#so perhaps he will catch me in a moment of weakness and convince me to crash. not sure yet. i miss my exs flatmates though lmfao

[darcyolsson]

gonna apply to another room tomorrow......... lets hope i get it so i can get out of here

[pucksandpower]

Black Widow

Toto Wolff x black widow!Reader

Summary: Lewis Hamilton and George Russell are convinced you’re trying to kill their team principal, and, to be fair, you do have a trail of seven dead extremely wealthy husbands behind you … but it’s not what they think, you promise

The soft beep of medical equipment provides a rhythmic backdrop as you sit beside the ornate mahogany bed, your manicured fingers intertwined with those of your latest husband, Reginald Worthington III.

At 89 years old, Reggie, as you affectionately call him, is by far your oldest conquest yet. His wrinkled face, now gaunt from months of illness, still manages a weak smile as he gazes at you.

“My darling,” Reggie wheezes, his voice barely above a whisper, “I hope you know how much joy you’ve brought to these final months of mine.”

You lean in, your silky hair cascading over your shoulder as you press a gentle kiss to his forehead. “Oh, Reggie. The pleasure has been all mine.”

It’s not entirely a lie. While you don’t love Reggie — or any of your previous husbands, for that matter — you’ve grown fond of the old codger. He’s certainly been the most amusing of your elderly spouses.

Reggie’s eyes twinkle with mischief, a ghost of the rakish playboy he must have been in his youth. “Now, now, my dear. We both know this has been a mutually beneficial arrangement. But I do hope I’ve provided some entertainment along the way.”

You can’t help but chuckle. “You’ve been a delight, darling. Truly.”

As if on cue, Reggie is seized by a coughing fit. You quickly grab a glass of water from the bedside table, helping him take small sips until the spasms subside. When he catches his breath, he fixes you with a serious look.

“Y/N, there’s something I need to tell you. About the will.”

Your heart skips a beat, but you keep your face carefully neutral. “Reggie, please. We don’t need to discuss such morbid topics.”

He waves a dismissive hand. “Nonsense. We both know why you’re here, and it’s not to admire the wallpaper. Now listen, because this is important.”

You lean in closer, curiosity piqued despite yourself.

Reggie’s voice drops to a conspiratorial whisper. “In addition to the usual — the houses, the cars, the offshore accounts — I’m leaving you my stake in the Mercedes Formula 1 team.”

Your eyes widen in genuine surprise. “The racing team? Reggie, I had no idea you were involved with-”

He cuts you off with a wheezy laugh. “Oh, my dear. There’s so much you don’t know about me. Did you think I made my fortune selling denture cream?”

You can’t help but smile. “Well, I did wonder about all those trophies in your study.”

“Remnants of a misspent youth,” Reggie says with a wistful sigh. “But this, this is my crowning achievement. A 33% stake in one of the most successful F1 teams in history.”

Your mind reels at the implications. This is far beyond anything you’d anticipated when you’d set your sights on Reginald Worthington III.

“Reggie, I ... I don’t know what to say.”

He pats your hand affectionately. “You don’t have to say anything, my dear. Just promise me you’ll make the most of it. I’ve always admired your ambition. It reminds me of myself at your age.”

You lean back in your chair, studying the old man before you. In that moment, you feel a surge of genuine affection for him.

“I promise, Reggie. I’ll make you proud.”

He nods, satisfied. “Good. Now, tell me about the others. I want to know how I measure up to my predecessors.”

You laugh, shaking your head in amazement. “Are you sure? It’s quite a list.”

Reggie’s eyes sparkle with interest. “My dear, I’m on my deathbed. Regale me with tales of your conquests.”

With a theatrical sigh, you begin. “Well, if you insist. Let’s see ... first, there was Harold.”

“Ah, the virgin husband,” Reggie interrupts with a knowing nod.

You raise an eyebrow. “And how did you know that?”

He winks. “I have my sources. Go on.”

“Right. Well, Harold was a sweet man. A bit naive, perhaps, but genuinely kind. He left me his tech startup. It wasn’t worth much at the time, but I sold it for a tidy sum a year later.”

Reggie nods approvingly. “Smart move. Who was next?”

“After Harold came George. He was ... intense. A retired army general with a penchant for war stories and expensive scotch. Left me his collection of rare military memorabilia.”

“Fascinating,” Reggie murmurs. “And the others?”

You tick them off on your fingers. “Let’s see ... there was Joaquin, the passionate Spanish chef. He left me his Michelin-starred restaurants. Then came Dmitri, the Russian oligarch. That was ... an experience.”

Reggie chuckles. “I bet it was. What did he leave you?”

“A series of shell companies and a rather gaudy yacht. I sold the yacht, kept the companies.” You pause, lost in thought for a moment. “After Dmitri was William, the British lord. Lovely man, terrible teeth. Left me his crumbling estate and title.”

“So you’re technically a lady now?” Reggie asks, amused.

You nod. “Lady Y/N, at your service. Though I don’t use the title much. It tends to raise questions.”

“Understandable. And the last one before me?”

Your expression softens slightly. “Ah, that was Hiroshi. Japanese tech mogul. Brilliant mind, but so lonely. I think I was the first real companionship he’d had in years.”

Reggie studies you carefully. “You were fond of him.”

You nod, a bit surprised by the lump in your throat. “I was. He ... he understood me, I think. More than the others.”

There’s a moment of silence as Reggie processes this information. Finally, he speaks. “And what did Hiroshi leave you?”

You smile wryly. “His AI research company. It’s been ... interesting, to say the least.”

Reggie nods slowly. “Quite a collection you’ve amassed, my dear. But tell me, what drives you? Surely it’s not just the money.”

You’re taken aback by the question. No one has ever asked you that before. You take a moment to gather your thoughts.

“I suppose ... it’s the challenge of it all. The thrill of reinventing myself with each new husband, of navigating these complex worlds they inhabit. And yes, the wealth is nice, but it’s more about what I can do with it.”

Reggie leans forward, intrigued. “And what is it you want to do?”

You pause, realizing you’ve never really articulated this to anyone before. “I want to make a difference. Real, lasting change. These men, they’ve all built empires in their own ways, but they’ve been limited by their own mortality. I don’t have those limitations yet. I can take what they’ve given me and create something ... more.”

Reggie’s eyes light up with understanding. “Ah, now I see why I was drawn to you. You’re not just a pretty face or a clever mind. You’re a visionary.”

You feel a flush of pride at his words. “I try to be. Each husband has taught me something new, given me tools I never had before. Harold showed me the potential of technology. George taught me strategy. Joaquin, the importance of passion in one’s work. Dmitri, how to navigate the murky waters of international business. William gave me a glimpse into old-world power structures. And Hiroshi ... well, he opened my eyes to the future.”

Reggie nods slowly. “And what have I taught you, I wonder?”

You smile softly. “Patience, Reggie. The long game. And the value of a good sense of humor in the face of adversity.”

He chuckles weakly. “Well, I’m glad I could contribute something to your education. Now, about this F1 team ...”

You lean in, eager to hear more. “Yes?”

“It’s more than just a racing team, you know. It’s a pinnacle of engineering, a testament to human ingenuity and the constant push for improvement. I think you’ll find it fits quite well with your ambitions.”

You nod slowly, mind already racing with possibilities. “I can see that. The technology, the global platform, the prestige ...”

Reggie grins. “Exactly. And who knows? Maybe you’ll find husband number eight in the paddock.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “Oh, Reggie. Always thinking ahead, aren’t you?”

He winks. “Someone has to. Now, promise me one thing.”

“Anything,” you say, and you’re surprised to find you mean it.

“When you’re accepting that championship trophy — because I know you will — wear something fabulous. Give those stuffy old men in the paddock something to talk about.”

You can’t help but grin. “Oh, don’t worry. I intend to shake things up a bit.”

Reggie nods approvingly. “That’s my girl. Now, I think I need to rest for a bit. But don’t go far. I want to hear all about your plans for world domination when I wake up.”

As you watch Reggie drift off to sleep, you can’t help but feel a mix of emotions. Sadness at the impending loss of this charming old rogue, excitement at the unexpected opportunity he’s given you, and a renewed sense of purpose.

You glance at your reflection in the ornate mirror across the room. Lady Y/N Y/L/N, soon-to-be racing magnate. It has a nice ring to it.

As you settle back into your chair, you begin to plan your next moves. The motorsport world won’t know what hit it.

***

The sleek boardroom of the Mercedes-AMG Petronas F1 Team headquarters buzzes with hushed conversation. Around the polished mahogany table, team executives and board members huddle in small groups, their voices low and urgent.

Toto catches snippets of conversation as he reviews his notes for the meeting.

“Did you hear? She’s actually coming today,” whispers Bradley, the team’s financial officer.

Sarah, head of marketing, leans in. “I can’t believe Reginald left her his stake. What was he thinking?”

“Probably wasn’t thinking with his head, if you know what I mean,” chuckles Thomas, the technical director.

Toto clears his throat, silencing the gossip. “Let’s keep things professional, shall we? We have important matters to discuss today.”

As if on cue, the boardroom door swings open. The room falls into an immediate, almost eerie silence as you stride in, turning heads with every click of your Manolo Blahnik heels against the polished floor.

Toto finds himself holding his breath, caught off guard by your presence. He’s seen photos, of course, but they didn’t do you justice. Your tailored Armani suit exudes power and confidence, while your eyes scan the room with a shrewd intelligence that sends a shiver down his spine.

You take your seat at the far end of the table, directly opposite Toto. “Good morning, everyone. I hope I’m not late.”

Your voice, smooth as silk with a hint of amusement, breaks the spell. The room erupts into a flurry of awkward greetings and nervous coughs.

Toto clears his throat again, trying to regain control of the situation. “Not at all. We were just about to begin. Welcome, Lady Worthington. We’re honored to have you join us today.”

You smile, a dazzling display that doesn’t quite reach your eyes. “Please, call me Y/N. We’re all colleagues here, after all.”

Toto nods, fighting to keep his composure. “Of course, Y/N. Shall we begin with the agenda?”

As the meeting progresses, Toto finds himself increasingly distracted. He’s used to being the most commanding presence in any room, but your arrival has shifted the dynamic entirely. Every time you speak, offering insights or asking pointed questions, the rest of the board seems to hold its breath.

“I’ve been reviewing our sustainability initiatives,” you say during a lull in the conversation. “While I applaud our efforts so far, I believe we could be doing more. Formula 1 has an unique platform to drive innovation in green technologies. We should be leading the charge, not just following along.”

Bradley shifts uncomfortably in his seat. “With all due respect, Lady- I mean, Y/N, implementing new sustainability measures could be quite costly. We need to consider the bottom line.”

You lean forward, fixing Bradley with an intense gaze. “And what about the cost of falling behind? Of being seen as out of touch with the concerns of younger fans? Sometimes, you have to spend money to make money.”

Toto finds himself nodding in agreement before he even realizes it. “Y/N raises an excellent point. Perhaps we should form a task force to explore more aggressive sustainability options.”

You flash him a grateful smile, and Toto feels his heart skip a beat. He quickly looks down at his notes, trying to regain his composure.

As the meeting continues, you consistently challenge the status quo, pushing for bolder strategies and innovative approaches. Toto watches in fascination as you deftly navigate the complex dynamics of the board, alternating between charm and steel as the situation demands.

During a discussion about driver development, you interject again. “I’ve been looking into our junior driver program, and I think we’re missing opportunities. We’re too focused on traditional racing backgrounds. What about sim racers? Or scouting karters from developing countries? We could be tapping into a whole new pool of talent.”

Sarah, the marketing head, perks up at this. “That’s ... actually a brilliant idea. It could really broaden our appeal, especially in emerging markets.”

You nod appreciatively. “Exactly. And imagine the stories we could tell. The sim racer who became an F1 champion or the kid from a small village who rose to the top of motorsport. That’s the kind of narrative that builds brand loyalty and inspires the next generation of fans.”

Toto finds himself leaning forward, completely engrossed. “I love this direction. Y/N, would you be willing to work with Sarah to develop a proposal for expanding our driver search?”

“Of course,” you reply with a smile that makes Toto’s pulse quicken. “I’d be delighted.”

As the meeting winds down, Toto realizes that the entire dynamic of the board has shifted. The initial wariness towards you has given way to a mixture of respect and curiosity. Even those who seemed most skeptical at the start are now hanging on your every word.

“Well,” Toto says, glancing at his watch, “I think that concludes our agenda for today. Unless anyone has any other matters to discuss?”

The room is silent for a moment before you speak up. “Actually, if I may, I’d like to address the elephant in the room.”

A tense hush falls over the gathering. Toto holds his breath, unsure of what’s coming next.

You stand, your posture relaxed but commanding. “I’m aware of the rumors and speculation surrounding my ... personal life. I want to assure all of you that my presence here is purely professional. I’m not here to cause drama or upheaval. I’m here because I believe in the potential of this team and this sport. I hope that over time, you’ll come to judge me based on my contributions, not on gossip or hearsay.”

The sincerity in your voice is palpable, and Toto can see the effect it has on the room. Shoulders relax, expressions soften. There’s a collective exhale, as if a weight has been lifted.

“Thank you for your honesty,” Toto says, standing as well. “I think I speak for everyone when I say we look forward to working with you and seeing what fresh perspectives you can bring to the team.”

There’s a murmur of agreement around the table. As the meeting officially adjourns, people begin to gather their things and file out of the room. Toto notices that several board members linger, clearly hoping to have a word with you. He feels an unexpected twinge of jealousy.

Before he can second-guess himself, Toto makes his way around the table to where you’re chatting with Sarah about the junior driver program idea.

“Excuse me,” he says, feeling uncharacteristically nervous. “Y/N, I was wondering if I could have a word?”

You turn to him with a smile that makes his heart race. “Of course. What can I do for you?”

He takes a deep breath, acutely aware of the curious glances from the remaining board members. “I was impressed by your insights today. I think there’s a lot we could discuss further about the future direction of the team. Would you perhaps be interested in continuing this conversation over dinner?”

A hush falls over the remaining occupants of the room. Toto can practically feel the weight of their stares, but he keeps his eyes fixed on you.

You raise an eyebrow, a mix of surprise and amusement playing across your features. “Dinner? My, my, Toto. Aren’t you afraid of me? I do have quite the reputation, you know.”

There’s a challenge in your voice, but also a hint of vulnerability that catches Toto off guard. He realizes that beneath your confident exterior, you’re testing him, gauging his true intentions.

Toto meets your gaze steadily, his voice low but firm. “I don’t put much stock in rumors. I prefer to form my own opinions based on what I see and experience. And what I’ve seen today is a brilliant, passionate individual who could be a tremendous asset to this team. That’s the person I’m interested in getting to know better.”

The room seems to hold its breath, waiting for your response. You study Toto for a long moment, your expression unreadable. Then, slowly, a genuine smile spreads across your face.

“Well, in that case, I’d be delighted to have dinner with you. Shall we say eight o’clock?”

Toto feels a rush of relief and excitement. “Eight o’clock sounds perfect. I know just the place.”

As you gather your things and prepare to leave, Toto can’t help but feel like he’s standing on the precipice of something monumental. He’s built his career on calculated risks, on seeing potential where others see danger. Looking at you, he knows that this might be the biggest gamble of his life.

But as you turn to give him one last smile before exiting the boardroom, Toto is certain of one thing: it’s a risk he’s more than willing to take.

***

The Monaco Grand Prix paddock buzzes with excitement, a hive of activity as teams prepare for the most glamorous race on the Formula 1 calendar. Lewis Hamilton and George Russell huddle in a quiet corner of the Mercedes garage, their voices low and urgent.

“I’m telling you, mate, something’s not right,” George insists, his eyes darting around to ensure they’re not overheard. “Have you seen the way Toto’s been acting lately? It’s like he’s under some kind of spell.”

Lewis nods grimly, his usual pre-race focus replaced by concern. “I know what you mean. Ever since she came into the picture, it’s like he’s a different person. Always distracted, making decisions that don’t quite add up.”

“Exactly!” George exclaims, then quickly lowers his voice again. “And have you noticed how she’s always around now? At every meeting, every strategy session. It’s like she’s trying to learn all our secrets.”

Lewis furrows his brow, deep in thought. “You don’t think ... I mean, surely she wouldn’t actually try to ...”

“Kill him?” George finishes, his voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t know, mate. But look at her track record. Seven husbands, all dead within months of marrying her. And now she’s got her claws into Toto.”

As if summoned by their conversation, you appear at the entrance of the garage, Toto at your side. The team principal’s hand rests comfortably on the small of your back as he leads you through the bustling workspace.

Lewis and George fall silent, watching intently as you make your way towards them. Your designer sundress and oversized sunglasses scream understated elegance, but to the two drivers, you might as well be wearing a black widow’s web.

