#to think for 1 second and recognize when youre having like the most first world problem ever

[fagoutboy]

foblr is so funny you are all so privileged

[izadi234]

Forget me not

-Warning: Contain yandere themes, neglected! gn!reader, mention of low self-esteem, the writer's first language isn't English. Yan! Batfamily x gn! reader Chapters Chapter 1 (You're here) Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4

Chapter 1

You can't remember a time when you didn't live under the roof of Wayne Manor. Those hallways that for a 4-year-old child seemed chilling and eternal, today you consider a prison. And no, they don't keep you locked up or anything like that, in fact they give you a lot of freedom within this house, but you can consider that so-called 'freedom' as negligence.

Yes, negligence. Of course you had clothes to wear, a bed to sleep in, a roof to shelter in, but what about love? If they could ask you if you have ever felt loved in your home, the answer would be simple.

No not once

Bruce Wayne, your father, may be one of the biggest billionaires in this world but it seems his love and attention was limited towards you. But, with your brothers? It seemed to be an endless well of love and patience that he gave them.

Unconditional love, something you always looked for.

Or maybe he was busy owning one of the most successful companies in the world or cosplaying a vampire to help the city.

Yes… in short, Bruce no longer knew what excuse to give himself for not spending time with you.

And your brothers? They weren't much better. Richard "Dick" Grayson may be very loving and charming but with you? You were just a zero on the left. He didn't think you needed attention as much as his traumatized brothers and sisters. You, being a normal civilian, knew that you were safe from anything, so he only limited himself to greeting you with that little smile that at first seemed warm to you, but now it just cracks your teeth to see it.

As if he were the perfect brother.

Jason Todd was everything to you until it became nothing. You met him in his days as Robin and the truth is he was nice to you and you had a good relationship with him (they are only three years apart). When Dick wasn't at the mansion he would play with you and let you watch him train. He was your greatest confidant, your best friend… Until the Joker killed him. When he came back to life you couldn't recognize him, was he really your brother? A being full of hate and revenge? So much so that even though he saw you once after years, he just turned around.

And although he already has a better relationship with his family, it seems that your loving relationship as brothers ended that day he died. He didn't even look at you, much less talk to you.

What a hypocrite.

You can't say anything about Timothy Drake.  Seriously, and it's not because he's a great brother, it's because you've literally never talked to him.  You only know of his existence because of the times Dick shouted his name in excitement at him every time he came to the mansion and because you found out that Todd wanted to kill him.  Furthermore, your room and his are in the same hallway with the slight difference that your room was at the end.

Spoiled child...

Damian Wayne was a totally unique case.  He was violent and explosive but apparently your father preferred him over you.  Damian considered you a zero on the left.  He never found value in you, neither in your physique (you didn't fight), nor in your mind (you're not outstanding) so he didn't waste even a second insulting you or degrading you.

According to him, you were just a nuisance to the Wayne family and a disappointment to the Batfamily. And it didn't matter if you were going to complain to Bruce about Damian's behavior, he always made excuses for it.

Is this how unconditional love looks like?

Cassandra Cain was another ghost like you inside the mansion... With the only difference that she did pay attention to her even though she didn't talk much.  She was never interested in interacting with you even though you tried several times.

Even a mute could attract more attention than you...

Stephanie Brown.  An extroverted girl who wasn't afraid to give her opinion, but apparently she didn't have any opinion about you.  She always gets excited to see others and she was quick to look for things to do with them.  But, if she saw you, she would just give you a slightly awkward smile and she would get out of there quickly.

She runs away from you like you have the plague.

Barbara Gordon is seen by most of the family as an older sister, however you see her as a grumpy secretary.  You could be the most respectful person in the world towards her but just seeing you next to her asking what she was doing made her look at you as if you were a villain she is looking for.

I'm sure she hasn't seen a villain with the irritation she sees you with.

Duke Thomas is the new addition to the Wayne Family.  You have nothing against him, he is a kind and smiling boy. Who you could even consider to be the kindest to you of all your brothers.

When he first came to Wayne Manor, despite you being a nobody in that family, he took an interest in you. At first you thought he did it out of pity, but when one day you heard him asking Alfred where you were because he wanted to show you something, that's when you realized he wasn't doing it out of pity. And that made you feel special, being the sibling Duke turned to.

But you couldn't help but hate how easily he integrated into the family. How easily they accepted him.

And last but not least, Alfred Pennyworth.  He tried to be there for you and he encouraged you to keep trying to get your family's attention. But even with the butler's attention you couldn't help but long for the affection of your father and brothers.

You are more sure that without him you would have gone crazy in that big mansion. 

For that reason, the only ones you would miss once you left that place would be Alfred and Duke.

"Would you be mad at me if I decided to leave the mansion?”

What a bad way to start a conversation.

You were sitting at the kitchen counter. As was custom you watched Alfred make breakfast, occasionally helping him. The butler, upon hearing your question, momentarily stopped what he was doing. Thanks to his poker face, Alfred didn't show any surprise but you knew well that he wasn't expecting that question.

"Pardon me, master (name)?”

"Would you forget about me if I left the mansion?" you asked

"Of course not!" Alfred quickly answered, his tone of voice a little high. However, upon noticing the change in his tone of voice he composed his posture again.

“I mean, of course I would never forget you, master (name). Why do you ask me those questions?”

"You know why Alfie" you sighed.

Alfred likewise sighed and turned off the stove where he was cooking. He walked over to you and sat down in front of you.

"Master (name)…" he was saying but you interrupted him.

"No Alfred… Could you let me talk… please..?" you asked gently but firmly

"Since I came to this place fifteen years ago I have always been part of the ghosts of this mansion and- and I got tired of being that. For a long time I have been thinking about moving somewhere else, away from this mansion, away from them…” You said that last sentence angrier but you controlled your temper.

"But… I can't leave knowing that you don't agree with my decision. I can't stand the thought of you being angry with me.”

You couldn't even imagine a world where he, Alfred Pennyworth, the man who decided to take your father's tablecloth, was angry with you. But even if he gets angry at your decision, you are going to follow your plan to leave the city.

Alfred smiled slightly and took your hand.

"You know very well that I would support you in whatever my little one does. Unless that decision put your life in danger of course" they both laughed at that comment.

"So that's a yes?" you asked with hope in your eyes and voice

"Yes" he nodded "Just take care of yourself"

You could see in his eyes that there was a bit of fear in his eyes as well as something else that you didn't know what it was and you didn't pay attention to it at that moment.

You should have paid more attention to him in that moment.

"Thanks Alfie" you hugged him regardless of the fact that the table was between the two of you. The butler hugged you anyway, his hug felt warm and safe.

"You don't have to thank me, Master (name)"

Then you broke away from the hug and ran to your room with a big smile on your face. You were finally going to be able to live the way you wanted, without living in the shadow of everyone. Finally free.

Once in your room you started making some calls and organizing your things quietly (not that the inhabitants of this mansion cared much about what you did) so as not to attract attention. In a week, this place will only be a bad dream and you will be able to move from this nightmare to a dream with a happy ending.

Or not?

Hellooo! I hope you liked the start of this story! To be honest, this has been something I have wanted to do for a long time. And Let me remind you that English isn't my first language so if you find some mistakes I would appreciate fo you to tell me in a good way.

Anyway, if you liked it I'll appreciate for you leave a heart.

See you in the next one!!

-Izadi <3

[novaursa]

The Cold Embrace (1/2)

Requests are closed!

- Summary: When your older brother, Jacaerys, promised you to the Warden of the North as an alliance offering, your world crashed. Because you knew one thing: dragons die in the North - and not even honorable Lord Stark could change that fact.

- Paring: velaryon!reader/Cregan Stark

- Note: The reader is an only daughter of Rhaenyra and has a striking resemblance to her. The reader is also bonded with Silverwing. This series will be on my second list, which has the link on my first one that is pinned to the top. @missisjoker I hope this is what you had in mind. Let me know if I'm on the right track. 🙂

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Word count: 7 500+

- Next part: 2/2

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @jellybeanstacey0519 @ohhdearmargot @vastseamind @strengthandstay @anne-mary-1d @lovelyteenagebeard

- A/N: Yeah, this came way earlier then expected. But you guys liked the idea so much more than I anticipated. So, I've decided to spend last night working on this for you guys. The second part should be out tomorrow. Let me know what you think. I love all of you. ❤️

You stand in the brisk morning air, the cold wind biting at your cheeks as you prepare to mount Silverwing. Her massive form shifts beside you, her silver scales gleaming like molten moonlight against the grey clouds above. You can feel her anticipation under your skin, the bond between you and your dragon humming with unspoken energy. She longs for the sky, to fly north where the winds grow colder and the world harsher.

But you are not ready to take flight—not yet. Not with the anger burning inside you.

"You're being unreasonable," Jacaerys snaps, his voice sharp as he paces before you. He’s dressed for the journey north, his cloak billowing in the wind, but there’s something frantic in his movements, something desperate.

"Unreasonable?" You scoff, your hands tightening into fists at your sides. The sting of betrayal simmers beneath your skin. "You promised me to a man I've never met, Jace! A Northern brute! Without even asking me—"

Jacaerys whirls around, his dark eyes flashing with frustration. "He's not a brute, Y/N. Cregan Stark is an honorable man, more honorable than most in the South. The North would follow him into the very mouth of the abyss if he asked. And he’s given his word to support our mother’s claim. We need his alliance. We need him."

Your lips curl into a sneer, the heat rising in your chest, fueling the fire of your indignation. "If you like him so much, perhaps you should marry him!"

He blinks at you, stunned for a heartbeat, before his jaw clenches, the muscle ticking as he struggles for control. "Don’t be absurd. This isn’t about me. It’s about what’s best for our family, for the realm. You’re Rhaenyra’s daughter—your marriage isn’t a matter of love. It’s a duty."

You feel the words like a slap, the weight of expectation heavy and suffocating, like the iron chains they would use to hold down a dragon. You look at him, your older brother, the one who has always been steadfast, always so sure of himself, and for a moment, you don’t recognize him.

"Is that what you think?" Your voice is cold, but beneath it, there’s a tremor of hurt you can’t quite suppress. "That I’m just a pawn? A piece to be traded for an alliance?"

Jacaerys steps closer, lowering his voice, softening, as though he believes that will calm the storm brewing inside you. "You are not a pawn, Y/N. But you are the blood of the dragon. We all have our roles to play in this war."

"You had no right," you hiss, stepping away from him, your boots crunching in the frost-laden grass. "You had no right to promise me to him. To anyone."

"And what would you have me do?" he counters, his patience fraying. "Our enemies surround us. The Lannisters, the Baratheons, the Hightowers—everyone is closing in. The North is our only hope for a strong ally, someone who can challenge them. Cregan Stark is not some savage; he’s a lord with a sense of duty, of honor. He will treat you with respect."

Your laughter is sharp, bitter, and it echoes off the stones of Dragonstone. "Respect? Is that what you call it? Being shipped off like a prize mare to bear the North's sons?"

Jacaerys' face tightens. "I would never do this if I didn’t believe it was necessary. Cregan is a man of his word. He is strong and kind, not like the men you fear. He lost his wife, Arra, and he’s raising their son alone. He needs a partner, someone who will stand beside him—"

"Then send yourself!" you shout, your voice rising with your fury. "If he’s so wonderful, if he’s the great honorable man you say, then you marry him!"

Jacaerys’ face turns red, his frustration boiling over, but for a moment he says nothing. He looks at you as if he’s trying to find the right words, but you see it—the tension in his shoulders, the anger tightening his mouth. "This isn’t a game, Y/N."

"No, it’s not," you say quietly, your voice suddenly cool. "This is my life. My future. And you’ve sold it without even asking me."

Silence hangs heavy between you, the sound of Silverwing’s wings shifting behind you the only break in the air. The dragon’s molten eyes flick toward Jacaerys, sensing the tension, the mounting storm between siblings.

Jacaerys runs a hand through his hair, exasperation written in every line of his face. "I didn’t do this to hurt you. I did it to protect us. To protect our family. You may not see it now, but Cregan will be good to you. The North respects strength, and you are stronger than any woman I know."

Your throat tightens. You want to scream, to rail against him, but a part of you knows Jace is sincere. He isn’t cruel, but he is blind—blind to what he’s asking of you.

"Do you even hear yourself, Jace?" Your voice trembles with the effort to hold back tears. "You’re asking me to leave everything I’ve ever known, to live in a land of snow and ice with a man I’ve never met, all because you think it will save our family? Do you really believe that’s what mother would want?"

He flinches at the mention of your mother, the memory of her fierce love for her children, for her legacy. But he doesn’t back down. "Mother would want us to win."

You stare at him, your heart pounding, torn between the duty that’s been drilled into you since birth and the yearning for freedom, for control over your own fate. You think of your mother, Rhaenyra, and how she fought for her own place, how she refused to let men dictate her life. And yet here you stand, your fate in the hands of another.

Silverwing lets out a low rumble, her massive form shifting impatiently. She is ready, but you are not.

You turn from Jace, your chest tight with too many emotions to name. "I’m flying north because I have no choice. But know this—I will not be a tool, not for you, not for anyone."

Jace says nothing, watching as you pull yourself onto Silverwing’s back, the cold wind whipping through your hair. You do not look back as you urge her into the sky, the powerful beats of her wings carrying you away from Dragonstone, toward the North and the unknown future that awaits you.

But as you soar higher, the air growing colder with every passing mile, one thought burns in your mind: you will forge your own path, no matter what it costs.

The chill of winter’s breath clung to the stones of Winterfell, seeping into the bones of man and beast alike. Cregan Stark stood before the gates, his dark cloak billowing in the biting wind. Beside him were his bannermen and retainers, a stoic, silent line of Northern strength, faces weathered by years of enduring harsh winters. They had gathered to greet the prince from the South and the bride he had promised—a woman whose name had begun to spread in whispers as far as the Dreadfort and beyond the Last Hearth.

Cregan’s jaw was set, his grey eyes scanning the sky. He’d heard the tales—stories of Rhaenyra Targaryen’s daughter, a woman as wild as the lands beyond the Wall, as fierce as her dragon. He imagined what she might be like. Some said she was a reflection of her mother, Rhaenyra—beautiful, with the blood of Old Valyria running hot in her veins. Others said she was untamable, a dragon in human form.

A woman of fire, sent to a land of ice.

"She’ll be a challenge," Cregan’s cousin, Lord Roderick, muttered beside him, his breath visible in the frigid air. "If the tales are true, she won’t be easy to tame."

Cregan didn’t respond immediately. He wasn’t one for gossip, nor did he concern himself with idle rumors. But something about this arrangement unsettled him. When Prince Jacaerys had promised him a wife in exchange for the North’s support, Cregan had not expected the princess herself, a daughter of Rhaenyra. A dragon for a wolf.

A low rumble echoed across the valley then, drawing the attention of every man present. The horses whinnied in distress, stamping their hooves, eyes wide with fear. The air seemed to vibrate with power, an unseen force growing stronger, louder.

“They’re here,” Cregan said quietly, his eyes fixed on the horizon.

Two figures appeared in the sky, massive and dark against the pale, snow-laden clouds. The dragons soared over the towering pines of the Wolfswood, their leathery wings beating rhythmically as they approached Winterfell. Cregan felt a rush of awe despite himself. It was not often that dragons graced these cold lands.

The first dragon—Vermax—descended gracefully, his wings cutting through the air like a blade. Prince Jacaerys sat tall upon his mount, his dark hair whipping in the wind. He was the picture of regal authority, his presence commanding respect even from a distance.

But it was the second dragon that drew Cregan’s gaze. Silverwing, an ancient beast whose silver scales glinted in the weak northern sunlight, landed with a thunderous crash. The earth trembled under her weight, sending the horses into a frenzy. Men struggled to calm the beasts, their hands gripping reins tightly.

Upon her back sat the princess.

Even from afar, Cregan could feel her presence, as sharp as a blade drawn from its scabbard. Her silver hair, so much like her dragon’s, fluttered around her face, but it was her eyes that caught his attention. There was fire there—burning, unyielding. And behind that fire, anger. Deep, simmering anger.

She didn’t want to be here.

Cregan’s chest tightened as he watched her dismount with the fluid grace of someone born to command dragons. There was nothing meek or timid in her stance. Her eyes met his, and for a brief moment, he saw the ire that burned within her. She resented this, resented him, and the weight of the bargain struck between Jacaerys and himself.

Jacaerys approached first, a polite smile tugging at his lips as he offered a short bow. "Lord Stark," he greeted, his voice smooth but firm. "I bring greetings from my mother, Queen Rhaenyra. We are honored by your hospitality."

Cregan inclined his head in return, his gaze flicking to the princess before returning to Jacaerys. "Winterfell welcomes you both. The North stands ready, as promised."

Jacaerys’ smile widened, but it was the princess who drew closer, her expression cold and distant. She remained silent, her eyes locking onto Cregan’s, challenging him with her defiance. There was no warmth in her, no courtesy of courtly manners. Her posture was rigid, tense, as though she would sooner mount her dragon and fly away than speak a word to him.

"So," Cregan said after a pause, his voice steady, his gaze unwavering, "you are the princess."

She lifted her chin slightly, her lips curling into the faintest hint of a sneer. "It seems I am." Her voice was sharp, each word laced with irritation. She glanced at Jacaerys briefly, her eyes narrowing before returning to Cregan. "Though I wasn’t given much choice in the matter."

Cregan’s brow lifted slightly, but he held his ground. He had expected resistance, had prepared himself for the fire she would bring. But seeing it now, face-to-face, was something else entirely.

"You will find that the North values honor," Cregan replied, his tone measured. "And in the North, we do not force our women into anything against their will. If you find yourself unwilling, you may leave at any time."

Her eyes flashed, the fire behind them flaring. "And yet here I stand, promised to a man I’ve never met, in a land I did not choose to come to. You’ll forgive me if I don’t take kindly to your words of freedom."

Jacaerys stepped forward then, placing a calming hand on his sister’s arm, his expression tight. "Y/N, we’ve spoken of this. Lord Stark—"

"Spare me the speeches, Jace," she snapped, pulling her arm free. "You may speak of duty and honor, but that doesn’t change the fact that I was sold for an alliance."

The words hung heavy in the cold air, and for a moment, no one spoke. The bannermen exchanged uneasy glances, shifting on their feet. Cregan, however, stood firm, his eyes locked onto hers.

"You are not in chains, Princess," he said quietly. "And I do not need a wife who resents her place here. But I will not force your hand. If you stay, it will be your choice."

For the first time, her expression faltered, a flicker of surprise passing through her eyes. She hadn’t expected that, hadn’t expected to be given an option. For a long moment, she stared at him, her lips pressed into a thin line as though weighing his words.

"Choice," she muttered, her voice low and bitter. "Do we truly have any?"

Cregan said nothing, meeting her gaze evenly. He could see the war within her, the battle between duty and desire, between the freedom she craved and the chains of obligation. He had known from the start that this arrangement would be no simple matter, and now, standing before her, he understood the full extent of the challenge ahead.

Jacaerys cleared his throat, glancing between them. "Perhaps we should retire inside. The journey was long, and Winterfell’s hearths will offer warmth."

Cregan nodded. "Of course. You are both welcome here."

As they made their way toward the gates, Cregan cast one last glance at the princess. She was fire, fierce and wild. But there was more to her than the fury in her eyes. He could see it, even now—beneath the anger and resentment, there was a strength, a will unbroken. The North would test her, but in time, perhaps she would see that the North was not her enemy.

And neither was he.

The godswood was silent, save for the low rustle of wind through the ancient weirwood branches. The red leaves, stark against the snow-dusted ground, seemed to watch the ceremony unfolding below with a solemn, silent approval. The godswood, ancient and sacred, was a strange contrast to the fiery presence of the dragon lurking at its edge. Silverwing's silver scales shimmered faintly in the dappled light, her massive form curled among the trees like a sleeping predator, but her eyes never left you.

You stood at the heart of the godswood, dressed in a gown of deep silver, embroidered with fine, intricate patterns of the sea and sky—waves crashing into clouds, dragons rising from the ocean. The fabric hugged your frame like a second skin, and the heavy velvet of your cloak, the deep blue of House Velaryon, hung from your shoulders, fastened at your neck by a clasp shaped like a dragon in flight. It was regal, commanding, but it felt like a cage. Every stitch, every seam, was a reminder of the duty that had brought you here, bound by your brother’s word and the fragile alliance it promised.

The northern air was cold, biting against your skin, but you barely felt it. The fire in your chest, the resentment bubbling beneath your surface, kept you warm enough. Jacaerys stood to your right, his dark crimson and black cloak billowing softly in the breeze. He was every inch the prince, with his head held high, his Valyrian features stern, but you knew him better than anyone. His eyes flickered with the same determination that had led him to make this match in the first place, but also with a faint shadow of regret—regret for what he’d asked of you, for what he’d forced upon you.

Cregan Stark stood across from you, tall and unflinching, dressed in the black and grey of his house. His broad shoulders bore the weight of a heavy direwolf-fur cloak, and his expression was as cold and impenetrable as the North itself. Yet, as his steel-grey eyes met yours, there was something there, something you hadn’t expected—a quiet respect, an acknowledgment of the fire that burned in you. He wasn’t the brute you’d imagined, but that didn’t change the fact that you were here against your will.

The ceremony proceeded with the familiar words of the old gods, the vows spoken in quiet, reverent tones. You barely heard them, your mind drifting to Silverwing, to the open sky that called to you. This place—Winterfell—was as far from home as you could be. The walls closed in, the cold seeped deeper, and even the dragons were stilled by the weight of it.

“Do you, Y/N of House Velaryon, take Cregan of House Stark as your lord and husband, to honor and serve, in ice and in fire, in winter and in spring?”

The words felt heavy, the weight of them pressing against your chest. You hesitated, your jaw tightening. This wasn’t what you wanted. The fire inside you rebelled against the thought of being tethered to a man you hardly knew, a man from a world of ice and stone.

But duty called. Your mother’s voice echoed in your mind, and Jacaerys’ quiet plea for understanding lingered.

“I do,” you finally said, the words tasting bitter on your tongue.

Cregan’s eyes remained on yours as he stepped forward, his hands strong but gentle as he draped the Stark cloak over your shoulders. It was heavy, lined with direwolf fur, the symbol of the North. The weight of it settled on you like a mantle of cold responsibility, pulling you further from the warmth of the sea, further from the freedom you longed for.

As the vows concluded, and the few gathered bannermen murmured their approval, the procession back to the castle began. You moved stiffly at Cregan’s side, your thoughts miles away, swirling with memories of home and the life you’d left behind.

Suddenly, a massive shadow loomed beside you. Silverwing, her long neck lowering, her molten eyes narrowing as she regarded Cregan curiously. She moved with the grace of an ancient predator, her silver-scaled head nudging closer, as though she were studying him.

Cregan stiffened, his eyes flicking toward the dragon, but he didn’t step back. His hand tightened at his side, his muscles coiled beneath his cloak. You could see the way his jaw clenched, his stoicism an iron mask. Though his expression remained impassive, you knew the truth—he was wary, perhaps even afraid. A dragon, no matter how docile, was still a dragon.

Silverwing’s nose brushed against his shoulder, nudging him with surprising gentleness. Her hot breath steamed in the cold air as she let out a low rumble, something that almost sounded like approval, or…affection?

You narrowed your eyes, your lips tightening in annoyance. Of all the times for Silverwing to show her favor, she chose now, and with him?

“Shoo, beast,” Cregan muttered under his breath, his voice steady, though his hand remained close to the hilt of his sword, just in case. He raised his arm, pushing gently against Silverwing’s massive head, but the dragon didn’t budge at first, her molten eyes fixated on him as though she were weighing his worth.

For a long, tense moment, you watched as Cregan squared off with your dragon. His face betrayed nothing, but the tension in his shoulders spoke volumes. He knew as well as you did that if Silverwing felt the urge, she could reduce him to nothing more than a memory in a matter of moments. Yet, he stood his ground, as unyielding as the land he ruled.

Finally, with a reluctant huff, Silverwing backed off, her tail sweeping through the snow as she turned her gaze toward you. But not before letting out a sound—something disturbingly close to a soft whine.

You blinked, incredulous. Was Silverwing fond of him?

You turned toward your dragon, sharp words slipping from your lips in Valyrian, biting and full of frustration. "Traitor," you whispered fiercely, barely loud enough for anyone but Silverwing to hear.

The dragon's molten eyes flicked toward you, her expression almost indignant as she rumbled softly in response. It was as if she could sense your displeasure, but instead of reacting with the loyalty you expected, Silverwing let out another low, almost affectionate sound, her head turning once more toward Cregan.

Your blood boiled. She had always been loyal to you, reflecting the fire in your heart. Yet here she was, nuzzling up to the man who had become the symbol of everything you resented about this forced marriage. You clenched your fists inside the thick fur cloak Cregan had placed over your shoulders, the weight of it pressing down on you as heavily as the expectations that had led you here.

Cregan, still standing firm though you could tell the encounter unsettled him, raised an eyebrow in your direction. His voice was calm, with a hint of dry humor, as though addressing a curious wolf pup. "She seems to have taken a liking to me, though I doubt that sits well with you."

You glared at him, your lips tightening into a thin line. "Silverwing has poor taste," you snapped, brushing past him, the fabric of your gown sweeping the snow as you walked. "She's never been one for judging character."

Cregan said nothing for a moment, his heavy boots crunching in the snow as he fell into step beside you. His silence was maddening, his cool composure only heightening the frustration gnawing at your insides. You had expected him to show more than just wariness toward your dragon, perhaps even fear, but he hadn’t given in to it. And now, with Silverwing showing him something bordering on favor, it made your already bitter resentment burn even hotter.

