idol × fem!Reader

» back || playlist || taglist « ❑ WORDCOUNT —  ❑ WARNINGS — adult language, female reader, shorter reader, reincarnated reader, chubby!Reader, smaller reader, jealousy and possessiveness, mentions of: marriage, travel, homesickness, food & alcohol consumption, history of drug use, depression & thoughts of suicide, feelings of isolation, past love, heartbreak, major character death, reincarnation, severe depression, loneliness, minor character death, food & alcohol consumption, occultism, witchcraft, demonic summoning & rituals, PTSD, graveyards, ghost hunting, communicating with spirits, hospital environments, long working hours, bodily trauma, blood, gore; see each part for full warnings! ❑ CONTENT — angst, fluff, smut; supernatural, fantasy, demons & angels, biblical, established relationships, office setting, boss!Reader, coworkers to lovers, ER doctor!Reader, demon!Idols; non idol au, demon au, farm au, hospital au; see each part for full content lists! ❑ NOTES — happy valentine's, my loves! Here is something no one asked for but I'm delivering anyway! I've got 14 stories here, 11 of which are sequels to existing aus I've created and three new ones! They're all of my existing demon aus! From Seventeen to Stray Kids to Day6, all of my demon characters are being revisited here! Taglist is open and will close at the end of January so sign up now! Thanks for the support thus far babes and as always, this is a work of fiction and all characters are not reflective of their respective irl counterparts. for entertainment purposes only.

MINORS WILL BE BLACKLISTED & BLOCKED. AGELESS BLOGS WILL BE BLOCKED.

 ➥ incubus!Kihyun × fem!Reader summary: After the events of her story, Y/N has had her curse broken and succubus powers removed, allowing her to live a normal life. She has managed to keep a low profile, getting a job in a diner, her entire world is turned upside down when one of the men she was tasked with seducing in her previous life shows up at the diner late one night with a bone to pick with her. read part one | read part two »» coming Feb 1

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 ➥ incubus!Hongjoong × fem!Reader × Seonghwa summary: After being banished to hell, Hongjoong manages to find a weak point and escapes back to the mortal realm. He only has a short time before the hounds of Hell are sent after him to bring him back and he makes the most of his time by tracking down his former servant only to find Seonghwa’s vampire curse has been broken and that he’s now happily married to the woman who destroyed everything Hongjoong built up. read part one | read part two »» coming Feb 2

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 ➥ incubus!Jisung × fem!Reader summary: Now that all his friends are seeming to settle down with their respective partners, Han decides to venture out on his own and explore a new city. While there, he meets someone who flips his world upside down and turns it inside out. read part one | read part two »» coming Feb 3

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 ➥ demon!Jeonghan × fem!Reader summary: Jeonghan lost his chance at love by being stubborn and cruel. Since then, he’d been drifting through the world, finding no meaning at continuing his meaningless charade. He refused to return to Hell but being on Earth was even more torture. He thought about just ending everything when the world came to a halt upon spotting a familiar face on the streets of Paris. read part one | read part two »» coming Feb 4

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 ➥ incubus!Johnny × fem!Reader summary: Y/N has been living her best life, having climbed the social ladder at work and now heads her department, thanks to the promotion she landed. She can’t forget the reason for her success and one night while at the office working late, the demon she made a deal with comes back to check in. read part one | read part two »» coming Feb 5

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 ➥ demon!Mingi × fem!Reader summary: Summers spent in the country used to have a sense of nostalgia but now, as you helped clear out your aunt’s old farm house, it was just hot and all you did was sweat. When you come across an old, tattered black book, things go from hot to hotter when you are transported to an alternate dimension where you meet a mysterious man who inhabits your aunt’s house on what he calls the ‘Other Side.’  read now »» coming Feb 6

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 ➥ incubus!Sungjin × fem!Reader summary: Since the incident at the museum, involving the old grimoire, Y/N has kept a low profile and quit her job at the museum, instead getting a job at a bookstore in a quiet part of town. It’s been three years and she still has the book, keeping it locked in a glass case in her house. The demon has not appeared since but she can’t shake the uneasy feeling she has as the fifth year anniversary of the Summoning approaches. read part one | read part two »» coming Feb 7

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 ➥ incubus!Yeonjun × fem!Reader summary: After a visit to the old graveyard with her friends, Y/N has had this uneasy feeling of being followed or watched. Maybe she’s being paranoid, or maybe it's the result of playing around with a Ouija board but one thing is certain; she keeps seeing someone or something watching her from the window in her bedroom. read now »» coming Feb 8

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 ➥ incubus!Jongho × fem!Reader summary: As a result of passing his seduction test, Jongho has become a full-fledged incubus. He’s now among the ranks of those who have made names for themselves. He finds that being an incubus comes with a great amount of freedom and responsibility. Responsibility he shirks because he can’t seem to stay away from the one who helped him pass his test: Y/N.  read part one | read part two »» coming Feb 9

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 ➥ demon!Seungmin × fem!Reader summary: Your idea of fun was playing video games with your friends or playing beer pong at a frat party. It did not include summoning a demon in the basement of the creepy, old abandoned house at the end of Willow Avenue.  read now »» coming Feb 10

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 ➥ demon!Chan × fem!Reader summary: Ever since she summoned him, Chan hasn’t been able to get Y/N out of his mind. He returns to her after some time and insists that she accept the proposal he made to her the last time he was there. He wants to be bound exclusively to her. Y/N is hesitant but Chan tells her to think it over while he makes his trip to visit her worth both their time. read part one | read part two »» coming Feb 11

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 ➥ incubus!Chanyeol × fem!Reader summary: Since their encounter and Chanyeol’s nature as an incubus exposed, he and Y/N have had a secret relationship which tends to bring out the worst jealousy in both of them. They often sneak around the hospital, meeting in secret places.  read part one | read part two »» coming Feb 12

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 ➥ incubus!Hyunjin × fem!Reader × witch!Felix summary: After his visit, Hyunjin has moved into the house next door to Y/N and Felix, making himself at home as their neighbor and tormenting Felix by plaguing Y/N’s dreams. Hyunjin seems determined to make Felix’s life a living hell and drive a wedge between the witch and his girlfriend. read part one | read part two »» coming Feb 13

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 ➥ incubus!Joshua × fem!Reader summary: Ever since that fateful night where Joshua revealed himself as a demon, Joshua and Y/N have built a life for themselves, living together in her house and working at the antique shop together. When Joshua decides to take her out for a romantic Valentine’s dinner, his jealous side emerges when he thinks the waiter is flirting with Y/N so he takes her home to remind her who she belongs to. read part one | read part two »» coming Feb 14

©️ kwanisms 2018 - 2025 | all written and artistic works on this blog are protected under copyright. reposts, continuations, and translations of my works are not permitted. All graphics made by me.

[wessamgaza]

Support Muhanad’s Journey to Recovery and Hope

My name is Wisam Yasin and this is my son Muhannad. Help me treat my son.

Living your entire life walking on two feet, only to suddenly lose one of them forever, is a terrifying nightmare that we can’t even imagine. But what if it became a reality? This is what happened to Muhanad Yasin 15 years old during the genocide in Gaza.

Like any other day, Muhanad went to the bakery to buy some bread for our family amid the flour crisis. Suddenly, the bombing intensified, and a nearby house was struck. That moment marked the beginning of a sorrowful life he had never experienced before. His foot was severely injured, and he was rushed to the hospital. However, they told him they couldn’t treat it because the cost was too high, and he had no choice but to amputate his foot. The treatment would cost too much, and we didn’t have even half the required amount.

So, his foot was amputated forever. That foot he had always used to walk would never return. He was utterly shocked and pleaded for help before the amputation, but there was no one to assist him. He is alive now, but his spirit is completely shattered. As a family, we were all devastated. We wished we could have had the money to help him before this catastrophe happened. But now, he has lost his foot.

What kind of life is it to lose a part of you that you’ve always had? His dream was simple, like any other young person’s: to travel abroad, support his family, and build a future. But now, his dream has been reduced to something as basic as having a prosthetic foot and a normal life.

Therefore, I want to help him, even if it’s just a little. I want to help him travel abroad to treat his other foot before it too is amputated, and to get a prosthetic foot to ease his heavy burden, even if only a little. Please help us, help my brother quickly, even if it’s just a little. He is still someone who has life and a dream to live.

Thanks,

Help me through the link:

https://www.gofundme.com/f/support-muhanads-journey-to-recovery-and-hope?modal=share&source=fundraiser+sidebar

[vidavalor]

<<On the less horny side, "wearing the horns" (also a predecessor to bunny ears) has another meaning entirely.>>

Yes. Something, something The Ineffable Quartet choosing each other when the demons are considered by Heaven/Hell to be Satan's property and the angels are not supposed to have lives of their own and, instead, to be effectively married to God and do whatever The Metatron claims is the will of God... it's a matter of perspective as to who is being cuckholded here.

Absolutely to all of the record references!!!

Journal in journalist! Nice catch. It also gets at something I think is wordplay-ish, which is the fact that Aziraphale calls his journal a diary. I know some English people do but a diary in the UK has also traditionally been more of a day planner. Speculation being that one of the reasons why Aziraphale keeps a diary is as a record of his life in the event of memory loss would then also make him calling it a die-ary darkly funny. His various licenses-- the non-euphemistic ones lol-- are also forms of records, too.

You've got me thinking now too about how artistic works are also records-- Jemimah's pot, the Gabriel statue... The Gabriel statue is this weird record of Gabriel's existence and it's more about who he is supposed to be than who he actually is. Records being made for him, not by him. He's not being seen through the statue-- it's actually making it harder for people to see him. A record he's not really in control of or giving permission for, which is also the case when he's being recorded by the people on Whickber Street when he arrives at the bookshop.

In Heaven, after he gets cast out, he's basically then just a file folder with a handful of papers to them, onto which has been handwritten re: the matter of Gabriel. The funny visual pun of Muriel putting their hand through the file folder-- the matter of Gabriel not containing any matter they can access, literally and figuratively.

It's also an interesting word nod back to Gabriel's dry "I don't sully the celestial temple of my body with rose matter" in 1.01. [Preemptive response before someone yells at me as they have every other time I've mentioned this scene: yes, it's "rose matter" that Gabriel says in response to Aziraphale offering him tea. His face says he thinks it's gross but he says 'rose'. We duel at dawn lol.]

If we go with the words-within-words here, too, within the word record are the words rec, short for recreation, aka play, and cord-- a tether, part of a knot, but, maybe, also a noose, if it's S2's no nightingales season and we're talking about C&A-- and cord's homophone of chord. Words about music and playing in the word record itself. 😊 Records are also discs-- the halo & the Discworld. [The discs on the walls in the scene below, too.]

Beez "likes this song." What song? "The music that's playing now."

Beez likes "Everyday", yes, but "Everyday" is also just a way to tell Gabriel that they like this thing between them, that they like being with him. They-- the two of them-- are the music and they're playing now-- out having some fun together-- and Beez likes it. The song/record contains useful information, as you pointed out that Beez pointed out. This song is a record that they've elected to make themselves, much healthier than the statue and the records of Heaven & Hell. Beez sees Gabriel for who he is and they like him and this song that they're writing together. The two of them use a record to agree they like making music. 😊

Then, the literal song now always there on the jukebox for Beez, especially in case of something happening to Gabriel, but the real thing being said being that Gabriel is the song that will always be there for Beez.

So, Aziraphale arrived in Edinburgh with a briefcase we never see him open and a hat that reads, among other things, "PRESS 66" on it, right?

And we might think that these are just Aziraphale's journalist cosplaying accessories but I think there are some hints that there's a bit more going on here than we might think-- all of it very relevant to The Finale.

We think that Aziraphale's arrival in Edinburgh is the first time that we see these things but, in true Good Omens form, the hat and briefcase are both actually glimpsed in a prior scene... rather significantly placed in that earlier scene, even.