“Good morning,” Toto calls out cheerfully. “Ready for qualifying?”

Lewis forces a smile, his eyes never leaving you. “Morning, Toto. Yeah, we were just discussing strategy.”

You step forward, flashing a dazzling smile. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything important. I’m still learning all the intricacies of race weekends.”

George clears his throat, trying to keep his voice steady. “Not at all. We were just finishing up.”

Toto beams, looking from you to his drivers with pride. “Isn’t it wonderful having Y/N here? She’s already brought so many fresh ideas to the team. I don’t know how we managed without her.”

You laugh, a sound that sends chills down Lewis and George’s spines. “Oh, darling, you’re exaggerating. I’m sure these boys were doing just fine before I came along.”

As you speak, your hand reaches up to smooth Toto’s collar, a gesture that seems innocent enough but makes both drivers tense.

Lewis clears his throat. “Actually, Toto, could we have a quick word? About the, uh, tire strategy?”

Toto looks surprised but nods. “Of course. Y/N, would you mind giving us a moment?”

“Not at all,” you reply smoothly. “I’ll just go chat with the mechanics. I’m fascinated by all this technology.”

As you saunter away, Lewis and George exchange a meaningful glance. This is their chance.

“Toto,” Lewis begins, choosing his words carefully. “We’re a bit concerned. About you, actually.”

Toto’s brow furrows in confusion. “Concerned? What do you mean?”

George jumps in, his words tumbling out in a rush. “It’s just that ... well, things have been different since you started seeing her. And given her history ...”

“Her history?” Toto repeats, his voice taking on an edge. “What exactly are you implying?”

Lewis takes a deep breath. “Toto, we care about you. And we can’t help but notice that Y/N’s previous partners have all met with ... unfortunate ends.”

For a moment, Toto just stares at them, his expression unreadable. Then, to their surprise, he bursts out laughing.

“Oh, boys,” he chuckles, shaking his head. “I appreciate your concern, truly. But I assure you, it’s misplaced. Y/N has been nothing but a positive influence on both me and the team.”

George persists, his voice urgent. “But Toto, you have to admit, the pattern is alarming. Seven husbands, all dead within months of marriage. And now she’s here, learning all about our team, our strategies ...”

Toto’s amusement fades, replaced by a stern look. “That’s enough. I understand you’re worried, but I won’t have you spreading baseless rumors. Y/N is here because she’s a part-owner of this team and because I invited her. End of discussion.”

As Toto walks away, Lewis and George share a look of dismay.

“He’s in too deep,” Lewis mutters. “We need to do something.”

George nods grimly. “We can’t let her hurt him. Or the team. We need a plan.”

Throughout the day, as qualifying unfolds, Lewis and George find themselves constantly distracted. Every time they catch a glimpse of you in the garage or on the pit wall, their imaginations run wild.

During a brief break between sessions, they overhear a snippet of conversation between you and one of the engineers.

“So, if something were to go wrong with the car during the race,” you’re saying, “what would be the most catastrophic point of failure?”

The engineer launches into a detailed explanation of various mechanical vulnerabilities, unaware of the horrified looks on the drivers’ faces.

“She’s gathering intel,” George whispers to Lewis. “Probably planning some sort of accident for Toto.”

Lewis nods, his jaw set with determination. “We need to warn him again. Make him see reason.”

But their attempts to get Toto alone prove futile. You seem to be constantly by his side, your hand on his arm, whispering in his ear. To an outsider, it might look like the actions of a loving girlfriend, but to Lewis and George, every gesture seems calculated and sinister.

As the day wears on, their paranoia grows. They start seeing threats everywhere. When you hand Toto a bottle of water, they’re convinced it’s poisoned. When you suggest he take a look at something in the back of the garage, they’re sure you’re luring him away to do him harm.

Finally, as the sun begins to set over the Monaco harbor, they decide they can’t wait any longer. They need to confront you directly.

They find you alone in the hospitality area, reviewing some papers. As they approach, you look up with a smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes.

“Lewis, George,” you greet them warmly. “Excellent qualifying today. You must be pleased.”

Lewis takes a deep breath, steeling himself. “Cut the act. We know what you’re up to.”

Your expression doesn’t change, but something flickers in your eyes. “I’m not sure I understand. What exactly am I up to?”

George steps forward, his voice low and intense. “We know about your husbands. All seven of them. And we’re not going to let you add Toto to that list.”

For a moment, you just stare at them, your face unreadable. Then, to their surprise, you burst out laughing.

“Oh,” you chuckle, shaking your head. “Is that what this is all about? You think I’m here to kill Toto?”

Lewis and George exchange confused glances, thrown off by your reaction.

You lean in, your voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Let me tell you a little secret. Those men? They were all terminally ill when I married them. It was a business arrangement, pure and simple. They got to spend their last months with a young, beautiful wife, and I got their fortunes. No foul play involved.”

The drivers stare at you, speechless. You continue, your tone becoming more serious.

“As for Toto, well, that’s different. For the first time in my life, I’ve found someone I genuinely care for. Someone who sees me for who I am, not just what I can offer. I’m not here to hurt him or the team. I’m here because I want to be part of something meaningful.”

Lewis and George exchange uncertain glances, their convictions shaken.

“But ... all the questions about the car, the team strategies ...” George begins.

You roll your eyes, a hint of amusement in your voice. “I’m a part-owner of this team now, remember? Of course I’m trying to learn everything I can. How else can I contribute?”

As the truth of your words sinks in, Lewis and George begin to feel a creeping sense of embarrassment. They’ve let their imaginations and preconceptions run wild, seeing threats where there were none.

“I ... we ...” Lewis stammers, struggling to find the right words.

You hold up a hand, stopping him. “It’s alright. I understand. My reputation precedes me, and you were just looking out for Toto. I can respect that.”

George rubs the back of his neck, sheepish. “We may have gotten a bit carried away. I’m sorry.”

You smile, and this time it reaches your eyes. “Apology accepted. Now, what do you say we put this behind us and focus on winning tomorrow’s race?”

As if on cue, Toto appears, looking between the three of you with curiosity. “Everything alright here?”

You stand, moving to his side and slipping your arm through his. “Everything’s perfect, darling. In fact, I think Lewis and George were just about to share some ideas they had for the race strategy. Weren’t you, boys?”

Lewis and George nod, grateful for the out you’ve given them. As they launch into a discussion about tire management and overtaking opportunities, they can’t help but marvel at how wrong they’ve been.

Watching you interact with Toto, they see not a black widow spinning her web, but a woman genuinely in love, bringing out the best in their team principal. They realize that sometimes, people can surprise you. And sometimes, the most unexpected additions to a team can be the most valuable.

***

The soft glow of chandeliers bathes the exclusive Monégasque restaurant in warm light, casting elegant shadows across the faces of Monaco’s elite. Grigori Volkov, a grizzled veteran of the Russian underworld, sips his vodka, his weathered face a mask of careful neutrality as he surveys the room.

His eyes narrow as they land on a familiar figure across the crowded dining area. It can’t be, he thinks, leaning forward for a better look. But there’s no mistaking that face, those eyes that have haunted his dreams and nightmares for years.

You.

Grigori watches as you laugh, your hand resting lightly on the arm of a tall, distinguished-looking man. He recognizes him vaguely. But what catches Grigori off guard is the easy intimacy between you, the matching wedding bands glinting in the low light.

For a moment, Grigori considers slipping out unnoticed. But curiosity gets the better of him. He signals the waiter, ordering another round of drinks to be sent to your table.

As the waiter approaches with the drinks, Grigori sees your posture stiffen slightly, your eyes scanning the room until they lock onto his. He raises his glass in a small salute, a wry smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

You lean in, whispering something to Toto. The man looks surprised but nods, and together you make your way towards Grigori’s table.

“Grigori,” you greet him, your voice a mix of warmth and wariness. “It’s been a long time.”

Grigori stands, bowing slightly. “Indeed it has, my dear. You’re looking well. And who might this be?”

Toto extends his hand, his grip firm. “Toto Wolff. And you are?”

“An old friend of your wife’s,” Grigori replies smoothly, noting the flicker of surprise in Toto’s eyes at the word ’wife’. “Grigori Volkov. I knew Y/N back in her Russian days.”

You gesture to the empty chairs. “May we join you?”

Grigori nods, waving expansively. “Please, be my guests.”

As you settle in, Grigori can’t help but study Toto more closely. He’s younger than expected, vital and alert. Not at all what he’d imagined for your latest conquest.

“So, Toto,” Grigori begins, his accent thick with amusement, “how long have you and our dear Y/N been married?”

Toto smiles, his hand finding yours on the table. “Just over two years now. Best decision I ever made.”

Grigori’s eyebrows shoot up. “Two years? My, my. That’s quite impressive.”

You shoot him a warning look, but Toto just looks confused. “I’m not sure I follow. Why is that impressive?”

Grigori chuckles, taking a long sip of his vodka. “Oh, forgive me. I just meant that Y/N here has always been something of a ... how do you say ... free spirit? Never one to be tied down for long.”

You interject quickly, “People change, Grigori. I’ve found what I was looking for.”

Grigori nods, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “Indeed they do. And what of your ... other interests? The ones you inherited from dear Dmitri?”

Toto’s brow furrows. “Dmitri? I’m afraid I don’t know much about Y/N’s ex-husbands.”

“Ex-husbands?” Grigori repeats, feigning surprise. “Oh, but Dmitri was special, wasn’t he? After all, not every day one inherits a slice of the Bratva.”

The color drains from Toto’s face as he turns to you. “The Bratva? As in, the Russian mob?”

You sigh, shooting Grigori a glare that could freeze vodka. “It’s complicated, darling. And very much in the past.”

Grigori leans back, thoroughly enjoying the drama unfolding before him. “Oh, come now, Y/N. Surely your husband deserves to know the truth? About your colorful past, your string of deceased husbands, your unexpected rise to power in certain ... shall we say, unofficial circles?”

Toto looks between you and Grigori, his expression a mix of confusion and growing concern. “Y/N, what is he talking about?”

You take a deep breath, squeezing Toto’s hand. “Toto, there are parts of my past I haven’t told you about. Not because I wanted to keep secrets, but because I wanted to leave that life behind.”

Grigori interjects, his voice dripping with false sympathy. “Oh, but my dear, can one ever truly leave such a life behind? Especially when one has risen to such ... prominent positions?”

Toto’s eyes narrow as he looks at Grigori. “And what exactly is your role in all this?”

Grigori smiles, all teeth and no warmth. “Let’s just say I’m an old associate of Dmitri’s. And by extension, of Y/N’s. Though I must admit, I’m surprised to see you still among the living, Mr. Wolff. Our dear Y/N has quite a reputation, you know.”

You slam your hand on the table, your voice low and dangerous. “Enough, Grigori. That’s not who I am anymore.”

Grigori holds up his hands in mock surrender. “Of course, of course. I meant no offense. I’m merely ... surprised. After all, your previous husbands weren’t quite so fortunate. Or so young and vigorous.”

Toto’s jaw clenches, his eyes darting between you and Grigori. “I think it’s time we left.”

As you stand to leave, Grigori calls out, “Oh, but we’ve only just begun to catch up. There’s so much your husband doesn’t know, Y/N. About the power you wield, the empire you inherited. Don’t you think he deserves to know the truth about the woman he married?”

You turn back, your eyes flashing with a mix of anger and something deeper, more dangerous. “The truth, Grigori, is that I left that life behind. I found something real, something worth living for. And if you or anyone else tries to drag me back into that world, you’ll regret it.”

Grigori leans forward, his voice dropping to a whisper. “Is that a threat, my dear?”

You smile, cold and sharp. “Consider it a friendly warning. From one old friend to another.”

As you and Toto walk away, Grigori can’t help but feel a shiver run down his spine. He’d forgotten, in the years since you’d left Russia, just how formidable you could be.

He watches as you and Toto have an intense, whispered conversation by the exit. To his surprise, instead of storming out, Toto nods, takes your hand, and leads you back to Grigori’s table.

“Mr. Volkov,” Toto says, his voice steady and controlled, “I think it’s time we had an honest conversation. About Y/N’s past, about your ... association, and about how we move forward from here.”

Grigori raises an eyebrow, impressed despite himself. “Well, well. It seems you’ve found yourself a man with a spine, Y/N. Very well, let’s talk.”

As the three of you settle back into your seats, Grigori can’t help but feel a grudging respect for Toto. Most men would have run for the hills by now, but here he is, ready to face the truth head-on.

“So,” Grigori begins, pouring fresh vodka for all of you, “where shall we start? With Dmitri? With the Bratva? Or perhaps with the mysterious deaths of Y/N’s previous husbands?”

Toto takes a sip of vodka, his eyes never leaving Grigori’s. “Let’s start with the truth. All of it.”

You sigh, your hand finding Toto’s under the table. “Alright. Dmitri was my fifth husband. He was a high-ranking member of the Bratva, and when he died, I inherited his position and his connections.”

Grigori nods approvingly. “She’s being modest. Y/N didn’t just inherit Dmitri’s position — she expanded it. Forged new alliances, eliminated rivals. She became a force to be reckoned with in our world.”

Toto looks at you, his expression unreadable. “And the other husbands?”

You meet his gaze steadily. “They were all older men, all terminally ill. It was a business arrangement. They got to spend their last months with a young wife, and I got their fortunes. No foul play, I swear.”

Grigori chuckles. “Oh, come now. There were rumors, whispers of poison, of accidents arranged just so ...”

You whirl on him, your eyes flashing. “Rumors started by people like you. People who couldn’t believe a woman could gain power without resorting to murder.”

Toto squeezes your hand, his voice gentle. “Why didn’t you tell me any of this?”

You turn back to him, your expression softening. “Because I wanted to leave it all behind. When I met you, I saw a chance at a real life, a real relationship. I didn’t want my past to taint that.”

Grigori watches this exchange with growing fascination. He’s never seen you like this — vulnerable, open, genuinely in love. It’s... unsettling.

“And now?” He asks, unable to keep the curiosity from his voice. “What becomes of your empire, Y/N? Your power? Your connections?”

You straighten, your voice firm. “I’ve been systematically dismantling it all. Using the resources to fund legitimate businesses, charitable foundations. I’m out. For good.”

Grigori leans back, genuinely surprised. “You’re serious, aren’t you? You’re really walking away from it all.”

Toto speaks up, his voice steady. “We’re building something new together. Something honest, something we can be proud of.”

Grigori studies them both for a long moment, then throws back the last of his vodka. “Well, I’ll be damned. You’ve actually done it. You’ve found a way out.”

You nod, a small smile playing at your lips. “I have. And I’d appreciate it if you’d spread the word. Y/N Wolff is retired. Permanently.”

Grigori stands, straightening his jacket. “Consider it done, my dear. But know this — there will always be those who remember who you were, what you were capable of. Be careful.”

As he turns to leave, Toto calls out, “Mr. Volkov?”

Grigori pauses, looking back. “Yes?”

Toto’s voice is calm, but there’s steel beneath the surface. “If anyone from Y/N’s past tries to cause trouble for us, they’ll have to deal with me. And I assure you, I can be just as formidable as my wife when necessary.”

Grigori studies Toto for a moment, then breaks into a broad grin. “I believe you, Mr. Wolff. I really do. Take care of her, won’t you? She’s one of a kind.”

As Grigori walks away, he can’t help but shake his head in amazement. You, the Black Widow of the Bratva, settled down and in love. Will wonders never cease?

He glances back one last time to see you and Toto deep in conversation, your hands intertwined on the table. There’s an openness to your expression that he’s never seen before, a vulnerability that speaks volumes.

For the first time in years, Grigori feels a twinge of envy. Not for your power or your wealth, but for the genuine connection you seem to have found. As he steps out into the cool Monaco night, he wonders if perhaps it’s time for him to consider a change of his own.

After all, if the infamous Y/N can find redemption and true love, maybe there’s hope for an old dog like him yet.

[rememberwren]

A Dichotomy of Thought || 2

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six | Further Parts

Simon thinks of a way for you to make up to them almost hitting Johnny with your car.

#

It’s not all blackness. There are white days.

White nights, too. Just not in the way Johnny might have hoped for. Instead, the blinding glare of sun on snow makes his eyes water. His sunglasses have been dislodged in the crash, lost somewhere. His arm, too. Fire crackles, the sound dampened by the snow. His leg is crushed beneath a piece of scrap metal that’s been bent like a twig, and all around him is the smell: smoke and gas and blood.

Ghost is there, too. Ghost peeking up out of the snow, his white camouflage and Johnny’s double vision disguising him until only the black outline of his mask is visible over the glare of all-else. Johnny blinks hard but Ghost only ever swims into focus for a moment. Around the edges of his vision, it’s all darkness, darkness.