"I see the truth behind your eyes, Princess," Cregan finally said, his voice low enough that only you could hear. "You’re angry, and rightfully so. This isn’t what you wanted. But the North respects strength, and whether you believe it or not, I am not your enemy."

You stopped in your tracks, your eyes narrowing as you turned to face him. The cold wind whipped through the godswood, sending the red leaves fluttering around you like bloodstained feathers. "Do you think that because you’ve shown some kindness, or because you’ve made no demands of me yet, that I should suddenly be grateful? This is a prison, Lord Stark. A cold, bleak prison where I’ve been sent because of my brother’s decree."

Cregan’s gaze remained steady, his grey eyes holding yours with quiet intensity. "Winterfell is no prison, Princess. You may see it as one now, but I think in time, you’ll find it to be otherwise. You are free to leave if you wish—I've said it before, and I meant it. But should you stay, you’ll be treated with the honor you deserve."

You scoffed, crossing your arms under the weight of the cloak. "Honor. You speak of honor, yet you are content to marry a woman who does not want you, because it benefits you politically."

Cregan’s jaw tightened, but his expression remained calm, unwavering. "And you? Would you refuse to marry because you do not want to fulfill your family’s duty? You and I are alike in that way. We both know what it means to be bound by responsibility."

The words struck a chord in you, though you hated to admit it. You had been raised to understand duty, to know that sacrifices were often necessary for the sake of family and the realm. But this was different. This was your life, your future. And yet, there was a part of you that recognized the truth in Cregan’s words. He had not chosen this either, but he had accepted it with grace that you could not muster.

"Perhaps we are alike," you said slowly, your voice dropping. "But that doesn’t mean I have to like it."

Cregan’s lips quirked, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "I would expect nothing less."

The exchange, though still tense, seemed to cool some of the burning rage in your chest. There was a steadiness to Cregan, a quiet strength that you found infuriatingly difficult to hate. But that did not mean you were ready to forgive your brother, or accept your new life with ease. The anger was still there, simmering beneath the surface.

As you resumed walking toward the castle, Silverwing let out a soft, almost mournful sound from the godswood. You glanced back at her, your heart twisting with conflicting emotions. She had been your constant companion, your source of freedom, and yet here she was, nudging the man you were supposed to despise.

"Traitor," you muttered again, shaking your head as you continued forward, Cregan by your side.

The gates of Winterfell loomed ahead, dark and imposing, the firelight from within flickering against the cold stone walls. The North may not have been your choice, but now, standing on the threshold of your new life, you realized you would have to navigate this frozen world with all the cunning and strength that the blood of the dragon afforded you.

And perhaps, just perhaps, you would find your own way to bend it to your will.

The great hall of Winterfell was warm, its hearths roaring with fire to push back the northern chill. The scent of roasting meat filled the air, mingling with the bitter tang of strong ale and the rich aroma of spiced wine. The long tables were packed with northern lords and their ladies, all toasting and cheering in celebration of the union between the Princess of House Velaryon and Lord Cregan Stark. The sound of their voices blended with the clatter of plates and goblets, rising in a cacophony that should have felt joyous but grated on your nerves.

You sat beside Cregan at the high table, stiff in your seat, the fur-lined Stark cloak still draped around your shoulders. It felt heavy and wrong. Across from you, Cregan’s son, Rickon, was seated, his bright grey eyes wide with awe as he watched the revelry around him. The boy couldn’t have been older than six, with dark hair like his father’s and a mischievous smile that peeked out from behind his solemn expression.

Rickon had been quiet for most of the evening, but now he looked at you with curious eyes, clearly fascinated by the idea of a dragonrider in his home. "My lady," he said, his voice soft and hesitant, "do you really fly on a dragon?"

You turned to him, your irritation melting for a moment at the boy’s innocent curiosity. "I do," you replied, offering a small smile. "Her name is Silverwing. She’s resting in the godswood now."

Rickon’s eyes lit up with wonder, his small hand gripping the edge of the table. "Will I be able to see her? Father says dragons are fearsome, but I’d like to meet one."

You leaned closer, lowering your voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "If you ask nicely, perhaps Silverwing will let you get close. She’s not so fearsome when she likes someone."

The boy grinned, his earlier shyness dissolving, and for a moment, the tension in your chest eased. But the reprieve was short-lived, as Cregan spoke up beside you, his deep voice cutting through the air.

"Rickon will have plenty of time to meet your dragon," Cregan said, his tone even but his eyes flicking toward you, unreadable. "Though he’ll need to understand that dragons are dangerous creatures, not pets."

You straightened in your chair, bristling at the implication. "Silverwing is no pet, Lord Stark. She’s my companion, and she is only dangerous when she has cause to be."

Cregan raised an eyebrow, his mouth quirking into a faint smirk, but there was something colder behind his gaze. "I’ll take your word for it, Princess. Though I suspect the people of Winterfell would appreciate not being roasted in their own hall."

You narrowed your eyes at him, your fingers tightening around the stem of your goblet. "I doubt your halls are warm enough for that to happen," you snapped back, your voice laced with sarcasm. "Perhaps that’s why you need the fire of dragons to melt all this ice."

The tension between you and Cregan was palpable, even amid the noise and laughter of the feast. He met your challenge without flinching, his expression hardening. "Perhaps," he said evenly, "but here in the North, we don’t rely on fire to keep us alive. We endure the cold as we’ve always done."

You leaned closer, your voice dropping so only he could hear, though there was no warmth in your tone. "I didn’t come here to endure. And I certainly didn’t come here to freeze."

Cregan’s gaze was steady, unyielding, but he said nothing in response. For a moment, the two of you simply stared at each other, neither willing to back down. The flickering firelight cast shadows on his face, making him look more like a wolf in the dim glow. You felt your frustration bubbling up once more, the weight of everything pressing down on you—the forced marriage, the cold, this unfamiliar life.

But then, a voice from the tables interrupted your silent standoff. "The bedding!" one of the bannermen shouted, his voice slurred with drink. Others quickly joined in, their cheers rising in volume as they pounded their fists on the tables. "To the bedding ceremony!"

The call spread through the hall like wildfire, and suddenly all eyes were on you and Cregan. You felt the color drain from your face as the implications of the chant washed over you. The idea of being paraded to bed with Cregan, in front of all these men, made your stomach turn.

Cregan, too, seemed to stiffen at the noise, his face tightening as he glanced around at his bannermen, their enthusiasm for tradition clear. But you saw something else in his expression—something that surprised you. He wasn’t pleased, nor did he seem to relish the idea of the bedding ceremony. If anything, he looked just as displeased as you felt.

"No," Cregan said firmly, standing from his seat, his voice cutting through the din like a blade. The hall fell quiet, the lords and ladies turning to him in confusion. "There will be no bedding ceremony tonight."

A murmur of surprise rippled through the crowd, but Cregan’s gaze remained fixed, unyielding. "The princess and I will retire when we choose. I will not have her paraded through the halls like some prize for you to gawk at. This is a union of honor, not spectacle."

His words were met with a mixture of disappointment and begrudging respect. The lords who had been calling for the bedding ceremony fell silent, though a few still exchanged glances, their faces flushed with drink and unspoken protests. Cregan turned to you, his expression softer now, though still guarded.

You were surprised, though you tried to hide it. Of all the things you had expected from him, this was not one of them. He had spared you the humiliation, something you hadn’t thought he would do.

"Thank you," you muttered under your breath, barely audible above the crackling fire and the low murmur of conversation. It wasn’t a warm thanks, nor was it filled with any sense of relief—just a begrudging acknowledgment of what he had done.

Cregan nodded once, his eyes flicking briefly to Rickon, who had been watching the exchange with wide, curious eyes. Then, turning back to you, he offered a hand. "Come. We should retire. The hall will quiet soon enough."

You hesitated, staring at his offered hand, before reluctantly taking it. His grip was firm, but not harsh, and you allowed him to lead you through the throng of lords and ladies. As you walked, you felt the eyes of the room on you, but there was no jeering, no laughter. Only silence and the crackling of the fire.

Rickon followed closely, his small feet shuffling against the stone floor, and though the evening had been tense, you felt a small warmth for the boy. As the three of you left the hall, the sound of the feast faded behind you, replaced by the quiet, muffled howling of the wind outside Winterfell’s walls.

The corridors of Winterfell were dimly lit, the torches casting flickering shadows along the stone walls as Cregan led you through the cold, winding passageways. The air felt heavy, thick with the weight of the evening, but the noise of the great hall had finally faded, leaving only the echo of your footsteps. Cregan’s hand was still at your elbow, his touch gentle but firm as he guided you deeper into the castle.

You were tense, your body rigid, every muscle taut with the emotions you had been holding back since the ceremony. The weight of the Stark cloak hung around your shoulders, but it was more than that—the weight of duty, of expectations, of a life you hadn’t chosen, bore down on you with every step.

At last, he stopped in front of a heavy oak door. The thick wood was carved with simple designs, its iron handle cold to the touch. Cregan released your arm, stepping back slightly as if giving you space. His expression was unreadable, but you could sense the unspoken understanding between you.

"These are your chambers," he said quietly, his deep voice low in the silence. "I thought it best for you to have your own space. You’ll need time to adjust... to everything." He glanced at you briefly before turning his gaze back to the door. "I won’t impose myself upon you, not tonight, nor any night until you wish it."

The relief that swept over you was unexpected, but it was there nonetheless. The tension in your shoulders loosened, though only slightly. You didn’t want to be here. You didn’t want to be bound to this man, to this place. But at least, for now, you had this small mercy.

You looked at him, your lips pressed into a thin line, searching for the right words. It took a moment before you could speak. "Thank you," you muttered, the words awkward on your tongue. You didn’t mean to be ungrateful, but the bitterness in your heart tainted even this gesture of kindness. "For this."

Cregan’s eyes softened, though his expression remained stoic. "I know this isn’t what you wanted. But I hope, in time, you’ll find it less burdensome." He paused, his gaze meeting yours with a strange mixture of patience and understanding. "Goodnight, Princess."

With that, he stepped away with his son in tow, leaving you alone in the flickering torchlight. You watched him retreat down the hallway with Rickon, his tall figure and boy's smaller one, both disappearing into the shadows before turning toward the door.

You pushed it open, stepping into your new chambers. The room was dim, lit only by a few candles set on a wooden table near the hearth, and a small fire crackled quietly in the grate. The furnishings were simple but finely made—a large bed with thick furs draped across it, a sturdy chair by the fire, and a small window that looked out over the courtyard below. The cold draft slipped in through the cracks in the stone, but the warmth of the fire did little to chase away the chill that had settled deep inside you.

With a heavy sigh, you closed the door behind you, the latch clicking softly into place. Alone at last, the tension you had been holding onto all evening began to unravel, bit by bit. The firelight danced across the stone walls, but it did nothing to lift the weight that had settled in your chest.

You moved slowly to the bed, shrugging off the Stark cloak and tossing it onto the chair. It felt too heavy, too suffocating. Sitting on the edge of the bed, you stared into the flames, the soft crackling of the fire the only sound in the room.

And then it came—the overwhelming, crushing wave of emotion you had been fighting back all night.

You had been strong. You had kept your composure, had held your head high even when everything inside you screamed for freedom. But now, in the quiet of your chambers, with no one watching, the dam broke.

Silent tears began to fall, hot and bitter as they streaked down your cheeks. You hadn’t cried in front of your brother, nor in front of Cregan, but now, alone, you allowed yourself to grieve. For what you had lost. For what had been taken from you.

You thought of Dragonstone, of the sea crashing against its black shores, the salty wind that had always carried a sense of freedom with it. You thought of your mother, Rhaenyra, her fierce love and unyielding spirit. She had fought so hard for everything she had—her throne, her children—and yet here you were, far from her, bound to a place you did not belong. Would she have wanted this for you?

And then you thought of your brothers. Jacaerys, with his sense of duty and stubbornness, always trying to do what was right, even when it hurt. You knew he thought he was helping you, securing your future, protecting the family. But it felt like a betrayal. You had followed him into the North, trusting him, only to find yourself trapped in a cage of ice and stone.

Your thoughts drifted to Lucerys and Joffrey, their youthful energy and the laughter that had once filled the halls of Dragonstone. Would you ever see them again? Or would they be mere memories, fading like the warmth of the fire as you sat in this cold, unfamiliar place?

A soft sob escaped your lips, and you buried your face in your hands, your shoulders shaking as you silently mourned the life you had left behind.

In the quiet of the room, with only the crackling of the fire to keep you company, you allowed yourself to feel every ounce of sorrow, every pang of regret. The tears came faster, and for a long time, you sat there, letting the grief pour out of you.

Eventually, when the tears had slowed and your chest ached with the effort of crying, you wiped your eyes, drawing in a shaky breath. You were still here. Still trapped in this fate you didn’t want.

But for tonight, at least, you were alone. And for now, that was the only solace you could cling to.

The cold wind bit at your face as you raced across the snowy courtyard, your heart pounding with desperation. The distant silhouette of Vermax, Jacaerys’ dragon, loomed against the grey sky, his wings shifting in anticipation as Jace made his final preparations to depart. You could see him there, standing tall and resolute, his back to you as he adjusted his saddle. Each step you took felt like a battle, your feet sinking into the snow, but you pushed forward, the icy air burning in your lungs.

"Jace!" you called out, your voice cracking as you approached. He didn't turn, and panic surged in your chest. "Jacaerys!"

This time he heard you, his head turning slightly, but he didn’t stop what he was doing. He kept his focus on Vermax, brushing off your distress like it was a mild inconvenience.

You finally caught up to him, grabbing his arm, your fingers curling into the fabric of his cloak with a desperation that you couldn't hide. "You can’t just leave me here," you pleaded, your voice breaking as the words tumbled out in a rush. "Jace, please. I’ll die here. The dragons… they die in the North. I can’t stay."

Jacaerys finally looked at you, his brows furrowed in frustration. "Y/N, stop this." His voice was stern, but there was a weariness in his tone, as if he had expected this but hoped it wouldn’t come. "You’re being dramatic. You won’t die here. You’ll adapt, just like you always do. You’re strong, stronger than you think."

You shook your head vehemently, tears already welling up in your eyes. The cold air stung your cheeks, mixing with the warmth of your tears, but you didn’t care. "You don’t understand," you whispered, your grip on his arm tightening as if holding onto him would somehow change everything. "I don’t belong here. I’m not built for this place, for this cold, for these people. And Silverwing—she’ll suffer here. Dragons don’t thrive in the North. They wither. And so will I."

Jacaerys’ face softened, but only slightly. He let out a long sigh, shaking his head. "You’re stronger than this. You’ve always done your duty, Y/N. You’ve faced worse than cold. You’ll survive this, too." His tone was matter-of-fact, as if it was that simple, as if this place hadn’t already started to crush you.

His words cut through you, and you pulled back slightly, your hands falling to your sides. He didn’t understand—he couldn’t. The North was foreign, hostile in ways that went beyond its cold. It was a land of ice, of silence, where the warmth and fire of home felt like a distant memory.

"Do you even care?" The question slipped out before you could stop it, and you regretted it as soon as you saw the flash of hurt cross his face.

Jace took a step closer, his hand resting gently on your shoulder now, his expression softening as he realized just how much this was breaking you. "Of course I care," he said, his voice quieter now, almost gentle. "But this is what’s best for us, for the family. Cregan will protect you, and in time, you’ll find your place here. I know it’s hard, but you’re not alone."

The tears spilled over then, no longer restrained. You hated this, hated that you were crumbling in front of him, hated that you felt so weak. "You’re leaving me here," you choked out, barely able to speak around the lump in your throat. "You’re abandoning me."

Jacaerys frowned, pulling you into a hug despite your resistance. You felt his arms wrap around you, strong and warm, and for a moment, you wanted to push him away, to scream at him. But you didn’t. Instead, you buried your face in his chest, your body shaking with silent sobs.

"I’m not abandoning you," he murmured into your hair, his voice rough with emotion. "I’m giving you a chance to do something great, something important. You’re more than just our sister. You’re part of the realm’s future. I’m sorry you feel this way, but this is bigger than either of us."

You sniffled, pulling back just enough to look up at him. His eyes, those familiar brown eyes, were filled with both sadness and resolve. He wasn’t going to change his mind, no matter how much you begged. "What about Mother?" you whispered. "What would she say if she knew you were leaving me like this?"

His expression faltered, the mention of your mother clearly cutting him deep, but he held firm. "She would want you to do your duty, just as she’s always done hers. You’re more like her than you realize."

You shook your head, wiping at your tears, but it was no use. They kept coming. "I don’t feel like her. I feel... lost."

Jace sighed, his hand cupping the side of your face, brushing away a tear with his thumb. "You’ll find your way. You always do." He kissed your forehead, his touch tender but brief. "I have to go."

You watched in silence as he turned away, walking toward Vermax with a steady, determined stride. The dragon’s massive head lifted, its green eyes gleaming as it sensed its rider’s approach. Jacaerys mounted with practiced ease, settling into the saddle, his gaze fixed ahead as if the weight of leaving you behind was already something he had accepted.

"Jace!" you called out one last time, your voice breaking. But he didn’t look back.

The great wings of Vermax unfurled, casting a long shadow over the snow-covered ground as the dragon prepared to take flight. You stood frozen, your tears falling faster now, watching helplessly as your brother, the last tie to home, prepared to leave you in this strange, unwelcoming place.

With a powerful beat of his wings, Vermax lifted into the sky, the gust of wind from his takeoff sending snow swirling around you. You watched, numb, as the dragon rose higher and higher, carrying Jacaerys back to the place you longed to return to—Dragonstone.

The sound of his wings beating faded into the distance, and soon, they were nothing more than a dark speck against the pale sky. You stood there in the middle of the open field, the cold seeping deeper into your bones, your tears freezing on your cheeks as you watched him disappear.

Alone, you fell to your knees in the snow, the icy ground biting at your skin, but you didn’t care. You were alone now, truly alone. And the weight of that realization crushed you in a way you hadn’t expected.

Jacaerys was gone.

And you were left behind.

[hamsternella]

Have you seen that anime about the elusive samurai?? Could you write something with a reader who is a hashira and acts like the protagonist? +yandere pillars and muzan/other demons🤭

[PART 1] Yandere!Hashiras (+Muzan and demons) x Elusive!Reader

cw: yandere themes, stalking, blood, gore, violence, forced relationship, mdni

SO SORRY but it doesn't allow me to put more images, so here is the link to the second part where the demons + muzan are included: HEREEEE

TIP JAR

Ubuyashiki could be a man capable of predicting the future, and thus save himself a great deal of trouble that would jeopardize the safety of his family or his company of Pillars. But all people have a breaking point—and you were, without a doubt, that point.

No one really knew when you became a Pilar. Not even Ubuyashiki himself was sure. This was because of your elusive and confusing nature; the way you seemed to totally detach yourself from everything and everyone, all the time. You were not a bad person at all. You were just... misunderstood, let's say.

You accomplished all your missions on time, and you were undoubtedly a defender of your people with all your heart and pride on the edge of your sword. You were also known as the 'Elusive Pillar', due to your obvious nature. If anything, the real reason you were still alive was because of your enormous ability to dodge and escape from dangerous situations instead of attacking.

If a demon recognized you, the others knew there was no way to beat you: you were going to make them desperate, and eventually their hunger would turn to frustration. People loved you unconditionally for that reason. It was even funny.

To Ubuyashiki and the other Pillars, the reason for your loyalty to the cause was unknown. Why on earth had you become part of the team? No, indeed, how did you even manage it?

You could go against the evil of the world, the injustices and the demons; but not for a murderous hatred, and much less for money, because clearly your salary was the lowest. Your interest was nil. During fights you preferred to work alone, because you enjoyed the chase and the weight of death on your heels.

And you always laughed. Always. God help us, because at this point you even looked like a crazy person.

Otherwise, you were almost never with Ubuyashiki and the Pillars. Who knows where you would be fulfilling missions; eating or sleeping at night. It was difficult to contact you because even your crow had had enough of you—a peck on your head and never came back. Trusting someone lonely and who seemed to play between life and death was too much even for the natural course of the universe, if even a crow didn't want you around.

But as much fun as the idea of continuing to play blindly with death was, duty eventually came to your door, materialized in the form of Ubuyashiki's crow. The animal announced the arrival of new subjects and a demon that promised scientific advances; and the truth is that it was impossible for you to contain your curiosity.

Your approach to the team not only led you to reconnect with the Pillars, and thus take back the place that belonged to you, but also to meet special demons that promised another kind of glimpse of what was your good friend. The most loyal, honest and eternal companion.

Death. Or maybe something more—something terrible.

Gyomei

The Stone Pillar considers you a necessary member, but condemns your childish attitude. He does not believe that your uprooting will bring positive things, both for you and for them; and he fears, of course, for your safety when you fail to report your condition after many months away from home. Gyomei thinks you could do with some training to forge some character in you, and asks Ubuyashiki to allow him to be your teacher.

Needless to say, the decision doesn't seem like a good idea to you. For the first few days you disappear again; and if you return at all, it's to steal some food from the kitchens and to play with Nezuko, who turned out to be a pleasant companion with whom you can enjoy a moment's peace. Gyomei catches you in the act, but holds back and says nothing. He secretly begins to discover facets that he thought were alien to you—and he begins to like that. His perception of you eventually changes.

Gyomei would gradually become a silent stalker. That would lead him to take advantage of the information he gets from you in your vulnerable moments, in order to connect with you when he can catch you in the middle of your escapades. He uses his wits to avoid being discovered; and although guilt weighs on his conscience, a strange pleasure settles in his heart.

With the delicacy of a petal against the lips, Gyomei rests his against your ear on the coldest nights; sighing sensitive words of encouragement, finding morbid satisfaction in how you melt and surrender yourself before him. When you decide to give him a chance, finding in him a sensitive soul who understands you incredibly, you end up undressing your soul, and you share with him part of your past. Why you are like this.

The story of your family being slaughtered brings the Stone Pillar down completely. You tell him how a distant relative betrayed your parents, selling them with no shame. You survived by the grace of the Gods; while your siblings ended their own lives, terrified that the same demon might return for them. Over the years you found it impossible to end your life as they did. There was something inside you—a flame. It wasn't courage or honor; neither was it a thirst for revenge. You simply wanted to live.

Gyomei understands that you and he are somewhat alike, and if that alone doesn't fuel his craze for you, the fact that you are so fragile definitely does. Fragile for him, at least. A voracious hunger begins to take hold of his being; the need to contain and possess you, to never let you escape again. The idea that you still want to savor the brush of death and enjoy the chase burns within his heart. Gyomei can't believe you're going to go on living like it's nothing; even after that night he confided his past to you too.

Gyomei would be a soft yandere. He doesn't use brute force to keep you in line. He prefers to mold you emotionally and psychologically. He would know how to follow you silently; he would use all the information he gets from this to get you, to make you need him, and maybe make you more docile and to never escape from there. From him. He would use your past misfortunes to brainwash you, considering that he loves your dependence on him.

Gyomei doesn't mind if you remain a Pillar. Although if in the end you decide to give that up he wouldn't mind either…

Tengen

Tengen considers you a curious specimen. He finds it fascinating to meet a person as agile as he is, who seems to understand the techniques of a speed fight. Imagine the surprise that engulfs him when, challenging you to a race, he finds that there is no way to track you by sound—you are quick and delicate as a leaf in the wind.

Nevertheless, the Sound Pillar feels conflicted with other facts. For example, that your loyalty to Ubuyashiki is merely a matter of convenience, since for you none of this is part of honor or revenge directly as they are; and eventually, Tengen feels both distrustful and fascinated at the same time.

How are you supposed to relate to him if the guy is giving mixed signals all the time? As the weeks go by you decide it's best to ignore him—and Tengen, of course, hates that. The frustration of not being able to be with you, since you run away all the time, leads him to put aside prejudice in order to enjoy training and racing with you. On one of those days he finds Gyomei spying on you, and the Sound Pillar can't hide a strange feeling in the pit of his stomach. It wasn't annoyance; the truth is that he was also intrigued to know what you were doing in your free time (which was technically almost all the time).

Tengen would be slow to realize that he is falling on his knees before you. He thinks it's because he has found a good partner, with whom he can enjoy many fun times. But the truth is that it's hard to control his feelings when he discovers that Gyomei has managed to have you in the palm of his hand; not only getting honest about who you are, but also monopolizing your time by becoming your teacher. An accumulation of jealousy leads him to eventually accept that he has begun to like you. You know—more than a friend.

I said it would take him a while to figure it out, didn't I? I hope you know how to prepare yourself very well for when Tengen accepts the inevitable. There's no turning back when he decides there's no reason to hide or repress his feelings for you. The Sound Pillar does everything to hinder your encounters with Gyomei; and even proposes to help you in your training when he notices how close you are to the Stone Pillar. Although it pains him to accept that you appreciate his partner, Tengen understands that he can't simply force you to stop talking to him.

The truth is that I don't think Tengen is a violent or extremely jealous yandere. Of course, as his obsession with having you to himself increases, so does his jealousy or harmful thoughts if he finds you too close to Gyomei, for example. But like the Stone Pillar, he is incapable of laying a hand on you… at least in violent terms—because sexually speaking, the Sound Pillar is increasingly thirsty. Unlike Gyomei, who finds pleasure in the emotional control he has over you, Tengen prefers to be physically dominant and have your attention and devotion on him at all times.

The day he discovers something from your past is the day you can consider yourself lost. Tengen will try everything in his power to familiarize you with his wives —always imagining that you could be among them, as a partner, good friend and lover—, and thus bind you emotionally; taking advantage of the fact that Gyomei opened a past wound. Tengen wants to show you that he can help you forget the pain with his great qualities. Sex, money, fun... Anything you want, he can give you. Do you want to cheat death? He will help you with that! Of course, then you have to be good, and return the favors... And who are you to refuse a good friend?