Here they are, sitting together, the hat atop the briefcase, both in front of Jimbriel's once Fly-containing box, beside/behind the memory-wiped Muriel, in the scene below:

So, as Muriel is sitting there, not remembering Aziraphale, and as Aziraphale is sitting there, remembering Muriel and thinking all the things about the fact that they don't remember him at all? In the shot between them is the box into which Jim put his memory and brought it to Crowley and Aziraphale for safe keeping. In front of that box? Is Aziraphale's press hat and briefcase, seemingly drawing some connections between the journalist accessories and the memory plots in S2. Hmm...

What this scene also shows is that Aziraphale didn't just magic this stuff up as props when he arrived in Scotland. Even though we didn't see them in the car on the way up, they were there on the passenger seat for him to retrieve upon his arrival. He brought them with him from the shop. He packed them overnight and they were there, all ready to go, prior to Muriel's arrival, which coincided with Crowley coming over and moving the plants out of the car because Aziraphale planned to take it to Scotland. Why does this matter?

Because it might signal that there's more to the briefcase and the hat with its press credentials than we might initially suspect.

I think it would be safe to say that Aziraphale, by this point in the story, would be concerned that his memories were in danger.

He knows he's always been on a collision course with falling and this is all escalating pretty quickly in S2 in the two days prior to Aziraphale packing this press stuff and taking the car. Gabriel was The Supreme Archangel and he couldn't remember who he was and the archangels had shown up to threaten them and say that they're going to be spying on him even more closely, sending another angel to bug them the next day... the memory-wiped Muriel being quite an interesting choice, as that's sending quite a threatening message. Aziraphale also had roped Maggie and Nina into this and he knew he was likely going to have a confrontation with Heaven and Hell coming.

One of the first things he'd be concerned about would be his memories, right? and it's here where we can mention what we later learn about what Heaven can and cannot do regarding those memories... things that are new to us but that Aziraphale likely would have already known and factored into his plan, as we'll see.

Hints are given to this all season via Gabriel but it really becomes overt in this scene here:

This scene proves that Gabriel's memories aren't just in The Fly in S2-- they're also still in his mind. His memories are shown to be in two places at once. Gabriel's memories-- ones even directly related to the trauma he underwent-- actually began to come back before The Fly, in this scene. Gabriel felt safe and like he was talking with someone who could understand in this scene with Crowley so the memories began to come back for him.

The point here is that this scene shows that, when Gabriel "took his memories out" and put them into The Fly, what he was really doing was basically backing them up. He "uploaded" his memories into The Fly for safekeeping so he could retrieve them later, as a way to keep it so that they wouldn't be erased forever, but those same memories are still also on the "hard drive" of his mind. They were just mostly inaccessible to him for almost all of S2 because of trauma.

Before you say well, Gabriel might be a special case because he took his own memories out to avoid Heaven attacking him? Consider that Crowley didn't have a chance to do that-- but he tells Gabriel he knows how Gabriel feels.

Crowley has had the same experiences with his own memories. He's been able to bring some back at different times, without a lot of context, but a lot remains blocked. Crowley saying that he's been able to retrieve some memories means that those memories are still there in his mind, just very painful and difficult to access.

The idea might be that their memory loss is actually trauma-blocking. If Crowley's situation has the same effect as Gabriel's, it suggests that Heaven can't actually take people's memories-- they can only block them.

This would then be suggesting, as a lot in S2 did, that Gabriel didn't develop retrograde amnesia from taking his memories out-- he developed amnesia from the trauma he underwent.

When he felt safe enough to confront some of that trauma, the memories started to come back to him a bit.

What does this have to do with Aziraphale's briefcase, you ask?

It is connected because Gabriel's memory loss being from the trauma of Heaven trying to kill him, not from putting his memories into The Fly, proves that an angel could take his out their memories and not get amnesia from doing so.

Gabriel's story is showing that they could take out their memories whenever they want and still retain those memories also in their minds and be perfectly fine.

It's showing that Aziraphale could have backed up his memories in S2 without experiencing memory loss-- and the press hat and the briefcase are tied to just how he might have done that.

Aziraphale might have taken one look at Gabriel and his memory situation and the archangels circling the shop and thought that it would be a good idea to backup his memories and store them somewhere safe for if this all went pear-shaped.

What's interesting is that then, in a parallel shot to Aziraphale arriving in Edinburgh, we have this later scene when Aziraphale returns to London... note what's missing:

We see him park by the suit shop-- but no suitcase/briefcase this time. No hat. He's also taken off the raincoat. We never see them again for the rest of the season but we see a whole bunch of scenes that hint at where they are and why Aziraphale has left them in that location.

In this moment, we spend a strange amount of time on watching Aziraphale get out of the car and look around, hands-free, pat The Bentley, go for a little walk for a moment...

He talks to Nina, he goes back to the bookshop and greets Crowley and gets an armful of plants. The Bentley is largely the focus of the scene with Nina as well and its moving up in a scene that involves Nina and her bicycle-- another "mad 'American' woman on a bicycle", in parallel to Anathema in S1-- recalls Aziraphale miracling a bike rack onto the boot of The Bentley to transport Anathema's bike back to Jasmine Cottage. The key to getting Anathema and her bike safely home to her cottage was the bike rack Aziraphale made happen; the key to getting him and Crowley safely to the South Downs Cottage might be what Aziraphale stashed in the trunk of the car on his trip.

Here's where we can see that scenes before and around this involving Shax and Crowley show us pretty emphatically where the briefcase and the press hat are not located in the car...

They can't be on the passenger seat as they were on the way to Edinburgh because Shax wouldn't have been able to sit there when she got into the car on the drive back from Edinburgh. They also can't be in the backseat because the scene adjacent to Aziraphale's return to London is he and Crowley loading the plants back into the backseat. Crowley would have handed him his things if they were back there.

So, we have all of these shots of Aziraphale's return that are, among other things, emphasizing that the hat, the raincoat, and the briefcase are all not things he's taking out of The Bentley's trunk upon his return, even if they are his belongings and he brought them with him from the bookshop. He's intentionally leaving them all in the Crowley's car.

Aziraphale definitely did not leave his memories in a briefcase in The Resurrectionist Pub, even though that's the last place we saw the briefcase. How do we know that?

Because let's say that we're right here and Aziraphale did put his memories into the briefcase... either into something else that he then locked into the briefcase or just into the briefcase itself. What's the one problem with this?

He locked them in there for safekeeping, right? So...

He can't just leave the briefcase for Crowley-- he also needs to leave the key to the briefcase, yes? He needs to leave the combination somewhere... but he also has to hide that combination key. The briefcase wouldn't be very safe if just anyone could figure out how to open it, right? It needs to be something only Crowley can understand.

This is why Aziraphale is not a private detective in Edinburgh but a journalist because the key is in the hat.

How does one open the locked briefcase?

Press 66. 😉

The briefcase and the hat go together because the briefcase cannot be opened without the press credentials in the hat which, in very Good Omens and Crowley & Aziraphale form, look like they're one thing but are really another when you consider alternate meanings of words. Aziraphale knows that only Crowley would see Aziraphale's hat atop that briefcase and the 'Press 66' and work out that it's how to open the briefcase.

It would also be very Good Omens to nod to famous film Macguffins and then make them actually important in Good Omens' story. While a "what's in the briefcase?" thing here is very Pulp Fiction, the film that inspired the briefcase in Pulp Fiction is 1955's atomic noir Kiss Me Deadly, which is being referenced all over the place in S2.

The scene where Aziraphale picks Shax up from the side of the road is a homage to Kiss Me Deadly's opening scene, Gabriel's memory issues and his "I am in The Fly" note is similar to part of the central mystery of that film, and Kiss Me Deadly is the origin of the popularization of the word vavoom/va-va-voom.

Like basically every other film referenced in Good Omens, it's also known for innovative use when it comes to language-- particularly, coded cinematic language, in this case. Like North by Northwest, which is referenced in both parts of 1941 so far, Kiss Me Deadly found innovative ways to get around the Hays Code to tell its story. References to The Maltese Falcon in the story are also likely in relation to that story using etymology-based language to queer code aspects of its story, in a similar way to Good Omens, but also that The Maltese Falcon itself is a bit of a MacGuffin. In Good Omens, though, it seems like they're actually winking at those by making Macguffin-alluding things actually important parts of the story.

Anyway, the biggest fan theory about what's in the briefcase in Pulp Fiction is based around the combination to the briefcase being 666 in the film and the idea is that it's Marcellus Wallace's soul, which he sold to the devil. Famously, the audience never sees what's inside the briefcase. We might be saying here that the combination to Aziraphale's briefcase being 66 may be nodding to Pulp Fiction's briefcase a bit and hinting at the Satan in The Final 15 ideas. 66 is also tied to Route 66 and rock 'n roll in America, Buddy Holly, and the paralleling Gabriel & Beez flashback, maybe especially hinting at memory-related things happening with the briefcase.

I won't spoil you on what's in the briefcase in Kiss Me Deadly but let's just say that it goes along with Good Omens pretty well thematically... in a much, much darker way. The film being very bleak noir makes it very different in tone from Good Omens but the fact that the briefcase is actually is relevant to the story in the end of that film might also hint that Aziraphale's disappeared briefcase might wind up being important in The Finale, too.

Adding to this theory is also that another briefcase in The Bentley's trunk/boot was also something shown earlier in S2-- on a very significant night in Crowley & Aziraphale's history:

When Aziraphale is in Edinburgh, we see him intentionally hamming up his newspaper man persona and, in doing so, he takes the briefcase into The Resurrectionist Pub, right? Bit of foreshadowing there as to what will happen to Aziraphale and what will need to happen to bring him back?

Yes, we don't see the briefcase again after this scene but I doubt he left it in the pub because it would be useless to Crowley without the hat, on which Aziraphale has hidden the briefcase combination hidden in plain sight. Aziraphale was seen wearing the hat in one scene set after we last saw the briefcase, proving that both of them and the raincoat are in the trunk of The Bentley:

Aziraphale wore this whole get up to Edinburgh so that, if anyone was watching him, they'd think he was Muriel-like cosplaying a newspaper man. I mean... we know the trench coat is a little Columbo-esque, but why wouldn't he just be a private detective and not a journalist, if the goal was just to play a role to help solve the Gabriel mystery? Because he had to be a old movie-esque journalist so he could have the word press there in the credentials, only for its other meaning for the briefcase combination.

Aziraphale definitely had a whole other list of motivations for being the one to go to Edinburgh. He wanted Crowley to rest in the shop and to talk to Gabriel, he wanted to be the one to go tackle the mystery, and he wanted to work on his 1827 issues by going to the graveyard again... but we might find we can add to that list that he also realized it would be a good opportunity to hide his memories in a briefcase in The Bentley with actions that are right there, in plain sight of anyone who is watching-- including us 😉-- but might not be deemed suspicious.

Parallel-wise, the briefcase and The Bentley are the matchbox and the moving box and PRESS 66 is Aziraphale's equivalent to I AM IN THE FLY... all before Aziraphale and Crowley actually figured out what Gabriel and Beez did to protect Gabriel.

He's pressing on the press hat he's leaving for Mr. Six Shots of Espresso... 😂 The press card is in his hat, like a feather... Crowley's "it'd be a real feather in your cap wing" joke from the foreshadowing "I'll be damned"/"It's not so bad when you get used to it" scene in 1.01...

That demon doesn't know it yet but he's driving around with Aziraphale in the trunk because Aziraphale figured out how to get around the worst case scenario. He knew he was on a collision course with falling and he found a way to potentially dodge the memory loss by stashing his memories for Crowley in The Bentley.

His enthusiasm in Edinburgh is him barely able to contain his amusement at getting one over on anyone watching him who think they know what they're seeing but don't realize what he's actually up to.

No wonder why he was walking on air when he got back to London-- it was mission accomplished. He'd managed to leave Crowley the ability to bring him back, tucked away in the safest spot possible.

The bookseller who, like the others, is a metaphorical book/paper, left their out for Heaven and Hell trying to kill him for Crowley's safekeeping in a briefcase... the thing people use for...

...paperwork. 😂

But wait... there's one other big question, though, yes?

Why didn't Aziraphale tell Crowley this?