“Where you been?” Johnny croaks, tasting blood.

“Been here all this time,” Ghost says, mask flexing where his jaw moves.

Johnny wakes up then. Because Ghost wasn’t there, and that detail is enough to break through the all’s-well fog that seems to lay over dreams like a fine mist. If Ghost had been there, it’s likely that he would have been lost like the rest of the crew. Then what would Johnny have left? An artificial knee; a weak arm; headaches twice a day. Everything a boy could have ever dreamed of.

Johnny wakes from these white dreams with his heart pounding, Simon’s hand on his shoulder urging him awake. Simon isn’t sleeping these days—at least not when Johnny might catch him in the act.

An hour before sunrise, the sky the same color as a fresh bruise, Johnny croaks out in the darkness of their bedroom: “C’n we have eggs for brekkie?”

#

Johnny used to do all the cooking, back in the Before times as Simon has taken to calling them in his mind, but Simon is a quick learner; he always has been. It’s one of the (many) reasons why he had managed to move up through the ranks in the military so quickly. When he has a problem, he develops a narrow-minded focus that has been referred to more than once as a ‘dog with a bone’ mentality.

But he’s learning that Johnny is not a problem that he can fix.

Simon becomes excellent at seeing everything and nothing at once. His head is expertly turned to keep his lover only in the periphery of his vision. In that way, he pretends not to see the way Johnny first goes to the counter, intending to shift himself up and sit on it the way he used to in the old days before the helicopter went down. He’s almost there when he must remember that he has only one arm, one weak arm. One throbbing leg. Perhaps he could scramble up onto the counter like old times, but perhaps he couldn’t, and his pride is too beaten to take the risk. So he goes to the kitchen table, the one made of mismatched chairs and scratched oak wood, and Simon has to pretend that he doesn’t see the way Johnny struggles to even pull his chair out.

Grab it from the middle, Johnny, he wants to say, but he doesn’t. Help is not wanted here. Help is the opposite of helpful. Already the frustration is building behind Soap’s eyes like a balloon filled with too much air, latex creaking, ready to pop at a moment’s notice or less and send all that fury rushing out. Simon can take it. He can take it—but he dreads it.

It’s not him, he tells himself, scrambling an egg in the pan. It’s the pain. It’s the fear. It’s poisoning his boy’s head, and he doesn’t know how to help. Doesn’t know what to do except endure. Put his head down and barrel through the storm and pray that when he comes out on the other side, Johnny is still there with him.

Johnny has his head in his hand when Simon sets the plate in front of him, the eggs cut into bite sized pieces—and that’s a battle they’ve already fought a thousand times before Simon could convince Johnny to just accept his help, just let me cut up your fucking food Johnny for fuck’s sake let me do it so you don’t starve yourself to death.

It’s familiar to fight beside Johnny; it’s surreal to fight against him.

“Thank yeh,” Johnny mutters morosely. He perks up a little when Simon adds two pale green ovals to the table beside his orange juice, marked with 33’s. He takes those first, on an empty stomach no less, but drains the glass of orange juice which Simon figures is better than nothing.

“How’s your pain?”

“A five maybe.”

Simon internally adds two. There was a pain chart posted up in Johnny’s hospital room in the ICU: a barrage of circular faces displaying the spectrum from peace to agony. Little tears had been coming out of the corners of the face’s eyes at the SEVEN marker, its color just beginning to turn a fiery red. It’s been three months since they were stuck in that tiny, hellish room, but whenever Johnny gives a number for his pain, the chart is the first thing Simon thinks of.

The two eat together. Afterwards, Simon takes the dishes to the sink.

“Let me help.”

Simon doesn’t bother telling him no. When Johnny gets an idea in his head, for worse or for better, it’s better to let him see it through. Even if it inevitably ends in rage.

Simon takes his time washing each individual dish, making sure not to have too many dishes waiting to be rinsed at once, even if it means polishing the same fork over and over while Johnny struggles to relearn doing anything with his non-dominant arm. His crutch is propped up against the corner where the counter turns, watching them.

Their shoulders brush. Johnny looks up at him with pupils blown wide and then ducks his head, nuzzling his temple against Simon’s jaw. It’s the most affection they’ve shown each other in weeks.

“‘m sorry for how it’s been lately,” he says, water dripping off his elbow and onto the floor. “How I’ve been. A right angel, aren’t I?”

“Always.” Angels make him think of death, and death still makes him think of Johnny. How fucking close he came to scattering his lover’s ashes instead of passing him dishes to be rinsed. He tells Johnny the same thing he tells himself: “Things will get better. You get stronger every day.”

Johnny laughs weakly. “My arse.”

“It’s a fine arse.”

“Better ‘n fine. Jesus fucking Christ, this is harder than it looks,” Johnny says. He’s breaking out in a sweat, turning over his clean juice glass beneath the clear stream of water. Part of that sweat is pain, part exertion.

“You’re doing—“

The glass slips from Johnny’s fingers, and he tries to catch it with a hand that’s no longer there. It shatters against the laminate flooring, scattering glass like a bomb scattering shrapnel. They both stare long enough for a single beat of their hearts before Johnny brings his good fist (his only fist—Simon has taken to calling it his Good Fist in his mind) down on the lip of the sink, bellowing a curse that probably has the neighbors jerking in fright.

“Just a glass,” says Simon. But he knows better. “Come here. Don’t step in it. Y’re barefoot.”

He guides Johnny out of the danger zone and into the living room, pausing only to backtrack for his crutch when he notices the way his lover struggles to walk a straight line.

Simon gives him the remote and sweeps up the glass. By the time he comes back into the living room, Johnny is asleep, head back against the headrest of the couch. If it weren’t for the soft snores, Simon would feel the need to check if he were dead.

#

Simon sits in the armchair with a book in his lap. The words swim on the pages. He has never been this tired in his life; not even on missions where sleep seemed contraindicated. But behind his eyelids he sees a car bearing down on his Johnny, and stupid, foolish Johnny stepping out to meet it. He can’t even step out onto the balcony for a cigarette, not without worrying that when he comes back he’ll find—

A slamming of a door startles Simon awake from where he had begun to drift into a nightmare. Glancing toward Johnny first to make sure Soap hadn’t woken—and he hadn’t, though his head had fallen into an uncomfortable position that would surely leave him with a crick in his neck—he gives a dark glare toward the door.

Ever since the old man in the apartment beside them had died, it had been a never ending parade of fuck-ups in and out of the place.

Being angry is addictive. He finds himself wanting to feed his fuse, putting his book down and going to the door and throwing it open, ready to leave a lasting impression on any misfortunate soul left in the hallway.

Figures it would be you.

Your eye looks better today. It is less swollen, less pink. You’re sitting slumped against the door of 7C, ready to fall backwards should it open too abruptly, but at the sound of Simon’s door opening, you jerk yourself into a standing position

You gape in horror at the sight of him, and Simon gets a sick sense of pleasure from it. Make that equal parts pleasure and guilt (he usually doesn’t get off on frightening women, though it happens more often than he intends it to). He glances towards his door, peeking in through the crack to spy Johnny’s slumped, sleeping figure, assuring himself that it’s still there.

“You…live here?” You point at 5C, from which Simon has just exited.

“No. I broke in,” he deadpans.

“Is he okay? The…the guy I almost—“

“He’s fine.” Truth is, he’s so far from fine that Simon doesn’t think he could find fine with a map and a compass. But technically from her standpoint, it is true. She didn’t hit Johnny. If Johnny hadn’t stepped out in front of her, they never would have come so close in the first place. But clearly she doesn’t know that, and Simon isn’t going to tell her.

“Thank God,” you mutter, fresh sorrow in your warbling voice. “Tell him I’m so sorry. Again.”

“Shouldn’t be driving like that,” Simon says, while he’s in the habit of being a dick. He nods his chin towards your face. “Can you even see?”

“Better today,” you admit. “Please, if there’s anything I can ever do to make it up to him, and to you, let me know—“

And suddenly, like rays of light spilling down from parted clouds, he knows what he wants. What is within your power to give him, that is.

“Give me five minutes,” Simon says.

He watches a series of complex emotions flit across your face. He’s never been good at reading people; he doesn’t know what any of them mean. At length, your shoulders lift toward your ears as you steel yourself. You say: “You’ll have to talk to my boyfriend first.”

“For five minutes?” Simon asks, glancing back at the apartment door as if Johnny is liable to be standing there. He lowers his voice a little. “I just want one fucking cigarette without worrying about him taking a swan dive off the balcony. Please.”

You give him another strange look. But this time something that he says has gotten through to you. Looking every bit like a woman being coaxed to the gallows, you ask: “Five minutes…and all I have to do is what? Watch him?”

“Yes. He took two oxy at breakfast, he should be out for a while. Five minutes, you have my word. Give me your phone.”

“I don’t have one.”

Who doesn’t have a fucking phone? he wants to ask, frustration rising sharp and noxious in the back of his throat, but he doesn’t. He works his own phone free from his pocket. There isn’t any passcode on it, no thumbprint requirement or otherwise. He’s never kept secrets from Johnny.

“You know what a seizure looks like?”

“No,” you admit, mouth slipping into a comfortable frown.

“You’d recognize it if you saw it. Call an ambulance.”

“Is that—could he—?”

“He could. But he won’t. Five minutes.” Then, because he’s a piece of shit and because he can tell you’re thinking of chickening out: “You owe us.”

That steeliness appears back in your eyes. You nod grimly, clutching his phone in your hand, and go to slip past him into the apartment. But first…

Simon grips your wrist. His grip is gentle, but it has you going stiff and still all over, like a rabbit in a dog’s jowls. Playing dead, you are. Then he whispers: “That’s my boy in there. You do anything to hurt him or get any funny ideas, I’ll break your legs off. ‘m I clear?”

“You’re clear,” you whisper, voice in that strange warble again. This time you wait for him to nod his head in permission before slipping past him into the apartment, shutting the door behind you with a quiet click.

#

It is strange, being in someone else’s space. Eager as you are to intrude as little as possible (you’re more than happy to assuage the guilt that has roosted something foul in your belly since yesterday’s near accident in the parking lot), you can’t help but snoop. It’s human of you. Somehow, after everything, you are still human.

There are photographs on the walls of strangers: pretty girls who share a familial resemblance with their arms around each other; men in combat fatigues with weapons slung across their shoulders; a young blond boy and a German Shepherd. The space is tidy and small, a mirror image of your own apartment next door with the kitchen on the south side and the living area to the north instead of the other way around. The scent of breakfast clings to the air, and there are clean dishes drying in the dish rack.

On the couch is a man, his head lolled forward until his chin rests against his chest. He snores softly. Dressed in loose fitting pants and a t-shirt, his crutch rests against the couch. His right arm is missing.

You can barely breathe for how badly you don’t want to wake him. You can’t help but trace your eyes over his features though: the arch of his cheekbones, the lines of his jaws, the fullness of his mouth. There are scars along his temple, a livid purple in the morning light that streams in through the window.

He’s drooling on his shirt.

“I’m so sorry,” you whisper. He flinches in his sleep, and it sobers you. No more talking. The last thing you wanted him to do was to wake and catch you looming over him. You can almost hear his rough, accented voice: Did Jesus send ye? Did He tell ye to finish the fucking job and do me in?

You have just made a second near-silent circuit of the apartment when the door opens and the larger man re-enters, slightly out of breath. You glance down at his phone and see that only three minutes have passed. Stepping out into the hallway, he gives the sleeping man a lingering glance before following after you.

“You’re early.”

“Yeah, well. Couldn’t relax for fuck all. Thanks anyway.” You can’t help but take note of this man’s exhaustion: the solid darkness beneath his drooping eyes, the way his huge form seems to sag in on itself. It doesn’t take a psychic or a sleuth to put together that he hasn’t been resting, and you can guess why.

“You need your rest too,” you remind him.

“Thanks for the tip.” He says it with all the charm he might say, Fuck off.

You lift your hands in the universal sign of surrender. Message received. You’d overstepped enough with your car. The last thing he needed was advice from you. Glancing toward your apartment door, that old phrase comes into your head “No good deed goes unpunished”. But if all punishments are for good deeds, you must have been a saint in a past life.

Still, you find yourself offering: “If you ever want me to watch him again while you smoke or shower or nap or something. You know where I’m at.”

He stares at you. His eyes are so dark, you can barely tell pupil from iris. He’s not conventionally handsome—not the way the other man is, perhaps—but he is striking: brow low and strong, eyes dark like coffee without cream, mouth full and unhappy. Like Nietzsche said, you look into him and he looks into you. Then he nods, and without even telling you his name, disappears back into his apartment.

You stare for a long moment, feeling oddly bereft at the abrupt ending to this communication. Eventually, you try the doorknob on 7C.

Still locked.

[spitdrunken]

more bill please. i need him to laugh at me and talk to me in a very sweet voice about how dumb and weak i am and how i only need him. maybe put his fingers in my mouth as a treat

notes: humiliation (!!!), implied mind-reading, implied obsessive behaviour, bill is mean(!!!) and finally: unreality warning (sorry for doing something creative with your request at the end /lh)

"aww, look at you! poor little meatbag, leaking soooo much from your mouth-hole..." he speaks with unrestrained glee, laughter always seconds away.

bill's fingers are digging into your mouth. your jaw hurts from being open for so long. though they're relatively small, his fingers still count as intrusions. he digs them into your molars, and rubs them along your gums. he dips them into the spit gathered underneath your tongue, and tugs at the muscle in question. it'd be more difficult not to drool all over yourself in this situation.

"must've been soooo hard to live your life before i came around, huh? so stupid and silly i'm surprised you even made it this far! just so you know, there really have been multiple points in your life where you almost died, without even knowing it... but now you have me! even a dumb meatsack like you can cling to existence when you've got a guy like me looking out for you, huh?"

(still, as much as it humiliates you, you cannot deny that this is doing something for you. your face is ablaze, your heart is racing, your breaths are quick. if you try, you can perhaps convince yourself that it's fear, rather than anything else.)

when you simply close your eyes, you can almost imagine that bill is telling you the sweetest things. he speaks to you with the tone and cadence of an owner fussing over their still-waddling puppy, the knowledge of superiority ever-present. but, really, bill's voice is too shrill for any whispering of sweet nothings. it shatters any semblance of peace.

"i take offense to that, you know! when someone's indulging some of your deepest fantasies, the least you can do is not insult the guy." the demon in question chirps. the lighthearted manner in which he says it is a mere smokescreen. if your mere instincts telling you so aren't enough, his fingers dip in too far down your throat and you gag, bile tickling the furthest edge of your throat.

"sorry..." you garble around his fingers, tongue twitching and curling around them in an attempt to get the message across. bill merely hums in response, pinching your tongue once more for good measure.

"it's okay," bill cooes at you. "i know it's not your fault. so many lives bouncing around in your noggin somewhere, just out of reach. you're just a single-faced, single-minded vessel for something much, much larger than yourself, aren't you? and that's the most interesting part about you."

for a moment, your mind halts and stutters, wondering if you made it up. this is not... sexy talk, is it? this is not like anything you were expecting. in all honesty, you're a bit confused. bill is no longer looking at you. instead, his pupil is darting all over the room, seeming to search for something, but failing to find it. in the end, he merely looks up.

"i know you're there. seeing this all through this... blank slate. i know everything, and you, you--" he laughs, shrill and short. "you are practically oozing with desperation. you are! look, kid. i get it. i'm a real catch. but instead of reading words on a paper, maybe just summon me instead, huh? i'm sure we can come to some kind of agreement! ...but maybe if you try hard enough, some of your words might reach me, too."

bill pulls his fingers out of 'your' mouth and, though they're still slick with spit, he snaps them. "end scene!"

[mango-bango-bby]

🍭- "I didn't mean to scare you baby"

With yandere dad! Gojo × toddler! reader

Following that one fic, Mahito secretly playing with gojo's child, but with this it's already night time any reader still plays with mahito/little harmless curses in the garden, y/n giggling and getting startled by her dad

Please do this if you're not tired and if you already have the time! No pressure mango ;)😌

-💎 anon

I hope for you to have a good day Mangoooo!!! :>>>>>💗💗

♡ Behind the Bushes ♡

(A/N: You all seem to love my platonic!Gojo because I’ve got a ton of platonic!Gojo requests!! I hope you like this, I didn’t have Gojo see Mahito because if he saw a curse talking to him kid... oh it’s going down 😰😰 Also I think I’m gonna make a separate masterlist for dad Gojo because I have so many requests for dad Gojo lol)

Content Warning ⚠️: Yandere, platonic yandere, child!reader, attempted kidnapping

Summary: You try to go out at night to play with your new friend, only for your dad to catch you (Platonic!Yandere!Gojo x Child!Reader)

Masterlist ➸ ♡

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

You loved playing outside. It was pretty normal, especially because you were a toddler. There wasn’t a day that went by were you didn’t run around the garden, or play with your toys outside, or even just sit on the grass and hum to yourself. Of course though you only played outside while your father could be with you.