As long as your attention and adoration are on him, Tengen has no problem with you remaining a Pillar and talking to others. But at the end of the day he must always be your priority! Because, when you have to leave your post, you have to know how to satisfy him to fulfill your role by being at home with everyone else.

Yep, he's made up his mind. He has to be fast if he wants to get you. Even faster than you.

Kyōjurō

Well, let's see. You didn't like this guy at first. What the hell with that smile? And that voice? God, if anything he can seem like someone so nice, but the first moment he meets you the only thing that comes out of his mouth is: 'I don't accept your ways! But I welcome you, Elusive Pillar!’ And that's not a bad thing—please don't be misunderstood. You didn't expect them to open their arms to you as soon as you arrived; you understood it was going to be difficult if they'd hardly ever seen you in their lives. But this guy was something else.

Although Kyōjurō is not entirely convinced of your participation in the cause, you two now have Tengen in common. He appreciates you both very much, and the Flame Pillar notices it; so he tries with minimal interest to relate to you in order to understand what it is that fascinates others so much. It doesn't take him long to become equally fascinated with your agility and wit. You're quite charming, too! Suddenly Kyōjurō's smile grows naturally—his heart vibrates with excitement as a new day begins with your face in front of his.

The Flame Pillar is a typical sunshine. You quickly grow fond of him, and deeply appreciate his company. At first it was hard to put up with his yelling, and let's not even get started on how hard it is to talk to him because of his poor hearing. But other than that, Kyōjurō is a real sweetheart of a person that you love spending time with; you play together, eat together, and he even supports you unconditionally in your training and everything you do... until these same goals begin to pull you away from him.

You can't wish for things so different from him! The Flame Pillar loves your way of dealing with society's problems —demons or crime in general—, but he knows that sooner or later your true goals are going to lead you to not concentrate all your energy on your training, and with that, to move away from him and the cause. Kyōjurō wants you to stay with them forever... Well, the truth is that he wants you to stay with him forever, rather.

The Flame Pillar knows how to use his charm on others to drag shame and guilt on you. How do you go against the ideas of someone as respected as him? Impossible! Imagine how hard it is to start missing training, meals or meetings when everyone is betting on your participation because of Kyōjurō; the way even Ubuyashiki eats the story that the Flame Pillar puts on the table for him. Gyomei himself proposed it, and Tengen fully supported it.

‘Master! This person is very valuable to us, but it is difficult for them to accept it… Their past haunts them—the pain of loss and distrust of themselves. They are afraid! Master, please propose Elusive Pillar's compulsory and absolute participation with us! We are their friends and we want them to take command of their territory and responsibilities as a Pillar.’

Kyōjurō is an extremely possessive yandere, but not jealous. He loves to imagine that it will be practically impossible for you to escape if everyone starts to get familiar with you. Maybe you'll find a better goal if you see that everyone loves you! Why wish for death, when there is a huge and powerful family that can bring you greater pleasure? Besides, it would be a shame to jeopardize your abilities for an unnecessary whim such as playing with fate; always between life and death, escaping from those who can appreciate and love you.

The Flame Pillar is a delusional man. It doesn't matter how much you show your discomfort; nor how much you fight or escape countless nights, when everyone is asleep. He really believes you do it because you're afraid of the truth: you need them, and especially him. You crave affection, protection and unconditional support. You long for someone like him—a person capable of providing for you in all the ways you lack in your own capacity. But don't be ashamed! Kyōjurō will do whatever it takes to make sure that your ideas —and your legs, which really would be a shame if something were to happen to them— don't get in the way of the dazzling future that awaits with your new family... and partners, too. The Flame Pillar has no intention of abandoning his own yearnings with you.

Giyū

Giyū doesn't give a shit about you. The truth is, he doesn't agree with your actions, and disinterest is his first response to anything to do with you. So what if you're agile? So what if you're resourceful? What good is it if others fight to get Ubuyashiki's word to keep you locked up and forced to work on other terms? Giyū knows you're not going to take it seriously one way or the other. You're not even here for money, food or shelter—you're here for fun!

The Water Pillar finds it offensive that you show your face every morning in the main yards. Your hand on your sword and your back straight; eyes attentive to everyone and everything. He doesn't quite understand your dynamic either. Why are you so good at EVERYTHING you do when you fight? What is your purpose? Giyū feels that the world becomes three times more confusing when he must leave on a mission with you, and until you have the demon stressed you don't give even one cut with your sword. NOT EVEN ONE.

In spite of everything, he cannot deny that the Gods are on your side because of the way you dodge death with every step you take. Every leap is minutely calculated; every turn, every laugh, even. You dare not waste air—your breaths are precise and clean. Your technique is immaculate.

The Water Pillar swallows his prejudices when you end up saving his life. You decapitated the last demon with simplicity, smiling sweetly at him. Giyū didn't know the reason, or maybe he wanted to ignore it; but from that day on he had to give Kyōjurō the reason. To the things he and the others whispered about you on the sly. Because yes, just as you read it: Giyū might be as frustrated as he wanted to show, but he couldn't shake the charm of your smile and the impact of your presence around him.

Don't think this will make him want to spend time with you anyway. This guy is going to go on for a while ignoring you after he greets you in the morning. His eyes will roam over your figure, his hands will trace the fabric of your haori when you least expect it, and maybe he'll allow himself to take a walk to catch you sneaking around playing in the trees, wanting to hear your laughter... But nah, don't think it's because he's interested in you. Right?

Giyū is extremely weird. He doesn't understand that he likes you; and when Tengen makes a joke alluding to it, the Water Pillar can't help but feel deeply hurt that you don't even care about that. The feeling passes, but the disappointment there lingers. Giyū is embarrassed and confused. What is wrong with you? What is this unhealthy interest? The walks among the trees increase; and it's all about learning more about you and discovering what drives him so much to you. It's just that. It really is.

The thing with Giyū is this: the guy ends up coming to the conclusion that it's all due to pure and simple admiration for you. Nothing more. He talks it over with Kyōjurō —for he doesn't trust Tengen and his humor; neither does he trust Gyomei and his need to keep all information concerning you to himself—, and with a bit of manipulation here and there is where the real trouble begins. The Water Pillar is a new man.

Giyū would take a long time to demonstrate his yandere nature, but once he does, for you it's where hell on earth unleashes its first waves of heat. A warning. The Water Pillar is possessive and jealous, but he doesn't communicate it with words; he prefers to punish you physically with light activities, and humiliate you with a kind of ice law to make you feel lonely. Of course he'll join in with the others, and take advantage of this to gain your attention and affection, so that he can get inside your head and manage you as he pleases. And, hey, don't tell anyone, but... Giyū doesn't enjoy having to share you.

His darkest dream is that something terrible would happen to you, to those beautiful, fast legs, so that you would abandon your post and he could lock you away from the world. You would be just for him—to discover together other kinds of morbid pleasures that don't have to bring you so close to death, and thus away from him.

Sanemi

I'll keep it short and clear with this guy: it's going to hurt like hell, and where suffering is optional, with him it's inevitable and unstoppable. Your encounter with the Wind Pillar begins and ends with a fight, where he refuses to 'team up with someone as hopeless as you'. Just as you thought sensibly about Kyōjurō you did so with Sanemi, but of course you came to be offended by his violent behavior. The discomfort was such that you ended up running away for the whole day; terrified at the thought of having to share another space with him.

Sanemi doesn't exactly hate you, but he doesn't appreciate you either. It's a middle ground... that always ends with an explosion on his part. Screams, fists in the air; occasionally your terrified face. That's funny to him—your grimace of terror. You can be unstoppable to demons, and maybe charm others with your wit or shit whatever it is you hide up your sleeve, but he'd rather keep the charm of your fear to himself. You're so small and easy to take down with a scream. You are pathetic.

The Wind Pillar would be one of the most difficult to conquer/accompany. Relating to him means that you're going to have to put up with banging and yelling; although if you decide to walk away, he will eventually find out one way or another about your past. At first it's annoying mutterings, all coming from what he considers to be your 'pathetic followers'. Then the odd encounter with Kyōjurō, where Sanemi can't ignore honorific mentions of you and your achievements in battle; as well as your amazing personality and authenticity. To the Wind Pillar all this is pure garbage. Why should he be interested?

'They are pathetic. Are you telling me that they come to take part in a cause for the fun of it? So what if they fight and defend? It's the minimum and indispensable; I'm not going to applaud them. Nor do I find much merit in them being fast or agile... How else are they going to survive if they're not? Fuck them—with their ways of doing things, here and there. Whatever. I don't want to talk about this again, Rengoku.'

It gets to a point where Sanemi can't get over the frustration. His partner's voice keeps drilling into his head—his words about you; the way you 'so well' fight or handle yourself around, melting into the environment as you carry yourself with simplicity and divine graces... Needless to say, at night the Wind Pillar corners you after witnessing your training. The result? A 'let's fight, you piece of garbage', and a beating that leaves you stone dead for a week. It is humiliating for Sanemi to have to accept what others whispered in the shadows: you were charming. And not just charming, let's be honest; also fast and agile.

Like Tengen, the Wind Pillar would begin to let go of certain prejudices in order to spend quality time with you. In other words, simple training. Sometimes also because of how easy it was to be with you even in the silence, thanks to that way you have of being: so calm, but at the same time on par with the flow of life. It's as if you are aware of things that humans normally ignore. Sanemi didn't know how to explain it—it seemed complicated and therefore annoying. He preferred not to be annoyed with you; who knows if he would end up beating you to a pulp again.

Kyōjurō seizes the opportunity and leaves the rest of the work in the hands of Gyomei, whom Sanemi deeply respects. The latter gives him an account of nefarious events that end your family's story, and of the real reason behind Ubuyashiki's words regarding your new role in the cause. The Wind Pillar since then keeps seeing you with different eyes; his own heart spinning as he imagines your small figure —that of a creature; a child— facing such macabre scenarios. He understands on the one hand why you act the way you do. The image of his own brother dancing in his mind, with bitter memories tangling with yours. He's going crazy and the feeling is strange.

Sanemi will begin to silently admire you. With that comes other particular things, like his drastic mood swings; being bitter, maybe angry at something or someone, and then an appearance from you keeps him shy or silent. It's strange to you—but you don't question anything about it. You love being able to have a normal coexistence together with Wind Pillar, whom you admire greatly for his strength.

Sanemi, along with Iguro and Shinobu, would be the most dangerous once their yandere natures come out. The Wind Pillar is quick to understand that he wants and NEEDS to protect you. He is capable of anything for it, even hurting you enough to cripple you. He is a passionate lover; he wishes he could hold you in his arms, and can only bear to share you normally with Iguro; filling his head with ideas to set his eyes on you. So watch out, because Sanemi is going to do the impossible to make you understand (physical, psychological or sexual punishments. All of it). Maybe it's time for him to share more time with Tengen—something interesting could come out of it to try out with you.

Iguro

How come? Sanemi's on his knees for you? The Snake Pillar feels like the world is upside down when he finds his friend's lost eyes for you. And why is that, by any chance? He doesn't quite understand; but he's willing to find out. Of course it's not easy, considering that even with your reduced schedule due to training and meetings you're still on the run and doing your own thing. In dark times, in pain and illness, you are still you. He admires that very much.

Iguro is another dangerous yandere who accepts his own nature without shame. As soon as Sanemi fills his head with topics referring to you, he marches and includes himself in your routines to learn more about who you really are and the things that make you up. For you it's awkward, of course—the encounters are forced. Iguro judges you all the time, though he soon realizes that you're not at all like Giyū: someone haughty who passes over others. It's a relief to him. How could he have doubted his friend's judgment?

The Snake Pillar invites you to trainings, either alone with him or even when the Wind Pillar is available as well. It's hard for you to keep up when they attack you so eagerly. You can tell how much fun they have with you, fascinated by your movements and your charm when you get caught up in the moment; for Iguro it's a feast for the eyes and ears, with your laughter vibrating in his memory when you're not there. It doesn't take long for the Snake Pillar to feel repulsed by his feelings for you as they begin to emerge. He finds it bold on his part; considering himself unpleasant and unable to live up to you.

Just like Giyū and Gyomei, Iguro will start stalking you to satiate his need for you. In one of those many silent pursuits he'll end up hearing a couple of curious murmurs from the others, and as if his fascination for you wasn't enough, with whispers about your past and a couple of more private details he ends up accepting that he can't —nor wants to— tear you out of his head. From here the stalking increases, and you know he's there, but you don't say anything. You think it's halfway understandable; you weren't going to be marching with freedom so easily yet. Although the reason you had in mind was totally different from what they had.

Once the contempt stage passes and your words of encouragement reach the Snake Pillar's heart, considering that your friendship with him increases over time, Iguro will be more than willing to be faithful to you completely. He will attend to your needs whenever he can and you need him to; he will give you emotional support, as one would imagine a man devoted to his lover; and he will be defending the territory around you like an animal. He is a possessive yandere, and quite violent with the reason of his obsession if he doesn't get what he wants: your attention and reciprocation. Needless to say, just like Giyū, Iguro hates having to share you. When he learns that Tengen has plans to take you into his domain to fulfill alongside his wives, fury consumes him.

The Snake Pillar is not entirely okay with you continuing to take on your responsibility as a Pillar. What's more, with the Wind Pillar they had wicked conversations; full of plans on how to get you to retire forcibly. At first it's a soft thing—the sweetness falling from his lips like a whisper. As desperation takes over his mind, and with it bitter fantasies where he loses you completely, Iguro loses patience and accepts Sanemi's help to humiliate and break you mentally. Who knows... maybe even this will lead you to despair; and with it, to a terrible accident.

But you don't have to be afraid! Iguro has suffered for a long time from confinement. He understands that your charm comes from that beautiful freedom, with which you can walk around and sing for him. Iguro loves to hear your laughter. So when you retire, he will be more than willing to accompany you and keep an eye on you; always attentive to your needs, and then you can calmly return home, where you will lie for the rest of your life in a quiet and safe routine, far from death. The Snake Pillar trembles with excitement, unable to process how happy it feels to dream of that future where he has you tamed. Where you are docile and always by his side.

Muichiro (platonic)

Muichiro forgets you as soon as you introduce yourself after a meeting. The Mist Pillar, who is just a child at your side, not even acknowledges you from then on; passing you without greeting, losing his attention on the shapes of the clouds, and remaining silent, his eyes fixed somewhere when you speak to him. It's strange—but you don't question much else.

The only way I can see this boy ending up obsessing over you is after a messy fight. Not that he will be immediately attached to you; but he will certainly remember your face and voice clearly when you have saved his life. It's as if you've reached a weak spot inside his mind, in a dusty corner. The honorable way in which you risked your life to save a couple of children from several hungry demons, with a speech directed towards the Mist Pillar and his behavior, undoubtedly interfered with a barrier in his heart.

Muichiro is jealous, but only if he loses his priority for attention. If you put him at the top of your agenda, rest assured that you won't have to deal with his bad temper, which is pretty funny—but don't let his tenderness blind you. The Mist Pillar may do unpleasant things, never directed at you, in order to have you all to himself.

The loss of his family at such an early age, and in a traumatic way, leads Muichiro to cling to you in order to feel the normality he lost years ago. At the beginning it's something soft: glances, smiles, training sessions together, meals... By the time you realize it, you have the Mist Pillar inside your territory. It's like having a little brother. It's tender, but over time it becomes insistent.

Kyōjurō takes this opportunity to try to mimic Muichiro within your family picture—convince your brain that the wounded boy could be saved by you, just as you never could with your own siblings. It's cruel, but at the end of the day it works successfully. You may not see the Mist Pillar as normal at all; but he is patient, and he is willing to pull the strings to force you to like him if necessary.

Muichiro is a soft yandere, who enjoys being affectionate and receiving equal treatment. Like others of his peers, he doesn't quite agree with you being a Pillar; but he also can't imagine a future where he can't fight by your side. He loves to watch you dance among the leaves, moving your legs almost as if you were flying—never touching the ground enough, looking like a bird about to dart toward the enemy with the edge of your sword as its beak.

But as much as he adores you, Muichiro understands that he has to take care of you if he wants to continue to enjoy your presence and your affection. The way? By ruining your wings a little... just enough for you to flap them when he wants you to; but to make it impossible for you to fly away. You'd lose the charm if you have to be put in a cage, no matter how much others think it's optimal.

The Mist Pillar has dark ideas, but they are born out of the fear of losing you. From his affection for you. He is mostly someone tender and possessive, willing to mental manipulation rather than physical punishment. The latter would be the one he would never choose, unless you force him.

Shinobu

Sadistic and unstoppable. That's how Shinobu can be described. She would have been obsessed with you long ago, perhaps since you arrived with the other Pillars; but she would not be close to you completely until time passes, and with the arrival of Kyōjurō and his confirmation about the popular interest in you is when she decides she might join the plan.

The Insect Pillar is someone who enjoys good conversation, medicine and peace. She is too quiet and can barely care deeply about anything other than her job as a Pillar. Other than that, forget about it. So imagine her surprise when she learns of your arrival—Ubuyashiki's words echoing in her head as she prepares everything to inspect your health.

Suspicion blossoms first. Shinobu doesn't quite buy the reason you became a Pillar, but feigns understanding about your case and listens with sincere interest to your anecdotes. Discovering that you have traveled and fought around many new places, with demons of all kinds and a secret past, begins to sting deep inside her. At the beginning it is just that: curiosity and distrust. She refuses to so freely allow anyone who has been away for so long. I mean, you're the first Pillar in history to have been away from their post for so long! What's the point of that?

Because you have to attend often for the beatings Sanemi gives you, or for regular checkups for health issues that Ubuyashiki is concerned about, Shinobu finds herself starting varied conversations with you, because she finds you a good companion. You learn new things about medicine, and impart to her techniques you learned far away, having to meet doctors from hidden villages. The Insect Pillar considers you an interesting and powerful member.

The moment where Shinobu starts to like you is unclear. As if that wasn't enough, her signals are confusing, and she doesn't fully share her feelings with you or anyone else. To you, the Insect Pillar is terrifying with her empty eyes and inaccurate temperament. To her, you are charming and interesting; with a bright personality that helps her dispel anger and sadness.

You don't often see the Insect Pillar, but she is always one step behind you. There's no escaping when her obsession grows and is fed by Kyōjurō and the others. Just like Iguro and Giyū, Shinobu is a potential stalker, feeding her delusions with whatever she can gather from your daily routines. These same fantasies grow with the help of her companions, and it won't be long before she starts using her poisons to create new drugs to use on you.

Shinobu has no problem using physical punishment. What's more, her regular talks with Sanemi always end with a topic referring to you. She agrees with the Wind Pillar about leaving you immobilized so that you will never again endanger your life by being a Pillar. Needless to say, she is not easily moved; there would be no way for your tears or pleas to do anything in her heart.

The Insect Pillar has lost someone very special in a cruel way at the hands of a demon. Of course, you are much more agile and quicker, able to play with death without fear climbing up your back. But how long until your legs fail? How long until no one can ever hear your voice again?

Birds continue to sing even inside their cages.

Mitsuri

The Love Pillar is enchanted by you from the first moment she lays her eyes on you. She is fascinated by your ways: from the way you run, to the way you train, to the way you laugh or fight. Everything about you is incredibly cool and, of course, attractive. How could anyone hold back when they see your smile? Even your voice and shyness when Ubuyashiki introduces you to the whole team is charming.

Mitsuri is by far the Pillar you like the most besides Gyomei. Both are sweet and understanding; although just like Kyōjurō, the Love Pillar is delusional about what you want, and what she thinks is really what you should want. You don't pay enough attention to everything she says about it; you don't think there's anything you need to change. You are very clear about what you want and what you don't want.

Mitsuri doesn't agree with your escapades at all. She loves to see you being happy, and especially if it's because of her that you laugh so beautifully. But is it really necessary for you to seek such cruel things as death to give your life meaning? What is it that you are really looking for, deep down in your heart? The Love Pillar is worried that something terrible will happen to you and you will no longer be able to use your legs. It would be unfortunate if you could no longer dance and train together.

Unlike other Pillars, this girl wouldn't find satisfaction at all in having to hurt you to make you stay. Mitsuri prefers to use words... and well, let's be honest, maybe a LITTLE bit of force—but only to scare you. For her the best thing is to have you psychologically handled; the purest emotions, such as love, will keep you tied to her with honesty.

The Love Pillar has no problem sharing you—the more the merrier! There may be Pillars that she likes more than others, but in general she doesn't believe in having preferences when it comes to taking care of you and loving you. Mitsuri is not jealous; her security reaches to the skies, and her concern to have you satisfied is greater than any other negative feelings that could take place in her regarding your other partners (even if you don't think they are, but now you have them!).

The truth is, it would be hard to tell when she becomes obsessed with you. The Love Pillar may seem casual in showing her love for you, but it only takes a moment of desperation where it seems like you're going to vanish from her life to find her obsessive nature. Mitsuri is capable of crying, begging, and in one last —and terrible— instance even outright manipulating you, just so you won't leave her side.

The Love Pillar is very sweet and attentive, but also capricious. If it were up to her, she would do everything she could to be glued to your side so she could kiss you, hug you and live as your shadow. Her biggest dream? To have a family with you, of course! Imagine how beautiful the two of you would look together; a beautiful western style house in the background, with a traditional garden where you could sit and eat pancakes and watch Muichiro train, who of course is part of the family and Mitsuri already adopted —secretly— as your little brother.

But I would like to, you know, give you a little warning. Notice well how much Kyōjurō starts to impact on Mitsuri. Especially if you decide to reject her attempts; because then her obsession would become violent, and that means that maybe the impact on you would no longer be solely psychological. I tell you this in case you cherish your legs very much, for example. I don't think you would want to lose them.

Just as I don't think they would like to lose you.

[st-eve-barnes]

Leverage (Michael Gavey x fem Reader)

Chapter 1

Summary: When your ex threatens to release some very personal videos you are left with no choice but to do what he asks: seduce the biggest nerd on campus, Michael Gavey. Will you rock his world or will he fundamentally change yours?

Word count: +2300

Warning for the entire fic: 18+ for explicit content and language. Kissing, oral sex (male receiving), dry humping, hand job, fingering, p in v sex. First kiss and loss of virginity. Experienced reader. Enemies to lovers vibes.

Fluff, smut and of course angst (my favorite combination! lol) I haven't watched Saltburn yet so all characters in this fic except for Michael are my own.

Chapter 2 will be posted next week and the plan is to post weekly, there will be 4-5 chapters (depending on how far the muse takes me)

***

All my fics are also on AO3

***

You should have known something was off the second Ben sat down in front of you in the library that morning. You two hadn’t spoken since you’d broken up, some 6 months ago now. The split had been amicable but neither of you had felt the need to pretend to remain friends afterwards. He was a stranger to you now and you preferred it that way.

You both moved in different social circles in the university these days, meaning he was living his dream as a popular fuck boy getting drunk every night and you spent most nights in your dorm room focusing on your studying.

“I need a favor,” he bluntly started the conversation.

“No,” you answered without looking up from your book.

“I think you should hear me out first.”

“Ben, we haven’t spoken in months,” you sighed,”What makes you think I would help you now?”

He leaned closer to you over the table, making you lean back to keep the distance between you two.

“The firm I’ve been dreaming of getting into is offering an internship to whoever scores highest on this upcoming test,” he explained.

“Great, you should start hitting the books then.”

“It’s no use.”

“Why not? I thought you were so smart?”

“I am so smart,” he smirked, making you roll your eyes,”But not as smart as him.”

You looked up and noticed he wasn’t looking at you anymore but his gaze was drawn to the guy sitting a few tables away. You recognized him instantly: ugly outdated shirt, even uglier beige cargo pants and big glasses on his nose, buried into his books as usual. The biggest nerd on campus and beyond: Michael Gavey.

“He’s your competition?” you snorted,”Good luck with that!”

“Luck won’t help me, that’s why I need your help.”

“What on earth am I going to do? I suck at math, you know that.”

“That’s not why I need you,” he shook his head and sighed,”A job at that firm is my dream, it’s what I’ve always wanted and worked towards for the past two years.”

“And if you pass that test you’ll get it.”

“Nobody can beat Gavey, everyone knows the guy’s a fucking genius.”

“Then he deserves the internship, don’t you think?”

”He can literally get any job he chooses, I need this one and I won’t let that freak take it from me.”

For the first time you leaned forward and looked into his eyes, indulging him and giving into your own curiosity.”What do you want from me then?”

“Look at him, I bet that guy’s never even had a girl look at him twice, especially not a pretty girl like you, that dude’s got virgin written all over him, hasn’t he?”

“How is that any of your business, Ben? Maybe he’s not even interested in girls, you ever though of that?” you opted, deliberately ignoring his compliment.

“Oh, believe me he’s interested, I’ve seen him stare when he thinks nobody’s looking. He may pretend to be above all that but the fucker is just as horny as the rest of us.”

“Speak for yourself.” You leaned back and kept your eyes on him while you crossed your arms,”You still haven’t told me what you want from me.”

“I was thinking, having a pretty girl like you pay attention to him might take his mind off all this studying, a distraction like that could kill a man’s entire focus.”

“Only a man who thinks with his dick.”

He smirked at you,”Or a man who’s never had his dick touched.”

“You’re fucking disgusting."

He lifted his hands in innocence,”I just want you to distract the guy a little, make him forget about stupid tests and internships so I can have a fighting chance.”

”You want me to fuck him,” you realized.

He gave you a lazy smirk, his gaze hardening suddenly,“I want you to do whatever it takes to ruin him.”

The words left his mouth so casually and easily it was making you nervous.