There absolutely was enough time and opportunity to tell Crowley he'd backed up his memories and left them in The Bentley's trunk.

The fact that this didn't come up seems wild, right, because they both know that Crowley has been having a steady anxiety attack about Heaven and Hell circling all week. We would think that, if Aziraphale had figured out this plan to circumvent that threat, the first thing he would have done would be to tell Crowley about it, yes?

Except... while I wrote this meta from the perspective of what the end result of Aziraphale's actions with the briefcase might be in The Finale, I don't actually think that was Aziraphale's own motivation for doing what he did.

Aziraphale didn't take out his memories and leave them in the briefcase in The Bentley for Crowley as a backup plan for them to elude a form of death for Aziraphale.

He left them there for Crowley to find and have after Aziraphale was already gone. Why else would Crowley need the combination on the credentials on the hat, right?

If Aziraphale had intended on his memories in the briefcase being a plan to save himself, he would have told Crowley about it so that Crowley would know. Instead, though, it's something of a suicide note. He left them for Crowley to find and have in the future.

I think The Bentley was even warning of this suicide ideation and showing concern upon the return to London for Aziraphale over what he had put in its trunk. The car is worried. [I love Good Omens-- when else am I going to type a sentence like that? 😂]

Aziraphale first parked it in front of Battye [madness] & Palm [to take]. It's a shop reflective of a lot of that depression and suicide ideation happening in Aziraphale's story and leading to his fall that I looked at in The Devil Takes The Hindmost.

The Bentley then drives itself-- and all Aziraphale's Aziraphaleness in the briefcase-- up a few feet. What is The Bentley then aligning Aziraphale with?

Death.

The car parked itself in front of the Give Me Death half of Give Me Coffee or Give Me Death...

... until Aziraphale told it to go back to where he parked it. Then, The Bentley backed up a few feet to Battye & Palm and all the madness that is the rest of the season. The car was foreshadowing the end, parking itself right along where it would be parked the last time we'd see it in S2.

The trunk is aligned with Give Me Death in The Final 15...

...fulfilling the foreshadowing of the end of S1.

[simplygojo]

Your Brother's Best Friend ⸺ Gojo

author's note ⸺ Hi all! I apologize for being offline for the holidday season, wanted to spend lots of time iwth my fam and give myself a big mental break from the online world haha..so I hope you guys enjoy this draft I have, someone requested this like bak on october but I can't find the request so if it was you LMK <3 pairing ⸺ Satoru Gojo x reader concept ⸺ You are Nanami's younger sister, because of that, the insufferably annoying and constantly present-Satoru Gojo-has always been a constant in your life. content ⸺ just some coming of age fluff, childhood crush, soulmates fr, don't forget gojo is insufferable, ur a bit insufferable too but ily, lmk if anyone wants a prt2, mt fuji reference bc I'm planning a Japan trip rn, reader uses female pronouns

materlist || request guidelines || commissions

Satoru Gojo had always found himself intrigued by you. Being Nanami’s younger sister—only by a year, but a fact Gojo never let go—meant you were often around during their shared days at Jujutsu High. 

It had been impossible not to notice you, with your sharp wit and the way you matched Nanami’s sternness with a warmth and energy he seemed to lack.

Back then, Gojo’s fascination with you manifested in childish antics: hiding your books just to watch you search for them in exasperation, ruffling your hair as he towered over you with a cocky grin, and smirking when you called him an idiot. 

He relished every moment he could pull your attention from your studies or your brother, craving the fiery glint in your eyes when you were annoyed with him. 

Unlike the rest of the people in Gojo’s life, you weren’t part of Jujutsu society.

You couldn’t see curses, didn’t wield cursed energy, and, for the most part, seemed blissfully unaware of the world that surrounded your brother and his friends as you pursued your studies. 

Nanami had always insisted on keeping you far from it, which was just another thing Gojo couldn’t help but admire. 

You were grounded in a way the rest of them weren’t, so wonderfully normal amidst their chaos.

And you had this way of looking at him—not like the strongest sorcerer, not like the next great hope of Jujutsu society—but just like a guy who annoyed the hell out of you.

At first, it felt harmless. You were Nanami’s younger sister. Off-limits. Untouchable. The unspoken one Nanami had pulled from the very beginning. 

“Don’t even think about it, Gojo,” he’d once joked, though the steel in his voice had been unmistakable. That line, so clearly drawn by your older brother, was one Gojo thought he could respect.

However…Gojo wasn’t exactly known for adhering to rules, and over time, what started as a playful crush transformed into something far more real.

—

Gojo had really noticed the shift in how he saw you one lazy afternoon when you were both a little older, himself a second-year and Nanami now in first year. 

You’d stopped by Tokyo Metropolitan Jujutsu High to drop off lunch for Nanami, a routine occurrence Gojo had witnessed more times than he could count.

And yet, for reasons he couldn’t quite explain, that day felt… different.

He spotted you from across the courtyard, standing near the steps with a neatly folded paper bag in hand. The sun hit you just right, its golden rays catching in your hair and making it shimmer. 

Gojo found himself frozen mid-step, watching as you leaned toward Nanami, laughing at something he’d said.

He felt his chest tighten, his usual cocky grin faltering as something entirely unfamiliar bubbled up inside him.

He’d seen you countless times before—bickering with Nanami, reading quietly under a tree, rolling your eyes when he teased you. But this was the first time he’d truly seen you, and it shook him more than he cared to admit.

Gojo brushed it off with his usual bravado. It’s nothing, he told himself. Just a fluke. A trick of the light. I’m Satoru freakin’ Gojo. I don’t get fazed by stuff like..like girls.

But the image of you standing there, radiant and laughing, stuck with him.

Later that day, Nanami caught him staring off into space, absently twirling a pen between his fingers.

“You’ve got that dumb look on your face again,” Nanami deadpanned, his voice cutting through the comfortable silence of the common room.

Gojo blinked, jolting out of his thoughts. “Huh? Dumb? I don’t do dumb looks,” he shot back, feigning nonchalance as he leaned back in his chair.

Nanami raised a brow, unimpressed. “Right…” He said, but didn’t press forward.

Gojo leaned back further in his chair, staring at the ceiling like it held the answers to his dilemma. 

He’d never tell Nanami the truth—that he’d been so distracted by you. 

Because even though he’d brushed it off earlier, Satoru Gojo knew better. That moment in the courtyard wasn’t nothing. It was the beginning of a realization he wasn’t sure he was ready to face.

—

By the time you and Gojo were in your late teens you had both become insufferable in your own ways. 

You–who was constantly studying and reading and cramming your head full of anything instead of living your life. And Gojo–whose ego was the size of Mt. Fuji and spoke 100 kilometres an hour. 

This specific night, Nanami had reluctantly invited Gojo over for dinner at your family’s house after the persistent pestering of his taller, louder classmate. 

Gojo, being Gojo, had made himself right at home, lounging on your family’s couch as if he owned the place. Your parents were out for the evening, and Nanami had resigned himself to the kitchen, grumbling about Gojo’s ability to eat an ungodly amount of food.

Dinner wasn’t ready yet, which left you and Gojo alone in the dining room as Nanami busied himself in the kitchen, muttering under his breath about Gojo’s bottomless appetite.

You’d been sitting at the dining table, flipping through a thick textbook, completely ignoring Gojo’s antics. Or at least, you had been, until Gojo sauntered over, leaned against the back of your chair, tipping it slightly, forcing you to glance up.

“You’re gonna get wrinkles if you keep frowning like that,” he teased, his signature smirk firmly in place.

“Do you ever not talk?” You replied, exasperation lacing your tone as you tilted your head to glare up at him.

“Rarely,” he shot back, before letting the chair fall back into place and taking a seat beside you at the table. “You’re really gonna spend the whole evening buried in those books?” He drawled, his voice a mix of amusement and boredom.

You didn’t bother looking up. “Not everyone has the luxury of being naturally insufferable and talented like you, Gojo.”

“Aw, you think I’m talented?” His grin was audible in his voice.

You finally lifted your gaze, levelling him with the flattest look you could muster. “Not what I said.”

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table, his chin propped up on one hand. The orange sunlight streaming through the window caught in his hair, making it gleam like spun silver. “Come on, y/n, live a little. You’re always so serious.”

“Not everyone can afford to ‘live a little,’” you muttered, your tone softer than before.

Gojo’s grin faltered, just for a heartbeat, before returning with renewed mischief. “Then it’s my civic duty to help you loosen up.”

Before you could stop him, he reached across the table and flicked the corner of your notebook. It slid a few inches down the table out of your reach, the pages fluttering slightly.

“Gojo,” you snapped, sitting up straighter.

“What?” His innocent tone was as fake as the wide-eyed look he gave you. “I’m just trying to help.”

You leaned over to grab the notebook, but Gojo was quicker. He snatched it up and held it above his head, just out of reach.

“Satoru,” you hissed, standing now, your chair scraping loudly against the floor.

He smirked, leaning back in his chair as he dangled the notebook higher. “What’s the magic word?”

“I’m not playing this game with you.”

You stepped closer, your hand reaching for the notebook, but Gojo shifted at the last second. In one smooth motion, he stood, towering over you with that infuriating smirk still plastered across his face.

“Wow, so short,” he teased, looking down at you with mock pity.

“I hate you,” you said, glaring up at him.

“Liar,” he shot back, his grin widening.

The room felt smaller now, the air warmer. You tried not to notice how close he was, how his presence seemed to fill every corner of the space.

“Just give it back,” you said, your voice quieter this time.

Gojo tilted his head, considering your request, but made no move to comply. 

Instead, he bent down slightly, just enough that your faces were almost level. His free hand braced against the edge of the table beside you, caging you in without even touching you.

“You really want it?” He asked, his tone low, teasing.

The words made your pulse quicken, though you’d never admit it. You reached for the notebook again, but he didn’t budge, his grin softening into something more unreadable.

And then you noticed it—his breath, warm and feather-light against your cheek. You were close enough to feel his breath.

The realization hit you all at once. Your skin burned where his breath lingered, and the heat crawled upward, spreading across your face and down your neck.

“Gojo,” you said, but it came out quieter than you intended, almost a whisper.

“What?” He murmured, his voice matching your softness now.

You didn’t answer, your mind too preoccupied with the way his gaze lingered on you, no longer playful but intense, searching.

His grin returned, but it was softer this time, almost shy. “You’re blushing, y/n,” he said, his voice dropping to a near-whisper.

Your hands curled into fists at your sides, your gaze darting away as if the floor could save you from the warmth blooming across your face. 

“No, I’m not,” you mumbled, despite the obvious pink hue radiating from your cheeks.

Gojo chuckled, a low, quiet sound that only made your blush deepen. “You’re adorable, you know that?”

You felt your heart do a little flip and you spun around, turning your back to him and crossing your arms over your chest.

“No I’m not–You–” You said shortly, trying to make yourself seem more annoyed than flustered.

“What?” He drawled, his tone all lazy amusement. 

“I’m just making an observation.” His grin was practically audible as he tilted his head. “I mean, look at you. Bright red. Are you sure you’re not coming down with something? Or is it just me?”

You spun around so fast you almost knocked into him, your hands flying up to shove at his chest, but he barely budged. “You’re such a—”

“Careful now,” he interrupted, catching your wrists with ease. His grip was light but firm, his thumbs brushing over your skin in a way that sent a shiver down your spine.

“Wouldn’t want you to say something you can’t take back.”

Your glare faltered under his steady gaze, but you refused to give him the satisfaction of looking away. “You’re insufferable.”

“And yet, here you are,” he shot back smoothly, a smirk curling his lips. “It’s almost like you enjoy my company.”

“Well I don’t,” you snapped. “I’m not the one who invited you for dinner Gojo.” 

Gojo’s smirk widened, but he finally released your wrists, stepping back just enough to give you space—though not nearly enough to escape the heat of his presence.

“Hm, ya’know–you’re right,” he spoke slowly, his tone dripping with mock innocence as he turned toward the kitchen, hands sliding casually into his pockets. “I’ll try not to charm ya too much during dinner.”