You had figured out though recently that if you went outside at night, there was a man who would come play with you. He would play games with you and talk to you through the fence. His name was Mahito, though he made it a point to you that you don’t tell your father, Gojo, that he was your friend as if you did he wouldn’t be able to visit you anymore. So you didn’t tell Gojo about it, you kept sneaking out in the night to sit and talk with him.

Gojo yawned as he walked past your room, glancing in. He stops for a moment noticing that you’re not in your bed. You’re not... in your bed. “Y/n?” He calls out a sing song voice, assuming you simply stayed up to play with your dolls or perhaps you wanted to play hide and seek. “Come out, you little gremlin, it’s time to go to bed” He says, continuing to search throughout the house for you. Until he heard you giggle.

Not uncommon but it was strange mostly because it sounded as if you were outside. “Y/n!” Gojo yells, watching you jump and turn away from the gate you were clearly about to open and walk through. You jump back a little, not expecting your father to have caught you.

“What were you thinking?!” He yells completely worried for you. It was safe to say he was quite protective over you. So seeing you clearly trying to leave in the middle of the night was scary to him. His face immediately falls upon seeing your bottom lip begin to wobble. “I didn't mean to scare you, baby” He coos, swooping you up into his arms. “You don’t have to cry” he says, watching the way you glance over to the gate.

Mahito isn’t there anymore. Before your father came out, he had convinced you to break the rules and leave the garden to go with him to a park. That was until Gojo came outside. “You’re going to kill me one day” Gojo sighs dramatically, the stress from the situation leaving.

You don’t speak when he carries you back to your room. You only let out quiet sobs. You didn’t like getting in trouble. Of course, Gojo was absolutely weak for you so the worst that would happen was no TV or taking away a toy or two. “You can’t do that, you scared me so bad” he sighs, as he places you down into your bed.

“You could be really hurt” He says, watching you bury yourself into your blankets. “There’s a lot of bad people who could hurt you. Or even worse, curses that could hurt you or take you away from me” Gojo continues watching your guilty look in your eyes. “You have to stay with me so I can protect you because you’re just my little baby” He says, watching you nod. He smiles a bit watching you burst out into laughter as he tickled your stomach.

He just needed to keep you safe, and to do that you needed to be with him. Always.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

Thank you for reading, darling!!

[arcaneillusion]

Before she was "mad”, Annie Cresta was a Career.

Although Annie is generally depicted as someone who has always been a relatively timid (or even 'weak') character, I think there is a far more convincing argument to be made for Annie being a Career tribute. For the sake of organisation (and preserving my sanity), I've split this into three main points: the purpose of Annie's character, misconceptions about the 70th Hunger Games and the likelihood of Finnick being a Career compared to Annie.

(Note: this ended up being a lot longer than intended, so uhh... sorry in advance.)

The purpose of Annie's character, and how this relates to her being a Career:

Given that District 4 is a Career district, it is not entirely beyond the realm of possibility that Annie received some form of training prior to her Games. It is also worth noting that she was 18 at the time of the 70th Hunger Games (according to the Hunger Games Exhibition, Annie was 23 during the events of Catching Fire, thus making her 18 years old at the time she was reaped). So you have a girl from a Career district who is reaped at the age that Careers tend to volunteer. Of course, this could just be a coincidence - Annie's name would've been in the reaping bowl 7 times by this point (assuming she hadn't applied for tesserae), so it could've just been poor luck that she was chosen. However, I think it's important to consider the purpose of Annie's character when pursuing this line of argument.

One of the most significant aspects of her character is how deeply she is affected by the Hunger Games. Although Suzanne Collins very clearly demonstrates how the Games affect the victors in various ways, Annie can potentially be seen as the personification of this trauma. Almost every time she is mentioned or is present in a scene, the impact the Games had on her is also brought to the reader's attention. During the reaping for the Quarter Quell - the first time her character is mentioned - Annie is described as being "hysterical".

The next significant mention of her is during the jabberjay attack in the arena, and Peeta subsequently refers to her as "the one who went mad".

Annie's character is inextricably tied to her trauma - it haunts the narrative of every scene she appears in. In Mockingjay, for example, Finnick’s suggestion to Peeta (that he simply ask someone for help if he is unsure about whether something is real or not) is inspired by Annie’s response to her own trauma. Even in more lighthearted moments such as after Annie and Finnick's wedding, the Games' influence on her is both alluded to and stated outright. For instance, she is described as being "lost in some daze of happiness", then revealed to be prone to flashbacks / disassociation.

On its own, the phrase “lost in some daze” does not seem to carry too much weight; but given that the words most frequently used to describe Annie are "mad", "unstable", "strange" and now (even in a moment of relative peace and joy) "lost" and in a "daze", it only strengthens the idea that as a result of her Games Annie is, as some might say, not quite all there. Almost every mention of her is tied to the impact the Games had on her. Perhaps even more compelling is a throwaway comment made by Johanna:

Although Johanna is acknowledging that the Games changed all of the victors in some way, there is an implication that Annie's transformation was the most dramatic. "Don't get me started" - as if the Games changed Annie so thoroughly, so completely that hardly anything of the person she was before remains. In short, Annie's character can be seen as a symbol of how the Games (or traumatic experiences in general) can change a person.

So what does this have to do with Annie being a Career?

Assuming that this is the purpose of her character, then Annie herself must have been irrevocably changed by the Games in order for this narrative to work. If Annie had always been a rather timid, 'fragile' character, the difference between who she was before vs after the Games would not be as stark (that is not to say she would not still be traumatised, only that this imagined version of who she was before the Games is not all that different to the person Katniss is introduced to in the trilogy). However, if Annie were to have been a Career, this would further emphasise the theme of how trauma can change a person and make this message all the more impactful.

Picture Annie as a cunning, skilled fighter. Imagine her as being adept at strategising and familiar enough with combat that she can remain level-headed during high-stress situations. Think of her as a tribute that many people were betting on to win - they were that confident in her abilities as a Career. Envision her as being bloodthirsty, prideful - honoured to represent her district and bring it glory. Annie with a sense of superiority and overconfidence, possessing a tendency to underestimate her opponents. Annie with her district partner, who she had known and trained with for years, and trusted enough to know that he would not turn on her before the time came when they had no choice but to go their separate ways.

Now imagine the character we are introduced to in Catching Fire - the "hysterical young woman" whom everyone believes to be "mad". Annie, who seems to lose her hold on reality every now and then, closing her eyes and covering her ears, falling into a state that seemingly only Finnick can pull her out of. Picture the devastation she must have felt when she saw her district partner - someone she trusted deeply and had come to care for - be decapitated right before her eyes. The realisation that no one can truly win in the arena, that she is just a pawn in a game so much larger than herself, and all of her training meant nothing: She would likely die anyway. The despair, the terror, the betrayal, the powerlessness - it shattered her.

To see a victor go from being a calculated killer to a mere shadow of her former self would do more than drive home Annie's role as the personification of trauma and its consequences: It would make the sheer barbarity and inhumanity of the Games all the more apparent.

Misconceptions about the 70th Hunger Games:

Admittedly, not very much is known about the 70th Games, but we do have enough information to put together a very, very vague timeline of events. At some point during her Games, Annie witnessed her district partner getting beheaded, an event that was (understandably) extremely traumatising. This led Annie to isolate herself for the rest of the Games, a strategy that we can assume worked reasonably well... until an earthquake caused a dam to break and flooded the arena. Being from District 4, Annie was an exceptionally strong swimmer. In the words of The Hunger Games: Tribute Guide, citizens of District 4 "can swim like fish themselves." This would ultimately lead Annie to be crowned as victor of the 70th Hunger Games, as she was able to save herself while the remaining tributes drowned.

A common argument against the idea that Annie could be a Career is that all she did was hide for the majority of the Games until the earthquake hit. However, I believe this to be based on a misunderstanding of the events outlined above. Once again, there is very limited information available about Annie's Games. That being said, whilst we know that at some point in the Games Annie isolated herself, we do not know when this was. It is entirely possible that Annie was an active member of the Career pack for a period of time, even if it was only for a few days. Only when her district partner was killed did she go into hiding - and, again, we have no indication of when that was. For all we know, that could've happened a few days before the earthquake broke the dam and flooded the arena, meaning Annie would've been part of the Career pack for the majority of the Games; perhaps it happened only a few days into the Games. The point is (like so much else about Annie) we do not know.

I will concede that because of the lack of information about the 70th Hunger Games, it is of course possible that Annie had no involvement with the Career pack, did not come into conflict with any other tributes, and won purely because she was a strong swimmer. However, based on everything I discussed in the previous section (Annie being from a Career district, reaped at the age Careers tend to volunteer, the purpose of her character as a symbol of trauma, emphasising the barbarity of the Games, etc.) I think it makes far more sense for Annie to have been a member of the Career pack. Ultimately, there is no solid reason, no hard evidence in canon, to suggest that Annie was not a Career tribute. If anything, the details we are aware of all seem to support the idea of her being one.

Finnick Odair — a volunteer, or simply out of luck?

As a quick side note: I do acknowledge that most of the points I have raised are largely based on assumptions. Assumptions supported by canon, but assumptions nonetheless. Having said that, there is one final topic to be explored in the case for Annie being a Career - and that is Finnick Odair.

A simple comparison between Annie and Finnick highlights Annie as the far more likely Career tribute of the pair. Indeed, there is arguably more evidence (however tenuous) to suggest that Annie was a Career than Finnick was. I am hardly the first person to point this out, but I do think it is worth mentioning and is quite interesting to consider.

The two main points of this discussion are 1) the age of the tributes and 2) Finnick's weapon of choice.

Firstly, we know that Annie was 18 when she was reaped for the Games and that Finnick was 14. Given that District 4 is a Career district, it doesn't really make sense for Finnick to have volunteered as at this age since he would be at a significant disadvantage. One of the first things we learn about Finnick is that he was the youngest victor, meaning that before the 65th Games nobody his age had survived the arena. Entering the Games as a 14 year old was just as much a death sentence as entering it at 12 or 13. There is of course the possibility that another 14 year old had won before and Finnick was simply younger by a few months; but even so, we can assume that it was a rare occurrence for anyone under the age of 15 to survive.

Why would a 14 year old boy, who (if he'd even been training in the first place) likely had not completed his training, volunteer for the Games? Why would he volunteer at an age when he was so unlikely to win, especially when Career tributes are known to volunteer at 18, meaning he would be so much younger than his fiercest, most lethal competitors? Why not wait until he was 18 and had the best chances of winning he could hope for? With this in mind, it seems far more likely that Finnick was just another kid who was unlucky enough to have the entry slip with his name on it selected.

What makes less sense is why, in a Career district, no one would have volunteered in his place. I've seen so many possible theories for this, some going with the idea that Finnick was a volunteer and either had very little training (with there being some other motivator for why he volunteered) or had received a good amount of training and was, for one reason or another, chosen to be D4's male tribute for that year. Others follow the theory that Finnick was not a Career, and it was merely a string of unfortunate events that led to nobody volunteering to take his place - for example, there being some sort of tragedy that left District 4 without any Careers-in-training. Once again (take a shot every time I say this lmfao) we do not know the specific circumstances surrounding the reaping for the 65th Hunger Games. However, based on what we can piece together, it makes far less sense, given his age, for Finnick to have been a Career. On the contrary, Annie's age at the time of her Games makes for a much more convincing argument in favour of her being a Career.

As for Finnick's weapon, it has frequently been pointed out that a trident is a strange weapon for a Career to be adept at using. Why would Finnick's training dedicate so much time to becoming skilled with a weapon that is so unlikely to be available at the Cornucopia? Instead, perhaps Finnick simply knew how to use the trident because he was a spear-fisher's son from the district that specialises in fishing.

Moreover, we are told that Finnick was adept at using spears and knives. These are weapons you would expect a Career to have been trained to use, but since District 4's industry is fishing it is entirely possible that Finnick knew how to use these tools simply because he had often worked with them before.

I do think this point about Finnick's weapon is a slightly weaker argument than the one concerning his age. Finnick may have been taught to wield spears and knives during his training as a Career, with it still being possible that he knew how to use the trident due to D4's major industry being fishing - a trade he almost certainly was familiar with, even if only slightly. In the case against Finnick being a Career, I would argue that his age at the time of the 65th Hunger Games is the most compelling point. Of course, there is no reason why Annie and Finnick couldn't have both been Careers. The reason for this comparison is simply to highlight that there is as much evidence to suggest that Annie was a Career as there is to suggest Finnick was. And in some ways, Finnick being a Career raises more questions and doubts than Annie being one does.

TL;DR:

Annie Cresta should not be overlooked just because she does not fit the stereotype of a 'strong' character. If anything, her instability due to the Games is all the more reason to suggest she was a Career. The point of her character is to show how the Games (or traumatic experiences in general) affect those who endure them, so Annie must have left the arena as a completely different person to who she was when she entered it. Most of what we know in canon seems to indicate that she was a Career; in fact, there is potentially a stronger case to be made for Annie being a Career than Finnick. Since we know so little of Annie Cresta much is left up to the interpretation of the reader, but this does not negate the fact it makes more sense for Annie to have been a Career based on the details we do have.

[simplydannie]

During the times Veneer freed Floyd only for Floyd to run straight back to him, did Floyd find Veneer having a breakdown after receiving one too many beatings from one of the Mistress' goons?

Oh he definitely did! And this was right after the Bergens REALLY let Veneer have it.

Floyd was set free… again.

The little Troll was half way out when a burning sensation tugged at his heart…Veneer. This was the third time, and always, Floyd managed to go back. He could leave them at the hands of that evil woman, he almost did once… he couldn’t do it again.

With a heavy sigh, Floyd turned back around and headed back straight to Veneer.

Veneer had been beaten up before. It was nothing new. If it was bullies at school, it was the thugs of the under city that would completely pound him. They’d always assume he was weak, but he never fought back, especially now, because he knew his sisters life was on the line.

The Bergens left him on the floor, blood coming from his nose and mouth, his eye swelling up in pain. He looked towards the doorway as Velvet watched him, a frown on her face, crossed arms, she avoided his gaze.

“I had to let him go. It was the right thing to do.” He told her. She didn’t answer for a moment. “Please say something?”

“…. You ruined it…. You ruined it again.” Was all she said before walking away. Lump formed in his throat. Tears began to form but stung his bruised eyes. Veneer tried to stand and follow after her, but he was to weak this time. The Bergens really did a number. All he could do was crawl. Veneer crawled to the bathroom. Using the sink, he lifted himself to take a look in the mirror…. His face was bruised, his needles shut, blood staining his face… how could he keep on doing this?

The tears escaped him as he allowed himself to fall back to the ground, hugging his knees… he wanted somebody, he wanted Velvet, his parents, he wanted to Floyd… he wanted to be comforted. He just couldn’t take it anymore, his body couldn’t take it anymore, he physically and mentally couldn’t take it anymore. And it’s as if Velvet wasn’t even there. She let them beat him, she’d only stare with distant eyes, a pink hue always glowing….what happened to her? Sometimes he would look at her and it’s as if she wasn’t even there, as if something had replaced her. Was he like that sometimes? Is that what happened when he lost control that one day and captured Floyd? So many questions and thoughts swirled his head….He was just so tired. Veneer lay on the floor hugging himself tightly, he body shaking from the cold, pain, and tears that escaped him.

Floyd made his way through the vents of the facility. Perhaps he convince Veneer this time to leave with him, but it would be hard. He’d never leave without Velvet. Something changed in her…something eating from the inside out. He’d see it in Veneer sometimes, but he wasn’t to far gone….

He could hear screams and shouts through the air vents: The Mistress. She was angry, “Did you give him pain? Did you beat him senseless?” She shouted to her Bergens.

“Yes m’am.”

“Killed him. You should’ve just killed him! I am tired of this! He’s let the damn Troll out once to many times!” She sat her desk staring at the wall, “They ask me if it was a good idea bringing those two in. But so far, they’ve been the only ones to withstand the Troll poison and its effect…”

Floyd crept closer as he heard the mention of the twins, his ears perked up to catch every word.

“Other candidates are probably stronger Mistress.” Gruff commented.