“You’re mad, there’s no way. Ask one of the whores you always hang out with, I’m sure there’s plenty…”

“I’ve asked, none of them want him.”

You sighed, annoyed.”Of course they don’t.”

“I need it to be you.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re the only one I can convince to do this.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at that and you shook your head,”You’re out of your mind if you think I would even consider…”

He didn’t let you finish your sentence but instead shoved a photo towards you on the table.

“What is this?”

“This is what I would call leverage.”

You looked at him in confusion,”This is just a blurry picture, what am I supposed to be looking at?”

He smirked at you,”Do you remember that one night we got insanely crazy drunk and I borrowed my roommate’s camera?”

It was only then that you realized what you were watching. It was a picture of a video. A video of a night you had tried very hard to erase from your memory, a night you wished had never happened.

“You kept that?” you asked quietly, the unsettling feeling in the pit of your stomach quickly growing. 

“It never left my computer,” he said as if it was something to be proud of,”And I guess…we’d both like it to stay on there wouldn’t we? And not…get lost on the internet or around university or something, I mean…I imagine you wouldn’t want that, right?”

You looked at him in complete disbelief and your voice was shaking with your next words,”You wouldn’t…you wouldn’t do that.”

His dark eyes stayed locked on yours,”Don’t doubt that I will do whatever it takes to get what I want, sweetheart.”

You shivered at the cold determination in his tone.

“I’m sorry,” he added,” but I need you to do what I ask if you want that video to stay with me. Get to know Gavey, make him believe you’re interested, how far you take it…is entirely up to you. Just make it work.”

****

You found Michael in his same spot in the library the next day, leaning on his elbow while he was taking notes in one of his many text books. 

For a few moments you just watched him from a distance, watched how enthralled he was in his work, how focussed his eyes were on the pages in front of him, how he kept pushing up his glasses and pinching the bridge of his nose in concentration. If the world around him caught on fire right now he probably wouldn’t even notice, all he had eyes for were the numbers in front of him. Ben was right to fear him, this guy’s focus was top-tier, it would take a lot more than a silly girl like yourself to break it. 

But what choice did you have? You had to try.

You stood frozen for a while, uncertain as to how you were going to proceed. You didn’t want to be here and just the thought of what you had to do made your stomach turn. But Ben had left you with no other choice. If that video ever saw the light of day it was over for you.

You swallowed your nerves and walked up to Michael’s table and took a seat opposite him, trying to act both casual and confident. But you were too nervous to pull either of those off.

You cleared your throat before you spoke,”Hey.”

Michael didn’t react, he didn’t even flinch, making you think he hadn’t heard you at all. 

You opened your mouth to speak again but he beat you to it,”What do you want?”

He was still writing and didn’t bother to look up at you.

“Michael?” you asked carefully,”Michael Gavey?”

“You know my name, congratulations, what do you want?”

Your heart sank. How were you ever going to distract this guy when he didn’t even acknowledge your presence? How were you in any position to get his attention when he wasn’t even interested enough to grant you a simple glance?

This was going to be a lot harder than you thought.

“I need a tutor,” you blurted out.

“I’m not your guy,” he answered immediately with a small shake of his head.

“So you’re not the smartest guy on campus then? Shit, I must have been misinformed,” you tried to lighten the mood and it seemed to work.

His lips curled up into the tiniest of smiles but it was gone as quickly as it appeared,”Flattery doesn’t work on me.”

“Flattery works on everyone. Come on.”

He was shaking his head again all the while still writing things down in his notebook, determined to keep up his act of ignoring you and it was starting to piss you off.

“It’s rude not to look at people when they talk to you, you know?” 

Michael just shrugged his shoulders,”Tutoring is a waste of my time, go find someone else.”

“You’re the smartest guy here.”

“I already told you, flattery will get you nowhere.”

“I can pay you,” you blurted out and just like that you had his attention. He stopped writing and put his pen down, finally looking up to meet your eyes.

“Right,” he sighed,”Because money opens every door, does it?” 

His gaze was hard and his lips pursed in a thin line, he was clearly annoyed with you.

“No, that’s not…”

”You rich pricks think money will buy you everything your little heart desires. It’s fucking pathetic.”

“That’s not what I meant…I’m not…” you sighed, defeated as you watched Michael pack up his notebooks and rise from his seat.

“Piss off, spoilt little rich girl and ask one of your rich friends to tutor you. I am not your guy.”

And that was it. You failed before you even had the chance to really try. You weren’t one to give up easily but after that interaction you had no hope of ever getting close to Michael Gavey. The guy was rude and insufferable and clearly not interested in you in any way.

You tried to carry on with your days after that but the weight of Ben’s threat was hanging over your shoulders and dragging you down, making you anxious every day. You were frustrated at the power he still held over you. And even more frustrated by the fact that there was nothing you could do about it.

Your mind was somewhere else entirely when you started your shift at the local pizza place that Thursday night. At least work gave you something to do and keep yourself busy instead of eating yourself up with worry every night. When the manager called asking if you were available for some extra shifts that week you jumped at the chance.

You were working on automatic pilot that night, making your way through the tables and taking clients orders when you arrived at his table.

“Good evening, sir, how may I help you tonight?”

It was only when you looked up and the person in front of you lowered his menu that you recognized him. Gavey.

He opened his mouth to speak but stopped when his eyes met yours, a flash of recognition running across his face.

“It’s…you,” he realized and looking at your name plate he called you by your name.

“Yes, it’s me, hi,” you sighed, trying to stay polite even though he had been so rude to you last time. God, please, don’t let him be a difficult customer, you were not in the mood for this tonight. “What can I get for you, Michael?” you asked with your best customer service smile.

Much to your surprise Michael returned your smile with one of his own, a little awkward and probably as forced as yours but at least he wasn’t calling you names or yelling at you this time. And instead of avoiding your eyes he couldn’t seem to look away from you tonight.

“You…work here?” he asked, confused,”I’ve never seen you here before.”

“I usually only work the weekends, I’m filling in for a sick colleague tonight,” you explained,”The extra money is always welcome, you know.”

“You’re not…you’re not one of them,” he realized, his voice softer than you had ever heard it.

“One of who?” 

“Those vapid rich cunts you always hang out with.”

And just like that he was making it harder to remain polite again.

“They’re just my class mates, Michael, they’re not friends. Unlike some people I am mature enough to be civilized and polite to people even if I don’t like them much. It’s called being an adult, you should try it some time.”

Michael was quiet, his eyes dropping down to the menu before he gave you his order and sank back down into his seat. You almost felt sorry for him seeing him sit there all alone while most people were out with friends tonight.

Almost. Maybe if the guy wasn’t such a dick all the time he’d have friends to have dinner with and not look like such a loser.

When you returned with his food shortly after he just gave you a polite nod and a quiet “Thank you”, which you reciprocated with a quick nod of your own.

“You didn’t spit into my food, did you?” he then asked, making you turn back around.

“No,” you sighed,”I wouldn’t do that. Not even to you.”

He smiled weakly,“Not even when I deserve it?”

You couldn’t help your lips from curling up into a little smile at his unexpected admission of guilt,”No, not even then.”

“Thanks,” he nodded quickly.

“Enjoy your food.”

When you came to his table later to clean up you found a napkin properly folded with your name written on it. You opened it to find a generous tip inside and a message: “Food was excellent, customer service needs some work”

You shook your head and rolled your eyes,”Fucking asshole.” But then you read the next line:

“PS If you still want that tutor meet me in the library tomorrow night at 8”

[mochinomnoms]

I love your idea for Hanahaki! Like you said, it's always so tragic and dramatic and angsty (and who am I kidding, I'll keep reading it), but your take on it is so refreshing!

For the event, can I request Ruggie with 15, Trey with 1, and Jade with 18? Romantic; fluff and/or suggestive, please?

And if I completely misunderstood how to request properly, I'm terribly sorry. 😬

So excited to see more of your work!

part 2: jade leech x gn!reader ruggie bucchi (15); trey clover (1) [separate] x gn!reader [tags] – fluff, suggestive [wc} – 2,500+ each prompt 15: “Sooo, are you gonna apologize for puking dahlias all over my breakfast?” prompt 1: “Why is your trash can full of flower petals? Are you secretly a botanist, or is there something you're not telling me?” note - both ruggie and trey got real long, so i will post jade's snippet separately later! a floral inconvenience

Dahlias – In pre-Colombian Mexico and Guatemala, wild-growing dahlias and their tubers were seen as a food source. 

Ruggie has been absolutely miserable for the past week, as one would be when they have mysterious large, red flowers sprouting out from their mouth and head. It also didn’t help that all the other second-years, especially the twins, were giving him a hard time. 

“Hey, hey Jade! You know plants.” Floyd was currently picking at the flower that Ruggie just spit out, undeterred by the spit on it. 

“I bet we can figure out who Sharksucker likes if we figure out what flower he’s spittin’ out. What kind is it? 

Jade leaned down to study the intense red, ray-like petals, poking at the central disk of yellow florets in the middle. Ruggie was NOT a fan of how interested Jade was, attempting to lean out of the twins’ grasp. 

“Hmm, I’m not sure. I certainly haven’t seen it on any of my hiking expeditions or in the botanical gardens.”

Ruggie yelped as Jade plucked a flower from a particularly sensitive spot behind his right ear. 

“Ow! Watch it man!” 

Rubbing his ear, Ruggie glared at Jade, who was still looking curiously at the flower bringing his arm down for Azul who also seemed eager to identify the flower. 

“I certainly don’t recognize it either, looking up similar flora, there aren’t any that are quite the same as this one.”

Ruggie could just make out under Azul’s breath, “Imagine all the money we could make if we say we discovered a new flower!”

He scoffed at Azul, rubbing his eyes from mental exhaustion. The twins and Azul weren’t the only ones interested in his hanahaki. 

“It’s a really pretty flower, Jamil! Do you think we have any like it in the gardens back home?” Kalim eagerly asked, trying his best to lean in without disturbing Silver, who’d fallen asleep on his shoulder. 

“Hmm, no I don’t think so.” Jamil looked mildly interested, holding a hand to his chin. “The Asim gardens have a variety of exotic and rare flora, so the fact that we don’t recognize this one is certainly interesting.”

Jade chuckled, “So, it would be easy to narrow down the person of Ruggie’s affections, yes.”

“Why are you all suddenly so interested in my love life?” 

“Why, we’re being benevolent, of course!” Azul replied, a cheeky grin on his face.

“Yea Sharksucker, it must be reeeeal annoying to puke up flowers all the time. Besides—” Floyd gave a nasally laugh as Jade continued his sentence.

“—wouldn’t it be nice to have some assistance getting rid of his annoying sickness? After all, with your background, you’re not the most eligible bachelor around.”

“Okay, first of all fuck you—” Ruggie jabbed a fork in his direction. 

“Not interested, but thank you.”

“Second of all—ew no, gross—second of all, you guys aren’t exactly the most pinned for guys, even with your family money.”

Riddle let out a laugh, nodding in agreement. “Certainly, no price in the world could make up for your personalities.”

“Aww, come on Goldfishie.” Floyd pouted. “You don’ wanna go out with me? Why? I don’t meet your mama’s standard?”

“Why you—”

“Hey guys!”

A chipper voice interrupted a reddening Riddle, who looked like he was ready to launch himself over the table to strangle Floyd. Ruggie perked up to look at you and Grim perched on your shoulder, carrying a lunch tray with some coffee, a bowl of oatmeal, and a singular powdered donut. 

Adjusting the tray in your hands, you let Grim jump off onto the table as you sat. You grabbed the donut with your freed hand and reached your arm out to Ruggie.

“Hey, I got you a donut, powdered’s your favorite right?”

Oh. Oooooh powdered was indeed his favorite. So were you. By the Seven, he thinks that you’d be his favorite snack. You were so cute. Your lips looked soft, plush. He wondered if you took a bite out of the donut if the first thing he’d taste was you or the sugar. 

Opening his mouth to reply, Ruggie found himself instead choking, a tickling sensation developing in the pit of his stomach and growing up his throat to his mouth. He gagged as various shades of bright red blooms fell out of his mouth and onto the table. Specifically, onto your tray as you sat directly across from him. 

Ruggie could make out the stifling laughter of his peers . He internally groaned, looking at your tray, now covered in red flowers. Riddle tapped his shoulder, offering him a cup of warm tea. 

“Here, it should help soothe your throat.” 

Taking the cup, he started drinking what he thought was honey lemon tea, soothing his throat. 

Across the table from him, you let out a soft cough, drawing his and the other’s attention. 

“Sooo, are you gonna apologize for puking dahlias all over my breakfast?”

The tea went down the wrong pipe. Ruggie started choking, Kalim frantically reaching over to pat his back. 

“Oh? Does the Little Shrimpy know this flower?” Floyd asked, he and his brother slithering over to sit on either side of you. Their eyes met briefly, then at Ruggie, both giving him a knowing grin.

“Dahlias? Yeah! They’re my favorite!” you answered, blissfully unaware of the predicament they’d just put him in. 

Ruggie wished he could be just as carefree.  

The other five slowly turned their heads to stare at Ruggie, each looking especially gleeful and teasing. 

“You don’t say?” Jamil drawled, smirking at Ruggie, whose state of mind was rapidly deteriorating. “We’ve never heard of it.”

You looked at Jamil in surprise. “Wait really?”

“Yes, these, dahlias you called them? They’re not from Twisted Wonderland.” Riddle had a mischievous smile, tipping the end of Ruggie’s cup before he could interject, making him choke on the tea again. 

“Aw really? That kinda sucks.” you pouted, twirling one of the loose flowers in your hand. “I love them, fun fact, did you know you can eat both the flower and the tuber?”

Ruggie would never admit it out loud, but your cute, excitable grin makes him feel all warm and giddy inside. He’d even give you his grandma’s homemade donuts if he got to see more of it. 

By the Seven, he’d give you his donuts. He really had it bad.

“Really? How fascinating! Isn't it Ruggie?” Jade asked, giving a closed mouth smile. The tone of his voice made it clear though, he and the others figured out you were the root cause of his hanahaki. 

Ruggle got up abruptly, snatching the donut from your hand (why miss out on free food?) and the breakfast sandwich he’d gotten for Leona. 

“I gotta go take Leona’s breakfast to him, I’ll see you guys later—”

“Wait, Ruggie!” Kalim cries out, startling Silver awake. “But the Prefect knows the flowers—”

“WOW I GOTTA GO! BYE GUYS SEE YOU LATER!”

Ruggie rushed out of the cafeteria, red petals flying behind him as he ran. The remaining 8 at the table stared after him, you in particular looking confused. 

“Is he okay?” You asked, looking confused and disappointed. “Did I say something wrong?”

“Ah, perhaps we went a bit too far…” Jamil muttered. 

Riddle sighed as he nodded in agreement, “Yes. Don’t worry yourself about it Prefect, we were discussing something else, you didn’t say anything wrong.”

You hummed as you cleared off your tray of dahlias, taking small bites of your oatmeal. 

“Why’s he puking flowers?”

The group stayed silent, sharing knowing looks with each other. The twins and Azul in particular were smirking, while Kalim perked up. 

“Oh he has hanahaki, it’s like a love sickness.” Kalim blissfully replied, Jamil pinching his nose and sighing heavily. 

“Love…sickness?”

Riddle placed a hand on Kalim’s shoulder, giving him a stern look. “We had our fun earlier, but it’s not our business to share his medical information with anyone.”

He turned his gaze to you, making you shrink in on yourself. “It would be best to ask him yourself, Prefect.”

Floyd tsked. “Aww, that’s no fun! Don’t you wanna help Sharksucker? You do, dontcha Shrimpy?”

The twins leaned into your ears, like an angel and devil on your shoulder if the angel was just a devil with a halo and wings taped on. 

“Why, you care for Ruggie, don’t you dear Prefect?” Jade cooed, chucking at your pink cheeks. 

“Hehehe, of course they too, look at their blush!” Floyd giggled, poking at your right cheek. “Little Shrimpy isn’t a shrimp for nothin’!”

“And after all, only you can help him!” Azul came up behind you, startling you as he placed his hands on your shoulder. 

The trio chuckled, coercing you to listen to their honeyed words, feeding on your soft spot for the hyena beastman. 

Riddle shared a look with Jamil before sighing and walking off. Jamil followed suit, grabbing Kalim by the arm to drag him away before he too, inevitably, got involved in their scheme. Silver, now that he was bright and alert, similarly left, nodding at you. 

Here you were, alone amongst the “benevolent” Octavinelle trio, now regretting waking up early to get breakfast instead of just sleeping in.

Ruggie had been leaving trails of dahlias behind him all day, getting on the ghost janitors’ ire and lectured by Crewel specifically. 

“Loose flowers in a lab is the perfect example of a hazard to lab safety! Have you not gone to the nurse to get this taken care of?!”

He hadn’t had a fit since seeing you this morning, luckily. He had noticed you in the hallways in between classes though. Everytime your eyes met his own, you’d flush and rush away. 

“Ugh, one of the guys must’ve told them.” Ruggie groaned, slumped over as he walked over to the kitchens, feet aching from running around his shift at Sam’s and now Mostro Lounge. 

Azul had asked him to collect some perishable items that he’d purchased from a supplier, having it delivered to the school’s walk-in fridge until he could have someone pick it up. 

Jade and Floyd were supposed to be there, ready to help, but they were nowhere to be found. Ruggie shrugged, walking into the kitchen and heading to the fridge before he felt himself get yanked by his collar. 

“Hahahehehe! Be sure to thank us later, Sharksucker!”

“Fuhuhu~ Indeed Ruggie, I’m sure you’ll appreciate it later.”

“Oof! Hey!” Ruggie stumbled into the pantry, landing on something soft. “What the-Jade, Floyd this isn’t funny—”

“Mmph!” The floor beneath him started wiggling and groaning, startling Ruggie. His eyes were slowly adjusting to the dark, his hyena genes serving him well as he yelped, looking down.

A white cloth was tied around your mouth while your hands and feet were bound by what looked like Floyd’s scarf. Ruggie’s ears and dahlias drooped down as he saw that your cheeks were covered in tear tracks. 

"Mmmphie! Mmmphie! Mmmph mmph mmph!" came out from behind the tightly-bound cloth.

“W-what? FLOYD! JADE! WHAT’S WRONG WITH YOU TWO?!” He could hear the twins’ laughter from outside the door. Ruggie started pounding on the door with his fist, growling before freezing, hearing your muffled crying.

The hyena scrambled to turn on the light switch before returning back to your curled up form, gingerly untying the bound on your mouth. 

“R-r-ruggie!!” You bawled out, fresh new tears spilling out of your eyes as he undid the knot on your hands, then feet. 

“Hey, hey it’s alright Prefect, Y/N? I’m here—AH!” He yelped as you launched yourself in his arms, landing on his back, red petals flying . He stiffened as you shoved your head into the nook of his neck, hiccuping as you began babbling. 

“I’m sorry Ruggie!!!” Softly glowing dahlias started popping up from between his ears and vines growing down his arms as he spat out petals. 

“What’re you talking about? This isn’t your fault—”

“But it is! Azul and them said you were sick and that it was my faaaaault!” He froze, pulling you away to look at your teary eyes and snotty face. 

Gods you looked terrible. Red-faced, puffy eyes, and pout made you look like an ugly crier, not doing you any justice. Ruggie couldn’t help the squeeze in his heart as you reached back out to clutch onto him again. You were the cutest ugly crier he’d ever seen. 

“What? What do you mean—”

“They said that my crush on you’s been making you puke the flowers!” Ruggie’s ears perked up, and despite the growing blush and the resembling dahlias, he let you continue.

“Your crush?”

“My crush!!! It’s making you sick, a-and that I needed to confess to make it go away but-but-but-” You wailed, Ruggie allowing you to shove your head into his chest. 

“I was embarrassed! Then Floyd got mad a-at me and he and Jade tied me up and threw me in here.”

Ruggie hummed in response. It made sense now why Azul specifically asked him to collect the produce from the kitchen, instead of letting him manage the floor like usual. 

“They said I was ’ppose to be a present. I’m sorry Ruggie, I didn’t mean to drag you into this.”

He let out a heavy sigh, rubbing the back of your head affectionately.  

“Nah, it’s not your fault entirely.” He tilted your chin to look up at him. “You are the reason I got the flowers, but not cause of your crush though.”

You made a questioning noise, blinking curiously at him. You looked like one of the kids back home after throwing a tantrum. 

“Shyehehehe! They didn’t say what the flowers ‘re from?” Ruggie laughed as you pouted, pinching his cheek.”

“What do you mean? Is it still my fault? And I basically just confessed! I’m crying in a closet, just confessed and you’re laughing at me!”

Ruggie’s laughter died down as he grabbed your hand, moving it to cradle his cheek instead. His ears perked up as he heard your soft gasp, his eyes meeting yours, blown wide. 

His tail wagged, despite himself. “It’s cause I like ya, Prefect. I like ya so much that it makes my stomach ache and flowers sprout from all over. I gotta hand it to ya, for a cute little herbivore, you sure got your teeth dug right into my heart.”

You scoffed, using your other arm to wipe your face clean. 

“The dahlias make sense now…did you at least try eating them?”

He let out a barking laugh, followed by your giggling. “I thought about it! I spat out enough of them that I got sick of the taste, besides…”

Ruggie could hear the rustling of his tail under his clothes as he wrapped an arm around your waist, grinning wider at the gasp that left your mouth as he yanked you onto his lap. 

He pressed you against him until your bodies were flushed against one another. Heat pooled in the pit of his stomach as he gazed up to your flustered face. Ruggie nuzzled his head into your chest, feeling your rapidly speeding heartbeat. 

“Ruggie…” You tangled your hands through his hair, making him groan as you gently pulled his head back and rubbed the backs of his ears. 

You leaned down to graze your lips over his, giving Ruggie a heady whine as he nibbled on your lower lip.

“Shyehehe~ You’re awfully clingy for a poor little hyena like me, you sure I meet your standards?”

Despite his attempt at humor, Ruggie was sure that you could hear the apprehensive tone in his voice, your eyes softening. 

Instead of pointing his insecurity out, you answered his question with a deep, open-mouth kiss. He groaned into your mouth, returning your kiss with desperation, as if you’d disappear in his grasp. 

Ruggie’s hands wandered along your sides, slipping underneath your shirt and tracing your spine, causing you to shiver in delight. You pulled away from his lips, causing him to let out a displeased growl before shifting into something closer to a purr as you left wet kisses along his neck. 

Feeling your teeth softly dig themselves into the crook of his neck and chest, Ruggie rolled his hips into yours, delighting in the moan that left you. 

Just as you started suckling, no doubt leaving a mark, his world turned upside down as he suddenly fell backwards onto the ground of the college kitchen. 

“Ow, shit!” Ruggie winced as the back of his head smacked into the hard tile flooring, you splayed over his body. 

“What is wrong with you two? When I said get them into a room together, I didn’t mean—oh my!” Azul squeaked, glasses skewed as he saw the two of you. Ruggie developing a dark red hickey and you with your shirt nearly half off. 

“Aw, see it worked out!” Floyd chirped, delighted at the turn of events. 

Jade chuckled, taking his phone out to quickly snap a photo. 

“W-what, hey! Don’t go taking pictures!” Ruggie cried out as the both of you scrambled to get up and tidy yourselves.

Jade smiled innocently. “Oh? Don’t worry, I’ll only share it with the other second years, just to win a bet.”

Ruggie narrowed his eyes at Jade. “Alright but how much did ya bet? You’re gonna split it with me right—”

The four men winced at your shrill shriek. 

“RUGGIE?! NO!” 

Zinnia – A purple zinnia flower symbolizes spiritual exaltation and honoring the divine. It also symbolizes love on a soul mate level.

Pink cosmos – In the Victorian era, cosmos flowers symbolized joy in love and in life. Dark pinks ones should be given to a romantic interest.

The latest unbirthday planning was going well. Since spring had just arrived, it was tradition for the first spring unbirthday party to have the desserts be made with the seasonal harvest. Riddle was especially happy to hear that Trey would be making strawberry and apricot tarts for this party. 

Trey was especially excited to try his hand at his mother’s sugared lavender cupcakes, a family recipe that she insisted on keeping out of his hands until he guaranteed her an in-law. 

Luckily he’d managed to convince her by telling her that the cupcakes might help him dazzle a certain someone. She was quick to mail him the original copy with the promise of a visitor during the next break. 

Now if only he could find the recipe card. 

“Hmm, I thought I brought it down from my room…hey Cater?”

“Yeah Trey?” Cater answered in a sing-song voice. 

“I can’t find my mom’s recipe card.” Trey groaned as he rubbed his face. “She’ll kill me if I lose it, can you go to my room to check if I left it on my desk?” 

Cater winked and gave him a finger gun. “Sure thing Trey! Cay-Cay in on the case! Brb!”

Trey nodded as Cater left the kitchen, now focusing on preparing the jam and frosting for the strawberry-lemon cake, which was cooling on the counter. He was so focused on making the jam and whisking the cream cheese frosting, he failed to notice a certain someone sneaking up behind him. 

“Boo!” 

Trey hummed, looking over his shoulder to look down at you with your arms out and teeth bared. “Oh, hey Y/N, you’re here early.”

“Aw booooooo! You were supposed to get scared!” You pouted at the taller man, pulling at his arm as he laughed at your little tantrum. 

“Haha, scared? Of you? Hardly.” Trey winced and held his arms up in defense, still laughing as you started to pound on his arms and back. 

“Ow, ow! Okay I concede!” He grabbed your hands, holding them over your head as he leaned down towards your face, smirking. 