You stood frozen, your cheeks still blazing and your heart racing as his footsteps faded. With a frustrated huff, you followed, vowing silently not to let him get under your skin again.

—

By the time you were in your early twenties, you had quietly come to terms with your crush on Satoru Gojo.

It wasn’t hard to pinpoint why you liked him. Gojo had been a constant presence in your life since your young teenage years, and despite his insufferable arrogance and larger-than-life personality, there was a charm about him you couldn’t deny. 

He teased you relentlessly, always flashing that blinding smile that made your heart skip a beat.

But it wasn’t just the teasing or the jokes. It was the way he treated you differently, always going out of his way to check on you, lingering just a little longer than necessary whenever you were around.

Still, you convinced yourself it didn’t mean anything. Gojo was like that with everyone—or so you told yourself…It was safer that way.

That afternoon, you sat across from Utahime at your favourite coffee shop in the neighbourhood near the office you worked at, absently stirring your drink as she rattled on about her recent frustrations at work.

You tried to focus—nodding at all the right times, but your mind kept drifting.

“Are you even listening to me?” Utahime asked, narrowing her eyes.

“Of course I am,” you lied, forcing a smile.

“Uh-huh.” She sipped her coffee, then leaned back with a sigh. “You’ve been spacey lately. What’s up?”

“Nothing,” you said too quickly, heat creeping up your neck. “Just tired, I guess.”

She gave you a skeptical look but didn’t press further.

The bell above the café door chimed, and you glanced up instinctively—only to immediately wish you hadn’t.

There he was.

Gojo Satoru strolled in like he owned the place, his sunglasses pushed up into his snow-white hair and his hands stuffed casually into his coat pockets. He scanned the room, and the moment his eyes landed on you, his face lit up with a grin that sent your heart racing.

“Great,” you muttered under your breath, sinking lower in your seat.

Utahime’s gaze flicked between you and Gojo, her lips curling into a smirk. “Oh, this should be fun.”

“Don’t you start,” you warned.

Before she could respond, Gojo was already making his way toward your table, exuding his usual overconfidence.

“Ladies,” he greeted, pulling out the chair next to you without waiting for an invitation. “Fancy running into you here.”

“Gojo,” Utahime said dryly, her tone laced with disdain that only seemed to amuse him.

“Utahime,” he replied, his grin widening.

He turned his attention to you, his expression softening slightly. “And you. Shouldn’t you be working?”

“I could say the same to you,” you shot back, doing your best to sound indifferent despite the way your pulse quickened under his gaze.

“Touché,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “But I’d argue that seeing you is much more important than work.”

Utahime snorted, and you felt your cheeks heat up. “Does that line actually work on people?” Utahime asked, sounding as unimpressed as ever.

Gojo shrugged, clearly unbothered. “Guess it depends on the person.”

The conversation moved on—or rather, Utahime and Gojo bickered while you quietly sipped your drink, pretending not to notice the way Gojo kept stealing glances at you.

Then, out of nowhere, he said it.

“So,” Gojo began, his tone deceptively casual as he put one hand on the back of your chair, causing it to tilt back a bit, “what are you doing tonight?”

You froze, your mind racing as your eyes left their place on your coffee and found his. “Why?”

“Because I want to take you out,” he said, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. “Dinner. Just the two of us.”

Your jaw nearly hit the table. Surely, you’d misheard him.

Utahime, on the other hand, choked on her coffee.

“Excuse me?” You managed, your voice barely above a whisper.

“You heard me,” Gojo said, his grin softening into something almost... hopeful. “What do you say?”

For a moment, you were too stunned to respond. You’d spent years convincing yourself that Gojo didn’t see you that way—that his teasing was just his personality, nothing more. But now, staring into those piercing blue eyes, you couldn’t ignore the sincerity in his expression.

Before you could answer, Utahime broke the silence. “Oh my god,” she muttered, pinching the bridge of her nose.

“What?” You asked, still reeling.

“I can’t do this…this has been obvious to everyone but you,” she said, looking at you like you’d grown a second head. 

“He’s been obsessed with you for years, and you’re just now realizing it?”

Your face turned scarlet as you stammered, “That’s—that’s not true.”

Gojo, to his credit, looked thoroughly amused. “See? I knew I liked you for a reason, Utahime. It is totally 100% true.”

“Don’t drag me into this,” she said, waving him off before standing up and leaving some cash beside her empty mug. “I’m leaving before this gets any worse. Good luck, Gojo—you’ll need it.”

“Thanks,” he called after her, clearly enjoying himself.

Once Utahime was gone, you turned back to Gojo, your mind still spinning. “Is this some kind of joke?”

“Do I look like I’m joking?” he asked, his tone unusually serious.

You searched his face for any sign of mischief, but there was none. Just that same unwavering confidence and something else—something softer, almost vulnerable.

“Okay,” you said finally, your voice barely above a whisper. “One dinner.”

Gojo’s grin returned full force, and for the first time, you allowed yourself to believe that maybe—just maybe—he wasn’t joking.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Death Wish 14

Warnings: non/dubcon, mentions of crime, violence/abuse and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: mob!Bucky Barnes

Part of the mob drabbles au

Summary: you’re desperate for a way out of your life and you ask a powerful man for help (plus!reader)

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

Photo Inspo

When Castro leaves, there’s no buffer left to you. As usual, you have no defense against this man. You feel Bucky watching you as you avoid him.

You take in the decor. As nice as it is, it’s just another reminder of the distance between you and this man. He has everything and you have nothing. You are entirely at his whim. 

He sighs and you sense the subtle shift behind you as he stands. You glance over your shoulder as he strips off his jacket. He stretches his neck to either side and it pops. 

“May as well get settled, doll, too late to send you off now,” he drawls. 

You face him entirely and nod. Resignation isn’t such a new feeling to you. He looks at you with a fire in his eyes. He comes forward and you plant your feet. 

“Are you excited? At all? A wedding? A wardrobe? The most powerful man in the city?” He stops before you and tilts his head. 

You stare at him and open your mouth. You should lie to him but you can’t force the words out. Despite your speechless gape, he doesn’t appear disappointed. He cups your cheek and his tongue peeks out over his lip and he considers you. 

“I respect that. You’re too honest for your own good.” His thumb brushes up to your temple. “So I’ll ask the big question, do you think... do you think I’m handsome, doll? I have been told I got nice eyes but I got a lot of people around me who will tell me whatever I wanna hear.” 

You flinch and narrow your eyes. You feel a dimple pinch. He smirks. 

“You think that’s funny,” he states. 

“I guess. You don’t need me to answer that, do you?” 

He takes a breath, “maybe not but I’d like to hear it from you.” 

You look down then flick your eyes back up, “yes, you are handsome, Mr. Barnes.” 

He snickers and brings his other hand up, cradling your head gently. “And you’re gorgeous, baby.” You scrunch your face and clucks, “don’t make that face, you know it too.” 

“Barnes--” 

“Bucky,” he insists. 

“Bucky,” you echo wistfully. 

“Hey, I know I gotta treat you right or one day you’ll find someone to take care of me--” 

You shove him, not thinking. His words lash you like a fiery whip. He takes a step back, though you know that you truly can’t impact him that much. 

“Don’t you dare—How could you say that to me?” 

His eyes drift placidly then spark as they fall on you again, “you play innocent with everyone else. It’s perfect, but not with me. I know what you’re capable of.” 

Your nose tingles, “you don’t understand--” 

“I don’t?” He arches a brow. “I don’t understand the bruises on your neck or the desperation in your voice? I didn’t deliver you exactly what you wanted on a platter?” 

“Why are you doing all this? What—do I have to get on my knees and thank you?” You step forward then stop. You sneer and drop to your knees. You clasp your hands together with a clap. “Oh, Bucky Barnes, the King, thank you for putting that gun in my hand. Thank you for taking those years of abuse and twisting them into your prize. Thank you. Is that good enough?” 

He looks down at you. His expression is clear, calm. He holds out his hands. 

“Get up,” he demands. 

“No, you want me on my knees. You want me beneath you. To know that I owe you this life.” You tug but he doesn’t let go. “I don’t want it. I never did. I just wanted... I wanted my sisters to be free.” 

He slowly bends his knees and lets you go. He comes eye level with you as you take a breath. He scoops you up in a single motion and you cry out. He hikes you up, turning you sideways in his arms. You push on his chest, your other arm stuck against him. 

“Barnes--” 

“Why don’t you just call me James then? If you’re going to act like my mother,” he growls as he marches past the sofa. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t--” 

“You meant it. Goddamn it, doll, that’s as genuine as you’ve been with me. Don’t think I’m stupid,” he takes you into the foyer and turns up the large staircase. You wriggle as panic swells in me. 

“Please, I’m... I don’t know what I’m doing. I told you--” 

You voice fizzles as he remains silent, his expression stone. You look down and shudder in his embrace. He carries you to the second floor and down a hallway. He doesn’t stop until he reaches the four-postered bed, dropping you onto the plush cushion. 

“All you need to worry about knowing how to do, is keeping me happy,” he snarls. “That’s it.” He glares at you with a fearsome leer. “I told you, all I want is you. Not your lies, not your groveling, just you.” 

You prop yourself up on your elbows, “I...” you search his face. “I don’t know how to give you that.” 

He steps closer and bends over you slowly. A hot breath plumes from his nose as he plants his hands on either side of you. You drag yourself up on the bed and he lowers himself to trap you there. He leans in until his nose touches yours. 

“You don’t gotta try so hard,” he brushes his nose on your cloyingly. “You just gotta... be...” his traces down to your cheek, nuzzling you. “Doll,” he tilts his head to nibble your lower lip. He growls and pulls on it until it slips free. 

He frames your chin as he comes down onto an elbow. He crushes his lips to yours and you hum in surprise. His tongue begs for entrance and you easily abide his plea. His hand slips down to your throat as he invades your mouth. Like everything he ever taken, he claims you with brute force. 

[ryescapades]

hello rye! <3 congratulations on reaching 1k followers, you deserve all of them & so much more // i've read all your works, and i can't express in words how amazing of a writer you are ☘︎

for your milestone event can i request:

rin itoshi + sfw + "hey, look at me"

thank you & i wish you the best of lucks on midterms + finals :3c

→ EVENT OVERVIEW

prompt: 17 - “hey, look at me.” characters: itoshi rin (bllk) x f!reader contents: comfort/fluff, reader gets bothered by some sleazy guys erm wc ~ 1k

a/n: ruruuu my beloved i uhh dunno what to think of this personally but i hope it’s better for u than it is for me shsdfdfk and thankyou sm for participating and the kind words ilyy !! <3 (not proofread!)

your date has been going so well today.

you had planned this so long ago, wanting to go to the aquarium with rin. it’s been quite a while since you’ve had some alone time with him, considering how busy he is with soccer so it’s only right that he’d wanted to spend the whole day and more with the one he treasures the most.

the aquarium itself was a blast; you had fun learning about and looking at all the beautiful sea creatures, though rin would argue that there’s entirely something— or someone— else that was worthy of being labeled as the embodiment of beauty itself.

he would never say that out loud, of course.

the aquarium aside, the rest of the day went by pretty leisurely. after getting yourselves some matching trinkets (you think that the faint blush brushing his cheeks when he holds the dainty ornament in his hands is the loveliest, most incredible sight you’ve ever seen), the two of you decided to check out the new ramen place downtown, catch up a little bit over lunch (you did all the talking, unsurprisingly) before ending up taking a stroll in the park nearby.

everything’s turning out wonderful, until it was not.

while the two of you were preoccupied in your own little bubble, a few wandering tourists had interrupted you to ask for some help. the both of you knew that giving some mere instructions would be too vague, so you had convinced him that you didn’t mind waiting as he showed them the way instead as he was more versed in their language. rin wanted to dispute, not wanting to leave you alone even just for a second, let alone 3 minutes, though he begrudgingly obliged after one look of assurance from you.

the world would’ve been a better place if some people knew how to keep their hands to themselves and mind their own business, really.

all the while you’re waiting for rin to come back, you catch sight of a couple guys standing just a few feet away, their leering eyes hooked on you as their faces spell nothing but trouble. you try not to visibly grimace, turning away from them as you start chanting in your head for your boyfriend to return quickly and wish that by some miracle he could feel your (hopefully) telepathic distress.

you’d wanted to walk away but unfortunately for you, you don’t get far as a few seconds later, a bold finger taps on your shoulder to gain your attention. turning around, you feel your body tense at the men suddenly looming over you with a grin looking oh so sweetly on each of their faces.