“No..No the other’s have tested candidate after candidate. These two…they are definitely something. One is for them to survive so long alone in the under city. It’s proving effective. Veneer is resilient though. Somehow he’s strong enough to overcome the effects. That’s something definitely worth noting, but if he keeps screwing up, I’m afraid he wont see the end of day…”

Vennie, Floyd took off running in search of Veneer. He figured he’d probably be in the same room he had set Floyd free in, if the Bergens didn’t drag him away somewhere that is. Floyd ran to the room he thought he see Veneer in…He peeked through..empty.

“Where’s they drag you off too Vennie?” The little Troll was about to run off when he heard the cries coming from the bathroom. Using his hair, Floyd lowered himself to the ground. He waited a moment to make sure no distant sounds were coming, to make sure it was safe. After a moment, Floyd ran to the restroom…it was slightly opened. Peeking through, his heart shattered. Veneer was laying on the ground, hugging his knees, tears streaming down his face. His body shaking as he couldn’t control his sobs.

“Vennie?” Floyd approached the Rageon slowly, but Veneer didn’t hear. He continued to cry..

“….I want mom… I want dad….I want to go home” He heard him say in between his sobs. Floyd saw that Veneer couldn’t take it anymore… he was starting to see Under Rageous as home. That place wasn’t home, it was hell. Floyd walked to the Rageon and placed his small hand on Veneers arm. The Rageon felt the touch, and opened his one eye that wasn’t swollen.

“Oh Vennie. What did they do? Those monsters..” Floyd murmured.

“You need to go.” Veneer said.

“No. I can’t. Not like this. You need me here. I’m here for you. You got that.” Floyd said.

“But if they find you…”

“Let them. I’ll even walk back into the diamond willingly. Make it seemed that you changed your mind and caught me again.”

“But Floyd…”

“Stop it and just listen to me please.” Floyd stretched at his arms as far as he could. Embracing the top of the Rageons head, “just stay quiet for a while okay. I’m here.” Veneer squeezed his eyes shut, taking in the Trolls small touch. He began to cry again, but not because of hurt anymore, because relief and comfort… because Floyd was there, a familiarity. The anguish Veneer once felt suddenly washed away. He sighed in relief, allowing the stress to finally leave him. “That’s right. I’m right here. I’m not leaving you… not again.”

Floyd rested his little head on top of Veneers. The Rageons breathing slowed as he finally felt peaceful. Veneer allowed himself to close his eyes and slowly drift to sleep. He knew he had to face Mistress again. He knew they would be back in square one once Floyd was back in the diamond. But for now, Veneer allowed himself this moment to just rest and be in the comfort of someone he cared about… and who cared for him….

… everything else, they could figure out later.

[mikaelsrose]

The Lover's Caress

Pairing: Tyril x f!human!MC (Reyna) Book: Blades of Light and Shadow 2, chapter 2 Word count: 1940 Rating: M Warnings: emotional hurt, marked sexual content within the fic Category: angst A/n: this is for the girlies who needed to see Tyril bawl his eyes out at the sight of MC Tag list: @lxdy-starfury @starlight-starfury @watatsumi-island @sophie-summer @brycesgirl @lilyoffandoms @choicesficwriterscreations @choicesbookclub

The clock tower showed just four minutes after four in the morning as Tyril and Reyna reached her chamber and unwillingly unlaced their hands.

"I hope you will stay? I can't open a portal for you to go back to Undermount," Reyna started as her fingers nimbly worked with the matches to light the candles on the night stands. Despite the sun already rising, dark rain clouds obstructed the light, plunging the city in gloomy darkness. "Not that I'd want to, anyway."

"I intend to watch over you constantly lest you were to disappear again."

“Nonsense, you need to rest. When was the last time you got a proper night’s rest?”

Tyril shrugged his shoulders indiscernibly. Just as Reyna was about to scold him for not taking care of himself, the match burned her fingers.

“Blast!”

"Allow me," he uttered lowly before catching her wrist and bringing the burned fingers to his lips. Having whispered a short spell, Tyril touched the sore area and a wave of soothing coolness hugged the wound. Under his scrutinizing gaze, Reyna was suddenly overcome with shyness and lowered her gaze. 

"I knew having a skilled mage by my side would come in handy," she joked. “Thank you. We should probably get some rest. May I?” 

Reyna’s fingers quickly undid the intricate fastening of Tyril’s clothes and as he stood in front of her in nothing but his undergarments, her brows knitted.

“That’s new,” she noticed, touching a purplish scar on the plane of his chest. 

“A close encounter with a succubus.”

Reyna quirked an eyebrow. “Succubus? The seductive she-devil succubus?”

“She was said to be in possession of a long-lost spell book, I had hoped that perhaps she would help me open a portal.”

“And how exactly did you play to convince her?”

“With threats.”

"That's why you ended up with a wound on your chest? What did she strike you with, a hacksaw?" 

Tyril sighed quietly upon realizing that it was not jealousy speaking through his beloved but worry. "I underestimated the risk."

"Just like you did with the fluria? And this?” she pointed to a cut just above his hip. “It's also fresh."

"A basilisk. They're rumoured to have the ability to cross realms."

"And you attacked it alone," he nodded. "You were trying to get hurt, weren't you?"

While Tyril desperately searched for the right words, Reyna took a moment to study his face in the warm candlelight. There were visible dark spots under his eyes, his cheekbones and jawline seemed a bit sharper, indicating a weight loss, and as her eyes slid lower, she also noticed how much more defined his muscles had become. He must have been hunting for a while, many more creatures than he would ever admit to her.

"I was trying to be punished."

“Tyril—”

“Reyna, you don’t understand. You were gone for a year. They took you from right under my nose, and I did nothing to stop them. You were gone for a year and I never even got a single promising lead. I am sorry I couldn't do more to help you," he whispered, dropping his gaze to her cheek, which he stroked with a thumb. "Please forgive me—"

"You need to forgive yourself, Tyril," she interrupted, her hand cupping his cheek. "It was you who gave me the strength to fight, the thought of never seeing your face again helped me get off my knees and run even though my whole body burned with pain. So thank you."

His eyes glistened and she continued.

"I think I heard you, when I was still weak and befuddled."

Tyril felt his heart skip a beat. "Perhaps Gods heard my prayers after all."

"You prayed for me?"

"Of course," he assured immediately, and a tear rolled down his cheek. "I was utterly desperate, submerged in books I held onto the faintest hope, I begged scholars and mages for help, but nobody even dared to hope. It was Adrina who suggested I should reconnect with the Gods. On my knees, I prayed for forgiveness and pleaded for help for months."

Reyna bit her lip, emotions too overwhelming to allow even the quietest words to leave her mouth without breaking into a million pieces. However, seeing how Tyril allowed his grief and loneliness to leave his body in the waves of tears, her own dam broke and soon only the quiet sniffling of two entwined lovers could be heard. 

"Gods, I have missed you so much," the elf mumbled into her hair before pressing his lips to her temple, long and hard, and shut his eyes tightly, afraid she'd disappear if he opened them, just as had happened several times. "The thought of never seeing you again, never holding your hand, was driving me mad. I have grieved while still hoping, still searching for a way to bring you back, but I hit a damn wall every time. I— I have been truly awful to my family this year, Reyna, because all that mattered was getting to you as fast as possible—" 

Tyril's voice suddenly broke and Reyna, as if finally understanding the full scope of the effects her absence had on her partner, felt her heart break. Her hand soothingly caressed the back of his head, while her tears pooled in the crook of his neck. 

"I was afraid I'd lost you to the Shadows as well," he whispered. "And I was ready to lose myself just to get you back."

“If it’s any consolation, it only felt like a couple of days for me,” Reyna uttered quietly once they both calmed down. Tyril’s embrace loosened slightly, and he pulled back just enough to see her face. 

“That’s good. I’d hate for you to feel so lonely and helpless in the Shadow Realm for a year.”

The couple timidly smiled at each other, and once Reyna’s fingers wiped the remaining evidence of anguish off his face, Tyril suggested lying down.

As if nothing ever happened, Tyril took his place on the right side of the mattress while Reyna straddled him and rested her head on his shoulder, enjoying the warmth of his embrace. Just like they did the night before everything changed.

In complete silence only interrupted by regular pattering of the rain against the window, they listened to each other's breaths, caressing each other’s skin and kissing every now and again. Reyna smiled as his thumb began drawing small circles on her bare thigh. She took in the sight in front of her, still afraid that if she blinked, he'd disappear. The mere suggestion of waking up in Valax’s laboratory again sent an uncomfortable wave of shivers down her back.

"You look so beautiful like this," she whispered, her hands journeying across his chiselled stomach and chest, marvelling at the smoothness of his pale skin. Under her fingers, she felt his pounding heart and quickened breath, and she only smiled wider. In the early morning sun, Tyril's noble features softened, making him look like the young, exhausted man he was.

"I suppose happiness looks good on everybody."

"Nobody wears it like you do, Lord Starfury," she whispered against his lips before capturing them in a soft kiss, and within seconds she welcomed his tongue on her lower lip. 

Deftly sliding the strap of her bra off her shoulder, Tyril kissed her collarbone, first on the right side, then repeated the action on the left, soon unclasping the garment and letting it fall to the floor. 

“At long last,” he hummed in between the sloppy kisses. Reyna smiled blissfully.

Before long, the last pieces of clothing fell to the ground and Reyna, still straddling half-sitting Tyril slowly lowered herself onto him with a quiet moan.

"I have yearned to hear you make that sound again," he gasped, one of his hands tightening on Reyna's hip while the other caressed her back, pulling her closer. 

Contrary to her mind, her body felt their prolonged separation. Each touch would send a wave of shivers through her body, each bounce of her thighs pulling out soft moans from her throat. Soon they found their rhythm and the room reverberated with a blend of the couple's whimpers and ragged breaths.

As the urge to be in control for the first time in months grew, Tyril switched their position and rolled on top of Reyna, who, afraid to let him go, wrapped her legs around his waist. His lips then focused on Reyna's neck, leaving love bite after love bite in their wake, earning him a pull at his hair and increasingly louder moans.

"Please, don't ever leave me again," he huffed, pleadingly. Feeling her climax approaching, he kissed her again, sucking on her lower lip long enough to leave a tiny red bruise as his hand blindly searched for hers to lock their fingers together.  

Groaning, Reyna clenched her fingers around Tyril’s, leaving half moon marks over his knuckles. She looked at him from under her lashes—the image of her partner, flushed, sweaty, whimpering proved to be the final straw that sent her over the edge. Following suit, the elf hid his face in the crook of Reyna’s neck, his hips still lazily moving.

“I’ll always fight my way back to you, Tyril.”

The wind outside picked up, howling mournfully through the city lanes and alleyways. Blissfully spent, the couple cuddled under the duvet.

“I’ve heard you and Kade got to know each other better in my absence,” Reyna mumbled sleepily, resting her head on Tyril’s shoulder. The elf hummed. “I’m glad.”

“Bonding with your brother was the only good thing to happen this past year.”

“Has he told you all the embarrassing stories?”

Tyril smirked at the memory. “A few.”

"Rest assured that I will have my revenge."

"You already know my most humiliating story, bringing shame upon my House is impossible to top."

"Personally, I believe stepping on your date's dress and causing her to fall into mud at her own Ancestral Masquerade is much more embarrassing," she chuckled while Tyril's eyes widened in shock. 

"How do you know about it?"

"Your sister is an excellent conversationalist, did you know that?" 

Tyril shook his head disapprovingly. “Tarnishing the reputation of House Starfury like that.”

“I like your new hairstyle, it really shows off your pretty face,” she complimented and raised her head to check whether she’d get the reaction she hoped for from him. Shortly, a dark purple blush flowered on his cheeks.

“I— Ahem, I’m glad it’s to your liking,” he stuttered. 

“I’m also impressed by your musculature, you really put in some work when I was away,” she teased, making Tyril chuckle, still visibly embarrassed. “Oh, how I missed those dimples!”

“Please stop,” the elf pleaded, snaking an arm around Reyna’s bare stomach as she leant over and kissed his dimples, then the tip of his nose, chin, and finally his lips. Their kiss was interrupted by a loud thunder that made Reyna jump away, scared. She nervously looked around the room, expecting the worst, but everything was exactly the same. 

She felt Tyril’s palm cupping her cheek, and she unwillingly stopped scanning the room to look at his face. 

“You’re safe, Reyna. It’s alright, you’re safe. I’m with you.”

She nodded absent-mindedly. It took her a moment to shake off the images of Ashen soldiers, and she blinked repeatedly when the initial panic subsided. Tyril was looking at her worriedly, gently stroking her cheek, and Reyna focused on the way the candlelight glistened in his baby blue eyes.

“You’re safe.”

“I know. You’re with me.”

Tyril nodded and pressed his lips to her temple. “I’m with you.” 

[in-need-of-gally-content]

|Chapter•Twenty•Two|

•|Masterlist|•

With a full plate in his hand, (M/n) sat on a log along with Gally, watching the ongoing fights from afar, chugging their drinks and joking with each other.

For a while, the Glade was buzzing with energy and laughter, but slowly, everything began to slow and calm down, more guys eating or simply chilling by the bonfire, and (M/n) remembered a song. He couldn't stop himself from humming it for a few seconds, before quietly singing the lyrics, catching Gally's attention.

His green eyes stared at him, a smile starting to grow on his face, and he soon realized he recognized the song, beginning to sing alongside (M/n). He turned to look at Gally, slightly surprised that he would know the song, and together they sang, getting louder and louder, wide smiles on their faces as those around looked at them.

A few frowned for a moment, before the happy vibes of Gally and (M/n) made a grin appear on their faces, joining them in their song.

It wasn't long before practically the whole Glade was singing, their voices filling the silence of the night. And while everyone was cheerfully singing to their hearts' content, (M/n) was completely unaware of the way Alby was looking at him, a deep frown on his face and his body tense, arms crossed over his chest as his mind overworked itself to understand why.

Why did (M/n)'s voice sound exactly the same as theirs?

///////

(M/n) chuckled when Winston told him how the twins weren't nearly as weak as Lucas was when it came to working at the Blood House with him, and even though he didn't mind the help from them as he actually could use the extra two pairs of hands, he was kinda sad that he couldn't bully them enough to make them barf.

He added that both of them were quite quick learners, and rarely complained about doing something. One inconvenient thing was how they had to always be together. They were supposed to work different jobs on their first day, but they refused to be separated for longer than ten minutes, and in the end, Alby couldn't be bothered to have them abide by the rules.

He had other matters to worry about. And they were doing a good job, so why bother with them?

With heavy steps, Alby approached (M/n) as he talked to Winston, both of them were on a small break from work, and they were enjoying some time to talk before having to go back. Alby stopped in front of them, and their talking began to slow down by the second, staring up at the Leader from their spot on the ground.

For a moment Winston thought he had done something to anger Alby, especially with the way he looked at him, but his stare was soon directed toward (M/n), who involuntarily tried to make himself look smaller.

"Come with me, (M/n)." And he just turned around to leave.

(M/n) felt as if he couldn't breathe, his mind going a hundred miles an hour as he struggled to find in his brain the memory of what he could've done to make Alby mad at him, but anything could have been the trigger.

Did he get called out for eating the last cookie? Maybe someone had seen him drawing obscene images on Stan's face while he slept? Perhaps he farted too loud he made someone go deaf?!

Anything could be used against him, and he wasn't sure if he was ready to take what Alby wanted to scold him for.

"I'll be praying for you, greenbean, but just know... You've been a mighty friend of mine," he looked at Winston, who looked defeated at the news of Alby being mad at (M/n), who frowned and began standing on his feet, feeling like his legs were jelly, ready to give up at any given moment.

On the way to the Homestead, he was wondering if he could gamble with his punishment, maybe try to convince Alby that he had nothing to do with the dicks and boobs drawn on Stan and blame an innocent bystander. Or he could take the blame and avoid angering Alby even more.

Either way, a punishment was sure to soon come flying his way.

(M/n)'s whole body was tense and he was sure he wasn't breathing, dreading having to walk into the Gathering room. He could've run, but even if he wanted to, where could he go? There was nowhere to hide, so he decided to welcome hell with a hug, as if greeting an old friend.

Life was good while it lasted, despite all.

As soon as he stepped foot inside the room, he turned around, ready to get on his knees to plead for forgiveness, begging Alby to have mercy on his soul, that he just wanted something sweet and he didn't know that the last cookie was his.

He was almost committed to doing all that, but Alby spoke first.

"Can you tell me if there's anything you can remember from before waking up in the Box?" (M/n)'s mind stopped working, feeling unsettled at the sudden quietness inside his skull, the overthinking voice completely gone now that Alby asked him a direct question.

"From... Before?" He managed to stutter, and Alby nodded, crossing his arms and walking over to sit on his chair, signalling for (M/n) to do the same.