Trey hovered his face over yours, enjoying your pouty blush. With a teasing lilt, he cooed, “Don’t be a brat, Y/N. Or else you won’t get a treat later~”

“Hmph, maybe I’ll just steal some later. What are you gonna do? Punish me?” You replied in an equally teasing tone, stepping on your tiptoes, making yourself just talk enough to brush your nose against his. 

“Mmm, don’t tempt me, I just might—”

“Hey Trey I found your—whoa! What did I just walk into?”

The two of you rapidly distanced yourselves from each other, Trey nearly knocking over the bowl of jam and you tripping into the table chair. 

Both of you answered Cater with a louder than needed, “Nothing!” as your faces turned the same shade as the strawberries he was baking with. 

“Riiiiight, uh, Trey I got your mom’s recipe card!” The ginger looked between you two with an absolute ecstatic grin, making eye contact with Trey and wiggling his eyebrows. 

“I can come back though, if you two need a moment—”

You interrupted, “No, it’s fine. I promised Ace and Deuce I’d help paint the roses.” 

Trey looked at you wistfully as you tidied yourself, pulling out a bouquet of dark-pink cosmos from your bag. 

“Here, you like these right? I thought you could use them to decorate the cake ‘n stuff.”

Trey smiled and accepted the bouquet of admittedly stunning cosmos, ignoring Cater’s open mouth smile and silent squealing. 

“Thanks, I’m sure they’ll go great with the cake, I’ll see you later.”

His eyes wandered up and down your body as you left the kitchen, waving your fingers as you gave a playful “Bye~”

Trey replied with his own enamored “bye” as he waved after you, a lovesick grin on his face as he watched you leave. 

Eyes still on the doorway you left through, it took a few moments and Cater waving his hand in front of his face to get his attention back. 

“Helloooo? Wonderland to Trey~” Cater sang, snapping his fingers in Trey’s face. “You’re a lil out of it, got something juicy you wanna share with me? Come on! Give Cay-Cay the deets!”

Trey rolled his eyes, swiping the recipe card from his friend’s hands. 

“There’s no ‘deets’ for Cay-Cay to know, not if he wants me to make him a spicy fruit cocktail for today.”

Cater hummed as he watched Trey resume building the strawberry-lemon cake, gesturing for him to grab stuff from the pantry. 

“Now, help me grab the lavender from the pantry, and get some more flour, I’ll need it for the cupcakes.”

“Sure! Speaking of flowers…” Cater leaned over to whisper into Trey’s ear, “why’s your trash can full of flower petals? Are you secretly a botanist, or is there something you're not telling me?”

Cater let out an uncharacteristically giddy cackle as he watched Trey drop the clean bowl he’d grabbed, whipping around to stare at him with wide eyes. 

“You saw those?” 

“Yeah, zinnias right?” Cater called out as he collected the items Trey requested. “Little Y/N’s favorite~ You want to tell me where you got so many?”

“Uh, the botanical gardens, where else?”

“Yeah, yeah. Sure, the gardens.” sneaking up from behind him, Cater plucked a light purple colored flower from the back of Trey’s neck, who hissed at the sudden prick. 

“Not from hanahaki popping up on your body, tooootallyyy!”

Trey groaned out loud, attempting to look behind him for any other blooms. “Damn it, I thought I got rid of them. Are there more I can’t see?” 

“Nah, you’re fine.” Cater waved him off, looking around the hard-to-reach places for his friend. “It was just the one.”

Trey sighed in relief, thanking Cater as he placed the bag of lavender petals in his hand, “Good, it was a pain to get them out of my hair, let alone my mouth. They’re really bitter you know?”

“O-M-G, Treeeeey!” Cater gasped, throwing himself against his friend. “That’s, like, a supes easy fix! Just confess, you already have the flowers to give!”

“Ha, I know, I plan to later.”

“Plus, with the way you two were allover each other earlier, there’s no way they won’t say yes—OMGWAITWHAT!”

Cater shook Trey by his shoulders, while the latter attempted to steady the bowl of dry ingredients in his hand, guarding it with a vigor akin to a knight and their liege. 

“OMGNOWAYWHENHOWAREYOUGONNADOITINFRONTOFEVERYONEAREYOUGONNADOITINPRIVATECANIRECORDCANIPOSTITTREYTREYTREYTREYTREY—”

Trey smacked his free hand on Cater’s mouth, effectively silencing him minus a few muffled sounds. He breathed out a heavy and deep sigh before slowly replying to Cater. 

“If I take my hand off your mouth, will you quiet down?”

Cater gave an enthusiastic nod, eyes twinkling. Trey could feel the grin against his hand, and reluctantly and slowly removed his hand. 

“...So when did you find out? When did you decide to confess?!” The ginger asked giddily, watching as Trey resumed his task at hand, preparing the ingredients for the lavender cupcakes. 

“A week ago, I overheard Ace and Deuce talking about the Prefect coughing up a bunch of pink cosmos, they were arguing over what tea would help with their symptoms.”

Cater made an ‘O’ shape with his mouth, pointing at the cosmos you’d given to Trey earlier, placed carefully on the counter. 

“You mean—”

“Mm-hm, those are probably their hanahaki, grew up with those in my mom’s garden, she used them as garnishes on cakes, especially wedding ones.”

Trey smiled fondly as he reached to grab one of the small flowers, rubbing the soft petals between his fingers. “A bit after that I started to find zinnias in my bed, coughing them up and everything. I think the nurse probably put two and two together after I went to see her.”

He shrugged as he grabbed his mother’s recipe card, twirling it in his fingers. 

“I figured, why wait? Mom always said that it was these cupcakes that snatched Dad up, I’ve always wanted to try my hand at them plus she wouldn’t pass down this recipe without a partner in the picture.”

“Oh, Trey!” Cater clasped his hands together as he squealed, “You want help? I get some of the froshies to finish up the tarts and cake, so you can focus on those! Like, don’t even worry about it boo!”

Cater winked gave Trey a half-arm hug. “I’ll make sure they follow instructions to a T! All I ask for in exchange is the exclusive right to snap the first pic of the brand-new school couple, capiche?”

True to his word, Cater was quick to round up a handful of freshmen who he’d found goofing off instead of painting roses. They were more than happy to take over Trey’s baking, after he gave them strict rules and a talking too on what to do, in order to not be snitched off to Riddle. 

Thankfully, the cupcakes weren’t difficult to make, what with his experience in the kitchen. He’d cut the recipe down by half so that he’d only make four, medium sized cupcakes. In fact, the most difficult part was making sure that he ground up enough lavender to turn the glaze a soft purple, which complemented the zinnias he’d placed in the small basket. Using the plush flowers as a cushion, he placed the blooms of your cosmos in between the gaps, creating a beautiful, pink and purple presentation. 

He was sure you’d love it, carefully hiding the wicker basket, covered by a white tablecloth, underneath the table. 

Later, Trey smiled as he looked around at the dorm members enjoying the party. His cake was a big hit, and Riddle in particular was enjoying the flower themed desserts, specially the daisy-shaped fruit tarts. 

“You’ve outdone yourself this time Trey!” Riddle praised him, “It seems that everyone has particularly enjoyed the sweets this time around. Well done, I’d expect nothing less!

Trey chuckled bashfully, rubbing the back of his head. “Thanks Riddle, be sure to praise the freshmen too, that group over there helped out a lot as well.”

Riddle nodded, his mood in high-spirits as he walked over to the group Trey gestured to. Trey raised his head to look over the crowd of red, white, and black for Cater, who was currently adjusting his slice of cake for the perfect angle. 

Grim was also with him, hungrily waiting for Cater to give him the okay to make the sacrifice of scarfing down the sweet dessert. Perfect.

Trey briskly walked over to him, basket in hand, leaning down to whisper in his ear. Cater perked up and nodded before calling out. 

“Hey Acey, Deucey! Com ‘ere real quick, Cay-Cay needs ya for a super-duper important task!”

The pair perked up mid-conversation with you, nodding at you and rushing over to Cater per his request. Trey walked over to you, though he could make out Cater asking the duo for assistance with a Magicam post. 

“Hey, Y/N.” You smiled up at him as he approached, wiping the tart crumbs from the corner of your mouth. Trey had the impulsive to lean down and lick the mess off of you himself, though he shook it away. 

“Hey, what’s up Trey!” You clasped your hands behind you, rocking back and forth on your heels, unaware of the petals. “You did great with the desserts, I noticed you didn’t use the flowers I gave you on the cake though…are they not edible?”

“About that…I actually wanted to show you something else I did with the flowers,” Trey held his hand out to you soft smile growing bigger as you laced your fingers through his. 

Trey led you to an isolated corner of the rose maze, stiffening slightly as you wrapped your arm around his, relaxing as you leaned in. The small basket was being carefully guarded against his right side, being carefully cradled like a precious stone in a gold necklace. 

The two of you remained in a comfortable silence, basking in each other’s presence like an old, aging married couple on a stroll. The image made him smile. 

I wasn’t but a few minutes later that you’d arrived at a secluded white gazebo, roses and vines crawling up the sides. It was just far enough away that the sound of laughter and chatter from the party was but a faint white noise, giving Trey the perfect ambiance needed for his plan. 

“Take a seat right there, I got something for you.” Trey gestured to the stone bench, a fitting heart-shaped backrest further setting the mood. 

“Oh? Alright.” You took a seat, still looking up at him with a curious expression. “Is it something in the basket?”

He let out a soft chuckle, “Why don’t you close your eyes and let me surprise you?” 

You squint your eyes in suspicion, scoffing as you obey.

“Fine, if I get another spoonful of vanilla extract though—”

Trey barked out a laugh. “I told you it was bitter! Now keep those eyes closed.”

“It smells sweet! It’s made of vanilla!” You huffed, flinching and then relaxing as you felt him place the basket on your lap. “That’s not the worst thing even, I’m still angry about the oyster sauce donuts!”

“Okay that one was your own fault, you saw me do the same thing with Ace and the chestnut tarts, remember? When we first met?”

You smiled fondly, as did Trey though you couldn’t see it. What Trey could see though were the cosmos blooming along your exposed nape. He let out a soft cough, spitting out a lilac zinnia. 

“Hmm, yeah, I do.” He wiped his hands clean, gingerly placing the zinnia on the bench next to you, uncovering the basket and grabbing one of the still pristine cupcakes. 

“Okay, here—” Trey took the sugared lavender stem and held it up to you mouth. “—open up and say ‘aah’~”

“Pfft—okay, aaaah~” Grinning, Trey placed the stem on your tongue and watched as you slowly chewed. 

“Well? How’s that taste?”

You hummed. “It’s sweet, flowery…it tastes like the evening tea Riddle has before bed…soooo lavender?”

Trey hummed in affirmation. “That’s right, now take a bite of this.” He unfolded the wrapper off of the cupcake, holding it up as you took a small bite. 

“Mmmh! Trey!” Your moan of delight caused a pleasurable shiver down his spine, less than pure thoughts filling his head. “It’s so good, it’s lavender too? Is it a cookie…no wait, a cupcake!”

“Heh, good guess, I have one last thing for you to taste, ‘kay?”

He watched as you eagerly nodded, mouth open for the next treat. Trey leaned down, hovering his lips over you own, noticing the light purple glaze still on your bottom lip.

Feeling his breath over your own, you stuttered out, “T-trey? What are you—mmph!”

Trey gently, but firmly pressed his lips to yours, licking the glaze and swiping his tongue along your lip as you opened up to let him in. Your hands reached to tug him by the lapel, returning his kiss with eagerness and tugging him closer and closer, gasps leaving both of your lips. 

Still hands were now wandering, gliding up your thighs and along the curve of your back, deciding to settle on the backrest. Trey found himself leaning down to match your height, knee settled in between your thighs. 

A beguiling groan rang from between your mouths, from who you didn’t know, then another as Trey’s tongue met your own. Then a gasp as you felt his hand hook underneath you as he lifted you to curl against his body, left hand still cradling and rubbing soothing circles at the small of your back. 

Your back was so far arched, chest meeting chest, that you moved your hands from their steel grip on his lapels to instead wrap around his shoulder and neck as he dipped you further to feel your body press into his. 

Trey licked your lower lip again, positive he could still taste the sweet lavender on your lip, causing you to whine as he instead took your lower lip between his teeth and tug. Breaking the kiss to observe your red face, gasping breaths, and half lidded eyes. 

He has to say, of all the cakes, cookies, and pastries he’s made and tried over the years, you were by far the sweetest, and most divine treat he’s tasted. Trey decided that he needed another taste to confirm as he lips met yours for another passionate kiss.

[b0r3dtod3ath]

"Cause I <3 you, you’re the one that I adore :)"

Formula 1 masterlist

Word count: 1.4k

Summary: Assistant!reader x rdr!seb. Based on this request. Set during the 2012 season.

A/N: I know a few people wanted me to write this trope so here it is :) Also this fic is loosely inspired by BBM baby by Lana Del Rey.

“Yea, I still don’t understand why I need an assistant” Well this sentence certainly didn’t calm your anxiety as you were sitting on a chair, staring at the door. You were supposed to meet your boss, well not really a boss but a person you were supposed to help. He wasn’t just a random person, he was Sebastian Vettel, two-time world champion in Formula 1. You were a fan of this sport so when an opportunity for you to work in that field appeared, you took it without thinking twice. Maybe you weren’t one of the most important employees on the paddock nonetheless you still got to travel the world and be a part of every race week. “Sebastian, you were late for the last three meetings. I can’t be looking after you all the time.” a female voice said. You recognized it - it was Sebastian’s press officer. She was a lovely lady. You got to meet her because she was the one recruiting you. “So you are really getting me a babysitter?” huffed the driver. The door in front of you opened causing you to jump from your seat and put on a smile. “Hi! Nice to see you again! Come on in!” said the lady. As you walked in a tall, blonde boy sat up and introduced himself “Sebastian Vettel. You can call me Seb. Nice to meet you.” The eye contact made your cheeks heat up a little “Y/N Y/L/N, pleasure working with you”. As you sat down you heard Sebastian whisper a quiet “It sure is” under his nose.

You came up with the idea of a maximum of 10-minute long meetings after breakfast during the race weekend. They were meant for you to give Seb a quick overview for the day - what is he doing at what time. You were sitting at the hotel’s restaurant, waiting for him to show up, you didn’t expect him to show up on time but he barely managed to. “Hi, sorry. I hope you didn’t wait long” he said as he sat opposite to you. “Good morning, I’m fine, you are on time actually” you greeted him with a smile, chuckling at his messy bed hair. “So today you are supposed to first meet your physiotherapist and then” you were interrupted by sniffling. Probably a morning runny nose. You grabbed your small purse and handed a tissue to the man. “Thank you” he said, surprised that you noticed. “So then you have a first practice session at 1PM and..” - you quickly went over what was planned for the day “Alright, any questions? If you really want to move some meetings then let me know and I will try to figure out something. I’m leaving this paper for you to know what’s going on and I think that’s it.” you handed him a post-it note with everything neatly written. Cute writing he thought as he looked at it "There's also my number if you need something and I happen not to be around”. Oh yea, he was definitely gonna use this one. 

After a few races, you started developing a more casual relationship - it could even be called a friendship. The chemistry never left working hours. You didn’t understand why but it bothered you. Well, you noticed some signals - butterflies in your stomach appearing when you two held eye contact for more than a second, your heart skipping a beat when you accidentally touch or the heat rising to your cheeks every time he calls you by your nickname. You were a walking symptom of having a crush and yet you denied it. “I’m working for him, of course, we have to be nice to each other! He’s like that to every female reporter, a cheeky little bastard.” or “It’s his job to treat me nice.” you used to tell your friend on a phone, whispering as if Sebastian was to hear you. Little did you know, he has in fact changed his behavior towards women once you appeared in his life, he started being less flirty and reckless but not in terms of you. He would never tell you to do anything for him because it felt weird to him. At first, you were looking after him like he was a child - checking in if he was hungry or if he needed water. He never complained about being looked after because he found it comforting. He felt like you were truly caring for him, a feeling that he hadn’t felt in years due to his lifestyle. 

You would never call him unless he was late. Sebastian was in his hotel room, sprawled out on the bed, head with messy blonde hair buried in pillows. His peaceful sleep was interrupted by the sound of his ringtone. “Huh?” his eyes still closed “Seb, you were supposed to text me when you wake up so you won’t be late again. Please tell me you got up” your voice was a sound he wished to wake up for the rest of his life “Mrrh Dreaming? An angel called me?” he said half awake completely ignoring your tone “Great, amazing even. Vettel, wake up. I’m gonna come to your room in 10 minutes and please cooperate”. Even though you were the same age you sometimes felt like you were babysitting him. Sebastian obeyed you and got dressed. He liked to annoy you a bit but he would be cautious not to cause you too much trouble. You knocked on his door not expecting him to be ready. To your surprise, you were greeted by a fully dressed Sebastian holding his toothbrush. He gestured to you to come in. You have never been to his hotel room so it a bit personal. You stood in the middle of the room not knowing what to do. Your eyes wandered around the room which looked more neat than you expected - no clothes laying around and only his phone and a half-empty water bottle on his nightstand but the bed looked like a mess and you couldn’t judge him, after all he did wake up less than ten minutes before. The bathroom door was opened so you were able to observe him brushing his teeth. It was a thing he did everyday (even more than once!) yet it felt almost intimate. “Okay, let’s go” he said with a big smile once he finished and held the door for you. You were heading for a team meeting that you were also a part of. Your role there was to take notes that were handed to the driver later. Sebastian couldn’t take his eyes off you, sitting next to him as you wrote something important that he didn’t even hear. He loved to watch you in this state where you were so focused you barely paid attention to anything else. He loved the way you would tuck your hair behind your ear or play with a pen anytime there was something not worth writing down discussed. When the meeting was over you handed him the paper, he didn’t even look at it but the thing that caught his attention was your dress. It wasn’t revealing or stereotypically sexy - little flowers on a navy background, short sleeves and knee length just suited your personality in his mind. “Nice dress” he said, catching you off guard as you were saying your goodbyes. This weekend Sebastian finished P1 getting closer and closer to his next world champion title.

Next weekend was the last weekend before the summer break. Even though you had lost your hope in terms of your emotions towards Sebastian there was a little part of you that still wished that he would make some kind of a move. It was Saturday night, you had already showered and got yourself ready to bed. You heard a notification and looked at the screen of your phone. “I’m outside your door. Wanna talk to you. XOXO, Seb :)”. He himself didn’t know why he ended the text like that. He was just nervous and high on adrenaline. The message was followed by three gentle knocks on your door. You let Sebastian in and before you could say anything he grabbed your hands and said “I, I I think I love you. For the past few months you had been my sunshine. You make me happier. I adore everything about you, every single little detail. Please make me an even happier man and let me take you out for dinner. And wear that dress you wore last week."

[saintjosie]

Nobody within my community believes that my mom is physically & verbally abusive to me & my younger siblings because she maintains a good public image by being nice & providing for everybody else. I'm sorry that I'm sending this through an ask but I've tried so much for 17 years & I feel like I'm at the end of my rope, I'm sorry...

i hear you, i see you, i believe you, and my heart hurts for you.

im going to be honest, as much as i wish i could personally help you, i can’t because you’re a minor and also because honestly, i don’t know what to do.

but as someone who went through childhood abuse myself and has since reclaimed my power, i promise you, it is possible and i promise you that you are doing so much better than you think.

and i know how it feels to feel powerless. to take on the hurt of people who should be taking on yours and feeling like it’s your fault.

and one of the things i’ve realized through years and years of healing is that abusers abuse because they feel powerless. and they feel this way because of the people who raised them, because of the people around them, because of the how the world sees them, but also most importantly, how they see themselves. the anger and abuse they take out on us are because they hate themselves and they try to reclaim their power from others by making them feel powerless.

but if you feel powerless right now there’s something i’ve realized in the process of reclaiming my own power that might help you.

1) the first step is to recognize that what is happening to you isn’t right. this might be something you’ve known for a long time and something that might seem incredibly obvious to you but it is far more difficult than it seems. it is SO easy to get trapped into thinking that this pain is your fault and this is why so many people get trapped in the cycle of abuse and abuse others. but you know that the way you are being treated is not right. that is already powerful.

2) the second step is reaching out for help. you dropped me an ask and you spoke your truth. you trusted someone on the internet you don’t know but took a chance anyways and that takes SO much strength. because strength is not about always being strong because that simply isn’t possible. strength is knowing your weaknesses and asking for help when you need it. because everyone needs help sometimes and so few people reach out to ask when they do. but you made the choice to reach out.

3) i can’t help you but there are absolutely people who can. people who have been through what you have gone through and have a fire within them that drives them to make sure that no one else has to feel this way.

and so even though i’m writing specifically to you anon, i also know that the people who see this and understand will say something.

so now dear reader, if you have words of encouragement or resources to share, please do.

i see you, i love you, and i believe in you.

[spacelazarwolf]

hope it's OK that I'm asking since you're going through a lot esp with anons and your mental health comes first, but I was wondering, is using the word "elite" inherently antisemitic or does it only apply to certain circumstances? like using the word "elitism" when it comes to people feeling superior is one I hear a lot and I didn't know that was antisemitism happening, too.

so as per usual with most antisemitism and antisemitic dogwhistles, you have to learn enough about it to recognize it when you see it. it's not just the word "elite" we're looking for when trying to identify a dogwhistle. it's the word "elite" within the context of there being this shady group of people running things behind the scenes. you can learn more about the origins of this conspiracy theory here.

so if you're given some examples:

"ugh that guy in my class is so elitist, he thinks since his dad went to harvard and he's a legacy that he's better than everyone else."

"everyone knows there's a secret group of elites running the media and influencing our politicians."

"there's a small group of billionaires that control the vast majority of the world's wealth and who take advantage of the working class in order to make more money."

example 1 is just describing some dude who thinks he's superior to others because of his privileged background. it could get antisemitic if the background is "he's jewish and jews always think they're better than everyone else" but simply saying someone is elitist isn't a dogwhistle.

example 2 is antisemitism because it's citing an antisemitic conspiracy and using rhetoric that's unique to that conspiracy. other words to look for in this context are "cabal" and "puppeteers" though the second is less common.

example 3 is not antisemitic, it's an accurate analysis of the current class structure that doesn't use any antisemitic rhetoric borrowed from conspiracy theories. as with the first example, it could get antisemitic if the statement continues on to include similar rhetoric to example 2, or if the person tries to assert that all or most of these billionaires are jewish, but the class analysis in and of itself is accurate and not antisemitic.

i hope this is helpful for folks to start analyzing these things deeper. i know it's easy to just add words you see to your "bad word" list, but especially because antisemitism is so baked into our world and so incredibly complex, it's important to know the why behind these words. dogwhistles use everyday innocuous words for a reason.

[cutielando]

about time | c.s.

synopsis: in which your relationship is long-overdue to happen

my masterlist

Everyone who knew you and Carlos could tell that you were very much in love with each other.

Well, everyone but the two of you.

You and Carlos had been friends for many years, even prior to him joining Formula 1. You had kept in touch even after he started travelling the world, you often flew out to his races when your schedule would allow it, you would vacation together.

Typical stuff that best friends do.

However, what everyone else could see were the stolen glances when you thought nobody was looking, the little gestures you thought nobody noticed, the extra special attention he would give you whenever you were out, how your eyes sparkled when you talked about the other.

Everything.

It was annoying how oblivious both you and the Spaniard seemed to be.

Carlito, the nicknamed you had for Carlos' cousin in order to tell them apart, had had enough of it and decided that maybe, just maybe, you needed a push in the right direction.

And so the planning began.

You had gotten a message from Carlito asking you to meet him at a restaurant in downtown Las Vegas where the current Grand Prix was being held to discuss something very important.

Coincidentally, Carlos got the same exact message from his cousin, asking him to meet at the same restaurant at the same exact hour as you.

Once you got to the restaurant, you looked around but couldn't spot your long-time friend, so you asked the hostess for your reservation.

Not even 5 minutes after you had been seated, Carlos appears out of nowhere, looking equally as confused as you did.

"Y/N? What are you doing here?" he asked while he shrug off his jacked and draped it over the back of his chair before taking a seat across from you.

"I could ask you the same question. I was supposed to meet Carlito to talk about something tonight" you explained, watching his eyebrows furrow with even more confusion than before.

"I was supposed to meet him to discuss something important as well" his voice was quiet and he seemed deep in thought.

Just before you could say anything else, a waited came by and dropped off an envelope for the two of you, and you could recognize Carlito's handwriting on it.

You took the envelope and opened it, finding a note inside which made a blush coat your cheeks.

"What does it say?" Carlos asked once he saw your reaction to the note.

"Dear Y/N and Carlos, seeing as the two of you are too blind or stupid to see that you are undeniably in love with each other, we have decided to take matters into our own hands. Consider this your very first official date, no excuses. Have fun and wrap it up! Love, Carlitos" you read out loud so he could hear, and his eyes widened when you finished.

Neither of you knew what to say, the only thing you could do was steal glances at each other, both of you blushing to no end.

You were the first one to clear your throat, but Carlos spoke before you could even think of anything you could say.

"He's right" his thick accent made your heart skip a beat, your eyes tingling.

"What?" you were in disbelief.

Carlos loved you? THE Carlos Sainz Jr. was in love with you? He loved you as well? No, yo must be dreaming, that can't be real.

"You heard me" 

"Maybe he was right about me too" you spoke, the words rolling off your tongue with ease.

You spent a couple of seconds looking at each other in silence, but it felt like an eternity. You didn't acknowledge anyone around you, feeling like you were the only ones in the whole restaurant in your own little bubble.

"Then we should do exactly as my cousin suggested" he offered you a smile before calling the waiter, ordering the both of you the top notch wine and their most exquisite delicacies that he knew you would enjoy.