“hey, you alone here, sweetheart?” you resist the urge to visibly roll your eyes at the petname. with a reluctant smile, you shake your head at them before starting to walk off. “i’m heading somewhere else, sorry.”

persistent like a parasite with the intent to make your life worse, they fall into steps behind you. you’re feeling the urge to curse at the inconvenience of the part of the city you’re currently at, reprimanding yourself for waiting at such an isolated place. “your friends? or family?” one of them presses, and your heartbeat rises as they begin to get closer.

“boyfriend, excuse you,” you huff quietly under your breath, wanting to lose yourself in the incoming crowd as you anxiously walk faster. you would’ve been fine with tolerating them until they’d eventually get bored of your lack of enthusiasm, if not for the slimy hand that suddenly extends out to harshly grasp yours from behind, triggering your fight or flight response as your heart goes plummeting down to your stomach in dread.

“oh, come on! we just wanted to–” the scream that has bubbled up in your throat doesn’t get to escape, however, when another figure comes barreling towards the man, a raged hand reaching up to fist at the latter’s collar. your wrist is then freed, and you gingerly rub at the skin as if to wipe away the foreign touch.

“she’s clearly not interested, you bastard.” your boyfriend’s gravely tone enters your ears, and you’d almost cried out in relief at his appearance. there was a dangerous and deathly lilt to his voice, and something about it makes you shiver for some unknown reason.

you initially don’t have any clue as to how badly affected rin is by the situation with how he has his back towards you but the way rin’s grip on the stranger’s shirt tightens, proven by the flexing and slight quivering of his arm. not to mention you can hear the man’s audible gulp, so you know it’s not a pretty sight.

“w-whoa, sorry, man. we were just…” the other guy trails off, and you had almost sympathized with how genuinely terrified they look but it’s really not worth the effort to cause such a commotion here so you try to get him to calm down. “rin,” you call out, tugging slightly at the hem of his shirt.

you can see him tensing at your voice for a few moments, then with as much reluctance as he can muster, the striker roughly shoves the man away before backing up slightly to hide you behind him, and they both immediately scurry off into the distance. rin doesn’t take his eyes away from the two, fists clenching and teal orbs sharpening like daggers as if to make sure those jerks are undoubtedly not coming back.

your heart squeezes at this whole ordeal. soothingly sliding your hand down the length of rin’s arm, you languidly take his hand to unfurl the whitening knuckles by weaving your fingers with his. “rin,” you press, reaching up to turn the side of his face towards you. “hey, look at me.”

your boyfriend snaps his head towards you then, tension leaving his body when his eyes land on you. he doesn’t protest when you pull him down by the back of his neck, bumping your forehead against his with a gentle thump, a silly method you’d picked up whenever there is a need to ‘knock’ some sense into him.

because the only way for itoshi rin to simmer down and regain his control is exactly that; having you close to him in whatever way possible.

“i’m here, baby. i’m okay,” you mumble against the shared space between your mouths, and rin doesn’t resist the magnetic pull as he pecks your lips once before planting another one on your forehead. “should’ve brought you along,” he mumbles, exhaling warmly against your skin.

you let out a chuckle, “hm, you’re right…” you feignedly ponder, pulling your intertwined hands together as the two of you start walking again, “though as much as i am thankful, you do look quite hot there getting all mad. and cute too, i guess. like an angry kitty, you know?” you quip, glancing at him with a small teasing smile.

a tinge of pink dusts the apple of his cheeks, his eyebrows furrowing in slight offense. “am not,” rin grumbles.

“are so,” you counter, lightly bumping your shoulder against his side.

“... am not,” he bumps back.

“angry rinnie.”

“shut up.”

taglist open !

©🅁🅈🄴🅂🄲🄰🄿🄰🄳🄴🅂. do not steal, translate or repost my work anywhere else !

[morgannalefey]

I'm going to try one more time because I'm I dunno a glutton for punishment or something. I don't have a lot of hope, though. My impression is that most folks aren't actually reading everything I have to say and are, at best, skimming. Which, to be fair, is par for the course on this site. For this reason there's a tl;dr at the end you can jump to if you're so inclined. The rest of this post is pretty long in order to explain, but if you don't really care about the explanation and just want to be horrified, go for it.

I'm fifty nine years old. I have been married for thirty six years. Prior to that marriage, I had been with a lot of different people in the 8 years between when I became sexually active and I got my spouse. So I am not inexperienced in either sexual encounters, problems relating to sexual relations, relationships (both long and short term), nor differences in hygiene habits.

In response to your incredulity over people's learned behaviors fading over time:

Habits of childhood can be difficult to unlearn. It's possible to make an effort to change a habit, but then for other things to come up that distract and the change gets forgotten in favor of the muscle memory from childhood. There are many things that I've learned over time that are better ways to do a thing, but sometimes still forget that I've learned a better way and resort to how I originally did the thing. There are many reasons why this might happen such as distractions or having too many things to think about so my body operates on autopilot for some things. If this continues for a while, one typically loses the new habit and has to relearn the new way of doing things. Though it does tend to come back faster than the initial attempt did, it's still a conscious effort that has to be made.

Back to the main point. The assumption I'm attempting to address here is the one where everyone learns all the same basic hygiene lessons and that no one could ever have any reason for not having learned to make sure to wash their privates all the way down to and including the perineum and anal area. This assumption carries a whole lot weight. Here's a partial list of things being assumed:

That they have a parent or family member who has taught them how to clean themselves well.

That the family had water that was safe to wash thoroughly in most of the time.

That the family had the money to pay for the water bills and didn't deliberately avoid certain washing rituals because of the cost of water.

That they had present family members at all.

That they weren't living unhoused for part or most of their childhood, making washing (and especially washing the private parts) less common or safe to do because showers and such weren't always available and washing on the street could get one arrested.

This is a list of situations I can think of off the top of my head that might mean a person wasn't really taught how to clean themselves properly or that might have prevented them developing the habit. It is hardly exhaustive.

Because I recognize that people have very different lived experiences than I have had, when I'm faced with a situation like has been mentioned in this thread, I'd be more likely to just ask some questions or try to have a conversation about it. As I said before, assuming that the relationship was otherwise a good one. No one is perfect and if I threw out an entire, very good, loving, and supportive relationship because of discovering a situation in my spouse's upbringing that was weird and a little gross to me, I wouldn't still be with my spouse. If, after talking with them, it turns out that they're just a lazy, dirty person who won't even try learning a new way to exist in order to not make their partner sick, that's a completely different situation.

Now that being said, I've broken up with a guy because of how he chewed (I could not stand it, his whole family chewed like that. Even the slightest possibility of having to spend my life around those people gave me the screaming willies. Still, I did mention it to him and he was unwilling to adjust how he chewed for me. So that was it). I've broken up with guys because I couldn't stand how they smelled even after showering.

I'm not saying it's not a break up worthy offense to not keep one's privates clean for one's partner. I'd probably be far less inclined to talk to him if he were an occasional partner, not a "boyfriend" but "boyfriend" suggests a certain degree of emotional entanglement that usually means one has put some effort into the relationship. It just seems extreme to not even talk to the boyfriend about the issue to see how they respond and instead to just dump them, but maybe that can be chalked it up to my extreme old age.

tl;dr Not everyone learns exactly the same lessons about washing their privates. Basic hygiene is a skill that has to be taught, it is not instinctive. Not everyone grew up with the same resources, family, water, time, as everyone else. The term "boyfriend" seems more involved than "fuck buddy" and so taking the time to talk to the boyfriend about something that's bothersome doesn't seem like an unreasonable course of action.

[causticsodaa]

What I personally think is behind Suo’s eyepatch: A Delusional Theory

The title explains itself (heed the disclaimer please), so I’ll get straight to the point.

Firstly, I believe that Suo is blind in his right eye.

Typically, eyepatches are mainly worn by people who

Are recovering from surgery

Cosplay

Have eye trauma or are half-blind

The first point is immediately negated, since it’s confirmed that Suo has been wearing an eyepatch on his right eye since middle school at the earliest. I doubt that even the most extensive eye surgeries would need him to be wearing one for years on end. Most eyepatches are made out of adhesive material, whilst Suo’s is made out of leather. I won’t dwell on this point much since I don’t think this outcome is very likely, but I just wanted to bring it up anyways (lol).

The second point could be plausible, considering that Suo voluntarily draws attention to his eyepatch in his introduction, even stating that there is “an ancient Chinese spirit sealed” in it—there’s a story behind it.

However, Nirei’s question immediately disproves this. Nii Satoru is a very deliberate writer; I don’t think there would be any reason to include Nirei’s dialogue about a ‘past accident’ (more on this later) if it wasn’t meant to serve as foreshadowing or at least be somewhat true.

Theres also the fact that Suo directly agrees with Nirei’s claim, though his wording is very vague (ie. it’s what other people say rather than Suo himself confirming it).

I believe this scene is mainly meant to showcase Suo’s goofy side (backed by Nirei’s comment about expecting Suo to be more cold/aloof and with Suo introducing himself as Leonardo di Caprio); but I also assume that he decided to make up a story about his eye because he’s been questioned about it many times in the past. It’s obviously not true, but I don’t think that Suo would voluntarily wear an eyepatch for years on end just to look cool (not to mention the depth perception issues!).

It’s also important to note that Nirei’s information is scarily accurate as well. He even figured out that Suo hated natto despite how secretive the latter is, but I digress.

This leads me to the third point, which is what most of the fandom (myself included) speculates. However, I’ll be focusing more on the prospect of Suo being half-blind.

If Suo is blind in his white eye, he would have a white iris. Although many blind characters in anime/animation have their eyes closed or just lack pupils, some do have white/clear/sheen irises:

Additionally, some people who are blind do have ‘milky’ eyes in real life!

Even other animanga characters who wear eyepatches have some sort of eye trauma (if they aren’t pirates/concealing some power/forced to give their eyeball up for a contract, though WBK isn’t that kind of story) such as Hange Zoë and Asuka Langely Soryu.

Personally, I believe that Suo had injured his right eye in the past to the point of blindness, given with the evidence presented before. I can’t really provide any theories as to how this happened due to a lack of canon evidence, but it’s probably linked to why he tells Nirei to never close his eyes. It’s highly probable his right eye is linked to a traumatic incident of his past—though anything further related to Suo’s backstory prompts an entirely different conversation.

Theres also a possibility that Suo might have been born half blind as well, and uses his eyepatch to protect/cover it; though it’s merely speculation on my part (and I’ll talk about this theory more in a bit).

You’ve probably noticed that I’m drawing a lot of attention to the color of Suo’s right eye, rather the cause of his blind eye. This is where my theory gets delusional.

Let me bring in our beloved protagonist of Wind Breaker; Sakura Haruka!

Wait, isn’t this a theory about Suo? What does Sakura have to do with Suo’s eye?

Although Sakura and Suo do have their stark differences, they’re also eerily similar (and this criteria applies to Suo + Nirei and Sakura + Nirei as well). The most prominent thing they have in common [design wise] are their ‘abnormal’ eyes (with Sakura having heterochromia, and Suo with only one eye visible), and how they’re somehow linked to some sort of past trauma. I (albeit briefly) went over how Suo’s right eye connects with a potentially traumatic incident earlier, so I’ll be focusing on Sakura in the meantime.