He tried to ignore the fact that he was sitting on Gally's chair and decided to focus on the matter at hand, picking the honest side of the story.

"Well, I've... Had a few dreams ever since I got here, or I thought... They were dreams, at least, but I'm not sure if they're more than that or not..." Alby nodded at the answer he got, reading (M/n)'s body language and knowing he was being honest, at the very least.

"Nothing in specific?" He added, not trying to pressure (M/n) into talking if he didn't want to.

"I remember... Being surrounded by people wearing lab coats, and blurry faces," with this, Alby was satisfied, at least he now knew that everyone had seen the same thing before, even if it was only one time.

He stood up and walked to the door, "Well, thank you for being honest with me, (M/n), you can leave."

(M/n) felt as if a weight was lifted off his shoulders and chest, his body feeling lighter and his breathing going back to normal. He stood up and showed a small smile at Alby before walking out of the Gathering room and out of the Homestead.

What was all that about? Was he supposed to be honest about the matter? And why would Alby-

"Oh-! You're alive!" Winston's voice snapped him out of his thoughts.

In front of him, were Winston and Gally, both of their expression relaxing into one of relief, and (M/n) almost laughed at how dramatic they were being.

"Why wouldn't I be?" Both Keepers looked at him as if he was the one gone crazy and exaggerating, instead of them.

"Alby came up to you and took you to the Homestead, that's enough reason for us to believe you were gonna die there, bean," Gally added, making big motions with his hands to get his point across.

"Maybe, but I don't get in trouble, nor do I get caught," he responded with a smirk, shrugging it off as if it was nothing. Both of them sighed, and Winston tapped his shoulder a few times.

"Just know Gally was ready to fight Alby if he did something to you," Gally glared at Winston, his eyes wide as a dark blush began creeping rapidly up his face. He looked ready to square up and fight the shorter Keeper, but Winston was quicker and he ran away before Gally could get ahold of him.

Unknowingly to him, (M/n) was looking at him with a soft, love-filled look in his (e/c) eyes and a small pout on his lips, moved by the thought of Gally coming to his rescue in case he needed it.

And now the blond had no idea what to do, his face was burning and his heart was about to burst out of his chest. He was gonna make sure that Winston would get extra work, how dare he call him out like that? In front of his crush?! He felt like he wanted to bury his head in the dirt.

"Listen, uh- about what Winston said-," his nervous stutter got interrupted by the sudden feeling of arms wrapped around him from behind, surprising and flustering him, "B-bean...?"

"You really are my knight in shining armor, aren't you, Gally?" (M/n)'s deep and hoarse voice so close to his ear made his body get covered in goosebumps, and soon, there was a feeling of something (warm/cold) holding his hand, "Now let's go, there's still work to do."

(M/n) began dragging him along, heading toward the rest Builders who had just come back from their break. Gally stared at (M/n), walking in front of him and holding his hand, making sure he wouldn't stay behind, and he smiled. The brightest smile he'd ever worn on his face, and those around them got to witness, except for (M/n), the very cause of said smile.

//////

With the hours going past, and having work to do, (M/n)'s mind remained busy for the most part, which he was thankful for, he didn't want to sour anyone's mood with this sudden change of attitude, so he really appreciated having something to do that would distract him enough. Even if it was only for a while.

On the other side, he had been able to see the twins around, helping others after having been dismissed by Winston for the day and instead of resting or playing around, they were giving a hand to anyone who wanted or required help, and (M/n) heard, from those walking and working around them, how they were so nice and kind to everyone.

Hearing that made a small smile pull his lips up, feeling just a little bit hopeful at the thought of the twins being actually good guys, and how maybe, just maybe, he could be safe around them, how he could be himself and be their friend, they did seem kind of cool to him too. Even so, (M/n) had to remind himself to not raise his expectations too much, or the fall would be that much harder and painful.

Which was hard when dinner time came around, the greenies were making everyone around them laugh and smile brightly. (M/n) didn't mind the loudness, he actually enjoyed having background noise to focus on, worked pretty well as a distraction to him, whilst on the other hand Gally was kind of annoyed, but he could easily ignore them.

"So, what was that with Alby earlier?" He asked while raising his fork to get more food in his mouth, and (M/n) blinked, detaching his hearing from the few tables away from him.

"Oh, uh... He asked me if I had any memories from before coming to the Glade..." he answered absentmindedly, taking some food himself as his stomach growled from hunger.

Gally waited for him to add something else after his voice trailed on, but nothing, "Do you?" He hesitated slightly as he asked, and (M/n) looked up at him, a blank stare in his eyes.

"I've had dreams ever since I've come here, but not... Anything significant, nope," and he went back to eating.

Gally felt there was something going on, but he wasn't sure how to articulate his question in a way that wouldn't make it sound too obvious what he was trying to get into, and the booming laughter kind of distracted him and pissed him off.

"Why do they have to be so shucking loud?" He mumbled, immediately after hearing the soft chuckle (M/n) released. His head was tilted down, but Gally saw the way his shoulders shook in contained laughter, and he snickered back.

"They sure are bloody loud," Gally couldn't help but laugh just a little bit louder at the sound of (M/n)'s voice saying 'bloody', it was cuter than he ever thought a word could sound, and despite that, (M/n) managed.

The rest of their dinner went by, and soon enough, it was time to say 'good night'.

And while alone in his room, (M/n)'s mind wandered all night, remembering Alby's question, and what he had answered. Were his dreams just... Dreams? Or was there something else he wasn't fully grasping? Well, whatever it was, it became very painful, very quickly.

He stayed awake the majority of the night without meaning to, trying to remember anything, even the slightest detail, like a face or a name that was unrelated to the rest of the guys in the Glade, but that only resulted in a headache, which only got worse the more he tried to force his memory to come back.

But rather than just being unable to remember, it felt more like... Something was preventing him from doing so, and at some point, a horrible throbbing pain made him clutch his head in his hand, a loud and steady beeping sound bouncing off the walls of his skull.

"W.I.C.K.E.D is good."

That stupid phrase again...

"Bullshit," he muttered with gritted teeth, turning around on his bed and closing his eyes, forcing himself to fall asleep, despite the headache he had.

//////

A few days have passed and...

There goes all of his hopes of the twins being nice guys to him.

They were only nice to those they thought were "cool" enough to be treated nicely. And (M/n) wasn't part of that group of people.

His hopes had been buried deep under klunk. And now the twins were being little klunkheads.

(M/n) huffed and dropped his head on the table, startling a few at his sudden action and the loud sound bone against wood made. Gally frowned, knowing that probably hurt, and he placed his hand on top of (M/n)'s head, gently touching his hair.

"Hey, you good? Wanna talk?" He felt (M/n) shifting under his touch, and Gally watched how he soon had his chin on the wood, staring up at him with a defeated look in his eyes. He would've hugged him tightly, if he wasn't distracted by the thought of how uncomfortable that position probably was for his neck and back.

"I'm just powering through a pretty bad-" there suddenly was a cheering so loud it could've busted everyone's eardrums off, everybody flinched at the pain inflected to their ears, and they looked at the source of the sound. A few stared, confused, while others like (M/n), glared at them and tried to ignore them, but that was impossible because it just kept going, seemingly getting louder and louder.

"Let's get you guys to the name wall!" Every pair of eyes watched how Stan dragged the twins out of the Homestead, followed by the rest of the Sloppers, one after the other, like little ducklings following their mama duck.

The greenies were still on their job trials, however, they had become good friends with that particular group of guys, which was actually a pretty good explanation of why they acted the way they did with him.

(M/n) rolled his eyes and sat upright for a moment before resting his head on his hands, placed under his chin as his blinking slowed down. He started thinking, and wondered why did the Sloppers -or the majority of them- hated his existence, and he couldn't understand why, he hadn't done anything to them, or more like he had not been the first one to do it at least, because he did win a fight against their Keeper even after he had cheated.

He really couldn't care less about who were the guys responsible for what happened, (M/n) had decided to enjoy the peaceful days he got, but sadly, he could see how those days were gonna be gone soon.

//////

This was more annoying than he expected, and it exasperated him. Maybe the twins weren't saying anything sexist or offensive his way, but they were getting on (M/n)'s last nerve.

They were being plain bullies, the non-verbal type of bully. Constantly, one or the other, sometimes even both, would constantly push (M/n), make him trip or even punch him, immediately claiming that everything was an accident and that he was the one overreacting.

At first, (M/n) didn't pay it much attention and really thought they were accidents, but soon he realized they weren't, however, he kept his cool and assumed it'd blow off soon, what they wanted was a reaction out of him and he wasn't gonna give them that. Ignoring them seemed to be the best option for now.

But today they were being particularly bad, making (M/n) get to the point of going to Minho before dinner and asking him if he could go in the Maze with him tomorrow.

"Well, I don't mind, but did anything happen? You argued with Gally, or is it something else?" (M/n) sighed at how sharp Minho was, he knew something was bothering him, they had become pretty good friends after all.

"No, I... It's nothing like that but, the twins are just a little too annoying and I don't want to... Do something to them, you know," Minho frowned in the direction the greenies were, finishing up their job at the Gardens, he knew damn well appearances could be deceiving, but those two seemed genuinely nice and kind.

And he trusted (M/n) more than the greenies whom he only met four days ago.

"And I won't bother you, I can just... Walk around the front...?" (M/n) added hesitantly when Minho stayed quiet for a little bit longer than usual.

The Keeper chuckled and nodded, "You can come with me and Ben tomorrow, (M/n), don't worry."

And he smiled back in relief, getting up and making his way to Gally. He had to tell him he wouldn't be working tomorrow and would be heading out with the Runners, as his Keeper, Gally had to know.

And well, he wasn't the happiest about it, but when (M/n) mentioned 'twins' he understood why he wanted to leave for a few hours, so he couldn't hold him back from going into the Maze, and even if he did, (M/n) would simply convince him that he will be safe.

So before bed, Gally wrapped his arms loosely around (M/n)'s shudders, placing his chin on the crown of his head, "Be careful out there, bean."

A smile grew on (M/n)'s face, and he nodded against Gally's chest.

"You know I will, big guy."

//////

It was early morning in the Glade, and the Maze Doors were just opening.

(M/n) walked up to Minho and Ben, who were waiting for him, while rubbing his eyes and yawning, making both of them smile and hold back a chuckle, they also noticed the straps across his chest, holding his journal and Polaroid camera, but didn't say anything about it.

"You sure you can come with us?" Minho asked playfully as they began walking through the pathway of the Doors.

(M/n) sideyed him, and smirked, "If anything I'll just stay back for a bit, I'm not planning on staying for too long, Min."

And with an agreement nod, they began their daily activities of running the Maze.

While Minho and Ben ran ahead of him, (M/n) was walking, observing the stone walls covered in ivy, gracing the scratch marks and holes made in them.

He knew what Grievers were, yet he hadn't seen one, everyone feared them and wanted to avoid any kind of close encounter with them, and (M/n) wondered how they were. Did they look gross? Were they big? Why are they here, in the Maze?

Could they stop them?

His mind wandered for a few minutes and when he looked forward again, he realized that both Runners had disappeared from his field of vision, which he wasn't bothered by, he wanted to enjoy the quietness, so he was gonna do that.

(M/n) walked around a while longer, taking pics that made the Maze look relatively nice, and soon found a wall practically covered in ivy, and significantly lower than most walls. He gripped the ivy and tested its strength, it could hold his weight pretty nicely, so he started climbing up it, reaching the top after some hard work. He sighed and laid back on the cold stone, squinting his eyes at the bright reflection of the sun on the blue sky despite being in the shadow.

He stayed there for a while, lying on top of the wall, his feet dangling off the edge, he even fell asleep for a while, maybe an hour or two since the shadow the sun casted on him hadn't moved that much. He sat up and stretched, yawning and sighing, feeling just a little bit more relaxed and at ease.

While (M/n) spent time in the Maze, he remained completely unaware of what was going back in the Glade.

[lotarclasspects]

What is a "Mythological Role" Truly?

The idea for this post came to me out of the blue. But lately, in my quest to go back to the comic and build my own theories about Classpects and what they are, checking to make sure my beliefs are founded in evidence/direct from the source so on and so forth. I'm up to Act 5 at the moment. But what really captured my interest was, yes the classes and how they present, but also. What a Mythological Role really is.

It seems simple, on the surface. And I suppose it is. But in its simplicity, are layers and layers of philosophy. They all tie into ideas of "The Ultimate Self", a person's greatest potential. Consistent across every timeline and universe, so that the two are inseparable from a character's Personhood. A lot of Homestuck is like that, and I think at least for me, that's why I like it so much. What struck me most, began with how Vriska describes what Sburb itself is, in a conversation with John. That how the game itself, planets, and by extension classpect all suit themselves to the needs of the society of the children playing the game, but in a way also captures their potential. Taking them as children, the ideas and concepts which build the Universe giving rise to a new one. Destruction of the planet of origin and potential futures, all for Skaia's Ultimate Alchemy. Perhaps this is what Rose mentions, when she says the Gods convinced her that Skaia was an "evil" entity. Whilst Kanaya, connected to the concepts of Procreation, believes it to be only good, tasked with one clear and ultimate purpose. Anyway. Vriska talks to John, about how she was shaped by her society. How she was afraid of it, and excited by aspects of it, at times. But is ultimately thankful the game "Gave [Her] a purpose, which lead about creating [the humans]" And then she says this. =>

What captured my eye most, was "Because we got that chance, it means we'll never actually get to come of age and enter troll society and see if we got what it takes" That's kind of the spirit of Sburb, isn't it. It has people enter right at the moment of their greatest potential, when they truly begin to Grow Up, mentally etc. In this train of thought, the Mythological Role is also described (By Rose) as being representative of the journey they'd need to take to reach their greatest personal potentials, specified by Class. The Page class as we know is likened to the "Boy Skylark" FLARP class which is characterised by "Very weak, and a long path to mastery". Rose mentions her planet has "Everything a growing Seer could possibly need". She specifies Seer, rather than "Light Player"or Her specifically. She then says to John that his planet probably has everything he needs to grow as an "Heir" too. Again, specifying the class. It seems, that classes are decided for players sort of as the How of growing up. Everyone reaches mastery eventually, but what is the process to do so, and what does mastery look like for Them. But where does Aspect come into it? There are two conversations which catch my eye in regards to this. The first, is the very first time Aradia is shown in the comic after her revival into the God Tiers. She begins her role as Grim Reaper, and walks with Dave as he gathers that he is actually dead and not dreaming. She says she regrets not talking to him more, and that "

It seems to imply that assuming commonality based on Class alone, though, would be misleading. Class is the process, and Aspect is the overall role and theme. Kanaya and Jade also talk about how "their Role is effectively the same". In the same conversation that she likens the Sylph and Witch class, actually. But despite the idea that they might be opposites, it implies that despite the differences of their Classes, what they can do, and what their position is in Sburb, is ultimately much more similar than it is different. Aradia also says something interesting regarding Aspects in this same conversation. When she describes them sharing the Time aspect as "A game, - that we happen to be best at. but when all the games are back in the cupboard everyone is about the same"

It implies, not only akin to real life where Everyone kind of ends up on the same page after they reach adulthood, but that your Aspect. YOUR Aspect, which Sburb chooses for you, is not necessarily something you just Do. Not one of the many things you do, but the one you are Best at. that You are the best at, compared to others. I know with many people analysing themselves or characters there is a tendency to be like "but i do a lot of things, many of them could apply to me". And whilst "the one you are best at" here seems to garner additional context upon like significant themes in the lives of the characters, etc. It's implying heavily, that it is something, out of all of the Aspects, that you have the most potential of mastering the Best. Not necessarily at the current moment, but when all is said and done. There is a third conversation which I have not screenshotted yet, too. When Kanaya and Karkat are in Echidna's lair. And she talks about how she and Echidna talked about "A lot of things". The crux of the conversation is Echidna assessing their worth of inheriting the new universe. And whether they'd be prepared to accept the responsibility. Kanaya, as the person responsible for the Procreation, and Karkat as a moral/spiritual leader for their people. She mentions in this conversation, that being a hero of Space never really had much impact on her and she didn't really get it, until she understood it meant more than "physical space for stars and planets to occupy". She talks and asks Karkat, if there's a concept that has been with him always, which entices him, and scares him a little bit. For her, it would be "Procreation" which is explicitly tied to the true grand meaning of the Space aspect. Karkat then says "I DUNNO. BLOOD I GUESS" and describes his feelings on that, comparing his past ideas of Leadership to his current ones in another "I'm not your leader i'm your friend" conversation which we see in both session leaders and Blood/Breath players. But since, in this conversation, their Aspects are both explicitly mentioned, and when Karkat is prompted even though he doesn't really know why, when asked for the thing, the Significant theme in his life which scares him and entices him, he chooses Blood.... It adds more depth and context to what an Aspect actually represents for a person. And a Class too. Since all have many facets. My current theory might be, that an Aspect, in its many, many facets. Some or all, are ones that are most prominent in a person's life and personality. The grand, leading themes that you're kind of drawn to even when you're not trying to. And the thing that, compared to all others, even if You don't know it, you're the best at. The Class, then. Is more about. Think of a person, their likes, dislikes, skills. Everything that makes them Them, when they're feeling the most themself. The Class describes what they need to do to grow into the most Them they can be, even if it's not what society deems to be "Good".