As the hours went by and the evening faded into the night, the bond between you and Carlos was reaching a whole new level.

You were discovering each other in ways you didn't even realize you could, learning so many new things about one another from a whole new perspective on things.

As you were getting ready to pack up and leave, Carlos offered you his hand, which you gladly took. It wasn't like you had never held hands before. You had, on several occasions, but never like this.

You had never paid attention to how soft his hands were, how much bigger they were than your petite ones, how comfortable you felt while holding his hand and letting him lead you to wherever he wanted to go with you.

You now savored in the feeling of his hand holding yours, a feeling you didn't know you would ever be able to feel with him.

"What happens now?" you asked Carlos once you had arrived back at his hotel room in the heart of Las Vegas.

He took a seat next to you on the bed, putting his hand on your knee and caressing it lightly.

"What do you want to happen?" ever the gentleman.

"I would want to see where this goes, if we're being honest. I love you and have done so for a while now. We managed to survive this long being friends, what's to say we couldn't survive something more?" you were nervous actually saying it out loud, but the soft caress of Carlos' hand soothed you.

"I want to try, too"

You had never been happier to hear those words in your entire life.

♡♡♡♡♡

The next day at the paddock, everyone could sense the change in the air.

The smile you both sported, holding each other's hands, staying close to each other and whispering in each other's ear as you neared the Ferrari garage didn't go unnoticed by anyone.

"Well?" Carlitos asked as soon as you were within a small distance from him.

"Well what?" you played dumb for a minute.

"You know what I mean. Did you finally get your head out of your ass and make a move?" his question was directed to your boyfriend, who looked offended for a second.

Wow, your boyfriend. What a nice change.

"Shut up" Carlos mumbled as he started to retreat to his driver's room, pulling you along with him.

"I knew it!"

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[houseofanticipation]

This is part 2. Read part 1.

You're in the grocery store. In the canned goods aisle. You pick up a can of potato leek soup and notice the mascot, a burly chef with his arms crossed, is pretty good-looking. This makes you wet.

It's been a month since you first took that stranger's cum on your face in the mall bathroom. Since then there have been few new specific tasks to complete; most of your benefactor's instructions have been simple rules to follow. You wish there would be more tasks—you liked the thrill of leaving your actions in the hands of a stranger, not knowing what shameful, disgusting thing you would have to do next—but you can't deny the rules have been keeping you busy.

The first rule, the one about cumming whenever you feel like cumming, has been more time consuming than you'd have expected. You always knew you were hornier than the average person, but now that you're paying attention you realize just how often you've been suppressing the urge. Now a day when you only cum three times feels downright ascetic.

Your favorite place to cum is the bus. There's a spot in the back of the older busses with a handrail that, when you step over and straddle it (you no longer bother with panties), seems to rub your pussy like nothing else in the world. So many factors come together to make it work: The thickness of the pole spreads your pussy lips just so. The height of the rail puts it just slightly above your normal crotch height, meaning it presses into you in just the right way, and you can stand on your tip toes if you want to vary the pressure. When you grind your clit into the rail the vibration of the bus makes for the most exquisite sensation, a throbbing, shuddering feeling just adjacent to pain that almost always elicits an involuntary moan from you. You've done it enough times now that you're beginning to recognize the best places to cum on the bus route, where the roads are bumpier or the potholes more frequent.

The best part, the part that gets you making up errands when you have no reason to take the bus that day, the part that makes you so wet you're dripping on the sidewalk before the bus even arrives, is thinking about just how dirty the rail is. All the hands that have touched it before you, all the germs they brought with them, all the particulates and oils and grimes. It looks clean enough, but just thinking about it fills you with such shame and disgust that you could almost cum without any stimulation at all.

Shame has been a problem for you. Shame is an elusive dragon, and each time you catch her she becomes harder to catch again. Fingering your cunt in public used to cripple you with embarrassment, and now it barely seems worth working up a flush over. You've found yourself considering ever deeper acts of depravity, just to elicit the same feeling you once got from blowing a guy to completion in a public bathroom. It worries you, a little; what will you cum to once you can't sink any lower?

But there is still so much further to sink.

Another of your benefactor's rules, instituted after your first week, is that any sexual suggestion, advance, or threat is to be considered an absolute command. A guy in a bar grabbed your ass and said your lips would look pretty around his cock, and you were unbuttoning his pants before he could even get you to a private corner. A man in the park told you he'd fuck you till you were screaming his name, so you sat down on the grass and lifted your skirt (though in point of fact he came in you after about thirty seconds and you wouldn't have known his name if you had been inclined to scream it). A construction worker whistled at you as you walked by, and before you knew it you had cum dripping from your every hole and an angry foreman telling you to get off his site and stop distracting his guys.

These rules have made it pretty much impossible to hold down a job, but you've been finding it increasingly easy to function without spending money. You first noticed it on the bus, after you'd already been riding it to cum every day for a couple weeks. One day as you were boarding, preparing to swipe your fare card, the woman behind you practically shoved you out of the way to reach the card reader herself. You stumbled, caught yourself, and then realized the line was moving on, and the driver wasn't telling you to pay. You didn't argue—the cost of these bus trips was beginning to add up already—but it did strike you as strange. The next day you didn't try to pay at all, just walked right on board, and once again the bus driver didn't stop you, barely even seemed to notice you. You wondered on this during you cum session, sliding your sopping wet pussy ponderously up and down the length of the rail. It occurred to you just as you approached the climax of a particularly intense and vocal orgasm what your benefactor had said in his very first message to you.

when i am done with you strangers on the street will perceive you as a Thing.

Was it already happening? Were you already so below a human being that you couldn't be expected to pay your way on the bus? Were you just a Thing that drifted in sometimes, to be ignored or put up with until it drifted off again? As you screamed your pleasure and gushed into a puddle on the floor, you looked out at the people. They looked at their phones and put in their headphones, and not a one of them looked at you.

It made sense when you thought about it. You'd been fucking and sucking and cumming and being cum on all over the city at that point, and you hadn't had a single problem with the police. You'd even let an officer stick a nightstick up your ass once. Your theory seemed all but confirmed when you realized the bus no longer bothers to stop if you are the only one waiting.

So you look at the can of potato leek soup. At the oddly sexy little chef, with his rosy cheeks and his muscular arms and what you can only assume is a rock-hard cock standing to attention behind the brand name. You feel that pressure below your stomach, a buildup of tension as your nether regions begin to moisten. You turn the can over in your hand, wondering about its exact diameter.

Moments later you're on the floor, trying to fit a soup can in your pussy.

It takes some time. You have to play with your clit for a while to get the lubrication you need, and even then it takes some determination. The edges of the can are hard, uncomfortable, but that little bit of pain is enough to just tickle the massively overstimulated shame receptors in your brain, making your face flush and your clit throb. Once the base is in it's just a matter of slow persistence, working it into your pussy inch by inch, until your lips just close around the bottom rim. It's not completely swallowed up—the base is still clearly visible, like a metal wall across your hole—but you think it's as deep as it's going to go. And god it feels amazing.

You push on it with your finger, gasping as it presses against your insides. This is the most full you've ever been, the most stretched you've ever felt. You rub circles around your swollen clit, holding your free hand over your pussy to stop the can from coming out. You're moaning now, closing your eyes and throwing back your head and feeling yourself contract around the unyielding metal.

"Hey, are you the girl from that video?"

You open your eyes and look up to see a pair of young men looking down at you. One of them holds out his phone to show you the video of your bathroom encounter a month ago. He's even been thoughtful enough to scrub forward to the moment the first rope of cum hits your face. You know that video well; it's been your masturbation aid many a night. The act itself no longer carries much shame for you—you've done much worse things much more publicly—but watching the video, seeing the look on your face, brings you back to the way you felt in that moment, if just an echo of it: the lust, the shame, the exhilaration, the disgust. It might seem forward, showing porn to a stranger in the grocery store, but in their defense, you do have your legs splayed open and a can of soup in your cunt.

You nod your response to the initial question, unable to speak as the pleasure swells inside you. You find yourself speaking less and less these days; most of your interaction with human beings involves them fucking you in some way, and all you really need for that is the right body language. Case in point: when one of the men stammers out something about being a fan of your work, all you need to do is roll over on your knees, plant your face on the scuffed linoleum, and spread your ass cheeks open. That's plenty invitation, and you never even had to open your mouth.

One of the guys (you can't see which, but they seem basically interchangeable) pours lube on your asshole and begins to rub it with his fingers, pressing first against it, and then into it. You have no idea where the lube came from, but you're thankful for it, and you're glad he takes the bait on your asshole instead of trying for your pussy. You'd have to let him use it if he wanted to, but you're not ready to take this can out yet. It slipped a little when you took your hand off, and pushing it back in feels fantastic. Especially as this guy massages your insides with his fingers.

A pair of powerful hands takes you by the shoulders and hoists you up, putting you eye level with the other man's cock. You can see the blood is pumping, but he's not fully hard yet. That just means you have a job to do. Using your free hand to support yourself you take him into your mouth, swishing his cock around with your tongue, feeling it inflate and stiffen in real time. It's bigger than you'd have guessed, and as it reaches its full length you find it pushing further back, past the your tongue. You relax your throat and extend your tongue, tears welling up in your eyes as you push deeper, deeper, trying to get far enough to give his balls a little lick. It's at that moment the guy in the back decides it's time to put his cock in you.

The combination of the dick in your ass and the can in your pussy is like nothing you've ever felt. It's a fullness, a pressure, painful in the most intensely pleasurable way. You take your hand off the ground, leaving the full weight of your torso in the hands of the man whose cock is in your throat, and go back to masturbating the way you were before these men showed up: one hand to stimulate the clit, the other to push the can in and out, in and out.

Now in full control of your upper body, the man at the front begins to thrust more aggressively. Long ropes of saliva dangle from your chin as you gurgle happily, throwing yourself into each thrust, tasting his precum when he pulls out far enough to get it on your tongue. He's getting close now, you can feel it in the throbbing of his cock and the urgency of his thrusts, but before he can burst he pulls back. "Let me see my cum on your tongue," he says breathlessly. You oblige, sticking out your tongue and trying to cup it so the cum doesn't slide off.

The two men cum at the same time. You hadn't noticed the guy in your ass was that close—you suppose you were too focused on the front. He bends over you as his cum fills your ass, pinching and tugging your nipples through your shirt. The other man spills load after load onto your tongue, watching in satisfaction as it slides down into your throat. You used to dislike the taste of cum, but you've begun to think of it like coffee or wine: the more of it you taste the more you enjoy, and the more complexity you're able to discern in the flavor. This man's cum makes you think of an oyster; slimy, salty, with an undertone of freshness like that of the ocean.

As both cocks withdraw you roll onto your back to finish yourself off, but before you can even touch yourself the man whose cum now sits in your stomach is grabbing you by the wrists and pinning them to the ground. A sound you didn't know was in you, a growl of animal frustration, wells up in your throat as you struggle against his weight. But the sound subsides when the other man begins rubbing your clit himself. He's faster about it than you would be, less subtle, and quickly the pleasure becomes too intense. You buck and jerk, trying to pull back, but his hand chases your clit each time you manage to make space, never letting up for more than a second or two. You scream and gnash your teeth as shivers chase each other up and down your skin, your legs tremble, your eyes roll back. The force of your pussy contracting into the orgasm is enough to push out the can, making a sound that can only be described as a schlorp! as it comes out of you. Your own cum mingles on the linoleum with the cum dripping out of ass. You fall limp, gasping for air, staring up at the ceiling.

The men laugh and take a few pictures, and by the time you're able to sit up, they're both gone. You stand on wobbly legs, brushing yourself off, and see your phone on the ground. It's always falling out of these tiny pockets.

On your phone is a message from your benefactor. A single sentence, accompanied by a pinned map location.

go to this location and await further instruction.

You pick up the can and look at the chef again, now thoroughly soaked from his time with you. You wipe it on your skirt and make for the exit. You doubt anyone will mind if you take this with you.

[melancholic-hues]

the hectic way of things (take a break)

posted on AO3

fandom - honkai: star rail

rating - general audiences

warning - no warnings apply

category - f/m

pairings - boothill/robin ; robin & sunday ; boothill & robin ; boothill & robin

tags - written before version 2.2 ; alternate universe

word count - 7848 words

chapters - 1/?

-

She is just about done with her makeup, about to move onto her wig, when she hears her balcony door lock get picked. Then comes the distinctive sound of the door sliding open, and the clacking of heels against tiled floors.

“Boothill!” Robin shoots up and runs over as the cyborg opens his arms wide. She crashes into him, her landing against his metal chest softened by the vest he’s wearing, and he twirls her around, his cold, metal hand in her own soft, warm ones. “You came!” she beams, expression genuine and sincere.

“Wouldn’t miss a second of you for the world, darlin’,” he drawls, accent all western and sweet, leaning down to kiss her. “‘sides, I did promise I would come, didn’t I?”

“You did,” she smiles, giving him another peck on the lips. “Through my balcony.”

“Aye, cut me some slack. I at least picked the lock. If it were one of my targets, I would’ve blown the darn thing to pieces,” Boothill grins, his smile sharp and charming and all the reasons why she fell for him in the first place.

“You could’ve come through the door, you know?” she says, grabbing a light trench coat and leading him over to her vanity, where a blonde wig sat atop a bust. They’re going to an amusement park just to have fun, so she has to wear a disguise. Thankfully, she’s done this before with ease — get a disguise, she means. She hasn’t been to an amusement park in a while.

Boothill trots over, footsteps soft, leaning on the wall, next to her vanity. He says, “didn’t want your freak of a brother to stare at me. Climbin’ through windows are more my style.”

“He’s the one driving us there, so you might as well have given him a proper hello,” Robin hums a light and happy tune, carefully tucking her blue hair under the wig cap. “Don’t stare at me like this, I’m practically bald right now.”

“And I’d still love you all the same,” Boothill reassures, “with hair or no hair.”

Even though it’s meant as a simple and silly sentence, Robin blushes. “Thank you,” she mutters, carefully putting the blonde wig on. She hates using wig glue, and, since this is only for a short while, clips will suffice. While she is snapping the clips together, she looks over at Boothill’s appearance.

It’s not often you get to see a cyborg, especially one who is a Galaxy Ranger and, well, pretty, like Boothill. He looks the same: a worn, black leather jacket and similar-looking pants; a belt full of ammo, his revolver, and a coil of lasso; and, of course, a wide-brimmed cowboy hat.

“Ay, quit staring,” Boothill teases, throwing her a wink.

Robin giggles. “Alright, alright. Aren’t you going to do anything about that belt? Pretty sure you can’t bring that to the amusement park. Which, might I remind you, is in the public. Also, you’re notoriously well-known around here.” 

“Can’t help it if the people recognize this absolute perfection of a face and this machine of a body,” Boothill sighs, popping his hip out, all cold, metal plates. She agrees; his face is absolute perfection, and she would be lying if she said she doesn’t often think about the machine of a body that he has. “I’ll just swallow my gun and bullets.”

“We can keep your stuff in Sunday’s car. Most likely, he’s just going to sit around and work.” Work, work, work. That’s all there is, these days.

There was a time, far before, when her brother wasn’t so caught up in work and professionalism. When he was actually, you know, her brother. When he was just Sunday, not the leader of the Oak Family. Not the head of Penacony. They used to escape their lives all the time when they were younger: she, standing on a box and singing; he, sitting on the ground and being her first and most loyal fan. 

Now, they barely get twenty minutes of face-to-face time with each other a day.

Hopefully, this day trip to the amusement park can change that. Even for a day. She’s willing to give up her entire singing career for a good, solid week with her brother.

“…you alright?” Boothill asks slowly, leaning down to check on her, hands stuffed casually in his pockets. “Robin?”

Robin nods, smoothing out the fabric of her knee-length dress and shrugging on the coat to hide her wings. “I was thinking. Sunday wasn’t always this obsessed with work.” After pausing for a second, she continues, “I’m worried about him, Boothill. What if he’s overworking himself? I feel like he’s a ticking time bomb, just about to blow.” She stares at her reflection in the vanity mirror. The crease in her brows shouldn’t be there. She has to be happy.

“Your brother, ah,” Boothill sucks in air through his sharp teeth, “as much as we don’t like each other, and don’t tell him I said this, but he can handle this. He’s a tough one. Takes more than that to crack him.”

“But everyone has a limit.” Robin takes a deep breath, the tears retreating. She puts on a smile. Her reflection does the same. It’s a practiced expression, one too often used. “What if we take him along? Invite him to go on some rides with us? He’s probably already donning a disguise. Might as well put it to good use instead of wasting it, sitting at a table and creepily watching me.”

Boothill stares at her, incredulous in his target-shaped eyes. “Your brother? In an amusement park, actually going on the rides with us? I’m sorry princess, but the chances of that happenin’ ain’t somethin’ I’d bet my best revolver on.”

She rakes a hand through the wig, smoothing out its strands. “Maybe. I don’t know. I want him to stop working for more than an hour straight in a time when he isn’t sleeping.”

“Well, you sure as hell can try. For goodness sake, you’re his sister. He’ll listen to you more than any of us,” Boothill shrugs, the sunlight from the balcony behind glinting off the metal pieces of his jacket.

Robin looks down at her vanity, various cosmetics spread across the surface, and wrings her hands together. She looks away from Boothill for a moment, her shoulders tensed in worry.

Boothill strides over, his metal hands on Robin’s soft shoulders. She looks at both their reflections in the mirror and thinks, kind of wryly amused, of how different yet how compatible they are. She has never known a day of hard, arduous labor underneath a scorching sun, chasing an elusive target; Boothill has never had anyone to fret, to worry over him, almost to the point of overprotectiveness.

“Hey, now,” Boothill softly coaxes, mechanical voice husky yet calming, “you’re the Robin. You’re magnificent, darlin’. Now, you don’t ever let anyone tell you otherwise, ‘cause you ain’t nothing less than wonderful. If you really set your mind to it, I’m sure your brother will understand and do whatever you want. Hell, maybe he’ll even give the head position to someone else if you ask hard enough. Got it?”

Robin’s shoulders drop. They lock eyes in the mirror reflection, and she gives him a genuine smile, her hands holding onto Boothill’s and her wings softly fluttering. There’s something about his words that, even though she’s heard them hundreds of times before from other people, makes her actually believe him. “Got it.”

“Great, now get out there and wow us all, sweetie,” Boothill urges, jutting his chin toward the door. He extends a hand toward Robin.

In moments like these, she finds it all the more lucky that Boothill is here. Underneath that cold, beautiful exterior is a soft, gentle person looking for a purpose. She’s glad he gave her a chance.

Robin takes his hand, and he leads her up, pulling her close. Robin lets out a gasp of surprise, one hand braced on where his collarbone would be and mouth an “o” as he spins her to the door. They stop in front of it, and Boothill bends into a low bow.

“After you,” he says, hat hiding most of his face from view.

Robin opens her door and walks through, Boothill following. “I’m sorry for dumping all of that on you. This is supposed to be a happy day. You didn’t even ask for it,” Robin mumbles, walking down the long hallway, toward the stairways. The expensive statues and paintings that they walk past only further remind her of her duty to be perfect and focus on Penacony and work first and foremost. It fills her with a heavy sense of guilt.

“‘s fine,” Boothill simply says. “You oughta have someone to confide in. No good keepin’ this all for yourself, you know?”

Robin looks at their intertwined hands. She nods.

“Wow. Look at those pretentious brats.” Boothill snickers at the portrait of a former head of the Oak Family. Back straight, wings unfurled and radiating pure power, expression powerful yet patronizing.

Now that she thinks about it… “you’re right,” she agrees. The subject does look quite stuffy and stuck-up. Probably never had enough friends. She laughs. “I’ve never seen it that way before.”

“Now you do.” Robin notes how Boothill’s sharp smile disappears when he looks over the railing of the stairs.

She peeks over the railing to see what caused it, and someone is standing there. 

Sunday.

He has an unpleasant look on his face, one of disgust and disdain. It’s directed at Boothill, right next to Robin and holding her hand, but she can’t help but feel it’s all toward her.

“Good morning, Robin,” Sunday says, eyes pinned on Boothill as they make their way down the stairs. Boothill’s heels clack on the marble, the sound ringing loud and clear, with each step. Sunday’s voice is cold.

“Good morning, brother.” She tries her best to remain upfront and cheerful. Sunday has changed out of his professional clothes, settling into a light blue hoodie and jeans. They still must be designer clothes, because can you imagine Sunday wearing cheap street clothes? But they’re, well, actually casual. She was so sure Sunday had no idea what the term ‘casual’ meant since all she saw him wear were suits. But she’s been proven wrong.

Sunday nods, acknowledging her greeting, but he hasn’t taken his eyes off Boothill, no, not even once. Boothill levels Sunday’s stare, his smile not at all friendly. Robin feels trapped between them, her gaze warrily going from Sunday to her partner. 

She watches Sunday take a deep breath, shoulders rising then falling, then his gaze softens as he finally looks at her. “Well, Robin, are you ready to go? I see you’ve got quite the disguise already.”

Robin is so, so glad for the change of tone. “Shouldn’t we be talking about you? You’re finally out of that suit, for once.” She tries not to let the wistfulness and sadness bleed into her voice. She wishes Sunday (her brother, maybe? Eventually, or is she holding onto an unlikely future?) could dress like this every day.

“Well, I’ll be going to the park with you, so it’s only fitting that I stay undercover. I have upset a lot of people to attend this with you,” Sunday says. “You look beautiful, as always.”

Robin holds onto Boothill’s hand tighter. He squeezes back. ‘Attend’ as in business matters. This is still Sunday, the head of the Oak Family, and not her brother. Never her brother, it seems. “Thank you,” she replies.

Sunday opens the door for her. He lets her walk through, and she pulls Boothill through before Sunday can intentionally close the door after him.

The air outside is warm. Perfect for a trip like this.

“Isn’t the weather wonderful today, Boothill?” Robin asks. She can feel Sunday’s glare on Boothill’s back. She can tell Boothill can feel it too. 

“Yeah, darlin’, it’s wonderful,” Boothill answers, voice and posture stiff. A fancy car — always extravagant, always over the top —is sitting in the driveway, and Sunday takes out a key from his pocket. Unlocks the car.

Boothill reaches forward and pulls open the passenger seat door, tipping his hat low and winking at her. “You first.” He guides her into the car’s back seat like a princess to a carriage, their hands never separating. Sunday must be having several strokes just watching them.

She so desperately wants him to accept her relationship with Boothill and actually see Boothill as a person (cyborg?), not just as barbaric, western scum that’s beneath him. She wants Sunday to listen to her just once, without having to assert his own decisions and feelings into it.

But today is not one to spend wishing for miracles. She’s going to an amusement park! The amusement park in Penacony! Where people go to have fun and relax and forget about their problems for a short while! Robin is desperate for even a minute away from her troubles.

“Everyone has their belongings, yes?” Sunday asks when he slams the driver door, inserting the key into the ignition. Boothill pulls the car door closed behind him, his cowboy hat taken off and leaning against his legs.

“Yes. Is it okay if, uh, Boothill leaves his belt in your car?” Robin asks when they’ve pulled out from the driveway. “We can’t bring it into the amusement park.”

Sunday glances at her. “Why didn’t he leave it home?”

“He’s right here, you can ask him,” Robin suggests. The reflection of Sunday in the rearview mirror’s eyes widens and Boothill stills, next to her. She sits there smiling innocently. These two are going to talk to each other, whether they like it or not. Well, this is the perfect opportunity. She’s trapped them. Either they talk, or they risk leaving Robin upset.

Sunday caves. “Well, erm, Boothill.”

Robin beams in encouragement.

“You can leave your… supplies, uh, in the car,” Sunday hastily finishes.

“Where are your manners, Boothill?” Robin chides softly.

“Thank you, Mister, uhm, Sunday,” Boothill thanks through clenched teeth.

“That wasn’t so difficult, now, was it?” Robin asks.

Sunday looks straight forward, and Boothill looks out the window. “No,” they both say at the same time. Sunday’s look is intense; Boothill looks pained. Robin hides her smile with her free hand — the other is still in Boothill’s grasp, and dear Xipe is he clutching it for dear life.

“There, there,” Robin soothes, tucking a strand of Boothill’s hair — a mix of snow white and charcoal gray — behind his ear, careful not to touch the ammo-shaped earring. She pats his cheek, one of the only remaining parts of his organic body and flesh. His stiff posture loosens by a bit.

“Robin, how are your concert performances?” Sunday interrupts.

“They’re going well! My newest album was well received by my fans and the critics. The next concert isn’t for another two system weeks,” Robin idly comments, yawning. She got up early out of pure excitement for the day, and she’s definitely regretting it.

“Tired?” Sunday glances at her through the rearview mirror.

“A bit,” Robin confirms. “Woke up too early.”

Sunday hums, “take more care of yourself.”

“Pot meets kettle, brother.” She totally doesn’t place a huge emphasis on the last word. “You got me there,” Sunday smiles.

Robin puts her and Boothill’s intertwined hands on his thigh, head leaning on his shoulder. Her eyes are drifting shut. “I can’t wait. How much longer until we get there?”

“Two and a half hours. Enough for you to get some sleep in.” Sunday’s voice is tender, reminding her of a kinder time.

“Okay.” She yawns. “Boothill?”

“Yes?” He moves to make her more comfortable on his metal body.

“Don’t start with Sunday while I’m sleeping, okay? You too, Sunday. Don’t argue with Boothill when I’m sleeping,” she murmurs.

Her eyes drift shut before they can respond.

—

Sunday watches Robin’s shoulders gradually rise and fall, her head on Boothill’s shoulders, through the rearview mirror. Boothill is looking down, quite fondly, at his sister and smiling. Their hands are intertwined, carefully placed on the cyborg’s machine thigh.