In the beginning of the anime, we see snippets of dialogue by people from Sakura’s past, which mainly consisted of a barrage of criticism and rude remarks towards him. This line in particular stands out to me:

Japanese society is very conformative both in real life and what we see in Sakura’s memories—being unique or looking different from the norm is 🆖. We see different people in the series poke fun at Sakura’s hair, but I feel like this comment hurts the most. You can’t exactly change your eye color easily without contacts, unlike hair in which you can style/dye it as you please (though I’m not trying to justify the mistreatment Sakura has experienced by comparing apples and oranges; simply put, it’s incredibly vile).

Because of the above, Sakura has been consistently ostracized in the past mainly due to his ‘weird’ appearance. This causes him to internalize those sentiments for years on end before coming to Furin. He then begins to project his insecurities externally throughout the manga whether it relates to his leadership skills or how he interacts with the other students (initially questioning why people can accept him given his ‘strange’ appearance and mannerisms). There’s also this:

Sakura used to cover his hair and eyes with hats/sunglasses, however it failed to work as people still avoided him. This is even shown in the anime!

Poor kid took all those comments to heart and internalized it to the point it essentially crippled his self-esteem—but who wouldn’t, honestly? Being constantly alienated and perceived as ‘disgusting’ by others causes a sense of distrust to a person, especially during their developmental stages (as Sakura experienced most of this as a child/teen), hence why I’m classifying this as traumatic for Sakura. Even though he’s in a better place now, the ghosts of his past still haunt and affect him to this day.

Since Suo + Sakura are written to foil/parallel each other at times, there is a chance that Suo might have also covered his eye for a similar reason to Sakura’s: he doesn’t want other people to know he is blind (either to not be perceived as weak, or Suo was ashamed of for a different reason—perhaps other people thought his blind eye was scary?). Maybe Suo was born with a blind eye, much like how Sakura was born with a “half and half” appearance.

As I’ve mentioned before, Sakura has heterochromia (wow no shit Sherlock); his left eye is yellow, while his right is black[ish-grey] (his eye is sometimes colored a light grey/blue but thats usually a stylistic choice)

Both Sakura and Suo’s character colors are based off their left eyes: Sakura’s being an amber and Suo’s being red (rather than mainly sappanwood but its a shade of red anyways—and Suo is usually represented with a bold red in other official/merch art so shhhh)

And if we were to follow my theory, Suo would hypothetically have a milky colored right eye and a red iris for his left as in canon. Do you see where I’m going with this?

Both Sakura and Suo would have their character color as their right eye (amber and red respectively), while their left eyes (black and white) would contrast each other. Black and white are considered opposites, after all.

If my (delulu) theory holds true, this could perfectly showcase Suo and Sakura’s differences and similarities—but instead of it being almost hidden through the layers of their unspoken relationship, they are physically represented through their character designs.

Okay, I know you’re probably thinking that this theory is too far fetched (hell, even I think the same). But hear me out:

There is another duo in Wind Breaker who have character designs that contrast each other: Togame and Choji!

Nii Satoru makes it a point to emphasize how different these two are—and it’s no secret given their designs: Togame is tall, beefier, and has straight dark hair while Choji is short, lankier, with light and curlier hair. Even their eyes contrast each other; Togame’s are thin, slanted, and green while Choji’s are wide, round and red[dish brown]. (I KNOW THAT HIS EYES ARE MORE BROWN IN THE ANIME BUT THEYRE COLORED RED SOMETIMES BY NIISATO PLEASE TRUST ME ON THIS)

Honestly, this entire section makes me want analyze Choji and Togame (must… control… my demons…), so I’ll just move on to my next point.

Additionally, Sakura is sometimes drawn with his hair slicked back, which makes him look eerily similar to Umemiya…

I believe this is entirely intentional by Nii-sensei, but if I speak any more I fear that I will start rambling about Umemiya/Sakura parallels like a madman. My point is, two characters with similar/contrasting designs do already exist in WBK.

And in the case of Suo and Sakura, these two elements could possibly coexist in their character designs via their ‘irregular’ eyes.

TLDR; Suo and Sakura are the only characters in the cast with messed up eyes -> If Suo’s blind in his right eye, it would be white -> which would contrast Sakura’s black iris thats also in his right eye -> this shows their differences -> but also reinforces the fact that they are similar since their left eyes are red and amber -> which are their character colors -> I am severely delusional -> and I need to be euthanized immediately

[vxsellie]

‧₊˚┊simple living things﹗

a hunger games!au ellie williams fanfiction.⌇ 𝔠𝔥𝔞𝔭 𝔦𝔦

summary. to give a final goodbye to someone you love is generally the last thing anyone would ever wish to do. though, when being shipped off to your death, it's the equivalent to being given a final meal whilst on death row.

content warnings. abuse, mentions of death, implications of murder, and (the worst of all) a lesbian breakup

total wc. 5,225

notes!! here she is! i wrote this in one sitting on the night before christmas, literally up until two am bc my thoughts wouldn't stop flowing (ive had writers block for the past few months so you couldn't pry my keyboard from my cold dead hands). anyway here she is! once again, reminder that it's better read on ao3!

𝜗𝜚 series masterlist ⸝⸝ playlist ⸝⸝ ao3 𝜗𝜚

14:45.

DISTRICT SEVEN.

“What were you thinking?” 

Despite how loud Marlene’s voice is, it sounds rather muffled. Ellie’s thoughts all jumble together into a plethora of unintelligible abstraction. This results in outside noises becoming equally as cryptic.

After the Reaping, both tributes were escorted into the Justice Building and forced into separate rooms. Having grown up amid the Games, Ellie’s aware that this is the part where she’s supposed to say her final goodbyes to her loved ones — an hour of time allotted to these farewells. And, despite knowing that all twenty-three other tributes are going through the same thing, Ellie couldn’t feel more alone. There’s a sickening sense of finality to this. Like she’s cattle bred and born to await death. Like there’s nothing more to her life aside from this — being Reaped to never return.

And, with the time given, Marlene has opted to use the entirety of her visit reprimanding Ellie for how she’d acted on stage. Not that she doesn’t deserve to be chastised, she knows she does, but it’s still fucked up.

See, after her name had been drawn, Ellie’s entire world fell out from under her feet. She knew there was a possibility of her name being drawn, she’d be a fool not to at least acknowledge that fact. But to look that fate in the eye and have no way of revoking it? That’s an entirely different pill to swallow. As she stood atop that stage, the escort’s piping voice ringing through her ears, Ellie simply could not seem to comprehend it. But then she felt a weight in her hand, a warmth. She turned to see Riley, her jaw set and her eyes darkened. She grabbed Ellie’s hand and hoisted it into the air.

To Ellie, it was a rather odd thing to do. But, as Marlene is pointing out presently, it was an act of defiance against the Capitol itself. Ellie had no idea. Not that she doubts it, what with Riley’s outward distaste for the government, but it just hadn’t dawned on her that the mere act of holding a friend’s hand would piss off the Capitol. It’s kinda funny.

“What could you possibly be laughing at?” Marlene groans, her pacing coming to a halt as she whips around to face Ellie. Her expression isn’t one of rage, as initially expected. Instead, it’s one of genuine panic. Well shit, apparently holding hands really is treason.

Ellie doesn’t respond, her face dropping instantly. She pins her gaze to the floor, staring at the same rusted nail she’s been looking at for the past ten minutes. In fact, she’d been so zoned out that she hadn’t picked up a single thing that Marlene was trying to say. Usually, this would amuse her. But now, with her impending doom so leering, she can’t help but feel ashamed. She may never see Marlene again. And then what? Her last memory of the girl she’d raised from infantry would be of her zoned out whilst curled into a ball on a dilapidated sofa. That’s rather pathetic, is it not?

She shudders, pulling her knees even closer to her chest at the thought. She doesn’t yet know who was Reaped from the other Districts, but she’s sure they aren’t all pouting on their couches like children. Still, she can’t seem to remove herself from this position — one of self comfort. 

Something touches her knee and she flinches, tearing her gaze from the floor. She looks up to see Marlene sitting beside her on the couch, her gaze softened. Ellie hadn’t even noticed her approach. Fuck. See, this is the exact thing she’s worried about. If she were to zone out like this in the arena, she'd be dead within minutes.

“You didn’t hear anything I just said, did you?” Marlene asks with a sigh. A wave of guilt washes over Ellie’s body before she nods, admittedly having heard nothing. “I was saying I’m sorry. I don’t mean to shout at you like this, especially considering the situation. I’m only lecturing you because I’m worried. I’ve seen the Capitol kill people for less than holding hands.”

Ellie shakes her head, though the act is faraway. “The Capitol can’t kill us now that we’re tributes. To do so would only result in more defiance from the viewers. They’re anticipating a show, to kill off the characters would be antiprogressive.”

“No, but they can surely make your time in the arena worse.” Marlene points out. 

Ellie thins her lips at this, but ultimately says nothing. This is not what she wants to hear right before being sent to her death. She wants consolation and comfort, not reminders of how little control she has in her own life. But that’s just how Marlene is — she gets stressed and rambles. Most of the time, it's a harmless habit. Right now, though, it’s proving to be rather taxing.

“Look,” She sighs, “I’m not good at this whole thing, talking. Everyone knows that. It’s– Well, it’s the entire reason I never had any kids of my own.” She sighs again trying desperately to make sense of her thoughts and word them in a way that doesn’t sound like an insult. “I never wanted children, but raising you was the best thing that ever could have happened to me. Losing you would thereby be the worst thing to ever happen to me. I only shouted at you because your safety means everything. But— you’re strong, Ellie, and so very brave. If you put your mind to it, you can make it out of that arena. I believe in you. All you have to do is believe in yourself.”

Ellie is certain that’s the most Marlene has ever spoken in one go without shouting or giving up halfway through. And for that, she’s grateful. Ellie swallows harshly, her throat suddenly feeling too big for her neck. She leans forward.

She doesn’t hug Marlene, not necessarily. She simply flops into her, thumping her forehead onto her shoulder. Her body is stiff and her jaw is clenched tight, but the act of the touch still carries a sense of sentimentality to it. Especially considering she and Marlene never hug. In fact, she thinks she only ever hugged her once in her whole life. Again, it’s not anything to pity her for, it’s just their relationship. A fact of life. Some people are touchy, others aren't. And Marlene is definitely among those who are not.

She rubs a hand up and down Ellie’s back, though it’s more so to do something with her hands rather than to comfort her. 

They remain like that for a long time, sitting in silence because neither of them are skilled at voicing their emotions. Ellie’s mind continues to move at a million thoughts per second, though it slows a little in the absence of Marlene’s shouting.

Roughly twenty minutes go by before Marlene pulls away. She has a hand on each of Ellie’s shoulders, a foot between their faces. She stares at her, brown eyes flicking across each one of her features, as though to memorize her before departure. Ellie mimics her, taking in the sight of the woman who raised her — from the slope of her nose to the arc of her brows. Afterall, this might be her last time to do so. No matter how hard she believes in herself.

“I ought to go visit Riley.” Marlene says with an awkward cough, standing from the couch. “She doesn’t have any family aside from you and I.”

It’s true. Riley’s family is rather complicated seeing as she doesn’t have any. It took seven years of being Riley’s friend before she confided in Ellie about her past. And, after hearing it, she couldn’t blame her for her hesitance. 

Her father was a rebel. He hated the Capitol and everything related to it. He wasn’t married to Riley’s mother when she got pregnant, hadn’t even been dating. They simply had a fling and moved on — hence his oblivion to the fact that she’d been a Peacekeeper. Riley’s dad lived a life of tranquil solitude, aside from frequent whippings as punishment for opposing the Capitol so vocally. Truly, he’d been lucky to not be assassinated on the spot for his insubordination. The entirety of Seven knew him for his rebellious nature.

So, when Riley’s mother came forth with an infant in her arms, he was shocked. He couldn’t believe that she’d gotten pregnant. Though, more importantly, he couldn’t believe she was a fucking Peacekeeper. He tried to keep his calm, civilly agreeing to partial custody over their daughter. 

But, when Riley was about four years old, their refined consensus came to an abrupt end. They got into an argument. And a bad one, at that. Nobody knows the exact details to its origin or entailments, but it’s widely known how it ended — Riley’s mother dead and her father as an Avox for the Capitol. His punishment for her murder.