Vriska, before, is many things. She feels regret, pride, sadness, and has a great ego. But I think we can all agree, that even though her Alternate self felt bad, she was heavily influenced by others to be there. She began looking like Meenah, doubting herself, accepting Irrelevance. But when Vriska has been the MOST herself, the most Vriska, it has been when she's been taking the Luck, all of it. In the above conversation with John she talks about finding true strength, not the fakey kind, to do what she needs to do. And that she wants to do it for her friends too, (despite being a very active class) She says verbatim "If I don't do it, who will?". Which also alerts me to the fact that there is far more to the classes than simply abiding by the Active/Passive scale for their Entire context, on a basis of "selfish or not selfish". But all of this leads back into the concept of Ultimate Self. Classpects are consistent across every iteration of a person, so what does that really mean? In an unrelated conversation, I was talking to a friend about Classes and Aspects because they wanted help with finding theirs. And I was talking about Vriska and how messed up her life was and how complex her way of thinking was, shortly after I was explaining how rare and what a special circumstance it is for the Lord class is to exist. Like total and complete force of will, and a Willingness, to completely master their entire aspect. And my friend said "vriska could be a lord" and my first thought (i didn't say this) but it was "But . She isn't though. And she can't be" Nowhere in any universe would Vriska ever be a Lord. Because. She just isn't. She can act like one. She can act controlling and high and mighty above her means. She can be meek, she can be insecure and indecisive. But she will not be acting like Her. She is the Thief of Light, and she will never, and can never be a Lord because it's not a title you achieve, or something you can change, it's just describing what a person is, has be, could be, and will be, at their most Themselves. But that's the key- it's limited in scope with only 168 options for all players who could ever possibly Play the game in all of creation. But it's not a limit, or a restriction. It's not a title you choose, or advance through. It's a title given, based on who you are, fundamentally. That a person (character) earns by virtue of being themselves. To grow into, and through. Rather than anything ranked. All that said, this reminds me, though of like. People as little kids. They are so young, they have all the potential in the world. But even children as young as 4 and 5 and even 3. Some are shy, some are confident, some are brave, some are cautious. Some would prefer to scour as may books that fit on the bookshelf than go to a party. Some kids would rather hang out with their friends than struggle with book stuff. And who they are then, grows into who they become. But the seeds of who they become, and how, are still present even at young ages. Not as a barrier, or a way to hold them back. But just in the sense of... when you really pay attention to a child's personality, it's usually far less of a surprise to see the person they grow into. The same could be said of teenagers and adults. And I think this, or some concept of this, of Self, of being. Something that persists despite all choices and paths, is one of the main concepts in Homestuck relating to the Ultimate Self, And how the Ultimate Self relates to the choosing of Sburb to a Mythological Role. -teapotTrickster

[fanartlover1234]

LITTLE GAMES

Y/n enjoys games but this one gets her in trouble with her boss ( takes place before thomas)

A runner.

You were a runner, you were good at your job but sometimes you prefered doing little games on a run to make it les tiring and boring.

You were also a fan of games outside the maze, during bonfires like beer pong, cause "gallys specal very suspicus moonshine drink pong" is a mouthful or truth or dare, sometimes even a little bet with few gladers from time to time.

Like today, you were at the bonfire, you best friend Newt laughing as you told him the bet you had made with Minho after an accident in the maze when luckly a griever didnt see you but kicked you with his metal leg sending you flying and slashing your arm on a rock and grew uncouncious due to the blow on the back knocking the air out of you.

"So let me see if i understand you, you and Minho made a bet that if he can catch you tomorrow after the sun goes beyond the wall you dont go into the maze untill you heal but if he doesnt"

"I get to go in the next day already"

You had been begging Minho to let you run as you have been dying of doing nothing since the accident so when you proposed the bet to him he wasnf sure knowing you are a good runner but after some convincing he caved in.

Newt was sceptical about the situation, he believed you ofcourse but he also knew that Minho had been in the glade for longer time then you.

"Y'know he is fasted than you right"

"I have a hiding chance"

"Hiding is your only chance"

So here you were a day later hiding behind a hut when you heard a snap behind you turing around you saw ben and the other, leaving only one way for you to run, they didnt chase you, Minho had asked him to help him, he couldnt have the girl he is head over heals for die in the maze.

Y/n knew there was only two hours left, she could do it, she stoped for a moment looking at camp seeinb all the runner except for Minho head to bed before she continued running.

She soon reached the corner of the wall and hit it, she was dead, she knew that much, her only hope was stay low and hope Minho was far away but that hope was crushed when she turned and saw minho blocking the only fully free path for her and they were now surrounded by too many trees for her to properly run from him.

"Looks like you lost"

"Not yet, i can still fight"

Minho pushed off the wall signinb as he looked at her.

"You just dont give up do you" he said as he walked closer to her.

"Never" she said trowing a punch at him but he blocked it he didnt plan to fight her nor did she, she doesnt want to fight him, she grown yo have a crush on him but she couldnt stay another day doing nothing so she trew another punch steping back as Minho still moved towards her but this time catching her wrist while his other hand found her other hand placing tjem together and pinning them above her head oncs the reached the wall.

Making sure she didnt hit her head he bent lowered his hand that held both her wrists behind her head making her arms bend.

He leansd down so he could face her.

"I wo-oww"he yelled out as she bent her wrist so her elbow would hit the side of his head.

He looked at her as she smirked.

He pulled the hand from behind her head and up making her arms straight up, free hamd going on her hip pushing her more into the wall.

Y/n tried kicking him but placed one of his legs between her making sure his upper thigh was not touching her in her private parts but them both knew if she moved she would rub against his leg.

She looked up at him, hus face looking at her his eyes trailing her, she felt her cheeks flush as she suddenly didnt feel so confident anymore, she felt small under his gaze as she looked away from him.

Minho examened her her eyes quickly running over his face her lips parted before the pink shade on her cheeks grew as she averted her gaze, he loved the girl, perhaps too much but seeing her like this so weak and traoed by him shying away from his gaze.

Minho knew her well enough to know that she was most likely the only person who could match his confidence and flirty nature so her shying from him was and unneeded ego boost.

"You lost"

He whispered he could see her rollinb her eyes even if she avoided his.

His hand moved from her hip to her facr gently moving her to look at him her y/e/c eyes looking at him before she moved her face their lips touching just barely but enough for Minho to step back a little.

"I like you" Y/n blurted out.

"Y/n, i like you as well but we cant"

"Why not" even she was suprised by her sudden urge to quit hiding " life moves fast, even here, and if you dont stop for a while you will miss it" Minho looked at the girl " look i have been here for over three years and life was rushing in the same circle over and over but then you came its was like life just stoped for a while okey"

"Y/n"

"I like you Minho, i should of said it faster but i kept disracting myself from it with these stupis games okey, i love you dude"

Minho moved to her again grabing behind her head pulling her in kiss for a few secondd before pulling back "playing too many little games, might get you in trouble, princess"

[krikeymate]

I’m sure you’ve written something about this before but what would happen if say Sam’s hallucinations got worse. There’s another ghostface killer after them but Sam can’t differentiate between what’s real and what isn’t, how would they play out?

I feel like I have spoken about this before but for the life of me I can't find the damn post.

I feel like she would certainly get more erratic, more defensive, more protective. More paranoid. She'd begin to question everyone around her. Except Tara, never Tara. People begin to question her sanity, whether she might be doing this. Mindy warns Tara that maybe this time she'll be safer away from Sam. It infuriates her. How dare she suggest such a thing? This isn't Sam's fault, she isn't doing this. She storms away from her.

Ghostface would definitely use Sam's deteriorating mental state to their advantage. More tech, using recordings, perhaps sending ai generated images to her phone of people she loves injured/dead, manips of her in a Ghostface costume/with a bloody knife.

Sam's pacing, muttering to herself frantically, oblivious to her sister trying to call her name. They're not safe, there's danger all around them, and her father won't shut the fuck up. He keeps telling her to take the initiative, to take out all the threats. He keeps asking her if she's just going to stand by and let her little sister get butchered. Again.

"Sam! Sam!" Tara yells, grabbing at her sister's arms.

The movement makes her freeze, she almost lashes out in surprise, but catches herself at the last moment, simply grabbing back at Tara's arm instead.

"What is it," she asks urgently, suddenly on alert. "What's wrong?"

Tara stares back at her with wide eyes, lips downturned. "What's wrong? What's wrong? You're acting like a crazy person, Sam. That's what's wrong!"

Sam feels like she's been punched in the chest. Crazy. Her sister thinks she's crazy?

"I'm worried for you," Tara continues. "Please," she begs, reaching a hand up to cup Sam's cheek. "Tell me what's going on in that head of yours."

Sam turns her head, kissing Tara's palm. "I'm sorry," she whispers. "I didn't mean to scare you, I'm just... trying to process everything."

Tara's eyes soften. "You don't scare me, Sam."

For a moment, Sam's filled with confidence. "We need to leave, we can't stay here anymore. Ghostface is always one step ahead of us, we need to get out of here and tell no one where we're going."

Then it all comes crashing down.

Tara pulls away, frowning. "We can't just disappear, what about Chad and Mindy, what about Danny?"

Sam bites her lip, staring down at her sister intently. "We can't trust them. They... it's too much of a coincidence. The things they know..."

"Sam, of course we can trust them! They're our friends... our family." Tara can't believe what she's hearing.

"You are my family. They... they know where we are, they know our weaknesses, and yet they're always suspiciously absent whenever we're attacked! Ghostface always goes after the people closest to us, so why haven't they been targeted?" Sam doesn't know who's speaking anymore, her, or her father.

"Then trust me! I trust them."

"Because you've got such a great track record with that."

Tara flinches, taking several steps back. It takes a moment for Sam to register the words that came out of her mouth. When it does, her mouth drops open, horrified.

"Tara... I-" Sam reaches out an arm. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean it like that..."

"Then what did you mean?" Despite the tears in Tara's eyes, her voice is steady, she doesn't look away.

Sam steps forward, and when Tara doesn't retreat, she rests her hands on her shoulders. She has to convince her. She doesn't know what she'll do if she doesn't agree to leave with her. They have to leave.

"It's always someone we know, Tara. Always."

Tara looks away, squeezing her eyes shut.

"I'm sorry. I just want to keep you safe. I can't lose you Tara. You're my whole world."

Her sister takes a deep breath before looking back at her. "Fine. But we aren't going to just disappear, okay? The others deserve to know, in case they aren't trying to kill us."

"You can tell them after we've already left, not before."

"Fine."

Tara hopes this helps, that this is what Sam needs.

[cinna-rose]

So I replayed the Baxter dlc and got hit with inspiration. I 100% believe that as soon as Baxter left the restaurant, he was freaking out. So here's my attempt on how that went.

"I'll leave you to catch up and discuss the next steps on your own terms. I will see some or perhaps all of you soon."

"Have a nice evening."

It was as if I was trying to get out of there quickly. Was it because I was trying to run? To avoid the one thing - the one person - that'll always be a cruel reminder of what I've done.

Why?

Why did it have to be him?

Sora Last.

Once I was far from staring eyes, the walls I'd been holding up so well came crashing down instantly. Perfect posture turned into a desperation to keep balance from falling from shock - trying to keep something of stability by holding myself.

To try and protect myself.

How could Sora Last be the one to make me feel so weak - even after five years of distance?

Distance because of me.

It doesn't make sense. How did I get so attached? We were nothing more than a summer fling!? He was supposed to be like all the others - a fun experience for a time before we cut ties. It's the normal for me - and Sora managed to break that.

Who am I kidding? I know why - It's because no one was like him. I hate yet adore how kind he is. Everything that Sora Last is pure kindness. No matter what I did, he never gave me a judgeful look or expected more. Always understanding and empathetic, Sora was someone special.

Someone I could never hope to keep for myself.

No. Sora doesn't need me. He didn't need me then, and he doesn't need me now. Sora seemed to be doing well on his own. He needs someone who can give him everything he wants.

I don't think I ever was that someone for him.

I forced myself out of my thoughts and decided that leaning against a wall and reflecting on the past wouldn't be the best look. I managed to collect myself before actually leaving.

...

Once in the safety of solitude in my apartment, I allowed myself to relax and process the situation.

Sora Last, by chance, was back in my life.

I almost can't believe it, but I can't get what he said out of my head.

"I thought you weren't coming back."

The way he said it, the look in his eyes that had all kinds of emotions inside, and the way he stepped closer. I can't get it out of my head. It was a moment of weakness, yet I can't say that I don't mind seeing him again.

I knew he missed me. There had to be a reason why he kept messaging me after a while. Sora would always say in the guise of checking on me, but that fell apart when their messages would ask for a sign.

Reaching for my phone, I went straight to Sora's number to read through past messages from Sora. They ranged from casual check-ins to pleas to try and talk.

Even after all these years, I could never delete his number. I could come up with reason after reason to convince myself, but I never went through ridding the one connection I had left to Sora - even if I wouldn't dare to meet him halfway.

Yet, I can't help but think I deserved worse from Sora. I hurt him and treated him terribly after everything was over. He didn't act upset - he just smiled and accepted my presence.

I wonder what he was thinking when he saw me again. How is he handling this?

What if this could be another chance?

No.

What Sora and I had is over. There's no point in bringing up old wounds when there's a wedding to focus on. Once this is over, we go our separate ways, and Sora can stay in my memories.

Sora will be okay. He can move on from me. He doesn't need me in his life.

It's better this way.

It's for the both of us.

[ameliawarnerr]