Boothill.

He has a million questions about Boothill and Robin. Where does he even start? Just how, oh how, did his sister, sweet and kind, pick up a man as bloodthirsty and crazed as Boothill? They are not compatible, no, not even in the slightest. Galaxy Rangers are dangerous, and Boothill has an enormous bounty on his head, placed by the IPC. Boothill will only ever hurt Robin.

Sunday presses his lips into a tight white line, fuming. Now that Robin’s asleep, the atmosphere changes without her bright, calming presence. He can tell Boothill doesn’t like him, but he’s Robin’s older brother, so that son of a Memory Zone Meme can take his opinion and shove it up his cogs. Aeons, he’d gladly fight Boothill if it isn’t for Robin.

No, no, that’s wrong. He can’t fight Boothill; no, that’d be stooping to his level, and Sunday is way more dignified than a ruthless, rowdy cowboy who makes a living killing others. Having a job that requires killing is never a good sign.

But Robin is an adult. She doesn’t need that much fawning over, right? That’s why Sunday doesn’t forbid her from seeing Boothill. Someone had to keep her company. Sunday can’t anymore.

His grip on the wheel tightens, skin around his knuckles turning white. Work, work, work. That’s all there is, these days. Things in Penacony have calmed, but the rebuilding effort takes so much thinking and the public needs so much reassuring and everyone is so Aeon-damned incompetent that he has to deal with everything himself.

He curses the entire Bloodhound Family, that bartender fraud, the gambler from the IPC, the arrogant doctor, Boothill.

He takes a deep breath. May Xipe and the Harmony help them all. Save him, please.

Boothill combs through Robin’s wig, stupidly smiling. Sunday is so distracted by the action that he realizes the car in front of them has slowed.

He slams the brakes, sending them all leaning forward.

Sunday’s back hits the car seat again, and his next inhales are audible. Boothill lets loose a string of swears. Sunday is saying them in his mind, two totally different things. He does not have anything in common with Boothill except for their care for Robin.

After Boothill has repositioned Robin, who slept through the whole ordeal, on his lap, Sunday snaps: “you kiss my sister with that mouth?” Thinking and actually saying these swears are two completely different things, remember? They have nothing in common!

Boothill’s expression hardens. He doesn’t back down.

“Yeah,” he bites out. “And she seems to like me perfectly fine that way.”

Sunday can’t argue with that. Robin seems content with Boothill, and he’s trying to not think about the last time she was at peace like this with him. It’s all the work piling up, he tells himself. It’s not him.

“You don’t have bad intentions with her?” Sunday asks.

Boothill considers him for a moment, wary in his piercing, target eyes, then looks back down at Robin. “No. Why would I?”

“You’re a Galaxy Ranger. You could easily use her celebrity status to your advantage. Galaxy Rangers are dangerous, you are aware of that, aren’t you?” Sunday states, savoring the moment Boothill’s cold expression wavers. Doubt. He doesn’t even need the Harmony’s powers to sense it.

“I am well aware of what I do,” Boothill responds. But his voice doesn’t have the same confidence and surety as before. Sunday subtly smirks. “And I be darned if I bring much trouble to Robin.”

“Hm? What if you do? How can I trust that you won’t go back on your promise?”

“I may not be as refined and elegant as you, Mister Sunday, but I sure as hell don’t go back on my word.” He’s being sincere. But sincerity alone isn’t enough. There needs to be more control. Sunday knows what it’s like.

“Swear it, then,” Sunday demands, voice calm but threatening. “Surely the best cyborg Galaxy Ranger out there, who hasn’t shot a single stray bullet in his career, doesn’t need to hesitate when doing so? Since you have so much pride in your occupation, surely this is but another trivial matter?” He expertly weaves the Harmony into his words, the gentle hum of its power buzzing in the back of his mind as he taps his gloved fingertips on the wheel.

Boothill’s eyes are full of fury when he declares, “I swear it. On my life.”

“Good. Because I’ll take you apart, piece by piece and cog by damn cog if I have to, if she gets hurt while in your care,” Sunday smiles and totally doesn’t think about all the ways he can take Boothill’s body apart — painfully, preferably. “The Harmony will remember this. Thank you for swearing it on your life.”

Boothill glares at him. He looks away and mutters. Something something Robin’s words.

‘Don’t start with Boothill.’ 

The car falls into silence, the effect of the Harmony wearing off.

A memory resurfaces.

***

They were finally alone one night, when the sun had long dipped below the horizon and the stars were brightly twinkling in the night sky. Both unable to sleep, Sunday finally decided to confront Robin about her relationship with Boothill. 

“I don’t get it. Him, of all people?” Sunday asked, brows creased in worry. “He isn’t threatening you to do anything for him, right?” Fear clawed at his heart at the possibility of his sweet, dear sister being forced into doing anything. No one should have control over her — not even Sunday. He was merely suggesting what she should do as her older brother, which wasn’t ‘control.’ 

Robin gave him a concerned look as if questioning his sanity because, well, who didn’t love a bloodthirsty lunatic–cyborg who travels the universe to chase other targets while simultaneously having a bounty on his head? That was sarcasm. “No, brother, I love him. Truly. It’s of my own accord.” 

“Are you sure? What do you even find in him?” Sunday reached for Robin’s hands. He took them in his own. “I don’t want you to get hurt, you know?” 

Robin squeezed their hands. “I won’t. I can handle myself, and Boothill can protect me if I can’t myself. As for what I find in him…” she blushes, pink coating her cheeks.  

Sunday waits for her response, head tilted, the wings by his head slowly flapping. 

“It’s like, uhm, whenever I see him,” Robin explained, the blush reddening, “I just feel like there are butterflies in my stomach, you know? When your bones melt and suddenly, all you want to do is stare at their face. Boothill has a very pretty face.” Sunday would not refute that. By all definitions, Boothill’s face was physically attractive — physically. It’s whether one was attracted to him that matters. He wanted Robin’s response regarding that. 

“I feel like he understands me,” she had finally said. “He just knows what I want. And he’s giving it to me.” 

Sunday’s eyes widened. “And, uh, what do you want?” Aeons. He might be sick. Was his sister — ?  

Robin seemed to realize what he was thinking too. She quickly shakes her head, and the blush spreads. “No!” she hastily corrected. “No! No. That’s, ugh, Sunday! Mind out of the gutter! No. I want someone who can look past the superstar status of me. I want a break, if you understand what it’s like to take a break.” 

“I take plenty of breaks,” Sunday defended. It was a lie. There was simply not enough time in his hectic schedule to afford the ever-elusive luxury of rest. 

Robin rolled her eyes. “Sure. Anyway, Boothill’s kind and honest. I’m in very good hands, brother. I promise you that.” 

“I just want you to be happy.” Sunday sighed. “I don’t like him.” 

“Well, I do.” Robin’s face was set and determined, an absolute, take-nothing-else gleam in her eye. Something about her willingness to compromise had changed. Sunday wondered when it had, and how he hadn’t noticed. “And I love him, Sunday. 

“Can you accept that?” 

***

Can he accept that, huh?

Sunday rests his cheek on his fist, elbow propped against the windowsill with one hand on the wheel. He glances out the window at Penacony’s bustling metropolis, with its towering skyscrapers, bustling streets, and diverse culture brought together from hundreds of different cultures around the universe. The more populated cities have been spared of damage, thank Xipe, so their primary rebuilding focuses are the agricultural and suburban areas affected.

Penacony has always been one of his greatest loves from the start. He will stop at nothing to make sure it is a planet whose name is passed around the universe like a legend, a paradise so far and so unreachable that you can only read of its honor in fairy tales and books.

He’ll just have to figure out a way to deal with Penacony’s ruined reputation among the public and interstellar organizations.

Only if he was better.

His gaze drifts over to Robin and Boothill again. Boothill must be keeping Robin company when Sunday couldn’t, and that was almost always. Well, that settles it. Robin loves Boothill dearly, and Boothill loves her right back, swearing it on his life to protect her. Fine. If that’s what it is, then he’ll have to accept that. However begrudgingly. For Robin’s sake.

Where is the damn SoulGlad when you need it?

—

Boothill drags a hand down his face, cursing this machine body and the eleven bullets he swallowed earlier.

He knows he loves Robin. He knows he’s willing to lay out his life for him. But there was something about swearing his life for her in this Aeonforsaken car and in front of her brother, no less, that he couldn’t help but feel suspicious about. Now, he ain’t the brightest gun in the rack. However, that doesn’t mean he’s gullible and easily manipulated.

Reignbow Arbiter’s piercing arrow shoot through him now. Boothill mouths a swear, upper teeth digging into his lower lip, and glares out the window. Robin is still sound asleep.

Sunday reaches over to turn on the radio, and an upbeat, funky tune fills the car. He turns the volume down, head bopping to the rhythm of the bass drums.

How the hell this man looks so calm after threatening Boothill with dismemberment, he has no damn clue.

Two hours pass, and Boothill is about to dismember himself out of boredom.

Finally, finally, the amusement park comes into view. He recognizes the color and shapes of some of the coaster tracks of the attractions Robin was showing him a few days prior. There’s a ride that shoots its riders up the nearly straight-up track then plummets them right down.

The parking lot is almost empty when they pull through. Robin insisted on getting there a bit before the park opened so they wouldn’t be stuck waiting in lines, but she already brought speed passes for everyone, so does it really matter when they get there since they could just skip the lines?

Boothill gives Robin a slight shake in the shoulder. “Darlin’,” he whispers, adamant not to look up because Sunday will be glaring at him.

Robin’s eyes flutter open.

Boothill smiles. “Mornin’.”

“Morning,” Robin says as he leans back so she can sit up. “Are we there?”

“Right at the gates,” he confirms.

Robin stretches, yawning. “Nice."

Sunday stops the car. “We’re here.”

Boothill opens the door and gets out. He offers a hand to Robin. She takes it and steps out of the car, all celebrity and princess-like.

He produces a bottle of sunscreen from his pocket and squeezes some onto his fingertips. “Look up ‘n close your eyes,” he instructs. Robin does, and he carefully applies the sunscreen over her face, neck, and shoulders. He gives the rest of the bottle to Robin for her to lather the rest on her arms and legs and wipes the rest of the sunscreen on his fingers onto his pants. 

After she’s done with that, he places his hat on her head. 

“To protect you from the sun,” he says when she lifts the brim to peer at him. Robin returns with a smile and they follow Sunday, who has his hood pulled up and a mask on and is probably sweating like crazy. “Oh, and this.” He snaps off his belt and leaves it in the car, but not before opening up a capsule on the right side of his waist and tucking his gun in. He stores some of the bullets in his arm and pops another four in his mouth, leaving one to chew on.

Robin watches him with fascination sparkling in her ocean eyes. Boothill smirks, the sole bullet remaining held between his teeth.

They get into the express lane (Boothill tries not to look too smug at the lines of people waiting in the slow lane or pay much mind to the way they’re gawking at all three of them — what can he say? They’re all gorgeous. Especially Robin and himself) as Sunday checks them in. The attendant, thankfully, does not look too closely at any of them and tells them to place any baggage on the bins to be inspected.

Boothill and Sunday have nothing on them except their phones. Robin drops her purse in the bin as it rolls toward the staff members. It goes through a scan in a large, black box before getting returned to Robin. She thanks the staff and wishes them a nice day, catching up to Boothill a few steps ahead.

They enter the amusement park, some of the rides already opening up and functioning. Robin grabs a map of the park from a nearby directory board and unfolds it. She stops, and Boothill leans over her, chin on her head, to look at the map with her. Sunday is looking at the digital map on the board.

“I want to hit up the mild rides first, then we can progress onto the thrill rides,” Robin informs them, one perfectly manicured nail tracing their would-be path through the park.

“Ain’t nothin’ that looks ‘mild’ about this place ‘sides the kids’ rides,” Boothill grumbles.

Robin laughs, tucking the paper map in her purse. “Are you scared, Boothill?”

“What? No way,” Boothill rolls his eyes. He has nothing to fear here. He swallows the chewed bullet. There’s no way he can use that one after all the bite marks on it.

“Let’s save the grandest ride for last,” Robin looks up and points to the ride that shoots straight up, “the King of the Jungle.”

He snorts. “Corny — freakin’ — name.” He frowns. Right. Someone (he’ll find the bastard and force them to change it back) tinkered with his Synesthesia Beacon, so he can’t say words aloud. ‘Freedom of speech’ his bullets.

Robin covers her mouth with her hand, failing at hiding her smile. “I forgot that your Synesthesia Beacon does that.”

He sighs deeply. “Well, it ain’t fun either.”

“Alright,” she closes the map and tucks it in her purse. “What about Clockie’s Twisted Coaster? It’s right here.”

The coaster in question is, indeed, right in front of them. Penacony’s signature mascot, Clockie, is plastered all over the ride: its face is square and center on the ride’s tracks, the ride name in script next to it, the entire ride’s colors are all ones found on Clockie, and the stupid music blasting out of the speakers is Clockie’s theme song or whatever it’s called. 

The ride itself isn’t very long — the cart, with seats for four people, two on each side, hangs below the track and progresses up, swinging the cart, and drops down a series of curves, rotating the cart 360-degrees. The ride continues like this in an ‘s’ shape but with more exaggerated bends before coming to a stop.

Pretty mild, it seems.

“Let’s go,” Robin says. “Sunday?”

The man shakes his head. “I don’t do roller coasters. Here, let me take your purse.”

Robin is visibly disappointed, but she nods in understanding. She hands her purse over to Sunday, who tosses it over his hood carefully. “Your flash passes,” Sunday continues, taking out two cards from his pocket. He walks over, handing one to Robin. Boothill takes his when Sunday offers it to him, but the man’s gloved hand grips the card tight.

Boothill is so ready for a fight.

It doesn’t come.

Sunday lets go, looks him in the eye, and tells him, “make sure she has fun, okay?”

It takes him by surprise. He blinks, arm still extended and holding the card.

Sunday nods and turns back to Robin, who’s now practically glowing with happiness. “Go. Have fun.”

“I definitely will, brother,” Robin throws her arms around Sunday. “Thank you thank you thank you!” She backs away, takes Boothill’s hand, and tugs him to the flash pass entrance of the ride. Boothill lets himself be dragged along.

—

What? What!

Robin is so excited. Have you seen Sunday? Did you see him hand over the flash pass to Boothill? Do you know how long she’s been wanting Sunday to finally talk to Boothill without being openly hostile?

She’s practically buzzing with relief and joy, her previous disappointment from Sunday’s rejection to joining them on the ride temporarily forgotten, when she and Boothill show their flash passes to the staff and enter through the gates.

“He handed you the card, Boothill!” Robin says, just shy of jumping up and down like a child. “Wow. I can’t believe it.”

Boothill leans down to kiss her on her forehead. “Me neither. Your brother was lookin’ really unwilling. Thought he’d be out for me for at least a while. He probably still will.” He tucks the flash pass into the back pocket of his pants.

When she thinks of Sunday offering an olive branch to Boothill, or the other way around, she thought it’d be in more intimate, private settings. Like the living room in their giant mansion, way too big for just the two (occasionally three, but Boothill sleeps in her bed) of them, or in the kitchen after Robin left to use the bathroom or wherever. Not in public, not when they’re surrounded by innocent bystanders. She’s not complaining. The amusement park works too.

“This ride looks, ah, weird,” Boothill mumbles into her ear.

“Hmm? This one’s a classic,” Robin tells him. “We’re next!”

“I’m gonna regret swallowing those darn bullets,” he grimaces as the attendant opens their gate, directing them to the open cart. Boothill places his hat on the rack they have for loose items, and they get on, Robin on the inside and Boothill on the outside. They can’t hold hands through the safety seats. Well, they technically can, but Robin’s body is primarily flesh and bones so it’d be really uncomfortable for her.

“You got this!” Robin encourages, swinging her legs. The attendant starts the ride, and they move forward.

***

“Holy Aeons and all of Lan’s arrows,” Boothill says, one arm slung around her shoulder and mostly relying on Robin for support (don’t underestimate her strength and endurance — she’s a singer, remember?), “I’m gonna throw up all my bullets.”

“Hey, at least you didn’t scream,” Robin teases, giving Boothill the time to recover and stand on his own.

“Now, I was just sayin’ that ride was too loop-de-loop,” Boothill manages, wincing, “not that it was scary. I ain’t even feelin’ nauseous. It’s, ah, the rattle of these parts, per se. Aeons, what the heck. Everyday I discover somethin’ new ‘bout this helluva body.”

“Mhm,” Robin reassures, waving to Sunday.

“How was the first ride?” Sunday asks her, hands crossed behind his back and posture ever so regal for an amusement park. He must be smiling underneath that mask — his eyes crinkle. He doesn’t ask both of him; no, just Robin. That’s okay. Baby steps, baby steps.

“It was wonderful,” she declares, “Boothill wanted to throw up his bullets,” and doesn’t elaborate further. She loops her arm through Boothill’s. “Which rides next?” She tilts her head at Boothill, repeatedly poking at his cheek.

Boothill catches her finger between his teeth, bite gentle. Robin pulls her finger back. “Wherever you go, I’ll follow,” he tells her, eyes twinkling with mirth, tucking an exposed strand of her baby blue hair behind her ear, patting down her wig.

“Okay. Drop of doom next!”

Boothill’s expression drops, like the ride they’re gonna go on next.

***

Robin steps out into the bright sunlight from the darkness of the movie house. It was actually a roller coaster with a whole cinema and, of course, Clockie theme. She turns around, her wig blowing around her in a gentle breeze, and extends a hand toward Boothill, her smile wide on her face.

Boothill shakes his hair, the dual-color strands whipping around his face, and puts on his hat. He takes her hand. “Where do you wanna go next?” he asks, trailing behind her on the steps leading up to ground level. Sunday starts toward them the moment he sees Robin emerge from the exit.

“Can we stop for food?” she announces. All of the walking around and getting on the rides and general cheery atmosphere has her hungry.

“Sure,” Sunday agrees, looking at the map on his phone. “There’s a food court that’s not so far away from here. Follow me.” He starts toward a sunset retro-styled house in the distance, surrounded by palm trees and synth-pop blasting out of its speakers. It reminds her of the sunsets on Punklorde, a planet filled with cyberware and hackers. Isn’t there that one Stellaron Hunter girl from Punklorde?

“The style of that food court reminds me of you,” she comments, “don’t you think?”

“Ehh,” Boothill squints at the design, scrutinizing it, “not really. Run-down saloons and bars and the kind are more my type. But I can see myself hangin’ ‘round ‘ere, poppin’ down to the bar and orderin’ myself some booze. Bet they sell real darn booze too.”

Robin giggles at his accent. “You talk so funny.”

“Oh, really? And how do I talk, princess?” Boothill challenges, one hand on his hip.

“Like this,” Robin clears her throat, voice imitating a low, country drawl, “howdy. Name’s Boothill, darlin’s. I’m the best Ranger out there you can find. One shot from my gun, BAM BAM BAM — ” she mocks a gun with her left hand, shooting it — “and the enemy drops dead in less than a second, you hear me? There ain’t a single stray bullet in my entire career.”

Boothill rolls his eyes. “I do not talk like that.”

“Yes, you do!”

“No, I do not!”

“Yuh uh!”

“Nuh uh!”

“Pfft,” Robin exaggerates her exasperated sigh. “Fine. I suppose you don’t actually talk like that.”

“That’s right,” Boothill nods, a satisfied look on his face.

“What do you want to eat?” Sunday stops. Oh. They’ve already reached the place. She didn’t even notice.

“What’s on the menu?” Robin walks up to the menu boards above the counter, making sure to stay away from the ordering line. Her eyes scan the lines of options, mentally coming up with a list. It’s all junk food, as expected. She’s been craving some junk food anyway. Let’s hope Sunday actually lets her eat those ‘artificial foods injected with junk and bacteria.’

“I want three double cheeseburgers with two sides of fries and a SoulGlad,” Boothill announces.

Robin blinks up at him. “What?”

“Three deluxe double cheeseburgers, two servings of curly fries, and a SoulGlad,” he repeats.

“No, no, I, uh, heard you the first time. Are you sure you want that much?” It’s more than enough for one person; then again, Boothill’s a cyborg.

“I can eat a whole lot more,” Boothill shrugs. “Whadda ‘bout you?”

Robin hums. “I’ll take chicken tenders, a blueberry milkshake, and a pretzel. I hope the pretzels here have salt on them the size of dice.” She pats around for her purse, then remembers Sunday has it and he’s paying. “Sunday! We’re ready to order!”

Sunday gets up from the table he’s sitting at, meeting them at the end of the line“What would you like?”

“Three deluxe double cheeseburgers, chicken tenders, two servings of curly fries, one blueberry milkshake, one SoulGlad, and one pretzel,” Robin recites and looks at Boothill. “I didn’t forget anything, did I?”

Boothill shakes his head. “Naw.”

Sunday nods, the pleasant smile on his face he uses when he’s holding back a scathing remark. Ah, well. “I’ll go pay. You two can wait at the table.”

“Thanks!” Robin hurries over to the table before someone else can take it. It’s one of those metal wire mesh tables with benches attached and an umbrella over, taking on an obnoxious shade of orange the same color as the SoulGlad drinks. Boothill takes off his hat and tosses it on the table, letting out a sigh.

“Ain’t your brother dyin’ from the heat?” Boothill runs a hand through his hair. The weather is fair, not hot, but still warm enough to make you sweat after a few minutes basking under the sun.

Robin stares at Sunday, at the counter and talking to the cashier. “Maybe?”

“Are you sure you don’t want Sunday to go on an attraction with you?”

Robin’s smile wavers. “Well, I’m not going to force him onto anything he doesn’t want to.”

“You should. What’s a man doing, out here in a park, having no fun? Take him on a ride, darlin’. Gotta shake him up a lil’,” Boothill urges.

“After we eat,” Robin says. “I’ll ask again if we can go on Hanu’s Great Escape.”

“When I said to shake him up, I ain’t talking ‘bout takin’ him to one that, but whatever calms your horse.”

Robin beams at him. Hanu’s Great Escape is known for being exhilarating and scary. She wants to go on it with someone. The lines are typically very long, up to nearly an hour of waiting in line, but they have flash passes, and she is determined to bring Sunday on one of those rides at least once today.

“This is, ah, a lot,” Sunday says when he sets down a plastic tray with everything on the tabletop. He sits down opposite to Robin and Boothill, taking his share of the food — just a cup of soda and a sandwich — off the tray and leaving the rest to them. “I think it was somewhere around 200 credits?”

Boothill grabs Robin’s food for her, setting down the box of chicken tenders and fries while ripping open the packaging of a fancy plastic straw, sticking it in the milkshake. He takes his share of the food, unwrapping the aluminum foil of one of the cheeseburgers and flipping off the cap of the SoulGlad bottle.

“I can pay you back,” Robin opens up her phone to her money transferring app. 

Sunday brushes it off. “You don’t have to. We’re family, there’s no ‘owing’ here.”

Sometimes, Robin wants to excuse all of Sunday’s overprotectiveness and his strict rules because of how nice he is to her, the softness in his voice lulling her into a false sense of trust and security. But nice doesn’t mean kind, and Sunday isn’t exactly kind. Perhaps the only person Sunday is truly kind to is Robin, and even that has its occasional exceptions. Sunday is a control freak, more or less and however much she condemns it.

She bites into a chicken tender a bit too harshly, the meat soft and the food warm and her teeth clacking. It isn’t healthy to keep on bringing up sad topics. Today is a happy day, and she will make the most of it by shutting up and having fun. How many times has she said that now?

Boothill bites down on the burger, taking half of it as he chews and swallows. Watching him eat has always intrigued her. How does the food, organic and soft, dissolve in his mechanical insides? How does the food get processed without the chemicals and cells and nerves found in a typical human body?

“You’re starin’ again,” Boothill warmly points out, tapping her on the tip of her nose.

“How does the food work in your body?” Robin has asked this before, and not once has she gotten a coherent response.

“Do you think I’d be a ranger if I knew? ‘Cause boy, does this body need a lot of engineerin’,” Boothill groused, “this thing’s almost more trouble than what it is worth.” He takes a swig of the SoulGlad, orange dribbling out the corner of his mouth. Robin extracted a handkerchief from her purse, on top of Boothill’s hat, and dabbed at it.

“There.” She folded the handkerchief into a neat square, placing it on the table. 

“I’m waterproof, hon. For the most part,” Boothill deadpans.

“Isn’t it cute, though?” Robin counters playfully, leaning in to peck him on his nose.

Sunday, with his mask pulled down, very loudly sips his drink. Third wheeling must be sad.

“Sorry,” Robin apologizes, not really meaning it. She leans away, pressing close to Boothill, knocking their ankles together under the table. She grabs a curly fry from his box, munching on it. This place really loves their salt, huh? They’re in luck since she does too.

“No, that’s alright,” Sunday passive-aggressively says, finishing his sandwich. Boothill moves onto his third cheeseburger.

“Is that all you wanted?” Robin asks, pulling over her box of chicken tenders. Granted, there are only three left, but they can make it work. “We can share this.”

Sunday waves his hands, dismissing her offer. “It’s fine. Save some for yourself.”

“Oh, please, I have Boothill’s shares if I’m really that hungry,” Robin then makes a show out of it, grabbing a handful of Boothill’s curly fries. She likes the fries. Or anything with a copious amount of sodium in it, which, unfortunately, may be every junk food. Boothill shows no sign of objection, he’s almost done with his cheeseburger. It’s honestly kind of impressive.

“That’s fine, but I’m not hungry anymore. You know me. I never had that much of an appetite,” Sunday offhandedly mentions, casting a side-eye at Boothill. Boothill crumples up the aluminum foil of all three cheeseburgers into one giant ball.