Riley subsequently grew up in an orphanage, though she inherited her father’s rebellious nature and oftentimes escaped over the fence. She’d spent more time in the woods than she had in the decelit building — chopping wood and climbing trees and visiting the Hob. She’d grown rather skilled at it, the illegality of escaping. She met Ellie in elementary. She’d been scaling the fence, intending to flee the school. Ellie had caught her and insisted she teach her how to do it. Begrudgingly, Riley agreed. From there, with many details gone unmentioned, they became friends. Now look at them Reaped for the Hunger Games together. Ugly ending to a beautiful story.

“Yeah.” Ellie agrees curtly to Marlene’s suggestion. “Yeah, she’d appreciate that, I think.”

Marlene nods in agreement prior to turning on her heel and exiting the room.

Ellie sits alone for a few minutes, returning to her humiliating fetal position. She hugs her legs to her chest, dirty shoes on the cushion of the couch. Though the sofa isn’t in the best shape considering the prodding springs and frayed stuffing. She rests her chin on her knee, staring at the rusty nail she’s grown so fond of.

She’s not sure how long she sits like that before a knock is heard at the door. She groggily tells them to enter, causing the door to creak on its hinges. A face pokes inside prior to the body attached. Cat.

Her black hair is done up, pinned into a purposefully messy bun, bangs cut shorter than usual. It looks put together, but in that I-woke-up-like-this way. Her eyelids are colored in a shiny crimson, her lips in the same glossy tint. Her skin looks inhumanly smooth, her eyebrows impossibly thin. She’s wearing a strapless baby pink dress that’s uncomfortably close to the shade of her skin, coming to her midthigh. Her shoes are the same red as her eyes and lips, clicking against the wooden floor as she walks. She looks like a Capitolite in the way her features are accentuated, though human enough for Ellie to still find her attractive

She instantly straightens, confused. “Why are you here? Aren’t you supposed to be on a train to the Capitol?”

“Well,” Cat begins, shutting the door softly behind her as she walks over to the couch Ellie is curled atop. She sits down beside her, the cushion dipping under her weight, which instinctively pulls Ellie toward her. “I caused a bit of a scene, insisting I had to see you. And, considering it’s a hassle to find another stylist so late into the Games, I simply dared them to fire me. They didn’t, of course, and instead opted to just give me time to see you, albeit minimal.”

Ellie laughs, though the sound is hollow. This draws a tight expression from Cat as she takes in the sight of the girl before her. Ellie suddenly feels self conscious, wearing a wrinkled linen shirt while Cat looks like a literal fucking deity. Not to mention the pathetic way she’s presenting herself — small and weak. She sits upright, swallowing as she runs her hands down her shirt in a futile attempt at flattening it.

Cat stops her, placing a hand on her wrist. Ellie looks at the place where she touches her, taking in the sight of her perfectly done nails. Baby pink with crimson colored accents. God, every single detail of her is altered for the Capitol’s preference.

“I got you something.” Cat whispers, removing her hand from her wrist to reach into the purse Ellie hadn’t even noticed she carried with her. She holds out her hand, a small piece of metal resting in the center of her palm. A ring, in the shape of a moth. The body is the centerpiece, the wings made to wrap around the finger. “Here,” Cat grabs Ellie’s hand, pulling it forward before slipping the ring onto her index. 

“I love it,” Ellie breathes, holding her hand out in front of her to admire the ring.

“I made it myself.” Cat says. Ellie should have guessed. She knew Cat enjoyed making jewelry, using spoons and other random hunks of metal to concoct something ugly into something pretty. She’s spoken of the hobby before, though she’s never revealed any of the end products. This is Ellie’s first time seeing one of them.

She suddenly recalls the rule that tributes are permitted to bring one token into the arena from home. One thing to remind them of their identities — which are sure to be lost in the Games. Ellie had completely forgotten about the rule, it never having crossed her mind. But looking at this ring now, she’s certain this is the perfect thing to bring. A reminder of home. Not of a place, but of a person. Of Cat.

“I love it.” Ellie repeats more furtively, turning to kiss her.

However, before their mouths are able to touch, Cat lifts her hand to Ellie’s chest. She pushes her away. And, though the act is as gentle as possible, Ellie still feels as though she’d been shoved. She leans back. Cat’s expression is pained, not at all matching the cheerful makeup she wears.

She shakes her head, eyes squeezed shut. “I love you, Ellie. Truly. A part of me likely forever will. But– to be in love with you would only end in causing us both an insurmountable quantity of pain. I can’t consciously do that to you. Even our current relationship is deteriorating your mental health. You’re too dependent on what we have, too afraid to lose it. To allow you to continue down this road would be wrong of me. To even have begun it was wrong. And now that you’re going into the arena, I just– adding yet another burden to your shoulder would be wholly immoral.”

Ellie doesn’t know when, but amid that confession, she’d begun crying. Not just due to the breakup, though, if she could even consider it that. But due to everything. Riley distancing herself recently, the Reaping, Marlene’s shouting, Marlene’s halfhearted farewell, and now this? On top of it all?

“So you’re breaking up with me to ease your own fucking conscience?” Ellie snaps. She doesn't mean to say it. She doesn’t. It’s just all become so much for her to carry. And it’s so easy to drop it on Cat after what she’d just done.

“No.” She insists, nigh pleading in her denial. “Ellie, no, you know that’s not what I’m saying.”

“Then why even give me this?” She asks, holding out her hand with the ring on it. “For me to bring a reminder of your absence into the arena?”

“No, no.” Cat continues to deny Ellie’s accusations. “Not to remind you that I left, but to remind you why I left.”

Ellie scoffs, “Now you’re just saying shit. You’re not even trying to make sense.”

“Moths, Ellie.” She says, grabbing her hand in desperation for her to just fucking listen. “They’re attracted to the light. No matter where they go or– or what environment they’re placed in, they find a light. Something to always keep them going. Something to fight for. Something to reach. I’m holding you back, don’t you see? I don’t want you to fight to get home. I want you to fight because you know you’re worth it. You’re worth living for, even without me or Riley or Marlene. For you. Be your own moth, your own light.”

Ellie wipes roughly at her face, fists scrubbing at her eyes painfully. She wishes she had something clever to say. Something smart that would make Cat rethink everything. But all she can muster is a mumbled, “Moths are fucking ugly.”

14:45.

DISTRICT FOUR.

Your ears are ringing, a loud chiming sound that makes your head swim. Despite this, you keep your chin high as your mother shouts orders at you. You’ve long since tuned her out, which is something you’d never had dared to do prior to the Reaping. But you’re being sent to the arena — you’ll either die in there and never see her again, or you’ll come back a victor and thereby be of higher status than her. Whatever you do now matters naught.

She’s rambling on about something regarding orders to return home. Not because she cares for your wellbeing, but because it’d shame the entire family if you were to die on live television. 

She’s standing across the room from you, her pale blue dress somehow perfectly cleaned despite the journey she made across the grassy courtyard to the Justice Building. Her wrinkled face is contorted into an unreadable expression, the illegibility irritating you. Her golden cane is perched under her clasped hands. God, the woman is the embodiment of power despite having earned none. 

“I get it.” You cut her off, tone just as sharpened as hers, almost as though you’d spent years honing it into a blade serrated enough to challenge her. “I’ll come back. If not, you’ll be embarrassed. Poor you, right?”

The expression of shock on her face is almost worth the punishment — which ends up being hit by the end of her cane. Had it been the usual wood, the pain would be tolerable. But it’s pure gold, causing your mouth to fill with blood. You spit onto the floor and she begins to reprimand you for doing that, deeming it to be improper. You ignore her, massaging your newly bruised face.

The punishment for your statement would likely have been far more severe if you weren’t destined to be put on camera for the country to gawk at. A wound on your face would be shameful. A bruise, though? Your prep team can surely cover that up with a bit of makeup.

She finishes her castigation, seeming to have worn herself out. She then turns and storms out of the room. You almost didn’t notice her swift exit, as she’d made no effort to say goodbye or wish you luck. Just ten minutes of shouting prior to causing a splitting headache and a bruise to the jaw, uncaring to hear you utter a single syllable. Best mom ever.

See, most people deem this event as emotional — an hour allotted to parting ways with your loved ones. But your mother doesn't see this as a parting. She expects to irrefutably see you again. And very shortly, at that.

You’re alone in the room for only a few seconds before a shy knock is heard at the door. You’re confused by this, unsure of who else could be here to see you. “Come in.” You call out, moving to stand over the stain of blood you’d left on the shiny hardwood floor. Thankfully, your dress is long enough that the skirts cover up the space beneath you.

The door opens and a wrinkly old man pops inside. Your lips part at the sight of mister Alden entering the room. You rush forward, offering your aid in his walking. He takes it, looping his arm around the crease of yours.

There’s a small couch with two cushions in the corner of the room. You walk him over to it, easing him onto the sofa before sitting next to him. You cross your legs, “What are you doing here? I know it’s a far journey from where you live.”

He sighs, “You’re like a daughter to me, Y/n. And, though neither of us are willing to address that aloud, we’re both well aware of it. I’ve known you since you were three years old and just learning how to walk. In fact, I can vividly recall the very day I’d met you — you were asleep on your brother’s back, clinging to him like a sloth as he made the trek down to the docks. You were such a small thing, then. Chubby little face and a diaper that didn’t fit.” He smiles fondly, looking at you as though he still views you that way, a baby. “The point is, to not visit you would be cruel. And I’m not a cruel man.”

Your eyes burn as you listen to him. He’s right. You both know it. You and Ruben are like children to him. And he is definitely not a cruel man. You wonder if he’d visited Ruben when he was Reaped. Probably. But you don’t dare ask, not wanting to speak of your brother any more than necessary.

“Oh!” He jolts as though he’d just remembered something vitally important. 

You watch as mister Alden reaches into the pocket of his coat and pulls out a dainty necklace. A white pearl resides in the center, acting as a pendant to the thin silver chain. Your gaze softens as you look at it hanging between his shaky fingers.

“It’s beautiful.” You tell him.

“I want you to have it, to take it into the arena.” He says. “You remember my granddaughter, the one who was facing her first Reaping today? She made it for herself, and planned to wear it into the arena had her name been drawn. She spent weeks searching for the perfect pearl, then another few weeks saving up money to buy the chain.”

Your chest twists at hearing this. You could easily buy something like this from a small shop down by the beaches. It wouldn’t even cost you a day’s allowance. You shake your head. “I can’t take this from her. It’s too special.”

“I insist.” Says he. “When she heard your name called, she instantly turned to me, slipped the necklace into my pocket, and demanded that I bring it to you.” He lets out a light chuckle. “Her ferocity reminds me of you, actually. I don’t even remember telling her about my visits to your house. No shock she found out, though, she’s so bright for her age.”

With a grunt, he pushes to his feet. You rush to do the same, standing beside him in case he needs assistance. Instead of asking for aid, he tells you to turn around. Without hesitation, you oblige. You then feel something cold wrap around your neck. You look down to see the thin necklace now placed across your collarbones. It’s absolutely stunning. Mister Alden fumbles with the clasp, his shaky hands struggling to work the tiny thing.

When he finally gets it on, you turn around to see that he has tears in his eyes. He takes in the sight of the pearl necklace paired with the navy dress, the silver chain matching the silver diamonds adorning it. He nods, wiping roughly at his eyes. “You’ve grown into such a lovely young woman.”

You swallow the lump in your throat before pulling him into a hug, having to hunch over a bit due to his lack of height. He hugs you back, sniffling. It’s rather telling that the random stranger that you buy your seafood from is more caring than anyone in your family. But he’s not a stranger, is he?

After a few minutes of sentimental embrace, he finally parts from you and leaves. On the way out, you catch a glimpse of a tear rolling down his cheek, the droplet catching the light for a split second.

Alone in the room with about ten minutes remaining, you walk over to the window. You look at your reflection in the shined glass, taking in the sight of the necklace. Knowing how long it’d taken to create only adds to its beauty. The dresses your mother has fitted for you are paltry; replaceable. But this? Nobody could recreate the months spent making it, nor could they recreate the small hands that did so.