Getaway Car

Chapter 5

Previous Chapter: here

Pairing: Jake x MC

Trope: Enemies to lovers

Overview: To catch a thief, you need to become a thief. So to catch a hacker, you have to become one.

~~~ “I'll work with you and pretend to be your fake girlfriend.” A smile, almost a smirk appears on his lips. “But we need rules.”

He stands up. “Yes, rules and practice.” ~~~

Jake—

My sleep schedule was never ideal and I take the whole blame for that. However when I had time to sleep, I slept like dead. And that was a fact until last night. I grab the cup of hot coffee and perch down on a chair.

I have no idea if she was doing it on purpose. I wouldn't spare a minute of surprise if she was, though. We’d somehow manage to get tangled in the middle of the night, then she'd get possessed by a spirit that I had no idea existed in my house and move away abruptly waking me up. She did it several times. I was half convinced to drop her off the bed and the other half wanted to wrap my hand around her waist so tightly that she wouldn’t be able to get away from me. I ended up doing neither which for me, resulted in ruination of my sleep and a headache.

I take a sip of the coffee, a slight relaxing sensation making me want to throw myself on the couch and restore my energy with a nap. Then a mental list of all things I need to do today displays in front of me as I close my eyes. I sigh and open my eyes.

Moments later, another headache in an eccentric shape and form descends the stairs. Her hair is damp and she's wearing a black t-shirt of mine which I don't recall giving her as it's one of my favourites. It is as catastrophic as the morning itself that she looks horrifyingly captivating in it. The thought concerns me since it is nothing but a plain black t-shirt that doesn't even fit her properly.

Headache. It's the headache messing up with my brain. Or perhaps the type of temptation we feel towards alcohol when we are perfectly aware of the consequences.

Once she makes it to the floor, I spin the chair to face the other way. “How’d you sleep last night?” I ask, sarcasm pouring out my speech.

“Perfectly fine.” Her voice matches my tone. Then, a hand appears from my left, taking the cup from my hand. She walks across the kitchen island and sips the coffee.

I never share my coffee. I wouldn't even share it even with my best friend if I had one. “I guess sharing the bed like two sophisticated adults didn't end up as a good idea for you.” She taunts, quoting me.

I smile. “Well, it turns out we weren't a pair of sophisticated adults, one of us is still fond of childishness.”

She takes another sip. “That being you?”

I was ready with another reply, after all, arguments are my forte. But all the words dry out when she leans over to the surface of the island and my t-shirt fails to cover skin. She places the cup on the surface and pushes it towards me.

She is doing it on purpose, after all. She's no fool. Though it took her a while to realise that our hands tracing each other's skin was not only a moment of weakness for her but also me. Even though I had retreated from her body, I am aware of the part of me that screamed to continue. That part is igniting.

If she wants to play that way, fine. I'm more than happy. I don't fall for her trap, I look straight into her eyes, not allowing my gaze to descend.

“We need to talk about the proposal you spoke of.” She begins.

I continue drinking the coffee. I place the cup back. “Yes, we do. And we will. But don't you wish to have breakfast first?”

“No, I don't have an appetite in the mornings.” She reaches out her hand, the corner of my t-shirt falling off her shoulder in the process. I give her the cup.

She drinks without adjusting the t-shirt.

I stand up, not allowing her the advantage of angle anymore. “Very well. Neither do I. So let's get to it.”

She straightens. All mishieve leaving her body as her eyes become distant. I haven't even revealed a word of my proposal to her and she's already scheming. I wish I could peek into her mind just to know how she does it, locks her emotions behind a door and at that moment, all she cares about is her reasons and rationalities.

I work the same way but my ways of locking away my emotions are merely a result of terrible situations that called for it. The way I scheme now without my heart involved is due to deprivation of my emotions being addressed and my heart being denied time and time again.

At least, we got something in common.

I walk to the living room, thinking of a way to sound as convincing as possible. Because what I am about to reveal to her wasn't in my initial plans and I will not blame her if she thinks all this is a joke.

Bunching the blanket in my hand and keeping it beside me, I settle on the couch. She follows me and perches down opposite to me.

“Does your proposal involve me getting out of this house anytime soon?” She begins.

“Yes and no.” I refrain to explain why and start with my pitch. “I want you to work with me on my final mission.”

Her eyebrows furrow. “Final mission? So I was right about you asking me to work for you.”

“No. I don't want you to work for me. I want you to work with me. Alongside me. Similar to how we did earlier but at the same time, totally different.”

She nods.

I continue, “I have been trying to erase all digital data about me that is available on the Dark Web. I have succeeded in doing so. I had to run errands to every person who knew even a little bit about me and fool them into thinking that I no longer exist. It wasn't difficult, only time consuming. But there remains one place where all the information about me is stored and erasing it from that place isn't going to be as easy.”

“Tell me about the place.” She speaks, her voice catching me off guard. It's all serious without a tinge of childishness to it.

“Yes. Of course.” I fumble a little before gaining composure in my speech again. “There’s an illegal dynastic corporation that keeps information regarding every single more than average hacker on the Dark Web, dead or alive. They’re called—”

“Seraphic, ironically so.”

She's aware of them. Months, she only started hacking months ago and her progress and knowledge is highly impressive.

“Yes. Like I said, it's a dynastic corporation. All the big hands are of their family members.” I pause when she readjusts and runs a hand over the length of her arm.

I grab the blanket from my side, continuing in the process, “I could get rid of my information from them but it seems like they have a personalised software protecting all the files which needs to be taken care of only after I have seen how it works.” I stand up, and offer her the blanket as she takes it. I turn back, walking to my place. “Which means—”

“You need to get involved with them in person.” She says, almost as if talking to herself.

“Exactly. But my forte is hacking and planning. Talking to people, winning their trust and pretending to befriend them to get what I want is something—”

“You’re not capable of.” She cuts me off again only to complete my sentence.

“More or less, yes. But I still need to get involved with them in person but there's no guarantee they'll trust me, therefore, I need you—”

“You need me to engage with them, make them trust us so that you get access to what you desire.”

“Stop finishing my sentences.” I hiss.

“Stop being obvious.” She says as she covers herself with the blanket.

I eye the blanket. “I didn't hear you thanking me.” I comment.

“Perhaps, I didn't then.”

I roll my eyes. I have no idea how we are going to work together. To be honest, that's what I had thought after the first time I texted her. I was proved terribly wrong by our compatibility in investigations. I want to be proven wrong again.

“I’ll provide you with information about each member of the family. While we are working on that, you'll live here and all your expenses will be paid without question.” I offer.

She considers only for a moment before saying, “That's it? That's all I’ll get? You know, there is a threat to my life on getting involved with them. They will kill us the moment they get to know about this. You are well accomplished in escaping and I am not.” She showcases her vulnerability in a way that it sounds like we are talking business. Her demeanour actually changes when talking about business.

“I guarantee you your safety. Shall it come to escaping, we’d run away together. Either that or you'll be the one to escape first.” I assure her receiving a nod from her. “I plan to steal money from them in the same process, depending on how much I manage to get, you'll have a share of it.”

She opens her mouth but stops herself from saying whatever she was going to.

“I didn't know you were the type to hold back.” I speak, trying get her to speak.

She ignores my comment and asks, “What are you planning to do?”

“I told you a minute ago. Do I need to write it down?”

“No,” She glares at me. “You are destroying all your information. This is your final mission.” I don't speak, letting her mind wonder until she comes to the conclusion herself. Her gaze descends as she thinks. Then, she looks at me. “You are escaping. From the Dark Web. For—”

“Forever, yes.” I confirm.

That is why she was such a big obstacle in my plan. She was a time bomb that could go off anytime and become the ruination of my plan. I'd have to collect the pieces and redo it again and again.

When we were working together, she was beside me. Although, I took a step back at the end but it was for her. It was difficult living in my twilight existence where one moment I had to run and the other I had to assure her. So I backed off. I wanted this plan to work out so that I could live a normal life with her. But she didn't have a penny of patience. She took several steps ahead of me and stood against me. And that's when the reason for my plan reshaped and changed. The reason is no longer the existence of someone else. It is for me. I want it to vanish for me, because I don't care if I deserve a normal life. All I care about is that I get to choose if I do deserve it. I choose to take it.

“Escaping where?” She asks, suddenly more interested in the conversation.

“I'll change my identity and settle somewhere isolated, similar to a place like this one but I will not be hiding there. I'll be living there.” I'm no longer looking at her. I feel an ignition in my heart by merely imagining a life where I’d have to care for electricity bills and shit rather than surviving.

Perhaps, she wouldn't have understood it if I had told her this when we were investigating Hannah’s case but after all the abysmal conditions she's been through in search of me, she knows what significance the word living has to it.

Living is unlike existing. Living is the will to explore how it's like to have a safe place to call home, how it feels to have a pet, how it feels to be able to visit places without covering your face. Living is going to bed at night without worrying about getting caught, waking up in the morning with relief rather than dark circles and tiredness.

Living is that piece of jewellery that we see in a shop daily while passing by but can't afford it. I no longer desire passing by with a thought saying ‘maybe someday’, if I cannot afford it, I’ll snatch it.

Then, I look at her. She's lost in thoughts as the blanket falls off her. “Then you'll be free as well.” I tell her.

A pause. She says, “How do we accomplish the plan?”

I stand up and walk towards her until my feet touch hers. I bend and grab the blanket, covering her with it. When my face is inches away from hers, I look into her eyes. “You’d have to pretend to be my girlfriend.”

~~~~~~~~

MC—

This could turn out wrong in uncountable ways. Yet I feel convinced to accept his offer. It's either that or let myself be locked in this asylum of a house until he works out his plan himself.

I have to admit, he has some sort of manipulation skills. I had the feeling that I would be accepting this offer the moment he said he needed me to work with him.

I walk around the kitchen as I mentally list all pros and cons of working with him again. I stop when all I can see are benefits.

It's almost night time and I had asked him for some time to think. I glance at the door to his working room where he is currently sitting. I walk with purpose and knock on the door.

“Come in.” He says and I open the door.

He's sitting on his chair, his eyes glued to the screen. Then he presses a few keys and turns the chair towards me. And

I think the blood under the skin of my cheeks is coming to the surface.

He's wearing glasses.

Glasses that are a bit larger than they need to be.

He brushes his hair back with one hand and I clear my throat.

“I’ve thought about it. And I accept it. I'll work with you and pretend to be your fake girlfriend.” A smile, almost a smirk appears on his lips. “But we need rules.”

He stands up. “Yes, rules and practice.”

Next chapter: here

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Okay I had no idea it will turn into enemies to lovers AND fake dating. But do I regret it? Absolutely not.

Spice spice spice about to come

Tell me what u think!

Thanks for reading!

Love ya

;)

[adrikazu]

c/w: raining, waiting for a bus, running home in the rain, visiting your home

5:21 PM

the weather wasn’t treating you right. it was windy, and pouring, and the trees shook and the sky screamed. but you still stood outside, even if you were to catch a cold.

your umbrella was far gone away, and your clothes were drenched. the tiredness was starting to get to you, why were you outside again?

…that’s right. school activities kept everyone after for a while, but it ended up being a struggle, no one noticing the incoming rain. you were waiting at the bus stop, for a train that seemed like it would never arrive.

you took a moment to look at yourself though. your uniform needed a wash for sure, your eyes were glossed with sleepiness. your bag was the only thing that wasn’t drenched in water. buying a water proof backpack surely was the right move.

but that didn’t matter right now. what mattered was your patience running out for this bus, and how you were slowly convincing yourself to just walk home in the pouring rain. your backpack’s chances of water leaking in would rise by a whole lot, the chance of you getting sick would rise a lot too.

but the bus is taking so long…

“Oh wow, that’s a sight.”

you look up, your face turning into a scowl at the comment. but your scowl quickly subsided, and was replaced with a deadpan. your arms were quick to cross.

“Osamu Miya, in the flesh, telling me this is a sight to see.” He grinned tiredly, his umbrella hardly being able to carry all the rain.

“Whaddya doing out here. I thought your club ended early today?” He moved under the bus stop room, to shake off the water on his umbrella. you huffed, your arms dropping.

“I thought so too..” your eyes drifted to him. “Volleyball kept you?” He nodded, his eyes moving to make contact with yours. it made you weak.

“Well? are you waiting for the bus?” He scoffs at you.

“We’re at a bus stop.” You deadpan harder.

“Where’s Atsumu then?? I thought you two went home together.”

The previous chill face he had on quickly began to match yours, and a laugh threatened to escape your mouth, and it did. “He’s staying after for longer, more practice I assume.” You sighed and shook your head.

“He’s gotta get a grip yknow?” Osamu chuckled and shook his head. “Oh for sure, when will that be? No clue.”

Another comfortable silence fell over you two. your attention moved back to the rain and scenery,

Autumn really did have beauty in it’s painful hello, and summer left with a bang when school started again. the orange and red leaves littered the ground, being drowned by the water.

the sky was dark, as it was getting more and more late, the train would not come. traffic maybe? or perhaps it forgot, either way your patience was running thin. and if yours was, osamu’s was definitely long gone.

“Hey aren’t ya tired of waiting for this bus? at this point Atsumu might be comin’ out, s’ that late.” You laughed, and picked up your bag that you put down.

“And hell if i’m waiting to see him. i’m gonna walk home.” Osamu’s jaw dropped. “In this rain?? you’ve lost your mind Y/n.” you cleared your voice.

“it’s either that or I stand here and wait until the next day for a bus.” You two stared at eachother, both considering the options.

But Osamu picked up his bag and umbrella, and chuckled. “You know what? Screw it let’s go.” You laughed loudly, before walking to him.

“Make space under your umbrella let’s go. Do you live on the right side?” He hummed yes. “Alright, let’s go.”

Immediately you felt regret drench you, while so did the rain.

Out running with Osamu to go home, the damn umbrella flew away to god knows where, and now both of you were running in the rain, in whichever direction possible. you could hardly see.

“SAMU LETS GOOO” “WHERE EVEN ARE YOU???” He made out your laugh ahead of him, and picked up the pace. Quickly his laugh started escaping him, and you two ran until you were running past houses.

“OOOHHH HEY I FOUND MINE!!!” He ran after you, not knowing where he even was. you fumbled with the keys, but eventually the door opened and you two stepped inside.

the first thing you did was rub your eyes, then turn on the lights, and then take off your shoes.

Osamu did the same.

You put you and Osamu’s phone to charge, so he could look up his address and find his way home. “Welcome to my humble abode, Samu.” He looked at you jokingly with a face of disappointment, which you complained.

You take off your sweater and bag, placing them down by the door. immediately you walked up the step and into a closet, in search of towels. Osamu stood by the door in his socks, looking like he just stepped out the shower with his unfirom on.

you laugh. “Ya look stupid!!” His eyebrows furrow at you, despite the smile on his face basically shouting out that he’s happy. “You look stupid!” It was your turn to laugh again.

Regardless, you throw him a towel. He raises his eyebrows and squints his eyes as a signal of a thank you, making you chuckle. You grab a towel for yourself too.

Immediately, you sit down on the floor. He follows you and does the same, right infront if you. you lean back into the wall. You sit in silence.

Osamu miya snickers at you, your eyebrow raises. “What?”

“You do look dumb. Your shirts been inside out all day huh?”

Your eyes widen, and quickly putting your arms inside your shirt to turn it around from the inside, making a laugh stifle from Osamu.

You quickly realize that he was lying; he knew you’d be quick to check, and he wanted to annoy you.

“I hate ya, miya.” He pouts jokingly. “No more Osamu?�� You laugh at him.

“… I hate you too L/n.” You gasp. “That’s not fair!” He gasps in return. “How come?”

You stop, unable to produce any words. He smiles. “Yeah that’s what i thought.” He chuckles.

The comfortable silence falls back on the both of you. But you’re happy.

“Thank you for keeping me company in the rain, Osamu.” You stop to thank him, even if he came into your house and was mean about it. His thick eyebrows raise, and then fall back down.

“You’re very welcome, Y/n.”

[elliemarchetti]

Unstable System

My first time writing for @marauders-rarepair-fics and I’m so excited. Hope someone likes this, and let me know if you’re interested in other underappreciated couples!

Prompt: Yellow (Prompt 1)

Ship: Sirius x Marlene x Remus or Marlene x Remus if you’re not into throuples, up to interpretation I guess

Words: 647

In the position she has been covering for nearly two weeks, Marlene was starting to feel a bit like a tennis ball, tossed from one side to the other of the court – the squabble escalated into an argument made of silences and sulking – by two obstinate players, namely Sirius and Remus. As if founding herself thorn between her best friend and boyfriend wasn’t enough, she didn’t even know exactly what happened, only that a prank had gone wrong and the other Marauders refused to get involved to make things right.

“You know I always do everything I can to defend him, but this time it’s up to Moony to choose whether to forgive him or not,” James had told her when she confronted him, and Peter had been even less helpful, saying he was willing to alternate the days he would spend with one or the other if things didn’t work out.

“They should manage on their own, they’re old enough by now,” commented Lily, between a yellow Every Flavour Bean and another, when she’d seen her drop facedown into her bed after dinner, and she would’ve agreed, if the issue hadn’t been between those two specific Gryffindors. Sirius was proud even when he apologized, and she knew too damn well how infuriating it could be, but he suffered greatly when there was no immediate forgiveness on the other side once he pronounced the magical word sorry, perhaps due to his impatient character or perhaps because of the rift his family created between him and his brother, a relationship apparently irreparable despite their young age. On the other hand, Remus was a good soul, patient, understanding, and the betrayal, as he put it, pushed him to distance himself only for fear of being hurt.

“What if it happens again? What if I’m just an expendable pawn in the long story of his life?” he had asked her one morning, as they climbed the stairs leading to their next class. “I’m not as sociable as him, I’m not that good at making friends. You, Sirius, James… you’re everything to me. My parents are old, I know they won’t be able to stay with me forever, and without your support, after all these years at Hogwarts…”

Marlene didn’t need to hear the end of the sentence to understand, because she shared those concerns as well, although among girls it was less rare to console each other during moments of weakness, while boys tended to bottle up their feelings, especially if they thought they made them look weak. Fortunately, something about her made people feel at ease, and she rarely had to extrapolate certain revelations by skirting around the issue.

“Remus, if James is Sirius’ sun, you are his moon,” she reassured him, but despite her decidedly poetic words, he didn't seem convinced.

“And what does this make you?” he wondered, making her laugh. Even when he was heartbroken, even when he should’ve been the protagonist of the conversation, he couldn’t help but worry about others.

“Probably a star: pretty to look at but not essential,” she decided, taking his arm as they crossed the threshold of the classroom to make sure he sat next to her. She hadn’t said that phrase to make him feel sorry, she knew what her place in Sirius’ life was and she didn’t mind not necessarily being in the first, but Remus seemed horrified.

“You’re not just a pretty thing to look at!” he exclaimed, catching the unwanted attention of some other students. “If I’m a moon, you’re like a planet of your own, and I orbit around the both of you incessantly.”

“It doesn’t seem like something set to end well,” she replied once she found a desk at the back, wondering if they were still talking about Sirius, and the sensation she felt gripping her guts meant something she should’ve realized sooner.