“Okay.” Robin takes back the chicken tender, grabbing one and dropping it in Boothill’s box of fries. “For the curly fries,” she explains and moves back to eating her chicken tenders.

Boothill pecks her on the forehead. Robin giggles.

They gradually finish the rest of the food, and Sunday goes to return the tray and throw out their trash. Robin uses this opportunity to ask Boothill whether she should ask Sunday to go on Hanu’s Great Escape with her.

Boothill crunches down on a bullet. Where did he get that from? “Go for it,” he says simply.

“Really?” Robin asks.

Boothill pats her head. “Of course.”

“Okay.” Robin shuts up as Sunday returns to their table. Here goes nothing.

[fishgirl514]

sonic prime s3 rewrite:

im going to try to fix a bunch of things i was unsatisfied with from the end of the story.

such as the whole “work together” lesson that sonic learned somewhere in the last 6 episodes really vaguely. also im going to fix sonic and shadow’s vague friendship arc. i might also take a crack at fixing knuckles the dread’s conclusion bc he was the most interesting variant lets be honest and he was nearly forgotten. maybe in another post. this is future me talking i spent hours writing this.

im also going to make the “we’re back home” ending WAY longer and actually have there be an emotional resolution for the #notgay “brothers”

and the most egregious sin (imo) of season 3 was the fact that all the worlds just. stayed. and that was it. huh????????

THIS WILL BE LONG AND MIGHT BE ASS IN YOUR OPINION LOL ITS CHILL. IM NOT A SEASONED DAY 1 FAN WHOSE READ EVERY COMIC AND PLAYED EVERY GAME AND KNOWS THESE CHARACTERS BETTER THAN THE WRITERS OR ANYTHING IM JUST HAVING FUN AND SHARING WHAT I THINK WOULD HAVE MADE MORE SENSE

THE SHARDS:

ok first, we have to go back in time a little bit. i think each shard should have been the heart of its respective world instead of just the random place it happened to be sitting in. the shards create the world around them, and whoever holds the shard of a world basically controls reality for that world. the shards are always originally centered on the palm tree of their world (the chaos council found their tree and stole the shard, this is why the tree is so important to the resistance, they need to return it to restore balance. NO ONE IS MEANT TO WEILD THE SHARDS, IT ONLY BRINGS CHAOS. THIS IS A CENTRAL THEME.) when a shard is removed from its world, the world begins to slowly collapse on itself. the more shards are taken the more the WHOLE shatterverse starts to become unstable. THIS is why the shatterverse begins to decay, not just because there was “too many portals” or whatever.

THE MOST IMPORTANT PART: when the paradox prism is fully recreated and brought back to its place in ghost hill, green hill will be restored and the shatterverse will cease to exist. it was created by the shards being split, bringing them back together brings the world back together into one.

sonic does not realize this at first. he finds out the shards are in different worlds and starts trying to find them all to put them back together, saying he needs to recreate his world, not thinking about the logical consequence for the shatter spaces. nine hears this and thinks he could create his OWN world wherever he wants using the power of the prism. he is wrong. (find out why later)

SHADOW:

for the most part, shadow is in the right about everything. his only issue is that like sonic, he doesn’t want to work together. sonic is too impulsive, but shadow is too stubborn. they learn to overcome this together throughout the series. while shadow is stuck speaking to sonic from the void, they are constantly disagreeing on what to do. shadow is being too bossy and demanding that his plans be followed to the letter, and sonic is making split second changes and forgetting to tell him. this at some point nearly ends in a MASSIVE disaster and they both realize they need to get it together. wasting time fighting is part of what caused this mess in the first place- shadow is also slightly at fault here. we do a flashback to the day of the incident and they agree to try to cooperate. it’s a little rocky, but by the end they’re fighting side by side in perfect sync, recognizing each other as valued friends.

NINE:

nine for most of the series can stay the same. an important plot point for me is his insistence that he is NOT tails. however, instead of this being something sonic has to learn is true, it’s something nine has to learn is false. when nine goes to ghost hill and sees the old tails, he’s unnerved by this hollow shell of a version of himself. while he is alone putting the shards back together on the mountain, he realizes that just like the shards are unstable fragments of the paradox prism, the shatter spaces are unstable fragments of green hill. he is a fragment of tails. this sets off a minor identity crisis on top of the realization that he is not supposed to exist. none of the shatter spaces are supposed to exist. that’s why they’re all so out of wack. no place is flooded and ruled by pirates, the boscage maze is a suffocating jungle, new yoke is a dystopian nightmare, and the grim is a lifeless wasteland. they all exist in a fragile state of balance and are already falling apart. they were already on shaky ground but have been on a direct path to destruction since sonic showed up. he still has hope in his ability to make the grim into his own world, but deep down he’s refusing to let himself realize the truth: even with the power of all 5 prism shards the world will continue to decay until they are reunited. nine takes the shards and leaves.

SONIC:

dear god. sonic. where do i even begin.

first of all, i would prefer to see him being a little less chatty and scatterbrained. i think a little of it would still make sense considering the story he’s living through, but in general he needs to be a little more tethered to his old unshakable self until it comes to the really important decisive moments. sonic isn’t an emotionless character, but he just seemed extra…. smushy..? idk this isn’t something i can articulate well ehe XP

i LOVED the parallels and flashbacks from seasons 1 and 2. where did they go??? i go crazy for a good parallel, so i say they keep happening in season 3. obviously. like of all the times to mirror the beginning, it’s the final fight???

i want to have the final battle directly and clearly parallel the fight from episode 1. this way, there can be a Moment where sonic stops to look back at his experiences and make the choice to do things the right way this time. to fix the problem he created he needs to fix his personal problem that created the problem. i want a very obvious scene where he finally finished connecting all the dots lets this lesson sink into his head.

speaking of which, let’s get back to present time and talk about the final fight.

FINAL BATTLE:

nine has all 5 shards kept far apart and protected, but still close enough for him to draw on their power. the world is decaying rapidly and he has to constantly use the shards to ward off the imminent destruction.

sidenote: at some point when nine is trying to pick off sonic, he sends the birds to search the empty space in the shatterverse. one finds shadow’s chaos emerald in the void and brings it out. shadow gets it back from the bird or whatever later. it was so weird that the void stopped being relevant and they just never got the green emerald back.

heading into the final fight, sonic is sad about nine’s betrayal, but he only gives him one chance to give up. when he and shadow confront nine, sonic tells him that the shatterverse is falling apart and no one has a home left to return to anymore. nine hesitates for a moment, he knows there is a chance that even with his enemies gone he won’t be able to stop the decay, but he refuses to give up. sonic knows what is at stake here and he takes it seriously. he doesn’t want to fight nine but he has no choice, besides, nine is hurting his friends, and that’s not acceptable.

sonic still isn’t sure what to do about the moral dilemma of wiping out the shatterverse to bring back his world. after all, wouldn’t that make him no better than nine? but right now there is an immediate threat: nine accelerating the decay of the universe by holding all the shards in one shatter space.

during the final fight (which i would also make WAYYYYY shorter) i would have him try to go for nine himself, thinking that he knows nine best, and is the most well equipped to defeat him. everyone else is on shaky ground with each other as alliances between the different groups, especially with the eggmans, haven’t been solidified. because of this lack of teamwork everyone struggles to fight off the robots nine creates.

sonic stops. he’s seen this play out before, and the stakes weren’t nearly as high. he is the throughline of the whole group so HE has to bring everyone together (“theres only one hedgehog they’ll follow into battle”). He gets everyone to understand that right now they’re on the same page, so they all formulate a plan together to keep the robots away and get the shards back one by one. sonic and shadow fight nine in person while everyone else collects the shards and brings them each to sonic and shadow, who use the power of the shards to help defeat nine. but when they remove nine’s power source, the world starts decaying really fast again. nine panics, takes the shards back and starts trying to fight off the decay, but it’s too much to fight anymore. he falls to his knees in defeat, he knows his goals were always unreachable. at first he lashes out at sonic, but then he stops and just cries.

he tells sonic how he just wanted a place to call home, even though he knew it wouldn’t be possible. sonic says that maybe it’s still possible to restore the shards to their worlds and stop the decay, shadow interjects that they need to bring back green hill, but nine says there’s no point in trying to bring back the shatter spaces. they’re beyond repair, and they were never meant to be in the first place (the others hearing this are shocked and uneasy hearing this). he was wrong to try to destroy everyone’s worlds to make one just for himself, at least sonic was trying to bring back his friends. but sonic comforts him and reassures his feelings and also apologizes for asking him to stop existing. but nine says that’s actually what he needs to do now. the only option left is to restore green hill. they’ll pour all the energy stores they have left into the kraken to get sonic and shadow back to the decaying ghost hill.

sonic tries to object, asking if nine is sure he’s ok with disappearing. nine says he won’t really stop existing, he and all his friends were always with him and always will be back in green hill. nine thanks sonic for always being his friend. here is the big brother hug moment. nonetheless, they all say goodbye (for now), and shadow and sonic head out of the grim.

RESTORING GREEN HILL:

blah blah there’s some debris and maybe they *almost don’t make it* but in the end they just barely get to the gateway in time.

sidenote: instead of shadow needing to go through weird side cracks to get through the gates, he is able to because of the instability of the prism energy not keeping him out the way it did before

shadow is almost blocked at the gateway. he’s pushing through, but the world is falling apart. sonic grabs the shards from him and tosses them into ghost hill so he can pull shadow through. shadow exclaims something about the shards and sonic says he won’t leave him behind. shadow is touched <3 (they’re holding each other desperately this whole scene and when they fall through, this is me making up for cutting the princess carry im so sorry i had to).

they get to the mountain, return the shards, and a huge blast of energy knocks them back. sonic opens his eyes and cue the regular sequence from the final episode. i liked this bit, it was such a relief to see the world put back together lol. after they fight eggman, sonic brings everyone in for a big group hug like he tried to in new yoke and says he has to go find shadow.

sonic asks shadow if he still remembers everything, and he does. sonic breathes a sigh of relief and jokes that he was worried all that friendship building effort had gone to waste, shadow gives him a (very) small laugh. he tells sonic that he may have started this by being himself, but he also fixed it by being himself. sonic whizzes around him asking if that was a compliment, and shadow says it’s just good to be back home. sonic says “it wouldn’t be the same without you. it wouldn’t be the same without ME either” to which shadow rolls his eyes and tries to hide a smile. sonic uses shadow’s shoulder as an arm rest as the two look out at the sunset. sonic says they make a pretty good team when they fight WITH each other. there’s a pause before shadow responds, “yeah.”

the next day goes on like it did in the real episode except shadow is there, and when the gang remarks on sonic’s odd demeanor they also comment on his suddenly improved relationship with shadow. the show ends like it did before with sonic about to explain but interrupted by eggman. life is back to normal, happily ever after the end.

OK THATS IT!!!! i hope whatever few people had the endurance and determination to read all of this enjoyed it, ive been writing it out for hours omgggg i could never write fanfiction i would die LMAO. i had such a clear vision of what i thought this season was going to be that i figured it wouldn’t take too much effort for me to write it all out. like i said before it’s definitely not perfect and i refuse to re read this for errors for 24 hours but i hope you enjoyed ok bye :3

[alearicci]

“you're losing me, charles” – CL16.

pairings: charles leclerc x girlfriend!reader(but name in fic Ann); charles leclerc x ex-girlfriend.

summary: the most difficult breaking is when you and her love each other, but the decision can no longer be changed.

warning: break up, hurt/comfort, sad, a little bit social media au.

song to read: you're losing me - taylor swift.

note: this is just my understanding of how a girl can act when parting. In your thoughts it may be different, but this is a story with my fantasy fiction and therefore, I ask you to treat it with understanding.

It was too painful to write, I feel very bad about parting with people I once loved.

⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ♡ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆

Charles Leclerc was sitting on the bed, looking at a photograph of him and his girlfriend Ann standing on the bedside table. The weight of the impending decision weighed heavily on his heart. But he understood that there was no other way out. That if he didn't tell her right now, he wouldn't be able to later. Then this belated conversation can aggravate the situation and make it much worse for both her and him. Charles took the photo in his hands and took the picture out of the frame. He smiled sadly as soon as his eyes met the girl in the photo. Ann. She was always there for him and gave him sincere love. She provided him with such necessary support, gave him the opportunity to feel needed.

Charles involuntarily thought about the day when this photo was taken. It seems that it was the first time she came to a family dinner in his family. Ann immediately liked his mother and brothers, which made the racer very happy. And how can someone not like such a girl?

Charles really loved her. He loved her with all his heart.

But now his heart is asking him to let her go.

The world-famous Formula 1 racer, determined to succeed in his career, knew that sacrifices were inevitable, but he never imagined that he would have to choose between career and love.

He was so eager to become a professional driver, did everything to make his dream come true. He could stay up all night thinking about how to improve the car, he trained until he lost consciousness, he squeezed everything out of himself to succeed. But how can you live without love in our cruel world?

He dreamed of returning home after a hard workout, spending time with his beloved and telling about the past day at the racetrack. He dreamed of seeing his girlfriend in the paddock, she would be wearing his trademark cap and would glow with happiness when he crossed the finish line in the top three. He dreamed of celebrating victory until morning and knowing that his sleeping beauty was waiting for him at home.

He got it and now he will lose it of his own free will. Funny, isn't it? When you love a person and when he loves you, you don't give up on him. But this time it's different.

Ann walked slowly into the room, noticing the thoughtful expression on Charles' face and their shared photo in her hands. A certain anxiety and misunderstanding of the whole situation filled her eyes as she walked towards him.

"Honey, what's wrong? I don't recognize you lately. Are you okay?"

Charles took a deep breath, trying to collect his thoughts. It turned out pretty damn bad. He couldn't bring himself to say those terrible words.

"Ann, we need to talk. Please sit down."

Ann sat down next to him, her hand gently touching his arm.

"Of course, Charles. What is it?"

He gently stroked her fingers with his own, finding solace in her touch before breaking the news that would destroy her in just a couple of seconds. And, it is unlikely that he will ever be able to touch her like that again.

"I... I think we should break up."

Ann's eyes widened in disbelief, she let out a nervous laugh and muttered.

"Break up? Charles, are you kidding? I don't really feel like laughing."

Charles plucked up the courage to look into her eyes, his own eyes were full of uncharacteristic sadness, because at any other time his eyes were filled with a mischievous sparkle.

"No, Ann, I'm not kidding. Damn it."

Charles exhaled heavily and bit his lower lip.

"What... What did I do wrong, Charles Leclerc?"

"It's not about you. It's about me and my career. Formula 1 requires a huge level of dedication, and also requires me to always be focused and ready for any turns. I'm not able to properly combine common sense on the track and feelings for you. I just... not worthy of you, you know? I want to spend more time with you so that we can be a normal couple like everyone else, go on frequent dates, stay up all night, dance until morning, but I can't. I'm sorry, but my decision is well thought out and I won't change it."

Ann's voice was shaking with pain. She couldn't believe it would end like this. That he had told her in plain text that she meant nothing to him. That he chooses himself, not them, or even her.

"So you prefer the race to me, right?"

Charles tightened his grip on her hand, his heart clenched in pain from the decision he had made.

"I don't want to lose you, Ann. But I can't ignore the pressure to perform, to constantly give my best on the track. I never wanted this, honey. I never meant to hurt you. But our careers, our aspirations pull us in different directions. The demanding nature of my profession and constant travel do not allow me to give you the time and attention you deserve."

Tears were still gathering in the corners of Ann's eyes as she hurriedly removed her hand from Charles' palm.

"You're losing me, Leclerc. As soon as I started this conversation. If you can't handle everything, then I don't think you really needed me. I thought we could support each other, Charles. I believed that we could handle this together. But it looks like it was all in vain."

Charles swallowed noisily and shouted nervously.

"Ann, our love is sincere and strong, but the reality of my profession is inexorable. Constant travel, intense training, demands on my time... it would be unfair to ask you to wait for me, to put your life on pause."

Charles paused, his voice choked with emotion, and Ann was silent, still trying to be strong.

There was emptiness inside.

With a heavy sigh, he gathered his thoughts and continued: "I don't want to keep you from your dreams, from the opportunities that lie ahead of you. You deserve someone who can be there for you, who can give you the love and support you need. And right now I can't be that person, no matter how much I want to be."

He automatically took Anne's slightly trembling hands in his again, squeezing them to comfort her. To comfort not only her, but also myself.

"Please understand that this decision is also tearing me apart. It's not because I don't love you, but because I love you enough to know it's the right thing to do. We both deserve real happiness and satisfaction, even if it means that our paths diverge."

Ann nodded, trying to smile as sincerely as possible. She knew she couldn't change Charles's mind, but she couldn't not defend her honor. Finally, she abruptly pushed Charles's hands off her own, causing him to round his eyes in surprise and said.

"If this is what you really think is best for your career, Charles, then I won't stand in your way. I hope that you will achieve the success you are striving for. Good luck.

Ann got out of bed and went to the closet to pack her things.

"Ann..."

Charles stood behind her and wanted to hold out his hand to calm her down.

"Silence, Leclerc. Silence. Let me pack my things and get out of your house. And out of your life. I will remain in it only in memories. As your friend said... Daniel, I think his name is. No regrets, only memories. Right. "

Ann's voice traitorously broke from nervous overstrain, which made both her and Charles start in fright.

When Charles reluctantly let Ann go, he couldn't help but wonder if the price he had paid was too high and if success on the racetrack would ever bring him the same joy and happiness that Ann had once brought.

Ann left an hour after their conversation. It took Charles a long time to get used to the idea that she would not come back.

Everything reminds him of her.

Everything reminds her of him.

As soon as Ann got to her apartment, she didn't cry or break the dishes. She went to her Instagram, deleted all joint photos with Charles from her profile and posted a post with a single phrase.

hahaitsann

liked by carlossainz55, arianagrande and 234.379 others

hahaitsann my heart won't start anymore for you

view all 1881 comments

arianagrande: babe are u ok?

⇾hahaitsann: happier than ever

carlossainz55: fck. ann you're alright?

⇾ hahaitsann: of course, ca, don't worry:)

danielricciardo: ann are you home? I will come now.

⇾ hahaitsann: ouuh. no need, dan, tysm.

kellypiquet: girl I'm here

charles_leclerc

liked by carlossainz55, landonorris, fancharles1 and other 1.290.300

charles_leclerc i can't find a pulse.

view all 12.328 comments

landonorris: you guys are scaring me, what happened?

⇾ charles_leclerc: nothing just an incident

carlossainz55: charles, can you go to direct and answer me?

fancharles1: WHA-A-AT

⇾ carlossainz55: same reaction mate

sofiestay: I hope you're all right, Charles.

lec16lerc: god what happened?

16charlec: did you and Ann break up?

��� janerttb: I think yes, they both don't have pictures in their profiles together. Did you see Ann's post?

⇾ 16charlec: no. but. wtf.

So that's what was supposed to happen. It hurts, yes. But you have to be a strong girl.

[francesderwent]

when it comes to the dating outside the faith conversation, which has circled around a few times in the last couple months, I think there are a couple points it helps to remember:

1 Corinthians 7:12-16! Paul tells us there is a mystery of grace in marriage by which an unbelieving spouse may be saved!! it’s not guaranteed, but it’s a beautiful possibility to hope for! he was speaking largely about people who had become Christians after marriage, but the point still stands. if this is what Scripture tells us, we don’t gain anything by trying to be more pious than Scripture.

when it comes to married Saints, Zelie and Louis Martin, who were both equally enthusiastic about Jesus when they got married, are the exception. our most well-known married Saints were married to someone who was either not a believer at all or not a fervent believer. look at St Frances of Rome and St Elizabeth of Hungary and St Monica and St Rita! saints are examples of heroic virtue, going above and beyond what is usually possible, so we don’t have to emulate their extremism in every way. but it would be a mistake to think that marriage to someone less religious is inherently bad or unholy. again. we don’t gain anything by trying to be more pious than the saints.

and my own personal take: what makes a good partner is not necessarily piety or “practice” of religion, but openness. somebody who really lives for others and keeps their commitments and recognizes good where they find it, even if they don’t practice a religion (right now), might very well be a better spouse than someone who lives for themselves, flakes out every time responsibility rears its head, and is blind to everything in the world but their petty inconveniences and sufferings, even if that person goes to church on Sundays. that’s because worldview is more than just skin deep! the first person might be far more capable of appreciating your faith as a good and beautiful thing than the second person, because the second person is gonna balk every time you try to nudge them to give more or try harder. and that is actually the litmus test: whether your significant other sees your faith as a good thing, something that they love about you, or whether they see it as an annoying inconvenience.

it’s fine to say that personally you don’t think you’d like to marry someone who doesn’t share your beliefs. healthy and prudent, even. but it’s not okay to say that someone who marries outside the faith is less Christian or less holy for it.

[gunsandspaceships]

OG6 Avengers’ The “Nice Guy” Contest: Results

It's time to sum up our results. Here are links to all the rounds:

Round 1: “Thank you”

Round 2: “Sorry”

Round 3: “I was wrong/It was my fault”

Note: I'll add more stuff in the future and the overall result may change.

Rules of the contest are here.

Now we will collect all the points and add them up for each character. This way we will get our Nice Guys or Not-So-Nice Guys of the OG6. Let's do the same as we did for each round and list the scores from lowest to highest.

#6 – Natasha

Her total “Nice Guy Score”: 34.1+56.8+22.7=114 points or 1 per 8.8 mins.

Maybe she’s in last place in the “Nice Guy” Contest because she is not a guy…

Nat often apologizes, but not so often thanks people.

#5 – Clint

His total “Nice Guy Score”: 39.6+19.8+59.4=119 points or 1 per 8.4 mins.

Not-so-Nice guy Clint is last by total number, but his 50.5 minutes of screen time gives him some advantage. He often admits his fault (it's always someone's death), but very rarely apologizes or says "Thank you."

#4 – Bruce

His total “Nice Guy Score”: 85+49.6+21.2=156 points or 1 per 6.42 mins.

Despite the popular belief that Bruce thanks, apologizes and admits to things more than others - none of this is true. He's pretty average, with 4th place in total number and the same place in frequency. He even came in last place in the "I Was Wrong" round. At least Hulk says “Sorry” sometimes.

#3 – Steve

His total “Nice Guy Score”: 82.2+53.4+24.7=160 points or 1 per 6.24 mins.

“A very polite person” Steve came in third place. He's second in total, but he's also second in screen time, which lowers his score. Average for all indicators, he never rose above third place. So seems like there are more polite persons on the team…

#2 – Thor

His total “Nice Guy Score”: 87.9+44+34.2=166 points or 1 per 6 mins.

That's impressive for a guy who started out as an arrogant prince of Asgard and, in the first half of Thor 1, was as polite as Odin to Jane in the Dark World. This is what Asgardian upbringing is like… But Midgard changed him for good in every sense.

And here we are. You already know who is the Nice Guy of OG6...

#1 – Tony

His total “Nice Guy Score”: 78.4+98+36.4=213 points or 1 per 4.7 mins.

With double the total number of any indicators compared to second place (Steve), and 213 points against 166 of the second place (Thor) by frequency, Tony is the absolute winner.

He didn't win any polls and I think few people would call him the nicest person on the team. But he is. Math doesn't lie. Maybe he will give this position to someone in the future, when I’ll count other indicators. We’ll see.

Yeah, as you can also see – Steve and Bruce are not the “nicest” of them. With Thor in the same group, they have an “average” score of 156 to 166 points.

The last group, Nat and Clint, are actually the rudest. It’s not that they are really rude, but compared to others – they don’t do very well.

Conclusion: All that glitters is not gold. And pure gold is not very glittery. You know what I mean.

These results surprisingly (or not) correlate with my “How to recognize your friends” posts (Part 2, Part 3, Part 4). You may have noticed that Tony cares about his friends and teammates. Thor is not present in the posts, because he didn’t act towards Tony in the way others did (he did mean things too though, but of different kind). And the others (3-6 places) are those who did something unpleasant, to put it mildly.

Some notes for fic writers:

Based on the results, if you find these somewhat useful…

Tony apologizes a lot. And much more than others. Not always verbally, but mostly. And when politeness demands it – always (if he bumped into someone, expressed his condolences or accidentally broke the children's crayon).

He often takes the blame for things he didn't do. And contrary to popular belief, he often says that he was wrong.

He's not the guy who says "thank you" the most, but he does it a lot. Sometimes without words.

Thor thanks-a-lot. He may also express his gratitude in other ways, such as kissing hands and the like.

He is also quite good at admitting his misdeeds and bad habits, but mostly of the past. His anger issues are still with him and there is no sign that he thinks anything is wrong.

Apologies are not Thor’s thing. Sometimes he says “sorry”, sometimes not. He is a man of emotions.

Steve is, again, average. He thanks. But sometimes he doesn't when he should. He has a habit of taking things without asking their owners or saying "thank you" or "sorry". He apologizes. But, again, sometimes he doesn't when he should. He admits his fault sometimes, sometimes he doesn’t. He says he was wrong, but often it’s something like “I was wrong to trust you”, meaning he wasn't really at fault.

Bruce seems more polite than he is. In fact he's a sassy guy. There's actually a big difference in Norton's and Ruffalo's portrayal of Bruce. Norton's Bruce was bad at apologizing and thanking. Ruffalo’s is nicer, kinda.

Clint kills people. He then feels regret and admits that the bodies are on him. However, I have never heard him say that he was wrong about anything.

He rarely thanks and almost never apologizes.

Nat does apologize. She doesn't always do it when she should though. She's not so good at verbally admitting when she's at fault or when she's wrong, but she takes the blame even though it's not really her. And of OG6 she's the one who thanks the least.