The sound of footsteps entering the room draws you from your thoughts. You catch his reflection in the window before he’s even fully through the door. Your entire body tenses, something shifting in the air at his presence. Something deep, deep inside you. Like the atoms that make up your very being have been furtively yearning for this moment. For his proximity.

You turn to face him fully.

Ruben.

You’ve seen him around, of course. You’d seen him less than an hour ago. Everyone has seen him, what with the Capitol flashing him around nigh as much as the country’s flag. He’s their brightest diamond and their largest star — the abnormal mixture of UY Scuti with Sirius, creating something impossible to tear one's eyes away from.

You two have spoken as well, albeit in short increments and only when mandatory. So, truly, you’re not sure if it counts in terms of conversation.

He shuts the door slowly, facing you with an unreadable expression. No– that can’t be right. You could always read him, you could always understand him. But right now, not a single word comes to mind as you look at him. He’s a closed book that you’d once memorized every page of.

He stares at you for a moment, gaze lingering on the bruise forming on your cheek. You wonder if you should hide it or not. But he likely knows exactly how it was induced — knowing the feel of your mother’s cane all too well, as he’d grown up taking hits for you daily. It takes a few minutes, but he eventually tears his eyes from your face and looks around the room, looking at the intricate ceiling or the swaying chandelier.

“Been a while, huh?” He huffs a laugh, though it’s dry and lacking any scrap of genuine humor.

You think about this, about what he said. It’s been a while. The world’s biggest understatement, that is. You’re suddenly filled with an immeasurable amount of rage. It’s been eleven fucking years. And he has the nerve to say it’s been a while?

Eleven years since he was Reaped. Eleven years since he was the one in this room. Eleven years since you came to visit him, sobbing and begging him not to go to the arena. Eleven years since Ruben returned from the arena. Eleven years since your brother never returned. Eleven years since the boy who raised you, who protected you, who taught you to walk and talk and eat, vanished.

You say nothing to him, not trusting yourself to speak without either screaming or crying. Or, most likely, both. So, insead, you remain silent.

Ruben sighs, leaning back against the wall with crossed arms. Something about that action makes you visibly wince. He’s so confident. The Ruben you knew was an awkward young boy, made complete with lanky limbs and oversized eyes. Strange little habits — like the way he didn’t ever know what to do with his arms, or the way he always tapped his left foot when he was nervous — made him human. But not anymore. He now knows exactly what to do with his arms and he wouldn’t dare show when he’s nervous. His humanity is just another thing the Capitol stripped him of.

“You don’t have to say anything, just listen.” Says Ruben. He then inhales deeply, his jaw set and eyes piercing; a Capitolite in all but name. “This is the last time we won’t be monitored. After leaving this room, everything will be tracked and recorded and analyzed — the train, the center, the arena. From here, you’re never alone. Even in the bathrooms, privacy doesn’t exist.”

You narrow your eyes at him, “So you’re saying you need to tell me something the Capitol can’t hear?”

“Yeah,” He breathes, “Exactly.”

“Okay, so what is?” You ask, crossing your arms over your chest. Of course that’s what he’s here for. Not to wish you well or say goodbye — though he likely also expects you to win; he was raised by the same monsters, after all — but, instead, to warn you. To make sure you survive the arena so as to not penetrate the family name.  

“Something is wrong with this year’s Reapings.” He explains. “Districts Two and Three both had a pair of siblings Reaped – Lev and Yara from Two, Sam and Henry from Three. Then, if that weren’t enough proof as is, Districts Five and Seven both Reaped a set of best friends — Selene Jones and Ariande Evans from Five, Riley Abel and Ellie Williams from Seven. Not to mention the pair of lovers that were Reaped from Six — Roland Jennings and Archie Bardot.”

You take in what Ruben is saying, thinking hard about it. You were Reaped alongside a small child, a little boy who you’d never seen before in your life. That doesn't seem rigged, but there ought to be some kind of intentional malice behind it.

“How do you know all of this?” You ask, though you know the answer. “The Reapings haven’t aired yet.”

“I know people.” He says rather ashamedly, as though he’s already aware of the kind of reaction this will draw from you. 

Anger sparks up once more at the mention of his ties to the Capitol. Not only is he using the Capitol to help you in the games — a perk no other tribute has — but he’s managed to fucking memorize every name name of importance. You don’t want to be treated as some sort of celebrity. You were Reaped with equally poor luck as Lev, Henry, or Ellie; or whatever their names were. You should therefore be held to the same expectations, not given hints into the Games. Which, by the way, is highly illegal. Not like Ruben would be punished. He could probably murder a Peacekeeper on stage and manage to get away with it. 

It makes you sick.

“Okay, great.” You bite. “You told me what you needed, you can leave now.” “No, Y/n, you’re not understanding.” He insists, taking a step forward. You take one backward, almost on instinct. A pained expression crosses his face, though it vanishes just as quick as it’d appeared. He sighs, running a hand down his face. “These tributes won’t be killing for the sake of winning, they’ll be killing to save themselves alongside their loved ones. Had you and I been in the arena together, our strength would have doubled. Just imagine that. For at least five other Districts, their wills to live are multiplied. And the—”

His words are cut off as the door slams open and Peacekeepers come filing into the room to rudely announce that your time is up. It’s time to board the train to the Capitol. To the Games.

[post] notes!! don't really have any (for once), i'm just so so so so excited for u guys to read this bc i write things way prior to posting bc i like to proofread like 50 time before releasing it. anyway yeah, u guys barely know abt this bad boy while im typing this

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[necrochako]

❝ PIZZA BOY YUUTA !! ❞

.ೃ࿐ you never expected being low on cash after ordering a pizza would lead you to hearing the sweet sounds of lust from the college loner. .ೃ࿐ cliche porn plot (but wtv), slightly dom!fem reader, slight sub + delivery boy!yuuta, praising, cowgirl position and hint of overstimulation.

exams finally came to an end at college and of course, every student was worn out. results came back a couple months later and you actually did a pretty decent job; your grades weren't the highest but they weren't low either. they were perfect enough to order a pizza at midnight as a treat for yourself.

as soon as you heard the knock on your front door, you immediately paused your show and rushed towards it. despite the initial desire for wanting to chow down on the food you've been craving for 30 minutes, you soon found yourself craving the cute delivery boy that was at your door being the loner of your school, yuuta. the worst part? he has been your number one crush since forever.

you two rarely, if ever, talked and when you did, it would end almost instantly. yuuta had better things to do than talk to someone like you. however, upon realising the lack of money you have in order to pay for the food, it soon hit you that rather than wanting to speak with yuuta, it was much better to have him begging and whining underneath you instead.

you have never been so in love with something in your entire life. you think it's so entertaining yet enchanting that you were able to make yuuta become a whining mess as pathetic, flat blobs of tears running down his reddened cheeks. he's so fucked out for you to the point where he can barely speak proper sentences. only slurred mumbles escaped from his sore throat instead.

“fuck, yuuta, you’re so-- ah, so cute ‘f me,” you grunted, his tip hitting the back of your hole, clenching around him as his mind completely absent.

"fuck, fuck, fuck!" yuuta panted heavily, whimpers of all volumes escaping his pretty lips as you bounced on his worn out cock repeatedly. he had no idea how you have so much stamina, but you were missing 4 cents, so you had no choice but to keep going until he got the change he deserved.

then again, it wasn't a bad thing on yours or his end. because you were both loving this to the point where it made your toes curl and it only made you want to go faster and harder.

"g-god, you're adorable," you let out a laugh that quickly faded into a loud moan from his cock throbbed, instantly telling you that he was close. "mhm, you gonna cum again? c'mon, speak up for me, baby."

almost instantly, yuuta nodded with a sob. his mouth was wide open, allowing drool to pass his lips whilst getting a taste of his tears that still wouldn't stop no matter how hard he tried. leaning forward, you gently grabbed his head and kissed him as though he was the most precious thing to you, easily contrasting with the quickened pace of you bouncing on him.

"wanna cum-- wanna cum with you. okay?" you huffed into his mouth as he nodded again.

"y-yes, angel. w-wanna feel you cum on m-my dick again, oh fuck," yuuta whimpered, throwing his head back as his cock pulsed in you, not only make the pair of you cum, but also allowed you to force him against your mouth again. if his moans were a drug, you would have been dead by now because of how addicting they were.

sure, you may have paid back your missing change, but what's to say that he doesn't deserve an extra tip?

[stagprongs]

SIRIUS BLACK & the motorcycle mishap (ft 70s music)

(the ultimate modern family inspired marauders drabble that we didn’t know we needed?)

alright here it goes -

The day sirius black brought his new motorcycle, he took it for a ride ….and never came back

okay fine. HE CAME BACK. His amazing ride started out great..but approx 15 minutes later— sirius black was flat on his back, pinned under the bike. And I kid you not—this is what he’s saying while recording himself on phone with no signal-

—‘’If I had to make a playlist for being stuck under a motorcycle, it’d be… uh… ‘I’m in Love with My Car’ by Queen, ‘Highway Star’ by Deep Purple, ‘Ride a White Swan’ by T. Rex… maybe throw in ‘Dancing Queen’ by ABBA because let’s face it, I’m fabulous even while pinned to the ground.”

Then he takes a dramatic pause, squints up at the sky, and says:

— “Turns out today wasn’t the first day of the rest of my life. today isn’t the day I ride off into the sunset. Today’s the day I get defeated by a two-wheeled beast and—Merlin’s beard—is that oil on my pants? These are new!”

— “Oh, my goodness. There’s some DVDs in a shoe box in, uh, my closet that I was holding for… a buddy. Um, moony you can go ahead and just throw the whole box away.” 

At one point, he tries to summon his wand to levitate the bike off, but it’s just out of reach. Cue him grumbling:

— Sirius groaned, patting the bike. “You need a name—something loud. Flashy. Unapologetic. He smirked. “Freddie Mercury. Perfect.” Freddie if we make out of this i am painting flames on you

And the best part? He has snacks in his pocket

— “ I am so hungry. i don’t know how long i am gonna be out here. I gotta ration my food.”

Cue to him rationing his CHOCOLATE FROGS.He unwraps one dramatically and bites into it before choking and muttering:

— “No almonds! I said NO ALMONDS!”

Honestly, someone send help—or don’t. At this point, he’s making a playlist in his head and humming ‘Starman’ like it’s his last day on earth.

Meanwhile, James and Remus are back at home debating whether Sirius has found a pub or died dramatically.

James: “He’s probably at a pub or something wrecking chaos.” Remus: “Or he’s dead.” James: “Then he’d haunt us. Either way, we’ll hear from him.”

But after another hour? They go looking. They hadn’t heard from sirius in hours which way too long for a guy who usually disappears and comes back with a ridiculously long story about getting into a bar fight with werewolf (James swears it was all remus’s fault but that’s beside the point). So they set off to track him down and after a bit of searching they find him

On the ground.Still pinned.Still talking to himself.

Sirius: “Oh, thank Merlin. Help’s here. Thought I’d have to eat my socks.” James: “You’re under your bike?” Sirius: “No, no. With my bike. Bonded.” Remus: “How long have you been like this?” Sirius: “Long enough to reevaluate my entire life. And start a band. It’s called ‘Sirius and the Sidecars.’” James: “We’re levitating it off you now.” Sirius: “WAIT. Not yet—I need to finish my goodbye message. I am recording my final moments” Remus: “To who?” Sirius: “To the world, Moony.” James: “Final moments? You’ve been under there for, what, an hour? If you die from a bad snack choice or the bike…I’ll consider it a mercy killing” Sirius: “Mercy killing? It’s art prongs, Art. It’s not about the destination—it’s the journey”

Eventually, they lift the bike, but Sirius immediately points at it—dented, greasy, and barely upright—and goes —“Okay, but picture it—with flames.”

James laughs so hard he falls over, and Remus mutters something about “natural selection being way too slow.”

the modern family episode i took reference from lol